Interruption To A Journey
Summary: After a tragedy that occurs during a case deeply effects Ryan, Natalia seems to be the only one who can help.
Genre: Hurt/Angst/Comfort/Friendship
Spoilers: mentions of "Fallen" and "Mayday" (Jack Toller is mentioned below), minor character death.
Disclaimer: I do not own nor profit from CBS or the CSI franchise – this story is simply for your entertainment purposes only. The poem Interruption to a Journey is property of Norman Mac Craig.
Pairings: Suggestions of Ryan/Molly. Ryan/Natalia friendship.
Author's Note: For those of you who wouldn't know, Interruption to a Journey is by an Irish poet, Norman Mac Craig and is one of my favourite poems of all time. I had to study it in school and one day, the idea for this two-shot popped into my head, (But of course, Ryan is always somewhere in my mind =)
It's only a Ryan/Natalia friendship this time, no shipping. However check my profile if you are looking for some RaiN, either I or some of my favourite'd authors on this site will have something to tickle your fancy. But for now, I hope you enjoy (you could always let me know with a review *winkwink*)
The slam of a steel locker echoed through the empty locker room, heavy breathing followed the silence. Pressing his forehead to the cold door, Ryan Wolfe tried to calm himself.
How could this-...happen?
Feeling the pain rack through his whole body, Ryan closed his eyes, hoping to escape the reality that tortured him so much. Subconsciously, his hands balled into fists, chest shaking with suppressed sobs.
She was just there, right there! How can she be...this isn't right!
After the forth punch to his locker door, Ryan realised his hands were hurting. Through the angered numbness, he heard a small breath, a pair of concerned eyes watching his lash-out.
"What you looking at?"
Though his voice was more venomous than he attended, Ryan cared more about getting some nosey lab tech away from him than sounding polite. Roughly, he opened his locker, disappearing behind the steel, rummaging through his tidy locker.
"I came down to check on you."
Muscles tensing, Ryan stood up straight out of his locker, head bowed in shame.
"I'm fine." He breathed coldly, rolling his eyes when he heard the approaching click of high heels.
I should have known it'd take more than that to get rid of her.
Feeling his lips tighten into a grimace, he turned away from his locker.
"Natalia, I'm fine. Now will everyone stop bugging me?"
Regretting the anger that leaked through his voice, Ryan sighed heavily but said nothing. Silently kicking himself when he noticed the small crease etch on Natalia's forehead.
"Ryan, we're worried about you."
Barely letting Natalia finish, Ryan turned sharply, brow burrowing over narrowed eyes.
"Well don't! I'm fine! I didn't get shot today! I get to go home! Just leave me alone!"
Recoiling from Ryan's harsh tone, Natalia took a deep breath.
He needs to talk, even if he doesn't want to.
"Ryan...what happened today-"
"I don't want to talk about it."
"Ryan, please you have to talk to someone-"
"No I don't!" he growled, "Nat, there's nothing to say, please just leave me alone."
Staring into his pained eyes, Natalia sighed, retreating to her own locker. After quickly grabbing a few personal items – hesitating before taking out a folded piece of paper from the back - she closed it softly, walking towards Ryan.
"You may not want to talk, but will you please read this?"
Curiously, Ryan took the folded piece of paper. Looking back up from his hands, he noticed gentleness in Natalia's gaze. It wasn't pity, but more like compassion, acknowledging his loss.
"Trust me, it'll help you."
Giving his shoulder a small, supportive rub, Natalia left without another word. Listening to the locker room door swing silently to a close, Ryan began unfolding the paper. He instantly recognised Natalia's handwriting.
Interruption to a Journey by Norman Mc Craig
"Poetry?" he questioned lowly. Frowning deeply, a sigh escaped Ryan. No matter what Natalia said, a piece of paper wasn't going to help him recover from the day's tragic events. Taking out his wallet and keys, Ryan closed his locker, ready to hunt down something that would help ease the pain.
I need a beer.
Stumbling through his kitchen, Ryan chugged another beer, barely swallowing a mouthful of the cold, sour liquid before pushing the bottle to his lips.
This isn't working, he frowning, hunting through his cabinets, I need something stronger.
