Phia's Fragile and Fantastic Fingers || ONC 2023

The Plan

The Trazodone barely works. I wake up four hours later still buzzing with a mouth full of cotton. I don't want to be awake. Being awake hurts. I curl up, clench my hands together and press them between my knees. If I don't open my eyes, I don't have to deal with life. I uncurl and turn over. And over again. I can't stop moving. I don't want to be awake. John is out there and so is Mercy and I can't tell what they're lying to me about and what's real, and I still need to find Penelope.

"Phia?"

I've been off and on listening to Mercy and John talking since waking up, but neither of them have directly addressed me until now. Harper's stuck me on a bed in a side room. Less of a hospital room and more of a middle school nurse's station. The lights are dim and it smells like antiseptic and tongue depressors. I don't want to get out from underneath the thin-knit hospital blanket.

I wink open an eye.

John's poked his head into the room to check on me, and although I think about keeping my eyes shut and demanding my body sleep, I can't do it. My legs won't stop moving. I open my other eye and look at John. He's silhouetted by the med bay lights but the expression I can make out is worried.

"How're you feeling."

Ugh.

I cover my face with my arm and do a brain recon. Harper called the on-call doctor who proscribed me a handful of meds. Something that was supposed to make the mania stop and a dose of an antipsychotics. I thought antipsychotics would feel more dramatic, but I just feel muted and matte. I went to bed fully certain that John and Mercy were dating. No doubt in my mind that I had seen and heard it, but I look at John now, his familiar face and kind eyes, and know it's not true. It was never true and how silly is it that I believed that? It's not even jarring, it just squirms in my stomach. Like shame and nausea. Everything I know could be just as wrong.

"Not great." I tell John. He steps into the room, leans against the wall by the door. Now that he's not outlined in bright lights I can see him better. His clothes are rumpled. I wonder if he tried to sleep in a chair.

"Mercy was wondering if she could talk to you?" he says.

Mercy. Her name fills me with dread. She kissed me. I shoved her. Hard. I wanted to do more. I'm glad I didn't. I can't believe I didn't realize I was manic. John must catch my breath hitching because he adds hastily, "She just wants to talk about Penelope." He trips over her name. The syllables stumble out of his mouth in lonely little twitches.

"That's not real either, is it?" I don't know what's real and what's not. The best thing I can do right now is press against the walls of what I think is reality until I find holes.

"We don't know, but, you made a strong case." He pauses to think, then says, "We want to go look. I don't know why, but we just need to know. You know?"

I know very well. I'm also surprised that of all the things that aren't real, this is one of the things that is.

Probably. 

I push myself into a sitting position, then drop heavily against the wall.

"Is there water?" I ask. I'm so incredibly thirsty.

"Yeah." John leaves the room and comes back quickly with a water bottle. He tosses it to me and I chug it greedily. It tastes wonderful, but unfortunately it does almost nothing for the dry mouth. Yuck.

"Does she have an idea of how to get there?" I ask after taking a moment to feel betrayed by the liquid.

"Yeah. I think so."

Okay, so Mercy's got a plan. She and John are on board. That's good. It's good. It's just...

"I don't want to talk to her alone," I blurt out. John's face flashes through a series of emotions. "I had a weird interaction with her. I just feel embarrassed around her right now." It's mostly true except what I feel is mortified and guilty, and I can't face that feeling right now, so John's gonna have to play buffer.

John nods like it's no big deal. I release a lungful of held breath.

"I'll grab her," he says, and ducks out of the room. I have a few minutes to steal myself before Mercy comes back. There's a packet of papers full of drug information on my bedside table that Harper must have printed out for me while I was asleep. She knows I like that stuff. It lists the Trazodone, and antipsychotic, and a new mood stabilizer. Looks like the last one will take months to take full affect. Crap. I guess I'm out for the foreseeable future.

"Ready for this?"

I nearly jump out of my skin when I hear Mercy's voice. I must be more out of it than I thought.

She's already half in her supersuit, the arms tied around her waist and her base layer clothes fresh against her skin. She looks steadier than she did last time I saw her. She has a plan and with the plan comes the thin facade of leadership. Still, I'm relieved by her no-nonsense business mode. Her mission mode will keep her far from a clumsily-talking-about-feelings mode.

"I can fake codes for the ship," she says without preamble, "and Kent's willing to run a fake log on the airspace reader at 6:00 am."

"What time is it now?" I ask. I rub at my eyes and look for a clock. There's no window in the room, and although the med center is still quiet like it's night it could just be a slow morning.

"2am" John says. So it is the middle of the night. If I had any idea what time it was when I stormed into that meeting I would have some idea about how long they've been working on this plan. Instead I just look at the dark circles under Mercy's eyes and assume she hasn't slept. My jaw drops a little as I stare at her. She did this for me, on a hunch made by a crazy person. A flare of love burst to life in my chest. They believe me, despite everything, they believe me.

Or am I just imagining things?

"Phia," Mercy snaps in front of my face before John can brush her hand to the side.

"C'mon Merc give her a break."

Yeah, give me a break. I just learned a few hours ago that a huge chunk of my life was made up. I reach out for John's arm, still in the air fending off any future snapping from Mercy. He's solid and warm. His skin feels papery and soft under my fingers.

My fingers.

They've been suspiciously quiet for a while now. I look at them. Flakes of metal still cling to them, but it's different now, and when I look closer, it's almost like I can will the color away. Not quite clear, but just enough to make me wonder.

"You alright there?" John asks.

He keeps asking me that. I don't know how to respond.

"We're going to get Penelope?" I say. I can't believe they're going for this, and I can't believe I'm letting them. My fingers are quiet, and the silver is fading, and yet there's still a nagging little feeling in my body that maybe I'm right. The helicopter pattern. The clicking radio.

Was I right?

"We can leave in a few hours if you're up for it," Mercy says. I left go of John's arm. I look at Mercy. She meets my eyes. She's got the same steely determined look she's always had. She wants to complete the mission. She wants to do it right. I love her for that. She can put aside personal problems and hurt feelings and keep going. She crackles with magic. I love her.

"You believe me?" I whisper.

Mercy doesn't immediately say yes. She watches me and thinks carefully before responding.

"I believe we have to try this or I'm not going to sleep at night."

"A maybe then."

"A maybe."

I continue to watch her as she texts Kent to confirm our plans. Then she pulls my paperwork off the bedside table and scans the doses. "You probably get more meds around 8. We're going to have to steal some before we leave. It's going to take hours for us to get out there and I don't want you missing a dose."

Nice of her to think of that. I'm feeling like I don't want to miss a dose. Even if I do kind of want to miss a dose, because I know I was crazy, but a piece of me loved being the special person who could save Penelope.

I still want to save Penelope.

"So what are we supposed to do now?" I ask.

"Go back to sleep, Phia. John and I are on it."

I snort. There's no way I'm going back to sleep. 

Waiting it is, I guess.