When Uhura sent him a message asking to meet up, Jim assumed, reasonably enough, that she wanted to talk about the mission. He suggested they meet in his office. She shut down that idea soundly. So when they meet, three weeks, two days, and counting before launch, at a cafe a few blocks from the Academy campus, he knows the business of this meeting is entirely personal.
He gets himself a large coffee, because somehow he suspects he’ll need it.
Then she opens with, “We need to talk about Spock,” and he knows he does.
“What about him?” His voice is casual and innocent, like he doesn’t have any idea what sort of Spock-related conversation would possibly be necessary, but maybe he overdoes it. He sounds false even to his ears. In truth, there are innumerable things he could say about Spock, and an innumerable number of questions he could ask on top of that. The man is a mystery more unfathomable than the depths of space itself, and he’s been on Jim’s mind a lot recently. Perhaps more than he’d care to admit. Perhaps too much.
“About what’s going on with you two,” Uhura answers, then lifts a hand to stop the obligatory objection already half out of his mouth. “I don’t need to know what has or hasn’t happened specifically.”
“Nothing!” His voice is a bit too loud, and edging embarrassingly into defensive, so he tones it down and tries again. “Nothing. I’m sure Spock’s made that clear to you.”
“Spock doesn’t exactly like to give details about his private life,” she answers. Jim thinks this is an excellent policy, and one he should adopt with more strictness himself. “Even with me. He likes to keep things close until he’s at least started to work them out. I don’t think he’s ready to say anything about you yet, and I understand that.”
He has to roll that one around in his brain for a few moments. The thought that Spock might someday share details about him with Uhura is unsurprising, when he actually thinks about it, but nonetheless distressing. Honestly, he’d rather not dwell on that one. But that she would admit this particular facet of their friendship says something about her friendship with Jim himself or, and this is more likely, her mood in this particular moment, and he immediately attunes himself to it. So they are going to be brutally honest. Or she will, at least. It’s a strange mood to react to. He wants to be open too, to match her. He wants to close himself off, as self-defense.
“I just want you to be aware of a couple of things,” she continues. Her tone is casual now, but Jim hears what’s underneath: the same bite of warning that’s been there since they first sat down.
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Amber may have struck out when it came to finding truly accessible adventures for them in Halifax, but she was a winner at improvising. They went to the aquarium and Amber led her brother right to the touch tank. She didn’t tell him her plan, and he complained the whole way.
“I want to see the fish, the big ones are so creepy. I don’t want to go by myself.”
Mattie sighed, hoping she didn’t want to spend all day there, when she stopped, pulling his hand down to a soft vinyl seat.
“Sit,” she said.
“Sidelined?” he asked. He could hear children making delighted sounds across from him.
“No, sit.” Amber sat down and Mattie turned and did the same.
“Here,” Amber said, placing his hand on the tile ledge behind them. She took his cane from his hand and folded it up, sitting it on the seat beside him.
“It’s wet,” he said.
“That’s because there’s water on the other side.”
“I hear it. What is it?”
“It’s a touching tank. There are two of them.”
Mattie put his hand forward and lowered it over the side until his fingers touched the water, and he pulled them back.
“What’s in there?” he asked.
“In this one, there are...” She leaned back, looking at the sign identifying the species in the tank. “Sea cucumbers, star fish, sea sponges, sand dollars, skates, and over there, there are turtles.”
Mattie debated momentarily between wondering how annoying it would be for the creatures to be picked up and poked on a daily basis by children, and wanting to be able to take part in the experience of the aquarium the only way he could.
“Can I give you a starfish?” she asked him.
He kept his hand out tentatively, and nodded.
He held the starfish gently in one hand and ran the other hand over the top it, feeling the rough, porous surface. He counted an unusual six arms, tiny, curled at the ends. Amber watched his fingers carefully investigate the sea creature, a smile touching his lips that he probably didn’t even know was there.
“It’s small,” he said. “Smaller than I always think of them.”
“Well, there are some bigger ones in here, too, I’ll see if I can get one. But I guess the big ones aren’t really what come naturally around here. This is mostly a research aquarium, so most of the fish are from this coast.”
“Is it a colour?” Mattie asked.
Amber smiled. “Yes. It’s kind of orange. There’s a little blue one over here.”
Mattie put his hand to the water, gently lowering the starfish. Amber gave him a bigger starfish, one with the proper five arms.
“This one is kinda yellow.”
She handed him creatures one by one, giving him advance notice of what he would be feeling.
“Are you sure you want the sea cucumber? It looks squidgy.”
Mattie grinned. “Yeah, I want you to pick it up,” he said.
“You’re just making me do it. Is it worth it to you?”
“Oh, definitely,” he said, his smile wicked.
“Damn it,” she said.
He listened to the noises she made as she tried to pick up the creature. When she finally had it cupped in her hands, she lifted it out and told him to put out his hands. She gently put the squishy sea cucumber into them and watched her brother’s face for his reaction. He did flinch, and almost threw it back in the water, but he fought the urge, and instead, began to examine it as he had the other creatures.
“Ew!” said a young voice nearby. “You’re touching the gross ones.”
Mattie turned to face the kid. “Did you touch it?” he asked.
“No-o,” said the kid. “They’re gross.”
“They probably think the same about you,” Mattie said and Amber laughed. He had such a wonderful way of interacting with kids that made them instant friends. He’d always seemed out of place with kids when he’d been one, and he never really spoke down to them as an adult, either.
The boy moved closer. “Isn’t it gross?”
Mattie gave him a smile. “Come’ere,” he said, motioning the kid over with a shake of his head. He felt the boy come close. “He’s just a little creature,” Mattie said. “Minding his own business. He doesn’t know that people think he’s gross, because he is perfectly happy doing what he does. We pull him out and tell him he’s gross, that’s really not very nice of us. What colour is he?”
“He’s brownish green. So?”
“So, I bet he blends right in when he hides from the big fish. He’s got his own camouflage.”
“But why is he so squishy and gross?”
“Did you touch him yet?”
“No.”
“Go ahead. He feels like leather because he doesn’t need to have scales. He’s got little prickles so no fish would want to eat him. I bet he keeps his house clean, and all the other fish probably like that, don’t you think?”
“Maybe,” said the kid, and Mattie could feel the boy touching the sea cucumber.
