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willnotbemine]
Lucky Spencer is with Lena Austen. They are preparing for a mission that does not have to do with one of the two, big open cases that the Crowbar has undertaken. It's nice to get a break from both of those cases despite knowing why they are so important to solve. They both seem so big and overwhelming. Progress to the next steps has been slow going at best.
They are in her room preparing for the mission and changing into appropriate clothing. It is straight forward enough mission. They have to go the bar and play their two roles while they get some information, hopefully a key that the one man supposedly always carries on him. Lucky has to be the observer. She is supposed to play the damsel in distress part. Lucky is there for backup and to get information from the people talking about the target while Lena goes a more direct route. He finishes buttoning the top buttons on his shirt. The ring that she gave him for Valentine's day is on one of his fingers along with the necklace that she gave him for Christmas.
Even if they turn out to have no secret powers to protect him, it comforts him to wear them both. He has gotten used to the solid weight against his chest and to playing with the ring while they have their big meetings or when he's waiting around on a stake out. It gives his hands something to do, which he needs more often than he can admit.
Lucky turns toward her, finishing up the last buttons of his shirt and freezing at the sight of the dress that she has on. It's hot and very short. "Does it have to be that-- Uh." Right, he will not be a jealous boyfriend here. He trusts her completely. It's thinking about how guys will look at her in that particular getup that makes him lineface if only slightly.
He reminds himself that he has her. How ever they look at her. It's him that gets to be with her in every sense of that word, not only what those guys would be thinking about.
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It's not like she wants to be wearing this uncomfortable
torture devicecontraption in which breathing is not as seamless of a task as one might think. "Women are only allowed inside with a VIP invitation by one of the members and if they're following the dress code."Their code being like they walked out of a Moulin Rouge dress rehearsal, basically.
Lena tugs on the hemline to cover the rest of her thighs and lifts up two stiletto heels while she approaches him. One is gold and sparkly and the other is blood red and vampy. "Pick."
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He rests his hand againdt her shoulder with a small smile and then a shake of his head as she reminds him of the dress code for women to even be allowed in with an invitation. "For the record, I think mens clubs are stupid. You look amazing in anything you wear." He is not saying that from boyfriend bias either. He has thought that for a long time. She is absolutely beautiful, fully clothed or completely naked.
Lucky let's out a breath at the sight of his choices. There's a moment where he rubs the back of his neck almost with uncertainty and then he reaches a finger out, picking the
red ones before glancing at her with a small smile. "I would like either on you, but there's something about the red in combination with that outfit..."
He sighs and laughs slightly. "For the record again, it is really hard to pick out accessories for your outfits that will make you more appealing to other men. I am trying to be more partner than boyfriend right now. Since I know that's what's needed."
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Lena shakes her head and smiles at him, arms sliding around his neck. "You're my boyfriend," she points out. A hand darts out to fix the last button on his shirt. "You'd have to say that, even if I was wearing a potato sack. But thank you," she adds in quiet sincerity, placing a soft kiss against his lips.
She agrees mens clubs are stupid. They're perpetuating the belief women exist solely for their purpose of objectification, and she doesn't always like having to use that to achieve their ends, but if it hasn't changed by now--they might as well do something good by cheating their own system, right?
"Red it is!" The narration approves of your choice, Lucky. Lena sits at the foot of the bed and looks up at him in commiseration while she ties the thin straps together. "Are you sure you don't want to sit this one out? I promise you I will not be upset if you opt out. Lou can come with instead."
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He also doesn't think too many women will brush up against him, but he won't be paying any of them much attention. He will pretend like he is there for the drinks, which he will not actually be drinking.
His arms slip around her waist and pull her in close, and he smiles at her when she says it. You're my boyfriend. The smile on his face seems to say Yes, I am. "I would not have to say that. To me, it's the truth so it's not like a lie. Even in a potato sack or covered in trash, I would be... incredibly attracted to you," he says, kissing her back, smiling against her lips before he pulls away.
Lucky understands why they must use them. The men's clubs are a basis for a lot of information. Groups that the Crowbar frequently needs to get to own men's clubs among other places that he is not so fond of.
He watches her slip the red shoes on. "It has to take so much talent to... walk in those," Lucky comments almost offhandedly, and then he shakes his head at her question. "I'm sure. I could use a mission that's separate from the cases that we've been working on. I can handle it."
And he would rather go with her than someone else. He knows she can take care of herself, but... he made a promise to her, to himself more to always watch her back. It's what partners do for each other. It's what they do for each other.
Where else would he be?
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She still wouldn't give up her combat boots for anything in the world. They're comfortable and soundless and they express more of who she is than any of those heels.
Some women say they feel immediately more powerful and sexier when they're wearing them but Lena's never gotten the point. So you're taller. You can command the room with your presence no matter what your height if you've got confidence. Sexy has to do with personality just as much as what you're wearing, and where's the line between sexually attractive and pure objectification?
