Who: Luther and Joanie What: The End. Where: NYC --> Vectura When: Day 2 of Vectura Warnings: Near-death experiences generally mean angst. Major, major, angst. Notes: WE’VE GOT A RAD BROMANCE
Though Luther constantly complained about her motorcycle, Joanie often liked to rub in his face that motorcycles were much easier to park than giant SUVs. To her credit, this was actually a truth, not just something she invented to be a brat about. Joanie rarely had problems finding somewhere to stash her bike, even when it seemed like there was nowhere to park in the entire city. It was one of the things she liked the most about it. Well, that and the fact that a vehicle managed to terrify Luther.
“Come on,” she wheedled, straddling the bike as she stuffed the keys in the ignition. “You haven’t been on in forever, what’s the worry?” Revving up the engine, she scooted a few feet towards him, a big grin on her face. “Don’t you trust me? I’m a great driver!” The helmet on her head had a plastic face shield, leaving her expression visible to him with just a sheen of glare running along her nose. She let out a small laugh, the sound echoing inside the helmet. If Luther had believed in God, the motorcyle would have been the invention of Satan. As it was, Luther mainly believed in the law, human behavior, and evolution. Motorcycles were created by criminals. Hands shoved into his leather jacket’s pockets and a frown settled on his face as Joanie insisted on driving them out. He still wasn’t sure of why he’d gotten this far. He didn’t feel like getting on that motorcycle any time soon.
“I haven’t been on for a reason,” Luther said stiffly. He stepped to the side as she moved forward, helmet under his arm slipping. He caught it before it fell to the ground, tugging it up to his chest. “You’re going to get us killed on this thing one day. And when we do, I’ll come back to haunt you.” A pause. “Minus the fact that we’d both be dead.” With a sigh he tugged on his helmet and straddled the motorcyle behind her. His arms wrapped around her stomach, holding tightly. With a shake of his head the visor went down.
Luther gulped. “Go, before I jump off.” Watching Luther hem and haw was so frustrating. Joanie never understood why he was so opposed to her motorcycle. She had proven that she was a good driver, and weren’t cars just as dangerous? She accepted that there was an inherent risk in riding a motorcycle, but she had decreased that risk significantly by being a good driver. Didn’t he trust her?
“I am not,” she said with a scowl. “And you won’t have to haunt dead me, because we’re not dying. This is just a quick trip to the store, okay? I’ll get us there a lot faster in this.” As he finally relented, she grinned. Feeling his arms lock tightly around her stomach, she patted his arm once. “Don’t worry. This’ll be cake.”
The engine roared to life beneath them, and seconds later, they were gone. Though she would have wanted to speed - just a little, of course - she maintained a very controlled speed for Luther’s sake. They were moving with traffic, not passing anyone, and perfectly safe. Luther couldn’t possibly complain. Luther huffed, adjusting his grip around Joanie’s midsection. “I have a meeting this afternoon. New client. Lost her husband. If I miss it because of you, you are the one to suffer as on a decrease in money I’m cutting the beer fund.” He may have lost that bet a few weeks ago, but he’d held firm. It never said that him paying for all their beer meant he didn’t have to buy any at all. “Again, I’m haunting you.”
Wincing as they took off, Luther unconsciously moved closer. His arms remained tightly about her stomach and his eyes shut behind his visor. It made things slightly worse but he couldn’t bear to look. “We should have walked,” he shouted as they zoomed along. Hearing his complaints made her sigh. “You won’t be late!” she said, revving the engine. “We’re doing this so you won’t be, stop complaining!” Though the idea of their beer money being cut made her sad on the inside, she held firm. They wouldn’t be late. This was a convenience. She was helping him.
As they roared off along the road, she sighed. Really, Luther? Keeping her eyes on the road, she let out a small grunt of borderline amusement as he threw in his two cents. “This is faster!” she called back, putting on her right signal and very slowly taking the turn. “Seriously, you’re like the worst bitch ever,” she said with a laugh, unsure if he could really hear her or not. She didn’t care. She probably couldn’t hear his scoff with the engine and masks, which was for the better. “You’ve been warned,” he called as they went on. Why had he agreed to this? Hell, why had he agreed to any of it? Luther shook his head, trying not to feel ill.
