Eden (8 page)

He stuffs his hands in his pockets.  "How are we
supposed to look happy when we're like this?  This is a complete
disaster."

"You think?" I snap.  "We pretend, Jonas. 
That's how we do it.  Because we're not happy.  We've never been happy."

It takes me a moment to translate his mutter: "...Apparently
we were."  He's looking away, over the city.

I sigh and get a strangle hold on my racing emotions.  Deep
breaths.  "Look," I say, making my voice calm, "we're both
stressed out, clearly.  This place is getting to us.  Maybe you're right. 
Maybe we should leave.  As soon as we can." 
As soon as I find out what
I need to....

"It's not going to be any time soon."  There's a
sorrow in his voice that I don't expect, and a softness in his gaze as he
reaches to touch my cheek.  "This chip... getting it out... it scares the
hell out of me, Eden.  But I'm pretty sure we have to do it.  And then you're
going to need some time to heal...."

I blink and pull my face away, just until he lets his hand
drop.  His touch was so soothing, so right... but I don't want his pity.  I
don't want him to be afraid for me.  "I don't know," I whisper. 
"I'm not sure I want to do it.  The chip hasn't given me any problems so
far."

He looks like he's about to say something, but I'm pretty
sure he changes his mind.  He looks away again.  "You don't have to decide
right away.  We'll make them wait as long as you need."

But then I'm thinking about getting the information on the
chip... getting rid of the Sentries.  Saving Outpost Three, if it still needs
saving.  Changing the world.  And somewhere in the midst of that is the most
important thing... finding Oscar.  Maybe I can find out what I need—how to do
it—without the information on the chip.  The information that I need can most
likely be gotten out of Coder.  Of course, that too will take time.

"Honestly, Jonas?"  I meet his eyes, and he must
see it already in mine, because his gaze flickers, again, with softness. 
"I'm so confused on so many levels.  I don't even know what I’m thinking,
half the time."  My voice is almost pleading with him now.  "How am I
supposed to figure all this out?  How—"

"Hey."  He takes me by the arms, then places a
kiss on my forehead.  "You're not alone.  We're family.  Remember?" 
When he draws back to look in my eyes, there is the sweetest, gentlest smile on
his face.  "And what you're going through... it's normal.  I mean normal
for anyone who's been erased, and that doesn't even take into account all the
rest of this madness."  His look takes in the scope of the city, the scope
of the world.

An instant later, I'm leaning into him, wrapping my arms
around him, resting my head against his chest.  "I love you, Jonas,"
I whisper.  Then my eyes go wide as I realize what I've just said.  But his
arms just get tighter around me.  I relax against him, close my eyes, and
listen to his heartbeat.  And for this moment, I am.... Happy. 

***

Apollon has taken my "I need to talk to you" as an
opportunity for adventure.  I suppose I never really realized, in all the time
we've known each other, that he likes to get out.  But then, we've been stuck
in an outpost for a lot of that time—one that was a warzone.  So yeah, there
weren't a lot of opportunities.  And the snowy wilderness is not exactly full
of pubs, either.

Miami, on the other hand, is a city that likes its liquor. 
And Apollon claims to have already discovered the finest drinking establishment
in Wynwood.

We walk in to a dark, smoky room.  It takes my eyes a while
to adjust, and when they do, I kind of wish they hadn't.  The place is a real
dive, making the Rustler look like a palace in comparison.  Tipsy looking
chairs and tables, a row of stools stretched along a greasy bar, and random
bits of trash on the floor.  Something largish runs underneath a wadded up
rag.  I look the other way.  It's still early in the day, so it's a bit quiet,
but the characters within are not the friendliest-looking.  Until they see
Apollon, that is.  He's made some friends.  Go figure.  The burly, unwashed
guys at the game table raise their beer mugs at him, and the toothless lady behind
the bar calls him 'Sweetheart' and immediately serves him a glass of rum.  It
takes her a moment to bother looking at me, but then she's all flustered and
overly gracious, and she gets me a glass of rum, too.

"I told you I'd bring her," Apollon says with a
grin.

For a while, we have to entertain her with small talk, but
she finally leaves us alone, and Apollon gives me his full attention.

"So..." I say, not sure where to begin.

"So?" he encourages, taking a drink.

"Jonas."

"Ah, Jonas."  He takes another drink and makes a
face.  "How'd that all go?"

"Not so good," I mutter into my glass.  It's my
turn to take a drink.  "He, um....  I don't think he believed you."

His eyebrows go up.  "What?"

So I spill, telling him the whole conversation, as hard as
it may be to repeat.

"He didn't believe me," Apollon murmurs, rubbing
his forehead.  Then he takes another drink.  "Let me get this straight. 
From the beginning."

Oh, god.

"We pretended that we were a thing when we weren't a
thing because you weren't sure if you were ready to be a thing with Jonas, not
to mention that I didn't know about that thing, at least not that you were part
of it.  Right, Jonas... who was really your thing all along... only you didn't
know it.  And now that we've told Jonas that there is no thing with us and
there can be a thing with you two, he still thinks that there's a thing—which
there isn't—"  At this point he gives up his awkward retelling and takes a
big swallow of rum.  "What is this?  A Shakespearean comedy?"

I throw my hands up in the air.  "No shit," I
exclaim, though I honestly have no clue what he's talking about, except that
whatever it is, he's probably right.

"It would only be better if you dressed up as a
boy," he says, looking into his empty glass thoughtfully.

"I'm not dressing up as a boy.  Now, or ever."  We
covered that ground a long time ago.  I finish my glass, too.

"Thank you," he says, frowning at me, like he's
picturing me as a boy.

The toothless woman promptly refills our glasses and makes
off.  Maybe this place isn't so bad.  And honestly, the rum is pretty good—at
least I like it, though I'm not sure I've ever had it before.  Not in this
life.

"So..." I say again.

He narrows his eyes at me.

"Apollon, you would tell me, right?"  I manage to
meet his gaze as he raises his glass to his lips.  "I mean, if you had a
thing for me.  You don't, right?  You don't have a thing for me."

He almost snorts rum out his nose.  Then he's laughing. 
Loudly.

And I'm turning red.

"God, no," he laughs.  "Are you
kidding?"

Now I'm really red.  Crimson, in fact.  And mortified.

But Apollon's still laughing.  For a while.  Until he
realizes that I'm not laughing with him.  "You don't have a thing for
me," he blurts out, suddenly becoming serious.

OK.  Now I'm laughing, though admittedly I don't have a
great big entertaining time of it, like Apollon did.  I'm mostly too relieved
to laugh much.  I get serious again right away.  "I was totally freaked
out about the possibility," I admit.  "I mean, Jonas said he knows
you better than I do, and all.  And he's probably right."

Now Apollon gives me a look.  "
We've
been
through a lot together."

"Yeah, but he's like... your brother or
something."

"And you're like my sister."  He shakes his head,
like he's trying to clear it.  "Really?" he asks.  "You thought
I had a thing for you?"

I shrug it off.  "I don't know what I thought," I
mutter.  "I'm a bit lost, in case you haven't noticed."

"I've noticed," he smirks.

Now I give him a look.

"What would you have done?" he asks, whapping me
on the knee.  "If I had said I had a thing for you."

"That's not even funny," I scowl.  "Are you
kidding me?  What would you have done if I'd said it?  Run away screaming,
probably."

"Nah," he says, and he eyes me for a second before
giving a non-committal shrug.  "I could probably have—"

"Don't you even dare."  I poke one finger into his
chest.  "You're not funny at all."

But he's trying to smother his laughter and not doing a very
good job of it.

I give him a shove, almost sending him off of his stool, but
not quite.  Apollon's a little too big to budge from a shove from me.

He must realize I'm starting to get annoyed, because he
suddenly pulls a one-eighty and puts on a somber face.  "So, Jonas,"
he says, displaying the loyal, listening friend I knew was in him.  "What
happened?"

I deflate, the long sigh vibrating through my lips as I
stare at the bar.  My eyes go to his, looking for support.  "Idunno.  I
mean, I stormed out at first.  Then we were all funny with each other.  And
this morning I told him I loved him.  Not like that, you know.  But I said it. 
It just came out."

"Do you?" Apollon asks.  There's no trace of the
joker, now.  "Do you love him?"