Walking over to the dresser, she opens up the jewelry box and finds the gold hoop earrings she'd decided earlier on would go with the outfit. She takes a deep breath and looks at herself in the mirror, wrinkling her nose. It's the kind of outfit Rick would always like her to wear in the past while at the same time punishing her if she got attention for it.
She's trying not to think of that.
"In that case, Officer Spencer, I'm ready to go when you are," she announces, putting on the final gold hoop earring and mussing up her hair with her fingers so that it falls messily around her shoulders.
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It's cute and not difficult for him to imagine a little Lena walking around in heels too big for her even if combat boots seem much more like her. He will always associate them with her too. She was wearing them on the first day that they met under the Halloween costume that he accidentally ruined by spilling punch all over her.
Lucky watches her as she stands in front of the mirror, wrinkling her nose at the image. It is almost like a part of him knows what she is thinking. He doesn't, obviously, but the outfit doesn't make him think of her, not like the combat boots do or the bracelets that he gave her or the far more comfortable clothes that she likes to wear when a mission is over.
He walks up beside her, sliding on the leather jacket. His finger tips graze the edge of her hair, and he smiles at her before the smile falls into a more serious expression.
"I'm ready," Lucky adjusts the jacket, zipping it up, and leaning over to kiss her before he steps back from the mirror.
The plan is to go into the bar separate since they aren't supposed to know each other, which is why they are leaving separately and getting there by different means. Lucky will take a cab. Lena will drive.
He turns back to look at her before he steps out of the room. "Be careful."
Lucky knows it goes without saying, but he likes to say it anyway. It doesn't hurt to say it. He'll meet her at the bar, and they will pretend to be strangers there but he'll watch her back like he's supposed to.
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It should be stressed she wears those bracelets on a daily basis since he gave them to her. She turns to face him, smiling back at him reassuringly. It's weird how not a word transpires but it's like they've just had a conversation in which they both understood what the other wasn't saying. Lena, as has become her custom apparently, will pop the collar of his jacket while he kisses her, tugging on it to bring him closer for another quick kiss before she nudges him out the door.
"Sir yes, sir." She crosses her heart when he tells her to be careful. The smile doesn't leave her face until he's finished stepping out of the room. Lena waits the requisite fifteen minutes before she snatches up the keys to the car and drives off to the bar. When asked who's representing her, she says a man named Maurice.
This isn't a lie. Maurice works within prostitution rings and he was cornered by Gates a few days ago. Blackmail works wonders in thugs like him. He's helping, though very grudgingly, and has called the man who owns the bar, recommending his newest merchandise even though Lena is no such thing. She gives the requisite password and a red pin is placed above her right breast. She barely holds back the warning to stop touching or she'll bite his fingers off.
Lena slides her jacket off before she's stepped foot inside, looking around the place like it's the first time she's seen it. It is, at least in real life. She's learned the foor plans through security feeds to learn the quickest exits--just in case. She feels dirty just by being in the room.
"Up there," the bouncer tells her, and she follows the finger he's using to point at the second level of the smoky bar. The main honcho is of course in the VIP area and sitting the largest table. While it's the largest, the man is currently alone. He's waved off the dancers who've given him a few lap dances. It's perfect timing, really. Lena thanks the bouncer and makes her way over to him through the spiral glass stair case.
Music blasts through from every corner as people grind against each other wherever they can manage.
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They're paid less for doing the same amount of work. It's not an easy world out there for women, and it hurts to think of all those things, but he thinks of them because he's known women who have been through that. The women that he has met, Lena, his mother... they're the best people that he has ever known.
She pops his collar and he brushes her cheek with his thumb before walking away, keeping in mind how she looks when she crosses her heart. Lucky arrives to the bar first as planned, and he has positioned himself near enough the main honcho that he will be able to have a good vantage point when Lena approaches him. He feels dirty too, and he has a hard time looking at anyone in the eyes which is just as well.
None of the other men in the bar are looking at eyes anyway. Lucky looks at the top of the bar, staring into his drink which he has managed to not actually drink. He glances over, notices Lena but doesn't let his gaze linger as much as he would like to. He cannot make it obvious that he knows her.
Carl is the head honcho, and he is all by himself at the largest table, which is why he notices when Lena walks up to him. He leans back in his chair, smoking on a cigar. The smell of it lingers all around the table. He has a large gut, scruff on his jaw, and a greasy look about him that makes him look as dirty as his bar.
He looks Lena up and down when she approaches. There's no approval in his look, no want necessarily. Carl looks her up and down like one would look at a horse that they wanted to buy. No, that's not quite the right metaphor. It's more that he looks her up and down like one would examine a large chunk of meat that they wanted to purchase, examining sections for fat, for bruises, for any sign of molding, or for any part that might not be tender enough to meet his satisfaction.
As soon as she gets close enough, he'll slap her on the ass as if testing just that. The tenderness of the meat. "You must be that girl Maurice told me about." This must be the ground hamburger I might be looking for. It's said in the very same tone. "How old are you?" What's the expiration date?
