The apartment didn't look much like a home anymore, stripped bare of all furniture and personal belongings. Sure, there were a couple bottles of rum and scotch on the counter, but those had been gifted to them and were rarely touched by either of the two, save for late nights after heists. Neopolitan walked in, knowing already it would change her routine. She held in either hand a weapon, one her own and the other belonging to the only person who'd ever mattered. The only one who'd ever cared, who'd given her a chance.
It was safe to say she'd miss him. To say she'd likely never get over it. Over them. The others knew she'd hide it the best she could. They wouldn't ask questions, wouldn't shoot her bizarre looks when she broke down without the slightest hint as to why.
Both weapons fell to the ground as she spotted a small picture frame on the floor where their couch had been. The picture inside was of her and Roman; she picked it up and smiled sadly at their grinning faces. It was a familiar picture; Mercury had taken it a few days before the fall of Beacon, when they'd eaten together and discussed their plans.
"We're going somewhere, Neo," he'd said softly, his hand wrapping around hers, which clutched the parasol. His first gift to her. His whispers were to quiet for the others to hear, but she smiled at the sound of his voice, a melody in its own. "I promise you. Once this is all done. Maybe Atlas. Maybe Vacuo. Wherever you want."
She'd simply nodded, simply leaned her head against his chest and reached up to kiss his jaw. It was just another day, then. Just another day planning their life after the heists and the deaths and the falls.
Atlas. She'd have gone to Atlas with him. She'd have gotten a place with him, an apartment bigger than the one they'd shared since arriving in Vale. Or a real home, one with enough space for them and kids. And maybe a dog.
Kids. Four of them. A girl named Autumn, to remember their times in Vale, and a brother one year after her, named Roy. Both with his hair, preferably. And his eyes. And his grin. Then, two more, two years later, once again a boy and a girl. Orin and Stracciatella, if only to joke around about the name and it's meaning. Ella, they'd call her.
It was hard not to imagine Roman at her side, passing down his cane and hat to his sons. Hard not to imagine him kissing his daughters goodnight, or playing in the park with all four of his kids, or teaching them their way of life. Steal, cheat, survive. She couldn't imagine a future where she didn't grow old with him by her side, joking around and knowing exactly what she meant without her having to say it. He was the only one who could. Who ever could.
She couldn't imagine not having him there to help her through the rough times. Through the nightmares that struck regularly, the panic attacks that left her curled up in a ball on the floor.
He was her rock. He was her light. And he was gone.
Her knees buckled, and she fell to the ground, sobs racking her body. No sound left her mouth; she remained utterly silent. It was always like that—silently sobbing, silently showing her pain and sadness and anger and grief. It would be like that forever. And perhaps it was better that way.
Perhaps it was better that she kept to herself. That she kept the others from knowing of her pain, of her suffering. It would be much simpler, keeping it balled up. Besides, the others wouldn't help. None of them truly understood. None of them would help her up when she fell, when she was down for the count. Only Roman had helped her when she lost her balance. Nobody listened. And now, she had nobody to take his place. As if anyone could, anyway.
Neopolitan wrapped her arms around herself, and only moved to grab the discarded cane. Only to pull it close to her. She held it tightly, hoping to feel a piece of him through it. But there was nothing. There would never be anything. Not anymore.
If only she'd taken him up on the offer to become Neopolitan Torchwick. If only she'd said yes, and had let him carry her away to whatever setup he'd prepared. If only she'd agreed to marry him, agreed to take binding vows. Maybe the outcome would've been different. Maybe she wouldn't feel as hurt.
But now, she was only Neo. Only Neopolitan, only the sidekick to the deceased Roman Torchwick. Only the forgotten lover to an amazing person.
Silent sobs racked her body, and she remained curled up on the ground until there were no more tears and no more memories.
September 29th 2017: Edited grammatical errors.