Penumbra
Civilized Thought
The only reason he had dared put down the gun was so the slimmest chance of hope that the doubt growing in his mind was baseless. The unusual pattern of the strangers' approach did little to ease his misgivings. The main group was too tightly drawn; and the perimeter guard – the luck-dependant ones who served as Phantom bait, scouts, and relief if the main group was attacked – were far closer than they should have been. It was as though they weren't so cautious about what was beyond the fringes, but what was snared within.
The woman – most probably the commander of this rather large group, had removed her helmet and was studying him closely, as he was she. Body language belied what must have been forced compassion in her dark eyes.
Ryan kept his thoughts focused as the medic was waved forth. The other four of the main group arranged themselves concentrically between the three of the perimeter guard; the medic examined him mindfully, as the commander stood by. But it was her that worried him. What if he was wrong in his trust? He was desperate to warn Neil of his misgivings, to allow the tech the choice of running, possibly to save his life. The sergeant didn't mind whether he would be allowed the chance to heal, as he needed, or if they would relieve him of life once again and altogether. He didn't feel he had the choice, but for one, possibly the last of his oldest friends, even the notion of living in exile must have been preferable to falling to what may have no more hope than certain death. But Neil, who only sat and watched anxiously from one side, was oblivious; they didn't share a common worry.
Regardless, the technician's eyes brought forth the old memory of another friend, younger, and long gone to the accidents of war; and he repressed the urge to look at the now forsaken body of his once protégé, always friend – to the one sacrifice made to make another in vain. He couldn't let this younger, now older friend fall into danger, as he had once before to one older, now younger forever.
His thoughts were interrupted as a pinprick sensation introduced an anesthetic to his arm. The medic responded to his started, immediately enraged reaction expertly by emptying the conveyance device and holding up the empty glass cartridge, and raising his other, now empty hand as a gesture of peace.
"It's a simple pain-killer," he explained hastily, the non-metallic human expression of placidity more calming than the words, "It's not dangerous, but it is powerful; we could probably walk you out of here and you wouldn't feel a thing."
"Really," Ryan doubted he meant it that way, but he pushed himself off the ground, biting back the pain and ignoring the numbing feeling that began to spread through his body at a quickening pace. He swayed, reaching for the wall of the tower, farther away; one the closest soldier dropped his rifle to stand by his side and, along with the medic on his other, supported him as he stood.
But the medic was not to be dissuaded from his obligation so easily.
"No," he insisted, "We need to be careful…"
Ryan glanced at the commander, as he'd been doing periodically, and thought he saw something more in the brunette's chilled stare. Admiration, or was he mistaken as it was fleeting and gone?
"Let him walk," she said, indifference allowing the words to ease into the world, "If that's really what he wants."
"But-"
"What about the others?"
"You have him?" the medic sighed, looking past Ryan's shoulders to the individual beyond. The soldier shook his head, signaling a brief wait as he carefully removed his helmet and handed it to the one who had already collected his weapon.
"Sorry," the youngster apologized, "I've got him," to be acknowledged with a grunt as the medic followed his duty.
Neil bristled; his fingers twitched unnoticed in his lap, as this stranger approached Jane. The medic's quick assertion, regardless of accuracy or cold sympathy, was nothing less than painful as he drew a blood sample, capped the vial, and stored it for further record.
"Not this one."
Ryan closed his eyes; the full acceptance of death was quick, but never easy. He never wished it for anyone. A silent prayer crossed his mind, for yet another one he loved dearly but would never speak to again.
"What about you?"
Neil didn't answer, instead content to stare ahead, delving into the less painful past. It was a place where the city was alive…
"Are you injured?"
…And he knew for certain that the people he cared for were alive… and that he could be counted among the living.
"Can you hear me?"
The medic was getting frustrated. He crouched nearby, pressed his hand to the technician's cheek, forcing the soldier to look at him; and he flinched, nearly shuddered, at the ghostly oblivion reflected in those slate-blue eyes. Still, he did only as he was trained, and dared not question the underlying emotive factors; here, only the body mattered.
