I've decided to write a series of unrelated one shots to help clear my head while I work on Smoke and Mirrors. The title is from the Greek thanatos ("death") and the suffix -opsis (literally, "sight"); it has often been translated as "Meditation upon Death". It is a poem by William Cullen Bryant. Most of the oneshots won't be so angst!

Here's a depressing little oneshot that I've been meaning to write for a very long time. This one came about when I thought-what if Jane had been too late in Red John's Footsteps. Plus, I wanted to write something really depressing for the October challenge after my little fluffy entry. Slightly different style-it's meant to be a little choppy. Major Character Death-you have been warned! There is a line from Shakespeare's MacBeth in here as well.

Title: All We'd Ever Need
Author: Divinia Serit
Rating: T
Genre: Angst/HurtComfort
Spoilers: 1x23 Red John's Footsteps
Warning: Major Character Death, one bad word
Prompt: Frozen in Time, JelloForever October Challenge

"I should've been chasing you
I should've been trying to prove
That you were all that mattered to me"

-All We'd Ever Need, Lady Antebellum

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

He couldn't help but watch the lackadaisical water droplets trickle down the glass- blurring the world from the inside out. He envied the droplet's carefree path as it rolled this way and that way until it finally reached the windowsill and was absorbed into the parched wood. His gaze returned to the top of the pane as the cycle started over. It wasn't supposed to be this way.

He could feel the cool metal of the doorknob against his palm and he vaguely wondered how he came to be in front of the door. His free hand rose to caress the worn wood and he felt it splinter under his light touch. Another moment passed and he found himself outside. The night sky was clear save for the light precipitation that made no move to worsen from it's harmless state. It took him a moment to realize he was freezing.

He sank to his knees in the middle of the darkness and turned his face up to the sky. He could feel the chill in his bones, but he made no move to care. He was numb. Alone. Frozen in time like a fucked up snow globe devoid of a happy scene or a fairy tale ending. Instead, regret and despair fluttered around him every time it was shaken once more. His mouth opened in a silent scream.

The images wouldn't leave his head. Every time he closed his eyes he saw her. Her haunted expression. The way she slipped to the ground. The irony was that it never should have happened. That man never should have been able to get a hold of the gun. But he did. And that moment would forever echo in his mind. A mock hunt, he was forever on the wrong track- chasing the wrong thing while the fox happily ran to ground.

He trembled when he recalled the way her green eyes pleaded for him to say something. Anything. Her eyes searched his own as she drew in a shaky breath. He floundered, speechless for the first time in his life. She closed her eyes in resignation, accepting that this was all he could give. He wanted to laugh at the unfairness of it all. Not her. Never her.

A hysterical laugh bubbled up from his throat and he found himself back in front of the window. Outside looking in. Unworthy of the warmth inside. SMASH. His fist slammed through the window-bits of broken glass sparkling around him. He was hollow. His actions weren't his own. He was mesmerized by the blood as it trailed down the window. His quest for Red John seemed so futile. He was chasing the wrong thing.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Streaks of red rolling down the cracked edges. So many words left unspoken. He clawed at his throat for fear he would suffocate in the oppressive silence. She was gone. He reached down and picked up a shard of broken glass while kicking the rest off the porch. It glittered like snow as it fell. Clenching his fist, he felt the glass bite into his skin before he hurled it as far as it would go. He fell to his knees, unable to stop the heart wrenching sobs.

Both hands were bloody now. How figurative. There was always blood on his hands. A brief memory of high school English fluttered to the surface of his mind. Out, out damned spot. The guilt was eating him alive and he was losing his grasp on reality. It was too much. She was gone-the mantra that replayed in his head. She was gone and he was too late- frozen once again.