Lucky had looked over at the slap, and when he realizes what it is that that man slapped, he has to face forward again, tightening his hold on the glass in his hand. He feels sick. How is anyone-- any one of them supposed to reign down on their emotions long enough to get through this?
He sucks in a breath and sets the shot glass aside, turning so they are still within his peripheral vision. He doesn't want to miss a vital moment, not be there when he should be there.
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And for every other woman that's ever experienced the kind of demeaning objectification she feels right now with every passing creepy dude whispering things into her ear while she gets to Carl. For every woman that can't wear a nice dress and walk down the street without being catcalled and shamed for whatever reason. This is important, and she can't lose sight of that because of her own hang-ups.
"That would be me," Lena says, removing her hair from her shoulder and tossing it over her back, leaving both shoulders bare. She smiles at him, a mixture of shy and coy, as if she wants to please but can't quite reign in the fact she's a creature that wants to seduce. Inwardly, she's thinking this pig is the most disgusting thing she's ever seen. But she smiles. Never over-the-top, never too eager to please. "I'll be nineteen come April."
Lena tries not to look too shocked or grossed out by the slap on the ass. If she was at the Crowbar, she'd be pulling a Jo and shooting his dick off. She isn't at the Crowbar, and she's not Lena. She's Amy, and she's submissive and addicted and needs the money.
Nineteen is the age Maurice suggested. Legal, so he won't get into too much deep shit if people start looking around. Old enough to have some experience and a few tricks up her sleeve, but young so that there isn't an expiration date yet. Lena is really twenty-four, but without make up on her face, she easily looks anywhere from eighteen to twenty.
Don't sit unless you're told to. Don't do anything unless you're told to. If you're sent away, he ain't interested. She remembers those words from Maurice and keeps standing in front of Carl, trying to ignore the fact his face is at eye level from her waist down. Hoping she's sent away with the same intense understanding she can't be sent away, because they need that key.
"Relax," Maurice says from beside Lucky, tossing a handful of peanuts into his mouth. He doesn't get what the big deal is. Like buying a horse, you want fine breeding. Like buying meat, you want it fresh. Rode around hard and put away wet, right? "He's just testing the merchandise. Depending on how much he likes said merchandise, testing can mean a variety of different things. ...I mentioned that, didn't I?"
No, Maurice. You didn't. Something you should have probably warned Sonny about first. Not that Maurice knows what Carl will or will not like. Still. Oops?
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Carl knows that this is exactly how women are most comfortable being treated. They can say no as much as they would like, but he knows the truth. There's always that deeper look of want in their eyes even when they are slapping someone for coming on too strong. These girls aren't the kind to get to slapping obviously, but they're all the same. They all want to be sought after, bought after by men.
The attention makes them pleased little kittens. Carl likes nothing more than having a bundle of pleased little kittens working for him, purring when he comes around and letting them pet them up and down as much as he would like. And he likes petting plenty. One of the girls start thinking she deserves better or more, it's no trouble of his to throw her out on the street. Put that kitten down if necessary in a sack in the river.
Ain't no skin off his back. It's a good gig. It's a good life. He ain't complaining.
The smile is one that he is used to seeing, and he thinks nothing of it, nothing more of her than one would think about a slab of meat. Nineteen seems to please him. "It's a good age," he says, reaching for her wrist to pull her in close, on his lap to be precise. His hand angles under her chin, turning her head from side to side as if examining. "How many men have you been with?"
Lucky meanwhile has to try to not crush the shot glass in his hand, not that he's that strong. It feels like it is on the verge of breaking, and he is almost positive that if Sonny had any idea how far this would go, he would never agree to it for anyone.
Relax Maurice says, and Lucky shoots him a look.
"...what kinds of things?"
He asks the question between his teeth as he glares at Maurice in a threatening way that implies that he would be more than happy to go back to Gates and give him a not so good report about the man. It's way early to throw in the white flag, but he is starting to see that they have no idea what they got into here and that they should get out again as soon as they possibly can.
Lucky is five seconds away from putting up the abort signal already. This is getting too hands on. It's important. It's important yes, because of all the women that work for Carl, that have been put through this treatment and shipped off to other countries as sex slaves, given false promises and drugged until they cannot see the light of day.
But he doesn't want her to go through it too, not even the 'testing' out part, and the use of that word makes him feel sick, makes him shudder, and he downs the drink. It's a bad idea, but he doesn't know how he can remain sitting without some help here.
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The vagueness of the 'some' is not conveyed to be on purpose or to be difficult. Because of her age, some is meant to imply that there haven't been that many: a.k.a she is not wasted and too used yet. They wouldn't want their products not to be too fresh after all. She smothers down the urge torecoil as she allows herself to be pulled to his lap. It's the perfect opportunity to search for the key while he's studying her face. She looks at his face in turn, eyes intent to find... some sort of humanity in him. She isn't at the point where she wants to believe there isn't something redeemable in everyone.
