Title: Something
Author: Robyn Darkholme
E-mail: waternymph227@yahoo.com
Rating: General
Warnings: This is General, but should be considered to be close to an adult; it contains some questionable language and sexual references. I'd probably put it on a rating of about PG-13, but I'm never good at those things.
Spoilers: _Nightworld: Soulmate,_ and generally the rest of the _Nightworld_ series. Disclaimers: The concepts and characters of _Nightworld_ belong to L.J. Smith.
Summary: ".[He] turned away from Lupe and looked through the boarded up cracks in the window again. And promptly forgot that Lupe existed." A (very) short piece on Lupe's thoughts during the morning after Hannah is rescued from Maya.
Comments: I always like Lupe, even if she only had a few cameos. So I decided to write a fic about her. My first fanfic, so therefore it's very short. Consider it an experiment. ;) Feedback would be appreciated (this is me begging; isn't it sad?). (Also, if you see any weird grammatical errors [like.this], they're supposed to be ellipses. So just imagine them in there. :))
Submission: January 3, 2004
She whistled tunelessly, her hands in her pockets and her boot-clad feet plodding on white tile floor. Everything was white in this place. The walls, the ceiling, the slick gleam of cool tile - the white false light glaring from chandeliers and industrial-style lamps. Even his skin. Which didn't make any sense considering vampires technically *could* expose skin to sunlight.
They hadn't lived here long anyway. They - he - were nomads of a sort, always searching for Her. The One. Lupe Acevedo laughed when she thought of how involved this search for Her was - how many thousands of years, each minute spent on its purpose, each breath focused on a single thought to *find.* He had deemed Las Vegas as good a place as any - they had the world to consider - and they, the team, the outfit of service they had become in how many years, had settled to this modernized mansion in the inexhaustible preparation and execution of his ancient hunt.
And all those years - all that *single-mindedness*- had ended rather abruptly, and in Lupe's overly imaginative opinion, anti-climatically. When Lupe considered it, this hunt had been in process thousands of years, before she was *born.* It consumed her entire *life* - or at least what it was when she had decided to dedicate her half-breed self and service to Thierry; she never actually thought she would repay the debt she owed him. She just thought she would spend an entire lifetime - her lifetime, anyway, there would be countless others after she would die and until Thierry would find his Soulmate - hunting and searching and fighting and looking for rose- glass stains on cheeks. Lupe had always imagined the birthmark to be rather large - a predominant feature on the face. But, really, it was rather small. A small brush, a soft rose petal on snow. Snow. Hannah Snow. Lupe laughed. And that was it. He found Her.
The Hunt was over.
Maybe Lupe had imagined fireworks or something. Like, maybe some kind of explosion, a supernatural force blooming from the corners of ethereality, booming with the words, "This is It. You have found Her. You may go back to doing Normal and Boring Things like picking your toenails, or something." Or something.
And really, if she thought about it, what the hell was she supposed to do now? They got the girl, she was right upstairs resting in bed. Or not resting. More like with Thierry doing whatever Soulmates do when alone. Like kissing, or holding hands. Or ravaging each other senseless. Lupe had no clue, and really didn't want to get a clue. No, she really didn't.
They were probably talking. Catching up on Old Times. Discussing what only Old Souls and Lords of the Night World knew about. Probably reminiscing about Ol' Spikey, the great and blood-stained spear that killed many a Neanderthal and Wooly Mammoth in The Day. How it was so handy when getting the kill. Never went astray from its target. Good, spear, good. Pet the spear.
Lupe thought she might be going out of her mind.
And so what if they.did it? They *were* thousands of years old, technically speaking. If anyone should do it, it *should* be them. Lupe couldn't imagine going thousands of years without getting any. Or at least getting some sporadically every few centuries until one of the pair was shuffled off this mortal coil, kicked the kettle, croaked, whatever. That would get tiresome, Lupe imagined, and damn right annoying. One would have to consider new and kinky ways to get oneself - single-handedly --off until the next several decades. Their libidos must be bursting. Lupe thought something would have to be wrong if they *weren't* doing anything. Sexual. Or whatever.
