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There had been a light at the bottom of the ocean. Simon really doesn’t like to think about it.
“…!”
Simon sits bolt upright, sending the rubber mat he’s lying on squealing across the metal floor. His arm flails out blindly until it smacks against the wall of the submarine. The impact is enough to jar his still half-asleep brain back into consciousness, and Simon attempts to blink the impossibly bright spots from his eyes.
For a moment he sits there, disoriented, with only the drip of blood from the ends of his hair to break the silence.
His chest heaves with shallow gasps, and involuntarily his eyes travel to the oxygen meter in the corner of the sub. It’s turned completely off as it has been for the past month or so, but it does little to help his breathing settle. Simon tries to calm himself down with a few slow, deep breaths – the way he would when he was trapped in a similar tiny cell in the Consolidation’s prison and it felt like the walls were too cold and hard and closing in on him – but the source of his anxiety doesn’t abate.
“You have enough fucking oxygen,” Simon mutters to himself, his hand pressed to his chest as if that might encourage his lungs to expand more.
It’s futile.
The remnants of his dream still cling to him. Simon squeezes his eyes shut, but it still feels like that same blinding, searing light is leading through the gaps in his eyelids, burning its way through his body like a wildfire set loose. At the time it hadn’t felt like some gentle light, hadn’t felt warm, but instead it had felt like standing too close to a flame, like burning his hand on a hot metal plate magnified a hundred times over.
It’d left something behind in him, a sunburn from a star that refused to die imprinted on the back of his eyes.
Do you believe in God?
Simon shakes his head, like doing so might dislodge the very thought. He hadn’t been lying when he’d said he’d had enough of the religious zeal back in Eden, gotten far more than his fair share of it to be honest. In some of his Father’s sermons the other had spoken of a true light, something vast and unknowable beyond their puny, mortal comprehension, but Simon wasn’t sure the whatever It was at the bottom of the ocean was what the man had truly had in mind.
There had been a light at the bottom of the ocean-
He knows whatever had been on the other side of that pinprick in reality had seen him, even if only for a split second. He doesn’t know what of him it saw, what it knew about him, but just the thought of being under It’s scrutiny had made him feel beyond violated. Simon hadn’t grown up with much concept of privacy, secrets rarely stayed as much in Eden, but it was one thing to be seen and another to be known.
And the worst part was that It lingered, impressed on his subconscious so deeply after just a split instance that Simon could always feel It lurking in the back of his mind. Sometimes he wonders if he would have survived if It had observed him for even a second longer, if he would have been able to look back at It, or if just trying to comprehend It would be too much for his brain and make his head burst like an overripe melon.
If just a glimpse had created this pinhole, the tiniest opening possible that It could whisper through, then what would have beholding Its full glory have done to him? Nothing he’s tried before is enough to drown It out, and in some ways Simon supposes he’s gotten used to the voice lurking just beneath his own consciousness.
And the worst part is that the longer It lingers, the less he notices It.
Part of him is terrified by its increasing familiarity, that he’s clearly let something in close enough that he’s starting to find it a comfort, but another part of him is so desperate for any sort of contact that isn’t suffused with unease and distrust. It doesn’t call him ‘convict’ or ‘monster’. It doesn’t look at him like he’s some freak of nature, something dredged from the bottom of an impossible ocean that should have been left beneath the blood’s surface. It speaks to him like-
There is a light at the bottom of the ocean-
It flickers in the back or Simon’s mind, flashing on and off as he gets too close to the limits of his own understanding. If he thinks about it too long it flashes dangerdangerdanger and he has to course correct before he slams into the very limits of his own sanity. His brain does its best to repress It.
He’s thought about bringing It up before, about speaking to Ava or, hell, even David about It, but something always keeps his words stuck in his throat, coagulating with the taste of copper and salt until he swallows it all back down. He doesn’t know if they’ll believe him, doesn’t know if he wants them to believe him.
