lynette_icon.gif mateo_icon.gif

Scene Title Always
Synopsis After a strange afternoon, Lynette seeks solace in the one place she knows to find it. (It's in Mateo's favorite sweater.)
Date March 6, 2018

The Benchmark Center

The library opening ended well before Mateo was off work. Lynette had texted to let him know everything was fine (even if it wasn't totally), so he wouldn't worry, and came home. And then didn't leave their room again.

It's possible that she's lost track of time, because if she had noticed it was getting close to when he normally gets home, she would have made sure to look more… together. But instead, she's curled up in bed wrapped in one of his sweaters— one that she has repeatedly called a 'dad' sweater and generally has made her dislike of it well known. But that's the one she picked for comfort. On her lap, a book lays open, although the way her attention seems to have drifted off to the middle distance, it's hard to say if she's read a word of it.

Her eyes are red, like she's been crying. She isn't now, but it's difficult to hide the evidence.

The sweater in question happens to be one of his favorites, especially here where it's colder than he's used to. Argentina could have some cold winters, but not quite like this… And he hadn't lived in Argentina in a while. Part of Mateo misses the beaches. A lot.

But the sweater is colorful. Oranges and blues and grays, with diamonds and other patterns. It's often worn as almost a jacket, thick collar and front open. That's no different on her.

For once, he skipped the usual piano playing to wind down from work, perhaps because the text had been so uncommon. He opens the door without knocking— it's his room too, and smiles when he sees her, only to have that smile fade when he sees what she's wearing.

That's unusual.

That smile comes back, softer, as he makes his way across, dropping down on the bed beside her in his uniform and offering her a hand. "Enjoying my favorite sweater?"

It smells like him, because it's difficult to wash.

Lynette looks over at him when he comes over to sit and she reaches over to take his hand. And she pulls it (and him) closer to her so she can press a kiss to it, too. The mention of the sweater has her looking down at it, then up at him in pretend surprise. "How did this get here," she says. It's playful, but subdued. She's done better than that. But she sinks into it a little, probably because it does smell like him. And that tends to remind her that she's happy and has a good life. "I'm glad to see you," she says, her smile warmer.

Leaning close after his hand is kissed, Mateo presses a kiss against her nose rather than her lips, cause he feels like the nose is a little softer. "You look good in it." He always liked her in his clothes, but this one in particular. He can tell that something is wrong, but he hesitates for a moment, trying to choose the right way to approach it. "That a good book?"

Closing her eyes at the kiss, Lynette tightens her grip on his hand. And when she looks at him again, her eyes look more wet than they did a moment before. "Thank you," she saysm her head tilting some, "so do you. But you look good in anything." There's a sigh for the book though, and she leans back to pick it up. "It actually is," she says, because it's In the Time of the Butterflies and very good, but that doesn't stop her from closing it and setting it on the bedside table. "Eve told me she promised you that she'd look out for me today," she says, her expression tinting with indulgence. Perhaps that's her own way of broaching the subject.

Otter Eyes as Eve likes to call him, had asked the seer to keep an eye out for his love today. There'd been some talk of the library opening, and Eve had mentioned, while staying with them, that the man who had been there had been someone that Lynette had known— but most importantly— he realzied it was when the other him had died protecting her.

His name had not been included on the plaques. But he hadn't been listed in most the records, either.

"I might have thought you would need a friend today. I wish I could have taken off work, but they only let me have a few days off, so far." And he'd already taken them to help wrangle a Seer.

"You're sweet," Lynette says as she looks over at him, "and good to me, cariƱo." She sits up, turning to hang her legs off the side of the bed. "That's alright. I didn't stay long, anyway." So it wouldn't have been worth the time off anyway, is the logic. "It was beautiful," she says, her hands wringing together as she talks. "Gillian's speech was wonderful and the library is amazing. I— It's going to be good for this place."

A beautiful Library. One that's good for the community. Mateo will have to ask Silvia about it as well, but for now, he's more concerned about his lightning. "But are you okay, mi amada?" He moving up beside her and slipping his arm around her, his head tilted as he watches her to make sure that she's actually alright.