Lupe was supposed to be on watch anyway, and not supposed to be thinking of what her boss and his.girl.were doing beneath the sheets. Or anywhere. Maya could have associates out looking to avenge her death, even so soon after the actual event, and Lupe would be damned if she let anyone get to Hannah after finally bringing both her and Thierry to virtual safety. So no thoughts about Hannah and the Bossman while on duty - no thoughts about personal.activities.while trying to maintain professionalism. Even if Thierry had been like the father she never had and given her the mother she *could* have never had. He was more than a father, actually. He was. Something.
Something.
While she was on watch, she might as well investigate the most vulnerable and highly targeted place: Thierry's bedroom. Maybe check around the vicinity, sniff out any possible intruders. Kick some Vamp or Wolfie ass if anyone without dark Nilsson-glasses (she always teased him about seemingly starting the trend - or at least, that was what she was told) got too near. The room. And the general area, of course. She walked past a few blackly uniformed vampires - Clark, Rodriguez, and some new guy - and nodded to them, indicating all was clear. Then she shifted her gaze from them to the wide, white-tiled stairs leading in an encroaching way upstairs. The second floor. Thierry's bedroom.
"Hey, guys. I'm just going to check things out upstairs. See if anything's up and about."
"DiRisi and Blackthorn just checked it out, but you can if you want. Sniff it out," Rodriguez offered, a grin stretched tight on his face. The skin along the rim of his shades crinkled with the smile, but Lupe couldn't tell if it was genuine beneath the black plastic. She could never tell with Rodriquez.
"Sure thing. I'll inform you guys if I see anything."
"Or hear anything," Clark said, nearly snickering. "Like mattress springs. You know, the Bossman should think about buying a new one. Mattress, I mean." Clark was nearly giggling like a schoolgirl, trying to keep his mirth in check while schooling his features to seriousness. He was failing utterly.
Lupe didn't think it was funny at all. Pathetic, just. Pathetic.
"Right-o. See you later, boys."
She was on her way upstairs when the thought of actually *hearing* anything made her balk right in her tracks. Hearing anything .erotic . coming from behind Thierry's closed bedroom door. That was just. Too much. Was Clark serious? Or just yanking her chain? Was she that obvious? Did she show it that much? Her .concern. for Thierry? Well, yes, they of course all knew she was fond of Thierry, that she felt she owed him. Anyone with two eyes and half a brain could see that. So why the jokes and innuendos aimed at her? Did they think that she *cared* whether Thierry and Hannah were satisfying themselves? In a way beyond a friend would? Stupid vamps. Always thinking they were so clever about everything, about everyone when they didn't have a clue. They had sex on the mind, all day every day; it was how they fed after all - get a guy or girl in close quarters, lay on the charm thick as anything, and sink the old fangs in. And woi la - Insta-Meal. Clark was probably just jealous - probably wanted a taste of Hannah the Wondergirl after hunting her for so long with the team.
Yeah, that was probably it. Goddess, vamps were so single-minded. Only thought about one thing, and nothing else until they satisfied that one want or need or whatever. Like a dog gnawing on a bone to get the marrow. And they said Ishe/I was the animal.
Breathe, just. Breathe. Just go upstairs and do your job. Do what you need to do, protect who you need to protect, do what you know how. Just breathe and. Move.
Lupe took a breath and moved.
The white theme was up here too. Except upstairs the white was less glaring, more like the soft color of eggshell. It could have to do with the fact that more tabled art and displayed paintings broke the solid color to softness, or it could have been the light. It had more of a yellow glow up here than the hard white brilliance of downstairs. Yeah, the light. Or something.
She moved quietly, hoping not to disturb. She cursed her boots; they weren't very stealthy, were made for force in hand-to-hand combat if she was unable to 'shift for any reason, and managed to make her footsteps heavier than she would have liked. The absolute silence didn't help any either. Silence. So Clark was pulling that shit out of his ass. Figures. He was horny as anything, that one; could probably extract sexual innuendo from Sesame Street if called to do so. Hades, probably did it in his free time. Lupe tried not to feel too relieved in the silence.
Lupe considered this sudden relief. Or whatever it was she felt. Not relief, but.something. Like. Like release. Almost. Like maybe she could let go of that little nagging pull at her insides, that slight distaste at the back of her throat. At least for a little while. Until the morning. Or later morning since she could feel in her senses that the sun had risen in the lazy dawn sky: a cool wet light - butter soft - shafted through the window at the end of the hall; it was a light that the Nevada sun would soon burn dry and hot. That's what it was. Release. Because, Goddess damn it all, she'd been trapped. Indebted to Thierry. Why the hell did he save her life if he was going to make her spend the whole damn thing making it up to him? Was it really fair to save a cursed half-breed - innocent as any newborn thing could possibly be - to make it spend the rest of its life repaying the debt?