Maybe he just wants them to say he’s crazy, that he couldn’t have possibly seen what he did. Maybe Simon also wants to believe that he’s crazy, if only so he can forget that horrible, wonderful light shining on the other side of the porthole.
There is a light at the bottom of the ocean-
It whispers, “Simonsimonsimon-“ And part of him wants to respond. And part of him wants to ask ‘who are you’? And part of him fears the answer. And part of him wants to see the other side of the pinhole. And part of him knows he won’t survive it.
There is a light at the bottom of the ocean. Simon really doesn’t like to think about it.
“Well, the bastard refused to come today, so you got me,” Jack says.
Simon assumes by ‘bastard’ the other is referring to David, so he just nods in response. That said, Jack hardly looks to be in condition to administer the same physical tests and sample extractions that David had. The other is in a wheelchair, still heavily bandaged around his torso and neck. His hands are free, but a jagged swath of radiation burns scar his skin. While he seems to be clear to move freely around the ship, Simon hasn’t seen the other lift anything heavier than a clipboard, and part of him wonders if he’s even capable of the welding he’d been brought on board for.
It’s… awkward to say the least.
The last time Simon had seen Jack had been right before he’d put the other in the medical bay in the first place. Honestly, Simon had thought he’d nearly killed the other man, or at least come as close as possible to doing so. Seeing Jack again without the barrier of glass between them was…
Simon feels like he should apologize, but a mere apology feels woefully inadequate compared to the pain Jack has undoubtedly suffered at his hands, uh, hand.
Jack lets out a huge, put upon sigh, clearly noticing Simons’ conflicted expression. “Stop lookin’ at me like a kicked dog.”
Simon stiffens. “Uh-“
“Right, let’s get this shite out of the way,” Jack says, leaning forward in his chair. “You fucked up. You didn’t mean to. People got hurt. You feel bad. You're sorry.” He idly scratches at his arm. “That ‘bout cover it?”
“W-well,” Simon flounders, uncertain if he should protest or agree.
“Look, er…” Jack grimaces.
“Simon,” Simon offers.
“Yeah, Simon,” Jack says. It’s almost surreal to hear his name come out of someone's mouth so casually. “I don’t care to hear your apologies, and you don’t seem to know how to give ‘em anyway, so let’s mutually agree not to make this a bigger deal than it needs to be.”
“You… you’re okay with that?” Simon asks incredulously.
“Well, the way I see it, I got two options,” Jack states plainly, “On one hand, I could shake my fist at the stars – the few bastards we have left, that is – rage at the universe for the shite hand I’ve been dealt, then curse you till I’m blue in the face.”
Simon nods, a little hesitant.
“Or I can put on my big boy pants and get the fuck over myself,” Jack says, raising an eyebrow.
“I don’t- it isn’t really ‘getting over yourself’ to be mad,” Simon mutters.
Jack waves a hand. “What good is havin’ a go at you gonna do me at this point? You didn’t know there was radiation, and I’m sure you wouldn’t do it if you were given another shot-“
“I wouldn’t!” Simon insists, “I-!”
“Yeah, that’s real sweet,” Jack says dismissively, “But neither of us got another shot, unfortunately. So now I look like ground beef, and you look a pizza short a few toppings, so I guess we’re even.”
“…You can’t be serious,” Simon finally says.
“What, you wanna sit here and discuss our feelin’s?” Jack asks, arching a brow, “Wanna get real deep and personal?”
“I… do you?” Simon asks.
“Hell no,” Jack says, then spits on the deck like the very thought left a foul taste in his mouth. “We’re never goin’ to be able to erase what we did, you understand?” Jack asks. When Simon nods he says, “But I don’t see any reason to make your life more miserable than it already is. After all, I’m not the lab rat in a blood boat, so I think I’m gettin’ the better end of the stick in this situation.”
“I- I guess if that’s what you’ve decided,” Simon says.
