Five Gifts Neil and Eva Exchanged

Summary: Neil and Eva are, evidently, terrible at giving each other gifts. Exactly what this says on the tin: five gifts Neil and Eva exchanged, and the one time they didn't have to try. Crangst/Brack.

I.

"Seriously?" Neil wanted to know, frowning down at the potted bonsai plant that sat on his office desk. Eva'd even managed to tie a green ribbon about the ceramic pot.

"It's a bonsai plant," said Eva.

"Yes, thank you very much for that statement of the obvious, Dr. Rosalene. Seriously, Eva? A bonsai plant?" He stared at the plant as if it had done something to offend him. That wasn't quite fair to the plant, but as far as Neil was concerned, it was only a matter of time. He didn't do plants. They were bother and responsibility, even if they didn't poop and didn't need to be taken for walks and didn't chew through his power cables and didn't try to repeatedly get themselves killed in increasingly creative ways the moment your back was turned.

"Yep," Eva said, smiling at him. This smile, Neil recognised: it was more or less Eva's 'I-don't-care-what-you-think-you-will-like-it-Neil-or-else' smile, with an added pound of Schadenfreude. "I've included an instruction manual as well," she gestured to the worn brown cardboard notebook that had come with the bonsai. "I've written down everything about the care of a bonsai plant in there. Call me if you have any problems."

"Why…a bonsai plant?" asked Neil, raising an eyebrow at her. "I mean, does anything at all about me scream, 'I love green things! Give me green things!'"

"You play Legend of Zelda, don't you?"

"…I cannot believe you just insinuated that Link is equivalent to a bonsai plant," scoffed Neil. "I don't know anything about plants, Eva! I don't even like them!"

"That's what the notebook is for. Clear written instructions with labelled diagrams so that even a moron like you can't screw this up."

"This is revenge, isn't it," Neil said, flatly, looking her right in the eye. "This is you taking petty, evil revenge for that time I took all the toilet paper rolls off the dispensers in Dr. Washroom and then lined them up in a neat row on your desk."

"I am beyond such petty concerns," replied Eva, serenely. "Really, Neil, would I do something as evil as that?"

"…Yes," Neil said, without hesitation. "Yes, you freaking well would."

Eva shrugged. "Hey, I just thought you could use some colour—"

"Do you know how many posters I have? Dozens. Hundreds. I have so much colour I'm a rainbow in human form, only twenty times as magnificent."

"—and some green and growing things, Neil. Posters don't count, they're printed on dead trees."

"Uh-huh, well, Eva, I don't think you're appreciating the severity of the situation here. If that…that thing," he jabbed his thumb at the offending bonsai plant, "stays with me for a couple of days, it's gonna be deader than Rob's sense of humour. Which makes it about fifty times deader than a Triton moon."

He caught that tiny flash of amusement; that moment when Eva's lips quirked in that small smile she was trying to suppress and heaved a quiet sigh, knowing the battle had already been lost, and what's more, that Eva had known too, had recognised the resignation in his protests. Truth was, if this had been just about anyone else, Neil would've just said, "Screw it," and left the bonsai to die, deeming it far too much effort. Even now, he was still tempted to do exactly that.

"…I refuse to be responsible if this plant," he said, as if it were a dirty word, "dies. If it dies, its blood is on your hands, Eva. I wash my hands off of this."

"Plants don't bleed, idiot."

"It's just an expression," said Neil, and then, at Eva's exasperated stare, "Fine. Its sap, its planty lifeblood will be on your hands. You will have condemned an innocent bonsai plant to a terrible slow death from neglect and haphazard watering 'cause you thought I needed something green in my life. How does that make you feel, you monster?"

"Surprisingly indifferent," retorted Eva. "It's a bonsai plant, Neil. It's not rocket science."

"That's the problem," Neil sighed and shook his head. He stuffed the notebook into his briefcase, and shifted the bonsai plant so it wasn't smack in the middle of his desk. "Thanks, Eva. I'm gonna call it...uh...oh, Planty McPlantface."

"What?"

