(Upon realizing it has been an insanely long time since I posted anything, I decided to dig up Migration Patterns and attempt to finish it for the sake of the Dust of the Arena fans now highly intrigued about how Mortimer fits into the rest of the DOTA universe. Despite my outline, I forgot where I was going with this book, so bear with me if things meander a little bit as I try to get back on my feet. Thank you for your patience. Enjoy.)
***
The Mental Observations of Iris Gray
January 12th
Going back to Billington after holiday is always bittersweet. On one hand, it’s nice to have the sunshine after living in almost a month of darkness on the tundra. On the other, homesickness sets in for the first few days, and a piece of me misses watching the auroras at night.
Not to mention… everything with Mortimer.
I’m not sure what exactly has me on edge, meeting him at the Nookery today. Nothing seems out of place. The cafe hasn’t changed. It’s raining outside, but that’s England in January for you.
I twist a paper napkin into a long rope, chewing on my lip.
Mortimer, moving to Nevada.
The concept was so bizarre I had asked him to repeat it twice when he first told me about his conversation with the staff from A.S.H.E.S.. An internship position so young was huge. Especially in a location surrounding some of the most extensive research on the Alteration Virus.
But Nevada…
So far away. And there was no way that this was just a short term thing. Until a cure is found… if a cure is ever found… this would be Mortimer’s life.
A life without you in it, my heart whispers.
The napkin tears in two.
That couldn’t be true. He and I had made long distance work before. Why would this be any different?
Before I can answer that question, Mortimer stumbles into the cafe, shaking rainwater and ice from his coat. His gaze snaps to me and a grin lights up his face. I try my best to smile back.
Just ask, okay? There’s no harm in talking about it.
He places his order, then slips over to our normal booth by the window. Instead of sitting across from me like he usually does, he sits down next to me with a pleasantly hummed,“Good morning!”
I blush as he gently kisses my cheek, a stupid grin slipping out.
“You’re in a good mood today,” I chuckle. “I thought you hated sleet.”
“Spent the morning with Clancee watching him enjoy the pond. Hard not to be in a good mood after that.” He grins. “Besides, there’s you. That makes any morning better.”
I snort. “When did you get so corny?”
He just grins all the more. The barista calls his order– coffee, for once– and he stumbles over to grab it.
“I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages,” he remarks as he sits back down.
“That’s winter break for you.” I gently turn the cup in my hands, picking at the seam in the cup. “How have you been?”
He swirls a mixing stick in his coffee, sighing.
“Dad still hasn’t found out about Phineas.”
“Well that’s good, isn’t it?” I murmur, looping my arm through his and leaning against his shoulder.
“To a point, yes. He can still hide it pretty well right now. But sooner or later, Dad will catch on.” He huffs. “I’ve tried to convince Phineas that he should get treatment, but he doesn’t want it. He keeps saying how it makes Dad actually like him.” Mortimer shakes his head. “He doesn’t know how dangerous it is. I’ve been considering talking to Dr. Annenberg—”
“Which one is he?” I ask, shrugging as Mortimer stares at me with mild hurt and confusion. “Mor, you can’t expect me to remember the names of all the scientists at A.S.H.E.S.. I met three of them once.”
“Blond man with glasses and blue eyes. Kind, fatherly gentleman. Talked with you about psychology for the rest of the night when I introduced you at Christmas.”
The picture blinks to life in my mind. “Oh, yes! He’s Jewish, isn’t he?”
Mortimer shrugs. “I don’t know, we didn’t discuss religion.”
We had, for a bit— I’m not sure how the conversation turned that way. But he was a pleasant man to speak to.
“You’re closest to Dr. Annenberg?”
Mortimer nods. “I think he’s almost a mentor, now, if that’s actually possible. Anyway, I considered talking to him about what I could do for Phin, but if it ever managed to leak back to my father–”
“Trouble,” I finish.
He nods. “Big trouble.”
“So what are you going to do?”
Mortimer runs his hands through his hair. “I don’t know. I’m hoping once I actually get my hands on the research data, it’ll make figuring out next steps on how to proceed easier. I just… have to hope that it doesn’t kill Phin before then.”
“I doubt it will. They say the type doesn’t incubate the same way as the others.” Of course, there had also been stories of some victims dying from sudden intense aneurysms because of Mental-type abilities. But given that Phineas had already lived three months with nothing much more than a mild headache, perhaps his would function differently.
I sit back in the booth, mulling over my thoughts. “How much is your father involved in A.S.H.E.S. now?”
“He’s a shareholder,” Mortimer snorts. “It’s fantastic because after Christmas, it was like we had something in common for the first time in my life.”
I tilt my head. “Do you think that it’s… wise to take this internship if he’s so deeply involved?”
Confusion darkens his expression. “What do you mean?”
“Mor.” I sip my coffee, using the pause to carefully pick and choose my words. “You’ve told me that your family is not exactly… the healthiest group of people to live with.”
His face reddens and he shrinks in his seat. “So?”
“So…” I bite my lip. “Wouldn’t it be healthier if you found a job… not involved with your family?”
I brace myself for a lashout, but Mortimer only shrugs. “They’re not actually involved. Dad’s a shareholder; he’s a shareholder for fifty other companies. Most of the time he’s off managing one of them and A.S.H.E.S. runs itself. He has no reason to go over there. Besides,” He sucks in a deep breath. “It’s the leading research center on the Alteration virus. If I want to actually make a difference… A.S.H.E.S. is the place to be.”
“I know. I know. I’m happy for you, Mor, really.” I stare at the foam bubbles on the surface of my coffee, as if they can give the answers to the reasons my stomach is twisted in so many knots.
There’s just something about this all that feels… off. Not off enough for me to have a good reason to warn him, just off enough that I feel like I have a bad taste in my mouth.
“You’re not concerned about how the CDC said last week that all American investigation on the Altered virus would be confined to the A.S.H.E.S. facility in Area 51?”
“Why would I be? It’s the smart thing to do. Too many non-professionals experimenting and investigating something so delicate is going to get messy very fast.” Mortimer shakes his head. “Goodness, Iris, why are you so suspicious? The people at A.S.H.E.S. have the best intentions for the Altereds that anyone could. I’ve talked with them. They’re all very pleasant people.”
“I wasn’t suggesting anything else,” I snap, the unwarranted harshness of my tone making Mortimer flinch. I bite my tongue and soften my voice. “I like believing the best about people. You know that. And I don’t doubt that A.S.H.E.S. is going to do a lot of good. I just…” I blink several times, surprised to find myself fighting tears. “When I first heard about it, I thought… I thought we’d have a little more time together. And now I don’t know how long you’ll be gone…” I rub my eyes, scowling.
It’s a stupid thing, really. We’re both adults, for heaven’s sake. An internship won’t kill our relationship.
But Mortimer still pulls me into a gentle sidehug, understanding. “It’s just for a year or two, Iris. Once I get my masters, I’ll strike out of the program and you and I can figure out the next path.” He kisses my forehead. “A year won’t change me.”
I nod, leaning against him as I struggle to smile. “Yeah,. You’re probably right.”
Still, my mind rotates around one sentence.
I hadn’t thought of him changing.
Does he think he’ll change?
The unanswered question looms over me the rest of the evening like a gray curtain.
I dont know how I feel about this development……