Elephant and Human

Summary: It was only two young women, only a bit of forgetfulness, only a hospital visit, only the moment that should have made or broken their friendship and didn't do either. (It might also be mild slash, if you so choose to interpret it that way.)

Wessington Central Hospital, more commonly referred to as St. Jimmy's because it had previously been a hospital run by the St. James parish, held a floor of semi-private rooms for well-off people whose insurance more than covered the extra cost. Room 112 was amongst these, and in it laid two women, one quite old, one quite young. Both were asleep now, although the young one, a girl of twenty who didn't look that many years because of her smallness and thinness, was stirring from her strange and vague dream populated by people she didn't know and whose lips moved without sound.

Robyn knew what they were saying, though. It was on the edges of her mind. But the more she tried to snatch at the knowledge, the wider-awake she grew, until, with a slight yawn, her cloudy blue eyes opened. She stared up at the ceiling, not seeing much because her glasses were on the nightstand and the ceiling was all white and florescent light.

Her sleep had been soothing black and dull buzz in the back of her head, nothing like St. Jimmy's-modernized-to-WCH, with it's white that was either tainted or painfully pure and the shriller sounds of the florescent lighting. In sleep the pain had been a low throb, comforting as a teddy bear. Now it shot through her, first burning her from the inside out and then leaving prickles as it faded from everywhere but her abdomen.

She wondered, staring but not seeing, when she would be let out. Tonight, perhaps, probably not earlier because she had good solid insurance. The hospital wasn't pleasant, but it protected her from the upset and incredulous third degree she'd face when she was let out.

By now Robyn knew the routine. The first time, she had garnered nothing but sympathy and pity - which was bad enough. The second, though, then everyone had suspicion on the edges of her mind, and her mother had called every day for almost two months to remind her to take the medication. They hadn't had such regular conversations before or since. Now the suspicions would be stronger, and her parents and her grandfather and her boyfriend and the few people she considered friends more blunt in their concerned warnings. The dean of students would squint distrustfully. Her doctor would lecture.

"Screw them all," she whispered, and then hurriedly checked the old woman. Her roommate was hooked up to roughly a dozen machines that were humming the tuneless hum of technology as they kept her alive. Actually, perhaps it wasn't that severe a procedure they performed - this wasn't the critical wing - but at first glance that's what Robyn guessed. In any case, the old woman was ashy and dead asleep.

Her words had drawn in a nurse, however. Robyn wondered if she had been waiting outside the door until she had made a noise indicating consciousness, and then discarded it. St. Jimmy's whole staff was overworked and underpaid. This same nurse had attended her during the last night and had been very hurried and unfriendly then.

Now, even with her dark teal hospital scrubs the more wrinkled for a shift's worth of work, she had a slight smile. "Hey, g'mornin'," she said, in a strong downtown accent. She glanced at Robyn's roommate and nodded: even in a regular tone, she hadn't stirred. All the same, the nurse lowered her voice. "How d'you feel, Ms. Saunders?"

The nurse must have checked her record while Robyn had been asleep and seen her age. The night before, it had been "miss".

With my fingers, thought Robyn. "Much better."

"Oh, good." Quickly and efficiently, the nurse jotted down notes on her condition and changed her bedpan, ignoring the modest woman's flusterment. "Up for a visitor?" she asked, almost ready to leave.

"Erm - well - who?"

"Tristan Lorenzato? Says she's a friend?"

Robyn nodded slowly. "Well - yes, then."

The nurse said she'd been up in a few minutes, then, and left. Robyn fumbled for her glasses and to sit up, and then murmured a quick prayer. Please, God, don't let her be in one of those selfless generous moods where she keeps asking questions and refuses to talk about herself. Don't let her be in one of her impatient, angry moods. Don't let her be in one of her too-nice moods - don't let there be pity in her eyes. Don't let her be in an inquisitive mood. For this I pray. Help me to do better. Amen.

