Title: The Right Thing
Author: Bekah26
Rating: PG
Pairing: none
Disclaimer: No infringement of copyright intended, as all characters within belong to Anthony Zuiker, Jerry Bruckheimer, CBS, and Alliance Atlantis. I am receiving nothing for this but the airing out of my mental fog. CSI NY and all within are not mine, save the bunnies.
Content Warning: Fantasy AU and misrepresentation of a hated character.
Summary: Everything truly is connected.
Okay, this was a drabble that got WAY out of hand and probably smarts with spoilers for the Sons of Man, Daughters of Heaven series I'm working on (which can be found under CSI Miami). But, it just wouldn't let me go, so, I hope its good and remember: it IS a fantasy AU, so, I can play as I like.
Enjoy!
Bobby Hillbourne had been eleven when he had met her. He had been a small boy in a tough neighborhood, on his way home, when he stumbled on three older boys who were tormenting a small cat. They were slinging rocks at it, boxing it in, and had already hit it at least once. Its cries had spurred Bobby on and he had tried to defend it, ending up with busted ribs and a black eye, and he could only lie there with one of the boy's boots on his neck as it held him down. Desperately biting his lip he struggled not to cry as the pressure increased, listening to the taunts of the boys and the pain filled cries of the cat.
Which was when they had met for the first time.
From his position on the ground he had felt the approaching footsteps, saw the feet as they entered in his, but never heard the voice, only the tone, and had felt the shivers that had ran through the boy above him. Bobby had felt the pressure lift abruptly but could only lie there, gasping as his lungs expanded as they took in needed air. He wasn't sure how much time had passed when a touch on his face made him start, looking up into the cat's eyes as it nuzzled his face as if in thanks, then moving his gaze to the figure that had approached to lean over them both. The sun was behind it, casting a dark shadow over the features, but he could tell that the shape was female.
She crouched before him, studying him and his injuries, watching as the cat cuddled up to his prone form. He could make out the quick flicker of a smile on her face and she leaned forward, brushing a soft touch across his brow, warmth filling him, and then he noticed that as it faded so did the pain of his injuries. Blinking he stood and she moved back to let him, picking up the demanding cat in her arms and he noticed that her hair matched the ginger shade of the cat's fur.
"How did you do that?" He asked, patting himself down, double-checking his renewed body. "That was so cool."
The girl shrugged, neatly dislodging the cat so that it jumped into Bobby's arms. "I didn't do anything, it was your body that wanted to heal."
"But why did you help? And how did you, I didn't see you do anything to them, but they ran like babies." He looked around but could see no sign of the boys. The girl followed his sight and pursed her lips.
"Instinct is a powerful motivator," The girl commented. "It can help us realize the difference between right and wrong, danger and safety. You instinctively know that I'm her to help you, so you're not running. The others simply had the opposite reaction." She said as if it was nothing, but Bobby felt that there was more to it then what she was letting on.
Bobby watched her hand absentmindedly rub her right shoulder, as if something there pained her. He studied her closely for the first time; a girl in her late teens clothed in a light summer dress ginger hair, and the most brilliant light blue eyes he had ever seen. All of her seemed to glow under the sun, as if its light was feeding hers, and he was in awe; she wasn't movie star beautiful, but there was something about her that held his attention. When she moved her hand from her arm he noticed the black mark on it, a tattoo, but one that looked like it had been burned on. He reached for it.
"What happened?"
The ridges were raised not smooth, so it wasn't a normal tattoo like he thought, and his finger traced the knotted circles that made up the design. He swore that he it vibrated under his fingers, pulsing with a heartbeat of its own. The girl gently pushed his hand away.
"I think its time that you and your new friend went home," she said as she gently pushed them towards the street and away from the scene.
"My mom's not going to let me keep a cat," Bobby protested as she walked a bit with him, holding his purring closer to his chest.
"I think you'll be surprised."
And he was, Robert Hillbourne thought. His mother had let him keep the cat, a companion for her lonely boy, and after she had walked him home he had never seen the girl again. Or run into the boys. The thought hadn't bothered him, after all, he didn't know any of them personally and they probably went to a different district then him; it was only years later that, when he had stumbled on the reports that Taylor had used for a body identification that he saw their faces again.
He tried not to let it bother him, after all in those days, kids went missing all the time; they joined gangs, ran away, doped up and just vanished deeper into the city. Yet, at the back of his mind, he wondered; after all, he did black out for a bit, so who knows what could have happened, and there was no evidence that he could recall to point his attention in either way. So he let it drop.
Until the day he glanced over into the break room at the labs and saw the tattoo, starkly displayed as a shirt was changed.
Trembling, mind racing with thought after thought, he waited until the room had emptied before he spoke:
"Was it you?"
The hands stopped, frozen, and Robert waited until his eyes met the same vibrant blue of his past.
"Yes."
"Did you kill them?"
The smile was wrong, more of a smirk now, and oh so bitter. Hardened. It was wrong, he screamed inside, this is all wrong.
"No."
Robert pressed. "But did you stop it?"
"No."
"Why?"
There was a sigh and when words came, Robert flinched by the pain encased in each syllable:
"Because instinct is what it is. Because I looked into them and saw that they would have killed you and the cat and so many others for no other reason then it amused them. Because I looked into them and saw what would be and I had a chance to stop it then, so I did. Because I could. Because its what I do, what I've always done."
Robert cleared his throat. "And now?"
A smile. "Now? I do it in different ways."
He felt his hand grip the door frame, feared if he gripped it any harder it would splinter. Or he would. "How?"
"Because it's what I am." A pause. "What will you do?"
He laughed, a rough sounding noise that hurt them both. "What the hell can I do? This isn't exactly something science can prove, is it?"
"I'm sorry."
"Why? Because I'm now a part of whatever this is? Or because your secret's exposed."
A snort. "Little bit of both. Its not safe for you to know."
"Why?" He needed to know, needed to touch that little bit of whatever you felt and saw so many years ago. "Why can't I know?"
Footsteps towards him, a hand centering his face, staring into the clearest eyes he had ever seen.
"Because it's complicated and I'd rather not tell it, because it's dangerous for you to know, because I'm not as human as you think. Take your pick. But, no matter what happens, I'm not your enemy. I'm not here to hurt you."
"You're a killer."
A flinch. "Not all of me."
Robert reached forward, leaning his hand on the tattoo, once again feeling its pulse. "What is this?"
A hand removed his, slowly. "A reminder."
Voices echoed in the hall, people heading their way, and Robert stepped back and tried to collect himself. It was crazy, he thought, feeling the thick atmosphere of the unknown evaporate around them, and could swear on the lingering smell of ozone. He turned to go, then froze, and turned back.
"A reminder of what?"
For a second he thought there would be no answer, but then: "What it means to be human."
"But you're not."
"I know."
"So, what does it mean to be human?"
"Folly. Mistakes. Regret."
He paused as he opened the door. "Regret of what?"
He didn't think he'd get any answer, until: "How many lives can one peel away before they become the nothing that they feel?"
Robert Hillbourne turned back, seeing clearly the pain hidden in those eyes, and wondered at the loss that had caused that look, wondered at the impossible time it took to make them that weary. He turned back to the door and was almost through it when he looked back, smiled slightly, and let instinct decide the rest.
"I won't forget."
Danny Messer smiled back.
Whew!
I apologize if I didn't get Hillbourne's name right, does he even have a first name, but I like the way Robert fit.