Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters or ideas from The Killing. It's all just for fun.
Possible Spoilers (though set in between): Season 3, episode 10 & Season 4, episode 1
Holder's pacing nearby, willing the last five minutes not to have happened. It's not working; it's still real, all of it. He walks about ten feet from where Linden had been standing and staring out into the trees. When he stops and turns around to face her, he finds that in the seconds that he had his back to her, she collapsed in the dirt. He pauses where he's standing, closes his eyes and sighs heavily, shaking his head. Oh, Linden…
His emotions are jumbled up together and he's feeling at least four different things at once, which makes it hard to think straight. He's shocked by her actions, he's relieved that she's okay, of course, and he's furious with her for putting them in this situation, and yet… at the same time, no matter how much he wants to hate her right now, it hurts to see her like this. She's always been broken – now maybe irreparably so – but it has never showed so obviously before. And though it seems to keep her from forming healthy relationships with anyone else, her baggage hasn't been an issue between the two of them, because he's pretty fucked up himself. On the contrary, it's part of what bonds them together.
Thinking quickly, he sprints back to his car, still at the end of the driveway where he left it, and searches his trunk. The old blanket he pulls out isn't exactly the cleanest thing in the world, but it'll do. He's not even sure where it came from, but today he's glad he had it. He closes the trunk quietly and jogs back to where Linden is still face down on the ground. As he gets closer he can hear her sobs, though they're faint, as if her insides are clenched so tightly that it somehow holds in most of the noise. He wants to be furious with her for what she has done, but all he can do is sigh once again at the sight of her.
He stops beside her, momentarily considering how he's going to do this. He has a feeling she's not even going to be able to walk on her own at the moment, which means he's probably going to have to pick her up. He knows that he can lift her – she's tiny compared to him – but up to now there's been absolutely minimal physical contact between the two of them, even in times when one of them was breaking down. He's just not sure how to go about it. All he knows is that he needs to get her off the ground. Here goes nothing, he thinks as he crouches down beside her.
Wrapping the blanket gently around her shoulders, he feels her shaking violently. He feels what's left of his anger at her dissipating. It just can't ever be easy for her. Shit can't never go right. No one should have to end up like this. Yes, what she did was fucked up. She made the worst possible choice. But in her position… there but for the grace of God, and all that. I gotta believe that she thought she was doing it for those girls, or for Adrian. She's got a temper, sure, but Linden don't just shoot someone for the hell of it.
In some sort of fucked up way, he understands what she has done.
Later he'll be angry, he's pretty sure, but right now he can only focus on right now. They need to leave, so the first thing he has to do is get her off the ground. She hadn't responded at all when he'd wrapped the blanket around her shoulders, so he pulls it around her a little tighter and rubs her back gently between her shoulder blades. He can't even tell if she knows that he's there. "Linden," he says in a raised whisper. There's no reply, so he tries again, this time leaning down closer to her ear. "Linden, it's me. We can't stay here. You gotta get up."
There's still no sign that she hears him at all, so he resigns himself to the fact that he's going to have to do this the hard way. He stands up and moves around in front of her, then crouches down to her level again. Again he leans down near her ear and says, "Linden. Hey, we're getting up now, okay? I'm gonna help you up." He doesn't expect a response, but he figures that if she can hear him at all, she might like a heads up about what's about to happen. If she can't hear him, well then, no big deal.
Very slowly and carefully, he gets his hands under her arms to lift her upper body, securing the ends of the blanket in his fingers at the same time as best he can. She's still sobbing and shaking, though he thinks that it may have lessened a little.
As gently as possible considering the awkwardness of what he's doing, he pulls her up off the ground. Her arms hang down like a ragdoll. She's light, but it's still not an easy way to lift an adult. She doesn't struggle against him as he had been afraid that she might. Instead, she's like dead weight, making no attempt to lift herself whatsoever. He continues to pull himself up slowly, pulling her up with him, getting his arms around the middle of her the best he can so she doesn't fall back down.
Now he's standing up, clutching her awkwardly and realizing that he's going to have to carry her to the car. He slides his right arm behind her knees and lifts her off the ground, his left arm supporting her back. For all of her fierceness, she weighs practically nothing. She's still shaking as he adjusts her weight to get a better grip on her, and her head falls against his chest. He has to remind himself to look up and start walking, that this is not the time to try to comfort her, to try to put the pieces back together, no matter how strong the temptation. They can't stay here. They'll talk later.
