They fell silent as they each finished breakfast. Natalie kept opening her mouth to say something, but quickly closed it again, deciding not to speak. It wasn't until he began cleaning up that she finally managed to come up with something intelligent.
"What happens now?" Lance looked at her quizzically. "I mean to me. Will I live for two thousand years? Will I ever get married? Obviously, I can't stay Natalie Bruenner forever."
"No one knows for sure, Natalie," he answered, wiping his hands on a dishtowel. "The best thing to do right now is go on with trying to find Sarah."
She nodded silently and then looked up at him as though seeing him for the first time. "You've started calling me Natalie."
He raised an eyebrow. "I thought after everything, calling you Bruenner was a bit formal."
She actually smiled as she stood up from the table. "Yeah, well, I guess it's alright. Just so long as you don't start calling me Christmas."
Lance chuckled. "Oh, you mean Natale?"
"Yeah, that." He could tell from the soft tone in her voice that she didn't mind it, much, as long as he was the only one calling her that. "By the way, where's my jacket and boots?"
"I wasn't sure if you wanted to keep them," he answered honestly, pulling another black sack out from under the table.
Natalie opened it and pulled out the leather jacket she'd worn the day before. It was a bit grimy and there was a hole in the back from the bullet, but he was fairly certain it could be cleaned and patched, good as new. Her boots were probably the least damaged of everything. She surprised him by loosening the laces and shoving her bare feet in them and then pulling on her jacket over the t-shirt he'd lent her. He couldn't help frowning a bit.
"You're taking this awfully well," he remarked.
"Well, if life goes on, it goes on," she shrugged. "But if I let myself think about it for more than two seconds, I'll probably fall apart."
Lance nodded and squeezed her shoulder in a gesture of comfort. "C'mon, let's get you over to the hotel. You'll feel better once you're in your own space."
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jurisimmortalis's journal
"What happens now?" Lance looked at her quizzically. "I mean to me. Will I live for two thousand years? Will I ever get married? Obviously, I can't stay Natalie Bruenner forever."
"No one knows for sure, Natalie," he answered, wiping his hands on a dishtowel. "The best thing to do right now is go on with trying to find Sarah."
She nodded silently and then looked up at him as though seeing him for the first time. "You've started calling me Natalie."
He raised an eyebrow. "I thought after everything, calling you Bruenner was a bit formal."
She actually smiled as she stood up from the table. "Yeah, well, I guess it's alright. Just so long as you don't start calling me Christmas."
Lance chuckled. "Oh, you mean Natale?"
"Yeah, that." He could tell from the soft tone in her voice that she didn't mind it, much, as long as he was the only one calling her that. "By the way, where's my jacket and boots?"
"I wasn't sure if you wanted to keep them," he answered honestly, pulling another black sack out from under the table.
Natalie opened it and pulled out the leather jacket she'd worn the day before. It was a bit grimy and there was a hole in the back from the bullet, but he was fairly certain it could be cleaned and patched, good as new. Her boots were probably the least damaged of everything. She surprised him by loosening the laces and shoving her bare feet in them and then pulling on her jacket over the t-shirt he'd lent her. He couldn't help frowning a bit.
"You're taking this awfully well," he remarked.
"Well, if life goes on, it goes on," she shrugged. "But if I let myself think about it for more than two seconds, I'll probably fall apart."
Lance nodded and squeezed her shoulder in a gesture of comfort. "C'mon, let's get you over to the hotel. You'll feel better once you're in your own space."