z. s. luther {javert} (![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} sentinelstar) wrote in ![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} bellumlogs,@ 2010-07-28 00:21:00 |
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Who: Luther and Joanie
What: The Aftermath
Where: Charleston, South Carolina
When: July 27th
Warnings: Crying, angst, heartstrings getting pulled hard enough to snap, and possibly swearing.
The wonderful unconsciousness that Joanie had slipped into was ripped apart by a sound. It was a very specific sound, singular in its origin. There was only one creature on this planet that could make such a racket at that specific pitch and hold it for so long.
"MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!"
It was the natural cry of the Wild Seven-Year-Old, supported by the shrieks of his little sister. Even as she was hovering on the edge of consciousness, Joanie cringed, trying to move and realizing that her muscles were too stiff to comply nicely. She had to fight to open her eyes, then fight again to move her arm. Her baby blues focused on nothing for a moment, staring up at the sky before the face of a little girl consumed her vision. Her strawberry blonde hair was cut short, brushing her petite chin as she looked down at Joanie. For a moment, the witch wanted to swat her away, but she was stopped by five little fingers on her forehead. They were gentle, but their light pressure still stung the blue-black bruise that had formed there.
"Are you okay, lady?" the little girl asked quietly. When Joanie didn't reply, she knelt by her side. "You have a boo-boo. My mama has a band-aid in her purse she can let you borrow."
Cringing, Joanie fought the urge to snap the adorable little child's fingers off. "No," she whispered. "No, I don't need a band-aid. I'm fine."
Just as she was about to tell the little angel to shut her brother up, the mother hen arrived. She was tall and big, her face consumed by shock and horror. "Oh my...oh my Lord!" Her gaze paused on Joanie before moving behind her, falling on what she could only guess was Luther. Suddenly, her heart was racing. Where was he? How was he? As she struggled to sit, the woman waved to her children. "Parker! Chloe, get away from there! Come here, babies, come here!" They obeyed their mother, standing behind her as Joanie slowly stood. Her back was on fire. Resisting the urge to claw at it, she ignored the woman outright and turned, crawling on all fours up the bridge.
"Luther," she whispered, eyes filling with tears as she saw him. Even when he was unconscious, she could see that his left hand was messed up. She had done that to him. Biting her lower lip, she approached him, sitting by his side and surveying his face. His eye was surrounded by a deep bruise - a bruise she gave him - and he looked almost dead. Her chest tightened, and she grabbed his right hand, holding it between hers. "Luther?" Clenching her jaw, she rubbed his hand briskly. "Luther, wake up. Luther. Wake up, wake up please."
As she bent over her friend, she could hear some noise in the background. She glanced down at the people standing by the bridge, finding they had an audience consisting of the woman, her two children, and a teenaged couple. The mother stared at them blankly, face consumed by horror. For a long moment, nothing happened. Finally, the teenage girl pulled out her cell phone. "Jesus Christ," she drawled, eyes wide. "I'm gettin' a goddamn ambulance." As the call went through, she pulled away from them, turning her back on the bridge as she spoke to the operator.
But all of this was white noise to Joanie. She was focused on the unconscious man before her. "Wake up," she begged. "Please, please wake up."
The voices didn’t pull Luther from unconsciousness, but the slight tugging on his right hand. The pain as his hand was rubbed and tugged at slowly made him aware of the pain in the rest of his body. Without opening his eyes or being fully awake, he could take note of his injuries – bruises throughout his body, noticeably on his legs and his left arm. His left wrist was sprained and the old stab wound had flared up again. A low groan escaped him as voices pierced through things, sending a ringing sound throughout his ears – he’d been hit there, with an arm shaped like a whip. He could feel it.
Voices couldn’t be registered for what they were or who they belonged to. He grimaced, attempting to open his eyes as he tried to remember how he’d been given the beating of his life. The pain as he attempted to open his right eye was enough. Swollen shut, even the hint of sunlight that came through the bottom of the lid was piercing. His left eye opened though, taking in Joanie’s blue and black bruise as she cried over him.
