Time Warp: In Case of Fire

[Lucy Serrano-Blaise]

October, 2019
Paris, France

When Lucy first proposed the idea that she'd be gone for ten weeks, she knew it wasn't going to go well. More to the point, she knew it was going to be a significant strain on her way of life. She knew it was bad timing; she knew there was no way her counterpart would actually be able to come with her, and she knew that what she wanted to do had to be done soon. Ample success coloured the Australian's career as it was, but now there was a call to do something far greater. Something that required, at the minimum, two months away.

To make matters even worse, there were few times where she was actually available. Five days a week for two months, she was booked into eight hour tattooing sessions. So for eight hours of most of her days, she was unattainable. Unreachable. Completely off the proverbial grid for the greater good. To say it was taxing was a complete understatement. Every call she could make, she did her best not to line with any form of distress, but she knew that she knew better. At least at the end of ten weeks, they were bound for a second showing in New York. At least she could be there, then.

Lucy had been far too busy in the lead up to the show's opening to be attainable, too. There were twenty people with disdained tattoos on their back who now wore the exact same piece. Twenty completely different people living in the city who wore the same ink. The progression from one level to the next hung perfectly on the wall. The Australian wasn't nervous. Honestly, she wasn't. But it was a huge leap and a huge project; she had a right to be proud of it.

It all boiled down to one night in particular. Lucy hardly ever really felt like herself when it came to opening nights; it was all about stripping away her usual brash version of charm and trying to replace it with something more traditional. It'd been years, by now, and a professional mark was something she was sure she had down.

Locked in a lengthy discussion of how the series of prints would look best in a woman's step-son's life-partner's body art studio, Lucy couldn't glance away in the slightest. She couldn't veer herself off topic. She couldn't do anything but nod. The night itself was bound to be as boring as this discussion, and that was never a good thing.

[Penelope Serrano-Blaise]

Penny knew Lucy loved her job. More, the ink manipulator lived and breathed it. Her work was a way of life - one that she couldn't give up. And even if she tried, the Brit wouldn't let her. It was far too important to give up for any reason, even if it meant being away for extended periods of time.

But this was two months. Two months of different time zones. Long hours. Strained phone calls despite how she tried to convince Penny she wasn't stressed. The time they could speak was little and far between. For once, the Brit was clung to her phone. It seemed like it was all she had.

And then there were the memories.

It was always hard. Even without a memory based ability, it was, but every surface had her on it. Lucy was everywhere. A bed was forced to be abandoned. Even Penny's own clothes had traces of her counterpart's hands on them, fingers curling into the fabric. The one person that knew best how to sooth the worst psychometric relapses was part of why they were happening now, although it was hardly her fault.

Yet, Penny never knew how much worse it would be when the memory of her love started to fade. Ten weeks was far too long - details blurred even for those who couldn't escape them. The psychometrist never thought the day she touched a surface and something wasn't there would be the day she couldn't take it.

Taking a twelve hour flight under the radar of her wife was not as hard as Penny had expected it to be. Opening day was always busy for Lucy, and when the Brit touched down in France, the amount of time that had passed had gone unnoticed. Penelope was a precise individual; planning was her forte. All it took was a conversation with the right person and she was allowed into the gallery.

Only announcing herself with the click of her heel as she stepped onto the wooden floor, she scanned the space in search of her counterpart. Nerves quickly forced her pulse to rise. Ten weeks since she had seen Lucy, and since Lucy had seen her, either. And it wasn't even on casual terms. A formal setting. She was surely to be dressed up in some sense, as was Penny herself with the help of an over-supportive blonde.

Hands drawn together, the Brit straightened her back as she held the breath in her lungs. Although it was quickly lost when dark eyes caught the ones she sought.

[Lucy Serrano-Blaise]

For everything she did, Lucy could openly admit that there were definite low points in her line of work. Having to make nice to a room full of people she didn't like was definitely a test to her own mentality. In her youth she'd hardly ever given anything less than her usual nature to those, and the sharper notes were reserved for those who seemed to look past her. Or pick fights with her.

Well, this was the former. As she spoke to this particular woman she felt the excitement in her tone, but it was all about herself. Almost every soul in the room was there for their own needs, and she knew that. She'd always known that. But being aware of it all didn't make it any less taxing; already she considered how much face time she had to put in before she could rush off. She could sleep. She really needed to sleep. Her hands were killing her. They had been for weeks; those weekend breaks hadn't been enough for her muscles, and she should have expected that when she stepped into this project.

The end result; some finished, some not. Some healed, some completely fresh to the day. But all perfectly lined and perfectly coloured. Zero flaws.

