Perversely, the computer comforts Madeline, just a little. She knows that where they are means it's not to be trusted, that the puzzle on the screen - she thinks of it as Gabriel's puzzle without questioning how, this place has known how to wound them too well for it to be anything else. (The other disk is hers; she has it trapped under one hand, she won't wonder what's on it.)
She focuses on the words, mouthing them silently as she scans the screen. One of her hands finds its way to Gabriel's arm and stays there, rubbing small, slow circles.
She coughs, and takes a deep breath. Her voice comes out as a damp rasp, and even she thinks it's too quiet. "'ll' and 'nn'...mm. No. 'Al' and 'En'. And -" She's interrupted by a fit of coughing, closing her eyes and setting her jaw as she tries to weather it. " - 't'. 'His t-a-l-e-' - his talent."
Before she can really stop to think about it, Madeline leans over and taps the solution into the passcode. She does hesitate before hitting enter, but not long enough to think better of it. They have to move forward, don't they? And she doesn't think she can keep - it's not time to think about that, yet.
When she taps the key, the words on screen disappear, and are replaced by 'RUN PROGRAM? YES NO'. This, she looks to Gabriel for, her hand on his arm stilling.
When Madeline answers the puzzle, Gabriel takes a step back, shaking his head wide-eyed at the screen. No, he can't. This thing wants to take the one thing he has, the one thing that makes him more than completely useless person? No. No no no.
If he were a little more aware, he'd notice that he's not looking for some mysterious 'extra' power he hasn't found yet. He knows it would take his ability to see how things work. But he's a little distracted at the moment.
He takes the keyboard from Madeline, but his fingers freeze over the keyboard. What if he can't take this back? What if it automatically chooses the other device?
It doesn't matter. There's no way he could say yes. He types 'NO' and holds his breath. He doesn't relax until the screen clicks off and the disk ejects, and that's the only thing that happens.
His voice is flat when he speaks to Madeline. "We should see what's on the other disk first."
Of course it'd want to take that from him. She should've understood right away. Madeline squeezes his arm and slides the disk out, replacing it with the one she'd held under her palm. She almost tugs it back when the machine catches it, but instead she lets it go and presses her arm down on her chest, needing the comfort more than dignity.
Words roll onto the screen, and she half-expects something worse than what she gets. On the surface, at least.
the first three of hero will make you one
o is for ordinary - cut it out
a special man exists in a space apart from others, so you need one here
take the start of fix, but just the first
the last three of nothing are what comes next
finish with power, the last two
the whole is what you lose
She tilts her head, slightly, trying not to think about losing, about all the things she doesn't want taken (if it asks for Gabriel -).
She leans over the keyboard after a moment, and types 'her'. The first three letters of hero, one word.
Gabriel is quiet for a long time. He figured it out while the text was rolling, and wonders if she did, too.
He takes the keyboard from the table and finishes the passcode, typing the word "finger" into it. Hitting enter gives them what he expects. "RUN PROGRAM? YES NO"
He types "NO" again, and presses enter. The disk ejects. He takes it and picks up the second disk as well.
He should put his disk back in. He should set it to affect him but it's just a finger isn't it? Just one finger and she'll still be there. If he can't fix things, he might as well die. It's all he's good for. She'd be okay, wouldn't she? She'd be all right. And maybe they could keep it, reattach it later. Maybe he could get around this. He can't let it take away his ability. He can't let it hurt Madeline anymore than it already has. She's already been choked near to death because of his sins.
He stares down at the disks, breathing quickly and not saying a word.
Bloody, yes, but not damaged themselves, not scarred from anything before. She's always taken good care of them. They're her best feature, but it's more than that. It's what she does with them, it's that they've never, ever let her down, it's that her mother said that they were beautiful. It's that they're the only part of herself she really likes, without strings attached.
She tries to imagine them as less. Nine, not ten. Turns them over and over and runs her fingers over each other - 'goodbye', they're saying. Like people hugging at a train station, they don't want to let go.
Then she slips her hand into her pocket and pulls out the strips of sheets she has left, spreading them out on the desk.
"When it's over," she says, in a very small, shaky voice, "I'll need you to bandage it, okay? I don't think I'll be able to."
