"Little Girl Heart Beat," Mohinder, Molly, G
Title - Little Girl Heart Beat
Rating - G
Characters - Mohinder, Molly
Spoilers/Warnings - Set directly after the events of 1.22 "Landslide;" spoilers through there
Summary - Ten heartbeats and she still stares at him, her little girl eyes big, round and terrified.
Disclaimer - No, I don't own any of the "Heroes." I'm just borrowing them. I'll give them back more or less unharmed.
Ten heartbeats and she still stares at him, her little girl eyes big, round and terrified. The gun he holds in his hand shakes, sweat dampens the grip, making it slip in his hands.
From here he can almost feel the racing of her heart and hear the blood (both his and hers) rushing through her veins.
He wants her in his arms, her tiny, fragile body cocooned safely against his body, her little arms wrapped tightly around his neck and the tears that glass her eyes falling freely onto his shoulder.
He wants to see her dance in the sunlight that would bring the gold out of her hair and smile in delight when the sand tickles her toes on the beach. He wants to see her grown up glaring at him while her first boyfriend stumbles awkwardly through his speech.
All he wants for this little girl he has come to love is for that gun trained on her to disappear and her to be free -- free to cry, free to care, free to love, free to live.
But her little girl eyes so terrified and alone say she is not safe to love, cherish or even breathe. So he swallows one time, regrips the gun and fires, praying when he opens his eyes, she'll be in his arms, and she'll be safe.
Feedback is love!
Rating - G
Characters - Mohinder, Molly
Spoilers/Warnings - Set directly after the events of 1.22 "Landslide;" spoilers through there
Summary - Ten heartbeats and she still stares at him, her little girl eyes big, round and terrified.
Disclaimer - No, I don't own any of the "Heroes." I'm just borrowing them. I'll give them back more or less unharmed.
Ten heartbeats and she still stares at him, her little girl eyes big, round and terrified. The gun he holds in his hand shakes, sweat dampens the grip, making it slip in his hands.
From here he can almost feel the racing of her heart and hear the blood (both his and hers) rushing through her veins.
He wants her in his arms, her tiny, fragile body cocooned safely against his body, her little arms wrapped tightly around his neck and the tears that glass her eyes falling freely onto his shoulder.
He wants to see her dance in the sunlight that would bring the gold out of her hair and smile in delight when the sand tickles her toes on the beach. He wants to see her grown up glaring at him while her first boyfriend stumbles awkwardly through his speech.
All he wants for this little girl he has come to love is for that gun trained on her to disappear and her to be free -- free to cry, free to care, free to love, free to live.
But her little girl eyes so terrified and alone say she is not safe to love, cherish or even breathe. So he swallows one time, regrips the gun and fires, praying when he opens his eyes, she'll be in his arms, and she'll be safe.
Feedback is love!