He’s still not fully satisfied with Jack’s response, but the other doesn’t seem to want an apology from Simon, and he’s pretty sure if he keeps trying to do so it’ll just piss the other man off. He doesn’t really feel like he’s gotten off scot-free, but it’s definitely not the kind of confrontation he’d been expecting. He’d been anticipating something more like his conversation with David, some kind of accusation thrown at him like a dozen knives that Simon would just have to stand there and take, not that he didn’t deserve the vitriol in the first place.
This was… bizarre.
Jack seems satisfied enough with the outcome though, so Simon supposes it’s not his place to complain. “Right,” Jack says, pulling open the sample kit. He preps a needle and hands it to Simon. “My hands tend to shake these days, so trust me when I say you don’t want them anywhere near your veins.”
“Wouldn’t make much difference,” Simon blurts before he can stop himself. To his utter surprise, Jack laughs.
“Yeah, you already look like a practice pincushion,” Jack says, “Now stab yourself ‘fore I do.”
Simon automatically reaches up and takes the needle. Jack doesn’t even blink at handing over what could potentially be a weapon to him. That’s… also strange. It’d taken weeks before most of the scientists had really trusted him to be around without the added safety that the gate on the side of the submarine had offered.
Despite Simon having minimal medical training – the majority of which consisted of battlefield methods to keep from bleeding out from knife wounds – it’s not hard to find the veins on his arm. They stand raised from his skin, a sickly black color in them. He plunges the needle in without hesitation and doesn’t even feel the tip pierce his skin.
“Huh,” Jack says. When Simon looks at him the other looks intrigued more than disgusted. “You really don’t feel pain.”
“No, I don’t,” Simon says. He pulls the plunger back, and a mixture of blood and dark black bile follows it. He gingerly hands the sample to Jack, who takes it and holds it up to the light.
“You wonder what’s swimmin’ ‘round in there?” Jack asks.
“Uh, I try not to think about it,” Simon answers honestly.
Jack looks back at Simon before capping the needle and replacing it in the sample kit. “Surprised no one ever told you.”
“Do you know?” Simon asks.
“Nah,” Jack says, “I’m here for the gears ’n bolts. Squishy bits are someone else’s job.”
There are a few more tests that Jack runs, most of which Simon has to conduct himself unless they’re somewhere he can’t reach on his own. His earlier observation that Jack seems incapable of lifting much himself looks to be true, along with the fact that Jack’s hands are shaking as much as he claimed.
It makes another flash of uncomfortable guilt shoot through Simon’s gut when Jack nearly drops the sample kit for the third time, but Jack just glares at him, daring him to comment. When Simon doesn’t, he relaxes. Simon wonders if Jack’s gotten some kind of complex since he was first sent to the med bay, if the other was going as stir crazy in there as Simon felt being stuck inside the pool of blood all the time.
“That’ll be it, then,” Jack says, packing away the sample kit. “Hopefully that bastard’ll be feelin’ up to it tomorrow so you won’t have to see my ugly mug again.”
Simon jolts at the other’s words. For all of Jack’s rough mannerisms, after Ava he was probably the friendliest person to speak to Simon on the ship. He’d made a few snide jabs here and there, but none of his insults had ever felt as cutting as David’s had or as cold and impersonal as the other scientists. He felt oddly bereft at the thought of the other leaving.
Maybe he really was desperate for some kind of attention
He doesn’t feel like he has the right to do something as pathetic as ask the other to conduct the testing from here on out though. Jack probably wouldn’t appreciate it, he’d said himself quite a few times over the course of their interaction that he was ‘a mechanic, for god’s sake’, and he doubted that the other was particularly eager to spend his time with the freaky monster in the loading bay when he could be doing literally anything else.
“Yeah, uh, thanks though,” Simon says lamely instead.
Jack sighs loudly once more, making Simon stiffen. “You're givin’ me that look again.”
“What look- I don’t have a look,” Simon mutters.
Jack glares at him, before stabbing a finger in his direction. “That look. That kicked dog look. You look like I just told you no treats ‘fore dinner.”
