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bryce larkin

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Simply put, things were a fucking mess. The past two weeks had been spent worrying about Chase, a feeling not lessened by the fact that his recovery was imminent, and Lucy had begun to think she was nearing the end of her rope, though that wasn't anything new for her. Over and over, it seemed, just when she thought things couldn't get any worse, they did; this was only the most recent example, but perhaps the most powerful, too, given that it wasn't just the incident itself but what it called to mind that she couldn't shake now. So long ago now, she had been in almost the exact same position with Max, and this time, she'd had a second chance and blew it, not realizing just how fucked up things were until it was too late. She should have known; she could have stopped it. Instead, she'd almost lost one of her closest friends left on the island. To say that that hurt would have been a massive understatement.

To find out about the disappearances of Kate and Nate, then, only added insult to injury, nothing quite so bad as the overarching problems she already had to deal with. At least they had gone together, though a part of her couldn't help feeling a little envious for it, wishing she'd been able to go back with Ryan. For as long as it had been, she wasn't sure he was someone she would ever fully get over. Their being gone wasn't the worst she'd dealt with, not by a long shot, but it still left her with that familiar restlessness, leaving her wandering aimlessly down a path, itching for an outlet but not having yet found one. She longed for company, too, a reassurance that she wasn't totally alone here, though that was something she was less likely to admit.

She hadn't meant to stumble across the location of the punching bag, but what she had expected even less was to see Bruce there, going at it like it had personally offended him or something. For a moment, she just stood, not wanting to interrupt, but curiosity got the better of her. Besides, just then, there were few people whose company she'd have preferred. "Bruce?"

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By most standards, Bryce Larkin could be considered lucky. Eight months, now, he had been on the island, and before this week he hadn't lost a single soul. The fault in that reasoning, of course, was the simple fact that he didn't have anyone or anything to lose; he never had. It was the way that he lived his life, out of necessity of the island and out of habit on it.

But that wasn't entirely true (nothing ever was where he was concerned.) He had Chuck, who was the closest he would ever come to a brother, and he had Sarah, the only woman he had ever allowed himself to love. For a long time, his only concern had been to protect their interests. He had never seen the point in giving it up just because they'd been torn from their own lives — though he'd been under orders to do so, watching over the Intersect and his handler had never been a job-first matter for him. They just happened to tie into one another, which made it that much easier for him. Until now.

He was drenched in sweat by the time Lucy found him, with little more than scraped knuckles and sore wrists to show for it. That this was the most he could do for anyone didn't sit well with Bryce, to say the least. Even worse than the overwhelming need to save Chuck and Sarah was the knowledge that he couldn't, that even if he tried, he'd come up short again and again. After all, island lore stated that they'd been returned to Burbank. It might very well be that the only things they would need saving from were those they had left behind; those which Bryce had been so anxious to return to.

"Lucy." Her name came out more of a pant than a statement, but, at the very least, he managed a neutral tone. He knew for a fact that she could sympathize.

Eyebrows raising, Lucy took a few steps nearer at the returned greeting, knowing now that at least there was no chance of startling him. It was a stupid thing and she'd never liked to think of herself as a clingy girl, but distance was the last thing she needed, like as if by keeping people close, she could prevent them from going, though she had disproved that reasoning long ago, waking up in an empty bed in the hut that had been her and Ryan's. Now, any tactile instincts were repressed, but something in her head still thought a clearing's worth of space was too much.

"God, you've been really going at that thing, haven't you?" she asked, though the answer was apparent enough in the sweat and his breathlessness. It wasn't absent observations she ought to have been focusing on, but she had no desire to be seen as always full of self-pity, always being left behind, as if she had any control over the island's taking people away. "I almost forgot this was even here. What's up?"

He had never been what most consider 'open' and, for a long time, Bryce had never truly minded it. But too much time on this island — too much time in one place, period — and everything he had once believed to be true about himself was being quickly redefined. Once a person who never allowed himself to get too close; now a man who mourned the loss of those he held dear through violence directed at an inanimate object.

