[Writing] Umm, fanfic.
So, I know this is supposedly my original-fiction stream, but I wanted to put a piece up here that is too depressing for the SWTOR forum thread. I kinda want to hold it separate. Because it might not even happen! And I don't want to end another damned thread in tragedy.
This is a possible future for the Lodestone AU featuring the Warrior Ruth and the Agent Wynston. It will make no sense whatsoever if you haven't read the leadup...but if you do know where this comes from and are up for some sads, here you go. 3000 words. Note: Wynston is roughly 64, Ruth 57, and Cole 37.
A note: Sith Intelligence exists as an organization - how could the Dark Council resist forming one? - even though it is carefully monitored and, when necessary, hampered by Wynston's people.
The situation was hotter than Wynston's information had suggested.
He was working on a regime change on one of the Core Worlds; the rebellion was in good shape, it just needed a nudge here and there. Battles raged both on the ground and in orbit; Wynston and his people had the Aegis cloaked some ways away while ships from both sides clashed. The rebels were making progress, especially in the space battle, but the fight was much, much harder than it should have been, and the ground war was nearing catastrophe.
Ruth had been away, visiting with Colrand and his wife and children; upon hearing of the severity of the situation both Ruth and Cole had offered to drop in and help clean up. A hard strike at a couple of critical spots might make the difference.
He watched the monitors in the Aegis control room, feeling the familiar surge of anticipation when they picked up Ruth's Fury leaving hyperspace.
"Fury to Aegis," came Colrand's voice. "Reporting for duty."
"Welcome home," Wynston said warmly. "Both of you?"
"Both of us," confirmed Ruth.
Wynston smiled. "Glad to hear it. You're cleared for hangar three."
"Be there momentarily," said Colrand, and the line closed for the moment. Wynston switched one of the control room's monitors to the visual approach.
And noticed something else coming in from the direction of the planet.
"A frigate, sir," reported Agent Temple. "One of the loyalists'."
"What is it doing out here? Scramble a team to neutralize it."
The strange ship streaked straight in toward the Fury. Ruth's vessel neatly dodged an opening burst of fire - even in his forties, Colrand was a superb pilot - but the frigate turned to bring a full broadside to bear.
Time slowed. "Fire," ordered Wynston.
"It's out of range, sir."
"Then bring us closer," he snapped. And bring it in, Cole, he thought. Lead it close, stay out of the way - there's a lot of fire, but I know you can stay out of the way.
It wasn't the blaster cannons that hit. It was the missiles.
Orange and red blossomed from amidst the green. There was a rippling progression of fiery bursts across the Fury's surface; every detail stood out sharp on the monitor, sharp enough to cut when pieces shot away from the center.
Then it darkened. And a moment later the frigate's fire stopped. There was nothing left worth hitting, and no air left to burn.
Wynston felt something closing in his head. Better get to work; don't feel. He barked to the room in general. "I want an analysis team out there. Take or destroy that ship. Get me data. Get me any of the tech loadout you can recover and get me-" his voice cut out while a raw breath carried the clipped words - "get me any remains."
He didn't need the remains to be sure of what had just happened. He signaled for Temple to take charge of the scene and went straight to his quarters. His and Ruth's.
He hesitated at the bedside and eventually knelt there. He couldn't sit or lie down, because if he did that, if he occupied the bed, and she weren't there with him, she would be gone. He knelt by it instead. That was different.
Cole was a good pilot. A very good pilot. But those shots were dead on, and that debris breakup wasn't something even a skilled Force-shielding Sith survived. Those two were powerful but neither had ever trained in intensive Force work; they were fighters. Fighters. Couldn't fight getting shaken into space.
Wynston had to hold it together. For Cole's sake, he just lost his mother. No. Cole was gone. Had to hold it together, for Ruth's sake, she just lost her son. No. Ruth was gone. And what had Wynston lost? No blood, nothing he had a right to claim. Everything. He lost everything.
His thoughts tracked tight circles, the impact, explosion, estimated chance of survival nil. Hold it together for Cole, Ruth gone. Recall the impact, explosion, estimated chance of survival nil. He had to keep it together for when Ruth came home. Recall the explosion.
A very long time later there was a noise, then a hand on Wynston's arm tugging him to his feet. "Wynston. You should rest." He went along passively until the person tried to push him onto the bed.
