Not a one-shotttt. Tell me what you think? This story is based off of my own experience. A year and a few months back, my aunt's house burnt down and I'm really close to her and spent a lot of great times in that house. Her and my uncle survived (she wasn't even home) and their two dogs made it out, but her five or so cats all died. It was really sad and I began planning this story out this morning and just started writing it, so there you go.:)
(By the way, that whole story is more in depth and could be made even sadder because it was a LOAD sadder than that, but I figure it's not good to depress you this early in the fanfic...)
Flames engulfed the small house and Mal stood, barely restraining himself, tears spilling down his face. He knew he had to hold back, he could lose it just yet. His wife was already being held by a firefighter, who looked annoyed. Mal figured he would be too, if he was being forced to hold a woman who was screaming her lungs out, trying to throw herself right into the flames. Slowly a firefighter emerged from the burning building and Natara stopped shrieking to hear what he said. There was nothing in his arms. He shook his head and now a second firefighter was holding Mal back as he tried to race into the building, already knowing it was too late. Already knowing it was hopeless. Already knowing it would be no use to sacrifice himself as well.
His wife was screaming again, but her screams were punctuated by sobs now. He himself was just barely holding back, sobbing now. Without it registering completely in his mind, Mal knew Ken, Amy, Maria, and several others of their friends had joined them around the black bonfire now. But bonfires are supposed to be happy, not tragic.
He heard them trying to calm Natara down, trying to stop her screams. One of them came over and tried to stop Mal from sobbing. "It's just a house," they said. "Everything can be replaced."
Then the dreaded words came. They didn't know yet, they didn't know why Mal and Natara were in such horrible pain. Mal walked over and held Natara in his arms. She buried her face in his shirt and stopped screaming, as they sat on the sidewalk in the middle of their friends. But whether they stuck together or not, the words still came. There it was, the question. The one they didn't want to think about. The one they wanted to avoid. The one they were trying to pretend wasn't true. It was Amy who asked it, Mal later realized. It was Amy who first realized who was missing.
"Mal…? Natara…? Wh-where is Megan?"
This time it was Mal who broke down. It was Mal who was being comforted by a thousand pair of hands. It was Mal, buried in Natara's hug. But hugging her, it wasn't as comforting as it always had been because he felt her trembling. He felt the tears rolling off of her face, splashing onto the back of his torn and burned jacket.
They all knew, they all understood. Why else would the top detective and FBI profiler be sitting outside on the ground sobbing together?
What could possibly make the bravest pair break down like so?
What could possibly break the resolve of the two toughest partners in the history of the SFPD?
The answer isn't hard. Mr. and Mrs. Fallon's three year old daughter, Megan, was not saved from the fire that took their house and belongings.
And they were broken because a life as special as hers, it could not be replaced.
Broken down and sobbing now
How could we possibly explain how
It feels to lose someone you held dear
Lose them to something that you did fear
The baby girl, her years of three
She died that night, her parents did plee
Save her please, we need her here
They waited till dawn, they stayed quite near
She never did emerge from that flaming house
The street was in a mourning silent as a mouse
Remembering that innocent little daughter that died
Her parents stayed up all night, they cried; they cried
How do you comfort someone who's lost someone like that?
Worse than watching their heart monitor go flat
They lost her without so much as a farewell
The smoke, it'll haunt them, forever the smell.