"Hey, ground rules, you give me a bonsai plant, I get to name it whatever I want." He smirked, knowing that it was only annoying Eva. "You don't want me to name 'em, you don't make me keep 'em."

"What kind of name is Planty McPlantface even?"

"It's a good, honourable name, in the tradition of Boaty McBoatface. What could possibly be wrong with it?"

"I can think of at least three things."

"Hey Eva, have you heard of these curious things called rhetorical questions?"

"No," Eva replied, instantly.

Neil gave an exaggerated sigh. "God, sometimes, it's like talking to an utter Philistine, I swear. Some people simply have no appreciation of art, literature, or culture."

II.

"What the hell, Neil?"

Neil grinned cheerfully at her. "It's perfect," he said. "C'mon, you gotta love it."

Eva resisted the urge to go over to the wall and gently rest her head against it, in frustration. "Neil, whatever possessed you to decide that I needed a new toaster?"

"But it's not just any toaster, Eva! It's a Death Star toaster," Neil said, emphasising the words as if it was supposed to make some kind of difference to her. He reached into the pockets of his white lab coat for his mobile. "Look, I'll show you—there's a video on YouTube."

"Uh-huh," said Eva, wearily. "And does it do anything different from a regular toaster?"

"You betcha!" Neil exclaimed, and he sounded so absurdly proud of himself that Eva wanted to grab him by the collar and lightly shake him. "Gimme a sec, you definitely need to check this out." He'd actually saved the video too, so he produced the file in a few moments, hit play, and then angled his mobile so Eva could watch it alongside him.

Eva was unimpressed.

"…It toasts things. It's a toaster. Great. How is this different from the one I already have?"

Neil tsked. "Oh, I'm disappointed in your powers of observation, Sherlock," he said, his tone just faintly mocking. "It doesn't just toast things, it sears a TIE fighter on both sides of your toast! Check it out!"

"…So you're telling me that instead of being a regular toaster, it's a fancy toaster that comes with the additional feature of burning my toast artistically. Is that what you're saying, Neil?"

He thought about it. "Yeah, kind of. But it's awesome. I mean, TIE fighters! Who wouldn't want TIE fighter toast for breakfast?"

"Me," said Eva, without hesitation. "Burned toast tastes horrid and it isn't good for you."

"Aww, come on," he wheedled. "You like Star Wars. This is hundred-percent original trilogy, absolutely nothing to do with the prequels."

Eva sighed, shoving the round and surprisingly bulky toaster back into the cardboard box. It had, unsurprisingly, been an absurd pain just getting her present open. Not only did Neil love his secrets, he also loved his trolling. He'd refused to even let her open her present until she'd taken at least five guesses as to what was inside, only to discover that Neil had packed the toaster itself within two different cardboard boxes and three layers of neatly-taped wrapping paper.

He'd watched her struggle to unwrap it, of course, pale grey eyes gleaming with amusement, while that shit-eating grin only grew as Eva cursed her way through the process of working open the duct tape. Who the hell even used duct tape when wrapping a present, anyway?

Answer: Neil Watts, see also; asshole, smug and annoying bastard.

And now he was staring at her expectantly, still grinning from ear to ear as if he'd just managed some kind of major accomplishment. Achievement Unlocked: getting Eva a pretty pointless present. And there it was, really. As much as Eva didn't see the point of a Death Star toaster-her own toaster was perfectly functional, thank you very much, and she didn't need TIE fighters burned into her toast, she felt...just a little ungrateful. And as if she was kicking a puppy.

It was the thought that counted, or so they always said, even though Eva could not pretend to understand the logic that had led Neil to get her a Death Star toaster.

Eva sighed, inwardly. "Thanks, Neil," she said, trying her very best not to sound grudging. Oh, the things she did for friendship…

III.

Eva had not expected this.

To be sure, she hadn't expected an effusive outpouring of gratitude, since this was Neil and he lived and breathed snark and caustic one-liners and shitty puns. But at the same time, she hadn't expected to hear that sharp intake of breath, hadn't expected him to go completely silent the moment he unwrapped her present.

