[private post]
It's been two days since David's disappearance. Sixty-three hours and twenty-five minutes since Bob last saw him, the night they'd fought, the night there'd been shouting and harsh, angry words, the night David had left the hut with a hard slam and no look back.
Bob remembers back to when David left NorBAC, after the Spanish Flu scare and Miranda and disappeared into China for six weeks. He'd come back with a watch and excuses and Bob had been upset with him for days, not counting the weeks in David's absence when he'd been very nearly distraught, hoping and aching for David's safe return.
It feels very much like that this time, but here he doesn't blame David. Here he can only blame himself.
There aren't any voices when he makes his way out of New Atlantis and the sky isn't swirling and churning violently. It's like any other day Bob's ever seen on the Island, the sun high in the blue sky and barely a trace of clouds. The air is calm, like nothing at all has happened even as Bob's world feels completely turned inside out. He makes his way past the Compound and feels a fresh swell of relief to find the area relatively calm and uninhabited. There aren't any crucified bodies or people screaming and running in and out.
He takes a left and heads across the path, back toward the hut he'd shared with David, back to the last place he'd seen him. It's a foolish thought and Bob already knows there'll be nobody there, but he can't deny the small, thin sliver of hope he still has, can't help just wanting to make sure.
His feet stumble slightly over the uneven ground and he keeps a careful look-out the whole way, anxiously eying the trees around him as though afraid someone might jump out at him at any moment. The hut is only a few yards away when he hears something unexpected, a quick, sharp bark that makes him jump and stop in his tracks.
Standing quietly for a long moment, he waits, his eyes locked on the hut as he pulls his hands closer to his body.
And, then he hears it again, another bark, louder this time. Anxious, but not vicious and it's followed by a soft whine.
It's a whine he recognizes.
His brows furrow tightly in confusion and worry something close to hope as he warily begins walking toward the hut again. "David?" he asks, his voice quiet and still hopeful as he gently eases open the door.
Immediately, a cold, wet nose pushes through the crack of the door and Bob finds himself stumbling back as two large paws push into his stomach. His eyes widen in disbelief and his breath catches as he lowers his hands, petting over soft, brown fur and he looks into the eyes of a dog he hasn't seen in well over a year.
"Gamelon," he breaths, still not believing it and he's answered by another quick bark, the dog's tail wagging wildly as she makes to try and climb all over Bob in her obvious excitement. "Gamelon, what are-- what are you doing here?"
She answers with another whine and Bob smooths a hand over her head, not even caring that she's defying all her obediance trainging by jumping on him. But, he drops to his knees then anyway, coming eye-to-eye with her and is rewarded by a wet tongue to his cheek that makes him laugh, a high, quiet sound as he buries his hands into her fur and holds on.
She's not David, but for a moment Bob can forget about that and just let himself enjoy the comfort. Later, he'll remember what took Gamelon away the first time and he'll have plenty of time to worry all over again. He can watch for the signs, the little bumps on her skin, lethargy and loss of appetite and maybe, if he's lucky, he can find a way to intervene before the histiocytosis catches her and takes her from him again.
"I'm glad you're here," he says, his voice a whisper, muffled into the dense fur of her neck as he holds her tight. "I missed you."
Bob remembers back to when David left NorBAC, after the Spanish Flu scare and Miranda and disappeared into China for six weeks. He'd come back with a watch and excuses and Bob had been upset with him for days, not counting the weeks in David's absence when he'd been very nearly distraught, hoping and aching for David's safe return.
It feels very much like that this time, but here he doesn't blame David. Here he can only blame himself.
There aren't any voices when he makes his way out of New Atlantis and the sky isn't swirling and churning violently. It's like any other day Bob's ever seen on the Island, the sun high in the blue sky and barely a trace of clouds. The air is calm, like nothing at all has happened even as Bob's world feels completely turned inside out. He makes his way past the Compound and feels a fresh swell of relief to find the area relatively calm and uninhabited. There aren't any crucified bodies or people screaming and running in and out.
He takes a left and heads across the path, back toward the hut he'd shared with David, back to the last place he'd seen him. It's a foolish thought and Bob already knows there'll be nobody there, but he can't deny the small, thin sliver of hope he still has, can't help just wanting to make sure.
His feet stumble slightly over the uneven ground and he keeps a careful look-out the whole way, anxiously eying the trees around him as though afraid someone might jump out at him at any moment. The hut is only a few yards away when he hears something unexpected, a quick, sharp bark that makes him jump and stop in his tracks.
Standing quietly for a long moment, he waits, his eyes locked on the hut as he pulls his hands closer to his body.
And, then he hears it again, another bark, louder this time. Anxious, but not vicious and it's followed by a soft whine.
It's a whine he recognizes.
His brows furrow tightly in confusion and worry something close to hope as he warily begins walking toward the hut again. "David?" he asks, his voice quiet and still hopeful as he gently eases open the door.
Immediately, a cold, wet nose pushes through the crack of the door and Bob finds himself stumbling back as two large paws push into his stomach. His eyes widen in disbelief and his breath catches as he lowers his hands, petting over soft, brown fur and he looks into the eyes of a dog he hasn't seen in well over a year.
"Gamelon," he breaths, still not believing it and he's answered by another quick bark, the dog's tail wagging wildly as she makes to try and climb all over Bob in her obvious excitement. "Gamelon, what are-- what are you doing here?"
She answers with another whine and Bob smooths a hand over her head, not even caring that she's defying all her obediance trainging by jumping on him. But, he drops to his knees then anyway, coming eye-to-eye with her and is rewarded by a wet tongue to his cheek that makes him laugh, a high, quiet sound as he buries his hands into her fur and holds on.
She's not David, but for a moment Bob can forget about that and just let himself enjoy the comfort. Later, he'll remember what took Gamelon away the first time and he'll have plenty of time to worry all over again. He can watch for the signs, the little bumps on her skin, lethargy and loss of appetite and maybe, if he's lucky, he can find a way to intervene before the histiocytosis catches her and takes her from him again.
"I'm glad you're here," he says, his voice a whisper, muffled into the dense fur of her neck as he holds her tight. "I missed you."