Disclaimer: You guys know that I don't own the Numb3rs people. They belong to Cheryl and Nick and CBS. I only play with them.
Author's Note: This was written for the episode 'Power'. Megan's scene in her apartment disturbed me and practically begged to be explored. It's a new writing style for me. We'll see how well it works out.
As she waits she finds a comfort in the gun that rests in her hands. Her fingers trace over the cool metal, caressing like she would her lover the machine that is only good for killing.
She laughs a bitter ironic laugh that echoes around her apartment. The Glock is a bringer of death. With one slight squeeze of her trigger finger, she can end someone's life.
Like that…The time it would take for her to snap her fingers… Done and over… Finite.
But she finds, as she unclips the magazine and slides it back in, that this gun has become a part of her. It's always at her hip when she's on duty, and even when she's at home it's never far away. Without it, she feels weird.
Over and over again her fingers skillfully take apart the gun and then jam it back together. The metallic sound her actions make is rhythmic and soothing to her racing thoughts.
'Snick…snit…snick…snit…'
Megan stands, rocketing off her bed. She paces now, back and forth, back and forth. Left and right, left and right. This way six steps, turn, six steps back, and then repeat. The brick walls of her apartment loom in her vision, closing in on her.
She wants to run. She wants to get away. She can't breathe and memories of her college years flood back, grasping at her with their clawed hands. The face of her friend she failed stares at her, accusing and asking, "Why? Why, Megan? Why?"
Rubbing her face, Megan tells herself that what happened wasn't her fault… Not entirely, at least. How could it have been? She didn't hurt her friend. She didn't rape her friend.
But then, a voice in the back of her mind whispers darkly, you didn't help her either.
Megan turns in her pacing, wondering where he is and how much longer he will be. She can't do this by herself. She can't be by herself, with these thoughts that threaten to choke her and smother her and destroy her.
She looks at her cell phone on the bed side table and her eyes fall on the gold object lying next to it. Her FBI badge. The sight of it brings back all her anger, pushing all thoughts of sadness and guilt to the side.
Angry… She's angry. So angry. She's sworn to protect people. That is what that badge stands for. That is what any law enforcement officer is sworn to do. To protect and uphold.
And this man… No this monster has perverted what she stands for, pretending to be an officer of the force to hurt those women. To hurt those women like someone hurt her friend years ago.
Megan hates this monster that has trashed what she stands for. She hates that he has done this; and she hates that he has brought back a haunt of hers that she had banished a lifetime ago.
Her fingers tighten on the handle of her Glock. They have to find him.
Before he hurts another woman.
Before it's too late.
Her thoughts turn to what she will do when they find him, because she knows they have to and that failing is not an option. The black metal is heavy in her hands.
Could she do that? Kill him? This monster that has hurt so many and spared none.
It would be so easy. Just one little squeeze. One little—
The loud ringing of the doorbell breaks the spell of her morbid thoughts. She blinks slowly, wondering who it could be, and then suddenly remembers that she had called him.
With trembling fingers, the gun is placed away and the door is opened. And there he is, the man who knows her better than anyone. The man who knows just what to say to ease her mind.
"Larry," Megan breathes, quietly and desperately.
Larry's face is full of worry as he gazes at her. Wordlessly, his arms come around her, drawing her in and holding her.
Megan lets him take her, thinking for the first time that night that maybe, just maybe, it might be okay.
Finis.
Comments and feedback are always appreciated.