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Okabe sits in the dark, and he thinks and thinks and thinks.
‘If Mayuri dies in the night, we won’t know her new time of death,” Kurisu’d said, “But if we get everyone to stay over, then we can trade-off keeping watch. The faster she falls asleep, the less likely she is to get into trouble.”
It was a solid plan, and even helped by the fact that Ruka had recently bought a some cheesy high school flicks—ridiculous ones, so Ruka and Mayuri spent the whole evening transfixed by the DVDs. That night, he'd heard more love confessions than he'd heard his entire life, often followed by a rise of shrieking from their spot by the television.
Mayuri and Ruka had quickly watched themselves into exhaustion. Even now, they were sleeping curled in on one another, their bodies bathed by the blue glow of the screen. Then, since Daru had taken his bed, Okabe had been left with a sleeping bag on the floor of his own home, smack between the TV and the couch.
Between Mayuri and Kurisu.
Okabe sighs as he picks at the edge of his coat. Damn the choice.
Moonlight filters in through the window and lands gracefully on Kurisu's sleeping figure. She had passed out on the couch, fully dressed, with her nose in a book. Okabe had definitely not been worried for her, but the way Kurisu hugged the textbook like a stuffed animal gave him the impression that this happened quite often. He’d…no, he’d made the right decision in letting her sleep. It was best for her to rest; she’d been skipping out on meals the last few nights to focus on finding a way to help Mayuri.
Had it been earlier in the year, Okabe might’ve thought, Kurisu sleeping on my couch…who’s holding her hostage? but actually, Kurisu herself had brought up the idea for a sleepover:
Across the room, Mayuri snuggles closer into Ruka’s shoulder. Her serene expression as she stretches her fingertips towards the sky flashes in his mind. He shudders to think of the ever-clear the pillar of light that beckons her as she kneels before a grave—the way she tilts her head or pulls on his coat, and the ghost of her laugh reverberating around the room like tiny crystal shards on a wind chime, and his chest feels tight; why does she always look so happy to leave? Maybe, just maybe, she knows that it's his own goddamn fault that he can't turn the universe around to save her.
Okabe abruptly sits up from his sleeping bag, resisting the urge to bang his head against the wall. His gaze drags back and forth from one girl to the other like a game of ping-pong, fixated on the steady rise and fall of their chests to reassure himself.
Mayuri or Kurisu
The puzzle. The conundrum. That was the choice. That was always the choice.
A wave of nausea rolls through him. The one he’s always saved or the one who’s always saved him?
It’s not a question, and he won’t ever let it become a question, no matter what he has to do, or sacrifice, he will save them both. Mayuri just has to make it until sunrise.
After some time his phone alarm goes off. Ah, that’s right; Kurisu set it, signaling the end of his second watch, didn’t she. Always there when he needs her. Okabe rises to his feet; out of habit, he stretches his legs out, then leans over the couch to wake his partner in crime.
Careful, careful, he has to be careful not to wake Ruka or Mayuri.
Next to her face, a half-formed puddle of drool threatens to stain his couch cushion. Huh. Okabe calculates the probability that she’d kill him once she finds out he saw her drooling. The result makes him wince.
An inch from her face he hesitates; should he wake her? Can he? Or perhaps she deserves the rest.
She isn’t his Kurisu yet, but he still cares for her all the same. Despite the countless time loops, he’s never seen her quite like this before. Her face is so harmless and unburdened, and her body sprawled out like a bird fallen from its nest. Under the moonlight, her cheeks almost shine. Why, why does the sight make his chest feel tight with something completely brilliant, indescribable, and almost desperately human?
She is beautiful, I suppose.
“Ah—perv! Stop staring at me while I sleep.”
Shit, she’s awake.
“I wasn’t—“
“God, and what’s with that expression!”
Okabe wants—that is, for a very brief moment—to tell her of the quiet torture he’s endured while on watch. But the moment passes, and what comes out is: “What expression? This is ‘disgust’, because you sleep like a homeless man on a bench.”
“What on earth are you talk…“
Kurisu wipes her mouth. Her eyes widen slightly in horror. Perhaps he can take some schadenfreude in the way her face turns completely red. He admittedly expected less of a reaction.