"Stop it," Wynston said in a voice that creaked oddly in his own ears. Vector kept pushing. Wynston shook his arm free, making fists. "Bloody stop it. I won't come to bed until she does." That was wrong. It couldn't happen for some reason he couldn't quite remember. Well, damned if he was going to let anyone keep him from waiting for Ruth. He knelt back down.
"You need to rest," said Vector. "And if you will not rest, you need to eat. We will leave food for you."
Leave food. Yes, practical things. Wynston struggled to think. "Any results on the wreckage?" he asked.
"Analysis is still in progress. But we have confirmed that…they did not survive."
That was so obvious as to be idiotic for anyone who had watched it. "I see. And the other ship? What happened to them?"
"It has been captured. The crew is currently in custody."
"Feed any survivors to Sith Intelligence." Those people wanted to fire on the good Sith, they deserved a taste of the alternative. "I don't care what you tell the Sith, just do it."
"Wynston, that is…"
"Do it. And then sod off." Wynston needed to wait here.
"That would be consigning them to a painful death to no good end."
That was the point. "Hand them. To Sith Intelligence. Then. Sod. Off."
He stayed kneeling in place after Vector left. If he were willing to move or admit need he would have tried to get something strongly alcoholic. He had never wanted a drink so much in his whole life. He had stopped for her, given up all but the lightest social drinking, but surely she would understand if he borrowed against the sum of future toasts that should have been with her. Or would she be disappointed that he spent it all at once?
Impact, explosion, estimated chance of survival nil. It seemed more real than the room he was in. How had he not managed to intercede? Why had he just stood there?
Explosion. Estimated chance of survival nil. In time he was finally driven to move and seek the meal on the tray near the door; it tasted like ash. Impact, explosion, estimated chance of survival nil. He tried to think of all the ways she would try to shield herself, her son. But none of them would be enough. No matter how many times he ran the scenario, no possible action was enough. Still, he couldn't stop trying.
He slept for some unknown time and woke up feeling unrested and hungry. He ate as much as he could stand. Then the refresher, then most of the way to the bed. Not all the way. Mustn't go to bed before Ruth got home.
Mustn't…think. Even if the explosion kept happening. Over, and over, and over.
He woke up with Vector's voice grating on his ears. "Wynston."
Wynston scrambled to sit up. "Any news?"
"We came to check on you." Vector paused a moment; those black eyes must be studying him. "You would rest better on the bed."
"I can't, Vector. I can't. Not without her."
"You know that…"
"You don't need to repeat it." He frowned and tried to concentrate. So long as Vector was here there were practical matters to attend to. Admissions to be made, he wasn't stupid enough to ignore that in front of other people. "We'd better see about…interring them. Has Colrand's family been notified?"
"Yes. Avanna and the children are on board now."
"I see. I should have said hello."
"They understand, Wynston."
"Even so, there are arrangements to make. I'll start on that."
"Avanna is handling matters. You've been in here nearly three days, Wynston. The services will be held as soon as you are ready."
Ready to say goodbye to Ruth and Cole? Never. Don't ever hold the ceremony to shut them away from the living. Not ever.
Wynston nodded crisply. "Of course. I'll be ready in the morning." He had to be.
"We will let them know." Vector paused. "It is difficult to comfort someone who is so rarely hurt. We can say that they both loved you, and that it will be all right."
"That's sufficient, Vector. If you'll excuse me." Wynston indicated he door. Vector bowed a little and left.
There would be no point in showing pain, but Wynston wasn't yet ready to go out and act normal. He had admitted to pain with Ruth, opened everything to her, weaknesses and all. That was hers. For everyone else, the glib surface or the formal one was all that was required. Just as soon as he could restore them.
He forced himself to eat a few mouthfuls off the latest meal tray. Enough calories by his estimate to subsist until morning and function for an hour or two thereafter. He couldn't stomach more.
Then he sat on the floor by the bed. There was nothing else to do, nothing that wouldn't shatter his composure. He was stuck watching something anyway: impact, explosion, estimated chance of survival nil. Nil, no matter how he calculated it. Nothing, Vector had confirmed. Nothing.
