The day after this.

[twoeyesonthesky]

Quinn's always enjoyed waking up in Milliways. The sheer novelty value of the place never really goes away, as far as he's concerned.

This morning's awakening was an entirely different kind of novelty, and very much to be appreciated at that

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[no_real_hero]

"Me too."

And she'll wish she couldn't remember. The minute she walks out that front door and ends up back in that church in Vegas, she'll wish she couldn't remember because it will be hot and sticky and there'll be rattlesnakes and crested lizards and she'll look at them and think little dragons, I hope Quinn's doing okay and that will make it so much harder to get to Kansas.

But she will. She'll get there. And the best part of all that is if she slips up and starts talking about him out loud when she thinks no one's listening, they'll just think she's off her fucking rocker and leave her alone.

Now that's amusing.

It's hard to be hard. No, scratch that: it's easy to be hard, unless it's with someone you like. And she likes him or she wouldn't have slept with him. It might have been a long long drought, like he said, but she still has standards. She's still allowed to be picky.

She's still allowed to eat her words about not falling into the first pair of male arms she sees. Besides, who's she gonna tell? Beth, maybe. Once the pregnant chick doesn't have so many other things on her mind, she might tell her. In the meantime, she shifts her gaze to Quinn's face.

You're good, she thinks. You're good for a guy who hasn't done this in a while. She remembers a lot of first nights with guys; they don't usually live up to anyone's expectations. But this one did, and because of time and circumstance she doesn't have the luxury of being anything but perfectly honest with him.

"I like how you touch me. You make me feel good."

[twoeyesonthesky]

Some of that was memory, and some of it was wanting to please and finally being observant. Either way, he'd been worried as hell on his way up the stairs last night- it had been a while, and he didn't like to think how much he might've forgotten.

There are certain advantages to spending years of your life becoming an entire community's living memory, whether you realise it or not. Better recall is on the list of those.

He squeezes her hand briefly and leans over to kiss Hero again on the forehead. "I'd do it again in a heartbeat," he answers. "You've got a real way with those fingers of yours."

[no_real_hero]

"EMT's best-kept secret." She doesn't give a shit if her grin is goofy: he felt good beneath those fingers of hers last night and he felt good beneath those fingers of hers this morning. When he kisses her on the forehead, she's torn between thinking you're so very, very British, aren't you? and wanting to drag him right back on top of her.

She could. They could. There's nothing stopping them... except this piece of her insisting that she can't fall, she can't fall, she can't fall. She tells herself she can't; she tells herself she won't. There have been plenty of other guys in her past. Likely there will be plenty of other guys in her future -- if she ever makes it through to her future -- especially if she comes back to this place. No, there aren't any strings attached here.

But...

There's always an exception. Always. That but... but... but... just keeps kicking in. It's an impossible fucking situation; he's going to do whatever it is he has to do and go back to his Gemma Watley-free world, and she's going to do exactly what she has to and go back to the place where the only guys alive are a monkey, a baby, and her brother.

"Would you really do it again in a heartbeat?" She's not insecure, but she is curious. "Knowing what we both have to look forward to -- or not -- you'd still do it again?"

[twoeyesonthesky]

Obligations are a bitch, wherever and whoever you are. And they seem to have a way of finding Quinn, one after another, whether he likes it or not. If they do anything like the same to Hero- well.

He's going to have to find a way to work her into the stories when he goes home. Lord knows her world would come across as some sort of peculiar fantasy- maybe not the sort of thing you tell the kids at night, but something for the evenings when the adults're too worn out to play their own music and no one much feels like taking to their beds yet. Once upon a time there was a world that had no dragons, but the end came for them just the same. It just took a different form, and the woman named Hero could tell you all about that...

Might as well make sure everyone remembers, not just him.

"'Course I would. I dunno how it is for you, but I can think of a good couple of times when remembering kept me going better than food or water. I've got the worst journey in the world ahead of me." He sits back a little, just to get a better look at her. "This'll carry me a good long way, I can tell you that."

[no_real_hero]

All her life she's resented her name. She's not a hero, not at all; most of what she's done isn't particularly memorable or noble. A lot of it isn't even very good. So when Quinn says this will carry him a good long way, she's both flattered and a little bit irritated: flattered because that's the nicest goddamn thing anyone's said about her as long as she can remember, and irritated because she's not the be-all and end-all. She's not: she's a messed-up loser who let herself get brainwashed, cut off her left tit to demonstrate solidarity to a bunch of crazy bitches, and tracked down the last remaining guy on the planet -- her brother -- so Victoria could kill him.

