She's survived worse things than this. Molly tells herself that, over and over, as she moves to try to keep blocking Kara's shot, starting to level the gun she'd been handed a few minutes ago in her direction. There's very little chance she'd actually take a shot, and probably less that it would make any difference at all — she's a decent shot, but she's not that good — but whatever she can do to try to stop this from happening, to try to stop Lee from winding up fucking dead, she'll do it. If that comes at the cost of her own life, well, so be it. Already she's gotten a hell of a lot more time than she thought she would when she took those pills in her motel room, and if she is going to die here, she'd much rather it be her own doing again, a choice she made for herself rather than one she didn't get to make, or because she chose not to fight. This time, she's fighting. And who the fuck knows? She nearly died but didn't in this place before, she had her best friend hold a gun to her temple and still walked away. She made it out of Patrick Bateman's apartment irrevocably changed, but alive. Maybe she can make it through this, too.
When the sound of a gunshot cuts through the air, she thinks for a second that maybe she was wrong. That maybe this is the end, if not for her, then for Lee, and with her heart lodged up in her throat, she's too scared, for a moment, of what she's going to see to turn and see it. It's the Lee behind her that she looks at first, the one she'd be willing to lay money on being the real one, now that he's here, and the fact that he's alright, that he doesn't seem to be hurt, gives her the courage she needs to look at the body on the ground. There are two of them now, both unmistakably Lee, but a bullet in the back is a far cry from a bullet through the head. Half-convinced she might be sick, she thinks instead of the worst things she can to try to keep it at bay. Andrea cut open on Patrick's bed. Patrick with a screwdriver going through his head. The way she'd looked in the mirror when she first got out of the hospital, her face like Frankenstein's fucking monster, her chest and arms littered with stitched-up wounds. Russell bleeding on the sidewalk, her hands covered in his blood. None of them really have anything on seeing someone's, seeing Lee's, brains blown out, but it keeps her going.
She's survived worse things than this, and right now, someone needs to make sure they all survive this, too.
There are tears in her eyes as she makes her way to Kara's side, but she blinks them back, glancing periodically at the Lee who's still standing as she does, her own gun lowered again. "Kara," she says, voice quiet but firm, and reaches for her gun with her free hand before she's even said anything about it, its metal still hot against her palm. "Kara, give me the gun."
It takes some doing to pry it from Kara's fingers, but once she's done so, Molly steps back, putting herself halfway between Kara and Lee so she can look at them both as she speaks. "Listen," she starts, and realizes distantly that she doesn't recognize the sound of her own voice. There's an edge in it born of raw desperation, and though she's shaking a little too, she doesn't let herself be slowed down by it. "We have to get inside. We're not safe out here, obviously, and there's no telling what else there might be. So here's what we're going to do."
This whole thing is somewhat ironic, she thinks, when she's probably the one of them least equipped to be stepping up like this, but it's clear that she's the only one who can. There's no chance of her being a cylon, and somehow, she hasn't fallen apart yet, and besides, she knows this place and how it works and how fucked up it is. Maybe she's not so out of her league after all. At least she knows for a fact that she isn't as useless as she'd worried she might be, a solution piecing itself together in her head.
"We're going to go to the church like we planned. All three of us. If this is the real Lee, he'll be able to go inside. If it's a copy, he won't, and... Well, we'll cross that bridge if we come to it. But right now, none of us are shooting each other. Got it?"
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When the sound of a gunshot cuts through the air, she thinks for a second that maybe she was wrong. That maybe this is the end, if not for her, then for Lee, and with her heart lodged up in her throat, she's too scared, for a moment, of what she's going to see to turn and see it. It's the Lee behind her that she looks at first, the one she'd be willing to lay money on being the real one, now that he's here, and the fact that he's alright, that he doesn't seem to be hurt, gives her the courage she needs to look at the body on the ground. There are two of them now, both unmistakably Lee, but a bullet in the back is a far cry from a bullet through the head. Half-convinced she might be sick, she thinks instead of the worst things she can to try to keep it at bay. Andrea cut open on Patrick's bed. Patrick with a screwdriver going through his head. The way she'd looked in the mirror when she first got out of the hospital, her face like Frankenstein's fucking monster, her chest and arms littered with stitched-up wounds. Russell bleeding on the sidewalk, her hands covered in his blood. None of them really have anything on seeing someone's, seeing Lee's, brains blown out, but it keeps her going.
She's survived worse things than this, and right now, someone needs to make sure they all survive this, too.
There are tears in her eyes as she makes her way to Kara's side, but she blinks them back, glancing periodically at the Lee who's still standing as she does, her own gun lowered again. "Kara," she says, voice quiet but firm, and reaches for her gun with her free hand before she's even said anything about it, its metal still hot against her palm. "Kara, give me the gun."
It takes some doing to pry it from Kara's fingers, but once she's done so, Molly steps back, putting herself halfway between Kara and Lee so she can look at them both as she speaks. "Listen," she starts, and realizes distantly that she doesn't recognize the sound of her own voice. There's an edge in it born of raw desperation, and though she's shaking a little too, she doesn't let herself be slowed down by it. "We have to get inside. We're not safe out here, obviously, and there's no telling what else there might be. So here's what we're going to do."
This whole thing is somewhat ironic, she thinks, when she's probably the one of them least equipped to be stepping up like this, but it's clear that she's the only one who can. There's no chance of her being a cylon, and somehow, she hasn't fallen apart yet, and besides, she knows this place and how it works and how fucked up it is. Maybe she's not so out of her league after all. At least she knows for a fact that she isn't as useless as she'd worried she might be, a solution piecing itself together in her head.
"We're going to go to the church like we planned. All three of us. If this is the real Lee, he'll be able to go inside. If it's a copy, he won't, and... Well, we'll cross that bridge if we come to it. But right now, none of us are shooting each other. Got it?"