Simon grimaces. “Sorry-“
“And no apologizin’!” Jack snaps. “For god’s-“ He huffs explosively then rubs his hand across his face. He seems to sag a bit in the chair after. “…You're really alone down here, aren’t ‘cha?”
Simon opens his mouth, then closes it. He nods mutely.
“That’s what I thought,” Jack mutters. He doesn’t sound derisive or even pitying, it’s just… sympathetic. “You know, it’s real borin’ in the med bay too.”
Simon blinks. Something starts to unfurl in his chest, fragile and light, something he doesn’t dare name. He struggles to keep his face neutral. “Oh?”
“Yeah,” Jack sighs. “And they say I gotta be stuck there for the next coupla months, ‘fore they let me go back down to the boilers… if they let me go at all.”
“I’m sorry,” Simon says, reflexive though no less genuine.
For once Jack doesn’t reprimand him. Instead he hesitates, seemingly considering his next words before he decides to go for it. “Misery loves company, as they say.”
“It’s not like I’m drowning in guests here,” Simon says.
“Sounded to me like you can’t drown at all,” Jack says, then snorts at his own joke, “But if we’re both a bunch of sad bastards with nothin’ better to do…”
“It’d be nice,” Simon agrees.
Jack nods jerkily. “Great. Okay. I’ll…” He looks a bit awkward, and Simon gets the feeling that even before the accident the other hadn’t had the best social graces, not that Simon is really one to speak.
“See you around,” Simon says.
“Yeah, later then,” Jack says.
The other turns and leaves in a few squeaks of his wheelchair. Simon is once again left alone in the loading bay, but for the first time it doesn’t feel quite as big and empty.
“You know, the scientists say you don’t really need to eat that,” Ava says, gesturing to the nutrient block in Simon’s hand. After exhausting a few different nutritional options to monitor its effect on his health, they’d eventually returned to the nutrient blocks to sustain his diet.
Simon pauses mid-chew, glancing at the tasteless approximation of food. “Hm?”
“They think you’d be able to sustain yourself at a normal level without having to consume anything,” Ava says, “The blood alone should be enough to keep you alive.”
Simon grimaces. He’d already suspected as much himself. Beyond just being tasteless, the nutrient blocks didn’t even make him full. It felt like more of a mechanical process than anything, a task to complete rather than an actual physical need. But part of him hadn’t been ready to admit as much, partially because doing so meant one of the key things that used to make him not just human but alive was the need to eat but also…
It was one of the few times anyone actually came down to visit him
But he definitely can’t say that out loud. Even in his own head it sounds overwhelmingly pathetic, like Simon is just some dog waiting for someone to notice him and throw a stick to keep him entertained. Maybe Jack really was onto something with that ‘kicked dog’ look.
He knows its selfish to want that kind of attention though, to desire the time of others when they’re all likely working very hard to save whatever future humanity might still have left, but it’s not easy to push away his innate craving for some kind of companionship. At this point, Simon would take something, anything, to not lose his few remaining ties to other people.
Even if they were disgusted by him, even if they hated him
“You think?” Simon asks, trying to keep his voice neutral. His grip on the nutrient block tightens, making it crumble. He immediately loosens his grip, but it doesn’t stop a few pieces from cracking off and tumbling into the bloody water under them. They dissolve into the liquid pretty quickly.
“It’s what all the tests are saying,” Ava says. She raises an eyebrow. “Unless you like that garbage for some reason?”
Simon shifts uncertainly. “It’s not that bad.”
“Not that bad?” Ava asks, incredulous, “Simon, that thing is barely edible!”
“Then why are you feeding it to me?” Simon snaps back. When Ava’s jaw clamps shut, he winces. “Sorry. I-“
“It’s all they’ll give me,” Ava says.
Simon blinks. “What?”
“It’s all they’ll give me,” Ava repeats, nodding toward the block. “To feed you.”
“Ah.”