But she keeps it to herself.

What's she going to tell him: maybe she's not as easy as she seems? That's bullshit; she's lost track of how many guys she slept with before the plague. Then she reminds herself she doesn't have to tell him anything. She offered up her story; he said he didn't need it. Maybe he really doesn't care. Maybe it's all just a roll in the hay to him, and if that's it, so be it. It's better that way; it's easier that way.

She knows that's not the whole truth, though. To shut the thoughts threatening to overtake her mood, she starts talking randomly, spitting out the first thing that comes to mind.

"You said you took people from this place to your world, right? How did that go over?"

There will be no trips to her world for him, no matter what. Beth got lucky; her guy has those nanobots or whatever she called them.

Quinn doesn't. She's already seen enough dead guys. One more would be one too many.

[twoeyesonthesky]

There used to be heroes in Quinn's world. They're dead now. Yeah, pretty much all of them. Nature abhors heroes especially hard in his world; they're a grotesque violation of survival of the fittest, because the fittest keep putting themselves in harm's way and eventually end up a pile of ash. If you can stay alive, keep anyone else alive, not bring down the fire from the sky- that's the important thing.

The name's just a coincidence, which is good, because where he comes from 'hero' really is just a fancy word for 'someone who gets other people killed'.

He thinks for a moment at her question, thumb running absently over her knuckles and back again. "I only brought people from here to mine on purpose once," he says. "The other times were all by accident. There was very nearly a riot when we arrived with a cartload of seeds and plant cuttings, a cargo skid full of medical supplies, and backpacks' worth of music and books and such. Took a while for the new arrivals to really get a grasp on the place, and the castlefolk- well, that was more new stuff than anyone's seen in years. I expect they'd have believed me if I'd said it'd come from the Moon at that point."

The thought gets a wry smile. "We told 'em about Milliways, though. Not much point in doing anything less. Veronica and Dooku and Naraht stayed with us for a week or two to help with tunneling and field work, which means they'd just got used to the circumstances when it came time for them to go home..."

He sobers, and adds, "It was Naraht who got the door open to Milliways. I couldn't do it, and I tried several times. It's always someone who needs to go back where they belong who does it on purpose, I think."

[no_real_hero]

She just watches and listens: here's a guy with a lilting voice, a drop-dead gorgeous English accent, a face that's really easy to look at, and hands that know what they're doing even though he pretends to be shy like he doesn't know, like his hands don't know.

"I've never even bothered with the door. My friend Beth's said a few things about it that are pretty fucking disturbing, but this whole place is so strange. I almost don't know what to believe and what not to believe."

This isn't the first time thoughts like that have occurred to her, and they don't have a lot to do with Milliways. When the plague hit, she didn't know what to believe. When she'd made her way to Baltimore and finally found a can of cat food in a convenience store and that fucking amazon took it away from her, she didn't know what to believe. When Victoria gave her a fresh orange and told her that all men were evil, she didn't know what to believe. Even now -- when she hears Victoria dictating what she should do -- she doesn't know what to believe.

She guesses there's only one thing to believe in, and that's what's tangible because it might not be tangible for long. As his thumb rakes over her knuckles, she looks up into his eyes: they're dark, like a strong cup of coffee and his jaw has that tight set to it, even when he's smiling. Reaching over with her free hand, she lets those fingers he says she's got a way with run over the skin on his face. It's smooth but rough, just like a guy's face should be... or just like she remembers it should be.

Who gives a flying fuck on a rolling donut (R.I.P., Kurt Vonnegut) about what the doors do or don't do when there's a guy like Quinn sitting right here?

[twoeyesonthesky]

"Can't say I blame you. This place is stranger than anything I remember as a kid..." He shakes his head a little, looking back over at her. He could say a lot just now, anything at all about what he's seen and the people he's spoken to. How the ones who bought his coins called it Earth-that-Was, how he's caught himself thinking of the planet that way sometimes.

How Naraht wasn't a human but a walking rock, and how Dooku was someone out of the movies he used to watch as a little kid and acted out for the little kids now.

