(no subject)

[ladyfirestarter]

The plan, while ambitious, is utterly simple on the face of it, the reasoning for it plain: they're still making slow and steady progress with the kids' therapy, but they've long since reached the limit of what they can do about the brain damage inflicted on them. Except that a recent theory suggests that maybe they haven't, based partly on data about the one surviving victim who doesn't live at the Taos complex: River Tam.

It wouldn't be safe to take all of the kids to New York City at once, and at any rate it would probably be wisest to test the theory first with one. The main concern that comes up in the discussion is the stresses of travel and of unfamiliar surroundings, and most of the suggestions center on how to alleviate those; no one's worried about the proposed treatment itself.

The rose is good, after all.

---

Charlie's got good people working under her. Within the next two days, Eric VanAllsburg has taken care of everything, including the tickets and the arrangements with airport security. The Taos complex and the Irina Foundation have top medical credentials, and while the kids' identities are the products of careful forgery on the part of the Tet Corporation, they're solid enough to stand this kind of a security check -- and their cover story, bringing a patient with trauma-related cognitive disorder to a neurological specialist in New York, has the advantage of being true on every level but the most literal.

All of which means that when the little party of three arrives at the airport, they're met by an airline representative and whisked through to a private security checkpoint. Charles goes through the metal detector first, and that's enough encouragement for a reluctant Zillah to visibly steel herself and walk through after him.

Preboarding has been arranged. The airplane's a small one, and flying half-empty; they stay in their own seats nonetheless, Zillah half-curled in her chair and gazing ceaselessly out the window. She relaxes almost completely once they're in the air, watching the clouds and the earth below them with serene delight.

It isn't until they land at JFK International Airport and disembark that the tension starts to come back into her posture; she hunches, ducks her head, shies away from anyone but Charles and Charlie. There are people all around them, and the air's layered like a parfait: exhaustion, excitement, crankiness, tight-reined nervousness, delight, annoyance, melancholy, boredom. Charlie does her best to keep her own emotions on quiet calm, and works to push the feeling out into a shield around them.

They're expecting to have to wait for a cab, but outside of the baggage claim is a uniformed man with a sign reading MCGEE. Charlie sighs with relief; Eric's come through again.

---

It's not the Dolphin; this hotel is somewhat smaller, and considerably closer to Dag Hammarskjold Plaza.

Charlie shrugs out of her jacket, drapes it over one of the two straight-backed chairs, and turns to Zillah. "How're you feeling?"

The girl nods, a little unsteadily, but doesn't say anything.

Comments

[thisfatefulhour]

Charles follows suit, glancing around the suite as he takes off his jacket.

"Looks like you've got your own room," he points out with half a smile. "If you want to rest."

[ladyfirestarter]

"The wind is blowing," Zillah murmurs fretfully, "after days of constant rain."

Charlie glances up at Charles; she's got no idea what to make of that.

[thisfatefulhour]

Charles looks at Charlie, then Zillah.

"What, nephew," soft, "is that wind in the door?"

[ladyfirestarter]

"The wind has blown you away by mistake, and they sent the wind to a chain-gang," she mutters, but her heart clearly isn't in it.

[thisfatefulhour]

He shakes his head. "No mistake this time, I think."

[ladyfirestarter]

Charlie, meanwhile, is quietly moving their suitcases to the suite's inner bedroom; the couch out here is going to unfold into Charles's bed.

Zillah shakes her head. "She's all right. She, I'm just tired." Her arms wrap around herself. "Everyone, everyone pointing up and shouting."

[thisfatefulhour]

He quirks a small, rueful smile at her.

"I know. It's okay. It takes a while to adjust, your first time."

[ladyfirestarter]

Zillah nods, without looking particularly reassured.

"Okay," says Charlie, coming back into the room. "It's late, and we're all tired. Does anyone want some dinner before we turn in?"

[thisfatefulhour]

"I could do with something to eat. Zillah?"

