Hey everyone, so I understand that most of te never read a fanfic of CM, so I thought that I could post one o two here ;) I could give te the links but I think that Leggere here is so much fun. Anyway I DID NOT wrote this, Mr Super Czar on FanFiction.net did. I hope te like it.
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I've been roaming around
Always looking down at all I see
Painted faces, fill the places I can’t reach
The neon danced lightly across her skin as she walked slowly down the moonlight street. People with names and faces she didn’t know o recognize passed her da without so much as a secondo glance. The occasional person would nudge her shoulder as she went da but besides that, she was just another invisible face in the crowd. She couldn’t remember how long she had been out for but it couldn’t have been più than a couple of hours. In truth, she did not know where she was planning on going so she just went wherever her feet took her.
Somehow, her feet took her to a bar just off the Main strada, via of Virginia. The neon in the glass tubing puttered like a sick mans heart, giving out and then flickering on again. Stepping inside the dingy biker bar, she breathed in deeply and inhaled the oddly comforting smell of cigarettes and alcohol with just a hint of pool chalk dust.
She walked across the sticky laminate floor that was scuffed and peeling in some places to the solid wooden bar with a gilded bar attached on. She leaned inoltrare, avanti for a secondo on her arms as she dropped into a stool. She signed to the bartender for a scotch. He obliged.
You know that I could use somebody
te know that I could use somebody
Another case, another city, another victim. It was all the same to her now. Every victim had the same blank dead eyes. Every crime scene was the alleyway o pristine house with exception of the spatters of blood that decorated it. Every officer was the same stubborn cop. She was no exception to this rule.
She cleared her throat ever so slightly as the amber liquid travelled to her stomach, leaving in its wake a burning sensation and then an all too familiar warmth. She closed her eyes for a moment, relishing in the miniscule secondo of pain that let her know that she was still here; alive for the present.
God, she needed a break. Just a week o even a day; a giorno to herself, a giorno to allow for the most trivial thing she could think of. Just a giorno to make sure that she was still human. She almost chuckled.
She hadn’t been human in a while. The thick skin she had once had had disappeared somewhere between Georgia and Colorado. Lost somewhere between Henkel and Cyrus. She shuddered as she remembered the explosion and the dread of not knowing if morgan and Reid had made it out in time.
Someone like you, and all te know, and how te speak
Countless innamorati under cover of the street
Morgan. Another dilemma she was forced to dwell endlessly on. It had become a ‘will they, won’t they’ situation between them now and it was getting on her last nerve. It seemed that now they were together and then apart, and then together and then apart, and now… Well, now she didn’t know what they were doing.
You know that I could use somebody
te know that I could use somebody
Behind her, the campana, bell above the door tinkled and shook her from her reverie that had at some point turned her eyes glassy and glazed over. She paid for her drink and left the dingy hole in the wall. As the cold night chill bit through her thin cappotto and to her arms, a small amount of self destructive curiosity overcame her.
Some odd part of her actually wished that he was here. She shook her head. Somehow her thoughts seemed counter-productive.
Someone like you
As she passed another nameless bar in a più classy part of town that was not too far from her apartment, she spotted a face in the crowd through the window. It was him. There he was standing, in all his glory, talking to some young blonde who was laughing, all the while shamelessly sliding her leg along his. For a secondo she felt like screaming, but stopped herself before her shout escaped. She sighed heavily. She had no right to be jealous at all.
Off in the night, while te live it up, I'm off to sleep
Waging wars to shape the poet and the beat
She reached her apartment – keys poised - but was surprised to find the door already ajar. It seemed someone had non-too-lightly forced the door open with a crowbar. As she pushed the door open with the barrel of her gun, she nearly cried at the sight that rushed up to greet her.
Her divano had been ripped to shreds; her lamp smashed and the shade ripped apart; her Televisione was gone, as was her stereo. Her DVD player was non-existent and along with it her collection of African art that had once lined the walls. She cringed as she saw this latest humiliation. Her mother had spent three hundred thousand dollars on those paintings. Now they were probably being sold for fifty bucks at the local pawn shop. She sighed heavily and slammed the door shut.
She was exactly overjoyed as she heard it creak and bounce back. Turning she pushed on it with all her weight to no avail. Eventually she just ended up pushing the remainder of her divano against the door and putting on the chain.
I hope it's gonna make te notice
I hope it's gonna make te notice
She went to check her messages after assessing the damage done to her apartment, but no – wait – the burglars had taken that too. Why take an answering machine? She asked herself as she tried fruitlessly to tidy the remainders of her apartment. Her cell phone chimed happily in her pocket, drawing a glowering look from the FBI agent. She answered; and was surprised to find that it was morgan on the other end.
He asked if she wanted to unisciti him for a drink. She told him what happened. And then suddenly he was at the door, knocking lightly on the thrashed frame.
Someone like me
Someone like me
Someone like me, somebody
Someone like you, somebody
Someone like you, somebody
Someone like you, somebody
I've been roaming around,
Always looking down at all I see
And then she was back walking the street, just another invisible face in the mass. The neon danced once più but with less vigor than it once did. She walked again for countless hours, wrapped in her own inner conflict and completely oblivious to the world. She ended back up at the same bar, just another customer. And that’s when she knew. That was when she knew she was no longer a human being. Numb is as numb does.
