Chapter Three
"Rain, rain, go away,
Come again another day."
The rhyme sneaks up in his head while Ben stands by the broken window watching the downpour, safe inside the house and under the eaves, and he whispers it as he whispers his prayers. He doesn't like this weather much. There's never anything to do inside, and getting caught out in rain this bad is not something Ben will ever get fond of.
This time it's different, though, because Ben has no desire to go anywhere even if there's a restlessness growing inside of him that he can't quite make sense of. He's waiting for the priest to return, but he suspects that, as long as it keeps storming like this, nobody in their right mind will leave their houses.
A strong gust of wind whips rain into his eyes, and Ben moves to a more sheltered place.
"Rain, rain, go away,
Come again another day," he chants softly once again.
And almost jumps when he hears a quiet voice responding behind him.
"Little Benny wants to play."
Whirling around Ben comes face to face with his brother. Alec is weaving where he stands, one hand clutching the backrest of a bench for support, but he is conscious and alert, their blanket wrapped tightly around him. Ben feels a wave of relief crash over him. It's a physical sensation so strong that it almost brings him to his knees. Instead, he walks over and catches Alec by his elbow when it seems that his legs won't hold him up anymore.
"You shouldn't have gotten up," Ben admonishes as he guides his twin back towards the bed of rags and pillows and blankets that he has managed to unearth in several corners of their deserted small haven.
Alec watches him, silent and curious and maybe a bit suspicious too, until he's settled in their nest again, leaning against the worn, warm wood of another bench that flanks one side of their alcove. Ben sits down beside him. His twin looks exhausted even from this little exertion, dark blotches heavy underneath his eyes and still pale, but his eyes look bright and not from the fever. Ben looks up to the Lady's image, sending a silent prayer of thanks to Her.
"You killed White, didn't you?" Ben cocks his head at his twin, not recognizing the name. "Back in the forest?"
Dipping his head in acknowledgment, Ben offers, "He was strong. Even stronger than an X5."
Alec laughs. It's a dry, hollow sound. "That's a Familiar for ya. I thought it was all a dream."
Ben doesn't know what a Familiar is and he doesn't much care, at least not right now. He does care that Alec's eyes are starting to droop, but his brother stays stubbornly awake.
"They taught us to hate you, you know," Alec whispers, sleep so obviously weighing down on him. "You and the others who got out. They told us you were traitors."
Ben doesn't know what to say to that. He's expected as much, on some level, but that doesn't soothe the sudden sharp sting. That place (the bad place) has scared him like nothing else can, for as long as he can remember, but sometimes Ben can't help but think they should never have left. He should never have left. He doesn't function out here, not the way he should. And he knows there's something wrong with him, feels it deep in his gut whenever he talks to Her, but he can't change it.
There's one thing, though, he needs Alec to understand. "I'm not a traitor. I never wanted to be a traitor."
His twin closes his eyes, sighing, leaning his head back against the wood and replies wearily, "Yeah. I've come to realize that during the last year."
He wants to know what has happened for Alec to say that. Before he even gets to voice his question, however, Ben feels a warm weight settle against his side and peeks over only to have a tousled mess of blond hair in his eyes. His brother has fallen asleep where they're sitting.
Ben kind of likes being used as a pillow like that. It's been such a long while since anyone's been this close to him that it feels new and exciting and intimate.
About an hour later, the priest arrives with the promised broth and there's a break in the clouds where the sun shines through the twilight.
Father Donnelly, as he introduces himself this day, intrigues and puzzles Ben in equal measure. He seems like a good man, and he seems to believe in his God as much as Ben believes in his Blue Lady, but the X5 has never met anyone as altruistic as this human seems to be. Whenever he has accepted some kind of help out here, there was always a price to pay for it afterwards. It has only taken Ben a few encounters to know what kind of help he doesn't want because he's not ready to pay the price for it, doesn't think he'll ever be that desperate again to pay that sort of price.