Under normal circumstances, Bryce never would have considered sharing his thoughts with another living soul. But he had been there when Lucy was at her most vulnerable and now she had appeared, seemingly, to return the favor. He didn't have it in him to keep lying, omitting, avoiding, and while that simple fact was one that both endangered and worried him, right now he couldn't focus enough to care.

"I'm trying to imagine this punching bag as everything I hate about this island," he told Lucy, a short laugh escaping him as soon as he realized how utterly ridiculous it sounded aloud. "It's almost therapeutic, really, when you have enemies with actual faces. Not as easy when you're just envisioning a mass of land."

Something about that struck a chord, made her stomach twist as she realized what must have been going on. What he was describing was a feeling that Lucy knew all too well, and had acted on once before, though far less sensibly; it left her with only one question, no longer having to wonder what might have prompted something like this. Her own recent losses still fresh in her mind, she frowned, and no longer giving a damn, stepped close enough to rest a hand lightly on his shoulder. She had been through this enough times to know how much it hurt.

"Better than taking it out on a concrete wall, at least," she offered, though there was no levity in the statement, despite the self-deprecating edge to her words. At her side, her fingers flexed; she'd been lucky, she supposed, that there was no serious damage done when she had gone and punched the side of the Compound. Hardly her proudest moment, though it had felt good, too, in its way. She exhaled heavily before he could respond, voice lowering as she asked, "Who was it?"

Considering the circumstances of their first meeting, it didn't come as a surprise that she should pick up so quickly on what had happened, and once again Bryce couldn't force himself to care what it said about his cover. The man underneath was bleeding through in ways he himself would have disapproved of, before ending up here. But after having the island snatch away almost everything, Bryce was beginning to think he'd have to reconsider his priorities; at the moment, no mission could hope to measure up.

"Chuck and Sarah," he said, finally, voice as low as hers. It was only when Lucy reached for him that he stopped throwing aimless punches. Whether out of respect, gratitude, or a fear of accidentally hitting her, he couldn't say. Most likely, it was a mixture of all three.

"Everyone I knew from... before." Even the disappearance of John Casey stung.

Edited 2010-08-28 15:56 (UTC)

Although Lucy wasn't sure if she knew a Chuck or Sarah, that didn't matter when Bruce gave his explanation, one which left her momentarily at a loss, her face falling out of sympathy and helplessness. Contrary to how it might have seemed, it wasn't the people vanishing that was Lucy's biggest problem with this place, or even the lack of control over them; it was having nothing to do about it that she hated, no one to blame and no tangible thing to fight against. A punching bag or a wall, she knew, was a cheap substitute for an actual target. Now, in the face of disappearances that only affected her by proxy, all she could do was stand there like an idiot, her fingers still resting lightly on Bruce's shoulder and the damp t-shirt over it.

"Shit," she said, in the absence of anything better to say, knowing full well that it wasn't a situation that words could properly respond to. She had been there once herself, even the second loss of Jude disheartening when coupled with Max's being gone, and thus remembered well that there was no real consolation to be provided. It wouldn't stop her from trying when this was someone she cared so much about, one person who hadn't yet left her here, whom she still had a chance to do right by.

Maybe it was wrong to be grateful, but she wasn't wholly selfless. Regardless of how much it must have sucked, she wasn't sure how well she could have handled losing him at a time like this, with her life in shambles.

"God, this place," she sighed, disdain and weariness both evident in her voice. "I know sorry doesn't really help, and there's probably nothing I can do, but if there is..."

There was never anything one could do: this he knew firsthand, from his own experience trying to console Lucy. That their places were now switched was not so morbid a joke, he found, but a small comfort. Always one to put others before himself -- it was part of the reason he'd made such a great spy -- Bryce found it easier to accept the loss if he considered the fact that he alone was affected. It was a weight he could shoulder, pain he could live with, if it meant that someone like Lucy was spared the trouble.

