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THE REVENGE OF MIRIAM HENDERSON

posted in 24_fanfic

Title: The Revenge Of Miriam Henderson
Author: marinw
Rating: PG
Characters: Miriam Henderson
Summary: Spoliers for Day 7. Miriam finds some closure
Disclaimer: 24 is the property of the Fox Production Company. Etc.

A/N: It’s been awhile since I’ve done a throwaway character fic. Unbeta’d.

It would be years before she could walk without limping.

It took years even though the doctors had told her over and over: the bullet only tore through skin and muscle, not through bone or arteries.

“Right now your wife can still walk,” he had yelled. “If I shoot her again she’ll be in a wheelchair.”

How thoughtful of him.

Miriam had awoken from the anesthesia expecting to find her husband at her side. Her queries to the nurses where answered with more sedation.

"She can’t handle the truth," She had heard one of them whisper.

It would be a few days Miriam learned the truth: Christopher was dead. He was shot be the same man who had shot her. There was a witness, a teenaged, traumatized submariner. This time the man hadn’t aimed for the thigh.

Miriam wanted justice. Her calls to CTU went unanswered.

The next year passed in a haze of Demerol, Ambien and Celexia. She found a psychiatrist who conceded that post traumatic stress disorder didn’t just effect soldiers. Miriam found a support group for survivors of violent crime. It helped, a little. She wore her victim lable proudly.

She could no longer were short skirts or a bathing suit. Well-meaning but stupid people told her the scar really wasn’t that bad. That she should tour a burn unit or an amputee rehab centre to gain some perspective. They didn’t understand. It wasn’t just the scar, it was the memory it held.

Miriam would come home from the Doctor’s office to an empty house. Christopher had seen to it that she would be well provided for, even though all the assets of Omicron Corp had been seized. Christopher had been a good man. She refused to believe otherwise.

Maybe Christopher had made some mistakes. But that didn’t justify an execution.

If anyone deserved an exucution it was the man that had shot her.

That was starting to look like a possibility.

He had resurfaced almost six years after the day he had shot both of them. Miriam spent hours on the internet and watching the news, hungry for every detail. She learned that the Chinese government had held him for a time in one of their more notorious military prisons.

Good for the Chinese. They had the right idea.

Miriam read that he had last been in Sengala the day of President Taylor’s inauguration, the day of the coup. He had been involved with what were vaguely described as ‘humanitarian efforts’ with former child soilders.

Humanitarian efforts? Who did he think he was he kidding? That man wasn’t rescuing child soldiers, he was probably training them.

Miriam called the office her local senator. She wanted to tell him that she was willing and able to testify. That she wanted to face her assailant in court. She had that right.

The senator’s assistant thanked her for being a good citizen. He promised Miriam that they would be in touch, and they would keep her statement on file.

The day finally arrived. The friends she had made at the support group offered to come over. They knew that this was going to be an important, cathartic, healing day. They wanted to be there for her. To everyone’s surprise, Miriam said she wanted to be alone.

That morning she woke early, giving herself plenty of time prepare herself. For once, the double bed didn’t seem quite so empty.

She went into the basement. Good wine was one of Christopher’s indulgences. He always did like the finer things. Some bottles were now over a decade old. She had been reluctant to open them, because once they were gone so would be another piece of Christopher.

No, she decided. This occasion didn’t require a good bottle of wine. It called for Champaign. It was early, but today was special. If she mixed it with orange juice it would count as breakfast.

Miriam took the bottle and the flute and went into the living room. She turned on the huge, flat television. Everything would be in high-definition.

His face appeared on the large screen. It had never occurred to Miriam that he was handsome.

The senator, her senator, the one who’s assistant she had talked to earlier, leaned into the microphone.

“Will the witness state his name.”

“Jack Bauer.”

END

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