Spots: Insomnia

A Web Serial by M.C.A. Hogarth

09. Shields.	11. Turmoil.

10. Insomnia

The Real Window. A long window with four layers—an exterior surface for storm debris, two pressure panes and an interior panel—looking out on the dismal murk of an alien night. Spots is in a physical training uniform, loose shirt and pants; she is sitting on the broad sill, face turned toward the exterior. Her cheek is wet. She has a photo in one hand. She is joined by a lean middle-aged man with stubble-short hair, a broken nose and a scar edging one cheekbone, in utility uniform.

He hands her a tissue. She wipes her face.

"Want to talk about it?"

"No."

"Fair enough." A few moments later. "Why the Real Window? There are plenty of others you can program to something nicer."

"Because it gets tiring, having to have everything be about you. It's good to face reality instead of trying to... to impose your personality on it all the time. I don't know if that makes sense..."

"Perfect. I like the Real Window better myself. Quite a storm out there."

"Yes."

"That your family?"

"Oh? Oh. Yes."

"May I see?"

She hands the picture over: a solid brick of a man with his hand on the shoulder of a young boy, who is holding a younger girl in his arms.

"Good-looking folks."

"I think so."

Quiet again. Then:

"Will I ever get any better at this? I mean... I enlisted over a decade ago, and not as Armor. I feel like..."

"Like you're too old to keep up?"

"No. Like I'm too old to catch up. Maybe if I'd been doing this more than a few weekends a year..."

"You'll get there." He nods at the photo. "You've got a reason to go back."

"A lot of people have reasons to go back. They still die."

He's quiet a while.

"If you've been around long enough to understand that, then you're too old for my standard pep talk."

She looks up with a startled laugh. He grins.

"So your bones creak and maybe you were supposed to be riding a desk. You're not going to be benching what the eighteen-year-old kids are and you know that and I know that. You can't have that body back, or the years you could have spent working at it instead of, say, raising those beautiful kids. But you're here now, and you can get better at this: you can get as good at it as you, in particular, at this point in your life, have the potential to get. And that's a lot better than you think, and it's all in your hands. You wouldn't be sitting at the Real Window if you didn't know that. You'd be in front of some picture window, being reassured by things that aren't."

Spots inhales slowly, then blows out the breath and nods. He stands and clasps her shoulder.

"Besides, you know things those kids haven't learned yet. And they need that from you. You give it to them, they'll give you the strength of their best years."

"Do you really think those are the best years?"

He grins again. "No. But they don't know it."

She laughs, soft.

"Try to get some sleep, private."

"I will. And thank you."

09. Shields.	11. Turmoil.