Bones

Jamie sits, as he usually does, in the overstuffed arm chair. The bay-style windows are all open, allowing a soft breeze to flow through the room. Jamie is sitting, as he usually does, with a blanket half falling off his shoulders, bleach blond hair ratty and tangled and falling over his shoulders. Nick likes this spot, mostly because he can keep an eye on Jamie from the kitchen while he’s cooking or watching TV in there, because when Jamie’s on his fluffy throne, One Must Not Touch the Television. (Usually, when he’s out here he’s reading and the white noise of strangers talking bothers him, and Nick is more than happy to have to read the closed captions on the cooking channel is it means Jamie’s Doing Something. But today is a little different.

Jamie’s got his knees to his chest, chin resting on them, and his left hand is stretched out to eye level. He’s humming softly to himself words that aren’t there, his fingers dancing up and down as if he was playing the piano or performing a coin trick on his knuckles. Nick watches for a while, eyes darting back and forth from the small television to his brother, and for the longest time he doesn’t notice what Jamie’s doing with his hands. When he does, he brushes it off, because Jamie has always been odd, even in the Before Era.

But an hour later, after the Xena rerun is over and Lucy Lawless has killed Grendell and saved Renee O’Connor and the lesbian lovefest is over, he glances back and Jamie is in the exact same position, fingers dancing as he plays the different chords of a nearly silent song over and over and over.

Nick’s heart drops into his gut.

He pushes himself off his chair softly and creeps closer, his ear’s trying to recognize the song his brother’s humming but it’s just beyond touch. For five minutes Nick crouches in front of Jamie, but not once do Jamie’s eyes wander from his own fingers nor do they pull into focus or recognize that Nick is even there, nor the hand waves in front of Jamie’s face.

Nick swallows the anxiety rising in his stomach, churning with the gut wrenching fear that makes him feel like he’s going to be sick. He can’t call Jamie’s mom, he can’t call his dad, and really, after that there’s no one left anymore because Jamie killed Nick, metaphorically speaking at least. So instead Nick just sits in the arm chair across from Jamie, and watches until Jamie suddenly stops what he’s doing, blinks, unfolds himself from his cocoon while in the process of feeling around his mess of blankets for what is most likely a book or a lighter.

Nick doesn’t say anything about what he just watched, and Jamie doesn’t acknowledge that anything’s happened at all.

It doesn’t hit Nick until later that Jamie just lost time.

And when it does hit, Nick promptly runs to the bathroom, and confesses his sins to Jamie’s God.

This does not bode well.

Together we will live forever.