She made a face, disrespectfully acknowledging the wicked witch of the wizarding world one last time before pulling together her schedule. âLetâs see⊠Tomorrow I have patients till three and then office hours until five. Not that anyone is going to take me up on them this early. If that conference yesterday was any indication, more than half this group isnât going to understand why they need a doctor at all.â Vera bit her lip.
âBut I can hang up my lab coat after that. If youâre not too busy, of course.â Vera looked at him with raised eyebrows and an easy smile. The easiest she could spare. It was her job to be observant, as it was his. What delights must be in store within his full schedule for him to try to hide the minor contusions darkening his lovely elf ears? She could figure out the who, as well. The truth wasnât exactly shrouded in mystery like an Agatha Christie novel.Â
It stung. Yes. But, it didnât change Veraâs feelings for Guin and she didnât resent him for it. Sheâd married Tom, after all. Guin had left her and sheâd married Tom. And Vera had truly loved Tom, although her love for Guin had never faded as sheâd feared it would. As sheâd feared it must.Â
For a long while, she'd suffered deep confusion and guilt over it. Vera even tried to hide it from Tom, afraid of how it would hurt him, though she had broken down and told him before long. She loved him too much to keep secrets from him. All she'd ever known of romantic love was that it was meant for two alone, but that simply wasn't the case for Vera. No matter how hard she tried to move on, and she did try, she loved Guin and she loved Tom. Her heart held room enough for both. She had learned to accept that over the years.Â
It was sweet of Guin to try and spare her the discomfort. Or maybe heâd wanted to spare himself the guilt. Likely a bit of both. It would have come out, though. His physical exam was mere hours away. Still, for a second Vera was able to pretend that the bruising wasnât there. They hid themselves enough when he leaned into the darkness of the tree.Â
Then, her mind unspun time in an instant, as it had been doing since sheâd seen Guin last. As it had been doing for decades. Tom was alive and well. Heâd never asked her to marry him. Heâd never hesitated. Heâd never told her none of it was her fault. Sheâd never given up. Sheâd never driven Guin away. Heâd stayed. They were still in the woods near their cabin, playing house and waiting for Tom yawn obnoxiously out of the guest bedroom. The three of them. Safe. Together.Â
Guilt slapped her across the face. These miserable spirals had been crystallizing in her mind all the more often since that night. Creating illusions of life with Guin and Tom, both alive and well, leading various lives with her. Each iteration left her feeling like sheâd been stabbed. Vera leaned in to get a closer look at the fruit as if she hadnât picked and polished them herself. Like she wasnât already holding a bunch of grapes. But the move was practiced. Subtle. It gave her the time to force everything back.
A good nightâs sleep would help. Just one night. One night without those dreams and she was certain sheâd be keeping it together better than this. âHave you been able to sleep here?â It seemed like it might be too bright for him. Heâd always needed true darkness. The dark of nature. Stars didnât count, but a citied lack of them did. She gave him a slightly concerned glance, pulling herself back from the fruit.Â
After bowing ever so humbly at the applause, Vera zipped the jacket back up with a reflexive slowing past the spot where Guin had once darned the delicate edge of the zipper. She huffed as he bit off his glove. That one never failed to amuse. âSergeant First Class Guin Howell,â she rasped in a voice that was teasingly caught between Guinâs own and a sultry lounge singer whoâd seen one too many cigarette breaks between sets. Tom had a name for that voice that never failed to turn her red. âDoctor Vera Nair.â Her own voice. She held out a hand, smiling warmly. âIâd be happy to reline yours, if youâd like. If I can get the material. You seem like a man who could use more pockets.â
âIâm torn. I want to ship out, but these researchers.â Vera didn't try to mask her worry. âThose introductions were unsettling. Weâre supposed to be keeping them all safe during these missions, but everything from their lack of training to the actual ratio of researchers to protective detail is concerning. Even if they count me as an armed escort itâsâŠâ She scanned the ground beyond the roots. âSomethingâs off.âÂ
Vera accepted the first sip of coffee. Blessed, blessed drink. Her beloved moka pot had made the trip as usual and its long-standing partnership with her thermos was reignited at last after a long year off. She held it out for Guin's turn. âA few projects, actually, other than exploring this entire area through games of hide and seek, apparently.â She grinned and ate a grape, nodding thoughtfully. âSwimming, ideally. Itâs been ages since I swam in a lake. And I brought the violin with me. The good one. If there's time I'd like to actually learn to play.â Forty-one years of practice and Vera still sometimes pretended she was a novice.