His thoughts tracked in circles. Eventually he had to admit that perhaps he should rest after all. He could still wait after he went to bed, he told himself. Ruth never minded if he was asleep when she got back from a solo errand. She would always awaken him with just enough caresses to let him know she was there with him; going to bed without her might be all right. And he was so very tired.
A tone from the console stirred him some time later. He checked the hour: well past midnight, well before dawn. Few people had the priority code to disturb him here. He looked.
The sender was Ruth.
He shivered; the arrival of that message felt suddenly, terribly real. Had she thought to prepare for this?
Her image came up a little younger, lovely in one of her dresses. "Wynston," she said. "I hope you never have to hear this."
He stopped it. Some confirmation must have triggered this. She was telling him that she wasn't coming home, and from her he would have to believe it. He couldn't let her finish just yet; the message reminded him of something he needed to do, something he'd better do now, get it over with, because he knew what was going to happen. And if he delayed Ruth's message a bit longer it would be a few more minutes where she had something left to say to him.
He accessed a file in his personal records, one set to be opened to Ruth if Wynston's death should be confirmed. Some paperwork to take care of. He wanted to delay the other thing. May as well do it this way. He opened the file.
His own holo image was notably young. Just the one facial scar, the old chemical burn, vivid in this recording. He was wearing his old Intelligence uniform. He probably should have rerecorded it more recently, but that didn't matter now.
"Ruth. If this message has been released, my luck has finally run out." His younger image smiled self-deprecatingly. "My luck along with my skill, planning, alliances, my many resources…well. Even I can't win them all.
"If you ever doubt, for even a moment, that I have loved you, that you've taught me courage and hope, that you gave purpose to my career and unbelievably rich meaning to my life…don't. You also taught me honesty, so believe what I have to say.
"You and Cole will be fine." Something hard and cold lanced through him, but he blinked hard and stayed still to watch himself continue. "Let him know I love him. I hope it isn't too presumptuous to say that I always thought of him as the son I never had.
"You'll be fine. No challenge in this galaxy can break you" - wrong, wrong, and he hated himself for being arrogant enough to assert it - "losing me won't. You've spent enough time living on your own while I contributed nothing more substantial than my words. Here's my word, Ruth: You can handle anything that lies ahead.
"From a practical perspective I've asked my people to forward some resources to you. And to prep any briefings necessary for any outstanding strategic matters, if you're willing. Do what you like with those; this isn't your mission to finish, but if it helps you, the work is there.
"I love you. I have ever since I figured out what that word meant, ever since you showed me." Wynston's vision was blurring again, not that it mattered; looking at his own face wasn't that interesting anyway. "I love you, and in the twenty or so languages I've had reason to study over the years I have yet to find a word that adequately describes how grateful I am for what we've shared. Thank you, darling. The future is yours. Make the most of it."
The holo ended.
It was a message he couldn't give her now. The future was not hers after all, and this message did nothing more than mark the first of some innumerable quantity of things she would never hear.
He took a quick controlled breath, in and out. With shaking hands he deleted the file. It wasn't needed anymore.
Time to face the other.
"Wynston. I hope you never have to hear this. If you do, there are some things you should know." Ruth smiled, something even warmer and sweeter than the usual curve of her lips. "I love you. I'm afraid I don't have any deep dark secrets that need telling now; you were there for most of it and I've talked your ear off about the rest. I have no great hidden treasures to direct you to. To be honest I have nothing to say at all, except that I love you and I'd like you to look after Cole for me."
With a convulsive movement Wynston tried to stop playback. His first stab missed; his second paused her.
He hadn't looked after Cole. She had one request - one request in all her beautiful selfless existence - and he had failed before it even became necessary to ask.
Wynston stayed rooted in place until he realized he couldn't stay standing. He went back to bed and buried his face in the pillow, and he held rigidly still until he was sure he wouldn't sob. The tears he couldn't stop, but he could hold back from a full sobbing breakdown. That was his grand bloody useless self-control at work. That was the hard-earned result of his illustrious life - the ability to weep a little less than ordinary men. Or perhaps just the inability to weep as much.
He only dragged himself back to the console when it occurred to him that maybe she had still left something of forgiveness.
She was ready for him. Waiting and ready, as always. "After such a life as we've had," she said warmly, "it seems strange that it comes down to something so simple. But I love you. And I'd like you to look after Cole for me.
