Time Warp: Waiting Where the Light Goes

[Lucy Serrano-Blaise]

March, 2034

Children made life settle, even if it didn't seem possible. Lucy never expected to find the means to manage one, let alone two in such close proximity age-wise. She also never really considered the fact that she'd end up with two boys. Since both were born she spent less time travelling overseas and more time focused on working with Ivy in Burlington. It meant it was easier to build something of a routine without ever truly giving up anything for stability.

It was routine that Penny was home before her by a few hours, and in that time she normally managed to get both boys a fair way, if not completely through their homework. And she was always on the cusp of finishing whatever was for dinner as the ink manipulator walked through the door. So the moment Lucy got home late that afternoon, she knew something was different, because the scent of whatever it was she'd chosen to make didn't coat the air as she stepped towards the door.

And when she opened it, there was silence. It wasn't dark, but there were hardly any lights on. Still, a car in the driveway was the biggest indicator that she was probably here.

"Oi," She called out; it was the first sound or phrase she thought to try, but the way her own voice radiated through the still walls of the house was as unsettling as one could imagine it would be. She took a step, "Anyone here?"

Nothing.

So she took another step, and then a set once she turned around and closed the door behind her. Dropping her keys on the nearby counter, she took a breath with the intention of calling out again, but she stopped suddenly when she heard a door open. Reaching out, the Australian flicked on the nearest light, and moments later she heard a set of smaller footsteps move before it stopped. There, at the end of the hallway, was a dark set of eyes and equally dark hair. Their youngest son, Ellis, resting his head on the wall and peering out towards her.

He didn't know much. Or rather, he couldn't really explain much. Just that Penny and Link were here, but ever since she got home she'd disappeared into his room. It was evident from the small amount of details he gave that something bad had happened, and so she pressed her hands to his face and drew her thumbs underneath his eyes, catching the involuntary tears that fell from the fact that he didn't know what was wrong.

Taking hold of his hand, the ink manipulator walked with him down towards Link's room. She was reluctant to take hold of the handle, but with a small twist it became evident that it wasn't locked. Still, she pushed it open a touch - just enough to see. Looking into the dark room, it was difficult to make anything out. All she could tell in the brief time she lingered was that she was holding onto him. Despite the distance, within the stagnant silence she was sure she could hear a break in her breathing. Like she, or he, or both had been or were crying. But without any response to her presence, she closed the door again and stared at it for a brief moment.

Anything to shift the concern from her features before she faced their twelve-year-old again. He tugged on her arm.

"You don't make dinner." He said.

She crinkled her nose at him. "Yeah, I know."

So after hearing nothing from her wife or their oldest son, Lucy went about dinner the only way she knew how; instant fixes. She stayed with Ellis for a few hours until he fell asleep huddled into her side while she was playing some mindless video game. When she finally moved, she found the means to take him to his room and wait until he eventually dozed off again.

She walked passed Link's room again. Still closed. Still silent.

Lucy decided after a time to retreat to their bedroom, leaving the door half open. She couldn't remember the last time she'd slept alone. At least, not here. Her dark eyes tracked the lines of the perfectly made bed. Running her hands over her face, she thought it'd be better to stay up. It wasn't as if she was going to be able to sleep here. Like this.

[Penelope Serrano-Blaise]

When Penny had gotten home, both of her sons had already gotten out of school, but something was off. It was silent. Worry filled her features as she walked through their home. Silence was something very rare in their household, especially when the boys had the house to themselves within the time the school bus dropped them off and Penny arriving home from work. There was no sign of anyone actually being there.

Until she found her eldest in the kitchen. He sat at the table, a cup of tea in front of him. Another was at the opposite end. For his mother.

He had been crying. The young boy’s expression seemingly looked aged. He didn’t respond. Slowly, Penny had moved to the table, sitting down in the vacant chair as her hands moved to the teacup. “What’s wrong?” Still, nothing

“Where’s Ellis?” Penny asked, to which Lincoln responded with a tilt of his head. The younger of the siblings was in his room. That wasn’t the problem. The psychometrist tried to give her son time to speak. Her thumb brushed along of the rim of the teacup. “Lincoln?” Finally, his dark eyes looked up to the Brit. He went to speak, but before the dark haired boy managed to get anything out, he brought a hand to his jaw line, scratching at it.