Does any of that matter? Not really. Not just at the moment. Better to reach up and push that little bit of her light brown hair back from her face, and then kiss her. Properly this time. She's right there, after all.

[no_real_hero]

The years since the plague have taught her one thing very well: to take advantage of every opportunity. When he leans over to kiss her, that's an opportunity.

When he smiles against her, that's an opportunity.

When his hands wrap around her waist, that's an opportunity.

It's funny how sometimes the sheer act of kissing another human being can feel so much more intimate and raw than the act of sex itself. There's something about heat and lips and tongues and feeling another person's breath and the beating of their heart and the movement of their body that's raw and elemental and personal, and kissing exposes all that to a part of her brain that can't help but categorize.

There hasn't been much opportunity for her to be picky about who she kisses -- not in the past years -- but she knows a goddamn good kiss when she gets one. This is one of those.

What's a girl to do but straddle his lap and go back for more? There's no reason on earth why she shouldn't. In fact, she can't think of a single compelling reason to stop.

[twoeyesonthesky]

He's going to have to rejoin the rest of the world (such as it is) eventually. But that's eventually. This is now.

She's now. And her world isn't the only one that teaches its survivors to hold onto what they can while they've got it.

It may be a while before he thinks to let go.

[no_real_hero]

Getting dressed, take two.

She's sure glad Beth didn't choose this morning to have her baby. As she buttons his shirt for the second time today, running a finger up the curve of his neck and to his chin, she tries very hard not to look smug. In the past years it's been easy to forget that new-infatuation feeling, like you can't get enough of a person, can never get enough of him. On the other hand, she knows well enough that she hardly even knows him. They both come from tragic worlds; they're both lonely; they're both adults; they both know this can't last.

Screw the rational. Just... screw it. She runs her hand through his hair, keeping it nice and messy, and now it's her turn to plant a kiss to his forehead. His skin is damp and salty; it's a taste she's missed.

He's pretty sweet, more than a little vulnerable, probably softer than she's ever been. He's one fucking attractive survivor.

Sitting next to him, she turns to face him squarely. "What are you here to gather, and when do you have to go back?" If she knows, she can set her expectations. She can measure out just how much she ought to give, so that when he goes her heart doesn't break.

At least she thinks she can do that.

[twoeyesonthesky]

Quinn's life since the first dragon roared itself to wakefulness right in front of him's been defined by two verbs: run, and hide. It's not the most honourable of strategies or even the best, necessarily, but when you have to start off as a half-orphaned twelve year old- well, what else can you do? Fighting was for other people, bigger people, people with ammunition and guns and the will to use them. To a boy who sees first his mother and then his father killed before his voice even changes, finding safety's the first and most important thing. If you're lucky, it transforms into a willingness to show the others your age how to survive the same way, and then into something more. Twenty years later, he doesn't even really remember what it was like to be any other way.

For now, though, he's not thinking of all that- not directly, anyway. He's mentally running over the list of things they need or could use. "We're about all right on the farming and production front at the moment, but I'd like to stock us up on as much as I can get out the door in the way of medical supplies- stuff that'll keep. Vaccine's gonna be tough 'cos that's got to be refrigerated, so I expect I might have to get a reach-in of some kind and enough coolant to fix it if it goes bad. We're gonna need more books, though- for teaching the kids, if nothing else- and fertiliser and field supplies that aren't older than dirt. Way I figure it I've got a week or two before my world starts trying to grab me back the way it did last time, so about that long."

He glances up at her then- he'd had to take his eyes off her to remember. "You're here until your friend's delivered, right?" he says carefully. "Whenever that might be?"

[no_real_hero]

She nods. "From the looks of her, could be any time, but her due date's later in the month. Of course, due dates are just guesses."

There's a moment's wondering about how he's going to get all that shit back with him, but that's not her concern. Her concern is time and timing, and it seems like they might both be here about the same amount of time.

That's both good and bad. She knows herself well enough to know that every day spent like this multiplies on itself, and unless the newness of it wears off really goddamn fast, every day spent like this will only make it harder to say goodbye when the time comes.

Shit: that just sucks. She's going to have to try not to think about it.

"Did I tell you why I have to go back?" She's been wary -- especially with details -- but Quinn's no goddamn amazon. She can tell him.

