TITLE: TELL ME WHY
AUTHOR: Kiki Cabou
RATING: G
SUMMARY: Jimmy of the Lone Gunmen writes a letter to someone after the events of "Jump The Shark."
DISCLAIMER: Not mine, don't sue.
CATEGORY: Vignette/Angst
ARCHIVE: Yes, please. Just let me know where.
NOTES: I had to write this. Period. If it sucks, I'm sorry, but cut me a little slack. I'm grieving, here.
*** *** *** ***
"Tell Me Why"
*** *** *** ***
Dear God,
I have something to ask of you. A favor. I apologize in advanze for the spelling. (Spelling was never my strong suit.)
I don't know quite how to say it, but I'm looking for answers. My best friends … they died. We buried them at Arlington yesterday. Seems like everybody who was important to them was there, but I don't know. Nobody seemed to be crying. Like they got over it so quick.
I didn't.
I went home after the funeral and cried. Thank you for leaving Yves there with me, or I probably would have gotten drunk and done something really stupid. I'm glad she told me to call her Yves in stead of Lois. Lois just sounds weird on her.
When I stood there looking at the caskets, I just kept trying to wake up, hoping this was some kind of nightmare, or some kind of really bad prank, like they'd just walk up behind us and scare us and say, "Hey! We really had you fooled!" But you know what? They didn't. Nothing happened. Everything was so still and silent for a while, I thought I'd gone deaf.
I saw them die, God. They helped Yves catch this stupid guy who was carrying a round a fatal virus in his chest, and in order to trap him and contain it, they sent down some firewalls in a hallway and sealed themselves in with him. He burst open and died, and they got exposed to what was inside him. Yves and I got there too late. We touched hands, theirs on one side of the glass, mine on the other, and we said our goodbies. They didn't even look like they minded dying, but shit, I did. I minded it a whole lot.
Yves and I … we watched them die through the partition.
It wasn't quick, and it wasn't painless. It took them an hour. Frohike fainted first and started coughing up blood, and then Langley and Byers did the same. God, the way Byers was convulsing on the floor, his blue eyes so widddzz … Dang it, I'm getting the paper wet. The two of us, that's Yves and I, just stood there and pressed our hands to the glass and yelled that we loved them until we were hoarse and they were dead. We didn't know what else to do.
They were my heroes. They fought the good fight, they stood up for what they believed in, they never gave up, and they never sold out. They died because they did the right thing. They were also purists, I guess. No, wait, that's not right. They were idealists. That's the word. It means they had big dreams in spite of a tiny budget. They were my friends, and they cared enough about Yves to hock all their stuff so they could stay in their basement and help look for her when she was taken. We all took care of each other. They were good to me and her, and I believed in them. I won't stop believing in their dream. We had what really mattered.
Yves wants me to stop writing and go to bed now, so I guess I'll ask you that favor.
About them dying? …
Tell me why.
Yours Sincerely,
James Bond.
P.S: That's my given name. Call me "Jimmy" if you write back. Please write back.
***
To all those of you who broke down in tears when the Lone Gunmen died, keep your chins up. As long as we remember them, they're alive.
Byers: We will never forget your dream, your quest, your baby-blue eyes, or your innocence.
Frohike: You were tough as nails, and you went after what you wanted with grit, determination, and some fine sarcasm.
And Langley: "Don't let them say your hair's too long." Your Kung-Fu was the best, man.
Peace.
AUTHOR: Kiki Cabou
RATING: G
SUMMARY: Jimmy of the Lone Gunmen writes a letter to someone after the events of "Jump The Shark."
DISCLAIMER: Not mine, don't sue.
CATEGORY: Vignette/Angst
ARCHIVE: Yes, please. Just let me know where.
NOTES: I had to write this. Period. If it sucks, I'm sorry, but cut me a little slack. I'm grieving, here.
*** *** *** ***
"Tell Me Why"
*** *** *** ***
Dear God,
I have something to ask of you. A favor. I apologize in advanze for the spelling. (Spelling was never my strong suit.)
I don't know quite how to say it, but I'm looking for answers. My best friends … they died. We buried them at Arlington yesterday. Seems like everybody who was important to them was there, but I don't know. Nobody seemed to be crying. Like they got over it so quick.
I didn't.
I went home after the funeral and cried. Thank you for leaving Yves there with me, or I probably would have gotten drunk and done something really stupid. I'm glad she told me to call her Yves in stead of Lois. Lois just sounds weird on her.
When I stood there looking at the caskets, I just kept trying to wake up, hoping this was some kind of nightmare, or some kind of really bad prank, like they'd just walk up behind us and scare us and say, "Hey! We really had you fooled!" But you know what? They didn't. Nothing happened. Everything was so still and silent for a while, I thought I'd gone deaf.
I saw them die, God. They helped Yves catch this stupid guy who was carrying a round a fatal virus in his chest, and in order to trap him and contain it, they sent down some firewalls in a hallway and sealed themselves in with him. He burst open and died, and they got exposed to what was inside him. Yves and I got there too late. We touched hands, theirs on one side of the glass, mine on the other, and we said our goodbies. They didn't even look like they minded dying, but shit, I did. I minded it a whole lot.
Yves and I … we watched them die through the partition.
It wasn't quick, and it wasn't painless. It took them an hour. Frohike fainted first and started coughing up blood, and then Langley and Byers did the same. God, the way Byers was convulsing on the floor, his blue eyes so widddzz … Dang it, I'm getting the paper wet. The two of us, that's Yves and I, just stood there and pressed our hands to the glass and yelled that we loved them until we were hoarse and they were dead. We didn't know what else to do.
They were my heroes. They fought the good fight, they stood up for what they believed in, they never gave up, and they never sold out. They died because they did the right thing. They were also purists, I guess. No, wait, that's not right. They were idealists. That's the word. It means they had big dreams in spite of a tiny budget. They were my friends, and they cared enough about Yves to hock all their stuff so they could stay in their basement and help look for her when she was taken. We all took care of each other. They were good to me and her, and I believed in them. I won't stop believing in their dream. We had what really mattered.
Yves wants me to stop writing and go to bed now, so I guess I'll ask you that favor.
About them dying? …
Tell me why.
Yours Sincerely,
James Bond.
P.S: That's my given name. Call me "Jimmy" if you write back. Please write back.
***
To all those of you who broke down in tears when the Lone Gunmen died, keep your chins up. As long as we remember them, they're alive.
Byers: We will never forget your dream, your quest, your baby-blue eyes, or your innocence.
Frohike: You were tough as nails, and you went after what you wanted with grit, determination, and some fine sarcasm.
And Langley: "Don't let them say your hair's too long." Your Kung-Fu was the best, man.
Peace.