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For all intents and purposes, Felps looks like a particularly well-preserved corpse when sleeping. Sure, his chest is rising and falling with each breath, and if Cellbit tried he could easily find his pulse—but he’s as young as the day they took him ten years ago. And sometimes that overrides everything else.
Cellbit has changed. The others have, too. And Felps certainly isn’t unchanged by his experiences, but not in a way ten years would imply. Not like Cellbit. Not like the others.
Sometimes Cellbit wakes up, and he’s holding a corpse. The rise and fall of Felps’ chest doesn’t compute, and his skin is cold to the touch even under all these blankets, and he looks as young as the day they took him, and really—what other explanation is there?
And in those nights all Cellbit can do is cradle his face, press a kiss to his forehead, and hug him closer. Until either he falls asleep, or Felps wakes up to remind him what’s real. To remind him Felps survived.
The thing is, he thinks it’s something he would do. Preserve Felps’ corpse, and carry it with him. Maybe he couldn’t keep Felps with him during life, but he can keep him during death.
Or, at least, this is something they would think he’d do. The people who think he’s insane. The people who know him first and foremost as a cannibal serial killer war criminal. Prison therapists, fellow prisoners, prison guards.
They wouldn’t be surprised to find out Cellbit did something like this. And they know a fundamental visceral part of him, so maybe they’re right.
But in the end: Felps’ chest is rising and falling, and his pulse is beating under Cellbit’s fingers, and he always wakes up. He’s as young as the day they took him, but he always wakes up. Eyes fluttering open, a tired smile curling onto his face, a murmured good morning.
In the end Felps is still alive, so it doesn’t matter what Cellbit would do if forced to live without him.
Sometimes, Cellbit thinks he is seeing ghosts.
No, he’s sure he’s seeing ghosts. One ghost, actually.
It drifts into the archives with him late at night. Although, late at night doesn’t mean much here—there’s always people milling about to keep things running. It is usually late for Cellbit’s shift, though.
Cellbit is tired, and his brain is overworked, because the archives are fascinating, and really well put together, but it’s just so difficult to try and connect it all into something that’ll help.
And then the ghost drifts in, and settles on the pile of blankets and pillows in the corner. Cellbit isn’t sure why a ghost needs all that. But he doesn’t ask, because the thought of addressing the ghost makes his tongue go numb in his mouth. Sends staticky panic racing through his body.
It makes sense that he would end up haunted, with a kill count like his. A disturbingly high amount of them aren’t even the aliens he’s supposed to kill.
It’s both a blessing and a curse that the person to finally haunt him is his best friend.
Guilt is a familiar emotion to him. It weighs heavily in his stomach as he watches the ghost from the corner of his eye.
Felps looks as young as the day he was taken. And Cellbit knows the Federation. It isn’t a surprise he died quickly after. It isn’t a surprise Cellbit failed.
Near him, Felps laughs—not unkindly.
“You’re looking at me like I’m a ghost again.” Felps says.
And this conversation is familiar. They’ve had it before. Cellbit’s brain feels muddy. The words on the paper aren’t turning into anything he can comprehend right now, but he doesn’t let go of it.
Felps pushes himself up, and drifts closer. Cold hands wrap around Cellbit’s.
He’s always heard that ghosts are cold. That you can tell a ghost is nearby, because the entire temperature of the area drops. Felps’ hands are cold, but solid.
Although, he supposes ghosts have to be solid sometimes. How else would they throw things around, and scratch the skin of the people they’re haunting, and whatever else the horror stories say?
Felps has never hurt him.
Even though Cellbit probably deserves it for failing him.
“Cellbit.” Felps smiles at him, but it’s sad. Tired. He always looks so tired. “If I was a ghost, don’t you think I would’ve haunted you earlier?”
Cellbit leans into the solid line of his body. With the clothes between them he’s not so cold. Something starts to thaw in Cellbit’s brain.
“Maybe you had other people to haunt.” Cellbit argues. They’ve had this conversation before, he knows. He remembers how it usually ends. But he just—he can’t get his brain to believe it. “Like Pac and Mike?”
“I guess.”
Felps brings one of Cellbit’s hands up to his chest. A strong, steady heartbeat dances under his palm. Well. Ghosts typically don’t have that.