Oh, damn it. Her hands are just as important to her as his would be to him. She'd feel the loss just as keenly. Of course she would.
And of course she's ready to give. She must have been the one Benedict listened to, in the end, not him. He'd never learn that lesson; it would never really be sincere, coming from him. If this was anyone other than Madeline- or Mohinder- he'd gladly let them lose everything they had. They didn't matter. But Madeline does, and she knows how important her hands are.
He hates it. He hates this perfect machine, keeping him from figuring out a way around it. He hates the fact that it does nothing but take from them, he hates the blood and the drills and the fact that the whole place was so damned interesting while it did this to them. This time it's him that presses on that spot between his eyes, trying to relieve the pressure. He opens his eyes and looks at the strips on the table.
And then he puts 'the insignificant' disk into the slot. He types in 'his talent' before the words finish scrolling, and then 'YES'. And he waits.
Madeline didn't look up. She was thinking about her hands, about how she'll hold things now and how long it'll take to heal, if she'll need to relearn anything.
The quiet shuffle of the doctors is just to get their attention, she's sure. They don't need to make noise. They don't need to be doctors, even. They're parts of the shape she was seeing, before, they don't have to do anything but work.
She has to be brave, though, she chose this and she didn't have to. So she turns around, cautiously, and looks for a little calm. (Don't cry. Breathe. She is empty and nothing can touch her.)
But the doctors-who-aren't...aren't looking at her.
"Gabriel, you -" Madeline whirls, mouth covering her mouth as her eyes go wide, none of the pain that should stop her from moving like that mattering much anymore. "Oh, no, no, no, Gabriel. Gabriel. You didn't -" She sounds hysterical because she is hysterical - he wasn't supposed to do that, he wasn't supposed to, he was supposed to let her because she's the one who deserves it anyway, she is, and this is something that means everything to him and who cares about some stupid little finger -
She turns back to the doctors, shaking her head, like that'll help, like they'll even know what that means - of course they do, they just don't care. "No," she whimpers, "No no no - w-we made a mistake, please, we'll fix it, please just let us fix it it's not supposed to be him can't you even see that?"
"Madeline," he says, quiet but resigned. Gabriel's made his decision and it's settled now. He lets a hand rest on her shoulder, and he ignores the way his stomach is turning. "Let me be the hero, just this once."
He stares into her eyes for a long moment and hopes she can tell how much he needs to do this. He gives her shoulder a gentle squeeze, then walks into the throng of doctors surrounding the operating table.
He wasn't going to make any noise. He was going to take this stoically. That doesn't happen.
When he says it like that, what can she say back? All she could do is make it worse. The time to open her mouth was earlier, but she missed that, didn't she?
So she finds the things that would make her fight and turns them off.
And she can meet his eyes with her wide and horrified ones, and she can quiet her whimpers, and when he squeezes her shoulder she can nod, barely. When he lets go and walks off, she slides down the desk onto the floor, hands still pressed over her mouth as she curls up.
She can't see anything, so she only knows it's started when he starts screaming. She could put her hands over her ears. She doesn't.
Doesn't cry. Doesn't scream. Breathes. Watches. Waits for it to be over.
You can wait out anything. If you know what you're doing.
Eventually, the screaming dies down to labored panting, and the things that aren't doctors start putting their sharp instruments back in their bags. They don't seem concerned about cleaning the blood off, but why would they?
They clear, and this time they don't take a body bag with them. Gabriel is left alone on the table. Blood trickles from his forehead, but it looks like his old wound merely reopened. He's staring up at the ceiling, just...breathing.
As soon as the doctors begin clearing, Madeline's pushing herself to her feet, reaching behind her to grab the rags she set out before, the ones that were supposed to be for her.
If you were smarter, a calm voice that has nothing to do with Antinora says, You'd be patching yourself up by now, you'd be making yourself smile and telling him it was okay. Do you think he'll tell you it's okay?
She runs as well as she can to the side of the table, and grips its edge as she drops the bandages next to him. She fights down a sob as she leans over him, wiping hastily at her eyes. "Gabriel?" Her voice is still shaking, like she's got any right at all to feel sorry.
"Gabriel, it's -" And Madeline feels the world open.