Everything came then and he knew. Javert’s memories and his own were the same. This time he hadn’t been in the backseat – Javert had been on the only person there, like in Russia. He took a sharp intake of breath, before pulling his right hand from Joanie’s. How the fuck could she approach him? The look he shot her was of pure guilt as Javert’s memories welled up. That feeling of wanting her dead, killing her…
…it still felt feasible. It made sense. He knew why Javert did it.
Luther swallowed, his spit tasting off. A tongue poked at the teeth in his mouth and a few moved as he did so. Nothing in comparison to what he’d done to Joanie, sliced her back and nearly thrown her over the bridge, punched her and put a knife to her neck… Luther shut his eyes feeling something unfamiliar overcome him. A heavy feeling and a catching of his breath – he couldn’t breathe properly, not with this feeling overtaking him. He could only think to push away from Joanie, using his right hand and leg to attempt to get up.
Though she had been bent over him, praying that he'd wake up, Joanie suddenly felt a flash of terror run through her when he did. Seeing his left eye open, feeling it watching her, made her blood run cold. As he pulled his hand from her, she scrambled backwards, momentarily looking like a beaten puppy. He was alive, yes - but was he Luther? Could Javert still be there?
She propelled herself back to the opposite end of the bridge, her back resting painfully against the slats in the railing though she didn't notice at first. Linking her fingers together, she balled up, feeling it all wash over her in one wave.
It was like living it again as she thought back on it all. The chase through her neighborhood, the sound of the gun shots at her back, the chokehold on the football field, the knife against her throat in the school. They were all in her mind, all fresh, and all oppressing her. When it happened, she lived in the moment. The past was forgotten to make room for thinking about the present. But now? She could think. Think back.
She watched him with a mixture of guilt and fear, the tears starting to flow down her cheeks as her chest heaved. The teenage girl that had called the ambulance approached her, resting a hand on her shoulder. "You're gonna be okay, hon," she said. The second her fingers landed on Joanie's shoulder, the pale witch jerked away, crying harder. The girl looked back at her boyfriend in confusion before taking a seat several feet to Joanie's left, content to wait for the ambulance to arrive.
Luther pushed himself away as best he could. The other people were faintly registered with his good idea, but they seemed less keen to help the man who'd beaten up the girl than the girl who'd beaten up the man. Good. They shouldn't have - she was the innocent, even if... He grimaced shutting his eyes as he made it half-way across the bridge.
It hadn't been this bad before - Javert had made sense but there wasn't this remnant feelings. Joanie was a Witch, there was no denying it - but there wasn't anything wrong with being a witch now. It wasn't illegal, it was simply what she was... and it made sense for Javert to want to kill her as the law said they were evil. The conundrum of it made his head ache worse than it already did.
As he heard Joanie start crying, he pulled his left arm into his lap. Something stung at his eyes, but it couldn't be tears. He didn't cry, there wasn't a reason to - he hadn't even cried as a child when he'd been teased for his name. He took a deep shaky breath in that made his ribcage ache. "God damn it," he muttered at last, voice hoarse and sore. Javert had screamed too much the night before.
After what felt like a century, three paramedics arrived at the bridge. Two went to Luther, giving his wrist and eye a cursory examination before helping him to his feet. The third stood with Joanie. By then, she was crying too hard to see straight, and reluctantly leaned against the woman in uniform as she was lead back to the ambulance.
They were loaded inside and examined as the vehicle took off. The female paramedic sat with Joanie, examining her back. "What happened?" she asked, looking between the two patients.
Hissing, Joanie clapped a hand to her mouth. "Mugged," she choked out. "Four guys. Hoodies. Beat us up." She took a long sniff, hunching forward as the woman trailed her fingers over her back. "Didn't get a good look at them." She shook her head, leaning against the side of the ambulance. "Too dark."
