IMPOSSIBLE THINGS
"You're terrible at this."
"Like you'd be any better," Cole says, examining Ramse's wound, which is still red and warm to the touch.
"Better than you," Ramse says.
Cole can't argue with that. Ramse had always been the better one at splinting sprained ankles and cleaning cuts. "This is the point when Cassie would say you needed a hospital. I think she'd be right."
"And I'm going to say the same thing I'm sure you said to her. We can't go to a hospital," Ramse says. "You know that."
He does know that, but he doesn't know what else to do.
"I'll be all right," Ramse says, shifting his weight in a way that lets Cole know how uncomfortable he must be. "Something got in me when your girlfriend shot me, most likely. But I'm tough enough to fight it off. You should go. They're going to be looking for you."
"I'll get us more food," Cole says.
"Don't come back," Ramse says. "You've done enough. I'll be fine."
XXXX
Cole shoves his hands in his coat pockets as he walks down the street and thinks about not going back. He could go to the store, buy food for himself, and then move on. Ramse might die without his help, but he might die with it, too, the way things are going. Taking Ramse out of the facility, putting pressure on the wound, clumsily stitching it up – that gave Ramse a fighting chance, at least. Cole doesn't know how to give him anything more than that.
Cassie would know, but Cassie's not here. It feels strange to be in the world she belongs to without her.
"It's only been a few days," she would say if she were here, or maybe something like, "You took two years to show up to our second meeting, remember that?"
Or maybe she wouldn't say anything like that. Cole can't be sure; after all, he doesn't know her all that well. If he added up all the time they've spent together, it probably wouldn't amount to more than a couple of weeks.
Still, he misses her. It feels like he placed his heart on that platform. Maybe he did.
XXXX
Ramse's eyes seem brighter when Cole gets back.
"Thought you'd taken my advice and hit the road," Ramse says. "Guess not. That said, no one ever accused you of being a great strategic thinker."
"I did stick by you all those years, so," Cole shrugs. "You've got a point. I got you juice."
"I never get over how good this stuff tastes," Ramse says, after drinking half the bottle in one go.
"You've been here long enough," Cole says. "Thought you would've gotten over that by now."
"You don't get over that," Ramse says. "Or at least I didn't. You forget, sometimes, but then you get hungry or thirsty and you remember what it's like to be hungry or thirsty for real – hey, what'd you do the first time you saw someone throw away perfectly good food?"
"I, uh," Cole says, pulling food out of plastic bags. "I can't remember. I got us some peanut butter and bread."
"I'm not hungry." Ramse says, and Cole looks up sharply. He recognizes the fever in Ramse all at once: the brightness in his eyes, the sweat on his shirt, the rambling way he's been talking since waking up this morning.
Cole sets the peanut butter and bread on the nightstand with a shaking hand. "Finish the juice."
The bottle stays still in Ramse's hands. Cole knows why; Ramse never finished a meal without making sure Cole had his share, or ate the last of anything without having something set aside for later. Cole has half a candy bar in his coat pocket right now for the same reason, and so he knows to say, "There's plenty more for both of us. It was a huge pain in the ass to carry all the way back here, so finish it, all right?"
Ramse nods and drinks again.
XXXX
The first time Cole saw half a sandwich in the garbage, he pulled it out. It had a bite taken out of it, and the bread felt stiff to the touch, but it was halfway to his mouth by the time Cassie put a gentle hand on his arm.
"Don't – are you hungry? There's a deli around the corner where we can get you something." Cassie wrinkled her nose as she said it, trying to hide her disgust but not quite able to. Cole told himself it was because of the sandwich, fishy-smelling with lettuce that had gone brown at the edges, and not because of him. It was early days, though. Probably both.
"All right," Cole said. Opening his hand to let the sandwich fall back into the garbage was one of the more difficult things he'd had to do in the past that didn't involve a gun.
"Let's go," Cassie said, tilting her head in the direction of the deli.
Later, after finishing up one sandwich and starting a second, Cole said, "Food's hard to come by where I come from, you know?"
"I understand," Cassie said. It was just two words, two words that probably weren't true (because how could she understand? how could anyone understand what it means to be a teenager too hungry to sleep unless you've experienced it yourself?), but the way she said them, the smile that came with them and the kindness in her eyes – those were the things Cole would think about later when he remembered his afternoon in the deli. Not the sandwiches, even though they were the best he'd ever had.
XXXX
Ramse grows disoriented as the hours pass.
"I thought you were dead," Ramse says.
"Not yet," Cole says. "I think you should take more aspirin."
"You don't understand," Ramse says, after taking the two pills Cole hands him with a plastic cup of water. When Cole takes the glass back, Ramse grabs his arm to keep him close. Even the palm of his hand feels hot.
"What don't I understand?" Cole says when Ramse doesn't elaborate.
"All these years, I thought I killed you. I thought I'd put you in the ground. Even now, part of me thinks you're a ghost, or that I'm already dead, too."
"I'm not a ghost," Cole says. "I'm alive, and so are you."
"You're alive." There are tears and a desperate hope in Ramse's eyes. "I didn't kill you."
