Entry tags:
9 June 1989, Night to 10 June 1989, Morning
They're only allowed to see Alain briefly, before doctors need to examine him and run tests and generally make sure that he was, in fact, all right.
And then visiting hours end, and the hospital puts its collective foot down and suggests none too uncertainly that everyone should leave until tomorrow morning.
And, with the exception of Meg (who had slept at the end of the universe), everyone had been up for more than twenty-four hours, or traveled hundreds of kilometres since last they slept, or both. (Kim has the added bonus of being five time zones away from where she last woke up.) When John Ford quietly suggests that the find a quick dinner and then the nearest hotel again, there isn't a lot of argument. Or, indeed, any at all.
Dinner is fast food hamburgers and french fries, and it would probably have been at least a little awkward if everyone hadn't been so tired. Adrenaline is a glorious thing, but when it wears off . . . well, conversation is minimal, really.
"I'll share with Meg," Kim says, "if she'd like," as John Ford asks about rooms at the hotel he's found.
Meg nods. "Yes, thank you." She'd rather not be in a room by herself.
Kim gives Meg her suitcase with instructions to borrow anything she likes, and then, with a short glance over to Dave, says that she'll be up to their room in a few minutes.
(That it winds up being slightly longer than a few minutes is not much of a surprise.)
Kim asks again if she wants to talk about it. "In the morning, maybe," Meg says. "Right now I just want to go to bed."
(And it's about equal parts wanting Kim to be able to go to bed -- since it's something like two in the morning on her internal clock right now -- and Meg's knowing that she's going to need some time to let everything process and settle before she can discuss it.)
Kim studies her face for a moment, then tells Meg to wake her up if she needs anything.
Meg stares at the ceiling for a long time. She doesn't quite expect to fall asleep at all, but she must have.
It's the only way she could have just woken up.
And then visiting hours end, and the hospital puts its collective foot down and suggests none too uncertainly that everyone should leave until tomorrow morning.
And, with the exception of Meg (who had slept at the end of the universe), everyone had been up for more than twenty-four hours, or traveled hundreds of kilometres since last they slept, or both. (Kim has the added bonus of being five time zones away from where she last woke up.) When John Ford quietly suggests that the find a quick dinner and then the nearest hotel again, there isn't a lot of argument. Or, indeed, any at all.
Dinner is fast food hamburgers and french fries, and it would probably have been at least a little awkward if everyone hadn't been so tired. Adrenaline is a glorious thing, but when it wears off . . . well, conversation is minimal, really.
"I'll share with Meg," Kim says, "if she'd like," as John Ford asks about rooms at the hotel he's found.
Meg nods. "Yes, thank you." She'd rather not be in a room by herself.
Kim gives Meg her suitcase with instructions to borrow anything she likes, and then, with a short glance over to Dave, says that she'll be up to their room in a few minutes.
(That it winds up being slightly longer than a few minutes is not much of a surprise.)
Kim asks again if she wants to talk about it. "In the morning, maybe," Meg says. "Right now I just want to go to bed."
(And it's about equal parts wanting Kim to be able to go to bed -- since it's something like two in the morning on her internal clock right now -- and Meg's knowing that she's going to need some time to let everything process and settle before she can discuss it.)
Kim studies her face for a moment, then tells Meg to wake her up if she needs anything.
Meg stares at the ceiling for a long time. She doesn't quite expect to fall asleep at all, but she must have.
It's the only way she could have just woken up.

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"It's nice that he could pick you up."
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"So, I'm going to ask the awkward, but obvious question. You don't have to answer it.
"Do you love him?"
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"I do."
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"That's good," she says.
She's silent for a second, turning the bracelets on her right wrist carefully.
"I'm probably about to overstep, but . . . you used to be the last person in the world I worried about overstepping with, so I'm going to do it anyway.
"Sometimes . . . sometimes I feel like you hold people at arms' length. Or maybe it's not people, maybe it's just me. I don't know.
"I mean, you dropped everything and you flew here and threw your whole life and your internal schedule and everything into chaos, and I'm really glad that you did, and I'm really grateful that you did. This would have been harder without you.
"But my boyfriend almost . . . died yesterday, and you're my big sister, and I feel like . . . I went to you with everything for sixteen years, and I . . . I feel like I should be able to talk to you about this and I don't even know how to start.
