Arc One [2]
Author: Homer
Rating: G
Word Count: 1699
It's ten months before Marco comes to see her. Ten months of failed attempts at contact, ten months of taking care of her daughter and getting back in touch with her family and putting her life back together. Ten months of waking up reaching for another person or trying to scream and finding herself unable.
It's been hell, but it's her life and she's going to get it back no matter how long it takes. She has a new job - working with children, all of them former controllers trying to reintegrate. It's kinder, for the moment, to keep them together. Around people who understand the moments of completely frozen silence while you wait for someone else to move your hands, the random outburst of rage or tears, and all of the little mental and physical tics that are absorbed from being a host for longer than a few days. Some of them have forgotten how to interact with the rest of the world completely. It's not just Math and Science and English that they're working to catch the kids back up with.
It's a constant battle to keep her students sane and away from the media and psychologists who would love a chance to turn any one of them into a research project.
It was hard work, but it was work that suited her. Work that she and the other teachers found rewarding. After all, who else in the world could understand what it had been like for these kids than the adults who had been to hell with them?
Archimedes heard them first, ears pricking and head lifting, low growl rumbling in his throat. The German Sheppard was a rescue, a big solid dog as many miles away from a toy poodle as you could get without owning a dog the size of a pony. It was different. But the world had seemed so much safer when it was Euclid that stole her slippers and shredded her socks on a regular basis. She knew now that the world wasn’t safe
She sighed at the doorbell and cautiously approached the door. It wouldn't be the first time, after all, that the media had found her...or a far right group had. Former controllers were easy targets for the extremists who wanted to eliminate any trace that the Yeerks had left behind.
She wasn't expecting Marco.
Though she wasn't surprised to see Jake lurking behind him like an exhausted, malnourished shadow. You rarely saw one without the other.
They had both lost weight, and both had dark circles around their eyes, and both were barefoot, dressed in jeans and t-shirts. They must have morphed to come here; they probably wanted to be found just as little as she did. They both looked far older than sixteen or seventeen. But she still knew them both.
She had planned out a thousand times the questions she would ask the boy in front of her. Why did you leave me behind? Why didn’t you come back from me? Why won’t you let me contact your father? Did you want me to die? Why, why, why.
A thousand times, she’d thought through this conversation. A million, more likely; the Yeerk had questioned her endlessly. In the end, all she did was say his name.
There was no love lost between them. He had tolerated her, and she liked him well enough. She had hoped that their relationship would soften over time. But hopes and wishes had faded the first time her head had been shoved beneath the pool, while this child, this soldier, had condemned her to her fate.
“Mind if we come in?” No jokes, not now. She’d seen him on the news, all laughter and playfulness and joy. She’d seen him with his mother too, and knew the answers to at least a few of the questions that haunted her dreams.
She almost shut the door in his face. She didn’t want to hear what he said. But in the end, she tightened her jaw, pursed her lips, and let him step inside, taking the time to study Jake.
He looked more beaten than Marco. She swore she could even see a few grey hairs sprinkled among the dark locks. There was something old and cautious about the way he moved, something far removed from the kid she had once taught math. He was a veteran, and it showed in every step he took.
She honestly wasn’t sure if he was here as back-up or because Marco was afraid if he let him out of his sight, Jake would just collapse.
War is never easy, is it Jake?
“Right, so.”
“So.” She echoed quietly. “It’s been awhile, Marco. A year and a half, almost. 10 months since the war ended. You’re either terminally late, or you’re here for something else.”
The smile that Marco used like a mask slipped a little, all jagged edge and teeth for the moment. “I’m not here for you. In either way you’re thinking. I need you to sign something.”
Her lips twitched, not a smile, not really anything. “Divorce papers? Deeds to the house? The rights to my first born? Please Marco, if that’s all you’re here for, do us both a favor and forge my signature. I’m sure your alien friends would be more than willing to do so for you.” She had fought tooth and nail for the life she led now.
“Nora, just…sign it, ok?”
