victory_road | Great googly moogly, it's all gone to [extremely loud incorrect buzzer]

Unfortunately for Henry, Lust barely registers him calling to her. There is one thing on her mind at the moment to the exclusion of all else.

Scar is here. Just down that hallway. It's real.

Only it doesn't actually hit until she comes down that hallway, slowly as she feels unsteady with each step. It's a clear struggle to keep her expression calm and there's a ridiculous urge to run down the hallway as though she's in some silly romantic comedy. She doesn't run. And when she sees him she halts and all the strength goes out of her.

All she can do at first is just look at him. Her legs wouldn't move if she willed them to and her voice dies in her throat. Words leave her mind.

There he is. Right there, in the flesh, in her home....

....in his winter coat?

She'll deal with that later.

She appears in the doorway, framed in haphazardly pinned hair and comfortable clothes, and the room vanishes. Scar’s hand lifts slowly, the back of his knuckles pressing to his lips.

"Thank you, God, that it was me." The words erupt from Scar’s lips in a mangled blend of Ishbalan and whatever common tongue is in this world. We can call it Ishbommon.

The mist in his eyes that Scar has tenuously leashed since Route 29, since Violet, since sitting here in torturous wait, spills shamelessly over his cheeks. Beholding the face of a woman he hasn’t seen age a day in twenty years, at long last a little bit older, a little bit more lived, robs his lungs of air, his legs of strength, and his mouth of any other words.

"Thank you, God, that it was me."

Under normal circumstances, Lust keeps her emotional responses well in check. They're private things that very few people see. And between her and Scar...they'd kept every scrap of their shared life to themselves. It was something precious and theirs alone.

These are not normal circumstances. She doesn't entirely understand what he's saying, but the sound of his voice breaks the paralysis on her. She crosses the room and her sneakers make a soft sound on the floor. Her eyes are locked on him, taking in every line and angle of his face. Comparing it to her memory, refreshed often by what photos she had.

She only stops when she's in front of him, her breathing very quick and low. He hasn't changed at all. It's as though he's stepped out of one of those photos and into life.

Her hand lifts, cautious, reaching for him. She speaks without thinking, her own voice low and ragged.

"It's alright. You're home."

"I'm…"

Home has been a hollow word for... longer than he can bear to linger on. They had a place, in Violet, where they had been comfortable. But home would always be Ishbal. And what remained of Ishbal was...

"You’re beautiful." Words Lust has heard a thousand times, from a thousand voices, rasped through Scar’s swollen throat as if for the first time. He begs that she understands, that she knows what it means to him, that the most familiar face in this world and the last has changed. Naturally.

His tears don’t stop. She's so, so close, and he still can't move.

Lust's hand rises, reaching to brush away the tears on his cheeks with shaking fingers. Her own eyes are bright. All she can do is nod, not trusting her own voice. What can she possibly say? What words exist to express all that she's feeling, all that she wants to say?

But she understands what Scar's trying to say. The brief words say so much more than they would from anyone else.

Later, she'll be embarrassed. She'll remember they have an audience and feel foolish for not suggesting they go somewhere private, or ask the others to clear the room. For now she just steps into him, close enough to breathe the familiar scent of him. Her other hand rests on his chest, against the wool of his heavy winter coat.

"I thought I'd lost you. Again."

Her cool fingers on his overheated cheeks spur him back to life. Scar folds himself to her as if they were clay, molds away the gaps between them, clutches her back and shoulders and waist like they’re all that could hope to hold him together. Latent consciousness of his strength, of their difference in size, is forgotten for a moment. Scar's frame engulfs Lust's like if they tried hard enough, they might sink into each other.

She came back.

Thank you, God, that it was me.

The legs which have heroically carried Scar to this finish line finally give up. There's no reason to stand, anymore. He sinks and takes her with him, back sliding down the wall all the way to the living room floor.

"You kept my things…"

Scar was supposed to fade unnoticed. He left no trace, but for the bodies in his wake. He was an idea. A conduit. A shell that was once human, walking and talking passed its expiration date, marching toward inevitable oblivion.

Until she had stayed with him. Decided that he ought to have had a name.

"You kept our home."

His voice breaks, on that last word.

When he finally takes her in his arms the spell breaks. That dreamlike feeling falls away, that strange sense of being somehow outside of time and reality. His arms are solid and strong and she presses herself into him gratefully. There's no protest when he slides to the floor, taking her right along with him. Her own legs are tired, she's been dancing all night then power walked all the way here.

Her face stays buried in his chest, the wool of his coat rough and warm against her cheeks. Part of her desperately wants to laugh but she knows if she does it will turn hysterical and uncontrolled. She just sinks down with him, curled into him, holding him back.

"Of course I did." Her words are somewhat muffled. She pulls back from his wool covered chest, looking up with wetly bright eyes. "They were what I had left of you."

