damned_institute | Day 40: Greenhouse [Fourth Shift]

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Day 40: Greenhouse [Fourth Shift]

Most days, fish and chips (and a cold beer or three) was pretty goddamned high on S.T.'s list of perfect expense-account lunches. Today, the idea of picking at greasy hunks of unidentified bottom-feeder odds-and-ends (politely known as scrod, to the delight of teenagers all across the Northeast) didn't appeal.

He begged off and collapsed into his bed, after using his damp shirt as an excuse to surreptiously check the contents of his closet. Bingo. His nurse watched his little show, unimpressed but (more importantly) unsuspicious. Not that his hairy chest was much of a catch today, pale and sweating from fever. At least she didn't tuck him in.

The intercom woke up up right on schedule, and pulling the sheets back over his head almost won. But a handful of unanswered missives and a vague sense of duty dragged him out to the bulletin, and from there it was easier to stagger over to the greenhouse.

It was warm inside -- a deep, humid warmth that actually penetrated to the aches in more joints and muscles than he could remember the names of. Like a sauna, without the hassle of finding someplace to look that wasn't a mound of pasty middle-management cellulite. Or a sweat lodge, without the opposite hassle of being conscious that he was the only white guy in the room. In fact, besides the nurses in holding patterns, he was the only person in the room.

He located a tray of tomato seedlings going rootbound in their tiny six-packs, and a potting bench whose location was a quick-and-dirty approximation of equidistantly far from anything blooming. He assured his nurse he knew what he was doing, and after a couple of successful repottings, gently sliding the little seedlings out and loosening the tangled roots, she seemed to agree and backed off. It was, by far, the most fucking theraputic thing he'd found in this hellhole so far, and he let himself sink into the rhythm of the task.

[Free!]

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Looking a little doubtful and ready to move in close to support Okita again if need be, Jaime settled back down to picking at the weeds around his plant. He stopped, one hand closed around a large weed, as Okita spoke again.

"1864? You're from the past?" he asked in surprise. That made things even more complicated, and he cast his mind back quickly to what he remembered the Scarab saying when he'd first arrived here. It hadn't said anything about time travel, but that could just mean he hadn't gone through time, or that the Scarab couldn't tell. It seemed like that was happening too much of late.

Another thing that had been happening a lot was the Scarab making it more difficult for him to keep things secret. Around home and at school it only really piped up to warn him of something big, which he could ignore or find a way to get away from others if need be. Here there were a lot more metas and aliens and magic users and who knew what else, not to mention that the Scarab was acting more paranoid than normal, so Jaime just keeping quiet when it started talking was going to take more effort. He was either going to have to work on that or work out how much he could afford to tell others here.

He thought all this over as he worked at the weeds and debated how to best answer Okita. It would just be insulting to reiterate that he was just a normal kid from El Paso, and Okita hadn't been treating him like a kid anyway. But all the same the other man would have to realise that Jaime himself wasn't just going to be open about everything.

"There's more to me than I'd want to say in public too," he said eventually, paraphrasing Okita's answer from earlier. "Things I won't tell people I don't trust."

"Yes, I'm from the past. Is it so surprising? Considering some of us come from different planets, if not alternate realities?" The scissors snipped a final time and Okita sighed, thinking back to his conversation with Hijikata on the bulletin board. Things had gone so very wrong with the other Vice Commander and Okita feared there was no way to patch them up again. Setting the shears down, Okita reached out and touched one of the smallish yellow blooms. "We're all trapped, one way or another."

Standing up, Okita moved the plant to be by the other he finished and pulled a third one forward. The monotony of gardening was good for him now that he needed a distraction. It allowed him to think without looking like he was too preoccupied. He could pull weeds out of a pot rather automatically, having spent so much time in the gardens at Mibu. Back then, it hadn't been for gardening purposes so much as to amuse Saizou while the piglet chased after the little dirt clods the weeds had attached to them, but the principle was the same. And he needed this time to think of a proper response to Jaime. Threatening the boy to keep quiet wouldn't do much good, but he had to make sure that whoever could tell he was sick was sworn to secrecy.

