And I'll Tell You What You Are

Don't Ask Will of His Past; When He is Strong Enough, There Is the Answer

The shock of cold when his body hits the water is unlike anything he’s ever felt before. The sharp bite, the feeling as if he’s being stabbed over and over again, it’s almost impossible to think of anything else. 

It’s only because his head finally manages to break the surface that he remembers why he’s in the water to begin with, and as he tries to fight the ever rushing tides, he reaches out a hand trying to feel for the ladder. 

Instead he finds a part of the wall that’s not smooth like the rest of the concrete, and uses that to anchor himself as he stays against the wall, slowly moving along. 

But his luck runs out all too soon, when the water causes the wall to slip right out of his grasp, and he’s gone under yet again. 

And because he goes under, he has no way of seeing Phileas up above, taking a knife and straight up cutting the rope holding the sluice gate open, effectively forcing the gate to stop the flow of water, before he drops down the ladder right as Will resurfaces. 

Neither of them move for a moment, Will still in shock, Phileas in a complete and utter panic, before they both slowly climb their way out. 

The crew all try to salvage what they can, now that the rain has died down to a light sprinkle, while Will sits in front of his shack with a blanket draped over his shoulders, looking out in despair at their work, destroyed in one fell swoop. 

As Charles walks by him, Will makes it a point to say, “Thank you.” 

Charles nods at him once then takes his leave, so Will just goes back to looking at the damage. 

And promptly gets interrupted by Phileas taking a seat next to him. 

“Is there any hope?” Will asks. 

“There is. No reason to believe this will change anything.” Phileas says confidently. 

“We didn’t cover the bed in time.” Will informs him guiltily.  

“Someone opened the sluice gate.” Phileas reminds him. “You had no means of knowing that, or that the rain would turn into a storm.” 

“And what am I supposed to do now?” Will asks, not really expecting or wanting an answer. 

“We adapt.” Phileas answers. 

“Because it’s just that simple, is it?” Will says bitterly.  

“Yes, in fact, it is.” Phileas nods.  

Will stares at Phileas for a moment, then asks, too exhausted to put any real heat to it, “Am I just a flight of fancy?” 

Phileas looks at him, replying, “Never.” 

Will tells him, “I don’t belong here. Is it right?”, and when Phileas says nothing, Will adds, “Is it right for you?” 

“No, it’s not.” Again, Phileas answers right away. “Nothing I’ve been doing has been right since I caught you with my flowers. You have genuine passion. I’m just checking off a list.” 

Now Will’s the silent one, as Phileas keeps talking, “I have nothing to offer someone like that.” 

But Will won’t stand for that, “If I’m needed, I will be there. If you can see I’m not myself, you’ll notice.” 

“But you are yourself.” Phileas disagrees.  

“No, I am not. Not really. You don’t know everything.” Will argues back. 

After a beat, he asks, “Am I needed?” 

Phileas, after another beat, replies, “Desperately.”