Breakable by mosylu

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There were actually a lot of things more painful than planting your bare foot square on the business end of a hairbrush, but at moment, John couldn’t think of any of them. Swearing the air blue, teetering on the unhurt foot as he clutched the injured one with both hands, he turned the force of his wrath on the hairbrush's owner.

"Goddammit, True!"

A flurry of shrieking and yelling later, True was out of bed and snailing her way through the packing. Normally after a scolding, she pouted hugely and let out deep sighs to let the world in general know how put-upon she was and what a nasty horrible dad she had. This morning, however, she seemed subdued, shooting him furtive glances every so often and looking away quickly if she caught his eye.

Guilt snuck in around the edges of his bad temper. It might just be a new strategy to get herself out of punishment, but he couldn't shake the feeling that he'd been pretty hard on her for just a hairbrush, even if his foot still hurt. Fifteen minutes of unnaturally quiet daughter was about all he could take. "True?"

She kept her face turned away from him.

"True-girl, look at me."

She peeked at him through her hair.

"I’m sorry I yelled so loud. Your old dad’s kinda grouchy this morning."

"Yuh-huh," she said.

He pointed at her. "Hey, you’re not off the hook here. You still left that damn thing in the middle of the tent."

"Sorry," she muttered.

He nodded. "Okay."

They kept packing up. After a few moments, True said, "Did you have a bad dream or something, Dad?"

His fingers stilled in the middle of tying the cord around his sleeping bag. "Sort of--a little one. Why?"

"I just thought that might be why you’re grouchy."

"Yeah, I guess."

She squinted at him. "Did you ever see Julia?"

He straightened up. "What, you think I’m cracking up or something?"

"No," she said impatiently, "you said you would. Remember? Two days ago?"

Right--when she’d been so concerned because he wasn’t fighting with Devon anymore. He had promised, he remembered guiltily. He hadn’t found time to fulfill that promise, but-- "Soon," he said.

She looked at him skeptically.

"Today," he amended.

She crossed her arms.

He threw up his hands. "Fine. Now. As long as your side is completely packed up and loaded when I get back, you hear me?"

"Okay!" she chirped, which didn’t fool him one bit. The little stinker had gotten her way again.

He put on his boots and headed out, still limping slightly. The rest of the tents were in various stages of pulled-down and packed-up. A few cautious morning greetings floated his way, and he grunted in reply. Nobody pursued conversation. They’d have to have been deaf not to hear the temper storm earlier.

That suited him just fine. The remnants of the dream still lingered in his sore muscles, pounding head, and sour mood. It had been a nasty one. He’d thought they would ease up once Devon was on her feet again, but it seemed like they’d only gotten worse. At least he hadn’t woken True. Of course, it would take an avalanche to wake True.

Out in the cold emptiness of space, tethered to life by a thin line that snaked back toward the airlock. Turning to see Devon drift past him, no space suit, no air line, no nothing to protect her. (What are you doing here? This is where Elle died.) Lunging for her, yanked up short by that air line. Helpless as she slid through his fingers--

The sound of his own pungent curse snapped him out of it. He shook his head hard. This had to stop. He was sick of it.

For a second, he considered asking Julia for something to help him sleep without the dreams. But the next second, he’d rejected it. He’d used seds for awhile after Elle’s accident, and had started to depend on them a little too much for his own comfort. He’d tried it once more, right after his mom had died, and slept right through a 3 a.m. feeding. Ever since, he’d avoided pharmaceuticals. No matter how bad it got, he didn’t need that hazy mist of chemicals between him and real life.

Alonzo would say dreams were important. Maybe to him they were. Give it time, John told himself. They’ll go away on their own. As long as Adair quit pretending she was invulnerable.

"John!"

Speak of the devil.

She looked better this morning, he noted automatically. Like she’d actually gotten some sleep. His eyes narrowed. "Were you in the medtent?"

She shook her head. "It was nothing. I need to speak with you."

Was this about last night? Was she going to play Cleopatra, Queen of Denial now? "What?"

"I--uh--" She seemed to be searching for words, and his brows rose. This was definitely not like her. "Umm--the--the hydrocompressor!"

"What about it?" he asked suspiciously.

