This idea came to me when I was re-watching the last scene ever between our beloved couple… and this is the result :) It was written in one sitting at one-thirty in the morning, so sorry if it's a little incoherent… lol
He should never have let her go; he'd had a bad feeling about it from the start. He should have physically held her back, blocked the door… anything. She would have been furious with him if he'd done that, even disappointed in him, but that was a small price to pay if it meant her living and breathing next to him right now.
He could have at least pleaded with her not to go, begged her to leave the past for what it was- not that she would have listened. She was stubborn when it came to things like that. But why hadn't he at least tried harder?
He knows why. He was doing what she called 'respecting her freedom'.
It wasn't that he never worried the first time they were married. He remembers how even then he would look at her and think, If something happens to her, my life is over. But the difference between then and now was that he had been able to push this fear aside, focus on happier thoughts.
After prison, the divorce and the heartbreaking reunion, this had been a lot harder. He'd learned that sticking your head in the sand makes you unprepared for what could happen when you don't pay attention. He was done taking her for granted.
He admits it. After they got back together, he watched her like a hawk whenever they left the house, ready to whisk her away the second he smelled trouble. The 'Sure, hon' when she told him she was going out with a friend, quickly became 'Where are you going?' and 'What time are you gonna be home?' and 'Don't forget your cell so you can call if something's wrong, okay?'. He even once got upset with her for getting too close to a car while giving directions the driver, secretly afraid that the guy would suddenly drag her inside and drive off, leaving him helpless to do anything about it.
In the beginning, she hadn't said too much about all this. She had been hurting too; she had been afraid for him too. He'd had to sooth her fears as much as the opposite. But after a while her wounds started to heal in a way that his never would. Even then, she remained understanding, letting him coddle her because she knew he needed to, hoping that maybe one day he could be more or less carefree once again.
He remembers what must have been the last straw for her. She had gone to the movies with her best friend. He had waited patiently for her return, which she had said would be around eleven. He was able to relax, watch a baseball game, cuss at the TV, make himself some popcorn.
This changed when eleven rolled around and she wasn't home. He waited ten minutes before calling her cell phone. She didn't pick up. He paced around the house for another five before trying again. Still no answer.
Trying hard not to panic, he willed himself to remember something she had said that would enable this to all make sense. Nothing. A horrible thought struck him, as horrible thoughts always do when you're truly afraid, that maybe she'd left him again. He quickly shook this off; she was happy now and he knew it. They both were.
Another five minutes later, he checked her closet to see if all her cloths were still there. Just in case.
He was seriously contemplating calling the police by the time he heard her key in the lock at about eleven-thirty. Relief crashed about him as he stormed over to the door.
Her eyes lit up when she saw him, but he cut her off before she could even open her mouth to greet him, demanding, "Where the hell were you?"
She looked at him in surprise, not understanding his attitude. "I told you, I went to see a movie with Andrea."
He shook is head in frustration, angry that she didn't even get why he was so worked up, "You said you would be home at eleven!"
She stepped out of her shoes. "Yeah, well, the movie took a little longer than we thought. And by the way, I said around eleven."
"Michelle!" he said, following her in the living room, "You can't just do this, you have to call me when you're gonna be later! And why weren't you answering your phone?"
She stopped and turned around to look at him. "It's still on silent, I guess."
Of course. You have to turn your phone off when you go see a movie. Why hadn't thought of that earlier?
"Well, turn it back on next time, will you?" he snapped.
She looked at him with a flicker of hurt in her eyes, before saying softly, "Fine."
Immediately he felt guilty, sighing as the regret washed over him. He had promised himself he would never be the one who caused that look in her eyes again, and that he would smack anyone who did. He scratched his neck.
"Look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to yell at you, I just…" He reached for her and pulled her in his arms. "C'mere. I'm sorry."
He was relieved to feel her arms slipping around his waste, and waited a minute before mumbling into her hair, "Please, just call me next time, okay?"
She nodded against him. He pulled back and held her face between his hands, smiling at her for a moment before kissing her forehead, then her eyelids and then her mouth.
