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Clara knows she should have seen it coming. She had every intention of leaving one last bouquet on Lena's grave and then going to one of her safehouses to lay low until things calmed down and she could get her message to Aiden. After that, either he would agree to talk to her - or he wouldn't, and she would make her way out of Chicago to start over somewhere else.
The only reason she hadn't immediately left the city was that she had to hope that maybe, maybe, he would at least agree to talk to her, to let her apologize. She knows she doesn't deserve for him to accept the apology, and she's not expecting him to, but she just wants to try.
She's distracted thinking about Aiden and about Lena - and she doesn't see it coming when she feels an abrupt sting in the side of her neck. The flowers fall from her hand as she slaps her other hand to the side of her neck, knocking away the dart. She fumbles for her gun - but there are footsteps approaching, and her vision is going blurry, and even when she does pull the gun free, it falls from fingers already going numb as hands grab hers, pulling them behind her back and sliding metal cuffs around her wrists.
Darkness creeps in on the edges of her vision, and she just has time to pull away from the fingers that pinch her jaw. "Oh, he's gonna love us, getting you all wrapped up like a present for him," a blurry figure says - and then everything goes dark.
--
When she comes back to some sort of consciousness, she's aware enough to know she's seated in a chair. It's not comfortable: something is holding her wrists behind her back, something pinning her ankles in place, something tight around her face and in her mouth that she would really like removed, if she could ask someone to do it. The room she's in is quiet and dark, and there's a bench of tools to the side that should maybe be frightening if she could remember what any of them were for. Some part of her brain knows she should be afraid, but she just feels detached from herself.
Drugged that deep part of her brain whispers - but, well, that's fine. She's fine, right? Everything is fine.
The only reason she hadn't immediately left the city was that she had to hope that maybe, maybe, he would at least agree to talk to her, to let her apologize. She knows she doesn't deserve for him to accept the apology, and she's not expecting him to, but she just wants to try.
She's distracted thinking about Aiden and about Lena - and she doesn't see it coming when she feels an abrupt sting in the side of her neck. The flowers fall from her hand as she slaps her other hand to the side of her neck, knocking away the dart. She fumbles for her gun - but there are footsteps approaching, and her vision is going blurry, and even when she does pull the gun free, it falls from fingers already going numb as hands grab hers, pulling them behind her back and sliding metal cuffs around her wrists.
Darkness creeps in on the edges of her vision, and she just has time to pull away from the fingers that pinch her jaw. "Oh, he's gonna love us, getting you all wrapped up like a present for him," a blurry figure says - and then everything goes dark.
--
When she comes back to some sort of consciousness, she's aware enough to know she's seated in a chair. It's not comfortable: something is holding her wrists behind her back, something pinning her ankles in place, something tight around her face and in her mouth that she would really like removed, if she could ask someone to do it. The room she's in is quiet and dark, and there's a bench of tools to the side that should maybe be frightening if she could remember what any of them were for. Some part of her brain knows she should be afraid, but she just feels detached from herself.
Drugged that deep part of her brain whispers - but, well, that's fine. She's fine, right? Everything is fine.
