Let Her Cry
Let her cry… if the tears fall down like rain.
Let her sing… if it eases all her pain.
Let her go… let her walk right out on me.
And if the sun comes up tomorrow, let her be.
Let her be.
Fiona Glenanne is not a woman who cries often.
She sees many people cry in her line of work, mostly women. And to their credit they often have a legitimate reason. But still, she herself sees very little need for tears. Tears only make it more difficult to see out of the scope of whatever assault rifle is needed for the particular problem.
And yet here she stands, right inside her door, with tears slowly forming in the corners of her eyes.
She sees the past few hours in her mind much like a movie director would while making the final cuts to a production. Every detail played over and over again, cutting out the unimportant parts, zooming in on facial expressions and action scenes.
She feels as if she was never really there and only now can control what she saw with the simple commands of the remote control.
She sees the bullet go through Michael's body, his face twisted in pain and shock.
She sees Jesse as he rises up out of the tall grass.
She sees herself, can still feel the breath go out of her lungs and her heart seems to stop mid beat.
But she does not cry.
Fast forward to when Michael is taken into the SUV. Then slow motion as it flips over. She sees Michael pull himself from the wreckage, his shirt soaked with blood.
For some reason she recalls thinking about Jesse in that moment. She wondered where he was and if he was okay. She remembers wanting to see him right then, although she wasn't sure if she was looking for his calming presence, or to put a bullet in him, right where he had shot Michael.
Somehow she remembers her and Sam working together to get Michael out of there. She doesn't recall ever seeing any of the other men in the firefight. Fiona knows that Michael would be disappointed in her for not paying more attention to her surroundings, but then again her track record with gun-shot wounds is a lot better than his so maybe he needs to pay more attention to his surroundings and who he's surrounding himself with.
The next thing she remembers is the clinic. Sam must have called David in for a favor. After all, we did save the clinic from those heroin smuggling low lifes. But still, he doesn't look happy. He's going to have to find a way to explain using blood for the transfusion, and 'gun-shot wound' is not a viable option. Michael's entire visit to the clinic needs to remain undocumented because with Michael, it's always less is more. The less information about him that's on paper is equivalent to the more heartbeats he will have in his life.
The procedure seemed to take forever. She sees herself pacing as Sam sits with his face in his hands. She tries to count how many times she crossed the room but she lost count at thirty-three. As Fiona watches herself in this situation she thinks that, under the circumstances, she looks relatively calm. When she finally stops pacing and sits next to Sam her face remains relatively neutral. She merely sits silently while Sam nervously taps his foot. Fiona thinks that she should have hit him for such an annoying gesture and briefly wonders why she didn't.
Finally they went in to see him.
Suddenly Maddie was there beside her. She thinks that Sam must have called her and told her what happened.
Everyone is talking but for the life of her Fiona can't remember what was said. All she saw in that room was the steady fall and rise of Michael's chest. He was going to be okay.
"I'll stay with him tonight."
Fiona thinks that it should have been her to say those words but instead it's Michael's mother.
She remembers thinking that there were plenty of other things she could do instead. After all, she doesn't want to seem too worried and Maddie would call her if anything happened.
And now she is home. But as she stands just inside her door, listening to the calm and silence of her home, she lets the events of the day sink in, in full clarity. She relives the events, no longer as an outside observer but as herself. Every feeling that had been suppressed, every emotion that had been fought down, every tear that had been held back, now boils to the surface.
It starts slowly, with a tear or two, but then she feels the anger towards Jesse and Vaughn, the fear for Michael and the slew of other emotions swirling around her trembling form. The room beings to blur as more and more tears start to crawl down her face, gaining speed and numbers as the seconds pass.
The emotions bear down on her, she feels their weight and tries to resist but the intensity of the emotions and feelings of the day push her head and shoulders so hard she sinks to her knees.
She cries out at the pain radiating from her knees and legs but that momentary loss of control will cost her.
Within moments her hands are down on the floor trying to stabilize herself and her now rapid breathing. She is all out sobbing now as her emotions push her further to the floor and she curls up into the fetal position and lets out a weak cry.
"Just stop!" she wails.
As she continues to sob she doesn't know what she wants to stop.
The crying? Well, probably but she thinks it may be more than that.
Time, perhaps? That's probably more likely.
If time stops maybe she will have time to catch her breath, calm her rapidly beating heart.
She just needs a few minutes, just a few minutes to think through everything that has happened today, every unknown feeling.
But she cannot stop time, and it seems she can't stop sobbing.
And so it seems she is left to lie on her foyer floor.
And all she can do is cry.
Author's Note: This is a oneshot and only a oneshot.