"I really think we should make sure it’s up and running before the weather dries out. I know we’ve had plenty of rain--"

He frowned at her. She didn’t seem to be listening to her own words. They spilled out like marbles while she studied his face closely, as if trying to ferret something out.

"--but that’s no reason to take chances, right? So why don’t you, this evening, give it a good cleaning and run a diagnostic--"

He decided to cut her off before she talked herself blue in the face. "Already done."

"--scan, and attend to anything that looks--what? Oh."

"Is that it?" Usually when he derailed her like this, she scrambled to cook up some other duty to show him she was still The Boss.

But this time, she said, "Yes. Yes, I think so. Um--thanks."

He blinked. Thanks? "Yeah. Sure. You eaten yet?"

"No, not yet."

"Go eat," he growled. "You want to pass out again?"

"I didn’t pass out," she said indignantly.

"Near enough. Don’t do it again." Before she could protest, he brushed past her and headed for the medtent. He could almost feel her eyes boring into the back of his head, but he didn’t turn around.

One of the ironclad rules in camp, developed over a long, long year of living in each others’ pockets, was that even if a tent was flung wide open, you didn’t just walk in without an invitation. The single exception to that rule was Julia’s medtent, which more or less had to be public property. Seeing the front flap tacked open, he ducked inside. "Hey. Doc. What was she doing in here?"

Julia held up a hand, tapped a few keys, and then ejected the memory chip from her gear and stashed it. Then she said, "There. What?"

"Devon. What was she doing in here?"

"What do you need?"

"A checkup. True’s fussing. Look, Devon--’

"Was here for the same reason." Julia adjusted her diaglove, tapped a few keys, then rested two fingers on the artery just under his left ear. "Why is True fussing?"

"It’s nothing. She just got a maggot in her brain about me. I promised her I’d get you to have a look."

"Any symptoms?" She shifted her hand to the left side of his chest.

"No. Was Devon okay?"

"You could ask her yourself." She rested her fingers on his temple. "Headache? I have painkillers--"

"Don’t need ‘em."

"You know, you two are a lot more alike than you realize."

John didn’t bother asking who she meant. "That’s why I’m asking you. How’s she doing?"

"Just as well as can be expected at this stage of her recovery. This morning was a completely standard checkup and pill refill." She dropped her diagloved hand. "Preliminary indications are you’re doing fine. A little short on sleep. Blood tests? Just to make sure."

"Might as well. What about yesterday?"

Without looking around, she plucked a hypoderm from her overcrowded lab table and fitted a hollow plastic bubble into the top. "Yesterday was garden-variety overexertion. Arm."

He held it out. "You sure about that?"

Holding the hypoderm to the vein in the crook of his elbow, she scowled. "You know, I have initials after my name that say I know what I’m doing."

"Yeah, I know." He looked down, watching his blood fill the bubble.

Julia sighed and lifted the filled hypo off his arm. She pushed her thumb down on the tiny hole, and the skin tugged as it sealed closed. "Look," she said, crouching down and rummaging in a crate. "I’ll admit that Devon’s recovery is a tricky one, and she’s nobody’s dream patient. But if everything goes as planned, she is going to pull through."

He didn’t say anything.

She hooked a bulky little machine up to her main computer and dropped the bubble of his blood into the hopper. "I understand that, given everything that happened--"

He scowled at the side of her head. "Everything that happened? She died, that’s what happened."

"You don’t need to tell me that," Julia returned coolly, not looking up. "I’m the one who killed her."

His scowl faded. "Look," he said, not knowing where he would go from there. "Look, you said yourself it was the only way."

She stared fixedly at her blood tester, not answering.

Something beeped, and he jolted. Julia picked up her datapad and studied the readout. "Clean as a whistle," she said. "You can tell True you’re fine. Physically, anyway."

"Good enough for me." He pushed away from her lab table and started out.

"John, wait a minute."

He stopped, but didn’t turn.

"I know it could have turned out much worse," Julia said quietly. "Believe me, I know. But it didn’t. She’s here. She’s gaining strength by the day. What’s it going to take for you to believe that?"

Even he knew he was being stupid about this. But for once in his life, the evidence of his eyes didn’t seem to be having any effect on his brain. His mouth twisted in self-mockery. "Maybe I’m like ol’ Thomas. I need to put my fingers in the nail-holes." He ducked through the tent’s opening and headed to breakfast.

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