hadriel_logs | No matter how far we get [CLOSED]

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No matter how far we get [CLOSED]

Who: Dr. Lance Sweets, Dr. Temperance Brennan
What: Lance's bad end is pretty much canon, and he's not too great at pretending otherwise
Where: Lance's apartment (Spire Two, 501)
When: Some nebulous time during the Bad End event~
Warnings: Discussion of character death and violence; will update if anything else comes up

[His intuition had told him not to look.

A pretty silver mirror appears out of nowhere and is lying by your bed when you wake up? Usually bad news, and he's pretty sure there are some fairy tales--or ghost stories--that start this way. And yet he'd picked it up anyway, glancing into the surface curiously, not entirely sure what he was expecting to see.

He'd dropped the mirror at first, although fortunately--or unfortunately--it hadn't shattered or even cracked, just tumbling face-down to the floor next to his bed. Lance had stared at the back of it for several seconds, trying to decide if he had been seeing things or not, before gathering his courage and picking it up to look into again.

It had been the same scene: a dark, mostly deserted parking garage, save for his own familiar car and, more strangely, himself. It probably should be the least strange thing, really, to see himself in a mirror, but then again one normally expects to see themselves alive; even in the dim light in the parking garage it's easy enough to tell what the blank look in his own eyes means, and the amount of blood and lack of movement are only more confirmation. After several seconds of trying to decide what to do, Lance had finally torn his gaze from mirror's surface and put the item away in the drawer that held his gun.

After that, and after realizing it wasn't just the one mirror that showed the same image, he'd tried for awhile just staying out of the house, partially to avoid seeing his own reflected vision and partially to avoid Rosen seeing it; that hadn't been a great plan, unfortunately, as unless he wanted to spend the rest of who knows how long in the Orchard it was far easier said than done to avoid all reflections. So eventually he'd returned, but remained in his room as much as possible and tried to resist the morbid curiosity that kept prompting him to look into his mirror despite already knowing what it shows.

But now he's decided to try a different tactic: distraction. So Lance is back at the apartment, after making sure it's empty for the moment, and is busy pulling things out of his cabinets and refrigerator. It's time he learned a bit more about cooking, and despite the memories being hazy he does think he can rely at least a little on the skill he'd had in the alternate history event; sure, he hadn't been a master chef or anything, but he'd had a little more opportunity to learn and at least a little more talent in the area. Might as well give it a try.

He'd brought his mirror into the kitchen purely for the reason of not leaving it unattended; he'd been paranoid about it being found while he'd been out in the city, and had eventually taken to keeping it with him just in case. So it's sitting face-down off to the side on one of the chairs at the kitchen table, far enough that he knows where it is but too far to be within easy reach so he wouldn't be tempted to look himself, and he's actually mostly forgotten about it in his concentration on what he's doing.]

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[This is her first truly terrible event since arriving here, but Brennan cannot yet be sure that is the case. One data point is not enough to base a theory on, so when she wakes up (and scratches Sandy between the ears as the fennec purrs happily at Brennan's side) and sees an elegant silver hand mirror at her bedside, she does not even know to try and fight the compulsion to look at it.

At first all she can do is sit in stunned silence. Her? A serial killer? No. The list of victims is everyone she loves. This is some cruel joke, some... "magic" trick dreamed up by someone from a world with technology millennia ahead of what she knows. Their abductors, most likely, because how could anyone but Sweets (who would never do this to her) or Zack (who isn't even here anymore) know these names? She is ready to dismiss it until she reads a name that stirs visceral rage in her. "I tried to stop her," said Pelant, "but I helped catch her. That's gotta be enough."

She leaves Sandy with food and water and heads out for a run, keeping the mirror nearby not because she fears anyone will find it but because she just-- feels drawn to it, even though what it shows is repulsive. She runs for as long as she can -- half an hour at least -- then comes back and showers and sits on the couch and looks at the mirror again. No change, though she is not sure if that is better than the reflections she caught in the city. The orange jumpsuit, the cuts and bruises on her gaunt face. A prisoner who no one liked, locked up for crimes she did not commit.