One disjointed, broken sentence. It was all it took. Penny understood.

Hours had passed. Or so Penny thought. It hadn’t mattered how much time had gone. She brought Lincoln to his room. Stayed with him. Any thoughts of beginner’s algebra or starting dinner had completely slipped her mind. It seemed trivial in comparison.

Hours, and Penny hadn’t moved from his bed. She hadn’t let go. She couldn’t. Not as he cried. Despite the difficulty not to do so, Penny hadn’t. She couldn’t. Doing so would admit how truly bad this was, even if they both already knew it.

She opened her eyes as the door opened, her dark eyes adjusting to the light as they focused on her wife. Penny felt her breath involuntarily falter, but she couldn’t speak. Not yet. And she understood that as she closed the door.

Penny wasn’t sure how long it was before Lincoln fell asleep. Hours, likely. She still stayed with him until his disjointed breathing began to even out as sleep took over. Even then, she was hesitant to move. To leave him, but she eventually did so. Careful not to wake the boy, Penny gently lifted his arms from her form, easing herself away.

Her lips pressed into a hard line as she looked back at him before closing the door. All she knew was that it was late, and so Penny quietly made her way to her own bedroom. Where she had assumed she was. And she was correct. She pushed passed the half opened door, stopping short of their bed. Of her.

Penny opened her mouth to say something – anything but she couldn’t find the means to speak.

[Lucy Serrano-Blaise]

It didn't take much for Lucy to decide that she wasn't going to sleep. It didn't feel right to do so. Sitting at the edge of the bed, Lucy wondered how difficult it was going to be to do anything the next day. It wasn't strange to run on a few hours of sleep; she'd been a suffering insomniac for more than half of her life when things were particularly stressful. It might have been a clever idea to contact Ivy and cancel her appointments, but if she were wrong and this was something minor, there were a fair few people being let down by such a call.

Besides, how would she explain it? That she thought something was wrong? It didn't seem fair.

Leaning forward, she pressed her hands to her face on either side as she considered what to do. It made it all the more evident that she didn't make decisions on her own. Not often. And when she did, she never seemed to make the right decision.

Her dark eyes glanced up when she heard the door open, her mind assuming it was Ellis having trouble sleeping before anything else. Surprise coloured her features when she caught the tired, almost broken expression of her wife. Immediately, she dropped her hands. She thought to stand, but felt as if she couldn't. Like she was stuck where she was.

But in the end, she managed, and so she stood.

Her lips pressed into a line, her eyebrows furrowing in her rightful confusion. Her hand raised to run the length of her own jaw before it dropped, and she opened her mouth.

"Love?"

[Penelope Serrano-Blaise]

Lucy was worried. It read in her expression. How her hands cradled each side of her face as she sat on the edge of the bed. Her surprised expression as she looked up at Penny. The Brit could see concern flash in her eyes. She needed to explain. To answer the questions she knew buzzed in her wife’s mind. Still, the Brit stood in silence, continuing to watch as Lucy stood. Her dark eyes followed the Australian’s hand as it moved to her jaw, and then to her mouth as she chose to speak.

Love. The name Lucy referred to her most by. Penny suddenly felt as if she didn't deserve to be called by such a name.

Her jaw clenched as she let out a wavering exhale. “I’m sorry.” She said quietly. Her gaze quickly fell to the floor before she squeezed her eyes shut and took in a sharp, desperate breath. Hours of tears had built up as Penny refused to let them show, but she couldn't hold them in. Not around her.

The Brit desperately wanted to move towards her wife, but she couldn't find the means to move her legs from where she stood. “I’m sorry.” She repeated, her voice cracking.

[Lucy Serrano-Blaise]

The tension Penny carried was evident. The heart-broken expression, more so. Lucy turned her head slightly, her expression questioning when she apologised once. It was rare for Penny to apologise. Really, it was rare for either of them to apologise, let alone when it was deemed necessary. But something about the phrase seemed painfully genuine, like she truly believed she had something to be sorry for.