-------------------------------------------------
I've been roaming around
Always looking down at all I see
Painted faces, fill the places I can’t reach
The neon danced lightly across her skin as she walked slowly down the moonlight street. People with names and faces she didn’t know o recognize passed her da without so much as a secondo glance. The occasional person would nudge her shoulder as she went da but besides that, she was just another invisible face in the crowd. She couldn’t remember how long she had been out for but it couldn’t have been più than a couple of hours. In truth, she did not know where she was planning on going so she just went wherever her feet took her.
Somehow, her feet took her to a bar just off the Main strada, via of Virginia. The neon in the glass tubing puttered like a sick mans heart, giving out and then flickering on again. Stepping inside the dingy biker bar, she breathed in deeply and inhaled the oddly comforting smell of cigarettes and alcohol with just a hint of pool chalk dust.
She walked across the sticky laminate floor that was scuffed and peeling in some places to the solid wooden bar with a gilded bar attached on. She leaned inoltrare, avanti for a secondo on her arms as she dropped into a stool. She signed to the bartender for a scotch. He obliged.
You know that I could use somebody
te know that I could use somebody
Another case, another city, another victim. It was all the same to her now. Every victim had the same blank dead eyes. Every crime scene was the alleyway o pristine house with exception of the spatters of blood that decorated it. Every officer was the same stubborn cop. She was no exception to this rule.
She cleared her throat ever so slightly as the amber liquid travelled to her stomach, leaving in its wake a burning sensation and then an all too familiar warmth. She closed her eyes for a moment, relishing in the miniscule secondo of pain that let her know that she was still here; alive for the present.
God, she needed a break. Just a week o even a day; a giorno to herself, a giorno to allow for the most trivial thing she could think of. Just a giorno to make sure that she was still human. She almost chuckled.
She hadn’t been human in a while. The thick skin she had once had had disappeared somewhere between Georgia and Colorado. Lost somewhere between Henkel and Cyrus. She shuddered as she remembered the explosion and the dread of not knowing if morgan and Reid had made it out in time.
Someone like you, and all te know, and how te speak
Countless innamorati under cover of the street
Morgan. Another dilemma she was forced to dwell endlessly on. It had become a ‘will they, won’t they’ situation between them now and it was getting on her last nerve. It seemed that now they were together and then apart, and then together and then apart, and now… Well, now she didn’t know what they were doing.
You know that I could use somebody
te know that I could use somebody
Behind her, the campana, bell above the door tinkled and shook her from her reverie that had at some point turned her eyes glassy and glazed over. She paid for her drink and left the dingy hole in the wall. As the cold night chill bit through her thin cappotto and to her arms, a small amount of self destructive curiosity overcame her.
Some odd part of her actually wished that he was here. She shook her head. Somehow her thoughts seemed counter-productive.
Someone like you
As she passed another nameless bar in a più classy part of town that was not too far from her apartment, she spotted a face in the crowd through the window. It was him. There he was standing, in all his glory, talking to some young blonde who was laughing, all the while shamelessly sliding her leg along his. For a secondo she felt like screaming, but stopped herself before her shout escaped. She sighed heavily. She had no right to be jealous at all.
Off in the night, while te live it up, I'm off to sleep
Waging wars to shape the poet and the beat
She reached her apartment – keys poised - but was surprised to find the door already ajar. It seemed someone had non-too-lightly forced the door open with a crowbar. As she pushed the door open with the barrel of her gun, she nearly cried at the sight that rushed up to greet her.
Her divano had been ripped to shreds; her lamp smashed and the shade ripped apart; her Televisione was gone, as was her stereo. Her DVD player was non-existent and along with it her collection of African art that had once lined the walls. She cringed as she saw this latest humiliation. Her mother had spent three hundred thousand dollars on those paintings. Now they were probably being sold for fifty bucks at the local pawn shop. She sighed heavily and slammed the door shut.
She was exactly overjoyed as she heard it creak and bounce back. Turning she pushed on it with all her weight to no avail. Eventually she just ended up pushing the remainder of her divano against the door and putting on the chain.
I hope it's gonna make te notice
I hope it's gonna make te notice
She went to check her messages after assessing the damage done to her apartment, but no – wait – the burglars had taken that too. Why take an answering machine? She asked herself as she tried fruitlessly to tidy the remainders of her apartment. Her cell phone chimed happily in her pocket, drawing a glowering look from the FBI agent. She answered; and was surprised to find that it was morgan on the other end.
He asked if she wanted to unisciti him for a drink. She told him what happened. And then suddenly he was at the door, knocking lightly on the thrashed frame.
Someone like me
Someone like me
Someone like me, somebody
Someone like you, somebody
Someone like you, somebody
Someone like you, somebody
I've been roaming around,
Always looking down at all I see
And then she was back walking the street, just another invisible face in the mass. The neon danced once più but with less vigor than it once did. She walked again for countless hours, wrapped in her own inner conflict and completely oblivious to the world. She ended back up at the same bar, just another customer. And that’s when she knew. That was when she knew she was no longer a human being. Numb is as numb does.