Sandy lies across the back of the couch and flicks her tail against Brennan's neck, and as she jumps from the gentle contact, Brennan decides she needs to talk to someone. Here, the only person she trusts is Sweets, so she heads for his apartment before she has a chance to regret the thought.

She knocks on the door, but when it takes him more than a few seconds to answer, she knocks again, louder. The mirror sits in her coat pocket, a weight she can't ignore no matter how badly she wants to. She should have brought Sandy, she thinks as she waits. Then she could at least have something good and blameless to think about.]

[The first set of knocks actually startles Lance, both because he's just generally on edge a lot and because he's so focused on what he's doing, and it takes him a moment to really place that someone is knocking; by that time there's more knocking, and Lance cautiously edges toward the door to see who it is. Not many people know where he lives, after all.

But it's Brennan, which makes sense, and he immediately relaxes a little as he opens the door for her even if he's a little surprised to see her.]

Dr. Brennan, hey, come in. Are you okay?

[He can tell by the look her face that she isn't, but there are a number of reasons that could be and so he doesn't want to assume which it is.]

What took you so long?

[Hi Sweets how are you is it obvious enough yet that she is on edge?

She doesn't wait for an answer before she is distracted by two things: 1) the smell of whatever he is preparing and 2) the sight of his mirror.]

You have one too? [she asks, pulling hers out of her pocket. She keeps the reflective side down, doesn't even hold it out to him. Some part of her wants to just throw it to the floor with all her might and shatter it to pieces, but then again, some part of her wants to look at it again.] It was in my room when I woke up this morning.

[Lance is a little surprised by the first question--did he take that long? He supposes he might have--but then she's immediately asking about the mirrors, and he's torn between curiosity at what hers contains and an odd and confusing mix of emotions at the idea of her seeing his.]

Yeah, it was... Just there.

[He leads the way back into the apartment, picking up his mirror on the way and setting it on the counter, still more than an arm's length from himself, before checking on what he's cooking. It's really simple, enough so that even he can't mess it up--some diced vegetables and a few spices in a frying pan, that he plans to add eggs to--and so it only takes his attention briefly before he looks back at Brennan again.]

Does yours show you something bad?

[He hesitates to ask, but he needs to know both to properly understand her reaction and maybe to reassure himself a little. Is it just him that sees something awful, or is it everyone?]

[It takes every shred of strength Brennan has not to pick up his mirror when he sets it down. She very nearly does, curious almost to a fault, but instead she puts her on mirror on the counter, still within reach though.]

It's horrible. [It's a nightmare.] Yours too?

[Okay. Not just him, although contrary to what he'd thought it actually makes him more concerned, not less; if his is a vision of his future, then what is Brennan's? What if something is going to happen to her too?

His voice is a little fainter than usual when he responds, thinking about too many things at once.]

Yes. But it's an event, right? It has to be. So surely it isn't...

[Only he's pretty sure his is indeed real, so why not hers?

And so he has to ask--]

What does... What does yours show you?

[So it is the work of their abductors. Having been here longer, Sweets would know that; and having been through last month's mass illusion, Brennan can allow herself to relax a little. This is also an illusion.

Yet if that's true, why is Sweets so nervous? And how could her mirror show her something so awful?

She takes a moment before answering, hating the words before she even says them. This is in fact the first time she says them aloud.]

Pelant-- winning. [God, she hates him.] It's--

[It's too much to say out loud, so she just pushes the mirror over to Sweets for him to see the news article.]

[Lance watches as she tries to get the words out, more and more concerned, and doesn't even have time to really be surprised by the mention of Pelant before she shoves the mirror toward him. He hesitates, purposefully resisting in incredible curiosity to look for long enough for her to change her mind, but then finally picks it up and looks into it.

No wonder she's so upset. It's immediately obvious how distressing it would be for her, and with good reason, but one little detail about it is enough for him to be able to give her good news; he holds the mirror out for her to take back, and meets her gaze intently.]

This isn't possible, Dr. Brennan. Pelant is dead. Booth shot him.

[And as much as Lance usually hates the loss of any human life, he can't bring himself to feel anything at all for Pelant. He's glad Booth finally ended him, even if he wishes it hadn't had to come to that point.