She gasps, sharply, hand flying to the bridge of her nose and pressing as everything fills in again, like someone handed God than biggest set of crayons in the universe and told him to go to town. The only reason she doesn't fall down is because she has the table to lean on, and even then it's a close thing.
When she can see straight again, she's not surprised to see a door at all, and she knows exactly, exactly where it goes.
She's crying and she's not sure why. "Oh, God, Gabriel, Gabriel there's a - you got us out." She reaches for his hand, misses the first time, but finds it eventually. "You got us out." He'll wake up, now, everything will be fine, he'll wake up, he'll wake up and they'll go and he'll wake up, he will.
He coughs, then rolls onto his side. He can't see the mechanism anymore, but he doesn't need to. It's already done it's job.
The first thing he does is look at his watch. He tries to remember what was wrong with it. It doesn't form in his head, it doesn't whisper to be fixed, and he can't see inside of it. He won't be able to repair it, he knows. He'll cry about that later- right now, he just faces it with a numb acceptance.
Madeline's words help. He did that for a reason, remember? He saved them. He actually manages a very small smile and says, "The door opened? It leads out, doesn't it? It- it seemed important. Let's go." He cringes with pain as he pulls himself to a sitting position.
"Mm-hm," Madeline says, and rubs her eyes with the heels of her hands, something that might've been a laugh in better circumstances wringing its way out of her throat.
She doesn't ask before sliding an arm around his waist, noting distantly that she can't feel it on her skin anymore, at least not where she shouldn't, they're okay (if this is okay, if just not being dead is enough) and she'll pull him off the table if she has to because she doesn't trust that door to stay open.
And once she's thought that, it's all she can think about, besides that home - not home, but home - is outside that door, she can get them there if it's not one more trick.
If the door goes, she thinks she's going to come back, lie down on the table, and wait.
Gabriel feels dizzy, and...empty somehow. But everything else seems to be fine, so he ignores what he can and leans on Madeline as they head to the doorway. It can't disappear, it can't shut or fade away, although he's less certain about that than he used to be. He moves with her as quickly as he can to the door.
It stays open. They walk through and- he can't see. It's far too bright, and they spent so much time in the dark. But feeling the sunlight on his heavily shut eyelids is wonderful. He takes a deep breath of fresh air. "It worked..." he says, equal parts amazed, smug, and shaky.
Madeline presses her face into his side, with a small laugh-sob-cough.
It's even clearer, out here, how everything is real. Behind them, the hospital's just a shape like a missing tooth, it has boundaries and walls and definition - and if has those, it has - not yet, not yet, right now she's pushing on Gabriel again and feeling her skin light up.
"It did." She doesn't open her eyes all the way to the car.
He keeps leaning on her, enjoying the sun as it falls on his face. Everything is different, but it's what it should be, he thinks. He tries to pinpoint just what's new about it now.
"It's so....quiet," he eventually says, a note of sadness invading his otherwise perfectly happy voice. They reach the car and he starts shuffling towards the passenger side. He'd be pretty useless for driving, considering his feet.
He used to be able to tell how the engine was running a little slow and how the brakepads need replacing. It doesn't say that to him now- it's just a car. He leans on it.
She focuses on the words, mouthing them silently as she scans the screen. One of her hands finds its way to Gabriel's arm and stays there, rubbing small, slow circles.
She coughs, and takes a deep breath. Her voice comes out as a damp rasp, and even she thinks it's too quiet. "'ll' and 'nn'...mm. No. 'Al' and 'En'. And -" She's interrupted by a fit of coughing, closing her eyes and setting her jaw as she tries to weather it. " - 't'. 'His t-a-l-e-' - his talent."
Before she can really stop to think about it, Madeline leans over and taps the solution into the passcode. She does hesitate before hitting enter, but not long enough to think better of it. They have to move forward, don't they? And she doesn't think she can keep - it's not time to think about that, yet.
When she taps the key, the words on screen disappear, and are replaced by 'RUN PROGRAM? YES NO'. This, she looks to Gabriel for, her hand on his arm stilling.
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If he were a little more aware, he'd notice that he's not looking for some mysterious 'extra' power he hasn't found yet. He knows it would take his ability to see how things work. But he's a little distracted at the moment.
