bigbangbigbang: A Mighty Roar (4/4)
She strode into the control room only to be immediately accosted by a trembling Bernadette, all blonde hair coming undone and murmurs of thank god, thank god as she wrapped her arms around Leslie's neck.
"Okay," said Leslie. She carefully extracted herself and looked Bernadette in the eye. She could tell by the expressions on their faces that they knew about Raj. Or suspected. She decided not to ask which it was. Bernadette stepped back with a sniff and her eyes fell on Penny, who had been a few steps behind Leslie into the room, but was now keeping her distance out of respect.
"Where are the others?" asked Bernadette.
"Lobby. Our palaeontologist friend is kind of beaten up." Leslie glanced to Penny, who held up the field kit. "I just came to get more supplies. We're going back." She paused. "What's happened?"
Bernadette shook her head quickly. "Did you see Kripke?"
"No." Leslie frowned. "Howard told me he took the other Jeep, but I figured he was-"
Across the room, Howard gave a snort, rolling back in his chair. His eyes found Leslie. The expression on his face was not a good one. "So you want to hear a story?" he asked. "Maybe the one about how that bastard pulled the fucking wool over our eyes?" He stood up and waved a hand at the far workstation, the one surrounded by loose papers and soda cans. The monitor had been turned around, and she could make out lines of code scrolling down the screen.
Leslie stared at him. "What'd he do?"
She almost didn't want to know, and by the pained look that passed between Howard and Bernadette she could pretty much diagnose the situation herself.
"Not a lot, actually." Howard glanced at the code and shook his head. "But that's the killer, see. He knew exactly where the weak points were, what to hide, what to show. And now I'm trying to...well, I don't know what I'm trying to do. I'm an engineer." He looked at Leslie. The helplessness was written large in his brown eyes, as if something awful was crawling through him. Not for the first time, she wondered where Wheaton was, why he wasn't the one standing here, telling her all this. "I've got a chopper on its way but there's a weather system to rival the gods coming in and...it might take some time," said Howard. "We really need to think about getting up onto the roof."
She listened to what he wasn't saying. The bald simplicity of a last ditch effort. When in danger, get to high ground. Climb to where the creatures couldn't get you. Wave to the sky, hope for rescue. She knew there was nothing else they could do.
"Then I guess that's a plan," said Leslie.
-
It could have belonged to anyone. A workman or a contractor. They'd had dozens out here at various times, trying to fix these roads. But even as he was thinking this he knew it was wrong. It was too fancy, the leather too fine to be the kind of thing worn while ploughing up track with a digger and high-visibility vest.
A clap of thunder sounded out like a whip cracking, fast and sharp. It startled him and he swore loudly and ducked his head against the rain. He really, really didn't have time for this. With a sigh he slopped back through the mud to the Jeep, tossed the shoe onto the back seat, and was about to get in when something made him stop.
Kripke fumbled at the flashlight again, aiming it at the foliage. Shining leaves came into the circle of light. He saw a cloud of tiny insects bob through the air. No animals. He shouldn't be standing out here anyway. No time. No fucking time for any of this.
"Hello?" His voice sounded weak, small. He coughed. "Anyone there?"
The sound came again. A groan. Lower, to his right. Kripke turned, his hand on the Jeep's door, straining to listen as the rain fell. He swung the light along the edge of the road.
There was a hand in the grass.
A hand, fingers flexed slightly, the skin dark and glistening. He moved the light. He saw an arm, a torso, legs. Feet with one shoe missing. And a face, staring right at him.
"Raj?"
Kripke dropped to his knees. He pushed aside leaves hurriedly until Raj's body was exposed, and when he saw him, properly, he felt his stomach turn, and he had to look away and breathe hard through his nose to stop himself from throwing up. A great slash had opened up Raj's thigh, and a smaller one was split into a curve across his abdomen. The lower portion of his shirt was seeped through almost completely with blood. His eyes were unfocused, cloudy, and slid away from the light as if they were pained by it. But his lips were moving, and when Kripke bend his head, he could just make out the few, broken words.
"This will be...one hell of a dry cleaning bill," said Raj.
"Oh, fuck," said Kripke softly, choking back a laugh before he could stop it. Raj smiled in return. And then Kripke was left staring at him, decisions flying thorough his mind. These injuries weren't bad; they were beyond it. There was nothing he could do. What little time he had was running down. He felt the weight of the cargo drawing him back even as he put a hand against Raj's shoulder and lifted him up. Raj moaned, the sound seeming to come from all around him. Kripke left the flashlight on the ground and half-carried and half-dragged him to the back seat of the Jeep. Every hair on his head, every inch of his clothing was now wet from a combination of rain and sweat. When he ducked back to retrieve the light he saw that his hands were covered in blood. No idea. He had no idea what he was doing. What he was going to do. Except ignore the small voice that was screaming at him for not having the strength to keep to the one plan he'd been stuck to for close to a year.
