Disclaimer: Lethal Weapon is the property of FOX and Shane Black. I do not own the characters, I just like playing with them. :)
Key:
"Hi" – Speech
'Hi' – Thoughts
Possible Triggers: Death of a Child (off-screen), Death of a Minor Character
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Chapter 1: Shattered
~8~
El Paso, Texas - September 15, 2015
The day that Miranda and my boy died, my world shattered.
That day had been filled with excitement, for both the chase and the upcoming birth. The chase ended with a steady hand and a slow exhale; the bullet exploding with all the elation I couldn't in that moment. My partner stood in shock as I jumped down and headed to the truck's cab.
"You got this?" I ask, slamming the door as I start the engine. He waved me off as sirens sounded, coming our way. I put pedal to the floor and I head back to the city. The entire drive I kept hitting the wheel, barely able to contain my enthusiasm! I was gonna finally meet my little boy and Miranda and I would pick his name. I was partial to Lucas while she wanted Ronald, after her father. We agreed that we would wait until we met him to decide.
I got to the hospital and stopped by the gift shop for some roses for my girl. As I made my way to the cash register, I saw a small, yellow, toy double-barrel shotgun. I gave a short chuckle and shook my head. Only in Texas…
Of course, I had to buy it. Miranda was gonna get a kick out of it. I finished paying and made my way to the elevators. I pushed the button; and, as I waited on the doors to open, I couldn't help the grin that spread across my face again. 'I'm gonna be a daddy!'
It's a short ride on the elevator to the maternity floor. I stop the first nurse I came across to ask what room Miranda was in. The smile that first greeted me dropped from her face and a small sense of dread creeps down my spine and takes up residence in my gut. 'Is it the baby? Is it Miranda?!'
"Mr. Riggs, I'm sorry, but there's been an accident." The rest of her words are swallowed up in static. 'An accident? What did that mean? Are they all right?' The sense of dread from before has grown into a pit the size of a horse. I feel a hand on my arm pulling me forward. The next thing I see is a man, dressed in surgical scrubs, coming out of one of the rooms. Blood smeared his top and his head was down.
The nurse calls out and the man comes toward us. He looks at the lady on my left and then back to me. "Mr. Riggs?"
"Are they all right? Are Miranda and my boy okay?" I ask, hoping that the hole in my gut was lying to me.
"Mr. Riggs, I'm Dr. Clark. I'm so sorry, but there was too much trauma. We tried, but they didn't make it."
That sentence echoed through my brain and I kept praying that those tiny words would change. I pushed past the doctor, running to the room he had just walked out of. I run in just as the sheet is being laid over my Miranda's face. I stand there frozen, now praying that this is all a nightmare and that at any moment I'll wake myself up.
One of the women in the room clearing up asked me something. I didn't respond, or rather I couldn't. My girl was there, not moving. 'How did this happen? Why?' Then, the woman held up something, a flash of gold across my awareness. I focused on it and saw she held Miranda's twin-M necklace. A necklace she hasn't taken off in public since the day I gave to her. I reached out for the chain and the woman slowly passed it off to me. The chain and the M plates had blood on them.
Her blood. The bottom just dropped from under me. I hardly felt the wall or the floor as my back and ass hit them on my descent. This wasn't a nightmare; this was hell and I was living there. I could hear myself whispering "No… Miranda… no… baby, no…" over and over. The tears streamed down my cheeks unchecked, giving an outlet for a fraction of my pain. I have no idea how long I sat on that cold floor, muttering and crying. At one point, I stopped talking, though the tears kept going. Eventually, even the tears dried out. I had literally cried them all out.
It was then I noticed how quiet it was around me. The reason? The nurses and aides had all left. The door to the room closed, the cacophony of the maternity floor silent to me. Taking a deep breath, I look toward the bed. There so still was my girl, my Miranda. Someone had folded the sheet down to her shoulders so that her face was no longer covered. Though her hair was in disarray, her face, neck, and shoulders were devoid of any blood.
If it wasn't for the necklace digging groves in the confines of my fist, I could pretend she was resting. God, I wish I could make myself believe that pretty lie. I move forward until I am next to the bed. I lean down and rest my forehead against hers, trying my best to ignore the coolness of her skin while my hand strokes her hair. 'Oh, baby. I'm so sorry!' I should have been there with her, instead of chasing drug mules out in the desert.
