Chapter 24: Those Stinkin' Stairs
"There are infinite numbers between 0 and 1.
There's 0.1 and 0.12 and 0.112.
Of course, there is a bigger set of infinite numbers between 0 and 2
Or between 0 and a million.
Some infinities are bigger than other infinities.
A writer we used to like taught us that.
There are days. Many of them.
When I represent the size of any unbounded set...
But Gus, my love, I cannot tell you how thankful I am for our little infinity.
I wouldn't trade it for the world.
You gave me forever within numbered days, and I am grateful."
"The Fault in Our Stars" by John Green
I do not fall asleep all night, not leaving his side for even a moment. When somebody is so close to the end, each minute becomes precious; even more so when the person on death's door is someone you love, with love being the sole token of precious life.
Death is, after all, rather like opening a door to the basement. Downstairs, it is dark with the veil of the unknown- the unknown being what we humans fear most in life. One day something will shove you from behind, and you will go tumbling down the stairs. When one is falling, it only becomes increasingly hard to stop falling as time passes until you reach the bottom, which is Death of course. As you fall, you find that the further you tumble, the harder it is to see the world above, and you begin to wonder what might be waiting for you if you do not stop. In fact, there is often little reason to try to stop falling, as the effort required to stop yourself is nearly unattainable. Even if, per say, you did manage to halt yourself, you would have to crawl blindly up the stairs to a world filled with broken promises, when there is (an admittedly dark) world of unknowns that would be easy to enter, that has a chance (however small) of being better. Most will take that chance. Especially if they consider the heartache and pain that is Life's only remaining promise, and that they may, in fact, be shoved right back down, and die anyways.
That is why, when he still breaths the next morning, all pronounce it a miracle. Who, of all the broken soldiers, actually slows their fall? Only Danny.
None of my teammates had left him all night either. I suppose when someone could just give up at any second, there not being a particularly favorable one over any other, those seconds that they haven't given up on are gold. My mind is numb, though, because all feelings have been redirected to my tender heart. My torn, aching, painfully trusting heart.
Is it not strange the way hearts are so soft yet so resilient? I wonder as, at ten o'clock that morning, I sit there. I refuse to be waiting, because the very idea of 'waiting' would suggest that I am waiting for him to give up, when in reality, it should imply the very opposite; that Danny has halted, and set his heart on dragging himself up to the top again, however long and tiresome that may be.
My mind wanders back to my train of though about soft, resilient hearts. They feel everything that life has to offer, burying the memories deep into the core, because hearts have no filter; they simply feel, in the same way that minds think and people live (or die, a small voice chimes in). Why don't our hearts just decide that they have had enough? After all, people can tire of living, voices can tire of speaking, so why don't hearts just say that they shall no longer feel?
Hearts feel too much to ever let go. Just like me.
They can tear, break, and shatter, forever bearing the scars of life, yet when the right person comes along, hearts allow themselves to be pieced together again. Hearts allow themselves to heal, somewhat. It is as if they have no choice in the matter. People can choose to never live again, and minds may choose to never think again, but hearts rarely never feel again, for however numb one's heart may seem to be, it still feels. A numb heart is simply a silenced heart, drowned underneath the dirt of everyday thoughts of what and how the heart should feel rather than how the heart does feel.
Oh, and how my heart hurts right now. It feels like I am the one on the verge of death instead of Danny. I can't even cry, but for some reason, I don't want to; crying would be morning, and that would be the start of the end. Crying would mean me giving up, signifying that I have lost my trust that Danny will live.
The silly thing is, that he hasn't changed at all. Danny is precisely the same as he was last night. I want to think he has stopped falling, with the only choice remaining to crawl up or go back to falling. So when the doctor comes in (as he has every hour) and examines Danny, my heart leaps up. Funny the way I can't stop hoping, believing, and trusting this boy. Something inside me says that after all these years, I should have learned by now that hope is pointless, believing in heartbreak, and trusting is death, but I know Danny is different. This past year has been different, and my remaining months will be too.
Then, when the doctor raises his eyebrow, and writes something on his clipboard, I can't stop my heart from swelling in hope, in the belief that Danny is slowly starting to heal. My words catch in my throat, leaping up from my heart but refusing to part with my tongue. The doctor knows what I am trying to say, though, and, hesitantly, he nods.