“I’ll put him back in,” Mattie said, carefully letting him go in the water. “He wants to go back to not being ugly, but doing what he’s happy doing, keeping the floor clean for the fish.”
Amber didn’t even know if the boy realised that Mattie couldn’t see. He had his sunglasses on, and the cane was folded up out of sight.
“I guess that’s cool,” said the boy.
Mattie smirked. “But not as cool as a starfish, right?”
“Right.”
“Or a shark.”
“Yeah, sharks are cool,” said the kid.
Amber watched a little girl approach curiously, quietly. “Hi,” she said, smiling at her.
“Who’s here?” Mattie asked her.
“A little girl. Hey, honey.”
Mattie smiled. Amber attracted kids wherever she went, somehow. She would have been a great primary school teacher, he’d always thought. She liked to look after kids, to keep them happy. Mattie always felt she just needed an excuse to play and colour.
“Here, Xav, try this one,” she said. “You can’t pick it up, though.”
“What are you showing me?” Mattie asked, deliberately not holding out his hand.
“A skate.”
“Skate? Like, a stingray?”
“Yeah, well, I don’t think it’s as big. There are two and they keep going around. One of them seems to stop when he gets rubbed, like he likes it.”
“Yeah? Weird. Okay. Send him over.” Mattie slowly put his hand forward and touched the water. He felt Amber’s hand touch the top of his, guiding it. He felt anxious, waiting to touch the skate. He wasn’t afraid, but it often was the anticipation of the unknown approaching that made him feel like he was.
“Here he comes. Ready?”
Mattie took a breath, ready. Amber’s hand put his down a bit and he felt the tough skin of the skate under his palm. He got an idea of its size as it passed under. He felt his body react in excitement over the contact. Amber readied him for the next pass.
The other skate came over slowly to inspect the new hands touching its tankmate, leaving the children on the other side.
“They look like they are giant dishcloths, flapping a bit at the corners,” Amber described to Mattie. “Okay, this guy likes attention, ready?”
Mattie nodded and Amber slid Mattie’s hand along the second skate, which stopped, hovering. Amber guided his hand under the ray, to touch the smooth white underside.
“The two sides don’t feel like the same creature,” Mattie said, concentrating on the fish. “The underneath is like satin. Or a baby’s bottom,” he said.
Amber was touching it, too. “So beautiful,” she said. “It’s so elegant.”
“Give the kids a chance,” said a woman nearby. “Can’t you just let them look at them? It’s for the kids.”
“It’s for everyone,” Amber said. “There’s no sign that says children only.”
“Well, you can just go look at the other fish while the kids are all here, can’t you? I mean, come back when there’s no kids, and that would be fine.”
“My brother—” Amber started, but Mattie stood up, reaching out and touching her arm, and she pinched her mouth shut.
Mattie turned to the woman. “There are plenty of things to touch in here, and the skates will come to whoever is interesting. They will do as they will. I’m here to look at the fish, too, and this pool is the only way I can see them. So, to be fair, the kids can go look at the other fish until I’m done seeing them.”
“He’s blind,” said Amber, with some satisfaction. She watched the woman’s face look confused and then shocked. She looked toward Mattie.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know,” said the woman, looking like she wanted to disappear into the floor.
“Mum? What did she say?” asked the boy.
“Shhh, Jason.”
“But what did she say?” he asked again.
The woman took the chance to usher her son away, telling him quietly that the man couldn’t see.
Amber made an exasperated noise, and Mattie dropped his head back, shaking it in dismay. He sighed and sat back down on the bench, but he didn’t turn back to the pool.
“Bitch,” Amber said under her breath.
“She didn’t know,” Mattie said, trying to be reasonable.
“Who the fuck cares? Anyone can be here. It’s not just for her stupid kids.”
“Shhh,” Mattie said, a nervous laugh breaking his anger for a moment. “They’re still there.”
“Not for long,” Amber said, watching three of the kids being moved along by their mother. She looked at her brother. “Come on, don’t let her ruin our day. Here, I’m giving you a really cool starfish, look at this one.”
Mattie turned, the excitement gone this time, but he put his hand out anyway, and Amber put the starfish into it. His face became interested and puzzled.
“It has seven legs,” he said, frowning.
“It must have lost a couple and compensated by growing two for one of them,” Amber said. “They’re just improvising, I guess, and moving on. It’s adaptation, in nature, Xav.”
Mattie twitched his cheek. Amber and her little lessons. He felt the suction-cup-like sections on the underside of the starfish. “What colour is it?”
“Kinda red. Pinkish.”
Mattie slowly let the starfish drop down through the water. Things just went on living, adapting to the situations they found themselves in. The only difference was, the other starfish didn’t act like there was anything different about the six-and-seven-armed starfish. It was only people that cared about that.
“Did you want to see the big tanks?” Mattie asked Amber.
“No, I just wanted to come here so we could touch the fish.”
“Are you sure? I mean, we paid the admission.”
“I’m good. Are you done?” He nodded. “Are you sure?” she asked. He nodded again. “Okay,” she said, picking up his cane and his messenger bag and handing them to him. “Come on.” When he was ready, he tapped his cane down so the joints locked together and nodded. She placed his outstretched hand on her elbow and they headed back toward the entrance. They passed the mother with the three kids and Amber glared at her. She was angry the women had put a damper on their enjoyment and she wanted to push her into the seal pond. The women eyed Mattie’s white cane, and glanced at Amber and then looked away.
She blinked her eyes as they returned to the bright sun, and she put on her sunglasses. She had a little trouble finding their car in the parking lot, but she didn’t tell her brother, though she figured he guessed, when she kept walking and turning. He didn’t let on, if he did.
When she took his hand and placed it on the car, he turned to her. “Thanks, A. That was really a good idea. I don’t think I’ve ever held a live starfish before, and I know I haven’t touched a skate or anything like that. Thank-you.”
She put her hand on his arm. “You’re welcome, Hun. It was fun.”
Mattie climbed into the car, and folded his cane. “So what’s next on your itinerary?” he asked when he heard Amber sitting beside him.
“Food. And then I want to go through some of the downtown shops again. More of them, I mean. We didn’t really get a chance before to go in very many.”
Mattie knew there would be odd steps and little shops with glass counters and trinkets and breakables in corners, and he didn’t really feel like being the bull in the china shop, but he would, for Amber. She parked once again in a parking lot and fed money into the metre while Mattie got ready. They stopped for a salad and a sandwich at a small eatery before hitting the streets.
