alias_savant | penance } { ic inbox

Elena ransacks the remote corners of her mind for a memory that will not come.

She strives, stubbornly and in vain, to recreate the consequence of that fateful day in Asgard — if not for herself, then for Neal, so that she carries it with him like he deserves. Hard as she tries, she can't remember it, and thanks to Barbas and his twisted sense of humor, she doesn't have to. The imagery of the most recent broadcast will not be leaving her anytime soon.

Introspective at heart, Elena must introduce this new and harrowing piece of information to her inner world first. She always does, if drawers worth of old journals are any indication. She needs to pick it apart, to process and deal with it on her own first. When Neal returns to his temporary accommodations, however, he'll find Elena already there.

The fullness in her throat makes it difficult to speak at first, but she does. Rising to her feet, her eyes meet his with the soberness of someone who knows. "I need to know what happens after." Needs to know what happens to him.

He assumes that Jon would find her first. He should have known better. He also hoped that she wouldn't be watching the broadcast, but that didn't really work out for him either.

He leans in the doorway as she speaks, and he swallows hard in return. He wants to be able to tell her that he's okay, Leo, Annabeth and Liv are okay, but he doesn't have the answers to give her. The last thing he remembers is holding her as the monster rages above him, and he assumes, as any sane person would, that the monster got him next.

"I don't know," he finally answers, meeting her eyes with the same determination and hoping that she'll see that he's telling the truth. "That's the last thing I remember. I didn't lie to you when I said that we were on the same page." He just might have omitted some things.

Elena isn't mad, or rather, she's mad at herself and not at Neal. They know each other too well for her not to understand his omissions for what they were. How do you say something like this, anyway? She's at a loss for words, too.

To think she wanted to be a novelist. She wanted to be a lot of things before she forgot how to want them.

"I believe you. I just wish..."

Her voice trails off as she lets the sentiment die in her throat. Wishing is useless, and changes nothing. For no one. She blinks back the furious sting that threatens to settle right beneath her eyelids. "I hate that he used this against you."

Almost as much as she hates herself right now.

Edited 2021-04-13 23:35 (UTC)

"It's Hell, Elena."

He keeps his voice soft as he makes his way closer to her, resting a hand on her arm gently. He knows that these things are frustrating - they've been frustrating for as long as he's been bouncing between worlds.

"Everything is bound to be used against us eventually."

He swallows hard as he gives her arm a soft squeeze.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner. I just couldn't get the words out. I was just so happy you were alive."

Elena shifts to face him as they meet in the middle, the muscles in her throat tightening with every word he gives. She existed in a state of do-or-die for years, dulling herself to the rest in an effort to survive it. The brightness of what made life more than survival out of reach when all she could manage was coping. In the midst of such desperation, she made her choice.

And she died for it.

Should it surprise her that in escaping death she has only been brought closer to it? She wasn't dragged to the depths of Hell from nothingness. Deep down, she must have known the truth, if not remembered. It brings her sorrow that he should have had to carry her in the weight of another choice, as surely as it brings her sorrow to look at him now, knowing what she's about to say.

But needing to say it. They don't have a lot of time.

"Neal..." She takes his hand and covers it with both of hers. There's a fierce quality to her tenderness, a maturity behind the quiet sorrow. She knows this is unfair. "I understand why you couldn't tell me and I don't need you to be sorry. But do I need you to be safe, which is why I'm going to ask you to trust me with what I'm about to tell you."

Edited 2021-04-15 01:12 (UTC)

His eyebrows raise in surprise at the statement, curious with what she means. She should know at this point that he does trust her. He would follow her almost anywhere at this point, if she needed him to. But he doesn't know where this is going.

"You know I trust you."

Or he would hope so, at least. His trust isn't something he gives lightly, but she's more than earned it.

"What's going on?"

Elena glances over his shoulder to ensure they're alone before she looks back at him. She supposes it has less to do with trust and more to do with what he's just lived and what she's going to be asking of him, but she needs to do it anyway.

