[So Kyna shows up with the last two bags of chips she has. She was saving them, but she feels like this is a good occasion for it. Knock knock, Lance!]
[Lance opens the door to let Kyna in pretty much right away, having been expecting her, and his apartment is a little more orderly than it has been lately.
He smiles a little at Kyna, the expression hesitant but genuine, but then he sees the chips and omg--]
Wow, I was expecting like... Dried weird orchard fruit, or monster meat, or something.
[Chips are an amazing surprise and he's already cheered up a little.]
[Lance is in the middle of opening the bag of the chips when Kyna asks, and it provides a great distraction while he thinks about how to answer. Immediately he doesn't really want to, and he's rethinking the whole thing, but if he was going to back out he should've done it earlier and so finally, he gives a small sigh.]
Being a psychologist, you'd think I'd know how to start these sorts of conversations, but...
[But it's still awkward and weird and he's hesitating.]
I guess I just... I haven't talked about what actually happened, just the end result.
[And he's being vague because despite having decided to talk about it, it's still hard.]
So even though it's been months now, I can't stop thinking about it, and that may be because I've only internalized it. So I was hoping that if I talked about it, to someone, it might help.
[And logically, he knows it should; it's the advice he would give to anyone in his situation, but it's still hard to take it. He feels immediately guilty even for asking, especially since he knows hearing someone--even a stranger, let alone a friend--talk about something awful that happened to them can be difficult, but he's trying not to trust in that she meant it when she offered to listen. He means it when he offers it, after all, and wouldn't want anyone to feel guilty talking to him.]
[Her voice is softer now, and she tilts her head, trying to work through how to handle this. She's not good at talking about this sort of thing, but she did mean it. Lance hasn't been doing great. Even she can see that, and she does want to help, even if it means she might stumble a little.]
[He's lost some interest in the chips, though he thinks he'll probably get it back later and so he carefully sets them on the small table near the couch, nodding at the question.]
Yeah, that's probably a good idea.
[And so he sits down on one end of the couch, taking a moment before deciding to add something else--]
I want to make it clear though, that um... You don't have to be here. I'm not going to be offended or anything, and I mean it.
[Despite his attempts to convince himself it isn't necessary, he has to make sure she knows that if she doesn't want to listen she doesn't have to. He doesn't want to make things hard for her.]
[He can't say for sure that she won't say something 'wrong', but it's unlikely, and he takes a slow deep breath to try to center himself a bit. Where is he going to start? What's he going to say?
When people ask him that in a counseling session, he tells them to start with whatever stands out or is bothering them the most. So he takes a moment, gaze fixed off to the side, as he tries to keep his will to talk while figuring out what to say.]
Dr. Brennan said that I died of internal blood loss, but she just confirmed what I already knew, because I...
[It's difficult to explain, not just because of the topic but because he's not sure how to put the sense he'd had into words. But that's not as important, since the rest of what he has to say will get the point across well enough.]
He stomped on my chest, and I felt them all break inward.
[He makes an awkward gesture toward his ribs on the left side, from high up on his chest most of the way down, for a total of eight ribs. Not coincidentally, that span is about the length of a grown man's shoe. And although Lance doesn't specify who 'he' is, it's probably easy enough to guess that he means the person who killed him.]
I've been hurt before, sometimes really seriously, but never like... That. It was painful, but I didn't really start to feel it too much until after I got here; it was more that it was like... It was like drowning, suddenly, except it was blood instead of water.
[And that's the thing that's stuck with him the most, more than the fight itself, and more than the fact that it wasn't necessary to kill him at all. That particular feeling, and the sense of wrongness and cold shock of fear, are what has been truly following him over the past several months.]
[That's... more than she knows how to process gracefully, and her heart twists in her chest. Her fingers are still tangled in the chain of her necklace, and she tightens her grip reflexively. She's almost died more than a few times, but Harlan and Tucker were always there to save her. She can't imagine experiencing any of that alone, or having to process it like he is now. Just like she predicted, she has no idea what to say, and for a second all she can do is swallow.]
[In much more detail than he wants to. Time slows down for a lot of people when in a life or death situation, and he's no exception; he remembers every moment of the fight, from the start of it through what he's describing, to when he found himself waking up suddenly in the arena.]
And it's just... Stuck in my head, which is not entirely unusual, and I should've started dealing with things earlier, but I...