At the sudden insult, he frowned. “Bitch?” No. Luther had some level of pride left, despite everything he’d been through. After a beat of realizing how immature this was, he nudged her arm. “Speed up then. If we die, I’m killing you.” The way he reacted to the word “bitch” made her laugh much harder than she should have. The nudge only made the giggles worse, rolling out of her as she dutifully began to speed up. “It’s the name of your seat!” she called back to him. “You’re riding bitch, it’s not an insult!” Laughing more, she revved up the motor and sped off.
“We’re not gonna die, stop whining! Just enjoy this!” “How was I supposed to know that?” Disgruntled was an understatement. Playing up his role as being childish, Luther added, “Why aren’t we there yet?” Damn it, he hated this city. As they sped up, his grip grew even tighter. Damn it, damn it, damn it, he shouldn’t have said this.
“I’m walking the way back!” “Because this is a motorcycle, not a fucking teleporter,” she shouted, voice tinged with the slightest bit of annoyance. Honestly, couldn’t he trust her for five seconds? This motorcycle was safe, and she was a good driver. She knew this city well by now, it wasn’t as if she were going to get lost.
She ignored his declaration of walking back, deciding that worrying about Negative Nancy behind her wasn’t something she needed at the moment. She just had to focus on the road. It had rained the night before, and though the roads were mostly dry, there were wet patches splotted infrequently in her path. She was able to avoid most of them, carefully guiding the motorcycle around them, though the next left turn was positively soaked. Mentally, she prepared herself for it, muscles shifting just slightly as she let up on the engine and very carefully leaned her weight to the left, just enough to help guide the vehicle.
Though Joanie had heard about hydroplaning before, and felt it to minor degrees, she’d never once seen someone go down because of it. She realized something was wrong when the tires began to slide against her will, moving to the side just slightly. Luther probably wouldn’t notice the subtle change, but as someone that knew how her bike felt when she was driving it, Joanie did. She didn’t panic, simply shifted to try and correct for it, but the damage had been done.
Within seconds, they were falling to the left as the still-roaring engine dragged them forward and onward, throwing them into a long skid. Joanie gripped the handles in dogged determination, though her concentration broke when she felt the weight of the bike fall on her left leg. Letting out a sharp shriek, she fought to free them both from the bike that both trapped and dragged them along.
Luther bitten back a retort as they raced through New York’s streets. His eyes remained shut, he moved closer, and he wished he could arrest the person who had invented motorcycles. A movement had his eyes opening, glancing to the only lane to the right- no one was coming and he thought he recognized that turn up ahead. The streets were fairly empty, due to the time of the day and where they were. A lack of incoming traffic to the left gave the illusion that they weren’t moving as fast as they were - which didn’t help when his mind jumped to that conclusion.
He knew nothing of motorcycles, beyond the knowledge they were loud and dangerous. As Joanie leaned over, he did so unconsciously, assuming it was like an ordinary bicycle. Going over the puddles seemed like no big deal and he remained unaware of their danger until they were suddenly leaning over more then safely. They tipped, motor speeding away. Luther’s arms were still wrapped about Joanie, trapped, though thankfully completely covered as they crashed down onto his bad leg.
He’d not been hurt this badly, not since Javert had been in his mind and attacked Joanie. Pain irritated the old wound, spreading throughout the nerves and down to his foot. It was a split second of contact before they were dragged across the cement, the motorcycle skidding away. Luther could only think of the pain, not of the bits of gravel and dirt coming up and choking them, water making their movements more dangerous and slick. The weight of the motorcycle and in a way, from Joanie didn’t help as they were dragged into the next lane, Joanie’s shriek loud.
