milliways_bar | (no subject)

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Edward's been absent the last few weeks.

No one on either side of the door should be that surprised -- as the bestest, sweetest, temptingest, not to mention most stubborn and obliviously noble, snack cake in the whole wide world was chained to a hospital bed in Forks Hospital which made the stalking and counting of breaths, er, we mean the care and and watching over of Isabella Swan as she recuperated from the events in Phoenix his high priority.

Today she was released to her father's keeping. For first time in weeks, Edward hadn't ignored the door with immortal (im)patience, which brought him to the supposed End of Time and Space. Where he's currently looking over a stack of notes and books the Bar delivered with his bottle of mineral water.

The top ones look like floor plans and some others like blank music paper, some not. And the ones falling through the air to the floor are long lists.

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Okay.

Okay.

How small a word that is.

After Carlisle. After Volterra.
After James. After Bella.

"I'm still here." It's calm agreement.

"Yes," X says.

"That is good."

It's not a relief, not quite.

But it is good when people X knows do not die.

It manages. He manages. He has to.

"And, are you?" Faint pause. "Well?"

Okay would have been parallel, but not his style.

"I am okay," X says.

She is not thinking of Kimura.

Or the Facility.

She is, however, thinking of Liz and Hellboy, and a room full of cats.

Edited 2010-03-20 03:51 (UTC)

Cats lumped in with the rats here.
Like ants and bugs too small to matter.

But another conversation flickered in his memory.
And he studied her stillness consideringly.

X looks back at him, silent and still.

She is very good at waiting.

(It is the considering look that does it.)

"Meg mentioned that you helped her with her problem. Back home."

"Oh."

X's expression is blank, but just for a second.

"Yes."

Beat.

"I am good at that."

She's good at a great many other things besides frightening an overeager and stalkery college student.

Most of them are not very nice.

Edward wouldn't be very unapproving of those things.

"Thank you." At least her way, the man was still alive.

Parker's way.

X's way --

Sometimes death is more efficient.

Her blank expression remains, even after Edward speaks.

"I did not do anything for you."

"I was not assuming you did."

He didn't look ruffled in the slightest by the blankness.
It's not far from their natural passing states.

"Meg is-" he almost says important, but settles for. "-a friend."

"Oh."

Several things rearrange themselves in X's perception of the universe -- or at least the Meg-related part of it.

For one, now she knows someone else who is concerned for her -- and can be called upon if necessary.

That is always good to know.

"She is my friend, too."

In case Edward was unsure of that.

There was a flipness to the almost lack of reaction. The faintest tug at the edge of his lips. As though the smallest remarks could mean so much in the display of what wasn't said.

On either of their part.

"She speaks very highly of you."

Wherein speaks also equaled thought.
And, as of late, deliberately thought at him.

Some might find it strange that this is what makes X look down, look away.

She does, however, manage to offer a one-shouldered shrug in response.

"I like her."

Which is to say X would speak highly of her, too -- if words were easier.

He understands. Especially after where this started. The first time.
In the place where no conversation is allowed to go still.

"I haven't seen her in while now."
Since Bella's first week in the hospital.
Since the week he told Meg everything.

"She has been here."

Beat.

"It was spring break. And now there are classes."

At least insofar as X understands Meg's schedule.

"She is okay."

"Good." He'd find her sooner or later.
She'd had the tendency to show up.

"Okay," X repeats.

Then she falls silent.

She'll drift away again in a few minutes.

It is another thing she is good at.

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