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[ All right. There's a little ribbon down near the bottom. It should pull open to the right spot. It's thin.]

[ It's easy enough to find once she's feeling for it along the bottom. She pulls the book open, holding it close to the edges so that no words are covered. ]

[ Ah. Here we go. I think I stopped here because I liked it. It felt... good. Helpful. ]

[ There's a short pause and the way he reads it, he means every line, every verse. The same way he loves colors and shapes and lines, so too does he love words and rhythm and music. He loves what they hold, the life and the feeling, the meaning of them. Each and every verse is special, precious. ]

[ “Hope” is the thing with feathers -
That perches in the soul -
And sings the tune without the words -
And never stops - at all -

And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard -
And sore must be the storm -
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm -

I’ve heard it in the chillest land -
And on the strangest Sea -
Yet - never - in Extremity,
It asked a crumb - of me.]

[ Natalie wasn't the best student in high school, but she was better than everyone expected. English lit class featured unexciting classics, but the lessons on text analysis were good. They stayed with her, allowed her to enjoy music more, to read contemporary essays and grasp the arguments better. Poetry a little harder for her without context, and she hasn't had reasons or time to sit and read, but what she remembers about Emily Dickinson is enough for now. Hell, even if she had zero context, this poem is still fitting. Helpful, like John said. ]

I used to think we'd all lost hope when we were stranded out there. But every time something happened, I felt hopeless all over again. I don't think we ever stopped hoping.

[ It goes without saying that she feels hopeless here too, despite John's faith in her. ]

[ "Hope springs eternal," I read.

I wonder if people realize how much of a curse that can be. ]

[ A pause. ]

[ Every time someone opened the book, I thought I'd be free. I hoped. And when it didn't-

No, when I killed them because they wouldn't give me enough control...

It was that much worse when I went back. But... it's also why I got to meet Arthur. That I kept trying. That I kept giving in to hope. ]

I don't know if it's better or worse to feel hopeless. Not the kind of hopeless where you're upset about it and you keep fighting; that's still hoping for something.

[ He kept hoping to be free. He killed because he wanted and hoped for more, if she's understanding. And she did too. Why else would she have kept hunting, finding food to keep everyone going? ]

I mean the kind where you give up. You stop fighting, because you think there's no point anymore.

[ Did you attempt what you did because you gave up hope...

...or because you thought you'd done more harm than that hope was worth? ]

[ He'll notice how still she goes, not moving any part of her that she can consciously control. She's been avoiding truly thinking about that decision, instead remembering (as little as possible) the things around it and leading up to it, always abandoning it when she felt a similar despairing sadness starting to creep up on her.

She could say she doesn't know, but they'll both know what she means is that she doesn't want to think about it. She could give an actual answer, but then she runs the risk of cracking open, and that makes her afraid that she won't be able to stop herself completely falling apart. Lying and deflecting have never worked, much less with John. And if he hasn't walked away from her yet, then he never will. His word means something. She can trust him. If she trusts him enough to be with him like this right now, talking about this isn't a terribly big leap. ]

I think... both. I don't really know. It's not like it was the first time I'd tried.

[ The sting of tears comes back, stronger this time. ]

[ But this time, Travis wasn't alive to... make you stop. ]

He didn't even want to see me anymore. Any of us.

[ The small smile she gives is hollow. Tears spill down her cheeks. She brushes them away with the back of her hand. ]

He wouldn't even have heard about it. And if he had, he wouldn't have been surprised.

[ You don't know that. You know the last thing he said to you.

Did it ever occur to you that he might have been trying to do for you what you tried to do for me? ]

[ She shakes her head. ]

I think he did it because he knew the only way he could live in peace for the rest of his life was without us in it. Without me.

[ And you're sure that isn't your own guilt and self-hatred talking in his voice? ]

He died clean. He stayed clean by himself. I didn't. I couldn't. If he...

[ More tears; this is the first time she's actually talked about him, not about his death.

A deep, shaky breath, then-- ] If he hadn't left the way he did, I don't think he would've managed it.

[It's possible it was both. That he recognized you weren't good for him the same way he wasn't good for you.]

[ He doesn't actually sound like he's reaching, more like he's thinking back on his own experience, his own choices. ]

[It's not easy to be the person to move forward from a back and forth. But you don't just do it for yourself. If he was with you for as long as he was, I can't imagine there wasn't some... caring in the gesture from his side as well.]

[ She leans her head back against the wall, glad she can't see right now. It's relaxing to have one less sense, that much less information to process right now. Like this, it's easy for her to realize that what Travis did almost exactly what she was going for by shooting Arthur. ]

I miss him so much. And I would've missed you too if you'd decided to write me off.

[ Shauna told her that she needed to start forgiving Travis. Natalie sees now that she does need to do that, but not for his death; no, she needs to forgive him for doing the right thing for himself, if no one else, and for both of them. ]

[I don't want you to miss me, Natalie. Even before we were paired... there was a wall between us. I could tell. You didn't want to let me close. But I kept talking to you, hoping we could be friends.

Getting your file was one of the happiest days to me. Because now, I could help you. ]

A short pause.

[One day, before we part ways, I hope you get to see yourself the way I see you.]

I don't let people in if I can help it.

[ Which he knows, because he has her file. He knows everything, so there should be no fear of being open with him. It's still terrifying, but it has to be better than stealing a gun in the hopes of building all those walls again. ]

I don't think I will. I don't think I can. [ She remembers what she said earlier, though. ] But that's just where I am right now.

There's a long pause.

[Right. And there'll be times, I'm sure, where you feel even worse.

But we'll get there.

I know we will.]

At least one of them does. At least one person, someone who wasn't there, believes in her. It's a new feeling, and it's frightening, but she won't run from it. She might hiss and scream at it, but she won't run.

"I'm sorry I shot Arthur."

[I'm sorry you felt you needed to. But for my part, I forgive you, Natalie.]

More gently-

[We'll do better next time.]

It sounds like he means it. It feels like he means it, and that's also new and strange and frightening. She wipes at her eyelashes, sniffling, and nods.

"Yeah. We will."

Edited 2022-12-12 09:27 (UTC)

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