AN: Hope you're in the mood for some angst because...yeah. Here's the next to last chapter. Hope you enjoy.
The news came a few days after. It wasn't good; it can never be undone, were the exact words, if he remembered correctly. To be honest, it wouldn't be surprising if he couldn't remember. Everything was a haze.
They'd told him it might not work, that all of this was so experimental, so unfamiliar, so little tread…but he'd hoped again as he'd hoped before. He'd hoped against hope like some kind of madman.
Like some kind of lunatic.
He could feel Dr. Rattman's stare on him from across the room, pitying and earnest. It was too much, smothering him with some attempt at comfort, suffocating him with feelings of pity that he didn't want, couldn't bear—
"Dr. Michael?"
He glanced up, his mind teetering on the edge, ready to fall into the great chasm of grief looming there, but he couldn't, he couldn't yet because Stella…but Stella was gone. And with her had disappeared any sense of purpose, any reason to remain. Any reason to continue.
Even after three months. He would have stayed away longer, but they had pointedly reminded him of his contract multiple times over the last few months. He might have appreciated such persistence to complete their big project if it hadn't come at such a time as this.
"I understand this is a…difficult time for you, but this project urgently needs your attention." The woman, the project manager, spoke with a gentle voice, but there was a crisp edge of efficiency underneath her platitudes. She needed him to be here, in the realm of the living and the working, but Michael couldn't muster more than a small nod. Apparently, that was satisfactory, because the woman turned and began to address the whole room.
"Right. I understand we are tired, we are very stressed, and that this is a big day for everyone, mmm? But we are on the final stretch now, people. This is presentation day, so let's get through our routine checks and finish strong, yes?"
A round of weak nods and murmured assents from the room. The woman nodded back, with a great deal more energy than the rest of them, and she quickly exited the dreary atmosphere to oversee some other taskforce. There would be dozens of them today, what with all the plans and festivities for "Bring Your D—
Michael choked back the thought, swallowing back the grief lumping in his throat. He'd been looking forward to bringing Stella and showing her everything there was to see. He just knew she would have loved all of the fancy equipment, and with the sterile nature of the labs, perhaps she would have been allowed her to enjoy herself in peace for once.
"Dr. Michael?"
Michael didn't dare turn. He knew from the voice that Dr. Rattman was right there, but Michael couldn't look the man in the eye. He couldn't—wouldn't—see the sympathy there.
"You know, there's a chance that maybe—"
Michael cut him off. "Dr. Rattman, I appreciate the sentiment, but—"
"All technicians, please report to the Central Chamber. The demonstration is about to begin."
Dr. Rattman flinched at the sound of the automated voice, his eyes shifting uneasily from side to side, but Michael didn't notice, gathering his papers and stuffing them indiscriminately into his briefcase. He set the case down with a thump on his desk that made Dr. Rattman nearly jump, but Michael was beyond caring.
They made their way down the hallway together, Dr. R matching him stride for stride down the long, checkered-tile hall. The other man seemed to have caught onto Michael's mood, and was silent during the long walk. Michael appreciated it more than the other man could possibly know, but he couldn't muster the energy to say so. Everything was under a dim cloud in his mind, wet and cold.
They reached the chamber, and a blast of chilled air gently buffeted their lab coats. Michael quickly strode to the many computer banks set up around the room, though his mind moved with a damp lethargy.
"Halfway done with preliminary checks, sir."
Even through the haze of grief, the unexpected title caught Michael off-guard.
"Sir?"
"Yes," the engineer hesitated, then repeated, "sir. I was told you were the new manager of this project, since ah…" he trailed off.
He didn't need to finish. Dr. Rattman filled the blank for him.
"Since the old one was removed?"
"Right, right." The engineer seemed relieved to have the weight of the conversation off his shoulders, and he scurried back to another work station.
"Removed." Dr. R said right beside him, a distinctly bitter tone to the word, "Is that what they're calling it now?"
"Ladies and Gentlemen!" A great big, booming voice sounded over the speakers, with a great deal more excitement than most of the technicians in the chamber. Well, perhaps not more energy, but with a much greater sense of anticipation, as opposed to fear.
"Welcome to the second annual Bring Your Daughter to Work Day, or, as we here like to call it, a 'B-Y-D—bid' for the next generation of scientists' success!"
Dr. R muttered something about how "no one has ever said that", but the man on the speaker carried on regardless.
"While I have your attention, may I direct your eyes and ears to the main observation window, where a very special demonstration is just about to commence."
Michael glanced up and just as quickly looked away. He couldn't let his eyes linger on the many young faces that peaked through the shatter-proof glass and looked down upon all of them in the chamber.
"Are we ready?"
"Yep!" Another engineer, balding and far too eager, ticked off the last three boxes on clipboard. "All ready to go, sir."
"Alright," Michael rubbed the bridge between his eyes, trying to rub away the pervasive ache that seemed to have settled there. "Turn 'er on."
