Ashes

Three: Of Unwanted Conversations

A/N: I'm so sorry! I've been dancing around posting this chapter for far too long. Hope you all had a great Christmas and New Years! Here's the aesthetic for Callista.

The streets of deserted Seattle are actually quite pretty in the midday light, the sun dancing off of the ruins in a mysteriously elegant way. I think the beauty of it is what distracts me from the fact of where Mikhail's leading until we actually get there.

A tall spire is standing in front of us, reaching at the heavens with the metal-and-glass it's made of.

"What..." I start, but sort of trail off at the sight of it. It's incredible enough to take my breath away.

"I ended up reading about Seattle at the Chronicler's place back at the Refuge. This thing used to be called the space needle. Now, if we're lucky, the elevator will still work, and we can get all the way to the top and maybe even see far enough to find our gas station," the Skywalker tells me, and I just look over at him in wide-eyed wonder.

"This is incredible!" I breathe, mesmerized by the massive structure before us.

"You think it'll work?" I ask him, and Mikhail shrugs nonchalantly.

"Let's find out, shall we?"

Turns out we get lucky. The elevator works, albeit very slowly, and despite the nagging voice that tells me we could get stuck in a metal coffin, I get in and Mikhail and I rise up into the top of the Needle.

What used to be the observation deck is actually still quite pretty. The glass in some places is shattered, but in others, it's still intact. Either way, you can still see as far as your eyes will let you. Not that there's much to see; there's a few scattered ruins, but mostly desert.

It's always desert, isn't it? It's never-ending.

The Skywalker points out a gas station in the distance on what probably used to be the outskirts of the city, so that solves our previous problem. We linger on the balcony for a bit longer, silence looming above us as we drink in the sights below.

"So I was wondering," Mikhail starts, his voice sounding nervous and unsteady, a stark contrast to his usual decisiveness. I clutch the railing a little tighter, dreading what he's going to say next.

Please don't bring up our last conversation, I beg, the awkwardness washing over me like a tidal wave.

"Last time we talked," Crap cakes. "I know it was... messy... but maybe we can talk about it again?" he asks, turning to look at me a little bit. He drags his teeth against the corner of his lip nervously, and I kind of freeze up.

This is not good. Part of me wants to lash out, to scream that I can't handle anything more than I'm already dealing with, but the other part hesitates. For a few split seconds, I see him as the cheeky Skywalker I had nearly felt for back at the dome we left a while ago.

But this is not the dome, and we're not the same people we were back then. We aren't kids anymore; those kids died in the desert long ago. We are shells of the people we were. We have tired bones haunted by lonely ghosts that remind us of our loneliness and our sins. There is no room for anything else until we rest our hearts.

But what then? What if we make it to Canaan, and everything gains a sense of normalcy? Then what?

I decide to wait and see.

Then the angry part of me sort of snaps and I'm suddenly flooded with distaste. You don't deserve to talk about it again. I told you no once, I shouldn't have to tell you again if you really want to keep me around.

"Mikhail. I'm only going to explain this one more time: no. The Ariadne Simon who nearly liked you died with her mother in the dome! She died with Felix and the Burning, and she died with Thea... twice! You can't keep pushing me! I..."