But even though Lance could've seen Pelant orchestrating something from beyond the grave to affect them all, there's no way he could've given a statement like is in the newspaper that flashes through Brennan's mirror without being alive. And he isn't.]

[It came so close to that before she was abducted. All of them had been like game pieces to that monster. He'd almost won, but then they'd pulled together to beat him, so yes, to see a future where he won is the worst possible outcome.

She almost protests (of course it's possible, doesn't Sweets remember the things Pelant did?) until--

Her shock and disbelief register clearly on her face, wiping away the grief and fear from only moments ago. Pelant is dead. Booth shot him. That can't be true.]

No, he's-- he changed his identity and went to Egypt.

[He gave her a flower, promising to give her pain and suffering. To get revenge for having outsmarted him. He's still out there, and she's here unable to do anything to try and find him, and now Sweets is saying that he's dead. The only way to know that would be to see the future, and no one can do that, except perhaps their abductors, who took him from two years ahead of--

Oh.]

You're sure? You're saying that because you know it happens? It happens, but I just... haven't gotten there yet? [This is so frustrating to think about.]

If that's true, then yours could also be false.

[They can both be free of what the mirrors show them.]

[He should've told her this much earlier, he's realizing; he hadn't even really thought about it when he'd found out about their difference in time, too overwhelmed by her and Zack being here, and then after that there had just been so much going on here that it hadn't crossed his mind again.]

I'm sure. It was a little less than a year ago for me; you and Booth were there, and the rest of us watched on a video system Pelant had set up.

[She still has to get to that point, but she will, and things will be okay. Pelant doesn't win, in any sense of the word.

But when Brennan suggests that maybe Lance's own mirror is just as false, his expression falters; he wants to agree immediately, and say that could be, and believe it. But everything in him tells him it's correct.

Still, he tries anyway, even if all he can really manage is to repeat what he's already said.]

It could be; it's just an event, right? Maybe it doesn't mean--

[His voice breaks and cuts out, an even more obvious sign that he doesn't believe his own words; he was already a terrible liar, at least to friends, and that doesn't help.]

[Even Brennan can tell that's a lie. She would be proud of that fact if not for the distressing subject matter. Assured now that her mirror is showing her a lie, she can shift her attention to what Sweets's mirror shows.

The compulsion to look becomes too much then, not because of the "gods" but because now she is worried for what could await her friend. Before he can regain his voice, she picks up his mirror off the counter and looks.

It feels like having the air knocked out of her. The lighting may be dim, but she knows what a corpse looks like and she knows who this is. She can't do much to figure out cause and time of death with just a photo and without the others, but she doesn't need to. This is horrifying enough all on its own.]

This doesn't happen. It doesn't have to happen. Booth wouldn't let it. I wouldn't.

[He sees her reach for it, and he could've made an attempt to stop her, but he doesn't; instead he just leans sideways against the counter, all the energy seemingly draining out of his posture, especially when he sees that look on her face and she responds.]

It was... It was just supposed to be basically running an errand. I volunteered to do it while you and Booth were interviewing a witness.

[He hears himself speak almost like it's someone else; he isn't expecting to be talking about this, especially not to Brennan, and it feels wrong to do so. She has enough to worry about, but even Lance knows it's pointless to try to pretend like he believes what she's saying; it's better to just tell her, especially--selfishly--for him.]

Things just went really wrong, and I... When I woke up here, it wasn't quite as bad, but I remember...

[He remembers the feeling of his ribs cracking and moving out of place, rather than being broken but still in the neat alignment they'd been in when he'd woken up in the arena. He remembers coughing up the blood that had been all over his shirt and suit jacket when he'd arrived, but aside from pain having no trouble breathing while in Hadriel. He remembers the deep sense of dread and feeling of something being wrong deep in his chest, but that had also been absent as soon as he'd found himself here.

It's those reasons that he's sure the vision is probably correct; that he doesn't--and logically shouldn't--survive his injuries, and only did here because it would've been pointless to the gods for him to die within minutes of arriving. But every sense he has tells him that he doesn't have a future at home.

And he's started to think he could've handled that, and accepted it, but--]

Daisy's pregnant. We were going to have a boy.

