A/N: This is the first time in a long time I've worked on a chaptered story with serious intent; I think it could even be traced back to my Sailor Moon days, haha! Please, please, please let me know if it begins to drag on or something particular causes you to lose interest (if you start following it). I tend to avoid chaptered stories in previous fandoms due to the above; they would start out strong but then digress and devolve into rubbish.
With this story, I was attempting to play loosely, very loosely, off Nathaniel's "anti-Christ" comment toward Blake; I've recently come to the realization that even though I am a rather loud mouthed atheist, most of the bands I listen to make rather deep religious references (though the majority of these references are used as metaphors and establish the contradiction and hypocrisy within). This story was born thanks to the heavy influence of Cursive (hence the title) and Brand New.
Confetti fell around the crowd, cheers and streamers ringing in the New Year; the noise covering the whimpers of a small girl in an abandoned apartment above the celebration. For the first time in a long time he felt the pressure of the case having an effect on him. Dust particles danced in the streams of outside light that filtered in through the small windows. He felt as if his tie was strangling him, tightening and cutting off circulation. The dusty floorboards creaked under his black loafers as he rose on his feet in anticipation, waiting for a hint of the culprit or the girl's location.
He heard what seemed to be a music box playing in the next room as he tightened his grip on the gun. When glancing around the corner he saw the little girl curled up in the corner of the room; at that moment he lost control, lost himself. Carter Blake lowered the gun and stepped into the room; he reached out his free hand and bent over to lower himself to the girl's level.
He'd always felt awkward around children and this situation was no different. He watched her pull her knees closer to her chest as she shyly looked up at him. Her face conveyed her confusion and she pressed her back against the wall to avoid his hand. Blake bit his lip as he dropped his shoulder, kneeling in front of her as he fished in his coat pocket for his badge, "It's ok…"
The fear left her soft face when she saw the symbolic declaration of safety and authority. Her small frame relaxed a little as she began to twist a strand of hair around her delicate finger. Her little knuckle brushed against an antique necklace, the pendant encompassing white cameo of a white flower against a pale pink oval background.
He bit the inside of his lip as he saw hers begin to quiver. He felt uncomfortable without his assertive shell, having to display a gentler façade. The stale silence hung there for a moment before the child sprung from her spot on the dusty floor and flung her arms around his neck; an onslaught of delicate sobs filled the room and caused every muscle in the lieutenant's body lock up at the sudden display of emotion. Her soft whisper broke him, "Don't let him hurt me."
He pulled her against him, his hand on her small back as she nestled into the warmth inside his coat. As she clung to him he pulled the mic on his collar close to his mouth, interrupted by the sound of a creaking door. He narrowed his eyes and looked toward the direction of the door as he placed his hand on his firearm. He felt a sudden shove at his chest and felt her break away from him, rushing to hide under a destroyed cabinet. Instead of pulling his gun on whoever caused the door to alarm them of another's presence he lunged after her in a haunting act of protection.
The girl's eyes widened and her small mouth opened as her tiny hands covered her ears; clarity sat in.
Fuck! What were you thinking? Good going, fuckhead. His mind screamed as he felt the first bullet rip through the muscles in his chest. He heard Ash take his place and give the order to shoot. The echo of several officers' footsteps as they rushed up the small stairwell magnified and he attempted to count them as the sound slowed and his vision blurred. Blake saw the small porcelain figure throw herself from her hiding spot and onto his chest, her small hand grabbing at his shirt as she buried her face there, sobbing into the fabric. With his last bit of strength, the lieutenant raised his hand and buried it in her soft curls, his palm resting on the side of her face which was flooded with tears.
He felt her let out a loud cry, her chest swelling suddenly against him before releasing the noise, as she wrapped her small arms around him and press her face further into his chest as her body trembled and bullets riddled the room, shattering the windows and destroying the furniture. She closed her eyes and pressed further against him, the smell of his cologne forever embedding itself in her memory.
All sounded faded into a sole buzz and his vision brightened for a moment, casting a sterile white overlay upon the scene; a brief flicker before the world tinted black.