one
"traumatic reminders"

Lusine didn't go back to sleep after her traumatic reminders of what had befallen her in her return to Remulan, not that she could've if she'd tried.

So, there wasn't any point.

There was no chance of her managing to go back to sleep when the pain stung like the daggers still protruded from her chest, the blood ran down her cheek from the wound that would forever scar the beauty she'd prided herself upon and ripped her apart like venom straight from the viper's fangs.

Melting away the layers like acid to flesh.

This had, for quite some time now, kept her eyes from falling closed and her mind from being still. The waves were always turning over and over. Roiling. No chance of relaxation when the body locks itself into fight-or-flight mode in the deep hours of the night.

Instead, she got up, attempted to remember how to turn the TV on and, after being successful, took a seat on the sofa and watched whatever was on.

So, at around five o'clock when Lusine grew bored of human comedy, she grabs the remote from the coffee table and begins trying to change the channel. After pressing the wrong button a few times, she eventually gets there and changes the show a few times until the news comes on, along with choppy images of whatever had transpired in London only days before.

Curious, she sets the remote down and sits back to watch.

The voice of the overly-stiff-backed presenter fades into the background as, with an open ache in the pit of her stomach, Lusine watches shaky footage of Agent Casia Radcliffe swinging a blazing sword through an attacker as if it were a hot knife through butter.

Her previous combat training was clear as well as the swordsmanship Kyrie had meticulously taught her in the weeks she'd spent in Asgard, but Lusine also didn't think it wrong of herself to admit that she was watching the work she'd put in, through pain and agony, come to fruition, even if most of it was through Casia's hard work and blood, not her own.

When the news anchor moves onto the next story, that entirely fake smile brushing over his lips, Lusine huffs and lifts the remote again. She flicks through other news channels until she finds another running the London Invasion news.

Two hours later when Olea wanders into the living room, rubbing her bleary eyes with the backs of her hands, Lusine is still sitting there, flicking through the channels for any footage she can find.

"Is that Casia?" Olea asks, her rumbling belly forgotten as she leans over the back of the sofa to get a better look at the small screen.

"Yes," Lusine replies, remote clutched in one hand whilst she chews on the nails of the other, "that's her."

"You did that," Her cousin says, putting a hand on Lusine's shoulder. "She wouldn't be there helping save the people of London without the help you gave her."

"She did most of the work herself. I just told her what to try." Lusine turns the TV off and unfolds herself from the sofa. "I'm going to shower," She announces, walking away before Olea can continue the conversation she didn't particularly want to have.

The guilt of abandoning Casia still simmers away in crisps of dying embers, flickering softly against the dark night. Maybe it would never die completely. Not until she was sure that her former student didn't detest her for her selfish decision.

Maybe she was a hypocrite for making such a decision for herself. She'd been selfish much of her life. Branded a royal brat by most and an indulgent princess by others. The others namely being the subjects of indulgence.

But, what was one more instance to thousands?

As the hot water rushes over her scalp and down her face, Lusine also knows that this was for the best. Acknowledges it with every scrub of her body.

She had been walking the fine line of control ever since her close brush with death.

Every time Casia would push the boundaries, Lusine could feel her hold on her power crumbling between her fingers and never had the time to piece it back together before another onslaught battered her back down.

She needs to take her life day by day and live for herself, no one else.

Not have her days controlled and manipulated by the needs of those around her, no matter how dearly she cares for them.

She would not be pawn in someone else's game ever again.

Even though she wants to stay in the warm embrace of the scalding shower, Lusine drags herself out and pulls on the shirt of the man she knows she must see today.

It would be lying to herself to deny the fact she'd been wanting to see him again since the day she'd left.

The fact she'd refused to have his shirt washed because it still smells faintly of him was enough proof of that. She supposes as much as she buttons it up and pulls on a pair of loose burgundy trousers, stomach bubbling with an unfamiliar feeling.

With her wet hair in a bundle atop her head, she waves a brief goodbye to Olea before slipping from the apartment and locking the door behind her.

From her pocket, she takes the scrap of paper with Steve's address scrawled onto it by Agent Hill, which had been another request she couldn't refuse whilst under the persuasions of an extra-terrestrial being, and she had promised herself she would visit him as soon as they had secured their place to stay.

Whether or not they had been followed was for another day.

While she was gone, Lusine trusts Florian to keep her cousin safe. She knew he would fight to the death for his childhood friend, but there was still something about him that she didn't one hundred percent understand. Either way, he was an ally, even if he had originally been tasked with bringing her to her death.

One ally of very few.

-

-

Lusine follows the instructions Agent Hill gave to her to find her way to her destination. She flags down a taxi, hops in, reads out the address and sits back whilst the stranger drives her to where she needs to be.

"So, where you from, Miss?" The taxi driver asks suddenly cutting through the silence hanging between them, as it often did between strangers.

Lusine's head snaps from her stare out of the finger-smudged window and she smiles slightly at him in the rear-view mirror, hoping he thinks her as innocent as her illusions portray.

"Definitely not from around here. Everything is uncharted territory, I suppose," She replies, winding her hands together.

