Survivor - for hugglewolf - CSI: NY, PG
Title: Survivor
Author: Ragna (afteriwake)
Recipient: hugglewolf
Fandom: CSI: NY
Rating: PG
Spoilers (if applicable): Set after the S5 finale ("Pay Up").
Warnings (if applicable): None
Summary: He had to find a way to survive.
---
They had all known for some time that something might happen. He didn't expect it so soon, though, and not for it to go down like this. He'd thought he'd have time, that there was a chance he'd be in a high rise building, not a subway chasing after a suspect. But when the water started to flow in like an uncontrolled rapid, he knew. If he was lucky, it would be a matter of minutes until he drowned, and he wouldn't fight too much. Drowning...not the way he'd figured he'd go. He'd always thought gun to the chest or knife to the ribs, something like that. With his job, that was the most likely reason. But things had been going wrong with the world and the weather for a few months now, so he shouldn't have been surprised that freak flood would be his cause of death.
He didn't want to die. But it was inevitable; there was no way he could survive all the water that was going to fill up the subway. Already people were panicking. He tried his best not to listen, not to think about the hundreds of people around him who were going to die, just like him. He needed to think about something else, anything else. Think about his family, his friends. Wonder if they were safe or if they were trapped in impossible situations like he was.
No. He snapped himself out of it. He needed to get out. Yeah, there may be a flood going on, but if he was going to die it wasn't going to happen in a subway. But how? He glanced at the stairs leading up to the nearest exit. He could swim. He could at least try. He didn't just need to sit down and take it. He started making his way over, noticing that his pants were drenched and it was hard. But he had to fight. He had to get out. He just couldn’t give up. That wasn’t him. He was a fighter. He'd fought his way out of a coma before. He could do this.
He continued to make his way to the stairs, where the water was billowing down and the stream was hard. He wasn't the only one who'd had that idea; he could see one or two others holding onto the stiar rails and fighting against the current. Some appeared to be making it while others slipped and fell, buried under the weight of the water for a moment before they popped up and tried it again. He would be one of those people.
As he grabbed the railing a scene from the third "Die Hard" movie popped into his head, where the bad guys had flooded the underground tunnels and John McClane found the one way to get out. He'd always loved the "Die Hard" movies. One of his last nights with Jess had been sitting at home, watching the first "Die Hard" movie. That had been a good night. It had been a memory he'd held close for the weeks and months after she died, one of many.
He could just see her now. He believed in Heaven and Hell, and that when he got to Heaven the ones he loved would be waiting for him. Only she'd rip him a new one if he didn't fight for a chance to live. She'd fought. She'd gone down trying to protect Connor Dunbrook's kid, and everyone else in that diner, from her fellow cops to innocent bystanders. If she could fight while being seriously overpowered, well, then so could he.
He pulled his way up, hoping that maybe by the time he got to the street all he would have to do was hold his breath and swim. Swim like he'd never swum before, swim like his life depended on it, because this time it did. He could do it, but God, it was hard just getting up there. The subway was filling up fast; the waters was getting close to his chest. He hoped there wasn't a second wave of water, that this was it, that he had a fighting chance. The way he looked at it, he'd made it this far. Hopefully someone wanted him to survive. Hopefully he had a guardian angel looking out for him. Or a guardian Angell, as the case may be.
He made it to the point where he would have to take one last breath and start swimming. He took the largest breath he could and ducked under the water, noting absently that the pressure of the water streaming down into the subway had lessened as it had filled up. And up he swam. He kicked and stroked and kicked some more. He could see the surface, or at least he thought he could. He swam to the light, swam as far upward as he could, even when his chest began to ache and he new if he didn't make it up in the next few seconds he would open his mouth and it and his lungs would fill with water and he would drown. He had to.
And then he couldn't. He knew he had one last kick in him, and if he didn't make it....well, he'd tried. It was all he could do. He hadn't sat down and died; he'd fought for his life and he'd done his best. He kicked one last time and clawed forward a little more, and he felt it. He felt cold air on his hand for just a second before the rest of him followed. The minute his head was above water he took a huge gulp of air and almost sank back down before he remembered to tread water to stay up.
Once he was up he looked around. He had to have swum up at least twelve feet, maybe more. He didn't know. He saw cars floating and sadly he saw lifeless bodies. But the water was calm, and he also saw other survivors, other people bobbing in the water like he was. He had made it. He had survived. He was one of the lucky ones. And he would never, ever take anything for granted again. He was a survivor now, and that meant something in what would undoubtedly be a new world.
