Mind the Weave

Fabric and stories are often compared to each other for good reason. One begins with a lot of material they have to cut into the right shape before creating a distinct path for each singular thread, knowing when to stop and begin somewhere else. Finally, having a work that is cohesive at a glance so that those intended to experience it can enjoy it to the full. But more than anything, they both require vision. Scraps are useless to those who can’t see the art in front of them.

-Weaver’s Orientation, p.14 paragraph 5

She walked the halls of the facility, checking the clocks on the wall almost compulsively. He was here and she had the proper clearance, but she couldn’t help but feel out of place. She hadn’t been chained to a desk in almost a year but she remembered these halls, and specifically this day, like a still frame in her mind. Trevor Cassidy, pilot of SSF prototype unit 13 and her patient, was currently in solitary after one of his ‘incidents’. She remembered his first question, but all she could think of in this moment was his last words to her and what she had come here to do. Getting to his room was easy, though her nerves were getting the better of her. Should she leap in with it right away or lead into it?

Opening his door she froze. The man in this room was not the chained and damaged soul calling himself Trevor. Instead, a grizzled man in his mid thirties stood against the padded wall, blood stains on the cuffs they usually used to hold Trevor still. The man took a drink off his flask and sighed, “Coffee as black as the heart you have in that chest of yours. Want some? Cause the taste in your mouth is gonna be bitter either way.” She raised her “professional” transparent pink clipboard at him before he raised a hand to signal for her to stop for a moment, “Come in here before we say something you might regret. I promise your boy toy is okay.” She glared at him but closed the door as he asked. He nodded calmly, “Good. Now, I have more questions than you. First, you were given a second chance at all this and your first choice is to jump to the last page? And all for selfish reasons. You can’t think of anyone but yourself.” She didn’t hesitate this time, swinging the clipboard full force only to have the man catch it. Letting out a sigh he said, “Name’s Warsaw, by the way.”

Anya tried to get the clipboard back from him but couldn’t. Spitting in his face to try to make him let go, his expression remained tired and worn out, like this wasn’t his first time having this conversation with someone. She growled, “I am his therapist and friend. The sooner I can get him back to himself, the more likely we can set things right before-“

She was cut off by the gruff man, “You can’t rush the healing process, princess. You have no idea the damage you can do if you try. I had him transferred out of here to save him from your good intentions.” His eyes locked with hers, holding the compassion of a deathbed confession. “Kid, you can do so much more with the time you have. Don’t let your focus on one broken kid rob you of potential. No one feels his pain as much as you and I do, Ms. Kyrio. But come in too hot right now, and you will only deepen his pain. Remember, you took six months just to get him to stop skulking in his room between piloting and therapy sessions. Three of those were spent sitting in silence until he was ready to talk to you.”

She leaned against the wall, considering carefully Warsaw’s words. Trying to get a read, she probed, “Who are you to him?”

Warsaw took another swig of coffee before answering, “Someone who knows him better than he does and has the sense of scope to see how this story ends. Spoilers, it ends poorly, in no small part to your reckless behavior. Still, I know you aren’t gonna just let history repeat itself, so here is the deal.” As he locked eyes with her she saw something familiar in it. A pain born from knowing way more about the world than they wished to know. She couldn’t tell if he was trying to feed her lines, but she could tell he was too tired to hide his intentions so she allowed him to continue. “I am gonna give you a hand. I can’t make things like they were before, but I can crack the door a little.”

She looked in his eyes and came to her final assessment. A man haunted, finding solace in his cage because it keeps him from his nightmares. A man like this was one of the rare breed that might just have that back stage access to Trevor’s little world. With a heavy heart she nodded. “Okay. I have to trust you. But why do you care?” When he raised a brow she clarified, “I mean, why do YOU care?” When his brow didn’t change she stated more directly, “Why help me instead of just setting me back to my old self?”

The agent sighed and pulled a ballpoint pen out of his chest pocket, spinning it a couple times in his hand before answering with a careful and considered tone. “Bureaucratically, it is because we have a category 2 dimensional bypass and the only people who could do that are the people I’d rather not talk to. Easier to just wade in and fill out the forms. But personally,” he clicked the pen twice and put it back in his pocket, “Personally, I hate watching people spend most of their lives taking swings at the sea when a second’s breath or reflection would reveal the reef beneath the shallows.”

The man from the unknown agency with the unknown past and unknowable motivations walked out of the room, letting out a long sigh as he felt a craving for a cigarette, he walked down the hall towards the boy’s room. He pondered how much of the big picture the boy was willing to engage with. Get broken often and completely and see if the big picture means a damn thing. Damage can be undone given time, pressure, and the right kind of heat but rush it and who knows what shape will come out the other end. Still, a good Weaver threads the needle of possibility and makes every stitch without hesitation. He had given his word, and now he had to deliver.

As Warsaw walked the hallway, Tarry stepped out to join him while carrying his usual cup of cold tea. His longtime partner laughed, “Agent Warsaw.” When the gruff agent nodded his direction the tone became more soft, “So, we are looking at a risk liability of nine and a potential dimensional bleed if you aren’t careful. Seems a bit out of regulation, bureaucrat.”

Warsaw nodded, “Yep. But this job is easier than our old one. Less paperwork. Less to talk about at therapy. Just doing what needs to be done and keeping everything nice and orderly.”

Tarry nodded, sipping his tea, “Indeed. And minimal oversight. Oh, wait, that’s always been our job.” Warsaw nodded, causing Tarry to be sincere for the first time in ages. “This job is far more productive than our last. We make a lasting impact here, both good and bad. Are you sure the uncaring infinite span of time is the best office for your demeanor?”

Shaking his head, Warsaw scoffed, “Didn’t know my sanity mattered to you. Gonna take me a minute to wrap my head around that. As for your question, I am doing fine. The Director got my head on straight.” Tarry nodded and drank his cold tea before dumping it on a passing orderly. “You do your thing, I’ll do mine and when this is over we can sit down and you can finally try coffee.”

“Iced?”

“If you aren’t careful I’ll scald you.”