She tells him everything: the warnings from the local demons still loyal to Lucifer, Mammon and the visions... Hellburbia 2.0. This might be their only chance at not becoming brainwashed minions for Barbas's newest legion.

"I want you on the boat when the time comes."

Because this trust goes both ways, and no one has the silver tongue that Neal does. That it helps his survival odds is a selfish bonus. Knowing now what happens at Asgard — she can't let it happen again.

"Me?"

Neal isn't sure that's the best idea. Not because he doesn't think he could do it. He's convinced people of more with less motivation. But that doesn't mean he's the right person for the job, when something so crucial is on the line.

"Why me?"

"Lucifer said Mammon could help, but we have no guarantee that he will. He might need persuasion."

That's a good reason, and not a dishonest one. But perhaps not the most personal one, and they're beyond pretense with each other. "And you might be safer on the island than you would be here."

"And you think I'm the one to persuade him?"

His brow furrows in confusion because he hasn't been here nearly long enough to understand the playing field. Most cons aren't built in a day. You need to study the target, know their motivations. He doesn't have enough time to do what she wants him to do.

"I appreciate your vote of confidence, but I'm going to be dead weight on that boat. I don't know enough about the guy to be effective."

"No one does."

They are relying on some incomplete visions that Lucifer sent to a handful of sinners, and hoping that's enough. Elena herself has never laid eyes on Mammon, but she has to believe that it will work. "Why are you being so difficult about this?"

"I'm not. I'm not trying to be difficult."

He just doesn't think he's the right person for the job. He's still learning his way around Hell, and he doesn't want to make promises he can't keep. He also isn't sure that getting on this boat is where he should be either. Something about taking up a space that could go to someone who would be more effective doesn't sit right with him.

He also knows that this isn't all about his skills. This is about Elena wanting to know that he's safe, and he can't blame her for that.

"I'm just not sure if that's where I should be."

She doesn't want to take that space up, either.

It's not the right time to make this choice. Not when they're still reeling from the broadcast. Not when she finally has the answers to her Leviathan-shaped questions. But they don't have that kind of time. She never has.

"There's the panic room."

Neal may be a thief, but he has a heart of gold. Elena knows he'll help if he sees need. But — there's the panic room, and he would be safe there above all, if he should choose it.

Edited 2021-04-23 00:27 (UTC)

"A panic room."

He nods as he considers it, because yes. That's something he could do. Something low risk that doesn't rely on him making the right choices and using the right words, and ideally he'd still be safe. That seems fair enough.

"I can do that. And I can keep an eye on the girls too."

Because he's assuming their panic room bound as well.

Aunt is the most recent title she has been honored with among several, and one that is of great importance to her. That Neal understands it — that he will be safe and watching over her girls — gives her a great deal of comfort.

Her shoulders sag with the weight of her relief, hand tightening on his. "Thank you."

"Of course."

He gives her shoulders as squeeze as he looks down at her with a smile, before nodding. He knows they don't have the time to really talk about what happened in Asgard, to really unpack what it means to Elena, not just him. But she has to get on a boat and he needs to figure out where this panic room is and the fastest way to get there.

For better or for worse.

"Be careful out there, okay? I'll see you when you get back."

[from here]

"Oh, no. I've found plenty of company."

Mostly friends in the friend sense and not more than that, but Neal's never been one to force that. So much of his life is cons and wrapped in the sheen of another identity, that he always prefers his entanglements to be real. Still, he's made quite a few friends.

"And I'm sure I'll be able to make some more." Unless there's something more specific that Natasha is getting at.

Nothing specific, though she may be fishing for information. Benignly enough. Wondering who he might be meeting and spending his time with.

Taking an interest.

She also might be contemplating stealing one of his sweaters. He imagines they're nice?

"Well, you are very charming. And now you have that hat."