Homura, Kenren, Himura and the late Sanosuke all knew his secret, but beyond that, he wanted to keep his disease silent. People would lose faith in him or they'd avoid him. He wouldn't be allowed to play or even speak with people anymore. The fear of the red death drove people apart and Okita wanted to stay with the friends he'd made here. "I understand, Jaime-san. I hope you also understand that whatever ability it is you have that let you see the truth, you'll keep what you've learned to yourself. It's a matter of honor, and a matter of life or death for me. You know more about me than I know of you, and while I may find that unfair, there isn't much I can do. Perhaps one day you'll trust me enough to let me know your secret, as I've already shared mine with you."

"Keep it to myself?" Jaime asked, his voice a mix of disbelief and annoyance. "Ignoring how I found out, which I admit is a lot to ignore but work with me here, what you've got will kill you if left untreated. Not to mention you risk infecting other people! Is your honour more important than keeping others safe?"

Jaime's voice was inevitably getting louder and it was with some difficulty that he dropped back to the conversational tone they'd been maintaining so far. While he couldn't agree with Okita's wish to keep this a secret, it just didn't make any sense for one thing, starting a panic here wouldn't help matters either.

"Look," he tried again. "I know you're from the past, but now? We have medicine to cure this. The treatment might take a while, but isn't it better to come out about it and get some help? Keeping it to yourself is just going to hurt yourself and others and..." He frowned, the plant he'd been working on ignored now as he concentrated instead on Okita. "...I won't let you do that."

Disbelief was fine. There was no way Jaime could know the truth of what would be his demise. But the moment Jaime raised his voice, Okita's smile disappeared beneath an icy mask. Okita didn't look around to see who had heard the boy, and frankly he didn't care. As long as he didn't say the name of the disease or raise his voice again, Jaime would be spared the full brunt of Okita's wrath.

"Don't assume you know so much, Jaime Reyes," Okita said, his voice never raising above its usual level, but the tone so much colder than before. This was something he never wanted to discuss with anyone, let alone some child he didn't even know. Jaime had no right to get uppity about his disease without knowing the truth behind it. "If you must know, it's a custom-made disease and it's not contagious. The doctors here made sure of that when they infected me with it."

Taking the scissors in hand, Okita slowly squeezed them to release the anger that grew with each word he said. If he didn't have something inanimate to focus on, he'd slap Jaime - or worse. How dare a child chide him on something that he knew all too much about? Did he think Okita was stupid? Did he really think he'd risk everyone here for himself? He'd sooner throw himself upon his sword and end his life than allow the disease to travel to any of his companions. And to think Okita was ignorant simply because he was from the past? Unforgivabl--

The spring snapped and the shears in Okita's hand collapsed under the pressure. Okita winced as the sharp end of the wire bit straight into his hand and he looked down. "There is no cure and there is no treatment," he said, leaving no room for doubt or questioning. The doctors had made sure of that as well. It was custom-fit and unbeatable. That disgusting man with his horrible laugh had said as much and so far, Okita had no reason to doubt him. Okita dropped the shears beneath the bench where the nurses couldn't see it and then pressed his hand against his pant leg to stop the bleeding. "You know less than I do about what's happening to me, so don't you dare try and even think for a moment that you have any authority to tell me what to do."

That Okita was angry was obvious, but Jaime found that less important compared to the implications of what the man told him. "The doctors..." His eyes narrowed, and for a moment he looked genuinely angry. "The experiments. That's what this is about."

A sick feeling settled in his stomach. It was too much like what the Reach had been doing on Earth. Messing around with people's lives and futures just to further their own goals. To make a profit out of his world. The things they'd done and the lengths they'd gone to had been mind-boggling in a way, and while a custom-made disease probably seemed insignificant in comparison, it was close enough to remind him of it all over again. And no matter what he might think or know about Okita and the club he was a part of, Jaime didn't think anyone deserved something like that.

There was a metallic snapping sound as the wire of the shears Okita was holding gave away and Jaime started slightly both from surprise at how tightly the other man must have been gripping them and from the flash of pain across Okita's face. But then he relaxed again and nodded once in agreement.

"You're right," he said apologetically. "I do know less about it than you do." Or at least less about how it had happened. As for actual physical effects, the Scarab would be able to figure out a lot of that on its own, not that Jaime was about to tell Okita that part. "But can you really blame me for getting worried?"

