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Every plan is a tiny prayer
The trouble with thinking you're ready for things is that when they happen it almost always becomes quickly apparent that you're not. And then, in addition to the shock, you have to deal with the further shock of having been about as wrong about yourself as possible.
The first thing was that Eostre had been gone for longer than she should have been. He had stayed at the hut for a while, held the girls, tried not to pace, and then finally the pacing had won over and he had figured that as long as his legs were going to be moving they might as well take him in a specific direction. So, towards the Compound, asking one or two people in passing if they'd seen her.
The third, someone whose face was familiar but whose name he couldn't place, said yes. In the clinic.
It was at that point that he'd broken into a run.
Running is still painful. He wonders if it always will be, if this is just reality catching up with him. If maybe it's going to spread to other things. That's not even a maybe; he's sure now that it will, but he hadn't wanted it to be like this.
He grits his teeth, sprints through the door and down a hallway, ignoring the puzzled looks he's getting. The rest of the way to the clinic is a little bit of a haze, but suddenly he's standing in the doorway, panting, and she's there.
Not in a bed.
Looking down at a man who is.
And the look on her face is like a knife in his gut.
The first thing was that Eostre had been gone for longer than she should have been. He had stayed at the hut for a while, held the girls, tried not to pace, and then finally the pacing had won over and he had figured that as long as his legs were going to be moving they might as well take him in a specific direction. So, towards the Compound, asking one or two people in passing if they'd seen her.
The third, someone whose face was familiar but whose name he couldn't place, said yes. In the clinic.
It was at that point that he'd broken into a run.
Running is still painful. He wonders if it always will be, if this is just reality catching up with him. If maybe it's going to spread to other things. That's not even a maybe; he's sure now that it will, but he hadn't wanted it to be like this.
He grits his teeth, sprints through the door and down a hallway, ignoring the puzzled looks he's getting. The rest of the way to the clinic is a little bit of a haze, but suddenly he's standing in the doorway, panting, and she's there.
Not in a bed.
Looking down at a man who is.
And the look on her face is like a knife in his gut.
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"We don't need to talk about this now."
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Then, feeling like the biggest idiot to ever walk any version of Earth, "I love you."
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