"It's a small planetarium projector," she said, at last, when the silence grew too heavy for her to bear. "I was thinking of what you said about how you used to go stargazing with your grandfather, and well, I thought you might like it. It shows you the different constellations, and you can input latitude, date, and time and you'll see the night sky practically anywhere in the world."

He looked up at her, and Eva could not quite read his expression. Finally, Neil smiled—a slight tilt of his mouth, at a corner—and shook his head. "Hell, Eva," he said, at last. "Why do I need a star projector? I can just go look at the stars right outside."

"Not in the city, you can't," Eva retorted. "Light pollution, remember?"

"Yeah, yeah, well, I can still drive out and see the stars," Neil replied. "Make it a day trip or something."

"Sure, and this one lets you see the stars from the comfort of your own home. You're the one who's always going on about how convenience is important." Something about his response bothered her.

Perhaps it was that moment of hesitation. Or perhaps it was something else; something in tone or body language that Eva could not quite begin to articulate, only that it weighed on her, this knowing that something wasn't quite right.

He exhaled sharply. "Using my own words against me, huh?" He set down the planetarium projector and half-heartedly stuffed it back into the box.

"Yeah, of course," Eva said, dryly. "I figure they may be the only words you'd listen to. "

Almost in spite of himself, or so it seemed, Neil chuckled. "Man, are you ever bad at picking out presents!"

Stung, Eva retorted, sharply, "Yeah, because you're so good at doing that, thanks, Neil. What about the katana umbrella, huh? Or that time you got me a TARDIS kitchen apron, or that clock." It had been a horrid monstrosity; a garishly yellow Pikachu clock that Eva'd nearly smashed that first morning when she'd woken up—still sleep-deprived, no less—to the Pikachu chanting, "Wake up!" and alternating between a wake-up call and what sounded like a recording of a Thundershock.

God, it was enough to make Eva regret ever having played Pokémon with Neil.

Neil shrugged, carelessly. He set the box on the floor and slid it under his office desk. "Please. That was at least four years ago, you can't still be holding it against me. I'd like to think I've gotten better at it over the years, unlike someone."

"Nice try. The katana umbrella was just last year. What d'you think I was gonna do, fight off the rain with it?"

Neil rolled his eyes, and nudged the planetarium projector box further under his office desk with his foot. "It's coolness, Eva, that's what it is. It's coolness and elegance personified. And it's practical. There's never such a thing as too many umbrellas."

"Yeah, and I got stopped the first time I tried to take the bus." Eva drew in a deep breath, and reminded herself she wasn't here to argue with Neil about it. He tried; she admitted that. And more often than not, he was very trying. The problem was, he usually got things he reckoned were cool, and then just didn't seem to get why someone else might not actually see it the same way.

She'd tried, too. She'd gotten him an ambient sound maker that Christmas party, because he hadn't been sleeping well, and she knew it, could see the dark rings around his eyes and the way he'd sneak naps when he thought he could get away with it. She'd thought it would've been something he could've actually used, whether at bedtime, or as an ambient track to work to.

To that, all Neil had said was that his phone could do the same thing.

The other time, she'd tried for a hoodie with the quote, "Back off, man, I'm a scientist!" printed prominently on it, under the theory that Neil was a sucker for a good quote. But Neil'd simply said he wasn't really into Ghostbusters anymore, and anyway, neither of them really counted as scientists, did they?

Neither of them were particularly good gifters. That much still held true.

"I mean," Neil said, seeming to take Eva's long silence for something else altogether. "I'll still take it. Could use a paperweight, after all. Maybe it'll beat staring at the wallpaper when I wanna fall asleep."

"Big paperweight," said Eva.

His mouth twisted in a wry smile. "You'd be surprised how big my paperwork stack gets."

IV.

"You owe me," Neil said, the very second Eva climbed into the car. "I'll have you know I was watching an extremely good film when you interrupted me. And when I say you owe me, I mean you owe me dinner and two large pizzas, at the very least. I wasn't planning to spend my Sunday evening driving all the way out here."

"Yeah, sure," Eva said, tiredly. "Thanks for picking me up, Neil."