He felt sick to his stomach. Not only had he been forced to reveal what the experiments did to him, but he had done it to a man he barely knew, let alone trusted. He had no guarantee that Jaime wouldn't go asking about it on the bulletin board, or telling other people about it. He was someone who asked questions and those sorts of people were great at gathering information, sometimes not so great at keeping it secret.

Okita glanced down at his hand, noting that the bleeding was stopping, if slowly. He must have hurt himself worse than he'd thought. His attention had been elsewhere, so his mind hadn't registered the pain as clearly as it should have. Okita pressed two fingers against the palm of his hand, watching as the blood welled up. He then wiped his hand off on his pants again, not caring that it left dark spots behind.

The sickness gave way to tiredness and Okita sighed, rolling his shoulders to release the tension. He hated getting angry during the day. There were too many eyes to see the happy mask slip, and too many people he had to protect from seeing that side of himself. "I don't blame you for getting worried, but I do expect that next time, you'll think before you let that sense of justice of yours endanger a person's life." Reaching forward, Okita started picking the dead leaves off the plant by hand. "I don't like repeating myself, but I do ask you to remain absolutely silent on my condition, Jaime-san. I don't want people to mourn me before I die - if you know what I mean."

Jaime watched as Okita forced more blood out of his injury but wasn't sure what, if anything, to say. He didn't need to wonder that much about what was bothering the other man. The safe bet was on the stranger that knew all about his illness. The situation was making Jaime feel more than a little uneasy. He didn't like the idea of having such a huge advantage over anyone like this, but there wasn't much he could actually do to level the playing field.

"Okay," he agreed eventually. "I'll keep it to myself. It's the least I can do." He knew a little too well what it was like to have people mourning when you weren't dead. Or more accurately in his case, coming back to find people had thought you were dead and having to deal with their reactions to you not only being alive after all, but also being different from what they remembered. It wasn't exactly the same, but both were difficult to deal with.

His smile returned and Okita added the dead leaves to the pile of weeds and other trimmings he'd been making. So long as Jaime never mentioned the sickness again, he was certain they wouldn't have many more problems. Or so he hoped. The last thing Okita wanted to do was to harm a young boy. He'd done enough of that in the war; killing countless roshi who had only been fighting for what they believed in. "Thank you," he said, the sincerity in his voice evident for once.

It had been bad enough watching Hijikata put on a brave face as the medicines and teas he prepared did nothing to stop the pain. Okita didn't want to see Homura do the same thing. He not only didn't know how to cure the disease, but despite being half-mortal, he had probably never seen someone die of sickness. It would be traumatic, for him and for Okita's other friends, and the swordsman wanted to spare them the realization of that horror as long as possible.

But it never did any good to dwell and Okita wasn't particularly fond of doing it. Resting his chin in his uninjured hand, Okita smiled pleasantly at Jaime and asked, "So... Did you have any other questions about the History Club?"

Jaime relaxed now that it seemed the worse of the situation was over and went back to pulling out weeds, the activity providing something of a distraction while he thought. The conversation so far had given him a lot to think about, both in regards to Okita and the club he was a part of, but he needed some time to work through all the information he had gathered today before going any further. He already had the beginnings of a few different plans though, which was definitely a good start.

"No," he said eventually. "You've given me a lot of help already, even if some of it you would have preferred not to. So... thanks." He smiled, perfectly sincere in what he said. They both knew Okita had been forced to share a lot more than he would have normally, and Jaime wanted to avoid making the situation worse if possible.

"But if I think of anything else, can I contact you or someone else from you club to talk about it?"

"Let's not mention that last part, hm?" Okita pulled the last dead leaf off his plant and sat back to examine his handiwork. It looked healthy enough and it was flowering despite the weather turning colder outside. Okita figured he was finished and leaned forward, resting his chin in one hand while the other tapped the yellow flowers. "I'm glad I was able to answer your questions though."

Smiling in childish amusement as the flowers bobbed under the weight of his finger, the swordsman nodded along with them. "If you need anything else, contact Kaneyoshi on the bulletin board. I'll be sure to answer it. You're welcome to speak to the other members of the club, however, if you so wish."

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Day 40: Greenhouse [Fourth Shift]

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