When a person feels as if they have had a long day, they rarely mean that their day has been any longer than ordinary. Someone who says that they have had a long day is not complaining that they have been awake from nine to five, as opposed to nine to four, or that they had a run-in with Time Turner who sent them back in time to relive their entire day. They are complaining—or rather, making their misery known—that too many exhausting things have sapped their energy, their “day” out of them, and they would like most to curl up and do nothing, or something with similarly low energy requirements. When I have particularly long days, such as the day I had erasing my digital footprint and running with nothing but my notebook and a briefcase of print-outs towards a cave in the forest, I often sleep in my clothes because just the thought of changing into my pajamas is unappealing and exhausting.
In the history of long days, Tobias felt as if that day and the even rougher one before it had been particularly grueling—though his days on the island held the “longest day” records—and as a result, he used the last of his energy to change into his pajamas where at least he could be miserable in comfort and not have to look down at Mr. Might’s face and Vine Voodoo’s vines. Where I would rather spend my energy climbing the ladder to my bed than getting changed, Tobias opted to do the opposite; dressing in his pajamas and sinking down to the floor.
What made his day so unbearably long was not the new wounds added to his steadily growing exhibit of internal and external agony, or the fact that he had not had his coffee that morning and by the afternoon had deemed it too late. It was not pretending to be someone else or running from the press.
What made it so long were the grim realizations that came out of it all. On the street as Neville’s nuke plummeted towards him, he had realized that choosing to leave Defiance had put citizens in more danger, as he could no longer interfere to reduce Benjamin Jones’ collateral damage. Meeting the lawyer had made him realize that there were no real heroes at Headquarters, just handfuls of publicity stuntmen and women. Watching the news had showed him that all of Benediction may as well be brainwashed, for the entire nation lived by the news that they watched, and he now knew that the news was not so real as advertised. He learned that the mistakes of heroes were brushed under the rug with blackmail and non-disclosure agreements, and that Mr. Might would continue to endanger the nation because Headquarters would never give him discipline.
How could the world admire him so much? How?
Even in the small clip he had seen of Mr. Might at his funeral, the people hung onto every word he said, oblivious that it was all empty. If there were anything that I could have done to save him, I would have sacrificed everything. Absolute folly.
“You look pissed,” said Teddy, hanging in the doorway.
Tobias groggily looked up from his place on the floor. He’d sat there long enough for it to get dark in the room but had scarcely noticed. The television, playing nothing, washed the room in a blanching white. Tobias’s head pounded with every tick of the wall clock and spun with every quiet swish of wine from the closed toddler’s cup held between his shaking hands. It took a moment for him to register that Teddy had spoken, barely making out his face, backlit by the light in the hallway so that his frame appeared as little more than a silhouette of messy hair, slender legs, and a puffy bomber jacket bulge.
“Huh?” Tobias stirred, his sunken brow lifting and eyes widening from brooding slits, pupils dilating. “Hullo.”
The pilot crept in on his toes, shook Tobias’s hand in greeting, just catching his eyes, and sat beside him against the bed with scarcely a sound. He picked up the bottle of wine and squinted at the label, and at how much was left. “Pissed in more ways than one. Want to talk about it?”
Tobias moaned and took the lid off his light-blue plastic toddler’s cup and held it out to Teddy, almost empty. “I am wine-drunk from a sippy cup. What is there to talk about?”
Teddy held Tobias’s wrist still as he refilled the cup. “Well.” He carefully helped to snap the lid back in place and set the wine bottle down. “What’s on your mind?”
“Oh, plenty,” Tobias burbled. He took a swig and smeared his sleeve across his lips. “Let’s start with how the golden Mr. Might nearly massacred hundreds of citizens with his recklessness, and no-one holds him accountable.” Tobias scowled and swirled the cup, glaring through the thick blue plastic. “The world is blinded. And some days I feel like I’m the only one who can see it.”
Teddy pursed his lips and rubbed his arms. He looked up at the television screen, playing only static on mute. Black and white zigzagged across the screen, flashing quickly and repetitively like the sun’s glint off a school of mackerel. “When I met Viola Mae, I… Well, my eyes were opened. Growing up, I always believed heroes were perfect—I know what that’s like. As a typical, I know what it’s like growing up believing in all that. But, I think that it’s like hiding under the covers. You know, the world is a scary place, and most people would prefer to keep two feet in the bed and cover their heads, rather than see what could be out there.”
“The world is a scary place,” Tobias agreed grimly. “But, coming out from the covers is the only way to know that the monsters they tell you about to keep you in aren’t real. What if we could just… remove the haze? If people could see that heroes have flaws, too, maybe they would start learning to protect themselves. Villains aren’t the biggest threat in the world, and even if they were, ordinary people could stand against them if they put their minds to it, instead of relying on the superheroes so entirely. So blindly.”
“Heroes exist for a reason, don’t you think?”
“Heroes are supposed to protect people.” Tobias stared down at his hands. Their involuntarily motions had only gotten worse, hence the closed cup. He had found it while cleaning the house the day before, likely an artefact from Viola Mae’s work in child education. After dropping one glass, the safe, spill-proof plastic cup seemed like the only way to have a drink. “I think every one of us gets raised to think so. It just… it changes when Headquarters picks you up. Dream career, going on missions, saving people. Then you have to tell it to the cameras.”
