||EVENT||

[rowan_narrators]

Midday on Wednesday, the caravan finally breaks the monotony of farms and fields as far as the eye can see and hits a town on a series of rolling hills. It's about the same size as Jhelbor, but not half as coordinated -- where Jhelbor was identical buildings in identical lines, this is a jumble of houses and rooftops, cluttering the valleys, with a

Comments

[mutestronaut]

Guy feels oddly uncomfortable, in the room, by himself. Unsettled. He doesn't even come close to opening the journal, set carefully on the ground by the bed. Bathes, slowly and thoroughly, eyes closed, trying not to listen to the sounds outside the window.

He's still a little damp when he settles back on the bed, damp enough for there to be a hint of chill with the air of coming autumn, shifting in through the crack in the window.

He draws his jacket close around him, and waits.

[not_even_dreams]

Sam shuffles down the hallway, hands in his pockets, averting the sight of servants and whoever else happens to pass by. He had meant to catch hold of Guy earlier, before everyone broke off into rooms, but hesitation and the general business of the crowd had prevented him.

Luckily he'd managed to spy which room Guy had been herded into just before being taken into his own. He doesn't know how he would have found him otherwise. Asking someone is a bit out of the question.

He pauses at the door, just for a moment, then knocks.

[mutestronaut]

Guy is on his feet before his mind catches up with his ears. Reflex action, not conscious.

Does he really want to answer it?

He exhales, and steps to the door, opening it.

[not_even_dreams]

Oddly enough, the first thought he has is that Guy looks cleaner. Sam more than very likely does, too, although he still hasn't shaved. He supposes he'll have to eventually.

Not that that's his chief concern at the moment.

"Can I come in?" It's a mutter, a mumble -- and if he hasn't actually said the words 'I'm sorry' yet, the sentiment is already there.

[mutestronaut]

Guy steps aside, inclining his head a little. Sure, you can come in -- and he shuts the door behind Sam, giving him a puzzled look.

[not_even_dreams]

And Sam sort of hovers in the middle of the room for a bit, working up the courage to say what he came here to say. Mostly assessing whether he'll be able to say anything at all. But the ache in his chest is just that, and has been since this morning. He thinks he'll be alright.

"Look, about -- yesterday." He hopes he doesn't have to explain any more than that. "I'm sorry about that. Shouldn't have asked. I was only... I was stupid."

"Sorry," he adds, just for extra measure.

[mutestronaut]

Guy takes a moment, to comprehend what Sam is saying.

Then his expression flickers from surprise to defensiveness to -- well, just pain. He shakes his head, a hint, mirroring his response in the book. No.

[not_even_dreams]

"I know." He's already feeling ashamed for losing it again last night, and especially for doing whatever he did to make Guy react like that. "I won't ask again." Even if he really, really wants to. There are consequences for being too curious. Sam thinks he ought to have learned that lesson by now.

He should go. He's said his piece, and he's just making Guy uncomfortable by staying here. But he seems rooted to the floor.

[mutestronaut]

Guy isn't communicating this right.

He steps back.

Maybe if he --

He takes the diary, and opens it to his drawing, not Sam's. Indicates that, then reaches out and takes Sam's arm. His fingers move to the pulse, at Sam's wrist. Waits, until he can tell that Sam knows he's feeling his pulse, and then indicates the diary again, with a kind of shrug. An indication of confusion.

He doesn't know. He doesn't know if they're dead or alive.

[not_even_dreams]

"You don't know?" That's all the 'headshaking' in the journals had meant? Sam's hand goes to his forehead, the third finger scratches absentmindedly. He doesn't know. Sam had thought Guy was refusing to tell him, and he'd --

"Oh my God." The hand moves back through his hair, then drops to his side. A mirthless smile appears. "You don't know." A short, barking sigh escapes him -- could be that he's relieved Guy doesn't suddenly hate him, could be that he's not even more embarrassed of his reaction.

[mutestronaut]

Guy doesn't smile.

He flips in the journal, to the drawing of America, of Florida. Where he called home. Points out Cape Canaveral. Flips to his drawing, for Robbie, of a nuclear attack. A mushroom cloud. Then back to the drawing.

Maybe Sam would understand.

[not_even_dreams]

It takes Sam a moment to get his bearings back, to focus. He can tell Guy is trying to communicate something and he doesn't want to misinterpret again.

He starts nodding, slowly, before Guy has finished giving his message, and as Sam begins to understand, the nodding actually stops. Yes, he understands bombs.

"They were," he reaches out and taps the map himself, in the same spot where Guy is pointing. "There?"

He doesn't know.

"And you weren't." That one's hardly a question.

[mutestronaut]

Guy's finger lingers, for a moment, over the radiation symbol he sketched out next to the explosion. He doesn't make any verbal response, to Sam, just closes his eyes, hoping, praying for the swell of emotion to pass.

[not_even_dreams]

When Sam was distraught back at the fort, Bret had offered him a hug. Sam understands why now, even if something so sudden and close as a hug still feels odd. Even if any kind of comforting gesture won't even begin to remedy what's happened. He's still overcome with a desire to do something.

Slowly, haltingly -- he's not used to this -- Sam's left hand twitches upward, finally coming to rest on Guy's arm, just below the shoulder.

[mutestronaut]

Guy's hand moves to cover it, smoothly, without hesitation. Glances to Sam, and his face is unmarred by pain. Smooth, empty, like he's retreated to somewhere quiet, where it can't bother him anymore.

[not_even_dreams]

To his own surprise, Sam thinks he recognizes where Guy is at. It's the same place he's wished he could go more than once, where nothing that's hurt him can touch him again. The only difference is, Sam knows that to go there he'd have to fall in headfirst -- lose himself entirely. Guy, somehow, seems to have sectioned himself into parts. He's retreated from the things that cause him pain while still remaining a part of the world.

Sam envies him. Resents, even. But he doesn't want to show it, so as soon as Guy's eyes meet his he looks down, scanning the floor. The hand, however, remains, and even tightens a little.