A/N: Hello good people of FanFiction! This is a Renee/Jack fic, and I plan to make it an ongoing story; something I never do but I want to try! PLEASE review and give me your feedback; any suggestions are completely encouraged! Written in present-POV. Thanks and have a sparkling day
She finds herself falling.
Falling into bitter nothingness, the wind pressing hard against her. She reaches out for something, anything, to grab onto, to have support, but all she feels is the air slipping through her fingers. She tries to scream out for help, desperately, but there is no reply.
She looks down, to try and find what she is going to fall onto, but only finds empty blackness. Is she in a black hole? Is she ever going to get out?
Will she ever feel an impact?
The last question scares her, and she feels her heart pump hard against her chest. She's falling, and she can't prevent it. Another thought comes to her: how did she even end up in this constant free-fall?
She finally sees the ground, and with a gasp, prepares herself for impact. Flying her arms up to her face she feels her body tense as it readies itself for the crash…
She wakes up in her bed, bolting upright and panting heavily. She feels as though all of the air has been sucked up and out of her, and like a fish on dry land she is gulping every bit that she can of it. Her fingers are wrapped tightly around her sheets, and in the dim light of dawn, she can see that her knuckles are actually white. "Christ," she mumbles to herself, her lungs and body still craving air. She brings her palms up to her face and sighs, her hands sliding down right beneath her eyes.
The only source of light came from her window, peaking rebelliously through her blinds. As her breathing began to steady she scanned her room; clothing was flung in various piles, and she recognized the piles as dirty and clean. She thought of how she used to be when she was working for the FBI; her clothing would be primly folded and ironed in her drawers, and everything was arranged and organized. Now she just didn't care.
Her sheets, she notices, are wrinkled and pulled out from underneath her mattress. And they are also… damp? She runs her hand lightly across the spots where the satin feels wet, and realizes that it was where her back laid. She then feels her pajama shirt; it is completely soaked through. She steals a glance at her alarm clock, and it reads in bright, neon green numbers, 4:05 A.M.
She sighs, annoyed and exhaustedly. Her sheets never used to be this wet, or out of place. She never used to wake up in the middle of the night gasping for air. She never used to not care what happened to her. Her world is falling apart, and she knows damn well of this, but she continues to fight every step of the way.
But how long can she continue until the resistance fatigues?
She shakes her head, as if to shake the thought away. She wouldn't let herself think that right now, especially at this time of the morning. Knowing that she would not be able to go back to sleep, she sighs and runs her fingers through her burnt-red hair. She flings the covers off of her and heads toward her kitchen.
Over the months, her apartment has become more and more barren. Pictures she had of herself with friends from the bureau were taken down and stored away in the depths of her closet, all of them except for one with her and Larry at the Christmas party two years back; she can't bring herself to take that one away.
She makes herself coffee and sits down at her wooden, round kitchen table. It was meant for two people, and at the time when she bought it, she had had someone in mind to share it with. She loved the idea of waking up in the morning next to someone she admired and loved, and sharing with him what she had dreamt over coffee.
Now, this didn't seem realistic.
She looks up at her microwave clock, and sighs softly as it reads 5:15. She pitches the pot of coffee, for it will only get cold, and goes to take a shower.
She noticed that she did her best thinking when she was in the shower, letting the hot water hit against her back and warm her body as she stood in it aimlessly after washing her hair. But she hadn't been thinking much lately, so she found no purpose to stand so long in it as she used to.
Scurrying out of the shower and wrapping a towel around herself, she flips her hair and lets it air-dry. Although a lot of people thought it was, her hair was not naturally straight. It was actually very wavy, and very thick. Every morning, when she worked with the FBI, she would wrestle with it for about an hour, trying to flatten it and shape it in the way she had wanted. Granted, it took a lot of effort and unneeded frustration in the morning, but she always enjoyed the outcome. But she liked letting it be in the mornings; after all, she had no one or nothing to impress anymore.
She walks back into her room and rummages through her clean pile, digging out a pair of comfortable, gray sweats and a long-sleeved, dark blue shirt. Once on, she smiles very gently to herself; she likes the feeling of the sleeves tightly fitting around her arms.
As she goes to hang her towels over her shower, she hears a heavy knock on the door. This makes her jump, and she looks over to the door, and then the clock on her oven; 6:30. "What?" she whispers to herself, wondering who could be up at this hour. Walking over slowly to the door, she grabs a pan (and instantly feels completely idiotic for not having any other form of a weapon on her) and swings open the door. When seeing the person on the other side of the door, the pan slips from her hand, landing with a soft thud on her carpet. "Jack," she whispers, her breath caught in her throat.
But something is off in him. His brilliant, blue eyes are darkened, and whenever she sees him with her, she notices that they are always soft, and comforting. Eyes, she thought to herself many times before, that would hold her tightly and never let her go. "Renee," he says, rushed, and lets himself in.
"Uh," she stammers, surprised by his hurriedness and closes the door behind him. "What's going on?"
"I don't have time to explain," he says, and he begins to look around her apartment, fervently. She has absolutely no idea as to why he came, but in the tiniest of ways, she feels immensely guilty.
Jack had been calling her for the past month or so, and each time he called, she hadn't responded. She, to be truthful, never wanted him to hear how broken she was. How much she had changed. But there hadn't been a day that went by where she did not think of him.
"Well, can you give me the short version?" She asks him, not in a curt way but in a way where she was desperate to understand. Inwardly, she sighs. Wasn't that the situation all of the time?
"Renee," He says, walking over to her and lightly grabbing onto her shoulders. His touch makes her melt, and she watches as his eyes soften to her. "I will tell you everything, but right now, all that I can say is that you're in danger."
Yay for suspense! What'dya think? It's A/U, so if you're wondering if you missed something on the show, you didn't! Please R&R because I love you