i_am_your_host | OOM - upstairs with Sinric

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OOM - upstairs with Sinric

During Emcee's recovery in his room, he became a recluse. He couldn't find the motivation to go downstairs (too tired, too lazy, too sad, too unsure of himself), so he would ask George to see if any of his friends were around. To talk, and perhaps to let the talking lead to other things. Jay, Sinric...even Eric.

At least, he thought, he might be ready to take up his other old habits.

(He wasn't certain if he could feel Eric's presence. It might have just been wishful thinking. Or not.)

As it happens, Sinric is in the bar when George goes on this particular errand. He floats up to the long-haired blond and chirps out the sounds Emm See! at him, and moves backward toward the stairs as a gesture to follow.

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"Milliways." He tries to explain, his tthroat dry and rough as if he'd been shouting. "It changes the way the threads move. I saw where you died on the docks. Where your friends were captured. But Milliways changed that thread, because you're here and alive."

He coughs. "Some water?"

Emcee gasps and flinches, hearing the words you died on the docks. And for a moment he's frozen and speechless as his mind whirls.

"--Yes, yes, of course, darling," he then says hastily. Gently distentangling himself from him, he presses another kiss to his brow before slipping off the bed to fetch a glass of cool water from the bathroom. He sits beside Sinric and holds the glass to his lips, his hand trembling a little.

He sips gratefully, his own shaking hands steadying slowly. "The thread changed, when the door brought you here. The old one was broken and a new thread woven in its place. Pasts and futures spliced together like frayed rope."

He pulls Emcee to him, needing to hold and be held. "I saw your thread if you'd stayed. Without Milliways, you died in the docks. If you had stayed, they would have taken you. The camps, the suffering." He touches Emcee's wrist where the tattoo isn't. "You would have lived but at a cost so high you would wish for death many times over."

Emcee sets the glass aside when he's done, so they can hold one another.

"The camps..." he exhales on a sharp breath. He looks at Sinric with horror in his eyes.

"I have heard much about them, but--" He shakes his head, trailing off, his throat closing. He can't even begin to imagine.

"That can't possibly be my fate," he whispers fearfully.

Sinric shakes his head, clinging a little. "No. No, that pattern changed when you chose to leave. I'm sorry, I'm trying to explain it but it's hard to make sense of what I saw. The thread moved away, when you readied to leave your country but that future was still there. I had to see it to be sure it wasn't the right one. Emcee, it was horrible!"

Emcee knits his brow, trying to wrap his head around what Sinric is saying. He can't understand why such a thread would still exist, but who knows for sure how vast the fabric of time is, and to what ends its threads extend.

He can almost feel the pain and suffering in Sinric's voice. Realizing that the pain and suffering was supposed to be his own.

"Oh, Sinric, I wish you didn't have to see it," he says on the verge of tears, grasping his hands and kissing them.

"I know it didn't happen, that your tread turned but-" he swallows roughly.

"There are others - brighter, stronger threads. You, and your friends, in a city far away. You're safe but... it's hard. The winters are cold and there's much fear. People turn you away because of your accent, because of where you're from. But you're together. And you find ways. Things... things get better with time. You are yourselves again."

He frowns deeply but nods slowly, taking this to heart. He's quiet for a moment as he absorbs that this might be a possibility. A stronger one.

"Then it is still a sliver of hope, though the road will be difficult," he says.

"There was hope. And you will be together."

Sinric swallows, "There another thread, jumbled up with it. But I don't understand it well. A city of lights, seen from a soaring tower. People dancing, music so loud and lights so bright, flashing and pulsing. A man and a woman. Siblings? There a man I thought I recognised. With white in his black hair. He's watching, from the edges. From the outside. I don't know what it means."

Hope, and a measure of certainty. Emcee will need everything he can get to not give up.

"Siblings...?" he then says, pondering this extra thread. Dancing, flashing lights?

"Ohh, Jay! He gave me a beautiful home in his world's Berlin. And he offered me a--" He sighs, biting the inside of his lip, still overwhelmed by the thought of it. "He offered me co-ownership of a nightclub. A wonderful, incredible nightclub."

He grows pensive. "So that is in my future as well?"

"I don't know. Both threads are strong but Milliways tangled things up. Maybe you will have one of these futures. Maybe because of the doors through here, you can have both. I can't tell for sure. But I know the path you have chosen would have lead to your death, but Milliways changed that. Your broken thread was bound back together so now you can go on."

Emcee is silent for a while.

And then he embraces Sinric, shutting his eyes tight, and lets out a ragged breath into his hair.

"I'm sorry." Sinric whispers, limp and tired in Emcee's arms.

"No," he whispers in reply, still holding him. "Thank you, darling. Thank you so much for doing this for me."

Part of him wishes he hasn't. He can't get the camps out of his head. Instead he curls tight in Emcee's arms and focuses on here and now. "Milliways wanted you to live. That's why the door came." At least that want he hopes. The seeing gets complicated around the doors.

"Perhaps. But I have another chance now. A chance to make things right."

He had promised himself that he would keep his friends safe, and now it's up to him to not waste this precious opportunity.

Opening his eyes, he cups Sinric's face in his hands.

"Will you be all right, darling? Do you need anything?"

He nods, trying to assure Emcee he'll be alright. Trying to assure himself. "Some more water and some rest. I'll recover. I understand if you need to go, to think about what you've learnt."

Emcee reaches over for the glass of water and holds it to Sinric's lips again.

"I'll stay with you," he says. "I don't want to leave you like this."

He's steady enough to take the glass this time, drinking slowly but deeply. "Thank you. I'd be vet grateful if you stayed. I'm sure I'll be alright after some rest."

"Of course, darling," he assures him. "Let me refill this for you."

Emcee takes the glass back to the bathroom. He's a little numb yet shaken at the same time, his thoughts swirling in a storm. He will indeed need time to think. But Sinric comes first now.

And he can't help feeling guilty for asking him to go through this.

He returns to Sinric's side and puts the glass within reach.

"Do you want me to hold you?"

"Please?" He'd very much like to held, just a little while.

Emcee nods and settles in beside him, folding his arms around him in an embrace that he won't break anytime soon.

George has been hovering discreetly around the corner, sad and concerned. When Emcee catches sight of him, he floats forward, and eventually lands on one of the pillows near Sinric's head. He begins to emit a soft hum, like white noise, to help Sinric focus and sleep. He'd done that many times for Emcee.

Emcee kisses Sinric's temple.

"Thank you, Sinric," he whispers against his skin. "You have given me so much more hope than I had before."

His efforts won't be in vain.

Sinric curls in Emcee's arms, reaching out to give George a little pat of thanks.

It doesn't take long before he slips into a shallow, restless sleep, his mind still trying to process all he saw and heard and felt.

Emcee remains awake. Even as his eyelids droop and close, his mind, too, is restless.

He survives down the line, and this is what matters. He would have for certain died if the door to Milliways had not appeared. Or, if he had decided to stay in Germany, he would have lived but suffered in a concentration camp. It is this idea that keeps him awake.

The things Sinric must have seen, the things he must have felt in his vision. It was never meant for him, for either of them. That was the danger in asking. In looking too deeply. Not so much physical, but the scars and shadows it leaves on the mind.

Sinric sleeps for a couple of hours, looking a little less pale when he wakes. He smoothes a hand through Emcee's hair.

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