Where Honour Lies
Fandom: Line of Fire
Pairing: Amiel/Paige
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1,068
Spoilers: Eminence Front post ep
Notes: For the LiveJournal FirstLines1000 challenge #27. I’ve shaved 200 words off this and can get it down no further… apologies!
Paige lies there, trying to figure out what hurts more.
Her head, with multiple lacerations and bruises, the black eye that no amount of foundation and concealer will cover.
Her throat, ten livid purple fingerprints visible down to the last loop and whorl.
Her ribs, because airbags pack one hell of a punch.
She thinks it might even be a three-way-tie, but when the phone rings and she lets the answering machine pick it up, she realises that she has a winner.
Her heart.
“Paige, honey, it’s Mom… I was just calling to see how you are… I called earlier; I know today is hard for you… so if you want to talk, I’m here… we all love you honey…”
The simple words, the obvious worry, bring tears to her eyes, and she turns her face away, to the terracotta and beige of the couch cushions. She can’t look at the phone, or the answering machine, or the picture that stands beside them, a picture of a blushing bride and a handsome groom.
“Paige?”
A voice from the doorway makes her start, and she turns her head quickly, regretting it when her aching muscles scream their protest. She must wince, she definitely makes some noise, because the lines in Amiel’s forehead deepen and he takes a step towards her. He looks worried, as worried as her mother sounded, and God help her, tears prick at her eyelids, because this is Amiel for heaven’s sake, her superior, resident hard-ass and she can’t cry in front of him.
Except he either doesn’t know that or doesn’t care, because he looks at the machine, then at her, for the first time ever at a loss for words. “Everything ok?” he finally asks, and she tries to smile.
“My mom,” she says, wiping away a tear. “She worries.”
He frowns, and she knows he knows there’s something he’s missing. “All the time?” he asks, his voice far too light for what they’ve been through today, “Or is there some reason in particular?”
Paige sighs, sits up properly, wishes that Lisa had let her come home alone, that Amiel hadn’t volunteered – or had he been volunteered? – to drive her home. The sigh causes her even more pain, and she grimaces, pushing her hair back with her hands. “You know what today is Amiel?” she asks, and he sits down beside her carefully, as if he’s afraid to hurt her.
“Saturday?” he tries, and she finally looks at the photograph beside the phone.
“My wedding anniversary.”
The words hang between them for a long silent moment, then he sucks his breath in sharply. “Paige, I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t know.”
“You weren’t meant to,” she told him. “It’s why I volunteered to work today… I wanted to have something to take my mind of things… rather than sit around the house, moping…”
Her voice gives out on her then, and as she pauses, he chuckles without humour. “You certainly got that,” he observes, and her lips move in a wry little smile, that, like his chuckle, has precious little humour.
“You know… from the second I got that phone call… I went straight into agent mode,” she tells him, not censoring her words. “Didn’t think about anything else except finding the people who shot Joanie… I didn’t once think about Jake.” Which was precisely what she’d been hoping to do, and precisely what’s making her feel so bad now. “My husband… on our wedding anniversary… and I didn’t think about him once.” She’s not sure whether it’s the talking or the wave of tears rising up in her throat that hurts more, and she ducks her head, looks away from him, still not wanting him to see her cry. “What kind of person does that make me?”
There’s another long moment where he doesn’t speak, and she can’t, where the only sound in the room is her soft sobs, his breathing. When he finally does speak, his voice is slow, thoughtful, far from the crisp commanding tones she’s used to. “Paige… I didn’t know your husband… so this may be out of line… but you joined the FBI for him, right? To help get the people who killed him?”
She nods, remembers the impassioned speech she made to the brass just before she graduated, when she was so sure they were going to kick her out. Warned that it might be two years before she could get into counter-terrorism, she’d replied that there were still plenty of bad guys out there in the meantime. “Yeah,” she whispers, dragging her gaze up to meet his.
He nods, as if she’s just confirmed some suspicion. “You did good today Paige,” he tells her, those words, from him, a ringing endorsement. “You got the bad guys… the ones who hurt Joanie… who were going to hurt Lisa’s son… you didn’t even think about yourself, just acted… you did damn good.” He pauses, and, to her ever-lasting surprise, reaches out, lays a hand over hers. “So maybe… maybe it’s all right that you didn’t spend the day dressed in black, sobbing in the ladies’ room… because the work you did today… it was a different way of honouring him.” She’s staring at him, she knows she is, and his dark skin darkens some more, attempting a quip. “Am I making sense here?”
It’s hard to speak, but that has nothing to do with the bruises on her throat. “Amiel,” she says. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
He grins, pleased but embarrassed. “Don’t spread it around,” he orders. “You’ll ruin my reputation.”
It hurts to laugh, but she does it anyway. “I hate to break it to you,” she tells him, “But you’re not that feared.”
He lifts an eyebrow, laughing out loud, and then stands, pulling her to her feet. “Come on,” he says. “The kettle must be boiling… and I know you’ve got hot chocolate in there…”
“I do?”
“I checked… and it’s the best cure for what ails you.”
He doesn’t give her a choice, leads her by the hand into the kitchen, where he orders her around before handing her a steaming mug. She smiles as she drinks it, listens to him talk, and somewhere between the first and final sip, she realises that she does feel better.
She’s just not sure if it’s the hot chocolate that’s doing it.