Lucy shook her head slowly, but Penny looked to the floor. Her breathing was erratic; the kind she'd rarely experienced in all the time they'd been together, but she was able to register the significance all the same.

When she apologised the second time, the way her voice broke was incredibly clear to the ink manipulator. She knew what it meant physically, but an apology told her nothing of the story. Taking a slow breath, Lucy found the means to maintain some kind of composure, but she was never good when it came to crying. Not from her children, and most definitely not from her wife.

"Hey," She started, her voice light as she stepped towards her. And she moved to press her hands to the psychometrist's face lightly, "Don't do that." Leaning in, Lucy pressed her lips lightly to her counterpart's forehead, but she didn't move away as she continued on; "Don't apologise to me."

[Penelope Serrano-Blaise]

Penny knew she had to explain why she apologized. Why she was acting like this. Still, she struggled with actually saying it. She could register Lucy stepping closer, felt her hands on either side of her face, and still Penny couldn’t bring herself to further explain.

Shaking hands reached out, curling into the material of Lucy’s shirt for stability. The stability she always provided. Still, without the mentality to stop herself, she found herself staring at their front door.

She – Lucy – pushed open the front door. Silence. Lights were off. Like nobody was home despite knowing they were, or probably were, home. “Oi,” she felt the accented voice on her lips, “Anyone here?”

Penny sucked in another forceful breath. She wasn’t crying hard, but she still felt tears wet her cheeks and, in turn, the hands that were pressed to them. Until she felt Lucy’s lips press to her forehead. It broke the psychometrist. Her fingers tightened their hold on Lucy, and she forced her head down further. Her entire body tensed as she clenched her jaw. It wasn’t that she rejected the contact, but the feeling that she didn’t deserve it began to bubble in her chest.

“I gave it to him.” She couldn’t bring herself to look at Lucy. “This fucking curse.” Despite feeling unfit of her counterpart’s hold, Penny couldn’t let go. She pressed her forehead to Lucy’s collarbone. “It’s my fault."

[Lucy Serrano-Blaise]

Lucy felt the briefest sliver of relief when Penny reached out towards her. Despite the fact that the inner workings of Penny's psychometry happened over a split second, Lucy still found herself aware of the jolt of a memory she received. The way it forced her breathing to erratically shift without any real indication was, within itself, the biggest indication.

Feeling tears against her hands, she brushed her thumbs underneath the line of her counterpart's eyes. Just as she had done with their son only hours ago. And just like then, she knew it'd do little by way of stopping the remedial flow. So when Penny lowered her head further, she sunk her teeth into her lower lip on instinct. Some things weren't so easily managed. And when it came to whatever this was, Lucy was acutely aware of the fact that she had no point of reference for this.

She'd never seen her like this before.

The disjointed sentences Penny gave her must have been more obvious to her than the ink manipulator. She felt her mind ignite with the burning need to ask for more information. To press for details, but whatever it really was had shaken her beloved to the proverbial core, and so she found herself questioning the words at the edge of her teeth.

"I don't understand." Lucy offered quietly, moving a hand to rest it on the back of her neck. Her other hand traversed the line of her arm to curl around one of her hands. And she offered light pressure in the form of a small squeeze. Anything to ease her in closer.

[Penelope Serrano-Blaise]

Penny knew that, despite how short of a time it appeared to have taken effect, Lucy knew when her psychometry took over. It shouldn’t have happened, especially because Penny knew she was reaching out to her counterpart, but she lacked the mental capacity to stop it. If anything, it gave away just as much as her sudden tears did.

As she felt Lucy’s thumbs brush across her skin, Penny squeezed her eyes shut even more tightly, desperate to stop the flow of tears, and being unable to do so. She rarely lost her composure in this sense; more often Penny would lose herself to irritation or keep a neutral expression before crying. Just as her wife wasn’t good with it, neither was Penny when it came to her own tears.

She could understand Lucy’s confusion, but Penny had wished that she didn’t have to offer anything more. That somehow her counterpart would understand her broken explanation. Every breath she took was an attempt to bottle her distress away, and with that every breath quickly became harder. The anxiety was overwhelming.