While Kurisu frantically races to wash her hands as quietly as possible, he takes her place on the couch and kicks his feet up on the coffee table. Now that she’s awake he figures they can get down to business. Okabe checks on the lump of children by the TV and relaxes when he sees they’re both still breathing.
“So you fell asleep pretty early, huh? Listen, I know better than to ask if you were tired, but at least I’m glad you were able to sleep.”
“…How’s Mayuri…?”
Unfortunately, she still sounds downright exhausted and foggy. With a jolt, Okabe realizes that she might have actually passed out while reading the book and he’d have no idea.
“Mayuri’s alright,” he whispers, watching girl’s chest rising and falling.
He’s been through so many different world lines. So many versions of her death, and he remembers every single damn one in all its awful glory. He wants it all to stop. He wants more time between every leap, and god, what he wouldn’t give for a companion to remember it all with him. Anger grips his chest. Why Mayuri, he seethes, why the hell is it always Mayuri? Dammit, why did he hook her into his stupid little schemes? The most undeserving…kindest….
Kurisu shuts off the water. “Listen, Okabe, I’ve been meaning to ask. Your memories from different world lines…”
“Well? Out with it.”
When nothing comes, he opens one eye and notices Kurisu clutches the sink’s rim with with white knuckles. He rises from the couch and moves towards her.
“Have you found a connection to dreams?” Kurisu says evenly, but he watches her grip the sink harder.
Okabe blinks. “Are you…Cristina, what did you see?”
“Jeez, I’m just trying to find possible connections between world lines and other unknown variables of the human brain. It’s merely a scientific duty to explore this hypothesis.”
Okabe looks up at the ceiling. Naturally. Mayuri’s heavenly glow by the grave is burned into his mind. “Indeed, this is true. Mayuri mentioned remembering other world lines in her dreams.”
He hears her breathing again, faster, desperate, and slightly uneven. What he thought had been moonlight, Okabe now recognizes as tear tracks.
“Kurisu?”
She doesn’t respond.
“Listen. Listen. It’s all right, okay?” He steps slowly towards her, completely on a whim, and pries her hand off of the sink rim. Her eyes are as dull as an old corpse. Okabe swallows hard, trying to keep his wits about him. “How about—er—I’m headed to the roof for some fresh air, Kurisu. Care to join me?”
She doesn’t say a word the whole way up, which only fuels Okabe’s concern. He figures she probably had some nightmare about her own death—in fact he’s almost positive, since he can feel fear reverberating around her like an aura. It makes his heart clench.
The second he opens the door to the roof, Kurisu shoves past his arm to the railing and immediately vomits over the side of the building.
Okabe stands in shock for a moment, paralyzed by worry. Against every fiber of his being, he casually strolls to the far wall to give her some distance. He has the urge to cover his ears like a child, but resists it for her sake. That’s not what she needs. When she comes back, she mutters, “Shut up.”
He shrugs.
“Ass.”
Like the first time he found her upset, she wavers on the spot for a moment between him and the exit. Right when she seems about to leave, she slides all the way down the wall until her head drops between her knees, too exhausted to put up a fight.
Okabe knows he shouldn’t speak. His place isn’t to speak, but, he’s never cared much for ‘correct places’ when it comes to world lines. Besides, he’s hasn’t ever seen her look so tortured. “What do you remember?” he urges her.
She shakes her head, eyes wider than he’s ever seen. “I said shut up.”
“Kurisu.”
She hugs her knees slightly closer. “I…understand now. The reason you’re so intent on saving her. How many times—how long have you watched her die? How many ways?”
Then it hits him. A worse possibility than seeing her own death.
Much worse for her, and when it clicks, he thinks he finally understands her. Oh. So that's it; what she fears, more than her own death, enough to practically starve herself in an attempt to stop reliving the countless times she's stared helpless--
She stares straight ahead like a corpse in a daze, her voice breaking. “Why didn’t you tell me? About her stopwatch? About her broken body—she’s so tiny, like a doll, isn’t she Okabe? Every time, Mayuri dies, she dies, she dies, and we can’t do anything to stop it, this is sick what we're doing to her—”
"Kurisu."
"She dies, she dies, she dies, she dies..."