Smirking to himself, Ryan pulled the bottle of Jack Daniels from the back of his cupboard and struggled towards the living room, not caring to take a glass with him.
Now, he thought sarcastically as he dropped onto his couch, now this is a party.
Opening the whiskey, Ryan hastily drank from the bottle, only stopping when the burning of his tongue had become too much to bear.
Flinching as he placed the bottle down on his coffee table, Ryan sat in silence. He tried looking for a distraction, a speckle of dirt, a photo frame hanging crookedly – he found nothing.
Before the horrid reminders of his day could surface, Ryan quickly grabbed the whiskey bottle, diverting his thoughts to the sickly burn of his throat. Even through the fiery drink, the images attacked him.
Escaped convict...prowling Miami...he should have caught Toller quicker...stopped him from finding Molly...
Molly...
Growling out, Ryan chugged the ends of the Jack Daniels, letting the bottle slip from his sweaty grip. His memories blurred with his disoriented vision, leaving him nowhere to hide from the haunting images.
Molly had called him only an hour before...staying after work while he was patrolling with Horatio...waiting for their second coffee date...
'If I didn't ask her to, she wouldn't have been in the parking lot when Toller showed up...with his gun...'
Running both hands through his unusually messy hair and fisting them tightly, Ryan clenched his jaw, ready to lash out. Growling, he jumped up from the couch, stumbling to his bedroom. Seeing red, he grabbed his bed sheets, furiously ripping them off the bed and throwing them to the floor in a heap.
He was still angry, the liquor didn't help...he needed to lash out all his frustration.
Approaching his bedside locker, Ryan dragged the drawers out and dumped them on the floor – he then kicked over the locker, not caring for the smashed lamp.
Next were the pillows, he carelessly threw them across the room. Approaching his wardrobe and flinging the doors open, Ryan began tossing his clothes out, not caring about the destruction.
It seemed to help, at least once he was done, then he could clean up, and then do it again. He could continue the cycle until the drunken tiredness would consume.
'But then there'll be nightmares...'
Shaking his head furiously, Ryan focused on carelessly flinging clothes over his shoulder. First he started with his T-shirt pile, barely noticing how he was destroying his colour coordination lay-out of his shirts.
After tugging a few pairs of jeans from their hangers, Ryan felt a soft thud against his thigh. Glancing down, he noticed a square of folded paper slide down his leg. Curiously he reached down, carefully picking it up and opening it.
'What the-?'
Though his vision was heavily blurred, Ryan could read the page, it took him a few seconds to remember where he'd gotten it from.
"Interruption to a Journey, by Norman Mc Craig." He read aloud. Blinking a few times to refocus his sight, Ryan read the rest of the poem.
The hare we had run over
bounced about the road
on the springing curve
of its spine.
"Wait-what?" Ryan gasped, eyes widened he re-read the first stanza. Standing up, walking through the carnage he had created, he sat on the edge of his bed, leaning forward as he carefully read the next passage.
Cornfields breathed in the darkness.
We were going through the darkness and
the breathing cornfields from one
important place to another.
"He killed a hare..." Ryan realised, frowning deeply as the scenario took place in his mind. 'How did Natalia think this would help?'
Shaking himself, Ryan began reading the next stanza.
We broke the hare's neck
and made that place, for a moment,
the most important place there was,
where a bowstring was cut
and a bow broken for ever
that had shot itself through so many
darkness's and cornfields.
Feeling sick – though maybe from the alcohol – Ryan lay down on the bed on his side, propping himself up on his elbow. Now comfortable, he continued reading.
It was left in that landscape.
It left us in another.
Still queasy, Ryan's frown sunk even lower after reading the last line. "So he just leaves it there?" he questioned, feeling a new rage burn through his veins, he crumbled the paper into a ball, throwing it into the rest of the destruction in his bedroom.
What the hell was she thinking? How is a dead rabbit meant to make me feel better?
Grumbling to himself, Ryan lowered his head to the mattress, regretting having thrown his pillows away. Drifting into an uneasy sleep, his dreams were filled with gunshots; Molly's fading eyes and dead hares surrounded by cornfields.
A very angst-y first chapter I know, and sorry to any Molly fans but her death was crucial to the plot.
Enjoy it? Love it? Hate it? Drop a line and let me know ;)
- Mel