Title: And After That
Fandom: original
Rating: G
Length: 875 words
Content notes: discussion of war crimes, assassination, grief, and depression
Summary: The morning after their meeting with Agent Yurikaw Madranashkiyug, Laura and Aujae discuss responsibility and consequences. (This is a piece of Utilitarian Virtue, an original speculative fiction story I poke at now and then.)



"In this world we have a concept of the five stages of grief," Laura said, focusing on Aujae's hand, the slight weight of it against her thigh, the dampness of sweat, the blood-warmth of the metal curls woven into her knuckles. Then she paused and corrected herself: "In this country within this world. I don't think it's spread everywhere, and there are a lot of objections to it as bad science. I find it helpful, though, especially if I think about five states of grief instead of steps on a path. Emotions aren't linear, and you don't need to experience all of them. But they're all valid responses."

"I assume one is emptiness," Aujae said. She uncurled her fingers slightly to allow Laura more access to her hand. When Laura risked a glance upwards, Aujae's eyes were turned aside toward the glass mobile by the bedroom window, and the shards of color it cast across the hardwood floor. Her mouth was set in a faint, asymmetric smile Laura couldn't decode.

Laura looked back down at Aujae's hand, at the long, graceful fingers that had rubbed away her headache and tears. That had just as steadily and skillfully brought death to millions: pressed a button, pulled a trigger, snapped a neck.

"I think so. One of the five states is depression, and emptiness is an aspect of depression. A deep, dark well that swallows you whole, until you start to forget there's a world outside the walls. A gray fog that wraps you up so gently you don't notice until you're all alone." Aujae's free hand twitched on the comforter, as if she had aborted a move for a weapon. "But I was thinking of anger and bargaining," Laura continued. "When something goes wrong, people say, 'Someone must be at fault,' and, 'There must be some way I can fix things.' A lot of quests to change the world begin in grief."

"Yes," Aujae said, slightly hoarse. "Sometimes anger is all that keeps you from following your heart into death. But some quests are best left unstarted."

"What would have happened in Sivan, if you hadn't set off the bombs?"

"Millions of people would still be alive."

"Yes. And after that?"

"I don't know," Aujae said, slumping back against the headboard. "I don't know. They might not have realized the potential of the anomalous results. They might never have learned how to cross dimensions. The Keeper's calculations are always probabilities, never absolutes."

"They might have built gates that poisoned their world like your sigils are poisoning you. They might have killed a hundred world by accident. You might have saved billions."

"Maybe. But in the end, I made a choice. I followed the Keeper's orders, and I hold those deaths on my back."

"Yes. And after that?"

Aujae turned her hand and wrapped her strong fingers around Laura's wrist. "And after that, I kept following the Keeper's orders. Millions of deaths and I kept going. What does it say about me that millions of deaths and a grinding, worldwide war mean less to me than the possibility that one person might die?"

"In this world, we have a saying about that. 'One death is a tragedy; one million deaths is a statistic.' If you had stayed in Sivan and tried to help one or two people, everything might be different. But a bomb and a news report isn't the same as killing someone after you've spent a night in their house and eaten their food. And sometimes it just takes time for people to be ready to change."

Laura turned her hand to lace her own blunt and shorter fingers through Aujae's. "I'm not sorry you lived. No matter what it took. What matters is what you do with your life next, and you can't fix anything if you're dead."

Aujae's breath hitched. She raised their clasped hands and pressed them against her forehead, eyes closed. "All the dead are dead alike. Only the living can rise," she said, with the air of a quotation.

"Yes. And only the living can eat breakfast," Laura said. "I'd like some tea and toast, at the least, before Agent Yurikaw returns with the rest of her team."

"Only the living can eat breakfast," Aujae repeated, eyes still closed. "You're right. And I think I've learned enough about your kitchen to promise you something better than plain toast."

She opened her eyes and smiled, still faint and asymmetric, but this time Laura could see a slight crinkle around her eyes.

Aujae burned the toast and her idea of the proper spices for omelets was extremely peculiar, but the texture was perfect and Laura ate her meal to the last bite.