Work Text:
The fear of silence
by Demon Faith
He counts them out, the heartbeats between - one, two, three, four, five, six, seven...
The rhythm is broken by that distant rumble and the math is simple enough. His heartbeat is perfectly sixty beats per minute, nanite-controlled, programmed by whoever thought that was a good number, and so, he declares to himself that the storm is 1.4 miles away. Which is 2,464 yards.
That number has a nice cadence to it, if he says each number separately, letting them settle on his tongue - two-four-six-four. He likes that, but he likes metric more - 2,253.08 metres to two decimal places, or 2,250 metres to three significant figures.
He remembers how his teacher taught that to them - think of Three Significant Figures and picture them when you're rounding. Mum and Dad and Jerry, all in a smiling line every time he had to round, to order the numbers.
There's another rumble, and he realises he was so busy in the quiet that he's missed the lightening completely. He stares out of the window to make sure he doesn't miss it again and continues his thoughts. His jumbled, confused thoughts. Who are his Three now? That's easy, of course - Lou, Diane and...Kyle.
They're his world now and he finds that he doesn't really mind that his life is work and his work is life. As the next flash of lightening tinges the clouds, he lets the nanites count in binary. He feels stupid when it turns out to be exactly one mile.
His steps are so silent that he doesn't hear him until his hands brush his shoulders. Beautiful dark hands that should be illegal, briefly stained white by the brilliant lightening, coupled with thunder.
"Are you frightened, Jake?"
The voice is rich with mirth, but he wants to tell him, in all seriousness, that he's more afraid of the quiet. Of leaning against that chest and hearing.nothing. He can hear everything for two miles, but he can't hear what isn't there.
"Not of this," he says instead, and he is held in the quiet between heartbeats, between thunder, knowing only one is eternal and the other fleeting. Both masking his own terrified, staccato heart.
The thunder can't come quickly enough.