#tiberiusblacktorn

So basically after I read the Thule section of QOAAD I wanted to write something in which Livvy comes back to her family. Partially, it’s because it’s an angsty/heartbreaking/wonderful concept, and also because I wanted an excuse to examine Livvy’s trauma.

So here, enjoy. (:

Her family knows she’s coming. They’re prepared; in fact, Tessa says Julian is beside himself with excitement. Livia thinks she’s ready, too. The new Los Angeles Enclave is in Diana’s capable hands. Maia and Bat and all the rest of her council have practically begged her to leave.

Tessa tells Livia that the smart thing, the Blackthorn thing to do was to go. Looking back, that’s probably the thing that convinces her.

“You’re loyal,” Tessa says, brushing a stray hair from Livia’s cheek. “All Blackthorns are. You’re loyal and smart and strong, and you don’t know what to do when you aren’t needed.”

“I’m not,” Livia whispers. “Not anymore. Diana doesn’t need me, and neither do Bat or Raphael or-”

“I know,” Tessa says. “But your family does. Your loss tore a hole in them that nothing can repair. You know Julian wants you there. He invited you once and you said no because of duty. Because of loyalty. But now, I think it’s time.”

Livia nods. Tessa summons a Portal. As Livia steps forward, Tessa touches her shoulder, right above her tattoo.

“I hope there is a day when you no longer feel the need to wear this,” she says sadly.

Livia forces a smile, a tiny close-lipped thing. “Me too.”

Her eyes sweep the sea, the sand, the caves. She thinks of Cameron, his body walled inside the Silent City. She thinks of Rafael and Diana and Maia and all the others that have loved her fiercely, trusted her willingly. She thinks of the scorches in the marble and concrete of the Grove where a body once burned. She thinks of executions. She thinks of victories.

“Go,” Tessa says clearly. “Go, Livia Blackthorn.”

Livia steps forward. The last thing she sees before the Portal closes around her is the sun rising over the horizon of the new Los Angeles.

The first thing she sees when she opens her eyes is a very worried Emma hovering over her."You're lucky I didn’t sit up," Livia says, picturing their foreheads smacking together.Her voice sounds rough to her own ears. She was trying for a dry tone, but her voice just sounds...empty.

Emma winces and leans back, allowing Livia to sit up. “You should take it easy,” Emma says nervously. “You ended up on the beach, probably a little dehydrated.”

“I’m fine,” Livia groans. Her head pounds, but she sits up anyway, swinging her legs over the side of the infirmary bed and taking in a room she hasn't seen properly in almost ten years.

She can't make herself think about the Institute or her family or the fact that she is now in a world in which she doesn't truly belong. The immensity of it will crush her. So she looks up at Emma and asks the only question that makes sense in that moment.

"Where is my family?"

In Emma's defense, she did warn Livia that barging into Julian's attic-turned-studio would give him a heart attack. In Livia's defense, she wanted to see her big brother again.

“Julian?” she calls from one side of the door. On the other side, she hears a thump and a crash. “Jules? It’s-”

The door flies open. Julian tosses a paintbrush aside and stares at her.

“You have paint on your forehead,” she tells him after a moment, trying to be normal. Trying to be okay.

“Livvy,” Julian breathes, reaching for her, wrapping her in a hug. Like she did in her office, Livia leans her forehead against his shoulder, breathing in the smell of turpentine and paint, cloves and mint.

“It’s okay,” Julian murmurs. Livia’s heart clenches. Is it? “You’re okay now, baby girl. It’s okay.”

She lets him hold her and pretends not to notice when he cries. She wonders, distantly, if she should feel guilty for the dryness of her eyes.

The most gratifying reunion thus far is when Drusilla barrels into the kitchen, grabs a water bottle from the fridge and completely blows past Livia.

“Wait!” she hears Dru shout from outside. “HOLY SHIT!”

“Language, Drusilla!” Julian scolds from near the sink, but he’s smiling as Dru races back into the kitchen, nearly tripping over a chair, and wraps Livia into a crushing hug.

“Are you real?” Dru asks her sister, voice thick with tears. “Are you staying?”