"Can you hear me?"
A fleeting blink followed by a slight nod.
"Are you injured?"
Neil's lips moved, but he was silent as he considered the question, and he shook his head.
"No, I…" he tilted away from the hand to look up at the man. Confused, but not to let on yet, he answered truthfully, "I just hurt… all over."
"Can you stand?" In answer to the question, he did. So did the medic. They watched one another, Neil, for the first, time taking in the stranger's appearance: a typical field medic, flustered and possibly younger than he looked due to what could have been chronic stress, as well as a bad case of thinning brown hair. His white field uniform was graying from the soot and dust that had settled over the city. The man didn't notice Neil's scrutiny, and only did what was expected of him, "Where does it hurt?"
"Everywhere," Neil smiled. It was a joke; indeed he hurt everywhere, inside and out, body and soul. The smile faded as the medic examined him concisely, carefully probing the few cuts and bruises that signified the exterior damage; and the tech quickly realized that he was quite glad to be alive and to be able feel.
"You're fine," the man grunted, as though the very effort was a waste and warranted irritation. He sulked back to his commander's side, blatantly ignored by everyone but Neil. Medics could be snippy, like everyone else could. They could also have bad days. The tech mulled over which it was and why; not that he would ever truly know either.
"Is that it?" the question was lacking, the commander disappointed. She scanned her squadron, and the strangers, and the surrounding area and sighed reflexively to the loose atmosphere, "Everyone ready to go home?"
The resounding, numerous boisterous, answers to the question earned a smile, and the woman gestured, a wave, towards the way they had come. They began, leaving slightly slower than their arrival due to Ryan's condition. The commander lingered, although for once she wasn't the only one.
"What are you doing?" she asked, skeptical as Neil slowly, reverently lifted the remaining form from the ground. She slowly caught on, but rejected the notion because it was just too… unorthodox. She stepped in front of him when he started to follow the company, and he was surprised, "Hey, what is this?"
"This…" Neil echoed, perplexed. He understood, and suddenly worried. He shifted Jane in his arms, determined that she couldn't be left behind. Or he couldn't leave her… not until he was sure beyond any doubt, "I'm taking her with us."
"Why?" the stranger glanced at the body, impassive to the statement, "She's dead. Get rid of her and get moving."
"No, you don't…" he faltered; she didn't comprehend and he couldn't explain it to her, because neither did he, "I can't. You can't make me."
It was a clumsy assertion, but it interpreted what he felt. There were very few things he felt secure in believing, and of them this was now his primary concern. If he let himself think from the opposite side, for a moment or long enough to linger, it would have broken him. He was having a difficult enough time believing any of this was real.
"Like Hell I can't," her voice was dangerously low. The company ahead had stopped, unsure as to the delay, and swirls of mist partially obscured them from view. The woman tried to ignore them, "Drop the waif and walk."
The man shook his head… simple refusal, simple unspoken language pleading to the contrary. The movement stopped, and the commander was caught in the sincere expression, in the fear and pain. It stirred something else in the officer, a deeper instinct that set her on edge and, as she fought it, brought forth a separate reaction – aggression.
"You can not bring her," she stepped forward, and he easily stepped back and away, his burden held protectively close. It wasn't that it was against standard judgement and training to risk oneself for the dead anymore, it was a deeper feeling within her that brought about carefully concealed terror. It wasn't the mission… it was him; entwined as they were, somehow they had been unraveled. She suddenly saw him as an individual, and something more…
"Then, you'll just have t' leave me here," Neil hadn't considered the poignancy of the alternative. It scared him, suddenly as he had said it, because it had become true. Except that the woman seemed no more willing to accept it.
"Why?"
"Because I'd have to."
"This means that much to you?" quiet, to his level acceptance of the fact that she didn't have to know, "I don't see the point."
"I do."
"You're a Hundred-Two A?" a simple nod, and through clenched teeth, the woman ceded the argument, "Fine. Bring her if you're so Goddamned adamant about it."