Goddess, I am such a freak, Lupe thought. She wasn't *indebted.* She *wanted* to do this - to hunt for what Thierry wanted, to find what made him, well, happy. Because she had never seen him happy. Not once. She had lived eighteen years, soon to be nineteen, and she had never seen him smile. Not a real smile anyway. Not one that reached his eyes, eyes a dark russet that reminded her vaguely of the red-brown in melted chocolate. Except not really, because they were never truly warm. Yearning, more like. And Lupe had wanted to see what they were like, when they were melted. And soft. And warm.
She'd only wanted to see him smile. That was her entire mission in life, then. Smile like her father would have done, if he hadn't died, if he could hug and kiss Lupe and her mom. Smile like. Like. Something.
Lupe sighed. She might as well do what she knew how to do, and investigate the grounds. She strode to the window at the end of the hallway - tried not to hold her breath as she passed Thierry's bedroom door - and gazed out to review the premises. She glanced down to the thirsty green-brown of desert grass, to the soft, bent shadows beneath sparsely leaved trees, for any possible intruders. There was nothing suspicious that she could see. She noted the black clad guards protecting the grounds only through inside knowledge; they were well hidden in case any invader were to make him or herself seen, using surprise as the ultimate advantage. Lupe slowly let out the breath she hadn't known she was holding. It was clear. All was well in Wonderland - at least it appeared to be, outside.
As she moved away from the window, Lupe sniffed for anything suspect. The scent of an intruder, an invader to the grounds, not. Anything else. Like sweat, or. Something.
No, she wasn't smelling for that. Not anything sweet, like. That.
Lupe moved closer to the bedroom door. She strained her preternatural ears to anything that ringed questionable. No, nothing. Just. Breathing. Soft breathing. Like someone asleep. Or two people asleep, rather. Not.panting. Panting, after. That.
Goddess, she couldn't do this. Why did she think she could do this?
*Do what?* she asked herself.
*This.*_ This,_* you utter moron!* She just couldn't do it, listening to them breathe like that, almost synchronized behind the white-painted wood of the door. In. Out. In. Out. Always together. In and out.
Lupe rested her head against the cool paint of the door. The chill seeped into the skin of her cheek as her hand slowly crept its way to the doorknob. Right there. Beneath her fingers. Cool and round and. There.
She twisted the knob and pushed.
The door was silent as she opened it, gliding open smoothly and nearly pulling her in by its own accord. She stopped herself when she noticed soft carpet beneath her boots instead of the rigid resistance of tile. And she looked.
She looked, and held her breath. They were there - Thierry and Hannah - lying on the bed together. They weren't beneath the sheets, no. They rested on top of the sheets pooled around them - sheets blindingly white, even more so than anything Lupe had seen or remembered seeing - and they held each other. Thierry had his arm wrapped around Hannah, her pale yellow hair pooled across it as if keeping it warm, and Hannah's cheek was tucked safely beneath Thierry's chin. She held him too, as close as he held her, in sleep. They were *together,* more together than in any way Lupe thought she could ever know. Like they were *existing* together, like they were one in the same in two separate parts. Like as if any minute now, they would become *one* right in front of Lupe's eyes, as if they only existed as two for the shits and giggles of it, for the hell of it. Like they were fooling everyone else into thinking they were two separate people for some chuckles, and now that they had their fun they could go back. Back to being. One.
Lupe could see Thierry's face. It was relaxed in sleep, but not only sleep. Utter and absolute relief. And happiness. True happiness. Happiness in its purest form, maybe. A happiness Lupe couldn't possibly imagine existing. Not in this life, at least.
And there it was. The smile. Curved on his lips like it had always been there. Yes, there were lines around his eyes that suggested maybe, just maybe, this man wasn't used to happiness, maybe had spent thousands of years looking for it -- but it was there. Playing at the corners of his lips like a child might, pulling them up and perhaps promising to never let them go.
It was there.
Lupe gently stepped away and closed the door softly behind her. Her hand still rested on the doorknob as she breathed. Just. Breathed. Yes, she saw it, maybe what she had been looking - searching -- for her entire life. And it was. It was.
Something.
