It's been the longest week ever, Chris thinks. He's been through some long weeks in his time, but life's been calm lately, calm and good, ever since he first saw Justin stop and turn and stare right at him.
Chris remembers his hand dropping to his gun. Reflex, of course, but the thought makes him feel shivery and breathless. He's woken up in the middle of the night, from nightmares that always end with him drawing his gun and shooting, like he should have done. In the dreams, Justin always looks up at him with wide eyes that look a lot deeper blue than they are in reality and whispers, "why?" And Chris touches his wild curls like he's never done for real and kisses him, and catches the last breath with his mouth.
It's clearly his subconscious carrying some kind of delayed guilt for whateverthefuck he's done, and it irks him that his dreams aren't more original. Or at least sexier. He stops himself from thinking lustful thoughts about Justin when he's awake, because once he sets foot down that path, he'll never return, but dreams are dreams.
Chris is not good at waiting. He paces the tunnels because he can't sit still.
"We have a set time," JC says when he nags him to contact Lance right away. JC is usually a meek and quiet guy, but he can be stubborn as shit.
"Can't you just go see him? How long could it take to dig through the files? He could be sitting on the--"
"His dad is the Chief of Police," JC says softly.
"Exactly," Chris says, and JC just sighs and turns away. His face looks green-tinted and bony in the slanted light. His cheekbones are like razors. Chris reaches out and touches the tight, dry skin, feels the lines of sharp bone underneath. JC closes his eyes for a second and leans into the touch, and they stand like that while Chris tries to pretend he still believes he did JC a favour five years ago, when he brought him along.
Finally, JC ducks his head and Chris lets his hand drop. "I'll see him on Sunday," JC says. He looks so tired, like all his energy has leached out of him during five years of darkness and stench and bad food.
"Sunday could be too late," Chris says, and JC looks at him sharply, as if he's holding back a sharp retort. You should have looked after him better, then or Why did you bring him here at all?
"I know," he just says, though, and looks down, dejected. Chris feels guilty for making him feel guilty.
On Friday, he goes down a few levels and finally finds one of Alex's boys, a tiny guy with long hair in a ponytail that everyone just calls D. No one remembers his actual name anymore, and Chris is pretty sure D doesn't, either. D is security chief for the eastern grid.
"I saw him up there a lot," D says. "He liked going up."
Chris ignores the fact that D is talking about Justin in the past tense and says, "You told Alex he was hurt."
"Yeah. We found blood on the wall there. They carried him up, so my guess is he took a tumble and broke something important."
"Fuck," Chris says. D pats his shoulder.
"I don't think they'll harm him. They were just street cops, not Genotech patrols."
"Yeah," Chris says.
"They probably took him to the camp," D says casually. He's turned away from Chris and is staring at the grainy image of an empty tunnel on one of the monitors. Nothing is happening, but it seems very interesting, nevertheless.
Chris blinks. "What camp?"
"There's a working camp outside town. It's the district penitentiary, and that's where they take the non-citizens they pick up."
"How come I don't know this? Why do you know it?" It bugs him that he's not on top of this. He feels like he's letting his side down.
D tears his eyes away from the monitor, where nothing still keeps happening. "I have friends there."
"What, guards?"
He rolls his eyes. "Yeah, right." The monitor again. That particular shade of green must be addictive. Chris looks at D's shirt instead. It's thin, off-white cotton, with intricate patterns embroidered in red silk thread. The seam under the right sleeve had torn, and someone had sewn it back together with thick green yarn.
Chris clears his throat. D doesn't react. "Um. Well, thanks, man," Chris says.
"Yeah, no problem," D says to the monitor, but when Chris turns to head back, he says, "What are you gonna do?"
"Get him outta there," Chris says. D is actually looking him dead in the eye now, and it's almost a little uncomfortable. "What?"
"If you need anything," he says and looks down quickly. "If. Yeah. I can maybe help."
"What? Why?"
He shrugs, but it looks awkward, like he can't pull off casual, all of a sudden. "I have friends there, I said."
"Right. Thanks," Chris says and leaves.
He spots Joey when he's going up. "Where are you going?" he asks. Joey has Baby tied to his chest in a makeshift sling. She's quiet and wide-eyed.
"I'm going up to show Baby the sky." He looks down at her and touches her nose. "We're gonna see the stars, Baby. We'll name them, won't we?"
"Name one for me, Joe," Chris says.
"You okay?"
"Yeah."
"Any news?"
"Maybe."
"Tell me later." He climbs a few rungs and looks down at Chris. "We'll name one Justin, then. For luck," he says with a little grin.
Chris grins back, briefly, before he remembers why he needs the luck. "Oh, shut up," he says. "That's sappy beyond belief."
"Oh, you know you love it. You'll look for that star the next time you see the sky."
Joey disappears up the hole. Chris walks back to his rooms, and thinks about stars.
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