"We've had a good run. A fantastic run. You've shown me so much of life, of love, of this whole galaxy around us and all the ways there are of making it better, and you never stopped amazing me. I think I've loved you since the day you said that you didn't know what this between us was about but as soon as you figured it out you would tell me. We did figure it out, and it's only gotten better every day since then."
It was nothing she hadn't told him before. She was too generous to keep that sort of thing to herself. She meant it, with all her heart, every time. He never tired of hearing it.
"You've saved my life plenty of times to date, Wynston. And you saved my will to fight, my will to do what's right, and on occasion my will to live. I only came as far as I did because of you. You have nothing to be ashamed of on that front.
"As for affairs now, the mission goes on. You taught me that. I know it isn't everything, but I hope you know the value you bring to it. You've done so much good. You always have. I hope you keep it going, for both of us."
She paused. Smiled one more time, her expression infinitely tender, as it was every day she had awakened beside him for close to forty years.
"Thank you for everything, beloved. Goo-"
He shut the console off.
He went back to bed, knowing that nothing better than the alarm would wake him. He needed to be ready for work in the morning.
Yes. A funeral to endure, and then work. He had already missed too much, but he could catch up; his support staff was superb, they would have picked up the slack. The staff was still working, even if it had lost the two people Wynston loved most.
The mission went on. That was the imperative of his life, the only thing that mattered after he failed his partners, his allies, his peers, his family, his lover, his son, his world: the mission went on.
It went on, but he didn't feel anything.
In-case-of-death idea completely stolen from Vesaniae, because her A'tro/Quinn scene in Afterimages was amazing.
Why does Ruth always die/get afflicted by everything first? I don't know. Possibly because she's so unstoppable against all things she can put a saber to, my brain wants to compensate somewhere.
Wynston's in-case-of-death message came to me first, but in the end I went the other way. My brain hates Ruth? In many ways I feel she's my weakest character; she is simply my first naïve reaction to everything, and while I can intuit her I can never quite define her. That bothers me, because I am an analyst at heart.
Anyway, every projection I do of lifetimes seems to turn out all Macbethian:
To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.
To do: Happiness? I'm thinking I need to stagger over to FCD or Vierce or somebody.
This is a possible future for the Lodestone AU featuring the Warrior Ruth and the Agent Wynston. It will make no sense whatsoever if you haven't read the leadup...but if you do know where this comes from and are up for some sads, here you go. 3000 words. Note: Wynston is roughly 64, Ruth 57, and Cole 37.
A note: Sith Intelligence exists as an organization - how could the Dark Council resist forming one? - even though it is carefully monitored and, when necessary, hampered by Wynston's people.
The situation was hotter than Wynston's information had suggested.
He was working on a regime change on one of the Core Worlds; the rebellion was in good shape, it just needed a nudge here and there. Battles raged both on the ground and in orbit; Wynston and his people had the Aegis cloaked some ways away while ships from both sides clashed. The rebels were making progress, especially in the space battle, but the fight was much, much harder than it should have been, and the ground war was nearing catastrophe.
Ruth had been away, visiting with Colrand and his wife and children; upon hearing of the severity of the situation both Ruth and Cole had offered to drop in and help clean up. A hard strike at a couple of critical spots might make the difference.
He watched the monitors in the Aegis control room, feeling the familiar surge of anticipation when they picked up Ruth's Fury leaving hyperspace.
"Fury to Aegis," came Colrand's voice. "Reporting for duty."
"Welcome home," Wynston said warmly. "Both of you?"
"Both of us," confirmed Ruth.
Wynston smiled. "Glad to hear it. You're cleared for hangar three."
"Be there momentarily," said Colrand, and the line closed for the moment. Wynston switched one of the control room's monitors to the visual approach.
And noticed something else coming in from the direction of the planet.
"A frigate, sir," reported Agent Temple. "One of the loyalists'."
"What is it doing out here? Scramble a team to neutralize it."
The strange ship streaked straight in toward the Fury. Ruth's vessel neatly dodged an opening burst of fire - even in his forties, Colrand was a superb pilot - but the frigate turned to bring a full broadside to bear.
Time slowed. "Fire," ordered Wynston.
