Chapter Text
2011 - University of Eastern Colorado
“What is this?! What the fuck is this?!”
Jerry looks up from his work, at the papers Tommy’s thrown splayed over his desk. He spreads the pages with his hands, trying to understand what he’s looking at. When he recognizes his handwriting and the words: specimen, cordyceps, Ellie, and remove on the page, he blanches. “Tommy, these notes are early…”
“These are real? These are fuckin real?!”
“Tommy, please…” Jerry says, standing up, hands held out in front of him placatingly.
“No! No!” Tommy’s face is twisted in rage, jaw clenched tight, gaze dark and lethal as he stabs his finger into the doctor's chest. “I only agreed to this because you said it would only be some tests, simple ones, blood, scans, maybe a tissue sample.”
“This is tissue.” Jerry tries to explain.
“Brain tissue! I thought you meant fuckin’ skin or muscle, maybe, but not her fuckin’ brain!” Tommy’s eyes fall to the papers on his desk, and his finger shifts to them, jabbing fiercely. “And this ain’t just taking some tissue; you want to cut it out. You ain’t cuttin’ into her brain. What the fuck are ya even thinkin’ she’s a goddamn baby.”
"Tommy, you need to understand the gravity of this situation. This discovery is the breakthrough we've been searching for; it could pave the way for a vaccine that has the potential to save millions of lives. Imagine the impact this could make."
As Tommy processes this information, he suddenly freezes, a horrifying realization creeping into his mind. "But... this would kill her, wouldn't it?" His voice trembles, the weight of the implication hanging heavily in the air.
“It’s intertwined with the brain,” Jerry explains, leaning closer to the page as he gently moves it aside. He reveals an MRI image of Ellie’s brain, a complex interplay of colors and shapes that highlights the intricate structures within. Tommy gazes intently at the image, noting the significant growth that has formed inside it. The mass appears intricately woven into the surrounding brain tissue, almost like a vine intertwining with a tree.
Tommy’s heart races; the connection is unmistakable. He feels a sense of dread creeping in, and before Jerry has the chance to articulate his diagnosis, Tommy's intuition tells him the truth. He already knows what this means for Ellie.
“There’s no other way to remove the specimen without destroying the host.”
“The host?” Tommy spits the word like poison on his tongue, “You’re talkin’ about my daughter.”
“I am aware…” Jerry begins, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose.
“You’re okay with killin’ my baby? What if this was Abby?
Jerry turns away and leans against his desk, his gaze falling on the scattered brain scans covering the surface. Taking a deep, measured breath, he says, “Tommy, look, everything we’ve been fighting for, all the sacrifices, all the horrific experiences—all of it…” He turns back to Tommy, his eyes pleading, hands out in supplication, “All of that is justified by this one act.”
Tommy takes a step forward, his hands clenched at his sides. “If this were your daughter, what would you do?”
Jerry flounders, seemingly at a loss for words, his hands fall to his sides. “I…” They’re interrupted by the sound of little feet running down the hallway outside, then a girl of about 4 years old with blonde hair done in two French braids at the back of her head peeks around the half-open door.
“Daddy?”
“Abs, what are you doing here?” Jerry asks as he scoops her up into his arms.
A moment later, a flustered young woman skids into view in the hallway. She spots Abby and lets out a sigh, leaning against the doorframe to catch her breath. “Dr. Anderson, I’m so sorry she got away from me. I just turned away for a second…”
“It’s all right, Amber,” Jerry reassures her before turning his attention back to Abby. “Abby, what have I said about running away from Miss Amber?”
“Not to,” Abby replies softly, looking down and playing with the top button of her father’s shirt.
“That’s right,” he says, bouncing her lightly against his side, which earns him a soft giggle from the little girl. “Now, if you’re a good girl and don’t give Miss Amber any more heart attacks before I pick you up this afternoon, I’ll take you to see the monkeys.”
“The monkeys?” Abby exclaims, her face lighting up instantly.