*Finis.*
Author: Robyn Darkholme
E-mail: waternymph227@yahoo.com
Rating: General
Warnings: This is General, but should be considered to be close to an adult; it contains some questionable language and sexual references. I'd probably put it on a rating of about PG-13, but I'm never good at those things.
Spoilers: _Nightworld: Soulmate,_ and generally the rest of the _Nightworld_ series. Disclaimers: The concepts and characters of _Nightworld_ belong to L.J. Smith.
Summary: ".[He] turned away from Lupe and looked through the boarded up cracks in the window again. And promptly forgot that Lupe existed." A (very) short piece on Lupe's thoughts during the morning after Hannah is rescued from Maya.
Comments: I always like Lupe, even if she only had a few cameos. So I decided to write a fic about her. My first fanfic, so therefore it's very short. Consider it an experiment. ;) Feedback would be appreciated (this is me begging; isn't it sad?). (Also, if you see any weird grammatical errors [like.this], they're supposed to be ellipses. So just imagine them in there. :))
Submission: January 3, 2004
She whistled tunelessly, her hands in her pockets and her boot-clad feet plodding on white tile floor. Everything was white in this place. The walls, the ceiling, the slick gleam of cool tile - the white false light glaring from chandeliers and industrial-style lamps. Even his skin. Which didn't make any sense considering vampires technically *could* expose skin to sunlight.
They hadn't lived here long anyway. They - he - were nomads of a sort, always searching for Her. The One. Lupe Acevedo laughed when she thought of how involved this search for Her was - how many thousands of years, each minute spent on its purpose, each breath focused on a single thought to *find.* He had deemed Las Vegas as good a place as any - they had the world to consider - and they, the team, the outfit of service they had become in how many years, had settled to this modernized mansion in the inexhaustible preparation and execution of his ancient hunt.
And all those years - all that *single-mindedness*- had ended rather abruptly, and in Lupe's overly imaginative opinion, anti-climatically. When Lupe considered it, this hunt had been in process thousands of years, before she was *born.* It consumed her entire *life* - or at least what it was when she had decided to dedicate her half-breed self and service to Thierry; she never actually thought she would repay the debt she owed him. She just thought she would spend an entire lifetime - her lifetime, anyway, there would be countless others after she would die and until Thierry would find his Soulmate - hunting and searching and fighting and looking for rose- glass stains on cheeks. Lupe had always imagined the birthmark to be rather large - a predominant feature on the face. But, really, it was rather small. A small brush, a soft rose petal on snow. Snow. Hannah Snow. Lupe laughed. And that was it. He found Her.
The Hunt was over.
Maybe Lupe had imagined fireworks or something. Like, maybe some kind of explosion, a supernatural force blooming from the corners of ethereality, booming with the words, "This is It. You have found Her. You may go back to doing Normal and Boring Things like picking your toenails, or something." Or something.
And really, if she thought about it, what the hell was she supposed to do now? They got the girl, she was right upstairs resting in bed. Or not resting. More like with Thierry doing whatever Soulmates do when alone. Like kissing, or holding hands. Or ravaging each other senseless. Lupe had no clue, and really didn't want to get a clue. No, she really didn't.
They were probably talking. Catching up on Old Times. Discussing what only Old Souls and Lords of the Night World knew about. Probably reminiscing about Ol' Spikey, the great and blood-stained spear that killed many a Neanderthal and Wooly Mammoth in The Day. How it was so handy when getting the kill. Never went astray from its target. Good, spear, good. Pet the spear.
Lupe thought she might be going out of her mind.
And so what if they.did it? They *were* thousands of years old, technically speaking. If anyone should do it, it *should* be them. Lupe couldn't imagine going thousands of years without getting any. Or at least getting some sporadically every few centuries until one of the pair was shuffled off this mortal coil, kicked the kettle, croaked, whatever. That would get tiresome, Lupe imagined, and damn right annoying. One would have to consider new and kinky ways to get oneself - single-handedly --off until the next several decades. Their libidos must be bursting. Lupe thought something would have to be wrong if they *weren't* doing anything. Sexual. Or whatever.
