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FanFic100 Challenge -- Megan Donner
Title: They Always Follow Me
Fandom: CSI: Miami
Characters: Megan Donner, Horatio Caine, Janie Thompson(OC)
Prompt: #85 - She
Word Count: 846
Ratings: PG
Summary: After a raid on a drug party in downtown Miami, Megan follows the clues to one important witness.
Author's Notes: Inspired by “Thank You for the Venom” by My Chemical Romance. / This is an ongoing story arch involving Megan Donner (of course) and Horatio Caine, told from the point of view of Janie Thomas (my OC).
She keeps following me, and I can’t make her stop. It’s that cop from the bust, the brunette woman with the sad eyes. Every where I turn, I can always find her. At Starbucks, or on campus, or even if I just walk down the street to get my mail. She’s always there.
Megan, I think her name is. Megan something…
I really couldn’t remember, to be honest. I was so blasted when they hit the rave that I kept trying to dance while the police shouted for me to get on the floor. They shoved me down, and I only took them seriously when I felt the muzzle of a gun against the back of my neck. I remember distinctly the click of the hammer being drawn back and thinking to myself I’m going to die now, here on a dirty warehouse floor and I was fine with it.
That’s what too much E does to you, I guess.
She was looking at me, staring holes through me with her black eyes. Beside her was the redhead from the bust, too. I remembered him well, even if I didn’t get his name. He’d pulled the gunman off my back before my brains had splattered across that concrete floor. I still dreamed about him, about his blue eyes and his kind hand. Even to a druggie nobody like me, he had been kind. So had Megan, after a fashion. She’d let me go. God only knew why.
“What?” I called loudly in their direction, annoyed with the fact that I felt guilty. About what, I had no idea. But I just felt that way. “What do you want from me?”
Megan and the redhead exchanged a look, and he slipped his sunglasses on. I didn’t like it when he did that. I’d come to associate his eyes with kindness, with safety, because even blitzed out of my gourd on E, I could read his thoughts in his eyes. Now they were hidden behind disks of black, and he looked like every other cop on the planet. It scared me.
I think that showed on my face, in my stance, because he spoke instead of Megan, his voice as kind as his eyes had been. “The truth,” he said simply.
“About what?”
“What really happened that night in the warehouse?”
I hunched my shoulders against a cold wind only I could feel. That guilty feeling was growing, a cool pit in my stomach. “I told you,” I said bitterly. “I don’t remember.”
“Maybe we can help with that,” Megan put in.
She had a voice that would never be kind, as if life had cut the center of compassion out of her chest. She would be fair and firm, but never kind. Maybe that was why she hung out with the redhead. I didn’t know. It wasn’t my business to know. Just like it wasn’t my business to be discussing random acts of raves on the freaking pavement by the stupid mailboxes.
“Leave me alone,” I sighed, blinking back sudden tears. Why was I crying? I didn’t do anything to warrant crying.
“Okay,” the redhead said simply. “I’ll do that, just as soon as you do the same.”
My head came up, staring at him in confusion. “I’m not the one following you, Red,” It sounded like a pout. Like I was sixteen again and not twenty. That made me angry. I didn’t want to feel like a child around them, and that is exactly what I felt like in that moment.
“I wasn’t talking about me,” he replied, hiding behind those damnable sunglasses.
Something in me snapped. I marched right over to him and pulled those shades off his face. Wonder of all wonders, he let me. He stood there and let me take his glasses from his face. Did he know I was going to be gentle? How in the world had he figured that out when I had it in my mind to be mean? But gentle I was, my fingers trembling when his blue eyes became visible again. Concern was in those eyes, and it had nothing to do with me breaking his glasses or hurting him.
He was concerned for me. For me.
Megan’s eyes may never express compassion or kindness, but when I glanced at them, they were filled with the same amount of concern.
I tried to be mean again, to fill my eyes with indignation at being shadowed by two cops. All I managed to do was sniffle. “I don’t know anything,” I repeated.
I didn’t realize my head was buried against his chest until his arms wrapped around my shoulders. Megan’s hand was smoothing back my hair, comforting me as I sobbed.
“Let us help you,” Megan soothed. “Come with us and let us help you.”
I think I nodded. I don’t remember. All I knew was that I had this strange feeling of being safe with Megan and this redheaded cop. That cool guilty pit in my stomach lessened a bit.