Before long, they reached the hospital and were taken to the ER. They were seated on adjacent beds to wait for a few minutes, left to their own devices for the moment. Still wearing her ripped tank top and shorts, Joanie curled up with her knees under her chin, looking over at Luther with red, puffy eyes. "I'm sorry," she whispered, choking up again. "I'm so sorry."
Luther didn't fight as the paramedics came. He'd been on the opposite side of too many crime scenes to cause a fuss. He kept quiet, indicating his throat was bothering him as well as they tried to ask what happened - he had no answer for them that he could give. He still refused to look at Joanie as they rode in the ambulance, not even giving a smile of thanks as she gave the explanation. He merely stared at the wall, allowing the male paramedic to treat his eye.
The hospital was no different from any other he'd been in, though it had been awhile since he'd had to be checked in himself. Bellum and the Full Moon had also been a reason before - but he'd checked himself in. The E.R. had been necessary only because he waited too long to deal with his leg. The only difference was that he was responsible for the bruises and cut on the woman next to him - one he couldn't bring himself to look at.
Her apologies startled him enough to glance at her. Seeing her colorful face made his stomach clench. He knew and could feel that he didn't look any better, especially with his right eye swollen shut like Quasimodo (wrong Hugo a distant part of his mind thought before it was shoved aside). But it didn't change his guilt. "Don't be," he rasped out. He moved his eyes away from her, staring at his scuffed boots that were empty of their usual knives. A good thing as they would make the connection between what was on her back if he had them. "It wasn't your fault. You-" He took a deep breath, before shaking his head. "You did a very good job."
Curling forward against her thighs hurt her back, but she didn't care. It was nice and safe. It was a little hiding hole where she could forget about everything outside. She was safe from questions, from her parents' demands, from Sam's inevitable explosion when he found out. Just surviving that night had been a miracle, but now she had to deal with the fallout.
For a few seconds there, she was afraid that she wouldn't be able to.
Hearing Luther's response silenced her sobs for the moment, and she looked over at him with wary eyes. The second the words came out, she let out a sharp laugh that was no humor and all panic. It was a nervous laugh, something she did because she had literally no other response.
"Good job?" she joked, eyes flooding with tears. "Look at your wrist. And your eye." She sniffed and huffed before breaking down into fresh sobs. The worst of it wasn't just that he had gotten hurt. It was that by the end, as they reached the bridge, she didn't even see him as Luther. He was Javert. And she had enjoyed punching his face in.
Luther didn't look back at her, inspecting his currently stabilized wrist and the other hand. Both were equally bruised and a bite mark was on his right hand - good, she'd fought back. As she began to cry again, he sighed. There wasn't a way to keep talking to her - not with what he'd done and how he still felt.
The Law was right, the Law was never wrong, even if it had contradicted himself over the years...
An unfamiliar sound game from him - in anyone else it might have been called a whimper. He shut his eyes tried to not think of it. It didn't help, the same circular train of thoughts began again. His body began to shake and he had to bite his lip to keep the sound from escaping again. "You - You did the right thing. You should have done worse-"
And he remembered what she'd told Javert and how much she admired him. That only made things worse as he groaned. Javert was right - no, he was wrong, he'd tried to kill Joanie - Joanie was right - but Javert had his reasoning - "I don't know," he said suddenly, hoarsely. "I don't know - oh fuck-" Tears began to fall then, leaking from his bruised eye and his good one. He turned away from her, not wanting her to see or the doctors when they came in.
Though the tears made everything difficult to see - cloudy and starry - she focused on him, unable to look away. The way he barely looked at her, the way he turned away, made her feel a thousand times worse. Her nails prickled her bruised legs as she leaned her cheek against her knee.
"I shouldn't have," she sniffed, shaking her head against her leg. "No, I should've...I should've stayed away..." She started reviewing every confrontation in her head, every fight, and finding what she did wrong that lead to it. If she had been faster, if she had been quicker, if she had taken the right shortcuts, she could have kept him on the run all night. And then they wouldn't be hurt.