“Yes, the monkeys,” he confirms, gently putting her down. He gives her a light pat on the back to send her towards Amber. “Now go on, apologize to Miss Amber for scaring her, and I’ll see you later.”
Abby scampers over to Miss Amber, says apologetically, “I’m sorry,” and takes her hand. The two begin to walk away, while Jerry turns back to Tommy. When suddenly, Abby stops and breaks free from Amber's hold. She runs to Jerry and hugs his legs tightly, eliciting a surprised “oof” from him.
“I love you so much, Daddy,” Abby declares, with her eyes tightly shut, her face pressed against his knee, and her little hands clinging to his pants.
Jerry laughs and reaches down to disentangle her from his legs. He wraps her in his arms and gives her a firm, loving squeeze. “I love you too, Abs. So, so much,” he murmurs pressing his lips to her forehead for a quick kiss.
The moment has a bittersweet feeling to it, considering the topic they’d just discussed. Jerry's gaze shifts to the papers on his desk, and he tightens his hold on his daughter just a fraction before placing her back on the ground. “Alright, you noodle, go on now,” he says, and Abby is off, hand in hand with her minder.
After she leaves, they watch the door for a moment. Then Jerry turns back to the desk, takes a deep, trembling breath, and begins gathering the scattered papers.
“Doc…” Tommy starts with a sigh. He knows Dr. Anderson’s a good man; he’s been raising Abby on his own since her mother died in childbirth. However, Tommy is also aware of Dr. Anderson’s dedication to the cause and the fact that he’s witnessed too much death in its name to let this opportunity slip by. Tommy wants a cure just as much as anyone, but not at the expense of his daughter's life or any child’s, for that matter. He needs to make Jerry understand that there must be another option and that they have time to explore alternatives.
Interrupting him, Jerry commands, still facing away, “Tommy, you need to leave.”
“But we ain’t finished here,” Tommy replies, indignation burning within him at being dismissed so abruptly.
“No, Tommy. You need to leave the university. You have to take Ellie and whatever supplies you can gather and get out as soon as possible.”
“What?” Tommy asks, his anger fading into confusion at the sudden change in the conversation.
“I’ve already sent this information up the chain of command. I received a message today indicating that they want this done immediately.”
“What?” Tommy repeats, feeling like a broken record as a cold, featureless dread begins to form in his gut.
“They're not going to take no for an answer, Tommy. If you don’t approve it, they’ll remove you as an obstacle.”
“You mean they’ll kill me?”
“Yes.”
“Jesus H. Christ.” Tommy gasps.
He’s no fool. Tommy knows what the fireflies are capable of, has been a party to some of it. But this, this is a step farther than he ever thought they’d go. They’re willing to kill him, a loyal soldier in their little war, so they can get to his daughter and cut out her brain, ultimately killing her as well for the possibility of a cure. Never in his wildest dreams has he imagined this, but he should have, he knows now he should have.
“How long do we have?” Tommy asks.
“A day maybe, two. But I would air on the side of caution and leave sooner rather than later. I put the message on Commander Jacob’s desk this morning. He doesn’t usually go throught them until he takes his evening tea, and then he probably won’t do anything about it till the morning, he doesn’t like to do anything too stressful in the evenings.” Jerry says with evident disgust in his tone. “He’s an idiot.”
Tommy’s brain is already reviewing everything they’ll need, where they should go, and what route they’ll take to get there. He needs to find Eugene, he'll come with them. He’s been saying he wants to leave for a while now. “Doc, can you and Abby be ready to go by tonight?” he asks, distracted as he catalogs how much food they’ll need.
“We’re not coming with you.” Tommy looks up, pulled from his planning by the doctor's words. “I need to stay here for Abby. I can’t uproot her, and I need to keep working.”
“Doc, they’ll know.”
“I know, that’s why I’ll need you to beat me up,” Jerry turns, holding out the papers to Tommy and says in a matter-of-fact tone of voice, “Then tie me up, leave me over in the corner. So no one will see me when they walk by. If you lock the door and turn the light off, it should buy you more time.”
Tommy looks down at the papers, then back to Jerry as he carefully takes them from his grasp, “You could be here for a while?”