The few minutes passed. Finally, one of the sets of footsteps going by in the hall veered into the doorway of 112. They stopped at the threshold.

"What were you thinking?"

Tristan had obviously been told about Robyn's roommate; she was yelling in a whisper, like two junior high kids trying to discuss something secret in a crowded, noisy playground.

She strode in, whatever shoes she was wearing making tidy clip-clip-clips as she walked. She stopped by Robyn's beside.

Robyn was silent.

"I can't believe this. I can't believe this!"

Do I get the impression there's something you find unbelievable? Robyn wondered, purposefully sarcastic.

"What on earth would make you do this? I don't know what's to become of you if someone doesn't get up the nerve to tell you to quit! Some warped form of masochism? Very warped?"

"I forgot," said Robyn quietly.

"You forgot?" There was more incredulity than anger in Tristan's voice, but there was also some of the later. "Robyn Saunders, don't give me you forgot. You've been taking this medication once a day for seven years. Habits are formed in twenty-one days. Seven times twelve months equals eighty-four chances to get into a habit!"

Robyn wanted to sink and melt away. Evaporate and become the air around Tristan. But she couldn't. Second-to-last letter in her name was an i, not a y: she was no bird. "Yes, I forgot. I'm human."

"Then stop being human! Become an elephant or something." Robyn could see, from the very tips of her vision as she stared down at her sheets, that Tristan, although more furious than Robyn had possibly ever seen her, was still a model of perfect posture, that her facial muscles were carefully controlled, that her voice still held as magical a power for speaking and persuasion as ever. Only her hands showed how agitated she really was. They were shoved into her pockets, a habit of her own that Tristan rarely reverted to.

"Well, not everyone is as perfect as you." Robyn attempted an ingratiating smile. It came out weakly.

Tristan had rambled on anyway. Robyn couldn't say that Tristan just hadn't heard her nowadays. Her volume had improved greatly from the days of seventh grade when they'd first met.

"Forgetting your medication for the third time in three or four months - dating this Brian - going for an education license when you don't even like it, for your parents - in addition to the extra work for your botany - living alone in that house you have to keep for you and your grandfather when I and everyone else've already offered to help you out - "

"Is this all examples of my masochism? Because we have to add being your friend to the list."

Tristan nodded, unblinking. "Icing on the cake," she said calmly.

"Tristan!" Robyn, for some reason, never much called Tristan by name: it felt odd. Tristan wasn't her friend's real name: it was Trish. Tristan felt Trish was too feminine. It had been the name of the tooth fairy in a children's book her mother used to read to her. That had put her off. So starting in seventh grade, she refused to answer to anything but Tristan, except for a few select teachers. "I don't do this stuff on purpose - "

"Oh, you say it like you don't have a choice!"

Robyn felt tears sting hot and sharp against the corners of her eyes. Tristan had the capacity to do this to her.

To most, Tristan presented such a perfect picture of maturity and self-possession. She was whatever positive adjective you might throw at her. Poised, controlled, conscientious. Idealist, yet pratical. Intelligent, and still creative. Charming, polite, endlessly witty. One of their old teachers in about the only class they'd shared - Biology - had a habit of switching seats every month. For the last three months of the year, however, Tristan had been front and center of the room. "Sir? Do you really not trust me, or I am just free entertainment?" she had inquired; he had chuckled and confessed it was the latter.

And even to her classmates, who had, up until at least their junior year of high school, thought her strange and either picked on her, ignored her, or taken advantage of her, she had been consistently enigmatic. She could carry on an argument for quarter of an hour and compliment you five times. She could insult and take insults with a patented grin. She could spare change for her worst enemy.

As a recent semi-celebrity, ever since publishing her first book, she was still Tristan Lorenzato the endlessly perfect. She had two books since reach respectably high on the New York bestseller's list and had been interviewed by nearly every publication in the country, in addition to several from Canada and the U.K., and was still famed for humility.

