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you don't have to apologize for existing
just for being an asshole while you do
just for being an asshole while you do
if I ever owed you anything, I don't anymore
except when I was in the limelight I was fighting the bad guys
not my own family
not my own family
no
[It's the only honest answer there is, and she hates typing it out. Time to get another beer.]
but
[But what? But she could have had training, she could have learned to fight, she could have gone into bank robberies with them? She'd have probably died before Ben. Maybe instead of Ben. Maybe that's how it should have been all along.]
I'm sorry
[Apologizing for existing is kind of a hard habit to break at this point.]
[It's the only honest answer there is, and she hates typing it out. Time to get another beer.]
but
[But what? But she could have had training, she could have learned to fight, she could have gone into bank robberies with them? She'd have probably died before Ben. Maybe instead of Ben. Maybe that's how it should have been all along.]
I'm sorry
[Apologizing for existing is kind of a hard habit to break at this point.]
He can’t even remember the last time he was here.
The whole diner seems so much smaller and shabbier than before: Luther can notice the rips in the red-vinyl seats, the sticky patches on the floor, the stains on the booth tables. But the smell rockets him right back to the past as if the intervening years hadn’t happened: tar-black diner coffee, sweet confectioner’s sugar, fresh-baked donuts, sizzling bacon from the kitchen. Their feet swinging from the diner stools, not even reaching the floor—
He hadn’t ever thought he’d return with Vanya alone — that irreparable rift in the family ran too wide and too deep — but with Luther’s faith in their father shaken, there’s an opportunity. The promise of pancakes is small, inoffensive, safe. It’s not Mom’s pancakes either (those quiet hours with them tiptoeing down the stairs to the kitchen, voices hushed, children out of bed), but it’ll have to do.
When leaving the empty house, he still instinctively tiptoed across the foyer. Old habits die hard.
He’d crammed himself into the taxi (one of their brothers had borrowed dad’s car, he has no idea who and doesn’t much care anymore) and made it over quickly, so he’s already there, nursing a cup of coffee and trying to sober up by the time Vanya arrives. When the bell above the door chimes, Luther shoots a look at her slinking her way in. He can’t quite decide what to do with his expression; doesn’t smile to greet her, but doesn’t scowl either. He schools it into a wary nod instead, clutching a cup of coffee dwarfed by his hand. The other one half-rises in an awkward almost-wave, an acknowledgment of her presence.
“Hey.”
The whole diner seems so much smaller and shabbier than before: Luther can notice the rips in the red-vinyl seats, the sticky patches on the floor, the stains on the booth tables. But the smell rockets him right back to the past as if the intervening years hadn’t happened: tar-black diner coffee, sweet confectioner’s sugar, fresh-baked donuts, sizzling bacon from the kitchen. Their feet swinging from the diner stools, not even reaching the floor—
He hadn’t ever thought he’d return with Vanya alone — that irreparable rift in the family ran too wide and too deep — but with Luther’s faith in their father shaken, there’s an opportunity. The promise of pancakes is small, inoffensive, safe. It’s not Mom’s pancakes either (those quiet hours with them tiptoeing down the stairs to the kitchen, voices hushed, children out of bed), but it’ll have to do.
When leaving the empty house, he still instinctively tiptoed across the foyer. Old habits die hard.
He’d crammed himself into the taxi (one of their brothers had borrowed dad’s car, he has no idea who and doesn’t much care anymore) and made it over quickly, so he’s already there, nursing a cup of coffee and trying to sober up by the time Vanya arrives. When the bell above the door chimes, Luther shoots a look at her slinking her way in. He can’t quite decide what to do with his expression; doesn’t smile to greet her, but doesn’t scowl either. He schools it into a wary nod instead, clutching a cup of coffee dwarfed by his hand. The other one half-rises in an awkward almost-wave, an acknowledgment of her presence.
“Hey.”
The diner is closer to the academy than it is to Vanya's apartment: she figures he might get there before her, and tries to steel herself for what it will be like to walk in, searching the room for his broad shoulders. The effort doesn't really help, and when she gets out of the taxi, she finds herself hesitating outside.
Would it be terrible if she turned and caught the cab, asked the driver to bring her back home? Probably, but it can't be any more terrible than the things that have already driven them apart. What's one more log on the fire, right?
No, she's just being stupid. Vanya bites her lip and forces herself through the door. She spots him immediately, his bulk crammed into a booth, and though he doesn't smile, she makes the effort: the corners of her mouth tip upward, but it doesn't really go much further than that.
