A/N: Well, this is my first fic in this fandom, inspired by the sudden death of Veronica, which really upset me by the way. It's just a short snippet, and I certainly hope I'll be able to post more fics in the future. Please review with any comments, whether positive or negative. I could use the feedback. Love, Lynn
It didn't hurt, like she had expected it would. There was just the dull sound of the world, fading. The memory: two little kids in a sandbox. A blonde, brown eyed boy, a girl with black pigtails. She pushed him over, those were the rules and you played by them. Boys are stupid, all of them. Maybe all of them except for this one.
Lincoln, her one and only true love from the day she had laid eyes on him. That day, in that sandbox, when she pushed him over for accidentally breaking her sand castle. Lincoln, the guy who she had laughed and cried with, whom she had loved and despised. Lincoln.
All of this time she had been so afraid to lose him, to realise that he'd be gone, flown off to heaven for a crime he didn't commit, and she'd be the one left standing. Or kneeling. For who could stand after losing the love of their life?
And all of that, all of those thoughts, just in a flash of a second, maybe even less. All of those memories and realisations between the moment the first bullet hit her chest, and the moment her lifeless body hit the floor of that shabby Montana cabin.
What a way to go, certainly not the way she had ever imagined. Gone where the dreams of dying in her sleep, taken by God, after a long life and with children, grandchildren. She loved LJ like he was her own, and sometimes she wished he were. That it had been her body carrying Lincoln's child. She'd always known she'd give her life for him, but never had she imagined that in the end, it'd be exactly what she would do.
She had, long before, decided how she wanted her funeral, who she wanted to be there, who she wanted to tell the story of her life. The music, the food, the whole scenario was written down and put into an envelope that lay in her top desk drawer. Would, one day, Lincoln find it? Would he, one day, read it, and mourn not only the woman he loved and failed to protect, but also the loss of the ability to fulfil her last wishes?
It didn't really matter now, she was gone, and no way had any important person in her life been able to attend her funeral if she'd had one. Would Lincoln mourn the fact that he didn't have a place to visit her remains? Was she yet another person walking away from him, abandoning him? Would he see it that way?
She'd watch him from heaven, she'd look down on earth and guide him, and wait for him to join her. But not anytime soon. She did not give her life for him to get caught and wind up in that electric chair again. She gave her life for justice. For justice and for freedom. And she knew, as the lights went out forever, that they would be reunited one day, and they'd look back on their lives, the time they spent together, and not mourn the time they lost, but celebrate the time they had.