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Liz thinks of herself as a pretty open person. That shouldn't be a surprise - she's fucked about every married man in town, shrugged at the divorces she's apparently caused, reminded all of them when they inevitably showed up on her doorstep to blame her that it takes two to tango and some of them were barely worth the music. It's a matter of communication. Not her fault that some of them couldn't talk it through or accept open relationships. She worked that out with Jake years before it stopped being a problem at all in the worst way possible.
Well, every man in town barring Prior and a bunch of the less-than-thirties cause they're too young and she's not hugely enthused about what her hypothetical psych evaluation would say about her if she did. Hypothetical because this far north no one really gives a shit about if you're keeping it together. As long as you can keep the badge on your chest and avoid shooting too many people, that's about good enough. Otherwise maybe Hank would've been less of a shock.
Otherwise Prior wouldn't be up at night, giving her a ring at one in the morning to talk. Just talk. She does; hell, she's a shitty person, but it's the least she could do for him picking her over his own dad. And making him clean up after it.
"You didn't make me," Prior's reminded her on more than one occasion, when she's been fucked up enough to need his comfort, like she deserves a single gram of it.
But she let him. And so she did. It doesn't make a difference who offered. She let him so she made him. She could have insisted and not nearly frozen to death, gone on some spirit quest bullshit where she realized that Navarro was right, there is something grander out there with her son - her beautiful, precious son with her eyes staring back at her - no longer in the pain he was always in when she thought of him, trapped in that car. Would he have been screaming? Would he have been silent, unable to cry out? She needs to believe that Holden's out there, because otherwise he's forever being tortured in her mind.
So yeah, she could have just stayed where she was and cleaned up her own shit. Let little baby Prior go on his own little spirit journey and find himself or whatever. Maybe come to better terms with the dad he just killed. There's maybe a possibility he's out there on the ice too, fuck's sake.
So it's true. She believes it. It doesn't make it any less bullshit. She's not going to fucking start huffing peyote and running around naked.
"Fucking racist; they don't even have peyote here, Danvers, where would it fucking grow," Navarro's voice reprimands her from the back of her head.
"Fuck you," she mutters to no one.
"It's a cactus, you dumbass white bitch."
The point - the point is is that Holden would always have been a part of her. Honestly, that'd probably have fucked him up so much more than she could've handled. She wonders if he would've been as bad as Leah or worse. God knows Liz was a fucking monster as a teen - Leah's an angel comparatively, even if it drives her crazy; even if it terrifies her. But the point is that she would've been a part of him, no matter what. He wouldn't have been able to run away even if he wanted to. He wouldn't have been able to rip her off of his face. He would have been a part of her world, no matter what. He may not have liked it, but it would have been immutable. Undeniable.
Immutable? Christ, she gets real SAT vocabulary when she thinks too much, a little too deep in the sauce.
But Leah - it's what scares her so much about Leah. With Leah it's the opposite. No matter what, Liz'll never be an intractable part of Leah's world. One day she'll blink and that's it - Leah'll be gone. It won't matter that the person standing in front of her will say "What are you talking about, Liz, I'm right here," - she'll be gone. Entered into that Native world where Liz isn't, wasn't, will never be. A world of community and linked hands and kumbaya shit that isn't for her, if she was even capable of it. But also a world of fear and paranoia that the world overall is more than happy to prove Leah correct on, over and over again, one Native missing person at a time.
She wants Leah to be the last person to ever have to experience that. She doesn't want to get the call from Prior or Lulu or the station or the hospital that gives her the bad news. Missing. Raped. Murdered. And once she gets her… kaki-... what is it?
"Kakiniit, Danvers, Christ," her imaginary Navarro seethes. "Are you even trying?"
She is! Fucking - this is new shit for her, damnit. Khaki-knit.
"You've had at least ten years to learn this shit for fuck's sake." She'd sigh there, a brief sound of annoyance before her inevitable patient but gruff kindness. "Kaki."
Kaki.
"Niit."
"That's what I said! Thought. Whatever!"
"It's really not."
