(no subject)
Feb. 1st, 2015 09:59 pmWhat might be the most unsettling part of all of this, for more reasons than one, is how fucking familiar it feels. It shouldn't, after all, and Molly knows that, has been telling herself that on a loop since she first ran across the street to Russell's side and saw all that blood and was that quickly sent back to a year and a half ago. Russell getting shot while on duty isn't anything close to what happened to her. It's a hazard of the job, and he knew that when he signed on for it, and she did, too, when she befriended him. She keeps coming back to it even so, maybe because she has nothing else to really compare it to. Getting a cab to her apartment, her clothes and skin still stained with his blood, it's hard to think about anything other than that night, and the day she first got to go back to her own place afterwards.
It doesn't help that, when she gets there, she's likewise uncertain of what to do, where to start, just like she was then. On one hand, at least this time, she doesn't have weeks of mostly staying inside while fielding calls from people wanting a statement from her to worry about, at least she's not hurt, but on the other, waiting to hear something more might be even worse. The paramedics who arrived at the scene assured her that everything would be fine, and Russell himself did, too, but it's hard to get the sight of him on the sidewalk, covered in blood, out of her head, not least because she's covered in it herself.
If it were her life on the line, it wouldn't be easy, but she could take it. She's known since she got here that this extension she was somehow granted would run out eventually. Even knowing that Russell's in the same boat that she is in that regard, though, living on borrowed time, the thought of anything happening to him is too difficult to fathom.
The smart thing to do, the logical thing, would be to get rid of her clothes and take a long, hot shower, and she still hasn't ruled that out. It hits her all of a sudden, though, the need to scrub the blood off her hands, and without bothering to think through it, she crosses to the kitchen sink, turning up the water as hot as she can.
She isn't sure how long she's been there — a few minutes, maybe — when she hears a knock on the door over the sound of the faucet, and lets out a heavy breath as she shuts it off with her elbow and grabs a couple of paper towels, calling, "Just a second!" It won't take her too long to get there, but even so, she doesn't want whoever is there to think she isn't home, as tempted as she is just to ignore it. Given the state she's in, she probably should, but by the time that occurs to her, it's too late.
In retrospect, she ought to have had an idea who it would be. There are only so many people who'd drop by unannounced, and Lee is by far the likeliest. It speaks volumes to how shaken she still is, how lost in her own head, that she doesn't consider the possibility until she's standing there in front of him, suddenly all too aware of how she looks. If it weren't for that, she thinks maybe she would be able to pass herself off as being okay. As it is, even if she had it in her to act like she was, it would be plainly apparent that something is wrong, and she can't come close. "Lee. Hi."
It doesn't help that, when she gets there, she's likewise uncertain of what to do, where to start, just like she was then. On one hand, at least this time, she doesn't have weeks of mostly staying inside while fielding calls from people wanting a statement from her to worry about, at least she's not hurt, but on the other, waiting to hear something more might be even worse. The paramedics who arrived at the scene assured her that everything would be fine, and Russell himself did, too, but it's hard to get the sight of him on the sidewalk, covered in blood, out of her head, not least because she's covered in it herself.
If it were her life on the line, it wouldn't be easy, but she could take it. She's known since she got here that this extension she was somehow granted would run out eventually. Even knowing that Russell's in the same boat that she is in that regard, though, living on borrowed time, the thought of anything happening to him is too difficult to fathom.
The smart thing to do, the logical thing, would be to get rid of her clothes and take a long, hot shower, and she still hasn't ruled that out. It hits her all of a sudden, though, the need to scrub the blood off her hands, and without bothering to think through it, she crosses to the kitchen sink, turning up the water as hot as she can.
She isn't sure how long she's been there — a few minutes, maybe — when she hears a knock on the door over the sound of the faucet, and lets out a heavy breath as she shuts it off with her elbow and grabs a couple of paper towels, calling, "Just a second!" It won't take her too long to get there, but even so, she doesn't want whoever is there to think she isn't home, as tempted as she is just to ignore it. Given the state she's in, she probably should, but by the time that occurs to her, it's too late.
In retrospect, she ought to have had an idea who it would be. There are only so many people who'd drop by unannounced, and Lee is by far the likeliest. It speaks volumes to how shaken she still is, how lost in her own head, that she doesn't consider the possibility until she's standing there in front of him, suddenly all too aware of how she looks. If it weren't for that, she thinks maybe she would be able to pass herself off as being okay. As it is, even if she had it in her to act like she was, it would be plainly apparent that something is wrong, and she can't come close. "Lee. Hi."