[He doesn't know why he says it, and he can barely get the words out, but maybe it's because he knows that Brennan will truly understand in a way no one else here can. This is what hurts, about this entire situation; he's had a good life, even as short as it was, and he could've accepted and let go if it weren't for this.]

No. [It's not angry or a protest. It's a firm statement. No. No.] This is in the future, right? It hasn't happened for me yet, so I can stop it happening. I'm-- I'll stop this from happening.

[Just promising that is enough to bring her close to tears, but then Sweets adds what he does and all she wants to do is break the mirror. As if that could fix anything, or prevent it from happening.

She doesn't, but she does slam it back on the counter. It's hardly enough, but it's something, and it helps her out of the shock his last statement dealt her.]

I'm going to stop this. I'm going home somehow and stopping this. You'll be a great father, and you and Daisy are going to be happy together.

[They deserve at least that much.]

Edited (whoops dat html) 2017-08-25 02:01 (UTC)

[Even though he knows it doesn't work that way, there's still a glimmer of something that he feels from her words; it isn't hope, because although he knows it's possible he'll survive, he doesn't believe it'll happen. But it is the feeling of being loved, and that someone cares, and that even if he does die alone in that horrible place people will care. He knew that, logically, and didn't doubt it, but the confirmation still means something.

But he shakes his head, managing to take a step closer, enough to reach out and gently touch her shoulder.]

I don't think it works like that, Dr. Brennan. People have left and come back, and they say they don't remember anything of this place while they're in their own worlds.

[His voice still sounds hollow even to himself, but it has to be in order to get the words out, and he has to say them; denial won't help either of them. No matter how bad something is, you have to face it if you're going to get past it.]

Besides, it was... It was going to be either me or Booth, and I...

[He's glad it was him. Maybe Booth would've stood a chance in the fight, but maybe he wouldn't have; he was still injured and off his game. He could've easily been killed in Lance's place, and that would've been a much greater loss, and the entire reason Lance had become an agent in the first place was to look out for Booth. It seems fitting, and it's the only good thing that he can cling to about this entire situation.

At least it wasn't Booth.]

[She shakes her head as he talks, forcing herself not to shrug away his touch. (It'd be too much like when she was fifteen and pushed away her mother's hand and never saw her again.) This is not denial. It is stubborn determination. She can do this. She will do this.]

None of them has been me.

[So there.

And if given a choice--]

Neither of you is going to die.

[And that's that.]

[He can't bring himself to argue, both because he doesn't think he'll convince her and because part of him--a lot of him--desperately wants her to be right. He wants to go home, he wants to see Daisy and Booth and his friends, and he wants to be there for when his son is born.

But it's hard for him to take his own advice about being hopeful when he's also so determined not to delude himself about the truth, and he's afraid to hope when the chance is so incredibly low; as much as he knows better than most how quickly things can turn around, he's also realistic. Life isn't fair, and that's both the beauty and the horror in it.]

Maybe.

[It's all he can really offer in response, letting his hand drop from her shoulder and giving a weak shrug.]

I don't know. There's still a chance, but it's just...

[He shakes his head, turning back to stir the frying pan of not-quite burnt vegetables, just to give himself something to focus on; he doesn't even feel upset at the moment, just drained, and he knows it'll all hit again later but he hadn't expected to be dealing with this right now. He hadn't expected her to find out this way, or at all, and he can't even tell if he's distressed or relieved that she knows now.]

[No. Not "maybe"-- when Brennan sets her mind to something, she achieves it. The last words her mother said to her were be rational and they have yet to lead her wrong. Rationally speaking, she can impact her future and that of the people she loves. Quantum physics says that past and future events are happening all at once, but nothing is fixed and immutable unless it is in the past. Therefore, she can prevent Sweets's death.

She watches him go tend to his cooking, noting his posture and dejected frown. He would not protest this much if he were not certain of what happens. Their conversation about his injuries makes more sense now, and is all the more frightening. He could have died from those injuries, yes. And he believes he does.

It's heartcrushing.]

You should turn off the stove. A little burnt is fine, but overcooked is unpleasant. [And then with no transition--] I'm going to save you if at all possible.

