An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 8/?
Fandom: Original Work
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Characters: Original Characters, Ottawa Haberstich, Eric Orzechowski
Additional Tags: Drug Use, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Near Death Experiences, Trans Female Character, some real daddy issues, trans protagonist, Queer Relationship, Small Towns, Hurt/Comfort, Found Family, Americana, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Islam
It's then that Ottawa recognizes none of her surroundings; the mess they'd been living in was homely enough to her. Now it barely feels lived-in, but at least there's less dog hair everywhere. The coffee table is clear and the TV is on, open to the frozen image of a buck in the woods. The speakers play static. She supposes she can appreciate a clean environment. Disarray just feels natural. But to Eric it must just be another reminder of himself, all his affects scattered about now neatly filed away. She doesn't say anything, just hums and nods and tries to un-pause the TV.
It loads into a nature documentary on low volume. The buck traipses through the brush in high definition. At some angles, it seems to be staring the cameraman down. Too on the nose. She shuts the television off.
"Yeah?" His voice is tight.
"Is this ... this can't be real, can it?"
Ottawa turns her head to look at him. The vacuum has shut off on its own. The roaring in her ears is still there. He's left a small trail of footprints in the carpet from the coffee table to the window, and he's got his back to her, cord still in hand.
"We will never have definitive proof," he mutters toward the panes. "That anything is objectively real. For all we know, this is a hallucination within a dream. I don't have that answer, Ottawa."
"It's more of a matter of ..." he faces away from the window. The sun shining through illuminates stray hairs on his head. "Whether or not you care."
Ottawa has half a mind to laugh. What a stupid answer. What a stupid question.
Eric travels carefully over the carpet toward her, abandoning the vacuum, and sits on the opposite end of the couch. Puts his head in his hands, elbows on his knees, sighing like something's been punctured.
"It's ... impossible not to. But there's some comfort in knowing that there's nothing we can do about it either way."