Then Felps drops his other hand, and there’s a pinky finger hovering up near his mouth.
“Bite me, see if I bleed?” Felps says, voice teasing.
Cellbit jerks back and bats his hand away. It makes Felps laugh.
“You’re such an asshole.” Cellbit huffs out.
“Well, ghosts don’t bleed, right?” Felps picks up Cellbit’s other hand again. Runs his fingers over his knuckles. “I thought it’d be a good way to test.”
He says it blandly without a hint of a joke, but Cellbit has known Felps long enough to pick up on the underlying one.
“And what if I actually bit your finger off, hm?”
“I knew you wouldn’t.”
He says it so simply.
Maybe Cellbit needs to reevaluate his earlier assessment. Felps hasn’t hurt him physically. This simple trust in him makes his chest ache.
Felps stays with him as he folds his brain back into his head—the heartbeat under his palm effectively grounding his floaty mind.
“C’mon.” Cellbit says when he can mostly convince himself this is real. “Let’s go to sleep.”
Cellbit is in the archives, Felps dozing off somewhere behind him. He’s close to some kind of connection, he’s sure. He just needs to find…
“Cellbit?” Felps murmurs sleepily.
“Mhm?”
There. Okay, okay, okay.
“Cellbit? Where—?” Felps pauses. “Can you come here?”
“Yeah, hold on.”
It’s nothing big, but it’s another piece of the puzzle falling into place. With any luck, if he follows this trail—
“Cellbit?”
—The wavering uncertainty in Felps’ voice snaps him out of his train of thought.
“Yeah?” He twists around in his chair. “What’s wrong?”
Felps’ eyes are closed, but he doesn’t sound like he’s dreaming—as far as Cellbit’s aware, he’s never talked in his sleep.
He stands up and approaches Felps. Felps’ eyes flutter open at the sound of his footsteps, but he looks a little dazed. A smile curls onto his face.
“You’re here.” Felps breathes out—almost like he’s in awe. “I didn’t think you would be.”
Cellbit crouches down in front of him. Tilts his head.
“What do you mean?”
Felps’ eyes skim past him—glazed over a little as he looks around the room.
“Where are we?” Felps asks. “Nothing makes sense anymore. I think I’m dreaming.”
Oh.
“You’re not.” Slowly, Cellbit takes his hands. “This is real.”
“Are you sure?” Felps squeezes his hands almost absentmindedly. “Because my brain doesn’t agree.”
“Well, why does your brain think you’re dreaming?” Cellbit asks.
Felps hums as he thinks. Then he shrugs.
“I don’t know.”
“You, uh… you were asleep for a long time, Felps. Maybe that’s why? Like… your brain isn’t used to being awake, so it thinks you’re still asleep?”
“Maybe…”
He’s not sure how credible the theory is. He’d have to run it past Roier, but he’s not sure Felps would be okay with that so that’ll have to wait.
At the very least—theory correct or not—Felps probably just needs something to ground him. And Cellbit is happy to help with that in whatever way he can.
“One moment, okay?” Cellbit says, pulling away so he can quickly pack away his notes.
Felps’ eyes widen in panic, and he lunges forward to grab Cellbit’s wrists.
“Don’t go!” Felps pleads. “Don’t leave me here!”
“I won’t—I’m not—I was just—“ Cellbit cuts himself off—explanations probably aren’t going to help right now. “I’ll stay.”
He shifts until he can sit next to Felps. Keeps a tight hold of his hands as he goes. Felps watches his movements critically—like he’s just trying another method to pull away and disappear.
He seems content when Cellbit settles under the blankets with him, though. Relaxes against Cellbit’s shoulder when Cellbit presses it against his.
“I miss you.” Felps murmurs.
Cellbit hopes it’s just a confession born from Felps’ confusion. That Felps wasn’t conscious enough to actually miss him. He clings onto the fact that Felps always insists he can’t remember anything from when the Federation had him.
“I missed you, too.” Cellbit murmurs back. He rubs gentle circles onto the back of Felps’ hands with his thumbs. “A lot. But we’re together again now, okay? I promise.”
“Okay…”
Felps doesn’t sound like he believes it, exactly, but he doesn’t say anything else before slipping back into sleep.
And Cellbit stays with him.