"It's alright," he lied, albeit with no real effort. She wasn't meant to believe it; who would? "I just needed to vent," he admitted, with a short, humorless laugh aimed at the idea of having to strike his fists against harmless inanimated objects to work through his problems. It couldn't have done much to better Lucy's opinion of him, but at the moment, he was beginning to think that might be for the best. Better that he frighten her away than invite her any closer; the already diminished distance between them was drawing his attention in ways he'd rather not admit or confront.

As far as Lucy could see, it was a perfectly acceptable solution to one's problems, or at least far better than her usual solutions. Hitting the wall of the Compound had, fortunately, been a one-time occurrence, but too often she had looked for answers at the bottom of a bottle and wound up with nothing but a hangover to show for it. There was temporary help in it, sure, but ever since Chase's accident — one, she was sure, prompted by a line of thinking that had once been her own — the appeal had been lessened substantially. That Bruce had chosen something like this was, admittedly, somewhat relieving, if only because there was a much slimmer chance of him getting hurt this way.

"No, it isn't," she countered, with what might have been a laugh under better circumstances, ducking her head slightly without taking her gaze off him. "Alright, I mean. The fact that this can happen at all, it's... It's screwed up. It's screwed up, and it sucks, and... You don't have to say it's alright." She sighed, hand moving a little lower on his arm, the other running through her hair. What she should have been doing was stepping away, but she couldn't bring herself to, finding too much comfort in their proximity. That closeness was too much of a rarity these days, with so many whom she'd been close to gone. "Of course you need to vent. Believe me, if there's anyone you don't need to explain yourself to, it's me."

Edited 2010-09-01 02:00 (UTC)

That was, in so many ways, exactly what Bryce needed to hear. It didn't dull the pain, it didn't decrease his anger, and it didn't bring back Chuck and Sarah, but it helped. In some strange way, it helped, and he knew why he'd taken to Lucy so quickly. Of all the people he had met on this island, she demanded the least of him, and as a result, gave him the most. She didn't spend her time watching him, following him, listening carefully to each word out of his mouth. She didn't wonder who he was, underneath it all, she just accepted him as he was. (He felt an instant tinge of guilt and disappointment at that, forced to remember that she didn't even know him, that she thought he was someone else, but Bryce suppressed it instantly. None of those were emotions he could afford.)

"Thanks for that," he told her, his eyes finding hers — then darting away at once. Not until they made eye contact did he become so aware of the space (or lack thereof) between them; of the heat under her hand on his arm. Those, too, were things he couldn't afford to acknowledge. "It helps," he choked out, simultaneously clearing his throat. "Not having to explain."

"Yeah, I know," Lucy murmured, cringing almost immediately after the words left her mouth, her own head ducking when his gaze left hers. All she was doing was speaking from experience, but she still felt ridiculous for it, hoping that he wouldn't take it as her being presumptuous. She'd just been there far too many times, knew all too well the sort of emotions that came with such losses. Maybe it was just that she had been out of sorts — not just lately, the loneliness she felt far too persistent for that — but she wanted to be there for him, wanted to get this right. Whatever this was, anyway.

With a sheepish sort of laugh, she shook her head and glanced back up again, almost apologetic. She hardly even noticed her hand still on his arm, any sort of contact too natural for her to pay it much mind. "That's — I know what you mean, not — I wouldn't have been telling you how you'd feel or anything. It just isn't something that can be described so easily, what it's like to lose someone like that. I wasn't kidding about punching a concrete wall."

Edited 2010-09-04 03:38 (UTC)

"I didn't think you were," Bryce assured her, offering as understanding a smile as he could muster. It was, compared to his usual grin, significantly dimmed, but that wasn't exactly unexpected.

He found it surprisingly easy to let his guard down around Lucy, to let himself speak, rather than playing the part. That was dangerous, but even worse was how he didn't care. Not at the moment. He reached for her hand, then, the one still on his arm. His fingertips grazed her knuckles — soft and unmarred where his were rough and scarred. It made sense that he could find no physical trace of the punch; there was a delicate beauty to Lucy that was difficult to touch, even when she herself was doing the harm.

