A/N: I own nothing. Not the characters and not the song. The song is Avril Lavigne's (So Much For) My Happy Ending. There are mentions of prostitution, sex and death, but nothing graphic. Character death.

Let's talk this over
It's not like we're dead
Was it something I did?
Was it something you said?

It was raining. Of course, Brian thought numbly. Just perfect. His legs felt like lead as he trudged through the pounding rain, each step into the mud as if it dragged him into the suffocating earth. He stared at the earth, wondering if suffocation by dirt would feel better than what he was currently feeling. He'd expected Jim to come after him, hold him, deny selling him out and coax him into staying. He hadn't expected Jim to blow him off and ignore him.

His chest felt like someone had cut into his chest and dug his heart out, threw it on the ground, stamped on it a few times and then tossed it into a trash can. He felt like he was suffocating, like something had a grip on his lungs and wasn't letting go.

He had only wanted to do right. Hadn't he saved the hostage? And above everything, he had done right. He hadn't expected Jim to take the blow for what he'd done, but he'd hoped Jim would stand with him. But Jim had left him. Left him to shoulder his own weight.

Had he pushed everything too far? Had he become too dependent? He was vaguely aware of the hot tears spilling from his eyes, mixing with the cold rain. He walked slowly, half because his legs felt like they weighed a ton each, and half because he hoped Jim would be running after him.

Don't leave me hanging
In a city so dead
Held up so high
On such a breakable thread

He missed it already. He missed the strong arms holding him, telling him everything was going to be all right and that he'd be with Brian forever. The promises fell and shattered around his feet like the raindrops did.

They'd spent 2 years as Navy SEALS together. They'd started as rookies together. And then they came into SWAT together, had been partners for the last five years. Jim had asked him out three years ago and Jim had promised to be together forever, hadn't he?

Brian looked back. The light of the precinct, someplace he'd spent more time at than at his own house for the past five years, glared accusingly at him, and he turned back and looked out into the dark, wet night. Jim wasn't coming after him. He was alone.

He took a step into the darkness, and cried his whole way home.

You were all the things I thought I knew, and I thought we could be
You were everything, everything, that I wanted
We were meant to be, supposed to be, but we lost it

He'd worked up the courage to call Jim. Jim didn't pick up, and never returned the call. Brian didn't try again. Instead he went drinking every weekend and went to some unknown man's house every Saturday night. They all had brown hair and brown eyes, though none of them held a shade to Jim. He let them take him violently and left, hurting and throbbing and sometimes bleeding, before they woke.

He knew better than anyone that he was trying to replace the gaping hole in his chest. All he was doing was stuffing rough sandpaper in it. It stopped the blood flow for a bit, but in the end it made the wound worse. He staggered into the house. The pictures he had with Jim smiled mockingly at him and he put every one of them face down. He didn't have the heart to throw them out.

He collapsed on his bed. He'd lost weight and he knew he was a mess. He threw up most of what he ate, and he mostly just drank alcohol. He came down with a fever more often than not, and without Jim to take care of them for him he just let it rage through his body.

He reached up to the pillow on the left side of the bed and hugged it. It smelled like Jim, of his spicy cologne and Brian closed his eyes, burying his face in the pillow. Tears spilled from his eyes and he didn't bother keeping them in check. There was no one around to see them, anyway.

All of our memories so close to me just fade away
All this time you were pretending
So much for my happy ending
So much for my happy ending

It was three months before he managed to somewhat stop drinking. He didn't work and instead started to charge the guys he slept with. His nights at the bar increased from weekends to every other day to every night. They paid eagerly and he was reminded painfully that Jim used to tell him all the guys at the bar were staring at his ass, and that if Jim wasn't there they'd probably pay for a piece of it.

Brian laughed emptily at the irony of it. He used to be a cop that busted prostitutes. Now he was one. He grabbed the hundred-dollar bills and shoved them into his back pocket. He never stole from anyone he slept with, because it meant more business later. The last Benjamin seemed to pity him and he shoved it deep into his pocket. He let the man kiss him before he left.

He picked up a large bottle of Listerine on his way home. When he got home, he vomited until the acrid tang of stomach acid hit his tongue and then used the entire bottle of mouth wash to rinse his mouth out. His legs hurt, his hips hurt, his ass hurt, his stomach hurt, his throat hut and his mouth hurt, but most of all, his chest throbbed violently.