A lot of people wonder how evil can exist. How evil can be done by men. How disgusting pigs ilke Carl can exist. Lena never wonders that. She knows exactly how. It doesn't always have to do with a Calling that drives you to be a monster. Sometimes it's the fact they don't know God. Sometimes it's the fact they haven't, even from an early age, ever been showed a loving gesture or an act of kindness. Sometimes it's as simple as you just don't care and you want the power and you want it the easy way.
And she feels sorry for him. For what he'll never have. Right up until she realizes the key isn't on him.
A quick and subtle perusal alerts her of the fact, and it's like being dumped with cold water. They said it was always on him. Wasn't that what they said? Unless he's concealing it in private parts she'd rather not be thinking about, the key isn't in any of his pockets.
Maurice grabs another handful of peanuts. They're good cashews, aight?
"I dunno," he says with the shrug of his shoulder, not entirely oblivious to the look Lucky's sending him. He swallows a bit and says. "Look, kid. You're up against real dirty people. You guys act like you expected freaking care bears up in this joint. These girls aren't people to them. If you're gonna purchase something, you want to know if it's gonna do the job well. Is it any surprise they're gonna want them on their knees to see if they give good head? Sometimes he hands them off to his favorite boys for the night as a gift. But I'm not a fucking mind reader, alright?"
He'd be scared of Crowbar retribution, sure, but it also ain't his fucking fault if people don't do their homework. Not that that'd stop Gates from exacting some nice retribution. Ahem.
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Sometimes he likes to do it himself, but he's been lazy in the last year or so, which explains the gut. He drinks his beers and makes decisions about the merchandise, but he has seen so much tits and ass that it doesn't do much for him anymore.
He mistakes her searching for the key for her trying to please him, trying to feel him up. Carl almost smiles at the effort but then flicks his fingers in the air, motioning for one of his men to walk over. It's a tall, Russian man with a scar across his face. He is as ugly and greasy as his boss, and he looks at Lena with great interest, like a bulldog drooling over a piece of meat.
"Vlad, take this back to my office," Carl says, shoving her off of him like she doesn't have legs of her own to walk on. It's okay though the very human Vlad grabs hold of her. His hands are on her boobs, and he is nodding vigorously, laughing under his breath. "Have yourself a run through. Let me know what you think."
Vlad is getting hands-y quickly. He is trying to pull her to the office, but he is also taking some time to feel up all the body parts along the way, sliding under the fabric of her shirt even.
Lucky sees that she is being walked toward a room with some guy. This is abort time. Why isn't she aborting? This was not in the plan at all, and he drops the glass on to the ground. It barely registers in a place like this. People drop glasses all the time.
But it's the signal for them to abort, to get out.
He is on his feet, and he has done all he can to not punch Maurice in the teeth.
If you're gonna purchase something, you want to know if it's gonna do the job well.
If he feels sick and enraged and sick, and he isn't thinking about how stupid it would be to attack the creep that's touching Lena in the open where everyone else in the bar is on Carl's side. He's only thinking about the fact that she's being violated, treated like an object, body torn and used--
They have to back out now.
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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.
As far as she's concerned, his moving out speaks well enough for itself.
Sonny and the rest are probably feeling like pins and needles around her, since she shuts down the subject before it can be addressed. This gets her a nice studio out of the deal, right across teh bar. It'll be nice to have a project to focus on and to have space of her own if she ever needs it. She doesn't plan on moving out of the Crowbar any time soon but it's nice to have something that's just hers. She spent most of Saturday painting the walls on it without getting much sleep.
Distractions are so important to people with a strong Calling, and it's easy to immerse herself in it completely until she loses track of time.
It's Sunday and Lena has decided the wall on the left will become a mural. She's kept a lot of the polaroids Elena took over the years, along with some of the polaroids Lou has taken recently. She wants a mural of them and that's what she plans to work on for the day. Never mind she isn't very good at painting walls or making murals. It's just soothing to do so.
She's wearing baggy overalls and a thin black tee, and against her better judgment, the Beatles bracelets she was given on Valentine's Day. There are several boxes of Chinese takeout on one of the tables at the center, still unopened. She isn't expecting anybody since she was quite firm about wanting to do this on her own. Of course, she doesn't know John has summoned Lucky to the studio to meet up and discuss something of utmost important!!! (yes, John probably used three exclamation points in his entry.)
Both he and Zoe apparently decided it was intervention time. :x
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By this last day, he started to assume that she didn't want anything to do with him, but it didn't stop him from writing or calling still. Lucky told her that he would fight for her, for them, and he meant it.
He should have been suspicious when he saw John's entry, but he hadn't even considered that an intervention might be in the works. The first thing that came to his mind since he had spent so long worrying about Lena that she was hurt or in grave danger. If it wasn't her, it would have to be someone else.
Lucky was worried and in Chicago, it's not exactly paranoid to be worried so he didn't waste much time examining the reasons why John could have written him. He was worried that Lena was in danger. Although she had responded to his entry to say that she was okay, it was hard to believe that and she didn't talk to him any further than that so he knew she didn't want to have anything to do with him. Lucky wasn't willing to push himself on her still so it-- he had to stick to writing and calling, several times a day.
