Lena did lock the door to her room, though she later went to sleep at Zoe's.
She probably didn't even hear a lot of the knocking that went on, either from Lucky or anyone else, because she spent most of the night scrubbing herself clean in the shower and previous to that, plucking little shards of glass out of her legs with a tweezer. She doesn't need anyone taking care of her. She doesn't need anyone wanting to. And she certainly doesn't need to talk about this with any of the rest ever. It's gonna take a lot more than that to break her, alright. Besides, the key turned out to be the right one, and Carl, Vlad, and his buddies are probably being shipped to Russian Interpol as we speak.
She saw some of the entries that were locked to her and some of the missed phone calls. She answered one journal entry, to let him know she was okay because not informing him of that would be cruel. Since that's all he asks, she limits herself to assuring she's fine and she doesn't look to see if it got a reply
( ... )
Lucky spent most of his days drinking when he wasn't writing to her or calling her on the phone. There was nothing else to do except go on monster hunts with those at the Tower who went on patrol, which was never the same as fighting monsters with her or with John or with anyone from the Crowbar. It didn't give him much of a sense of fulfillment. He didn't feel like he was where he should be, but it was something to do other than drinking
( ... )
It was so strange. She's now so used to him being the first thing she sees when she wakes up and the last thing she sees when she goes to bed. She's used to not even using her bed and always ending up in his, stealing one of his shirts to sleep in. It felt wrong not seeing him there, much as her pride wouldn't allow her to admit it.
She's placing a can of white paint on the floor when the door opens, and when she straightens up to see who it is, she freezes too, half-way. It's one thing to will yourself not to open up your journal to see what someone wrote. It's one thing to turn your cell phone off so you don't know when someone is calling.
It's another to have them standing in front of you. All she kind of wants to do is hug him right now. It's not fair.
"Oh, he's here." Lena closes her eyes at the sound of the door locking, finding it infinitely easy to put two and two together. When she opens them, she points toward the window where John is waving at them enthusiastically [
( ... )
It was incredibly strange, and Lucky wasn't able to fulfill the promises that he had made to her. He promised to kiss her every morning and every night. He made quite a few promises. There was something about that that made him feel almost as terrible as the rest, but he had been unwilling to come back until he had some sign that she was ready to talk to him again
( ... )
It's not like she didn't make a few promises herself she hasn't kept as a result. And she has to wonder if love is a feeling you can really trust when it's that easy to break promises and it can be drowned out entirely by anger. And there was no love that night that she could feel. No love and no regard and no partnership. She can't remember the last time she'd felt so small, and she honestly never thought it'd happen to them. Or of it did, it'd be because of the Calling
( ... )
Whether it's a feeling that can be trusted or not, Lucky does trust it. He wasn't built another way. He cannot take that love away. Even in the anger, he loved her. It doesn't stop as much as it can be drowned out by other feelings, as much as he treated her in a way that he will never forgive himself for
( ... )
Lena isn't sure she trusts it anymore. She always used to. Or maybe what she's fixating on isn't love at all. They said they made each other better and that's what love means. How amazing and how terrible that in five days, in one night, that can all be placed in such a far away thing that's out of her reach. Maybe he does love her. Maybe he's mistaken it for something else.
She just can't feel it since that night. Maybe she hasn't let herself. She honestly doesn't know.
"I was..." Lena takes a deep breath and looks away, wiping at her cheek. "I was furious and I was confused and on top of all of that, I felt like the scraped gum at the back of someone's shoe. And on top of all of that, I was scared. Do you--do you even realize if you hadn't been wearing that ring, you'd be dead? You'd be dead.Her voice cracks on the last word and she can't help it. That's what got to her the most. It wasn't the yelling, because she was yelling and berating him herself, and what happened with Vlad had taken a back seat to the pure panic that took
( ... )
Lucky would fight to prove it to her if she ever tried to say that what he felt for her isn't love, if he ever understood that she thought that for even a moment. He knows in his heart that it isn't a mistake.
He knows that you can love someone so much and anger can drown it out for a short time and then it can return, but it doesn't take anything away from that love. It doesn't mean that what it isn't love. He had to learn that the hard way and multiple times. It's no easy lesson.
Love is a perfect notion. People expect too much out of it.
People are flawed. People fail. I fail. Regularly.
It comes to him suddenly, how much he misses his father, how much he'd like to hear his words right now and hear that faith that his father had in him in his darkest moments. Somehow Luke who had done the worst of things could look at him and know that he wouldn't follow that same path.
Lucky cannot watch her wipe that tear away and not move even closer to her, closing the distance between them. Do you even realize if you hadn't been wearing
( ... )
It's not something she'd have been able to take without losing parts of herself to the demon for good. She's known this for a while now, that she wouldn't be able to bury someone else in their family without being damaged beyond repair
( ... )
Lucky knows that she lost so much and that she wouldn't be able to take his loss on top of all the other losses in her life.
It hadn't occurred to him in that moment. If he had been able to take a moment to think about it, he would have realized the dangers that were present not only to himself but to her if he dared making a wrong move.
