Mentioned: Andrew Eugene Vitali, Anubis The Dog, Henry “Love-of-Lena’s-Life” Lacroix

Darkness had long since pulled a wandering mind under, steadily losing the ability to resist the siren call of slumber. A welcome deviation from decades of uneasiness masquerading as normalcy. Vision darkened by embracing lashes and eternities lost in the fray. France felt millennia removed from the obsidian abyss they had once called home—Rome had once been where she committed herself to an early grave, but somehow she had escaped. Escaped less alone than she had been when she was brought to the city by someone she now knew to be a stranger. So many people were strangers—and she’d loved them all.

The list was longer than she had intended and it spiraled through her mind, relentlessly, until the darkness faded to grey and a figure stepped from the shadows. A face like withered parchment, cinder and ash falling away from putrid, rotting flesh as familiar eyes bore themselves in the cavity of a hollow skull. A mouth without lips parted and teeth clattered to the floor. The figure spoke in a familiar cadence—his face something she had long since lost. A voice she had nearly forgotten.

A last letter.

Life is too short for so much sorrow.

So breathe, Lena, and be not discouraged. Do not mourn me, I don’t want your grief. Know that I’m with you in the grass, and crepuscular stars, and that somehow I will never leave you. Somehow I will always love you.

Thank you for a wonderful life, Lena.

xx Eugene

Lena would know those words anywhere. Words etched into her mind, hidden somewhere in the recesses of ancient books she had been gifted. Anubis the only living reminder of the man that had once loved her.

Andrew Eugene Vitali.

Magdalene was suddenly at the door of the Vitali Manor again. He was dying.

The flesh of a fist connected desperately with mahogany until weak skin broke. She called to him until her voice could no longer go on. Until her knees connected with the steps, posture rounding, with hands pressed to the ground. He was dying and she was alone.

He left her everything. Anubis the only comfort to be found in the month to come. The months before she accepted a mission that took her out of the country for a full year. Where she would be Krystyna Rudenko to anyone who asked.

The corpse stepped forward, shattering the memory, and forcing a scream from her throat.

Lena shot up in bed, a gasp wrapped around vocal chords, hand instinctively pressed to her stomach. Hazy gaze cleared and she was safe. Home. Anubis caught the disturbance and adjusted to check on Lena, but her legs swung over the bed too quickly. 

Feet carried her to the bathroom, knees hitting tile, chestnut tresses falling forward to shield her face. One hand remained pressed to her stomach, the other grasped the cold porcelain, as she was promptly sick. It was impossible to discern whether the tears and pin pricks of brackish liquid trickling down her neck were from hormonal adjustments or reliving the horror of watching someone die from afar and abandoning people she had once called family.

Her hands trembled and she felt weak.

The sound of whirring water disposed of the evidence and Lena managed to pull herself up long enough to wash out her mouth. Legs refused to cooperate for much longer than a moment and Lena pressed her back to the wall, sinking until she was seated with a hand on her flat stomach. Natasha had once said it would be dangerous for Lena to conceive because she could not feel so many of the signs necessary to carry a child safely to term. She wondered if she deserved this—if she could do it—if she would betray the family she bore just like every family she had found.

Lashes met, breath rolling over a tired tongue.

She would never betray Henry. He was everything. It was always going to be him. Lena would do anything for Henry and so she pressed her hands to the floor and stood, walking back into the bedroom where she was certain she would find him sitting up, waiting for her to come back. Right now she had to be strong enough to be open with the only person she loved in this world she didn’t deserve. 

Wiping perspiration from the nape of her neck with the hem of her camisole, Lena sighed, climbing back into bed, pressing herself against Henry’s side until she could hear his heartbeat.

One hand draped over his chest, an arm wrapping over her own stomach.

A breath that lasted several moments lingered in the air.

“I’m scared.”

      Mentioned: @henryxlacroix ; Charlie Lacroix ; Anubis

      Six hours since travel had opened in Rome, rays of sunlight peering through an overcast sky. A poetic mind may have found hope in the sight. Sixty-two hours since thick thread pierced soft flesh, lacing skin together attempting to obscure the memories with hairline scars. They would heal. It had already begun.

      The presence of the twins loomed behind Lena as she stepped up to the counter, phone in-hand. Bright irises peered down at the device, the departure location reading Rome. It was real. The destination Lena had left to the twins, wishing only to be among kindred spirits. French-speaking ilk. Consensus came in the form of Saint-Malo. A small, walled port city on the coast of France with a view of England, they said. Quiet. Though the waves could become relentless in terrible weather. A fitting new home for three terrors looking for peace.

