Author's Note: Thank you for reading. Reviews are welcomed.
Chapter Ten: Sati
Pearse was sitting up when Vaughan walked into the hospital. There was a bundle of lilies sitting on the little push table; bone white with pink streaked through. He could smell them from across the room. He walked slowly, hands in his pockets, watching the old man for any sign of movement. Pearse did not stir.
There were bandages on the man's neck, little plastic tubes that were connected to the machines and his arms that beeped and exhaled. On the chair beside the bed were Michael's coat, and a bible still in cellophane. The priest wore a thin blue shirt with the hospital's emblem stenciled over the breast pocket. His color had returned to him, though being away from home had robbed Pearse of vanity and his hair begun to curl wildly. He looked older, smaller as he rested, the lines of his face more pronounced, the gray starker.
Vaughan's arms burned from memory. By no stretch of the imagination was Pearse ever considered a slight man but Vaughan would swear he weighed nothing. All his weight seemed to escape from him in those circles of blood…
That night. There was an eternity from then and now, from the night where gray betrayals were thrown up and made clear. Vaughan was never one for melodramatics, and the pretense of it all probably made it hurt more. Vanity hurt almost as much as the betrayal. Almost.
"You saved my life."
Vaughan took his seat on Michael's coat. The bible, he moved, to the table next to the lilies. Didn't he know, Vaughan thought hatefully as he stared at his hands folded before him, didn't Pearse know he wasn't suppose to falter…
"I should thank you."
You took the coward's way out, and now act like nothing's wrong. You hypocritical fool…
"But will you?"
Pearse had opened his eyes, and was staring out the window to the construction site across the street.
You bastard, how dare you abandon what you stood for…
"Would you really want me to, Mr. Rice?" A beat, then a weak smile. Never did his eyes move away from the sunlight. "That's never been my style…"
"Neither was this."
"…No."
Vaughan leaned back in the seat, resting his head on the back of the coat, and shutting his eyes. He felt his eyes burning. If it could just stay this way for a moment, he thought, somehow everything would be okay again. A soldier keeping vigil over his wounded mentor, all thoughts of war banished to somewhere behind the next bottle and sad songs. Contained. Clean. Black and white.
O Captain, my captain…
"It shouldn't be this hard."
Vaughan looked over at Pearse and nodded. "No."
"Did you tell the others?"
"…Doubt they'd believe me."
"You should. I would have."
"Believed me?"
"Told them. The team survives on strength. You cannot have a weak link jeopardizing what you've worked eight years for."
"You were our strength." Pearse finally turn to meet his eyes, Vaughan kept the gaze for a moment before turning away. "This was your dream before it was any of ours. You were our foundation, Pearse. Or did you forget that?"
"I think I did."
"O Captain, my captain…"
"What?"
"Old poem…been running through my head for a while now."
"Oh?"
"O Captain, my captain, our fearful trip is done. The Ship has weathered every rack, they prize we sought is won…the port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting…" Vaughan closed his eyes. He could fight the pain. The tears stung. "But o heart, heart, heart…the bleeding drops of red. Where on the deck my Captain lies…"
"What a charming note for a bedridden old man…"
"Colm told it to me." Vaughan leaned back in his chair. "Walt Whitman. American poet during their Civil War, worshiped Abraham Lincoln and was devastated when the war took him too." Looking over, Vaughan thought he saw Pearse flinch. "So how's this going to end? You get taken away and I'm left holding the bag?"
"If I asked you to do that, would you?"
"Would it really be a request?"
"No I suppose not."
Pearse smiled lightly, and closed his eyes. "I'm very tired, Mr. Rice. I think I'll rest, now. Leave the man at the door. I can't sleep without him."
Vaughan rose dutifully. He picked up the wrapped bible and put it on the bed. Pearse smiled, shifting his hand to show his open palm to Vaughan. There, lying benignly between his fingers was a plastic rosary with the price sticker still attached. "See, you're not the only one who is watching out for me…I'll be safe for one night."
Vaughan grunted as he stood. "There are others who'll want answers…It doesn't end here."
"No. It doesn't, but they can wait…" A long beat, and then Pearse's voice ringing out. "Vaughan…" The soldier turned, facing the priest. Between them rested, duty and emotion, black and white. "Thank you."
Pearse watched the soldier leave, before returning his gaze to the window and stared out into the nothingness.
Waiting…