versusnurture | nineteen ♢ video

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nineteen ♢ video

[When the feed comes on, the first thing there is is a wall and half of a desk. Those people on board who've been inside will know it as Abigail's room. There's a small blood smear on the edge of the desk, another dark spot on the corner of the lens.]

[She doesn't turn it towards herself, but the camera does move towards the desk, is set down at the edge of it. Two hands appear in the frame, blood-caked, palm-up. There's blood under her nails, too, drier blood that's oxidized to a deep, almost black color.]

[She doesn't say anything. But after a moment, there's a strangled noise, and she knocks the camera off the desk. The briefest flash of dark hair and a pale face; then it hits the floor and shuts off.]

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[He has been ignoring everyone from the semi-comfort of his infirmary bed. Ignoring kindness, responding to compassion and sympathy with hostility. Erecting walls. Creating distance.

Despite all of that seeing Abigail has returned strikes a note of relief in him, seeing her bloody creates a pinprick of concern. And both cause him to be angry with himself; his first impulse is to scratch it out, do whatever he can to snuff this weakness out of him.

But no, he reminds himself, forcing calm. Abigail Hobbs was one of his resources from the very beginning. She was helpful when he needed it, understood things he didn't need to say. Back and forth, they offered just the right amount of trust.

If he loses her it will be no great loss, he thinks. But if he can, it would still benefit him to keep her on as an ally.]

You're back, Miss Hobbs? I won't ask what happened, or if you're all right...I'm certain more than a few have beaten me to it. But do let me know if there is anything just now that you need from me.

[His voice is cool and clipped, the way he spoke to her more at the very beginning. When all he cared about was information, usefulness, rather than individual people.]

[She doesn't respond immediately. There is, to be honest, quite a lot going on. Derek Powers is an uncertain piece of a very large puzzle. Most people, when she hears their voice, fit somewhere as enemies or friends in the schema that is overlaid in her mind, the part of her memory that was gone and is returning.]

[But he's complicated. The way he speaks now is familiar, but doesn't feel as familiar as it should be. She has to close her eyes and press her fingers to the bridge of her nose before she can think of what the difference is, where the change began. She has to take time to dredge up that memory.]

[When she responds, it's with confusion, her voice thick like she's thinking about something far away.]

You're . . .

The Red Queen hypothesis. That was you?

That's right. You don't remember?

[He can't entirely keep the puzzlement, the worry from bleeding through a bit there. It's not everything he used to give her, but it's more than what he just was.]

I remember some things. In bits and pieces. Mostly pieces.

[She laughs, shaky. He is worried about her. That's more familiar, and some other things fall into place.]

You died. And I died, too. I remember that. I remember you're the only one who calls me Miss Hobbs.

Can you, um. Can you tell me how long I was gone?

About four days, by my reckoning. ['You died. And I died, too.' She's remembering the aftermath of the Mirror Barge, maybe. He wonders how much of what she experienced before is coming through - if he'd prefer it or not if she remembered everything.] I died again, more recently. Much more recently. Do you recall anything about what just happened, around here?

Thank you.

[A whisper. Thanks for telling her. Thanks for putting some manner of timeline on this place, on the months of her life that became days. For respecting her request, although she wouldn't phrase it that way. For just listening, maybe.]

I remember people better. I remember there was--gas and slides. This place changed. A lot. I think probably a lot of people died.

It's -- it's nothing. [He tries to retreat again.] But, you're welcome, all the same.

[He can't keep the tight, ironic wistfulness out of his voice though when he responds to the rest.]

Yes. The 'monster' I warned you about, once, he found a way to follow us back home.

[The monster. Upon prompting, she remembers that, too. That he warned her. That he was so serious. That she hadn't expected it.]

[That she trusted him.]

Is he still here? Should I still--[She tries to remember his exact phrasing.]--should I still run?

[Home, he says. Is this home?]

[He meant 'home' in a more colloquial sense - an almost poetic one, really, considering they're already talking about monsters. Isn't that the way those stories go? The wolf at the door. The thing that follows you out of the darkness; sometimes because your were careless, sometimes just because it can.

But for now he hears her unspoken question just enough to decisively avoid answering it.]

No. He's been and gone, Miss Hobbs. You have nothing to fear from him anymore. [His voice is hard, but reassuring in his own strange way.] It's been checked; he's thoroughly scrubbed from the system. I promise.

[He's been and gone. A promise.]

[She shouldn't trust it. But she sighs anyway, relieved, reassured. Inexplicably.]

Good. Okay. I believe you.

[She believes in him. Somehow.]

Why didn't you run? Or was he just - faster?

[He isn't certain why she believes in him, either. Especially if she can't remember everything. (And he doesn't know why there's a small ache inside him, at the thought of being believed.)]

I mistook him for somebody else.

[He breathes out in an stilted way, trying to force a bitter laugh and utterly failing.]

Someone you trusted.

I'm sorry.

[There is no pity in this. It sounds almost robotic, disconnected. Part of that's because she remembers that's what he's comfortable with. Part of it's because she still can't attach herself too closely to anyone's pain but her own. She just knows she wouldn't want to die. She can't imagine anyone else who would, either.]

I've heard it from too many people already, my dear. You don't have to say it.

[In a way he's glad she's back. Perhaps out of all those he knows, that he's become close to, she might be the only one to allow it when he tries to retreat back behind his walls. Make things easy and mathematical again.]

Then I won't say it again.

[Just like that, she's done pushing. At least for now - at least until she gets her feet back under her. She doesn't think she could handle it if anyone pushed her any more right now, and she thinks maybe it's the same for him.]

[Sometimes when people push you, you push back. Sometimes you just break.]

[Whatever happened to her, either where she was or here, she's been beaten down. He can tell it clearly. It'll have to be someone else's job to build her back up though.

He won't push either. He'll simply leave this where it lies.]

Well. As I said, if there's anything you need from me. If not...I'll simply leave you alone.

You sound as if you could use it.

Yes. I could.

[She understands. And it helps, kind of. Now she knows he's here, and his coldness calms her down. She's no longer panicking. Just present, more than she was before.]

Thank you. You were very helpful.

I try. When it suits me.

[And for one reason or another, it suits him to be helpful just now to her.]

Goodbye for now, Miss Hobbs.

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nineteen ♢ video

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