TITLE: Below the Surface
E-MAIL: eli @ popullus.net
ARCHIVE: Ask, please.
SUMMARY: Olivia knows more than her big brother would think.
RATING: PG
POSTED: May 20, 2003
AUTHOR NOTES: Thanks to Kerlin for the beta. This was inspired by a painful post-Terra Firma snippet from cofax.
STORY NOTES: Spoilers through the end of S4, particularly for Terra Firma and Bad Timing. Commentary available here.
DISCLAIMER: Fun to play with, but not mine to keep. Read.




John said he'd contact us if he could. What kind of stupid thing to say was that? Just how is he supposed to contact us from the other side of the universe now that he's closed off the only way there?

The gulls and herons scatter as I toss a flat stone across the water from the end of the dock. Like the other eight, it sinks with barely a trace as soon as it touches the surface. I could never get them to skip.

It was almost easier before. He disappeared as completely as that stone; disturbing everything behind him as we all coped with the effect of his time in our life being cut short, but we had no belief that he would show up with a wide-eyed grin and stories to tell.

Loss isn't a new concept to our family. There has always been the chance that one day dad would go up in the sky and never come back. Mom...even though it hadn't been sudden, her death still opened a gaping, and some might argue, festering wound.

I'd never thought to protect my heart against John disappearing into space. It was more likely we'd lose him to his equations and theories, or "that damn bike" that dad had quietly coveted. There had been no answers, no pieces to pick up. Just hours curled up with a growing pile of crumpled tissues and a soggy pillow that finally forced me out of bed when I could no longer ignore the clammy cotton against my cheek.

Over the distance of three years, John not being there became a fact. It wasn't an elephant under the carpet. Maybe a mouse. But it was our mouse. I'd gotten used to stepping around it.

Then he came back.

***

My hands had been shaking. And they hadn't been the only things; my whole body had jittered with the long-forgotten thrill of slipping under the radar to listen in on things I wasn't supposed to hear.

But I'm not a kid any more, something I still think those two don't understand. I didn't need the overprotective-male syndrome that night. I needed to know what was happening. Yet while I was John's sole confidant for some things, he didn't want me to know about that. A kiss dropped on my hair and, "Just let me talk to dad," were all I could get out of him as they bundled me off to bed like a little girl in footed pjs. He hadn't wanted me to worry.

Well, big brother, that's too damn bad. You should have known me -- and the fact that I know you -- better than that.

They had been quiet. Too quiet for me to hear, if there hadn't been that the huge hole in the stairway wall. I remember staring at the hole, laughter almost escaping. It's still hard to believe. But that was John down there and that hole was real.

"...it's not that easy."

"What was that thing and why was it here? I can't see either question being difficult to answer, John."

"There's lots of things you can't see, dad."

His voice had faded out on a heavy sigh that echoes still in my mind along with all the other details of that night, a permanent recording. Do I wish they weren't stuck there? Sometimes.

In those short days that we had him back, at times I caught him looking sadder than I ever expected. He was home, and it took a bit of poking and prodding to get him to share some of why he wasn't as happy about that as we were. Once, I was shocked to see his eyes colder than I ever thought was possible for him. He had noticed and turned on a smile, which had been frustrating beyond belief. He would share thoughts and memories -- enough to make me see him, see John under the layers -- but so little of what was really going on in his head. And all too often when he honestly laughed, his eyes were surprised.

"So explain it to me. I think I deserve that after seeing, experiencing what I just did."

"Yeah...but like I said, it's not easy."

To my surprise, dad didn't issue another demand. From the first night after John's return when they walked into the house together, they had been back to throwing misunderstandings at each other. But that night dad was holding his fire. And John? I didn't like it how quiet he had been since his return then, I like it even less thinking about it now. He'd always been good at listening, but I don't ever want to get used to the ache in my chest every time I think about how he sat there in the living room and let people and words flow around him.

I do sometimes wish I could go back to when all I wanted was to know. I just wanted an answer to what made him into someone who could deal with that…thing with only a blink. I knew even before I heard him speak so bleakly about decisions without choice, death without dying, so many tricks the universe continues to play, that it wasn't only Aeryn and dad and three years away from us that put that look in his eyes.

