Milliways infirmary, with Dejah

[2goodarms]

He counts the doors they pass through en route to the infirmary: only three, all of them unlocked. The first one leads to a room more like the party at the front of the train than the crowding at the tail -- but even that's not the right comparison, he thinks. It's crowded, yes, and noisy, but all Curtis can think is there's so much room.

People can stretch out their arms. When he and Dejah cross the floor, they can move without bumping into anyone.

The second door leads to an empty hallway, quiet but for the hum of the overhead lights. He keeps his eyes straight ahead, and with each step, thinks of anything but Wilford's voice in his ear. Take as much time as you need.

The third leads to a place so clean and white as to look alien, like the view from the Snowpiercer's windows. By then, he's leaning far more of his weight on Dejah than when they started.

Comments

[dejah_thoris]

She nods, and her shoulders relax. Her hand alights on his forearm, just a quiet gesture of reassurance.

"That sounds wonderful." She turns back to the wait rat and makes the same order for both of them, a simple vegetable broth with a loaf of fresh bread. And a pitcher of water.

The water appears almost instantly, delivered by another wait rat already ahead of the game, and she pours for both of them. "So eighteen years on a train." Her gaze moves back to look at him. "I would venture that's -- more than half your life."

[2goodarms]

Curtis nods, slowly.

"Seventeen years off the train, eighteen years on it," he says -- and utters a near-soundless, completely humorless laugh. "God. Sometimes I'd try to reassure myself like that. 'At least I spent more of my life on Earth than on here.' Just crossed Yekaterina Bridge yesterday, though. That's the new year marker."

[dejah_thoris]

She turns the water glass in front of her. One quarter turn. Another. Her thumb marks a circle in the condensate forming on the glass. What do you say to a man who was alive yesterday and is no longer alive today?

She doesn't know.

She does turn and look across the Bar, points in the direction of the Window.

"The most amazing thing about this place, it's situated at the End of the Universe. You can see it happening, through that -- glass. The whole of creation, tearing itself apart. It loops, every twenty four hours, or so I'm told. It's beautiful and terrible to watch. The end of all time and space. It's enough to make someone feel -- very small."

[2goodarms]

Curtis follows her glance. He inhales sharply at the sight, going a shade paler.

"Jesus," he breathes.

She's not wrong; the shock rolling through him attests to that.

[dejah_thoris]

The corner of her mouth lifts in the ghost of a smile at his exclamation. John Carter would have said much the same thing, she imagines, if he were here to see it.

"I point this out not to belittle your experience, but perhaps to -- put it in perspective. I feel very lucky to be sitting here, having this conversation with you. I'm sorry for everything you had to go through to get here, but -- I'm still glad you're here."

[2goodarms]

Only about half of what Dejah says makes it through to Curtis' brain. Dumbly, he nods, still staring at the window.

"It loops?" he manages after a moment. "How?"

[dejah_thoris]

She blinks, turns her gaze back to the window. "I have my theories, but they're all advanced quantum mechanics. Most people's eyes glaze over when I start to explain."

[2goodarms]

He doesn't even know what quantum mechanics is. The phrase sounds vaguely familiar, like an echo of memories from before the train, but Curtis learned to tune those out long ago.

"Yeah," he says, "okay," and pinches the bridge of his nose, thumb and forefinger at the corners of his eyes, as if trying to scrub the sight away. "I'm dead, you're from Mars, and the end of the universe keeps looping outside the window. And there are sentient rats. And nothing's rationed."

Seems like more of the physical shock has retreated, which just means the mental shock can well up to fill in the gaps.

[dejah_thoris]

Dejah chuckles quietly under her breath, the sound not unsympathetic. She rests her hand on his shoulder for a moment.

"Well, when you put it that way..."

[2goodarms]

A touch muffled: "How long did it take you to adjust to this place when you got here?"

He's got a feeling the answer is not very long, but -- he has to ask.

[dejah_thoris]

Dejah's lips thinned for a moment, and her gaze flicked back to the front door, her gaze distant. The idea that the dead could walk through the door at any moment weighed heavily on her mind somedays.

"I'm not sure I have, honestly. It's exhausting, wandering around in a perpetual state of dismay. I still don't believe the 'magic' explanation, but the evidence for it seems overwhelming. Every day I spend here brings something new and strange."

Don't ask her how she feels about the many gods who frequent this place.