With a polite nod, she tilted her head to the side. A small sip from the dark liquid in the glass Carter had carefully eased into her hand not too long ago. Because she looked like she needed it. And damn him, he was right.

But the movement forced her eyes away for just a second or two. Enough time to catch a set and look back again. It took an agonising set of moments for Lucy to stare at the woman in front of her and piece everything together. Her first point of call? She promptly downed the last contents of her glass without so much as a strain on her face.

[Penelope Serrano-Blaise]

It was chance to meet Lucy's gaze. The Brit had no personal interest for anyone in the room except for her - and she was easy to spot. Just as wealthy as everyone else in that room - if not more, Lucy still stood out from the crowd. She always did. She had that realism grounded to her, yet maintained a contrasting feeling of untouchability. That was, to everyone except the Brit who caught her eye.

Eyebrows twitched up as she quickly caught sight of short glass in Lucy's hand - or rather the liquid that quickly disappeared in one quick sweep. Steeled expression hid any harsh qualities of the drink, but that didn't prevent Penny from knowing its contents. She so rarely flinched at hard alcohol.

She took the first of many steps, forcing herself to keep a slow movement as she crossed the room to see her wife. Her wife she hadn't seen in two months. Her already speeding pulse worked harder; she could have waited in her room. It would have proven this moment less difficult, but then again waiting was never a real option, either.

Easing herself next to the woman who spoke so excitedly about something Penny had little interest in learning about, stepped next to the Australian. It wasn't until her hand moved to the small of her back did she realize it was shaking.

[Lucy Serrano-Blaise]

Lucy had never rightly known how to dress at these type of things, but she knew her usual choices were never going to be an option, perfect as some pairs of jeans might have been. Black slacks engineered to be as tight as any set of jeans she might own. A white shirt buttoned by her own hands and pressed to the point of its own perfection. Not a crinkle or a crease from the folded collar to the sleeves at her wrists to the moment it met the band of her pants. All in a bold obviousness that she'd spend as much on her attire as any one person would for one set of prints from a series of twenty.

Hair? Not a mess. She'd never be forgiven if she allowed it to stay in its consistently dishevelled state; instead every strand was smoothed and left in its necessary place. Focus? As of this point, it was a mess.

Fair to the point, Lucy knew she could have walked away at this point. She knew that people only ever got so little face time; the room was crowded. There were plenty of people to draw her into another conversation - invested or not. But as she cradled that glass in her hands she realised how close she was to dropping it when a familiar hand crossed the contours of the small of her back and stayed there. Had she not already been standing so straight, it would have been enough to send her that way.

Lucy rose a hand between them, an index finger weakly pointed as the woman's slowed French found itself coming to a prompt halt. The ink manipulator gave her a smile, cherished and contrived in its own way before she parted her lips to speak; "Excusez-moi."

Heart rate in her ears, she stepped away with slow precision, creating some form of distance between herself and the last trap before she stopped on a heel and turned to look at her. Tension immediately rose in her jaw as dark eyes refused to waver from her face. Her expression. Her.

But her tongue ran the length of her lips slowly. As slowly as she'd stepped away. As slowly as she could to give herself the time to find the right thing to say.

"Evening."

[Penelope Serrano-Blaise]

Was it rude to interrupt? Honestly, Penny believed not. She had little experience in these situations, let alone any French customs, but as far as the Brit was concerned, she was not forcing the woman to stop speaking. She didn't even have the language ability to step in, so silence felt like a better option. It had certainly gotten her point across.

Because she was raising a hand, Australian accented French excusing them as Penny offered a thin lipped smile at the French woman, trying to make it as apologetic as she could manage to pretend to be within that moment. Though she hardly felt sorry in the first place.

Lucy took the first step, and even as it created distance, Penny still made the move to draw her hand away slow. Fingertips tracing lightly across the small of Lucy's back in a similar fashion she had done to put them there in the first place. The click of her heels was the only sound she offered to insure the ink manipulator that she was following, although her pulse drummed just as loudly, she was sure.

They were hardly alone; a crowded room of people never gave way to any sense of privacy. Even if they had stepped out of the conversation at hand, she could hardly cross the distance between them like she truly wished to. How she wished to reach out and brush her fingertips along the length of her jaw, which so clearly wore tension. Lucy was thrown off guard - it was rare to surprise the Australian in such a way. Admittedly, Penny would have felt smug over the fact if she weren't so busy staring.

Her gaze cast down to Lucy's lips and her tongue as it crossed the line of them, tension building up her own posture as her eyes snapped back up. Hearing her speak - in English - to Penny after two months of hearing that same voice only through technology and memories; her own jaw clenched as she firmly reminded herself that she couldn't. Not here. Not yet.

