Thirtieth PSI

[a_gentle_boy]

[action, dated back a few days]
[He'd heard from Rin that both Roshian and Giriko had gone in a single night.  Though he wasn't very fond of them himself, he remembered how distraught Luke had been for those few weeks when his 'mother' had been droned, and how happy he'd been to have her back.  The two of them . . . They were obviously important to his friend.

He isn't surprised when he rings the doorbell to be greeted by Roshian's smiling face.  She pats him on the head.  'Luke was upstairs.'  Evidently, she still remembered that they were friends.  They were the same age, after all, in the same classes.  And if he thought about it . . . Luke was the first real friend he'd made here and still his closest.  He nods to the drone, quickly hurrying up, a jigsaw puzzle tucked underneath his arm, a small box of chocolate held in his hands.  If Luke felt even half as badly as he had when the Netherlands had gone, or Margot . . .

But the moment he walks through the bedroom door to be greeted, his face falls.  No cap.  Nothing blue.  No trace of that interesting way of speaking Luke had.  Around the room . . . No Gizmo.  No home pictures.  And now that he thinks about it . . . no funny robot on the front lawn.

It is suddenly very difficult to swallow.  He carefully walks to the desk, setting his presents down, barely capable of doing so without trembling.  His hands . . . Lucas shoves them into his pockets quickly.  As he backs away, a small box set atop the desk catches his attention out of the corner of his eye.  "For Lucas".  Turning to the drone boy to ask in a casual manner, he is greeted with mild surprise.  If it had his name on it, certainly, it was for him.  Once again, his shaking hands can hardly grasp ahold of the object, but he manages it in the end.  And when he turns to leave, he doesn't even apologize as he accidentally sweeps  a stack of books off the desk.

He stumbles down the steps and out the front door, clutching the box to his chest.  The heaving of his chest as he runs . . . He can pretend that it is because of the exertion that his chest has become so tight.  Not because it has become so hard to breathe.  Not because of the tears that flow, unwanted, from his eyes.

  . . . Goodbye, Luke.  May you solve every puzzle that arises to challenge you.]

1. Alone in the park, Lucas finds the most isolated bench he possibly can and eases into it, still holding the box to his chest.  He has an inkling of what's inside.  The same reason he had shown Luke where he kept his box . . . Now, though, he simply sits.  And allows himself, after a few futile moments, to cry softly.

2. He has calmed down enough to go through the things that had been left to him.  Just as with the Netherlands, just as he himself did, Luke had kept notes.  Lucas dries his tears, looking through each piece of information carefully.  It's hard for him to understand right now, but . . . He will go through everything again when he's in a less harried state of mind.  The Westport notes.

3. It had been too late for Luke.  But it didn't have to be that way for anyone else.  Not if he hurried up with this.  Lucas is too shy to take pictures of people, but late into the afternoon, he is in the park with an ancient, half-broken camera, practicing taking pictures of trees and squirrels and snowdrifts . . .

((A bit deliberately less accessible than the usual entry, so I'm going to ask that no more than 3-4 people respond to the first prompt.  Thanks.))  

Comments

[a-gentle-boy.livejournal.com]

[He smiles reassuringly, shaking his head quickly.]

No. You're right. You . . . just don't know how right you are.

[thief-of-truth.livejournal.com]

You're lucky to have such a great mom.

[a-gentle-boy.livejournal.com]

[Lucas nods again. And he pauses. "You can always talk to me about this stuff, all right?" Yes. But what would telling anyone really accomplish? Aside to make them feel sorry for him? There was no point . . . No point at all.

But hearing her compliment Hinawa over and over. It's a little too much. He has to brush away at the tears now, instead of simply blinking them back.]

[thief-of-truth.livejournal.com]

Lucas...

[He knows what comes after that.]

[a-gentle-boy.livejournal.com]

[There have been far too many hugs lately. As he leans into Kay's shoulder for the umpteenth time, he can't even help himself. Maybe she doesn't hear him. He whispers.]

She's dead.

[thief-of-truth.livejournal.com]

[Yeah. She heard. Kay's breath hitches in the back of her throat. She doesn't really know what to say, but she knows it's her turn to comfort Lucas and listen. She puts an arm around him, just waiting for him to either cry it out or tell his own story.]

[a-gentle-boy.livejournal.com]

[He doesn't know if he can trust himself to say anything more as he is, but his tears stem quickly enough. God knows he had cried enough about this . . . Lucas has soon progressed into his 'soft hiccup' phase, when he trusts himself to speak again.]

Sorry. I'm crying . . . again. Sorry.

If she's droned . . . you know.

[thief-of-truth.livejournal.com]

Yeah... I know.

[She's not really sure what else to say about it.]

It must be hard to have her here...

[a-gentle-boy.livejournal.com]

[He takes another few moments to calm down enough to manage some sentences, although they're not perfectly coherent.]

You were right. That's how . . . Protecting me. So it's. Now it's my turn . . .

[thief-of-truth.livejournal.com]

I'm sure you'll do a great job, Lucas.

[a-gentle-boy.livejournal.com]

[Lucas sighs, then, deep and heavy. He remains pressed against Kay's shoulder as the calm following the cry begins to set in.]

I think I'm out of tears . . .

((Going to bed now, sorry. Night!))

[thief-of-truth.livejournal.com]

It's okay. You've had it pretty rough lately, huh?

[a-gentle-boy.livejournal.com]

A little. But it's no worse than what anyone else goes through here.

[thief-of-truth.livejournal.com]

No shame in being sad about it.

[a-gentle-boy.livejournal.com]

It's just been so long . . . I thought . . . Well. I don't know. Maybe I'll always cry about this for the rest of my life.

[thief-of-truth.livejournal.com]

Well, I still think you're one of the bravest people I know.

[a-gentle-boy.livejournal.com]

. . . Thanks, Kay.

[He is quiet again for a few moments.]

I've tried hard to be as brave as I can because of how weak I used to be.

[thief-of-truth.livejournal.com]

Well, you're doing a really great job.

[a-gentle-boy.livejournal.com]

. . . It's still OK to cry, huh? But probably not so much.

Thanks for being here, Kay.

[thief-of-truth.livejournal.com]

No problem! That's what friends are for, right?

[a-gentle-boy.livejournal.com]

Y-Yeah . . .

Um. I'm sorry to ask, but . . . please don't talk about my mom to anyone else.

[thief-of-truth.livejournal.com]

Um... okay. I don't mind. But why not?

[a-gentle-boy.livejournal.com]

I don't want anyone treating her any differently knowing something like that. And . . . I don't want anyone feeling sorry for me, either.

[thief-of-truth.livejournal.com]

...Okay. I can understand that. Don't worry, your secret's safe with me.

[a-gentle-boy.livejournal.com]

Thanks, Kay.

[Perhaps the eighteenth time he's said that today, but he's meant every one of them.]

She should be as happy as she can as long as she has the chance.