[ladyfirestarter]

Another nod, and an unsteady smile. "And you ate an apple, and I ate a pear."

[thisfatefulhour]

"They dined on mince, and slices of quince, which they ate with a runcible spoon," he tosses back with a grin.

[ladyfirestarter]

The smile widens, and firms. "And no end of Stilton cheese," she counters.

Charlie shakes her head and chuckles, and heads for the telephone and the room service menu underneath it.

[thisfatefulhour]

Charles laughs; the game's doing him as much good as it is Zillah. "And so between the two of them," he lobs back, heading for the window, "they licked the platter clean."

He draws the curtains as he adds over his shoulder, "If we're not careful, we'll be at this all night," then turns to look at the New York skyline, lit up against the stars. It's different than his New York -- brighter and busier, if possible, and with more buildings--

(There's nothing audible to mark the sudden bolt of shock.)

[ladyfirestarter]

And Charlie, on the phone, doesn't hear it. "And the fruit platter," she's saying, "what's on that? Mm-hmm ..."

Zillah stiffens, staring at Charles.

[thisfatefulhour]

He's staring at the sky.

There's too much of it.

(His mind is racing for an explanation of that gap, but he stays still, fingers curled around the curtain.)

[ladyfirestarter]

She's starting to shake.

"I will show you fear," she whispers, "in a handful of dust. It, it ran close behind them, and covered their footprints --"

[ladyfirestarter]

"...and does it come with -- I'm sorry, one moment."

She covers the mouthpiece with one hand and glances up at Zillah, and almost immediately follows the line of her gaze to Charles.

[thisfatefulhour]

Zillah's voice, and the feeling of her distress, snap him out of it. He half-turns.

"Charlie -- I'm sorry, I--"

He falters, gaze flicking to the skyline again.

[ladyfirestarter]

For a moment she doesn't know what's wrong -- it's just the city outside, buildings honeycombed with light against the darkening sky. It's a nice view, even, you can see all the way down to the little clutch of skyscrapers at the southern tip of the --

Charlie's eyes widen. "Shit."

Stupid of me, stupid, he's from the fucking 1980s --

"Sorry, I'll have to call you back," she says with automatic courtesy, and drops the phone on its base as she starts toward them.

[thisfatefulhour]

The flare of Charlie's alarm isn't helping.

"The World Trade Towers," he says, as calmly as he can. "They're -- gone?"

[ladyfirestarter]

"Charles, I'm so sorry," she says, resting one hand on Zillah's shoulder to extend the apology to her. "It happened almost eight years ago. I didn't think to warn you."

Zillah leans into Charlie like a much younger child, buries her face against the woman's arm. "Stand still, he said," she whispers, "and watch a building die."

[thisfatefulhour]

It feels like a punch to the gut.

"What happened?"

[ladyfirestarter]

"I'll tell you," she says steadily, "but let's sit down first, all right?"

Her eyes stay on his, but her head tilts just slightly toward Zillah.

[thisfatefulhour]

He takes a breath, nods.

"It can wait, if it has to."

[ladyfirestarter]

Zillah lets herself be moved to the couch. One hand wanders up to twist a lock of her hair, and then drops away again.

"She knows," she mutters. "She read it. Characters and symbols, noughts and ones."

[ladyfirestarter]

"September," Charlie says, the word coming out on a sigh. "September of 2001. A group of terrorists hijacked several passenger aircraft, and crashed one into the Pentagon and two into the Twin Towers."

[thisfatefulhour]

You know, my dears, the world has been abnormal for so long that we've forgotten what it's like to live in a peaceful and reasonable climate.


Charles sits down.

After a moment of blankness, he leans forward, elbows on his knees, pressing his clasped hands against his mouth as if in prayer.

"In this fateful hour," he finally murmurs. "My God."

[ladyfirestarter]

"8:45 am," she says quietly. "When the first plane hit. Fifteen minutes later and there would have been four or five times as many people in the building."

Zillah huddles silently in the curve of Charlie's arm, her blue eyes wide and dark and tearless.

