Title: Let Me Go
Summary: He had convinced her to leave once for her protection – would he be able to do so again, or would her funeral be the next he attended? Tommy/OC
Disclaimer: I do not own 'Crossing Lines' or any song lyrics that may or may not be used in this story.
A/N: I will be the first person to admit in this situation that my OC comes as a bit of a self-insert. However, I will do my damndest to keep her from being too much of a Mary Sue. Remember to live by the motto: If you read it, feed it. Reviews definitely get the creative process going. Yes, I know this first chapter is short; I wasn't sure how to get it started after such a long writing hiatus.
"My heart feels not so much in my chest as in my hands. I am carrying it along swiftly, as though I have become the messenger for what is going on inside me."
Her fingers were posed over the keys, aching – begging for the words she so longed for to flow through her. The need to put her thoughts onto the paper was strong, but everything she typed just wasn't getting the point across properly. A client had paid a decent amount of money for this story, and as the deadline grew closer and closer, she worried that she would be unable to deliver a finished product. The break from work was good; 'One can only be expected to tolerate so many tragic stories and endless case files before they reach a breaking point', she mused to herself. A creak from the worn floorboards caught her attention, every hair standing up in preparation for the unknown lurking in the darkness. Turning to see what caused the noise, she spotted a figure darting from one shadow to another. Sliding her phone off of the counter, Caroline dialed in 1-1-2 but didn't yet dare to hit send. Her palms were slick from the nerves, but the soothing voice of an old friend echoed through her mind, "Panic isn't necessarily a bad thing – but it can, and will, get ye killed if ye don' take control of it". Thumb hovering over the 'call' button, she slowly inched her way towards the door, hoping that luck was on her side and that she could get out of the door without raising the intruder's suspicions. Senses so heightened by the anxiety, she was left hoping that the creaks she was hearing fell upon deaf ears as she inched closer and closer to freedom. A hand reached towards the door knob, the sense of security so close now that she could practically feel the winter air on her cheeks. It came without warning – a hand wrapped around her ponytail, jerking her backwards to the ground. Acting on raw animal instinct, Caroline began to struggle, screaming and swinging at any nearby object. It was moments like this that made her wish she had paid as much attention in the hand-to-hand combat training as she did during the firearms training her grandfather had recommended upon her arrival in the Hague. One blow landed on her jaw - one blow, followed by two, three, four. She began to lose count as the punches landed all over her body, just praying that it ended with her still having a pulse. A sudden silence took over, Caroline cautiously opening her eyes as an all-too-familiar Irish brogue filled the room.
"I told ye what would happen. I told ye and I told Tommy tha' no good would come of ye hiding from the family. Ye were warned – why didn't ye listen? Maybe ye will understand now"
His hand picked up the phone from where it had slipped from her grasp and clattered to the floor, before punching in a number and dropping it by her head.
"Give 'im a hug from me, love. Tell 'im we'll be seein' 'im again, soon."
His footsteps had barely cleared the front door when a voice answered from her phone.
"ICC – McConnel speakin'…."