Simon isn’t surprised that Consolidation of Iron doesn’t think he’s worth wasting many resources on. Real food rations were a luxury, after all, one that certainly hadn’t been afforded to him during his time in prison. They were probably only interested in keeping him alive as long as he was valuable to their research. If one day they reached a point where Simon had outlived his usefulness…
“I… I can try and see if I can get you something else to eat,” Ava offers.
“It’s fine,” Simon says, “I won’t be able to taste it anyway.”
Ava looks oddly upset about that, and Simon wonders if he’s somehow done something once more to prove his lack of humanity. But really, even before his body had been twisted and mutated by the blood-soaked moon beneath them, Simon hadn’t been too concerned with food.
Gluttony was frowned upon in Eden. Self-denial and fasting were common practices. Indulgence, he’d been told, was one of the worst kinds of sin. It led to laziness, disobedience, irritability, and a dozen other horrible traits that Simon and the other children had been warned away from. As he’d gotten older Simon had realized that a great deal of what had been crammed down his throat was a steaming pile of bullshit, but it was hard to break the habits he’d grown up with.
Honestly the thought of enjoying eating was about as alien as everything else happening to his body these days.
Ava looks like she’s about to insist, to override Simon’s decision, but then she seems to think better of it and bites her tongue. “…If you’re certain.”
Simon nods. “The blocks are fine.” He glances away, “And I also don’t want to stop eating them.”
Ava is silent behind him, and when he turns back to her, her face thankfully shows no signs of pity. “I can manage that.”
“Okay.” Simon stops himself from saying anything else that might be stupid by cramming the rest of the nutrient block into his mouth. It crumbles into a mushy paste under his teeth, and goes down about as easily. He should probably hate the feeling a lot more than he does.
He hands the foil wrapper back to Ava with a muttered thanks, and she folds it up and sticks it in her pocket to be used again later. Simon realizes then that Ava never brings any food with her for herself during these times, though it seems to be the Consolidation’s designated meal time as well.
Simon bites his lip then says, “You know, you don’t have to spend your break time here.”
Ava flinches, and Simon knows he’s caught her. She recovers quickly and shakes her head. “I don’t mind.”
“Do you even take breaks?” Simon asks.
“Do I look like I take breaks?” Ava snorts, “I use my breaks to keep this place running. Half my job is undoing whatever some other dumbass has managed to screw up.”
“That’s…” Simon’s reluctant to criticize when he knows good and well exactly how much is at stake. At the same time, he also thinks that Ava won’t be much help to anyone at all if she works herself into an early grave before she can figure out how to save humanity.
Ava sighs, seemingly understanding what Simon means before he even says it. “In a way, I guess this is my break.” She gestures to the room around them.
Simon stares at her, dumbfounded. It’s hard for him to imagine sitting in a loading bay full of stench of blood was anywhere near ‘relaxing’. His thoughts must show on his face, because Ava laughs at what she sees.
“I know, weird thing to say,” Ava says, “But it’s… quiet here.”
“I suppose,” Simon replies, nonplussed. He was no stranger to just how quiet the loading bay could get, but he’d never thought of it as much of a benefit before. Most of the time it just exacerbated his feelings of being alone in the universe.
But now that he thinks about it, he guesses he can see her point. He hasn’t really been able to walk around the station freely, not even before he was sealed inside the damned submarine, but there had always been people bustling about. The station he was on was far from the most populated – most of its occupants scientists and Consolidation members – but it had never been empty either. Considering Ava was the head of the operation, he’s sure people were endlessly coming to her with questions and requests.
In that scenario, it might be nice to be alone, or as close to it as one could be, for a little while, even if it meant being stuck next to a pool of blood and the inhuman monster that had crawled out of it.
“Does it bother you that if I come here?” Ava asks. She sounds apologetic, but Simon is quick to shake his head.