Livia nods, reaching up - up? When did Dru get so tall? - to stroke her sister’s hair. “I’m staying.”

Dru pulls back. Her eyes immediately go to the scar running across Livia’s face. A sudden memory jolts Livia: their mother, standing in the kitchen, her eyes immediately fixating on any flaw in a shirt, a face, a painting.

“You look so much like Mom,” Livia whispers.

Dru reaches out to touch Livia’s cheek. “You look so much like yourself.” She taps the scar. “Except this. How did you get this? It’s so badass!”

“Language,” Julian chides again, giving the pasta on the stove a jab with a fork.

Dru rolls her eyes. “Jules, I’ve heard you and Emma in your room. You use way worse, and way more explicit language.”

Julian groans and mutters something under his breath. Livia can’t help but laugh.

“Come see me soon?” Dru asks. “We have so much to talk about.”

Livia nods. “Whenever you want.”

In retrospect, Livia should have asked Julian why he was cooking. She also should have changed clothes into something this dimension’s Livia would wear. But instead, she wanders the Institute that feels like a stranger’s home, and makes a mental list.

What I Know:

She finds the room that belonged to another version of her without any trouble. It’s right across from Ty’s, the only door with dust on the knob. There are pen marks on the doorframe: her height, and Ty’s, marked out year by year, stopping at age 15.

Livia touches her name. It’s not her given name, but a nickname she hasn’t heard in years. She adds to her list: Everyone called this Livia ‘Livvy’

She opens the closet. It’s modestly full of dresses, long sweaters, shapeless shirts and many, many sets of gear. She can’t imagine wearing any of the dresses. She pulls one from the closet - a green sleeveless dress with a short chiffon skirt and a low back - and laughs to herself. The other Livia liked dresses and gear.

She wanders over to the desk. It’s neat, like her desk at the Bradbury, only with more books: Sherlock Holmes, advanced calculus, computer science and programming.

Something in the back of her mind itches. She reaches for the calculus book and flips it open, batting away the dust that rises up from the pages. The numbers are familiar, but the problems are foreign.

This Livia was smart.

She sits down. The desk chair creaks. Someone other than her must have sat here; the seat is too high. She lowers it until her feet touch the floor.

“You’re shorter than you were here.”

Livia whips around to the door. Emma leans against the doorframe, body language easy, eyes hard. “Sorry,” she says, lifting her hands. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

Livia shrugs. “It’s okay.” She looks down at her hands. Did the other Livia have these scars? “It makes sense. During our formative years, we were malnourished.”

Emma raises an eyebrow. “‘Our’?”

Livia feels herself flinch internally. Emma sighs. “You did that here, too,” she says, almost wistfully. “Talked about yourselves as if you were a unit.”

“We were,” Livia says, almost defensively. Two factions of emotion war within her. On one hand, she dislikes the implied denouncement of her relationship with her twin. On the other, it’s been so long since she’s talked about her family without the conversation surrounding their deaths.

Emma’s eyes go to the desk. “You know calculus?”

“I know math.” Livia cracks one of her knuckles. “I don’t know if I know this much of it, though.”

The corner of Emma’s mouth twitches. “I think you’ll figure it out.”

Livia doubts it, but she doesn’t say anything. Emma turns to leave, then looks back. “Livvy,” she says, her voice impossibly soft. “Don’t worry about trying to fit into a mold of another person. Just be you.”

“I’m not-” Livia chokes on the lump rising in her throat. She swallows, tries again. “I’m not what- who you lost. I want to be. I don’t want to cause anyone any more pain. But I can’t pretend forever. And I don’t know what you want from me.”

Emma twists the ring on her left hand around her finger. Livia sees the thorns emblazoned on the silver band and tries not to smile. “At your core, you are the girl we lost. I know it doesn’t seem like it, but take it from someone who knew you since the day you were born, you are.”

“How?” Livia asks dubiously.

Emma thinks for a moment. “After Julian hugged you in Thule, you touched his face. You patted it, as if the shape of his features comforted you. You’ve been doing that since you were a little girl.”

