TROUVAILLE ... l.danes (REWRITE)

chapter thirty-seven; the past

HE FINALLY BREATHES AGAIN

nineteen-eighty-three

HE SEES the slumped over figure before she sees him. Her elbows on her knees, head in her hands, fingers tugging at blonde roots. He slows his pace, hands shoved deep in his pockets, and watches her for a moment. Her shoulders are all tense. She probably wouldn't like it if he interrupted her alone time, but she is sitting in the middle of the square. So, really, how alone does she want to be?

His feet thump on the frosty grass, heavy boots cracking the introduction to winter beneath him. Her head snaps up, eyes lighting up with anticipation, expecting to see somebody who isn't him. When she realizes, though, that it is just him, her shoulders slump again and she sighs, long and low.

"Oh. It's just you."

Lucas' shoulders slump too. He tries to hide it with a smirk. "What? You weren't waiting for me, sweetheart?" She rolls her eyes. He can see, closer now than he was before, that her cheeks are pink and the skin hidden beneath black-painted eyelashes is red. He wants to reach out and wrap his arms around her.

"I'm not in the mood."

He knows. She never is. She never wants to be around him and yet all he wants is to be around her. To have her voice swimming in his ears, pool water dragging him down, spilling down his throat, filling up his lungs with her. To have her eyes bore into him, her skin touching his. Her just there, beside him. And yet, she doesn't want him around. Ever.

"Can see that. What's up?"

"It's nothing."

"You're not usually this grumpy."

She sends him a long, vicious look. Trying to tear him apart. Trying to get him to fuck off. But, she's been crying, and he hates when she's been crying. He can tell exactly when it's going to happen, probably before she does, watching as her lip starts to quiver. Her jaw clenches and her face crumples slowly, squeezing all tight. Next thing he knows, she's crying again, head falling into her hands.

He sighs and drops onto the bench next to her to wrap his arm around her shoulder. She doesn't curl into him, doesn't use his chest to hide her tears. Actually, despite how tiny this bench is, she turns away from him so he doesn't see the way they trickle past her chin and stain the white skirt she wears.

He lets his arm drop.

"Thought I heard Olive mention the movies earlier."

Shelley chokes on a sob and he nods. Right. Okay. How the hell does he deal with this? These two are best friends and for some reason, they're no longer going to the movies together. He never should have walked over here. Of course, he should have. Shelley should never have to cry alone.

Shelley wipes her tears away with the back of her hand. Some still cling to her bottom eyelashes, glinting in the grey winter sunlight. She blinks and one slips free, carving a path in her cheek. He could reach up and catch it before it falls away forever. He doesn't. His thumb twitches on his thigh.

She rubs the heels of her palms into her eyes. Further and further in until it looks like it hurts. The skin around her eyes is all red, all cracked and bleeding beneath the skin. How long has she been crying? How long has she been waiting to cry? She needs nobody and yet she needs everybody. Or, she needs everybody but him. Or, she only really needs Olive and right now she doesn't have her. He wants to reach out and tug her close but he can't. He can't do anything but watch as she heaves a sigh. In and out. Long inhale, longer exhale. It allows the tension to completely roll off of her shoulders and she forces her lips into a face-splitting grin. It doesn't reach her eyes.