[He just offers a small shrug, a little surprised at himself for his voice being as steady as it still is, but maybe it's because he's focusing so hard on what he's saying that he isn't thinking about the content as much.]
[He nods a little at that, encouraged to continue, but he's not entirely sure how to do so. So he just starts at the beginning, this time, even if it might not seem like it immediately.]
Are um... Are parking garages really creepy in your world? Because they are in mine, and you kind of want to just look over your shoulder the entire time you're in one, so I thought I was being paranoid and that I was imagining things.
[Part of her is desperate to make a stupid joke at that comment, because she's all wound up and trying not to look as tense as she feels, but she knows how absolutely horrible that would be of her. She shoves the impulse aside.]
[Lance is similarly tense, and similarly trying not to look it, but it's probably pretty obvious since he's pretty much completely stiff and has curled his fingers into the fabric of his jeans.]
I still don't... I still don't why he didn't bring a weapon; I'm an FBI agent, and he would've known that, so all I can guess is that he didn't think he'd need one. He wasn't wrong.
[And that's something else distressing; the whole thing was violent and horrible and pointless enough, without the added insult of being considered such an easy target that his attacker didn't believe--and was correct in thinking--that a weapon wasn't necessary.]
I realized he was there just in time to turn around and not be totally surprised, but he hit really hard.
[Though for better or worse, Lance is used to getting hit in the face, enough so that it hadn't stunned him too badly. But he chews on his lower lip for a moment before continuing, gaze shifting off to the side again.]
I fought back, and actually broke my hand on his head, but... Um, if anyone ever grabs you by the throat--or anywhere else, actually--bending their fingers back is really effective, no matter how strong they are. So he let go, but I think that's what made him so angry.
[He wonders if maybe, if he hadn't done that and had chosen a different way of getting free, if his attacker might've not cause so much damage in the way he had. But not fighting back hadn't been an option, and it's only in hindsight he's considered this.]
[Her voice is hushed, and reflexively, she reaches for his hand. It's her default language, and the only thing she can think to do. Her throat and chest are tight with an emotion she can't immediately pinpoint, and she swallows again, harder this time, waiting for him to continue.]
[He's a little slow to react, so much of his focus on trying to get words out without thinking too much about them, but the gesture of comfort is welcome once he realizes it.]
I didn't find out until after a few months of being here that the next blow broke my leg; I just thought it was hard enough to knock me down. But that's how he had the opportunity to kick me in the chest, and then...
[Then cause the fatal injuries, while he was on the ground. It had all been so incredibly fast, even if it felt like an eternity at the time and when he thinks about it.
He offers a small shrug again, still feeling oddly calm about everything.]
I think it all happened in less than a minute. After he broke my ribs, he started collecting the documents--the evidence about the conspiracy--that he'd wanted, and I was trying to draw my gun, but then I was here.
[There's the barest tremor to her voice from fury or sadness, or maybe both. Her mind supplies the idea that he probably drowned on his own blood, and she recoils from the thought, shuddering.]
[He doesn't know exactly what happened in the time he didn't experience, having not asked Brennan for too many details, but it can be assumed so by what she told him.]
But... Dr. Brennan said that Aubrey had followed me after all, and he called for help, but there just wasn't any time. Dr. Brennan and her husband--my friend Booth--were able to get there, though, and so the three of them were with me.
[Which knowing gives him some sense of peace. He's been so afraid that he'd died alone in a parking garage, in the same way Kyna is thinking, and so knowing that at least Brennan, Booth, and Aubrey were there makes things... Manageable, in a way. He still doesn't know exactly how he did die, other than that it was blood loss, but that's less important than that he wasn't alone.]
[That's... something, at least, that his friends were there. Not much, though, and she realizes suddenly that the reason her throat is aching is from grief, which is a surreal thought. She's grieving for someone who's right next to her, talking to her, but all she can think is that Lance didn't deserve it. No one would, really, but especially not Lance, who runs himself ragged trying to make sure everyone else is alright. Her vision blurs, and she blinks hard, praying he won't notice the tears as she untangles her hand from his and leans forward to hug him tightly.]
[Despite feeling oddly distant emotionally, he does notice the tears in her eyes and it's like that flips a switch; hugging her in return gives him the opportunity to hide his own face, and the fact that his own vision has gone hazy. It's still too much to really process mentally just yet, but at least he's feeling something.]
It's okay.
[He says the words without really thinking about them, and although they aren't true they aren't totally hollow either.]
It wasn't fair, but it's never fair. I've worked the cases of so many people who didn't get even a fraction of the time and experiences I had; sometimes it just...
[But he can't finish, because even though he means what he's saying, it doesn't stop that it hurts. It doesn't stop that it feels unfair, and that it didn't have to happen, and that one different step and he might have lived to see his son be born. But that's how life is, and he knows that better than many.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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want me to bring anything?
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[And he hesitates for a moment before responding the second part, before deciding to be honest; it's good practice for actually talking, right?]
If you have anything edible you're willing to spare I'm not going to say no to it.
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He smiles a little at Kyna, the expression hesitant but genuine, but then he sees the chips and omg--]
Wow, I was expecting like... Dried weird orchard fruit, or monster meat, or something.
[Chips are an amazing surprise and he's already cheered up a little.]
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You can have some of the barbecue, but if you eat all of it, I'm never talking to you again.
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That's totally fair.
[He shuts the door once she's in, then begins toward the kitchen.]
My offers of water and tea seem kind of inadequate next to the chips.
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Being a psychologist, you'd think I'd know how to start these sorts of conversations, but...
[But it's still awkward and weird and he's hesitating.]
I guess I just... I haven't talked about what actually happened, just the end result.
[And he's being vague because despite having decided to talk about it, it's still hard.]
So even though it's been months now, I can't stop thinking about it, and that may be because I've only internalized it. So I was hoping that if I talked about it, to someone, it might help.
[And logically, he knows it should; it's the advice he would give to anyone in his situation, but it's still hard to take it. He feels immediately guilty even for asking, especially since he knows hearing someone--even a stranger, let alone a friend--talk about something awful that happened to them can be difficult, but he's trying not to trust in that she meant it when she offered to listen. He means it when he offers it, after all, and wouldn't want anyone to feel guilty talking to him.]
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[Her voice is softer now, and she tilts her head, trying to work through how to handle this. She's not good at talking about this sort of thing, but she did mean it. Lance hasn't been doing great. Even she can see that, and she does want to help, even if it means she might stumble a little.]
Should we, um... Sit down?
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Yeah, that's probably a good idea.
[And so he sits down on one end of the couch, taking a moment before deciding to add something else--]
I want to make it clear though, that um... You don't have to be here. I'm not going to be offended or anything, and I mean it.
[Despite his attempts to convince himself it isn't necessary, he has to make sure she knows that if she doesn't want to listen she doesn't have to. He doesn't want to make things hard for her.]
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Yeah, I know. I want to be here. Just... don't get mad if I say something stupid? Or if something comes out wrong.
cw discussion of violence for probably awhile
[He can't say for sure that she won't say something 'wrong', but it's unlikely, and he takes a slow deep breath to try to center himself a bit. Where is he going to start? What's he going to say?
When people ask him that in a counseling session, he tells them to start with whatever stands out or is bothering them the most. So he takes a moment, gaze fixed off to the side, as he tries to keep his will to talk while figuring out what to say.]
Dr. Brennan said that I died of internal blood loss, but she just confirmed what I already knew, because I...
[It's difficult to explain, not just because of the topic but because he's not sure how to put the sense he'd had into words. But that's not as important, since the rest of what he has to say will get the point across well enough.]
He stomped on my chest, and I felt them all break inward.
[He makes an awkward gesture toward his ribs on the left side, from high up on his chest most of the way down, for a total of eight ribs. Not coincidentally, that span is about the length of a grown man's shoe. And although Lance doesn't specify who 'he' is, it's probably easy enough to guess that he means the person who killed him.]
I've been hurt before, sometimes really seriously, but never like... That. It was painful, but I didn't really start to feel it too much until after I got here; it was more that it was like... It was like drowning, suddenly, except it was blood instead of water.
[And that's the thing that's stuck with him the most, more than the fight itself, and more than the fact that it wasn't necessary to kill him at all. That particular feeling, and the sense of wrongness and cold shock of fear, are what has been truly following him over the past several months.]
i can't believe you're doing this to me
You remember all of it?
[She was hoping he'd been unconscious.]
I'd apologize but I'm only partially sorry :c
[In much more detail than he wants to. Time slows down for a lot of people when in a life or death situation, and he's no exception; he remembers every moment of the fight, from the start of it through what he's describing, to when he found himself waking up suddenly in the arena.]
And it's just... Stuck in my head, which is not entirely unusual, and I should've started dealing with things earlier, but I...
[He just offers a small shrug, a little surprised at himself for his voice being as steady as it still is, but maybe it's because he's focusing so hard on what he's saying that he isn't thinking about the content as much.]
smh!!
You can tell me all of it. I mean, if it would help.
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Are um... Are parking garages really creepy in your world? Because they are in mine, and you kind of want to just look over your shoulder the entire time you're in one, so I thought I was being paranoid and that I was imagining things.
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Yeah, I know what you mean.
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I still don't... I still don't why he didn't bring a weapon; I'm an FBI agent, and he would've known that, so all I can guess is that he didn't think he'd need one. He wasn't wrong.
[And that's something else distressing; the whole thing was violent and horrible and pointless enough, without the added insult of being considered such an easy target that his attacker didn't believe--and was correct in thinking--that a weapon wasn't necessary.]
I realized he was there just in time to turn around and not be totally surprised, but he hit really hard.
[Though for better or worse, Lance is used to getting hit in the face, enough so that it hadn't stunned him too badly. But he chews on his lower lip for a moment before continuing, gaze shifting off to the side again.]
I fought back, and actually broke my hand on his head, but... Um, if anyone ever grabs you by the throat--or anywhere else, actually--bending their fingers back is really effective, no matter how strong they are. So he let go, but I think that's what made him so angry.
[He wonders if maybe, if he hadn't done that and had chosen a different way of getting free, if his attacker might've not cause so much damage in the way he had. But not fighting back hadn't been an option, and it's only in hindsight he's considered this.]
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[Her voice is hushed, and reflexively, she reaches for his hand. It's her default language, and the only thing she can think to do. Her throat and chest are tight with an emotion she can't immediately pinpoint, and she swallows again, harder this time, waiting for him to continue.]
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I didn't find out until after a few months of being here that the next blow broke my leg; I just thought it was hard enough to knock me down. But that's how he had the opportunity to kick me in the chest, and then...
[Then cause the fatal injuries, while he was on the ground. It had all been so incredibly fast, even if it felt like an eternity at the time and when he thinks about it.
He offers a small shrug again, still feeling oddly calm about everything.]
I think it all happened in less than a minute. After he broke my ribs, he started collecting the documents--the evidence about the conspiracy--that he'd wanted, and I was trying to draw my gun, but then I was here.
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[There's the barest tremor to her voice from fury or sadness, or maybe both. Her mind supplies the idea that he probably drowned on his own blood, and she recoils from the thought, shuddering.]
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[He doesn't know exactly what happened in the time he didn't experience, having not asked Brennan for too many details, but it can be assumed so by what she told him.]
But... Dr. Brennan said that Aubrey had followed me after all, and he called for help, but there just wasn't any time. Dr. Brennan and her husband--my friend Booth--were able to get there, though, and so the three of them were with me.
[Which knowing gives him some sense of peace. He's been so afraid that he'd died alone in a parking garage, in the same way Kyna is thinking, and so knowing that at least Brennan, Booth, and Aubrey were there makes things... Manageable, in a way. He still doesn't know exactly how he did die, other than that it was blood loss, but that's less important than that he wasn't alone.]
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[That's... something, at least, that his friends were there. Not much, though, and she realizes suddenly that the reason her throat is aching is from grief, which is a surreal thought. She's grieving for someone who's right next to her, talking to her, but all she can think is that Lance didn't deserve it. No one would, really, but especially not Lance, who runs himself ragged trying to make sure everyone else is alright. Her vision blurs, and she blinks hard, praying he won't notice the tears as she untangles her hand from his and leans forward to hug him tightly.]
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It's okay.
[He says the words without really thinking about them, and although they aren't true they aren't totally hollow either.]
It wasn't fair, but it's never fair. I've worked the cases of so many people who didn't get even a fraction of the time and experiences I had; sometimes it just...
[But he can't finish, because even though he means what he's saying, it doesn't stop that it hurts. It doesn't stop that it feels unfair, and that it didn't have to happen, and that one different step and he might have lived to see his son be born. But that's how life is, and he knows that better than many.]
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[She doesn't understand how he can talk so calmly about it being unfair when that's the exact thing that grates at her.]
I know you're upset. You've been upset for weeks.
[And maybe it's not fair to push him, but she can't imagine what he's doing now is any better.]
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