Hello everyone, this is my entry for the Chit Chat On Author's Corner - Round 7 - Happy New Year's Challenge. This is a two-shot.
Pairing: Emily/Rossi
Items: Calendar flipping, streamers, fireworks
Rating: M, for language
Warning: Character death
Disclaimer: I own nothing
This is AU, and my first attempt at some supernatural elements... Enjoy!
Saving You
2012
You died on a Friday morning.
Thinking back, it sickens me to know I was close enough to touch you. I could have reached out and pushed you, with all my strength, out of harm's way. Out of the path of the single .22 caliber bullet that took your life. Thinking back, I regret not doing so with every fiber of my being.
It brings me no comfort to know that in reality there was no way I could have stopped what happened.
Six men.
It's hard to keep six full-grown men under control, especially drugged-up grown men. Even with two steady-held guns trained on them, they outnumbered us, three to one.
The room was small and dirty. It smelled heavily of cocaine and feces, and I fought the strong urge to vomit on the soiled carpet. We raised our guns as the men rose from a decrepit couch, the floor, and a broken barstool in the far corner.
We just dove headfirst into something much larger and more sinister than I could have ever imagined. And backup was still five minutes out.
The longest five minutes of my life.
I don't think I've ever been so scared as I was in those fateful minutes, but I tried to keep my voice level, unperturbed as I directed them to get on their knees and place their hands on their heads.
I know now that was the worst mistake I could have made.
To this day, I don't know what I was thinking. I'd be dreaming to think we could have cuffed them all cleanly and ushered them outside one after another into the welcoming arms of ten or twenty local police officers.
I should have let you lead. You would have known that giving them the freedom of any movement at all only meant trouble. Standing where they were, at least we could see their hands were empty. Kneeling was basically an invitation to grab whatever weapon they could.
Hell, I should have known.
I was surprised at how calm they all were. None of them shouted. They didn't curse or scream or throw their weight around.
I supposed the calmness is what chilled me the most.
The calm before the storm.
The floor shook as the first dropped heavily to his knees.
"Slowly!" you shouted.
I watched as he placed his filthy hands on his balding head. I could see more bodies slowly lower themselves to the ground out of the corner of my eyes.
No one protested. No one attempted to escape.
It was too easy.
The rest is a blur. I remember the heat. It was hot and beads of perspiration formed at my hairline and in the palms of my hands. I remember feeling your presence less than a foot from me. You were tense. You knew as well as I did, that something was stewing, just seconds from bubbling out of control.
I remember scanning over them quickly. A little too quickly – it felt like the world was spinning wildly and I didn't have enough time to inspect each and every one of them.
You were repeating my instructions to the last one standing. I can still hear the bite in your voice, your 'don't fuck with me' tone. I'd give anything to hear it again. Even if that means I'm on the receiving end.
I turn slightly in the man's direction. Ever so slightly.
But that was enough. We were both too focused on the man refusing to drop to his knees. He was enough of a distraction to allow a single upward-angled shot to be fired from somewhere off to my left, out of my line of sight.
The pathetic, worthless piece-of-shit pulled a gun from his boot. And before I could get half a sentence out to the standing man in the corner, I heard it.
I heard the sound of my world ending. The deafening boom of realization. Of terror. Rage. Utter despair and heartbreak.
You fell in slow motion. Time and sound weren't matching up. I heard you hit the ground before I saw it. My brain was on overload.
For a millisecond I just wanted to unload my glock into each and every one of them. But what good would that do? Your blood was already soaking the carpet.
I responded with a bullet between his ugly gray eyes. But it didn't matter. I could have shot him a million times, it wouldn't erase the fact you had a bullet lodged in your chest.
That's when the chaos finally erupted.
Everyone was screaming and cursing. No one remained on their knees, they were all running. The front door, right behind me, flew open, crashing against the wall, breaking the glass. One of them might have fled through an open window. I can't really remember. I can only assume another went for the abandoned gun. But I may never know.
As I fell beside you, another gunshot resonated throughout the small room. And for a split second I thought I was hit.
My vision was blurry, my hands shaking violently. I didn't know where my gun was. I could barely see through the tears that threatened to spill over at any moment. I looked up from my hands and knees and witnessed our backup fly in from all directions and take down two of the six men. Someone else got shot, but it wasn't me.