His words came as a relief, but Lucy barely registered them, too focused instead on where his skin met hers, the touch slight, but made all the more noticeable for it, seeming to her strangely tender. Looking down briefly at their hands, she drew in a slow, deep breath, a little voice in the back of her head instantly telling her not to be ridiculous, that this was nothing to make too much of. She was just lonely, too many people gone, and suddenly all too aware of how close they were standing, it was too hard for her imagination not to go to work. She needed to make herself snap out of it. For all she knew, he could be the next to disappear.

"They fixed me up pretty good," she explained, but her voice was softer, almost distant. She wasn't thinking much about it, what had happened that day; perhaps she should have been. Still, she almost smiled. It hadn't been her proudest moment, that was for sure, but his response was a better one than she could have hoped for. "It'd make me pretty lucky, if it wasn't people disappearing that made me do it in the first place."

"No one is pretty lucky around here." Just an observation, a statement of near-proven fact, but one he felt almost guilty for once the words were uttered aloud. Of all the things he'd done today, succumbing — however briefly — to such a pessimistic train of thought had brought about the most disappointment. He'd hurt and killed and received what he gave back twofold, but he had never given in to loss and dejection so much as he had today. Then again, he'd never really had much to lose, before. He'd never really lost much at all.

It wasn't sudden or automatic, but when Bryce finally realized what he was doing (and how close they were standing), he took a sharp breath and put two steps between them. He let go of her hand.

"Sorry, I uh —" He what? As much as he'd like to pawn this one off on Bruce Anderson, it was Bryce who had reached for her. It was Bryce who was getting dangerously close to making a huge mistake.

"Oh," Lucy said, well aware of how stupid it sounded, but needing to say something to avoid an awkward silence, this already being awkward enough. She had known it, of course, before anything had even happened, but that didn't stop her wanting to compensate for it now. Bruce meant too much for her to want to let nothing, a moment of weakness at least on her part, become a bigger deal than was necessary. It was all the losses, she thought again; they had always made her irrational, and that was exactly the case now, having been reading into something nonexistent.

But then, some part of her had to wonder, if she'd been imagining it, why was his reaction so sudden?

Either way, she had to do something, and although she started to take a step forward, she froze immediately after, hand dropping back to her own side. The few feet between them felt more like a mile, the absence of contact strange, and try though she might to shrug it off, she couldn't help the slight disappointment in her expression. She always had been something of an open book. "No," she continued, and shook her head. "Don't be sorry, I shouldn't have —" She bit her lip, closed her eyes for a few seconds. "Just don't worry about it. You're right, anyway. I mean, relatively speaking, maybe, but even then, it's still... It's ridiculous." She was being ridiculous, but despite the subjects being related, she wasn't about to explain how when she'd never even noticed it before now.

Edited 2010-09-04 20:24 (UTC)

"It's not ridiculous." He said so with a certainty that surprised him, one which contradicted everything he was feeling at the moment. Still, that this was ridiculous was not what Bryce needed to hear, and he had to doubt that Lucy would believe it any more than he did. Ill-advised, yes, but not ridiculous. In a weird way, it made more sense than anything else at the moment. If nothing else, it was definitely less ridiculous than life on this island.

Whatever 'it' was. Figuring that out might prove problematic, with the still-too-small distance between them and look on Lucy's face only providing further complication.

He'd just lost the only two people he'd ever allowed himself to care for. Lucy Carrigan was quickly becoming the third. To compromise their relationship in anyway would be unwise, particularly when he wasn't in his right mind. "You've been through a lot," he said, as if she needed reminding. "We both have, I suppose, and if anything did happen, it would be borne of impulse and grief. It wouldn't be smart."