Livia sniffs, once. Emma strides forward to wrap Livia in a hug, her head against the older girl’s chest. It’s a little awkward with the chair between them, but welcome in a strange way.

“The way you talk is the same,” Emma continues, her chin resting atop Livia’s head. “You stand the same way, too. And there’s a very specific way you say your twin’s name that no one could hope to replicate, even if they tried.”

She pulls back, kneels before Livia, and takes her face in her hands. The Blackthorn family ring is cold against Livia’s cheek. After a moment, Emma takes her hand away, pulls off the ring, and hands it to Livia. “Here.”

Livia shakes her head. “That’s- that’s yours. From Julian. I can’t-”

Emma presses it into her palm. “I’ll get another one.” She smiles. “Julian would want you to have it.”

“What do I want?” Julian asks from the hall. Livia holds up the ring. Julian grins. “Yeah. You’re right. Put it on, Livs.”

Livia does. It’s a strangely familiar weight on her hand. Emma kisses her forehead, and she and Julian leave her be.

Livia turns to the desk, to the book full of pencil markings. On instinct, she opens the top left-hand desk drawer, where her desk in the Bradbury held paper and pens.

There, rattling in the desk, are pencils. And, beside them, a notebook full of blank pages.

Despite herself, Livia smiles.

She’s mid-way through her twentieth problem when Octavian barges into the room. “Livvy!” he shouts, flying at her, hugging her tightly. “I missed you! I missed you!”

“I missed you too,” Livia murmurs, rubbing Tavvy’s back. He’s small for a ten-year-old; she can feel his ribs and spine against her palm. “Where have you been all day?”

“I went to the beach with Mark and Tina and Ty,” he says. He pulls away and reaches into his pocket, presenting her with a near-perfect sand dollar. “Look!”

Livia feels her heart start to race at the mention of her twin’s name. She pushes her emotions aside and takes the sand dollar in her hand. “It’s beautiful, Tavvy.”

“You can keep it,” he says, earnest. “Mark says they bring good luck.”

“You need good luck, it seems,” Mark says, entering the room without so much as a hello. He sits on the edge of her bed and winces. “I forget how hard you like your mattresses.”

Livia laughs. “Hi, Mark.”

He smiles at her. “We’ll talk later,” he murmurs as Tavvy continues to chatter about the ocean and seashells and a seagull that took it upon itself to chase Cristina Rosales halfway down the beach.

When Tavvy takes a breath, Mark interjects. “Weren’t you sent here to tell Livia something?”

“Oh, yeah.” Tavvy grabs her hand. “Can you come to the library? We want to surprise Ty.”

“Surprise Ty?” Livia repeats, looking over at Mark for confirmation. “He doesn’t usually like surprises, Tavvy.”

“We figured if we told him, he’d bolt,” Dru says, poking her head into the room. “Come on. He’s getting suspicious.”

Wordlessly, Livia follows her siblings down to the library. She schools her features into the blank expression of calm she perfected over years of leadership, but inside, she’s quaking. She can feel her hands shaking at her sides. Her arms are slowly going numb. Her heart is racing, and she can feel her breath quickening.

She’s nervous, she supposes. And terrified. What if he doesn’t want me? What if he hates me?

“He won’t hate you,” Mark says, as if reading her thoughts. When they reach the library, he hangs back with her. “As surely as I know the sun rises in the east, I know that Tiberius could never hate you.”

Livia looks up at him. “Why are you talking like that?”

Mark laughs. “It’s a long story.” Livia opens her mouth, and Mark shushes her. “No, Livvy.” He pushes the door open. “You have to go in.”

So she does. Ty is leaning over a table, studying something in a thin, black notebook. “The shadow needs to be darker,” he’s telling Julian, who crosses his arms and leans against a bookshelf.

“Now you’re giving me artistic advice?” he asks, bemused.

Ty stands up straight. Livia feels her eyes widen in shock. He’s tall. He’s grown up. He’s practically a man now. “You asked for my opinion, Julian.”

Julian smiles, his eyes on Livia’s. “That I did.”

“What are you looking at?” Ty asks, turning. The moment his eyes meet her’s, Livia wants to bolt.