[He can agree to that much, right?]

[The cooking advice makes no sense to him, but he doesn't doubt that she's right; this is probably why he's not exactly great at this skill. He turns the burner off, moving the pan off the heat and glad to be able to go back to ignoring it despite the distraction it had offered a moment ago.

He glances over at Brennan again at the rest of her statement, letting out a long breath, but nods. He can indeed agree to that much.]

Okay.

[It's... Not much of a response, but he's having difficulty figuring out what to say; a rare situation for him, but not an unheard of one, and it's not like this subject is something he has any experience with. It's not a subject anyone should have to have experience with.

But as much as his own emotions and feelings are muted and hard to discern, he can still read her reactions and see how upset she is, and he should do something about it. He can focus on doing that, at least.]

I'm... I'm really sorry. I didn't want you to have to worry about this.

I'd rather worry and have the chance to save you than live in ignorance and let you die.

[Obviously. Wouldn't he do the same for her?

There's a second or two where she hesitates, and then she goes for a hug, holding him like this alone will protect him. She remembers all too well how it had felt to watch Vincent die. Her interns are important to her, and one of them was killed in Booth's place. She does not want to lose a friend the same way, especially not Sweets, who understands some parts of her life better than anyone else in her small circle of friends.]

[It isn't too terribly unexpected that she hugs him, but there's always some level of surprise when it comes to physical affection from Brennan. It's not unwelcome, though, and he almost immediately returns the embrace, letting his chin rest on her shoulder and trying to draw some sense of calm from the comfort being here with her brings.]

Before you and Zack arrived, I thought I'd never see any of you again.

[He admits it quietly, and tries to remember that he'd been wrong in that. Maybe he's wrong about things too.]

Well, you were wrong. [She means to sound like she's absolutely right, but it comes out a bit childlike anyway. Not that she notices.

She does however get a little choked up ovee the whole matter, and the mention of Zack doesn't help any.]

I'm here. [So let her be stubborn about this.] And I'm-- I'm going to show you how to salvage your meal.

[She takes a aharp breath, forcing herself not to cry, and pulls back, offering him a quick nod before she goes and inspects the vegerables in the pan.]

Okay.

[This time when he says it there's more life behind it, and it's both an agreement to her statement that she's here and her intention to try to fix his cooking. He watches her go peer at the pan, and manages a faint smile.]

Have I ever mentioned how bad of a cook I am? I thought I might as well actually learn, but I'm not sure it's a good use of my time.

[He says it lightly, jokingly, although he can't quite put the right amount of energy into it. But he's feeling... Not okay, exactly, still kind of detached, but not horrible either. The sense of calm is still lingering, at least for now.]

Booth mentioned he has seen you eating cupe ramen -- which by the way is terrible for you. As for this--

[Her voice is back to normal by the time she's stirred the vegetables around a little in the pan.]

I find they taste quite good on their own, but you can add some of this ground purple spice I found in the shops yesterday. I'll bring you some tomorrow. Cooking is not hard, Sweets. It's trial and error and following instructions.

Did he tell you that he likes to steal said ramen for himself?

[He's so not passing up the opportunity to get Booth in--harmless--trouble, even in another dimension, especially since he apparently was tattling on him. First the muffin thing, now this?

He's a little slow to react, but eventually moves to watch what she's doing more closely, trying to commit what she's saying to memory even though focusing on these details is a little easier said than done at the moment.]

I think my problem is that the 'error' part for me usually ends up being bad enough that I don't try again on the 'trial'.

[He keeps setting stuff on fire; it's a struggle.]

[...he would And yet--] He wouldn't eat something so badly flavored.

[This is a much easier topic to focus on, all in all.]

It's probably best for you to try cooking with a more experienced cook before you venture off on your own. Then your mistakes will be salvageable and you will learn how to fix them before they make your food inedible.

[Sweets no.]

You're welcome to go to my apartment for dinner now and then to practice.

[That is not also a way to get him to have dinner with her more regularly. She has Sandy now, but Sandy does not make conversation. She still misses Zack.]

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No matter how far we get [CLOSED]

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