Whatever. That. Once Leah gets her… that, it'll be the final door closed. She'll no longer be Liz's kid. She was never her kid, not by blood, but now there will always be this barrier that separates her from Leah. Leah, a Native woman. Loved, angry, righteous. Liz, a white one. Hated, ignorant, cowardly. A universe of things she'll never be privy to. Will never understand.
Isn't she allowed to be a little scared of that? Once Leah becomes that, there'll be nothing Liz can do to protect her.
"I never got my kakiniq, you know. You think I'd be dead to a bunch of white boys 'cause of some tats? Survived fighting your colonial-ass wars to be shanked by some racists in an alley?"
Well, it does happen, strength isn't how victims really fight, but Navarro was - is… is…- tough as nails. Could - can - take care of herself.
"Leah can too."
No, she can't. She's proved that time and time again. How many times has she been caught? How many times can Liz twist the kneejerk anti-Native arm of the law until it finally barrels into Leah with full force? And it will, is the fucking thing. It will, especially if Leah keeps going down this path she's started on. And Liz has seen how it ends. Not just with Annie, but with all of them.
"Be there for her, Liz. You're not going to lose her unless you choose to lose her. And that's what you're doing now, by stopping her from living her life."
"Shut the fuck up. You're not even here," she snaps out loud to her silent living room. She hopes Leah's asleep. Psych eval would be illuminating for sure. "You fucked off, and I know you're not fucking dead because if you were, you'd have come back."
The last words are thick, choking.
Tears. Actual tears. Liz pushes them away with the back of her hand.
Navarro would have come back - Liz asked her to try and she nodded. That's basically a promise. For heartless bitches like them, that's basically a promise.
"Speak for yourself."
Liz takes an antagonistic swig of her vodka, wincing as it burns all the way down. Puts her head down in her arms on the countertop.
And she promised she'd do this. Not in so many words, but once she accepted the unknown into her life, the tiniest possibility that Holden was out there, it was implied. Basically a promise.
She's so scared.
And she's only imagining Navarro's hand on her back, soothing, bracing and strong. Stronger than Liz could ever really fathom, having fought for things that Liz has always just had.
She finally stands up, takes another swig for luck and nerves, and makes for the stairs. Hobbles up them unsteadily, making it to Leah's bedroom barely.
She contemplates barging in, but decides to be nice. Untapped mercy uncovered in the mines. She raps on the door sharply. "Lee?"
For a moment there's no response, but before she can knock again, she hears Leah's voice, stuffed with sleep. "What?"
She opens the door carefully and squeezes into the small cozy space Leah has built, covered in string lights and posters, the newer ones with activist slogans and defiant fists painted all over them, the older ones featuring metal bands that Liz refuses to play in the car because they give her a headache. She stumbles into Leah's world, unsteady and alone. Catches herself on her desk and leans against it, arms straight at her sides as she sits.
"Liz, jeez," Leah sits up, rubs her eyes and glances at the clock. "It's like three in the morning. Were you talking to someone?"
"No," Liz lies, looking around the room, doing her usual scan. Leah doesn't need to keep a journal for Liz to be reading her 24/7. "Only me."
"…Are you drunk?"
"No," Liz lies again, chest still burning from the two big swallows she took. "Even if I was, you don't get to say shit about that."
Leah glares at her in that way, that pissed off, defiant way she started doing since she was eleven and realized how much Liz could never give her. She draws her blankets up over her chest and folds her arms over them. "What do you want?"
The question nearly makes Liz cry right there because there's so much. She wants Holden back. She wants Navarro back. She wants this fucking town to not react to her very presence like it's a bad smell like she even wanted to be here. She didn't, but she came, she showed up, and now even if every single last person in this town hates her, which is a distinct possibility, she's going to fight for it. She wants them to stop resisting that, for fuck's sake. And she wants Leah to stay. She wants her to stay so badly, to not sever the last strong connection she has to Jake, Holden, and the people who live here.
And she wants... she wants to be loved, goddamnit.
She knows none of those things are possible, even if she tried. Most of them exclusively because she tries.
She gathers herself, allows herself a few brief sniffles that Leah looks confused and disturbed at, thumbs away the water in her eyes with a few quick swipes and then looks her daughter straight in the eyes. "Do it."