Her chest tightened as she caught a glimpse of a tear on his cheek, and she burst out in hysterics at that. "I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry," she repeated, the words feeling foul and wrong in her mouth the more she said them. They were ugly words, misshapen words. Gagging, she buried her face between her knees and sobbed into them.
Only the gentle touch of fingers on her back startled her out of her cocoon, and she instinctively swung an arm out in self-defense. She caught the doctor in the shoulder, causing him to jump back in surprise. "It's okay," he soothed, moving to stand in her view. "I need you to put this on," he said, holding up a hospital gown. "That cut on your back is going to need stitches."
If she was holding together, she collapsed at that. Between sobs and gasps, she glanced to Luther as a nurse inspected his splinted wrist. "Wh-what's gonna happen to-to my friend?" she demanded, wiping her eyes with a dirty hand.
"We'll get him an X-Ray. Now, please put this on."
Reluctantly, she slipped down to stand on her own two feet, taking the gown. With a final glance to Luther, she tensed. "Don't leave without me," she begged before walking stiffly to the bathroom to change.
Luther's whole body shook as he began to cry. He'd screwed up, no matter what Joanie had said - she was the innocent party - she was, even if Javert - no, she needed to die and be gotten rid of. Luther shut his eyes, her apologies making things worse. She had no business apologizing, even the part of him that understood Javert agreed with that. "Don't-" He could barely get it out, bending over into a shaking mess. "Don't be sorry, please it-"
He couldn't go on and remained as he was, feeling hulking and stupid as he cried next to her. The nurse coming in barely made things worse as he took a shaky breath. It only temporarily stopped his tears as he held out his wrist to her. Even the slight touch made him wince. She clucked her tongue, shaking her head and getting him a gown as well. He ignored Joanie - her calling him a friend - as he slowly shook his head.
He wasn't any friend of hers. Couldn't she see that?
Luther took the gown, not even listening to the nurse began to ask how certain things felt. She was tuned out as Joanie begged him to stay. His teary look of disbelief couldn't be helped as she left. He'd done that to her, simply by not locking Javert away - even if Javert was right, he was a good man who did the-
"When can I go in?" he asked hoarsely. He needed to get away from Joanie, he needed to get out of here - he couldn't think straight. "I can't wait for her, I can't - I-"
The nurse exchanged a glance with the doctor before helping him down. An arm was carefully given as they left the room and down the hall. Each step was agony but it was better than staying in there with her.
Without a watch, Joanie wasn't able to tell how much time had passed after she and Luther were separated. She spent the whole time staring at a blank wall while she was laying on her stomach, trying desperately to not cry again. Her gown had been undone in the back and spread open so that she could be stitched up. The wound was cleaned thoroughly - read: painfully - before the doctor very carefully marched a series of stitches from one shoulder blade to the other. After the procedure was done, she was allowed to wash her face off before a nurse escorted her to a recovery room.
She had her own bed, a white cot that she had destroyed the instant she sat on it. The sheets were ripped off and bunched around her legs like a cocoon, with the slightly warmer blanket wrapped around her shoulders like a shawl. She hunched forward, holding the pillow between her chest and knees, and looked about the room with distrustful wariness.
Though her family hadn't arrived yet, she knew they would soon. Charleston was a big city, but her dad seemed to know everybody in it. He operated a very nice hotel, which meant that a large number of people were his customers. It was only a matter of time before somebody recognized little miss Joanie Wicker and called big daddy Wicker. Plus, this was the same hospital he had been checked in earlier.
Digging her fingers into her pillow, she watched the entrance of the room like a hawk. She had to see Luther. She had to see if he was okay. Though she still had to fight the anger and fear, she couldn't just abandon him because of this. He still meant something. He was still important.
