Post by candylandgal55 on Sept 25, 2005 17:37:49 GMT -5
Maintaining the Balance
Author: m&m
Fandom: Cold Case
Rating: PG
Spoilers: This is a post-ficlet to “The Woods” so it probably wouldn’t make any sense without having been spoiled by that particular episode.
Summary: After being held by a madman who held some of her demons in his hands and whispered their names aloud, Detective Lilly Rush struggles to reclaim ‘the balance.’
Author's Note: My muse has never been one with writing procedural fiction, and I know that's really the most fitting type of fiction writing for Cold Case. My muse likes wordy, introspective, not-so-much-on-the-dialogue dictation, which I hope no one will mind.
Her hand betrayed her, trembling slightly despite the iron grip that she had on the cheap paper cup that held only the cold remains of a bitter cup of coffee. Though the movement of the cup was barely perceptible, she was surrounded by detectives designed to instantly find the needle in the haystack with power of observation alone, and she felt both obvious and exposed, sure that it did not go unnoticed.
Surely they had seen it, just as surely as they had seen the little girl that she had been inside for that briefest of seconds before she reached out to grip the ice cold numbness again, before she rebuilt the wall of cold stone once again that she lived behind.
The measure of time didn’t matter. Each tell was a second too long, a second of far too much revelation. She had been taught long ago that any show of weakness was the not-so-mythical doorway that bridged this world to that of monsters and the darker side of humanity. Any show of vulnerability was an invitation to a person to move too close, to come inside, to learn the secrets that could one day be used against a soul, to turn it inside out all over again.
The room was so silent; they were all so still. Watchful. Concerned. Sympathetic to what she might have gone through in the dark attic and all the secrets that had been tucked away in that house of horrors.
Her heart squeezed in tightened beats as she wondered what it said about her, that the tense situation in the Marks’ house almost felt more familiar than the crushing weight of unspoken feeling that was emanating from the group of people surrounding her now. She didn’t know what to do with it, knew only self-preservation and self-protection---that made sense. Their respectful silence, their quick glances with searching eyes were burning into her surround of ice, caving her world in on itself.
She put her coffee cup down on the desk, on top of one of Scotty’s old coffee rings as if it were a placeholder left there for just that purpose, some small way that she could regain order, the proper place for all things, the rightful design for everything.
Lieu took a step towards her, and she unconsciously took a step back to keep the balance she needed, even while some part of her screamed that she was resisting the very closeness, comfort, and reassurance that it was craving.
"Lil, we don’t have to do this tonight. Reports can wait, it's late, been a tough day…"
She wanted to fold to his suggestion; she longed to leave the interview questions, the notes, and any more thought about what happened in that attic within those four walls, trapped in some steel guarded cage inside of herself for a little longer. Lilly didn’t want to give them any more life tonight, any more room to breathe, to move, to grow, to deepen, or to spread out in cold shadow.
She did not want to hear George’s words again, did not want to acknowledge his taunts, his definition, his implication that they were 'the same' in any sense, not for any reason, as she ran back over the night in her head.
Lilly knew that she could put it down in paper in cold, hard, unfeeling details, answering just with the typical things necessary to answer the desires of a closed case form---the who, what, when, why, and hows of it all---but that answering every question aloud would come with its own stamp, its own whispers, the ones that she would hear deep in the heart of her that would satisfy and fulfill no blank space on some official report.
The notes of this night could not be simply filed away; they would be hers to carry close to her heart forever. Locking them out just a little longer was what she ached to do, but then the eyes that surrounded her would know, they would see, so many things that she guarded so well would suddenly be held, if even just another moment, behind a glass wall all too transparent.
"Nah, Lieu, those people on that wall, the ones whose lives he stole…they’ve waited long enough to see their killer put to rest, don’t you think?"
She heard Scotty exhale the breath that he had held pent-up beside her until that comment that seemed to set it all right, that told her that she had answered...right. Nobody knew what to do with that flash of weakness that they had witnessed out on the lawn, in front of the attic window where it all took place, the moonlight bearing bold witness to it all.
They knew how to handle it when she retreated back behind iron will and a wall of ice. Now Valens, Jeffries, Vera, and maybe even Lieu could convince themselves that everything would be okay.
Lieu reached out a hand to beckon her into his office.
"Just you and I, then. I think we can fill in all of the blanks, close this one up."
"I’m sure of it," she answered, staring hard once again at the stale coffee ring before staunchly meeting his eyes.
"The rest of you, why don’t you go on home, get some rest, huh?"
None of the squad detectives in the room made a move to leave just yet, and they all just stepped aside as she walked by. As she walked past her partner, she sensed that he wanted to say something, saw his hand tensed as if to reach out and do something---pat her shoulder, perhaps---but instead he just nodded as she walked by.
As she walked into the lieutenant’s office, her hip seemed to ache without the familiar weight of her gun, while the weight of things to hide away seemed that much greater, but at least some state of true balance had been achieved once again.