She turned to follow her fellows, and two small words stopped her fast.
"Thank you."
A pity-laced glance was harbored under a sigh of contempt. She watched him balance the weight, his and of the body, before he hurried to follow.
"What do I care?"
It was a drawn out flight, during which Neil kept perfectly still – consciously keeping himself from moving any voluntary muscle. It wasn't working as well as he hoped, and every once and a while he'd catch himself tapping his foot against the steel grating below, or twining his fingers together and apart repetitively; or he would find that it was wholly imperative to itch someplace.
Adding to his discomfort, the Copperhead class transport felt sad. He could feel the current, the pulse of the ship, and the hum was not the content of a happy craft. It was tired, strained, either overworked or old…under poor maintenance. It was probably a combination. He sympathized with the ship, but it only served to increase his own affliction.
Trying to dispel the feeling of dread creeping back and forth through his mind, he examined the strangers. There were twelve people in all, and all packed into the passenger compartment of the Copperhead. With the exception of the medic, the nine of the strangers' group had little choice but to remain armored and armed; still, a total of seven helmets had been cracked; two of those had been removed completely. The strangers kept their distance as best they could, crushing towards the egress to avoid Neil's group. From their behavior, Neil imagined that there were one or two hushed conversations going on, especially since he heard some muffled and distorted mumbling. Much to his annoyance, he couldn't discern anything of it beyond that.
Instead of dwelling on things, he smiled at the commander. Her troops gave her room as well, possibly because she boldly sat directly across from him. Her helmet rested to one side, though it seemed she couldn't be bothered carrying a weapon at all. Her sharp eyes narrowed inexplicably as she studied him and his side; when she didn't smile back, the corporal's own faded as he turned his studied the rest of the group. Of them, only the captain and another, the helmeted soldier, paid them full attention.
Neil couldn't help feeling he'd forgotten something. He glanced at Ryan, who, though drooped seemed to be resting peacefully. He didn't dare look to Jane, but that had to be it. He settled in, ignoring the feeling as well as he could. Soon, everything would be better. Back to normal… It had to be.
As the announcement came in that they would be landing momentarily, he braced himself for it. A reassuringly familiar sensation, he felt the aircraft slowly drop beneath him. It was similar in feel to the drop of an elevator, which was the reason he loved them so much… besides the buttons.
Soon it was over. The weary transport came to rest, and mere minutes passed as the group readied to file out. Neil, Ryan, and the kindly soldier who stayed to support the wounded sergeant lingered behind. The first gave precedence to the slow progress of the next. Meanwhile, he tended to the fallen before letting alone, determined to find one who might know better.
As soon as the ramp was lowered, Neil bristled. Something wasn't just amiss, it was wrong. Ahead of him by some length, Ryan stopped stiffly at the top of the platform, forcing the young officer supporting him to do the same. Creeping up behind them, Neil caught a glimpse between their shoulders of what made his friend freeze so suddenly, before being forcefully shoved backwards into the compartment by the sergeant. He stumbled off his feet; his shoulder struck painfully against the bench before he landed on his side.
"Run," Ryan commanded – rather, he actually snapped back at him. Understanding the imperative command perfectly, Neil scrambled up and through the compartment, using the handrails to the best of his advantage to pull himself up over various types of equipment and other bits in his progress. Unlike one or two on the rare occasion, an entire detachment of military police weren't to be taken lightly. Under the circumstances, and armed and outfitted as they were, it was highly unlikely they were there on Honor Guard duty to welcome a couple of wayward soldiers home.
Once he reached the far end of the cabin, the tech played with the controls to fix the hatch sloped above to open, and, after impatiently squeezing through before it had fully done so, slammed this side's console to close it again. He didn't notice whether it worked or not, as he'd already slid down into the adjoined cockpit.
"Excuse me," he mumbled, clambering over the frightfully surprised pilot and manipulating the emergency released for the front window. He pushed the smallest of the transparent panel out, slipped through the narrow, not fully opened gap, and slid down the abrupt metal surface. After a momentary illusion of weightlessness, he landed heavily, but having managed not to break in the three-himself long fall to asphalt, recovered fast and ran.