Some days I wish it was.
You were breathing heavily, hands red with blood, trying to apply pressure to your own bullet wound. I pushed your hands away and replaced them with my own. My head was pounding. I closed my eyes tightly, vainly trying to clear my mind. I couldn't help you if I was panicking.
I pushed down on the wound and you hissed in pain. I 'hushed' you softly as you tried to swat my arms away, leaving bloody fingerprints on my skin. You were crying. It was first, and only, time I ever saw you cry.
A shadow hung over us. A man. He was on the phone, most likely calling for an ambulance. Maybe two.
He was thinking clearly, smart. That was going to help you, not me. I was only hurting you more. Your blood continued to seep through my fingers.
Why didn't I call for help? I wasn't thinking straight.
When your eyes fluttered and closed I practically screamed your name.
The sound of sirens grew closer and closer until it sounded as if they parked on the front stoop of the decaying house.
I brushed a strand of hair away from your face. My fingers left a trail of blood across your forehead and immediately regretted doing it. I was marring your features; no one should ever see you with blood on your face, your perfect face. You didn't deserve to be lying there, shaking, on the dirty floor of a crack house. You shouldn't have been dying there, slowly fading as I caused you pain when I pushed down.
You shouldn't have been there, period.
But you were. And so was I.
We ran into that house, on the heels of a suspect, with backup far behind.
We ran straight into hell.
Someone started tugging at my shirt. I shrugged them away, but before I knew it, two pairs of hands were pulling me away from you. And you away from me. I protested and grasped desperately for your hand. I called out your name again. Over and over until my throat was hoarse. I begged you to reach for me.
Goddamnit Emily! Take my fucking hand!
You never answered.
.
.
.
That day replays in my mind every day. Every single day of my life for the past two years.
Some days are worse than others.
Like today. It's New Year's Eve. 2012.
At 10:37am this morning, two years ago, I watched helplessly as your life seeped through my fingers. I couldn't do a damn thing to help you. The blood just flowed freely from your body. And it's all my fault. I've been told that I'm being irrational, but I don't buy it.
I told them to kneel.
I take another long swig of the whiskey I am currently losing myself in. Bitter cold wind gusts in through the open window, making me shiver. I'm sitting on the cushioned seat below the open window, running my index finger around the brim of my glass.
My house phone rings. It's a quarter to midnight; I imagine its JJ, or maybe Garcia. They want to wish me some semblance of a happy New Year.
I let it go to voicemail.
I glance up at some decorations, which obviously were not my idea. Garcia showed up uninvited last night and took it upon herself to decorate. She knows as well as any of us, that this holiday isn't celebrated in my house anymore. But she wouldn't be Garcia if she didn't insist on making my living room look like a bomb filled with confetti went off. She hung aqua colored streamers over my fireplace and the picture of you that sits on the mantle.
Aqua was your favorite color. I wonder if she knew that, or if it's just a coincidence.
I take another sip and welcome the burn that the amber liquid brings as it slides down my throat.
It seems like a distant memory to me – a genuinely happy New Year.
But this year, I'm not spending the last day of 2012 alone because I'm unhappy. Granted I am; I am very, very unhappy.
But something has been happening to me. Something I can't explain, not that I've really tried.
And I need to be alone; I need to do it right this time. I can fix everything.
This phenomenon, of sorts, started the night after Emily died.
.
.
.
I spent the rest of that day locked away in my office. I didn't follow the ambulance to the hospital; it would have just been a waste of time. I ignored knocks on the door from colleagues, and phone calls from god-knows who.
My blinds were closed; no one witnessed me completely break down.
That night I stumbled in my front door just minutes before the New Year chimed in. Despite the advisement of others, I took the long way home. I pass my local pub when I take the long way home.
After about four hours at the bar I managed to make it into bed. I collapsed, in fact; I just had the most trying day, to say the least.
The last thing I remember was glancing at the clock.
11:59pm. Happy fucking New Year.
I barely mumbled the words before I blacked out and was thrown forcefully into the worst dream I could imagine.
Or at least I thought it was a dream. I felt like I was literally trapped in a nightmare I couldn't wake up from.
