By Catherine Bruce <email@example.com>
Submitted June 2007
Summary: A girl wakes up in a vat of goo with hardly any memories of who she is.
I couldn't say exactly when this takes place, though it is based off of some events in Season Two. It's not really like anything I've written before, but a part of me wants to expand on this. It's just caught me and wants to take me along for the ride! Yeehaw! As it is though, this is a stand alone piece. One day I'll hopefully continue.
And also, YAY me for fic writing again! The idea struck me earlier this week, and today at work I just began writing in my notebook.
There were no memories when she first came into consciousness. There was only the vague sensation of awareness.
She was floating, a comfortable and warm sensation, surrounded by something thicker than water. At first, she was sure that it was blood, and that she was drowning in it. She had to fight down the panic that swelled beneath her breasts.
Frightened eyes opened to discover not red, or black, but something that was just barely too cloudy to be called clear. Through the murky expanse, she could barely make out shadows and dark shapes.
She was also relieved to discover that while she was not breathing, she was not drowning, either.
Experimentally, she tried to move her arms and legs. For some reason, she was surprised when all four limbs floated easily and without pain.
*Hadn't there been pain before?* She couldn't remember, and was unsure as to why she knew that her entire body should be burning from the relentless onslaught of… something.
This not knowing, the uncertainty and frightening confusion that comes with lost memories, caused the barely constrained panic to well up inside her in full force. She wanted to breathe, tried and *needed* to, but something was blocking her lungs and covering her nose and mouth.
The panic grew and bloomed in full force, becoming an enormous beast that tried to claw its way out from inside her chest.
A deep buzz penetrated the sludge and vibrated against her ears, and, although the sound seemed to be an angry one, the pitch and tone was somehow familiar. And achingly so. Her mind desperately clung to it and the thrashing beast calmed, if only slightly.
*Please help me,* she silently begged the noise, also somehow knowing that what or whomever it belonged to would do anything, even die, for her.
No sooner had that lost thought finished echoing through her frustratingly barren mind did something strong plunge through her soupy cocoon and grasped beneath her arms, lifting her up and out into a cruelly cold world with harsh light and noises far too loud for overly sensitive ears. The thing that had been blocking her nose and mouth was torn away from her, but air still refused to fill her lungs. She tried again to fight off the panic that had never fully left and was grateful when the familiar buzz was back. She didn't care that the comfortingly harsh growl pounded at her sensitive eardrums, instead clinging to the comfort that came from it.
*"C'mon, Honey. Come back, now."*
She felt something clapping against her back, not hard enough to hurt, but with enough force for her body to instinctually try to constrict and expel the blockage from her lungs.
*"That's it, Baby. Fight it. Breathe for me."*
Her first natural breath burned through her entire chest as harsh coughs wracked through the entire length of her small frame. Her body tried to double over as cramps tore through her stomach, expunging everything that could possibly be held in such a tiny body. Were it not for the strength that had lifted her earlier — arms, strong and safe arms, she realized — she would have collapsed in a heap on the floor. But the arms held her fast against the wall that supported her, and when everything was out of her body she leaned into the soft expanse, exhausted. A fast and harsh staccato pulsed beneath her damp cheek, and that, too, was achingly familiar.
*"That's a girl."*
Soon her breaths were steady and less painful, though everything in her was sore and ached, limbs weak. She clutched at fistfuls of course material, wiping her eyes against the fibers to clear away what remained of the soup that had been the only home she had memory of. When her eyes finally adjusted to the harsh light, she tried to focus her blurry vision and found herself gazing into what she knew to be the most beautiful pair of eyes that any girl could ever hope to look into.
*I know you.* Weak fingers came up to touch his cheek, and her tongue moved instinctually around a name.
"Cl-" Her voice was weak and hoarse, and her mouth was too weak to work out whatever word it had been trying to say.
"Oh, please, allow me the pleasure of reintroducing you two!" This voice was not familiar, and it grated against her overly sensitive nerves. The man that held her tightened his hold on her slightly, giving her comfort. "Miss Parker, may I introduce to you Mr. Clyde Barrow."
Author's Notes: Since rewatching "TOGOM" earlier this week, I've suddenly found myself starving for anything and everything "Bonnie and Clyde", and as a result, anything to do with the prohibition era. It's a fascinating time in history, and I'm kind of sad I'm only now looking into it.
And ha! I guess this sorta takes a new look at the whole 'rewriting TOGOM', huh?