Chapter Text
Miguel paced.
It was dark but for a single screen. That screen held his complete attention. There was a figure there he didn’t want to look at. The figure that told him things that couldn’t be true; but felt like the truth, quiet and red and raw. A figure made of shadows with eyes brief points of light. He thought he could see faces writhing, figures pleading, in the depths of that shadow.
It was a truth he didn’t believe in. A figure he wanted nothing to do with.
Miguel stopped pacing. He rested his hand on the console, tapping one thoughtful claw. He could feel his fangs fully extended, poison bubbling like bile. He didn’t want any of it.
“I need you to prove it.”
“Prove what?” the figure’s voice rasped like old paper.
Miguel chose his next words carefully. “You need to prove that it can be done. I have tried. It didn’t work.”
The figure was silent. He glanced up. It was still there, but it did not speak.
“I have no reason to trust you,” he stated.
“Trust is difficult for people like us. I will get you your proof, Miguel O’Hara. You have my word.”
“Good,” he said. “Call me when you do.”
He left the room.
Miguel didn’t know what would happen next. Uncertainty didn’t sit well with him. Everything had been straightforward and organised. It was as simple as following the canon events. Then an entity with power beyond worlds told him the canon events were themselves determined by a higher power. One that could be overcome with time and strength.
What if he’d been fighting the wrong enemy all along?
It was past midnight. Miguel stalked the halls. He liked the dark. It was quiet and easier to think. Before he knew it he was outside Jess’ door. Was that intention? Was it fate? What did any of that even mean now?
Her door was ajar. It always was on these warm summer nights of Earth 928. Miguel hovered in the doorway, debating whether to enter. He didn’t want to wake her. He didn’t want to be alone.
“Miguel, I see you hovering.”
That was it, then.
“I was not hovering,” he grumbled, closing the door behind him.
“Lurking, then. Skulking.”
“Well, no, that sounds even worse.”
She made room and he slid under the sheet beside her. His thoughts slowed. He was finally drifting off when she pressed his face into his shoulder. Immediately he was wide awake.
His shoulder was damp. Was Jess crying? He reached for her, but she took Miguel's hand and pressed it to his own chest.
“Don’t.”
“Are you okay?”
“I think so. I...”
She squeezed his wrist. The claws were gone. They were more themselves with each other. The tears were new.
“I wish I could explain,” Jess whispered. “Feelings are a lot right now.”
“Feelings are hard,” he admitted.=
Their eyes met through the dark. Jess flashed him a wavering smile.
“We need sleep,” she said. “It’s been days. We’re too emotional.”
“A good plan,” he replied. “Not too long. There’s work to be done.”
“Always work to be done,” Jess agreed. The ghost of a smile still played about her lips.
They didn't wake until past noon.