"Hey, Bob," Jill said softly when she entered the rec room, still a little wary around him, all things considered. Their last conversation hadn't exactly gone well and she wasn't sure what he knew, what he didn't. She wasn't sure what he felt or if he even wanted to talk to her at the moment, so she left that window open. If he wanted her to go, she would go.
For a second, Bob doesn't register her voice, his mouth slightly open as he watches the screen, watches the man he definitely met playing the role of William Shakespeare. The role. A fictionalized Shakespeare.
It's only when he notices a shadow that he turns his head, relieved to see Jill there instead of a familiar (but still unfamiliar) face. "Jill," he says, his tone quiet, a whispered awe before he looks back at the screen. "Have you seen this before?"
If there's any awkwardness left over from their last talk, it doesn't seem to be coming from Bob.
Glancing at the screen briefly to identify what Bob was watching, Jill found herself suddenly and overwhelmingly nervous, as if she was going to turn and find that he was watching their lives play out like she'd done only a few weeks ago. Relieved to see that he was watching a movie, she nodded after a moment.
"Shakespeare In Love," she replied, walking over to sit beside him on the couch. "Didn't she win an Oscar for this?"
"Who?" Bob asks without thinking before he realizes a second later that she must be talking about Gwenyth Paltrow. "Oh," he says and nods then as he scoots over just a little to give her room. "I think so, yes." He'd forgotten all about that, but he remembers now, everything coming back to him like he unlocked a door in his brain. "Best film, too. Best screenplay."
And he's still watching the screen, his brow furrowed in thought. "It's strange," he says, his voice still quiet. "I've met him."
"You've met Joseph Fiennes?" Jill asked skeptically, arching an eyebrow. Ultimately, she supposed anything was possible, both on the island and back home. Maybe he was in Toronto once or maybe he was on the island now and she just wasn't aware of it.
"No," he says immediately, already shaking his head before he shifts a little to face her better, still holding his sandwich. "I mean, yes. Sort of. I've met William Shakespeare, Jill. But, not the real one, I've met that one."
Arching an eyebrow, Jill looked at the screen once more before she looked back at Bob. "You've met the fictional version of Shakespeare who's played by Joseph Fiennes?" It wasn't impossible. She'd met Clarice Starling, after all.
"Yes, exactly," he says, lips quirking into a very slight, relieved smile as he lets out a quick breath and nods. "He's here. And so's Jane Bennett and Clarice Starling and James Bond and-- they're fictional, Jill. The people here aren't real. They don't just think they're fictional people, they are."
And any minute now, he expects David to walk in and tell him he's being ridiculous.
"Right," Jill agreed, not entirely sure what it was Bob was asking or what he was getting at. It was sort of impossible not to accept that these people were fictional when James Bond was a friend. Then again, she knew Bob didn't think of things the same way she did.
It's obvious that Jill is unsurprised and Bob's smile slips a little, replaced by a confused sort of frown. "But, that should be impossible," he says, sounding almost hurt by it. "How can we have conversations with fictional people? How can we see them and interact with them and form..."
His voice trails off then and he chews his lip slightly. Three months ago, a bomb went off at NorBAC and he and David found themselves here. Since then, very little of anything has made any sense. The fact that this should make sense is even more ridiculous than people actually being fictional.
"Yeah, it should be impossible," she agreed with a nod, because he was certainly right about that much. But a lot of the shit on the island should have been impossible. Dinosaurs and body switching and gender switching, it was all impossible, but it still all happened. "But this isn't like home, Bob," she told him gently.
"I know that," he replies, his voice just a little clipped because other things are starting to slide into place now, shifting and turning and locking like pieces of an enormous puzzle. He looks at the screen again, scrutinizing it almost, as though it could confirm or deny anything.
"Jill," he says after a moment and his voice is a bit quieter still, maybe even scared. "Nobody here is real. No one." Including them. Including him.
Watching him for a long moment, Jill wondered if she should mention what she and David had seen, the things she'd watched on that very screen. "Maybe not," she agreed after a moment, making a decision. If he was going to find out, she rather he found out from her or David or Mayko than if he found one of the reels himself.
"The episode I found was called Lethargica," she told him. "I had to watch it."
The word almost stings for some reason and he looks at her, eyes searching for some hint that she's lying or messing with him. She never has in the past and he doesn't know why she'd start now, but he's hoping for it. As apparent as it's starting to become, a large part of Bob is still desperately hoping this is a trick. One very, very elaborate trick.
"Leth- Lethargica," he echoes, the word almost not making it past his throat. "Encephalitis lethargica?"
"Yes," she said simply, nodding a little as she held his gaze. It was an incredibly difficult thing to hear, she knew it was, she'd hardly been able to deal with it herself and Bob was so different. "You remember when my equipment malfunctioned in the lab and I was infected?"
He nods and then tries to swallow again. It's difficult and he feels himself rocking forward and then back and forward again. "You were in a coma," he says and it feels like an old memory and all to recent at the same time, which is odd. "But, the antiretroviral worked and you got better." He doesn't need to tell her this, of course. She's lived it. But, Bob is finding security in that which he knows.
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It's only when he notices a shadow that he turns his head, relieved to see Jill there instead of a familiar (but still unfamiliar) face. "Jill," he says, his tone quiet, a whispered awe before he looks back at the screen. "Have you seen this before?"
If there's any awkwardness left over from their last talk, it doesn't seem to be coming from Bob.
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"Shakespeare In Love," she replied, walking over to sit beside him on the couch. "Didn't she win an Oscar for this?"
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And he's still watching the screen, his brow furrowed in thought. "It's strange," he says, his voice still quiet. "I've met him."
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And any minute now, he expects David to walk in and tell him he's being ridiculous.
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His voice trails off then and he chews his lip slightly. Three months ago, a bomb went off at NorBAC and he and David found themselves here. Since then, very little of anything has made any sense. The fact that this should make sense is even more ridiculous than people actually being fictional.
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"Jill," he says after a moment and his voice is a bit quieter still, maybe even scared. "Nobody here is real. No one." Including them. Including him.
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"The episode I found was called Lethargica," she told him. "I had to watch it."
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The word almost stings for some reason and he looks at her, eyes searching for some hint that she's lying or messing with him. She never has in the past and he doesn't know why she'd start now, but he's hoping for it. As apparent as it's starting to become, a large part of Bob is still desperately hoping this is a trick. One very, very elaborate trick.
"Leth- Lethargica," he echoes, the word almost not making it past his throat. "Encephalitis lethargica?"
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