Leah has no idea what she's talking about. Clear as she squints her eyes and wobbles her head in that way that teenagers do when they're being unintentionally stupid but they're making it everyone else's problem. "What? Liz, what are you talking about? Do what?"
So annoying. "The fuckin'-" she gestures at her own chin, moving her hands up and down like the stripes that aren't and will never be there. "Your kakunit shit." She rushes through the word and flaps her hand to distract Leah from telling that her pronunciation is still atrocious. "You can do it."
All artifice drops from Leah's face as she begins to piece together what Liz said. "Wait. Really?"
Liz sighs. Just nods quickly, unable to get the words out again the third time, making eye contact again to reassure her that it's not a lie.
Suddenly it's like it's a lifetime ago. Leah's expression loses that undercurrent of hatred she picked up in her preteens and never let go whenever looking at Liz. Other than how it pissed her off, Liz didn't really mind, since it was a good reminder of how guilty she should feel at any given moment. In the past few weeks of the Tsalal case, she's been watching it harden and solidify. Now that it's gone, if only for a moment, it's freedom she can't verbalize with how it fills her chest.
It reminds her of how they would huddle together in this Arctic darkness, holding each other in lieu of their missing pieces.
In a flurry of heavy blankets and pajamas, she's being squeezed like she squeezed Leah back then, arms wrapped all the way around, not as a hug, but as pure pressured reassurance. Her arms incapacitated, Liz merely leans her face against the top of Leah's head. It's oily and gross from a few days of not bathing.
It's wonderful.
"Will you…" Leah says into her neck. "Will you come with me?"
She opens her mouth to say no.
No. I can't watch you turn into someone else right in front of me.
"Danvers, you can't complain about her leaving if you keep driving her away."
Fuck, her imaginary Navarro is so fucking annoying. Just like the real thing.
"Yeah," she says instead. "If you want me there, yeah. I'll go." Frees her arms to squeeze her back.
They stay there for a moment, a daughter and mother connected only by loss, saying goodbye while staying in place.
"Alright," Liz says quickly, clearing her throat and pulling away, straightening and putting all her layers back on. "Sorry for waking you up. We'll head to Kayla's first thing after breakfast. I'll make pancakes."
Leah snorts as she sits back down her bed. "Fuck no, your pancakes suck." Liz grunts in offense. "I'll make the pancakes."
"You need to take a shower," Liz points out, becoming more comfortable in the antagonism. "Your hair's disgusting. I'll have the pancakes ready when you're done."
"And come down to a burnt out kitchen? I'm making them." Leah is smiling, the lop-sided one that's affectionate and condescending at the same time. "I promise I'll shower before we head over."
Liz isn't in the mood for a fight. She waves her hands and the mock-argument away. "Fine. Fine, I guess I'll make do with being your chauffeur." She reaches down and gathers the fallen blankets in her arms, throwing them at her daughter. "Get some sleep."
The girl huffs and starts placing them back neatly onto the bed. "You were the one who woke me up."
This fucking kid.
Jesus Christ, Liz. Does everything have to be a fucking battle with you?
They've got so much in common despite the lack of blood. She hates it sometimes. Most of the time. Now is not one of those times. "Yeah and now I'm the one who's telling you to go back to sleep."
She makes for the door to avoid anymore confrontation, but is caught by Leah's hand on her arm. She looks back to see Leah standing there, soon to be a woman and so impossibly a child at the same time.
"Stay?" She looks so small, despite years of bulky clothes and easy anger.
Fuck, it really is just like that first day, when they realized they only had each other left and made do with that they had. No father, no son.
Liz wants to run. Her layers are already on, she's done her vulnerability time, though to walk away from Leah now would be devastating, for both of them.
It could be the vodka talking and moving for her, or some other spiritual bullshit that Navarro would claim she wasn't being open-minded enough about, but somehow Liz says, "Okay," helps Leah make up the bed again and crawls in with her, shoving herself against the wall and holding her daughter close for as long as she can.
She grips Leah's hand through the night and thinks about how she won't let go through the whole session, will watch as they pierce and prick the ink into her chin, drawing the bars that will separate them even as she holds her fingers tight.
Liz closes her eyes. The vodka makes unconsciousness easy.
But that's all for the morning. For the return of the sun.