Fandom: CSI: Miami
Characters: Megan Donner, Horatio Caine, Janie Thompson(OC)
Prompt: #85 - She
Word Count: 846
Ratings: PG
Summary: After a raid on a drug party in downtown Miami, Megan follows the clues to one important witness.
Author's Notes: Inspired by “Thank You for the Venom” by My Chemical Romance. / This is an ongoing story arch involving Megan Donner (of course) and Horatio Caine, told from the point of view of Janie Thomas (my OC).
She keeps following me, and I can’t make her stop. It’s that cop from the bust, the brunette woman with the sad eyes. Every where I turn, I can always find her. At Starbucks, or on campus, or even if I just walk down the street to get my mail. She’s always there.
Megan, I think her name is. Megan something…
I really couldn’t remember, to be honest. I was so blasted when they hit the rave that I kept trying to dance while the police shouted for me to get on the floor. They shoved me down, and I only took them seriously when I felt the muzzle of a gun against the back of my neck. I remember distinctly the click of the hammer being drawn back and thinking to myself I’m going to die now, here on a dirty warehouse floor and I was fine with it.
That’s what too much E does to you, I guess.
She was looking at me, staring holes through me with her black eyes. Beside her was the redhead from the bust, too. I remembered him well, even if I didn’t get his name. He’d pulled the gunman off my back before my brains had splattered across that concrete floor. I still dreamed about him, about his blue eyes and his kind hand. Even to a druggie nobody like me, he had been kind. So had Megan, after a fashion. She’d let me go. God only knew why.
“What?” I called loudly in their direction, annoyed with the fact that I felt guilty. About what, I had no idea. But I just felt that way. “What do you want from me?”
Megan and the redhead exchanged a look, and he slipped his sunglasses on. I didn’t like it when he did that. I’d come to associate his eyes with kindness, with safety, because even blitzed out of my gourd on E, I could read his thoughts in his eyes. Now they were hidden behind disks of black, and he looked like every other cop on the planet. It scared me.
I think that showed on my face, in my stance, because he spoke instead of Megan, his voice as kind as his eyes had been. “The truth,” he said simply.
“About what?”
“What really happened that night in the warehouse?”
I hunched my shoulders against a cold wind only I could feel. That guilty feeling was growing, a cool pit in my stomach. “I told you,” I said bitterly. “I don’t remember.”
“Maybe we can help with that,” Megan put in.
She had a voice that would never be kind, as if life had cut the center of compassion out of her chest. She would be fair and firm, but never kind. Maybe that was why she hung out with the redhead. I didn’t know. It wasn’t my business to know. Just like it wasn’t my business to be discussing random acts of raves on the freaking pavement by the stupid mailboxes.
“Leave me alone,” I sighed, blinking back sudden tears. Why was I crying? I didn’t do anything to warrant crying.
“Okay,” the redhead said simply. “I’ll do that, just as soon as you do the same.”
My head came up, staring at him in confusion. “I’m not the one following you, Red,” It sounded like a pout. Like I was sixteen again and not twenty. That made me angry. I didn’t want to feel like a child around them, and that is exactly what I felt like in that moment.
“I wasn’t talking about me,” he replied, hiding behind those damnable sunglasses.
Something in me snapped. I marched right over to him and pulled those shades off his face. Wonder of all wonders, he let me. He stood there and let me take his glasses from his face. Did he know I was going to be gentle? How in the world had he figured that out when I had it in my mind to be mean? But gentle I was, my fingers trembling when his blue eyes became visible again. Concern was in those eyes, and it had nothing to do with me breaking his glasses or hurting him.
He was concerned for me. For me.
Megan’s eyes may never express compassion or kindness, but when I glanced at them, they were filled with the same amount of concern.
I tried to be mean again, to fill my eyes with indignation at being shadowed by two cops. All I managed to do was sniffle. “I don’t know anything,” I repeated.
I didn’t realize my head was buried against his chest until his arms wrapped around my shoulders. Megan’s hand was smoothing back my hair, comforting me as I sobbed.
“Let us help you,” Megan soothed. “Come with us and let us help you.”
I think I nodded. I don’t remember. All I knew was that I had this strange feeling of being safe with Megan and this redheaded cop. That cool guilty pit in my stomach lessened a bit.
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