He could have died then. He could have died two days ago when he fought a monster on the sidewalk during patrol. As long as he lives, he has a chance of dying. He will always be human, always be more vulnerable than the rest to death.
"You could've died too, Lena," Lucky says quietly. "Every day that we fight and every day that we don't fight, there's a chance that we could die."
If she had said that out loud, he would argue it. He made the choice to stay. He followed her down during her mission and he needed something more. There is no doubt in his mind that if she hadn't found him, he would have found something worse. What could be better than a familyIt's all he has ever wanted in his life
( ... )
Silence, thick and sharp and crackling like muted static.
It takes a moment for his words to roll over her, but she doesn't recoil. It doesn't have the same impact it does when they speak of his death. She's going to die soon, no matter what. A bitter voice wants to say, it'll only have come a year early, anyway.
She doesn't. But it's true, a tiny voice says.
You don't know that, Lena argues internally instead
( ... )
Lucky notices the difference in reactions from her reaction to his death to her reaction to her own. It's glaring, but he knows that her death hurts him so much more than the thought of his own so he understands. She doesn't actually say the words, but it is like he can hear them in the thick silence between them. It would have only come a year early.
He'd asked her how much time she had, and she had said one to five years. He will always remember that. Lucky will always remember how it felt to hear her tell him how limited her time truly was. While he isn't constantly aware of it (if he was, he would drive himself crazy with it), he knows
( ... )
I know what I-- what I want to say, and I know what a part of me... that isn't me wants to say and it's not the same thing, either.
A sharp pain hits in the center of his chest, because he understands what she means without her saying it. Demon. Lucky doesn't tell her that he wants to know what she wants to say, that that is what he wants to hear, because he knows that she knows it and that she is fighting with all that she can to send that demon's wants and words away.
It's why instead of telling her to say it. Say it., he reaches for her face and kisses her, intensely, hard. It's still there. The good is still there, more than the bad. Love hurts but it heals too, but it feels like this kiss feels, and he prays to God that she will feel it, feel what he feels when he so much as thinks of her.
The love that pushes up above all the rest, all the pain and regret and guilt. It's not ugly. It's beautiful, and he wants her to remember that and not that mission, not the person that he was then because it wasn't him and it was
( ... )
She isn't proud that it's true and she isn't proud that he knows.
It feels like weakness but more than that, it feels selfish. Lena knows what it would do to the Crowbar, she knows what it would do to Sonny, and that she'd still prefer to die than to face it goes to show she's a lot more terrible than she's ever given credit for.
That she was dealt the terrible hand, that she got the short end of the stick, it doesn't excuse it. Nothing excuses it when she loves them so much. She doesn't care what the world would ask of her, but she does look up at him at that, gaze sweeping across his face. "What are you asking of me
( ... )
She wouldn't want to lose that, and she knows it, is starting to remember it even before he kisses her. She isn't expecting it and it hits her like an open bruise, but in the best way. Her hands had remained unwillingly at her sides, or in her pockets, hesitant to even reach out but once he reaches for her they reach out in turn, too.
They frame either side of his face and when she kisses him back it's not the way she usually kisses him. There isn't playfulness and an edge of softness to round out the intensity. It's just as hard and it's full of bare need. Her hands remain there, curved over his jawline, and she uses her thumbs to wipe at his cheeks, as well. Her mouth brushes against his cheekbone and she closes her eyes, feeling the fresh tears there. It says what she can't find in words. I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. I love you.Lena doesn't flinch, but she feels it somewhere inside, the jolt in her chest that's already raw and aching
( ... )
Lucky doesn't think any less of her for wanting it even though she thinks less of herself for it. He doesn't think that he can. Would it be better for them to watch her reaction to his death? If she got so scared from his brush with death on this mission, how much more powerfully would she react to his actual death if she had lost him but survived?
It's not that he thinks himself so self important that he doesn't think she can make it through his death, but he knows that she has already lost so much and he knows what grief can do to a person. He has seen it. He has felt the effects of it himself and watched his father suffer through the grief of losing Laura, how he spiraled into alcoholism so quickly after that.
What are you asking of me? It's that question when she looks at him like that that almost steals the air from his chest. It's the way that she looks that makes it hard to breathe for a moment. He sucks in a breath when he can manage it. "For you to be with me for as long as possible. I promised you forever, and I thought
( ... )
She probably didn't even hear a lot of the knocking that went on, either from Lucky or anyone else, because she spent most of the night scrubbing herself clean in the shower and previous to that, plucking little shards of glass out of her legs with a tweezer. She doesn't need anyone taking care of her. She doesn't need anyone wanting to. And she certainly doesn't need to talk about this with any of the rest ever. It's gonna take a lot more than that to break her, alright. Besides, the key turned out to be the right one, and Carl, Vlad, and his buddies are probably being shipped to Russian Interpol as we speak.
She saw some of the entries that were locked to her and some of the missed phone calls. She answered one journal entry, to let him know she was okay because not informing him of that would be cruel. Since that's all he asks, she limits herself to assuring she's fine and she doesn't look to see if it got a reply ( ... )
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She's placing a can of white paint on the floor when the door opens, and when she straightens up to see who it is, she freezes too, half-way. It's one thing to will yourself not to open up your journal to see what someone wrote. It's one thing to turn your cell phone off so you don't know when someone is calling.