[thisfatefulhour]

He closes his eyes in a wince.

"Did they ever give any reason for it? The people who did it?"

Mad Dog Branzillo had his reasons, he thinks dizzily, no matter that they were crazy, no matter that it never happened.

[ladyfirestarter]

"The heart has its reasons," Zillah mutters fiercely, "whereof Reason knows nothing."

[thisfatefulhour]

"Of course."

He rubs his face.

"2001?"

[ladyfirestarter]

Charlie nods. "September eleventh. It was ..."

She trails off. Hunting the words.

[thisfatefulhour]

He looks up at her, waiting.

[ladyfirestarter]

"You would think the fury of aerial bombardment would cause God to relent." Zillah shifts restlessly, and her head rises, facing unerringly south.

"Where nothing is possible but necessity, and the truth wailing there like a red babe."

[ladyfirestarter]

"Necessity." Charlie breathes out. "I don't know."

[thisfatefulhour]

"Necessity," he repeats, somewhere between neutral and questioning.

[ladyfirestarter]

Charlie's eyes rest on him for a moment, measuring.

"I can go into that," she says eventually, "if you want. It's a lot to absorb all at once."

[thisfatefulhour]

"Please," quietly. "I'd rather not be left hanging."

[ladyfirestarter]

Slowly, but without hesitation, Zillah's hand creeps into Charles's and squeezes. Offering comfort or seeking it; there's no telling which.

As though in response to the gesture, Charlie lets out a breath and nods. "This isn't something a lot of people are aware of," she says. "Even most of the Tet Corporation didn't know until years later....

"There was a, an artifact. In the long-term storage lockers, under the World Trade Center."

[thisfatefulhour]

He nods for her to continue.

[ladyfirestarter]

"It was evil."

Simple, and unequivocal.

"Evil, and actively dangerous. How it got there is a very long story, but the short form is that it was brought there by two heroes -- two companions, part of a larger tet -- and locked away there to keep it safely out of the way. And neither of them was ever able to come back to retrieve it."

She looks toward the window in unconscious echo of Zillah's earlier movement. "The artifact -- Black Thirteen, it was called -- it was said to be indestructible. But a hundred and ten stories' worth of concrete and steel coming down on top of it ...."

[thisfatefulhour]

"Might destroy even that," Charles finishes. "Evil destroying evil."

[ladyfirestarter]

Charlie nods. "All things serve the Beam."

[thisfatefulhour]

"My God," he murmurs again, and falls silent.

[ladyfirestarter]

"It happens as it does because it does."

Zillah's face is set and calm, and she isn't looking at anyone.

"Ka like a wind."

[thisfatefulhour]

He draws in a breath.

(we'll go Where and When the wind decides to take us, then?)

"I need a little time," he says, his voice kept carefully calm -- sad, but calm. "If you don't mind."

(I don't even have any suggestions)

[ladyfirestarter]

... All right, then.

All right.

"Of course," Charlie says quietly, and gets to her feet.

And goes back to the phone, because they need something to eat and the person taking calls for Room Service may need to be reassured that everything's fine, yes, thank you.

(Zillah's hand presses his once more and slips away, as she slides off the couch to follow Charlie.)

[thisfatefulhour]

He squeezes Zillah's hand, appreciating the gesture; appreciating it more when they leave him alone for the moment.
(this is not my vision, this is not my dream
He can't think of what to say. He's not even sure he can think what he feels. 2001 is years away. And this isn't even his world.
(I ain't being heard, ain't being understood)
No, he knows how he feels. He feels very far from home.
(and I can't find my way to the three acre wood)

Fifteen minutes later or so, he joins Charlie and Zillah, dry-eyed and calm and no quieter than usual, if a little pale. He and Zillah trade quotations again over food, and for once he doesn't worry too much about leaving Charlie out; both of them need the comfort. They go to bed soon after. Tomorrow is going to be a full day.

Charles even gets some sleep.