The next day, she sat him across from her on the couch with the words, "I need to talk to you."
He had a feeling he knew what was coming; after he'd calmed down the evening before he realized he might have overreacted just a little. She held his gaze for a long time before she spoke, as if not quite knowing how to broach the subject.
"We've been through some terrible ordeals, you and I," she began quietly, "And believe me, there isn't a day that goes by without me getting scared, thinking about all the things that could have gone wrong, but…" She reached for his hand, "Honey, I think we should try to let that go now."
He sighed and lowered his eyes. He knew she was right but wasn't sure if he was physically capable of doing it.
"We're gonna be fine," she told him gently, "Both of us are." Then, softer, "And I don't need you to overprotect me."
At this he raised his eyes to look at her. "I don't overprotect you. I just… I'm careful."
"Tony. You refuse to start the car if I don't have my seatbelt on. You grab onto my elbow every time we cross the street. You won't even let me answer the door when it's after dark." She watched him take this in for a moment before adding softly, "I'm not a helpless little kid. I can make my own decisions and I need you to respect that. I need you to respect my freedom."
He fiddled with a loose thread of his shirt, licking his lips to buy himself some time. Part of him was perfectly aware that he was obsessively protective. He remembered one night a few weeks before, he had gotten up in the middle of the night for a glass of water, and when he had crawled back in bed he hadn't been able to stop himself from holding his hand in front of her mouth for a minute before cuddling up against her, just to feel the assurance of her warm breath against his palm. He supposed it was at that moment that he'd realized it was becoming unhealthy.
"I…" He closed his eyes. "I'll do my best."
She squeezed the hand she was still holding in her lap, drawing his eyes to hers, smiled and said, "Alright. Thank you." She had been smart enough to realize that he wouldn't be able to do it overnight.
But he felt he needed to tell her why, just in case she ever, even for a second, doubted it. "Michelle? I only do all that because I-"
"Yeah, I know." She nodded reassuringly, as of not wanting him to feel the need to explain.
But he had to try again. "It's just that I-"
"I know." Her voice was thick with emotion when she said, "I love you too, sweetheart, more than anything. But we can't live like this. We're gonna drive each other crazy if we do."
He nodded, accepting, though he realized it wouldn't be easy.
And so this morning, he knew he had already overstepped his boundaries a little when he pulled the phone out her hand. It had been an urge that was stronger than himself, a reaction he hadn't been able to control. And, although she hadn't said anything, he had still caught her slight look of impatience as he once again hindered her will with his protectiveness.
He'd tried reasoning with her. It wasn't their job; there were other people at CTU who could handle this; they had their records on file. He'd even tried to manipulate her into staying by bringing up their business and the presentation, which at the moment he couldn't have cared less about. And he could tell by her voice when she told him he could handle the meeting on his own, that she knew he was just using work as an excuse to try to keep her close by.
When he grabbed her arm in a last desperate attempt to stop her from the leaving the house, he knew he was definitely doing what she had asked him not to. So when she looked back at him, he'd dropped his hand, despite the fact that all his instincts were screaming at him to just snatch her, carry her into the bedroom and lock the door.
But she softened when he let her go, giving him a moment of false hope that maybe he had done the right thing. She kissed him on the cheek, perhaps silently thanking him for keeping his promise, and then, to his dismay, moved away from him, eyes locking with his until she turned to open the door.
He squeezes his eyes shut. He doesn't want to remember what happened next. But against his will, he sees her walking to the car while looking for her keys like he had this morning through the window, unknowingly watching her walk towards her death and his own undoing. He remembers the queasy feeling he always got in his stomach whenever he watched her from a distance like that. It's funny to see your whole life reflected in the happiness and wellbeing of one person.
He doesn't know how to go on without her.
She had come so close to death so many times. And although he hadn't always been the one to save her, he liked to think he was. He hates the fact that he she died right under his nose, so close to him, when he could have so easily prevented it. It breaks his heart that in the end, they'd managed to take her from him after all.
And all because he'd wanted to respect her freedom.