Work Text:
In the last seven years, Xabi has seen Stevie thrice.
Once in the labor camp, twice in prison. He remembers all the three occasions distinctly.
First visit, winter 2151. Uranium mines.
He hadn’t see Stevie for one year and a half. He remembers how he was looking forward to it. The day before, he packed for the journey. That morning, he woke up feeling slightly nervous, but excited, like a kid on Christmas Day.
The journey started early. More than two hundred miles by train awaited him, and then a journey by bus. He caught the train in the last minute. Spent most of the journey just looking out of the window, fighting drowsiness. He didn’t want to sleep, he was afraid he might pass by the right station. Although sleeping would be a great protection against other passengers who wanted to talk to him. Xabi didn’t want to talk about where he was going. Nobody needed to know. And who knows what could happen if he said more than he should. Keep quiet. Keep quiet about things. Rule number one in this world.
He was looking forward to seeing Stevie, but at the same time he was afraid of what he was about to see. He was trying to prepare himself for him. He would most likely see him in the prison clothes. Probably in some tiny, empty room. The visit would be short. There would be guards.
The two hundred miles traversed, an hour more by bus and he would be there. Then finally he got off. A long, dark wooden house, more like a log cabin. Snow everywhere, wind, cold. He was waiting outside, as they didn’t let the visitors inside until they would bring the prisoners. Soon he didn’t feel his legs. Hands deep in the pockets of his coat.
Finally the bus arrived. They led the prisoners in from the back, then let the visitors in. There was a divider all along the room, separating the prisoners from those who would walk out free once the time was up.
But Xabi didn’t mind. He was happy nevertheless. Because he could finally see Stevie, talk to him, because what he could see didn’t even look all that bad (why would they show him the truth?) and the guards around didn’t look so evil either, they kept their distance and acted very discreetly.
It was short, but it was worth all the trouble.
Second visit, June 2153. Prison.
It managed to shatter all the good memories he had from the visit nearly two years earlier.
The prison was so much different from the log cabin. Dark, gloomy. Long, dark corridors, bars after bars after bars. The guard would unlock a door, let Xabi pass, then lock it again. Walk a few meters, repeat: unlock, pass, lock. Again and again and again.
So many doors, so many bars, so many locks. And a guard with a gun at every door, and their faces looked somewhat darker than those he remembered.
This time, he couldn’t find the sheer joy in seeing Stevie again. Stevie had a few surgeries, Xabi knew, and he looked terrible. Tired, sick, probably both from the health issues and the years of hard labor. There was a mesh separating them.
Stevie was nervous. So was Xabi. He felt his one hand gripping the wrist of his other hand, almost like they didn’t both belong to him, almost like one of his hands belonged to a stranger, maybe one of those guards with guns and gloomy faces. The scene looked almost absurd to him.
And he wanted to run away. And he hated himself for it.
The guard moved. The bench screeched. A fly landed on the wall.
Stevie looked terrible. Xabi knew what kinds of questions were forbidden, but he still had to ask: “How is it with your health? How are they treating you?”
The guard reacted immediately. “Once more and I’ll end the visit!”
Xabi knew he should keep quiet. Keep quiet, rule number one. But he was so angry, so unnerved. He knew from a message that got to him through a spiderweb of people that Stevie could have died. He needed to know the truth. The need to assure himself of Stevie’s well-being was stronger than anything. And he was so focused on him, he could barely hear the guard.
He asked again.
The guard ended the visit.
Both Stevie and Xabi had tears in their eyes.
All he felt when he was leaving that place was terror in his soul. The bars and doors and terrifying faces and guns. Stevie’s face. And how foreign it looked. Somehow he felt like it all invaded him and he didn’t quite know what to do with it, how to process it.
Third and last visit. February 2155. Four years since the first.
Train, then change for another train, bus. Long journey again. He got off in the evening, had to take another bus in the morning.
He arrived too early. Had to wait in front of the gate. Everyone was staring at the metal gate, and the small window in it. Sometimes it would open, an eye would appear for a moment, then it would slam shut again. Nothing was happening, the gate was staying closed.
Xabi’s shoes were wet. He was shivering.
He waited for two hours. Then they called his name. A visiting room. A divider in between, and a mesh in the small window separating them. A guard with a gun.
Xabi doesn’t remember what they talked about. They were careful, remembering the previous visit and its abrupt end. No risks. And there wasn’t much to talk about. What could Stevie tell him, really, about his life, except those things he couldn’t talk about? What could Xabi tell him, about the world outside that was no more Stevie’s, that simply turned without him?
The time was up. They both got up and put their hands on the mesh. Their hands wouldn’t touch, the mesh separating them, but they were close. A farewell without words. A moment that would say nothing to someone watching from the outside, but they felt the energy of it. Nothing was happening, and yet in that “nothing” and the hopelessness of two people so close and so far away at that time, there was a scream of despair.
January 2156.
Stevie is coming home. Xabi is waiting at the train station. He’s the most nervous he’s been in those seven years. Once again, he doesn’t know what to expect. Who to expect.
The train stops. Xabi makes a step forward, a step back. Hands deep in the pockets of his coat, again.
Stevie gets off the last wagon, a small suitcase in hand, his eyes searching the platform.
Xabi lifts his hand and waves.
Stevie starts walking towards him. He looks older, his coat is seven years old fashion and it’s too big for him now, but Xabi’s heart still beats faster with every step Stevie takes.
Then Stevie is standing right in front of him.
And for the first time in seven years, he smiles.