Amber didn’t tell Mattie about the people who looked at them as they walked along together. She didn’t tell about the people who looked anywhere but at them as they walked past. People made the usual wide birth, or acted like neither of them existed, nearly running into them. Amber knew her brother suspected these things always happened, and she didn’t need to draw a line under the fact.
“Narrow door, one cement step,” Amber said, stepping up, pulling on the gold door handle. Mattie awkwardly followed, wedging himself in behind her. He kept his cane close to his body, not knowing how tight the quarters were and what he could damage with on small sweep. Amber carefully guided him around the shelves and racks.
“What are you looking at?” he asked her.
“There are all sorts of things here. It’s like a shop of all things. Postcards, magnets, kitchen gadgets, aprons, t-shirts, hoodies, plates, books...”
“Books? What sort of books?” Mattie asked.
“Probably not Braille,” Amber said.
“No, I know that, but what kind? I just want to know.”
Amber took him over to the books and read the titles on the covers. Mattie stood with a smile, listening, interested.
“Hello,” said a shop assistant, coming up behind them. “Do you need any help finding anything?”
“No, we’re just browsing, thank you,” Amber replied.
“Are you from the city?”
“No, we’re here from New Brunswick, on a little road trip,” Amber said.
“Oh, lovely,” said the shop assistant. “Are you enjoying it so far?”
Mattie nodded, and Amber told her they’d just been at the aquarium.
They continued browsing for a while, and then moved on to the next shop. Mattie endured wool shops and souvenir shops and toy shops and soap shops. Amber found a used book store and they hunted through it. Mattie still had a deep curiosity for old books and wonderful books, and though Amber really didn’t know why it mattered so much, she looked through as many as she could and handed him the most interesting ones, which he put to his nose and breathed in, and felt all over with careful fingers.
They explored a pawn shop, and Amber tried to give Mattie as much information about their surroundings as she could. She found at the end of days like this, her voice was hoarse, but she wanted to give Mattie everything she could so he could experience as much as she did. She put coins into his hands, telling him where they were from and how old they were. She put lead typeset into his hands and let him feel the fine grooves and smooth surfaces. He held his hands out eagerly. He had given up being reluctant and reserved about how he saw things in the past year or so. His curiosity far outweighed his reservations about being seen as full-on blind. He was caring less and less about how blind he looked, it mattered so little to him these days. Amber knew it came with acceptance and being comfortable with who he was, and comfortable with being seen that way by his friends and family.
In a little craft store, Mattie was exploring a bucket full of tumbled stones while Amber looked at earrings. They were smooth, and some weighed very little, while others seemed heavy for their size. He slid his thumb over the surface of the stone in his hand, wondering if it was pink, or blue, or purple. He didn’t find himself needing faces as much as he needed colours. He could still see them when he wanted to, unlike the faces that moved and turned and disappeared in his mind’s eye.
He dropped the stone back into the bucket and inched his fingertips along the counter beside it, finding another plastic bucket, this time with what he knew were geodes. Crystal geodes had always been a favourite of both Amber and Mattie, and had drawn their eye in many a shop of trinkets. They were easy to distinguish even now, with their seemingly benign appearance on the outside surface, but with the stone chiselled in half, Mattie discerned very easily the open cavity in the centre with the rough edges of the shattered crystal lining the interior.
“Whadjya find?” Amber said, coming back over to him.
“Geodes,” he replied, picking up a second stone that felt heavy.
“Cool. That one you have in your left hand is really, really cool.”
“Yeah?” Mattie felt the second stone. It was seemingly as ordinary as the other on the outside, but the inside glittered with crystal; he could feel its many tiny surfaces which would reflect the light with sparkles.
“’Kay, this part?” Amber said, taking the first rock from his right hand and guiding it back to the second rock in his left. “Here in the middle? It’s purple, like an amythyst. And then there’s a layer of lavender in between, and then a thicker layer of kind of a pale turquoise crystal. Three for one.” She leaned in, looking through the bucket. “I think you found the prettiest one, right there.”
Mattie smiled. He presumed it was just luck, but it did seem funny that he had examined that one under his fingertips and had found it more interesting than the others.
“You should get it,” Amber said.
“I was thinking I could buy it for Lilla,” Mattie said.
“Oh, yeah! She would love that. Yeah, you should get it for her. Most definitely.”
Mattie smiled. “Okay. You find anything?”
“I’m cheating,” she said. “I’m getting these butterfly earrings for me.
He chuckled. “You need butterfly earrings,” Mattie agreed. She smiled and looped her arm through his, pulling him close to her side, and they walked to the counter together.
Mattie put the little gift wrapped in tissue into his messenger bag after he’d paid, and Amber put her new earrings on as soon as they were back on the sidewalk. Mattie could almost detect that she was shining more, just from the way she was walking. Sometimes, a person just needed a sweet pick-me-up to make life joyful for the moment.
They continued along their way, and Amber had her opportunity to look at MacTavish tartans. As expected, the kilts were expensive, but Amber loved looking through the shop.
“You need this,” Amber said, holding something up against Mattie’s chest. He knew as soon as he touched it that it was a tie. “You need this for work. It’s cool! You and your vests and nice jackets, this would look very fetching. I’m buying it for you.”
“Is it expensive? Nice ties are expensive. Familial tartan ties are extra expensive.”
“I’ll get it for your birthday. You’re getting this tie, MacTavish.
“Well, then,” Mattie said, turning. “Then I have to get you something, too.”
“Oh, Xav, they do have a vest! Maybe you need this instead.”
“I’ll look like a Hobbit,” Mattie said. “A plaid vest!”
“You can pull it off,” Amber told him.
“Pick something out,” he said. “What do you like?”
“I like this vest for you,” Amber teased.
“Can I get you a hat? A hair bow? A hanky?” A smirk played around his mouth. “How about a pair of oven mitts?”
“They don’t even have oven mitts, idiot,” Amber said.
“Hey, that kind of attitude ain’t gonna win you any tartan,” Mattie said.
“Okay, okay. You’re not an idiot. You’re a brilliant pain-in-the-ass.”
“You wanted to come look at tartan, we’re here looking at tartan, and I’m asking you if there is anything here that isn’t hundreds of dollars that you would like to have as a souvenir of our time and our ancestry.”