It's not enough to say he's sorry and to know that she has read that. He needed to say more, to explain in depth why he was sorry even if it didn't change anything afterwards. Even if she still wanted nothing to do with him, he'd still be writing every day. It isn't in him to stop.
When Lucky steps into the studio, he is not expecting to find Lena there, because it was John that had written him. Miraculously and thankfully, he is sober, his last drink was a few hours ago. Lucky freezes at the sight of her, standing there in clothes that he associates with her and surrounded by paint and Chinese takeout boxes. It's a beautiful sight, and his heart aches with it. Before he can think of what to say or what to do, he hears the door lock behind him and he closes his eyes, wincing.
He clears his throat before he opens his eyes again, scanning the apartment.
"John told me that he had to meet me here to discuss something... important," Lucky says, and it almost sounds like an apology. If she doesn't want to see him yet, he shouldn't... be here invading her space. "I'm going to guess that he's not here at all."
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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 [
Lena only has to look at the blur of curly black hair to know who the traitor is.
She sticks both hands into the back pockets of the overalls she's wearing, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. She is acutely aware of his presence and how small the studio is. "...Hey," she says quietly, for lack of anything better to say. She opens her mouth and closes it several times. "I didn't... answer any of the calls. Not because I didn't want to--okay so at first I didn't want to--but mostly it was because I didn't.... know what to say."
At first it had been a matter of pride and the fact she was furious, but then one day turned to two turned to three turned to five and nothing at all felt like a good thing to say, or the right thing to say, least of all through a journal or on the phone. She still doesn't, but she'd be lying if she said she wasn't relieved to see him.
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As much as the Crowbar has become his family too, it's hers. They will always be more her family than his own, and it should be that way. She was the reason that he was able to find and meet them. They would all remind him of her, and he couldn't stay knowing what had happened.
His hands slip into his pockets too. It's a relief to see her as much as it aches. He'd wanted to see her in the flesh, needed that reassurance before he could fully convince himself that she was okay, and he turns his head when she points only to see John on the other side of the glass with what is quite obviously Zoe in toe. Lucky sighs heavily, pressing a hand against his face and letting it slide down to remain by his side instead.
"Hi," Lucky says, and he is still standing with his back against the door in an attempt to navigate this situation without doing anything that he shouldn't do.
He takes in a breath at what she says next. It's good to know that it's not that she didn't want to talk to him, and he looks down at the floor between them. Lucky swallows and takes a tentative step forward, raising his gaze again so he can face her.
"I thought you didn't want to see me, and I didn't want to... force myself on you if you didn't want to have anything to do with me," Lucky says, and he pulls his hands from his pockets to fold his arms across his chest, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. "After what happened, I didn't really feel like I had that... right."
It felt like a violation to her. It felt like he wouldn't be respecting her like he should have.
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There's a slight frown on her face, and she keeps her hands on the back pockets she'd placed them in, for lack of having anything to do with them. She only slides one of out of the pockets to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear, the bangles jingling against each other at the motion. "You... wouldn't ever force me to do anything. I know that. That's not--that's not what it was about at all."
The entries were about apologizing, not about seeing each other, as far as she could tell.
Part of her keeping silent and distanced from the rest came with her wanting to be sure she wouldn't fall back into old patterns. She'd do it with Rick all the time. Twist herself into painful knots and apologize for things that weren't her fault, do whatever it took to make it right again whether it was her place to or not. She never wants to be that girl anymore, as much as she knows this isn't the same situation at all.
She doesn't know what she is anymore, except maybe miserable.
Lena keeps her gaze on his arms as they fold across his chest. She doesn't know how you can feel distant from someone when they're in the same room. "Lucky, we all have our dark moments and we all have our demons. We all do things we're not proud of and we can't always hold back when the wrong buttons are pushed. You're not the first and you're not the last it's happened to. We're all... made of light and shadows, remember? None of us expect you not to have those moments and neither of us... knew it'd get that bad."
She did not expect him to not have reactions to what he was seeing all around him, which was heinous. She doesn't think any less of him and that's--Sonny has taught her that. She, of all people, would understand what it's like to be held in the grasp of something that gives you no control and being sorry for it later because it felt like a completely different person.
In a way, it is.
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It's the sound of the jangle that brings his attention to her wrist and to the bracelets that are there. It almost makes him smile but then it doesn't because Valentine's Day feels like so long ago when it wasn't at all. "I don't know that... I didn't want you to have to see me unless you wanted to, I guess. Even if it was only long enough to tell me to go away again."
He didn't know how angry she was with him, and Lucky recognized that his yelling at her after what she had been through, it had put him in line with someone he never wanted to be, someone that could make her feel terrible. It is a part of love too... or apparently, it's apart of his previous relationships.
