Ouroboros

To be a Whale

(A week later)

Roman sat on the beanbag in his room, scribbling in the "adult" coloring book his father had given him. With its more complex images, it seemed more difficult, but also more satisfying. The perfect distraction, he thought. He shaded in the last bit of the current page and set the book aside. Nothing could curb his anxiety, it seemed.

His dad had told him he'd been pardoned, thanks largely to public outcry, and that he didn't have to worry anymore, but he couldn't not. He hadn't been in that cell for very long, but Matthew's friendliness only made it slightly more bearable in memory. Despite all that had happened, he couldn't help but feel a bit proud of himself. Even with a different brain, he had somehow outsmarted them at times.

Roman made his way to the kitchen for a glass of water, but on the way toward the sink, he realized the floor was dirty. Not okay. He imagined Dad's voice. "Come on, buddy. What do we do when there's a mess?"

"Clean it up," Roman muttered to himself. He actually enjoyed cleaning – so much that he sometimes earned money cleaning the neighbors' apartments. It made him feel more like an adult. With that in mind, he grabbed the vacuum cleaner, turned it on, and started pushing it around the kitchen. He laughed a little at the sound of all that grit getting sucked up.

Over the roaring of the vacuum cleaner, he almost didn't hear someone knocking on the door. Slightly irritated at the interruption, he turned it off and went to open the door. Peering through the peephole, he spotted Tegan's red hair. He opened the door and waved.

"Were you vacuuming? What kind of teenage boy are you?" Tegan laughed and tapped him on the shoulder. "Not that it's a bad thing. How's everything going?"

"Well..." he hesitated. "I don't know."

"I just got back from physical therapy. Doctor recommended that I keep using one forearm crutch to help me walk." She glanced down at the crutch on her left side. "Better than two, I guess."

"What're you doing here?" Roman asked. "It is the weekend, after all."

"Apparently, we're allowed to visit Ice Five now," Tegan told him. "Chris and Sofia did it yesterday evening. They must've caught a break from their school work, finally. They told me that Fiver doesn't seem to remember what happened the night they got you out, but other than that, they're recovering. I have no earthly idea how your dad managed to pull it all off. I imagine keeping a wanted criminal in the hospital without anyone saying a word is pretty tough."

Roman nodded. "Let me grab my shoes, then." He ran over to the hall closet, pulled his favorite pair of shoes out (the only ones without laces), and slipped them on. Then, he pulled his phone out and sent a text to his dad. Visiting You-Know-Who w/Tegan. OK?

A few seconds later, the response came. Don't forget the apartment key. Stay safe.

He put his phone back in his pocket, grabbed the key, and followed Tegan out to the parking lot. For whatever reason, she seemed to have parked as far away from the door as possible. "I think you can use the handicap spot now, right?" he asked.

"Not technically," she said. "I need a disability tag on my car. Otherwise, I'll get towed. That'd be an even longer walk."

He laughed a little. "I call shotgun."

Tegan put her crutch in the backseat and got in behind the wheel. He sat down beside her, buckled his seatbelt, and fidgeted with the handle above the door. "Feeling anxious?" Tegan asked.

He nodded. "It's okay, though."

The drive was oddly quiet. Roman suspected that Tegan was a little afraid too. Neither of them really knew what to expect. When they arrived, Tegan parked the car as close to the door as she could manage with it being so crowded in the lot. "We're asking to see..wait a second." She dug a sticky note out of her pocket, looked at it, and stifled a laugh. "Ben Dover, apparently."