Amber, who had eyed the kilts and a black wool coat with tartan cuffs and collar, turned her gaze back to the soft wool flannel scarves hanging along a rack. She slid Mattie’s hand off her arm and patted it. He stood waiting, hands wrapped around his cane, leaning on it casually. She returned to him and ran the fabric along the back of his hand. He clutched it, feeling how soft it was.
“Scarf,” Amber said. “It looks kinda like the one you have of Granddad’s. Except much wider.”
“Wow, that feels beautiful,” Mattie said. “What do you think?”
“I liked it until I touched it, and now I think I want to just move inside of it and live there forever.”
Mattie nodded, a smile on his closed lips. “Then it’s yours,” he said, taking it from her. She’d mentioned this store so many times, he knew he wasn’t about to let her leave without something tartan.
Mattie didn’t know that when Amber told the woman behind the counter that she wanted to buy the tie, she also put the vest down, motioning with a finger on her lips to keep that one a secret from her brother standing right beside her. Amber glanced at her total, which the woman had rung in without saying the result out loud, and passed over her credit card.
Mattie went next, and once again, the flat package went into his messenger bag. He’d often wondered how he’d managed his whole adult life without somewhere to put everything he was carrying. He had realised that now, he often only had one hand free to carry, and if he was grasping someone’s elbow, that meant there were no free hands to carry anything.
They hit the streets once again. Mattie treated Amber to a Creamsicle from an ice cream cart, and they contemplated climbing Citadel Hill. They had been there several times as children, and Mattie could remember the barracks and the stone walls and the museum of articles from the history of the fortressed port defense. Mattie knew the road leading to the top of the hill was in the shape of a star, if you could look at it from above. He knew the green hills in between the cuts of road often were spotted with people enjoying the weather and the view. Sometimes there were gatherings and concerts there, and often the past was brought to life by real-life soldiers who wore the army dress of centuries before.
In the end, they opted to keep walking downtown, and soon, Amber made a sound of happy surprise.
“Oh! Okay, you’ll like this place,” she said, leading him towards the shop. “No steps, just a rubber mat. Door, right.” They went into the building and Mattie smiled instantly.
“You know, don’t you? How do you know?”
“Know what?” Mattie said, trying to look puzzled, without success.
“You can probably hear the piano strings reverberating with the movement of customers,” Amber said with mock annoyance.
“No, it’s the un-amped guitar over there.”
“Oh.” Amber turned and sure enough, there was a young guy plucking quietly on a guitar while a girl looked on over on the other side of the room. “Why didn’t I hear that?”
“You weren’t listening,” Mattie replied.
Amber nodded, admitting he was right, and then led him to a baby grand piano and put his hand on the closed keyboard cover. She carefully helped him tip it up to reveal the keys.
“Wow,” Amber said. “Nothing like our piano,” she said. “No chipped ivories. They probably all work, too.”
“Ours all work except that one way up on the top. I fixed all of them,” Mattie said, exploring the keys and the smooth, polished wood framing them. “This is very classy. I could get used to playing something like this.” He touched a chord and breathed in the warm, perfect sound that it made. It was a soulless piano, made to be hollow and open to interpretation. Over time, it would develop its personality and tone, but Mattie enjoyed hearing a piano that just played beautifully, the way the pieces were meant to be heard in a concert hall. He tried another chord, this time with both hands.
“Play something,” Amber said.
“I don’t think they want the customers to think it’s performance time.”
“I think they’ll make an exception for you. Play the Chopin Nocturn.”
Mattie smiled at her. She put her hand on his arm. “Please. They won’t stop you.”
Mattie reached down and felt for the bench, and slid onto it. Amber gave a little clap of excitement, taking his cane he offered her, and sat beside him. She had learned the piece back in her piano lesson days, but she couldn’t still play it. But her brother had always managed to put more passion into it than she ever had.
He lightly touched the keys, finding the placement easily, and began playing the Nocturn, Opus nine, number two. He played for less than five minutes, but when he was done, the two employees and the six customers were all standing around the piano, clapping. Mattie was surprised, and instantly blushed, bowing his head in diffidence.
“That was beautiful,” said Amber, bumping her shoulder against his in an attempt to bring him back out of the shyness that had overtaken him. “Eight people agree with me,” she informed him, and Mattie heard a chorus of agreement.
Someone approached Mattie on the left. “We often try to dissuade people from playing this all the time, but I think I can say I’d be really happy if you played another. Oh, I’m Tim Holt, by the way, I own this shop with my cousin.”
“He’s holding his hand out to you,” Amber said, a simple narration she said without hesitation.
Mattie quickly put out his hand and Tim shook it. “Hi, thank you. Matthew MacTavish. This is my sister, Amber. I don’t want to overstay my welcome, I wasn’t even sure if we were permitted to—”
“Yes, yes, please, by all means.”
“You’ve been practising a lot lately, haven’t you?” Amber asked. She knew he found his way to the piano many times over the months and years of his adulthood, and he’d never lost his ability the way Amber had over time, but since he’d rediscovered his hands and the music and joy of being in his university band, he’d become very adept at it once again. She often came over to hear him wiling away his boredom, anger, sadness, or whatever sent him to surround himself in music. Sometimes she’d remain quiet and just listen for a while. Sometimes he knew when she was there, when he finished the last note. Often, she asked him to continue, and she would make tea and drink hers while curled up on his chesterfield, watching him.
“I don’t know what to play,” Mattie said in a low voice. “What do I play?” His mind was blank.
“Play the Moonlight Sonata,” Amber whispered. “Everyone loves that one.”
Mattie centred himself again, hearing the Sonata in his mind. The people around him disappeared again into the darkness and the music filled the empty places as he began to play. He played the full Adagio sostenuto, and for six minutes, no-one in the shop moved, except to turn when an older gentleman in a brown suit entered and gravitated towards the music.
Amber watched Mattie, his hands almost caressing the keys under his fingertips, his eyes closed, his face relaxed. She marvelled that he had memorised so many of these pieces, refreshing them in his head after he could no longer read the sheet music by listening to them played on radio, CD, and MP3 until he could almost see the notes on the page. He told her that hearing them played was almost a visual experience to him now, that part of his brain that lay dormant without input was firing its own story in response.
Bliss, was the word Amber thought when she looked at his face as he played.