I just rolled out of bed when the phone rang. I assumed it was Hotch calling, checking up. He knew I wasn't going straight home the night before. He knows me to well.
It's an understatement when I say I nearly, almost died when I heard the voice on the other end of the line. It wasn't Hotch.
"Dave?"
It was Emily.
I thought I was losing my mind. She was killed right in front of me. What was happening was impossible. Surely this was somebody's idea of a sick, twisted joke.
I almost dropped the phone on the floor as I scrambled to check my wristwatch.
The neon orange numbers mocked me as I frantically searched for the button to switch to the date. A near-silent beep sounded as I changed the screen on my watch.
December, 31 2010. Holy shit.
I could barely hear Emily off in the distance, explaining the latest case to me.
A case I already knew about.
A case we already solved.
And I knew exactly how it ended.
Disbelief and shock rushed through me in waves, threatening to knock me right off my feet.
I didn't understand it.
And I wouldn't understand it.
I felt like I was having a terrible case of déjà vu, and as the morning wore on, closer and closer to that fateful moment, I had a sudden realization.
What if I was getting a second chance?
What if I was sent back to save her? If I could push Emily out of the way, I might just be able to save her life.
Turns out, it's not all that easy.
Fate is a difficult creature to contend with. It's not meant to be changed, but it is possible.
We were sprinting, the unsub a couple hundred yards ahead. Off in the distance I could see the house, and I knew this was it. This was my chance.
But I failed. I felt as if I had failed her all over again.
Fate was not going to make this easy for me.
Fate was the reason I fell on the front steps as we ran up to the house, hot on the trail of some derelict drug dealer. And fate was the reason the front door swung shut and locked behind her, leaving her alone with six muscular men, armed with only a gun and an attitude.
I was pounding on the door and put five rounds through the glass, praying I'd hit the man with the gun.
The others pulled up behind me as I was climbing through the hole I created in the door.
And that's when I heard it.
The sound of my world ending… again.
I broke down and cried right there on the dilapidated porch as the rest of the team and locals raced into the house. I pounded my fist against the siding. Pain radiated up my arm, I certainly just fractured a bone in my hand. Oddly enough, I welcomed the pain.
I cradled my hand as I leaned up against the side of the house.
It only took me a moment to decide I had to see her again.
I may have just missed my only chance to save her.
I stood up and stumbled into the eerily familiar room, and then fell again by her side.
And I cried some more.
The rest of the day was like living in a rerun on television. I went through the motions, not feeling anything; not caring. I felt completely empty inside. I was given a chance to save her, and I failed.
Once again, Hotch, Morgan, and Reid took turns advising me to head straight home.
I 'yes'd' them like I did before. But they all knew better than that.
I took the long way home again.
And by 11:59pm I was mumbling to myself again as I collapsed on my bed.
Happy fucking New Year.
The next morning when I woke up, it was in fact 2011.
I missed my chance.
That's when the emptiness started sinking in. The sadness started eating away at my soul, leaving nothing but a shell that would never be filled again.
I spent the entire day in bed.
And the rest of the year dragged on monotonously. I wasn't happy. People noticed, but wouldn't say anything. But I'd hear the whispers.
I started drinking heavily again. It was my escape, it was the only way I could feel free. Bound by guilt and sadness, I welcomed the oblivion with open arms.
Days passed. Weeks turned into months, and before I knew it, the new year was upon us.
Hotch invited me to his place, but I declined. I wasn't up to putting on a smile. He didn't press the matter.
I spent the last minutes in 2011 all alone.
But it was nothing new; I was alone every day, all day. Even with coworkers and friends all around me, I still felt so utterly alone.
The last thing I remember was looking at the clock.
11:59pm. God Emily, I miss you.
I barely closed my eyes when it happened again…
It felt like I had just closed my eyes when I woke to the shrilling sound my phone.
When I answered, my heart skipped a beat.
I couldn't believe it was happening – maybe I wasn't too late. I could still bring her back.
I barely listened to what Emily was saying as I raced out the door.
I decided tell her what was going on, it was the only way to save her.
