Title: Latecomer
By: Stronghold
Pairing: gen
Rating: PG-13
Notes: I can say without doubt that this is a one shot
Disclaimer: I own next to nothing.
Summary: Aiden reflects the last year, and she's not very pleased.

***

Aiden ran her finger over the scar; seven months and it was still as prominent and tender as ever. She just wanted to forget the last year. All the pain and trauma was finally getting to her: panic attacks were becoming more and more frequent and there they were getting less containable. There would be moments where everything negative she'd have felt would come back … it was gradually wearing her down.

What's worse was that there was no one to help. Since she was fired she had made few new friends. She'd compare everyone at her new job to the ones from her old. Aiden had found her niche and then fucked it all up, and there was no going back.

And now she needed them more than ever.

She was hurting worse than she ever had needed everyone in her life. There were conversations she had mapped out in her mind, but she knew she'd fuck those up if the situation ever arose. Things would be going good, and then she'd get her lines mixed up. They'd look at her like she was stupid, and they'd remember why they fired Aiden the Fuck Up, Aiden the Loser, Aiden the 'This is Your Mind on Drugs' commercial.

They were feeding her Lithobid, and she hated that too. Before that was Haldol and, before that, Sarafem. She was scared of what would happen if she kept taking them, and terrified of what would happen if she stopped. So, under recommendation of her doctor and psychiatrist, she kept on them.

She wondered if they ever thought of her, if they even remembered her. She hoped the new kid was an asshole. She hoped they fucked up really badly, like she did, and Mac came to her and offered her the job that was rightfully hers back. She hoped Stella would welcome her back, with no hostility. She hoped Danny would tell her the stories of how they newbie would hit suspects and mislabel and lose evidence. She hoped Danny didn't like them. She hoped it wasn't a slim, smart, attractive girl (but, with her luck, it probably was).

Most of all, Aiden hoped they hadn't heard about what happened. Every time someone called (however rarely it may have been), her heart rate would speed up a little and her palms would start sweating. Every once in a while it'd be some one asking about The Incident, and all the memories would come screaming back, deeply embedded glass and all. Her hand would go unconsciously back to the deep scar on her left forearm, and the other hand would clench in an attempt to stop the shaking. Her cunt would twinge painfully, too. Closing her eyes, she'd answer the questions and recall the details.

But, even if they hadn't heard (which, as it was all over the news, they obviously did) she wished that they would call, or some way let her know that she was still alive and that she did have people (albeit few) who still cared about her. It was hard not having anyone to go get a drink after work, or watch a movie with. She hated not having anyone to look up as a surrogate parent (or maybe she just hated anyone seeing her as a daughter, or part of The Team).

She hated being so fucking lonely all the time. She hated coming home to an empty apartment and having no one to cry to, spill her guts to. No one who'd say 'Its okay, Aiden, you're allowed to be human too.' She just wanted someone who got what was happening, who understood how she felt; someone who didn't mind that she hadn't gotten anything right in her life, and just screwed up time after time after time.

She wanted someone who cared.

But, that clearly wasn't going to happen.

So she'd continue down the path of self destruction.

Hell, it hadn't killed her yet.

***