The shoe was still there. That goddamn shoe. He should have kept on driving.
He slumped into the driver's seat, eyes closed, heart racing. He was trying very hard not to glance into the rear vision mirror, but as he turned the key and felt the rumble of the engine roar briefly through the tiny cabin his eyes betrayed him, and the sight of Raj, breathing jagged and shallow as he lay against the seat, it very nearly made Kripke jump out into the rain again. To stand there until he really was the only one left.
But he didn't. He pressed his foot to the gas, gripped the wheel, and paused.
From behind him, a cough.
"Are we going back?"
Kripke stared with heavy eyes at the metal pole. No sign, no idea. The symbolism couldn't be more blunt if it tried.
"Despite of what I think of this place," he said, "and the five mil I was going to get from a couple dozen little tubes? What do you think?"
Raj's lips moved. They formed two shapes, one after another. In the dim light, it looked like thank you.
With a sharp pull and heavy foot Kripke turned the wheel. He drove without speaking, tracing through deep tire marks he had already made, and this time he didn't have to look back to know that Raj was dead.
-
Wheaton punched in the code once, twice, getting an angry beep each time. "Jesus, come on." He slammed the heel of his palm flat against the locker and closed his eyes, taking in several long breaths. It didn't help; he felt as if his head were about to cave in.
"What's the number?"
He turned. Amy was standing at his shoulder, her eyes regarding him with a measure of calm that seemed impossibly distant, as if it belonged to another place, another situation entirely.
"Didn't hear you follow me," said Wheaton, frowning.
She tilted her head to one side. "Well. I'm here now."
"Nine-four-oh-seven-two, hash," he said quickly, and she slipped a hand past him, pressing at the keypad. The light flashed green and the lock clicked. He pulled at the handle.
Before them, in row upon row, were dozens of weapons. Handguns on a lower shelf, rifles, shotguns and tranquillizer guns above. He bent down, ripping through boxes of ammunition until he found what he was looking for. He reached for a handgun, testing the weight of it, and looked at her.
"You're not scared, Dr. Fowler?"
"I don't know. It's all relative," she said. She stared back a moment longer and pulled out a weapon herself, flicking it open. It was an assured movement that might have surprised him, had she not been standing there already. Had she not followed him in the first place. Surprise, he decided, tucking the gun into the back of his jeans, didn't mean a whole lot. Not here, not now.
"Hey, boss..."
They looked up together to see Leslie and Penny. Leslie was the one who had called out, and she looked relieved, but when Wheaton stepped aside she was able to see inside the locker her face darkened in an instant. Suddenly she was turning on him, pushing him into the wall. "And when the hell were you going to tell us about this? Every time I've asked for more weapons and you've said no, stick to the tranquillizers. Softly fucking softly, and all this time-" She let him go, ripped her eyes away. "You son of a bitch."
Penny put a hand on her arm but Leslie glowered and shrugged her away. Wheaton exhaled sharply. He could feel his patience trailing away fast. "Where are you going?" he asked Penny.
"Lobby," she said.
"Okay. Can you handle one of these?"
For this he was rewarded with a look of amusement and a flash of teeth as Penny grinned, taking the weapon he was holding out. Meanwhile Leslie Winkle scowled and brushed a swing of hair behind one ear. She edged past to grab a shotgun, loading it with speed, her eyes flicking once to his. "And where are you going?" she asked bluntly.
But Wheaton was already turning away, closing the door to the locker and starting down the corridor. He reached back, felt the outline of the gun, and smoothed his jacket down. The frustration from before, he could already feel it fading away. Behind him Leslie repeated her question, anger bleeding out between the syllables of his name, and then Penny's voice joined her, words he couldn't make out, drawing Leslie back. He heard footsteps approaching and was about to spin around and yell something he'd probably regret, when he saw that it was Amy. Amy, her expression unchanged, matching his stride. Wheaton clamped his mouth shut.
-
At some point Leonard got up from the couch and wandered over to examine the computer terminal that was set into the curved reception desk, but it wasn't until Sheldon's ears registered the sound of fingers tapping onto a keyboard that he actually realized Leonard was gone. He frowned at the empty space next to him. "What's happening, have they called our flight?" he murmured, pushing against the leather. His limbs felt heavy. The thought of getting up was proving much more difficult than the actual physical act. Maybe he should stay sitting.
