"Are you sure?" Dylan asked once again after some time, his voice low but carrying a weight that Lena could almost feel brushing against her skin. She didn't answer right away, her eyes still fixed on the flames licking the hearth, her expression unreadable.
The fire crackled, throwing flickers of orange light across her face. Dylan leaned forward, searching her profile for a trace of truth, for something that would convince him she wasn't just repeating the same words to keep him from worrying.
Finally, Lena looked up at him. Her eyes met his—soft, tired, but steady. She reached out, tangling her fingers with his, her hand warm despite how cold her voice sounded.
"I'm okay now, Dy," she assured him, her lips curving into the faintest smile.
Dylan's throat tightened. Hopelessly, he stared at her, because he knew. He was so sure, too sure, that Lena was lying, that "okay" was just a mask she wore so he wouldn't crumble under the weight of what she carried. Each time she said it, it cut deeper. She denied her pain so naturally, but he had seen it. He had felt it. And somewhere inside him, the decision formed solidly, without hesitation: they would return to their city. Back to Capaldi.
His eyes didn't leave her. He got lost in the quiet storm behind her gaze, so lost that he didn't notice the door suddenly fling open. The bell above chimed angrily, shattering the fragile stillness, and a weight landed hard against his back.
"What the.. " Dylan jolted, turning sharply.
Eva.
She had come running, her cheeks flushed with the rush of cold air, hair untamed, eyes burning. She must have seen something on her phone, some message, because she stormed in like a wave crashing against rock. And without a pause, she was on him.
"Did this guy over here force you to go back, love?"
Eva's sharp voice cracked through the room as she pulled Lena gently away from him. Dylan blinked, startled, his body still catching up with her sudden presence.
Eva didn't give him another glance, as if he was air, as if he was the very problem she had to solve. She settled Lena beside her, arm circling her like a shield, her anger palpable.
Lena smiled; genuinely smiled and Dylan's chest tightened in confusion. His heart, though, faltered because Eva didn't notice what he had. She didn't see the faint redness beneath Lena's eyes, the fragile way her fingers trembled when they stilled.
"It's my fault,"
Dylan said suddenly, his voice heavy.
Eva's head snapped up, but Dylan's eyes weren't on her. They were on Lena.
(Of course it's my fault. Lena had to see that person again; twice now. And I've failed. I couldn't gather a single piece of information about him. I couldn't protect her the way I promised I would.)
The silence stretched for a moment before Eva spoke again, her tone softer, trying to redirect everything.
"Next time, when you come here again, Lena, I'll take you there. You won't believe how magical the middle of the forest looks."
Dylan exhaled quietly. Here she goes again. Eva, the history fanatic. Who would've thought that someone who spent most of their life in sterile labs and empty corridors could hold such obsession for old places and wild beauty?
Why are there such manics around him?
Wasn't Gibbs enough?
She spoke of them like they were pieces of her own soul.
Lena, with her quiet grace, reached for Eva's hand and held it.
"I'm looking forward to seeing the place with you again, Eva,"
she said, her voice soft but steady.
Dylan froze. He caught the undertone, the small break hidden inside her words.
There was a longing there, a longing to be okay, to truly mean the words she kept repeating.
His heart skipped, and then it ached, because no matter how much she tried to hide it, he could hear it.
Eva, unaware of his turmoil, suddenly tilted her head, eyes sharp with something unspoken.
"Can you forgive Dylan?" she asked gently, almost testing.
Lena's gaze moved toward him, and Dylan felt as if the floor had dropped out from under him. The way her lips parted, the way her eyes softened, he felt miserable. Miserable that she even had to ask such a thing. Miserable that he had failed her, even unintentionally. Dylan has never felt this much helpless and miserable in all his life. The feeling were new to him, almost killing him.
Eva's eyes darted between them, questions laced in her expression, but Dylan refused to meet them. He kept his gaze steady on Lena, his chest burning.
"Only if he cooks lunch,"
Eva said suddenly, breaking the tension with a crooked smile. Her attempt to lighten the knot was almost clumsy, but it worked.
"Huh?" Dylan blinked, thrown off.
Eva smirked.
"Lena, I saw a picture of this dish posted by you on that Neather app. It looked so appetizing. I want him, this man of yours; to cook it for me."
She whipped out her phone, showing them a bright image on her screen. Dylan leaned in, recognizing the dish immediately. He hadn't made it in months.
Lena chuckled softly, the sound delicate but real, and Dylan couldn't say no after hearing it. Without hesitation, he nodded.
"Fine. I'll cook. Do you even have the ingredients at home, though?"
Eva's eyes gleamed with triumph.
"No."
Of course not.
Which meant one thing: a trip out of café, again.
Dylan ran a hand through his hair, half in disbelief, half in relief that the sharp moment had passed.
"Then let's go get them," he said, standing.
Eva's grin widened. Lena's hand lingered in hers, their bond so natural it almost ached to watch. Dylan found himself watching again, watching the way Lena leaned ever so slightly into Eva, watching the smile that tugged at her lips. A genuine one.
And for a moment, just a moment, he let himself breathe.
Maybe cooking lunch wasn't such a punishment.
***
Dylan moved easily in Eva's small kitchen, sleeves rolled up, the scent of garlic and herbs filling the air. He worked quietly, lost in thought, while Lena and Eva talked in low voices at the table. Soon, a steaming pasta dish and a warm, creamy soup were placed before them. Eva's eyes lit up the moment she took her first bite.
"Alright, I admit it," she said with a grin, "you're forgiven."
Lena laughed softly, her smile brighter than before, and Dylan felt his chest unclench for the first time in days. The meal lingered with quiet conversation and shared warmth, but once the plates were cleared, Dylan leaned back, his expression firm.
"Eva," he began, his voice steady,
"we've decided to go back. To Capaldi. Tonight."
Eva stilled, then nodded slowly. She didn't protest, only looked at Lena with something unreadable in her eyes before agreeing. Later that night, she stood with them beneath the cold lights of Leal International Airport. The air smelled faintly of hasty good byes, people rushing past with heavy bags and hurried goodbyes.
Eva pulled Lena into a fierce hug, whispering something only she could hear, before turning to Dylan.
"Take care of her," she said simply.