She had felt the pressure in on her hand, as with the inevitable desire to reciprocate the motion, but Penny couldn’t loosen her hold on her wife’s shirt, clinging to it like a life line. Her muscles ached from the built up tension she had been holding for hours, the pain shooting up her legs, threatening to give out.

Still, she allowed herself to be drawn inward by her counterpart, her head remaining down as she tried to force out an explanation. “Lincoln. He’s a—“ Psychometrist. She choked, unable to bring herself to use the term given to her as a child. She shook her head against Lucy’s shoulder. “Powers aren’t supposed to be hereditary.” She took in another sharp breath. “I should have known.”

[Lucy Serrano-Blaise]

Despite the simple offer she'd given with her hand, Lucy quickly realised Penny couldn't let her go. And so, her hold around one of her hands loosened, but still remained. She did her best within the silence to settle the impending panic in the back of her mind, but she didn't know what to do. Her fingers trailed the tense muscles in one of her forearms instead, if not to ease it than to at least offer some kind of constant reminder that she was there; a physical entity amidst the uncontrollable memories.

Lincoln. Lucy knew that it was about him. Why else would she have been in there? But it was a good start. She felt the need to steady the way she breathed as Penny held back on the rest of her sentence. She searched for other, regulated explanations. But nothing made sense, because if something were so truly wrong they wouldn't be here.

But her eyes widened at the new information, and she was grateful Penny couldn't see her face for it. Powers - as far as they knew - weren't hereditary.

She couldn't stay silent. Nor could she react the way she wanted to. But she couldn't stop the way her hand stopped moving and added quick tension to her counterpart's forearm. To her neck. Lucy rarely got upset. Anger was her forte. It was her everything; her one true means for an emotional outburst. She hadn't had panic or anxiety attacks for years, and she wasn't about to start now.

"How could you know that." Lucy replied, and while it could have easily been a question, she chose not to phrase it as such. "This isn't your fault, love."

[Penelope Serrano-Blaise]

Despite the way Penny didn’t acknowledge the hands placed over her own, the Brit registered that they were there. That she was there. Her touch eased the way her hands shook, but only slightly. Without the Australian there, Penelope would have surely become overcome by the anxiety she felt, but it was impossible to take it away completely.

As Lucy faltered in her movement, Penny knew she understood. The slight pressure added in her forearm was the biggest indication. In turn Penny held on more tightly, feeling her nails dig into the palms of her hands through the material she gripped with the worry that she might let go.

Because she had every right to. Penelope had passed on the worst possible gene to their eldest son.

But Lucy had never pulled away, or even gave any indication that she would do so. She couldn’t Lucy was right; it was impossible to know. Penny hadn’t known, but she should have regardless. She should have taken the thought into consideration fourteen years ago. The psychometrist felt the residual pain in her jaw as she clenched it. Despite how desperately she wanted her wife’s words to comfort her, they hadn’t. She knew better. “It is my fault.”

[Lucy Serrano-Blaise]

Logic didn't apply here. In the years passing, Lucy had quickly learned that logic didn't have a definite place in a family setting. Between her and her counterpart, she could usually find some sort of common ground to use the technically expressive concept to her advantage. But here, when high emotional content was in play, she should have known better.

But she didn't. She didn't know enough.

She knew not to pull away, and that felt paramount. Shifting her hands again, the ink manipulator curled her fingers around her wife's wrists and offered light pressure. Not to ease her away, but to ease her closer; towards the Australian's form and around her completely.

"How-" The question fell away, because she knew the answer she was going to get before she gave it. How could it be her fault? Genetics. Penelope Blaise would blame genetics, despite the lack of proof. Because logic - Lucy Serrano's greatest ally - didn't apply here.

"I don't think it is." She reasoned instead, simply because it was better than nothing.

[Penelope Serrano-Blaise]

Even as she felt her wife’s fingers curl around her wrist, Penelope struggled to let go of the shirt she held onto. It was a lifeline holding her from tipping off the edge. She felt the pressure, and a jolt of panic hit her. That she wanted to be let go of. Because she ruined their son, and now she knew that.

