The Edge

Gideon: Part Seven

He calmed down eventually, but the incident still weighed on him.

It didn't help that Matthias was taking his sweet time getting back to them. The others debated over dinner if they should text him first, just to see what was going on. Gideon didn't participate. Contact Matthias, don't, it was all the same to him. It didn't change that he was still stuck on a planet with far too many potential threats and no idea of when they'd be leaving. Something about it seemed designed to trigger his issues, specifically.

So don't let it. You're not a child.

SThe sick thing was, he knew it wasn't that simple. He had some measure of control over his actions (as much as that control felt like it was hanging on by a thread), but he couldn't help what triggered him. He'd been abused. He had CPTSD written in his medical file. His life was a work and progress and had been for years.

He hated it.

Setbacks are bound to occur was how his first therapist had put it. His second one at least had the decency to account for Gideon being a perfectionist who took setbacks harder than most. Especially when those setbacks could get people killed.

(Have you ever killed anyone accidentally? No. Then why are you so convinced it will happen?)

Control. That was always the answer. He'd been taught to control himself. He didn't feel safe unless he knew he was in control of himself and the situation at all times. That wasn't how life worked. He knew that objectively, but that didn't stop him from doing everything he could to stay in control, as much as he could be.

Nothing about the Cassandra situation was under his control. Now there was another variable he was powerless against. Gideon knew ruminating wouldn't improve things, but he couldn't make himself stop. He was still dwelling on it when everyone gathered for a late lunch. There were other conversations happening around him, but he barely registered any of it. He just kept poking at his soup and trying to force himself to take a bite.

Eat something. Eat it, you have to keep your strength up. Helen and Tola worked hard on that. You can't let it go to waste. You have to eat. Just eat it you stupid...

The bite finally went into his mouth. The soup was still too hot, but the burn jarred that voice back out of his thoughts. Gideon looked around the table as he chewed and tried to catch up on what was happening. Luca was talking to Tola, seemingly about something unrelated to their day; Helen, Matteo, and Adoette were conferring in hushed voices, too quiet for him to hear; and, to his surprise, Arian was completely silent. He just sat there and stirred his soup, staring down into the broth vortex with a quiet intensity.

Should I say something? Gideon swallowed nervously at the thought. He and Arian hadn't talked much since the incident. Gidoen wasn't sure how to handle the aftermath, even if you accounted for Gideon helping to save him. But it was pretty clear Arian was isolated. The reason why didn't matter; if it was by his own choice or because he didn't think the others wanted to talk to him, Gideon still felt like he should say something. So...

"You okay?" Gideon asked before he could second-guess it.

Arian looked at him in surprise. Tola had healed more of his injuries, but the direct eye contact showed how haunted he still was. You could see it even on the silver-eyed, generic-faced default he reverted to when he didn't have to look like someone. Alistair Black had really done a number on him.

Alistair Black wasn't the only one, was he? whispered his intrusive thoughts.

Now Gideon regretted asking. And Adrian's response didn't help.

"I'm good. I'm always good." Arian often deflected serious questions. Gideon knew that. It still felt personal this time. Why would he talk about how he was doing with Gideon? Especially after what he'd done? "Are you good?"

"I'm never good." Gideon was caught off-guard by his own promptness. At least some part of his mind wasn't completely bogged down in panic and anxiety. "So, no different than usual, I guess."

Arian laughed. Gideon couldn't tell if it was forced or not; there was a slight edge that could've meant discomfort, or it could've been a symptom of how not okay he really was. "Damn, if that ain't the mood."

I shouldn't be talking to him about this. I don't have any right. Did I ever really apologize for what I did? Does he hate me? Gideon knew the answer to the first one was no, but for the second...he wasn't a mind reader. He had no way of knowing for sure, especially with how guarded and flippant Arian was. But that didn't stop his mind from answering yes, of course, how could he not?

Gideon swallowed hard, choked out a "yeah" in response, and turned his attention back to his half-eaten meal. The other conversations filled his ears, becoming a vortex of word-adjacent sounds with no real meaning. If Arian was trying to continue the conversation, he'd have no way of knowing.

Who cares? Your stupid meal is getting cold. Eat.

The tone his mind took on almost made him not want to eat out of spite, but he pushed through and kept taking one methodical bite after another. Like a robot that could digest. Sometimes he wished he could be that robotic. It was a perverse idea–being that way had been expected of him once–but sometimes he didn't want to deal with all the stuff in his head. He didn't want to care about how people looked at him or felt about him, even his own family.

But that's not what you really want, is it? You just want to stop feeling like a screw up. You don't want to keep making the same mistakes and hurting people.

...well, at least he was self-aware enough to figure that out.

"Gideon?"

Gideon straightened up at the sound of his name, instinctively bracing himself for a lecture. "Huh? What?"

There was no lecture. Matteo didn't even let his face twitch in either disappointment or concern. "I was just saying," he said, "we'll have to keep our heads on a swivel if people start following us."

"Definitely," Gideon agreed. Finally, a problem I can solve. "I don't think Matthias will need much convincing to take us on the safest route. He wants John safe, we don't want any trouble. I don't like the feel of this place even without the stalker issues."

"I haven't liked the vibe of a single place we've been since the hacker gang," Adoette agreed. "Though that might be my bias talking."

"Bias or not, that club was pretty sweet," Arian said. "I'd take it over the...creepy ass mines and cyborg gangs and moon kidnappings any day for sure."

Hearing it all listed out made the whole thing feel even more surreal. This was all going to be fun to unpack in therapy. Gideon's therapist had heard some weird shit from him, so maybe it wouldn't phase him too much, but...no, this was a lot. Even for him.

Helen's phone buzzed suddenly. She glanced at it, frowned, then checked it again. She tapped at the screen, read something, read it again, then stood up suddenly. "Time to get moving. Matthias has given us the go-ahead. He'll be meeting us here."

It was exactly the answer Gideon had been hoping for, and yet he still felt a sense of dread at hearing it. There were few things more confusing than feeling unprepared for something you thought you'd wanted. What are we going to say? Should I ask him about the broadcast? Do I have time for that? Does it matter? Will he recognize me at all?

Focus. What's happening with you isn't important. You have to focus on Cassandra.

He was sure his therapist would have something to say about that, but right now, the thought was one of the only things keeping Gideon on course. If he let himself stray from the path, who knew where he'd end up?

He had an idea. He'd been there before. He wasn't eager to go back.