Wednesday, October 31, 2012

Grand Gestures and Day To Day Life: 6.6.1

A/N: Switching to Fi's POV for a bit. Getting out of prison, seeing Michael again. Want to start at the beginning? Click here.


Something is wrong. Fi's been dreaming of this moment, both literally and figuratively, for weeks now. And in none of them was Michael looking like that.

He's not smiling. He should be smiling. There should be a wide, happy, and most importantly, genuine, grin on his face.

Sam and Jesse aren't smiling, either. Somehow that's worse. It's possible Michael might just be too emotional to smile. It's happened before. She's seen him at times where he gets that sort of shut down look on his face just so he doesn't break down.

But that's not Jesse, and it's really not Sam.

They're also hanging back too far. She understands them hanging back some, letting Michael get the first hugs in, giving them a little privacy for their first touch in weeks, but they're too far back. They should be coming up, too. There should be hugs and jokes and congratulations and celebration.

There should be joy here.

He's holding her, and it's all she's wanted for weeks, the memory of it keeping her going, but this is different, it's too intense, too raw. There's an almost tremor to his touch, and he's holding on a bit too tight.

"I was beginning to think you didn't need me." Something has to break the tension.

"I need you now more than ever." That didn't sound good. His voice is wrong. Like his touch it's too raw, too intense, and Jesse and Sam are still standing by the Charger.  Still too far back. They should be coming up now.

Dread fills her as she asks, "Michael, what's wrong?"

His head presses against her shoulder, and she feels the almost tremor break into full on shaking. His tears are running over her shoulder, and she holds him, petting his back.

Finally Sam and Jesse come up.

She doesn't have to ask. Jesse tells her. "We got Anson. Actually, Nate got Anson. Found him, pulled his own gun on him, and had him waiting for us. We were walking toward them, all smiles and happy and then... Then some fucking asshole blew a hole through Anson, through Nate, through the goddamn steel sign behind Nate. The gun had to be the size of a fucking cannon. Anson's dead. Nate's"—He closes his eyes and inhales deeply, probably seeing it in his head again.—"dead." 

No comments:

Post a Comment