Scar has to force himself to breathe. He lifts her closer when her head picks up, resting the side of his forehead against hers so he can see her face. He pries one hand from the curve of her back to find the tie in her hair, slips his fingers delicately under it, draws it looser until her hair (still damp) falls free. It's slow and unhurried, his fingers careful not to tug as he combs it apart. Scar buries his face in the dark curtain he’s just loosed, and breathes deep.

There’s something different, in her smell, but she’s still her. Dry sunshine, the lunch table set for three, the last comfort as he marched to his death, the last sensation before falling safely asleep. Scar's lips part as if he might be able to taste her in the air.

"I'm sorry," he breathes. For not wanting to live enough. For everything that had brought with it. He can't help but connect that to his disappearance.

"You have nothing to apologize for."

Lust thinks that she could just stay this way indefinitely. Every little touch of his hands is a small miracle, something she'd never thought she'd feel again. All of the years seem to just melt away, as though there's no seven year gap between them.

But practicality and reality can only be held at bay for so long. They're in an undignified heap on the floor, Scar's in a winter coat of all things and very likely needs to shower and put on something clean....

And they have an audience.

She clears her throat and draws back just a little, fixing her face back into something more controlled.

"I have some of your clothes in my room. You can use the upstairs bathroom to get clean and changed into something....more seasonally appropriate."

Why are you wearing a winter coat, Scar?

Scar swallows another half-sob when she mentions that she has a change of his clothes in her room. He hadn't even noticed that they were missing from Violet. Scar's facades aren't quite like Lust's. When they're gone, they're gone, dignity be damned. If Lust's insecurities project outward, Scar's point inward. He couldn't care less about her roommates on the couch. They're still an abstract concept, and they can leave if they so desire.

In complete honesty, he hasn't actively thought about the absurdity of The Coat until this second.

"I don't need it now..." he mutters, his hands numbly easing away from her so he can let the coat fall off his shoulders. He is. Unbelievably sweaty. But he isn't making a move to get up. She's still here, after all.

They certainly do have an audience.

And honestly, it's not exactly easy to watch the two of them be just. Unbearably intimate. But it feels impossible to look away at the same time.

So instead he's been glancing rapidly back and forth between the deeply emotional scene playing out and frantic 'can you believe this shit' eye contact with Heather, and at some point he'd noticed Henry opening his mouth to say something and just. Put his hand over it, shaking his head sharply. Do Not get in the middle of immovable wall meets unstoppable object, friend.

So many missing puzzle pieces are falling into place.

Because honestly, last time Scar was here, it had been completely unclear if they even liked each other, much less...this. He can't help but think back to what had happened after Liore. How he still doesn't know what happened there, really, barely knows what happened between the last time they'd actually spoken beforehand and witnessing her death in the warehouse.

But if this was what she'd lost? With only their world left to her?

He can understand that now. Too well.

He didn't think that seeing Scar crying was going to happen...well, ever, either.

It's sort of a relief when Lust finally seems to remember where they are, and pointedly looks not directly at them (anymore), giving her at least some semblance of privacy to recover.

One of Heather's first actions-- once she was sure it wouldn't somehow disrupt the unfolding reunion before them, anyway-- was to grab what was left of her stone-cold tea and chug some more of it.

Which, as it turns out... wasn't necessary.

Or maybe it was necessary, but not for all the same reasons that Heather had been anticipating.

A few of Envy's glances are caught and exchanged, but when the pair collapse to the floor... Witnessing this feels like she's breaking some kind of rule, but she can't pull her eyes away. Somehow, despite knowing Lust for years, the past 60 seconds have taught her more about her friend-- and about Scar-- than the past seven-plus years combined.

It feels like it's forbidden knowledge, knowledge that she isn't supposed to have.

But well. It's not like she can... stop them.

Shit, is she crying?

Heather discreetly swipes a hand against one eye and whispers out of the side of her mouth to Envy and Henry, "Maybe we should go in the kitchen so they can have some space."

She knows it's WAY too late for that, but BETTER LATE THAN NEVER...?

Henry has been very good (except for the point where Envy had to cover his mouth for him) watching all this. He's a little puzzled at first, but he's good enough at context clues to guess why Scar was so tense. It even explained the winter coat a little.

He's also only seventy two hours away from having watched an undead serial killer digging around in a ten foot tall corpse's womb in an abandoned hospital full of wheelchairs that chased him down and ran over his fingers so...Scar and Lust's display might not be as awkward and weird to Henry as it might be to others. Also he's a film student.

When Heather eeks out her plan, Henry nods quietly and rises to his feet.

"I'm going to make more Tea," he announces.

Lust bites her tongue to keep from saying 'you didn't need it in the first place'. He's sure to have his own reasons. Ones she can guess at.

Instead she disentangles herself and stands, a bit unsteadily. She tucks back her hair and smooths her clothes, doing all those little things she does to compose herself and buy herself time before she has to speak.