God, she should have had another beer before she left.
Pulling the scarf from around her neck, she heads for his table, hovering awkwardly at its edge for a moment before sitting across from him.
"Hey." Oh God, say something. She nods to his coffee. "Fresh, or burnt?"
Would it be terrible if she turned and caught the cab, asked the driver to bring her back home? Probably, but it can't be any more terrible than the things that have already driven them apart. What's one more log on the fire, right?
No, she's just being stupid. Vanya bites her lip and forces herself through the door. She spots him immediately, his bulk crammed into a booth, and though he doesn't smile, she makes the effort: the corners of her mouth tip upward, but it doesn't really go much further than that.
God, she should have had another beer before she left.
Pulling the scarf from around her neck, she heads for his table, hovering awkwardly at its edge for a moment before sitting across from him.
"Hey." Oh God, say something. She nods to his coffee. "Fresh, or burnt?"
Luther's so much clumsier these days, and he's a little relieved that Vanya hadn't been here to watch him trying to cram himself into the booth, the squeak and creak of vinyl as he tried to fit, as he accidentally bumped his first coffee mug with his elbow and sent it shattering to the floor. The waitress had just finished sweeping up all the pieces of ceramic.
"Burnt," Luther says, giving his verdict. Glances down into the depths of the stained mug; he remembers them as having been a clean white, but his memory tends to paint the past in rosy hues. "We never drank coffee back then, so I don't think I realised how shitty diner coffee actually was."
There's a lot of things he hadn't realised, back then. And of course Luther's still looking backwards; his usual wistful fixation on how things used to be, one foot permanently trapped in history. But tonight it's like he's finally, finally been jogged out of it, a train violently derailed from the track it's been following its whole life.
"You should have some anyway. It's okay with some milk and sugar." Despite how much he's been drinking (and how it loosens his tongue, makes him more likely to talk around her), he's still so very careful to keep his voice level and crisp, unslurred.
"Burnt," Luther says, giving his verdict. Glances down into the depths of the stained mug; he remembers them as having been a clean white, but his memory tends to paint the past in rosy hues. "We never drank coffee back then, so I don't think I realised how shitty diner coffee actually was."
There's a lot of things he hadn't realised, back then. And of course Luther's still looking backwards; his usual wistful fixation on how things used to be, one foot permanently trapped in history. But tonight it's like he's finally, finally been jogged out of it, a train violently derailed from the track it's been following its whole life.
"You should have some anyway. It's okay with some milk and sugar." Despite how much he's been drinking (and how it loosens his tongue, makes him more likely to talk around her), he's still so very careful to keep his voice level and crisp, unslurred.
Vanya smiles a little, just at the corner of her mouth. The past is anything but rosy in her memory, but there are small, bright spots: she came here with the others a couple of times, and ate themselves sick. She remembers that particular misery fondly - and, inevitably, finds herself wondering how many times they came out here without her, while she was at school, or even before she left--
Dwelling on the past will just keep her from moving forward. V is pretty sure her therapist told her that. It sounds like something a therapist would say.
Catching the waitress's eye, Vanya gestures to Luther's cup as a way of asking for her own. It shows shortly, and burnt or not, Vanya wraps her hands around it gratefully. She's still a little drunk herself.
"Think the donuts are as good as we remember?" She is trying, very hard, to hold onto the good things, keep those pieces bright and clear in her thoughts while she's here.
Dwelling on the past will just keep her from moving forward. V is pretty sure her therapist told her that. It sounds like something a therapist would say.
Catching the waitress's eye, Vanya gestures to Luther's cup as a way of asking for her own. It shows shortly, and burnt or not, Vanya wraps her hands around it gratefully. She's still a little drunk herself.
"Think the donuts are as good as we remember?" She is trying, very hard, to hold onto the good things, keep those pieces bright and clear in her thoughts while she's here.
"Probably not." There's that weary cynicism again. "But let's get some."
He waves vaguely at the waitress as she pours Vanya's coffee, then orders an assortment of donuts for the table. He still has no idea that Five was here just a couple days ago (although one of the windows is still boarded-up and there are bullet holes in the wall; he doesn't keep as close watch on the police scanners anymore, compared to Diego).
Then, with their orders put in, there's nothing left to do but actually look at each other, and meet each others' wary eye. Luther's mouth purses. She's been floating around their periphery more often lately, thanks to the funeral — and the memories of Vanya's book are faded enough, his initial anger and stinging wounded pride having retreated into the background compared to what Reginald had done. Perhaps she'd been onto something, after all.