“So you can cement whatever story you’re telling? What did you tell him, Marco? That I was dead? That I had been one of them all along?” His brow tightened, and his lips twitched, she knew she’d struck the mark. “How dare you. We were both adults, Marco. We were both more than capable of making our own decisions, even with your mother back in the picture. He had a right…” She bit off the words, bit off the anger, swallowed the tears that wanted to fall and the pain in her heart. She didn’t want to wake her daughter. “Give it to me. I’ll let you have your fairy tale back.”
The paper he handed her was more familiar than it should have been, considering they had all been shown it. ‘By signing, signee is legally released from all responsibility and written contracts incurred while infested with alien combatant. Signee yields all rights to properties, documents, and debt tendered by enemy combatant and is freed from all obligations.’
Her marriage with Peter wouldn’t even exist. It would be struck from the books. Dissolved, as though it had never been. Yet another war crime dumped on the heap that already held too many.
She looked at Marco, looked at Jake with his too old eyes. “What will you tell him?”
“That it’s painful for you to see him.”
“Such easy lies you tell, Marco.” She checked the box, signed and initialled, then handed it back. “I love him, you know. I know that doesn’t matter to you. You want your happy ending, and your mother. But I love him. What you’re doing, these lies? They’re not protecting anyone.”
“I think we both know that isn’t true.”
“I think you’re wrong. We’re not children who need you to protect us, no matter how long you looked after your father. You are the child. You may have fought and won a war, but this isn’t a war Marco. This is you being selfish and not ever giving your father a chance to make up his own mind about anything. He loves your mother, but he loved me too or he wouldn’t have married me.” She kept her voice a hiss, low and furious, not allowing herself the catharsis of yelling at him.
“I’m not here to fight with you, Nora.” His voice was soft, eyes on Jake.
She wasn’t important enough to acknowledge.
They left, and she tried to control the shaking in her hands, tried to hold back the tears. It was like starting all over again, right from square one.
Some people called it moving on.
Former Controllers called it coping.
Three weeks later, she woke in the middle of the night to find an owl perched on her daughter’s crib.
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Rating: G
Word Count: 1699
It's ten months before Marco comes to see her. Ten months of failed attempts at contact, ten months of taking care of her daughter and getting back in touch with her family and putting her life back together. Ten months of waking up reaching for another person or trying to scream and finding herself unable.
It's been hell, but it's her life and she's going to get it back no matter how long it takes. She has a new job - working with children, all of them former controllers trying to reintegrate. It's kinder, for the moment, to keep them together. Around people who understand the moments of completely frozen silence while you wait for someone else to move your hands, the random outburst of rage or tears, and all of the little mental and physical tics that are absorbed from being a host for longer than a few days. Some of them have forgotten how to interact with the rest of the world completely. It's not just Math and Science and English that they're working to catch the kids back up with.
It's a constant battle to keep her students sane and away from the media and psychologists who would love a chance to turn any one of them into a research project.
It was hard work, but it was work that suited her. Work that she and the other teachers found rewarding. After all, who else in the world could understand what it had been like for these kids than the adults who had been to hell with them?
Archimedes heard them first, ears pricking and head lifting, low growl rumbling in his throat. The German Sheppard was a rescue, a big solid dog as many miles away from a toy poodle as you could get without owning a dog the size of a pony. It was different. But the world had seemed so much safer when it was Euclid that stole her slippers and shredded her socks on a regular basis. She knew now that the world wasn’t safe
She sighed at the doorbell and cautiously approached the door. It wouldn't be the first time, after all, that the media had found her...or a far right group had. Former controllers were easy targets for the extremists who wanted to eliminate any trace that the Yeerks had left behind.
She wasn't expecting Marco.
Though she wasn't surprised to see Jake lurking behind him like an exhausted, malnourished shadow. You rarely saw one without the other.
They had both lost weight, and both had dark circles around their eyes, and both were barefoot, dressed in jeans and t-shirts. They must have morphed to come here; they probably wanted to be found just as little as she did. They both looked far older than sixteen or seventeen. But she still knew them both.