One particular soldier, unfortunate in that he was clever, hadn't followed his fellows in securing the transport. He gave chase when he saw the man drop from the front of the Copperhead. Hard pressed to catch up, let alone keep up, the MP coerced every part of him to move faster. He saw one chance, and dove for the escapee's legs, bringing them both to the cement ground.
Not to be taken lightly, Neil rolled onto his back when he hit the ground, bringing his foot hard against his assailant's head, which snapped to one side; the grip on him loosened. He thanked regulation that the military police force was outfitted against humans; the padded, steel gray uniforms weren't as difficult to get around as full armor might have been. The tech finished the roll, pulling free in the process, and pushed himself back up to continue in his flight unhindered. Within minutes, he was off the airfield and had found his way to the military base proper.
From there, it became a hazardous chance. He slowed, trying to seem like nothing attention-worthy. In the back of his mind, he sought a safe place… somewhere to hide. Just plain out of sight was always good, so he took as many turns as he could, climbing to the higher levels of the city whenever the opportunity arose and running when no one was looking.
Some way up, he paused for a breath on one corner, leaning heavily against the wall and wanting to simply collapse there to escape the path of his mind.
They said it'd be okay.
Betrayed.
How many days? Two…? Two, he could remember…. Two… if he was unlucky. The captain… he wasn't here to protect them, but he had to be somewhere…. What was going to happen before, he didn't know; nor did he know what would happen now. He didn't know where he was, or where he was going, or what was going to happen if he were caught again, or why he didn't think of the fact that he'd only recently escaped from holding and processing…. He should have thought of that, but Ryan…
Ryan!
"Oh man…" he moaned – he simply didn't know what to do….
A shout broke him from his contemplation. He squinted at the grating below his feet. Yeah, think of a new one, guys… he was really going to stop now…
Dashing round the corner, he found himself thrown off his feet, and the woman he'd run into stumbled back. Reaching for balance but finding none, she soon joined him on the ground with a solid, painful thud, as a flurry of loose papers fell about them. The other recovered before he did, swore loudly, and lunged. She had him by the front of the shirt before he could conceive of getting away. His hands around her wrist were a reflex, and did nothing to free him as he merely blinked in shock.
"Watch it y…" she demanded harshly, suddenly remorseful at his terrified and ragged appearance. More than that, her jaw slacked at this all too familiar man, "you?"
But so…
Incredulous, she let go, helping him to stand, as shakily as he was, "Neil?" It is you, isn't it? "Where'd…" confused by his appearance, she tried to determine, "What's wrong?"
His mouth moved, but he couldn't answer at first… only shook his head at the words that weren't working for him anymore. He looked up at the honey-blonde woman helplessly, taking in her familiar presence as something comforting, but it wasn't enough. And her question…
"I don't know…" he finally whimpered through short, choked sobs. But, no, that wasn't true. Or was it? He knew, or thought he knew, but he couldn't tell her that. He was too confused; and forced into wondering if he truly did wrong.
"Jesus Christ," The woman swore again – Neil was visibly trembling, scared out of his wits by something she wasn't seeing. Whatever it was had to be bad, even by Neil-standards, "What happened to you?"
They were interrupted, and it became clear.
The three military police that managed to keep a somewhat visible distance found their way around the far corner, in part aided by the sharp yell. The woman glanced from Neil to the strangers, who were creeping forward like he might vanish into the air. For that, she had to bite back a laugh – but only because it would have been inappropriate. So true….
"Sierra…" Neil choked; and she couldn't decide if it were a warning or a plea. Scowling, she stepped in front of him while he held onto her shirt. She forced away the thought of the grimy fingerprints he must have left on the hems of her fresh uniform, and glared at her friend's pursuers. She drew herself up to full height, only taller than Neil by a couple of inches at most, and did what distinguished her among her peers.
She spat vows to make sailors blush, followed by heedless demands.
"What the hell is going on?" she snarled, and the nearest of the three took a quick step back, cringing with the others. Sierra took a step forward, but Neil stayed where he was.
"Ma'am," the man to her left smiled nervously… falsely, Neil realized. Thankfully, Sierra didn't care, "This… Um…" he faltered, as she turned her fully enraged attention to him, "This individual… is… is under…"
"'This individual is under arrest…" the man nodded, but she wasn't finished, "For?'"
"Well-" the conversation was cut short, as one of the other MPs had circumnavigated the woman in an effort to get at his target. They grappled, Neil managing to topple his opponent, but similarly falling in the process.
Sierra almost pitied the man – Neil may not have been the most intimidating person on the planet, but he could put up one hell of a fight when pressed. Even now, under a heavier individual trained in policing the militia, the tech managed to hold his own without giving an inch. She decided to help them both, near simultaneous in pulling the stranger away from Neil and more gently hauling the latter to his feet again.
"Please don't interfere…." It was more of a prayer – one not to be fulfilled.
"Or what?" she demanded angrily, paying little attention as Neil inched back and forth around her, trying to use her as a shield against the third MP. She stepped back, into the way of the aggressor, then swatting at him when he moved to around in front of her. The stranger jumped back, and Neil leaned around Sierra to meet the other's lighter eyes.
"It's beyond our control, ma'am," the articulate one answered weakly.
Is it really? she wondered, approaching him, "I think you're lying. Tell me what's going on; and tell me now!"
Seeing his chance, the harassing one leapt at Neil, who tried to flee; but the last joined the attempt, and the technician skidded to a stop. He hesitated a moment, turning as though to give in. As soon as the enforcers were pacified, he tried again, coming too close to one of the men in an attempt to avoid the other as he rushed to get by. This one caught him by the arm, it was enough to hinder his progress… rather, halt it all together; as he twisted to free himself, the second seized him from behind. Not ready to relent, Neil used the man as a balancing factor, and kicked at the man in front of him… who simply backed up. Neil relented again, hanging his head tiredly. As the man approached again, he kicked out again; the impact sent the other back several feet, and made the one holding him stumble. But the grip under his arms tightened, and the other man's wrists crossed dangerously tight over his chest.
Meanwhile, Sierra gave up on the officer she was trying to reason with – it was hopeless. She was going to help Neil, one way or the other, and she wasn't going to ignore his predicament any longer in favor of a 'peaceable' solution. Apparently, the officer knew what she was thinking, as she turned her head to the fray.
"I'm sorry," her attention snapped back to him, and he shivered under that glower. He felt feeble, inefficient in dealing with the situation, "But," he stuttered, "If you're going to interfere, we're…. We'll have to arrest you, too."
She froze. Despite her attitude, and whom she chose to associate with or a number of her hobbies, she had an impeccable record of arrests. This was because, usually, she could get out of things by intimidation, but this one wasn't backing down. She considered carefully, if she did beat the hell out of him, chances were that she'd break her beautiful record of zero. Pride or Neil?
She glanced at him; was that really a fair question?
Neil.
"Please don't…" Sierra turned back to the click, and it took a second to recognize the universally familiar cast of a handgun. She frowned… there was another, lesser way. Although she felt slighted, preferring the direct rather than bureaucratic solution. She felt guilty for even considering it, then for not risking all and playing hero.
By now, the other two had Neil securely, though he still struggled. But more than that, he reached for her, crying her name… crying for help. Over the struggle, over the commotion, a single Please floated clearly to her ears.
Please he'd cried, and she watched coldly as he was dragged off. Around her feet, forgotten papers lay trampled – some fluttered, having slipped and fallen down below and yet to land so far below.
Peaceful sleep. The softness around him was like nothing he had ever known in his life. In life. His eyes opened slowly, not by his influence, and for a split second it seemed unnatural. The world seemed to fluctuate, and then it was plush again.
The white bedclothes were a shock. So was the opulent hardwood bed, really, he'd never seen the like of it. He tried to remember how he'd gotten there, but what came back wasn't what he expected. It left him wondering… had he died or had he failed?