Then: "How was school?" he blurts out.
—Yeah, okay, another sudden non-sequitur and a decade too late. But Luther's head is still spinning. Not sure how much of that is the booze, and how much of it is just... everything. But he's curious about this, suddenly, realising (far too late) what Reginald had robbed them all of.
"We weren't talking, so I never actually knew. How it was. How'd it go."
He waves vaguely at the waitress as she pours Vanya's coffee, then orders an assortment of donuts for the table. He still has no idea that Five was here just a couple days ago (although one of the windows is still boarded-up and there are bullet holes in the wall; he doesn't keep as close watch on the police scanners anymore, compared to Diego).
Then, with their orders put in, there's nothing left to do but actually look at each other, and meet each others' wary eye. Luther's mouth purses. She's been floating around their periphery more often lately, thanks to the funeral — and the memories of Vanya's book are faded enough, his initial anger and stinging wounded pride having retreated into the background compared to what Reginald had done. Perhaps she'd been onto something, after all.
Then: "How was school?" he blurts out.
—Yeah, okay, another sudden non-sequitur and a decade too late. But Luther's head is still spinning. Not sure how much of that is the booze, and how much of it is just... everything. But he's curious about this, suddenly, realising (far too late) what Reginald had robbed them all of.
"We weren't talking, so I never actually knew. How it was. How'd it go."
Of anything he could have said - anything in the whole wide world of things that could be said between them - that is not what V expected. It shows on her face, eyebrows ticking up while her gaze stays blankly surprised. She feels like she could stay that way until the donuts come, maybe use those as a different talking point - but the opportunity won't come quickly enough, and she knows that avoiding teh question would just make things more awkward than staring across a booth at each other.
She sips at her coffee to give herself a moment - burnt, he was right - and then uses adding creamer as an excuse to not look directly at him while she answers.
"It was school." Except, he doesn't have the background to know what that really means. Vanya lets a breath out into her cup, finally looks up at him again.
"High school was awful. I mean it was--" She shakes her head, turning to watch for the donuts; it helps keep some of those old bad memories at bay. "All my transcripts said Number Seven on them. That's how they introduced me in my first class. It was as mall school, so - same kids, same classes, for the next four years. It kind of sucked, but--"
But at least it wasn't home. She bites her tongue before that can come out, thankfully, just in time for the donuts Luther ordered to arrive. "And college - I don't know, maybe you meant that - college was better. Nothing really...stood out." Just like her. Even her series of firsts - boyfriend, date, drink, all of that was just a mute gray palette, painting her background. Vanya peers up at him, pulling a jelly donut from the pile.
"You really want to know about school?"
She sips at her coffee to give herself a moment - burnt, he was right - and then uses adding creamer as an excuse to not look directly at him while she answers.
"It was school." Except, he doesn't have the background to know what that really means. Vanya lets a breath out into her cup, finally looks up at him again.
"High school was awful. I mean it was--" She shakes her head, turning to watch for the donuts; it helps keep some of those old bad memories at bay. "All my transcripts said Number Seven on them. That's how they introduced me in my first class. It was as mall school, so - same kids, same classes, for the next four years. It kind of sucked, but--"
But at least it wasn't home. She bites her tongue before that can come out, thankfully, just in time for the donuts Luther ordered to arrive. "And college - I don't know, maybe you meant that - college was better. Nothing really...stood out." Just like her. Even her series of firsts - boyfriend, date, drink, all of that was just a mute gray palette, painting her background. Vanya peers up at him, pulling a jelly donut from the pile.
"You really want to know about school?"
“I don’t know,” Luther admits. Honest, at least, in this simple confusion. Disorientation. He’s staring down at the table as he absentmindedly shreds off a piece of donut, pops it in his mouth. Chews. It tastes absolutely delicious, but that might just be because he’s still drunk. He’s going to order pancakes in a moment, too, because he’s ravenous and his metabolism’s always been a wild thing, even before… this, what he is now.
“There’s just a lot of things I’m looking back on and thinking about how the rest of us never had it, and— school was. One of them.” I never had any friends. Not one friend. It’s a strange sinking realisation down to the soles of his feet, that Vanya’s seen more of the world than he has, lived more than he has. (Not knowing, of course, how gray and dulled those experiences had been. Reginald took that from her, too.)