"Pizza is a great form of motivation," Neil said, by way of answer. "Generally, a socially-acceptable way of showing gratitude is through food."

Eva set down her purse and kicked off her court shoes with a quiet but heartfelt sigh of relief. "Mm," she said.

"...And when we clock back in tomorrow, I'm going to defenestrate Rob by dumping him out the window those protesters broke."

"Mm."

"Thought of eating him but the idea of eating Rob is pretty icky."

"Mm."

"Also, I'm gonna retire and become a monk and live in seclusion for the rest of my life." He frowned, and shot her a sidelong glance. "You're not even paying attention, are you?"

"Sorry," Eva muttered. "I'm just dog-tired right now. Didn't expect my car to break down on me like that, and then there were all the arrangements to make…" She barely managed to conceal her yawn. "Seriously though, Neil, I really appreciate it. Traci needs to keep an eye on Jamie, and Aaron needs to clock in really early tomorrow morning."

"Eh, well, we've already established that the promise of two large pizzas makes a great many things possible," Neil said, flippantly. In truth, he'd planned on spending a quiet evening working late at the office, continuing to fine-tune the modifications he was making to the standard SigCorp-issue equipment, and so he hadn't been thrilled to receive Eva's call.

He was working against the clock here. He knew that.

What mattered was what he did with the time.

"Enjoyed the dinner?"

Eva didn't manage to hide the yawn that escaped this time. "Yeah, pretty much. Traci's always been the better cook, and it's good to spend time with family."

That stung, even though Eva had no way of knowing what effect her words had. Knew nothing of the rift that had opened up between Neil and his own family. Neil said nothing.

He snuck a peek over at Eva. She was leaning back against the seat, her eyes closed. She wasn't asleep, though; her quiet breathing wasn't regular enough for that. In addition, when Eva slept in the car, to and from jobs, she had a tendency to slump to one side.

So it was that Neil wasn't particularly surprised when Eva asked, eventually, "So, what's that extremely good film you were watching, anyway?"

"The Seventh Seal," Neil lied, easily. "Pretty sure you've never heard of it."

"Nope. What's it about?"

"It's about a knight," Neil said, at last. "He's on his way home from the Crusades. He encounters Death, and Death agrees to spare his life if he can beat Death in a game of chess."

Eva shook her head. "Seriously?"

"Yeah," he said. He watched the lights of the traffic stretch out in lines on the highway, blurring into the distance. "While he's playing the game itself, Death can't touch him."

"Still gonna die, though."

"Yeah, but that's not the point." He thought of the machine again, and how he still had so much fine-tuning to do, that it was impossible not to resent Eva just that tiny bit for calling him all the way out because she needed a ride home. "Everyone dies, after all. Even the knight."

"If you weren't driving, I'd throw something at you. What happened to not spoiling things for me?"

"Everyone dies," Neil repeated, quietly. "It's not so much about what happened in the film, just that yeah, sure, you're kinda right since they're still gonna die. Everyone dies, after all. But the film isn't really about that. It's about…" he hesitated.

"What?" asked Eva.

"It's about what you do with your time," Neil said, at last. "The knight knows he's never going to really beat Death, and that's not the game that's being played. He's just in it to perform one significant action."

"Just the one?"

He nodded, before belatedly remembering that Eva wasn't looking. "Yep. Just the one. It's just how the film is set up, Eva. Don't question it. Run with it. God, I remember how difficult it was to watch The Dark Knight Rises with you." Eva'd spent practically the entire viewing questioning the logic of the film, whereas Neil had been watching to see the comic arcs brought to life on the big screen.

They'd bickered about the film for over three hours once they were done, too.

But there was something to it, Neil thought. It was a powerful thing, this hope: the idea that you could somehow redeem yourself, that a life half-squandered and wasted away could still matter, that the price was merely one significant action, even a small one. That in the end, it was action and action alone that stood between everyone and the terrifying finality of death.

"Pretty heavy for a Sunday night," Eva observed. "What happened to the Alien marathon you said you were gonna do?"