Lupe was supposed to be on watch anyway, and not supposed to be thinking of what her boss and his.girl.were doing beneath the sheets. Or anywhere. Maya could have associates out looking to avenge her death, even so soon after the actual event, and Lupe would be damned if she let anyone get to Hannah after finally bringing both her and Thierry to virtual safety. So no thoughts about Hannah and the Bossman while on duty - no thoughts about personal.activities.while trying to maintain professionalism. Even if Thierry had been like the father she never had and given her the mother she *could* have never had. He was more than a father, actually. He was. Something.
Something.
While she was on watch, she might as well investigate the most vulnerable and highly targeted place: Thierry's bedroom. Maybe check around the vicinity, sniff out any possible intruders. Kick some Vamp or Wolfie ass if anyone without dark Nilsson-glasses (she always teased him about seemingly starting the trend - or at least, that was what she was told) got too near. The room. And the general area, of course. She walked past a few blackly uniformed vampires - Clark, Rodriguez, and some new guy - and nodded to them, indicating all was clear. Then she shifted her gaze from them to the wide, white-tiled stairs leading in an encroaching way upstairs. The second floor. Thierry's bedroom.
"Hey, guys. I'm just going to check things out upstairs. See if anything's up and about."
"DiRisi and Blackthorn just checked it out, but you can if you want. Sniff it out," Rodriguez offered, a grin stretched tight on his face. The skin along the rim of his shades crinkled with the smile, but Lupe couldn't tell if it was genuine beneath the black plastic. She could never tell with Rodriquez.
"Sure thing. I'll inform you guys if I see anything."
"Or hear anything," Clark said, nearly snickering. "Like mattress springs. You know, the Bossman should think about buying a new one. Mattress, I mean." Clark was nearly giggling like a schoolgirl, trying to keep his mirth in check while schooling his features to seriousness. He was failing utterly.
Lupe didn't think it was funny at all. Pathetic, just. Pathetic.
"Right-o. See you later, boys."
She was on her way upstairs when the thought of actually *hearing* anything made her balk right in her tracks. Hearing anything .erotic . coming from behind Thierry's closed bedroom door. That was just. Too much. Was Clark serious? Or just yanking her chain? Was she that obvious? Did she show it that much? Her .concern. for Thierry? Well, yes, they of course all knew she was fond of Thierry, that she felt she owed him. Anyone with two eyes and half a brain could see that. So why the jokes and innuendos aimed at her? Did they think that she *cared* whether Thierry and Hannah were satisfying themselves? In a way beyond a friend would? Stupid vamps. Always thinking they were so clever about everything, about everyone when they didn't have a clue. They had sex on the mind, all day every day; it was how they fed after all - get a guy or girl in close quarters, lay on the charm thick as anything, and sink the old fangs in. And woi la - Insta-Meal. Clark was probably just jealous - probably wanted a taste of Hannah the Wondergirl after hunting her for so long with the team.
Yeah, that was probably it. Goddess, vamps were so single-minded. Only thought about one thing, and nothing else until they satisfied that one want or need or whatever. Like a dog gnawing on a bone to get the marrow. And they said Ishe/I was the animal.
Breathe, just. Breathe. Just go upstairs and do your job. Do what you need to do, protect who you need to protect, do what you know how. Just breathe and. Move.
Lupe took a breath and moved.
The white theme was up here too. Except upstairs the white was less glaring, more like the soft color of eggshell. It could have to do with the fact that more tabled art and displayed paintings broke the solid color to softness, or it could have been the light. It had more of a yellow glow up here than the hard white brilliance of downstairs. Yeah, the light. Or something.
She moved quietly, hoping not to disturb. She cursed her boots; they weren't very stealthy, were made for force in hand-to-hand combat if she was unable to 'shift for any reason, and managed to make her footsteps heavier than she would have liked. The absolute silence didn't help any either. Silence. So Clark was pulling that shit out of his ass. Figures. He was horny as anything, that one; could probably extract sexual innuendo from Sesame Street if called to do so. Hades, probably did it in his free time. Lupe tried not to feel too relieved in the silence.
Lupe considered this sudden relief. Or whatever it was she felt. Not relief, but.something. Like. Like release. Almost. Like maybe she could let go of that little nagging pull at her insides, that slight distaste at the back of her throat. At least for a little while. Until the morning. Or later morning since she could feel in her senses that the sun had risen in the lazy dawn sky: a cool wet light - butter soft - shafted through the window at the end of the hall; it was a light that the Nevada sun would soon burn dry and hot. That's what it was. Release. Because, Goddess damn it all, she'd been trapped. Indebted to Thierry. Why the hell did he save her life if he was going to make her spend the whole damn thing making it up to him? Was it really fair to save a cursed half-breed - innocent as any newborn thing could possibly be - to make it spend the rest of its life repaying the debt?