You've got your dumb friends
I know what they say
They tell you I'm difficult
But so are they

He saw Jim a month after, and whispers filled the bar. Jim Street was back on SWAT. He ignored the stab of betrayal and managed to act himself, but couldn't help but shake violently at the girl next to him. Jim's gaze on him was condescending and disapproving.

Brian wanted to grab him and demand how Jim could do this to him. Hadn't they been in love? Jim had always promised him forever, had always promised him happiness. How could the man that used to hold him, smile at him and laugh with him look at him as if he was a piece of trash?

He staggered away and his eyes caught the picture on the wall, of him and Jim smiling at the bar. He gripped the ashtray and slammed it into the picture. The hurt and hopelessness stayed, but the despair left him. Instead he was filled with fury and anger and he gripped his fists.

Fine. If Jim had all but forgotten them, then Brian wasn't going to mope around. He was going to blaze it across Jim's brain who he'd messed with, who Brian was. Because Jim Street might have been bigger, taller, stronger than him, but Brian Gamble was smarter.

But they don't know me
Do they even know you?
All the things you hide from me
All the shit that you do?

It didn't take long for him to gather around a few people who had beef with the SWAT team. The hardest part was picking out the smart ones, and all he had to do was go to bed with them for a bit of extra convincing and they were on board.

And then Montel came along and Brian couldn't help but smile. Things were just rolling perfectly. He was the one who planned it all, making everything smooth and flawless. Even if SWAT found out, they wouldn't be able to do anything about it. All he had to do was get an insider, and that was easy enough.

Seducing TJ was, to use the cliché, as easy as taking candy from a baby. He'd always known TJ eyed him, just as lusty as the men at the bars Jim had to quite literally chase away with a stick, and it didn't take long to woo TJ over.

TJ asked him, one night in bed, if he still loved Jim Street. Brian snorted at the question and instead coaxed TJ to hurry his pace. TJ didn't ask anything after that and Brian didn't mention it again. The next day, TJ told him all the preparations were ready, and handed him a high-caliber sniper gun.

You were all the things I thought I knew, and I thought we could be
You were everything, everything, that I wanted
We were meant to be, supposed to be, but we lost it

Jim was going to fall in love with Chris Sanchez. That much was almost obvious to Brian. He wasn't mad at her – she was almost the perfect woman for Jim. A female version of Brian himself. Strong, loud-mouthed, crass, bold and daring with a smirk on her face. He wondered if Jim knew how much she and Brian were alike, and he wondered if Jim knew that was who he was falling in love with. He wondered if Jim realized the ghost of Brian Gamble echoed inside Chris Sanchez.

He made every shot with perfect accuracy, like he always did. He used the sniper's scope to read the look on Jim's face. Do you recognize it, Jimmy? He thought, sitting up to go through the next phase of the plan. The only person who could hit a flying helicopter out of air, dead in its engines like that, is Brian Gamble.

Brian smiled sadly. If Jim had cared a little more about him, if he remembered, Brian should have been the first suspect to pop to Jim's head. He wondered if Jim remembered that Brian was the top in marksmanship in every class. He wondered if Jim remembered the job that had caused the separation in the first place, when he hit the woman in the shoulder exactly where he wanted to.

He highly doubted it. He stood and dusted his shirt off. He was going to embed himself in Jim's memory, and never let Jim forget him ever again.

All of our memories so close to me, just fade away
All this time you were pretending
So much for my happy ending

He played with his dog tags, sitting at the back of the van he was resting on. He tucked it inside his shirt as he walked to the van. Boxer. He didn't bother repressing the bile that rose in his emotions. Boxer, the very man who used to tell Jim that Brian was a dangerous cop, one who depended too heavily on his emotions and couldn't be trusted.

He drew his gun and fired. TJ screamed but he didn't care and instead smiled at Jim. Jimbo. My big cowboy. Jim stared at him with hatred and malice, but Brian didn't pull back at the daggers. His hand didn't hesitate to knock Jim down, and didn't brush for longer than they should have as they cuffed Jim to the steering wheel. Remember me, Jimmy. He looked back at Jim.

Their eyes met and for a fraction of a second Brian let his mask slip. I loved you, Jim. I still love you. He saw Jim's angry eyes widen and shake violently. His lips opened, as if he wanted to say something, but Brian only smiled sadly and he slipped underground.

He was aware the little pause would cause both Jim and the Sergeant to almost catch up to him, but that was everything he'd planned. He saw frustration and anger in Jim's eyes as the train pulled out of the station, but he did nothing to show the previous emotions he'd purposely let loose.

