Fantasy for Organ, in E flat Major

[collector]

[There is cake on the kitchen table. Everything else is irrelevant, because there is a table, and it has delicious cake on it.]

[But if one must notice the peripheral details, Irving Braxiatel is leaning on the counter by the oven. A fresh sheet of croissants are on top of the stove, and Braxiatel is looking over a paper on Shakespearean performances in non-human cultures. He is also fixing an odd bit of technology that might be recognized as part of a time ship's temporal stabilizer. The devil, after all, always finds work for idle hands. He seems perfectly at ease.]

[There is also an extra cake on the table, as if to ward off vultures from the main prize.]

Comments

[collector]

From what I can untangle of those thoughts, Oliver, you were the one who needed help. You needed peace of mind.

[oliverplus]

[just...looks up in surprise] You were bleeding!

[collector]

You were self-destructive in your desire to save me.

[oliverplus]

[shakes his head, though he knows it's true] I hadn't done anything!

So...what, you're saying you were trying to help me?

[collector]

I'm not trying to excuse it. [Braxiatel's fingers lock together in front of him.] But it certainly wasn't out of a desire to see you hurt.

[oliverplus]

You still went into my head!

[sighs, leaning his head against one hand] This is too much...

You're better now, too, right? The feeling went away?

[collector]

Yes. I can think clearly again.

[It's a quiet little lie paired with a quiet little truth. Oh, yes, some of the feeling is gone. He has more self-control again. But he thinks in thoughts as clear as that day. Methodical, practical, and precise. Everything he has said has been measured against a particular end; the submission to judgement is nothing more than a ploy to escape without real scrutiny. If Oliver could see the truth now, he would see that so little has changed.]

[And Irving Braxiatel is content with that. He knows the future. He must think this clearly and this ruthlessly if he is to ensure survival.]

[As calculated as all the words before it, Braxiatel hesitates just slightly. His fingers link closer together, mimicking insecurity. He is completely confident with what he is doing.]

As I said. I won't try to excuse what I did. If you want time, I can leave. And if you choose . . . Well. I don't ask forgiveness either. No one would hold it against you if you chose not to speak to me again. Anyone would distrust me if they knew what I had done to you.

[oliverplus]

[nods] That's good, then.

[looks up at that, startled] No! No, it's not that. Really. Just... [sighs] It's just a lot to take in. I know you were messed up, too. And you did fix it. I just never thought... [shakes his head] But it was the Plane that did it, really. Not you.

[collector]

[with a quiet laugh] I'm not sure it's fair to blame the Plane for it.

[oliverplus]

[makes a face] Well, whoever was controlling all that, anyway. Meredith, maybe. It wasn't just random. They made that happen to us.

[collector]

Not fond of Meredith lately, Oliver?

[oliverplus]

[darkly] Did you talk to her after the voting?

[collector]

I didn't vote. [There is a moment where he almost lets some emotion onto his face, but he brushes it away.] Too late now. I assume you did.

[oliverplus]

[sighs] I just wanted to leave the Plane.

[a bit bitterly] Meredith really just said she didn't want to tell us anything and didn't care about as people anyway.

[collector]

Did she? Well, that doesn't come as a surprise. Most people have only a limited ability for empathy, and this is hardly the context that inspires it.

[oliverplus]

[his expression says just what he thinks of that] So glad she's in charge, then.

[collector]

I hope you weren't expecting otherwise, Oliver. This is a large and dangerous experiment. Those who run such things need either lack morals entirely or be willing to discard them for the sake of some greater purpose.

[oliverplus]

[sighs] I don't know what to expect from people anymore.

[collector]

[Braxiatel considers this for a moment, sketching a Greek letter in the icing of his cake. Then he says,] Some expectations are pure prejudice. Even positive ones. An expectation is a judgement of the future, after all. Judgements can no more be based on boundless hope and love than on boundless hate and fear.

[He glances up from his cake to meet Oliver's eyes. As always, there is nothing to be read in his.] Did I disappoint you terribly?

[oliverplus]

I... [but he hesitates, looking away] I don't know.

I just...don't even want to be here anymore.

[collector]

Perhaps you should take a break.

[oliverplus]

[looks down at the cake. picks up his fork, poking at it--more for something to do with his hands than anything] You know, I thought I was getting used to it again, but maybe not. Heh...the Doctor'll accuse me of running. But at least I can do something on Gondovan.

[glances at him, nervous] But it's not that I'm running from you. It's just... [waves the hand holding the fork in a vague gesture]

[collector]

I don't blame you, Oliver. And I don't think the Doctor really has any right to accuse someone of running away. People need time. Most understand that.

[oliverplus]

[softly] Doesn't make it feel less like running away.

[collector]

Don't, Oliver. Cowardice is turning away from duty. It's your duty to take care of yourself. You won't be any good to anyone if you can't be good to yourself.