Part 2
Disclaimer: Verses are the bridge, pre-chorus and chorus of the song 'Reason Enough' by Chloe Carpenter.
I'm calling for your face,
To come and slow down the pace
Of my own destruction.
Give me instructions what to do.
She stares stupidly down at the wrench in her hand. How long has she been sitting there for? On her knees, on the cold floor of the ship. She shivers, her thin shoulders shaking with the chill. Her threadbare clothing does nothing to warm her, the gloves on her hands are torn with the work she has done in them. She looks at the wrench again; is it even the right tool? She'd simply grabbed something. What does she know about repairing heaters? The damn ship was an icebox as it was; why did they put her, the newbie, to work on something so necessary that she hadn't learned to live without yet?
She can feel the vibrations of his footsteps through the floor beneath her before she hears them. It takes her a moment to identify him; he walks hesitantly, as if unwilling to disturb any part of his surroundings. He crouches down beside her; she can feel his nearness. Too close, too close. But she does not shy away. She turns her head. Dark eyes set in a round face fill her vision.
"Can I help you with that?" His voice is just above a whisper, but even she can hear the amusement in his words. She can understand them, but does not agree with them.
"Who says I can't fix it?" Her own voice shakes with the first two words, then strengthens. She lifts a fine white eyebrow – her hair is slow to grow back – at him.
He smiles at her. Just a gentle curving of his lips upward. God, she loves that smile! Surprisingly enough, she offers one in return, as well as the wrench. Their fingers touch as he takes it; his skin is so warm, and she is so cold. She hopes that one day, he will share that warmth with her.
And this is how time passes, day by day, and slowly she doesn't feel so cold. There is a link between them; an understanding that she has not felt with any other being before. She walks down the halls of the ship to her cell, shivering. He passes by her, reaches out a hand, and brushes her shoulder gently with his rough fingers.
He is quiet – almost shy; around everyone but her. But around her, he is still quiet when she needs him only to listen. The first time she goes to his cell, he is lying outstretched on the bunk, facing the wall. She traces the broadness of his shoulders with her eyes, hesitant, standing awkwardly in the small opening of the door. Then he turns over, and he knows she is there. He can feel her. Their eyes meet, and the paler of the two pairs is glassy in the attempt to cover emotion.
Another failure. She has failed again. She does not know what is worse; if everyone had noticed it, or the knowledge that they did not. He accepts her quietly, allows her to pour out her heart in a rare moment of weakness.
She does not like losing her way; he helps her find it again.
And he teaches her what she thinks is the only pleasure that can be left in life.
You know I'm without breath,
There's nothing of me left.
Core of the underneath,
Hidden beneath my scarlet sheath.
Carry me into the day,
Give me the choice to lay here awhile.
I have to start over,
I need to know,
Is it reason enough to go on?