Setting the bomb was not to kill anyone, no matter what he had TJ believe, but as a message to Jim. Jim was an explosives expert and the very one who'd taught Brian to set trip wires. He was fully confident the wire wouldn't set anything off – Jim would catch it.

It was a message. Remember all our times together, Jim? Brian couldn't help but smile sadly down at the thin wire. You were the one who broke all the promises. Don't hold me responsible.

It's nice to know that you were there
Thanks for acting like you cared
And making me feel like I was the only one

He hadn't told anyone, but in the end he expected to die. He had planned it perfectly flawed that the SWAT team would catch up to him. He had delayed perfectly so that they'd catch up to him, that everything would go downward at the very last moment.

Brian Gamble was a lost cause. He'd known that since the moment he'd walked out on SWAT, had known that since the moment Jim betrayed him. He laughed to himself and the others in the plane looked at him as if he were insane. How ridiculously ironic, he thought as he tossed the phone and had the money wired to an account he'd prepared long beforehand.

The same account that would automatically wire the money to Jim's own bank account, months later, including all the money he'd made off selling himself. He wondered if Jim would ever understand, and wondered if it would ever matter as the gunshots rang.

He felt no guilt for all the people dead because of his plans, even as the plane caught on fire as he used the wire he'd prepared just for this cause to jump down to the train tracks below. Jim would follow him, he'd made sure of it.

And Jim Street would kill him. That was the plan.

It's nice to know we had it all
Thanks for watching as I fall
And letting me know we were done

Fighting, the adrenaline that came with it, and death, was a lot like sex. The rush that came with it, the need of it all was so similar. The French called orgasm "la petit mort," or "the little death." Brian didn't run away for a reason. He could have, on so many occasions, or hid so that Jim wouldn't be able to find him at all, but he stayed to fight.

He wondered if that was message enough to Jim that Brian wasn't planning to run, but doubted it. Jim was never a thinker on the field. He did as his instincts told him to, because Jim's instincts always told him to do the right thing. He was always the hero. There was once upon a time when they were heroes together.

Today, Brian would be the villain and Jim would be the hero, bigger than ever before. It was his last present to Jim, his best friend, boyfriend and fiancé who had always wanted to be.

He was everything, everything, that I wanted
We were meant to be, supposed to be, but we lost it

He wondered if Jim remembered their first day. He remembered it as if it'd happened yesterday. He remembered going to lunch with Jim, as they always had, except Jim had been a little flustered and nervous. Jim had asked him out quietly, without any fanfare or any special events. Brian had been shocked, of course – he'd never seen it coming. But Jim had quietly asked him to consider it, to consider all the years they'd been best friends and realize that they could have been more. That night Jim had kissed Brian, and everything had seemed to fall into place.

He wondered if Jim remembered all of it. He wanted to ask, but instead he stabbed a knife through Jim's hand.

All of the memories so close to me just fade away
All this time you were pretending
So much for my happy ending

He had been unsure, almost frightened of their relationship. What if people found out? Would they be fired? But Jim would hold him and tell him no one else mattered, and he believed it. And soon days had turns to weeks, weeks to months, and months had gradually added up until it had been their first anniversary.

People had naturally found out, but no one had said anything about it. Some had even thought they were already dating. He wondered if Jim remembered their first night in bed together, if Jim remembered panicking after Brian had started bleeding.

Hey, Jimmy, he wanted to ask, remember that you promised we'd get married once California legalized gay marriage? But he didn't. Because why would it matter?

He was going to die in a matter of seconds, anyway.

You were everything, everything, that I wanted
We were meant to be, supposed to be, but we lost it

Seconds right before you died were long. Everything seemed to be in slow motion, and he found himself dreading it, even though he'd planned it. He had a lot to say, he realized. He wanted to ask Jim if he remembered all his promises. He wanted to tell Jim good luck on his relationship with Sanchez. He wanted to tell Jim to live to the fullest. He wanted to tell Jim that he did this on purpose, so Jim would never forget him, and wanted to ask if Jim would be able to forgive him for being selfish, this one last time.

He wanted to tell Jim that Jim would get his happy ending, even if Brian himself hadn't, because Jim was a good guy. The very best. He wanted to ask Jim if he loved Brian at all even now, and he wanted to tell Jim he loved him.

But he didn't, wouldn't. Couldn't.

All of the memories so close to me just fade away
All this time you were pretending
So much for my happy ending
So much for my happy ending
So much for my happy ending

There it is, my second attempt at a songfic. Review?