Outside the Hart Building, The Mount, Ex-LA, Wednesday Afternoon

[spin_kick_snap]

The room's proper name--the one taped under one of Stealth's countless security monitors--was Cell Nine.

Cell Nine was in the basement of the Hart Building, twelve feet on each side, all steel bars lined with heavy chain link fencing both inside and out. When it was done, every window on every floor was boarded up, inside and out. All the doors were chained shut, including the fire door on the roof, and all the locks welded shut. The only entrance was the front door on 3rd Street, and it had four padlocks on it. Two were keyed, two had combinations, and two guards stood there at all times. Each of them had only one key and one combination.

Even the guards didn't know what was in the Cellar, rumors just called it The Thing. All they knew was that they had strict orders. If the Thing - whatever it was - tried to get out of the building, they weren't supposed to hesitate or ask questions. They were just supposed to shoot until they were out of ammunition.

Only one person was allowed into the Hart Building. Once a month, St. George would descend into the basement and the guards would lock the door behind him. He'd stay there for an hour or two and then come out looking grim.

St. George showed up at the Hart Building the way he usually did, dropping down out of the sky in front of the guards. This time, he carried a slight young woman in his arms. Not Stealth, which would have been surprising but understandable, but a young Korean woman, no more than twenty if she was a day, and completely unknown to Katie O'Hare, the shocked guard on the left. The guard on the right, Mike Meryl, was downright flabbergasted, an emotion he'd never experienced until just this second when recognition dawned. The young woman flushed a little, looking away. St. George cleared his throat and Mike jumped, then quickly bent over his combination lock.

When the locks were open and the heavy chain unwrapped, St. George opened the door politely and let the young woman step inside. And then he did the least explicable thing yet: stepped back and gestured for the guards to close the door. "Just call when you're ready to come out," he said, pointing to the walkie-talkie at his waist. A matching one rested on hers. "If there's trouble, the codeword is peachy-keen. You say that and I'll come in and--" he glanced where Mike and Katie were listening avidly, knowing that every word said now would be quoted to the entire Mount by sundown. "--I'll take care of it," he finished.

