Fight Off The Lethargy



Scene Title Fight Off the Lethargy
Synopsis Self indulgent scene with Lynette and a Refrain kick wrapped around the song used for inspiration. A bit of a hint into her past that I dreamt up when this song was playing. - Metric - Combat Baby
Date October 20, 2010

Gun Hill - Lynette's Apartment

We used to leave the blue lights on and there was a beat

It's rough, having an addiction to something that, honestly, isn't even all that fun. Perhaps because of something in her chemical make up, perhaps because of the nature of how she got on the drug, Lynette's trips on Refrain have rarely been good memories. Sometimes frightening, sometimes sad, sometimes… and quite often… filled with regret.

Sometimes, she remembers her mother, as much of her as her very young mind was able to absorb.

Sometimes, she remembers nights in her cell with the Institute.

Sometimes, she remembers how frightened she was the night she woke up and suddenly had superpowers.

It's a double edged sword, memory. Dulled and smudged with time and perception, often things aren't as bad as we remember. Or not as good. In reviewing her life's milestones, Lynette has noticed things. And sometimes hopes to notice things. Maybe… there's an explanation. Somewhere, tucked away.

Ever since you have been gone it's all caffeine-free and faux punk fatigues

Not that the Refrain has ever been kind enough to let her dig for it. So far. But it's a necessary internal justification. She likes to use the bed, not the couch for these excursions. She's not entirely sure why. But, habits form. It's been a few months.

She's pretty expert at finding her veins now. She's been using her wrists lately. Just until the injection points on the crook of her arm heal.

And the ones on her leg. Just the right one. The left is fine. A little bruised maybe. But, no it's fine.

Letting the vial drop to the floor as she lays back to let it wash over her, Lynette closes her eyes and tries to think about good times. When life was… easier. Nicer. With fewer threats lurking around corners and in shadows. It's a stray thought about loss, of all things, that kicks in a memory, though.

Terrible luck.

Said it all before, they try to kick it, their feet fall asleep

The apartment was modest, but nice. As nice as two working class paychecks could make it. Lynette, on her own, would have just dipped into daddy's money for an apartment, of course, but it didn't sit well with Elisha. He'd never had the easy life and didn't seem interested in getting it. He wanted to earn his own way. His own things.

She could respect that.


It took him a year and a half to save up for the ring he wanted to get her. She was deep enough in love to not really care if he got her diamonds and platinum or something from a Cracker Jack box. It was the first time in her life she experienced something like that, a disregard for the material. It was kind of a big deal for a priviledged princess such as herself. So she lived in a smaller apartment, she bought cheaper clothes, she earned her own way, as well.

He always seemed so… proud. And it made her feel good, that he was proud. At first, she sort of kicked herself for letting her demeanor change because of some man. But she was going to spend the rest of her life with this man. So maybe that was okay.

She was young at the time.

Get no harm done, no, none of them want to fight me

Refrain helped to to remember. Reliving those moments as they came… dipping back into that love she felt in her early twenties, when she was young. And foolish. She remembered Elisha's face clearer than she had in years. His smile. His laugh. All that feeling rushed back to her and for that moment… it was so beautiful all over again.


She knew something about addiction these days. How you could feel the ache for what's missing in your bones. How much you'd give up for a moment with it again. She had given her whole heart to him, and she did so all over again as it played out for her. Lost in a dream of a better time. A moment in time.

Because, as they say, all good things come to an end. What goes up, must come down. A million other cliches. And Lynette had been high as the sky back then…

Combat baby, come back baby

She was always so tired after work. Spending a day typing really shouldn't be so taxing, but there it was. She wanted to fall right into bed, every single Friday. And this one was no different.

She wore a snappy black pinstripe suit fitted to the female form, complete with a vest and a fedora she had her blonde hair tucked into. Her shoes were high heels, as always, the feel of them familiar, if not comfortable, and carried a sort of faux-spat motif. She loved this outfit, from head to toe, each detail noticed and appreciated, at least by her. And really, that's all she needed. The extra spring in the step when you know you look sharp.

The first thing she noticed was that when she went to hang her keys on the rack… it wasn't there. It made her blink. She heard the clack of her heeled shoe against the tile flooring in the entrance. And as her gaze swept the room… it was half gone. Not the room itself, of course, but the things within. The couch she'd bought was sitting there, but the coffee table was gone. The lamps, gone. The TV stand, gone, although the TV remained, just… on the floor.


She heard her own voice there in that emptiness. Semi-emptiness. It felt like it should have echoed back to her, the tiny apartment seeming a cavern in the moment's panic. There were a lot of plausible explanations. Maybe he'd run into some trouble and had to sell everything for the cash. Maybe… there had been a burglar with very specific… desires. But it was the one she feared the most that came the most true.

Fight off the lethargy, don't go quietly

The carpet muted her steps as she made her way through the apartment. It was the same all over and she was starting to freak out. Her breathing was shorter, she realized. She was shaking. Her heart was pounding. This can't be happening was a repeated thought.

