Hey all! This is my first Rush fan fic so I'm really excited to see what you all think! I haven't written anything worth putting up here for a whole so I feel kinda rusty at the moment, but I hope you all like it! Let's say I received a joint of inspiration by an upcoming episode of Rush where Michael throws himself into danger and nearly gets beaten to death (or so we're heard. And I think there's a thieves' van involved too). I might do a sequel depending on how people like it. Sorry if my grammar's off, I'm not the best English student.
Disclaimer: Sadly I down nothing of Rush…yes, it's a hard, hard world friends.
The shower wall was cold against her back. The whiteness gleamed at her, dancing in front of her eyes till it hurt to look anywhere. She pressed her head against the wall, pushing hard. Stupid, Stupid, Stupid! They'd both been stupid!
The softness of the blue shirt felt fragile, thin between her fingers. She clutched the shirt to her, locking her fists around the fabric. Her throat closed over, a strangling tightness that burned deep into her chest, making her breath shallow.
She'd prayed. She prayed harder then ever before. Please God, she'd silently begged, please let him be okay. She prayed until she felt too exhausted to even think properly anymore.
There was still no news, well no confirmed news. The ring leader had told Lawrence the cop was dead. She could still see the image from Leon's screen, someone grabbing Michael from behind and smashing his head into the ground. It made her sick. She knew why he'd thrown procedure aside and taken on the group of criminals single-handedly.
Lawrence had wanted her down there to help, but Kerry had stepped in. Her bosses' voice still rung in her ears, "Look Stella, I can't let you on the field for the rest of today. The others can deal with getting Michael out."
She didn't dare argue, not after being arrested for street racing with Alana. She'd messed up. Big Time. Not only had she ruined her career, she'd been ignorant of Michael's feelings. And now he'd gone and put his life in danger because he thought she didn't care.
Stella pulled her legs into her body and brought the shirt to her face, feeling it's softness against her cheeks and inhaling Michael's smell from his shirt. The painful lump in her throat chocked her even more and she was suddenly crying.
The painfully tight aching in her chest spread through her like black poison. She clutched her stomach tightly as if she might shatter. She cried into Michael's shirt, feeling the stitches she'd laid down inside her were being torn open, bleeding crazily.
She wanted him to hold her again, to make her feel safe. She wanted to see his green eyes shine when she kissed him and his silly grin when he cracked a wise-arse joke to annoy her. She was too proud, too stubborn to admit it to him, or to herself, but it didn't matter anymore. She wanted him here again, she wanted him back.
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