Killing us

Have heart my dear
We're bound to be afraid
Even if it's just for a few days
Making up for all this mess

Snow Patrol, “Run”

Lannie must have known exactly what was up when she walked into the livingroom. One moment she was rubbing over her puffy eyes and raking a hand through her sleep-tousled dark red hair, and the next she dropped dead in her tracks. She recognized the russet-haired man in the expensive suit that was sitting on our couch immediately. I saw her mind racing in that one second before she said with baited breath: “Walter, go take a hike, will you?”

“I wouldn't dream of it,” I said, crossing my arms. We'd never left each other alone in situations with debt collectors, I wasn't about to start doing so today.

She sighed. “I think I need to do this one alone, babe. Sorry.”

Dread towered over me like a tidal wave about to crash. I had an inkling where this would be going and I was very sure I wouldn't like this. My nerves were still raw from what happened last night, so perhaps I was paranoid but... dammit, they'd been watching us, waiting until we fucked up so they could sweep in and... what the hell was that offer that Young was about to make to Lannie? “This is my life too,” I protested.

“Not until we are married, love. Not your money, not your problem. I created this mess... let me do this one alone. I deserve it.” She looked at me with those hurt-stricken grey eyes and I couldn't refuse her. How could I, when she gave me that look? Something inside me gave way and I gave in to her. “Alright. I'll go grab us some breakfast or something. Take care.” I took her hand and squeezed it for a moment, near-limping out of the room. Damn leg was always at its worst when I just woke up.

In the end I didn't go far. Breakfast be damned, I wasn't hungry at all. I just walked to a playground a block away from our flat and flopped down on one of the benches, leaning back and staring at the hazy blue sky. Staring at the sun. Trying not to think, not to speculate. I don't know how long I was there. I must have fallen asleep at some point as well, because I started when Lannie came to sit next to me on the couch.

“So,” she said, looking at me with eyes that were still luminous and aching. She'd washed herself up, though. She'd tied her red hair in a ponytail and was wearing jeans and a t-shirt, just like any other day. If you didn't look too closely you might have even missed the red rims around her eyes.

I suddenly realized that I was still sitting bare-chested and in my jeans. The spring weather had been so gentle that I never noticed.

“So,” I said. “Did he make you an offer you couldn't refuse?”

She shifted her gaze to the grey concrete underneath her feet. “Pretty much.”

I didn't say anything. I just thought of the rumours, that there was going to be a World Tournament, one in which they wanted to bring all of the League champions together in the deathmatch of the century. The betting stations had been abuzz with the possibilities. Discussions and arguments on who would win such a match had already started while the whole Tournament hadn't even been confirmed yet. Never mind the bets that had opened on the names of the participants alone.

“It's going to be the World Tournament,” Lannie confirmed. “Young wants all the League Champions to compete, even the champs from the rookie league.” She paused for a moment, lost in thoughts. “He was really smooth about it. Said that he never understood why I hadn't entered the Fortress and the League, that I was as good as any of them. That the fans love me, that they would love to see me win.” She smirked. “He noticed my scepticism about it, so then started about the money.”

“So they know.”

Lannie shrugged. “They've been watching us like hawks apparently. Knew that I'd screw up before I did. And now we're back in money problems they...” She turned around and took my hand, squeezing it painfully. “The /money/ they've offered, Walter...”

I didn't even hear her anymore. All I could think of was all those games we'd betted upon. All those Leagues. All those /deaths/. All those people; talented in their own right. Gored, impaled, shot, decapitated, smeared over concrete. All those /people/. And my Lannie... /my/ Lannie...

“You're not going to do it,” I breathed. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to shut out the world. Trying to shut out the possibilities. “Lannie, seriously. I'd rather break my other leg than seeing you enter that Arena.”

“I know,” she said softly. “But you forget what I've done to you. What I've done to us. I could atone for it, I could make things right again. This is my fault, Walter.”

