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Liberty Becket (libertybecket) wrote in spinningcompass,

If he'd asked her, Liberty would have said that of course it didn't matter whether he was lying or sitting or anything in-between. It didn't, not in any important way, but she did find it encouraging that he was propping himself up that way. She doubted that he'd have had the strength for even that, at certain points over the weekend.

She listened carefully to these strange dreams of his. Liberty was a practical young woman who didn't set much stock in dreams, or any kind of mysticism for that matter. Some of the others on the station irritated her, because she was sure there was a rational explanation for everything there. It was understandable not to know what it was, but not to revel in your ignorance or declare that there was no point in even trying to find out the answers. Here, the simplest explanation seemed to hold. Alexander was very ill, and his mind was comforting him with the things he'd like to see.

'It's not impossible for you to dream of your son, and what he might be like,' she told him. I dream of mine, she almost added, but that was different, because of what Bruno had shown her, and so she held back, but her hand did come to rest on the slight curve of her belly. 'It's good. It's good that you dream of hopeful things.' She smiled back at him, because his pleasure at the thought was infectious. 'And a lawyer – that's what you call a mediator of contracts, isn't it? No-' she shifted a little in her seat, '-the advocate for one side in a contract dispute? You'd be good at that. At either. Is that what you're planning to do when you go back?'