Author: Ragna (afteriwake)
Recipient: hugglewolf
Fandom: CSI: NY
Rating: PG
Spoilers (if applicable): Set after the S5 finale ("Pay Up").
Warnings (if applicable): None
Summary: He had to find a way to survive.
---
They had all known for some time that something might happen. He didn't expect it so soon, though, and not for it to go down like this. He'd thought he'd have time, that there was a chance he'd be in a high rise building, not a subway chasing after a suspect. But when the water started to flow in like an uncontrolled rapid, he knew. If he was lucky, it would be a matter of minutes until he drowned, and he wouldn't fight too much. Drowning...not the way he'd figured he'd go. He'd always thought gun to the chest or knife to the ribs, something like that. With his job, that was the most likely reason. But things had been going wrong with the world and the weather for a few months now, so he shouldn't have been surprised that freak flood would be his cause of death.
He didn't want to die. But it was inevitable; there was no way he could survive all the water that was going to fill up the subway. Already people were panicking. He tried his best not to listen, not to think about the hundreds of people around him who were going to die, just like him. He needed to think about something else, anything else. Think about his family, his friends. Wonder if they were safe or if they were trapped in impossible situations like he was.
No. He snapped himself out of it. He needed to get out. Yeah, there may be a flood going on, but if he was going to die it wasn't going to happen in a subway. But how? He glanced at the stairs leading up to the nearest exit. He could swim. He could at least try. He didn't just need to sit down and take it. He started making his way over, noticing that his pants were drenched and it was hard. But he had to fight. He had to get out. He just couldn’t give up. That wasn’t him. He was a fighter. He'd fought his way out of a coma before. He could do this.
He continued to make his way to the stairs, where the water was billowing down and the stream was hard. He wasn't the only one who'd had that idea; he could see one or two others holding onto the stiar rails and fighting against the current. Some appeared to be making it while others slipped and fell, buried under the weight of the water for a moment before they popped up and tried it again. He would be one of those people.
As he grabbed the railing a scene from the third "Die Hard" movie popped into his head, where the bad guys had flooded the underground tunnels and John McClane found the one way to get out. He'd always loved the "Die Hard" movies. One of his last nights with Jess had been sitting at home, watching the first "Die Hard" movie. That had been a good night. It had been a memory he'd held close for the weeks and months after she died, one of many.
He could just see her now. He believed in Heaven and Hell, and that when he got to Heaven the ones he loved would be waiting for him. Only she'd rip him a new one if he didn't fight for a chance to live. She'd fought. She'd gone down trying to protect Connor Dunbrook's kid, and everyone else in that diner, from her fellow cops to innocent bystanders. If she could fight while being seriously overpowered, well, then so could he.
He pulled his way up, hoping that maybe by the time he got to the street all he would have to do was hold his breath and swim. Swim like he'd never swum before, swim like his life depended on it, because this time it did. He could do it, but God, it was hard just getting up there. The subway was filling up fast; the waters was getting close to his chest. He hoped there wasn't a second wave of water, that this was it, that he had a fighting chance. The way he looked at it, he'd made it this far. Hopefully someone wanted him to survive. Hopefully he had a guardian angel looking out for him. Or a guardian Angell, as the case may be.
He made it to the point where he would have to take one last breath and start swimming. He took the largest breath he could and ducked under the water, noting absently that the pressure of the water streaming down into the subway had lessened as it had filled up. And up he swam. He kicked and stroked and kicked some more. He could see the surface, or at least he thought he could. He swam to the light, swam as far upward as he could, even when his chest began to ache and he new if he didn't make it up in the next few seconds he would open his mouth and it and his lungs would fill with water and he would drown. He had to.
And then he couldn't. He knew he had one last kick in him, and if he didn't make it....well, he'd tried. It was all he could do. He hadn't sat down and died; he'd fought for his life and he'd done his best. He kicked one last time and clawed forward a little more, and he felt it. He felt cold air on his hand for just a second before the rest of him followed. The minute his head was above water he took a huge gulp of air and almost sank back down before he remembered to tread water to stay up.
Once he was up he looked around. He had to have swum up at least twelve feet, maybe more. He didn't know. He saw cars floating and sadly he saw lifeless bodies. But the water was calm, and he also saw other survivors, other people bobbing in the water like he was. He had made it. He had survived. He was one of the lucky ones. And he would never, ever take anything for granted again. He was a survivor now, and that meant something in what would undoubtedly be a new world.