Participants:
| Scene Title | White Christmas |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Last year, her Christmas was blue, this year it's a bit different. |
| Date | December 25, 2011 |
Near the US-Canada border
Lynette lingers at a Ferry stop-over near the border, unwilling to travel deeper into the country just yet. She'll follow, because these are still her people even as the network dissolves around her. They still need her. And maybe she can still manage to help them. The ones that survived.
Sunset colors the horizon and her breath comes out in foggy puffs as she walks a snow-covered path through the woods. She's bundled against the cold, far more than any local would be. And she aims to put herself far from any local— or anyone else— who happens to be around. Shoving her hands into her jacket pockets, her gloved fingers wrap around a small vial. She doesn't need to look at it to know the blue glow lingers. She doesn't need to look at it to hear its promises of escape ringing through her mind. She doesn't need to look at it to feel the hold it has over her. That it still has.
But she pulls it out and looks at it anyway.
The Institute is gone. Or, at least, crippled. The Ferry paid a heavy price for it, but they got it done. She finally got to hit back. It has not been the relief she expected it to be. Revenge was her map, the network her compass, and without them she's left lost and untethered. And the vial in her fingers is the only pinpoint she has left.
Which is pretty shitty.
Lynette recognizes the situation with a shudder, not because of the cold, but because of the anger. They did this to her, it's only right that it dies with them. But that call is still there, the memories beckoning. Denying them has been a struggle, even though the drug has never really supplied her with many good memories. And now the selection is that much worse. Watching bodies die under her own hand. Watching bodies bob in a nearly frozen river. Nothing but bullets and blood.
The scream boils up from her throat before she really knows what's happening. She throws the vial wildly, watching it smash against a tree. The drug runs down the bark in odd rivulets. The shards of glass fall to the forest floor. Lynette strides over to stomp them into the dirt, tears falling over her cheeks and down to the snow as her boot slams against them. Over and over. More than is really needed. She only stops when she runs out of rage and tears, leaving her feeling hollowed out. She exhales a shaky breath.
And looks at the tree.
"Shit!" She looks, trying to see if there's any Refrain salvageable. She hadn't meant to do that. She still needed it. But the drug is gone, leaving a damp path in its wake. Fists slam against the trunk of the tree. Then her hands come to cover her face. Because she was trying to save the drug just now. "Shit." Her head hangs, a hand bracing on the tree, and the curse comes out tired and defeated. Any thought that the last year had put her on the road to recovery disappears. She leans against the tree and slides down to sit at its base.
Staying out in the cold is probably not the best idea. But Lynette can't seem to get her feet back under her, so she sits. And watches the sun set through the trees.