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Entry tags:
when it's all said and done
Who: Ned and Daneel
What: The sun is down, the power is out.
Where: House 20
When: Day 100, twilight
The old adage about not knowing what you have until it's gone seems particularly relevant to Ned tonight. He'd thought things were bad enough with just the food shortage, just the lack of communication with the outside world, just the ignorance of where they are and who brought them here, just the occasional bout of horrific nightmares or monstrous transformations. Now, it would seem, they are going to have to learn to live without electricity, as well.
Perhaps, he thinks, walking back towards the house, it won't be permanent. Perhaps the power will be back in a few days and things will return to normal.
(But he'd heard stories from the older residents, about how the food used to be replenished. That had changed, and there were no signs of things going back to the way they used to be. So to hope for anything other than the worst possible scenario seems like foolish optimism, to him.)
Ned gets back a few minutes after the sun has set, as light is rapidly fading from the air. He lets himself inside and reaches for the light switch automatically, hand pausing halfway there to drop back down again. Under one of his arms is a bundle of wood, destined for the fireplace, if only he can manage to get it lit on his own. Ned can navigate easily enough - he has a good sense of the space and where things are that would get in his way - but once he's at the fireplace, he is at a bit of a loss. He has vague and distant memories of family camping trips when he was young, but it's been years and he doesn't remember much. How should he arrange the wood? How does he check that the chimney is open and he won't end up getting soot on everything?
There's a packet of matches in the hall, he remembers; perhaps it is best to start there.
What: The sun is down, the power is out.
Where: House 20
When: Day 100, twilight
The old adage about not knowing what you have until it's gone seems particularly relevant to Ned tonight. He'd thought things were bad enough with just the food shortage, just the lack of communication with the outside world, just the ignorance of where they are and who brought them here, just the occasional bout of horrific nightmares or monstrous transformations. Now, it would seem, they are going to have to learn to live without electricity, as well.
Perhaps, he thinks, walking back towards the house, it won't be permanent. Perhaps the power will be back in a few days and things will return to normal.
(But he'd heard stories from the older residents, about how the food used to be replenished. That had changed, and there were no signs of things going back to the way they used to be. So to hope for anything other than the worst possible scenario seems like foolish optimism, to him.)
Ned gets back a few minutes after the sun has set, as light is rapidly fading from the air. He lets himself inside and reaches for the light switch automatically, hand pausing halfway there to drop back down again. Under one of his arms is a bundle of wood, destined for the fireplace, if only he can manage to get it lit on his own. Ned can navigate easily enough - he has a good sense of the space and where things are that would get in his way - but once he's at the fireplace, he is at a bit of a loss. He has vague and distant memories of family camping trips when he was young, but it's been years and he doesn't remember much. How should he arrange the wood? How does he check that the chimney is open and he won't end up getting soot on everything?
There's a packet of matches in the hall, he remembers; perhaps it is best to start there.
no subject
"Thank you," he repeats, threading their fingers together. He's thankful for many things: the experience, the trust, Ned's confession of love -- he wants very much to be able to say the same, to return it, but he's not sure it's accurate. He can't say it if it isn't true, not if he might harm Ned by being wrong, and affection is a far easier thing to claim than anything as profound as love. Is there even a difference? To him, it doesn't seem like there should be, but... someone human might feel differently. That's the problem.
So he tucks himself against Ned, warm and solid, and he hopes that's enough.