“Not that I’m saying you had it better,” he cuts in quickly, his words looser and quicker now, desperate to not put his foot in his mouth. (He is so very good at doing that.) “Just that I… I don’t know, I understand better now, though it took me a while. A long fucking while.” A strangled laugh in the back of his throat.
This really isn’t the Luther she’s used to seeing: he’s unpinned, untethered, miserable. But that, at least, means he’s closer to getting it than he’s ever been.
“There’s just a lot of things I’m looking back on and thinking about how the rest of us never had it, and— school was. One of them.” I never had any friends. Not one friend. It’s a strange sinking realisation down to the soles of his feet, that Vanya’s seen more of the world than he has, lived more than he has. (Not knowing, of course, how gray and dulled those experiences had been. Reginald took that from her, too.)
“Not that I’m saying you had it better,” he cuts in quickly, his words looser and quicker now, desperate to not put his foot in his mouth. (He is so very good at doing that.) “Just that I… I don’t know, I understand better now, though it took me a while. A long fucking while.” A strangled laugh in the back of his throat.
This really isn’t the Luther she’s used to seeing: he’s unpinned, untethered, miserable. But that, at least, means he’s closer to getting it than he’s ever been.
She is reasonably certain he could eat a couple doughnuts whole and she would probably struggle holding two in one hand. But it was always a little like that, even when he wasn't...well, closer to Pogo than he used to be. This is just part of being as strong as he is, she always figured that.
A strange sensation settles over her, annoyed and vaguely guilty and entirely unsure as to how to process it: why is she annoyed, that - God, is he saying that he'd rather have high school than the Academy? Rather have being talked about behind his back than being a part of something bigger, or--
No, he's not saying that, at least not exactly, and Vanya hides her exhale with a quick drink from her mug. It needs more sugar, and that gives her something else to be busy with. Something besides him to focus on, so she can process what he has to say without staring him in the face. Without, more accurately, worrying that he'll read what she thinks on her face.
Did she always take so long to reply? It feels like she's biting her tongue, now, trying to hold onto words she wants to say, words that might hurt him. It's an odd battle, not wanting to pour salt in his wounds but being so incredibly tired of not saying what she wants to, when she wants to, for fear of saying the wrong thing. It's not that different from his quick corrections, really, and V finally lets out a long breath.
"Well I would have traded with you any day, so. Maybe it took me longer to figure out than you thought."
A strange sensation settles over her, annoyed and vaguely guilty and entirely unsure as to how to process it: why is she annoyed, that - God, is he saying that he'd rather have high school than the Academy? Rather have being talked about behind his back than being a part of something bigger, or--
No, he's not saying that, at least not exactly, and Vanya hides her exhale with a quick drink from her mug. It needs more sugar, and that gives her something else to be busy with. Something besides him to focus on, so she can process what he has to say without staring him in the face. Without, more accurately, worrying that he'll read what she thinks on her face.
Did she always take so long to reply? It feels like she's biting her tongue, now, trying to hold onto words she wants to say, words that might hurt him. It's an odd battle, not wanting to pour salt in his wounds but being so incredibly tired of not saying what she wants to, when she wants to, for fear of saying the wrong thing. It's not that different from his quick corrections, really, and V finally lets out a long breath.
"Well I would have traded with you any day, so. Maybe it took me longer to figure out than you thought."
"--Huh," Luther says after a beat, and that little stopgap showcases his own struggle to find the right words. It's hard. He can't quite remember how they used to talk; he could count on both hands, probably, the sheer number of times that Numbers One and Seven actually hung out together one-on-one. They were divided by such a stark and glaring gap, father's favourite and the least, the largest and the smallest, supposed most- and least-useful. Sheer opposites. She had been such a tiny wisp of a thing (still was): to be protected, to be kept out of the fray, guarded from the Academy's missions even if it meant shutting her out. He'd never wanted anything bad to happen to her.
But that didn't mean, of course, that he knew how to talk to her. Or confide in her.
(But they're trying.)
"When did you realise?" he asks. Flags down the waitress again, puts in his order for a double-stack of pancakes, gestures at Vanya to order anything she wants, too. "That he was an asshole."
Because there had been all those years that she'd trailed along in their wake, Sir Reginald's quiet shadow, clipboard in hand. Like the world's smallest personal assistant. Luther can't pinpoint when that shifted, because of course he hadn't been paying close enough attention. Back in their teenaged years, it had just felt like he'd blinked and looked up only when everything was already fracturing between the siblings, late, too late, too late for any of them.