--End--
Author: m&m
Fandom: Cold Case
Rating: PG
Spoilers: This is a post-ficlet to “The Woods” so it probably wouldn’t make any sense without having been spoiled by that particular episode.
Summary: After being held by a madman who held some of her demons in his hands and whispered their names aloud, Detective Lilly Rush struggles to reclaim ‘the balance.’
Author's Note: My muse has never been one with writing procedural fiction, and I know that's really the most fitting type of fiction writing for Cold Case. My muse likes wordy, introspective, not-so-much-on-the-dialogue dictation, which I hope no one will mind.
Her hand betrayed her, trembling slightly despite the iron grip that she had on the cheap paper cup that held only the cold remains of a bitter cup of coffee. Though the movement of the cup was barely perceptible, she was surrounded by detectives designed to instantly find the needle in the haystack with power of observation alone, and she felt both obvious and exposed, sure that it did not go unnoticed.
Surely they had seen it, just as surely as they had seen the little girl that she had been inside for that briefest of seconds before she reached out to grip the ice cold numbness again, before she rebuilt the wall of cold stone once again that she lived behind.
The measure of time didn’t matter. Each tell was a second too long, a second of far too much revelation. She had been taught long ago that any show of weakness was the not-so-mythical doorway that bridged this world to that of monsters and the darker side of humanity. Any show of vulnerability was an invitation to a person to move too close, to come inside, to learn the secrets that could one day be used against a soul, to turn it inside out all over again.
The room was so silent; they were all so still. Watchful. Concerned. Sympathetic to what she might have gone through in the dark attic and all the secrets that had been tucked away in that house of horrors.
Her heart squeezed in tightened beats as she wondered what it said about her, that the tense situation in the Marks’ house almost felt more familiar than the crushing weight of unspoken feeling that was emanating from the group of people surrounding her now. She didn’t know what to do with it, knew only self-preservation and self-protection---that made sense. Their respectful silence, their quick glances with searching eyes were burning into her surround of ice, caving her world in on itself.
She put her coffee cup down on the desk, on top of one of Scotty’s old coffee rings as if it were a placeholder left there for just that purpose, some small way that she could regain order, the proper place for all things, the rightful design for everything.
Lieu took a step towards her, and she unconsciously took a step back to keep the balance she needed, even while some part of her screamed that she was resisting the very closeness, comfort, and reassurance that it was craving.
"Lil, we don’t have to do this tonight. Reports can wait, it's late, been a tough day…"
She wanted to fold to his suggestion; she longed to leave the interview questions, the notes, and any more thought about what happened in that attic within those four walls, trapped in some steel guarded cage inside of herself for a little longer. Lilly didn’t want to give them any more life tonight, any more room to breathe, to move, to grow, to deepen, or to spread out in cold shadow.
She did not want to hear George’s words again, did not want to acknowledge his taunts, his definition, his implication that they were 'the same' in any sense, not for any reason, as she ran back over the night in her head.
Lilly knew that she could put it down in paper in cold, hard, unfeeling details, answering just with the typical things necessary to answer the desires of a closed case form---the who, what, when, why, and hows of it all---but that answering every question aloud would come with its own stamp, its own whispers, the ones that she would hear deep in the heart of her that would satisfy and fulfill no blank space on some official report.
The notes of this night could not be simply filed away; they would be hers to carry close to her heart forever. Locking them out just a little longer was what she ached to do, but then the eyes that surrounded her would know, they would see, so many things that she guarded so well would suddenly be held, if even just another moment, behind a glass wall all too transparent.
"Nah, Lieu, those people on that wall, the ones whose lives he stole…they’ve waited long enough to see their killer put to rest, don’t you think?"
She heard Scotty exhale the breath that he had held pent-up beside her until that comment that seemed to set it all right, that told her that she had answered...right. Nobody knew what to do with that flash of weakness that they had witnessed out on the lawn, in front of the attic window where it all took place, the moonlight bearing bold witness to it all.
They knew how to handle it when she retreated back behind iron will and a wall of ice. Now Valens, Jeffries, Vera, and maybe even Lieu could convince themselves that everything would be okay.
Lieu reached out a hand to beckon her into his office.
"Just you and I, then. I think we can fill in all of the blanks, close this one up."
"I’m sure of it," she answered, staring hard once again at the stale coffee ring before staunchly meeting his eyes.
"The rest of you, why don’t you go on home, get some rest, huh?"
None of the squad detectives in the room made a move to leave just yet, and they all just stepped aside as she walked by. As she walked past her partner, she sensed that he wanted to say something, saw his hand tensed as if to reach out and do something---pat her shoulder, perhaps---but instead he just nodded as she walked by.
As she walked into the lieutenant’s office, her hip seemed to ache without the familiar weight of her gun, while the weight of things to hide away seemed that much greater, but at least some state of true balance had been achieved once again.
--End--
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