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Gordon’s head was filled to the brim with static numbness as he drove up the bumpy driveway of Mutiny house. This was a common feeling by now, after dropping the girls off at school and with no one to talk to. Would Donna even be here? Would she even listen? It was six in the morning, and her car was gone, but he stopped anyway.
He latched onto the quiet noises around him, birds in the trees, rustling of the dried leaves around them, trash drifting in the wind. It didn’t seem right that Mutiny was so quiet when it was Cameron’s house. He expected loud punk music to be playing at all times, not the calm stillness that it was as of now.
He counted the steps up to the porch – one, two, three, four, five, six, seven eight. It was a vaguely comfortable feeling, like for one brief moment in the past all was right.
He knocked, but knew there wouldn’t be an answer as he come in through the unlocked door. Mutiny was as open-door a place as any other, something he thought was stupid but now was just as comforting as eight easy steps.
The place was unsurprisingly a wreck, trash littering various desks next to the computers, cords strewn about. He was still surprised there’d never been a fire, though he wondered if that was speaking too soon still. He wandered through the house, past the smell of brewing coffee in the kitchen, past the bathrooms.
“What are you doing here?”
“Hello to you too.”
Cameron had stepped out of her room, wrapped loosely in a bath robe, her hair pulled into a messy bun. She squinted at him, trying to force the sun out of her eyes. “Donna’s not here, Gordon. Go home.”
“I know she’s not here, Cameron.”
“Then why are you here?”
“I want to talk to you.”
“What, do you want to ‘help’ again?”
“It’s not about Mutiny.”
“Then what’s it about?”
“Can we get coffee?” The question came as he pulled off his glasses, wiping the frames that had started to fog up. Cameron had become a blur, but he could practically hear her confusion before starting off into the kitchen. He followed her, going to sit down as she poured two cups, passing one over. She sat against the counter, watching him.
“What is it then? If you’re not here to see Donna, and you’re not talking about Mutiny…”
“Before you say anything, I don’t expect this to make us friends or anything.”
“Uh, okay. Wasn’t planning on it, but okay.”
“I just need to talk to someone.”
“What about your wife?”
“She’s busy.” His tone was drier than expected. He gulped down a few mouthfuls of the coffee, scrunching his nose at the bitterness.
“If it’s that important, I’d just tell her…”
“She keeps hanging up on me, Cameron. It’s not exactly an easy thing to tell someone over the phone, anyway.”
“Then what is it?”
He sighed, taking a deep breath and looking back at his coffee, making sure he had enough.
“I’m dying.”
“What?”
“The doctor told me I have Chronic Toxic Encephalopathy. Brain Damage.”
“…Wait, are you being serious right now?”
“He said it’s going to get worse. That I’ve been exposed to these, these toxins for years. I don’t know what.”
“Gordon… you need to tell Donna.”
“I know. I want to.”
“No, Gordon, you need to tell Donna.”
“And how am I supposed to do that, Cameron?” He put down his mug for emphasis, looking up at her. “She spends all her time here, we haven’t had a real conversation in months!”
“I’ll talk to her then. I’ll make her go home, something - she needs to know.” She looked at him, obviously out of her element as she looked him over, slumping forward. “Who else knows?”
“Just you. And a dancer at a bar, but – you.”
“What? Why me?”
“Because I figured you’d listen.”
“Do you even know me?”
“Better than you think apparently.”
“I thought you were all buddy-buddy with Joe again.”
“It doesn’t feel right telling him before Donna.”
“Oh, but it’s perfectly fine to tell me first.”
“You’re friends with Donna! You can talk to her –“
“What? Whoa, hold your horses there, Buddy. I’m not telling Donna this.”
“I know, but at least you could get her to listen to me.”
She fell silent, going back to the coffee machine, taking the pot and setting it next to Gordon before sitting down.
“How far…?”
“No idea. A couple years, apparently.”
“Do you think it was from Cardiff?”
“No idea. I mean, these things, they’ve always happened, they’ve just been worse lately… Maybe it was something with the Symphonic’s hardware, for all I know.”
“But why isn’t Donna sick then?”
“She was a coder, not an engineer.”
Cameron sighed, pulling her knee up next to her.
“I think she’ll be here soon. If you want to stay. I can – I could put you guys up in my room or something for an hour, or whatever.”
“No, it’s fine. I won’t impose.”
“No, stay. Until she gets here, okay?”
“…Okay.”
He watched her, confused as he poured himself more of the coffee.
“Why’re you being so nice, anyway?”
“Gordon, you just told me you’re fucking dying. I’m not some heartless bitch, that’s a big fucking deal.”
“Oh.”
“I’d want someone to be there for me if I were going through the same, anyway.” She went back to the kitchen, buzzing around, messing with a few pans on the stove. “Donna needs to talk to you, too.”
“She does? About what?”
“I- I can’t tell you. I shouldn’t have even said that much, I-“ She sighed, raising her hands to her chest, stopping her fidgeting. “I’m terrible at keeping secrets. Just fucking talk to each other, okay? Don’t keep keeping secrets, don’t go behind each other’s backs and tell everyone else, just – tell each other what you mean!”
“…Okay?”
“Sorry, I just…” She shook her head. “You can have the rest of the coffee. Sleep in my bed, whatever, Donna should be back in like, half an hour. That’s when everyone else comes in, anyway.”
“And you?”
“I’m going for a walk. Don’t mess up anything.”
“I won’t.”
“I mean it, don’t fucking touch anything. If you lay a hand on a computer and something goes wrong…”
“I won’t, Cameron. Promise.”
“Okay.”
She ran her hand through her hair, starting out of the kitchen and out the back door, and once again, Gordon was left tasting the numbness on his tongue and staring off at the walls of Mutiny in silence.