There had been another heavy sigh. "Okay, but no interruptions."

"Why-"

"Jeez, dad..."

A self-conscious cough had been the only response to the amused warning in John's voice.

That's the last hint of laughter I can remember from him.

***

Princesses and knights were never very interesting to me. No, when we played make-believe, I pushed for Robin Hood, even if we didn't have a forest. Until I was about 10, I was a merry man -- Will Scarlet, usually. John was Robin. That was never up for grabs. But when I finally wanted to be a girl, it was Maid Marian all the way. Without the kissing, of course.

Susan always laughed, shook her head, and went off with her friends. But even when it wasn't cool any more -- what 13 year old, about to head to high school, still plays with his 10-year-old kid sister? -- John always made time to imagine, to "live in the past" with me.

From what I'd learned from Aeryn and Chiana during that amazing shopping trip John's Robin Hood complex continued past the bounds of Earth. It had taken a bit of coaxing to get Aeryn to share stories, but she had opened up more as Chiana gushed. They both clearly love John and, while there were a couple of stupid-Earthling stories that had made me laugh hard and long enough to have the security detail shadowing us tripping all over each other trying to stop my hiccups, almost all of the stories that they chose to share revolved around John-led attempts to protect. In hindsight, I know that they were editing for my sake, protecting me as well from the existence of the harder side of John that I suspected even then. But those stories don't surprise me.

I still have my dagger, cardboard reinforced with miles of duct tape. He wouldn't make me a wood one. I realize and appreciate his concern for my safety now, even though I pouted for a week whenever he was around after he turned me down. The tip of that dagger is blunter than ever, the edges warped into an almost-deliberate ripple thanks to 20-plus years in various states of storage. But when I dug it out the other day it still held its basic shape, and just touching it made the world blur.

The dagger is now cushioned from further harm in the bottom drawer of my old jewelry box -- a useless weapon, protected by sentiment. I think John would appreciate the juxtaposition. Especially since it's where I used to keep mom's ring. Aeryn's ring now, I want to believe.

***

I had known he was going, but I let him think it was a surprise when he told me the morning after the nightmare. The hardest part of the masquerade had been camouflaging the swollen eyes that are the curse of crying yourself to sleep at 3 a.m. Those fake cucumber patches can do wonders, though.

Getting through breakfast without grabbing him and never letting go was almost impossible. I had to sit opposite him and keep the table between us, especially when I looked at him and saw the pain in his eyes all too easily.

Then John smiled at me. A smile that, for once -- for me, I knew -- was free of any shadows.

I couldn't tell him. I couldn't be the one to make his smile go away.

Once at the base I gave him the ring, and when he choked up, I fell apart anyway. I begged because the words simply came out of my mouth. "Don't go." I knew what his answer would be.

I wonder now if I wouldn't have had to watch him walking away if only I had said, "I know," instead.

***

Dad knows I know now. When he called Susan and me over the other week and told us John's message, we all held on for a long moment -- a warm blanket of a family hug that was way too small to feel comforting. Maybe it was because of that lack that once Susan left, I just couldn't hold it in. I yelled. Dad, after a while, yelled back. And our tear-soaked hug, even though it held only the two of us, provided a measure of the comfort I needed.

The deep warmth of the sun tingling on the back of my neck, seeping into my hair, provides a mirror of that comfort. But there are still secrets beneath the calm surface. Ones that could emerge at any time like the fish popping out of the water now and then to check me out. Anyone working with the government will always have secrets. Anyone struggling with her own conscience will, as well.

Now that John's really gone, five-letter words have taken to taunting me. Anger. How could he leave us with no hope again? Guilt. How could I blame him? The words rarely hit when I'm with others. They like to wait and catch me watching the sky turn red and the clouds glow, that moment before the deep blue creeps in and the stars peek through. I'll hold my breath, close my eyes, but it doesn't stop my stomach from turning over. Once I actually threw up. Crouched there, trembling, I recognized that I was watching the sky for him.

Looking past dangling feet at my reflection, thinking of that moment, I realize I have to believe that my big brother, the man who has lived through far too much, but who has grown to meet it, will find another way home to us.

That stone is still down there in the dark water. He's still out there.

##

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