WHO: Ford Harper, Thorne Proudfoot, brief appearance by Njall Strand-Weissman, Harper parental NPCs WHAT: Testing the transplant results WHEN: Saturday, August 31, 2019 | 9 am WHERE: Brightstar Reserve Medical WARNINGS: It's not good news
Ford could barely keep still while Healer Strand drew the needed samples and cast all the appropriate spells. It was nothing he hadn't been through before, but he couldn't imagine something like this becoming rote. His mom's hand was gripped tightly in his while his dad stood with one hand on his shoulder, but both were also silent. They knew as well as he did that they wouldn't be doing these particular tests ever again, one way or the other.
Thorne wasn't exactly sure why he was there, except Ford had asked him to be. Besides, his dad was still mandating that he was on medical leave. Whatever. He was bored and didn't have anything better to do. So he was sitting off to the side as to not interfere. While everyone else was looking at the blood being drawn, he couldn't stop looking at Ford's parents. In another life he could have been their son. But would he even be him at that point? That was far too philosophical for this early in the morning without coffee.
Mrs. Harper turned an eye toward the extra person in the room. She'd seen him more than once now, with all of the various procedures, but their actual interaction had been very little. Never one to stand quiet for long—and trying not to think about these tests taking far longer than usual—she finally gave in and said, "I understand you're something of an activist like Ford. Do you have a podcast?"
"Mom, not everyone with a platform has a podcast. Some people actually leave their houses and do things." Ford rolled his eyes, but he couldn't say he was sad for the distraction.
Blinking because Ford's mom was actually talking to him, Thorne didn't really think about what he said. Which is why he lead with, "No. I was involved with NABE and got arrested on suspicion of being a terrorist." That probably wasn't the best thing to have mentioned when talking to Mrs. Harper, but too late now. He shrugged. "Don't believe everything the newspapers print."
"What's NABE and why—"
"He's not a terrorist, Mom," Ford broke in before she could take the question any further. He should already see the wheels turning even as she attempted to hide her shock and horror at the comment. As an accomplished country club wife, she was far better at it than many people assumed she would be, but he could still spot it.
"With what he's done this week, he could have blown up—"
Ford groaned and cut him off with a look. "Dad, you really shouldn't finish that sentence." He looked over at his twin. "I swear we're a halfway sane family."
Thorne waved off the apology without even really listening. "Don't swear. It's uncharacteristic and that's my job."
Ford laughed almost in spite of himself.
A knock on the door preceded Njall's entry into the room. Walking in to the sound of Ford's laughter seemed like some kind of cruel irony. He'd quadruple checked the test results, but they'd remained the awful same. He took in all the faces around the room, committing them to memory, because he knew this moment would haunt him. "I'm so sorry," he directed this straight at Ford, throat tight around the words. "It didn't work. I ran the tests multiple times, but the results were still the same: the advanced stage leukemia is still affecting your body."
Ford's mom squeezed his hand so hard it hurt and then immediately burst into tears. It was surreal, because other than the location being different, it was nearly the same scenario playing out before him. And it felt that way, too, like a movie he was watching for the hundredth time. They'd try something new, get their hopes up, get the results, and fall apart all over again. He held Healer Strand's gaze for a long moment, watching for any difference in the scene, any sign that there was a plot twist coming up...but there was nothing.
He felt his parents wrap their arms around him, even probably leaned into that hug a little, but his movements were automatic, numb. His eyes were on the floor when he said, quietly, "I think I need a minute."
Thankfully, his dad understood exactly what he meant without him having to elaborate, and with one last squeeze of the shoulder, the man had tugged his crying wife into the hallway. Only when they'd gone did Ford look at the healer again and say, "Thanks. For trying."
"Motherfucker." Thorne frowned to himself. "This is bullshit. More than bullshit. This is some sort of fucking bullshit plot twist."
There were a thousand words in Njall's head, but none of them were equal to the task of offering anything like hope or comfort or even the level of apology he wanted to convey at this latest failure of the healing arts. It should have worked. All the reports he'd come across and his own initial testings of both their samples had indicated positive results. But at the end of the day, Ford's blood had simply rejected those borrowed components from Thorne and went about making its own diseased version. Thorne was right. It was bullshit. Even though he hated the words, he said them anyway: "I'm very sorry. Please let me know if you have any questions, or if you'd like to discuss this further later."