"I can tell," He says with a laugh, his mouth smacking the gum around loudly, "I can tell."

Lusine flashes one more smile before looking out of the window again, curious to view as much as she could in the short journey. All the different people were undeniably interesting to her, as an outsider. People here have such different tastes in fashion. Some sticking to black, grey and white while others venture to wear every colour of the rainbow in one outfit. A bold move that often paid off, it appears.

"Well, Miss, this is your stop," He says, leaning around the seat to face her, his thin mouth curving into a friendly smile.

There was no surprise on his face at the scars because, shamefully, she'd disguised them behind a layer of illusion before embarking. She knew it was a stupid thing to be conscious of, but it couldn't be helped.

"Thank you," Lusine says and digs into her pocket for the money, when prompted by his announcement of the cost. She hands it over to him and opens the door, not wanting to stay for a moment longer. "Goodbye, Sir!" She calls back, smiling once more before shutting the car door and hopping up the steps to the apartment building.

With one more glance down at the paper, even though she already had the number memorised, Lusine enters the building and heads up the stairs.

The closer she gets to the floor she wants, the more her fingers twitch and her mouth dries. This should be easy, but, as she stands outside his door, she can't quite bring herself to knock.

Twice, she brings her fist up to rap on the wooden door, but lowers it, cursing to herself under her breath.

She didn't even know what she was going to say to him.

"Hi, can I help you?" A woman's voice calls from along the corridor.

Lusine's head whips around and the woman takes a step back, clearly recognising the face of the woman with the power to bring down monsters standing in her apartment block. Lusine swallows and glances towards the door again.

"No, I think I'll be okay, thank you..."

"Sharon," She says, filling in the blank. Her friendly smile should've been infectious, but there was something odd about her. Something not quite genuine that only a woman adept at wearing all kinds of masks would see right through.

Lusine, wanting to get out of the conversation immediately, quickly knocks on the door with a firm hand. "Well, it was great meeting you, Sharon," She says, praying that Steve hurries up and opens the door to pull her from one awkward conversation into another, slightly more meaningful one.

"Yeah, nice to meet you too... uh..." She trails off, not knowing the woman.

"Regina," She lies, smiling quickly to back up the impulsive choice she'd made.

Sharon gives her a little wave before disappearing into her own apartment just as the door cracks open behind Lusine, only enough to peer out.

"Lusine?" He questions as if he can't quite believe the sight before him.

The door opens completely, and she turns to him with a closed smile pulling wide and those big blue eyes searching his face like pirates for treasure. Never ceasing in their hunt for gold.

In an instant, her anxiety washes away at the sight of his undeniable relief to see her alive. Standing outside his apartment, not six feet under.

"By any chance, can I come in?" She asks, pushing her hands deep into her pockets to contain herself from giving into the indulgent wishes of the heart, and body.

"Yeah, of course," He says, scratching the back of his neck as he steps aside to let her past, not taking his eyes off her even as he shuts the door and pulls the chain lock across.

Lusine sinks back into the couch and pulls the woollen blanket over her legs, knitting her fingers into its binding. "I thought I should come to see you after I," she cuts her eyes to the pile of open letters left on the coffee table, "stopped writing."

Steve lowers himself into the seat on the other side of the sofa and watches her carefully, wondering what he could and couldn't say. She was a mystery to even those who knew her the best, let alone him who'd barely had chance to get to know her before she'd left.

Now, she sat in his apartment, on his rotting couch, tucked under a scratchy wool blanket, dressed in his clothes, and still he didn't know much at all.

Either he was bad at asking, or she was bad at confiding.

She lifts her thumb to her mouth and chews on the nail as she watches him deliberate.

"Why did you stop?" He asks finally, the need for answers overcoming the brittle sensitivity he attempts to hold, but fails.

This was the question she was prepared to answer; had thought about since her return to Asgard when her hand could barely function as part of her body, let alone forge words meant for someone like him.

But ultimately, it all comes down to one answer.

Her hand drops from her mouth into the blanket and her throat bobs as she swallows back the worries. Olea was right. She'd have to tell him eventually and it was infinitely better now than later.

Later, it would be even more difficult to get the words out than it was now.

So, Lusine takes the plunge and, with complete honesty to the man who earnestly cared about her wellbeing, admits, "I didn't know what to say to you." She pulls at a strand absently but doesn't break the eye contact between them. "I didn't know how to write it into a single letter."

"You could've just let me know you were okay," He mutters, turning his eyes to his hands as they wound together.

"I couldn't," she says, sitting up straighter as the remnants of ache began to settle from staying in one position too long, "because I wasn't."

His eyes snap to meet hers with a wash of worry drowning the sky blue into darker days.

He frowns. "What happened to you?" He asks, though he isn't sure he wants to know the answer if it's enough to bring her to ruins.

"I –it's probably easier if I show you what's left behind," She says, pulling the blanket off and tossing it over the back of the sofa.

Lusine shuffles across the sofa and extends both of her hands, palms facing the greying ceiling. With an exhale, she dissipates the illusions covering her arms, down to her hands, to reveal the ragged white scars cut through each palm. A matching pair.

