Post by jambled on Sept 17, 2006 20:01:46 GMT -5
Woods ending moments fic. I absolutely loved this episode. Stillman’s POV. Oneshot.
Oh. God. She was still there. Still standing, shooters stance, eyes facing the crumpled wreck across the room. Her white shirt was still white, no blossoms of blood ruining the fabric. Eyes open wide, deep blue, shining despite the dim light. Her breath was the only thing that moved her as her chest heaved, ordered the impossible task to gather air in the stuffy room.
The only blood lay across the room, pooling around the motionless figure. He’d let go of the gun as he fell and it lay just far enough away from his outstretched arm for Stillman to feel safe.
He radioed out that it was safe, and could almost feel Scotty through the airwaves, eager to ascend the rickety staircase, come to her Instead, he ordered up uniforms who didn’t know her, who wouldn’t witness her this motionless, this broken.
It was the flashes from the camera that finally reanimated her. It was protocol to remove a gun from a police shooter immediately, but Stillman had foregone this particular rule and left the gun in her hand, clasped loosely in the cold fingers. She seemed to come back to life, breathe a little slower as she handed her weapon to him. Her fingers slipped past his hand for the barest second, but he couldn’t feel the same tremble he felt in his own hand.
She took herself around to the side of the house, looking up at the basement window where flashes illuminated the inside every few seconds, like internal lightning. He didn’t know what thoughts would be crossing her mind, or how much pain George, king of psychological warfare, had managed to bring to her surface.
The team made their way out, stopped far enough from her to give her the space she needed. Some people would desire comfort in the form of closeness; Lilly was always the type to keep her distance. She seemed to sense them there, without hearing them, and turned her face. There was a weariness there, a sadness that hadn’t been there when they’d left her at the office but that would she would probably always carry with her now. Her eyes were deep, fathomless, glimmering with the acknowledgment of tears that would probably remain unshed.
She walked past them slowly but steadily, eyes never quite meeting any of them, holster empty. They turned in single file to follow her, this vivid blonde leader in white who had nearly died tonight.
Stillman clapped Scotty on the shoulder, acknowledging the raw fear that both of them had been holding since George had answered Lilly’s phone, cocked the gun in their ear. Then they, too, followed the leader.
Finit.
Oh. God. She was still there. Still standing, shooters stance, eyes facing the crumpled wreck across the room. Her white shirt was still white, no blossoms of blood ruining the fabric. Eyes open wide, deep blue, shining despite the dim light. Her breath was the only thing that moved her as her chest heaved, ordered the impossible task to gather air in the stuffy room.
The only blood lay across the room, pooling around the motionless figure. He’d let go of the gun as he fell and it lay just far enough away from his outstretched arm for Stillman to feel safe.
He radioed out that it was safe, and could almost feel Scotty through the airwaves, eager to ascend the rickety staircase, come to her Instead, he ordered up uniforms who didn’t know her, who wouldn’t witness her this motionless, this broken.
It was the flashes from the camera that finally reanimated her. It was protocol to remove a gun from a police shooter immediately, but Stillman had foregone this particular rule and left the gun in her hand, clasped loosely in the cold fingers. She seemed to come back to life, breathe a little slower as she handed her weapon to him. Her fingers slipped past his hand for the barest second, but he couldn’t feel the same tremble he felt in his own hand.
She took herself around to the side of the house, looking up at the basement window where flashes illuminated the inside every few seconds, like internal lightning. He didn’t know what thoughts would be crossing her mind, or how much pain George, king of psychological warfare, had managed to bring to her surface.
The team made their way out, stopped far enough from her to give her the space she needed. Some people would desire comfort in the form of closeness; Lilly was always the type to keep her distance. She seemed to sense them there, without hearing them, and turned her face. There was a weariness there, a sadness that hadn’t been there when they’d left her at the office but that would she would probably always carry with her now. Her eyes were deep, fathomless, glimmering with the acknowledgment of tears that would probably remain unshed.
She walked past them slowly but steadily, eyes never quite meeting any of them, holster empty. They turned in single file to follow her, this vivid blonde leader in white who had nearly died tonight.
Stillman clapped Scotty on the shoulder, acknowledging the raw fear that both of them had been holding since George had answered Lilly’s phone, cocked the gun in their ear. Then they, too, followed the leader.
Finit.