"No, buddy, not flying anywhere just now." Leonard's voice drifted over from the other side of the room. "Try to relax."
"Okay," said Sheldon, falling back again. That did seem the better option. He blinked a few times and added, "I don't like this morphine. I'd like to have that on the record."
"Yeah, well, you'll like it a whole lot more if I took it away."
He lifted his head, narrowed eyes finding Leonard's slightly hunched figure behind the desk. "You know that sort of posture will lead to backache." Sheldon stared some more and then frowned. "What are you doing?"
"Not real sure...trying to get past this login, for a start. My hacking skills are a little rusty."
Sheldon made a face and turned away. He didn't hold out much hope on that particular line of investigation, but if it kept Leonard occupied, then good. His colleague took so much looking after. Meanwhile, it didn't surprise Sheldon one bit that his body had so gleefully leapt upon a little opiate as a coping mechanism. Fear led to strange reactions. He thought again of Penny Malcolm. Where had her fear been? He was still trying to figure that one out.
As he stared out the window, Sheldon's lips took on an amused shape. "She was running around like it was nothing," he said.
The tapping paused. "Who?"
"Penny," said Sheldon.
He didn't need to look to know that Leonard was shaking his head, one of those irritating and mysterious half-smiles tweaking at his lips. "Well, she hauled your ass, that's for sure."
"She's unnerving."
"You should thank her. She probably saved your life." Leonard paused, then added, more to himself, "God. That's a hell of a thing to say. I mean, think about it. Just think about it."
Sheldon, however, was not thinking about anything. His ears had caught onto something. He twisted his upper body around, wincing at the dull thud of pain that began to radiate from his leg up through his body. All he could see above the edge of the couch was the plaster skirting along the tops of the walls, a scattering of rain as it wiped the sunlight off the glass.
"Except that's probably a bad idea," continued Leonard with a sigh, his voice dropping to a mutter. "Oh, who am I kidding. Says the world champion worrier, who, by the way, wasn't exaggerating about being the worst hacker on the planet. And now I'm referring to myself in the third person, so that's good. Good...okay. Sheldon?" There was the sound of Leonard rolling his chair away from the desk, the wheels on his chair squeaking. "How's the pain? You need anything?"
"Yes...stop talking."
Leonard stared. "What?"
"I hear something," said Sheldon.
-
"So," said Penny.
Leslie was walking fast. Penny had to put in a few jogging steps to stay by her side. She tried to catch her expression but couldn't make out anything much past that wedge of curls.
"So," said Leslie.
"Yeah. So. On a scale of complete and utter mayhem, one being whoops, someone let the gate unlocked, to ten, my my, Grandma Rex, what big teeth you have-where do you think this whole enterprise stands. I mean, right now. Right this second. Me holding a badass gun, you holding a badass gun..."
She pulled up. Leslie had stopped, eyes narrowed and dark with confusion. "You're kidding. Is this some sort of survival mechanism, you trying to make me laugh?"
And Penny said, "Does it look like I'm laughing?"
Leslie took one look at her and shook her head. They continued through the winding corridors, passing glass-walled labs, shadowed and empty. Many of the lights were still out from the shortage, and hadn't come back on. "You guys normally operate on a skeleton crew?" asked Penny, looking in.
"Something like that. Wheaton's got money to burn. He wanted to push the system, test the autonomics. Though that could only ever go so far. Still need the grunts to wrangle the herds."
Penny thought about pressing further, but she got the feeling that would lead pretty much nowhere. Nowhere she couldn't guess, anyway. The urge to keep talking was tempting, though. It kept her from imagining the end, grisly, bloody, stupid. Preventable. That was a nice, abstract word. It swung hand in hand with chaos in its absurdity.
Without realizing it, they had both slowed their pace, perhaps anticipating what neither wanted to say out loud. Leslie very quietly cocked her gun, raising it to her shoulder, and that's when Penny saw it.
A tail, dull brown, the tip striped and slender. Disappearing slowly past the bend of the corridor. Right in the direction they needed to go.
-
Leonard listened. He listened as hard and best as he could, but still, he heard nothing. Except that wasn't entirely true. He could hear his own breathing, the thrum of the computer terminal. There was a gentle click coming from somewhere-he guessed it was the ceiling ducts circulating the cold air. But whatever it was Sheldon was hearing wasn't reaching Leonard's ears, so he gave up and went back to the keyboard. Not that he was getting anywhere fast there, though. He really hadn't a clue what he was looking for. Something to keep his thoughts away from the outside. Or the inside, for that matter. From Raj. From Sheldon's injuries, the fact that morphine alone was pretty soon going to be about as helpful as a paper napkin...