His arms were pinned as they skidded as was his left, major leg. He wasn’t leaving without Joanie either. Attempting to move his leg was useless and panic, for the first time in months, took over his mind. They had to stop, the momentum had to leave them or they’d run into something - hadn’t they been approaching a light?
A puddle made their angle change and Luther turned his head. The incoming lane was approaching, faster as they - no, they moved forward - and the car coming towards them showed no sign of slowing down. Even if it did, they were trapped. “JOANIE-” Her heart was beating fast enough to make her sick. The pain ripping through her leg was enough to kill, but she tried to ignore it as she kept one hand pressed against the motorcycle as it pulled them along on their merry way. Her brain was screaming inside her skull, but she began to talk. The sound of the motor and their own flesh being dragged across the pavement obscured her words, but she knew what she was saying. It was a string of Hebrew, a lot of nonsense that was just begging the motorcycle to dissolve.
Through her visor, she could see the metal start to glow, but it wasn’t fast enough. It was still a motorcycle, still on them. She tried to convince it, but she was too divided, too scared, too pained to force it. It was like the universe was pulling her brain into a thousand directions at once, and all she could do was flail.
The sound of her name was the only thing that pulled her attention from the motorcycle, forcing her gaze up. A car was coming. Suddenly, her heart stopped. That beating was gone. She could feel her back slick cold with sweat in the half a second it took for her to realize what was happening. Her right hand, which had been free during this whole accident, shifted from the handlebar down to Luther’s arms, which were still hooked around her. She forced her hand deep, not stopping until she could feel his knuckles. Though she continued to whisper in Hebrew, she gripped his hand tightly as it seemed the world was about to end. He’d been considered good in a crisis in the past. Luther was the one who kept his head, thought of a problem in a dangerous situation. He could keep his head, he could think. Right now though, with his life out of the hands of his fellow men or his own hands, he was afraid. He wasn’t thinking straight. He was dying because of a fucking motorcycle, a slip in physics, and by being hit by a car - with Joanie with him.
There was no other sound from him other then that ragged shout of Joanie’s name. His throat ached, in a way that could be understood rather then his leg. This was something more normal. Sparks and friction made things heated and pain, constant growing pain in those few moments before as they rushed over took over his head. As Joanie’s hand reached his, he reacted instinctively, twisting up and entwining his fingers with hers, gripping fiercely. Her Hebrew and the shriek of brakes was the last thing he heard, as the bumper hit them, with everything going black. Feeling the strength of Luther’s fingers gripping hers, Joanie did her damnedest to focus. She tried to forget the situation, tried to ignore the car coming and the fire in her leg. Tears fell freely down her cheeks as she continued to speak, forcing word after word from her lips even when she feared she could not longer form words properly. The handlebars were collapsing, turning to dust that flew against the visor of her helmet, but the bulk of the motorcycle remained heavy and golden hot.
The sound of brakes screaming cut through the air, forcing her gaze from the bike to the car ahead. Her eyes widened, heart freezing in her chest, as she saw the whole thing. The car roared into them, forcing her head back painfully into the asphalt. And then there was nothing. Luther expected nothing after the world went dark. He didn’t believe in a world beyond the one they lived in. There was no God or Gods, nor were there spirits. Simply put, he believed in the logic of science however uneducated he was. Their life would end with death. That’s why death was called that. There was no heaven or hell. There should have been nothing; oblivion.
Instead, Luther woke up.
His eyes didn’t open, but he slowly became aware of things. He wasn’t pinned anymore and Joanie wasn’t in front of him. Friction wasn’t building underneath and his leg, gloriously, had no more pressure beyond a normal, usual ache. He took a deep breath, inhaling air that felt glorious - and tried to make sense of things. His legs stretched out, pushing downwards with his toes pointing towards the opposite direction - boots were still on. His clothes in general felt normal, aside from his motorcyle helmet - which he soon tugged off. What was underneath him did not. It was comfortable, flexible. A mattress, he realized.
