dark eyes look up from the newspaper, flickering over her awkward demeanor. he’s quiet, folding the newspaper neatly before he speaks, considering his words, carefully. “you haven’t lost everything, lucy.”
it’s not accusing, but attempting to be uplifting. “you still have your friends.” which is more than garcia had going for him. he is clearly having an internal argument, a debate between being angry and bitter and biting in his comments or helping lucy. eventually he settles for the middle of the road, “your sister wouldn’t want you to dwell on her. no more than my wife would want me to dwell on her.” it’s surprisingly honest and he gestures, silent once more, for her to sit. “i’m amazed none of you have gone crazy being stuck in here. beside wyatt of course.” he said, rolling his eyes.
she stops herself, luckily, before making the mistake of snapping at him --- of saying something she knows she’ll REGRET later on. it’s difficult, but she manages. instead, arms cross, head bowing as she tries not to let out some scoff that’ll likely have the same connotations as whatever spiteful words she could’ve conjured up. either way, it’s hard to believe him. whether it’s the words in general, the fact that he’s the one saying them, or her time with rittenhouse that prompts such hardcore doubt, it’s hard to say. for all she knows, it’s a combination of all three.
“i thought i’d be able to save her. i REALLY did,” how stupid she feels now, for not being able to see just how deeply rooted in rittenhouse her family is, as if hindsight isn’t PERFECT. lucy finds herself wishing she’d LISTENED to flynn, allowed him a chance to really explain, instead of jumping so harshly to whatever conclusions had been fed to her by agent christopher. gaze lifts, finally, as she moves to sit, laughing despite herself. “the others have been here longer than me,” she points out, “but you’re right it’s.... it’s really not all that homey, is it?”