"Eh, I couldn't find my copies," Neil shrugged. "I'm sure they'll turn up again someday."

"If you want my copies, I can always lend them to you," Eva offered.

"Naw," Neil said. "I'm good." He turned up the music; it was a pretty good Led Zeppelin album, but while Eva sighed, she did not complain. Eventually, Neil sneaked a peek and realised she'd fallen fast asleep.

V.

Even with all the medications; painkillers administered through the IV drip and a colourful medley of pills and tablets to swallow, Neil just felt tired, worn thin, and even the faint fog in his brain couldn't quite distract him from the pain that lingered at the tattered edges of the fog.

Still, he cracked a smile as Eva entered the hospital ward, hefting a basket.

"Tell me you've snuck me a beer, at least."

"'Course not," Eva said, with a stern glare, shutting the door after her. "You're taking at least a gazillion medications, and you want alcohol?"

"Yep. I'm all about the short-term gratification right now," he said, lightly, and then wished he hadn't said that as Eva's knuckles tightened about the basket handle. "So," he changed the subject. "If it isn't alcohol—and for the record, I'm still disappointed in you, Eva—then what is it?"

"Fruit," Eva informed him, as she crossed the room to place the fruit basket on the table. "Apples, oranges, pears, and—"

"Did I," said Neil, cutting in abruptly, "See a bunch of tomatoes in there? 'Cause y'know, why the hell would you do something like that to me?"

"We've been over this at least fifty times now, Neil, scientifically speaking, tomatoes are fruit—"

"Yeah, and culinarily, they're vegetables. God, Eva, are you trying to kill me right now? Right now, I think I know how I'm gonna die—vomiting blood while trying to enlighten you on the nature of tomatoes."

"Ugh, thank you for that lovely mental image, Neil. It really brightens up my day. You want any of the fruit?"

"Naw, I—" he stopped, trying to fight down the impulse to cough, but eventually, they tore free anyway; large, hacking coughs that went on, and on, and Neil could taste blood in his mouth now, and he was heartily sick of this.

"Don't try to talk," Eva said, dryly. She pressed a glass of water into his hands, and he almost dropped it. Some water spilled onto the blanket. "I know that must be pretty hard for you. Just drink slowly."

As the coughing subsided, he sipped at the cool water, trying to ease the scratchy, burning sensation at the back of his throat. "I'm fine," Neil managed, at last. He cast about for a place to set the cup down, but Eva reached over and gently took it from him. "It's just awfully dry in here and my throat keeps acting up all the time."

"Uh-huh," said Eva. "So that's why you're pretty much croaking all the time and your voice is almost gone."

"Yeah, that," Neil retorted. "Totally. It's like second puberty, and when it's done, I'm gonna sound too damned sexy for this world."

"Yeah. Sure."

Eva sat there for a while, and Neil resisted the temptation to lie back and close his eyes for a short while. The silence between them was as familiar as an old, worn blanket, made comfortable by the passage of the long years.

"So, tell me about your day," he said, at last. "How's Logan treating you? Is he…" his voice faltered. So many things he could ask, here. Is he as good a technician as I was? Is he an awesome partner? Do you like working with him better? He did not know if he wanted the answers, a comparison chart drawn up in Eva's voice.

She waited, and when it was finally clear Neil wasn't going to say anything further, Eva said, "We're doing fine. Lots of patients but you knew that already. Logan's stepping up to the plate."

But he's not me, Neil thought—wanted to hear her say.

She didn't. Instead, Eva added, "You'd better be ready to hit the ground running once you're discharged."

"C'mon, I just went through a major medical procedure here, give me a break for Pete's sake!"

"I know," Eva replied, and her voice softened, just a tad. "I'm glad you're okay. I'm glad you made it."

"Believe me, so am I." This was treading a little too close to unfortunately sappy territory for Neil's liking and so he strove immediately to turn the conversation about. "Anyway, how's everyone else? Anyone drop-kicked Rob off a bridge yet?"

Eva let out a long-suffering sigh. "No. Get well and do it yourself."

"Well, that's all the motivation I need, right there, then."