âIâd like to explore some of the medical texts at the library here.â Some meant all. Better to be prepared when lives were on the line. âThereâs a few procedures Iâd like to explore at the medical center, too.â She pinched the bridge of her nose. âAnd my exam room is going to frighten these patients. Itâs stark, Guin. No windows. No color. No soul. My office, too, but only Iâm going in there so it doesnât make a difference.â After all these years, Vera could still make do with anything for herself. âHopefully, the town has a thrift shop. Or a dollar store. Someone with a year-round garage sale. Anything. A dab of personality goes a long way in a doctorâs office. I want them to be comfortable.â
Realizing the answer would likely be unsatisfactory, she finished the last couple grapes and quickly hurried up with a chipper, âAnd what projects will you be pursuing?â
And that half would be the bigger problem. But he wouldn't ask her to crack that whole doctor-patient confidentiality thing and tell him who skipped out; honestly, he could guess. Guin was sure, though, when it came to his itinerary. "I won't be." Busy, no. He wouldn't be busy. Could've been. Even if - his fingers twitched, as if to brush that trail of thought from the map. Disturb the earth, scatter the duff. Moving on.
Better to keep moving on. If you stopped too long, you'd freeze.
Could he sleep? Guin half-shrugged at that. Sleep. Never something he'd been much good at. Not like other people, it seemed, who could keep still through the noises of the night and the passing glare of traffic, the seeping off-yellow and cold white of every city he'd ever known, each as sleepless as the last. Here was closer, in some ways, to the nights he used to know; the ones he'd sunk into all over again, the past year. Not sleeping, exactly. Not dreaming, exactly. Not awake, exactly.
Awake enough. Her magpie-ing got a smirk. Sergeant First Class Guin Howell. Doctor Vera Nair. When that'd been his rank, that was how their names usually got read - next to each other. Nothing alphabetical about it, obviously. Just proximity. Junior Researcher Tom Dalton would be in there, too. Always.
It'd seemed that way, anyhow. But always - the only always that you could count on was that always was always a mistake. Couldn't believe in anything, count on anything, need anything, promise anything, like that. Not always. Always was a sheer path, the kind people fell down and broke something at the bottom of; something of theirs, or somebody else's. Guin passed the coffee. Pockets, yeah. Could always use more of those - God, how Tom had groused at the both of them, taking forever (allegedly) to inspect the quartermaster's offerings and pick their kit. All for more pockets, tighter seams, better waterproofing, quieter fabric... the details. Devil was in them, and all. He hadn't started on that banana bread yet. Just smelled it, the mellow sweetness. "You let me know if you've got absolutely nothing better to do. Mm?" Might happen. Might? Kidding himself. Odds were she'd have him picking out a lining within the week. Doctor Vera Nair.
Guin huffed, one of those sled-dog sounds of his; if they did count her as an armed anything, that was their mistake. Not because she wasn't capable enough to earn the title, but because the medic was the one who needed the goddamn escort. The medic had to make it. Or no one would. Especially in this mix. Off - he frowned, taking a thoughtful bite of his breakfast. "We're a clean-up crew. Guess the Committee figures the worst of the mess has already been made, by the time we show up anywhere..." His tone veered towards downright disrespectful as he hit what the Committee figured; ethically speaking, Themis felt about as sound as the rest of what they'd ever done: rickety, but a bridge he'd spent most of his life standing on, swaying with the weather. Still holding. Because it had to. Because the alternative was miles down, dark, and deep. A world without the Veil would be a more dangerous one. Which was saying something.
Grim as that'd gone, he'd dredged up another smile as Vera listed off her make-work and get-by plans. Swimming in a lake; oh, he could think of a few lakes. And that violin - Guin nodded gravely into his first go at the thermos, like he'd been put-upon by all her so-called practice and couldn't wait for her to figure those damn strings out. Like Vera and her violin weren't one of the most beautiful things he'd ever heard or seen.
But it didn't make a difference, to her, how fucking miserable her office might be. So long as her exam room had colour and soul, as her patients were comfortable. He sighed, steaming on the brisk-edged air. "I've got some kinda permission to head down there soon, so - I'll keep an eye out. See what there is." For her office. And exam room.
His projects? Christ. He stalled over a bite of banana bread, then licked the stickiness from his fingers. "Ah..." Guin laced those hands, cracked every bony knuckle. As if he was about to throw himself up a cliffside, a rough climb ahead. Tugging his cast-low stare out of the roots cradling the pair of them, he looked Vera in those doe-eyes of hers. "Couple apologies, looks like." Yeah. Of course he'd see her again. Someday. He'd known that, leaving. But, he'd made the mistake of expecting - expecting to be able to know when that'd be. To come back and get to someplace that felt like ready, so he'd... do it better than he was bound to, at least, if he tried unprepared. Hadn't meant for it to be like this: a surprise, unfamiliar ground. But it was. So. "Do you - wanna hear that, now?" Best to ask and see, yeah? If Vera'd rather just... have this, the clear and present, they could. And if she wanted her share of sorry, then God knew she was owed.





















