ѕtíllmαn (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
retributes) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
sixthiterationlogs2018-12-09 07:19 pm
retributes) wrote in sixthiterationlogs2018-12-09 07:19 pm
Entry tags:
[closed]
WHO: Lucy
WHERE: Along the way to House 51, bridge crossing, and the second thread at House 51
WHEN: Dec 3 (shortly after this) & Dec 9 (shortly after this)
OPEN TO: Closed to Connor
WARNINGS: Blood, swearing, will update if needed
WHERE: Along the way to House 51, bridge crossing, and the second thread at House 51
WHEN: Dec 3 (shortly after this) & Dec 9 (shortly after this)
OPEN TO: Closed to Connor
WARNINGS: Blood, swearing, will update if needed
Why had she expected to be the only one here from home? Bleeding out, a number of neatly sewn stitches holding her skin together, Lucy could handle that. Just another day on the job. That was no big deal, really. However... Being told that she was dead and that someone she thought she could trust and had even begun to develop feelings for was the reason behind it, that was entirely something else. A whole new game and arena that she wasn't prepared to enter and deal with.
As it were, she was not aware that Desmond had taken to following her several paces behind. She was completely unaware. Disbelief, a spreading numbness, a tight chest—that was pretty much a bright blip on her rader and the only blip. She was dead. Dead. How was she supposed to deal with that? Thinking back on it made it hard to breathe, to think of anything rational. Lucy had only made it halfway across the bridge when she had to stop, grasping at the rail to keep upright. She was hunched in, the dark stain of blood trailing down to soak into her pants, bleeding from how hard she'd pushed herself to make it the rest of the way home on her own.
A glance to her wristband and she considered finding Connor in the directory to send him a message asking for help. Lord only knew how badly she needed it right now. Her knees began to fold and Lucy didn't stop them from doing so, letting herself sink down until she was sitting there. The tremors in her shoulders came and they didn't stop, not even as she ducked her head and felt the hot tears drip to leave dark, wet droplets over her thighs, her sobs quiet and partly muffled behind her hand. How could this have happened? How could she get so far and only then decide that she'd had enough with the war to end up dead?
What she needed was a moment to grieve over the rest of the life she could no longer properly live back home and then she would push herself to go the rest of the way.