When he finished, again, the applause broke out. Tim thanked him, and told him he could come play any time, it could only help his business. Mattie laughed, but told him that it would be a little far to travel for a free gig. The customers began to move back to their browsing and Tim asked Mattie and Amber from where they were visiting. They talked pianos and music and other instruments for about fifteen minutes, and Mattie took Tim’s card.
“If you’re ever ready to take a sweet piano like this home, I’ll give you the best deal around,” he said, giving a friendly wink to Amber.
When they left the music shop, Mattie thanked his sister for stopping there. She hugged his arm and thanked him for playing.
“You made everyone’s day,” she said.
“I don’t know if I made everyone’s day,” he said, shaking his head.
“Well, you did. Deal with it. You’re spreading joy to those less fortunate. Now, I’m hungry. Are you hungry?”
Mattie shrugged. She was hungry again. He had to think about whether he felt hungry or not.
“How are you not starving?” Amber said. “I hate that you don’t even notice when you should be hungry. Stop being so skinny and making me feel fat.”
“Amber, I haven’t seen your backside for over three years, but I still know you’re not fat. I’m not as skinny as I was, am I?”
“No,” Amber said. “You’ve definitely improved yourself. You’re looking pretty fit, actually. Are you still going to the gym at work?”
“Yeah. I have a gym buddy named Oliver who helps me with the good workouts. Still don’t have the treadmill figured out, though. It’s too hard when I can’t see.”
“Call Craig, see if you can borrow that thing you use at his gym.”
Mattie nodded. “I may. So, what does your little stomach desire, then?”
“Lobster. Or Greek souvlaki. Or maybe Chinese.”
“So you’re open to everything, then. Well, I’ll give you the job of keeping an eye out for somewhere nice. And if I smell anything good, I’ll give you a heads up.”
They ended up in a medium-priced restaurant which was gently lit by tiny white lights and softly-lit overhead fixtures. Amber read Mattie the menu and they took their time ordering. Amber gave her brother the details of their surroundings, and let him know where the door was, the kitchen, and the bathrooms. They decided to make a pit-stop in the latter and Amber peeked in the empty men’s bathroom and gave Mattie the layout before leaving him to it. She waited for him and guided him back to the table and soon, Amber’s plate of beef souvlaki and Mattie’s plate of chicken souvlaki arrived.
“How’s it look?” he asked Amber when the waitress had left their table.
“Delicious. How’s it smell?”
Mattie smiled, nodding his head. “Delicious.”
It was indeed delicious, and they took what they couldn’t eat back to their little inn for a late night recap. It had grown chilly so their walk back to the car was hurried.
When they got back to their room, Amber turned on the television and plugged in the electric kettle. She rehashed the day’s events joyfully, and Mattie smiled at his recollections.
“Thanks, Amber. You know you always remember to tell me everything. It means a lot to me, you know. Like, you tell me so many things that I’d have no idea about... things that I need to know, and things that just make the details better. I... it just means a lot to me.” He lowered his gaze, as always, shy about opening his feelings to an invisible room.
“You don’t ever need to thank me for that, Xav. I try to always remember, and I feel bad about things I miss for you.”
“It’s pretty great that you made the effort to make everything between us the exact same as before, even though you learned how to do things completely different for me. I’m not sure how you managed to do that so seamlessly, but it sure makes things easier, and not... weird, you know?”
“To tell you the truth, Xav, I was scared to death for a long time that it would be weird... between us. But once you came home, it was very short-lived with us, wasn’t it? I barely remember any weirdness between us. It’s just been... like this.”
“I appreciate it,” Mattie mumbled, nodding in her direction.
“You’re very welcome,” Amber said. “Now, do you want to watch a sitcom, or a science show, or a history show? Or a movie from... nineteen-eighty-five?”
“Nothing newer?”
“Let me keep looking.”
They found a more recent comedy, and Amber finally found the menu to change the settings on the TV to descriptive video for Mattie, and he instantly felt more at home. They ate the rest of their leftovers from supper, and talked about what they might do the following day before returning back home.
Mattie fell asleep easily that night, due to good food and the day’s exercise. He slept straight through until eight. He woke up before Amber, he could hear her soft even breathing which told him she was still asleep, so he quietly took his clothes and went to the bathroom to shower.
When he came out, dressed but barefoot, Amber was awake, sitting on her bed.
“Morning, Sunshine,” she said to him.
“Hey, how was your sleep?” he asked her, returning to his suitcase to find some socks.
“I don’t think I woke up once,” she replied.
“Me, either,” Mattie said, feeling around in the pocket until he located socks. He sat on the bed to put them on.
“I’m hungry,” Amber whined.
“Aren’t you still full from last night? I am,” Mattie said.
“Oh, don’t you dare,” Amber said. “I’m gonna get a shower, too, and then we can pack up and head out. Anything you want to do?”
“Let’s go back to the waterfront,” Mattie said. “I’m debating on whether I want to climb the Citadel or not today.”
Amber laughed, and took her clothes and shampoo to the bathroom to take her shower.
They had breakfast at a place that made crêpes, and Amber quickly cut Mattie’s strawberry crêpe into bite-sized pieces, before he decided to be ashamed of the offer. She had a mango-peach-pineapple crêpe, and both came loaded down with cream.
Amber never commented on her brother’s use of the fingers of one hand making sure his utensil was loaded properly. She never laughed at any mess he made. She told him if he had something on his face or his shirt. His aim was good, but the odd time, he misjudged the proximity of his hand to his mouth. She had watched him struggle a few years ago, trying to figure out hand-mouth co-ordination, and how to locate food and know he had something on his fork before putting it to his mouth. He’d come up many times sampling an empty fork. She knew she couldn’t feed him herself, but she wanted to make sure he was comfortable figuring it out for himself. She knew he had developed a shyness about eating in front of others. She let him take his time, didn’t make a big deal about anything, and gave him as much heads up on the table settings and his plate as he needed.
She saw his fork searching the plate one last time. She’d finished her crêpe long before he had, but sat enjoying her coffee, letting him finish at his own pace.
“You got it all, Hun, plate’s clean,” she told him.
“That was really good,” Mattie said, silently grateful to her.
“Yeah, it was. You all powered up now? Ready to walk the hill?”
Mattie smiled. “I think I can do it today.”
“Do you want to do it today. I mean, do you want to go to the museum up there? I know you don’t think museums can be for you anymore, but I bet we can figure out a way they can be. It’s the old army barracks, so you already have the ambiance to go on. I’ll describe it to you, you’ll remember it from before, I bet.”
“Let’s do it,” Mattie said. “Mum will ask us if we walked up it and we need to be able to say yes.”
“She did love to go to the historical sites. You take after her.”
“Alright, well, let’s get this show on the road,” Mattie said, and put down a twenty-dollar bill. “D’she bring us the cheque?”
“She’s coming now. Let me pay for this one,” Amber said.
“Nope, too late. You can drop the tip.” Mattie unfolded his cane and got ready to go while Amber settled up the bill and the tip.
They started at the bottom of the hill, and wound their way up the star-shaped road. Amber told Mattie everything she could see: the harbour, the clock tower, the people lying on the grass enjoying the sun. She smiled at the people they passed that smiled at them, going up, coming down. Mattie’s cane always got people’s attention, good and bad, but today, it seemed to just invite kind smiles toward the siblings.
“I can only see the flagpoles up there, and the green mounds. I can’t see Fort George, yet, though.”
“Any kilted Seventy-Eighth Highlanders in sight?”
“Not yet. You should get a picture with them.”
“Why just me? We could both get in the picture. You can send it to Mum. Shit, we should have worn the tie and scarf, we could go all-out tartan.”
Amber did her best once again to give Mattie as much description as she could as they approached the fort, and entered. The stone walk under Mattie’s feet was smoothed out from years of foot traffic, but he could still feel the texture under his sneakers. His cane caught a couple of times on the joins in the surface, but it gave him more information than he’d have just standing there. He could hear the echoes off the stones in the walls, and Amber took him alongside the outer walls and let him explore with his hands.
Once back inside the barracks, they walked through the divided interiors, which housed the military museum, with artefacts from the centuries of fortification, since it had been first founded in seventeen-forty-nine. Amber knew Mattie wouldn’t be able to touch most of the artefacts, so she told him about the best stuff, and let him touch things that were available to him, the stone walls, the open-framework of the arches and doors, even the floors. She tried to jog his memory of things that had been there when he was young, and still remained to this day, so that he could connect some visual memory with what he was surrounded by presently.
When they had passed through and were back outside, Amber saw the cannon sitting up on its stone platform. There were three members of the army in their re-enactment gear standing nearby. Amber led her brother toward them.
“Hi,” she said pleasantly, and the three greeted her warmly.
“Can my brother touch this cannon?” Amber asked. “There’s not a lot for him to touch, but I hope you can help us out.”
“Of course,” said one of the officers, moving towards the cannon. “Come on over.”
Amber guided her brother to the cannon and placed his hand on it. He tucked his cane under his arm and reached out with both hands, feeling the cool iron of the cannon. He went to squat down a bit to explore it further, and Amber took his cane for him so he could check it out freely.
He could feel how heavy it was, just from the girth of the barrel and the thickness of the walls at the muzzle. He felt the wheels it sat on, and the place where the cannon would be ignited. As he was inspecting the weapon, the officer gave them some history and facts about that cannon, and other interesting features of the Citadel. Amber informed Mattie that the man had on the kilt and the tall bearskin hat as she’d expected, and he smiled toward her.
“It’s nearly noon,” said the officer. “And we set this beast off every day at twelve on the dot.”
“Yeah?” Mattie asked, intrigued. That was an event he could witness himself, though he realised they were probably telling him so they’d move away safely.
“Would you like to set it?” asked the officer.
Mattie imagined the officer was talking to his men, but no-one answered.
“Xav?” said Amber, letting him know it was him being addressed.
“Me?” he asked.
“Yup,” said the officer. “It’s pretty loud, but it’s a rush.”
“Tourists are allowed to light the cannon?” Amber asked.
“No, not generally,” said the officer. “But since you really don’t get to take in the sights of the site...” He smiled a little at his pun. “I want to offer you something that others don’t get to do.”
“Is it dangerous?” Mattie asked.
“No, you just stand back and light the fuse with something like a huge match. There’s no actual cannonball, we just set off gunpowder. Like blanks.”
“Ah, cool. But I can’t see the fuse to light it.”
“We can give you a hand with that,” said the officer.
Mattie was thrilled to be offered the chance to set the cannon off. Amber could see the excitement in Mattie’s face, and she smiled, standing back and letting him take the moment.
They told him about the clock tower, which was used for accurate time for hundreds of years, and would be used today. They let Mattie examine the object he would use to light the fuse, which was a three-foot long stick with a split in it to hold the match, called the botefeux.
He knew the process was ceremonial, that he wouldn’t light the match, and he wouldn’t set the fuse without their hand guiding his. But he would still feel the fuse light, through the stick, he would hear the sound of the spark moving through the vent into the barrel, and the boom as the gun powder exploded. He could feel his excitement building in anticipation of that boom.
“Okay... what’s your name?” said the officer.
“Matthew.”
“Okay, Matthew, so we have a set of silencing headphones for you and your sister, here.” Mattie put his hand out and felt the object tap against his fingers. “We’re counting down, now, so in about thirty seconds, Corporal Rickard is going to light the match, and I’ll help you to let ’er fly! You ready?” the officer spoke loudly so that Mattie could hear him once he’d put the headphones on.
Mattie nodded, shifting one of the earpads from his ear so he could hear the instructions.
“We’ll light it, and I want you to step back three steps and make sure your headphones are on tight.”
Mattie nodded again. “Am?”
“I’m right here,” Amber said, a short distance behind them.
Mattie felt the tug at the end of the botefeux, and he quickly popped the earpad over his ear snugly as he heard the sound of a match being struck, and he felt more tugging through the stick. Then, the officer’s hand was next to his, guiding the match to the fuse.
“Five, four, three, two, one,” the officer called to him, and Mattie readied himself.
The match set to the fuse and took off, the spark making a fizzing sound though the headphones that swirled around him, inviting images of battlefields flashing in his mind. He did as he’d been asked, and stepped back three steps, feeling Amber’s hands grasp his shoulders, closing his eyes automatically as he pressed each hand on the headphones over his ears. The boom that burst forth thumped against his heart, and he could feel the force of the blast against his body, even without artillery. It was as if the air had jumped back against him.
He couldn’t speak for a minute. He felt himself smiling like a madman. He knew what it was to stand behind a cannon and set it off toward enemies unseen, experiencing what it must have felt like to fire upon the foe in battles long passed. He could smell the gunpowder all around him, imagining for a moment that they were all in the same predicament, momentarily unable to see anything around them through the smoke.
“Great job, Soldier,” he heard the officer shout, and he took his headphones from his ears. The man took up his hand and shook it.
He grinned. “Thanks, Sir. It was a pleasure to serve.”
Amber was bouncing all around him, her hands on his shoulders. “You did it! You did it! Was it cool?”
He nodded. “That was really awesome,” he said. “Awesome and loud. Did you hold your earmuffs?”
“You bet I did,” she replied.
They thanked the officers profusely for their kindness and generosity, passing back the headphones. The officers thanked Mattie for his help, and told him they were glad they could give him something to experience first-hand. Sometimes, a soldier’s duty was to do good for their citizens, and they were glad to give him the opportunity. He and Amber left in great spirits, Mattie buzzing on the high of firing an early nineteenth-century cannon.
They decided to head back down, grab something to eat, and then head for home. Amber could tell Mattie was pretty pleased with the day; he was practically shining with pride and happiness.
They bought sandwiches and Cokes and sat outside to eat them. Amber gave Mattie scenery to fill his mind’s eye while they ate. They took their time, not in any hurry to make the journey home. Heading back to the car, Mattie returned to the topic of the cannon.
“I never would have been able to do that if I wasn’t blind,” he said, matter-of-factly.
She shook her head. “Nope. Probably not.”
He sighed, but he had a content smile on his lips.
“I guess you’re kinda lucky, then,” she offered, unlocking the car doors, and was relieved when he chuckled.
“I guess so.”
“So when’s our next road trip?” Amber asked with a cheeky grin as they climbed into the car.
She thought he was about to pass it off, but he gave her a lopsided smile. “Bring it,” he said brazenly.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
“So, what will you do?”
“We are still deciding. I really wanted a natural birth. But either way, it won’t be that way now. Induction, I have heard horror stories about the pain of it. And we would be taken him before he is ready, maybe. C-section, well that is major surgery. I just don’t know.”
Geillis pours more tea. Their relationship is close to how it was before. A grand thing as her mate needs her. Maybe she can make up some for what she has done. “Do you want more bairns?”
Claire laughs, her hand going to her bump, where Brian kicks hard enough to be seen. “We haven’t discussed it. I think I will finish this guy first.”
Geillis laughs also. Her hand joins Claire’s. “Feet. You may be carrying a little footballer.”
“Maybe. Willie is ready to teach him everything.”
“I imagine he is.” She moves her hand and takes her own tea. “The reason I asks is because , if you are and choice surgery, then the next bairn will probably have to be born the same. If you’re not though, you can always have your tubes tied while open.”
“Sterilization. I haven’t even thought of such a permanent thing.”
“I have.” Claire lowers her tea cup and turns to stare at her.
“What? But you just have Rowan.”
“I know. After the shock faded and decisions had to be made, after I decided to have her and raise her, no matter what he did, well,” She takes another drink and sits her own cup down beside her mates,” I knew I didn’t want to make the same mistake again. Not that Rowan is a mistake..”
“No she isn’t.” Claire has grown very close to Frank’s daughter, who calls her Auntie Claire.
“But the way she was made. I vowed that I wouldn’t do such again, a vow intend to keep but.. To be sure, when we decided to have my stubborn lass delivered by C-section, she was breech and wasn’t turning, I signed the papers to have my tubes tied also.”
“Geillis!” Her eyes fill with tears.
“Claire, it’s alright.”
“No, no it isn’t. You made the choice to punish yourself, didn’t you?”
“Well I deserved it, didn’t I? Doing such to my best friend.”
“No! You didn’t. You deserved something maybe but not… You are an excellent mam. To not be able to have another..”
“Claire,” She holds her. She weeps on her shoulder. “Oh my love. You were my sister. I betrayed you in the worst way possible. What I did, I did do out of guilt some, I won’t deny it. But also because I knew, I was to be a single parent. I was already wildly in love with my daughter. I didn’t want to split my affection. It was the right decision for me. Okay?” she lifts her head off her shoulder.
“Okay.” Geillis picks up some tissues and gives them to her to wipe her face. “Pregnancy hormones. That and I really care about what happens to you.”
“As I do you. Now, how shall we get Brian Lambert Fraser out?”
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“It’s been some time since he’s used the oven, he would be embarrassed to admit, and it takes him a minute or two find the oven mitts hidden in the back of one of the drawers. He turns the oven off, opens the door, and carefully reaches in to draw out Kirk and Sevin’s cake. A simple operation. And yet, as even simple operations occasionally do, it goes awry—the oven mitt slips, his hand comes in contact with the hot metal side of the pan, and he all but drops the whole thing. He lets it clatter from his hands onto the stovetop, unthinking, just acting on the instinct to get it away, and lets out a fast string of Vulcan curses, mostly under his breath.
It’s not his proudest moment.
The pain has mostly subsided, the slight throb of it easily brought under his control, and only an acute and less simply suppressed embarrassment left, when he turns and sees Kirk and Sevin standing in the doorway.
"Father, are you okay?” Sevin asks, skirting around the kitchen table to get to him. Kirk follows the same path, but slower, and echoes the same sentiment: “Are you all right?”
All Spock can think is that he hopes Sevin didn’t hear too much of what he was saying. Kirk wouldn’t have understood a word of it, but those weren’t phrases he wants added to his son’s vocabulary.
“I am fine,” he insists, and puts his arms behind his back, partly out of habit, partly to hide his injured hand. “It was a small accident—I was only surprised for a moment.”
“It didn’t sound small,” Sevin answers, wary and uncertain. f
“A half-second’s surprise,” Spock argues.
“Will you just let me look at it?” Kirk interrupts, and reaches for Spock’s hand. He sounds a little exasperated, which is not surprising, and a little worried, which is. But he doesn’t touch, not even Spock’s wrist or arm, until Spock nods and reluctantly consents, and for that, at least, he’s grateful.
Kirk takes his hand gently, and turns it until he can take a look at the small burn mark on the outside of his index finger. This contact between Vulcans would be an undoubtedly intimate one, and Spock feels it in his heart and in his lungs. But Kirk is not a Vulcan, and Spock reminds himself that this touch evinces no more than the concern of one friend for another. That is all.
Kirk slides the tip of his finger slowly down the burn, as if testing it. In truth, it’s no more than a hardened bit of raised, angry green skin between his second and third knuckles. Hardly worth the attention. Hardly worth the way Kirk’s touch lingers.
