Chapter Text
Eva smiled up at him with a dopey grin from the hospital bed, the slight spacing between her front teeth that always made her slightly self-conscious suddenly of no issue. Halston smiled back down, his grin appearing forced as he desperately tried to convince himself this was not going to be the last time he saw her. Her big brown eyes – as always – seemed to draw him into them, bringing peace into his heart. But this time, staring into them only brought anxiety and fear.
“We’re all prepped and ready. Just give the word,” a man standing beside the gurney gently spoke. Dressed in full scrubs with a mask presently pulled down around his neck, a nametag identified the man who was to be Eva’s surgeon as Okada. Was that a trustworthy name? Was this man capable? Was there anyone else who could-
“Okada is a renowned neurosurgeon, Hal,” Nagai said, stepping beside him. Nagai had a penchant for reading people – especially Hal. It could be unnerving sometimes. “There are about three better – and all are in the exclusive employ of the XCC. So – short of some form of kidnapping operation – he’s the best at what he does.” Nagai tried to lift the mood, but he’d never really been any good at jokes.
“Right… yeah. Yes, of course,” Hal replied, feigning an improvement to his mood.
Nagai wasn’t falling for it. “We can call this off, Hal,” he said, leaning in to whisper so Eva didn’t hear. Not that she would have cared in her current state. She was finding the bedsheets infinitely more fascinating at this moment than the discussion about her impending surgery. “Just say the word, and we’re done.”
Okada looked somewhat disappointed at that but nonetheless nodded in assent.
Hal thought about it, trying his best to reign himself in. He looked down at Eva, at the little gap between her teeth that he endlessly teased her over – especially when she got food stuck in it without noticing. At the scar on her chin where she’d fallen off her bike as a child. At her dainty fingers clutching at the bedsheets in an effort to figure out something about them that only made sense to her own mind in its drug-addled state. If this went wrong, he would never see her again. This procedure – this implant – had never been attempted before, so the chances of it failing in some way that left her totally paralysed, or worse, were high. The fact that if he said yes, there was a chance of this being the last time he would ever see his Eva ever again sent cold shivers down his neck.
But there was another part of the equation – the whole reason why they were doing this. Multiple Sclerosis. Some days, it was okay – she just had to lie down every now and then. Other times, she couldn’t even get out of bed or swallow food. And some days – the ones she truly hated – she failed to control her bowel movements. But by far the part she hated most was that she was losing the ability to keep up with her son, and on more than one occasion, that had brought her to tears. Some days, she asked Hal to help her with something – something he could only refuse to do. But it conflicted him. How could he deny her that with how keenly aware he was of her torment? But, of course, he had never been able to bring himself to that point.
The answer had come through his work – a third way to their dilemma. A spinal nerve substitution. His work with Coral’s potential nerve interfacing capability had yielded that slightest ray of light in the dark. They could, in principle, train Coral to function as a nerve, then cut off the spine and attach the Coral implant, which would function to replace the deteriorating spinal column. It wouldn’t remedy issues, of course, but it would at least help to mitigate the pain and musculoskeletal issues. Hal had been up day and night for months – only sleeping when his body utterly refused to do anything else – working on the implant. It had been his masterpiece. Rigorously tested under nearly all conditions Hal could imagine. Short of injecting Coral into someone’s brain and running a live test – something the Council had, unprompted, made clear was off the table, not that Hal was interested in such a test – there was no further verification and validation Hal could perform. He had to trust the exhaustive work he had done, and the skill of the neurosurgery team hired by the Institute. And yet, he couldn’t stop himself from having second thoughts at this juncture. He knew he had to make a leap of faith, and yet…
If this didn’t work, he knew what that would mean. She would be gone. And Hal couldn’t even bear the thought of that.
He caught her eyes. She grinned again at him – that same stupid, dopey grin that melted his heart and terrified him in equal measure. He smiled back, sombrely this time.
“Damned if you do…” he whispered to himself. “Okay…” he gripped the railing of the gurney tightly, knuckles turning white as he bit his lip. Eva slowly, clumsily, reached a hand out and placed it atop his – still smiling that stupid grin. Even now, she knew what Hal needed. But then, her grin evaporated into a look of deep concern – evoking an abrupt explosion of anxiety within Hal.
“Where’s…?” She managed to say, although clearly with significant effort.