If they can find the words, that is.
She doesn't respond to being carried as he walks back to the car, doesn't say a word, doesn't even open her eyes. She's shaking less now, and not crying as hard, but her eyes are shut tight and he's still not sure if she's conscious of what's going on. He can't tell whether she knows that he's there and that he has her. In all the times he's seen her break down, he's never seen her this bad. Not even close. He tries not to dwell on it, even though he wants to comfort her somehow. Not now, he tells himself. You're here. Right now that will have to be enough.
They reach the car and Holder leans down awkwardly to open the passenger side door with the hand that's under her knees, pushing it the rest of the way open with his hip. He leans in slowly to put her down on the seat, not letting her feet hit the floorboards until he has carefully removed both of her shoes, which are covered in mud. He sets them on the ground just outside the car door, then lets her feet rest on the mostly clean floor. He stands up and quickly opens the back passenger door, taking out a stray plastic shopping bag, into which he puts her muddy shoes. He knows that his car won't end up "clean," or evidence free, per se, but no sense making things obvious. He closes the back door and puts the bag in the trunk before going back to Linden.
Kneeling beside her, he looks for signs that she's returning to consciousness. "Linden," he says softly, feeling like his regular speaking voice is too loud for this time and place. She doesn't react. He looks down and notices that her hands, which she has pulled up tightly against herself, are balled into fists. Her eyes are still squeezed shut and her posture is extremely defensive. She's wound up tight in every way. Still, he decides it can't hurt to try.
"Linden, if you can hear me, Imma be back in a few minutes. Gonna take care of things, ya know what I mean? Then we gonna get the hell outta here. Alright?" She doesn't move, doesn't show any sign that she'd heard him. He sighs and shakes his head, patting her shoulder gently before making sure she's fully inside the car and closing the door. Though he's not happy about it, he turns back towards the scene that Linden had left. Skinner's body, his car. It isn't how he wanted it to go down, but it's up to him now.
He wouldn't do it for anyone else, but for Linden... there's no question.
…
Ever so slowly, she feels herself relaxing. Her fists unclench little by little. Her jaw loosens. She realizes that every part of her body had contracted, and as she relaxes she feels sore all over from holding everything in so tightly. She hasn't managed to open her eyes yet, but she notices that she's no longer pressed against the cold ground. The smell in the air is familiar – cigarettes and… what? Fast food? Sweat? She knows this smell, this place. There's no noise around her – why? She decides to let her eyes open, at least enough to find out.
I'm in a patrol car, probably the one Holder followed me here in – of course. That would explain the familiar scent. But… how? Next, she notices that there's a blanket draped around her shoulders and over her lap, and that her shoes are missing. She shakes her head and for a split second, she almost smiles, realizing what it all means. Holder's been looking out for her again, taking care of her.
But what…?
Then it comes back to her, slamming into her like a freight train – everything that had happened that day. Her lungs feel like they're contracting involuntarily, and she's suddenly gasping for air.
Skinner… He… I… But… Did I…? I did!
Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh shit. Fuck fuck fuck fuck…
Her heart's beating so fast and so hard, she thinks she may be having a panic attack. Her eyes sweep around outside the car, looking to see if she's alone there. She's in Holder's car, so he's probably there somewhere.
He was there when… yes, he was there. She remembers seeing him beside her, when she…
Oh God oh God oh God… I can't think about it! Make it stop… She sees the scene replay in her mind in slow motion and is powerless to turn it off. Though she's watching her own actions, she feels like she's watching someone else. Her reactions to what she sees herself do look more like what she remembers of Holder's reactions – shock, mostly. Disgust? Horror? As she hears the gunshot inside her head again, she shudders, her entire body tensing and her arms flying up in front of her face to protect herself against an unseen enemy, even though she's alone in the car.
She's crying again now, sobbing so hard that her stomach's hurting and almost no sound is escaping from her at all. She's brought her shoeless feet up on the seat in front of her and she's hugging her legs to her, her forehead against her knees as she tries to block out the world.
What have I done? Her eyes squeeze shut once again.
You know what you've done. You killed him. You had to. You had no choice. You couldn't let him live. The voices in her head just never seem to take a break.