Her grip loosened. She sucked in a forceful breath as the material slipped past her finger, but when she realized she was not being pushed away, she opened her eyes. The movement was bringing her in closer, her hand being guided to wrap around her wife. And she needed that. More so than she could have possibly imagined. She wrapped her arms around the ink manipulator she so dearly loved. The one that still didn’t push her away despite the news given to her.

She squeezed her eyes shut at the beginning of the question, breath catching in her throat. She cut herself off, a rarity for Lucy Serrano. Penny concluded it was because she knew the answer. There was only one real answer as it was.

“How else could you explain it?” Penny asked desperately. The chances of being a meta were low, but of being a meta with psychometry? There was an undeniable correlation. A causation. He had her genetics in him. His genes were built off of her own. Just as he had her darkened eyes, he had this. To the psychometrist, this was logic. What anyone would come up with if given the information.

[Lucy Serrano-Blaise]

Immediately, Lucy felt grateful that Penny hadn't denied her silent request for a small movement. Clinging to her shirt as she had been felt far more paining than it ever had, and at least this way there was a physical presence she could hold onto. Definite proof that the Australian had no intention of stepping away or creating distance. She was offering her the breach. Encouraging the motion. And it was reciprocated.

So she wrapped an arm around her counterpart's shoulders, pressing her lips into her hair as she rested her other hand to the back of her head. Keeping her close. Keeping the light pressure on, as it settled eventual stints of panic. As it had in the past.

But at her question, Lucy drew a blank. There was no way she could answer that; she didn't know any better, and it was known that she didn't really believe in harsh coincidences. Lucy Serrano - the woman with an answer or a statement or a phrase for every known occasion - had nothing. She didn't even have the means to lie to her beloved. Such a thing was far more devastating than anything else she could have offered.

"I don't know, Penny." Lucy replied, honestly. She lowered her head a touch, resting her forehead against the dark locks she adored so much. "But I know I don't blame you."

[Penelope Serrano-Blaise]

Penny pressed her palms into Lucy’s back, tightly. It was a harsh contrast compared to how she held on so gently. Using just enough pressure to keep her grounded – as grounded as she could be in such a situation. The way her wife held on was more stabilizing than anything else could offer.

She kept her head low, face tilted downward and pressed to Lucy’s shoulder. As she felt the ink manipulator’s lips press to her hair, the panic she felt began to fade. It was enough to know that she still loved her, despite now having reason not to. Still, anxiety refused to completely fade. Their son still had psychometry, and that fact lingered.

To hear that Lucy didn’t know forced another sharp breath from the psychometrist. Lucy Serrano, despite her grades, always had an answer. There was always something she could say – that she would say in any given situation. And she didn’t have one for this.

But even more, despite that, Lucy didn’t blame her.

The pain shooting through her legs and back faded into numbness. She shifted her shoulders, hands sliding up her wife’s back as she continued maintain the hold she had on her. She tried to focus on the way her love’s hand felt on the back of her neck, but Penny was mentally exhausted to the point where it was beginning to take a physical toll on the Brit, enough where even standing felt like an impossible task.

[Lucy Serrano-Blaise]

Lucy was deftly aware that the magnitude of this situation wasn't something she could grasp. She had no bearings on psychometry on a personal level; truth be told, she used to find it to be something of an annoyance. But without having it, there was no way she could ever understand the dangers of it; the toll it took on a person plagued with such an overbearing ability. Compared to her counterpart, Lucy was lucky to have what she had, and she knew that.

She knew her lack of an answer was going to stir something up, and the hitch in her breathing pattern had been proof of that. She held her eyes shut tightly in the moment, feeling the overwhelming belief that for a brief moment, she'd failed her.

As Penny shifted her hands, Lucy felt the small shift of weight against her. She unfurled her fingers from the back of her neck, shifting a hand to hold around her waist and draw her in. Keep her close. Keep her steady.

Keep the pressure on.

"You should try to rest, love. At least for a bit." Lucy offered lightly, knowing she wouldn't be getting any sleep in such a state. It was why she chose her words so very carefully in that moment, "I can stay with him, if you want." If she wanted. Anything she wanted. Even if Lucy was aware she couldn't offer an adequate level of comfort to their son, she could provide peace of mind while her love was distant.