For seventeen years, Lucy had considered herself to be a fairly collected, level-headed individual, always her parents' favorite, intelligent and displaying all sorts of promise. The war had turned that on its head. Where once she had maintained composure easily, instead she acted too quickly, without thinking, finding comfort where she could take it. She knew herself well enough to know that how soon she had fallen for Jude had had as much to do with Daniel's absence as his own personality, so outwardly charming; it had turned into something of a cycle, with people not replacing others, but filling gaps in her life, because she couldn't be alone. Here, where losses came about even more easily, the pattern had continued, Lucy seeking comfort wherever she could find it, be it in someone's bed or at the bottom of a bottle or both.

Despite the sensation deep in the pit of her stomach, the one telling her that this was serious, that he mattered, she had no doubt that to let anything happen with Bruce would just be another incidence of the same. It was that very feeling that made her stay where she was. He had acknowledged it, at least, which was something, and meant that she wasn't totally crazy. Whatever habits she had, there was nothing that said that there couldn't have been an overlap, actual desire as well as reckless acting out. The former would only have been cheapened by acting on the latter. She nodded in agreement.

"No," she agreed, "no, it wouldn't." That didn't mean that it wouldn't feel damn good in the meantime, a temporary fix for wounds this place had left them with, but he was right. She hadn't even been looking for anything, but his logic seemed more and more sound the longer she stood there, and she was left almost bewildered for it. She let out a short, mirthless laugh, though, one corner of her mouth lifting in a self-deprecating smile. "Believe me, impulse and grief have made me do a lot of things that aren't smart, so..." Trying her hardest to push down the regret she felt in doing so, Lucy stepped back once more, lips parted with her tongue pressed to her teeth in an attempt to keep from saying what came out anyway. "But I wasn't just imagining that, then?"

"Better than punching concrete walls, I'd argue, but still... Not very smart." Once again, each word and action was chosen carefully, now with the express purpose of comforting Lucy. The wrong words could offend her, the wrong moves would insult her. He wanted neither. But being a man with so little to lose made Bryce all the more careful with what he did have, and his friendship with Lucy was no one to be jeopardized, no matter the pleasure it would bring. It wouldn't last, and so little in his life ever did. He'd be hard-pressed to admit it, but as a man, Bryce Larkin had grown weary over time. He'd become hard and inhuman, little more than a machine sent to carry out orders. But when Lucy looked at him, he could almost feel his armor melting away. He could feel like a man.

"No," he assured her, "you weren't just imagining that. That... was very real." It was, arguably, the most real moment they had yet to share. He didn't want to risk it being that last.

On the first part, Lucy would have disagreed with him wholly, though she didn't have it in her to say as much. Punching a concrete wall could do some damage, sure — worse than she'd been fortunate enough to wind up with — and it would hurt for a while, but it was solely physical, nothing that wouldn't heal. Lucy had decided time and time again that she would be better off keeping people at a distance so it wouldn't hurt as much if they disappeared. While it was a sentiment she always wound up reneging on, the fact remained that she was attached to Bruce already, and to risk becoming more so would only make it hurt more if — when — he disappeared. It was all that acting on whatever feelings she'd suddenly found her with would accomplish, making her need him more.

Still, hearing that she hadn't just been making things up and acting on wishful thinking was enough to bring a small, unusually bashful smile to her face, like she was some dumb kid whose crush had expressed approval. (In all actuality, that may not have been too far from the truth, despite her better judgment.) "At least there's that," she said, an attempt at levity that fell fairly flat; she'd never been good at making jokes when the situation didn't call for it, though it was clear that the sentiment was one she meant fully. Better that he'd stopped and acknowledged what had almost happened than she was just getting carried away purely because her life was, yet again, such a mess. "I, um — you know you're one of my closest friends, right? That, I don't want that to change."

Their relationship understandably strained in the years since Stanford, it was a rare occasion that Bryce and Chuck have a chance to exchange many words, and each of these instances had since become a memory preserved with great care. He remembered in crisp, careful detail when he told Chuck that he had but one friend in the world, a fact he had considered true until perhaps this very moment. He realized now that he felt as close to Lucy as he had to Chuck years ago, at the height of their friendship. Against his own judgment, he trusted her (or at least he really, really wanted to).

