November

November 8

Jesse's first thought on waking was that he wished it would rain. It didn't, of course, and so he got up and showered and dressed and went to eat with Vichy and Sai and Ortega and Suleiman. Their group felt so small, the two missing chairs that everyone noticed but no one mentioned like an ocean between themselves and the rest of the room. They were five alone, floating - an island unto themselves. Sai spoke first, poking his fork into a plate of egg and cheese.
"I think Vichy's right; I don't think you should go, Jesse."
Jesse rolled his eyes. Vichy: the fucking CEC daily news. He used his knife to pull his plate closer.
"Thanks, but I'll be fine."
Ortega was looking at him with that little worried look he had, but kept quiet and just twisted his fork around and around in his hand. Suleiman chewed idly and looked out of the window. Vichy seemed abashed by Sai's reveal of his chattiness and didn't say anything at all. Jesse looked down at his food.
"It's just a walk."
Ortega suddenly dropped his fork; the resulting clatter was only half as startling as the fact that immediately afterwards, he was slamming both hands, hard, into Jesse's chest.
Jesse fell backwards and hit the floor; the room was loud with chairs scraping and people running, talking (some cheering), silverware scraping plates and the sound of Ortega's blows landing on Jesse's stomach (he promptly curled into a ball), back, and sides. Vichy was there, too, doing his best to restrain Tega without either of them getting hurt. Nobody was speaking - Tega was too angry and Jesse and the others were too shocked. Then the silence broke and Vichy shouting and asking Ortega what the hell he was thinking and Jesse what the hell he'd said.
Tega finally calmed, allowed himself to be pulled off of Jesse and backwards, across the floor, ending up more or less cradled like a child in Vichy's arms.
"You have a chance, Jesse; I didn't. And you say it's just a walk, you sit there and laugh like it's some kind of joke. Am I a joke to you, Jesse? Is my life a joke?! Well, I tell you what - you take my walk and I'll take yours. I would jump to do it, Jesse, because your walk, at least, still has a chance of escape."
Then it was clear and Vichy was hauling Ortega to his feet and cold hands were beneath Jesse's arms and he was being lifted up in the air. He vaguely heard someone shouting about restraining him and Kosin and his last thought before the pinprick that made him black out was: at least he wouldn't be going for any walks today.

~:~

Jesse woke up in the infirmary at ten. Michael came at twelve. Jesse startled to see him and became suddenly engrossed in picking small threads off of his bed's blanket, face red and mouth dry. He glanced up, noticed Michael was carrying a brown sack in his left hand. Michael looked him over once, did his peculiar half-smile, and edged into a seat on the end of Jesse's bed.
"Hey." he leaned towards Jesse. "How do you feel?"
Jesse shrugged.
"I hate getting tranked."
"Well, getting in breakfast-room fights tends to get these CEC folks a little trigger happy. And a breakfast-room fight involving a pregnant carrier, to boot."
Jesse's face reddened as he remembered. Michael lifted the sack onto Jesse's bed.
"I didn't start it."
"I know. Spent the better part of the morning convincing them of that fact."
Jesse rolled his eyes.
"And why would they listen to you? You weren't even there."
Michael stopped opening the sack, turned to look evenly at Jesse.
"As the only suitor to ever manage your good graces for more than fifteen minutes, I am allowed certain...proclivities when it comes to you. They let me vouch for and make a statement about your generally good behavior. I told them you were stellar." Michael winked and Jesse felt suddenly began to feel hot. Michael had turned, was already back to the task at hand. He spoke over his shoulder.
"Want to tell me what happened?"
Jesse shrugged again, eyeing the sack suspiciously and pushing down the blanket to cool his skin. Michael began to pull something out of the bag.
"Did you say something to make him mad?"
Jesse flicked his eyes up, but Michael wasn't paying attention, missed it. He just shrugged.
"What'd you say, Jesse?"
Michael's voice was gentle, but firm. He was pulling two sets of chopsticks out of the sack. He set them next to two pretty black bowls on the table at the end of Jesse's bed. Jesse watched him in interest for a moment, until their eyes accidentally met.
"The story, Jesse. Go on."
At first, he couldn't, but he tried and soon, Jesse felt it all flowing out of him, the whole brief argument and what he knew it meant and how quickly Ortega had gotten mad, and how everyone thought he took things too lightly but he didn't know, he just didn't know what else he was supposed to do. And then Michael was there, and he didn't know what to do about that, either.
At the end of it, Michael was just sitting on the bed, nodding calmly. He bent his brow inward for a moment, then relaxed and loked up at his companion.
"I recognize that I, too, had a part in this, Jesse." Jesse looked interested, but didn't ask.
"It was rather impulsive of me to ask to see you the way I did. It could even, I know now, have been construed as threatening, and I must admit that your little cafeteria fight was a brilliant way to get out of it. But," here, he lifted the sack again, reaching into it with one hand.
"Since I couldn't bring you to my plans in the forest, I thought I'd bring at least a little bit of the forest to you."
he first pulled out a leaf from the sack, which he handed over to Jesse, then reached in again and retrieved two clear containers. Both were full of food. Michael set them down next to the bowls.
"Now, it's nothing like home, I'm aware," he pulled out two pieces of sweet mango fruit, "But," he also removed two red cups and a bottle of wine, "I did the best I can." He stood up from the bed, stepped back to admire the spread.
"I tried to make you dinner."