It's like James thinks she has answers. That Libby is smart enough to know what happens--or he knows she doesn't have any, but he wants them as much as her. Needs them as much as her. What happens to the people who go missing? Not die, just vanish. Are they lost in a dead zone? Trapped outside the ship? Just gone, like they were never here? It hurt her with Kurt, but Libby has never loved anyone or anything the way Kurt loved Blaine. It wasn't her hurt, mirrored like this. It wasn't being four stupid fucking years old again and thinking no, no, this is a mistake, this isn't true, she'll be back tomorrow. She'll be back tomorrow, she's just getting better. How long did Wren wait patiently for Larkspur to come home? Longer than Libby likes to remember, longer than she had any right to be so stupid, but how can you not be stupid about something like that?
Thor. Her father's name is Thor. Does James know Thor was here, and now he's not? Does he know that Loki is here? Does he know how much Loki hates Thor, for reasons Libby finds justified but--did Torunn do any of that? She couldn't have. James isn't like that, and they're family. James didn't crush her feathers. But Loki hates Thor, and Libby wonders how much, exactly.
This much?
"If she can survive in space she'll be 'kay," Libby agrees, hesitant and lying, lying like he is, because she can't look at him and say you know as much as I do that she's dead. She expired, that word that poisons her blood and her nerves. "And sometimes people show up again, you know? They disappear for a while and come back. She could come back. And that'd be--yeah. If he can do that. That'd be good. She'd tell him to come back for you for sure, at least."
She hasn't stopped touching him this whole time, and now she slides off the table and awkwardly, clumsily pulls him into a hug. It's not the way she clung to Miles or Jesse, when she was looking for comfort. Now she's trying to give it and she doesn't even know where to start. She doesn't care that she's bloody and half-naked, and she knows he won't either. Doesn't matter. They're fighters. Sometimes you bleed on each other. Miles stroked her hair, so she puts her fingers in James'. How did Larkspur do this--and Libby can't even really remember, can't really remember at all what her sister used to do when she was sad.
"And--hey, if your sister showed up--maybe--" she can't hope this for either of them, how can she even be trying? Their sisters are dead, and to be honest even if the ship dragged them from other times--she knows Larkspur would die, fragile and trusting, and Torunn had enemies here even if she didn't know it. But hope is this reckless, desperate thing that beats in her chest like ripped wings. "--maybe mine will. And we'll watch for them, right? For each other? Mine--I'm her clone, so, that's easy, um--she's less ugly, though, her name was Larkspur--" a slip of past tense "--and I met--I met yours. She seems wicked awesome. I'm sure she's just kicking space's ass. Right?"
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Thor. Her father's name is Thor. Does James know Thor was here, and now he's not? Does he know that Loki is here? Does he know how much Loki hates Thor, for reasons Libby finds justified but--did Torunn do any of that? She couldn't have. James isn't like that, and they're family. James didn't crush her feathers. But Loki hates Thor, and Libby wonders how much, exactly.
This much?
"If she can survive in space she'll be 'kay," Libby agrees, hesitant and lying, lying like he is, because she can't look at him and say you know as much as I do that she's dead. She expired, that word that poisons her blood and her nerves. "And sometimes people show up again, you know? They disappear for a while and come back. She could come back. And that'd be--yeah. If he can do that. That'd be good. She'd tell him to come back for you for sure, at least."
She hasn't stopped touching him this whole time, and now she slides off the table and awkwardly, clumsily pulls him into a hug. It's not the way she clung to Miles or Jesse, when she was looking for comfort. Now she's trying to give it and she doesn't even know where to start. She doesn't care that she's bloody and half-naked, and she knows he won't either. Doesn't matter. They're fighters. Sometimes you bleed on each other. Miles stroked her hair, so she puts her fingers in James'. How did Larkspur do this--and Libby can't even really remember, can't really remember at all what her sister used to do when she was sad.
"And--hey, if your sister showed up--maybe--" she can't hope this for either of them, how can she even be trying? Their sisters are dead, and to be honest even if the ship dragged them from other times--she knows Larkspur would die, fragile and trusting, and Torunn had enemies here even if she didn't know it. But hope is this reckless, desperate thing that beats in her chest like ripped wings. "--maybe mine will. And we'll watch for them, right? For each other? Mine--I'm her clone, so, that's easy, um--she's less ugly, though, her name was Larkspur--" a slip of past tense "--and I met--I met yours. She seems wicked awesome. I'm sure she's just kicking space's ass. Right?"