AN: Okay... First story ever, not so sure about it, feels more like random thoughts, hope you guys enjoy it. *biting fingernails*

oh, and sorry for any mistakes and sadly, don't own anything, R&R


Her mind was filled with pain. Unadulterated grief. Such a strong, overpowering feeling that only left room for cold planing in its wake. So that's what she's doing. She's planing, she checks her bag, everything is in there, she's not so sure when planing became action or even at which stage she's at, but she just goes through the motions.

She's trying so hard not to think about Tobin. That, she can't do. Not him, not today, not thoughts of him on top of her brother's death and her friend's suicide, not his gentle hands, not his soothing, strong breathing beneath her in her moment of pain. No, not any of that, not his haunted eyes telling her about a dead wife she'll never meet to envy.

Nothing of his anger and concern, nothing of his care, even if is despite himself, because it is despite himself. That would not do.

Ok, next step: leave the apartment. Fake shower. Ok, maybe it could be a real shower, not like the cleansing is gonna do any bad. Not with this feel of death hanging about her. She turns on the water, a warm shower, she needs, will need the comfort. Hun, comfort, like sleeping safely in his arms. The bag is made, in the bathroom, and now that she thinks about this, after the day she's had, she is certain that he's the one with the binoculars tonight, because that does sound like something he shouldn't be doing, right?

So maybe she should be doing something that she shouldn't be doing, some last act not based on hatred or disappointment. The decision is not fully made yet, but her fingers are already at the buttons of her shirt, she knows he's watching her, (like she knew her brother was alive? she asks herself) the shirt slips from her fingers to the floor. Ok, so she hopes he's the one seeing this, otherwise, her last deliberate sane/insane act was wasted on a stranger, not that he's not a stranger.

The undershirt goes next, she's on autopilot now. Pants go down her legs. And she hopes he's seeing her. Bra and panties, planning the next best thing to murder she can do, exposing herself. Like that's the worse thing she can do, like she's not saying goodbye to her life and any chance of knowing him as something more than a stranger in grief. So that's her, not closing the curtains, so that's her, unhooking her bra and letting it on the bed, that's her removing her panties. She'll even sit on the bed and rethink this, hold the towel in her hand, prepare. Oh, how she hopes he's the one that is seeing her. How she wishes he could see her fractured soul and be by her side, and not give her enough room nor enough time to wallow in pain, and not giver her enough solitude to lose herself in. She'll do this, she'll caress her own face, and imagine it being his fingers, not enough pressure, just enough pressure for it to be wrong, never enough for it to be right, not when she needs him. And she'll let that hand drop, and feel her beating heart, feel her breaking heart, and feel in her womb the life that will not come to be, the life she's throwing away.

And that is all she has to show tonight, that is as much as she can give right now, without him here. Back to autopilot, stand up, go into the bathroom, and close the door. She does look across to her window, she'll picture him just across the street, she's searching his pain but she's not sure anymore. Of nothing. Now she'll just take her shower. And finish this.


Hello, boys and girls! Anh... it's me... again... here to beg for reviews, can't help myself! *-*

Give me reviews! Pleazzzzz!

Okay... I'm done, that's it.