"It seems that all your hard work has paid off."

[Lucy Serrano-Blaise]

The moment Lucy lost that contact, she found herself wishing to get it back. She questioned why she'd so suddenly lost it. She even thought to physically do so, but the words were lost in her throat. It was impossible to keep even the simplest thought in a situation like this.

Out of one moment and completely wrapped in the other, the crowded room might as well have been empty, for her eyes were attuned to one. There was absolutely no point of contact now, and it felt strange to make it. Hell, it was strange enough to simply be as they were; she wasn't supposed to be here. She wasn't supposed to see her until they'd moved the exhibit to New York, provided it all worked out as it was supposed to.

When Lucy lost her gaze, she almost felt bad for the fact. She was hardly making this any easier. More to the point, Penny proving how easy it was to look away made it that much more strenuous. She shouldn't look. She couldn't.

But she could reach out. And as she raised her hand, her palm settled perfectly in the small of her back, eyes refusing to turn away despite how she felt the draw to. "Did you want to look?" She asked genuinely, well aware that she hadn't seen a glimpse of it at all. Just as she was aware that her hands couldn't settle their small shake, and her breathing couldn't maintain any sense of normality.

[Penelope Serrano-Blaise]

Drawing her hand away was no easy feat, nor was breaking eye contact. Everything proved significantly harder than she could have possibly imagined it being. Just seeing her there made control practically impossible. Her gaze was quick to lock on a familiar set of dark eyes again despite the urge she felt to let her line of sight travel. To take in every detail she already had memorized but still wanted to see again.

But as a hand found its way to her own back now, she sucked in a quick breath. The composure she had managed to build up slipped away within an instant. The Brit was quickly jealous of the glass in Lucy's hand; something to hold on to as Penny brought her own together instead. She was reminded of the same reason her hand drew away in the first place; it was too much to handle in such a crowded space.

By no means did she plan to stop it, however. The moment she had lost the contact, Penny had wished for it back, and she knew well she was lucky to have that granted to her again. "I am looking." She replied, leaning in just enough to catch Lucy's ear. To be sure she could feel the drop of her voice as she whispered. "And it's beautiful." It was true, she hadn't seen any of it yet, but the psychometrist was hardly talking about the exhibit.

[Lucy Serrano-Blaise]

Lucy had some kind of disconcerting belief that reaching out to her would have quelled the overwhelming need to take more. But that breath she took made that idea nothing mode than idiotic and futile. Her immediate discourse was to step in, or apply pressure to ease her in. To reach out with her other hand and wrap her up completely. But her hand wasn't empty, instead coupled to an empty glass cradled by twitching fingers.

Composure was a dwindling lie. The ability to take an even breath was a lie. When she realised she was leaning in, Lucy felt the rush of adrenaline kick through her veins. Regardless of her own mentality - or how she wished she could change it - she pressed her hand in. She applied such dangerous pressure with her palm now that she was that much closer.

Beautiful. The word forced the ink manipulator to crack a smile. Strength quickly dwindled now that she had a new proximity to linger in. Because it had been months. Months of no contact. Months of waiting. Months of next to nothing; validly sucked dry of the contact and the life she was so used to.

Lucy leaned in further still, and with a small tilt of her head she brushed her lips against her cheek.

[Penelope Serrano-Blaise]

No matter how well Penny articulated herself, she couldn't steady her own breath. How she fell just short of it as she lingered within the proximity created between them. As if she actually believed she could have pulled away from it in the first place. The pressure to her back brought her closer, so much that she took a half step through the little distance between them.

To close to see the shift in Lucy's expression, Penny felt it moments later against her cheek. Months of waiting, such contact threatened to burn through her skin and leave a mark behind to wear. Penny swallowed her heart back into her chest as her hands parted, one of which finding her hip, settling on perfectly pressed fabric.

She could hardly help herself. It had been too long. Too much distance. Too many exhausted phone calls.

"Lucy." The psychometrist managed, tilting her own head as she brushed her lips against the Australian's. Public affection rarely something Penny gave into, especially in a setting where she had such control over, and thus she kept the contact short, yet as long as she could think to hold it all the same. "I missed you."

[Lucy Serrano-Blaise]

Better judgement was well and truly being kept at bay, for the idea that Lucy should even suggest Penny ease herself inward was a bad one. Informing herself that she could handle this proximity was bad too, because history was stacking strongly against her decisions. Then again, prior inevitability also told her that once something was started, it was impossible to stop. And for this course of action, she could easily blame the psychometrist for simply being here.

