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Who | Stephen and Cyrus Reagan
What | A prison visit.
Where | The Capitol
When | Not terribly long after Stephen's arrest; not terribly long before the Capitol's total collapse.
Warnings | None planned!
He should have left days ago. Most of the other ministers are gone. Most of the upper-crust have fled. The mansions are all empty. The Reagans are going inward.
Most of them. One other, at least, is not going. The most important one is still here.
No one bars his passage into the prison. The identity checks are cursory. His skin looks paper-thin in the harsh, boxed-in light, the circles under his eyes are like bruises, and there is a knot in his jaw where his teeth are clenched so tight they creak; but he is unmistakably himself.
They lead him in. There's glass between him and his brother. He almost tells them to remove it, to get Stephen out here; it's not caution that stops him. He wants to be alone, the sooner the better. He's waited the entire trip down here already, and he thinks the wait came nearer to killing him than anything has, even the bomb blast that knocked the gate to the Reagan manor off four days ago.
Stephenus Reagan: Apprehended. Enemy fraternization. Suspected rebel sympathies. It is a mistake. Like the last time: It must be a mistake.
The minute the security door shuts behind him, he says, in a voice that is too soft, too tense, that hangs on a wire in the air: "Stephen."
He crosses his arms as he stands; he shifts; he chews on a thumbnail. He can't keep his hands still. He is not angry-- or, anyway, his anger is still trapped under his exhaustion and his terror, his fear that they did not bring his brother back here whole. Let Stephen be all right. Then there will be enough time to be angry.
What | A prison visit.
Where | The Capitol
When | Not terribly long after Stephen's arrest; not terribly long before the Capitol's total collapse.
Warnings | None planned!
He should have left days ago. Most of the other ministers are gone. Most of the upper-crust have fled. The mansions are all empty. The Reagans are going inward.
Most of them. One other, at least, is not going. The most important one is still here.
No one bars his passage into the prison. The identity checks are cursory. His skin looks paper-thin in the harsh, boxed-in light, the circles under his eyes are like bruises, and there is a knot in his jaw where his teeth are clenched so tight they creak; but he is unmistakably himself.
They lead him in. There's glass between him and his brother. He almost tells them to remove it, to get Stephen out here; it's not caution that stops him. He wants to be alone, the sooner the better. He's waited the entire trip down here already, and he thinks the wait came nearer to killing him than anything has, even the bomb blast that knocked the gate to the Reagan manor off four days ago.
Stephenus Reagan: Apprehended. Enemy fraternization. Suspected rebel sympathies. It is a mistake. Like the last time: It must be a mistake.
The minute the security door shuts behind him, he says, in a voice that is too soft, too tense, that hangs on a wire in the air: "Stephen."
He crosses his arms as he stands; he shifts; he chews on a thumbnail. He can't keep his hands still. He is not angry-- or, anyway, his anger is still trapped under his exhaustion and his terror, his fear that they did not bring his brother back here whole. Let Stephen be all right. Then there will be enough time to be angry.