"...Ah..."  I seem to be unable to answer. 
"Like that?  I don't know.  I love him... like I love you.  Like I love
Miranda and Neveah and..."  I swallow.  "I don't know."

Apollon is quiet for a moment.  He doesn't try to tell me
what to think or how to be.  He just waits.

"It comes back to all this, doesn't it?"  I
gesture at the room, but my thoughts encompass much more.  "I'm supposed
to be..." I drop my voice.  "...her.  But am I?  How do you—How is it
so easy for you to be
you
?  Were you always like this?"

He thinks about it for a bit and shrugs.  "I don't
know."  And he has another slug of rum.

I follow his example.  "Me either."

For a few long moments, we nurse our drinks.  There's a
pleasant swirling in my head—perhaps more than a swirling, if I'm honest, but
I'm completely content to let it drown out the multitude of thoughts and
feelings.

"So, you know," he finally murmurs, "we kind
of have to talk about some other stuff."  He gestures with his glass at
the room, a mimicry of my earlier gesture.

"All this?"  I frown.  I suppose we just dragged
Apollon and Jack along to Miami without really consulting them.  And now...
with all the reasons to stay and not to stay, it's getting complicated.  I
haven't had a chance to fill Apollon in on any of it, so this could take a
while.  "I have like... a lot... to tell you."

He waves me off.  "I'm pretty sure I got most of it out
of Celine."

I give him a look—one eyebrow raised.

He cracks a grin.  "Holy hell, I've met my match in
that woman.  If I was a girl, I'd be Celine."

"God help us."  I have another swallow of rum
while I consider the implications of a female Apollon.  Scary.  "I suspect
she got as much out of you, then, as you got out of her."

"I'm sure she did," Apollon agrees with a
contented look.

A feeling of unease moves through me, wondering if Celine
was simply using my friend to get information.  It passes quickly.  I'm pretty
sure Apollon doesn't mind being used.  As a matter of fact, he looks quite
pleased about it as he goes on.

"I told her enough," he says.  "Enough to
make her think she had me in her palm.  She
did
, if you know what I
mean."

I hide my eyes, for a second, from his lecherous grin before
I'm brave enough to look at him full on.

"Anyway, she told me a lot, too, but presumably not
anything more than what you know.  There are some questions."  He gives me
a conspiratorial look, but there is something—a spark of excitement and
admiration—lingering behind his eyes.

I have to say it before we move on.  "Oh my god.  Are
you going to fall in love with her?  You are, aren't you?  You're going to fall
head over heels in love with her, and you're going to make little Apollons
together.  A whole army of them and—"

"Whoa!"  Apollon is now choking on his rum.  When
he manages to swallow whatever is stuck in his throat, he says, quite
seriously, "Not going to happen.  You should know better.  I don't do love."

My eyebrows climb a notch higher.

He shrugs helplessly.  "I don't."

"That's really fucking cynical for a guy who goes
around spouting poetry all the time, you know."

"I'm not cynical," he protests.  "I
believe
in love.  I just don't do it."

"Why not?"

He frowns for a moment, thinking.  He's really contemplating
this answer.  Finally, he says, "Because I'm happy the way I am.  I like
the freedom of just being me.  And love—it wrecks you."  He pokes my leg,
like he's making a point.

"I'm not in love," I mutter, but I'm not sure if I
believe myself.  The feeling of being tugged in a million directions comes back
to me as my eyes fall on my hand in my lap.  There's a golden ring with an
otter on the index finger of my left hand.  For a moment, my eyes scan over the
playful little figure, and I remember watching the otters play in the icy
river.  I remember standing next to Matt.

"See," Apollon says quietly, but the word has a
lot of punch.

I glance up at him, and he makes a face.

"You're thinking about Matt, now," he says.  Damn
him.  "You're all conflicted and messed up.  Wrecked.  If you were like
me, you wouldn't care.  You'd just have fun with both of them, and you wouldn't
judge yourself for it."

"First of all," I say, "Matt likes to kill
people, and—"

"Yeah, yeah."  Apollon waves me off.  "We've
been over that before."

I snort and take a drink.  My glass is almost empty, again. 
I kill people, too
, I'm thinking.  Maybe Matt and I aren't such a bad
match, when it comes down to it.  For a moment, I remember Spec's face, turning
away from me....