"It's out of range, sir."
"Then bring us closer," he snapped. And bring it in, Cole, he thought. Lead it close, stay out of the way - there's a lot of fire, but I know you can stay out of the way.
It wasn't the blaster cannons that hit. It was the missiles.
Orange and red blossomed from amidst the green. There was a rippling progression of fiery bursts across the Fury's surface; every detail stood out sharp on the monitor, sharp enough to cut when pieces shot away from the center.
Then it darkened. And a moment later the frigate's fire stopped. There was nothing left worth hitting, and no air left to burn.
Wynston felt something closing in his head. Better get to work; don't feel. He barked to the room in general. "I want an analysis team out there. Take or destroy that ship. Get me data. Get me any of the tech loadout you can recover and get me-" his voice cut out while a raw breath carried the clipped words - "get me any remains."
He didn't need the remains to be sure of what had just happened. He signaled for Temple to take charge of the scene and went straight to his quarters. His and Ruth's.
He hesitated at the bedside and eventually knelt there. He couldn't sit or lie down, because if he did that, if he occupied the bed, and she weren't there with him, she would be gone. He knelt by it instead. That was different.
Cole was a good pilot. A very good pilot. But those shots were dead on, and that debris breakup wasn't something even a skilled Force-shielding Sith survived. Those two were powerful but neither had ever trained in intensive Force work; they were fighters. Fighters. Couldn't fight getting shaken into space.
Wynston had to hold it together. For Cole's sake, he just lost his mother. No. Cole was gone. Had to hold it together, for Ruth's sake, she just lost her son. No. Ruth was gone. And what had Wynston lost? No blood, nothing he had a right to claim. Everything. He lost everything.
His thoughts tracked tight circles, the impact, explosion, estimated chance of survival nil. Hold it together for Cole, Ruth gone. Recall the impact, explosion, estimated chance of survival nil. He had to keep it together for when Ruth came home. Recall the explosion.
A very long time later there was a noise, then a hand on Wynston's arm tugging him to his feet. "Wynston. You should rest." He went along passively until the person tried to push him onto the bed.
"Stop it," Wynston said in a voice that creaked oddly in his own ears. Vector kept pushing. Wynston shook his arm free, making fists. "Bloody stop it. I won't come to bed until she does." That was wrong. It couldn't happen for some reason he couldn't quite remember. Well, damned if he was going to let anyone keep him from waiting for Ruth. He knelt back down.
"You need to rest," said Vector. "And if you will not rest, you need to eat. We will leave food for you."
Leave food. Yes, practical things. Wynston struggled to think. "Any results on the wreckage?" he asked.
"Analysis is still in progress. But we have confirmed that…they did not survive."
That was so obvious as to be idiotic for anyone who had watched it. "I see. And the other ship? What happened to them?"
"It has been captured. The crew is currently in custody."
"Feed any survivors to Sith Intelligence." Those people wanted to fire on the good Sith, they deserved a taste of the alternative. "I don't care what you tell the Sith, just do it."
"Wynston, that is…"
"Do it. And then sod off." Wynston needed to wait here.
"That would be consigning them to a painful death to no good end."
That was the point. "Hand them. To Sith Intelligence. Then. Sod. Off."
He stayed kneeling in place after Vector left. If he were willing to move or admit need he would have tried to get something strongly alcoholic. He had never wanted a drink so much in his whole life. He had stopped for her, given up all but the lightest social drinking, but surely she would understand if he borrowed against the sum of future toasts that should have been with her. Or would she be disappointed that he spent it all at once?
Impact, explosion, estimated chance of survival nil. It seemed more real than the room he was in. How had he not managed to intercede? Why had he just stood there?
Explosion. Estimated chance of survival nil. In time he was finally driven to move and seek the meal on the tray near the door; it tasted like ash. Impact, explosion, estimated chance of survival nil. He tried to think of all the ways she would try to shield herself, her son. But none of them would be enough. No matter how many times he ran the scenario, no possible action was enough. Still, he couldn't stop trying.
He slept for some unknown time and woke up feeling unrested and hungry. He ate as much as he could stand. Then the refresher, then most of the way to the bed. Not all the way. Mustn't go to bed before Ruth got home.
Mustn't…think. Even if the explosion kept happening. Over, and over, and over.
