DISCLAIMER: Women's Murder Club and its characters are the property of James Patterson, 20th Century Fox Television and ABC. No infringement intended.
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Betad by Melissa. Thank you!
"Do you remember me?" Her vision disintegrated to a surreal blur and then momentarily stabilized for long enough to make out his face. In her mind, she said his name but couldn't bring herself to form the single word.
Simon. Of course she remembered him and the evening they'd spent talking about well-meaning friends who annoyed the hell out of them trying to play matchmaker. Especially when he wasn't really interested in women, and she had yet to make up her mind. She'd needed time to find out what she really wanted.
Time was running out on her now.
He squeezed her hand gently, disregarding the fact that his own fingers came away a damp crimson red. "I'm sorry. This is going to hurt."
When he put pressure on the wound, her vocal chords strained with the effort to form a scream that couldn't get out, a startled gasp all she could manage, as her body instinctively tried to curl around the pain.
"You're going to be okay," he said firmly. "Just don't move."
She was cold, a natural result of the rain and the way she was dressed; the only warmth from the blood staining the grass underneath her, and the grip of his hand. Which reminded her of something.
"Don't... tell them." It had been important. Now she could just close her eyes and...
"Damn it, Lindsay, stay with me here!"
Frankly, she didn't feel very obliged to him. To anybody really. Anything that would end the pain would be alright now.
"Do it for her, then."
She wondered how he could know, and what else he'd read between the lines that evening. It was out of her hands. She could feel herself slipping away.
Just for a little while longer, she'd try to hold on.
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