Humility? Robyn wondered. As if. Self-deprecation was part of Tristan's humor, but she was beginning to suspect Tristan didn't have a single humble bone in her. She displayed her egoism in odd ways, but Robyn was starting to see her selflessness as largely an act.

This didn't mean Robyn didn't adore her any the less. She stared at her hands and the bedsheets again.

"Oh, gosh." Tristan sighed and brushed a wayward lock of hair from her face to behind her ear. "Darn it. Robyn, don't get any more upset, please, really. I know - didn't have any right to come in here and start blasting you. Just - really, Robyn, you're scaring me; I don't know what's going on. Getting that call last night… I'm sorry. Here. Look, I even watched your grandpa last night. I've someone keeping an eye on him now, even. And I brought your bookbag over, with a toothbrush and everything…"

Robyn thought she should be relieved that Tristan had abruptly lost her fury, but someone she couldn't help but suspect she was in the eye of the hurricane. The other half was still to come. Tristan rarely got angry; that temper tantrum had to have come from somewhere.

"Thanks."

"You're more than welcome. It's no problem. Well, it was a problem getting in here. The guy at the desk put up a fight about relatives and stuff, even thought I looked at the regulations and knew I had a perfect right to visit. And when he heard my name, it got rather nasty. Something about big-headedness and thinking rules don't apply and such. That fellow has really got to put some cornflakes in his sugar for breakfast…"

In spite of herself, in spite of the pain, Robyn broke into a bigger and bigger grin as Tristan spoke. It was impossible to stop. Tristan could have her in stitches at any moment she wished. Something about her sense of humor hit Robyn's funny bone just right.

At first Tristan's sudden friendship had been magical. Robyn had never felt so protected and valued, and one couldn't overlook the comic entertainment. Not that Tristan had ever done much since that could be considered even vaguely demeaning. It was simply that as she had grown more and more familiar, some of that lovely shining veneer wore off, and Tristan acted more true to her feelings. She stopped sugarcoating her sharp tongue around Robyn, and as the stress of high school, family, boys, and fame piled up, Robyn felt like the local whipping girl, even as half of her couldn't help but exalt that Tristan trusted her enough, and her alone, to show this side of herself to.

Tristan still gave her shockingly thoughtful Christmas presents, never forgot her birthday - a rarity, as Tristan barely knew her own - and stayed concerned for her well-being. Sometimes Robyn concluded that the problem was herself. How could Tristan be the wrong one?

"They stitched your stomach?" asked Tristan.

"Yeah…"

Tristan winced a little, but politely tried to hide it. Tristan was odd that way: some things that grossed most people she could take without a single bat of the eye, but then, a lot of the most simple, non-disgusting things about the human body could make her squirm. She had cried while watching a pregnancy video for a health class, and that was the one where everything went all right. "They said you'll be out tomorrow. Any problems?"

"Not that I know of," said Robyn, a little surprised.

"They check your memory?" was the next casual question. It might have been a joke - Tristan was even smiling - but she had grown more rigid and her eyes were cold.

Robyn squirmed under that imposing figure. Things had not been helped since she had discovered that not only was she bisexual, but Tristan had a very bad affect on said bisexuality, especially with her so powerful and Robyn in her prone position. Scariest thing was, Tristan knew it: she had helped Robyn come to terms. Sometimes Robyn couldn't help but suspect Tristan used this to her advantage. She couldn't help but suspect Tristan used her, Robyn, to her advantage.

"No," she managed to say weakly.

"Mind if I suggest it? Because you, Robyn Saunders, have a problem somewhere. This forgetfulness about something so important is very scary. To me, to your parents; even that bastard Brian seems worried."

You're so touching in not mentioning that's about all who's worried. Four people out of six billion. You have no notion how warmed the cockles of my heart are!

"I - I guess - it's not really the sort of thing they do here, though, um, is it?…"

"No, but I'll ask where to go for it. We can't keep having your stomach burst open."

"I can remember," Robyn said softly.

