The Way it Was

Chapter 3 - Miles

Miles heard rather than watched Ransom leave the room, his footsteps echoing along the tunnels as he went. He hadn't had an Episode in eight months or so; Miles was expecting him to show up any day now. He'd be good with his wristpiece for another year before needing another implant.

Ransom made the list of expected one shorter, leaving only one name left for a procedure.

Joanna Michaels.

He wouldn't tell her. She'd figure it out on her own, he figured. But another part of him hoped she wouldn't, that she wouldn't have an Episode at all. That she'd be good with her clockwork heart and her right armpiece for the rest of her life.

But she was a Bolt, and he knew that was only wishful thinking. Whether he wanted to or not, he would need to operate on her again. Soon. After the last procedure, the one involving removing her heart and replacing it before she died had revealed something... strange about her body. He wasn't eager to cut her open, for multiple reasons.

Her voice broke him from his thoughts. "Miles?" He moved his eyes to study her questioning expression. "Are you okay? I mean, not just the food thing. Although I worry about that, too."

The edges of his mouth quirked up before he could stop them. "Yeah. Just thinking about our plan of action. And as far as the food thing goes, I really don't mind. I'm not hungry."

Jo stretched. "Plan of action. We'll worry about that tomorrow, okay? Bright and early." She layed down flat on her cot, squeaking its springs in the process. "Or, as bright as an abandoned subway network can get."

Miles smiled at her, thoroughly grateful for having her as his best friend in these hard times, and he went to take off his leather work coat and boots. Just before he blew out the light, he reached up and slid his fingers under the elastic of his goggles, removing them from around his forehead, where they usually rested. His hair sprung up where it had been constrained; he ran his hands through it. It was always messy and always everywhere.

He stumbled slightly in the dark without his night vision goggles, but eventually made it to his own cot, which had been slightly too small for him ever since he hit fifteen. His feet and ankles rested past the wooden edges.

"Miles?" He heard Jo from across the room. Her voice was tired; he could hear her robotic eyes closing.

"Yeah?"

She shuffled on her bed a little, presumably rolling over for comfort. "I've been skipping my ration, too." And that was the last he heard from her that night, but it was all he needed. He listened as her breathing steadied before letting himself go, too, a smile still on his lips, the argument and the turmoil temporarily forgotten.