“No!” He says, a little too loudly, then clears his throat and tries again, “No, I mean- it’s… it’s nice to see someone familiar. I just thought you might not enjoy hanging around-“
He doesn’t finish the sentence.
Ava tilts her head. “It’s hardly a burden.” A small smile graces her lips. “If I have to pick between you and David as dining partners, I suppose you would be more ideal.”
Simon snorts, but it dies in his throat as he’s reminded of his last conversation with the other man. “How is… I mean-“
“He still has his head up his ass,” Ava says bluntly.
“Wh-“
“Don’t worry,” Ava says, unconcerned, “He’ll get past it.” When Simon gapes at her, she only raises an eyebrow. “Honestly, I think he’s just embarrassed to come down here again. You actually made him show some genuine emotion for once, and he’s still recovering.”
“I-I didn’t-“
“Don’t worry about him, Simon,” Ava sighs, “David’s problems are his own. You can’t fix them.”
Simon grimaces. “Still. I didn’t- he has every right to be mad at me. I- you shouldn’t force him to-“
“I’ll force him to do his job as much as I damn well please,” Ava deadpans, “If he wants to drink about it off the clock, that’s his business. But as long as he’s on this space station he’ll have to carry out the tests and that means coming back down here and interacting with you.”
“But-“
“Simon,” Ava says, voice hard, “Pitying him and punishing you does neither you nor him any good. What happened is already done.”
Simon’s starting to get tired of hearing the same sentiment from so many mouths, but just like every other time he can’t find a way to argue.
“I wish there was a way I could apologize,” Simon says.
Ava crosses her arms. “Unfortunately, you can do that until you run out of breath and it’ll never feel like enough.”
Her words come with the weight of experience. Simon wonders how many she’s sent to their death, whether she can feel the blood lapping at her feet in the same way Simon does. When he looks into her eye he sees more than a lifetime’s worth of pain and regret lingering there. Ava has ghosts, the same as Simon, but she also has the understanding that she can’t let the skeletons that claw at her ankles keep her from moving forward.
“How do you do it?” Simon asks.
Ava lets out a long breath. “Every morning I wake up and I realize that for at least one more day the stars are still there. That I’m still there. That there’s still something I can try and reach for. If I give up now, all that happens is I die twice.”
There had been whispers in Eden, rumors that all the stars in the sky were already long gone, that their light was just traveling through space years or even centuries after their source had been extinguished. As a child Simon had thought that to be rather morbid, that the stars themselves had to experience two different deaths, once of the body and once in the perception of those around them.
He wonders if he’s experienced this second death, if who he was died in the ocean and whatever came back was something else entirely. So what did that make his current life? Is it worth living?
Ava is stronger than he is if she can push through those kind of doubts, though Simon had never questioned that.
“Anyway,” Ava clears her throat, clearly feeling a bit embarrassed about being so vulnerable, “I need to be heading out to check on the research team.” She sounds about as eager to leave as Simon feels to watch her go.
He can’t keep her here though, so he just nods. “See you later.”
“Until then.” It sounds like a promise she finally intends to keep.
Simon isn’t sure if he’d necessarily call Jack “good” company. Since their first meeting, Jack had surprised Simon by making good on his word and returning in the afternoons most days to hang around Simon’s pool. While when he did speak Jack was witty in a way that walked the line between playful and insulting, Jack usually brought along his own projects to fiddle with while he sat down in the loading bay. For the most part, Jack just filled any silences with soft curses in that accent Simon could never quite place, occasionally in a language Simon didn’t recognize, while he messed around with nuts and bolts.
On a lark, Simon had tried to repeat one of the phrases, but even he could tell the syllables were awkward on his tongue as he spoke them. Jack had stared at him for a beat before breaking out into laughter so loud he nearly fell out of his chair.
“No wonder they call you ‘The Butcher’,” Jack had snorted, “You mangled that somethin' foul.”
