[[ milli!fic: white noise ]]

[justdidntseeit]

title: white noise
author: sardonicynic
rating: r for language and violence
characters: kate warner (24), bill pardy (SLiTHER)
a/n: all bat's fault -- "white noise" came up when we were chattin', and I starting thinking of ways to play on the term. and, uh, this happened.
a/n 2.0: a look at what could've happened one august night in wheelsy, south carolina.


She can't turn around.

She needs to turn around, to run, to get Bill -- he's parked in the cruiser just outside, trading insults with Dave over the radio while giving the deputy directions to the Tooler farm ("Another colt got out? That's the second one this week. The hell they feedin' those fuckin' things, jumpin' beans?") -- but she can't move. There's a gun in her face and another pointed at the clerk, and she's being herded toward the counter by a man with cold, bottle-green eyes.

The clerk is fumbling with the register and she wants to say that everything's going to be fine, they'll do anything the two men want, but she can't make her voice work.

"Hurry the fuck up."

The cash drawer pops out and her hammering heart skips two beats when she sees one robber's grip tighten on the Glock.

She takes a step to the left, putting herself between the clerk and the muzzle.

"Don't -- "

Her protest is lost in the report, and she doesn't realize she's on the linoleum until she opens her eyes and blinks against the harsh fluorescent light. White-hot hurt sears her body while sound (shouting, three more shots, the chime of the door) floods her eardrums.

"Kate -- Jesus, Kate -- "

She turns her head and focuses on Bill. He's crouched over her, and her world shrinks to his wide blue eyes.

"Hey, sheriff." She licks her lips and tries to touch his cheek, but her muscles aren't listening. "Did they hurt him?" Her breath comes fast and shallow as she searches his face. "Or you?"

"No. Honey, no, they -- "

There's a waterfall between her ears; it only gets louder when she lifts her head. Bill's hand is on her stomach, pressing hard, and blood is welling between his fingers.

"Oh, they -- oh."

Before her head sinks to the floor again, he slips his free hand behind it.

"You're all right, Kate, you just got winged. Ain't hardly nothin', an' we got help comin' real quick. I just need you to look at me."

"Okay."

"Just keep lookin' at me."

She swallows and nods, concentrating on the warmth of his palm against the back of her head.

"Marie only pulled the trigger in my dreams."

"Kate, don't close your eyes."

"Sorry, I didn't … didn't mean … "

"Hush that, don't you say you're sorry. You just keep your eyes on me."

"Oh -- okay."

She's trying to follow his instructions, but his features are blurring, colorless and indistinct, and his voice is fading, faraway and soft. And her eyelids are so heavy --

"Kate. Kate."

"S-sorry … "

"Kate, no, Christ, no -- "

She doesn't hear his voice break or the wail of an approaching ambulance.