He woke up with Vector's voice grating on his ears. "Wynston."
Wynston scrambled to sit up. "Any news?"
"We came to check on you." Vector paused a moment; those black eyes must be studying him. "You would rest better on the bed."
"I can't, Vector. I can't. Not without her."
"You know that…"
"You don't need to repeat it." He frowned and tried to concentrate. So long as Vector was here there were practical matters to attend to. Admissions to be made, he wasn't stupid enough to ignore that in front of other people. "We'd better see about…interring them. Has Colrand's family been notified?"
"Yes. Avanna and the children are on board now."
"I see. I should have said hello."
"They understand, Wynston."
"Even so, there are arrangements to make. I'll start on that."
"Avanna is handling matters. You've been in here nearly three days, Wynston. The services will be held as soon as you are ready."
Ready to say goodbye to Ruth and Cole? Never. Don't ever hold the ceremony to shut them away from the living. Not ever.
Wynston nodded crisply. "Of course. I'll be ready in the morning." He had to be.
"We will let them know." Vector paused. "It is difficult to comfort someone who is so rarely hurt. We can say that they both loved you, and that it will be all right."
"That's sufficient, Vector. If you'll excuse me." Wynston indicated he door. Vector bowed a little and left.
There would be no point in showing pain, but Wynston wasn't yet ready to go out and act normal. He had admitted to pain with Ruth, opened everything to her, weaknesses and all. That was hers. For everyone else, the glib surface or the formal one was all that was required. Just as soon as he could restore them.
He forced himself to eat a few mouthfuls off the latest meal tray. Enough calories by his estimate to subsist until morning and function for an hour or two thereafter. He couldn't stomach more.
Then he sat on the floor by the bed. There was nothing else to do, nothing that wouldn't shatter his composure. He was stuck watching something anyway: impact, explosion, estimated chance of survival nil. Nil, no matter how he calculated it. Nothing, Vector had confirmed. Nothing.
His thoughts tracked in circles. Eventually he had to admit that perhaps he should rest after all. He could still wait after he went to bed, he told himself. Ruth never minded if he was asleep when she got back from a solo errand. She would always awaken him with just enough caresses to let him know she was there with him; going to bed without her might be all right. And he was so very tired.
A tone from the console stirred him some time later. He checked the hour: well past midnight, well before dawn. Few people had the priority code to disturb him here. He looked.
The sender was Ruth.
He shivered; the arrival of that message felt suddenly, terribly real. Had she thought to prepare for this?
Her image came up a little younger, lovely in one of her dresses. "Wynston," she said. "I hope you never have to hear this."
He stopped it. Some confirmation must have triggered this. She was telling him that she wasn't coming home, and from her he would have to believe it. He couldn't let her finish just yet; the message reminded him of something he needed to do, something he'd better do now, get it over with, because he knew what was going to happen. And if he delayed Ruth's message a bit longer it would be a few more minutes where she had something left to say to him.
He accessed a file in his personal records, one set to be opened to Ruth if Wynston's death should be confirmed. Some paperwork to take care of. He wanted to delay the other thing. May as well do it this way. He opened the file.
His own holo image was notably young. Just the one facial scar, the old chemical burn, vivid in this recording. He was wearing his old Intelligence uniform. He probably should have rerecorded it more recently, but that didn't matter now.
"Ruth. If this message has been released, my luck has finally run out." His younger image smiled self-deprecatingly. "My luck along with my skill, planning, alliances, my many resources…well. Even I can't win them all.
"If you ever doubt, for even a moment, that I have loved you, that you've taught me courage and hope, that you gave purpose to my career and unbelievably rich meaning to my life…don't. You also taught me honesty, so believe what I have to say.
"You and Cole will be fine." Something hard and cold lanced through him, but he blinked hard and stayed still to watch himself continue. "Let him know I love him. I hope it isn't too presumptuous to say that I always thought of him as the son I never had.
"You'll be fine. No challenge in this galaxy can break you" - wrong, wrong, and he hated himself for being arrogant enough to assert it - "losing me won't. You've spent enough time living on your own while I contributed nothing more substantial than my words. Here's my word, Ruth: You can handle anything that lies ahead.