A grin spreads across my face. Hopelessness is not so hopeless after all. If you hope, then you will believe, and if you believe, then you will trust, and if you can trust, then love will come easily.
I stare eagerly at the machinery, trying to decipher the meaning behind the beeps and scribbles. It is odd the way time snails by in this manner, yet, by some chance of nature, flies past me, with the only markings of passing being the hourly examination. Up, up, down, up, up up, up, down, up—the only things which can hold any of our attention are the doctor and Danny.
I know that Danny truly is healing, though, when the nurse kicks us all out that night, proclaiming that we seriously need to eat and sleep. Grudgingly, we leave the room, and I find that I am, actually, hungry.
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It's not the same as any of the times before. All of the other times that Danny has been in the infirmary, I have sat there, patiently waiting for him to wake. We are only allowed to visit for a limited amount of time for each day, though, forced to spend the rest of our waking hours in the terrible pastime known as waiting.
I continuously wring my hands because however much he improves, he's still sick, and I cannot stop the worry from lingering in the dusty corners of my mind. The days drag into weeks, and Danny steadily gets better. I suppose. Honestly, whatever Nick might say, I don't think the meds are what help. I think that Danny is the one healing himself. His energy is different. I can feel it.
That's another change I have noticed. Before, others' "energy" effected me and such, but now, I can literally feel it—I can see it. The energy is colorful, and it seems, at times, that I am but a small cloud in a rainbow world, which is kind of funny to think about.
It's already June first. Peter had a … long talk with his aunt. Nick told them that neither of them can return to their house, and is making sure that they remain in the (new) Tricarrier (I still cannot get somebody to explain what happened to the old one, other than "It exploded"). It occurs to me that, technically, my Year is already twenty five percent gone. That seriously hurts.
Honestly, at this point, anything that does not matter to me is completely omitted from my life. I practice Kundalini and go to training, sometimes going on missions- anything to keep busy. I can no longer bear to sit still, and my whole body is always buzzing. Especially after being around other people.
Next week, Nick says that Danny can leave the infirmary, but he has to rest. At least he does not need help breathing any more; these past few weeks have been rough on him, I can tell, from what I see of him.
Danny still is pushing Uzun Uyku, but I have taken to going mute whenever he mentions it. I want to let the past be the past, and the future become the future. When one has but nine months remaining, you have no choice but to live in the present, and that is what I have been doing. It is easier to be perpetually happy than to be gloomy; what kind of life would being sad all of the time be?
With a small, imperceptible sigh I enter Nick's office, telling myself all of the good things that have been happening. I guess that at some point, he really was bound to make me face Ore.
"Took you long enough. Come on."
Silently, I follow him until we reach his prison cell. He is contained in a small room, bound by thick plastic chains, and the only things separating us are a few feet of empty air and an all too thin force field.
"Ore."
"Hayat Ruh."
"You have come to see me here."
"Well, yeah. I didn't have much a choice," I say irritably, glancing back at Nick. The entire idea of holding a mutant boy who controls metal in an enormous metal machine in the sky seems incredibly stupid to me, but who bothers with my opinion anyways?
Nick snorts, as if he can hear my thoughts. "You two sure have a lot to say. Em, this is the last time you're seeing him before he's moved to a private faculty."
My eyes narrow; what right does Nick have to hold Ore in a prison? "What crime did he commit?"
"None. He's too dangerous to let roam around."
"I'll take that as a compliment!" Ore chimes in, but I ignore him.
"So you're imprisoning him because he has a mutation?" I snarl. "So much for racism."
"Why do you care about Ian here so much suddenly?"
I pause. Not because I don't know my answer, because I do, but rather for the reason that I just realized what a despicable, ensnaring trap this is. "Nick, Flame sent him here to destroy the Tricarrier!"
Nick rolls his eyes. "He already did that."
My eyes widen in anger, and Ore shrugs sheepishly. "You little-" I start to say, but Nick interrupts me.
"Time for this kid's departure." Nick turns around, nonchalantly, and leads me back to his office.
"Why on earth did you need me to do that?" I demand.