I can’t do this, she thinks, mouth dry. I can’t I can’t I can’t I can’t.

You have to, she tells herself sternly. Her resolve - the same resolve she had when she stood on a cliff’s edge, prepared to blow her brother’s head off with a shotgun - strengthens. You have to.

The twins regard one another from across the library. Ty's hands flutter at his sides, then go still.

"Livvy?"

Livia opens her mouth to speak, but no sound comes out. So she nods. Yes, it's me. Yes, I'm here.

Ty strides forward until they're an arm's length from one another. His eyes trace the scar on her face. She can see the conflict in his eyes, a push and pull he can’t resolve. A part of her is relieved. She can still read him. On some tiny level, she still knows him.

Behind Ty, Julian watches them. Livia can see the fear in his eyes, the silent prayer that Ty won't push her away.

She wouldn't blame Ty if he did. She's a transplant, after all; it would make sense for him to reject her like mundane bodies reject a foreign heart or lung or limb.

She looks down at Ty’s hands, now barely shaking. They look strong. They’re climber’s hands, she realizes, and then she has to tamp down the rising memories of knives and demons, water and blood.

Ty links his pinky with hers. She looks up sharply, physically jolting at the sensation, then nearly yelps when Ty pulls her to him, wrapping her in a tight one-armed hug.

“Livvy,” he says again, voice rough. Tentatively, she wraps her free arm around his waist, her upper arm still pinned by his. “Livia.”

"I'm sorry," she gasps against his shoulder. It’s all she can say. He trembles against her, the hand now holding hers spasming. "I'm so sorry, Ty."

He lifts their connected hands and places her other arm over his shoulder. He buries his face in her neck. She can feel the tears on his cheeks.

“Hold me,” he mutters. “Livvy, please.”

She does. She squeezes him tight and tight and tighter, until they may as well be the same person. He responds in kind, tangling his fingers in her hair, smoothing his hand up and down her back.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers again when he pulls away. “I’m so sorry.”

Ty studies her face. Carefully, he touches a hand to the scar on her cheek. “You didn’t cry,” he says. “Why aren’t you crying? There are tears in your eyes.”

Livia shakes her head. “I don’t deserve to cry,” she says. “I left you. Not the other way around.”

“I left you in your world,” Ty counters. Despite herself, Livia flinches. “And clearly it bothers you.”

“You have no idea,” Livia whispers.

“Actually,” Ty says softly, the saddest smile crossing his face, “I do.”

She does cry, eventually. After Ty disentangles himself from her to get something from his room and Julian sees himself out, she sinks to her knees on the library floor and wraps her arms around her torso. It’s cold comfort, but it’s all she can do to keep herself together.

She remembers the last time she did this. It was when she lost Dru, the last of her family. She collapsed on the office floor and wrapped her arms around herself, digging her fingers into the spaces between her ribcage as if she could break her own heart via her lungs.

Cameron had found her then. He sat with her, his hand on her back, and let her cry ugly, heaving sobs until her energy was spent. She hasn’t cried since. Not until now.

Before she even registers the tears, they’re falling, one after the other until she’s sobbing, biting on her fist to keep from making noise, twisting her shirt in her fingers to stop herself from shaking.

I’m sorry, she thinks, although about what, or to whom, she’s not sure. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.

“Don’t be sorry,” she hears Ty say, and she knows she shouldn’t be speaking aloud, knows she should stop, knows she should pull it together for him, but all she can do is reach up for him and pull him down to sit beside her.

“Livvy,” Ty sighs, guiding her head to lean on his shoulder, wiping her tears with a soft hand. “It’s okay, Livvy. You’re home now. You’re safe. No one’s going to hurt you again.”

“They didn’t hurt me,” she gasps. “That’s the point. Everyone else hurt. Everyone else died.” Her voice rises in a heartbroken howl. “And I got to live! It’s not fair!”

Ty is silent for a moment. Then, “I wrote you something.”

Livia lifts her head. “What?” She dashes tears from her cheeks.