"Hey, look," he began, feeling as if he should speak for the sake of speaking, and not at all because he was starting to hate the quiet, when Sheldon made a sort of strangled noise, like he was trying to cough out a hairball. Leonard raised his eyes, but something new was blocking his line of sight and he couldn't properly make out Sheldon, so he turned back, and-
He froze.
The computer beeped at him, the cursor blinking. He had made it past the login screen.
And a velociraptor was standing in the lobby.
Leonard stared at the cursor. Two blinks, three, four. Fear held him still, his chest tight as if his lungs were filled with liquid; and maybe it was fear, too, that made him lift his head, to speak in a voice he wasn't entirely sure was his own. "Um. Sheldon?"
"Yes."
"You okay?"
Sheldon's reply seemed to take forever to reach him.
"Well. That depends..."
"Good," said Leonard.
Exchange over, Leonard slid his eyes across to where he really, really didn't want to look. The raptor held its head down low, the small nostrils quivering. Could it smell his fear? he wondered. Because he sure as hell could. Sweet, rotten carnivore breath, he could smell it, taste it. He saw skin that was dry, grey and brown, loose in some areas, tight across the belly, the back, the long, stiff tail. Forearms tucked close to the torso. He didn't-couldn't-bring himself to stare at the hind legs, but they pushed into his peripheral vision before he could stop it, and the sight of the twin claws resting on the lobby floor was enough to suck the remaining moisture from his mouth and set his stomach turning over until a moan escaped his lips. Nowhere to go. They were trapped.
So Leonard did the first, and only, thing that came to mind.
He stood up.
The raptor seemed to be looking right through him, but the reaction was immediate. It hissed sharply, the ribs contracting as it took one shallow breath after another. Then it began to move.
Strangely, it was in that same movement that he felt his fear ebb away. Nothing remarkable flashed before his eyes, no images, no last memories. Nothing but a simple need to walk across the room and help his friend. Sheldon was in pain, so Leonard would help him.
He took a step. He waited. But the strike never came. Instead there was a bang, a stinging echo. For perhaps half a second he was looking at blood and grey hide ripped apart, wondering what had happened, wondering what had changed.
Because the raptor's head had just exploded. Leaving Leonard staring into the barrel of Leslie Winkle's gun.
"You're welcome," she said.
He leaned hard against the desk. His whole body felt like it had been dunked into ice water. "Jesus," he murmured, "Leslie..." When he found the energy to stand up again, he saw that she hadn't moved and was now staring down at the raptor. He walked over, touched her hand with his own. "I'm sorry," he said.
She looked at him sharply. "Well. Don't be," she said, and stepped away.
Across the room, Penny was helping Sheldon up off the couch. She was muttering at him, loud enough for Leonard to overhear. "God, could you be any taller?"
Sheldon grunted, peering at her as if he couldn't quite make her out. "It would be wiser to holster that weapon properly, Dr. Malcolm," he said, "instead of slinging it around like a badly paid extra."
"Yeah. You're real cute, too."
Leonard left them to it and looked back to see Leslie reloading the shotgun. Her movements were sharp and assured. She was nodding towards Penny, speaking quickly.
"You okay taking them back to the control room?"
"Yep," said Penny.
Leonard frowned suddenly. "Oh? And what are you going to do?"
Leslie shrugged. Her gaze was steady. Not a challenge, but an acceptance of fact.
"My job," she said.
-
They walked through the building, down through the underground garage, emerging into an outside that was warm and humid. Amy looked to the sky and saw patches of blue. The clouds hung low, but the rain had stopped.
Wheaton turned slowly, surveying the trees. He hadn't said one word since their split from the others. After a beat he swivelled on one heel and strode towards the fence.
She didn't have to ask. They stood together and stared at the gaping tear, the six-foot vertical slash, the splayed wires and broken branches. It was the straightness of the gap that sent a chill through her, how it almost exactly split the center between two of the metal struts. Right at the weakest point.
He brought up the gun, his body tense. "They knew," he said.
Another time, she might argue this; except when it came to Wil Wheaton there really was no grey area, and to tell him they couldn't possibly begin to assume anything, let alone draw such black and white lines, it wouldn't help. "This is madness. We shouldn't be out here," she said instead.
