Reality Check, ch. 71
When my chapter titles are stupid, they're really stupid.Chapter Seventy-One: (If It's Not All Right) It's Not The End
Axiom: children are the product of their parents’ genetics.
One thing Jeb knew Ari had to have gotten from Connie -- the eyes. Jeb’s eyes were blue; she’d said that they were the first thing about him to attract her attention.
And here Ari had ended up with eyes more like his mother’s -- hazel.
His stare would’ve been less unnerving if he’d had his father’s eyes -- and even then it would’ve given Jeb the chills being watched like that. (At least then it wouldn’t have reminded him so much of her.)
“Ari,” he said, just loud enough to catch the boy’s attention.
He blinked. “What? I was thinking.”
“Just making sure you’re still here.” Jeb resisted the temptation to reach out and ruffle his hair.
“Where else would I be?” He sounded puzzled, but after a moment where Jeb couldn’t think of anything to say, Ari just shrugged and dropped his eyes back to his comic book. (It looked as if the X-Men were foiling yet another of Magneto’s evil plans.)
Jeb realized something: he had no idea what the hell he was doing.
Harrison had hunted him down the day before and dragged him out of his lab by the wrist, her eyes almost shining with determination. “You are going to talk to your fucking son,” she’d growled when he politely tried to ask just what she thought she was doing.
It was a well-meant gesture and all, but he hadn’t been able to suppress the grim thought that the road to Hell was, as they said, paved with good intentions.
And now he was beginning to think; she’d only told him that he had to talk to Ari. She hadn’t said about what, or how -- all she’d said was that he had to.
(Well. That and something about how if he didn’t she’d kill him herself -- he hadn’t quite caught the details, but it sounded painful.)
Fuck it all. Harrison knew Jeb better than he knew himself, and she’d left him stranded without any idea of how to even start fixing his relationship with Ari.
Jeb was not, and never really would be, much good at understanding people and how they worked. But goddammit, Ari was his son -- and as blind as he could be (and had been), Jeb understood that by being gone for so long, he’d permanently damaged the relationship between them.
Despite that, though, he still believed that what had gone wrong could still be made, at least partially, right.
At heart -- underneath the caution and silent refusal to wield the two-edged knife of emotion (it might be a good tool, but so many times it had twisted in his hand, caught him by surprise, and cut him) -- at heart, he was an optimist.
Someday everything will be fine, he reassured himself, watching Ari with his head bent studiously to the pages of his comic book. Things will work out. They won’t be perfect, but we’ll get by.
This is the way it has to be.
Jeb was lost in undiscovered country here, trying to mend what might well be irreparable, but he still hung on to that sense of optimism that had done nothing but get him in trouble.
After all -- it wasn’t much, but it was what he had.I have no idea what I’m doing.
For all that Jeb had repeatedly told him “you’ll do fine” or “don’t worry, I’ll be there to help you out”... ter Borcht was still quite lost. (Although you could attribute some of that to the fact that Jeb wasn’t even there.)
He really hadn’t thought this through, had he? Not very well, at least -- or, well, he’d only planned for one possible outcome of the experiment. The one that hadn’t happened.
Which, by not happening, had royally fucked all his plans over. Not that he’d have been around to carry them out if it had happened.
Ter Borcht sighed and, for what he guessed was something like the thousandth time, gave thanks that he hadn’t stayed in Germany. It wasn’t that he doubted the quality of the medical care he’d have gotten back at Itexicon headquarters; what he doubted -- what he knew -- was that he wouldn’t have been as happy there.
Here... well, yes, he was far from “home”, but he had Jeb -- and he had his daughter.
Marian could be kind when she tried, but somehow -- ter Borcht was sure she wouldn’t have let him so much as hold Elsa. Wouldn’t have let him say goodbye to his daughter before Marian took her away to --
To what?
He had a sinking feeling he knew what.
They’d never been the kind of people to pass up a test subject when one came their way.
Ter Borcht had never really thought about that policy -- then again, it had never been personal. He dealt with his subjects, for the most part, before they consisted of multiple cells. At that point they didn’t even seem human.
The exception to that had been the avian-human recombinants, who had (through what he’d thought was shoddy planning) been acquired as infants -- taken from their parents, in other words.
If Marian had tried to take Elsa from him -- like the avian-human recombinants had been taken from their parents, just like them and for the same kind of purpose...
He’d never have let her take his daughter. Not in a thousand years. Not while he was still alive.
Marian would have thrown a fit over his refusal -- despite the fact that half of Elsa’s genes were his, and that he’d carried her in his body for nine months, Marian would’ve called any sign of attachment to his daughter unprofessional. And probably would’ve demanded that he hand her over to Itexicon.