“I know,” Jerry shrugs and suddenly smiles. It's a good smile—warm, friendly, just a little sad. “It’ll be a nice break. I haven’t been sleeping too well lately. A lot on my mind, if you can believe it.”
“I bet.” Tommy chuckles weakly. He stands for a moment, papers in hand, and before overthinking it, he suddenly reaches out and pulls the doctor into a tight hug, the documents crushed in his fist at Jerry’s back. “Thank you.” He chokes, his voice thick. “I mean it, thank you.”
Surprised, Jerry stands stiffly for a moment but finally raises his arms and returns the embrace, “It’s nothing.” He says.
Tommy pulls away, gives Jerry’s shoulder one more awkward pat, and then steps back. He drops the pages onto a chair beside the door, carefully pushes up his sleeves, shakes his hands out, and rolls his neck. Squaring up, he asks Jerry, “Where do you want it?”
Jerry sighs and points to his jaw.
“Are you sure? Jaw hurts like a bitch.”
“Yes, I am aware.”
“Alright then, your funeral. Don’t tense up; if you do, it’ll hurt more.” Tommy says, bouncing a little on the balls of his feet, his fists coming up in front of his face.
“Just do it.”
With one fluid jab, Tommy's fist connects with Jerry’s jaw, and the doctor goes down with a pained grunt. “Fuck. You hit hard,” He grates, spitting blood onto the floor.
Tommy grins shrugging, “Told you not to tense up. Now roll over, I’m gonna kick ya some.”
2009 - University of Eastern Colorado
Eugene rolls over with a groan, fuck, he’d getting too old for these late-night shifts. He sits up on the edge of his bunk, putting a hand on his lower back, trying to will away the twinge he knows will turn into pain later. He misses his Tempur-Pedic mattress; sometimes he dreams about how good it felt to fall into bed at night and be cradled by its adjusting foam. The thin, worn mattresses they are stuck with in the old university dorms are meant for kids more than three decades his junior. He just isn’t cut out for this shit anymore. At least he didn’t get stuck with the top bunk; he would have likely killed himself the first day trying to climb down from that thing.
With a muffled moan and some undignified popping from his joints, he pushes up from the bed. One hand still pressed to his back, he shuffles over to the window and pulls back the ratty curtain. It’s still dark outside, the full moon just past its peak, casting a pale light over the empty courtyard below. The ground is scattered with rusting bikes, forever chained to corroding racks alongside their companions. Vines of ivy and other weeds creep over them, giving the scene an appearance reminiscent of a contemporary art installation Eugene once saw while living on the beaches of California when he was 18, still trying to find himself , as his father used to say, always with a derisive sneer to his words.
He sighs and lets the curtain and his memories fall away, back to where they belong. Turning, he reaches for his canteen sitting on the dresser when he hears it. The unmistakable sound of a newborn crying. He shakes his head and taps his ear with the flat of his palm, sure he must be hearing things, but the sound does not dissipate, if anything it gets louder. Abandoning his canteen for the moment, he moves toward the door and cracks it open, and sure enough, the sound gets clearer, coming from the east corridor.
His curiosity piqued, he wanders out into the hallway on his socked feet, lets the door fall closed behind him, with a soft thud, and makes his way toward the distressed cries.
As he turns the corner into the east corridor, Eugene sees a tired young man bouncing a small, red-faced newborn against his shoulder. Pausing at the end of the hallway, Eugene observes the young man as he alternates between patting and rubbing the baby's back while singing softly in a low, soothing tone. Unfortunately, none of his efforts seem to be working, as the baby continues to cry pitifully into his shoulder.
The scene evokes memories of his daughter at that age, the long, sleepless nights spent rocking, patting, singing, and finally pleading with her as she cried. Those memories are what draw him down the corridor, toward the struggling man.
“Good evening to you,” he calls, lifting a hand in greeting. The man’s singing stops abruptly, and he turns to Eugene with an apologetic expression.
“I’m so sorry if we woke ya,” the young man begins, but Eugene waves him off.