But I… he… but that makes me…
Yes, I guess it does. It's unsettling that the two voices are agreeing. That never happens.
I'm a monster, just like Skinner, she tells herself. She has that falling feeling in the pit of her stomach again, and she wonders if she was going to throw up. Please don't let me throw up in Holder's car. That's all he needs.
Holder.
She remembers knowing for absolute certain that he wouldn't be able to forgive her for this. And yet, here she is in his car. She can't quite figure out what to make of what she's awoken to. After all, where the hell is Holder now?
It doesn't matter, she thinks. I should just walk away, get away from here. He doesn't need me bringing him down.
Her sobs fade as her confusion takes over as the dominant emotion, and she lifts her head to look around again. She can't see more than five feet from the car, if that far, because she's in the middle of the woods and there are no lights to be seen except a sliver of moonlight. No matter how she strains her eyes, there's nothing but blackness around her as far as she can see, and it's eerie. If she hadn't known for absolute certain that Skinner was dead, she would have found sitting her in the car in the pitch dark by herself, in the middle of nowhere, terrifying. As it is, she isn't especially fond of it.
She doesn't see Holder approach the car because she's staring out the window into the darkness on the passenger side when he comes up on the driver's side. As he opens the driver's side door, she almost jumps out of her seat in surprise. He gets in and closes the door as quietly as he can, apologizing for startling her. She notices that he's looking at her a little funny, and she quickly gets uncomfortable under his intense scrutiny. She frowns at him, and asks, "Why are you staring at me like that?"
He blinks in surprise. He hadn't realized that he was staring at her. Really, he'd just been trying to assess her mental state. She looks like she's doing better than she had been when he'd left her in the car – not that it was hard to look better than she'd been before. At least now she's forming sentences. He shakes his head slightly. "Just… tryin' to figure out if you're okay," he says quietly, with concern. "You kinda checked out on me for a bit back there."
Then she understands what the look was that she'd seen on his face: concern. It figures that she wouldn't recognize that look when she sees it. She's still not used to seeing it. Not from anyone besides him.
She glances down, shaking slightly, biting her lip and nodding quickly. Holder knows that nod. It's the one that says, "I'm going to nod yes because if I speak a single word you'll hear how not okay I am." He watches her for a few seconds as she stares at her lap, breathing heavily and trying to compose herself. He starts the car and uses the end of the driveway to turn around the best he can in the pitch darkness, getting them back on the narrow road, away from everything that has happened to them that night.
"I took care of it, Linden. It's done," he says, glancing at her quickly before looking back at the road. He doesn't hear a response, and when his eyes dart back to her a few seconds later her eyes are squeezed shut again and her breath is ragged. "Hey," he says, a little more loudly than normal, but still gently. He's trying to be heard over what is surely a lot of noise in her head. It takes a minute, but she opens her eyes and looks at him weakly. She looks defeated. Scared.
He holds the steering wheel with his left hand and offers her his right, palm up. She looks at it for a minute as if she's wondering what it is, or why he's holding it out to her, then very slowly, she takes it in both of hers. She stares at their hands intently, as if there are answers written there that she'll find if only she looks hard enough. He can feel the tension coursing through her, and within seconds he remembers how very strong she is for her small size. Damn, this is going to hurt, he thinks to himself, but doesn't stop her. She's squeezing the hell out of his hand, and he's not even sure she knows it. Her eyes are far away again, this time staring out the front windshield into the blackness. But at least her eyes are open and her breathing is fairly even. This is progress, and he'll take it.
On the Linden Crisis Scale, he feels like he may have managed to downgrade the tsunami to a plain old hurricane, even if only for this moment. But then again, with Linden you just never know, and it can change at any second. He doesn't feel like he has much to give in the way of comfort, especially not in this particular situation – he doesn't feel like he's ever really been good at that shit, and even if he was, what exactly could he say to make this better, anyway? Not a damn thing. But if something as simple as holding his hand can help her when she's so clearly in pain, then all the better.
They ride through the darkness in silence. There are so many things hanging heavily in the air around them, so many things to talk about, that neither of them can bring themselves to say a word. With anyone else, it might have seemed uncomfortable, but despite everything that has happened that day and night, words are unnecessary. The only ones that are really important are the ones that don't need to be spoken between them – that have never needed to be spoken between them, though they have been said: I'm here for you.