#this story is also based on the sandy hook shooting if you're not familiar

[actualbabe]

Can you do a "I thought you were dead" ness dialogue? I feel like there aren't a lot of dark new girl fics and I think you'd do an interesting take on this one.

Content warning: discusses the aftermath of a school shooting. Main characters were not harmed, vivid details about blood/gore are not included. May still be triggering to some.

It’s all over the news.

LOS ANGELES, CA

BREAKING: Ten people (6 students and 4 adults) were shot and killed Monday morning at Coolidge Middle School in Los Angeles, California. Five people (all students) were wounded and are currently being treated at the local hospital. One teacher is in critical condition. An armed individual forcibly entered school grounds approximately two hours after the school day began. Details continue to emerge about precisely what happened.

Her hands are still shaking. Jess knows that she’s sitting in the hard plastic chair at the local fire department, but her head is still stuck in that classroom. The classroom where she teaches 7th grade English, with the door locked and lights shut off, an extra desk pulled in front of the door to barricade the entrance. She’s still crouched underneath her desk in the back corner of the classroom, counting and recounting the number of students, her grip tight around the emergency preparedness kit, and trying not to cry.

Her classroom is on the second floor, tucked away in a back hallway that always makes it hard for new students to find on the first day of school. The intruder didn’t make it past the main corridor before police arrived. She’s fine. She’s safe. But no matter how many times she tries to reassure herself, her heart is still racing and her teeth are chattering and her damn hands won’t stop shaking.

They evacuated immediately after the police gave the all clear. All students and faculty were escorted to the firehouse across from campus. For the past hour it’s been a constant stream of parents showing up and frantically searching for their children. By now all of the students have been picked up, pulled into the arms of relieved parents with tears streaming down their faces. Jess keeps glancing over to the small circle of adults huddled around each other, either staring numbly into the distance or hysterically sobbing. The parents of the children who didn’t walk out of the school. It’s terrifying that she knows the students and teachers who were…

She doesn’t want to think about it. Not yet.

“Jess.”

Her head snaps up at the sound of the familiar voice, and there’s Nick running towards her. She instinctively rises out of her seat. He crashes into her, the full force of his body slamming against hers as he pulls her into his embrace. Nick holds her like he’s never going to let go. His grip is iron-tight around her middle, squeezing her tighter than he ever has as he tucks his head against the curve of her neck. Jess’ eyes fall closed, her arms wrap around his shoulders, and she presses her face against the soft fabric of his flannel shirt. He smells like cheap detergent and Schmidt’s shampoo and booze and it’s so familiar and normal that she starts crying. She hasn’t cried since the whole disaster started, either trying to stay calm in the crisis or too numb in the aftermath. But the magnitude of what happened is suddenly sinking in and she’s terrified and relieved and distraught and a hundred other things she can't quite put a name to.

“God, Jess.” His voice is rough and his hand is in her hair with the palm cradling the back of her head. It’s something he does a lot. When they’re kissing, when they make love, when he’s playing with her hair as they sit on the couch during movie night. “I thought you were dead.”

Jess lets out a choked sob. She remembers sitting in her classroom and wondering if she would ever get to be in his arms again, wondering if their kiss goodbye before she left for work would be their last one. “I’m here,” she whispers. “I’m fine.”

“I know.” The shoulder of her shirt is damp and she dimly realizes he’s crying. She tightens her grip around his neck, pulling him even closer to her.

“We’re fine,” she says again, even though she doesn’t quite believe it.

Her hands are still shaking. But when she presses them against the solid weight of Nick’s body they don’t tremble any more.

send me a prompt?