losttheright | (no subject)

The awful thing is, at first, she believes him. It doesn't change how fucked up his leaving seems, or how abandoned she feels, but Lee tells her that he'll be back, and Molly doesn't have any reason not to take him at his word. Even when she gives in and lets herself break down the way she's been trying not to for what feels like an eternity — waiting just long enough, once Lee has closed the door behind him, that he should be safely down the hall and out of earshot — it's not because she thinks he's gone for good. Whatever worries she might have, they aren't really his fault, and it's not fair, or so she tells herself, to attribute them to him now. She can't blame him for being upset about this when she is, too, and everything that's happened, however far from reassuring, makes sense under the circumstances.

That's what she wants to think, anyway. For a little while, she manages it. But minutes turn too quickly into an hour, and then one hour turns into two, and the more time passes, the harder it is to trust that he'd meant what he told her. Needing some space to process this is one thing, but even so, it doesn't take hours to get some air, and to go that long without so much as a fucking word makes it seem all the more unlikely that that's actually what's happening here. Besides, it wouldn't be the first time someone said something like that without meaning it. Stephen told her he'd come back, too, and by the time he finally did, it was too fucking late. Things aren't going to end the same way this time, but knowing that makes her no less uneasy about where she and Lee stand now.

Under any other circumstances, she'd call him, or at least text, but as it is, she's not sure she could take it if she didn't get an answer. Too much of this is too familiar as it is, and she's not looking to make that any worse for herself, which is the only thing that would accomplish. She just also isn't sure, as the night wears on, how much longer she can sit around waiting for him, feeling like she's going out of her fucking mind. It's with that in mind that she goes into the bedroom and starts to get some things together, thinking she'll go stay somewhere else for the night. Halfway through doing so, though, she realizes there's no one she'd want to talk to about this, and gives it up, leaving her partly-packed bag on the bed and heading for the kitchen.

She means to just have one drink. One drink, she thinks, in a fit of desperation, can't do any real damage. She's only just found out, after all, and she'd have been drinking tonight if she hadn't taken that stupid test yet, and it's hard to imagine that making any real difference. One drink, though, as it turns out, isn't nearly enough to take her mind off everything going on, and it isn't long before one becomes several becomes what's left of their bottle of scotch, left empty on the table when she dozes off on the couch, still dressed in yesterday's clothes.

If falling asleep had been too easy, then waking up proves to be the opposite, her head pounding before she even opens her eyes. Molly hasn't been hungover like this in a while as it is, and remembering the events of the night before doesn't help at all on that front. Even then, though it should be fairly obvious that she's still there alone, judging by the fact that she's still fully dressed on the couch, a part of her can't help hoping that maybe, just maybe, Lee will have come back during the night and this will all have been one big fucking misunderstanding. One look around the apartment, and that part of her is very quickly let down. Lee's coat and keys are still gone, and everything is still where she left it the night before, from the empty bottle on the coffee table to the bag she'd started to pack before she wound up drinking instead.

From there, everything she does feels like nothing more than going through the motions. She throws up all she'd had to drink the night before in the bathroom, thinking bitterly that she's going to have to get used to doing so anyway, brushes her teeth, takes a couple aspirin and drinks some water, throws out the empty bottle and puts her glass from the night before in the sink. She's in the middle of straightening up the couch when she hears the door open, and though she knows there's really only one person it could be, she's still visibly stunned when she stops and turns to see Lee coming inside. For what at least feels like a long moment, she can't do anything but stare. Then, finally, as if she can't quite wrap her head around the fact of it, she says, "You're back."

Threaded | Flat

His head's killing him when he wakes up on Kara's couch the next morning. Part of it is probably because he and Starbuck drank enough for an entire squadron of Viper pilots, and the other part is because he barely got any sleep despite it. Every few hours, Lee found himself waking out of a restless sleep, his mind on Molly and their conversation last night. On a few things Kara said in between drinks.

He's frakked up here, and he knows it. Maybe he hadn't been ready for this last night, but Molly obviously hadn't been either. And Lee... he'd run, leaving her to deal with all of it.

You turn into the approach, or you turn tail and run.

Lee had chosen the second option, only to find that there's nowhere to run to. And that running is just what he'd been afraid of doing in the first place.

Kara's still asleep when Lee pulls on his coat, grabbing his things and heading out of the door. If he's lucky, Molly won't have changed the locks on their apartment door. But he's never been very lucky.

By the time Lee makes it home, his head is still pounding, and he tries to do it without making too much noise. Only, Molly's right there. She hasn't left, and he feels like the world's biggest godsdamned asshole.

"We should probably talk," he says.

When Lee offers to sleep on the couch, Molly doesn't protest. All things considered, after a day spent mostly avoiding each other, it just makes sense, even with her a hell of a lot calmer than she was this morning, even when the fact that Lee is still here has done a lot for her peace of mind. She still doesn't really know how to be around him, or how to deal with his having left the night before, or how they're supposed to move forward from here, when she has no fucking idea what to do. The bag she'd started to pack a day ago has stayed only half-full, though, left in a corner of the bedroom when she finally emerged after pulling herself together earlier. She's not sure why she hasn't made herself unpack it. Maybe because things still feel so fucking wrong, or maybe because, in spite of his being here now, and having told her that he's not going anywhere, she's not entirely convinced that she isn't going to be left on her own with this again. Though she couldn't blame him if he did want to leave, the one thing she can be sure of is that she doesn't want that to be the case. That probably ought to be incentive to make things right, but she wouldn't for the life of her know where to start. As it is, the only reason she isn't the one sleeping on the couch is because he beat her to it.

Sometime after midnight, she starts to regret that. The night before, strange as it is, had been significantly easier, with her dozing off on the couch after drinking what was left of a bottle of scotch. Now, fully sober and alone in their bed, she's restless, alternately staring at the ceiling and tossing and turning, checking the clock on her phone every once in a while only to find that a lot less time has passed than it seems like. With the way her thoughts won't stop racing, it makes sense, but it's fucking agonizing, too. She almost wishes she'd been the one sleeping in the living room, but she's also not sure what difference it would have made. Not being in here alone might have helped a little, but the real problem is bigger than that.

It's also something she can do something about. By the time she gives in and realizes it, it's well after midnight, but she isn't too concerned about that as she makes her way out of the bedroom and down the hall, pausing in the doorway to the living room. This might well be a bad fucking idea, but she doesn't know what else to do, and she has to try. They can't just avoid each other forever, or, at least, she hopes it won't come to that. Pissed off or not, she only has been in the first place because she wanted him here, and now he is.

"Lee?" she calls, her voice small and uncertain as it cuts through the dark living room. "I can't sleep."