Ter Borcht had never really intended to have a family -- he liked bachelorhood, and it rather suited him. And yet... that was beginning to change. As terrifying as fatherhood could be, he was finding that he rather liked it.
It was terrifying, yes, but it was also oddly... fascinating, in a scientific sense. (Which Marian would probably have thought was good -- it meant that a part of him was still “professional”, which meant so much to her. Although how she could reasonably expect him to be professional about -- all this -- he didn’t know.)
He’d never seen this coming -- he’d been solidly convinced he’d end the experiment dead.
It seemed to be turning out otherwise -- the experiment was over (he’d survived, and Elsa had survived -- somehow), and he wasn’t dead. If he were going to die, it would have already happened.
Ter Borcht had expected an ending -- his death, some kind of disaster, something. What he’d gotten instead was a beginning -- Elsa’s birth, things continuing almost as always, an absence of disaster.
It was almost liberating. Things that could have been, balanced out by what was, here and now -- and it all came out more or less even.
Not what he’d expected, not by a long shot -- but that was why it was an experiment, after all.
He had to laugh at that.
Marian might not disapprove of him after all.If you asked Reilly, Kyle had some sort of magic ability to read his moods -- he always knew when Reilly needed cheering up, or when he just needed to be left alone.
This was bullshit, although Kyle didn’t mind it.
Reilly just wasn’t all that hard to read.
For example -- you could tell when he was in a really bad mood by the kind of music he played.
If he was doing just fine and fuckin’ dandy, it was Placebo, Nirvana, and a thousand other bands Kyle couldn’t quite tell apart -- and the louder, the better.
When he was in a really bad mood, like today -- it was all the kind of stuff he normally hated. Matchbox 20, Simple Plan, what the hell ever -- it was the kind of shit he’d normally never be caught dead listening to.
Wait. Kyle pressed his ear a little harder to the door. Reilly’s little shitbox stereo had terrible sound quality, but it did have sound.
Was that...
He sighed and stepped away from the door. I need to conduct an intervention. Right now.
He knocked on the door -- once, twice, three times for luck. “Reilly? It’s Kyle. I’m coming in.”
There was a quick shuffle of noise on the other side, and the music faded (well, good riddance, the last thing Kyle needed right now was some guy talking at him about being crazy to a musical background). “All right, fine,” Reilly snapped.
Well, at least he was talking.
Kyle went inside.
Reilly was sitting on the edge of the bed, running one hand through his hair, looking as if he’d as soon bite Kyle’s head off as look at him. Kyle suspected that until he knocked on the door, Reilly had been sprawled out on the bed listening to music -- the stereo was at arm’s length from the bed, and there were a few CDs in their jewel cases next to it.
“What the hell is it?” Reilly said. He’d have sounded more threatening if his shirt had been buttoned, or if he hadn’t generally looked like he’d just crawled out of bed.
Fucker’s wearing my shirt, too.
Kyle had been wondering where that particular shirt had gotten to.
He shrugged. “Just wanted to say hi.”
Reilly leveled an acidic glare at him -- if looks could kill. “Was it necessary to barge into my room?”
“Yeah.” He shrugged. “I gave you fair warning.”
“The hell you did.” Well, he hadn’t gotten physical yet. That was a good sign. He rolled his eyes. “What are you really after?”
I heard depressing music coming from your room, so I knew I had to come remind you I exist.
“I wanted to look at your pretty face,” Kyle replied.
Reilly laughed -- or made a sound resembling a laugh, anyway. “Yeah. Sure. Well, you’ve had your look -- you can get out now.”
“I don’t think I will.” He leaned against the wall, pretended to study Reilly’s features. “Just wanted to make sure you were hangin’ in there, man.”
Reilly sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I guess I am. Things are fuckin’ crazy lately.”
“I know it,” Kyle muttered.
Reilly looked him in the eye -- and maybe things weren’t as bad as Kyle had thought they were, because he managed a smile. “Yeah? Tell me what’s up.”
It looked like things might be getting better for Reilly -- if things were really bad he’d have met Kyle at the door with a kind request that he fuck off, or he’d have been passed out in bed, practically comatose.
Kyle sighed. “Man, I dunno where to start.”
Reilly cracked up. “Sit down. And start at the beginning, fuckup.”
That tends to be a good place to start.
He sat down next to Reilly on the bed. “I’ll tell you what’s up with me if you tell me what’s up with you, all right?”
“Deal.” Reilly flashed him a thumbs-up.
That was too easy.
Well, then again, maybe things were just going well with Reilly for once.
That would be a change.So. One year of this craziness.
