Title: Fireflies
Rating: PG
Warnings: A bit of blood, nothing too gory.
Spoilers: None. Set sometime before the end of season one.
Written as comment fic for Elrhiarhodan's Prompt Fest. Prompt: Lauren Cruz - Fireflies
Also: Thank you to everyone who has read this, and big thanks to the reviwers! I really appreciate it. I really do!
"The braves couldn't see, but the fireflies came down and surrounded them," Lauren said in a drowsy voice. They were both stained with blood. Most of it was hers. Neal had escaped with a bullet graze on his arm and a bruised forehead. Thankfully he'd come around pretty quickly to help her out since she was a bit indisposed at the moment. Neal was cradling her head in his lap, his jacket draped over her to keep her warm. He had torn his expensive Italian shirt into strips for makeshift bandages for the gunshot wound on her leg and arm.
He pressed one of his hands on her shoulder wound, using the sad remnants of his t-shirt to stem the flow of blood. She was clinging to his other hand in pain and fear. Or she had been. She was feeling sleepy and her grasp had grown slack the last minute. Or two minutes... He had suggested that she tell him a story to keep him from falling asleep since he was bored of waiting for Peter to rescue them.
Silly boy. She knew what he was up to. He was just trying to keep her distracted from the idea that maybe Peter wouldn't get there in time. Between the silencers and the fact that the radio signal had apparently been blocked somehow, it was unlikely Peter even knew they were in trouble yet. Lauren shifted and gasped as the movement sent searing pain through her body. Her vision dimmed and almost went black, but then Neal tightened his grip on her hand.
"The braves, Lauren," Neal prodded her, his tone sharp and commanding. "Come on, Lauren. What happened to them?"
She should reprimand him for using her first name. He wasn't supposed to get too familiar with the team...no wait. It was the opposite: she wasn't supposed to get so familiar with him. That was right, yes. Since she was probably dying, she decided not to argue with him over the name thing. It was nice, at least, that she had company at the end. She had to think about where she had left off, and then she picked up the thread of her story. "The fireflies led the braves through the storm, through the forest and to the creek, over a bridge and back to the meadow."
Lauren laughed because she knew she had gotten the story mixed up. "Or something...lots of directions. Thank god for GPS. And fireflies. Would get lost without them." Oh dear...her words were slurring. That was a bad, bad sign. She was very tired now and she closed her eyes. She couldn't feel much of anything right now, and she was glad. She liked this half-fog she was in, being held by a handsome man who was an almost-friend as her life slowly ran out. It was not the worst way to die.
Neal chuckled, but he sounded worried. He put more pressure on her shoulder wound, and brought her back out of the hazy place for a second. She opened her eyes and looked up at his concerned face. He really was very nice. She should have told him so before this happened. "Stay with me, Lauren. You haven't finished your story. Did they find her?"
"Oh yes," Lauren said. She loved this story. Her part-Cherokee grandmother used to tell it to her at night when she was lonely and afraid after her mother left. She saw Neal's eyes soften,a and she realized she must have said all that out loud. Stupid blood loss and imminent death. It made her so talkative.
"The fireflies led them right to her. And then they flew up higher and higher, and became bright lights in the sky. I mean, the fireflies did. Not the braves." Lauren laughed again, but this time it sounded very far away and her vision was getting dimmer. Oh dear. The end was near.
"That's why the Cherokee treat fireflies as if they were sacred." Lauren sighed and leaned a little more against Neal, soaking up his warmth. He was warm and brave and beautiful. She wished she had gotten to know him better. She thought maybe they could have been good friends. Since she didn't have time, she struggled to put an end to her story before she faded away.
"I like fireflies," she whispered. "I used to pretend I could be one. Lighting up the world when it's dark, helping people...Is stupid, I know. But true. You can do that now. Promise me."
She felt herself drifting away to sleep but she felt more at peace when she heard Neal's voice say gently, "You're still like that, Lauren. Hey...no, stay with me...don't go to sleep! I'll do it, ok? Lauren -" She wanted to hold on because Neal sounded so afraid, but her strength was gone. Before she went to sleep, she thought that it was good for Neal to have heard her story. Maybe it would help...help him...
She woke up in the hospital three days later. Her brother was by her bedside, crying and praying with gratitude that she was still alive. She was on the good stuff and it took her another two days to be aware enough to realize that she had in fact survived and that her brother was not a cast member of a Spanish soap opera she liked to watch.
The sixth day of her stay in the hospital, she was allowed to have visitors. Peter and Jones showed up, leaving presents and cards from the entire office. She didn't look them over because she had to give her statement, but after they were gone, her brother helped her peruse the surprisingly large pile of gifts.
Her brother held up a handmade card caught her eye. "It's not signed," he said, his voice somewhat puzzled. Lauren reached out and took the card carefully. The cover of the card was a beautifully drawn firefly. Inside the card, in Neal's loopy scrawl, were the words, "Don't forget who you are."