For a moment she was certain kissing her on the cheek was enough, but with a clever tilt of her head, she felt familiar lips she'd grown to miss so desperately press against hers. Shortly. Almost sharply despite the way the simple contact sent her head spinning. It was too much. Too soon. Too out in the open, yet so incredibly necessary.

She curled her fingers into the fabric at her back instinctively.

"You-" She stared, intent to reason that it would have been smarter to wait in her room. To call her from there. To drag her out of this room with that anticipation over this ambush.

A breath. Lucy took a useless breath instead; "You're here."

[Penelope Serrano-Blaise]

By no means did Penny ever expect this to be an easy task. To stand by and just watch her wife work after months without seeing her. Without touching her. She knew it'd be too tough to handle, but her selfish nature couldn't stand waiting another moment. Another beat of her heart might not have been able to take it.

Neither of them had this however.

She was sure a kiss to her cheek would have been enough, and Penny herself believed the short lived kiss could hold her over for then as well. But once was never enough, and it only made her pulse work that much harder. Tension built up her neck as she fought the need to take her lips again.

She was here. In Paris. In the gallery her wife owned, standing so very close to her. It was almost impossible to comprehend, even after the painfully long plane ride that was supposed to settle the notion in her mind. "I couldn't wait." She explained weakly, feeling the strain in her throat as each word failed to hold any articulation.

[Lucy Serrano-Blaise]

There was the most obvious draw at hand. The innate desire to forgo the entire event, derail the stance she herself had taken there and just leave right now. Lucy could feel the idea hot at the forefront of her mind; how difficult would it really be to excuse herself in record timing? How hard would it be to disappear for a while? And even if she did manage to, how impossible would it be to step back into this situation?

Because standing there with a hand around her waist, she still refused to let up any of that pressure. She refused to make it easy for her to step away. She'd walked in her in the first place looking like that, what else was she to expect? She was hardly an individual the ink manipulator found easy to ignore in the first place, let alone here. Let alone now.

Propping that glass in the hands of someone who finally realised she was done with it, the question over a newly free hand appeared. She eased herself back, though barely. Each breath was a chore, short and stagnant in the air as she considered what she might be able to get away with saying.

"Here, here." Lucy replied, like it either didn't make sense or still felt unbelievable. And there, within her own failure she allowed her gaze to slip from the dark eyes she loved to the line of her lips. The curve of her neck, like it was a moment of staring she could never be caught doing despite a room full of people standing there for her.

"Are you-" She started, failing to drag her gaze up as she fought for the right word, "Staying?"

[Penelope Serrano-Blaise]

Desperation rarely lined Penny's voice in public settings. To the common eye, she was so often seen as cold. Calculating. Emotion was something only ever seen under her gaze. To hear it in her own voice as it threatened to crack with the admission forced her jaw to clench. To say that she missed Lucy was an understatement, and she likely knew that.

With the glass taken away, Penny almost ordered a strong drink for herself. Rarely one to drink anything of the sort, a nervous stint made her feel as if she might have needed it. Drinking would hardly have helped her neediness, however, and instead she just wished for Lucy's now free hand to be on her form.

Instead, Penny was offered the opposite. A hint of distance. No matter how little there was of it, she still felt it burn between them, only driving her need to be closer that much more.

Losing Lucy's gaze, she didn't fight for it back, feeling her attention captured by her expression as she stared. Teeth sunk into her lower lip under Lucy's eyes, but she quickly corrected herself after realizing the unconscious movement she made. "Yes." Penny breathed in response, lifting a hand to place at Lucy's arm, offering a squeeze that was just a little too tight. "I'm not going home without you."

[Lucy Serrano-Blaise]

Briefly, Lucy caught a look at the way Penny bit into her own lip. She knew it was something she did on instinct, and she knew she should be forgiven for the lapse in judgement, but it was still a painful thing to witness. How she'd rather feel such teeth adding pressure to her own lip instead. That precisely perfect level of pain that never really stung.

The single word dragged her eyes back up, and the moment she caught hers, she wondered how she managed to haul her attention away in the first place.

Lucy curled her free hand into itself. She squeezed her nails into her palm, the idea of reaching out feeling incredibly paramount given the dent in proximity she'd created. Penny's admittance was something Lucy had figured out for herself already, but it was another thing completely to hear - and almost feel - that admittance. She thought to look at the hand on her arm, but she didn't. She couldn't look away.

"You're coming home with me." She corrected, the idea of it forcing herself to take a hectic breath. The thought of reaching that point in the night felt far too far out of reach, and as such it dragged a momentarily exhausted look to her eyes.