Author's Note: Here's the rest of Lilly's Night! Scotty to follow.
Disclaimer:If I owned Cold Case, there probably would be a Cher themed episode. Just sayin'.
Stepping through the door, Lilly immediately plopped on the couch, ever grateful for the fuzzy, warm bodies that climbed up to meet her. She pulled Tripod up to her chest and gently sank back into the cushions, stroking her feline companions absentmindedly. She knew she should get up, get changed, get ready for bed, but she had been delaying it later and later into the evening and early morning for weeks now, watching mindless TV long past the infomercials for cooking utensils no one could ever need, until her restless four hours would end exactly when she needed to get up for work. That way, she didn't have to try to go back to sleep.
It wasn't just the struggle to decompress—it was fear. She was afraid of her dreams, of how she felt when she woke up. Of suffering through it again and again. She was only tough enough to face it once a night. Or at least that was her excuse.
Olivia had snuggled up next to her, and Lilly's eyelids fluttered shut. I should at least try my own bed, she thought as she struggled to open her eyes again. She didn't know why, but she had been resistant to staying in her own room. It was somehow attached to the shooting for her, even though she would never be able to explain how.
At first she'd just fall asleep on the couch, but after a couple of nights, the crick in her neck certainly hadn't helped anything. She had moved semi-permanently to the daybed. Not that it had helped much either, but she liked the idea of confining her fears and struggles to that room like it was her own personal sick ward.
One day, she'd be able to go back, free and clear of this particular trauma. She just had no idea when.
At least she wouldn't hold out any longer tonight. Sheer fatigue had made that decision for her. She sat up slowly, hanging on to Tripod, not wanting to let go, as if just being close to another living being would make her stronger. Perched on the edge of the couch, after what felt like forever but wasn't anywhere near long enough, she released her hold on the cats and stood up, walking purposefully to her room, readying herself for the battle ahead.
When she came out of the bathroom with nothing left to stand between her and sleep, Tripod and Olivia had already taken up their positions, sitting solemnly on the bed, waiting to see if she would stay. It was almost funny, how serious they seemed. For some odd reason, Lilly couldn't help but be reminded of Scotty earlier in the day, waiting patiently, dark eyes full of concern. She smiled briefly. He was more like a puppy than her damaged cats, who were now meowing to reclaim her attention.
"Not tonight, girls," she said softly and turned off the lights.
Bright white light. Darkness. The light. Again. Coming into focus. Fluorescents. Precinct? Hospital. Rushing by so fast. It's me. I'm moving. Rushing by the lights. But I can't move…I can't breathe. Why can't—"I need 10ccs…Severe gun shot wound…Critical…Stay with me, Lilly!" Stay with you? Me? Crushed. No, shot. Shot. I was shot. I'm dying. "Lilly? Lilly? Is there anyone we can call? Do you have anyone we can call?" Not looking up anymore. I…I'm looking at me. Oh God, am I really? Is it really me? So pale. "Is there anyone I can call? Lilly?" Is there anyone they can call? Anyone? Those eyes. My eyes… Can't…breathe…
Lilly woke up as if someone had kicked her in the gut. Her hand flew to her heart as though she could manually slow down its beating. Failing at that, it soon moved to right above her still prominent scar, feeling the divot in her chest beneath the thin fabric of her shirt, the blood pulsing underneath the damaged skin.
She took in the deepest breath she could, her chest rising under the pressure of her hand, the bones still sore. Sucking in a few more gasps, she had taken to breathing somewhat normally while staring into the darkness, taking in the stillness of the night. Finally, wiping the cold sweat from her face, she glanced over at the clock.
3:27. No man's hour.
This one had hit her even harder than usual. And she almost lost her breath again remembering why.
The eyes.
She now knew exactly why what she had seen in Felton had been so striking, enough to freeze her where she stood. It wasn't just the rage. She had recognized so much of what she saw from her own dreams, hovering above herself, looking into those blue eyes whose color belied their depth. She saw the primal fear. The sorrow. The profound understanding that she was alone.
She had recognized his eyes as her own.
But Felton had lied to himself. He had Dobber at the end of the world. Lilly Rush, on the other hand, had no one.
She suddenly felt very awake. She never wanted to see those eyes again.