Dr. Rattman suddenly became so urgently nervous that even Michael noticed. The other man met his eyes, and Michael saw there a fear beyond anything he had ever known before.
"I'm-I-I'm going to head to the restroom really quick."
"Ok. I'll see you in a few minutes."
But Dr. Rattman didn't leave.
"Maybe…maybe you should come with me."
"Why?"
"Oh…you know, in case we run into children, you could—oh." Dr. R began weakly, abruptly coming to a stop as he caught the expression on Michael's face. Michael quickly looked to the ceiling, tilting his head up to keep the tears from falling as he blinked rapidly.
"You know what? Maybe I will come with you. I could use a…a break."
Dr. Rattman visibly relaxed.
Michael coughed, clearing his throat and quickly patted the balding engineer on the shoulder.
"I'm leaving you charge, Mr. Gupta."
"Yes, sir!" Mr. Gupta eagerly nodded, taking over as Michael exited the chamber.
"I'm so sorry, Dr. Michael, I didn't think…I didn't mean—"
"It's…it's fine, Dr. Rattman." Michael splashed water on his face, in a vain attempt to soothe the blotchy skin, red from weeping. In any other circumstance, he would have felt an intense pressure to compose himself, to pull himself together, but over the last few months, Dr. Rattman had displayed a remarkable sense of tact. He seemed to consider it his duty to provide a friendly face for the duration of Michael's time at the labs.
"Alright," Michael said to himself at last, "alright." He repeated the word, trying to convince himself that truly, honestly, everything would be, somehow, some way—
But it was time to get back to work. Dr. Rattman seemed to understand, but the man was reluctant to leave the restroom. Perhaps he had problems of his own, just beneath the surface and, like Michael, feared they were too close to the skin to risk exposure without some bolstering of emotions.
They exited the restroom to mass panic.
"What's happening?"
A scant stream of people, exhibiting the kind of speed and desperation generally reserved for being chased by wolves, fled past, choking and coughing as they went. Beyond them, the door to the central chamber was sealed shut, but loud and desperate banging noises sounded from beyond it, as if it had only recently closed.
Michael moved to open the door, but the project manager from before—her glasses askew and her hair wild—blocked the control panel, coughing and hacking.
"Don't-don't open that door!"
"Why? What's happening?"
But the project manager had slid to the floor, still coughing, and eventually she shuddered once before going still. Perfectly, absolutely still.
What was going on? The thought struck Michael with a sudden horror. No longer barred, Michael began typing his access code.
"Are you crazy?" Dr. R grabbed his shoulder and jerked him back, turning his head to swear into the sleeve of his lab coat as the door hissed open.
A great cloud of low-lying, hideously green gas slunk through the crack, creeping across the floor. Beyond the door, the sterile glow of the fluorescent lights, filtered green through the clouds, found the grotesque shapes of collapsed scientists and technicians alike on the floor. Glassy, lifeless eyes gleamed and mouths gaped in horror, faces twisted in stiff expressions of pain.
"Run!" Dr. R was swearing like a sailor in between yells, "Run!"
But running was no good. Michael coughed, flapping a labcoat sleeve in front of his mouth. It came away red.
"Oh G—Dr. Michael, you've got to, got to—" Dr. Rattman was desperate, running a hand through his dark hair.
But Michael couldn't seem to care. There was a strange calm over him, as if it really just wasn't worth worrying about…because…
"Come on, Michael, please. You're the only one who's sane down here. You can't just…" Dr. Rattman pleaded with him.
Michael couldn't understand why he was so upset, why he couldn't just enjoy the peace and quiet for the moment… But he raised a weak hand.
"It's alright, I'll be fine. Don't you see? I'm going to see Stella…"
Dr. Rattman paused for a moment, looking as if he might actually cry.
"Good…goodbye, Dr. Michael. Say…say hello to Stella for me."
Then he was gone.
Heat crawled up through every nerve ending. He was burning up with pain, every inch of him, but it didn't matter, it didn't matter because Stella was—
It could go wrong though.
"Yes, but not with you there. I think maybe, if there's nothing else, we should at least try, right?"
You're right…I'm sure it'll be fine.
"You're good at stuff like that. I trust you daddy."
I trust you.
I trust you.
I trust you.
The words rang in his head. His lungs burned. He couldn't breathe, and the ceiling suddenly broke into a thousand shining fragments that glowed. Beyond them, the world was awash with inky black so deep that the white shining spots burned a cold, glittering light. He gasped, breathless at the beauty of it. Something warm was running down his cheeks, but the warm feeling was so far away…
"Do you see this, Stella?" He rasped, the pain in his throat too dull to matter, because the stars, the stars…
A great galaxy was spread before him, swallowing him up, consuming him in its vastness. He swore he could see Stella's bright smile, and she smiled down on him.
"Stella," Michael wept, his voice the softest rasp, "Stella…do you see the stars?"
Stars.
Stars.
Stars.
As the stars faded, he had a smile on his face.