He pushed himself upright and finally looked about. A small room, a set of curtains on the far wall, a bureau, small chair with a cabinet across. Like a hotel room but smaller and no room for moving about. He grimaced, a hand passing over his mouth - there was no way to make sense of this - until his eyes fell on the bed next to him. Joanie. He was off the bed in an instant, grabbing her shoulder, removing he helmet, and shaking her. She had to be alive, he couldn’t be alive and she ended up dead in all of this.
“Come on - damn it, Joanie, wake up-” Something stung at the corners of his eyes but he ignored it for the sake of shaking her. “Wake, up.” The chaos of the crash left her brain frazzled and fragmented. She was in a thousand places at once while simultaneously being nowhere. What Joanie felt, what Joanie thought, was beyond even her. She had no idea of what time or space meant. They were just words, abstract concepts created by people that needed some way of understanding their universe. Floating above it all, expanding into the universe, Joanie was beyond it all. She was at peace. With nothing and everything at her fingertips, why would she worry?
The answer to that question came in the lightning burst of reality that took all those little pieces and mashed them back together into one little body. Suddenly, she felt everything, no nothing allowed. Luther’s nails were like claws, digging into her shoulders as he shook her and shook her. At first, she kept her eyes closed, squeezing them shut with a furrow of her brow as tears began to form quickly beneath her eyelids. Everything hurt and she didn’t know why.
Finally, she let out a strangled sound that seemed to be a mixture between a shriek and a sob as she opened her eyes, looking up at Luther with fierce baby blues. Her hands, which until that point had been listless at her sides, reached up immediately to grip either side of his head. “Luther,” she choked, digging her nails into his hair as she stared at his face, feeling registration settle in. The tears that had built up began to fall, rolling from the corners of her eyes down to trace the shells of her ears. “I’m sorry,” she said, chest tight and tense as she kept her hold on him, never relenting. “I-I’m sorry.” Even as that sound was horrible from her, Luther was relieved for any sign of life. His grip on her shoulders loosened and he heaved a sigh of relief. He allowed himself to sit, rather then kneel on the edge of her bed, anchored down by her hands threaded in his hair. His own eyes were unfortunately wet and he reached his left hand up to wipe at them.
The fact that she’d been the driver hadn’t hit him yet. Joanie being alive was more important. Anger would have had to come later. It took him a moment to remember, piece it together, and then slowly his other hand moved from her shoulder. His expression became more drawn and his heart thudded.
“We’re probably dead.” Minus their beating hearts and breathing. “Nothing else serves as an answer.” For the moment, Luther could forget a life where everything and anything could happen, where magic dictated who he was and what he could do. Right now, he and Joanie were two people, normal, and suddenly in limbo between death and earth. Her apologies came out over and over, sorry sorry sorry. She was always sorry, without even really understanding why. All she knew was that her heart was full of guilt, full of regret, and she had to get it out before it burst inside of her. Her hands finally slid from his hair to his shoulders, acting as anchors that she used to help herself up to a sitting position. Legs still spread out straight in front of her, she held his shoulders tightly as she continued to cry and whisper apologies. She didn’t stop until he spoke, her voice petering out into silence.
She could feel her heart thud in her chest as his words registered. They were probably dead. Why were they dead? Their final moments came back in a roar. She remembered the car coming, then going, backing up and disappearing over the horizon as everything shifted backwards in her mind. The motorcycle slid backwards, then stood up on both wheels, normal again. She replayed it, starting from the beginning, and that little tiny waver stood out. That small wobble that she overcompensated for.
She brought them down.
She was supposed to be responsible.
She had killed them.
For several long seconds, she just stared at him, expression changing from scrunched-up fear to wide-eyed blankness. There was no sadness in her face, no upset or anger. It was as if every ounce of life had been drained from her skin, leaving behind its shell. Her gaze fell to her knees, breath coming and going silently, as the tension in her hands vanished. “Dead,” she whispered, lower lip beginning to tremble as she dared to speak the word.