Luther's wrist turned out as sprained. He wasn't relieved by this - he merely nodded when they said he was lucky it wasn't broken. Given a brace for now, they asked if there was anything else worth noting. His leg was explained as a previous injury, only aggravated now and after a pause he explained the whip-like smack he'd been given. Hearing seemed alright, but the results didn't look that good. They gave him a haircut, strictly medical to keep his hair away from his eye and the scratches he had - less chance of infection.
Otherwise, they recommended rest. He knew the drill well enough and managed to focus on these injuries instead and the procedures. This was normal, this didn't change because-
He shoved that from his mind, following a nurse to his recovery room. Luther didn't pay much attention to him, other than leaning on him as his leg flared up again. the door opened and he limped inside, the nurse greeting the girl to the left and saying they'd alerted her parents, as he'd taken care of Patrick Wicker last week...
Luther turned, nearly stumbling as he did so. His face fell as he realized he was sharing a room with her. The doctors of course would think that was necessary but it was the last thing he wanted. His mouth moved soundlessly for a few moments until the nurse ushered him to the bed. Luther made no protest, dragging his eyes from Joanie to stare out the window. The nurse left, leaving them with the heavy silence.
Hearing a sound at the doorway, Joanie straightened up, expression anticipating. When she saw Luther and a nurse, she clenched nervously but didn't withdraw. Though his face brought back the sensation of her fist in his eye and the triumph she had felt mingled with the fear as he pressed a knife to her throat, she was glad to see him. It meant that he was, at the very least, alive.
That was good enough for her.
After the nurse left, she stayed quiet for a moment, watching him. She was a bundle of white sheets, bent in on itself like a little hunchback caterpillar. "How's your wrist?" she asked softly. Though her face was multicolored and ashy, she hadn't cried for a little while. Her eyes were puffy, but she didn't feel any tears in them now. She was dry for the moment, it seemed.
Luther didn't go under the sheets, merely lying down flat on the cot. His back killed from how often he'd landed on it the evening before, but going on his side was worse. Switching to his back from his left side, he looked up at the crumbling ceiling. Apparently the place was in need of reservations. How quaint. That was definitely more important than....
"Sprained." Voice was still sore and he couldn't look at her. He wasn't crying now either, thankfully though he was a mess. "Your back?"
As he laid down, she leaned forward slightly to watch him. Her hair was piled up in a bun, the sweat and dirt in it from the night prior helping to hold it like some sort of slipshod hairspray.
When he replied, she cringed. She had sprained his wrist. She had given her best friend a black eye and then sprained his wrist. She was evil. Sighing, she rested her chin on her knees. "Stitches," she said lightly. "Looks like Frankenstein." It was an attempt at a joke, but she didn't so much as smile.
After a few moments, she looked down at her feet. "It was four guys in hoodies, hoods up. We didn't get a look at them in the dark, but one was black and the rest were white." Though she was shaken, she had enough presence of mind to not blatantly admit that they were lying about what happened. "Since you got punched in the eye early on, you didn't see much. If anyone asks, I can do the talking since I saw more."
If they weren't in the situation they were in, Luther would have made a crack about Frankenstein and being green. But his heart wasn't in it and he let out a low sigh, staring at the ceiling again. He couldn't remember slicing her and how good it felt - seeing her blood and knowing that she could die, wasn't invincible and could bleed... Luther shuddered, his right hand moving up to ghost over his face.
"Alright." That worked well enough. No one would believe the truth anyhow - Bellum would even go against them and find... There was a sharp intake of breath as he winced. They already thought Javert a villain for shooting at her. He was so stupid, he should have remembered the moon, he should never have gone near Joanie, he should have seen this coming...
The room was consumed by silence for a long time. Several times, Joanie tried to break it, and every time she didn't bother. What was there to say? So they sat like this, Joanie looking around the room tiredly while Luther seemed to look everywhere but her.
After what felt like a lifetime, there was a small explosion in the doorway as her mother and father burst into the room. At first, Joanie didn't even speak. She just stared at them, eyes dull, when her mother broke the silence.