Nothing we can do to stop it. Nothing except...
The weight on Okabe's shoulder shifts as Kurisu buries her head into his sleeve, shaking from head to toe. "This isn't fair, okay? This isn't fair. Pair of geniuses, and we're fucking useless. My dad was right." Kurisu squeezes her eyes shut. "The hell are we supposed to do? Pray for a miracle?"
"Kurisu..."
“Because I saw it only a handful of times in my dreams: the world lines I was with Mayuri when her time ran out.” Kurisu stares straight in front, but her eyes don’t fix on anything in particular. “I hadn’t grasped what it feels like to watch it. No one in my family has ever died—or, no one I knew well. "
Okabe stares. Kurisu really though she could do anything, and that her ability surpassed any sort of fate or destiny. Of course, to her everything has a scientific explanation as well. She must always have someone to save. Dammit. I won’t let you anymore. I’ll save you this time.
Okabe quickly stands up. “No, I suppose we can’t.”
Mayuri or Kurisu.
Not that. Not ever that.
Kurisu as she follows his example and stands as well. They are, perhaps, a tad bit closer than usual. Okabe realizes that’s an understatement. He practically smells the shampoo in her chestnut hair. And the feeling in his chest has returned. Pair of geniuses, and we're fucking useless, and she's right, they are kids in a lab, only mortals, idiots, and in desperate need a savior, but Okabe practically smells the shampoo in her chestnut hair, and the height of the rooftop is giving him vertigo too, and he can't think. The only thing that exists in the world that concerns him at all is the beautiful genius in front of him, and her unwavering determination.
He cackles. A proper cackle. A mad-scientist cackle. "You know, for a genius, you're pretty idiotic."
"Huh?."
"Don't you hear yourself? You are the infallible Makise Kurisu! How many times have you defied science? Defied fate? Do it again!"
Her eyes widen in irritation. "Think about the consequences!"
"What, that she lives! Christina—"
"She suffers!"
"She lives!"
"Mayuri only lives if I can get it right, and I can't."
"You can!"
"No, you don't understand, I've tried—"
"Well, try again!"
"Why can't you see? How many times...how long have you watched her die? How many ways?”
Okabe steps forward and speaks in a low voice. "Too many. Too many to count. I'm doing this because we don't have a choice anymore. We reach Stein's;Gate, or I'll do this for all of eternity—don't you realize, Christina, I'm trusting you and you alone to help me."
Halfway through hurling the next insult at Okabe, she stops and scans him, scans his face, scans his posture with her eyes like cold ruby, and realizes he's actually being serious.
"Do you believe," he whispers, "in my faith for you now?"
She stares up at him, lips slightly parted in shock. Or maybe it's something else that he doesn't want to think about.
"Yes," she breathes.
She's so close. She is so close. She is a beauty, a goddess, a red-haired rose, and she stands before him like a marble statue that something inside him yearns to touch. Nothing, nothing, nothing, he realizes, could break him from her sway.
She turns away and smooths her jacket.
"Sorry," he says.
Kurisu pulls open the stairwell door. "We should start."
Alas. Fate is a cruel mistress.
For the rest of the day, they work endlessly in perfect sync. Okabe still finds himself frightened.
When the unspeakably inevitable still occurs at 8pm, Okabe closes his eyes and resists the urge to bury his own head between his knees. Fate is indeed a cruel mistress, that Shiina Mayuri can never escape. Mayuri or Kurisu Mayuri or Kurisu Mayuri or Kurisu Mayuri or Kurisu. Kurisu, still in shock, gently takes his sorry wreck of a self up to the roof and he thanks her, over and over, and whispers I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry into the ground.
“Of course,” she tells him, turning red, “Comfort is all for the purpose of scientific research. It improves circulation and neuron function, since oxytocin receptors trigger an increase in your dopamine output, a-acting as an amphetamine for productivity. Y'know, the neurological reward cycle—”
“I know,” he says humorlessly, “Hououin Kyouma is a mad scientist, too.”
The next time Okabe time leaps, Kurisu’s eyes gleam with new resolve. And the next, and the next, and though she doesn't mention it, he knows that she remembers.
That, for a moment, Okabe chose.