"I agree," he said, and stepped back, touching her on the elbow. It wasn't until they reached the garage doors again that she realized just how strange that was, feeling the hand of someone who, as far as Amy was concerned, normally kept a measurable distance. She stood watching him tap at the keypad again, except now as she gazed at the digits they suddenly seemed to melt into a red blur of light, and the sensation of fear, crawling, deep and unsettled through her body, of wanting desperately to be inside, it almost had her reaching forward to return the gesture, to say-
To say what?
She didn't know. That she was more disturbed by fear itself than the cause of it?
Something made her turn. The building of a sound, low and rumbling, then louder, more immediate. More familiar. Amy said, "Look, isn't that-?"
The rumbling reached a peak as the Jeep came into view and sped towards them across the gravel. She tried to see who was behind the wheel but the windscreen was just a mirror-sharp reflection of light; but in almost the same moment she realized there was only one person it could be, and she stepped back without a word. The vehicle braked sharply, the brightly-painted Cenetic logo catching the light, and then there was a sudden quiet all around them, the only sound a faint ticking from beneath the hood as the engine cooled. The doors remained shut.
With his hands still closed around the wheel, Kripke raised his eyes. He didn't look at Wheaton but his gaze fell on Amy. She couldn't read what was behind that expression, only knew it was one she rarely saw on anyone, and if she lived to a great age she could only hope that she never saw another like it again. Beside her Wheaton was standing completely rigid, shoulders slumped a little as he stared at the Jeep. It was only as Amy turned to speak that she caught sight of something, a dark shape against the window of the back seat. For one surreal moment her brain took it to be an animal, and she was caught in an argument with that thought until the second passed and then she was running, falling against the door, hands slipping until it opened.
"Raj," she said. "Oh my God, Raj..." She saw the blood and turned back, yelling now. "Wil, help me!" In the driver's seat, Kripke had slumped forward, his forehead close to the wheel. He was saying something she couldn't make out. She felt light all over, and furious. She cradled Raj's head and neck, pressed a hand to his cheek. "Wil!"
Wheaton moved, though he didn't go to Amy. He made a slow half-circle, surveying the Jeep carefully as if considering its value. His body was relaxed, his steps measured and deliberate.
"Is he dead?" he asked.
Amy's hands were trembling. She saw the long, dark lashes, the handsome face distant. She didn't know how to rationalize what she was about to say, though she made herself do it, to stare down at his face until the trembling stopped. "Yes."
Now Wheaton was at the driver's window, opening the door.
"Boss," said Kripke.
But Wheaton didn't reply. He took a step back, raised his hand.
And he shot Kripke in the head.
-
In the moment just before it happened he felt himself drawing away, disappearing neatly and painlessly into another place. He felt the tendons in his arm move as he turned his wrist and gripped the gun, and he saw the way his lips dropped apart, how his jaw slackened, how every part of him seemed unnaturally loose. And then he was pulling the trigger, watching a neat, dark circle spread out across Barry Kripke's face, and he wondered why there was no noise, why there was no blood. Recognition had faded away; this was a stranger's face, with a stranger's eyes, staring without feeling into his own. The weapon was cold in his hand. He stared at it, for a long time, wondering.
Of course what he was seeing and what in reality was happening were so far apart to be almost laughable. Wheaton twisted his neck, feeling the sweat stained collar of his shirt cling to his skin. He tested his voice, producing a sound that was somewhere between a choke and a bubble of hysteria, a thick gag as if he were jamming a finger down his own throat. When he looked back to the inside of the car he saw that half of Kripke's face was blown away, no longer a neat circle, nothing fixable, and then, very quickly, he was rushing back, smelling the blood, feeling the heat of the gun, feeling his heart crash four ways like it was trying to burst free from his chest.
Dead, dead. He heard the word, but couldn't tell if he was saying it or it was being hammered into his head. Things come in threes, he thought absently. Dead, dead, dead...
Someone approached him, light footsteps crunching in the gravel. Amy. He frowned at her. She always wore those same flat shoes. They looked so slight and insubstantial for the outdoors. But then, he thought, she was normally in her lab. He opened his mouth to tell her to get inside, that this was no place to be standing about, when she said his name, and put a hand to his arm.
And then she was telling him to go. That wasn't right.
"Okay," he said.
His brain felt foggy. That was new. Christ, but he needed to sleep. Amy steered him towards the door, which was still ajar from when he'd punched in the code. That wasn't right, either. Those things were supposed to close automatically once left unattended for more than...what was it? Twenty seconds? No matter. It was something else that Wolowitz had let slide. This place was falling apart everywhere he looked. It was as if he was throwing money into a goddamn hole.
He was reminded of Dr. Malcolm smiling at him over coffee, telling him almost the exact same thing.