"You didn't kill me. Hey," Cole says, putting a hand against Ramse's hot forehead. "You didn't. I'm here. I'm alive. Now the deal is, you need to stay that way, too."
XXXX
Ramse falls into an unsettled sleep, and Cole spends a long time stretched out on the other bed, watching headlights pass on the motel room's thin curtains. He hasn't slept more than a few hours in days and needs the rest, but fear of what he'll wake up to keeps him from sleeping. What if he wakes up to silence instead of Ramse's uneven breathing? What if he looks over and Ramse is -
Cole gets up. He goes outside and sits in one of the white plastic chairs in front of the room next door, where the exterior light is out. He tries not to think about Ramse, and how he looks to be dying the kind ofpainful, slow death he and Ramse always promised to spare each other from.
Cole might have been able to keep that promise before, but now he can't; it's like some part of him has broken deep inside. The ruthless edge he'd come to be proud of is gone, and he feels like a different person without it. He misses Cassie so sharply it feels like a wound, like a hole in his chest. Like something that might kill him if it stays this way much longer.
It won't. He has to believe it won't, and to remind himself why, he closes his eyes and remembers all the things that haven't happened yet. Her voice on the recording, calling out to him. Cassie turning to see him in the CDC office, standing in front of the sunlit window with a streak of white in her hair, the way she'd leaned her head against his shoulder and held him close. The soft exhale she'd let out when his hand settled on her back, like he was a comfort to her.
He opens his eyes. The memories are still there, which means she survived the trip through the machine, and will find her way back eventually. It means he will see her again.
Cole hears a sound in the parking lot and leans further back in his chair. There's a figure walking toward him, taking slow, careful steps. The exterior light for a room a few doors down catches on her hair and he knows, he's sure, it's got to be her. He pushes away from the wall and she stops short.
"Cassie?"
"Cole," she says, and it is her. He'd know that voice anywhere. She turns toward him and smiles, the same smile he remembers, the one he'd do almost anything for. And then he sees.
He rushes over to her, and places a hand against the blood spreading across her shirt. "What happened?"
"I got shot. You know that," she says.
"I know, but – I sent you forward. Why did Jones send you back like this?" Cole presses his hand harder, but the blood doesn't stop, and Cassie doesn't even gasp at the pressure. He knows how much it hurts from experience, but now, she doesn't even flinch. "How did you find me?"
"I didn't," she says, her voice gentle. Cole looks up, and the alley is gone. They're in her office in the CDC, and she's back in her lab coat, but it's stained with blood too. "I died, Cole. You know that. I always die."
XXXX
Cole wakes up, heart pounding. The light through the windows is bright enough for it to be hours after sunrise, and the ache in his back tells him he's been asleep a while.
"Bad dream?"
Cole sits up and looks over; Ramse is eating a peanut butter sandwich, and his voice is stronger, if a bit muffled by the food in his mouth, when he holds out his sandwich. "Want some?"
Cole shakes his head and lets out a long breath. It was a dream. She's not dead. He remembers her voice on the recording, he remembers her sigh against his shoulder. He'll see her again.
"I think you should eat." Ramse pushes the bread and open jar of peanut butter toward him.
Cole takes out a slice of bread and spreads peanut butter on it with the plastic knife he'd picked up at the gas station. "You seem better."
"Fever broke overnight. Told you I'd be okay."
"You did," Cole says, taking his first bite. It tastes incredible, like all the food here does. He doesn't think he'll ever get used to it.
"You want to talk about it?"
Cole swallows. "Your incredible survival? What's there to talk about? You should've died, you didn't. I've done it a few times myself. Not much to discuss."
"No, not about that. About whatever you just woke up from."
Cole shakes his head.
"All right," Ramse says. "So what's next?"
Cole finishes his sandwich and brushes off his hands. "Depends. Why did you let me put Cassie in the machine?"
"Who knows why anyone does anything," Ramse says, opening another bottle of juice.
"Don't be an asshole," Cole says. "Was it because you knew she had to survive in order to send the message?"
"No," Ramse says, and it might be the surprise in his expression, or the fact that he's so desperate for this to be the truth – either way, Cole believes him.
"Then why?"
"Why did you come back for me even though I almost killed you?" Ramse says. "Why did you spend three days in this shithole looking after me instead of getting to a safer place?
"Losing my edge, I guess."
"Maybe we're both remembering who we're supposed to be," Ramse says.
"We have to find another way," Cole says. He understands Ramse a bit better now; would he trade Cassie's life for the world? She wouldn't want him to, he knows that for sure. "I can't do it again."
"Jump, you mean? That's a good thing, you were on the ropes by the end there," Ramse says.
"No. I meant," Cole says, running a hand through his hair. "I can't watch her die again. I can't let her go. We have to find a way to save her, and your son."
"And the world," Ramse adds.
"Yeah, that too," Cole says.
Ramse looks up to the ceiling, considering. "Any one of those things should be impossible, and you want to do all of them."
"Yes," Cole says.
"I'd ask what happened to the pragmatic, ruthless guy I knew, but I know the answer," Ramse says, opening the bread to make another sandwich. "You'll see her again."
"Soon," Cole says.
.end.