But that didn't mean, of course, that he knew how to talk to her. Or confide in her.
(But they're trying.)
"When did you realise?" he asks. Flags down the waitress again, puts in his order for a double-stack of pancakes, gestures at Vanya to order anything she wants, too. "That he was an asshole."
Because there had been all those years that she'd trailed along in their wake, Sir Reginald's quiet shadow, clipboard in hand. Like the world's smallest personal assistant. Luther can't pinpoint when that shifted, because of course he hadn't been paying close enough attention. Back in their teenaged years, it had just felt like he'd blinked and looked up only when everything was already fracturing between the siblings, late, too late, too late for any of them.
There haven't been a lot of people in Vanya's life that she could talk to, and fewer she could confide in. Pogo, really, and Mom, at least while she was still at the Academy. After Dad sent her to school, what few connections she had just seemed to dissolve out from under her.
That's not fair, really: it takes two to make a relationship. Or ruin it. She didn't try.
"God," she says, lets it out like a tired laugh. Her buzz is fading, and she can't remember if they have a liquor license, here. Probably best not to ask. "I don't know." She pauses long enough to order - a bagel and cream cheese, because Vanya's never been much of a big eater, just another way they were different - and when their waitress leaves again, she slouches back in her seat.
"I think," and it starts slow, because this is something she hasn't touched since she last saw her therapist, a little under five years ago: "I think after he told the news he only adopted the six of you."
That was early days, though, and feeling the first hint of something awful coming doesn't mean you know enough to get out of its way. "But for a while I just...convinced myself that if I was good enough at anything, he'd come around." She reaches instinctively for her pocket, where there's usually her pill bottle; but she's been unexpectedly out of them, hasn't had the time (or energy) to get a refill. She wishes she had, now: it would make this conversation a lot easier.
That's not fair, really: it takes two to make a relationship. Or ruin it. She didn't try.
"God," she says, lets it out like a tired laugh. Her buzz is fading, and she can't remember if they have a liquor license, here. Probably best not to ask. "I don't know." She pauses long enough to order - a bagel and cream cheese, because Vanya's never been much of a big eater, just another way they were different - and when their waitress leaves again, she slouches back in her seat.
"I think," and it starts slow, because this is something she hasn't touched since she last saw her therapist, a little under five years ago: "I think after he told the news he only adopted the six of you."
That was early days, though, and feeling the first hint of something awful coming doesn't mean you know enough to get out of its way. "But for a while I just...convinced myself that if I was good enough at anything, he'd come around." She reaches instinctively for her pocket, where there's usually her pill bottle; but she's been unexpectedly out of them, hasn't had the time (or energy) to get a refill. She wishes she had, now: it would make this conversation a lot easier.
Luther had written Vanya off so often and for so long -- as someone too different from him, unapproachable, a particular lost cause after her book -- but that last sentence is like a little sliver working its way under his skin and he actually laughs a gruff laugh, startled. By that odd synchronicity. Like catching a glimpse of your reflection out of the corner of your eye, when you're not expecting it.
"Convinced myself that if I was good at everything, he'd come around. You know what? Me. Too." His voice gets harder on those last two words, as if driving the point in. Furious. Not at her. At Reginald, for once.
"I know I was Number One, I know, I get it, but -- you could've described me, just then." They'd all been pitted against each other, jockeying for their father's favour. It had only gotten worse after the rest of them had all left, and Luther had been the only lightning rod left to catch Reginald's displeasure, his impossible standards, trying to fulfil six-man missions on his own. Christ.
He's been looking at Vanya too long (why had it taken him so long to realise they were more alike than anyone ever could've expected?). Luther busies himself with his coffee again, before it can drag, become uncomfortable.
"Convinced myself that if I was good at everything, he'd come around. You know what? Me. Too." His voice gets harder on those last two words, as if driving the point in. Furious. Not at her. At Reginald, for once.
"I know I was Number One, I know, I get it, but -- you could've described me, just then." They'd all been pitted against each other, jockeying for their father's favour. It had only gotten worse after the rest of them had all left, and Luther had been the only lightning rod left to catch Reginald's displeasure, his impossible standards, trying to fulfil six-man missions on his own. Christ.
He's been looking at Vanya too long (why had it taken him so long to realise they were more alike than anyone ever could've expected?). Luther busies himself with his coffee again, before it can drag, become uncomfortable.
