Lucas sat up in bed, breathing hard. He'd dreamt of her again, of the moment when they'd cut her, the moment they'd taken her away, her last words, that small hand reaching out for him. He covered his face with his hands. He'd been dreaming of her almost every night for the last month. Those last moments haunted him, the last time he'd ever seen her alive. He hadn't been able to help her, not even in the end.
He got out of bed and stood up, looking around. He opened the door and walked out into the corridor, headed for what had been her room. All of her things were still there; her family hadn't claimed them yet. No one had gone into her room; they couldn't bring themselves to. Neither could he. But now he wanted to be near her, and this was the only way.
He looked up and down the corridor. There was no one; it was too early in the morning. He opened the door and stepped inside, softly closing it behind him. He turned on the small desk lamp, and looked around. It was just as she'd left it, that night when they'd gone ashore for the Embassy party. There was a picture of her on the desk, a picture of her with someone, a friend maybe. They were standing in front of a waterfall, and she was smiling and happy again.
He picked it up and sat down on the bed. His pain overwhelmed him; he just wanted her back. But she was never coming back. He would never see her again. He felt the lump rising in his chest, but he didn't care, no one would see him.
It had been all over the news, about how she had been a Romanov and how she had died. All of her reduced to something to be marveled over and discussed, none of it coming close to the beautiful and brilliant friend he'd known. He'd looked at the police and other official reports on her death, he'd hacked into their systems to do it, but they were all the same, breaking down the person he'd cared so much for into black letters on a page.
He'd attended her funeral, though he hadn't been sure he'd really wanted to. Katya's parents had asked him to come, as he was with her in those final hours. He wasn't alone; the Captain, Tim, Miguel, Ben, Jason, Hitchcock, Westphalen, and Levin had gone too. They had taken her to St. Petersburg to bury her in the Romanov vault in the Cathedral of St. Peter and St. Paul. Since the true identity of her family had come out, it had been revealed that all of Katya's family, once their "burials" had taken place in the United States, had been moved and returned to Russia for proper burial.
He had walked behind the horse-drawn cart that had carried her coffin draped with the flag of the Russian Federation. He'd stared at it, willing it to go away, but it never had. He had hardly noticed the friends that walked beside him, all of them stone-faced and silent. These were her final friends, and they wanted to be with her until the very end.
At the Cathedral he'd followed along as best he could as the service was read, even though his soul was screaming at him to block it all out. He'd forced himself, out of respect and love for her to listen to it all. There was all of the ceremony one would expect when a member of a royal family was buried, though it was as elegant as he thought Katya would have wanted it to be.
"I'd go in jeans if they'd let me."
"Now you're talkin'…"
He'd shaken his head to clear the memory away. The service was almost over now, and he had only just noticed the open vault to the right of him. As he had stared into the yawning blackness that awaited his precious friend he had shuddered. She wouldn't like it in there, but it didn't matter now. Wherever she was, he hoped it was beautiful and bright.
They were saying goodbye now, her family and her friends. It was his turn, he was the last one, and in his hand he held the one thing he wanted to give her. He placed his hand on the smooth wood, and set the flower he was holding on top. It was a sterling rose, a lavender color; he knew they were her favorite from one of their many conversations.
"Goodbye Kat," he'd whispered, praying that she could hear him.
He'd stared, blinking back his tears and his horror as she was placed inside. He'd wanted to run inside as they were closing the vault again, but he was frozen in place. And then it had been over, it was final, she was really gone.
His sobs choked him but he couldn't stop it. He lay down on her bed, clutching the picture to him, but it only served to cause him more pain as the scent of her, of her perfume floated over him. She was everywhere here, and though it killed him, he didn't want to leave. She seemed to haunt him just as those memories did, but he didn't want her to stop. Lying there, he thought he could faintly hear her laughter. He knew that someday he'd have to help them box all of these things up to send home to her family. He didn't know if he'd be able to do it.
"Kat," he whispered. "Kat I'm sorry. Please come back. Do like Ellie if you have to, just please come back."
He hadn't talked to anyone but Sam. He didn't want to. Sam had been as upset as the rest of them had been, she'd become friends with Katya too. With Sam, he didn't need to explain what he felt, she knew.
He couldn't stay here anymore, he didn't want to be caught, and he felt like he'd disturbed a tomb. He sat up, setting the picture back on the desk and wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. He stood and looked around him again, and his eyes rested on something familiar: his own shirt. He'd forgotten about it. He'd leant it to her once when she'd been in his room with him. She'd gotten cold, just like she had when…no, he wouldn't think of it. He picked up the shirt, knowing that it would smell like her, and it did. He would take it back with him.
He opened the door to her room, turning back to look around once more. He flipped off the lamp and left, shutting the door quietly behind him. He held the shirt to his chest as he walked back toward his own quarters. He would have to let her go eventually, but he just couldn't seem to do it yet.
-
He awoke the next morning to his vidcom buzzing. He turned over, the shirt still in his arms. He was guessing that it was Sam. He set the shirt in the top corner of his bunk and moved to his chair, answering the call.
"This is Lucas," he said, lifelessly.
"Hi Lucas, it's me," Juliana said.
He realized that he'd have to talk to her eventually. "Hi. What's up?"
"You haven't called in a while."
"Well, things have been a little messed up. You heard about Kat I assume."
"Yes, very sad. But you didn't know her long…"
"So? What does that have to do with anything?"
"She wasn't a friend or anything, so why are you so depressed about her? You told me yourself that you hardly knew her."
Lucas couldn't believe what he was hearing. Even with the information that Juliana had, he wasn't supposed to be sad that someone he'd known was dead? "That's a horrible thing to say Juliana. It doesn't change the fact that I knew her and now she's gone. I was there Juliana, I saw it."
"You only feel guilty about not being able to save her."
"You're right. I do."
"Well, you should stop feeling guilty. There is nothing you could have done differently, so stop beating yourself up."
He didn't want to hear this. He didn't need a pep talk. This was stuff you say to someone who'd been grieving a year or more, not to someone who'd just watched one of their best friends die only a month ago.
"Juliana, please. I don't want to do this right now."
"What are you not telling me?"
He sighed. "We were really good friends Juliana, more than just passing acquaintances. She was one of my best friends here."
"Why didn't you say that before?"
"Because I saw how you reacted when you thought I barely knew her. I didn't want to deal with silly questions about her like I had to do when I told you about Sam."
"Silly questions?"
"Juliana, every time I come into contact with another woman who isn't you, you get jealous. You don't trust me."
"Well obviously I have good reason if you don't even tell me the truth!" she cried.
He gritted his teeth. "You know what? I'm done with this conversation."
"What? What do you mean?"
"Was I not clear enough? I can't do this anymore. You have no idea what it was like to see her dragged away, not knowing what they were planning for her. Knowing that she sacrificed her own life to save mine! Watching them put her into that vault that was so much like the last place she'd been alive that it would have terrified her; knowing she was never coming back out again!"
"Lucas, wait…"
"No. I've had it, had enough. You don't understand me and you never really will. I don't know why I keep hoping for it, and you certainly don't understand this."
"Let me try to…"
"No. I'm signing off Juliana. Please, just don't call me. I'll call you when I feel like talking again," he said, not waiting to hear her response before disconnecting the call.