Teddy frowned and lifted the wine bottle to take a mouthful from it. He fingered his hair away from his brow. “You never spoke to the cameras. Didn’t they stop asking you to? Did you even have a microphone on your suit?”
“No,” Tobias murmured. He pushed his glasses up his nose and swallowed a hiccup. “Benjamin and Poppy always did the talking. I wasn’t interested in it, or any good at it. But, after a few years, the talking and the media presence started to become all that they did. They were glorified celebrities. As if saving lives was just another act on reality T.V. And the people loved them for it!” He frowned and wrapped his arms around himself, nursing his drink to his chest. “No-one cared about me. I was the only one that took the work seriously, but the public cared less about how well we did our jobs, and more about how well we could connect with them. I couldn’t.”
“You could.” Teddy tilted his head. “You always connected with people one-on-one. That’s what made you unique—I mean, part of what made you unique. Maybe you weren’t so great with crowd addresses or reporters, but Viola Mae told me that you always replied earnestly to your fan-mail and were happy to sit and speak to one fan as a person for hours. Benjamin and Poppy would never. It’s always about the bigger picture for them, but you’re more about the details, the individuals.”
“I like being that way,” Tobias sighed, pushing up his glasses again. “But it sunk my career, in a way. I could almost thank Benjamin for giving me publicity as Pajama Boy, if it weren’t for how infuriatingly humiliating that whole thing was. Is. I preferred being invisible, over being a joke. A sidekick, an accessory. Golden-boy Mr. Might, despite how many dangerous errors he made daily, was the most appreciated, just because he could smile pretty and speak confidently. He received more fan-mail than he could read.”
“You’re not a joke, Tobias.” Teddy wrapped his arm around the man.
Tobias sniffled and leaned his head on the pilot’s shoulder. He pulled his robe tighter around himself and held the sippy cup’s sipper between his teeth. He kept it there for a while, plugging his hole from spilling out all the miserable nonsense tumbling through his tumultuous mind. The tears fell on both sides of his face, but he could only feel them liven the one half, while the other was cold and absent. He lifted a sleeve to dab underneath his glasses.
“Viola Mae equipped me with a few Berry Belts,” Teddy whispered, nudging Tobias gently, as if it were a secret. He pulled a plastic pouch out of a pocket and waggled it in front of Tobias eyes. The man giggled and reached for it.
“Where is she?”
“Probably around the corner. Or invisible.”
Tobias bit into a candy strip and squinted around. The smell of artificial strawberries filled the air, but it was difficult to tell—especially through a sniffly nose—if it came from Teddy’s pouch or elsewhere.
“She’s a great listener. The best. But, between the two of us, I’m the talker.” Teddy pulled his arm back from around Tobias and instead took the sippy cup away and held the man’s hands in his. Tobias stared dumbly through his lenses, swallowing his bite of the Belt. “You need a talking-to. We’ve been watching you hurt for the whole week, buddy. You were looking so much better the last few days, so much closer to yourself, but after yesterday, after today, you’re shaking like a tree and we’re seeing less and less of the wondrous, curious, nervous, thoughtful Tobias that we love.” He took a breath. “It’s hard. Viola Mae knows you much better than I do, I know, but, even I know that when you’re alone… we could always catch you smiling at something, or frowning at something—but in a studious way, as if you were wondering how it worked. For the past week, the only thing we’ve seen when checking in on you is… I don’t know. Anger, sadness. You just… We just know that you’re unhappy, and we don’t know how to help.”
Tobias’s gaze averted to the carpet and he slipped his hands away, clasping them on his lap. He sniffed, rolling his thumbs contemplatively over each other. He sniffed again and wiped his eyes, then removed his spectacles to clean the lenses with the bottom of his plain white singlet, frowning.
Teddy grimaced. “On the day you radioed us, when we came to get you, I wasn’t on duty,” he said quietly. Tobias looked at him from the corners of his eyes, not lifting his head. “We were there because we were grieving you. Fixing my plane, servicing it… it cheers me up. And I cheer Viola Mae up, so she came just to sit with me.”
“Oh.”
“What cheers you up, Tobias? What can we do to cheer you up?”
For a second, his face was blank. Then he started with a snigger, then a laugh. “I don’t know,” he wheezed. He waved his spectacles in the air and dabbed his eyes again with his sleeve. “I’ve always just bottled it up!” He snorted and his shoulders bounced with hiccups of sad, choked laughter. He combed his fingers through his hair. Looking hysterically to the ceiling, he shook his head. “But, you know?” He pressed both sleeves to his eyes and turned, hunched, away from Teddy. His voice rose as little more than a squeak. “I think that bottle’s full.”
Teddy broke, sympathy overwhelming his entire body. His heart swelled and he wrapped Tobias tightly in his arms and pressed his face against the man’s shoulder. “Bear hug,” he whispered.
“Be gentle, Teddy,” Tobias croaked, wedging his hand between his sore chest and Teddy. “Be gentle.”
The pilot withdrew quickly. “I’m sorry.”
Tobias balanced his spectacles on his nose and looked away. “I’m sorry.”
Teddy patted him lightly on his arm. They stared at the wall opposite them and said nothing for a while. Tobias picked up his drink again and indulged and Teddy held the bottle loosely by his knees.
Teddy leaned back; Tobias slouched forward. Viola Mae appeared on the bed above their heads, lying silently, unnoticed. Even her sigh made no sound.
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