Somehow it doesn't seem like that long. How is that? Previous chapter. Index. Next chapter.
Axiom: children are the product of their parents’ genetics.
One thing Jeb knew Ari had to have gotten from Connie -- the eyes. Jeb’s eyes were blue; she’d said that they were the first thing about him to attract her attention.
And here Ari had ended up with eyes more like his mother’s -- hazel.
His stare would’ve been less unnerving if he’d had his father’s eyes -- and even then it would’ve given Jeb the chills being watched like that. (At least then it wouldn’t have reminded him so much of her.)
“Ari,” he said, just loud enough to catch the boy’s attention.
He blinked. “What? I was thinking.”
“Just making sure you’re still here.” Jeb resisted the temptation to reach out and ruffle his hair.
“Where else would I be?” He sounded puzzled, but after a moment where Jeb couldn’t think of anything to say, Ari just shrugged and dropped his eyes back to his comic book. (It looked as if the X-Men were foiling yet another of Magneto’s evil plans.)
Jeb realized something: he had no idea what the hell he was doing.
Harrison had hunted him down the day before and dragged him out of his lab by the wrist, her eyes almost shining with determination. “You are going to talk to your fucking son,” she’d growled when he politely tried to ask just what she thought she was doing.
It was a well-meant gesture and all, but he hadn’t been able to suppress the grim thought that the road to Hell was, as they said, paved with good intentions.
And now he was beginning to think; she’d only told him that he had to talk to Ari. She hadn’t said about what, or how -- all she’d said was that he had to.
(Well. That and something about how if he didn’t she’d kill him herself -- he hadn’t quite caught the details, but it sounded painful.)
Fuck it all. Harrison knew Jeb better than he knew himself, and she’d left him stranded without any idea of how to even start fixing his relationship with Ari.
Jeb was not, and never really would be, much good at understanding people and how they worked. But goddammit, Ari was his son -- and as blind as he could be (and had been), Jeb understood that by being gone for so long, he’d permanently damaged the relationship between them.
Despite that, though, he still believed that what had gone wrong could still be made, at least partially, right.
At heart -- underneath the caution and silent refusal to wield the two-edged knife of emotion (it might be a good tool, but so many times it had twisted in his hand, caught him by surprise, and cut him) -- at heart, he was an optimist.
Someday everything will be fine, he reassured himself, watching Ari with his head bent studiously to the pages of his comic book. Things will work out. They won’t be perfect, but we’ll get by.
This is the way it has to be.
Jeb was lost in undiscovered country here, trying to mend what might well be irreparable, but he still hung on to that sense of optimism that had done nothing but get him in trouble.
After all -- it wasn’t much, but it was what he had.I have no idea what I’m doing.
For all that Jeb had repeatedly told him “you’ll do fine” or “don’t worry, I’ll be there to help you out”... ter Borcht was still quite lost. (Although you could attribute some of that to the fact that Jeb wasn’t even there.)
He really hadn’t thought this through, had he? Not very well, at least -- or, well, he’d only planned for one possible outcome of the experiment. The one that hadn’t happened.
Which, by not happening, had royally fucked all his plans over. Not that he’d have been around to carry them out if it had happened.
Ter Borcht sighed and, for what he guessed was something like the thousandth time, gave thanks that he hadn’t stayed in Germany. It wasn’t that he doubted the quality of the medical care he’d have gotten back at Itexicon headquarters; what he doubted -- what he knew -- was that he wouldn’t have been as happy there.
Here... well, yes, he was far from “home”, but he had Jeb -- and he had his daughter.
Marian could be kind when she tried, but somehow -- ter Borcht was sure she wouldn’t have let him so much as hold Elsa. Wouldn’t have let him say goodbye to his daughter before Marian took her away to --
To what?
He had a sinking feeling he knew what.
They’d never been the kind of people to pass up a test subject when one came their way.
Ter Borcht had never really thought about that policy -- then again, it had never been personal. He dealt with his subjects, for the most part, before they consisted of multiple cells. At that point they didn’t even seem human.
The exception to that had been the avian-human recombinants, who had (through what he’d thought was shoddy planning) been acquired as infants -- taken from their parents, in other words.
If Marian had tried to take Elsa from him -- like the avian-human recombinants had been taken from their parents, just like them and for the same kind of purpose...
He’d never have let her take his daughter. Not in a thousand years. Not while he was still alive.
Marian would have thrown a fit over his refusal -- despite the fact that half of Elsa’s genes were his, and that he’d carried her in his body for nine months, Marian would’ve called any sign of attachment to his daughter unprofessional. And probably would’ve demanded that he hand her over to Itexicon.
