Till Human Voices Wake Us, and We Drown

I Have Heard the Mermaids Singing, Each to Each

I am no prophet — and here's no great matter;

I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,

And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,

And in short, I was afraid.

And would it have been worth it, after all,

After the cups, the marmalade, the tea,

Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,

Would it have been worth while,

To have bitten off the matter with a smile,

To have squeezed the universe into a ball

To roll it towards some overwhelming question,

To say: "I am Lazarus, come from the dead,

Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all"—

If one, settling a pillow by her head

Should say: "That is not what I meant at all;

That is not it, at all."

— T.S. Eliot, The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock

*

Otto's drowning, again.

He gasps, brackish water filling his mouth and he tries to cough but only manages to take in more water. The actuators hang limply at his back, dragging him down. Something glints in the darkness directly below him. It's the claw the Goblin severed in the final moments of their fight. He reaches for it, slowly at first then quicker as he regains control of the remaining actuators, and latches onto it. A stream of bubbles rushes past him. Up. He needs to go up. He retracts the actuators and kicks, raising one arm and then the next in a jagged breaststroke until his head breaks the surface.

Otto sucks in a mouthful of air and it sears all the way down. The sky above is a pale blue, tinged pink at the edges. He keeps kicking, moving one arm in a sluggish tread and uses the other to shove his hair back.

A fragment of the New York skyline rises before him. It's not that of the other universe or the one he had observed for months while working on the second reactor. Water trickles down his forehead and he swipes at his eyes. No, it is. It's his, just aged.

A shout splits the air and he spins, his head dipping briefly beneath the surface again.

There's a pier. Atop that is a familiar figure in red and blue, his mask off, an arm raised above his head as he waves and shouts again. Peter. And not the boy of the other universe but the one belonging to his own. His Peter, all grown up.

He swims for the pier, his limbs leaden and strokes uneven and stops once he's a few feet out. He tosses the severed claw out ahead of himself. It rolls to a stop at Peter's feet and Otto uses the remaining actuators to haul himself up and over the guardrail. He lowers himself to stand, wavers, then collapses. He coughs, his chest convulsing, and spits up water.

"—to, Otto, can you hear me? Just breath, just—"

Otto leans back. Swallows.

"I'm fine, I just, need a moment," he clears his throat, "are you alright?"

"Nothing that won't heal. Can you stand?"

With the aid of the remaining actuators, he can. Peter stoops, picks up the severed claw and leads him through a cusp of trees to an idling Oldsmobile. He sets the severed claw in the backseat and opens the passenger's door, Otto pulls it shut behind himself and watches through the windshield as Peter limps around the front of the car, favoring his right side.