It was a string of Hebrew that was too fast for Joanie to catch, a bunch of words that she wasn't even sure existed. It was as if grief was her own language as she rushed to Joanie's side, flinging her arms around her daughter and clutching her to her chest. Joanie gripped her mother's shoulder as she looked dully at her father, trying to say something but unable to find the words.
"I want to know what the hell's gone on here," Patrick blustered. "Once they release you, Joanie, you'n your friend are both comin' down to the police station so we can get these four scumbags caught."
Raising her voice over the stream-of-consciousness Hebrew pouring from her mother's lips, Joanie waved a hand weakly. "Dad, it's fine."
"It is not fine!" His face began to flush as he paced between Joanie's bed and Luther's. "This is gettin' figured out today. No daughter of mine gets beat up without justice being served."
Joanie looked hopelessly to Luther, wishing she could shut her father up.
"Luther, did you have any family you'd like to talk to?" Patrick asked, pulling out his cell phone. "You can use my phone, boy, I don't mind at all."
Luther should have expected Joanie's family - the nurse had mentioned they were on their way - but they still surprised him. His eyes went up as he saw them and a dead feeling took over him. Watching a family reunite after a crime was familiar - being responsible for it was different.
A hand went to his mouth, wiping at it as they talked about justice being served. Fuck. No. Javert had done the right thing, he'd thought he was doing the right thing - he was a man of the Law, he didn't need justice because he was serving it... even as it was entirely wrong. He couldn't look at Joanie only glancing up as Patrick offered his cell phone.
For the first time since that evening, Luther laughed. It was hoarse and terrible and he shook his head, unable to help the near-hysterics. No. The last thing he needed was to talk to anyone. Rodriguez was in a nursing home and Luther barely kept in contact with him anymore - a phone call each month. His father had never existed and his mother was probably dead. The only person he would ever have notified if he was hurt was in the bed next to him and he'd been responsible for it.
As Joanie stared at Luther, she expected him to withdraw. She expected him to pull back or deny or do something along those lines. The last thing she expected was laughter. Her eyes were wide, horrified, as she watched him laugh and laugh as he refused the cell phone.
Her mother's incessant Hebrew stopped, and all eyes were on the officer as he guffawed away in his bed.
"Mom," Joanie said softly, biting her lower lip. "Dad. I-I'd really like some juice."
Instantly, Patrick looked between his wife and daughter, tensing. "Alright." He paused, hesitant, before extending a hand to his wife. "Come on, Dolly. Let's get our baby girl somethin' to drink."
After a long moment, Dolly pulled back from Joanie, eyes filled with tears. It broke her heart to see her mom like this, and it was almost scarier than having that knife to her throat. "We'll be right back," her mom reassured, finally moving to her husband's side as they both left the room.
Twisting on the bed, Joanie dropped onto her feet, taking all her sheets with her like a mummy. She tottered over to Luther's bed, cringing as she rested a hand on its side. "Luther?" she asked, unsure of what else to do.
As the Wicker couple left, Luther managed to pull his laughter back into control. He shut his eyes - the right one at this point able to open and close barely - his right hand covering his face again. The bruises stung at contact, but it was almost a reassuring pain.
Joanie's prescence wasn't though. He shook his head. "It's - go back-" he said, hoarsely. "Just - stay away."
As he told her to leave, she frowned. "No," she said, feeling her insides quake as she defied. "No, I'm not going anywhere."
Didn't he understand that they couldn't just shut this out? They couldn't just separate and avoid each other awkwardly. They were friends, damnit, and she wasn't going to let him pull away over one little life-threatening incident during which they both tried to kill each other.
There was a long pause as Luther struggled with what to do next. She had to get away from him, stay away from before he lost it and - couldn't she see what was going on? He took a deep breath then used his good hand to push himself to an upright position. They were close enough as he did so that he could look eye to eye - or eye to bruise - and he attempted to glare at her. Everything was ready to fall apart.