That was the easy scar to reveal. No one died from knives through the hands these days. Not without fighting back. She hadn't even been given that honour.

Steve lifts his own hands to hold beneath hers as he peers closer, running a thumb along each scar.

"Two daggers," Lusine tells him, not wishing to go into too much detail of her dance with death. The detail was what rattles her system: sends her into panic. "One through each hand, holding them down."

She kicks off her boots and socks and pulls her bare feet up onto the cushions to show the scars along the tops of them, identical to those on her hands. She slips her hands out of his as his vision moves to those scars, his jaw clenching and his adam's apple shifting at his throat.

When she moves, his emotion flashes across the planes of his face and she catches every colour of it, the print embedding itself into her mind as one of pity, not disgust. Not yet.

Lusine lifts her hands to her shirt and pulls the bottom half up. "Through here several stabs, all of which went right through me." She glances down at them, but her stomach churns violently, threatening to empty itself in a moment of seriousness. "The others are from different occasions," She says, looking away from the ruins of her skin.

She pulls the shirt back down and moves her hands up, dropping yet another illusion, taking a moment to chance a look at Steve, but maybe that was a mistake because his face was lined with golden horror, paled at the sight of the battle scars.

White and gold had been a perfectly wonderful combination until then.

Lusine undoes a few buttons at the top and pulls the shoulders down to her upper arms. "Two daggers in through my shoulders, also to hold me down, and two stabs to the chest, barely missing the heart," She rattles out clinically, remembering the report Olea had given her once she was stable enough to listen without losing herself in the dark or screaming the entirety of Asgard awake as the fear came flooding back to her, drowning her in its depths and pulling her deeper with every sweeping tide.

Lusine lowers her head as she redoes the buttons closed, building herself up with enough courage to reveal the damage done to her once flawless face. The final cog of her murder machine. She closes her eyes, takes a breath and drops the final illusion she'd held to her face in the beautiful shape of an intricate mask, woven from silver and ichor.

When she opens her eyes, Steve is staring straight at her, mouth parted and his eyes clearly welling with tears to match her own. He didn't understand how this could happen to her. She was impeccable at warfare, so how did this mistake occur? How could fate deal her this hand after all the jokers and bad omens it had already dealt?

She tries to blink her own away, but they just roll over the angry scars as they make their way down her cheeks, glistening like rivers of silver in the morning light spilling through the windows onto the unlikely acquaintances.

Steve reaches out to brush away the tears, but Lusine flinches involuntarily. A distance forges between them, her eyes darting away from him as his hand falls back into his lap.

"What –Who did this to you, Lusine?" He questions, not being able to fathom how this could ever have been allowed to happen to her. It was undeserved and an act of unremorseful violence. Whoever had done this had truly wanted Lusine Volkov dead.

She shakes her head, letting her chin drop to her chest as the tears start again. Steve places a hand over hers in an act of comfort, that was accepted this time, and rubs his thumb over the scar again and again, wishing it would never have happened to her. Wishes she would never have left. If she hadn't, maybe this would never have befallen her.

"My mother did," She manages to force herself to say, the words burning brands into her tongue every time she spoke them.

And it hurt no less each time.

She didn't think it would ever stop hurting to admit to people that half of her family was either dead, psychopathic or just hostile. She was part of that half. Her past ensured that opinion would be forever held of her, no matter what she did in the years to come.

That stung worst of all.

Was what left her staring into the dark at night long after she'd told Olea she was going to sleep.

She would never cease being a monster to onlookers, even if she never hurts a soul for the rest of her damned life.

"Lusine, I'm so—"

"Sorry?" She cuts him off, laughing emptily as she met his eyes, wishing the pity would dry up inside those ocean eyes. "You don't need to be sorry for something deserved."

His thumb stops moving, but, instead of retreating, he clutches her hand tighter in his, maybe making sure this was all real and not some kind of messed up dream forged from all his worries about whether Lusine Volkov was alive or dead.

"Deserved it? How could you ever deserve something as hellish as that?" His brows furrow into a deep-lined frown that carves his sharp features clean in two. A ravine with a deep drop to doom.

Lusine curls her fingers around his hand at last, letting his heat soak into her weary bones. "There's a very long list of why I deserved to almost die."

Her freezing hand flexes in his and slips away, folding over her stomach where those slicing scars lie concealed. Just looking at him thaws that locked away, frozen heart of hers a little as she pushes herself up and pulls him in close for a long-overdue embrace.

His face nestles into the crook of her neck as he holds her closer to him, not letting her get away with a half-hearted, distant hug.

"I'm glad you're safe, Lusine," He says into her, not willing to let go.

Lusine's laugh rumbles against him as one of her hands pushes into the back of his hair, fingers icy against his skin, but, even through the cold, her touch warmed him, only understanding in that moment how much he had truly missed her.

"I'm glad I'm safe too," She replies quietly, but her mouth was so close to his ear that he could hear every word perfectly clearly. "I almost wasn't, but now I'm here, safe and sound." She draws herself back and gives him a crooked smile that would never cease to floor him.

Not for the rest of his life. 

-

3405 words
8.9.18

i feel like this first chapter kinda sets the tone for the rest of this part