But, naturally, time travel and premonitions aren't exactly easy to digest, even to the most open-minded. I pleaded with her, but she was having none of it. I was one outburst short of insanity, and Hotch was eyeing me like a hawk.
I backed off.
As it neared 10am, I still had no idea what I was going to do.
I was on high alert as we walked the street, where (I knew) we would eventually run into our unsub.
I called her name, as I leaned over to take a seat on the curb for a moment. I needed to clear my mind. I couldn't save her without a plan.
I couldn't lose her again.
Running my hands through my hair, I took a deep breath.
"Emily," I started, but didn't get to finish.
Fate was about to intervene again.
From where I stopped us, Emily was able to catch a glance at our unsub a few minutes early.
And before I could yell for her again, she took off after him.
Immediately I called for back up and chased after the two of them. I ran as fast as I could, knowing I was at a disadvantage.
I was going to fail her again. It was just too much.
Sweat poured down my face by the time I made it to the front stoop. Taking two steps at a time, I practically crashed through the front door.
But I was half a second too late.
Our guns fired almost simultaneously. But what mattered is that he fired first. He fired a single .22 into Emily's chest, and single-handedly brought my world to a screeching halt yet again.
Backup flooded through the door as I dropped to my knees by her side… again.
I tried with all my heart to will her back to life. Because nothing else was working. Hands pried me away from her as I cried. I ran my bloody hands through my hair, cursing this life.
It just wasn't fair. Either I find a way to save her, or I have to relive this tragedy every year. I couldn't stomach the thought.
I fought the inexplicable urge to shout 'I'm back' when I dragged my haggard body through the front doors of the bar that night.
It wouldn't mean much to anyone there, but it would mean a lot to me.
Just another reminder of my failure to protect Emily.
When I finally made it home, I let myself fall onto the bed. I buried my face into the pillows and tried to remember what happiness was.
It sure as hell ain't this.
I just want her back. Is that really so much to ask?
Half asleep at 11:59pm, I mumbled incoherently, even to myself.
God Emily, I miss you.
2012 greeted me when I opened my eyes the next morning.
I sat up and listened.
Silence.
I waited some more, desperately hoping for a phone call… from her. But I knew better.
If I have any hopes of saving Emily, I would have to wait. A whole year.
Certainly easier said than done.
.
.
.
But that day has finally come.
The cold air bursts through the open window more forcefully now. My whiskey glass has long since been emptied, and I'm impatiently awaiting this phenomenon I've been experiencing for the past two years.
I'm nervous, yet slightly excited.
I can't wait to see her. I've missed her more than anything.
Over the years, even with her gone, I've grown feelings for her. It's kind of strange to think I've fallen in love with someone who is dead.
But then again, none of this is normal. I've traveled back in time, twice, to try and save the most amazing woman from meeting an untimely death. No one would believe me if I told them.
I gaze out the window at the city below. Soft music fills my ears. People walk along the streets, most likely talking. Although I can't actually hear them.
Fireworks explode into various shades of reds and purples, somewhere off in the distance. I hear the delayed 'crack' as the sound of the explosions reach my ears.
The stars are bright and I pause to make a wish; something I haven't done since I was a small boy, no older than nine.
My watch reads three minutes to midnight – December 31, 2012.
I stand and walk to the kitchen, and place the empty glass in the sink.
I wonder passively about the rest of the world. Men and women celebrating the coming of a brand new start, toasting to the years past. Everyone else will be flipping their calendar ahead to a brand new year.
But I'll be going back.
As I gently rest my head on my pillow, my clock flashes 11:59pm.
The last thing I remember is whispering softly to Emily.
I know how to save you.
To Be Continued...
Alright! Well, that's my longest single chapter, ever!
I really hope that I'm not confusing anyone here, with all the time jumps and stuff... if you are having any trouble keeping this timeline straight, PM me and I will help you. Or just leave a review to tell me that I'm confusing the hell out of my readers!
This is a two-shot, which I'm not 100% sure how this is going to end yet... I'm still working on it.
And honestly, it could be a week or so before the final installment is uploaded. It all rides on whether or not the Jets win against the Steelers sunday night. I work retail and if the Jets win I will be working seven days plus class, so I won't be able to write. If they lose, you'll get the chapter sometime next week.
Reviews are always wonderful!