"Why, yes, genie, I do have three wishes." Her voice was sarcastic. "First, unlimited wishes. I'm not so stupid as that old farming couple in the story."

Robyn's lip twitched in amusement.

"Second, I want something on my birth certificate changed for good; third, I want to know for certain if Miss Tooth Fairy exists and if she does, I'd like to met her. Not so I can strangle her little neck; heavens, no! And since I have unlimited wishes, number four is to make Robyn Saunders part elephant. Especially the mental part. Can do? Oh, thanks, genie."

"I'll try - just getting distracted - "

"Well, you are doing an uncommon lot," concurred Tristan in her poor inner-city drawl. "Might help to drop a few things. My vote is still in for Brian and the education course. Oh, no, I forgot, your dear father both likes Brian and wants you to be a teacher. Glory, but I pity the next generation. Particularly your kids."

"Brian and I aren't necessarily getting married…" Robyn protested weakly.

"And if your dad wants you to?"

This was not responded to.

Tristan sighed. "Here all day, are you?"

"I guess so." Her voice was still almost a girl's; Tristan's was almost a man's. On purpose, Robyn supposed. Tristan had always been determinedly asexual. She hadn't wanted her feminine name, and she had always treated males very much the same as females, and her boyfriends very much the same as most other boys. Only Jake had been the exception; Jake had wholeheartedly adored her and Tristan had been quite fond of him, seemingly. Robyn had protested their break-up, leading Tristan to turn rather biting in response for a week or so. And she was definitely not running in Robyn's direction. To her, their girl classmates had always been guilty until proven innocent, whereas boy peers had been innocent until proven guilty, even though most showed themselves guilty by her standards very quickly.

"What'd they give you?" Her hands were still in her pockets, but her breathing had regulated.

"Painkillers. I don't remember the names." And so long as they kept doing their job, Robyn didn't care to.

Tristan raised her eyebrows, and Robyn moaned the poor choice of wording. "It's just… well, you know, they're Latinish names, and long, and they really didn't even tell me all of them!"

Again, Tristan seemed caught off guard. "You never yell," she said absently, and suddenly shifted her gaze from down to Robyn to up at eye level, to the window. She stared out of it for a long moment, and Robyn saw the morning light reflecting off her brown eyes with a sudden burst of longing.

"So why do you do it?" Tristan asked softly.

Robyn's breath hitched.

"D-Do - do what?"

"We both know," said Tristan quietly. "You forget. You don't take them on purpose. Why?"

She was silent. Wide-eyed, but silent.

Tristan cupped her hand over Robyn's. Robyn stared downward at the bed.

"Why?"

"I don't," Robyn said, feeling defeat wherever she turned, a new approach if this one somehow didn't work… and it would, Robyn knew it would; she could feel that defeat penetrating half an inch into her skin.

"Yes you do." Tristan's voice was low and clear and indefinable; in their world, Tristan always won, and Robyn always lost. And Robyn still loved that protective circle, at all times except for when Tristan's challenge turned to her. Why today? Why today? She was hurt. And no matter what she said, Tristan would never believe her, she would insist, and in some strange, Big Brotherly way, Tristan would always be right even when she was wrong, and when she was actually right she was infallible.

"I don't!"

"Robyn, don't be stupid, there's no other way it can happen!" A brief brush against her shoulder, where the uniform hospital gown had slipped. Skin on skin. Robyn bit her lips against something between a sigh and a moan. Her senses were heightened from the painkillers. "I'm not an idiot," Tristan said, voice reverted to quiet again. "Coincidence doesn't cut it, and I'm not angry, really I'm not, just frustrated, why don't you let me understand, and then we'll stop it together?"

"You always assume," Robyn said quietly.

"I do? This isn't an assumption. It's a conclusion. Prove me wrong - or no, don't, I wasn't challenging you."

There was a long silence. Robyn found bits of old songs meandering through her mind; they intertwined with raw but cloudy emotion and a sudden exhaustion and need for sleep.