Gray eased himself up, out of wariness rather than weariness. In fact, he felt as though he could carry a marathon twice over and wouldn't lose an ounce of energy. Instead of testing the intensity, he put it to use by scrutinizing the unfamiliar room. Not merely strange, it was completely alien. If he'd ever seen the like, it would have been in old and second hand, most likely from an image or video cell.
It was an antique bedroom. The furniture was stylized, likened to match the height of the Victorian era precisely instead of simply imitating it; an obvious mimicry to one who might know better. Although there was an abundance of natural light, not one window marked the walls or ceiling, or anywhere in sight.
Obliviously, Gray studied the opulence in a confused awe. There was something wrong, or many things, but he was having trouble placing them. An empty bookcase stared back at him across the room, so he blinked once to ensure this place wasn't something else his eyes might be seeing wrong.
He slipped out of bed, disregarding the impulse to stay belly-close to the striated wood floor. One thing stood out of place, a thing that suddenly caught his attention. A uniform… draped across a mahogany chair. While he might not have known anything about the rest of the chamber, it didn't belong to the uniform. He didn't belong to the uniform either, but it was closer to his era, only some four or five decades out of date, and something he recognized. Not intimately, but his grandfather had one like it – if he remembered those small years correctly.
As he reached for it, he realized his own state of dress, which happened to be nonexistent. With a difficult conscious effort, he pushed from his mind anything that evoked and examined the garments. Finding them crisply kept, he clothed himself… but only out of this new necessity. He found them satisfactory; and only satisfactory, as he wouldn't allow himself the term comfortable when he was most likely wearing someone else's clothes.
He made it to the heavy oaken door, something he hadn't overlooked but hadn't yet investigated. The brass handle twisted easily, and the door opened smoothly into the room. Surprising, as he hadn't touched either. Nevertheless, he stepped into the hallway, confidently and readied to waylay any passerby for information – had there been any. Instead, he gawked at the chill marble passage as the door closed behind him.
It didn't make much sense, but perhaps the inner room was only paneled. He would have to ask someone, once he found a person to ask. He glanced from left to right; both ways seemed equally endless and bare. He walked right, trailing his fingers on the white stone as he went. An invisible light source prevailed, much like in the room; but here there might have been windows out of sight, possibly in the archways so high above.
He wandered, finding little except a few empty chambers, each randomly different than the last. It may as well have been a museum of culture; somewhere he'd never heard of but existed to preserve some sense of self within the distinct civilizations… even older ones, such as the Greeks or Romans, as well as one's he didn't recognize at all.
One door he came to was ajar, and he stopped short. The rest like this, like his, had been closed, and for a brief moment, he believed he saw movement on the far, tapestry covered wall. Creeping closer, he peered to see as much as he could without disturbing the room… and froze completely when he caught sight of the individual lying in the cloth-lined pit – near completely motionless, but visibly alive – breathing. Incredulous, he moved for a closer look, leaning close to gap.
Suddenly, the door slammed shut. Displaced air rushed around him, rippling his hair. He blinked, surprised, and tried desperately to open it, for this he had to know. Despite his efforts, it held; more so, it felt as though someone was holding it shut.
"Like Hell you do," he growled at it. This he had to know. He hurled himself into it, and the door crashed freely inward under the force.
The woman sprang alert from a deep sleep, rolling to a ready crouch at the edge of the sleeping pit, and glared. The fact that she knew the man didn't lessen the anger, and his open-mouthed gawking wasn't helping the situation. Or the sudden realization that she was bare.
Jane scowled darkly, reaching behind her to pull a covering from the tangled mess and wrapped the white thing around her.
Gray glanced around the stylized Egyptian room, finding no one else, and back to Jane. With a squeaked apology, he reached for the door. His hand slipped from the handle once before he managed to pull it shut behind him.
The woman considered the event sourly, as disoriented as she ever remembered being. She stood up, wrapping the sheet around herself fully, and glanced around for something more suitable. It turned into an exhaustive search, and all she managed to turn up was a red kimono splashed with green vines and blue flowers. She stared at it in contempt, but, for lack of nothing else, dropped the blanket.