A small rap-tap-tap at the door brings me back to now. I straighten and look to the door. The door opened and in peeked an older, black woman with a short hairstyle in dark purple scrubs and lab jacket. She first looked to where I'd been sat on the floor. When she didn't see me there, she look up to the bed. Seeing me looking at her, she stepped into the room and closed the door behind her. Her feet gave the smallest of squeaks as she made her way across the room to the opposite side of the bed. I stare at her, wondering if she is there to tell me it's time to go, to leave Miranda.
She seemed willing to bear my staring and silence, almost like she was waiting for me to breakdown again (though I admit she wasn't too far off in that assumption). I must have moved the hand with Miranda's chain because the woman's focus shifted to it. She went to the small sink against the wall behind her, turns on the water, and dampens a couple of paper towels. She shuts the water off, turns back to me, and said, "How 'bout I clean that off for you while you wipe that blood off of you?" She holds out both of her hands to me, a paper towel in each. I node and place the necklace into the paper towel in her left hand while taking the paper towel from her right. I use the towel to wipe down my face and get the dried blood off my hands as she made short work of her task. She hands the necklace back to me, not a speck of red to be found.
"Thank you, ma'am," I said, my voice sounding harsh to my ears.
"Oh, honey, you are more than welcome." She takes the tissues and throws them in the trash. "Look, take all the time you need to say goodbye, okay? I came in here just to make sure you hadn't passed out on the floor over there." She walked back over to the bed and continued, "And since you're up, this may be the time to ask. Do you want to hold your son?"
"What?" I asked, the expression on my face must have shown my confusion. After all, didn't that doctor say they both had died?
"In cases such as this, the parent is allowed to hold their child one last time. To help them say goodbye, they say," she explained. "Some folks want to do it, some don't, but we like to give them the choice." She gave me such a compassionate smile as she asked that heart-wrenching question again. "So, Mr. Riggs, do you want to hold your son?"
I had to hold back my knee-jerk reaction to scream 'Have you lost your damn mind?! Why the hell would I want to hold a reminder of what I've lost?!' at the nice lady. I looked down at the woman I'd planned to spend the rest of my days with. If she were here, she would want to see him, touch him. She would want that memory, not just for herself, but for my sake. I nod and the nurse stepped out of the room. Five minutes or so later, she returns with a bundle wrapped in a white blanket. She gently shifts the bundle into my arms and I sit down in the chair beside the bed. After she told me again to take my time and to hit the call button on the bed when I was ready, she left.
My focus settles on the tiny baby in my arms. He is pale skinned with a tuft of dark hair. Just like his mother. "Looks like you were right again, baby. He looks just like you and your dad, though I will say that he's got my complexion," I say, the smallest of smiles cross my face. "Ronald Lucas Riggs. Welcome to the world, son. You will never know how s-sorry I am you couldn't stay." I laid a kiss to his tiny forehead, as tears I didn't even think I still had ran down my checks. I looked up at his mother, whose face was turned toward me (when that had happened I couldn't say). "I know you got him, Miranda. I love you both so much."
I hold him for what seem like hours, then with a deep sigh, and a final kiss to the forehead, I push the call button. It must have been the same work-shift because the same nurse walked in. I stand from the chair and hand my son back to her. I take notice of her name tag and finally thank her properly. "Thank you for this, Mrs. Johnson."
"No thanks needed," she said and he could tell she meant it. "Now come on. There are some people here for them." She leads me outside the room. As soon as we exit, one aide, a man, enters while a second, a woman, receives the baby from Mrs. Johnson. A minute later, the man wheels the bed out of the room, the sheet once again covering her face. The two aides walk to the service elevators on the opposite side of the floor.
As I stand there, watching them carry the two biggest pieces of my shattered world away from me, I knew I would follow them as soon as I can.
~8~
Well, that's the end of Chapter 1 of Piece By Piece.
I hope you enjoyed the chapter and don't worry it will get better for Riggs.
I know, I know. How the heck can I start another fic when I haven't updated the JL one or finished the Crow one in over a year? I'll tell you. The dang plot bunny kept jumping on my head for this one. I mean it literally had me up to 2:30 in the morning writing and shedding tears for Riggs.
Now, I will warn you, this is planned to be an OT3 featuring Roger/Trish/Martin. If you don't like, you can stop here.
Also, I have no idea where I'm going with this, so updates may be sporadic at best.
