A/N- It's been a whileeeee! I haven't written for the 24 fandom in months! Well, I have a Jack-centric write to 8x17, no alternate ending, just reflection :P
Disclaimer- I didn't own it when Renee was alive, and I don't own it now.
"I'm sorry. There was nothing we could do." I stare at him in shock until my ears finally click with my brain.
I want to hit him. I just want to punch him in the nose and make it hurt. But what good will that do? Deep inside, I know his statement is correct. I had seen death in her eyes long before we reached the hospital. Somewhere between the apartment and where I'm standing now, I had seen her life flicker just behind her pupils, then spark out without so much as a goodbye.
She never saw it coming.
I stand silent for who knows how long, until the slight movement of the doctor turning from me and walking away jolts me back to reality. Slowly, I make my way into the operating room. Step, step, step, step, until I'm pushing my way through the double doors, about to be staring at her. Or, her body, I should say.
I sniffle.
But maybe she was better like this. Maybe she had just given up, and maybe she hadn't cared. My name had been the last thing she said; it... but no. She'd been ready to leave. She'd seen too much, been exposed to things I won't even begin to describe, and it was all... too much.
Too much that time could not erase.
I hold my breath and walk towards her, and I can feel heavy tears hold for a second in my eyes, almost as if to tell me it is all a dream, but then they close their masquerade and slip down my raw face, reminding me that this is real, actually happening, and not just some Dustland fairytale that was spelling out our fictional lives.
I study her. The left side of her hair is still inked with the unforgiving stain of blood, and her lips, which are pressed comfortable together in a frown that was common on her face, looked as if they were dying to scream, "Save me!" but instead remain wordless. But screaming will do no good.
It's already too late.
I stand beside her and try to hold the impending sob from escaping myself. Leaning down, I gingerly press my lips to her forehead, not caring that the spunky, metallic taste I feel is blood. Bringing my head back up, the sob escapes, and I decide to stop trying to be strong all the time.
I'm not fooling anyone.
About this time, a nurse walks into the room and the anger fuels inside of me when she speaks.
"Sir... um... we need to move the body." Exhaling, I take one last, lingering look at her body and swift past the nurse, shooting her a blank, expressionless look I'm sure is worth a thousand words.
"Excuse me, sir?" She asks me, and her voice makes me want to gag. It betrays sugar-coated, artificial sympathy, and just the taste of it is too sweet, especially for my likes. I don't need her fake concern.
She pauses, almost as if she forgot what her original question was, and for a second I consider just walking away, storming out of the double doors to the hospital lobby, then walking out of the hospital and never looking back. She regains composure, and asks me slowly,
"Are you going to be okay?"
Yeah right. I want to throw sarcasm in her face and say, "Well, would you be okay if the woman you loved was lying lifeless on an operating table in front of you?" But I don't. I want to settle for a simple, "No." But I don't do that either.
I want to hand her a gun and tell her to do it, because I know my life has already crumbled.
But instead, I just stand there awkwardly for a few seconds, searching for the right words and knowing "yes" would be a lie, until I'm afraid of having an emotional breakdown. So I nod her a slight goodbye and leave.
I get out of the operating room, away from her body, her spirit, her nonresponsive presence, and breathe. It feels good to breathe. With every gulp of air I take, another burden is placed on my heart. But that's a feeling I'm going to have to get used to.
Soon, another nurse comes out of the operating room, and behind her I hear wheels. The nurse comes to me, but my eyes are focused on the stretcher rolling her body out of the hospital. "Sir, you might want to leave now." No, I don't want to leave. I don't want to leave because I have nowhere to go.
Something inside of me snaps, and I turn away from the nurse, away from the stretcher, away from the operating room where she finally gave up. I hear a cough. "Sir...?" The nurse asks awkwardly. I chuff.
"Oh, yeah, sorry... thank you." I can barely manage to speak the last two words, because they did nothing to help her.
I sigh and walk out of the hospital, never looking back.
A/N- Whatcha think? Wanna tell me? I'd like that (: