savetheearth | (no subject)

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Who:   Belle and Lazarus
When: 3/23 late evening
Where:   The apartment
What:    Belle recovers an item from a pulse, L sees potential for opportunity in it

It had been quite a day.    After her morning appointment, Belle had set aside an hour to place reminder calls to her semi-regular patients, only to realize that her planner containing their phone numbers and notes about their cases was nowhere to be found.   Checking the entirety of her office, the car, and asking her coworkers had not turned up any signs of it and trying to recall the last time she remembered looking at it had conjured only memories of leafing through it briefly just before entering the coffee shop Lazarus had asked her to meet him at before the attack on the city.

Her thoughts, throughout the day, kept returning to Expresso Yourself as she tried to remember whether she had seen or used the planner since going there, only to find that she could not recall.   The idea of it sitting among the wreckage, waiting for some city worker to discover it and invade information that was not theirs had made itself at home in her head as hours passed, needling at her more and more.    By the time five rolled around, she had started to wonder if it might be possible to go and check for it.

By seven, she had made her decision, and by seven-thirty, she was parking her rented volkswagon as close to the wreck that had once been the coffee shop as she was able.   The ceiling having been removed meant no immediate threat of cave-ins, which went a long way toward encouraging her to pick her way toward the collapsed mess that had once been a back hallway. If her planner was anywhere, she'd reasoned, it would be in the back "office".     ....however, her efforts at making progress had been prematurely abandoned at the sound of nearby footsteps on the pavement.    A look outside had found a roving officer training his flashlight's beam over her car.

Belle of a few months ago would have readily stepped out to meet him, explained what she was doing, and asked for help.     However, this Belle - the one who was aware of secret numbers, impossible powers and forms, and who had narrowly escaped grievous injury twice-over in the last two months by means she could not explain, had gone with an impulse.    As the officer had swept his flashlight's beam into the coffee shop, she had hidden from him.   As he'd advanced, she'd retreated, carefully matching his steps with her own to remain out of sight.    Their brief game of cat-and-mouse had ended abruptly when his radio had crackled to life with an officer requesting relief from his guard post in the downtown area.    Her would-be pursuer had, thankfully, stepped out of the wreckage to offer to be there shortly.

As they discussed the specifics, Belle had continued to back away, slipping out of Expresso Yourself entirely by way of a broken wall, across a narrow alleyway, and into the toppled husk of its neighboring building.    There had been a stairway leading downward and she'd taken it, relying on her instincts to lead her somewhere safe.

The basement level of the building was dark, but not nearly as damaged as the upper floors had ended up.   Employing her phone's screen as a flashlight, Belle had found herself in a long, dark hallway, serenaded by the backdrop of a broken pipe's running water.

Behold the sweetfish river running through my beloved hometown.

The words had surfaced in her head so deliberately, she had startled, wheeling around to see if someone had spoken to her.

You who seek the Golden Land, follow its path downstream in search of the key

She had stood there, stark-still in the darkness for several minutes trying to make sense of it.   There was no river, and no "downstream" unless...

At the end of the hallway had been a door, hanging slightly ajar. Under normal circumstances, she would have found it offputting, but present ones drew her to it, wondering if something within might provide her an answer as she'd traveled the length of the hall.    Instead, waiting to greet her on the other side, had been a jumble of custodial tools, spilled chemicals, and various other debris.    Disappointment had welled in her, realizing it hadn't even been worth getting her hopes up over.

It wasn't until she'd turned to shut the door again that she'd seen it.   On top of the overturned janitor's cart, something that she was sure hadn't been there a moment ago, glinted in the dim light her phone offered.     It was an easily-recognized object she'd seen countless times in cartoons and movies, but never in person. The gold bar shone proudly, devoid of dust or debris, as if it had been put there for her to find it.

In the end, her planner had been completely forgotten, and she'd returned home with it cradled in her jacket.    Current circumstances found her in the living room, with the gold ingot placed on the coffee table in front of her, staring at it intently, and realizing that now that she'd gotten it home, she had no idea what to do next.

She didn't want to entertain the idea that it might be real, as that would present an entirely new set of problems for her.    With the city in disarray and people displaced from their businesses (some from their homes, most probably) something like this was very dangerous to have.   A finger reached out to trace the engraved figure on its face.   It looked to be a one-winged bird...or at least a bird being shown at an awkward angle.    As for how it related to her...

....well, she had no idea.

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"It was a gift," L said truthfully. "But... I just found it this morning. I didn't know about it at the time. I've been trying to get rid of it for hours, but..." he trailed off, the evidence of his failure only too clear.

Edited 2014-03-26 17:00 (UTC)

The urge to drop it in the toilet bowl and hit the flusher herself was near to overwhelming, though she forcibly abstained, settling onto the floor alongside him instead.

"L, tell me about the things you've gained these last couple of months. Just...as they come to mind, things that got better for you after coming here."

He gripped his hair at the dark roots as well as he could with one dysfunctional hand.

"My echoes? Are you asking me about my echoes?" he asked, a distracted edge to his tone.

"No." she said gently. "Just, in general, things that used to be difficult in your life that are now easier for you."

He drew a deep breath, letting it out slowly, trying and failing to catch the residual scent of Lysol.

"You know. Just... it's been safer. I sleep better at night. I have some... friends. You make food for us, and I've got... a, a future. Like I didn't before. I'm a detective."

"That's right." Belle replied, giving him a faint smile. "A home, a job, friends, a future...and none of that has to change."

The smile smoothed away into a more serious look as she held up the baggie. "That in mind...look at this, now. Tell me the things that what's in here is able to give you."

Relief...

The urges to reach for the bag and swat it away were equally strong, resulting in the wearisome default of inaction.

"I don't want it. I know it's just... temporary. That it'll hurt me in the long term, but... it's been hurting me all day, Belle. It's here and I can't get rid of it."

"You of two years ago can't...but you right now could." she gently corrected. "That man that you used to be is always going to be there...and is always going to want what's familiar and comforting to him. He is always going to want to destroy the both of you...

...because he believes that you are no better than what's in here." Dark eyes shifted to the baggie she held before him.

Miserably, he shook his head, swallowing in an attempt to combat his dry mouth.

"I'm sorry, but you're wrong. Whether or not I'm better, I can't do it. I've been trying, but every time, I'm just not strong enough."

"Stop letting him talk for you." she said. "You of two years ago wants, badly for you to let him make this decision, because he knows it's an important one. If he wins this time, he knows winning in the future will be much easier. He can and will take everything away from you, L."

She leaned in closer, her voice dropping to one of grave seriousness.

"You are strong enough to survive two brushes with death, you are strong enough to drop everything and answer the call to find a lost child...you are strong enough to drop this in the bowl and hit the plunger. And you need to make that clear to him. Right now."

Edited 2014-03-27 19:42 (UTC)

As weak as "he" was, L still felt that "he" was stronger. If that person was always there, would always be there, the odds would catch up eventually, and he would eventually lose to him. Even if it wasn't today, it would be someday.

He held out his hand, snatching the baggie away from Belle and staring at it, and all that it represented.

As he took the baggie from her, lingering uncertainly on what to do with it, she placed a hand on either of his bony shoulders in gentle encouragement.

"Take your life back, L." she said softly. "You're better than what you used to be. I know that you can be so much more."

On one hand, it was a vote of confidence from someone who had seen him fall on his face a few times too many. One reason it felt safe to talk to people like Bakura and Ray about a someday-girlfriend was because L knew, in that no-bullshit part of his brain that insisted on looking at the bigger picture and was far less delusional than he frequently came off as, that such things were more than likely nothing but pipe dreams. There was no way Belle saw him as a man, or respected him on the level she would someone like her engaged friend.

She'd given him the packet, along with what appeared to be a choice. He could get rid of it, or... what? If he chose not to throw it away, would she intervene, or watch, impassively, as he went back on every promise, unraveling all his progress like his life depended on it?

Neither option was very appealing.

He pulled the baggie open, slowly, almost tenderly, careful not to touch the contents. He shifted forward on his knees, feeling something start to tear internally as he tipped it forward excruciatingly slowly, a gentle, quiet snow of white powder settling on the water's surface.

The repercussions for relapsing back into his drug habit were something she had not thought out into detail. The biggest of them, of course, would be that she would not be able to keep him in her apartment anymore. She was willing to foster him under her roof as he rebuilt himself into independence (or, at least, that was how she'd justified this whole mess to herself when it had become apparent he did not plan to go anywhere and there was not much she could do about it), but she was not going to turn a blind eye as someone destroyed themselves in the same living space as her.

He would need to go to rehab, she decided. When he got out, she would help him find a place to stay, and she would refer him to an addiction medicine specialist to get that aspect of his life properly under control.

That list of priorities flashed through her mind rapid-fire as she watched him struggle. When the baggie came open, she quietly held her breath, watching as it tipped forward more...and more...

..and then began to pour out into the bowl.

Her hands tightened a bit on his shoulders in silent support, though she said nothing for the moment, waiting until it was all gone.

There were pros and cons to that method of disposal. It would save the plumbing, foremost, and the temptation to dive after it and insist that it was still salvageable as it spiraled down the drain wouldn't be an issue. But every speck, every second he still held some in his hand, was an opportunity to change his mind and stop the slow pour.

And every second he resisted that temptation was a slow, torturous eternity.

And then it was gone, the tearing had opened a hole in his chest that felt like it wanted to compact him into pure pain, and he curled against the side of the toilet, resting his warm cheek against the cool porcelain and wishing he could vanish completely.

As he collapsed in seeming defeat, she allowed him a moment to himself before moving again. Belle worked her arms around him as much as his current awkward posture would allow, trying to draw him in for a hug.

If anyone looked like they needed one, he certainly did at the moment.

He stiffened initially at the way her body pressed against his; though he was weak and exhausted with the prolonged trial that had been disposing of the "gratis" drugs, the better life he'd wanted was coming back into focus.

He shifted, awkwardly returning the hug, holding her perhaps a little too tightly to be comfortable and... not quite clear on what to do with his hands.

She reserved hugging as a rare gesture offered only when someone seemed otherwise inconsolable or as a show of support when they had accomplished something life-changing that had clearly taken everything out of them. Today, L had done the latter of these.

She allowed the suffocating cling, continuing to reciprocate for the moment.

"I'm proud of you." she whispered. "And you should be proud of yourself."

Whatever he should have been feeling, he was hollow, and it was ridiculously tough to look on the bright side when he'd dumped one of the few things he knew could make him feel good.

"That'll mean more to me after some tea and some sleep... but thank you."

"I'll make you some. Would you like cookies too?" she asked. Getting his mind set onto a different track for the night was her first priority. If filling his mouth and stomach meant that he would be distracted from contacting his supplier for more of what he'd dumped out, then she'd be glad to oblige.

"There aren't any cookies left... you'd have to make them from scratch."

Yes, please, in other words.

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