Skin (Chapter Seven)

[thehonorablebat]

 

2028

“You …help.”

“It’s too late for that.”

“Ple…elp…”

–

2035

Weir considered it a victory on XCOM’s part that he’d gone and made himself as small and unobtrusive as possible in the corner of his cell.

All they had to do was send Lily Shen into the room alone.

It wasn’t so much of a question of whether he could take her–given his current state, doubtful–as it was her ability to make him look at things he’d rather keep bottled up, thank you very much.

Making himself look pathetic had succeeded in making her hand him the datapad in silence, punctuated only by a withering glare. And nothing more. Which suited Weir just fine.

She sat well outside of arms reach from his cage tinkering with her drone. The clever things.

The whole ship was clever. Raymond’s secret. Realized by his twice as sharp daughter.

He thought about telling Lily her father would have been proud, but didn’t think she’d appreciate the sentiment from him.

Weir translated another symbol, uncovering the specifics of a flight computer bit by bit. A vague, half realized idea of mistranslated circulated in the back of his thoughts. Interesting, but potentially disastrous for him in the long run. None of these people were dumb. They’d catch on fast.

The pressure behind his brow he’d spent all morning ignoring increased with every symbol he went through. And got worse when he thought of trying to teach syntax to someone. Lily probably. She’d get the most use out of it.

He sighed.

“Oh!” Lily’s head snapped up. “Are you bored?”

And he’d been doing so well.

“I’m doing just fine.” He held up the pad to show her all the progress he’d made.

“I’m glad! Glad you’re doing fine! Why not? You’re just Earth greatest murderer. Why shouldn’t you be doing just fine?” Lily twisted the wrench with more force than he thought necessary. “Three meals a day–”

He wouldn’t classify the ‘meals’ they gave him as food.

“–doctors visits, rehabilitation, protection, –

“For heaven’s sake!” Weir gripped his head. “He died of a heart attack! I had nothing to do with it. I wasn’t even in the room.”

Her face went white.

Hello, regret. Old friend.

“He wouldn't have had a heart attack is you had left him alone! If you hadn’t captured him–”

His skull felt like it wanted to split in two.

“I never planned on hurting him,” he said. “Regardless of how things turned out, I considered him my friend! I had him on a cushy house arrest. Nobody so much as left a bruise on him.”

The memory of Raymond sitting in his new dining room poking at the food in front of him surfaced in Weir’s head.

Lily jumped to her feet. She stepped towards the cell door, but didn’t enter. Just clenched the bars in a white knuckled grip.

“You really think being captured didn’t put stress on him? You don’t think he wasn’t worrying himself sick for the rest of us. He was your friend. Great. But we’re not. And it certainly hasn’t stopped you from hurting Central.”

“I barely knew Central.” Weir rubbed his forehead with both hands. “Certainly not enough to classify him as a friend.”

Lily stopped short of whatever she was about to say. She closed her mouth, staring at him.

“That…No.” She threw up her hands. “ I’m done. I’m done here. I’m sick of looking at you. Slide that datapad over here now. And I swear if any of what you’ve translated is bullshit. not even Central, the man you barely know, will be able to protect you.”

He wouldn’t say they didn’t know each other now. Being locked in constant battle tended to reveal much about the other person. Not everything, but enough.

Weir did as he was told. Glad he wouldn’t have to work through his headache.

Lily left without another word, drone under her arm.

Weir didn’t bother getting on the cot. He curled up right there on the floor, using one arm as a pillow and the other to block out the light.

He passed out, finding Raymond’s sad, pitying eyes waiting for him in his dreams. His words never made any sense.