She had planned out a thousand times the questions she would ask the boy in front of her. Why did you leave me behind? Why didn’t you come back from me? Why won’t you let me contact your father? Did you want me to die? Why, why, why.
A thousand times, she’d thought through this conversation. A million, more likely; the Yeerk had questioned her endlessly. In the end, all she did was say his name.
There was no love lost between them. He had tolerated her, and she liked him well enough. She had hoped that their relationship would soften over time. But hopes and wishes had faded the first time her head had been shoved beneath the pool, while this child, this soldier, had condemned her to her fate.
“Mind if we come in?” No jokes, not now. She’d seen him on the news, all laughter and playfulness and joy. She’d seen him with his mother too, and knew the answers to at least a few of the questions that haunted her dreams.
She almost shut the door in his face. She didn’t want to hear what he said. But in the end, she tightened her jaw, pursed her lips, and let him step inside, taking the time to study Jake.
He looked more beaten than Marco. She swore she could even see a few grey hairs sprinkled among the dark locks. There was something old and cautious about the way he moved, something far removed from the kid she had once taught math. He was a veteran, and it showed in every step he took.
She honestly wasn’t sure if he was here as back-up or because Marco was afraid if he let him out of his sight, Jake would just collapse.
War is never easy, is it Jake?
“Right, so.”
“So.” She echoed quietly. “It’s been awhile, Marco. A year and a half, almost. 10 months since the war ended. You’re either terminally late, or you’re here for something else.”
The smile that Marco used like a mask slipped a little, all jagged edge and teeth for the moment. “I’m not here for you. In either way you’re thinking. I need you to sign something.”
Her lips twitched, not a smile, not really anything. “Divorce papers? Deeds to the house? The rights to my first born? Please Marco, if that’s all you’re here for, do us both a favor and forge my signature. I’m sure your alien friends would be more than willing to do so for you.” She had fought tooth and nail for the life she led now.
“Nora, just…sign it, ok?”
“So you can cement whatever story you’re telling? What did you tell him, Marco? That I was dead? That I had been one of them all along?” His brow tightened, and his lips twitched, she knew she’d struck the mark. “How dare you. We were both adults, Marco. We were both more than capable of making our own decisions, even with your mother back in the picture. He had a right…” She bit off the words, bit off the anger, swallowed the tears that wanted to fall and the pain in her heart. She didn’t want to wake her daughter. “Give it to me. I’ll let you have your fairy tale back.”
The paper he handed her was more familiar than it should have been, considering they had all been shown it. ‘By signing, signee is legally released from all responsibility and written contracts incurred while infested with alien combatant. Signee yields all rights to properties, documents, and debt tendered by enemy combatant and is freed from all obligations.’
Her marriage with Peter wouldn’t even exist. It would be struck from the books. Dissolved, as though it had never been. Yet another war crime dumped on the heap that already held too many.
She looked at Marco, looked at Jake with his too old eyes. “What will you tell him?”
“That it’s painful for you to see him.”
“Such easy lies you tell, Marco.” She checked the box, signed and initialled, then handed it back. “I love him, you know. I know that doesn’t matter to you. You want your happy ending, and your mother. But I love him. What you’re doing, these lies? They’re not protecting anyone.”
“I think we both know that isn’t true.”
“I think you’re wrong. We’re not children who need you to protect us, no matter how long you looked after your father. You are the child. You may have fought and won a war, but this isn’t a war Marco. This is you being selfish and not ever giving your father a chance to make up his own mind about anything. He loves your mother, but he loved me too or he wouldn’t have married me.” She kept her voice a hiss, low and furious, not allowing herself the catharsis of yelling at him.
“I’m not here to fight with you, Nora.” His voice was soft, eyes on Jake.
She wasn’t important enough to acknowledge.
They left, and she tried to control the shaking in her hands, tried to hold back the tears. It was like starting all over again, right from square one.
Some people called it moving on.
Former Controllers called it coping.
Three weeks later, she woke in the middle of the night to find an owl perched on her daughter’s crib.
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