“You should kiss it better,” Sevin’s voice, cheery now and all hint of worry gone, interrupts the moment sharply. If it could even be called a moment.
Spock looks up abruptly and his brow furrows. “Where did you learn a concept like that?”
“School,” Sevin replies, as if it were obvious.
“Yeah, Spock,” Kirk echoes, looking up for the first time since he stepped up to Spock’s side. “School.” There’s the slightest hint of amusement on his face, but there’s something else, too—a softness, a fondness, something that again brings the word ‘intimacy’ floating to the top of Spock’s mind. He wishes they were not standing so close. He wishes they were not touching skin to skin. Yet it does not occur to him to pull away.
“I do not see how one could kiss away even a minor injury such as this,” he insists.
“It’s an old Earth remedy,” Kirk answers. “Simple, but effective.” And before Spock can argue any further, he’s leaned down, and brought Spock’s hand up to his lips, and pressed a very gentle, soft kiss to the burn mark.
Spock’s pretty sure his ears have turned green.
“Did it help?” Sevin asks. “Do you feel better?’
He can hardly tell the truth: that the kiss did not help, that it has only brought to the surface what he must keep buried and suppressed. Sevin is staring at him, waiting. Kirk is watching him, too, an air almost of nervousness about him, or perhaps regret.
“It’s been some time since he’s used the oven, he would be embarrassed to admit, and it takes him a minute or two find the oven mitts hidden in the back of one of the drawers. He turns the oven off, opens the door, and carefully reaches in to draw out Kirk and Sevin’s cake. A simple operation. And yet, as even simple operations occasionally do, it goes awry—the oven mitt slips, his hand comes in contact with the hot metal side of the pan, and he all but drops the whole thing. He lets it clatter from his hands onto the stovetop, unthinking, just acting on the instinct to get it away, and lets out a fast string of Vulcan curses, mostly under his breath.
It’s not his proudest moment.
The pain has mostly subsided, the slight throb of it easily brought under his control, and only an acute and less simply suppressed embarrassment left, when he turns and sees Kirk and Sevin standing in the doorway.
"Father, are you okay?” Sevin asks, skirting around the kitchen table to get to him. Kirk follows the same path, but slower, and echoes the same sentiment: “Are you all right?”
All Spock can think is that he hopes Sevin didn’t hear too much of what he was saying. Kirk wouldn’t have understood a word of it, but those weren’t phrases he wants added to his son’s vocabulary.
“Yes,” he answers, trying to convey by his tone just how misplaced their concern truly is. He keeps his hands behind his back, in part because the posture is a familiar and comfortable one, and in part to hide the injury, slight though it is, from view. “I am uninjured.”
Kirk and Sevin continue to stare at him as if he had told them quite the opposite, and in a way, by saying too much, he supposes that he has. Sevin’s face shows a wide-eyed concern, while Kirk’s expression is one of persistent skepticism.
“Then what was that crashing sound?” he asks.
“And why did you say all those bad words?” Sevin adds.
Spock flinches with embarrassment, and carefully does not allow himself to even glance in Kirk’s direction; it is unfortunate (syn) enough that Sevin understood what he said, without also seeing Kirk’s reaction to his slip. Instead, he just adjusts his shoulders back and admits, “I accidentally touched the side of the pan when I took it from the oven. It was nothing, only a bit of clumsiness. I did not mean to alarm you.” He means ‘either of you’ but only flicks his eyes to Kirk at the very last moment.
But there is nothing mocking in his expression, only, still, that same concern. He takes a few steps closer and asks, again, “Are you sure?”
“Yes. My exclamation was one of surprise. That is all.” He turns to Sevin, intending to offer him additional assurance, when his son suggests, brightly and with an earnest expression that is hard to deny:
“Dad should kiss it better!”
The idea is such a strange one, and so suddenly presented, that for a moment, Spock can only stare. “And how,” he manages finally, “did you come up with a cure such as that?”
“I heard about it in school,” Sevin answers brightly. “It makes it hurt less.” Then, a bit more quietly, he adds, “It can’t hurt, Father.”
“I do not know—”
“Come on, Spock. It’s an old Earth remedy.”
He had expected Kirk to want to avoid this particular awkward moment just as much as he does himself, but when he glances back to the captain, he finds his expression is that peculiar combination of open and unreadable that, among all of the aliens with whom Spock has had contact, only humans have seemed able to master. He’s half-holding out his hand, wanting, but unwilling yet, to touch. Something about him, something unusually and unexpectedly soft, makes any possible answer stick in Spock’s throat.
The uncertain half-smile on his face just makes the nervous twist in Spock’s stomach worse. Sevin is glancing between them now, expectant, and the subtle throbbing of the burn against the side of his index finger, light though it is, is frustratingly difficult to ignore.
“An Earth remedy the logic of which escapes me,” he answers, as he takes his hands from behind his back. He gives Kirk a little nod, the permission he’s been waiting for, and then Kirk is holding his hand carefully in his own. Spock’s breath catches, despite himself, and he forgets that their son is watching them.
Kirk searches out the burn easily, a slight thing, a small bump of angry green between Spock’s first and second knuckles. He traces it gently with his fingertip. On Vulcan, this would be an intimate touch, a decidedly private and personal touch. A touch that, in its softness, would be inappropriate from even a close friend.
On Earth, it carries no such significance. That is what he must remind himself, even as Kirk slowly lifts his hand and presses a soft kiss against the green burn. The kiss seems to last longer than it should. But then, Spock is not familiar with the details of this strange tradition.
“Do you feel better?” Sevin asks, and his voice is a sharp interruption to a moment Spock wishes he could say had never been building at all. Kirk takes a long stride back, his own manner awkward, uncertain of himself. “Did it help?”
It did not. The touch, the kiss, brought up only a rush of old, best-buried memories, of touches more illicit and more intimate still, of feigned closeness that felt so achingly genuine, it echoed in him, taunted him, for years. It was not the contact of skin against skin, hands, lips, that caused this uncomfortable beating of a heartbeat in his temples, but the sense of deep caring and concern that passed between them: no telepathic wave of it, but clear in the minutiae of the gesture, telegraphed in the most human of ways.
But he cannot, does not dare to, put this realization into words, so he answers only, “Yes. It did. Thank you, Captain Kirk."