The tears returned, hotter than before, as she continued to stare at her legs. “If we’re dead,” she said slowly, hands shaking as she pulled them into her lap. “Then you’ll have to arrest me. For killing you.” Luther was merely reacting now. He couldn’t possibly think of what was going through Joanie’s mind. What felt like moments ago had him dragged across a street and hit by a car. These things didn’t sink in well. They were terrifying, they took over you, and it wasn’t something you were primed on when you first joined the police. Luther’s body shook, just slightly. His eyes unfocused as Joanie went blank, not understanding her reaction or even able to comprehend it.
Her hands moving away weren’t welcome or unwelcome - it just was. Luther didn’t move, only staring at her - blinking as it would make what she said more sensical. A beat, then two, before he said - without a trace of humor. “I probably don’t have jurisdiction here. Besides, it wasn’t murder.” That much at least.
There was a pause before he said, with no small amount of bitterness. “I told you that we’d die on that thing one day.” His eyes were itching again, but it had to be said, even as instinct now said he shouldn’t. She was crying. That was guilt. It was an accident. “We should have walked.” “Manslaughter then,” she replied quickly, breaths growing long and shallow as she continued to cry. She pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes and bent forward, wheezing as the guilt sank in. His words weren’t dismissed the way they had been before. They stung this time. He had told her. He had warned her. She’d dragged him on that motorcycle against his will, and now he was dead. If she had gone off and killed herself, just died on her own, it’d be one thing. Her life, her choice. But she’d killed someone else here, and not just anyone else. Luther. One of the only human beings she even thought was worth a damn anymore. She’d taken him away from the world, and there was no one else to blame.
After a few seconds of crying, she looked up at him, face bright red. “I know,” she choked, sliding a wet hand through her hair. “You did, you told me it was dangerous and-and I’ve done it a thousand times before and it was always fine. I’ve never...I felt it on the water, and it just slipped. It wasn’t under my control, I felt it slip and....” She broke off, crying again. Luther’s hands clenched on either side of his legs to fight them from shaking. “Maybe. But you’re dead too.” It was the most reason he could come up with. He swallowed, trying to think rationally - he should be able to do that, even if they were dead. More reason to.
There was a sudden list of things he’d wanted to do. Things he’d never considered, even after he’d realized life was worth living. He’d wanted to stop struggling to make bills. He’d wanted to hit the road eventually, write things with the man he’d chased for so many years. He’d wanted to see Joanie get settled - she was young enough for that to still be something. He’d wanted to one day, possibly meet a woman who’d give him a chance.
And it was impossible now, if they were dead.
Luther took a deep breath, before burying his head in his hands. Legs off the side of the bed, his elbows rested on his knees. That was it. He’d never be able to stop crime, never see Rodriguez again, never fix anything. Joanie’s words were barely noticed. “We should have walked. Or taken my car-” He couldn’t stop himself. They were dead. No matter how much he’d wanted to kill himself two months ago, it didn’t change how wrong it was to have this stolen now. The idea that she was dead hadn’t quite sunk in yet. Joanie was focused with the idea that she had killed someone, and not just any “someone.” She had killed Luther. Though she still felt guilt about the peasants she had burned, this was different. She’d killed one of the good guys, probably the only good guy, and for what? Her own stupidity. She’d been careless and foolish and she should have listened to him.
And now he was dead.
Pulling her knees up to her chin, she squeezed her eyes shut and cried. Arms wrapped around her legs, fingers entwined, she sobbed until her lungs ached. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, repeating the two words over and over until her tongue went numb. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry Luther.” If she weren’t dead herself, she’d have put a bullet in her brain. A better man might have put aside his own crisis for the sake of comforting his friend. But Luther hadn’t lost a dog or his car. He’d lost his life after attempting to keep it - he’d made efforts otherwise. He took deep breaths, attempting to calm himself. Instead, something near a hysteric laugh escaped him. The irony was just too high and the trauma was too new. Despite no physical pain, the ghost of the friction, the pressure on his leg, the mixed memories of the car before the blackness could still be recalled.
