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Disclaimer: I don't own The Pretender or anything related to it. Craig and Steve, along with TNT and NBC own it. No money is being made and no infringement is intended. The song Tell Me It's Not True doesn't belong to me either.

Spoilers:
"Wake-Up"
Author's Notes: This came to me while listening to the song Tell Me It's Not True from some musical or another. Anyway, I know this is a bit off for me, since I never did like Thomas, but my muse attacked. I typed up the lyrics from the CD myself, going purely on sound, and my hearing isn't the best for this kind of thing. There may be a few mistakes within the song, and I apologize. This hasn't been beta’d, and it probably never will be. The only thing it's been subjected to is me and the horrible SpellCheck on my computer (which couldn't tell an 8 from a 9 to save itself And I’m actually not kidding. It really couldn’t tell the difference.). This is a missing scene, basically.

Summary: A smoke-filled bar is the perfect atmosphere for deep thoughts on the one you love, especially if he has just been brutally murdered by an unknown assailant.

Tell Me It’s Not True
by: chopsticks
p g - 1 3

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Tell me it's not true.
Say it's just a story;
Something on the news.
Tell me it's not true,
Though it's here before me.


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I need a drink. Or, more accurately, several. Something to "drown my sorrows in." I can just hear Jarod now: "That's not good for your ulcer and blah, blah, blah." Yeah, well, screw the ulcer and Jarod can die for all I care. I'm in pain here, and I'm damn well gonna drink as much as I want tonight.

I just lost someone near and dear to my heart. Yes, I have a heart. Does that shock you? Good, because it should.

Anyway, Tommy just died, and not of natural causes. I sniffle as I make my way down the barren sidewalk. He deserved so much more than I ever could have given him in life, but he still stayed. Now look what it got him. He's lying six feet under because of me. Everyone I love is six feet under because of me.

-----


Say it's just a dream.
Say it's just a scene
From an old movie of years ago
Say it's just some clowns
To play as in the limelight.
Bring the curtain down.


-----


I finally come across a bar in this Godforsaken town. I want nothing more than to run away from it all, but I know that I can't. So I resign myself to living here, taking in the local "culture," as it is. I yank the wood door open and am instantly attacked with the smell of cheap booze and bad cigarette smoke. Great.

But I still walk in, somewhat of my own accord. I walk up to the bar and order a double scotch on the rocks, my favorite. When the bartender finally moves his fat ass far enough to reach the scotch and actually make the drink for me, I grab it and head to the nearest booth. It's situated behind some kind of fake wall near the door—possibly one of those annoying dividers people seem to like so much. I don't really care. I down my scotch as soon as I sit down and order another one.

As I'm waiting, my thoughts drift back to Tommy. God, I love him and I never had the chance to tell him. He was taken from me, like so many others in my life. I'm starting to cry again—this time out in public. Typically, under normal circumstances, I would never even crack a smile in public. But if you consider these "normal circumstances," you are one sick mother.

The next scotch arrives, and I slowly sip this one. I remember the night when Tommy found me half-drunk on the couch after I had failed to bring Jarod in again. My father had berated me for that, as did dear little brother. Thomas held me so gently and was so sweet about it, even though I refused to tell him what was wrong. I close my eyes as the memory washes over me, wishing for days gone by.

-----


Say it's just two clowns
Who couldn't get their lives right.
Say it's just a show
On the radio
That we can turn over and start again.
That we can turn over;
It's only a game.


-----


Tommy was such a kind and understanding man. He didn't deserve the fate he got dished out. He deserved to live and have a family and grow old and so many other things. But now he won't have the chance, all because he was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

It's so ironic, really. My natural assumption would be that The Centre got him, but no, it was just some damn junkie who was too drunk out of his mind to know what the hell he was doing. I nearly killed that bastard earlier. If the cops had let me, I would have. I really would have. Choked the life right out of him. I hurl the glass across the room, half-smiling in satisfaction when I hear it crunch against the wall. That helped a little.

I turn back to the bar and order another drink, ignoring the looks from everyone else in the bar. The bartender hesitates, but I glare at him and he relents, bringing the drink to me. He's about to leave but I put my hand up and down the entire thing in one gulp. I swear his eyes get as big as platters when he sees that. I tell him to keep bringing them until I'm too drunk to see straight, and he obeys, going to get me more.

Good. I need something to dull this pain.

-----


Tell me it's not true
Say "I only dreamed it,
"And morning will come soon."
Tell me it's not true.
Say you didn't mean it.
Say it's just pretend.
Say it's just the end
Of an old movie from years ago.


-----


I'm sitting in this bar and crying again. Oh well. I figure something has to be done to honor Thomas's memory, so why not do something I never do: Cry in public for the millionth time today. In some ways I'm mad at myself for being so weak, but in others I'm mad at Tommy for leaving me. I know it's not his fault. He was just trying to protect us—no, me—from the burglar, but I can't help thinking that if he didn't go out there then this wouldn't have happened. If I had woken up, this might not have happened. If we had already gone to Portland, this wouldn't have happened.

If, if, if. . .

They say the ifs are the worst part of it all. I finally understand what they mean by that. The ifs are gnawing at me; destroying me from the inside out. I think they may just kill me, or at least bring me close to it. All the ifs about Thomas are gonna kill me. I chuckle wryly. Well, at least we'll be together again.

My thoughts drift back to a more generalized subject—Tommy. He was a good man, and I wish I had been able to tell him that. There are so many things I wish I had been able to tell him, but now I'll never have the chance. He's gone. Dead. I begin to cry again, not even bothering to wipe at the tears anymore.

Please God, tell me it's not true. . .

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Tell me it's not true.
Say you didn't mean it.
Say it's just pretend.
Say it's just the end
Of an old movie from years ago


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the end.

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