Clothed in our grief

Chapter fourty one

Detective Morris pulls a cigarette out of the small silver holder. The silver case that holds a carving of a cross on the front of it, on the other side is the same image, but turned to the reverse.

It's dark out, late. Three in the morning in Gotham, but closer to midnight where she's at. She's lost track of places right about now. Would it just be better to stay here? Make contact with you, make contact with John. Explain everything and hope that neither of you have anything to say about it. Or maybe don't tell them what happened at all. Just say that she's here because something bad happened to the two of you where she came from, so she can just live out her life around her family.

You're alive here. That enough is what makes her contemplate staying. But it's the memories is what the regime was doing to the people on the earth where she came from is what twists her around. Making her question if she's really going to be that selfish.

Looking up at the moon, a lock of blonde hair moves past along the wind. Reaching behind her head with her free hand, and taking out the hair tie. Letting the mid back length coppery blonde hair fall down.

Staying could also be wrong, because there'd be another Laura Constantine. There most likely is, she just hasn't seen her yet. She really hopes to never meet her, if she's anything like how she is now.

Shaking her head, sitting on the hood of her car. She places the cigarette between her faintly red lips, lipstick staining the filter of the cigarette. Reaching her hand into her pocket of the long tan trench coat that doesn't even belong to her, and grabbing the zippo lighter.

"Those things'll kill you, you know." A voice coming from behind her doesn't even startle her. she recognizes it all too well. Rolling her sky blue eyes, and attempting to make the zippo work again. Rolling her thumb against the spool, only sparks.

"Go to hell, Adrian." She speaks, with the cigarette between her lips. Her teeth holding it in place, as Adrian comes into her view away from behind her. Effortlessly raising her eyes to peer at him between the locks of her hair in front of her eyes.

"Been there, done that, got the T-shirt. Your father made sure of that, hope you remember." His voice is gravelly, and coming closer to her. Smirking, while she sways her feet gently above the ground. Sitting on the hood of her car and smoking has become a terrible habit. Especially when making life threatening decisions. Such as deciding if seeing you alive is more important than seeing if her old reality is still in one piece.

"Mmm. Should have made you stay longer, got a light?" She replied, extending her jaw out with the cigarette between her lips, eyes half lidded with the lashes looming over. Placing her palms on the front bumper of the car, and wrapping her fingers around, leaning forwards.

"As long as it kills you faster than you're already dying. Some day you'll be just like me." He snaps his fingers, a small flame igniting at the ends of his fingertips. Illuminating his tanned skin, showing the scar around his neck, wrapping all the way around. The scar that starts on his forehead above his right eye, that seeps down onto the cheek bone below. Smirking at the sight, remembering how she gave him that one scar in particular.

"Just like you? I think once I die, I'd like to stay that way." She mumbles between the filter in her mouth, leaning forwards and letting the cigarette touch the flame, igniting in a red light at the very end. Inhaling so it burns brighter, then pulling the cigarette out of her mouth with two fingers.