[twoeyesonthesky]

He's counting on acquiring a push-cart or two from somewhere and poking Creedy to help him out with it. He'll deal with it when it becomes an issue. Worst comes to worst, he can get a couple of poles and some canvas and make himself a travois, although it probably won't be strong enough to carry a refrigeration unit.

Maybe it's just him, but he thinks he can hear a ltitle hesitant catch in her voice when she asks the question. So he thinks for a moment, extra hard, before shaking his head. "Not in any detail," he says. "You said you had two deliveries to make. One of 'em was your friend's baby. I assume you've got to go back 'cos the second one's the really vital one."

Which means it could be anything, really.

Which means there's a patch at the back of his neck that's involuntarily tightening, because in the old days when there was physical traffic between the fortresses of the north, none but the fastest and most cunning survived. And even they didn't always make it back afterwards.

[no_real_hero]

She nods: this is serious business. "I told you when the plague hit all the males on the planet dropped dead. Every single one of them at the same time: pilots, firefighters, dog walkers, musicians, hunters, soldiers... dogs, cats, insects, primates, birds. Every goddamn creature with a Y chromosome... except my brother and this obnoxious capuchin monkey. See, his girlfriend was in Australia being all noble and shit, so he decided he ought to do something noble too and signed up to foster a helper monkey. You know: like a seeing-eye monkey, one trained to help people with disabilities. For the longest time nobody knew how come my brother and his goddamn monkey survived, but our mother -- she's a US Senator -- hooked up my brother with this government protection, an agent, and she took him to the best geneticist in the country to see if they could figure it out."

And in between, a lot of shit happened but that's not the story she's telling now. "Turns out it wasn't that my brother was some chosen one at all; it was his monkey. There was something in him that was plague-resistant and I have to tell you, that monkey's a little bastard. He flings his shit everywhere, and it took the geneticist a couple years to figure out that whatever it was that made my brother immune was in the monkey's shit, literally."

She nods to the huge backpack propped up against the wall near the bureau. "Remember how I said every male on the planet got wiped out? There were two guy astronauts on the International Space Station... and one girl. When they started running out of fuel, they decided to head back to Earth on the off chance that whatever happened down there was over. They made it, but their space capsule was damaged beyond repair and burned up when it landed. The two guys shoved the woman astronaut out right before the pod they were in exploded. Turns out she was pregnant, and they rushed her to this safe house near where they landed -- all this scifi shit isn't my area of expertise, but they landed there on purpose because of it -- and took care of her. She had her baby and lives with him in the decontamination chamber there. First boy born since the plague."

Taking a deep breath, both because the story's hard to tell and because it's sad and pointless and depressing, she lets go of his hand. "In my backpack, in a hermetically sealed container, are the last samples of my brother's monkey's shit along with instructions from the geneticist on how to use it to make a vaccine for the baby boy who's... almost two now and has never been outside because they don't know if outside will kill him or not. I have to deliver that package to the safe house and the doctors waiting there, so they can spin the vaccine and give that kid a shot at leaving his bubble."

It's a heavy thing, having the fate of the world's future resting on your shoulders. That's why she tried so hard to avoid this. Her world is full of people who'll try to stop her at all cost, even if they don't have the slightest clue what she's carrying in the bowels of her backpack. She figures she stands about a fifty percent chance of making it.

That estimate could be a little on the generous side.

[twoeyesonthesky]

Quinn stares. Just... stares.

The dragons took a while to spread across the face of his world. Oh, they bred fast, they really did- like cockroaches- but they still took time. It didn't all happen at once. There was time to run. It wasn't as if London, Mexico City, Beijing and Nairobi all burned on the same day. And even then there's a difference between 'half the human race is gone' and 'half EVERYTHING is gone'.

On his world there's still life in the oceans, for all that there were stories of dragons snatching dolphins from the sea to eat. The lungs of the world aren't in Brazil any more; they're in the North Atlantic, in the waters off Australia. The waters aren't poisoned with the chemical detritus of humanity any more, but neither are they wracked with the bodies of half of every species.

Quinn shivers a little, but keeps listening. The monkey's description gets a momentary smile, so he nods and keeps listening. "Christ Almighty," he finally says. "That's... damn. If your world's anything like mine was, four years after, I expect you've got armed marauders left and right camping on the resources and looking to get what they can off travelers." He shakes his head ruefully. "If I'd meant to come here this time, I'd have at least had- I dunno, a weapon to loan you or something- damn."