The father, however, doesn't ask for anything. Just helps Ben to start a fire for the chicken soup he brought in an old enamel pot and fills the silence with his words. His voice, quiet and deep, carries across the abandoned, desolate house of worship like the memory of prayers, murmuring and soothing and like it belongs. It tells of Martha's new baby back in the small town, and of the old woman who treats her dog like someone else would treat their children. It tells of Noah's ark, and of Lot's bargain with God, and of how His son was born a human to wash away the sins of mankind. Ben doesn't believe in any of it, but he's always liked stories and fairy tales, and Father Donnelly knows how to tell them.
Alec wakes up halfway through the Christmas story and stays awake long enough to eat a bowl of soup. He falls asleep again to the melody of a Christmas carol, slow and melancholic, and Ben is tempted to lie down next to him, let the father's voice carry them off to sleep, but he's not that trusting and it's too early for him to sleep at any rate.
When Father Donnelly gets ready to leave, promising to check up on the twins again the next day, or maybe the day after, Ben wants to ask him if he believes in Her as well. He doesn't, but the urge is there, strong and unexplainable. It itches beneath his skin, so he makes himself busy when the man is gone, cleans the ashes away, lights more candles for those that went out, rights the blankets around his brother. Alec's not feverish any more, at least. Ben is careful to not get his hopes up, but it seems as if his brother's X5 immune system has finally kicked in, and he's well on his way of being out of the woods.
Moving shadows draw his attention to the wall and he stares for a moment, watching his own hand flickering on the uneven surface of the brick wall next to the Lady's altar, distorted into a claw with too long fingers and bony joints by the flame of a candle.
Reminiscence curls his lips up into a smile. He hasn't done this for a long time.
Sifting through his bag of belongings which lies at the base of the bench on the one side of the Lady, Ben brings forth a small, compact torchlight and flicks it on. The light is weak and the beam small, but it's enough to cast a dog's head at the barren brick wall on the opposite side.
Something makes him look down, and there are eyes watching him, clear and curious. Alec shifts his gaze to the wall where the hand's shadow still looks like the head of a dog and with a quick rearranging of fingers the shadow changes into a rabbit.
When Ben catches the twitch of his brother's still pale lips, he settles in behind the torch, against the woodwormy bench and goes through every shadow figure he knows how to make. As child, he used to love doing this for the others, showing them something beautiful, something they didn't have to be afraid of in the sterile, loveless walls of their home. With Alec watching in rapt attention, the smile not leaving his face, Ben finds the enchantment it held in his childhood is still there.
"Where did you learn how to do that?" Alec asks, his voice still just above a whisper.
"Back at Manticore. One of the janitors showed me." The same one who has given Jack the picture of the Blue Lady, in fact.
"Will you show me?"
The request catches Ben by surprise and he hesitates because he's never been a teacher before. Alec, however, keeps watching him expectantly, so finally Ben nods. He moves a bit closer, helps his brother sit up, arranges their limbs and by the time he's done Ben's sitting with his back against the bench again, Alec in front of him in the cradle of his legs.
For a moment his brother tenses and Ben can almost feel the protest forming on Alec's lip. Then, however, he only slumps back against Ben's chest, waiting. That newfound warmth spreads over him again, while Ben holds the torchlight and shows Alec how to bend and twist his hands; and it's not just Alec's not-quite-healthy heat against him, it's something deeper, less palpable. Ben relishes this moment.
About half an hour later, Alec's hard won reserves are running out again, and he goes limp, heavy against Ben's chest, curling up and falling into unconsciousness in a matter of seconds. Ben knows he should get his brother settled again, but he can't bring himself to move. It's warm, and it's comfortable, and he hasn't been this close to anyone in over a decade, at least not in any form he wants to remember right now.
Setting the torch aside, Ben wraps his arms around his twin, hugging him closer, one hand tangled in too long blond locks. He buries his nose in Alec's unruly, unsoldierly hair and takes a deep breath. Some primitive part of him rejoices at the scent he finds. Family. Pack. He won't let this feeling go again. He can't.
.
to be continued...