"You're worth more than this, Robyn," Tristan attempted, gesturing with her hand at the machinery, the white walls, the fluorescent lights. She had been closed in ever since coming; Tristan always felt uncomfortable in hospitals.

And suddenly Robyn agreed, because Tristan's words had always held a truth for her. Her parents loved her, in very difficult ways, but they had put up with her and provided for her, even throughout her sickly childhood. Tristan had never abandoned her, in her own odd manner. And Brian somehow loved her.

Could she ever stop, though? Those sudden impulses to let the medicine slide came too often, at all sorts of moments; they had since she was in grade school and ignored by classmates day in and day out, limping through the halls and playground, kneeling at home in her garden. For years she had brushed them aside, for almost two decades… but now, every once in a while, they caught her at just the right instant, and she obeyed them. She could not define just why. The consequences seemed hazy to her, nothing like the searing pain of last night and the effete emptiness of today. Even yesterday - the third time - she hadn't forgotten the consequences. Rather, she had opted not to try remembering them in graphic detail.

But without painkillers, one had to live life in pretty graphic detail, and you didn't get the painkillers until you had lived enough of it to cause saltwater to stain your face.

Yet, if Tristan said she was worth more than this…

Much more so than after the first two times she had "forgotten" the medication, she vowed not to do it again. A sudden resolution seized her. I will not. I am Robyn Saunders and this is Tristan Lorenzato and I will not.

Apparently, Robyn's vow had been a long time coming; Tristan had grown impatient with the wait and sudden said in a fiery, furious tone: "You're worth more than what you do to yourself, damn it!"

Robyn's roommate, the elderly lady who seemed to scarcely breathe, shifted. Tristan glanced over her shoulder, sheepish-faced, and sighed in relief when the woman showed no signs of awakening.

"I won't," Robyn assured her quietly.

"Sure you won't. Same you promised your parents and Brian the last two times?" Tristan was calmer now, but cranky.

"I never promised them anything."

Tristan examined her, searching for an untruth or even insincerity. Apparently she didn't find it. "Oh."

There was a silence.

"All right, all right, I'll let you go now," Tristan said, and Robyn recognized the irony of that old habit of her farewell statements in this situation. "I think I'll swing by my apartment and poison myself or something, see what the attraction is… maybe hop by one of the ghetto brothels, throw a twenty if any of the whores have a bullwhip."

"You won't do that," Robyn said, surprised at her own words. "You like being in control too much." Yes, there was some sullenness in her voice, some admiration, too. Here was her confrontation. Tristan would admit or deny all, wouldn't she?

It turned out to be neither; this was definitely not one of Tristan's novels, not one of the ones Robyn sometimes appeared in, in some warped form. "All right, so I won't," Tristan agreed, her manner almost lethargic. "Like I said, I'll help with your grandfather."

"Right."

"Feel better."

"Okay."

Tristan shifted awkwardly. "I'd stay longer, but they said keep it around half an hour."

Robyn nodded. "All right," and her voice was a small girl's once again.

"Right then." Tristan petted Robyn on the shoulder with much more uncomfortableness than she had ever made the gesture before. A tense smile. "Don't forget."

Robyn started to reply, saying something - she wasn't sure what. It was of no consequence to Tristan, either, who walked out, shoes with their clip-clip-clips. It had always happened when Robyn was in junior high. It was very easy not to hear Robyn in those days, just as right now.

Maybe being heard wasn't all that important anyway. Look at Tristan, who was heard all the time and a mess. A very well-concealed mess but a mess all the same. The world brushed by people like Robyn Saunders, but that was all right, she had her own world. It would do. People like Robyn Saunders didn't necessarily need to be happy or heard. There was a high price for security these days.

Her roommate began to stir in earnest, and the attention of one of the nurses in the hallway was attracted. Robyn, not wanting to deal with another of them, laid back against her pillow and feigned sleep until the pretense was no longer needed.

End