The laughter soon transformed into a dry sob - unflattering but inescapable. His shoulders shook and he didn’t look at her, didn’t acknowledge Joanie’s apologies. He couldn’t. It was beyond him. The laugh cut through her like a knife, causing her to hunch forward like a child. Whimpering, she watched him laugh hysterically, clearly teetering on the edge of some cliff he had possibly walked before. Pressing her lips together thinly, she watched him, feeling as if everything inside of her had been pulled out and replaced by down.
She wanted to apologize again, but couldn’t bring herself. He couldn’t even look at her - why would he want to hear her talk? Cover her face with both hands, she rested her forehead against her knees and sobbed into her legs. Luther wasn’t sure how long he and Joanie remained there on the edge of the bed, unable to look at each other and lost in their own depression. It didn’t matter in a way - they were both supposedly dead. They had all the time in the world. What pulled them from it though was a short beep from outside their world of hands and knees and tears.
Luther managed to look up and for the first time noticed the two phone like objects on the nightstand. He shifted forward, legs brushing against Joanie’s as he reached for them. One was placed on either side of the nightstand. He passed Joanie’s to her, eyes not reaching hers, as he opened things up.
He’d never been good with modern electronics and the device only confused him. He could only press buttons, attempting to understand before coming onto a forum system. He scanned through, reading names and the main posts before groaning.
“It’s Bellum all over again.” As if things couldn’t get any worse. The beeping was lost to Joanie, the sound swallowed by her own tears. She only reacted when she felt Luther brush her legs, recoiling as if she had been burned. Scrambling to the side, she dragged herself out of his way as if afraid that he would crush her. As he handed her the phone-like object, she took it without a word, never once looking up to his face.
Unlike Luther, Joanie knew exactly what to do. She turned the device on and quickly began to explore it, though her movements were numb and silent. Reaching the forum within seconds, she scanned the posts and names with dread filling her. These were their old neighbors from Bellum. And not just any neighbors. Gabby was there. Sam was there. Dracula was there.
At his comment, she took a deep breath, pressing a hand to her forehead. “Fuck!” she hissed, throwing her device across the room. She heard it land harmlessly on Luther’s bed, and was almost upset that it didn’t shatter on the floor. Taking a shaky breath, she wiped her eyes, looking at his shoulder as if that were a proper substitute for eye contact. “Luther,” she whispered. “I’m sorry.” She needed a drink. Fuck this. Though some names were actually nice to see, Luther didn’t feel comforted by those on the forums. Too many bad names and fables, too many unanswered questions - and too many similarities on deaths. Or nearly dying. Luther took a deep breath, before wiping at his eyes. He barely flinched as Joanie threw her communication device across the room.
He didn’t look her way as she spoke, body stilling. He didn’t know what to say, didn’t know what he could say. Lips pressed together into a thin line as he fought emotions - tugging each way. Confusion, depression, and his own guilt.
Luther took a deep breath before passing over his face. All he could manage was an “I know.” The fact that he wouldn’t even look at her - even though she didn’t blame him for it - almost hurt more than the realization that they were still being toyed with thanks to Bellum. Her heart thudded hollow in her chest, almost painfully so, at his two word response. She wanted to be angry with him. She wanted to hate him for not looking at her, and for not giving her anything but “I know.” But she knew that she couldn’t. Because he had every right to be unable to look at her. He was right.
It didn’t take away the sting, though.
Taking a deep breath, she stood shakily, knees knocking together. After wiping her eyes, she began to stumble towards the door. She wanted to tell him something. She wanted to leave without silence. But there was nothing to say. She couldn’t be around him now. She couldn’t be reminded that she had killed her best friend, Bellum meddling or not. If she had just listened, they wouldn’t be here right now. This was her burden to carry.
With one last, painful look to Luther, she left the room without a word. This fucking place had to have some beer, and if not, she could just find some water and make it herself. She wasn’t in the mood to be picky.