Goddess, I am such a freak, Lupe thought. She wasn't *indebted.* She *wanted* to do this - to hunt for what Thierry wanted, to find what made him, well, happy. Because she had never seen him happy. Not once. She had lived eighteen years, soon to be nineteen, and she had never seen him smile. Not a real smile anyway. Not one that reached his eyes, eyes a dark russet that reminded her vaguely of the red-brown in melted chocolate. Except not really, because they were never truly warm. Yearning, more like. And Lupe had wanted to see what they were like, when they were melted. And soft. And warm.
She'd only wanted to see him smile. That was her entire mission in life, then. Smile like her father would have done, if he hadn't died, if he could hug and kiss Lupe and her mom. Smile like. Like. Something.
Lupe sighed. She might as well do what she knew how to do, and investigate the grounds. She strode to the window at the end of the hallway - tried not to hold her breath as she passed Thierry's bedroom door - and gazed out to review the premises. She glanced down to the thirsty green-brown of desert grass, to the soft, bent shadows beneath sparsely leaved trees, for any possible intruders. There was nothing suspicious that she could see. She noted the black clad guards protecting the grounds only through inside knowledge; they were well hidden in case any invader were to make him or herself seen, using surprise as the ultimate advantage. Lupe slowly let out the breath she hadn't known she was holding. It was clear. All was well in Wonderland - at least it appeared to be, outside.
As she moved away from the window, Lupe sniffed for anything suspect. The scent of an intruder, an invader to the grounds, not. Anything else. Like sweat, or. Something.
No, she wasn't smelling for that. Not anything sweet, like. That.
Lupe moved closer to the bedroom door. She strained her preternatural ears to anything that ringed questionable. No, nothing. Just. Breathing. Soft breathing. Like someone asleep. Or two people asleep, rather. Not.panting. Panting, after. That.
Goddess, she couldn't do this. Why did she think she could do this?
*Do what?* she asked herself.
*This.*_ This,_* you utter moron!* She just couldn't do it, listening to them breathe like that, almost synchronized behind the white-painted wood of the door. In. Out. In. Out. Always together. In and out.
Lupe rested her head against the cool paint of the door. The chill seeped into the skin of her cheek as her hand slowly crept its way to the doorknob. Right there. Beneath her fingers. Cool and round and. There.
She twisted the knob and pushed.
The door was silent as she opened it, gliding open smoothly and nearly pulling her in by its own accord. She stopped herself when she noticed soft carpet beneath her boots instead of the rigid resistance of tile. And she looked.
She looked, and held her breath. They were there - Thierry and Hannah - lying on the bed together. They weren't beneath the sheets, no. They rested on top of the sheets pooled around them - sheets blindingly white, even more so than anything Lupe had seen or remembered seeing - and they held each other. Thierry had his arm wrapped around Hannah, her pale yellow hair pooled across it as if keeping it warm, and Hannah's cheek was tucked safely beneath Thierry's chin. She held him too, as close as he held her, in sleep. They were *together,* more together than in any way Lupe thought she could ever know. Like they were *existing* together, like they were one in the same in two separate parts. Like as if any minute now, they would become *one* right in front of Lupe's eyes, as if they only existed as two for the shits and giggles of it, for the hell of it. Like they were fooling everyone else into thinking they were two separate people for some chuckles, and now that they had their fun they could go back. Back to being. One.
Lupe could see Thierry's face. It was relaxed in sleep, but not only sleep. Utter and absolute relief. And happiness. True happiness. Happiness in its purest form, maybe. A happiness Lupe couldn't possibly imagine existing. Not in this life, at least.
And there it was. The smile. Curved on his lips like it had always been there. Yes, there were lines around his eyes that suggested maybe, just maybe, this man wasn't used to happiness, maybe had spent thousands of years looking for it -- but it was there. Playing at the corners of his lips like a child might, pulling them up and perhaps promising to never let them go.
It was there.
Lupe gently stepped away and closed the door softly behind her. Her hand still rested on the doorknob as she breathed. Just. Breathed. Yes, she saw it, maybe what she had been looking - searching -- for her entire life. And it was. It was.
Something.
*Finis.*