Well. Perhaps everyone will be polite and simply...ignore what they'd just seen. she's certainly not in the mood to answer any questions.

"Thank you, Henry. And it's very nice to see you."

His return was just vastly overshadowed.

"I'm going to get Scar settled, if someone would be so kind as to heat me up some dinner?" She hasn't eaten since lunch, and it's been quite a physically draining night.

She won't say no to any of Henry's tea, either.

When she finally draws back, he's slow to let go, fingers trailing down her arm before returning to his side. From his puddle of coat and sweat, Scar watches in awe as Lust puts on Everyone Else Mode. He's never seen the change so abrupt, because. Well. Collapsing into each other in the middle of the living room is absolutely not ever the plan.

Scar takes one last, unsteady breath, and pushes himself to his feet. He feels like he's just run twenty miles, but he still steps lightly toward the hall. With Lust's calm mask has also returned the sensation that he isn't supposed to be here.

Heather it is LITERALLY TOO LATE TO GO TO THE KITCHEN...

More tea does sound like a fantastic plan, though. Especially for Lust, who unlike Scar would know exactly what it was and would probably appreciate the magic don't-think-about-it properties about now.

He stands after the other two, carefully not giving Lust anything that could be construed as a weird or pointed look.

"Yeah, we'll get you a cup ready too."

After all that, HE wants more tea.

Incredibly (for the Severely Traumatized And Not All Human house), the couch trio all have the emotional intelligence to not ask any questions right now. Heather just nods, picking up one of the boxes on the coffee table. She knows the state of 'hope everyone ignores what they just saw happen' very well.

"Of course. There's plenty of pizza left, if that's okay."

Definitely all cold by now, but pizza reheats well.

Henry walks stiff-legged to the kitchen. Once he's squirreled away in there he starts getting another kettle boiling and cleaning out the teapot they used.

Everything is normal! So normal!

He thinks about it a little.

"Huh," he says as he leans a hip against the counter. "Hmm."

Thankfully getting Scar set for a shower gives Lust the time to properly settle herself. As much as she can, anyway. God knows when her emotions will calm.

"Pizza is fine, thank you," she calls as she leads the way upstairs. Privacy, even briefly, is welcome. This is all A Great Deal. But it doesn't matter. Scar is here. He's right behind her. She glances over her shoulder, as though to reassure herself of this fact.

"You'll feel better after a shower." She grabs a fresh towel from the linen closet and pops into her room. There's some new furniture, and the bedding has changed, but the soft lavender and gray color scheme is much the same. It doesn't take her long to find a pair of Scar's pajamas, neatly folded in a drawer. Then it's down to the upstairs bathroom.

"You can use my shampoo and soap, it's right here..."

Scar offers what passes for his own look of reassurance as they ascend the stairs.

He can't remember the last time he wanted to bathe so terribly. He drags his things up the stairs, rounds the corner to the bedroom door he hadn't dared so much as look at on his way down the stairs.

He takes his coat, and his bag, with him to the bathroom. It doesn't feel quite right, leaving them there. The better part of a decade could mean a great many things. Scar is silent as Lust collects clothes and towels for him, lingering just outside the sphere of her personal space, but still watching. He can take every step to give her room to breathe, but he can't manage not to stare.

And so, the peanut gallery was left on their own.

Envy waits long enough to be absolutely positive that he won't be overheard by the pair of the hour.

"Damn. That was..."

So much.

"I wasn't ever even sure they liked each other before."

"Neither... was I," says Heather, sounding slightly dazed as she shoves a plate with several slices of pepperoni into the microwave. "I guess... I dunno. I guess it was never any of my business."

That's something she figured out a LONG time ago, but y'know. Refreshed reminder and all that.

"I'm just glad that she's happy."

As uncomfortable as ~~being Alphonse about to explode on the floor~~ witnessing intense emotional intimacy from people who NEVER show intense emotional intimacy and being unable to escape had sort of been, it was also the best possible outcome.

So that, if nothing else, is a load off of Heather's shoulders.

"... And that we are no longer responsible for keeping Scar in the building."

SHEPHERDING HIM IS NOW LUST'S DUTY.

Henry drums his fingers on the counter as he stares at the kettle, waiting and willing it to boil.

"I'm about to be in so much trouble, you guys. The Tea was my idea. I killed God and I'm already in trouble again."

HE WAS GONNA TELL ON THEM!

"It's not like we didn't all drink the tea. And he wasn't supposed to just. Down it like that, anyway."

It'll be okay Henry, they'll all get in trouble for the Tea.

"Besides, Lust will want some too when she gets back in here. She appreciates it."

GOD. Rueful cringe 2, the sequel.

"Ugh... I feel so bad about it, though. I... did apologize to him. So maybe he uh. Won't? Tell on us?"

No Heather he is definitely going to tell on you.

"I have never seen anybody drink tea like that before in my life."

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