Disclaimer: You know what I'm going to say here - I own nothing to do with Forbrydelsen [The Killing].
A/N (Please read): Tell me if the rating isn't right - I think it's still a T, but I'm not entirely sure. Also.. Just to emphasise, this is a Forbrydelsen (first series) fic. It's not based off the American version of The Killing (though it could still work with it, I have no idea), but the Danish one. I had only watched not much more than five episodes (I think) of it when I wrote this.. It's set at least after they see Nanna at the morgue (around the time Theis stops for screen wash then goes to the restroom.. does that ring a bell? xD;). I might have taken a couple of minor liberties with this fic (I really don't know..), but I wanted to even just attempt to put the grief that the actors portrayed so powerfully into words. ...But yeah. I'll stop rambling now!
Beautiful. That was how Pernille had described her, during the drive home from seeing their daughter.
He agreed. He would never deny that. Even then, watching as she lay there, silent, undisturbed by the prying eyes of the world. She had always been beautiful, always, and still her hair was wild with those curls, silken and aglow as the light hit them.. Features ever fair, an echo of her mother (thankfully) more than him – though even more than that, uniquely brilliant in a way that only she could be. ..And right then, they had been softened in some semblance of peace.
She could've been asleep. Resting, and it took him back to years ago (shorter and so much further away than they seemed) when she was young (just young, not too young) and he was looking down at her after tucking her in.. Story book to one side and lean down kissing her goodnight; sleep tight, my little angel-
How time flew by.
And how it dragged these days, even in a van in a busy, lonely road. He'd joked about being her chauffeur once, as she got older and started threatening to grow up. Always here and there and everywhere, though in hindsight it hadn't been that much (not enough), really. She hadn't wanted it to be that way, eager to do this and that and fly off far far out of sight away from her parents as she could possibly manage.
Teenagers, he'd scoffed, but it was entirely expected. ..Mostly, entirely expected.
He had expected him and Pernille to have to drive God knows where out to where she was eventually – a University, perhaps (and it would have been the best one for her, he'd have made sure-).. Anywhere, just...
Not the morgue.
Not the morgue, to see her.. Like that.
And she'd looked beautiful. Really she had, and as always.. But..
Her hair was wild with curls – a mess, but an immaculate one. Wild but not free and unruly and she wasn't complaining about them.. Fair features – smooth skin, never this pale; never this cold – and her soft expression.. Peaceful expression...
An ethereal picture, beauty to the point of perfection. But his daughter wasn't perfect – nobody was, though she was beautiful, she was incredible because of her spirit and her life and her laughter and her yelling and her annoyance at his protectiveness and her making fun of his hat and because-
She was Nanna.
And looking at her body; perfect, perfect and white really did suit her-
It almost killed him.
Beautiful, but so goddamn far away- not really there just... empty..-
Dead. Yes (nononopleaseNO). Someone.. Someone had..
Someone had killed his little girl-
My.. Little.. Girl..
"Don't worry Dad, Mum said she's an angel now-"
She had wanted to go, everywhere and anywhere just far, far away, but FUCK he was her father, and it was a father's job to PROTECT his own kids no matter what!
He should've seen this coming.
He should've stopped it happening.
He should've been there. He should've...
(You can do a million other things, moving mountains not withstanding... A million things, but face it.
What could you do about the past?)
Theis liked to think he was a strong man (better that everyone else believed that too). ..It had some truth in it. People compared him to many things – among the most polite being rock; stone; pillar...
Hah. A pillar for the family he would do anything for – if you wanted to try anything you would have to deal with him first. Theis Birk Larsen. Be sure to remember the name...
..It was.. laughable, now. In the blink of an eye his heart had been plunged, slowly, slo...w...w...wll...ly into ice take your time.. build the suspense up and a nod of the head and thenso quickly, so easily a chunk of it had been torn out.
Left behind – an aching, gaping hole.
Instant pain; constant pain; God the agony was so much to bear... So much to shoulder. Engulfing, swallowing nothingness that brought the taste of bile then the sickness so strong and rotting, rotting.. rotting...
(It was a maelstrom, the ultimate nightmare and every day; every minute; every second it floored you because of how real it was.)
He was meant to be the 'family pillar'. Sacred duty, warmly accepted, now accompanied by leaden failure.
(Pure and utter – nothing less than he deserved..- No. He deserved to feel much worse for his violation of it; for his sheer neglect.)
Hah. Tell him. How much support could he be, when he was eroding from the inside? Every single day, Pernille cried, her face such haunted despair, and the boys that had not yet begun to understand, and the mother-in-law that rightly (if uselessly) blamed him and the awkward workforce and best friend-
-And he held his wife and hugged his sons and took the blame and the 'sympathy' and the questions and everything with his face carved from granite stone.
Despite the cracks that showed and his shaking hands and the blank stares, channelling the abject grief that clamoured to be let out from inside his hollow... hollow shell-
He wanted to cry out or scream or hunt down or hurt or break something (someone), but he couldn't he couldn't and then his daughter's beautiful face flashed again in his mind- Again and again and again and AGAIN
Gone, gone, gone gone GONE
His little girl.
Too young. So young. So perfect.
And just like that. For too long (too short) a time, again, he-
(Tiny little pieces. Harder to reassemble each time.)