Lucky steps toward her again, and his arms fall down again after she speaks. He looks away from her again, swallowing past the tightening in his throat. "Whether it's expected or not, I'm still-- I'm sorry for it. I'm so sorry. I never wanted you to see that side of me, and I never, ever wanted you to be on the other side of it. The way I treated you after it had happened. I couldn't see straight. I just--"
He sucks in a sharp breath, and it hurts. It burns and the burning reflects in his eyes, jaw locked.
"You did everything right, and I did everything wrong that day. It was never about not trusting your judgement, and I'm sorry that I gave you that impression. I didn't know where he was taking you or who he was. I saw his hands on you like that, and I couldn't-- It was like I couldn't breathe. There was just this red, and I kept seeing what could have happened to you because of this man that doesn't think anything of women, that thinks they're-- merchandise."
It makes him sick to say it out loud. It makes him physically ill.
Couldn't stop seeing Elizabeth in the snow or hearing his father admit to what he'd done.
Lucky looks back up at her. "I'm sorry, Lena." He never wanted to make her feel like he knows he must have made her feel after that.
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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 over when she literally thought he'd die. That they wouldn't make it out alive. That Sonny would be told he's lost one or two more of his family.
It isn't that she doesn't trust his abilities or she doesn't think he's good at what he does. But when it came down to it, they were outnumbered and a good chunk of them were demons, wired to be inhumanly strong and he was the one they'd attack with the intent to kill since he was the one that threw the first punch. The thought of losing him--that is what made her physically ill.
Lena only looks back his way once he starts explaining. She starts to get that feeling again as the pieces click into place. It's a pattern, it's a trigger, something similar if not on a lesser scale happened with Rick and that strip joint. His anger wasn't really about her and Vlad. She'd ask what it is, what happened to him or someone he's loved. She'd press if she had any idea where they stand. But she doesn't, and the uncertainty wins. And maybe it's important that she accept the apology before she knows the exact reasons.
It requires a level of faith that isn't always in someone to give. But she'd want that. She'd want someone to see the demon and still care and see something not ugly. Still look and see Lena despite whatever else she did or felt or said. There isn't a more difficult test in love, she thinks.
"I don't--" she shakes her head and curses herself inwardly for the blur of tears that don't let her see straight. "I don't know what impression you gave me anymore. Everything about that night is just a big blotch. I know how difficult it must've been for you to see someone you care about being treated that way. It was a horrible mission where nothing went right and I never want to do any thing similar to that again. Sonny and Gates and John, none of them would've reacted any differently if they'd seen me or Zoe like that. Not even Lou."
Some of them would've reacted worse. Especially John if it'd been Zoe. There'd have been murder, no questions asked.
She sighs and turns to look at him, face crumpling slightly at the burn in his eyes that mirrors her own. I'm sorry, Lena. "I know you are. And I forgive you for it, for all of it. You're still Lucky to me, I just didn't have the words till now."
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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 that ring, you'd be dead?. "I know," he says, and his voice sounds as shaky as he feels. "I know. I didn't... I didn't think about that before I jumped at him, and there's no excuse for it. I realize that I put you at risk too, and that it was a miracle that we got... out of there alive, that you got out of there alive, and that's on me."
In any other situation, he would have thought of something else to do instead of running at him. He would have thought of some subtle way to get back there. Lucky studied the plans too, and he could have realized where they were going. He could have moved closer to the office to listen for sounds of a struggle.
If he'd been thinking, he never would have been so reckless. Never. There hadn't been room for thought in his head. He saw that man with his hands on her like that, forcing himself on her even if all logic told him that she was playing a role and that she could take care of herself in a one-on-one situation with him.
"I never want to-- I don't think Sonny will be running missions like that ever... again. From the conversation, he had with me. It seemed like he-- like he wouldn't put anyone in that position again, you or Zoe or anyone else. It was terrifying to see you treated like that, and it was painful, and sickening and-- Sonny didn't sound like he'd be running those missions again at all."
He sounded guilty, not as guilty as Lucky felt but close enough. Through the yelling, there'd been guilt.
When her face crumples, Lucky does not keep his distance at all. He hasn't been questioning what she feels or where they stand if only because, he still trusts in it. He trusts that he loves her and she loves him beyond everything else. Lucky steps forward, cupping the side of her face.
His throat tightens further, and tears slip down his face as he breathes her in. "I shouldn't have left either, but I didn't--" Lucky breathes out and breathes in again, breathes her in again, reminding himself of the familiarity of his hand against the side of her face, the warmth of it. "I didn't know what else to do."
What he went through in his life to make that a trigger for him is something he will tell her. He feels that he can, that he wants to, and that he has to, but it's a matter of finding the words.
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And she was doing so well, with not being afraid of what could happen down the line, with not letting that rule her life or her decisions, but she feels like she's back at square one.
Lena doesn't answer when he says he knows. She believes he does, but it doesn't take away the dread of knowing how differently the outcome could've been.