“Don’t worry ‘bout it brother. The name’s Eugene, and it was my back that woke me, not your little one,” he replies, giving the man an understanding look. “My daughter used to keep me up all night with her crying. How old is yours?”
“She’s just two weeks now, her name’s Ellie, and I’m Tommy, Tommy Miller,” he responds, swaying as the girl fusses and squirms against his chest. He lets out a hollow laugh and adds, “I just can’t get her to settle. I thought I had this all figured out—I helped raise my niece, Before—but I think I may have gotten in over my head.”
Eugene chuckles softly as he watches Tommy, who appears completely drained. The dark circles under his eyes speak of sleepless nights, and his black curls are a chaotic mess, as if he’s been running his hands through them in frustration. Eugene shifts his gaze to Ellie, who’s wiggling uncomfortably against Tommy’s shoulder, and with a warm smile, he gestures towards her. “Do you mind if I try something?” he asks, his tone gentle and inviting, hoping to offer Tommy a brief rest from his weariness.
Tommy hesitates momentarily, glancing at the firefly pendant hanging around Eugene’s neck, then, with an exhausted sigh, he carefully shifts Ellie into Eugene’s waiting arms. Eugene gently adjusts her so that she is lying on her stomach along the length of his forearm, with her cheek nestled securely against the crook of his elbow, her face turned outward. His hands cup together to support her scrunched-up legs, while her arms hang loosely beside his arm.
Ellie’s crying slows and eventually stops as Eugene softly sways her. Her tiny, red-rimmed eyes open, blinking slowly as she adjusts to the new position and the swaying motion. Although she doesn't fall asleep, her tears seem to have ceased. Eugene smiles down at her deep chestnut eyes, taking in the bland surroundings before turning his attention back to her father.
In shock, Tommy looks back at him, “How’d ya do that? I been tryin’ everything, nothin’ was workin’.”
Eugene shrugs and says, “It’s just experience. My girl used to have the same problem. Her doctor recommended holding her like this, and it worked like a charm.”
“I can see that,” Tommy replies with a chuff, running a hand along the small of his back and wincing.
“Is your back bothering you, too?” Eugene asks, nodding at Tommy's hand.
Tommy nods in response, groaning as he bends down to touch his toes. He twists his torso first one way and then the other. “Yeah, these damn mattresses got no support.”
“You got that right. I’d be better off sleeping on the floor,” Eugene says with a wry smirk. He glances toward the half-open door behind Tommy. “Her mama getting some rest while you take your shift on baby duty?” he inquires, but as soon as the words leave his mouth, he sees the subtle change in Tommy’s expression. It’s a quick and almost imperceptible flinch, but it makes Eugene's stomach twist with regret. He realizes that this was a question best left unasked. In a world fraught with danger and despair, the fate of pregnant mothers has become a sensitive topic, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked,” Eugene stammers.
Tommy shakes his head slowly, “No, no, it’s okay. How could you know? It’s a valid question,” he replies, his voice thick with regret.
“No, it’s not. At least not anymore,” Eugene insists.
“Yeah, reckon you’re right. But it’s still alright,” Tommy murmurs, his gaze drifting toward Ellie, her eyelids beginning to flutter, that slow, rhythmic motion indicating that sleep is finally pulling her under. A melancholic smile creeps across Tommy's face as he watches her drift off. “Her mama died givin’ birth to her,” he adds, a hint of sorrow lingering in his voice.
“I’m real sorry to hear that. It’s never easy raising a child on your own, but having to deal with losing someone you loved too… that’s a raw fucking deal.”
“Well, her mother and I weren’t really a love match, just two souls spending some time together when the opportunity allowed for it. We’d already gone our separate ways a few months before she found out she was havin’ this one.”
“So it was a surprise?” Eugene muses, shifting carefully on his feet trying not to disturb the sleeping newborn.
“You could say that. Anna, her mama.” Tommy clarifies gesturing to Ellie, “Was seein’ someone else after me, casually like, that’s kinda how she liked it, nothing too serious.”