"From a practical perspective I've asked my people to forward some resources to you. And to prep any briefings necessary for any outstanding strategic matters, if you're willing. Do what you like with those; this isn't your mission to finish, but if it helps you, the work is there.
"I love you. I have ever since I figured out what that word meant, ever since you showed me." Wynston's vision was blurring again, not that it mattered; looking at his own face wasn't that interesting anyway. "I love you, and in the twenty or so languages I've had reason to study over the years I have yet to find a word that adequately describes how grateful I am for what we've shared. Thank you, darling. The future is yours. Make the most of it."
The holo ended.
It was a message he couldn't give her now. The future was not hers after all, and this message did nothing more than mark the first of some innumerable quantity of things she would never hear.
He took a quick controlled breath, in and out. With shaking hands he deleted the file. It wasn't needed anymore.
Time to face the other.
"Wynston. I hope you never have to hear this. If you do, there are some things you should know." Ruth smiled, something even warmer and sweeter than the usual curve of her lips. "I love you. I'm afraid I don't have any deep dark secrets that need telling now; you were there for most of it and I've talked your ear off about the rest. I have no great hidden treasures to direct you to. To be honest I have nothing to say at all, except that I love you and I'd like you to look after Cole for me."
With a convulsive movement Wynston tried to stop playback. His first stab missed; his second paused her.
He hadn't looked after Cole. She had one request - one request in all her beautiful selfless existence - and he had failed before it even became necessary to ask.
Wynston stayed rooted in place until he realized he couldn't stay standing. He went back to bed and buried his face in the pillow, and he held rigidly still until he was sure he wouldn't sob. The tears he couldn't stop, but he could hold back from a full sobbing breakdown. That was his grand bloody useless self-control at work. That was the hard-earned result of his illustrious life - the ability to weep a little less than ordinary men. Or perhaps just the inability to weep as much.
He only dragged himself back to the console when it occurred to him that maybe she had still left something of forgiveness.
She was ready for him. Waiting and ready, as always. "After such a life as we've had," she said warmly, "it seems strange that it comes down to something so simple. But I love you. And I'd like you to look after Cole for me.
"We've had a good run. A fantastic run. You've shown me so much of life, of love, of this whole galaxy around us and all the ways there are of making it better, and you never stopped amazing me. I think I've loved you since the day you said that you didn't know what this between us was about but as soon as you figured it out you would tell me. We did figure it out, and it's only gotten better every day since then."
It was nothing she hadn't told him before. She was too generous to keep that sort of thing to herself. She meant it, with all her heart, every time. He never tired of hearing it.
"You've saved my life plenty of times to date, Wynston. And you saved my will to fight, my will to do what's right, and on occasion my will to live. I only came as far as I did because of you. You have nothing to be ashamed of on that front.
"As for affairs now, the mission goes on. You taught me that. I know it isn't everything, but I hope you know the value you bring to it. You've done so much good. You always have. I hope you keep it going, for both of us."
She paused. Smiled one more time, her expression infinitely tender, as it was every day she had awakened beside him for close to forty years.
"Thank you for everything, beloved. Goo-"
He shut the console off.
He went back to bed, knowing that nothing better than the alarm would wake him. He needed to be ready for work in the morning.
Yes. A funeral to endure, and then work. He had already missed too much, but he could catch up; his support staff was superb, they would have picked up the slack. The staff was still working, even if it had lost the two people Wynston loved most.
The mission went on. That was the imperative of his life, the only thing that mattered after he failed his partners, his allies, his peers, his family, his lover, his son, his world: the mission went on.
It went on, but he didn't feel anything.
In-case-of-death idea completely stolen from Vesaniae, because her A'tro/Quinn scene in Afterimages was amazing.
Why does Ruth always die/get afflicted by everything first? I don't know. Possibly because she's so unstoppable against all things she can put a saber to, my brain wants to compensate somewhere.
Wynston's in-case-of-death message came to me first, but in the end I went the other way. My brain hates Ruth? In many ways I feel she's my weakest character; she is simply my first naïve reaction to everything, and while I can intuit her I can never quite define her. That bothers me, because I am an analyst at heart.
Anyway, every projection I do of lifetimes seems to turn out all Macbethian:
To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.
To do: Happiness? I'm thinking I need to stagger over to FCD or Vierce or somebody.