“He’s with Carla,” Hal said, placing a hand on her cheek. She was warm to the touch – or maybe Hal was just cool. He tried to speak in the most soothing voice he could, but it rang hollow to him – almost like he was lying somehow.
Eva nestled into his hand and smiled, seemingly unperturbed by Hal’s internal dishonesty. She seemed to stare at nothing for a moment, before her eyelids slowly fell across her eyes. Her breathing grew heavy as she fell into a deep slumber. Hal couldn’t help but quietly chuckle. She had never had an issue with sleeping – much to Hal’s annoyance. She’d always try to stay up when he couldn’t manage to sleep but would always end up drifting off within the hour. As much as he hated her keen affinity for sleep, he wouldn’t have it any other way.
“Hal,” Nagai gently prompted as he adjusted his glasses – snapping Hal back to the present. Okada was looking elsewhere in the room, clearly feeling awkward. “We need a definite answer. I can cancel this whole thing if you want. It’s not a problem. Really.”
Hal glanced back down at Eva. It all felt too real now.
He sighed. “Then damn me…” he muttered, before looking back up at Nagai and Okada with a newfound conviction – a conviction that almost frightened him. “We’re going ahead with it. This is… she wants this.”
Okada seemed to perk up, moving his mask onto his face before moving to the back of the gurney as he instantly sprang into action.
Nagai smiled sadly at Hal. “I understand,” he said, patting Hal on the shoulder. “It’ll be alright, Hal.”
“Thanks,” Hal half-heartedly responded, eyes still locked on Eva.
Okada began to push the gurney, moving it towards the operating theatre’s door. The first set of doors swung open as he pushed the gurney through into the sterile room – nearly an army of nurses and specialists waited on the other side of the entryway – handpicked by Nagai and Okada no doubt – with every piece of equipment they could possibly need for the procedure at their disposal. At this point, there could be no doubt that this was the best equipped neurosurgical operating theatre in all known space.
And yet, as those doors swung shut with a haunting finality, Hal had the bone-chilling feeling that that had been the last time he would ever see Eva ever again.
It had been eight hours. Eight hours and twenty minutes on the dot, actually. Each second passed like an eternity, every minute felt like a lifetime. He’d tried everything – pacing the room, roaming the hospital, stepping onto a balcony to admire the view of the steadily growing prototype Grid structures, reading, studying – nothing had helped. His mind would always be torn back to thoughts of Eva in that operating theatre, all alone and scared. He wanted to be next to her – to burst through those doors just to hold her hand. It was a stupid and ridiculous idea. All he’d accomplish by doing that would be contaminating the extremely sensitive area and endanger Eva – to no effect, as she would almost certainly be unconscious. He knew that, but he needed to be there for her right now – and only a thin strip of reason was holding him back. A thin strip that deteriorated more and more with each minute.
They’d said four hours – maybe five if there were complications. Nowhere near eight. Hal’s leg anxiously bounced up and down as he found himself chewing his nail – eyes locked on the theatre door, eager for something, anything, about Eva. But, of course, the doors were silent, unyielding to even Hal’s most frantic stares.
At some point, Nagai had left. Something had come up that required the director’s immediate involvement. He might’ve told Hal, but it had been completely tuned out. All Hal recalled was giving a vague semi-polite reply – which had perhaps been mumbled – to Nagai before he briskly walked out, talking hurriedly to someone on his phone.
Hal doubled over, holding his head in his hands as he desperately tried to relax his mind. He furiously studied the texture of the floor tiling – the clean, speckled ceramic offering only the most minor of distractions to Hal, but it was something.
Then, a noise. Something other than the din of the fluorescent tube lights embedded in the ceiling, or the occasional beep from one of the rooms down the corridor. Hal sprang up as he instantly recognised it as the door to the theatre opening.
Okada walked out, in a slow and calculated manner – as if concerned the floor itself might fall out from beneath him. Hal stepped forward and was preparing to unleash a tirade against the surgeon, when his breath caught in his throat.
His eyes. That look in his eyes. That gaze… it was apologetic. Apologetic for…?
“No…” Hal whispered, the fire in his heart doused with tonnes upon tonnes of ice. He stood motionless, unable – and unwilling – to move so much as a millimetre. If he didn’t move, if he didn’t speak, if he did nothing… maybe it wouldn’t come. Maybe he could stay like this forever, and those dreaded words would never have to leave the surgeon’s mouth.