“I don't care about the rest of the world. We can have every money issue in the world and they could kill us for it and I wouldn't care. Not if you were with me.” I started to shiver despite the gentle breeze and the warm sunlight. Images in my head, tearing at my sanity. Gut-wrenching panic. “I couldn't bear you becoming one of those people who are cussed out because people lost money over their death. That can't be you, babe. It can't be.”

She tried to be reassuring, but I could hear the uncertainty in her voice. I knew her for over a decade, of course I would hear it on her. Still, she tried. “It won't be. I won the Euroleague, too.”

“The rookie Euroleague doesn't shoot to /kill/. How do you think you'll fare under the guns of Valentina Marin, love? Do you really think you could do her in when even fucking Le Blanc couldn't?”

“Have a little fucking faith in me!” she suddenly spat, jumping up from the bench. Passersby gave her a glance, but not more than that. We were just a couple having a domestic spat to them. In neighbourhoods like ours, people were used to much, much more.

I got up from the bench as well. “You're brilliant, sweetie. Seriously. It wasn't a fluke that you won the Euroleague. You've got skills, talent, flair, you've got it all. You'd be a good contestant in the World League – even if they'd shoot to kill. But seriously... some of those contestants are /out of this world/. The League... it's all they are, all they know. You are so much more – and you came to it late. You'd be a great contestant, but honestly I don't think you'd be able to beat the best of the best out there. Maybe with rigid training regimes for the next five years... but not yet babe. Not yet.”

“They could kill each other and leave the easy ones for me.”

“They could,” I agreed. “But as I said, I'd rather break my other leg than betting on that chance. You're worth so much to me, baby.” I took a step in her direction and a jolt of pain shot through my knee. Ah, fuck. That happened when I was careless and swept up in emotions; I placed my foot wrong and then this would happen. For a moment I had to suck in my breath and weather through the pain, but when I opened my eyes again, Lannie was looking at me with all of the hurt of the world in her eyes.

“We didn't argue when /you/ entered the Fortress, Walter,” she said softly. “You were in the Fortress, and I respected the fact that you could die. You wanted to enter, I hated it, but I let you go.”

“Yeah, and see where it brought me!”

She wiped tears from her eyes. “You're here, you're alive. And I had that confidence in you. Please have some confidence in me, Walter. If you don't believe in me, how the hell can I believe in myself after what I've done?”

My heart was breaking all over again when I realized what she was asking from me. She wanted me to show my love for her by supporting her in letting her enter the Tournament. I had to believe in her skills in the Tournament, because she felt it was all she had ever done right in the world. She'd fucked up everything else, and she had to believe that /I/ believed she was worth anything in the Arena. I had to believe in the fact that she could make everything right again, because she was hating herself so bloody much right now.

“Lannie, you're killing us,” I said. My chest was tight and painful with emotions that were too much to bear. I loved her more than ever.

She shook her head. “No, I'm saving us.”

I wrapped my arms around her – that oh so familiar gesture, so close against me. Her arms snaked around my waist like they'd done countless of times before. We felt so good together. I wanted to cry, I wanted to tell her that no, she /was/ killing us, but I didn't have the heart to. I /wanted/ to believe in her as much as she did. I thought of the pure happiness radiating from her face when I ran up to her after her Euroleague victory. Camera's had been flashing everywhere, my leg had been hurting, and she'd been covered in mud and blood, but I hadn't cared. All I'd seen was the happiness in her eyes, and the all-consuming love and pride I'd felt in that moment. My girl, the victor. She had made everything right again in that moment. And she believed she could do it again. She /had/ to believe in it, otherwise she couldn't live with herself.

Well then, who was I to refuse her anything? She wanted this, she /needed/ this.

It was just so completely terrifying to realize that the fact that she needed this might be bigger than my need of her. I buried my face in her hair and hated everything. “I love you, baby. I'll support you in everything you do if you want me to.”

Her arms squeezed around me. “Thank you,” she whispered. “I love you too.”