Courier is up, sitting at the window and smoking a cigarette. Arcade’s voice dies on his lips when he sees her frail, sickly figure silhouetted against the rising sun, and struggles for a few moments before his voice finally croaks,
“We need to talk.” She wordlessly motions for him to sit in the empty seat next to her, and he walks past Boone, who is slumped over her bed and reaching for her hand in his sleep, and Raul, who is slumped against the wall next to him. With a deep breath, he sits down, and finds his voice.
“How dare you,” he says, and feels cheated when she doesn’t wince. “You knew.”
“I told you I was dying,” she says. “I didn’t think I had to go into any more detail than that.”
“How long?” he demands.
“About a year after it happened.”
“After what happened, Catherine?” She does wince at that, and he still feels cheated because he isn’t as satisfied with it as he thought he would be.
“Don’t call me that,” she murmurs.
“What? Catherine? That’s your name, isn’t it? It’s the only thing we know about you other than the fact that you’re a dead woman walking, and you didn’t even have the fucking decency to tell us how bad it really was!”
“I’m sorry,” she whispers. He sighs, rubbing his temples.
“So am I.” She takes a deep breath, and he thinks that is the end of their conversation. He moves to stand, and she says,
“Please continue to call me Courier, Arcade.”
“Why?” he asks dully. “I don’t see any reason to continue this charade.”
“It’s the only name that has ever been mine,” she answers, smiling wryly. “I have my father’s last name, and the names of the two people he loved more than anything else in the world. Two people I have never even met.”
“Oh? So, what’s your full name, Rumpelstiltskin?” She takes a deep breath, and he isn’t sure she is going to answer him. But she does.
Keep Your Composure 18/?
“We need to talk.” She wordlessly motions for him to sit in the empty seat next to her, and he walks past Boone, who is slumped over her bed and reaching for her hand in his sleep, and Raul, who is slumped against the wall next to him. With a deep breath, he sits down, and finds his voice.
“How dare you,” he says, and feels cheated when she doesn’t wince. “You knew.”
“I told you I was dying,” she says. “I didn’t think I had to go into any more detail than that.”
“How long?” he demands.
“About a year after it happened.”
“After what happened, Catherine?” She does wince at that, and he still feels cheated because he isn’t as satisfied with it as he thought he would be.
“Don’t call me that,” she murmurs.
“What? Catherine? That’s your name, isn’t it? It’s the only thing we know about you other than the fact that you’re a dead woman walking, and you didn’t even have the fucking decency to tell us how bad it really was!”
“I’m sorry,” she whispers. He sighs, rubbing his temples.
“So am I.” She takes a deep breath, and he thinks that is the end of their conversation. He moves to stand, and she says,
“Please continue to call me Courier, Arcade.”
“Why?” he asks dully. “I don’t see any reason to continue this charade.”
“It’s the only name that has ever been mine,” she answers, smiling wryly. “I have my father’s last name, and the names of the two people he loved more than anything else in the world. Two people I have never even met.”
“Oh? So, what’s your full name, Rumpelstiltskin?” She takes a deep breath, and he isn’t sure she is going to answer him. But she does.
“Neil. Catherine Israel Neil.”