When she spotted the letter, she knew she didn't have to read it. She knew the jist. He was gone. Thoroughly stripped himself right out of her life. Of course… she was planning to read it anyway. There had to be a reason, right? Something she'd done. Something she could… fix. They could talk it over. It would be okay. She just needed some direction. A hint.

Sitting down on the bed, she picked up the paper. It felt rough between her fingers. Like she could feel every imperfection in the sheet. Hyperawareness, fully immersed in the moment.

She just needed… one… hint…

Combat baby!

Had it felt this real at the time? This intense? Most likely, yes. But before this night, before this moment, she hadn't remembered. It had numbed over the passing years. But not anymore. Now it felt fresh all over again. Her bones ached.

And there was nothing she could do. Trapped there in that moment, in that memory. It was hard to say which of her nightmares over the past few months was worse, really. They all seemed to be, when it was their turn. Why couldn't she have been one of those people who blissfully relived a day at the park or a dip in the ocean? Instead of captivity and nightmares and heartbreak. Was her karma really so bad?

She didn't even believe in karma, so… probably pretty bad.

Her fingers twitched there in their spot against her stomach.

Said you would never give up easy

Her fingers unfolded the letter, still shaking. Still afraid to look over the words. What if it was something she couldn't changed? What if he wanted someone shorter?

Oh fuck. What if there's another woman? The thought drifted in. She bit her bottom lip. She never had been good at the whole… competition thing. And really, you've been with someone for years, you have a ring on your finger… was it fair, having to deal with this? Am I going to have to punch him? He really was very tall. She'd have to get on a chair to reach his jaw.

There's no easy way to say this. It's just over. I can't do this anymore.

It was the most wholly disappointing moment of her life.

Or, it felt like it. It was in the top three disappointing moments. No explanation. Just… gone. Last week they were in love, they ate popsicles on their tiny porch while they watched the sunset for fuck's sake. That is love. That… was last week. This was this week and this week… he didn't love her anymore.

Was it really that easy? Three sentences and it's over? What was she supposed to do from here? Beg him to come back? Would that make her a stalker? Demand an explanation? Torch his car? Nothing? Forget? Move on?

What she really did was cry, of course. She loved him. Still. She wasn't planning to be without him ever again and now this. She fell over against the pillows, which still smelled like him. She cried harder.

Combat baby, come back

A tear slipped out of the corner of her eye. It was the first of many. When she came out of this, she would find herself sobbing in her sleep for a wound long since — Well, maybe healed was too strong a word.

It felt like hours before the crying toned down. And like any daddy's girl… she called out to her father's ranch. Sure, it was getting late out there in the midwest, but he would understand. He always did.

There was no answer.

And logically, she knew this wasn't a slight against her. Maybe he was out. Or sleeping. Or working. He didn't know she needed him and he would have answered if he was able to. But illogically… it just made her feel unwanted all over again. And it wasn't like she could call her friends. Because… her friends were really their friends. If he'd already talked to them, it isn't like they'd be sympathetic to her. And maybe they didn't want to get pulled into the drama of a sudden break up. She didn't know where to go.

It was the first time she turned to liquor for comfort, but damnit, she needed a drink. It would just be tonight, just enough to let her pass out and sleep this away. Just for tonight.

Memory within memory, as being walked out on made her remember her mother walking out all those years ago. Watching the disdainful look on her face before she walked out the door, shutting it softly behind her. Her father didn't cry. Not that she knew of, anyway. He just watched her walk out, then came over to scoop Lynette up off the floor. He was shaking.

I want to be wrong but, no one here wants to fight me like you do

And she relived that moment, too. Only now, it was so much more crisp to her adult mind than it was to her childhood one. Where there had been confusion and confidence in her return at the time… there was deep understanding and bitterness now.

So when her eyes opened as the high passed… it took Lynette a full hour to actually get out of bed. What time was it? She didn't bother to look. She did managed to get herself dressed, combed her hair, brushed her teeth, going through the motions, which was a reenactment of the past that didn't need Refrain's help.

When she reached the kitchen, to make herself breakfast… she ended up with a martini, instead. Stoli. Bone dry. Dirty. One olive. It was the signature drink for a bad day in Lynette's world. And she stepped out from the kitchen, her gaze falling to the dining room table.

And suddenly she was angry. Livid. Pissed off. She came over and shoved the table over like a kid losing at Monopoly. Chair were shoved around, the name Sheridan hissed like a curse. A lot. The proverbial raging at the heavens. If the heavens were a sadistic doctor with a drug fetish. Or maybe an Evolved fetish. A drugged Evolved fetish.

The dining room, as it turned out, was only the first victim. The living room got the treatment, too. Bookcases knocked over, lamps smashed against the floor, coffee table overturned before she ran out of steam and sagged right to the floor to cry a little more. It was going to be a bad day.

There were times she was very glad to be living alone.

How I miss your ranting, do you miss my all time lows?

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