"Fucking chaos," he said, and pulled the door all the way open.
Amy moved to step through, but when Wheaton hesitated, she turned, looking at him. "What did you say?"
"Nothing, Amy." And he saw something shift in her gaze, surprise maybe. Because the sound of her name, saying it, it felt out of place. He wondered how that could be. Her hair was falling from its ponytail, long strands caught against her neck, so he reached over, smoothing them back. She was smaller than him, though not by much, and as he stood there he felt again to be drifting away, like before. Except this time he resisted. He wanted to feel something, even if it were no more than this. So he kissed her.
For a long moment nothing happened. She was very still, and his head was bent down to meet her, both of them were barely moving. But then she was shifting a little, and murmuring something against his lips, murmuring or kissing him back, he wasn't sure. Both perhaps. Neither. It didn't matter, because her hand was touching the side of his face, and he broke away quickly, nodding, not knowing what else to do.
Amy stared at him. She didn't speak. Instead what she did was to take a step back, waiting for him to follow; and it was at that moment as he felt his foot lift, an automatic response requiring no thought, when something rushed through his mind, a decision, an answer, he didn't know, something quiet but more brutal and stronger than he knew he could ever resist.
Wheaton turned quickly, quicker than she could react, and pulled the door closed, locking it shut.
Dead, dead, dead. He walked to the Jeep. It was easy to ignore her voice, his name, even easier to turn away, because the sound of it felt unreal to his ears. He wasn't listening for them because he knew they were out there, that they could see him; rather, he thought of the clean slash in the fence, how as he'd raised his gun he'd seen Raj's leg, the pale cotton stained dark as a shadow; how he thought he'd seen his own denial break.
Amy continued to cry out, her palms crashing against the door. She yelled and yelled until the sound became a muffle, at which point he blinked and saw nothing but a blur, heard nothing but the creaking of the vehicle, the slow approach of nimble, clawed feet. The first raptor appeared to his left, the next from behind. Wheaton kept his eyes wide open, wrapping his fingers around the gun, feeling the muscles tighten, letting them loose again. Still warm. He let it fall.
-
In the control room they found Bernadette and Howard moving about quickly, gathering equipment and getting ready to leave.
"Okay, we're out of here," Howard told them as they came in. He was holding separate walkie-talkies in each hand, both making separate urgent noises. He paused, looking them over. "You guys made it."
"Yeah," said Penny. "Don't speak too soon."
She slid her shoulder away from Sheldon. He looked rough as hell, but he was heavy and the weight of him was kind of knocking her about. She could've let Leonard take him, of course, but she hadn't because they were all as stubborn as each other, so that was that.
Now Sheldon was frowning at Howard. "Do you think that's a good idea?"
Howard snorted. "Okay, well, let's we weigh up our options-"
"Hey," said Penny sharply, drowning him out. "Here's a suggestion. Let's argue about it later."
Everyone stopped what they were doing and stared at her. To her left, she thought she saw Leonard smile, and a burst of annoyance rose in her throat, and she was about to turn on him when he dropped his eyes to the floor, his expression wiped clean. Wordlessly, she helped Sheldon back into a standing position and hit the release on the door. They filed out in silence.
-
Being back inside did not mean total safety, that much she knew, that much was obvious. Except as she sat on the floor of the empty corridor outside the lab, her calves turning numb beneath her, Amy was pretty sure that she had neither the strength nor will to really care either way.
There was only one thing she wanted right now, and that was to stop the image of his face returning to her. No expression had sent her so dizzyingly cold so fast, or been less clear in its meaning. She rested her head against the wall and felt the small, sharp push of anguish make its way up her throat, out past her lips, clouding her sight, making her want to press her fingers hard into her eyes until every bit of light was shut out again. Will you just go, she asked it. Please...
The sound of a gunshot made her sit up. She paused, hovering awkwardly, her hands lifted from her knees, unsure if she was supposed to get up and run, almost hoping for something to make the decision for her, when to her right a shadow appeared against the wall, and Leslie Winkle stepped into view.
She had her back to Amy. Her weapon was raised and her shirt and lower legs were splattered with blood. She was staring down past the end of the corridor to where Amy couldn't see, seemingly locked in place, unmoving, silent. But then her shoulders dropped, and she turned and touched the wall, eyes closed.
Amy hauled herself upright, making enough noise in the heavy silence for Leslie to spin around. For a half-second Amy found herself staring down the barrel of the shotgun.
"Hey," she said.
Leslie lowered the gun immediately. Her chest rose and fell. "You okay?" she asked quickly. Amy wiped her hands on the hem of her shirt, only then noticing how badly they were shaking. It was a shaking that travelled through the rest of her, to her throat, her voice.