She is welcome to steal his sweaters, anytime.

"I already feel a little more like myself."

He's always been a hat guy, even if Peter tends to make fun of him for it. And if buying a hat works as a pick me up, he'll take it. He has a feeling you won't get many in Hell.

"But I was going to do some more exploring, while we had some free time. Interested in joining me?"

They can turn it into a whole tourist-y date. Neal is not above it.

Natasha doesn't answer immediately, but the corners of her lips and her eyes turn up slightly, warming and softening her expression as she considers. It's fond enough, but the math is more pragmatic.

She should cultivate more relationships.

She likes Neal.

She intended to explore.

It's a good deal whichever way she looks at it.

"You know, I think I am," she says. "Maybe a little more shopping. A drink?"

"I think that sounds fantastic," he nods, happy for the company. He could stand to deepen a few friendships himself, and exploring is always better with other people.

Offering his elbow to her, he places his new hat on his head at a particularly charming angle. "Shall we?"

Natasha takes his arm, a bit theatrically, her chin lifted slightly as she takes in the street around them.

"So where to first?" she asks as they start off.

He hums to himself for a moment as he scans the landscape, weighing his options as they go. They've spent some time in the shops already, maybe they should do something less captialist first.

"I've heard interesting things about the gardens, if you're in the mood for a stroll?"

"I think a stroll sounds lovely," Natasha says as she thinks about the suggestion. "We could take something with us. Picnic lunch?"

"Sounds perfect. Do you have a preferred place to eat yet?" Because he hasn't tried as much of the food as he would have liked, but he's heard that Hell food can be questionable. Maybe they should just go for ingredients and Neal can wing the rest.

"I wouldn't say I have a favorite," Natasha says with an apologetic shake of her head. "I've mostly been getting room service. But I have tried a few places. There's up there that does hand pies. We can avoid the meat options, if you don't trust them."

"That might be for the best." He's heard that the meat can be questionable, which almost, almost makes him reconsider Diana's stance on the FDA. But not quite. "From what I've heard, the meat is a gamble I'm not always going to be comfortable taking."

"I tend to avoid it in most circumstances," Natasha confirms his instincts there. "There are times I'll make another call, but... well, normally I still avoid the red meat even then. I figure with tuna salad, the worse we can get is food poisoning. At least unless we start running into mermaids."

He nods at that, because that sound about right. He wouldn't put it past Hell to have mermaids, but fish probably would be safe. "Maybe we can try and find something seafood then? I could even cook something if we can find the raw ingredients."

"What, you cook too? Now you might have me tempted." Natasha glances around them. In a market like this, you'd imagine there'd be some ingredients rather than just finished meals. Of course, they'd still have to find a place to prepare them. "If not today, then another time."

"I do cook." It's probably one of his favorite skills that he uses shamelessly to impress romantic partners. Or even his FBI partners. He's not above bribing Diana with food, and she has absolutely zero interest in what he's working with. "Either is fine. Though not today might be easier for our picnic plans."

"I rather like the idea of another time." The picnic today seems light, a welcome distraction. An opportunity to pretend to be normal for a while. "Now that you've brought it up, though, I would love to see your talent. I'm not much of a cook. Rarely have the time."

"Then another time it is." Neal will find them something for a picnic today, and they can have a home-made dinner date later. "It'll give me time to plan a menu."

"If it's more involved than a peanut butter and banana sandwich, you'll be beating me about seventy percent of the time," Natasha admits, not especially ashamed of herself. She has other priorities, especially in hell.

She eats.

It's not like she's going to die of malnutrition.

"But for today... maybe we can find a bottle of wine for our picnic."

"Wine sounds perfect." And since he's done his own bit of snooping since they arrived, he turns to her with a smile. "I know just the place."

And off they go in search of great wine and a calm picnic.

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if you must live, darling one, just live | backdated

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a luxuriously sweet escape | natasha | overflow

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