The nurse popped in, reminding them that visiting hours were almost up. Eva thanked him and said, to Neil, "You need anything? An orange? More water? A tomato?"

"I swear if you give me the tomato, I'm gonna lob it right at you. It's a freaking vegetable, Eva. But naw, I'm good. Just not very hungry right now."

He saw the crease of concern between her eyebrows. "You sure?"

"'Course I am. Would I have said so if I weren't? If you're really worried, just bring me a beer next time."

"Yeah, nice try, that's not going to work," said Eva, firmly. "Listen, you focus on recovering, and…"

She hesitated. Perhaps, thought Neil, because it sounded too much like a goodbye.

"I'm not going anywhere anytime soon," he told her, firmly. "Geez, Eva, stop hovering, go home, get sleep. I'll still be here in the morning. If I try to stage a great escape, the nurse will tie me to the bed."

"Alright," Eva said, finally, picking up her purse and heading out the ward, closing the door after her.

And he was alone again. Neil stared right across at the wall, and then over at the window. It was still summer; the sunlight was streaming in, despite the late hour, illuminating the fruit basket on the table. He let out a quiet sigh.

What was he going to say, anyway? There were visiting hours for a reason, and as much as the days felt empty, seeing as he was stuck in the hospital, Eva still had a job to do. He tried—albeit half-heartedly—not to feel a tiny crumb of resentment towards Logan, who wasn't stuck in a hospital, and who was currently doing Neil's job.

Petty, perhaps, but Neil was sort of glad he'd never brought Logan in on his ongoing project of making various alterations to the machine. That, at least, was in Rox's and Rob's hands, now.

All things considered, he thought, it was going to be a very long night. He was just going to close his eyes and rest for a moment.

Just a moment…

i.

The tide is coming in, the surf sweeping across the expanse of the beach. Eva stands there, barefoot; right where sand gives way to the edge of water, feeling the seawater swirl about her ankles. It's cold, this early in the morning, but she'd thrown on a light sweater, and there is something beautiful about the stillness and the silence, punctuated only by the song of the sea. As if the world about her is holding its breath.

The sky is still mostly dark, though on that distant horizon, Eva sees the first hints of soft red; the first glimmers of the coming morning.

She breathes in the cool air, feels the breeze ruffle her hair.

"Hey," says a voice; one that Eva hasn't heard in years and years, one that she still knows as well as her own left hand, one that reaches through the stillness and through her lungs like a sharp, bitter knife. "Been a while, hasn't it?"

She closes her eyes for a moment, against the sudden prickle of tears.

"Oh, c'mon, now," he says. "At least tell me you missed me, Eva."

She's thought—in the intervening years—on occasion of what she would say; of what she could say, if given a second chance, but now she's smiling and even as she opens her eyes, the world is still embarrassingly blurry and Eva doesn't quite have words for this feeling, of pain so sharp it's difficult to breathe through it, of an aching joy so fierce, so intense that she wants nothing more than to bask in its warmth.

"I dunno," Eva says, lightly. "You were always a pain even at the best of times, Neil."

He's standing there, in the weak light of the morning, exactly as she remembers; name badge gleaming on his SigCorp lab coat, and oh, Eva's missed that particular gentle smile and can count on both hands the number of times she's ever, ever seen it, and his eyes are the grey of the surging sea.

"You cut your hair," Neil says, studying her with a frown. "Hate to break it to you, Eva, but it kinda looks awful."

It's so much easier to speak when he's like this, when Eva doesn't have to work around the choking tightness in her throat and chest, when she simply needs to fall back into half-remembered conversations and banter the way she'd wrap herself in a warm blanket on a cold evening.

"You would say that, huh?" Eva replies. "It just…" she doesn't want to talk about this, about the long years since that night she left the hospital, and so she settles for saying, "I just prefer it like this. When it doesn't get in the way."

"Mm," says Neil. "You never used to have a problem with it before."

"Yeah, yeah," Eva says. It's surprising, almost, how easy it is to manage dismissal in words; how difficult it is, in comparison, to manage the words that do matter, that do mean things. But then again, their friendship has been measured in sarcasm and insults almost as much as it has been in comfortable silences and small gestures. "Give me a break, it's been a while. A lot of things have happened."