“You will stay away from me if you have any fucking idea of what’s good for you.” He leaned closer, teeth bared. “I can still remember everything fucking little thing he did. And you know what? Joanie, it feels right. Every little thing he did, every little thought – it’s right. He’s right. The law says witches die and you’re a witch and in his mind it’s right.” He took a deep breath, plowing onward. He could feel the loss of control as it unraveled, leaving him with only the confusion of emotions. Joanie was closest and didn’t listen. She was getting the brunt of it.
“And it’s wrong, because the law says nothing about witches wrong. Do you understand? Everything is wrong, Joanie – everything that’s supposed to exist and be right is wrong. Or something’s screwed up. I’ve got something wrong, the law is supposed to be right-” And at that it hit him. Luther broke off, nearly slumping against the wall as he realized it.
The law wasn’t right. It wasn’t. It couldn’t be because…
“It can’t be wrong,” he said, voice breaking on him. “It can’t – fuck - it can’t, it’s the only thing reliable-” He buried his head in his hands, ignoring the pain from his hands irritating his bruises.
Her first instinct was to run. The way he glared, the venom in his voice, the way he bared his teeth, it all reminded her of Javert. It made her think of his voice near her ear, proud and victorious, as he held the knife to her throat. It reminded her of his laughter as he slicked her back, and the intensity in his face when he said that he was determined to kill her. For a second there, she almost bolted.
But instead she dug deep, forcing herself to not cower as he leaned closer and began to ramble. She forced her face into something that wasn't shock or horror, maintaining a fairly neutral expression despite the panic in her chest. Luther thought Javert was right. Luther agreed that she was supposed to die. Again, she had to fight with herself for control. If she broke down now, she'd just be a baby. She'd be a damsel in distress, a worthless child that wasn't capable of living in the real world.
Right now, she had to think about Luther first, because she could actually feel him dying in front of her.
As he finally trailed off and collapsed on himself, face in his hands, she stayed stock still. She didn't move to touch him, but she didn't pull away either. "The law can't cover everything," she said softly. "Nothing is infallible, but that doesn't mean that everything's bad."
And Joanie, just like everyone else didn’t get it. Luther didn’t expect her to. No one ever had. Rodriguez would scratch his head and change the subject if Luther brought up how important the law was, muttering that he went too far. Katya had respected him for it. Madeline had thought him nuts in the end. Javert was the only person who understood – and thought Luther had gone soft.
“You don’t understand,” he said into his hands. His voice remained hoarse and she was close enough that his words only ended up slightly messed up. “The law has always done the right thing. It’s the savior – it’s – it’s the Law. The Law is right. That’s the point of it.” Luther swallowed.
“My mother, it took care of her then – I had Rodriguez because of it. He taught me it was right, that it was good and it always has. It fixes the problems, gets rid of criminals and makes the world a better place.” He was shaking now, near hysteric as he continued. “It’s supposed to be right, always right. And I shouldn’t – fuck, I shouldn’t feel like this. Like I’ve committed a crime because Javert obeying it. He should be right, it shouldn’t be…”
He trailed off, unable to look at her. His face was wet again, though he’d been unaware that he started crying. Luther didn’t wipe at them, merely moving his hands up to his head as he took a deep breath. “It shouldn’t be that I feel like I shouldn’t have been ready to kill my best friend. Fuck, Joanie – you’re important.” And it hurt to admit that. They usually danced around the subject, while knowing that they mattered to each other. An unspoken rule of their friendship, broken when Javert had been released. “People always come and go over the years and we’ve stuck it out somehow but – this isn’t – I care about you a lot. There’s no one else I would have called, in this situation. But you’re the one who’s injured, you’re the one he hurt and I would – I might have –” He couldn’t go on, throat closing up on him.