"He..." Amy swallowed and tried again. "He left..." She got no more than this, because then there were arms reaching around her, warmth against her face. She began to cry.
It was rare compassion, surprising and genuine, but almost as fast as it began they were separating again, Amy wiping at her face, Leslie glancing to the floor, her hands returning to the safety of her weapon. As much and as badly as Amy wanted to hold onto it, she knew it was pointless.
"I'm sorry." She could tell immediately that Leslie hated her saying it. Amy stared down the corridor, at the marks on the wall left by Leslie's fingers, the blood drying and already dark. Something hollow rose in her chest, making her wish they didn't have to speak at all. She took in a breath, letting it out slowly. It helped, a little. "Well. What now?"
"We're leaving," said Leslie.
"All of us?"
They looked at one another, Amy trying not to think of what she wasn't saying, Leslie watching her carefully, taking her eyes away to scan the area, and to nod. It was an answer. It was enough.
-
The wind had picked up again, warm and still heavy with rain. But it was rain that had reduced to a threat now, and as Penny raised her eyes to the sky she found she was looking through rather than at it, searching instead of than wondering. Waiting. She had stopped listening to Howard's intermittent updates a while back. She trusted her own eyesight a whole lot more at this point.
"You'll hear it long before you see it."
Sheldon sat on a barrel. Across the roof the bright red and white of the helipad shone in the sunlight, and he squinted up at her in a way that made it hard to properly see his eyes. He had one leg stretched out, his bad leg, newly bandaged. His voice sounded tired, dampened of its usual volume, but still with that slight edge of having to get the last word in, clinging to his words in a way that made her shake her head and aim a sharp look at the top of his head.
"I know," she said.
"Look for the change in the air-" he went on, but then he must have finally noticed her, because he made a face and glanced away. "Oh."
Penny put a hand on his shoulder, letting it fall quickly before it turned into something uncomfortable, something both of them would be forced to think about, and she turned to look at the others. They were scattered about the roof in pockets; Bernadette and Howard in a close knot at the edge of the helipad, heads bent as they listened to Howard's walkie-talkie, occasionally breaking off to exchange short bits of conversation Penny couldn't hear. In the shade of the entrance leading back into the building stood Leslie, shotgun loaded and resting against her shoulder, while Leonard knelt on his haunches nearby, his eyes on her, sometimes nodding, once giving a small half-smile that Leslie immediately scowled at. At one point his eyes found Penny's and he mouthed something, gesturing to Sheldon. Penny shrugged. She didn't want to play at pretending.
Amy Fowler stood alone by the rail, the only one among them not looking out for the helicopter. Both Penny and Bernadette had tried to talk to her but neither had gotten more than a few words, so they let her be. What Penny had learned from Leslie were details that were sketchy at best, and maybe she didn't want to know, not really. It made her sick to her stomach and empty at once; she found she couldn't picture him, either of them; when she thought of him down there, it was somebody else, another reckless, charming, whip-smart asshole. I'm sorry, she wanted to say, but you sorry bastard came to her lips instead. Goodbyes were still impossible.
She realized that Sheldon was talking, but it was a murmur she couldn't properly hear. Then the whir reached her ears, low and even, and she turned, raising a hand to her face. When the chopper emerged Penny left Sheldon and went to Amy. "Dr. Fowler," she said. The formality seemed absurd but it seemed the only thing to work. Amy turned, one hand still on the rail. Her eyes met Penny's. They were shining all over.
"Look," she said, pointing. "Dr. Malcolm, look..."
Now Howard was calling out to them, his arms waving as he and Bernadette ducked to the side. The thump and thud of the rotor came and went, making Penny's ears sting. She gripped Amy's elbow.
But Amy was insistent, so Penny gave up and followed her gaze, and soon she saw the long necks of a dozen sauropods, reaching high past the canopy. She saw the craggy, tooth-back shape of a stegosaurus emerge around a large clump of trees only to disappear again. She saw a lone raptor dart across a road and above it, a thick, unbroken flock of tiny dinosaurs she couldn't name or place, leaping from branch to branch. There was so much she hadn't seen. She didn't want to think about their fate. She wished to God they had never been born.
The noise behind her became louder, the air rushing, whipping strands of hair across her face, and then the chopper was touching down and Penny was turning, ducking against Amy alongside the rail. She tried to stare out into the gap between her elbow and her body, back to where she had spotted the stegosaurus. And she managed to get a quick glance in before being pulled away again. But it was enough to see that it was gone, that something had replaced it. Replaced, pursued, hunted. To see heavy legs thudding, the tail of the tyrannosaurus moving against the silhouette of the trees; of something physical turned to no more than sound, like the echo of a mighty roar.
