No Exit
By Fewthistle

Author's Note: Written for the Spot On Challenge at the_pottingshed Community on Livejournal.

Spoilers: Beginning/Middle of Series Three.

Larkhall never held you.

Your bars, Helen, were flimsy things, forged not with tempered metal, but with threads of doubt; with the brittle driftwood of your fears and insecurities; with the broken, twisted pieces of glass that once held a venomous brew, distilled from vats of middle-class morality, and the warped Calvinism of your youth.

Your cell existed only within the confines of your mind, and heart. It took me so long to realize that I might never have the key, that my love might never pry open that door. Now, watching you walk away, I realize, I was right.