He takes the keyboard from Madeline, but his fingers freeze over the keyboard. What if he can't take this back? What if it automatically chooses the other device?
It doesn't matter. There's no way he could say yes. He types 'NO' and holds his breath. He doesn't relax until the screen clicks off and the disk ejects, and that's the only thing that happens.
His voice is flat when he speaks to Madeline. "We should see what's on the other disk first."
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Of course it'd want to take that from him. She should've understood right away. Madeline squeezes his arm and slides the disk out, replacing it with the one she'd held under her palm. She almost tugs it back when the machine catches it, but instead she lets it go and presses her arm down on her chest, needing the comfort more than dignity.
Words roll onto the screen, and she half-expects something worse than what she gets. On the surface, at least.
the first three of hero will make you one
o is for ordinary - cut it out
a special man exists in a space apart from others, so you need one here
take the start of fix, but just the first
the last three of nothing are what comes next
finish with power, the last two
the whole is what you lose
She tilts her head, slightly, trying not to think about losing, about all the things she doesn't want taken (if it asks for Gabriel -).
She leans over the keyboard after a moment, and types 'her'. The first three letters of hero, one word.
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He takes the keyboard from the table and finishes the passcode, typing the word "finger" into it. Hitting enter gives them what he expects. "RUN PROGRAM? YES NO"
He types "NO" again, and presses enter. The disk ejects. He takes it and picks up the second disk as well.
He should put his disk back in. He should set it to affect him but it's just a finger isn't it? Just one finger and she'll still be there. If he can't fix things, he might as well die. It's all he's good for. She'd be okay, wouldn't she? She'd be all right. And maybe they could keep it, reattach it later. Maybe he could get around this. He can't let it take away his ability. He can't let it hurt Madeline anymore than it already has. She's already been choked near to death because of his sins.
He stares down at the disks, breathing quickly and not saying a word.
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Bloody, yes, but not damaged themselves, not scarred from anything before. She's always taken good care of them. They're her best feature, but it's more than that. It's what she does with them, it's that they've never, ever let her down, it's that her mother said that they were beautiful. It's that they're the only part of herself she really likes, without strings attached.
She tries to imagine them as less. Nine, not ten. Turns them over and over and runs her fingers over each other - 'goodbye', they're saying. Like people hugging at a train station, they don't want to let go.
Then she slips her hand into her pocket and pulls out the strips of sheets she has left, spreading them out on the desk.
"When it's over," she says, in a very small, shaky voice, "I'll need you to bandage it, okay? I don't think I'll be able to."
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And of course she's ready to give. She must have been the one Benedict listened to, in the end, not him. He'd never learn that lesson; it would never really be sincere, coming from him. If this was anyone other than Madeline- or Mohinder- he'd gladly let them lose everything they had. They didn't matter. But Madeline does, and she knows how important her hands are.
He hates it. He hates this perfect machine, keeping him from figuring out a way around it. He hates the fact that it does nothing but take from them, he hates the blood and the drills and the fact that the whole place was so damned interesting while it did this to them. This time it's him that presses on that spot between his eyes, trying to relieve the pressure. He opens his eyes and looks at the strips on the table.
And then he puts 'the insignificant' disk into the slot. He types in 'his talent' before the words finish scrolling, and then 'YES'. And he waits.
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The quiet shuffle of the doctors is just to get their attention, she's sure. They don't need to make noise. They don't need to be doctors, even. They're parts of the shape she was seeing, before, they don't have to do anything but work.
She has to be brave, though, she chose this and she didn't have to. So she turns around, cautiously, and looks for a little calm. (Don't cry. Breathe. She is empty and nothing can touch her.)
But the doctors-who-aren't...aren't looking at her.
"Gabriel, you -" Madeline whirls, mouth covering her mouth as her eyes go wide, none of the pain that should stop her from moving like that mattering much anymore. "Oh, no, no, no, Gabriel. Gabriel. You didn't -" She sounds hysterical because she is hysterical - he wasn't supposed to do that, he wasn't supposed to, he was supposed to let her because she's the one who deserves it anyway, she is, and this is something that means everything to him and who cares about some stupid little finger -
She turns back to the doctors, shaking her head, like that'll help, like they'll even know what that means - of course they do, they just don't care. "No," she whimpers, "No no no - w-we made a mistake, please, we'll fix it, please just let us fix it it's not supposed to be him can't you even see that?"