Ty holds up an envelope. “I got your letter. But it burned when-” he cuts himself off, color rising to his cheeks. “But I thought...if someone ever went back to Thule, maybe I could reach you.” He places the envelope on the floor in front of her. “You don’t have to read it now. But I wanted you to have it.”

Livia dries her tears. “Thank you,” she whispers. “For everything.”

Ty shakes his head. “I didn’t do anything.” He locks his pinky with hers. “You saved yourself. Here, you saved Julian. And now you’re back, and I’m never letting you out of my sight again.”

It takes her a moment to realize he’s teasing. When she does, she smiles.

“I was wrong,” he says softly, standing up and offering her a hand. She takes it; he easily pulls her to her feet. “When Julian first told me about you, I was wrong.”

Livia frowns. “About what?”

Ty bends down to pick up the letter. He extends it to her, and she takes it. “You are my Livvy.”

In the middle of the night, Livia wakes up.

She may have had a nightmare; she’s not sure, since she can’t remember whatever dream pulled her from sleep to waking, but, in any case, she’s up now. So she turns on the light, smiling fondly when she sees Ty curled up, asleep on her floor, and reaches for his letter.

Livvy,

When Julian told me about you, I told him you weren’t my Livvy. I believed that, too, up until now. Now, upon further reflection, I think you might be. Everything Julian told me makes sense now. Of course you would have started a rebellion. Of course you would have kept us together. Of course you’re leading the survivors of the Dark War. I wouldn’t expect anything else from you, honestly. You’re a warrior, Livvy. It’s what you do. You protect people from the things that hurt them. You protected me from the world. You protected me from myself.

I’m sorry I didn’t see it sooner. In this world, you wanted to be parabatai, and I said no. I told you I would always protect you and stand with you anyway; why did we need a pair of runes and an oath? Now, I wish I hadn’t. I held you back, and I didn’t protect you when you needed it most. Logically, I know I was too far away to save you, but you have to know that I would have died for you.

I wish I could have died with you. It isn’t fair that you’re gone and I’m here. It isn’t fair that I’m gone in your world, either. At least here, I have my family. There, you’re all alone.

Maybe there’s a dimension where we’re together. I hope so. I miss you, Livvy. More than anything. I wish the version of you reading this could tell me how long it takes for the world to right itself under the twinless twin’s feet. Because I think my world will always be off-axis.

There’s nothing if you aren’t here.

I love you, Livvy.

-Ty

“You finally get to read it.”

“What the hell?” Livia hisses, lurching back against the headboard. In front of her, at the foot of the bed, hovers a ghostly visage: a younger version of herself with longer hair and an unblemished face in a long white dress. “You’re-”

“I’m you,” Ghost Livia says. She smiles softly. “This is kind of cool, actually.” She cocks her head to the side, seemingly studying Livia’s face. “I’m badass in your dimension, huh?” She crosses her arms. “Let me guess, you hate the scar.”

“How is this-”

“Ty will tell you,” Ghost Livia says. “He’ll tell you everything.” Some unrecognizable emotion crosses her face. “I have to go now,” she says, a little mournfully. “Soul theory is a strange thing. You and I are tied somehow, just like Ty and I are bound. I don’t know all of how it works, but there’s enough of you in me, and me in you, where I can’t stay here.”

Livia nods. “It makes sense. Our timelines were the same at one point.”

Ghost Livia smiles down at Ty, still asleep on the floor. “I don’t have to tell you to take care of him. I know you will. Just…” she searches his face. “Don’t leave him again. We’re not meant to be separated.”

Livia nods. “I won’t. I swear.”

Ghost Livia sighs. She tilts her head up, as if looking at the sky. “Tell Ty I love him,” she says. “Tell him you love him too.”

As Livia watches, Ghost Livia disappears. Ty wakes up with a start, blinking as if adjusting to the light.

“She’s gone,” he says, emotionless.

Livia nods. “I’m sorry.”

Ty shakes his head, clambering up to sit beside her. “I’m not.” He leans into her, bumping her arm with his forehead like a cat until she lifts her arm to encircle his shoulders. “I have something much better.”

She kisses the top of his head and smooths down his messy hair. Her own voice echoes in her head. I kissed him. I told him I loved him.