People do expect too much of love. That it's stronger than anything. That it can save you. That it can be enough against each and every odd stacked against you in some other corner that's too big to be any sort of competition to your own. "It's not about pointing the finger, Lucky. It's not about who's to blame. or holding someone accountable. It's the fact you could've died and I wouldn't have been able to live with that."
She was the one that brought him to the Crowbar. She was the one that started it all in motion, knowing how dark it can get and knowing, as good as it can be, how many demons can be brought out by the work they do and the life they lead. She's known it. She's known it from the start, but it's always been a step up from the life she had.
"They're important," she says, running a hand through her face, shaking her head in refusal. It's not aimed at him, but at the decision. "I agreed to the mission and I knew what I was getting myself into. It's not like I ever thought it'd be a walk in the park, but it's important. He doesn't have to send us to anything similar ever again, but we did a good thing. You can't do the right thing without getting your hands dirty sometimes."
And she'll talk to Sonny about it, and she'll be honest with how hard it was but how she does not regret doing it, not for one moment.
So many girls live their whole lives thinking they're not worth loving. They afall into abusive relationships like Lena, or they're sold to the highest bidder, or they grow up without zero sense of self-worth. They believe that there isn't a God, there isn't anything to save them, there isn't anything but these animals that ship them from one place to another, making them do horrible things starting from the age of ten. She doesn't regret it at all, despite what she believes it's cost her.
Lena's face crumples further when he cups the side of her face, and her cheeks are suddenly flooded with warm tears. She's practically radiating the doubt and the fear and the paralyzing thoughts in her head. She doesn't want him blaming himself or thinking she hates him. But as for the rest?
"Maybe you had the right idea." In leaving. In getting away from them.
Lena looks down at the space between them and works at the lump in her throat before she tries to speak again, before she has the courage to look back up at him now that he's so close. "I'm not suggesting this because I'm mad at you or I want to hurt you or because I don't love you anymore. I said it to you once. There's more to this life here than the Crowbar. There's more to it than the job we do and the people living there and... me. Maybe this happened as some sort of stop signal. To avoid more hurt in the long run or to help you find something better or before you get killed."
She inhales sharply and says the words quickly before she can't get them out at all. "You just don't belong with me, after all."
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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 family?
It's all he has ever wanted in his life.
"They are important. I don't think he is stopping the missions to go in after those people, just stopping the ones that force someone to be in the position that you were in," Lucky says, and he doesn't think those are missions that the Crowbar can do if all the men would react violently to Zoe or Lena being treated that way. "I know... we did a good thing. I was almost afraid the key would be wrong, and I'd have... but it was the right key."
Thank God, it was the right key. Lucky is not a women, but he has seen the treatment that so many of the women in his life have suffered through. Elizabeth, his mother, his grandmother was kidnapped by the Cassadine brothers and drugged for years, Maxie was assaulted, his sister had an abortion and was kidnapped by Franco. He saw the other women at that bar, and he wanted to save them all, wanted that place to never exist.
When her face crumples further, he presses his hand against her face further, fingers slipping back into her hair and leaning forward to rest his forehead against hers.
Maybe you had the right idea. Lucky almost takes a step back, but he doesn't. He doesn't. His hand remains against the side of her face.
He shakes his head instead, insistently, and his hand slides down until both hands are holding on to her shoulders. "No, no, that's not why this happened. It wasn't a sign. You're saying that because you're scared, and I told you that I would fight you, fight for us, and I meant it-- It's not you that almost got me killed, Lena. It was my decision to join the Crowbar, and it was my mistake, my inability to take a step back."
You just don't belong with me, after all.
That hurts. That hurts more than he could have anticipated it hurting, because he never expected her to say it. It feels like a knife has buried itself in his chest, and he still shakes his head, tears in his eyes, spilling down his face.
"That isn't true," Lucky says when he can speak through it, and he wipes his own face, but he hasn't created any further distance between the two of them. He remains that breath away from her with his hands against her shoulders still to keep her centered, to keep them both centered. "Do you know what I did for the five days that I wasn't here? I was drinking. I went on patrols with people at the Tower to find monsters because there was nothing else to do, and I drank, and I didn't feel like I belonged or like I had a purpose at all or like it mattered if I had a purpose or if I didn't. It was just... it was existing, and I missed you and I missed that place and I missed having a family. I don't know if... I had my doubts about whether or not I can do this job after how much I screwed up five days ago. I thought I would be a liability to everyone here, to you, but--"
His breath hitches, and he shuts his eyes before opening them again to look at her.
"If I don't belong here with you, where my heart is, where am I supposed to belong?"
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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.
She bites the insides of her cheeks until she tastes blood.
"I know I would've," Lena says instead, considerably calm considering the conversation they are having. It's real, like any other conversation they've ever had, but nothing's ever hurt as much, she doesn't think. Nothing has ever felt as uncertain and it's like navigating through very, very thick fog with not a lighthouse in sight. "I wouldn't have wanted to make it out alive if you didn't."
And she doesn't care if that makes her weak or not because at least it's honest.
