It's late, when the three arrive home. Lisa's still trying to process what just happened, while the boys view the world with dead eyes.
"You should get some rest," Nine sighs before running a hand through his hair. We're going to need to find a new place tomorrow." Lisa can't even think of going to sleep, but she just nods in reply. Nine grunts and soon he's off, stumbling for his bed.
It's only now she realizes Twelve hadn't said a word since they'd gotten home. "Twelve?" Concern paints her features, but he doesn't look at her.
"Come on," He moves toward a cabinet. Confused but intrigued, Lisa follows, worry evident. Twelve gestures her to sit at the table, and proceeds to show her a bottle of vodka.
"How did-" She starts to ask, but realizes halfway how futile that was. They're terrorists, getting their supplies is nothing compared to finding some alcohol.
"We always keep some for emergencies," Twelve answers her anyways, and pours two glasses. "Though we have different definitions of emergency. You ever drank?" Lisa stiffly shakes her head. "Well now's as good as any, it's much more enjoyable getting wasted with someone else."
Twelve downs his drink quickly and soon gets a refill. Meanwhile, Lisa takes one sip and almost spits it out in disgust. It's horribly bitter, but she tries to finish at least half a glass to be polite.
For a while, they sit in silence, all Lisa hears is her pounding heartbeat, that still hasn't calmed down from earlier. She tries to forget everything about the horrible plane, but every time she closes her eyes, the flames burn from the explosion.
"You want to forget too, don't ya?" Twelve drawls out. "Wanna forget the fear and danger." Lisa doesn't know what to say, so she says nothing and listens to Twelve's rambling. Time seems to stand still as he talks of nonsense, but at the same time, the night seems to pass in a blur. It could be hours or it could be minutes when Twelve acknowledges her again.
"Why aren't ya drinking?" A slight slur lingers on his words. "I feel bad for drinking alone."
"Ah, sorry," Lisa sputters out. She takes another sip, but is unable to hide her grimace.
"You know ya voice is a pale yellow," He leans in closer to her. "It's pretty, real pretty." His face lights up like he's telling a scandalous secret.
"You've already told me, Twelve," She can smell the alcohol on him and can't help but think he's pretty drunk for drinking not that much. But then she knows nothing about this, she knows nothing about anything.
"It's really pretty when you say my name, can you say it again?" He reaches for her hand.
"Twelve?" A blush creeps up her neck, those words are some of the nicest things she's even heard.
At her words, Twelve leans his head back and hums with satisfaction. "It's nice when you say my name. I like it a lot." He smiles innocently. Suddenly those glazed over eyes start to cringe, as if remembering something. "It was really scary tonight. I thought you might die."
"Yeah it was scary," More images flash before Lisa's eyes.
"It'd be sad if I lost ya," His grip on her is vicelike. "I wouldn't be able to forgive myself…"
Maybe the night's clouding her judgement, or she's still confused from the chaos from before. But it turns out she knows at least one thing: it hurts seeing someone upset over her.
"It's alright," She plants a gentle kiss on his lips. "I'm here, I'm alive."
A.N. Based off one of tumblr user cupofwitt's beautiful headcanons. After reading it, I knew I had to write something using it