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He stares into her eyes for a long moment and hopes she can tell how much he needs to do this. He gives her shoulder a gentle squeeze, then walks into the throng of doctors surrounding the operating table.
He wasn't going to make any noise. He was going to take this stoically. That doesn't happen.
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So she finds the things that would make her fight and turns them off.
And she can meet his eyes with her wide and horrified ones, and she can quiet her whimpers, and when he squeezes her shoulder she can nod, barely. When he lets go and walks off, she slides down the desk onto the floor, hands still pressed over her mouth as she curls up.
She can't see anything, so she only knows it's started when he starts screaming. She could put her hands over her ears. She doesn't.
Doesn't cry. Doesn't scream. Breathes. Watches. Waits for it to be over.
You can wait out anything. If you know what you're doing.
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They clear, and this time they don't take a body bag with them. Gabriel is left alone on the table. Blood trickles from his forehead, but it looks like his old wound merely reopened. He's staring up at the ceiling, just...breathing.
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If you were smarter, a calm voice that has nothing to do with Antinora says, You'd be patching yourself up by now, you'd be making yourself smile and telling him it was okay. Do you think he'll tell you it's okay?
She runs as well as she can to the side of the table, and grips its edge as she drops the bandages next to him. She fights down a sob as she leans over him, wiping hastily at her eyes. "Gabriel?" Her voice is still shaking, like she's got any right at all to feel sorry.
"Gabriel, it's -" And Madeline feels the world open.
She gasps, sharply, hand flying to the bridge of her nose and pressing as everything fills in again, like someone handed God than biggest set of crayons in the universe and told him to go to town. The only reason she doesn't fall down is because she has the table to lean on, and even then it's a close thing.
When she can see straight again, she's not surprised to see a door at all, and she knows exactly, exactly where it goes.
She's crying and she's not sure why. "Oh, God, Gabriel, Gabriel there's a - you got us out." She reaches for his hand, misses the first time, but finds it eventually. "You got us out." He'll wake up, now, everything will be fine, he'll wake up, he'll wake up and they'll go and he'll wake up, he will.
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The first thing he does is look at his watch. He tries to remember what was wrong with it. It doesn't form in his head, it doesn't whisper to be fixed, and he can't see inside of it. He won't be able to repair it, he knows. He'll cry about that later- right now, he just faces it with a numb acceptance.
Madeline's words help. He did that for a reason, remember? He saved them. He actually manages a very small smile and says, "The door opened? It leads out, doesn't it? It- it seemed important. Let's go." He cringes with pain as he pulls himself to a sitting position.
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She doesn't ask before sliding an arm around his waist, noting distantly that she can't feel it on her skin anymore, at least not where she shouldn't, they're okay (if this is okay, if just not being dead is enough) and she'll pull him off the table if she has to because she doesn't trust that door to stay open.
And once she's thought that, it's all she can think about, besides that home - not home, but home - is outside that door, she can get them there if it's not one more trick.
If the door goes, she thinks she's going to come back, lie down on the table, and wait.
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It stays open. They walk through and- he can't see. It's far too bright, and they spent so much time in the dark. But feeling the sunlight on his heavily shut eyelids is wonderful. He takes a deep breath of fresh air. "It worked..." he says, equal parts amazed, smug, and shaky.
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It's even clearer, out here, how everything is real. Behind them, the hospital's just a shape like a missing tooth, it has boundaries and walls and definition - and if has those, it has - not yet, not yet, right now she's pushing on Gabriel again and feeling her skin light up.
"It did." She doesn't open her eyes all the way to the car.
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"It's so....quiet," he eventually says, a note of sadness invading his otherwise perfectly happy voice. They reach the car and he starts shuffling towards the passenger side. He'd be pretty useless for driving, considering his feet.
He used to be able to tell how the engine was running a little slow and how the brakepads need replacing. It doesn't say that to him now- it's just a car. He leans on it.
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