[2goodarms]

Curtis raises his head, his surprise plain. "Dismay?"

When the bar could give you anything you want, apparently without asking anything in return? She's not from the tail, yeah, but even so -- what the fuck could cause dismay here?

(He's not thinking about his own reaction. Not being able to grasp what's happened, and the implications of so many changes in so short a span, is wholly different.)

[dejah_thoris]

She looked back to him, one sculpted eyebrow cocked. "Yes, dismay. Especially when faced with the very real prospect that someone who has been dead for a century might appear here at any time. Not to mention all the rest."

[2goodarms]

...Right. She did say something about her husband, didn't she.

Curtis drops his gaze again. "Sorry," he mutters.

[dejah_thoris]

He hears her exhale, all the fire going out of her again. "It's all right, really. It's all a bit overwhelming, especially when you first arrive. I won't say you'll ever get used to it, but you learn how to navigate."

She wants to put a hand on his again, wants to make a connection somehow. To show him that he's among the living, and with a friend.

But she holds back, for some reason. It feels greedy to ask for that connection in return.

[2goodarms]

He nods, studying his palm as if it'd help him figure out just how the fuck he could begin navigating all of this.

"I thought it'd be easier if you were..." He shakes his head in mild frustration, trying to translate the term before giving up altogether. "From the front. You got a lot of this already."

[dejah_thoris]

"Oh you mean -- all this." She glances around the room, and sighs again. "I am more than 'from the Front', Curtis. Where I am from, I am considered royalty. I am Jeddak of the City of Helium, and head of the council of Jeddaks from the other city-states of my world. I live quite comfortably, in a palace, with a full contingent of guards. When I'm not teaching at the Academy of Science, where I'm surrounded by another contingent of researchers and students."

She swallows, licks her lips.

"But I am not from your Front. I am responsible for more than a million souls, from every level of society. I am responsible for bringing them clean water and plentiful supplies, I am responsible for keeping them safe from the warring tribes, and protecting them from those who would like to return to the thousand years of civil war we only just left behind us a mere century ago."

"That life never prepared me to meet people like you -- people beyond the reach of my power. People who suffer needlessly at the hands of tyrants I have no hope to overthrow."

Her voice breaks at the end, her own frustration clear in the set of her jaw, and the way her hands have curled into fists.

[2goodarms]

Royalty. A fucking queen, like from all the old stories they'd tell the kids, helping him for no reason.

Fuck.

And she's not like Wilford, he can tell that much, but Curtis feels his hackles go up anyway at her talk of responsibility, and power, and comfort. It's taken so much mental effort just to sit in this building; for an instant, Curtis isn't sure if he can spare any energy to put his thoughts back on track. She's not him. She's not as bad as them. She helped without asking for anything in return.

(But who's to say she won't ask later down the line?)

Then her last words emerge and give his thoughts that final, necessary shove. Curtis draws in a short breath.

"Hey," he murmurs; it's his turn to reach out and settle his hand on her arm.

[dejah_thoris]

She goes still at his touch, her eyes closing for a long moment. She takes a deep breath, schooling her anger into something more productive. When she looks up again, she meets his gaze. Her hand covers his, holding him there.

"I'm sorry," she says, her voice quiet but clear. Her problems are petty compared to his.

[2goodarms]

"S'okay," he says. "Don't worry about it."

A crooked smile.

"Look, I'm not gonna pretend I understand the shit you've got to deal with, but it's still shit. You know?"

[dejah_thoris]

She gave a dry little laugh, shook her head.

"Yes, well. It's not important here. Getting you settled, that's what's important right now. But I would -- I would ask one thing."

[2goodarms]

His brow wrinkles. With her hand covering his, it's likely Dejah will feel Curtis tense.

Here it comes.

"What?"

[dejah_thoris]

She does feel it, and she doesn't react. Her smile gentles, and when she speaks, her tone is quiet. Respectful.

"Would you allow me -- to design and build a prosthetic for you?"

[2goodarms]

That throws him. Visibly. Hard enough that before he can bite back the word, it springs loose: "Why?"

Shit.

He shuts his eyes. "Sorry. I didn't -- "

[dejah_thoris]

She squeezes his hand again, and she understands. So many things come with a price, and in his world, the cost was steep.

"Because it is the least I can do for you. I can't give you back what you've lost. But I can try to help."