It's another to have them standing in front of you. All she kind of wants to do is hug him right now. It's not fair.
"Oh, he's here." Lena closes her eyes at the sound of the door locking, finding it infinitely easy to put two and two together. When she opens them, she points toward the window where John is waving at them enthusiastically [
( ... )
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She just can't feel it since that night. Maybe she hasn't let herself. She honestly doesn't know.
"I was..." Lena takes a deep breath and looks away, wiping at her cheek. "I was furious and I was confused and on top of all of that, I felt like the scraped gum at the back of someone's shoe. And on top of all of that, I was scared. Do you--do you even realize if you hadn't been wearing that ring, you'd be dead? You'd be dead.Her voice cracks on the last word and she can't help it. That's what got to her the most. It wasn't the yelling, because she was yelling and berating him herself, and what happened with Vlad had taken a back seat to the pure panic that took ( ... )
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He knows that you can love someone so much and anger can drown it out for a short time and then it can return, but it doesn't take anything away from that love. It doesn't mean that what it isn't love. He had to learn that the hard way and multiple times. It's no easy lesson.
Love is a perfect notion. People expect too much out of it.
People are flawed. People fail. I fail. Regularly.
It comes to him suddenly, how much he misses his father, how much he'd like to hear his words right now and hear that faith that his father had in him in his darkest moments. Somehow Luke who had done the worst of things could look at him and know that he wouldn't follow that same path.
Lucky cannot watch her wipe that tear away and not move even closer to her, closing the distance between them. Do you even realize if you hadn't been wearing ( ... )
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It hadn't occurred to him in that moment. If he had been able to take a moment to think about it, he would have realized the dangers that were present not only to himself but to her if he dared making a wrong move.
He could have died then. He could have died two days ago when he fought a monster on the sidewalk during patrol. As long as he lives, he has a chance of dying. He will always be human, always be more vulnerable than the rest to death.
"You could've died too, Lena," Lucky says quietly. "Every day that we fight and every day that we don't fight, there's a chance that we could die."
If she had said that out loud, he would argue it. He made the choice to stay. He followed her down during her mission and he needed something more. There is no doubt in his mind that if she hadn't found him, he would have found something worse. What could be better than a familyIt's all he has ever wanted in his life ( ... )
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It takes a moment for his words to roll over her, but she doesn't recoil. It doesn't have the same impact it does when they speak of his death. She's going to die soon, no matter what. A bitter voice wants to say, it'll only have come a year early, anyway.
She doesn't. But it's true, a tiny voice says.
You don't know that, Lena argues internally instead ( ... )
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He'd asked her how much time she had, and she had said one to five years. He will always remember that. Lucky will always remember how it felt to hear her tell him how limited her time truly was. While he isn't constantly aware of it (if he was, he would drive himself crazy with it), he knows ( ... )
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A sharp pain hits in the center of his chest, because he understands what she means without her saying it. Demon. Lucky doesn't tell her that he wants to know what she wants to say, that that is what he wants to hear, because he knows that she knows it and that she is fighting with all that she can to send that demon's wants and words away.
It's why instead of telling her to say it. Say it., he reaches for her face and kisses her, intensely, hard. It's still there. The good is still there, more than the bad. Love hurts but it heals too, but it feels like this kiss feels, and he prays to God that she will feel it, feel what he feels when he so much as thinks of her.
The love that pushes up above all the rest, all the pain and regret and guilt. It's not ugly. It's beautiful, and he wants her to remember that and not that mission, not the person that he was then because it wasn't him and it was ( ... )
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It feels like weakness but more than that, it feels selfish. Lena knows what it would do to the Crowbar, she knows what it would do to Sonny, and that she'd still prefer to die than to face it goes to show she's a lot more terrible than she's ever given credit for.
That she was dealt the terrible hand, that she got the short end of the stick, it doesn't excuse it. Nothing excuses it when she loves them so much. She doesn't care what the world would ask of her, but she does look up at him at that, gaze sweeping across his face. "What are you asking of me ( ... )
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They frame either side of his face and when she kisses him back it's not the way she usually kisses him. There isn't playfulness and an edge of softness to round out the intensity. It's just as hard and it's full of bare need. Her hands remain there, curved over his jawline, and she uses her thumbs to wipe at his cheeks, as well. Her mouth brushes against his cheekbone and she closes her eyes, feeling the fresh tears there. It says what she can't find in words. I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. I love you.Lena doesn't flinch, but she feels it somewhere inside, the jolt in her chest that's already raw and aching ( ... )
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It's not that he thinks himself so self important that he doesn't think she can make it through his death, but he knows that she has already lost so much and he knows what grief can do to a person. He has seen it. He has felt the effects of it himself and watched his father suffer through the grief of losing Laura, how he spiraled into alcoholism so quickly after that.
What are you asking of me? It's that question when she looks at him like that that almost steals the air from his chest. It's the way that she looks that makes it hard to breathe for a moment. He sucks in a breath when he can manage it. "For you to be with me for as long as possible. I promised you forever, and I thought ( ... )
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