Which led to where they are now, Jack trying to coach Simon through a curse and more often than not dissolving into ugly snorts at Simon’s clumsy pronunciation. To anyone who might have walked in on them in that moment they both probably sounded pretty stupid trading curses back and forth, but there was little else to do in the loading bay anyway, and this was more pleasant than nearly every other interaction Simon seemed to have these days.
“You’re goin’ too hard on the ‘shite’,” Jack says, “And you don’t open your mouth enough.”
Simon sighs and tries again, doing his best to follow Jack’s instructions. The other squints, seems to consider for a moment, then finally nods. “Aye, you can probably start a brawl with that. They might think you're chokin’ on gravel, but it’s the feelin’ that matters.”
“Yeah, I’ll be sure to use that whenever I want to start a fight with your friends,” Simon says dryly.
“Nah,” Jack says, “If they’re my friends, you can just start swingin’.” Simon finds himself laughing despite himself.
They fall back into silence again, and for a few seconds the only sound is the ripple of the bloody water and the quiet clinks of metal on metal. Jack makes an aggravated noise and then glares at the water, like he might just throw the project he’s been working on into it.
An impulse hits Simon then, a horrible one, but one that’s been knocking at the back of his rib cage from nearly the moment he’d first surfaced. Honestly, Jack isn’t the person he should probably be saying to, if anyone it should be Ava, but for some reason Simon feels like if he’s about to say something crazy anyway…
“You know,” Simon says, “There was a light. At the bottom of the ocean.”
Jack pauses, looking up from his project and squinting at him. “Hm?”
“There was a light,” Simon repeats, the words stilted with his own uncertainty. “On the ocean floor.”
Jack sets his tools back in his lap. “A light? Like… what kind of light?”
“I don’t know,” Simon says. “Just. A light.”
“Huh.” Jack doesn’t seem like he knows what to say, and Simon isn’t sure what kind of response he’s expecting. “How bright was it?”
Simon sighs. “I dunno. Brighter than anything I’ve seen before.”
There’s a beat of silence.
“Wild,” Jack says, picking up his project again.
Simon blinks, nonplussed. “Wait, that’s it?”
“Dunno what you want me to say,” Jack cocks an eyebrow.
“Wh- I just told you there was a light! At the bottom of the sea!” Simon huffs, gesturing wildly. “Shouldn’t that be- fuck, impossible?!” He runs his hand through his hair. “It’s- it’s crazy, right?!”
Jack shrugs. “No crazier than the other shite you told me was swimmin’ ‘round there.”
Simon gapes at him. “Are you for real?”
“What, I’m supposed to believe there was a giant eel creature with teeth the size of a submarine growin’ legs out of the sides of it, but I gotta draw the line at ‘weird light’?”
“I- I don’t know!” Simon tugs at his hair. “I just- It doesn’t seem real! It’s- it was saying-“
“It talks?” Jack asks.
“I- yes? No? Just in my head?” Simon grumbles. “Unless I’ve truly fucking lost it, which honestly might be a relief at this point.”
“Huh,” Jack says again, still weirdly unimpressed.
Simon glances up at him sourly, hand dropping and splashing back into the bloody water. “Y’know, sometimes I think you could meet god and you’d still just tell him to piss off.”
Jack laughs. “Yeah, probably. Bastard ain’t done much for me anyway.”
“So… what do you think it is?” Simon finally asks the question that’s been in the back of his mind for over a month.
“Hell if I know,” Jack replies, “Weird shite. Alien shite. Divine shite. Whatever kind of shite helps you sleep at night. Hey, that rhymed!”
“Seriously?”
Jack sighs. “What do you want me to say, Simon? You definitely met god at the bottom of the ocean?”
“I… Maybe?” Simon mutters, feeling off balance.
“Then you definitely met god at the bottom of the ocean,” Jack deadpans. He doesn’t sound like he believes it himself.
“…You’re not very religious, are you?” Simon asks.
“Hell no,” Jack says, rolling his eyes. “I think you saw somethin’ freaky, somethin’ you don’t understand. But god… I mean, how do we really define god?”
