if you keep tearing out the sutures
All in all, Lucy probably shouldn't have been surprised. It was the way of things on the island, that they were good for a while, steady, and then everything bad happened all at once; she'd long since stopped trying to convince herself that anything else was possible. To be ready for it, at least on some level, meant that it would be easier to take. What had happened a few days earlier with Bucky and Jason, winding up in some kind of repetition of the former's past, hadn't been easy by any means (rather, it had been the single most frightening thing to happen to her; she'd woken up during the first night after with her neck, though she hadn't ever told anyone), but it had sure as fuck been foreboding, a sign that things were about to take a turn for the worse.
She just hadn't expected it would be like this.
It wasn't as if she and Bruce had been inseparable, or anything like that, though she'd liked him a great deal, so when she'd first gone looking for him after a couple of days and not seen him, she hadn't thought it meant much, simply that they'd missed each other. She gave it another day, then, checked to see if he'd shown up for his Tuesday morning classes (he hadn't), and not out of some vain hope but just to be certain, not wanting to assume, stopped by his hut again. There was no point in deluding herself when she'd been through this so many times before, already preparing herself for the sting of another loss, but on the off-chance that she was wrong, nothing good would have been accomplished by already believing that he was gone.
Of course, the hut was empty, where empty meant that he wasn't in it. There was something there that hadn't been before, though, that she wouldn't have noticed when she'd knocked on his door the day before. A folder was left on the edge of his bed, and not thinking much of it, she picked it up, intent on seeing what it was. The sight made her stomach turn. Under a small photograph of the man who'd been her boyfriend were papers on not Bruce Anderson, but a Bryce Larkin, a man who had, apparently, been a CIA agent gone rogue. People showed up here who looked like each other all the time, but even so, this couldn't have been a coincidence. It was just like her arrest record had been, and the dog tags of her brother's she still wore, meant to unsettle Bruce - Bryce - but winding up in the wrong hands instead. She was almost fucking grateful for that.
Had Lucy been an optimist, she might have been able to veil this in good terms: at least it lessened the blow of his disappearance, at least he hadn't been around to hide it from her, or for them to break up over if she found out and they fought. She wasn't, though. Instead, she was just angry, if relieved that she'd found out at all. She'd been in bad relationships before, but never deceived on such a grand scale, and now, she was left to realize that she had never actually known her boyfriend at all, some of the facts written in the dossier more than a little damning. It was, perhaps, more unsettling in his absence than it would have been otherwise. This way, she had only the papers and her imagination to determine who he really was.
She had, at least, known exactly what to do, not faltered for a moment, mostly out of the desire to not have to carry around the folder any longer than was necessary. All the way to the beach she walked, where, facing out towards the water, she held the file out in front of her, and ignited the lighter she'd been carrying in the pocket of her jeans. She didn't, though, set the papers aflame, not yet. Instead, she sucked in a deep breath, shaking her head as she looked out to sea. "Every time."
[Timed to Tuesday late afternoon. Not the greatest of times to meet her, as she's kind of punchy, but she can deal. ST/LT more than welcome, as always.]
She just hadn't expected it would be like this.
It wasn't as if she and Bruce had been inseparable, or anything like that, though she'd liked him a great deal, so when she'd first gone looking for him after a couple of days and not seen him, she hadn't thought it meant much, simply that they'd missed each other. She gave it another day, then, checked to see if he'd shown up for his Tuesday morning classes (he hadn't), and not out of some vain hope but just to be certain, not wanting to assume, stopped by his hut again. There was no point in deluding herself when she'd been through this so many times before, already preparing herself for the sting of another loss, but on the off-chance that she was wrong, nothing good would have been accomplished by already believing that he was gone.
Of course, the hut was empty, where empty meant that he wasn't in it. There was something there that hadn't been before, though, that she wouldn't have noticed when she'd knocked on his door the day before. A folder was left on the edge of his bed, and not thinking much of it, she picked it up, intent on seeing what it was. The sight made her stomach turn. Under a small photograph of the man who'd been her boyfriend were papers on not Bruce Anderson, but a Bryce Larkin, a man who had, apparently, been a CIA agent gone rogue. People showed up here who looked like each other all the time, but even so, this couldn't have been a coincidence. It was just like her arrest record had been, and the dog tags of her brother's she still wore, meant to unsettle Bruce - Bryce - but winding up in the wrong hands instead. She was almost fucking grateful for that.
Had Lucy been an optimist, she might have been able to veil this in good terms: at least it lessened the blow of his disappearance, at least he hadn't been around to hide it from her, or for them to break up over if she found out and they fought. She wasn't, though. Instead, she was just angry, if relieved that she'd found out at all. She'd been in bad relationships before, but never deceived on such a grand scale, and now, she was left to realize that she had never actually known her boyfriend at all, some of the facts written in the dossier more than a little damning. It was, perhaps, more unsettling in his absence than it would have been otherwise. This way, she had only the papers and her imagination to determine who he really was.
She had, at least, known exactly what to do, not faltered for a moment, mostly out of the desire to not have to carry around the folder any longer than was necessary. All the way to the beach she walked, where, facing out towards the water, she held the file out in front of her, and ignited the lighter she'd been carrying in the pocket of her jeans. She didn't, though, set the papers aflame, not yet. Instead, she sucked in a deep breath, shaking her head as she looked out to sea. "Every time."
[Timed to Tuesday late afternoon. Not the greatest of times to meet her, as she's kind of punchy, but she can deal. ST/LT more than welcome, as always.]