Author: Julie decadentdream
Word Count: 1,182
Summary: Wyatt tries to reconcile with Bianca after her job forces her to leave him.
A/N: Written for the prompt "What good would it be to kill you if we're both already dead?" - AWDT Challenge conducted by jamie2109 & nocturnali
Life is as simple as the flip of a coin. Sometimes you’re on top, sometimes you’re buried somewhere underneath, out of view of everyone. When you’re up, you feel like you’re the only person in the world – just like the head on the head side of a coin – one solo, prominent figure who’s stood their ground and made a difference. But then there are times when you’re down, when your figure is shadowed and the world takes over. These are the moments when the coin feels too heavy to turn. These are the times you’re convinced that the world will never let you see the sun again.
Bianca flipped the dime between her fingers, watching as the sun glinted off its metallic surface, causing white light to flicker against the darkness in front of her. She turned it with a methodical determination, anger brewing under the cool exterior of her affectation.
“Hey, sis,” a man said, stopping before her.
She lifted her gaze, pausing the motion of the coin as she fixed the man with a cold, hard stare. “I’m not your sister.”
“Can you spare a man some change?” he asked, holding his hand out towards her.
Bianca pushed her thumbs against the edge of the coin, flicking it up with such force that it spun in the air before hitting the man in the forehead. Automatically the man clasped a hand to where he’d been hit.
“Lady!” he cried.
“Bianca!” a firm shout followed.
She didn’t even need to look to recognize the voice. She turned the other way and quickened her pace, as if she’d never heard him.
“Bianca, wait!” he called again.
She could hear his heavy footsteps pounding over the dirt behind her, rocks crushing under the soles of his dark black boots. She kept her head down, resolutely keeping to her path. Neither of them dared use their magic, not in such an open space, not in broad daylight.
“Bianca! Stop! Now!” he demanded.
Despite her best intention not to do as he said, she stopped. She could hear his pace slow behind her, finally coming to stop at a short distance from where she stood.
“You have a funny way of staying away from me,” she said.
“Well I don’t know how your calendar works, but it’s been months since I saw you last,” he replied. Releasing a breath, and he hoped his aggravation with it, he assumed a softer tone and said: “I wanted to see how you were.”
“So far.” Quickly Wyatt moved around to stand in front of her, tired of having a conversation with just the back of her. She needed to see it in his eyes, but instead she cast her gaze away as he faced her. “I want you to stop killing, Bianca.”
He still remembered the way she had looked that day. It had barely reached dawn when he had checked up on her. She had spent the whole morning between darkness and light balled up on the couch. She wore a thin red jacket, the sleeves pulled up over her hands, the ends clenched in her fists. Her arms were firmly wrapped around her legs. It was freezing, but she didn’t seem to notice. Her eyes were permanently fixed on a blank spot somewhere halfway up the wall. Her dark hair was loosely tied back into a ponytail, although many strands fell across her face. It wasn’t enough to conceal the odd tear that ran down her cheek. She had not spoken a word since she’d arrived home. He didn’t know what internal turmoil she was putting herself through.
“You can’t control me,” she said, looking back to him with dark eyes that suppressed a hidden rage. “I won’t let you tell me what to do.”
“I know. But I’m not ‘them’, baby. I just want you to be happy.”
“You can’t make me happy.”
Wyatt swallowed the lump forming in the back of his throat, forcing it down. The remark had stung. Despite what had happened, he was miserable without her. All the distractions he had to occupy him were not enough to accommodate for the loss of the girl he loved.
“A year ago you wouldn’t have said that,” he said.
“A lot of things can change in a year,” she said flatly.
“Time doesn’t make you forget what you feel. It’s easy to fall in love. It’s harder to let go.”
“Why don’t you just kill me now?” she said cynically as she shrugged.
Wyatt clenched his fist, struggling to maintain his composure. She was so cold, so empty, just a shell of the girl he used to know.
“What good would it be to kill you if we’re both already dead?” he asked.
She remained silent, her eyes staring into his with unwavering stubbornness. Defeated, he broke the gaze, moving back past her in the direction he had come from. After a moments pause, she spun, not allowing him to have the last word.
“You don’t get it, do you?” she shouted after him. “We can’t be together! We’re two sides of the same coin. Your job is to save the world. Mine is to save myself. We never can be on the same side.”
“Bianca,” Wyatt said softly, sock-covered feet padding across the wooden floorboards as he approached her. “Come to bed. It’s late, and freezing. I can’t keep your side warm forever.”
He sat on the arm of the couch, looking at her. She didn’t laugh or even crack a smile. In fact the more he watched her, the more her face slipped behind her arms as she tried to cover it from view.
“Baby, what’s the matter?” he asked. He could hear her sniffling. He didn’t have to see her eyes to know they were filled with tears. “Bianca... why are you crying?”
“I don’t want this anymore,” she mumbled.
“It hurts too much,” she said. Lifting her head, she bit her lip gently as she looked at him. “I don’t like being forced to do things.”
“What things?” Wyatt asked curiously. “Baby, what happened?”
“It was you or him, Wy,” she sobbed. “Chris is dead.”
“What?” Wyatt retorted uncomprehendingly. “What are trying to say? You killed him? My brother?”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t want to…” she stammered.
“I know you won’t forgive me, but when I go just… stay away. I can’t take much more of this.”
Wyatt looked back to her. He could see now that she had let her façade slip. She was emotionally vulnerable. She was the girl behind the Phoenix mask, the one the coven made her wear to bear the torment they inflicted upon her. He had done enough asking around to know they were the ones who had pushed the assignment onto her. Although she had done the actual slaying, it was because she had been cornered into it by threats against both him and herself. He knew she hated this life. He could see the burden the job placed on her.
“Then let me save you,” he said.