Ford nodded at the healer but didn't say anything as the man left the room, leaving him alone with his twin. Everything seemed to be happening at a distance, but it wasn't the sort that meant he was on the verge of passing out. He simply wasn't sure how to engage the real world right now. What could he possibly say that would make any difference? This was it. It was done. He had what time he had.
He looked at Thorne. "It was still worth it. Coming here."
Thorne didn’t believe it. What did they mean that it had failed? They were identical twins. They had the same DNA, not accounting for any mutations or modifications that disease had cast upon them. That didn’t make sense. Unless… well, it was no secret that Thorne pretty much used his time on this planet as if his days were unlimited. Like it didn’t matter what happened to him. But it did. He had one fucking job in this whole fucking process.
“No. You said it yourself. You don’t want to die. I’m far too stubborn to let death win.” Not until Ford said he was ready. And even then he wasn’t sure he could give in then.
It was strange enough hearing those words from Thorne's mouth that Ford almost wanted to laugh, but he instinctively knew that any particular show of emotion was likely to open a door that he wasn't sure he'd be able to close again...and not here. He didn't want to fall apart in the medical ward, because they might not let him leave again. "This was it. The last option. Unless you know how to track down a certain deadbeat vampire whose blood we happen to share."
Thorne didn’t even know the man’s name, but they both knew someone who did. He frowned to himself. He didn't really feel like speaking to the woman wearing his mother's face, but sometimes you had to do things you didn't want to do. "Give me your phone." He held out his hand. "I want to text Alex Spencer to get the name of the sperm donor." Because once he had that he could maybe do something useful. Since his first attempt failed miserably.
Ford handed the phone over automatically, though it occurred to him a second later that he was probably inviting trouble no matter the reason for it. His mind had flashed to what Gigi would say about what his deviant brother was up to now when it registered what Thorne had just said. He frowned. "Orion. She said that was his name." No last name, but did it matter? "But she said he left. Do you really think she knows where he is after that story she told?"
“Orion? That’s a stupid name.” Thorne snorted but handed the phone back with the half written text still visible on the screen. Instead, he took out his phone and began to type out a message. One person might not be able to find an errant vampire, but the entire internet? That was a different matter entirely. “You going to object if I tag you in something? Or does the podcast still need your anonymity?”
Maybe his brain was only moving at half speed, but when he shook his head at the question, it was without really comprehending the point of it. "I've started backing off of it. Easing my followers into my identity. Figured once my Snowcap stint was done, I'd do a tell-all. Or, well, as much as anyone ever tells all to fans." He didn't bother to mention that he'd been expecting he'd be basically writing his own obituary, because he'd been proved right in that, hadn't he? "What are you doing?"
“Maybe Alex Spencer was right and she couldn’t find this Orion. I likely wouldn’t be able to find him even if I could literally hack the being database, if he’s even registered. But this little thing?” He held up his phone. “Between whatever followers I managed to have left and your following and the internet in general. Someone is going to know something.” Maybe it wouldn’t work. Maybe being the undead meant you couldn’t give any samples, but fuck it if Thorne wasn’t going to try.
Ford nodded, but he pushed down that little incessant kernel of hope that kept trying to pop up in his chest. This past week it had begun to flourish, despite him still feeling like crap—because when didn't he feel like some level of crap? Now, though? It had all crashed and burned, and his body was simply waiting for his heart to catch up with it. "So after you finish telling the world, can you break me out again?" He didn't care what Healer Strand or his parents might say right now, because he wanted to be in a normal house, on a normal couch with his dog and Andi, if she was home. He just couldn't apparate there himself. "I need to be kind of far away from here." He was teetering on the edge already, carefully holding himself together, but it wasn't going to last.
Since he was four years old Thorne knew one solid fact about himself: he was a monster. Oh, he could hide behind facades of sarcasm and pity as much as the next, but it still didn’t change that fact. Monsters didn’t get the happily ever afters. But Ford wasn’t a monster and Thorne would do everything in his power to make sure Ford got what he deserved. “Yeah. Sure. No problem.”