Listening to him talk was hard. Not because his hands were blocking his face - she was close enough to understand him quite clearly - but because she didn't understand what he was talking about. Normally, when people said "you don't understand," they were just being dramatic. But Luther was absolutely, one hundred percent right. She just didn't understand. But it didn't mean that it was time for her to ditch.
She didn't have to understand to be there.
Though most of what he said was foreign to her, she listened intently. It was obvious that he was nearing hysterics, but she didn't reach out or even move. She simply stayed still, trying to make sense of what he was saying.
When he mentioned his mother, it made a bit more sense. It seemed like he had taken all his faith - he didn't believe in God, they had discussed that before - and put it in the law. But the problem was that nothing was infallible. There was always another side, or a special case, or an exception. Nothing was certain, and Luther was trying to think in absolutes. If she had learned anything in her twenty-three years of existence, it was that black and white were just two shades of gray.
Seeing the tears on his face made something inside her seize. Oh, Luther. The squishy girl part of her wanted to hug him, but she refrained. Instead, she listened as he began to ramble about their friendship. When he broke off, seemingly unable to continue, she watched him for a long moment before getting up the nerve to speak.
"For what it's worth," she started, voice soft. "I forgive you. I don't blame you for any of this." Because honestly, she didn't. "And...you're right in saying that I don't understand this. But it seems like...like you expect the law to always be right. Nothing can be, Luther. Life is really complicated, you...you have to find your own way. Everything's gray blobs. And maybe in this case, this particular gray blob didn't fit with the law, but...that doesn't make it all wrong." She paused, biting her lower lip. "You...mean a lot to me. I always admired how you seemed to know everything, but...it's okay to not always know."
Luther's hands rose higher, threading through his trimmed hair in an old gesture. It didn't help him think straight, but the pounding in his head at least turned rhythmic as his thoughts turned in circles. When she spoke again, the racing continued as each thing she said was listened to and discarded for being impossible.
He could take her forgiveness - that was perhaps the easiest part. He hadn't done anything intentionally, he knew that. But he knew that in Javert's situation, he would have done the exact same thing - which shouldn't have to ask for forgiveness as it would be the right thing. He viewed Javert in that manner - as someone in a different time and situation - as the two tended to think alike. Javert was a bit colder and more removed, but again - he was also much older and had seen more in the end.
Grayness and blobs didn't make sense to him. Something had to be right, otherwise the world would descend into chaos and anarchy. The law made it right and had fixed things. He was a part of that - if the law wasn't reliable, what did that make him? Luther slowly shook his head, pushing her words from his ears as she said them, looking up at last as she returned his sentiment.
"It's not. This is wrong - this is- this something larger, Joanie. I-" He broke off, fear doing so this time. It was an unspoken fear and too personal to mention. If she admired him, then he couldn't say it - there wasn't a way to, when he barely understood it himself. Luther simply put, couldn't be wrong about this - couldn't have been in the dark all these years. It was why he lived, it was why he survived, it was why he helped others.
The door opening thankfully allowed him to not speak again. Luther pulled back from Joanie, moving away as the Wickers approached with a bottle of juice for each of them.
Her teeth ground into her lower lip, scraping over it as she watched him try to speak before cutting himself off. There was nothing left to say. She didn't have anything else. When the door opened, she looked up, offering her parents a very weak smile. Instead of returning to her own bed, she sat down on Luther's, perched on the edge with her blankets still enshrouding her body.
Her mother gave them each a bottle of juice, at which Joanie thanked her quietly and twisted the top off. Taking small sips, she leaned against her mother as she felt a pair of arms wind tightly around her. For a long time, nobody said anything. Her father was out in the hallway, pacing - why, she wasn't sure - and her mother had fallen into the stoic silence she was known for.
Though they had probably only stayed in that room for a few hours, it felt like several eternities. Were she in any other state of mind, Joanie might have considered how weird this was - as it stood, she simply accepted it without a second thought or further fight. She had much bigger battles ahead, she was sure of it.