"Yeah," Neil says, quietly. "I know."

It's strange to think that they've walked on beaches before, but almost never in real life. There was that beach on Bora Bora in Colin's memories, with waters so clear and pristinely blue that Eva wanted to swim through them, as Neil scoffed loudly at Colin's marshmallow-roasting skills; and then another, craggy beach of dark volcanic rock in Iceland, from yet another patient, and the rolling green cliffs that gave way below to the churning sea on a Korean island.

It's easy to say take it moment by moment. But one moment bleeds into the next one, and all of a sudden, you're standing on the shore, feeling the saltwater sweep in around your ankles, watching the beach crumble bit by infinitesimal bit into the sea, just as each experienced moment crumbles away into the ocean of existence, and suddenly, there's not enough time.

In fact, from the perspective of the ocean, there never was enough time, and in a sudden flash of insight, Eva wonders if this is how it must have been for Neil as well, that lonely night in the hospital ward before he slipped away.

And now she's here, standing on the shore of the sea, looking back on the many, many moments that made up her life, and Eva can honestly say that there are regrets, and there are things she would knowingly do again. And isn't that the same for everyone?

I'm not going anywhere anytime soon, she can almost hear Neil telling her again; on that last day, so long ago. Geez, Eva, stop hovering, go home, get sleep. I'll still be here in the morning.

So many dim memories, flitting through her mind like moths drawn to moonlight.

"Has it been a good one?" Neil asks, casually, as if he were talking about something as mundane as the weather or the latest movie at the cinemas.

Eva smiles, and it hurts, just a tiny bit, but she smiles anyway and means it. "Yeah," she says. "I guess you could say that."

"Good," Neil says, and Eva really wishes he'd smile like this more often, because it's rare to see him so light, so genuine, and so unburdened. "Good, 'cause if you'd said no, I was gonna have to kick your ass."

Eva does laugh now, and it's amazing how naturally it comes. "You? Please. I could take you with a hand tied behind my back."

Neil raises an eyebrow. "Hey. Kara-kwon-chun master here, watch it."

"I'll believe it when I see it," scoffs Eva.

"You'd better. I used to be as fast as lightning, now I'm faster than the speed of light."

He holds out a hand to her, and Eva is minded of a different memory, of an earlier time. Hi, I'm Dr. Neil Watts, your new partner, he says, smiling crookedly, hand outstretched.

She takes it, and they set off along the shore, at a leisurely pace, as if they were young again, exploring a patient's memories; as if they had all the time in the world.

It's never quite true, but Eva has long learned that to mourn the passing of each moment is to force yourself to miss what makes that moment unique; what makes it stand out, a single, gleaming droplet, radiant with possibility, in a larger ocean.

Here is one such moment: walking on a beach with her best friend, leaving a long line of footprints behind them. Looking back behind her, it's hard for Eva to tell where they started: the sea is already hard at work, erasing all traces of their passing.

Beep. Beep.

The morning sun parts ways with the far horizon now, rising overhead into the grey skies and the waters glitter in the light, turning all to silver glass where it washes up along the white shore.

And on that far shore, two people wander, hand in hand, until the light that touches all things touches them too, casting them into the brightness of the morning.

BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP.

A/N: If you read your way to the bottom (if you scrolled, shame on you!), then I'm sorry for the suffering you just went through as I genuinely have no idea what the heck this fic was about. It was supposed to be pure crack. But - and this is kind of a long story - I accidentally jaywalked into a dark part of the Internet. After many travails, including exposure to insane amounts of angst, and struggling to actually write a crack fic, this is the result: an exceedingly bizarre fic that's neither crack nor angst but some unholy admixture of the two.

tldr; stay out of dark places of the Internet.

This fic is dedicated to bee (sorry), who refused to let me throw away these scribblings and set them on fire, as well as the ruler of the brine - eh, whatever, you know who the heck you are and the fact that something this random was unleashed instead of thrown away is your storming fault.

-Ammaren