His laugh surprises her, but the hardness in his voice makes her withdraw, just a little. Not scared, not of him or any of their siblings, ever - but any hint of anger is enough when you've trained yourself to be wary of disappointment and anything close to it.
But he's not angry at her, at least, she's pretty sure of that. (She needs to get her pills refilled.) So she gives him a small smile, and hears him out, tries to hear past all the things she wants to say - about sitting here with him, talking about Dad, about this, and why didn't they do it sooner--
That's just the very last of her buzz, she thinks, and exhales slowly. Everything is uncomfortable for her, and it's always been like that: she notices him watching her a second in, and fiddles with her coffee cup, because holding his gaze is too much to ask without some of her medication to fall back on. When she realizes he's finished, she breathes out a laugh, as apologetic as his was gruff.
"I just always figured you were his favorite."
But he's not angry at her, at least, she's pretty sure of that. (She needs to get her pills refilled.) So she gives him a small smile, and hears him out, tries to hear past all the things she wants to say - about sitting here with him, talking about Dad, about this, and why didn't they do it sooner--
That's just the very last of her buzz, she thinks, and exhales slowly. Everything is uncomfortable for her, and it's always been like that: she notices him watching her a second in, and fiddles with her coffee cup, because holding his gaze is too much to ask without some of her medication to fall back on. When she realizes he's finished, she breathes out a laugh, as apologetic as his was gruff.
"I just always figured you were his favorite."
He'd already made his way through so many bottles to even make a dent in someone his size, with his durability and metabolism, but the coffee and food is helping him sober up, too. Clarifying some of that muzzy angry blur from earlier in the evening, leaving him cold and exhausted.
"I was," he says, "but turns out that doesn't actually count for much."
Because if so, who sends away their favourite like that? Like a broken toy that's immediately discarded, packed away in a box and shoved out of sight. A prize horse shot after breaking a leg. No longer of use.
"I'm sorry we left you out of things." It's a sudden blurting-out, so many years too late. "It was-- I remember thinking it was for your own good. For your safety. He always told us you couldn't keep up, that you couldn't be on the team. I got blinded by that, I think." Obedience was so hardwired in him; he hadn't even thought of defying or contradicting Sir Reginald's opinion back in those days. Wouldn't have dreamt of it.
"I was," he says, "but turns out that doesn't actually count for much."
Because if so, who sends away their favourite like that? Like a broken toy that's immediately discarded, packed away in a box and shoved out of sight. A prize horse shot after breaking a leg. No longer of use.
"I'm sorry we left you out of things." It's a sudden blurting-out, so many years too late. "It was-- I remember thinking it was for your own good. For your safety. He always told us you couldn't keep up, that you couldn't be on the team. I got blinded by that, I think." Obedience was so hardwired in him; he hadn't even thought of defying or contradicting Sir Reginald's opinion back in those days. Wouldn't have dreamt of it.
The awkwardness of it - of him pointing out that being his favorite did Luther no favors, and Vanya struggling to believe that based on how she remembers their childhood - makes her fall silent. She cups her coffee, staring into its depths like there's some secret answer in there. How To Talk to Your Siblings, a life lesson from caffeine. She's pretty sure she'd be better off with a beer for that.
When the apology comes tumbling out, though, Vanya jerks her head up to stare at him again. She presses the tips of her fingertips hard into the side of the mug, feels her knuckles ache with the stiffness and doesn't stop.
"You think?"
It's all she can drag out, at first, struggling to find - if not the right words, then at least better words. She hates how this feels, so stiff it's like she's perched on the edge of a cliff staring straight down, but so appeased by just one apology, just one little I'm sorry. She wanted to hear those words for years, and though she wants to say it's too late now, it's not. And the fact that it's not leaves her at war with herself.
"You weren't keeping me safe by not asking me to play games with you."
When the apology comes tumbling out, though, Vanya jerks her head up to stare at him again. She presses the tips of her fingertips hard into the side of the mug, feels her knuckles ache with the stiffness and doesn't stop.
"You think?"
It's all she can drag out, at first, struggling to find - if not the right words, then at least better words. She hates how this feels, so stiff it's like she's perched on the edge of a cliff staring straight down, but so appeased by just one apology, just one little I'm sorry. She wanted to hear those words for years, and though she wants to say it's too late now, it's not. And the fact that it's not leaves her at war with herself.
"You weren't keeping me safe by not asking me to play games with you."
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