It seemed to take forever. The components were nightmarish. Once she got the underlayers figured out, she found the actual dress was a little larger than it should have been. She tied it together with the black sash, which seemed to help, except she knew it wasn't close to a traditional acceptable – let alone perfect. And she wondered why she would want Gray to know she cared. Besides, he was already waiting… isn't he?
She shook her head, sulking at nothing. Lingering wasn't going to help her mystification. She slid the half-rate bow across her midsection until it was behind her arm enough not to be a hindrance. Something else… she lifted up the three sticks she'd found with the dress, about a hand's breadth long. Consciously, she ran her fingers through loose her hair. It was too short for that. She dropped them to the floor, picked up the sandals, and stood behind the door.
For a moment, she held her breath. A sheet was better than this! She stifled the repulsion, and, after a single reflexive sigh, she stepped outside.
Gray snapped his head up, and stared in disbelief; had he found her in the world of the living or had he joined her in that of death? And were the others here somewhere, possibly already together and waiting for them? His thoughts continued to run in circles, until she appraised his antiquated appearance and snatched him from edge of the contemplative abyss.
"Air Force?"
It was with a bit more skepticism than she had actually intended, and Gray didn't bother to suppress his smile.
"Flower print?" he countered, his voice cracking ever slightly. She glared, studying him thoughtfully for a few seconds before finding the temerity for a suitable ultimatum.
"Well, I don't have to wear this, you know?" she threatened, dropping the sandals and tugging undone the black strip of ribbon that held the dress in place. Gray caught the fabric around her shoulders as she shrugged it off, and tried clumsily to replace it before taking a quick step back.
"No, that's okay," he insisted holding up his hands in defeat; his boy-scout nature responded to the plight by sending a flush of color to his face, "it's very nice, it's just not…" as he figured, you, had potential to make the situation worse, he mumbled, "It's nice, really."
Jane shook her head, barely giving him another look as she straightened her garment, tightening it back the way it had been. She considered asking Gray to help her tie the obi belt in the proper fashion, but thought better of it. Instead she knotted it at her side, not even bothering to bow it again.
"Where are we?" she asked, glancing about at the thoroughly unfamiliar walls and architecture.
"I was… kind of hoping that you could tell me," after all, she was the first person he'd seen in this place. She only shrugged, and gave it her best guess.
"Hell?" He felt chilled, and met her eyes as she stared at him.
"What makes you say that?"
"A number of reasons," she shrugged. In an uncharacteristic gesture, she let her gaze drop to the floor before mumbling, " But you're here; so I guess that theory wouldn't hold out, would it?"
"What do you mean?"
"Nothing," she crossed her arms, but didn't move any more than that.
"Jane, what did you mean by that?"
"Forget about it."
"No… Jane…"
Her head snapped up, and his voice failed as she glared at him.
"It's just that you're…" the words were loud, sudden… spiteful. And she froze, shocked at the burst.
"I'm what?" Gray asked quietly.
"Perfect," Jane smiled grimly, "Determined; heroic; noble; moral… Male." Abruptly, she turned away, arms dropping to her sides as she walked away from him, paying no attention to he or the wall. Gray could only blink in miscomprehension. What on Earth had she meant by that?
"I'm sure," she called over her shoulder, "Any hell ever conceived of would turn you away in disgust."
Gray fought back a sigh, before jogging after her and lolling to match her pace. She glanced at his feet before staring ahead; still at an angle of the floor. He smiled softly, tapping her shoulder and waiting for her to look at him.
"You too; they'd be too afraid you'd take over."
His shy smile broke into a small grin when her snicker broke the restraint, and he looked up at the vaulted ceiling.
"So it's not Hell," he concluded intrepidly, "Then let's find out where we are." Jane stopped, and so did he, "What?" She was staring at him again, and he worried about it; the facial cast he couldn't quite place. She only shrugged and fell in place behind him.