Simon groans. “Spare me the theology lesson, I’ve already had enough of that.”
“Yeah, well, I have too,” Jack says, “I wasn’t there to see it myself, so I really got no business tellin’ you what you saw. What you think it was, is the more important question.”
Simon pauses, turning the other’s words over in his head. What he’d seen was…
“It was like I was an ant,” Simon eventually says, “And for a split second I saw a tree. Like the whole tree. The roots and trunk and buds and leaves. I saw how the whole thing came together, and I knew how tiny I was next to it.”
Beyond that it was like he had for a split second grasped not just the image of a tree, but the life of the tree. He’d seen how the sunlight fed it, seen the nutrients flowing through its roots, watched the tree bud and flower and drop leaves and decay. He’d seen it sprout from the tiniest seed to tower far above his head and it had existed at every stage of life all at once. For the shortest possible increment of time, Simon had beheld something so far beyond his understanding that it had strained against the sheer limits of possibility.
“And then I was an ant again,” Simon says.
“Hm,” Jack says. His brow furrows like he’s trying to imagine it and coming up short. Simon can’t blame him. “So then… what do you want to do about the tree?”
“…What?” Simon stares at the other blankly.
“Well, now you know that tree’s out there,” Jack says, “So what do you want to do about it? You planning on tryin’ to find it again?”
“I- I don’t think that’s possible,” Simon says, trying to follow Jack’s logic, “I mean, it’s not really something I can comprehend-“
“Then what’s got you stuck on it?” Jack asks. When Simon continues to give him a dumbstruck expression, Jack huffs. “Way I see it, you got two options. One, try and understand the tree more. Maybe you try some experiments, hell, maybe you drop your sorry ass right back in the ocean.”
Simon grimaces. “I would really prefer not to do that.”
“Or two,” Jack continues as if he hadn’t spoken, “You forget it.”
There’s a beat of silence.
“I forget it?” Simon asks, baffled. “How the hell am I supposed to forget it?!”
Jack shrugs. “Dunno. Not my problem.”
“Wh-?!”
“Simon,” Jack says, making Simon’s half-sputtered protests die in his throat, “If you can’t forget it, then you gotta figure out some way to deal with it, because clearly this,” Jack gestures to him, “Isn’t workin’. You’re tyin’ yourself in knots trying to understand somethin’ you just told me wasn’t understandable.”
“Yeah, but…” Simon isn’t really sure how to refute the other’s words. “I just…”
“You know what we in engineerin’ call doin’ something over and over exactly the same and expectin’ different results?” Jack asks.
“…What?”
“Insanity,” Jack says, then cackles. Simon grunts. “Piss or get off the pot.”
“Excuse me?”
“Change your situation,” Jack enunciates, “Or stop moanin’ about it.”
“And how exactly do I change my situation?” Simon asks, sullenly. Jack thinks for a minute.
“Well, those voices in your head sound pretty talkative,” Jack finally says, leaning back in his chair. “You ever tried talkin’ back?”
There is a light at the bottom of the ocean. Simon really doesn’t like to think about it.
“–listen hear me us we I know hear us miss you come back Simon too far too long voice soft come back–“
There’s nothing but the sound of blood rushing past his ears. Simon leans back against the floor of the submarine. It’s dark now, late enough that Simon thinks he might be one of the only people on the ship still awake. He takes a deep breath – unnecessary – before he leans back and lets the water rush over his head. It comes clearer now.
“–Simon been waiting can hear us now come back pushed away why us I me we try find you too far want talk eat devour come back listen please listen–“
Simon breathes out. There’s no light blinding him now, but there are still whispers in his ears. For the first time he tries to focus on them, tries to feel that sunburn on the back of his eyelids, tries to remember what it felt like to be an ant capable of comprehending the full form of a tree swaying to the pulse of something beyond his reality.
“Yeah. I hear you.”
There is a light at the bottom of the ocean. It’s blinding in its joy.