The question causes a shudder in her breathing, which might be answer enough, really. "No," she says with a mirthless laugh. She closes her eyes and leans into him when his arm goes around her. Her hands move to his chest, fingers curling into his uniform. "I don't think I can go back there," she admits in a whisper. "I watched those people die." And not just die; everyone knows how that ambush happened. How ruthlessly it was done. And she stood next to them, bullets missing her by the luck of the draw.

"You don't have to then," Mateo responds, pulling her even closer to him. Half of him wishes he could just engulf her completely. There's that whisper in the back of his head, but it's quiet right now, because he's more focused on her, on worrying about her. The hand that's not around her touches her hair, pushing the lock back behind her hair. "I'm here."

He's here and he's hers. There to listen, there to hold her— there to let her wear the sweaters she pretends she doesn't like.

Lynette nestles into the crook of his neck, her breathing seeming to settle with his arms around her. He's here and he's home. She nods to his words, thankful but she'll need a moment before she can express it. When she does, its in her hands sliding around him, in how her heart thrums in her chest when she's there in his arms.

"Eric, he— He did a lot of bad things in his life. But when I knew him, he wasn't… like that. I don't know. Maybe he was and he just tucked it away somewhere. But he dedicated himself to those kids. He took care of them, protected them. And people loved him. Even people who knew how he'd been before. It was good to see them there. Remembering who he'd turned himself into." But it made her sad still. Or it's thrown her off, anyway. "He didn't deserve to die that way."

A man with a dark past, who'd done a lot of bad. Who tried to set it aside and be someone else. Dedicated himself to kids, protected them. Mateo nods, pressing a kiss into her hair. There's that whisper again, but he tells it not now and just focuses on her. "No one does. But someone like that least of all. At least he's being honored." Honored, loved, remembered.

Nodding against him, Lynette falls silent for a few moments. However still and quiet she gets, though, she keeps her arms tight around him. So it isn't sleep that keeps her that way. It takes time, but she comes around to what's worming its way through her mind.

"I didn't plan on coming back out of the arcology." It's stated simply, like it isn't that important. "The people who died, they had things to go home to. Reasons they were needed. But they were buried there and I walked out without a scratch."

"We both know that's not true," Mateo responds, not even going to bring up that his other self would have died in vain if she hadn't made it out— "Just because you can't see the wounds, doesn't mean you didn't have them." Some wounds were invisible, and she carried hers with her. More than the scars she carries on her skin.

"And you did have a family waiting for you… you just hadn't met them yet." His mouth quirks into a little bit of a smile, as he closes his eyes pulls her even closer.

Lynette shakes her head, like she's planning to argue. About what counted and what didn't. About why it should have been her. But she stops at his last words and pulls back just enough to look at him. "Like the universe knew something I didn't, hmm?" she teases, but the way her eyes light up when she looks at him, she finds comfort in the idea. "I'm going to start believing in fate any second now. And destiny. And all sorts of damn poetry," she says with a small chuckle. But her hand moves up to his cheek and she gives him a warm smile, "Porque somos almas gemelas. And I promise you, Javi, I'll always come home to you."

It isn't a realistic promise, she knows that and he knows that, but it looks like she believes it's possible right now. Like she could will it to be possible.

"We'll always come home to each other, 'Nette," Mateo responds, knowing full well that there might be the time when they won't be able to keep that promise, but he's also going to live as if he could, work as if he could. Because his home is her. "We always meet, you and me," he whispers, quoting something that had stayed with him since not long after they first met. "And we always will."

"That's right," Lynette says, lifting a hand to wipe at her face. It's not really necessary, but she feels raw still, "because I have big plans for us growing old together." Which is never a thing she wanted before him. It's never a thing she even thought about wanting until him. His whisper sobers her expression, her eyes looking at him like she also wants some things that are not growing old together. She shifts to face him, a knee on either side of him. It's possible that she's forgotten that the sweater is present, or else that she minds it a lot less just now. Her hands slide around to the back of his neck and she leans in to brush his lips with her own. "Always," is echoed back to him before she closes what little distance is left between them to kiss him.

With her practically in his lap, Mateo's hands go into her hair and he pulls her down with him as he lays back, kissing her back like that is a new kind of conversation. It is. It relays words that he couldn't express properly even if he said them. Words without words.


Even if he had to cross timelines. Just like the other him had done.

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