Ter Borcht had never really intended to have a family -- he liked bachelorhood, and it rather suited him. And yet... that was beginning to change. As terrifying as fatherhood could be, he was finding that he rather liked it.
It was terrifying, yes, but it was also oddly... fascinating, in a scientific sense. (Which Marian would probably have thought was good -- it meant that a part of him was still “professional”, which meant so much to her. Although how she could reasonably expect him to be professional about -- all this -- he didn’t know.)
He’d never seen this coming -- he’d been solidly convinced he’d end the experiment dead.
It seemed to be turning out otherwise -- the experiment was over (he’d survived, and Elsa had survived -- somehow), and he wasn’t dead. If he were going to die, it would have already happened.
Ter Borcht had expected an ending -- his death, some kind of disaster, something. What he’d gotten instead was a beginning -- Elsa’s birth, things continuing almost as always, an absence of disaster.
It was almost liberating. Things that could have been, balanced out by what was, here and now -- and it all came out more or less even.
Not what he’d expected, not by a long shot -- but that was why it was an experiment, after all.
He had to laugh at that.
Marian might not disapprove of him after all.If you asked Reilly, Kyle had some sort of magic ability to read his moods -- he always knew when Reilly needed cheering up, or when he just needed to be left alone.
This was bullshit, although Kyle didn’t mind it.
Reilly just wasn’t all that hard to read.
For example -- you could tell when he was in a really bad mood by the kind of music he played.
If he was doing just fine and fuckin’ dandy, it was Placebo, Nirvana, and a thousand other bands Kyle couldn’t quite tell apart -- and the louder, the better.
When he was in a really bad mood, like today -- it was all the kind of stuff he normally hated. Matchbox 20, Simple Plan, what the hell ever -- it was the kind of shit he’d normally never be caught dead listening to.
Wait. Kyle pressed his ear a little harder to the door. Reilly’s little shitbox stereo had terrible sound quality, but it did have sound.
Was that...
He sighed and stepped away from the door. I need to conduct an intervention. Right now.
He knocked on the door -- once, twice, three times for luck. “Reilly? It’s Kyle. I’m coming in.”
There was a quick shuffle of noise on the other side, and the music faded (well, good riddance, the last thing Kyle needed right now was some guy talking at him about being crazy to a musical background). “All right, fine,” Reilly snapped.
Well, at least he was talking.
Kyle went inside.
Reilly was sitting on the edge of the bed, running one hand through his hair, looking as if he’d as soon bite Kyle’s head off as look at him. Kyle suspected that until he knocked on the door, Reilly had been sprawled out on the bed listening to music -- the stereo was at arm’s length from the bed, and there were a few CDs in their jewel cases next to it.
“What the hell is it?” Reilly said. He’d have sounded more threatening if his shirt had been buttoned, or if he hadn’t generally looked like he’d just crawled out of bed.
Fucker’s wearing my shirt, too.
Kyle had been wondering where that particular shirt had gotten to.
He shrugged. “Just wanted to say hi.”
Reilly leveled an acidic glare at him -- if looks could kill. “Was it necessary to barge into my room?”
“Yeah.” He shrugged. “I gave you fair warning.”
“The hell you did.” Well, he hadn’t gotten physical yet. That was a good sign. He rolled his eyes. “What are you really after?”
I heard depressing music coming from your room, so I knew I had to come remind you I exist.
“I wanted to look at your pretty face,” Kyle replied.
Reilly laughed -- or made a sound resembling a laugh, anyway. “Yeah. Sure. Well, you’ve had your look -- you can get out now.”
“I don’t think I will.” He leaned against the wall, pretended to study Reilly’s features. “Just wanted to make sure you were hangin’ in there, man.”
Reilly sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I guess I am. Things are fuckin’ crazy lately.”
“I know it,” Kyle muttered.
Reilly looked him in the eye -- and maybe things weren’t as bad as Kyle had thought they were, because he managed a smile. “Yeah? Tell me what’s up.”
It looked like things might be getting better for Reilly -- if things were really bad he’d have met Kyle at the door with a kind request that he fuck off, or he’d have been passed out in bed, practically comatose.
Kyle sighed. “Man, I dunno where to start.”
Reilly cracked up. “Sit down. And start at the beginning, fuckup.”
That tends to be a good place to start.
He sat down next to Reilly on the bed. “I’ll tell you what’s up with me if you tell me what’s up with you, all right?”
“Deal.” Reilly flashed him a thumbs-up.
That was too easy.
Well, then again, maybe things were just going well with Reilly for once.
That would be a change.So. One year of this craziness.
Somehow it doesn't seem like that long. How is that? Previous chapter. Index. Next chapter.