"I . . . I'm sure it's my fault, too. But I miss the days when we were friends as well as sisters."
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Kim closes her eyes, but not before the bright sheen of sudden tears is easily visible. She shakes her head, just once, and takes a steadying breath.
"I don't think it's anyone's fault," she says, after a moment. Clear gray eyes meet green ones. "It's just what happened. We've both changed, and there's no reason that has to be a bad thing."
A beat.
"But I miss being friends with you, too."
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"You know, Luc said something to me yesterday, before you got there. About how he was feeling, and he said something about how I would feel if it had been you.
"And . . . I couldn't think about that, either. Because . . . if Alain hadn't woken up, I have had a whole lot of plans to change. But I wouldn't have had any regrets. The future would have been completely different, but there's nothing I would have done differently in the past with him.
"But if it were you . . . there's so much I would have done differently, now. I didn't used to think there was."
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A rueful half-smile touches her lips.
"It worked for Paul." A beat. "I finally decided that even though I could have done things differently, I didn't regret coming back."
Her glance meets Meg's again.
"For lots of reasons... and lots of people."
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"I think it would have killed a part of me, too. Probably more than one.
"Honestly, it was easier to be mad at you than worried about you.
"I made a pretty careful study of both."
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"And of course you did. I don't think I've ever known you not to make a careful study of anything."
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"Okay, very occasionally."
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"Did you make a note of the last time it happened?"
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"And I hated it."
This surprised pretty much no one who knows her.
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"Like, say, in the past forty-eight hours. Which was kind of a crash course in improvising.
"And that was a really poor choice of words, wasn't it?"
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"... accurate, though."
She's managing to keep a straight face, but only barely.
(And oh, it feels good to want to laugh, to know that they can. That everything's going to be okay.)
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"You know, I don't remember most of it," Meg says. "Parts of it, but the rest is just . . . gone."
It's oddly like being betrayed. Meg usually has a fair amount of confidence in her brain.
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Kim's remembering another hospital, a too-bright room, the look on Paul's face when the news came that Rachel had died, and then all the long months after in which he'd punished himself so brutally, up until the night they'd hung him on the Summer Tree.
"Or it might not. But... it's hard to say, with traumatic experiences, Meg. It may just remain something that's recalled in bright flashes, in fits and starts."
A beat.
"Which is no bad thing," she adds, softly. Very softly. "Sometimes it's a grace."
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"As a general rule, I don't like not knowing things it feels like I should know."
Like her boyfriend's blood type (B negative, she now knows), or her sister's phone number (now written on the card in her wallet until she gets it memorized), or what happened in the accident.
"Probably even less than I like not having plans."
She smiles again. "And it's a much harder thing to practice."
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Kim reaches over and gently brushes a lock of Meg's hair back from her face, there on the same side where Meg's arm is still cradled in its sling.
"Now you've got yours."
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"You know," she says, tone faintly amused, "I think that by definition, a rule isn't supposed to have exceptions.
"Maybe there should be a different word for that."
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"You could always make one up," she suggests.
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After another moment, she says, "How long are you staying?"
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". . . you lost your car?"
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"No, no," she assures her. "It's just that I was in a bit of a hurry at Heathrow, and basically tossed the keys and a rushed explanation as to where I'd parked it at Mark before making a run for the plane."
A beat.
"Mark Scott," she clarifies. "He's Neville's son, a doctor too, and a good friend. He lives in London."
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"It does seem to run in families, doesn't it? The doctor thing.
"Then again, I probably have a skewed perspective on that."
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Kim glances over at Meg with an amused smile.
"Maybe not exactly skewed, but somehow I don't think we have a statistically significant sample to go on here. Not quite."
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She looks down at her watch.
"I should get dressed and everything. I want to be there when visiting hours start.
"Actually, I want to be there well before visiting hours start."
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Kim smiles, and stands up.
"I hung out some clean clothes for you in the bathroom. It'll be a little tricky with the sling, of course, but between us, I think we can manage it."
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"And I will love you forever if you will braid my hair.
"Actually, I'll love you forever, regardless. You're my sister.
"But I'd really appreciate help with my hair."
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As the two of them head toward the bathroom to get Meg dressed and ready for the day, she adds, teasingly,
"And I won't even tie ribbons on the end of it."