"Wanted to see how much you've changed. And hell, kid, have you changed this past year."
"So?"
Nick sighs. "So, kid, people have been contacting me. About you. Don't worry, I didn't tell them anything- they know you're with S.H.I.E.L.D. already anyway. Point is, Xavier doesn't trust you. He must not, if he's broken his promise. And different branches of S.H.I.E.L.D. want you for different reasons. Magneto's offered to pay me big bucks just to see a photo of you."
I glare at him. "Xavier?" I spit. "He shouldn't have broken that promise. He needs to learn to keep his head out of my business. I don't care if he can sense me! I don't care if different branches of S.H.I.E.L.D. want me! I don't care if Magneto wants me!"
He raises his eyebrows. "Who said that Xavier can sense you or that Magneto wants to recruit you?"
"It's pretty obvious, Nick. These men are called 'great'. Maybe they are. Maybe they aren't. Either way, I'm not their exclusive property. I am my own person. I don't care if they regret letting me 'slip away' all those years ago."
"You're powerful enough to be classified as a worldwide threat, kid. But I'm me, so I've pulled some strings."
"I know my days are numbered, Nick, you don't need to remind me! Did you even read that stupid email?"
"What email?" he frowns. "I never check my email."
Figures. "Nick, I'm effing dying, okay? I never planned on living that long; I sort of have to die, I don't care what tec you offer me- it's my choice to make, and my mind's made up! This March I'm going to K'un L'un with Danny to die. Nothing you say can change that, all right?!" I say, just letting the words tumble out.
Nick's face is grave, and he says, "Fine. It is your choice to make, even if your decision isn't the right one."
"I'M NOT DOING UZUN UYKU, FOR THE LAST TIME!" I scream. Why can't these people just shut up and accept that death is my decision, not theirs?!
I storm from the office, wishing that the doors didn't shut of their own accord, because I really want to slam something right now. From behind me, I hear the door going, bang-bang, bang-bang, and I whisk around to see it fanatically opening and shutting, rapid fire. The lights closest to me flicker on and off.
I hate electricity! Why can't life just go the way it's supposed to?
Blindly, I run through the Tricarrier, barging past people, until I collide with something large, and firm, falling to the ground. In my fury, I don't bother to apologize, but a large, dark-skinned hand reaches down to help me up. I turn away, unwilling to accept Luke's help, and keep running until I collapse on the lounge room sofa. For lack of a better activity, I flick on the television to some stupid movie that, frankly, doesn't turn out to be so stupid.
It's about a girl, who is dying of cancer. One day she meets another boy who recovered from cancer already, and they end up (convincingly) falling in love. Usually I am not one for romance, but this one draws me in. By the end, when the boy dies, I am sobbing my heart out into the stupid couch cushion.
"Hey, what's the matter, Em?" Ava asks, walking in as the credits start rolling.
I sniffle, then manage to say in between streaming tears, "Oh, I just watched a really sad movie." My nose is stuffy, though, so it sounds like I said, "Bo, By just botched a ready bad bovie."
Ava grins lopsidedly at me. "What's on next?"
"Titanic."
She jumps onto the sofa beside me, putting an arm over my shoulder. "Well, you're already pretty messed up looking, so putting those tear ducts to work some more can't hurt, right?"
I grin back, knowing that I must look fairly pitiable, with my blotchy, red face and streaming eyes. "Sure."
I didn't feel like torturing you guys with a cliffhanger, my bad, sorry. Sorry if it was rather philosophical or something, I just read a certain book and I'm still kinda crying over it. Thanks for the reviews:
Timelord: Aw, thank you for the chapter 1 review! I'm so happy now! =) (Haha, yeah, I don't pay much attention to reality. Seriously, though, that makes me feel so happy inside.)
Hamster1000: Pretty good reason, sis. I finally reviewed your AG fic BTW.
Isn'tThatIronic: Best reason ever.
TheOnyxDragon12: What's wrong with you and Misty Night? Oh, by the way, I think she's standing behind you...
Nerdy-Tomboy: Gotcha!
Thank you so much to all of you first time reviewers and faithful reviewers! ;-D
DISCLAIMER: I don't own Ultimate Spider-Man, or the quote, but I do own my Oc's and the idea!
-FFS