She catches herself a moment before its too late, before she asks ‘who’. Lana realises quickly exactly who he means and just like that, everything falls apart. It all stood on shaky ground as it was, but the whole scene, every single atom, crumbles and falls in on top of itself.
He expects her to arrest him, to drag him back to jail where he so rightfully belongs. And she hasn’t even thought of it.
It runs through her head that she should’ve thought about this, she should’ve taken action, should’ve been on her toes— He would be disappointed in her, he’s taught her this— Hell, she’s disappointed in herself. Her standing in the police department has already taken enough blows as well, and this would be the one to end her career in law enforcement entirely.
Lana Skye is a grade-A idiot. If only the ground would open to swallow her up.
She feels a crack form in the facade, imagines tiny people rapidly trying to fix it before it grows. A small voice in the back of her mind yells and screams at her, hoping she listens. The crack is fixed, and the call goes through to voicemail.
“Let’s have dessert first. If I have to send you back, I hope I have the decency to do so with a full stomach. Our last supper, even.”
Downcast eyes grow darker, tint with grey shadows, cover with a dark echo of pride. Suddenly, it’s not hard to see the man sat across convicted. Every second that passes ages him, rots him, cuts away at his mask and shows the jailbird underneath. Lana Skye fell headfirst into the smoke and mirrors Damon expertly raises all around him, but for unsuspecting police officers or horridly determined lawyers, not the one woman he’s ever trusted, albeit the short time span. She knows him just as little as.. everyone else, now. That’s what she’s part of: everyone else. Though, without her- there isn’t an “else”. No-one to be there to see the true sight through the window, not the murky reflection on the chipped, dust coated glass. Lana Skye is just another “someone” in the ever-expanding anti-fanclub of his called “everyone”.
He’s read the word “toffee” around twenty times now, brain stuck on an emergency loop.
"Ha.. ha." Toffee and.. Toffee and..
”..Lana, please.” His eyes don’t move. Toffee and banana.. Ban.. Banana..
"Please, tell me you didn’t come here alone." Toffee and banana crumble; £7.50. The menu slowly bends inwards as Gant’s fingers grip tighter and tighter from their relaxed hold. Not now. It’s too early. She can’t see how much of a changed man he is, but she needs to learn- She was taught. 9 years ago, she was taught. Did she listen? Or did she forget, make herself wipe every memory, every lesson from him. Clear herself for good. Take off those weights and sail away. He’d smirk here. If his lips weren’t pulled down by the words he wants to say. She’s sailing into the clouds now. Unsafe, reckless and in perfect danger. Him.
"If you have to. If you have the decency- I don’t really think you understand what’s happening here, my dear."
Gant’s attention never wavers from the locked glare fixed on his menu.