Instants dragged out into eons in Hal’s mind. The tortuous wait between now and when his world would be shattered was simultaneously the most precious and the most bitter commodity at his disposal.
“We… did all we could,” Okada said, meekly, the longest instant in Hal’s life suddenly over. “The… she didn’t…” he cleared his throat in an effort to gather his thoughts just that little bit more.
Hal was unsure of what he would do. Part of him screamed to strangle the man where he stood, and part of him said to scream. All he could manage was to stand there, an icy coldness quickly taking over his mind.
“Her body didn’t accept the implant,” Okada said gently, very much aware of the fragile state the man opposite him was in. The practiced manner in which he spoke those words almost drove Hal to violence. This hadn’t been the first time he had lost a patient. Hal knew nothing about the man, but he could tell that much. He was probably an expert on the subject.
“What… what happened? Tell me what happened, exactly.” Hal said quietly, his mouth dry as bone. His words sounded like he was miles away, almost like he was speaking out of a different body.
Okada seemed to consider his words carefully, and it was almost like Hal was perceiving the man for the first time since he had seen him. Deep bags underlined his eyes now, not present when he had first seen the man. Light splatters of blood had gotten onto the cuffs of his surgical gown – something that he had not had time to wipe off. This had taken a lot out of him. To Hal’s anguish, he came to the realisation that the man in front of him held no blame.
“It… was going well. We had surgically installed the spinal replacement and linked its micro-fibre arms to the nerve clusters. It performed as anticipated, much to… well, never mind,” Okada hurriedly said, catching himself. “The implant seemed to be accepted, and the nerve links functioned as per the testing criteria. Then… we injected the Coral suspension into her brainstem – where the primary bypass would be made.” He paused, hesitating.
“Keep going,” Hal said, his eyes having drifted off to the wall, then to the window, showing part of the balcony overlooking the city and Grid. It was high up – they were located in the Institute’s most prized facility, after all. It had to be the largest structure on Rubicon, outside of the Vascular Plants. What was it called again? Superstructure 01, or something? All Hal could think about was its height. Easily high enough to kill a man.
“The suspension… it… reacted on contact with her brain,” Okada said slowly, pausing nervously.
“Go on,” Hal said, his voice beginning to fail him. “I want to hear it all.” Okada had no idea how close Hal was to striking him.
Okada exhaled, his exhaustion suddenly catching up with him. “It… began to rapidly multiply inside her brain,” he said, resigned. His eyes keenly avoided Hal’s sharp gaze. “Her brain was completely contaminated within seconds. I can only speculate now, but this seemed to prompt an immune response against her own neurons. To her body, it must’ve been like her brain was suddenly replaced with a mass of hostile cells. We… tried immunosuppressants, antibacterials, antivirals, antifungals – it only seemed to slow it.” He paused to compose himself briefly. “About four hours after the initial contamination event, we… lost her.” Okada opened his mouth, as if to say more, then thought better of it.
It didn’t feel real. He heard Okada’s words, registered their meaning, but it all felt like it was in a haze. A great fog descending between what was and Hal’s psyche as a desperate last-ditch effort to protect him. He felt his legs begin to go weak. He turned and slowly, foot by foot, marched his cold husk of a body to the wall. He planted a hand against the cool material, hoping to steady himself.
Okada had begun talking again – some bureaucratic nonsense. While before he had felt far away from the conversation, Hal was outright not listening to him now. He lowered himself against the wall – unsure for how much longer his legs would support him – until he was sitting on the cold tile of the floor. It felt like the only sensation he had mental bandwidth to take in now was the direct happenings against his body.
She was gone. How could she be gone? Nearly ten years by each other’s sides, and she was just gone? How did that make sense? How could it make sense? All that time together gone, just like that. A single moment was all it took for her to be torn away. It felt… wrong. Like this wasn’t how it was supposed to be. They were supposed to grow old together, retire to the southern coast. They’d picked out a nice, small village there – even decided, with certainty, which house they wanted. How could she be gone?
Okada stood around awkwardly – now finished speaking – seeming not quite sure what to do with himself now.
Hal buried his head in his hands. All he wished for was Eva to walk through those doors, and for this to be one of her little practical jokes. Or maybe for all this to be a bad dream. Or, failing that, to not exist.
