Multi-Fandom One Shots

One Day at a Time (Lana Winters)

Lana Winters was terribly broken. Plucky though she may be, no one was bulletproof and no one could have survived what the reporter did intact. Physically fine, Lana's trauma showed only on the inside. And it wasn't like she could seek professional help. Lana would never trust another therapist certainly not another psychiatrist. She couldn't even stand the town she lived in. As a new best-selling author, she had the perfect excuse to travel, but soon enough even her 'fans' and employees became suffocating. 

So she took a break. It wasn't uncommon for Lana to visit the bar closest to her book signing, or in her hotel, or even to have the bottle sent to her room. But when she drank in public, she got hit on. Mainly by men. Oh, romance. As her previous relationship had been ensured by abduction and bondage, consummated by rape, and the one before that had been full with love and ended with the betrayal then the murder of Wendy, Lana was... skeptical to say the least. To be honest as only a narrator can, she wasn't looking and was hardly interested. If anyone showed too much - any- interest, she shut it down, freaked out, and left. 

This night, in a public bar, when Lana finally felt invisible, she took in her surroundings. Some nights, loneliness took over and consumed the reporter. Since she'd be in town for a few months, the last stop on this tour, she might as well make a few connections, right? Staking out the room, Lana saw a few characters to avoid, obviously armed, while most of the others were men. Finally, Lana laid eyes on you. 

You sat at a table, the bottle left beside you, a pile of paperwork on the other side. You were rather relaxed, fully absorbed in the work you brought home. Lana actually disapproved of how at ease you were. That is, until she saw you pause in your work once one of the men passed you to go to the bathroom. You resumed once you knew where he was. 

Lana felt reassured and she slowly made her way to you. "Mind if I sit?" she started tentatively. 

Lana knew from observing you that you were not unaware of her approach and she enjoyed the slow pace your eyes took to examine her in return. She found it hot, and the similarities between your dispositions toward men made her feel oddly safe. She adored the sweet smile that stretched your face as you made eye contact. You made no move to hide what you were doing, reassuring the paranoid woman more. In fact, you stopped what you were doing, hands folding in front of you. "Please do," you requested, though it unintentionally came out in a seductive tone. 

A bright smile replaced Lana's butterfly stomach. She stepped forward and took the seat. Anxiety threatened to derail her plan. "Do you... come here often?" If it hadn't been for the hesitance in her tone, you'd have thought that was a line. 

You nodded. "Yes, Happy hour is from 1-3 and I'm here every Thursday for Ladies Night. Some people think it's offensive and a creep trap, but I know the 'tender." 

It was something of a worry that you knew so much about the bar, but who was Lana to judge? She was there during Happy Hour, on a Thursday, just like you. And your drink looked untouched while the triggered reporter downed hers, ordering another. She faced you again. "So, what do you do?" she asked, vaguely interested. 

You told her, but didn't let the missed opportunity pass entirely. "You're not from around here," you noticed with ease. 

She smiled and shook her head. 

"What brings you to town?" 

Lana was mildly suspicious, but this was small-talk. "I have a signing down at the Barnes." 

You tilted your head at her. "Oh, you wrote 'Maniac'? My mother's obsessed." You frowned. "She said the writer was horribly abused, tortured." 

Lana squeezed her eyes shut. "Can we please talk about something else?"