“Miss,” the man behind the counter chimed in, breaking Lena’s trance.

      Lena looked up, giving him a smile before holding the device out. “Sorry, spaced out.” Lena never had the luxury of losing focus before. “Just picking up our boarding passes and checking some luggage,” she smiled, leaning forward on the counter.

“One-way. Don’t blame you,” he said under his breath as Lena placed the luggage on the scale. “Just need to see your IDs.”

      For once Lena did not have to reach for her alias. Two IDs slid onto the counter beside her, a quick glance over at Charlie softening Lena’s gaze. Her own placed beside theirs, passes printed and placed in a calloused hand. Tickets to freedom clutched to Lena’s chest.

      Walking through the airport, the must have looked normal. Three people traveling together, stoic gazes mistaken for tiredness. No indication of wrapped lacerations or the life they had left behind. The blood on her hands invisible; the count of lives she’d taken frozen in time. So it would remain.

      Two hours in the air brought them to Rennes, an hour by train and they’d made it. Saint-Malo. It hadn’t mattered where they would end up, only that it was away. Lena was no longer the Cessation shield of flesh and bone. With the twins she was home. The Hôtel Escale Oceania Saint-Malo looked enough like home for now, crisp salt water in the air a comfort Lena knew not she needed.

      Pulling luggage behind her, gentle steps lead her to yet another counter. The lilt of French met her ears before she had a moment to breathe.

“Magdalene Duval, Henry et Charlotte Lacroix. La réservation est sous Duval,” she smiled, holding out her identification.

“Mais oui. Nous avons attendu pour vous,” the woman nodded, leaving for a moment, coming back with a smile on her face. “Il sera dans un moment.”

      Lena looked perplexed momentarily, gladly filling out the paperwork and dispersing room keys to the two behind her, noticing a change in Henry’s posture. Lena turned, a man having appeared with a leash, Anubis pulling him across the floor. She dropped to her knees, the dog lunging into Lena’s chest, his head on her shoulder.

“Je ne savais pas que tu serais là si tôt.” Lena looked up at Henry, silent thanks echoing in her mind as she stood, the behemoth pressing his weight against her leg.

      Once in the expansive room, Anubis immediately leapt onto a reading chair, and Lena exhaled for what felt like the first time. She panned the scene, gaze finally resting on Charlie and Henry.

“We’re here,” she breathed. “I think I’m going to shower to get the rest of Rome off of me,” she surmised. “Then maybe we could explore a little, get food, and come back here and just—exist.”

Charlie was the first to accept the terms, something about being away from Rome having lifted darkness from her eyes. Henry simply nodded, surely ready to organize his clothing.

     Lena smiled, retiring to the bathroom. The water was not scalding as she stepped in, soot from bandages releasing hold on her porcelain skin. Dried blood rehydrating, the waterfall cascading down lithe limbs a peccant crimson. Ten minutes. Palms pressed against cheeks, warmth raining over chestnut locks. There under the water, with Henry and Charlie on the other side of the door, Lena felt home. The water ran clear. She had found what she was looking for.

Antonia had left the room once again, the same perplexed look on her face as when she’d managed to run a needle through puckered flesh without so much as a sound from her impromptu patient, but Lena could not stay here. Too many eyes. Too many opportunities for invasive questions. Too many opportunities to be shoved in a cell again and, without Archie, Lena had no bargaining chip. The assassin slipped off of the bed, peering down at herself through a glassy gaze, taking note of her tattered, crimson stained clothes. Lena was still immensely upset about her jacket being ruined, but she needed to get back before she -- as Antonia may have put it -- passed out from dehydration and exsanguination. Three beautiful new bullet holes had been closed by the doctor for now, but-- shit. 

Lena grabbed the mini armory she’d had strapped to her body and ran from the hospital. Attendants too busy with other people to notice her gave Lena a perfect cover to tear through the door. 

She ran. 

And ran. 

Vertigo caught up with her the moment fingers pushed open heavy oaken doors, but she continued running, unsure if Natasha was in the castle. Lena couldn’t afford to collapse in an empty med ward, so tired legs carried her up the stairs, stitches on her calf having torn two kilometers back. A single hand was strong enough to curl into a fist though her knock came in the form of fatigue forcing her frame forward. 

“Enr--” she managed as her knees hit the ground.