Two figures entered the room – to which Hal was only partially aware of. It seemed so keenly unimportant. There was some talk between them – did he recognise that voice? He thought he did, but he didn’t care to place it. There were explosive words between them and Okada, some expletives, before Okada awkwardly retreated into the operating theatre.
Then there was a sudden jolt against his shoulders, with his name being called repeatedly. Hal looked up – still dazed – and who was there to greet him but Carla. He opened his mouth, intending to utter a greeting, when the dampness on his cheeks dawned on him.
“S-sorry. I’m… I’m not in the best condition right now,” Hal said, as he wiped tears from his eyes. He slowly stood up, holding onto Carla’s arm like a lifeline.
“Wait in the corridor,” Carla called behind her, before looking back to Hal – sorrow staining her blue eyes. “How’re you holding up?” She sighed, shaking her head. “Never mind. Stupid question. How’re you feeling?” Carla clicked her tongue and glanced away. “Shit, I’m no good at this.”
“…it doesn’t feel real. I… I don’t know what I should do. I couldn’t be there for her…”
“Well, let’s fix that, huh?” Carla slapped his arm, smiling slightly – although her gaze remained solemn. “He’s in the corridor. You need to tell him. Start with that – that’s something you can do.”
“Right. Of course,” Hal said, lightly slapping his face in an effort to centre himself. It didn’t feel like it worked. “Yes, I’ll… I’ll go do that.”
Hal walked past her, slowly forcing his sluggish body towards the corridor where his son was waiting. Carla grimaced as he moved, sighing quietly to herself, before heading to the waiting room’s balcony for a smoke.
Hal turned the corner, spotting his son leaning against a wall, gazing down at nothing at all. As he approached, Hal couldn’t help but notice how loud his footfalls were against the tiles. His mind raced, trying to come up with something he could say. He’d barely come to terms with it himself, how could he hope to console a boy who’d just lost his mother?
But the time for that had run out, as he found himself stranding right next to him – his gaze still levelled at the floor. He knew something was wrong. Of course he did – he’d always been far too smart for his own good. Hal exhaled quietly, bringing all his courage to bear. Somehow, he felt this would be the hardest part.
He crouched down, bringing himself to eyelevel as he tried his best to smile. The motion felt so mechanical that Hal wondered if it appeared as fake as it felt. But he continued anyway, not having any idea what else to do.
“Hey, Walter. How was school? What were you up to with Carla?”
“Fine. We were making robots,” Walter said, looking up at Hal – his piercing brown eyes bordering on accusatory. “Where’s mom?”
Hal winced, still trying to retain his composure. He placed his hand on Walter’s shoulder, as he covered his mouth and looked away – taking the moment to consider how best to approach this. Walter had always been strong… but some things were beyond strength.
“She…” Hal said, looking back at Walter. “We’re not… we’re not going to be seeing her anymore.” His voice began to crack as he spoke. Despite his best efforts, this was all too much.
“Why not? Where’s mom?” Walter said, becoming increasingly agitated. “I want mom!”
“I… I do too, Walter. But… we can’t anymore. I… I know this is hard. But… you need to be strong, okay? We can’t see mom anymore.”
The smallest hint of understanding was beginning to cross Walter’s face as his expression wrinkled into anguish. Hal felt tears begin to well in his eyes, which he quickly wiped away with his sleeve. Walter seemed to notice, as he seemed to calm down slightly – which Hal found endlessly confusing.
“Daddy… you can’t cry. Adults aren’t supposed to cry.”
“I know, Walter, I know. But… daddy really wishes he could see mom right now.” Hal tried to smile, but it came off as brutally dishonest to him.
“I… I want mom,” Walter said, as tears began to stream down his face.
Hal wrapped his arms around Walter and pulled him into a hug, gently cradling his son against his shoulder.
“I know, Walter… I know,” Hal said quietly, as Walter began to sob into his shoulder. Tears of his own began to fall down Hal’s face, having lost the energy to stop them from falling.
As they remained in that state for some time, a strange thought entered Hal’s mind. Walter’s eyes – that sharp brown that seemed to cut past all of Hal’s pretences – he had seen it before. It really shouldn’t have been any surprise to him, and yet it chilled him to the bone for a reason he couldn’t quite put his finger on.
Walter had his mother’s eyes.