i_speak_softly | Forty-Sixth Theory [Voice/Action]

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Forty-Sixth Theory [Voice/Action]

((Action part backdated to the wee hours of this morning.))

[The horror ends at midnight.]

[Sort of.]

[Don doesn't know how long it takes him to realize that he's lying on cobblestone instead of mud, and that the water pooling around him is only the rain running off his own skin.]

[It's still raining now, but so lightly he can't even feel it through the numbness.]

[He gets up. People are running in every direction. Someone had organized a clinic and healers, and everywhere he looks the injured are being tended to.]

[There are no provisions for the dead. There are never any bodies.]

[Don turns away from the confusion, points his steps towards home. The walk seems to take a long time. When he gets there, the house is quiet. Don finds Mike asleep at the kitchen table, gives him what may be a startlingly cold hug, inhales the plate of spaghetti at his elbow, and moves on.]

[He closes the door of his room, drops his gear to the ground. Climbs into Leo's bed and finds his brother not yet asleep.]

We lost.

[That's all the words he has energy for.]

[He sleeps for the next thirty-six hours. He wakes intermittently to whisper half-intelligible accounts of the battle into Leo's ear. He runs a low fever.]

[On Wednesday afternoon he manages to get out of bed - or at least sit up, if his family won't allow any more than that - speak to his brothers and father, listen to his messages on the journal. In the evening he'll put out some short, poorly-filtered messages to obvious people.]

*

Ms. Daisy... I lost the samples.

*

Frederic, I'm so sorry. Do you want me to come over?

*

Mr. Mulder. Did you make it back safely?

*

Kay, ah... What are you doing Saturday?

*

((Feel free to leave Voice messages, but assume Don's replies are forward-dated to tomorrow. You may also get a more-timely response from one of his journal-stealing housemates.))

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[A pause, then:] I'm sorry. I wasn't there. [It's more an apology than an excuse.]

[With an almost fierce pain:] N-Not your fault... n-not anybody's f-fault, save those Shift Hunters and their c-cruel m-masters...

... W-Why did it have to be Helios, though...?

[He sounds painfully... empty. Though talking to Don is an improvement.]

...

B-but... p-people truly do r-return, c-correct...? G-Giles said to look for him on the t-twelfth or t-thirteenth...

[Having already lost Derek in a draft, and gotten him back (sort of, at least), Don isn't taking this quite as hard as Robert. He's more concerned about what state Helios will be in when he returns.]

Everyone comes back...

They... t-take something from them. The p-process is never perfect.

[Robert is worried about this too, now that the initial horrifying pain of his loss - even for just a week - has faded into the omnipresent ache of wanting him near and alive and happy again.]

...

W-what will h-happen...? Is, i-is there any way to tell? A-Any pattern...? Or... or is it random like all the other bloody o-occurrences of anything here...?

[He hates how he can't understand, can never follow these patterns...]

[Don is quiet a while, thinking, but he doesn't have enough data.]

Don’t know...

It... i-is understandable. Everything in L-Luceti is so difficult to... t-to get to any sort of c-consensus on.

...

S-Sometimes I hate this place, e-even if I... l-love those within it... [This last part is clearly directed at Don, and Helios.]

[He really wishes he could be with you now, as more than just a voice on the journals.]

Where are you?

[The same place he always is when he's depressed:]

I-in my apartment.

...

I-It has... b-been difficult to... t-to go outside, but... H-Helios w-wouldn't have allowed me t-to... t-to be t-totally alone...

Who's with you?

At the moment? [Pathetically:] N-Nobody... though I h-have, h-have gone out b-before. [To get away from the emptiness, to prevent himself from clinging to its placating oblivion.]

...

D-Did you want me t-to... to... g-go to you...?

[Robert still doesn't know about the whole issue with the Hamatos knowing about their shenanigans.]

[Gently chiding:] Robert...

[At the second part, his tone suddenly becomes much more energetic.] No!

[Robert's tone sounds like that of a small, kicked animal.]

A-Ah, I... I am s-sorry...

...

F-Forgive my... i-impertinence...

[It's clear that Robert took that as something against him, not realizing why Don said it.]

[The shout results in a coughing fit, but Don manages to fumble for a pencil and scribble one poorly-spelled word.]

CONTAGOUS

... Ah. [That, plus the coughing, makes it obvious.]

So it is a pathogen... [Okay, that makes sense.]

... Leonardo told me you had a fever... have there been any other symptoms besides that?

NOT SURE - BETTER SAFE - THINK I'M OK

At any rate, you are right. It w-would be best to... wait a bit longer.

[Despite the pragmatism of this, though, it's clear that Robert would kind of rather be with Don, even if he'd definitely get sick.]

... Can I do anything else for you or your f-family, Don...?

[If only he could get someone to bring him his tricorder.]

[If it was just a little fever, he would seriously consider letting Robert come over anyway. But when he's possibly carrying malaria... no.]

Talk to me?

[Is it sad that Robert would still willingly get malaria just to be with Don at this point? That's how lonely he is right now.]

... C-Certainly...

... [Quietly:] W-was... was the r-rainforest... like T-Terran kinds?

I... almost w-wish I could have t-taken samples...

[A rustling noise as Don resettles himself in bed.]

Was beautiful. Lost my vials...

Ah...

R-Rainforests are b-beautiful, yes... [The thought might have made Robert smile at a less horrible time. As it is, he just wipes a tear away.]

... D-Do you think the Malnosso d-deliberately took the v-vials, or do you r-remember losing them...?

I - I don't remember the last night.

[That doesn't seem good at all.]

...

In a-any way...?

Were you that sick...?

No, it - [Okay. It will take him a long time to say all this, but you'll be patient, right?]

It had been raining all day, more rain than I've ever seen. The journals weren't working, we could barely hear each other face to face, visibility was nothing... and the enemies just kept coming. They overran our base camp. We'd been out there three days already, we'd barely eaten or slept, we had so many injured... By midafternoon I was fighting on autopilot, and after that I don't remember anything until I woke up back in the plaza.

[Robert is patient. He's always patient with Don.

He listens quietly to Don's exposition, comparing it to what he thought would have happened. The idea is... well, it's nightmare-fuel inducing. But it makes him more glad that Don managed to get through.

He wishes he could go over there and hold Don.]

...

I-it... sounds t-terrifying...

... I... [Softly:] If I-I ever get... d-drafted...

[The unspoken implication is that, if they're like this, Robert will die.]

[He's not going to entertain that idea right now.]

Sorry I took so long to answer. I was sleeping it off.

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