The word broke some spell, shifting Teddy's contemplative stillness back into reality, and he finally leaned back in his seat with a sigh. The airport smelled of dust, that was the smell of bodies, hundreds of them, thousands, all moving and shifting and transforming, smooth and fluid and controlled, becoming a different landscape with every blink. Teddy, he decided, liked the airport. Not many people did, he realized. He thought maybe they, the airports, were widely misunderstood. Or maybe he would stop liking the airport so much when he really did have to leave.
"I think so," was his decision with a reassuring smile to Billy. "China's got to be totally neat. Maybe we'll have time to climb the wall-- they let you do that, right?" He scratched Billy's hair again and let his hand drift down to touch his neck, wondering if he was more worried than Teddy was himself. He was always more worried, really.