Fake Fan Fiction ❯ How Much I Feel ❯ Chapter 1

Disclaimer: FAKE and its characters are property of Sanami Matoh and Tokyopop. This is written for entertainment purposes only and I make no profit from it.

Time setting: Volume 4 when Diana is introduced and is locked in the room with Rod, the crazy axe murderer.

How Much I Feel

By: Alaskan Blue

I stared at her as she lay in the sterile white bed and took in her appearance. Her hair was unbound, neatly tucked under her by one of the nurses, the drab grey hospital gown that was bulging out at her shoulder from the bandages that wrapped the wounded flesh beneath it, her skin pale beneath the tan she had acquired from hours spent in the warm California sun. I stared at her face, so peaceful in slumber and marveled at how childlike she appeared when she was like this, her usual makeup washed away, the sparkling jewelry she adorned herself with stored in the plastic bags the nurses aides had shoved her clothes and other personal items in, her naturally blonde lashes were still dusky crescents against her high cheekbones from the waterproof mascara that hadn't all been removed. Seeing her like this, it reminded me of the first time we met, when I had gone down to visit my brother, Zach, for a day while he was training at Quantico.

He had just come off from a few hours of the grueling physical training all FBI hopefuls have to go through, and he and the group he'd been with were heading for the showers. He introduced me to the guys he was with, Jerry, Bart, Michael then he'd clapped a hand on the shoulder of a small figure that had been at the back of the group, "And this is Diana! Don't let her size fool ya' she's as tough as any of us here!"

I had nearly fallen to the ground laughing when the woman had reached up with one hand to seize my brothers while with the other snaked up behind his shoulder and with a twitch of her hips she threw him to the ground and placed one knee in the small of his back and twisted his arm behind him while snarling in triumph, "And don't you forget it!"

She had looked up at me with an almost feral grin, her eyes flashing green fire, "I hope you're not as big of a pussy as your brother here."

I had smiled back at her and held out my hand in greeting, "Why don't we find out? I just might enjoy being helpless underneath you."

I'd expected her to jump up and do her best to lay me out cold, but instead she had laughed, released Zach and jumped lightly to her feet putting her hand out and squeezing mine with enthusiasm, "Diana Spacey."

"Berkely Rose, it's a pleasure."

We'd gone out for dinner later that night and I'd wound up talking to Diana more than the blood relation I'd come down to see. She was the most amazing creature I'd ever encountered, beautiful, intelligent, completely uninhibited, and had an ego to match my own. She'd also been through the same kind of experiences I'd had. We'd both seen the horrors that a person encountered in police work, we'd had the failed relationships that resulted from the long hours and stress we suffered because of the job, and we were both cynical and jaded to the point of ruthlessness. I didn't care that she only saw me as a friend and a good lay, and she didn't care that I was a hedonist that would sleep with damn near anything.

I think that's where I went wrong. I found someone who was too much like myself and somewhere along the lines what I'd felt for her had grown from simple friendship with fringe benefits to something that was a lot deeper and more involved than I cared to admit. I never expected the consternation I felt when the class graduated. I could still feel the sadness and sense of loss I went through as I stood with her and my brother at the graduation party sipping punch and congratulating them both on receiving their badges and she announced that she was returning to California and that she'd already been placed in the Los Angeles branch.

After the party and the rounds and rounds of drinks she and Zach and the rest of the guys consumed at the bar we'd gone to, we had taken my car for a long drive to the shore to watch the sun come up. We had talked so aimlessly about nothing for most of the trip, mainly due to the fact that she was still pretty drunk but when we had finally reached the Chesapeake Bay just as the sky was making the transition from bluish gray to streaks of red and pink from the rising sun she had looked at me with half sober eyes and smiled. "You gonna' mish me?" She slurred.

"You have to ask?" I drawled and leaned back in my seat trying to play it cool like the stupid bastard I've been for he past dozen years when it comes to her.

She giggled took my large hand in her smaller one, and leaned back as we watched the sun peek over the horizon, we sat in silence listening to the waves come in and the birds screaming, all the while I was working up the guts to tell her how I'd come to feel. Finally I'd cleared my throat and said, "Diana?"

The only answer I'd received was a small snore. She'd fallen asleep just when I'd needed her attention the most. I sighed and started up the car, making the long trip back and carrying her inside the small apartment she'd rented for the duration of her training and put her in bed.

I told myself that I could wait.

That it was only a matter of time before I'd tell her.

That it would only be awhile longer.

That the next time I saw her, that would be the moment.

It never came.

I just kept putting it off, telling myself that I would have plenty of chances in the future and that it was still alright for me to run my little side games and diversions, like this latest game with MacLean.

I realized today that I was wrong.

That I might never be able to tell her.

I could lose her.

I almost did today.

I nearly lost the chance to tell her everything I have in my heart.

I reached out and smoothed the backs of my knuckles down the side of her face, frowning when I felt the tell-tale roughness of scabs where one of those monsters had hit her and torn her flesh, drawing blood. My eyes narrowed and I felt that niggling sense of powerlessness rising in the back of my throat like bile. I wished I could find the one who had dared to touch her. I wanted to smash my fist into his face and feel the satisfying crunch of teeth and bone giving way beneath my knuckles, see the spray of crimson that arced into the air and the widening of his eyes as I made him sorry he'd ever laid a finger on Diana in violence.

Even beneath my gentle touch and seething emotions, she didn't stir, so lost was she in the deep sleep brought on by the sedatives the nurses had given her when she had protested being kept overnight for observation. I still felt my knees quiver when I remembered barging through that door and saw her there on the floor, that maniac above her with the axe held high. My heart had been doing triple time after we shot him and I'd fallen to her side to hold her in my arms. I'd never felt so helpless and impotent as I did when I saw what he had done to her. My sense of uselessness had only increased when I'd pulled her close and soon my shirt and jacket were stained scarlet with her blood and all I could do was wrap my jacket around her to keep her warm and press my hand against her wound to slow the precious fluid that gushed from the arterial damage. She had been so pale, her lips bloodless beneath the garish cherry lipstick they'd carelessly smeared on her. Even though I knew the medics were just outside the building waiting for our signal to come in and aid her, even though I knew the chances of her perishing were considerably less than half, I still felt the urge to tell her what I had postponed for too long, it would have been the right thing to do.

Instead, what did I do?

The usual.

I cracked a smartass joke to play off the horror of the situation of what she had gone through and shushed her into remaining still. I suppose any medical worker would have said I did the right thing at least in medical terms; keeping a confession of true emotions on the back burner until the gravely injured subject who would have been the object of said confession had been properly treated and was in a more appropriate state to hear it. But it wasn't right, not by a long shot. It isn't right to keep something like that from a person for as long as I have from Diana. It was times like this that I burned with shame and self loathing, because deep inside, I know she senses what I feel. I've seen it in her eyes. I've seen them begging for me to tell her and I never do.

I'm such a coward.

I always have been when it comes to her and I'm terrified that I always will be.

Will I ever find the courage to tell her how much I think of her?

Dream of her?

Fantasize about her as much now as I did eight years ago?

How much I want to hold her close and never let anything hurt her?

Will I ever be able to finally, tell her just how much I feel…