As for Sonny, she says nothing further. She nods in agreement and scrubs a hand against her cheek in exhaustion. She's slept less in the past five days. Less than she usually does, even.
It was hard to when she was thinking about him.
Do you know what I did for the five days that I wasn't here?
Lena shakes her head, stifling a noise that sounds suspiciously like a sob cut off by her teeth biting down on her lower lip when he answers. What he says hurts. Picturing him drinking without any sort of purpose hurts. There's some relief he was at the Kashtta instead of the many other places that would've loved to get their hands on him instead, but most of all there's just this raw, constant ache that keeps pushing at every wall in her chest.
There's a quiet, quiet voice that wants tear it all down, his pain and hers both.
If it can't take anyone else's pain and use it, if Lena keeps depriving it of what it wants, it'll eat itself from the inside out. Until they're both mad. Won't it? "I know what I feel and I know what I think and they're not the same thing," Lena finally says shakily. She doesn't remember what it's like anymore to live without that division of demon and human. She doesn't remember what it's like to experience love without that something else. "I know what I--what I want to say, and I know what a part of me... that isn't me wants to say" (demon) "and it's not the same thing, either."
And she's fighting, she's fighting past that ugly voice that's twisting everything beautiful she could possibly feel for him into something that isn't beautiful anymore, that says it doesn't want it anymore, that says it wants to kill it. That's bathing in the hurt and the guilt and the anger because the rest feels so far away. She isn't insignificant. This isn't insignificant. It isn't ugly. It's not. It's not.
Lena rests her forehead against his gently somewhere amidst the silence. She breathes out, breathes in, lets the tears flood down. I don't want to hurt you, she thinks. I would never want to hurt you.
And she just did. She sees it in his face, in his eyes when she opens her own to look into them. He hasn't moved away and surprisingly, she hasn't either. There's still that breath-away-only distance and she breathes out, the soft warmth of it fanning across his cheek. It's meant to steady her, ground her, but his hands on her shoulders do that more than anything else.
"We broke so many promises to each other, Lucky," she whispers brokenly. She can still remember when she made hers, and they feel so long ago when it was just over a month ago.
They'd been so happy and in love.
Where is that? Where is it?
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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.
She was dealt a terrible hand, and it's why it's important that she get the most out of what time she does have. They all should. No one has guarantees, but most people don't have expiration dates like hers either.
Lucky closes his eyes at her words, and he's not-- It isn't a surprise to him that she has said it, because she has told him before that she couldn't handle another loss. After losing six of their family, he doesn't know that any of them can handle another person in their family dying. He doesn't know how the world can expect them to continue on.
"I know," he says again, quieter this time, at trying to imagine them both dying in that bar together, at how the Crowbar would have reacted when they found out. "The world couldn't ask any more of you."
She has already been through so much more in a few years than what most people go through in a lifetime. She has already lost so much more than most people will ever have to lose.
Lucky reads the exhaustion on her face. He is certain that neither of them have been sleeping or eating much in their time apart. They're better together. He meant that when he said it.
The noise that she makes cuts something deep within his heart, and he tightens his hold on her to reassure her. He's here, and he's not drunk. He didn't tell her what he did to hurt her. Lucky would never do anything with that wanting to hurt her, but he told her so she could see how the Crowbar grounds him, how she does. Why it's so good that she stumbled into him that night in October after he'd just fallen through.
He could have ended up somewhere else. There are more bad places for wanderers to get sucked into than good ones in this city. Whatever kind of person he is, he has demons of his own and darkness of his own, and he had already been at the end of his rope when he fell through the rift.
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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.
Lucky rests his forehead back against hers, hands still cradling her face and sliding along her cheeks to wipe away the tears. His hands slide back down against her shoulders, holding her in place again.
He winces at that broken whisper, and it hurts as much as the sob did, and he wants to apologize again but doesn't. Lucky's hands slide down her arms. "We did, but that's... It will happen. You can love someone so much, and you can still hurt them. You can still break the promises that you made to them, and it doesn't mean that you didn't mean those promises or it takes away from those promises. I'm... going to tell you something that my dad told me after the affair that I thought destroyed my ability to love. I stopped believing in it, and my dad told me that... love is a perfect notion. People expect too much from it. People are flawed. They fail." Lucky pauses, because the rest is him and not his father. "I fail. Frequently. We will both fail, but that doesn't take away from what that love means, from what we mean to each other. If it was always happy and perfect, it wouldn't be real."
This next part is harder to say.
"This is not the first time that I'll hurt you," Lucky says, and it's the hardest thing that he's said tonight, because the thought of hurting her hurts him like nothing else could. Her pain hits him more powerfully, more intense than his own does. "If that's something you... don't want in your life despite knowing what goes with it, knowing what we do for each other, I..." He has to swallow past the tightening in his throat, "understand. It hurts sometimes. It can hurt more than anything, but I think it's always-- it's always worth the hurt. It's the most powerful feeling there is, and it's not-- it won't always be good."
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