-
Days passed. For many of these he was enclosed in a hospital room in a dreamless state, occasionally waking to annoy the nursing staff and to make impossible demands that he would promptly forget. People came and went. At one point Sheldon opened his eyes and saw the back of Penny's head, blonde hair damp and still in that same messy braid, her face a soft profile as she stared out the window, but when he made to speak she crossed her arms and left the room. And then one day he was dressing himself and being led along a corridor out into brilliant light that hurt his eyes and made him sneeze. Leonard was there, and Leslie Winkle, though nether said very much. Apart from Leonard telling him that it was more like Penny irritating the nurses rather than Sheldon, but when Sheldon asked why Leonard got a funny look on his face and shrugged the question away. He rarely heard from Dr. Fowler, but he knew she was around somewhere. Some things weren't mentioned. Names, particularly. Things that should have been easy to say became hard, reactionary thoughts, turning quickly into accusations that flared and died in the same brief exchange. He seemed to be experiencing a lot of those. The same feelings, recycled, no less raw. Feelings he knew he would need to quickly get used to.
But mostly, he slept.
It turned out that the hospital was not technically a hospital, either, but some hidden-away complex that Wheaton had built just outside of San Jose. It felt more like a private residence. Sheldon, though, had reached the point of being too tired to question much of anything, so when Leonard asked him what he thought of the place, he merely shrugged, made noises of acceptance among those of annoyance, and proceeded to sleep some more.
And it was quiet. Quiet everywhere. Soft birdsong, the sound of sprinklers, footsteps around corners. It was quiet here, too, where he lay on an overstuffed bench seat, beneath the shade of a tree. He gazed up at the branches, assigning patterns in the triangles of interwoven light to satisfy his mind when it wanted to run to desperate things. He didn't really know why. It helped.
"Dr. Cooper?"
Sheldon turned to the voice, blinking as a figure came into focus. Fine features, small build. Round eyes and a high forehead leading to a neat crop of curls. A bland and slightly anxious expression that looked like it was trying to work its way into a smile, but couldn't quite remember how.
"Yes?"
"Stuart Bloom. I'm a...was a colleague of Rajesh's."
There was a beat. "Oh," said Sheldon. "Raj."
This time a smile did appear, but it failed to reach those round eyes. "That's right."
"I'm sorry." Sheldon glanced away. "I don't know, that is-I can't-"
"Dr. Cooper, please. It's okay. I'm not here in any official capacity. Well, not exactly, I mean, not in the way you might imagine. I just wanted to find out, if..." Bloom trailed off, clearing his throat. He took out a crumpled napkin from a pocket and wiped his mouth. His voice shook very slightly. "This is difficult. I'm making you uncomfortable."
"No, no," said Sheldon quickly. He pushed at his leg and propped a hand on the chair so that he was sitting up a little straighter. "You aren't. I just don't think I can be of help, that's all."
Bloom nodded. His fingers worked at the edge of his jacket; he was sweating hard and he ducked his head, breaking eye contact. "I suppose they haven't told you much," he said.
This made Sheldon bite his lip. "No. Not unless you count...no."
Now it was Bloom's turn to frown.
"What?"
"That I should forget. That it would be easier, in the long run. For myself, my work. For everyone," said Sheldon.
Silence. He hated the words, hated saying them. It made him feel like a parrot. He winced, shifting a little as the now familiar throbbing pain made its way up his leg. It was too soon for another dose, though, so he blinked several times, swallowing hard, and looked up in time to see Bloom's expression change, betraying the fact that whatever he was about to say had been censured quietly and quickly. And done in a way Sheldon recognized, because it was something he did all too often himself. It was a habit of self-preservation. Like climbing where he feared to go, to sleep and be sung to, in the branches of a tree. Done out of necessity.
"And you believe that?" asked Bloom.
Sheldon brushed at his shirt, where a tiny leaf had fallen and clung to a buttonhole. "Maybe," he said.
There was more he wanted to say, of course. Maybe never. But Bloom seemed to understand, because he nodded once and took his leave, a slight figure, walking away as silently as he'd arrived. Sheldon watched him until he was gone before letting out a slow breath. Above him the clouds were breaking up, the greyness of the morning clearing into truer color. Necessity. He focused on that one thought as it circled in his mind, before it could disappear again, and when at last he felt he had it, he tipped his head back and closed his eyes to the sun.
//