The difference being that he had never felt such a strong urge to kiss Chuck.

But he had a habit of ruining relationships, platonic or otherwise, with little to no effort. He'd robbed Chuck of a future and betrayed Sarah's trust, allowing them both to think him the enemy. If logic wasn't enough to convince him this was a bad idea, experience certainly was. Bryce knew what kind of man he was; it was the very reason he'd had so few meaningful relationships in his life. He would always end up hurting the people he cared about, and after a while the fact that it was for their own good offered less and less consolation.

"It won't change," he told Lucy, and despite his even tone, it felt like the greatest lie he'd told her yet.

Nodding once, all but praying that that would hold true, Lucy let her smile widen just a little. The longer she stood there, the more convinced she was that he was right, that nothing could happen between them for both of their sakes. Hell, she hadn't wanted any kind of relationship since Ryan had disappeared almost a year earlier, and despite the desperation in her that was only just beginning to settle, she knew full well that she liked Bruce too much to seek comfort in his bed and be done with it. As she had meant to say a moment before, possibly without much success, his friendship was too important to her for it to be ruined over something ridiculous like romance. Given her own track record, it wasn't likely that it would end well, anyway; Bruce would probably be gone before anything could really happen.

The thought alone was another motivation to stay where she was.

For a moment, she lifted a hand, meaning to reach for him in what was supposed to be a reassuring gesture or something fucking stupid like that, but reconsidered at the last moment, combing her fingers back through her hair instead and letting out a slightly shaky laugh. "Right," she said, earnest, though the still rapid rate of her heart was proof enough that her feelings couldn't so easily be shaken. Turning back to the punching bag, she exhaled heavily. The restlessness that had brought her out here in the first place hadn't yet settled either, heightened only by the recent turn of events, making the locale pretty damn convenient. "You, uh, mind if I take a swing at this thing?"

Pressing his lips together, Bryce gave a short, firm nod and circled the punching bag. He gripped the edges with his own hands, holding it steady, before he turned his gaze back to Lucy.

He realized, then, that this might be prime example of why he a bad influence. Perhaps the right thing to do was shake his head and guide her away; to walk her home and wave goodbye. Instead, he was encouraging her to work all her frustrations out by launching herself at an inanimate object. Right or not, though, he found himself in favor of whatever worked best.

"Take your best shot," he said, the ghost of a grin flashing across his face, hopefully in some way reassuring. If anyone could understand, it was him.

In the time it took Bruce to cross to the other side of the punching bag, Lucy's countenance had changed entirely, gone from the soft, self-conscious girl trying to keep from tumbling head over heels into someone more hard-edged, more determined. On her, it was more natural, the person she had started becoming three and a half years ago back in New York and settled into here. She was angles, not curves; bitter, not sweet, and sure as fuck not romantic. She hadn't been in a long time.

The thing with worries, too, was that they always begot more worries, and having reminded herself of everything, now, she was full of pent-up energy all over again, desperate for an outlet in the absence of one. She'd come close to having one better, but she could work with what she had. This was a little more sensible, at least. Jaw set, she drew in a deep breath, met his gaze, and nodded before turning her attention to the punching bag again. She took one swing, first, as if to test it out, pausing afterward, weight shifting to the balls of her feet, but threw a few more hard hits in quick succession after, trying to remember everything Kate had taught her, the few times they'd gotten around to ever meeting.

Kate was gone, now. Nate. Chase had gone and landed himself in the clinic, by being drunk and stupid and reminding Lucy entirely too much of her brother. He was gone, too, and Ryan, and Gert, and far too many others, and here she was getting swoony over one of her closest friends, when she had never thought she would want anything again.

It was a lot of aggression it left her with.

Only a few moments later did she realize that she was still moving at all, not even knowing how much she had just done, and stopped short, her breathing grown heavy. Of course she would go and get carried away here, in front of him, and though she cringed, she knew full well that she wasn't done yet, either. "I think maybe I should get one of these for myself."

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