Kathy	Kathy nodded once before the door finished closing, leaving her standing in the harsh light of a bare bulb. The Hart Building didn't have a lobby, so she was standing on staircase landing, waiting as the chains rattled back into place. The padlocks thumped against the door and only then did she head down. The stairs ended in a short hallway that ended at another padlocked door. This one was even more solid than the front door, all hardwood that turned out to be easily three inches thick when she opened it. Behind the door was a basement where videotapes and files had once been stored. Now it only held Cell Nine, dead smack in the middle of the room. Kathy's eyes swept the prison with dispassionate eyes. A pair of mattresses were stacked in the far corner of the cell, decorated by a mess of sheets and blankets. A few dozen paperback books were piled in the opposite corner. Nothing hard or that could be used as a weapon. There was no toilet, not even a bucket. The occupant didn't need one; he hadn't been fed in over a year, after all.
Josh Garcetti	The prisoner didn't look up when his guest entered. He had a book in one hand and made a show of turning the page and reading another paragraph before even acknowledging anyone was there. "Hello, George," Josh said. "It's been awhile. I thought you might've finally given up on me."
Kathy	"Wrong hero," Kathy said shortly. "But I'll be sure to pass the message along."
Josh	Josh's head snapped up and he lurched to his feet, awkwardly stumbling to the bars with the awkward gait of a man who wasn't used to moving around much anymore. He clutched at them, staring at her wide-eyed. "Banzai?!"
Kathy	"Kathy," she corrected with a snap. It was a correction she was getting tired of making. "I don't actually do the hero thing anymore. Something about dying and coming back as an ex had me lose my taste for it."
Josh	"Why are you here?" he asked, ignoring her jab. "No, this is wrong, this is all wrong."
Kathy	In that, at least, they were in complete agreement. Everything about this situation was fucked up. "Surprised I'm not currently chattering my teeth and trying to gnaw through your cage?" she asked, voice full of scorn. "Sorry, you're not the only magic healer I know. Just the one with the highest body count." Sorry, Nanika, but even you couldn't beat billions.
Josh	Again, the reference to his deeds washed over Josh without a visible mark, like he just didn't even hear it. "No, Mystique came for you," he said, gaze turning inwards. "I knew that you'd be fine then. She'd never come back unless she had a cure for you. It was even worth being found out for. Knowing you were going to be okay." His gaze sharpened again, meeting her eyes. "But, no. You shouldn't be here. Not in the Mount. Not in LA. There's nothing here for you but death."
Kathy	A pang went through her heart. It was even worth being found out for. Knowing you were going to be okay. For a moment she remembered all the nights they'd worked together, snatching life back from the jaws of death. He'd taught her how to prep an injection, how to run an IV line, how to set a broken limb and how to keep it immobile using whatever materials were around after the end of the world. She'd graduated at the top of her EMT class in no small part thanks to the things she'd learned at his side in various makeshift clinics around Los Angeles. But that pang of nostalgia was followed by a deeper pain. None of that had helped Los Angeles to survive. None of that had convinced him to tell her that the epidemic that had thrown them together had been caused by his insane need to bring his wife back. None of that had saved her life. "Yeah, trust me," she said, over folded arms, "this little vacation wasn't my idea. I'm here courtesy of Max. I'm supposed to be home and safe, not listening to the chatter of a hundred hungry exes outside my window--"
Josh	"Max?" Josh asked, sounding confused. "Max is involved? But why--" He stopped and shook his head, his good hand coming up to cover his face. "Max is dead," he said dully a moment later. "St. George killed him."
Kathy	"Yeah, well, lot's of things that are supposed to be dead are up and walking around," Kathy snorted. "Both of us included. And Max, too. He's back and he did some kind of ritual and now I'm back as well." Something about this bothered her, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it. Something about his ritual, and her, and Josh--
Josh	"You should get out of here if you can," Josh said, interrupting her train of thought. "You don't belong here. It isn't safe." He let go of the bars and sat back down on his mattresses.
Kathy	"Like it's that easy?" Kathy flared, forgetting whatever she'd been thinking about as her temper snapped. "Where the hell am I supposed to go, Josh? We're surrounded by the dead, maybe you remember that? You should, you made them that way. And I'm not so eager to join them. You know. Again."
Josh	"I don't know," he said, tired. "I didn't bring you here. I'm not responsible for you."
Kathy	Kathy blurred forward, banging her fists on the chain. "Yeah, I hear that's your answer to everything," she snapped. "Constantly whining 'It's not my fault, I'm not responsible.' Insisting that because your intentions were pure, you can't be held accountable. You and every other sad fucking white guy out there." She clutched the links, glaring through them at him. "Let's talk about something you are responsible for, then. Let's talk about how you let me die."
Josh	"Banz--Kathy..." Josh hung his head. "I tried to save you. I tried to save everyone. Why doesn't anyone ever mention that? I tried."
Kathy	"It was enough for me," Kathy said, voice soft. "I remember you, standing over me. I remember first thinking that you were here and everything was going to be all right. And then I remember realizing that it wasn't." Her voice broke and for a moment, she was clinging to the fence for support, rather than to make a statement. "And...it was okay. Because you'd tried. You'd did your best. I was sad, but...you'd tried. That was all I could ask. From either of us. We'd both failed, but we'd done all we could."
Josh	"So then why are you here?" He didn't have to ask. He knew. But at the same time--maybe it was like picking at a scab or a hangnail, back when he used to get either. It hurt, you bled, but there was something perversely satisfying in the act. Or maybe he just knew he owed her this much at least.
Kathy	"Then Raven told me what happened," Kathy said and her grief was gone, replaced by more anger. "Then she told me what you'd done. And suddenly your best wasn't enough. It couldn't possibly be enough! Not after what you did! Not just what I went through, not just what my parents went through, my little sister--but everybody! Everyone here knows fear and grief and loss and pain and so nothing you can ever do is good enough! Your best is shit! It wasn't enough for Meredith and it isn't enough for the rest of us, either!" Kathy stopped, panting, and realizing that maybe she'd gone too far with that last comment. Even for all her anger, invoking Meredith was low.
Josh	But Josh didn't seem to be upset. Neither hurt or angry. Just...quiet. He sat for another moment in silent contemplation and then asked. "Is that really how you feel? That there's nothing I can ever do that's enough?" Kathy nodded and Josh sighed, leaning against the wall. "I think you're right. I never really thought otherwise, but...it's good. To get some outside confirmation. That I can trust."
Kathy	Kathy didn't really know how to respond to that. She wasn't even sure what he was getting it. It kind of sounded like he was going to-- "You're not going to..." she trailed off. "Do something. Are you?"
Josh	Josh laughed. It sounded rusty. "Would you be sad if I did?" he asked, wry. "You can relax, though. It doesn't stick. Trust me, I know." Her quick glance over his possessions was obvious, even though she tried to hide it, and he laughed again. "Long before I came down here," he explained. "Long before anyone knew I deserved to be down here. Hell, even once before it all ended, back when I still had to give thought to how the funeral would need to be arranged. I'm the man who killed the world and odds are good that I'll outlive the last survivors of it."
Kathy	Kathy pursed her lips, uncertain what to say. I'm sorry? maybe, or Good? What was a suitable punishment for a man who had done all that he'd done, not out of malice but loss? It would take a better person than Kathy to decide. She was glad it wasn't actually her problem. Once she managed to get out of here, she could go back to ignoring Josh's existence entirely, relegating him to bad dreams and target practice. She let go of the fence and turned away. "Goodbye, Josh," she said, in no small part because she didn't know what else to say. Her plan to come down and righteously confront him hadn't really had an exit strategy. "I wish--" She faltered. "I wish I didn't know," she said softly. "I wish I could still think your best was enough. I wish that all the memories I had of you didn't feel wrong now. I wish you were the same man I thought I knew, a man I admired, who made me glad I was going to be a doctor. I spend a lot of time wishing for things - more than I should, probably - but those are high up there."
Josh	"Kathy wait." For a moment, Kathy thought he might actually apologize. He was standing again, hand out towards her. But even as she watched, his hand fell and he sat back down again. "Find a way to get out of here," he said quietly. "The only thing here for you is an ugly death. You're on my conscience once already. Don't make it twice."
Kathy	Kathy thought of the hundreds of exes ringing the walls, of the way they chattered and clung and tried to get at anything that passed. How she'd already decided she would take matters into her own hands if she got bit again, wouldn't leave anything behind that could walk. "You'd have to have a conscience for that to mean a damn thing," she said, and left the room.

[Greatly adapted from Chapter Three of Ex-Communication by Peter Clines. NFI, NFB, OOC is love. Trigger warning for references to previous attempts at suicide. Previous post and Next Post]