Lying on the hospital bed, Jake tries to dull his senses. The steady ticking of the clock makes his head pound in a way that not even the morphine drip will soothe. His hearing never faded, even when the rest of the world began to blur into a kaleidoscope of colors and shapes. Perhaps it even improved as he lost his other senses. It would never, of course, compare to the acute hearing of the peregrine falcon. But Jake had not been a falcon in a long time.
"Mr. Berenson?" A nurse steps timidly into the room. "Are you comfortable? Can I get you anything?" The sunlight flints off her badge. Rhonda. Jake notices a smattering of acne on her forehead. She is so young.
"No," he murmurs, looking away.
Her hands flutter uselessly the air. "Nothing, sir? I could bring you something to read. Would you like the window open? I could turn the television on?"
"No!" he says, sharper than he intended. The nurse flinches and he bites his tongue, apologetic. "Actually, Rhonda, the TV would help. Thank you."
Turning it on, she gives him a weak smile. "We'll take good care of you, now, Mr. Berenson. Please let us know if there's anything we can do."
The news reporter smiles on screen, interviewing the daughter of a long dead actress. "My parents were always concerned with helping those in need and that does not stop on our planet. The Andalite home world has children in need, too, and it is our moral obligation to transcend boundaries to meet their needs." Below, the ticker reads: Michelle Jolie-Pitt, first to adopt Andalite baby.
The screen cuts to the news desk. "In other news, the last remaining Animorph, Jake Berenson, is in the hospital in critical condition. The doctors report that the prognosis is not good. Special reporter Rachel Jacobs joins us to discuss the legacy of the Animorphs in today's world."
Jake moves to turn the TV off but his hand freezes on the button as pictures of his old friends flash on the screen. Cassie. Somehow the laugh-lines and wrinkles had made her even more beautiful, a living personification of Mother Earth. It was sudden, a tropical disease she barely realized she had before sinking into a three day coma and dying peacefully, surrounded by friends. Jake attended the funeral but, despite himself, was unable to speak at all. Struck dumb, he left before the service began.
Marco's picture was funny, a snapshot of him with his arm around a plastic gorilla. He never learned to drive--or at least, drive well--and flipped his car about twenty years back, dying in a garbage dump on an abandoned road. Everyone assumed it was immediate, leaving Marco no time to morph to heal his injuries. Jake always suspected otherwise.
Then Ax, decorated with the Andalite equivalent of medals, long patches of color dyed into his fur. He looked strong and proud and had died fighting in a battle against a small Yeerk resistance, a warrior to the last.
Tobias. When Loren suddenly fell ill, he left the meadow and returned permanently to his human body. For a few brief years, he was able to have a family, a stable home. But Tobias was always meant to fly and the loss of his wings was hard on him. He died before his new human body reached thirty, a light case of pneumonia he denied treatment for.
And then finally, Rachel, permanently frozen at seventeen. An old yearbook photo blown up across the screen as if she was a missing person that they hoped to find. Her smile was gorgeous and self-mocking, a slight head tilt challenging anyone to mistake her for another dumb blonde. How long before she died had the picture been taken? How much of Rachel was still left then?
He feels so old.
He turns off the TV and closes his eyes, sighing to himself as he hears someone enter the room, the door clicking softly behind them. Hoping it's not another nurse trying to make him comfortable, he turns his head.
Dr. Anderson smiles softly at him, checking the bags attached to his IV with a nod. The doctor is less intimidated by him than the other staff and good for occasional conversation but Jake doesn't feel up to company. "Doctor," he says, "I need to be alone."
The doctor fixes him with a piercing look and Jake feels suddenly inferior, tried and found wanting. "Jake," the doctor begins.
It's never Jake. It hasn't been Jake for years. Mr. Berenson, always. He starts up, weezing as he trys to move his aching body off the bed. "Who are you?" he demands.
At once, the Doctor flickers and a young boy is standing in his place.
"Erek," he says, throat dry.
"I'm sorry if I startled you," the android says, pulling a chair up to Jake's bedside. "I simply needed to get in to see you and this was the most convenient disguise."
He looks away, blinking rapidly. "I am so sorry."
Erek takes his hand. "I didn't come here to hear you apologize, Jake. And I can't give you the forgiveness and absolution you long for."
"I don't expect that from you."
"106 years isn't bad, Jake. You've lived a long time."
"Not compared to you." He tries to laugh and ends up coughing. Erek waits for him to finish.
"I've been present for almost the entirety of human history. But I've never been quite so optimistic about humanity's future as I am now. We have you and your friends to thank for that."
"And the million dead bodies we achieved it with."
Erek's gaze darkens. "I told you, Jake, I don't have forgiveness to offer. But I can give you my respect. And company during this."
"I am so old, Erek," he murmurs.
"Yes." Erek smiles, pushing his graying hair back like a mother.
"Can you help?" Jake asks suddenly. "Can you make it easier?"
Erek shakes his head. "You know I can't."
"How much longer?"
"Not long."
Jake clutches the holographic hand and closes his eyes.