Looking down at Ellie, Eugene raises a brow, “So she’s not yours?”
“Well, that's the sticky part. Anna and I may have spent some time together once or twice after we called it quits, for old times' sake, if you understand my meaning.”
Eugene laughs, “I do.”
“So in the end it ain’t really too clear who the daddy is. Now the timin’s not really right for me an’ her based on when Anna said her due date was, but you know that stuff ain’t always accurate nowadays. She couldn’t exactly go to Fedra for an ultrasound, so it was all guesswork, and well Anna never let on who the other fella was so we couldn’t contact him to let him know about Ellie.”
“Jesus that really is sticky.”
“A’yup.” Tommy nods, resting his thumbs, behind the leather of his belt next to the silver buckle.
“So you took her on, not even sure she's yours?”
“It’s the right thing to do, weren’t gonna leave her to be put in no Fedra orphanage.” Tommy hisses.
“Whoa there, brother, no judgement, just trying to figure you out. You came in with that crew from Boston, then I take it.”
“That's right.”
“Hmm,” Eugene nods and shifts on his feet again, the ache in his back getting to the point he can no longer ignore it. "You think you can copy what I’m doing right now?” he asks Tommy, lifting Ellie away from his body.
Tommy shifts forward immediately arms out, “ Shit , ‘course I can. Here I am talkin’ your ear off while it’s late and you probably wanna get back to sleep.” He takes Ellie back from Eugene, both men going slowly so as not to wake her. When he gets her situated, just like Eugene demonstrated, he lets out a relieved sigh, “I’m really sorry about all this. I’m usually not so chatty.”
“It’s not a problem,” Eugene says stepping back. “I’ll chalk it up to sleep deprivation, sometimes it's one of the best ways to make a person talk.”
“Don’t I know it?” Tommy says, laughing softly, Eugene joining him. Then their eyes meet, and the implications of how both men know that little piece of information sets in. The laughter dies away suddenly, leaving a dull, echoing silence.
Eugene clears his throat awkwardly, breaking the quiet, and gestures back the way he came, “Well, I’ll just be getting back, but if you ever need some help, I’m room 42B, don’t hesitate to come knocking.”
“That’s mighty nice of you to offer, and you may come to regret it. I don’t think I’m doin’ too great at this, I’m gonna need all the help I can get.”
Eugene scoffs and reaches out to give Tommy’s shoulder a quick firm squeeze. “Nah, you’re doing just fine, just got some learning to do. And take it from someone who’s been in your shoes, it really does take a village to raise a child, brother. So I mean it, if you need help, I’m here.”
Tommy ducks his head, relief briefly playing across his face, and says, in a tight voice, “Alright, then I will. Thank ya kindly.”
“No problem, brother. Get some sleep before that one, wakes up again,” Eugene recommends, and Tommy hums affirmatively before returning to his room with a backward wave.
Eugene watches him until the door closes behind him, and then he makes his way back down the hall to his room. As he goes, he thinks about Tommy and the little girl he’s raising, who’s most likely not his own. Not many men would do the same thing even if the kid were their own flesh and blood, so the fact that Tommy’s willing to do it when she's not, says something about him. Something Eugene appreciates—something about loyalty, empathy and hope. Which is in damn short supply right now.
He gets to his room and closes the door, clicking the lock securely before lying back down on his uncomfortable mattress. He’s gonna have to keep his eye on Tommy Miller because he has a feeling he’s someone to stick close to, someone who's going places.
2011 - University of Eastern Colorado
Eugene’s almost got the wires soldered properly, when his door flies open with a bang.
“Fucking Christ,” He yells reeling back from the desk, solder all over the board he was working on. Turning, he opens his mouth to chew out the idiot who interrupted him when he sees Tommy standing there, his expression panicked, an exhausted looking Ellie on his hip, thumb in her mouth, as she leans against his shoulder, her eyes blinking slowly, “Tommy, what the Hell?”
“We have to go, they’re going to C-U-T out her B-R-A-I-N!” Tommy yells and suddenly Eugene doesn’t care much about his wires anymore.