Onus 07

YO!

This is your captain speaking.

I have not updated in a fucking long time.

I understand this.

This is just an edit of Onus 07. I didn't take anything out, I just fixed an error I made on the draft. Sam and Shiloh's full text conversation should appear in the story now.

I'm just giving a status update. My car was broken into mid-July and my laptop was stolen. Onus 08 was nearly done. Even when I got a new computer in August, it just hurt my heart trying to get started again.

As of now (9/10/16) I have exactly one page of Onus 08 2.0 finished. Here's hoping that I laid enough of the groundwork the first time that 2.0 doesn't take as long.

And now, back to our regularly scheduled program.

----

C'mon y'all. I have a little song, sung to the tune of the William Tell Overture.

Ready?

I'm the worst I'm the worst I'm the worst worst worst

I'm the worst I'm the worst I'm the worst worst worst

I'm the worst I'm the worst I'm the worst worst worst

I'm the woooooooorst

I'm the worst worst worst.

That's a song I sing to myself more and more lately.

I seem to remember saying that I would have this chapter out by December.

First of February is close enough, right?

Right?

Oh well. Hopefully this opens up a little more of the world. I've written six chapters so far in Shiloh's perspective. Honestly, Sam needed to speak up.

All characters are 18+

------------

He had a dream where his teeth fell out, one by one.

He touched his remaining teeth, trying to be sure of their solidity. Testing their roots. Each tooth gave with a sickening lack of resistance, but he couldn't stop. Wiggling them out with his fingertips, with his tongue.

When he touched his right cheek, the dream evaporated, and the tips of his fingers brushed against the same spongey scar tissue that had been there long as he could remember. His breath came out in a jagged little sigh. He hated that one.

Behind him, Shiloh made a soft noise. Sam held very still. So far as he could tell, the young Onus had started to sneak into his bedroom every night after he addressed the senate. After waiting for a long minute, Shiloh settled into a deeper sleep. Sam could hear his breathing get deeper and slower.

Sam wouldn't disturb that gentle breathing for anything.

--

He opened his eyes. His vision was clear out of his left eye, a dim grey blur from the right. He looked at the inside of his coverlet, at the sunlight needling through the quilting.

He almost rolled out of bed, but then he realized he wasn't alone. Shiloh was still breathing quietly behind him. He twitched the coverlets so he could get a glimpse at his alarm clock. It was nearly six thirty. In a minute or so, his alarm would ring. His visitor always left before the alarm.

Sam felt a smile pull at the corner of his mouth. Shy had overslept. He didn't want to force a confrontation, so he stretched and yawned, groaned once, and settled under the covers in a different position. He left himself a crack in his blanket nest so he could see.

Shiloh woke with a slight jerk. His hair was a sleep-mussed white halo. His black eyes were huge, almost perfectly round with a caught-out expression. The younger man was visibly startled that he hadn't woken up on his own. Sam had bought him some new clothes, but Shy always slept in an old shirt of his. The neck-hole sagged, and even with his sleep-fuzzy left eye, Sam could see the cluster of shiny pink burns on his sternum.

The young man carefully crept out of the bed, and slipped out of the room, closing the door ever-so-slowly behind him. If not for his walking casts, Shiloh might have been completely silent.

A handful of moments later, his alarm blared in his ear. He was slow to hit it. He lingered, putting his clothes on. Over his head, he could hear the plastic boots clicking on the hardwood of the hallway. He drowned it out by moving to the bathroom and playing his voicemails on speaker.

"Hey, Desta. It's me, Sami. You wont fucking believe this. Somebody dropped off two derelict bloodmobiles by the fourth district, earmarked for us. They had it soaped on the windows, 'For use by Our Children.' One of them has a shot transmission, and both need to have the insides gutted and refitted, but we're getting more and more volunteers. I'm thinking Pellagro could head one, the other is a toss-up betw—"

The message cut abruptly, and Sam smiled as he scrubbed shaving cream over his cheeks, he waited for the second half of Sami's message.

"Fuck your message time, man. I think the second Mobile should be headed by either Stanton or Duvall. Good luck with Burns, I'll see you at two."

Shit. That was right. If Sam had his druthers, he would have spent all day, every day, in the Mobile, doing what he was best at. Instead, he had to beg funding from corporations. He ground his teeth slightly, and drew the safety razor over his smooth left cheek.

The voice on the third message was unfamiliar. "Dr. Samuel Desta? I got your number from Elise Pellagro. My name is Charlie Gould, and I've been working on a documentary for some time. I've got lots and lots of good footage, and I think that if we collaborated, we could do some really great things for the Onus community. I've been speaking with Elise, and I'm volunteering in the Mobile on the evening of the sixteenth. I can't wait to meet you."

The unfamiliar voice left a number, and Sam saved it with the touch of a button. He hadn't heard anything about a documentary. Either Gould was a student, or full of shit. But it was absolutely a lead worth following. Since speaking at the senate, donations had been pouring in, and support for the Onus Recognition Act was starting to gain momentum. If nothing else, Sam knew the power of publicity.

One last message. Shorter than all the rest.

"G-Good morning! S... Sam!"

He was looking in the mirror, carefully grooming the skin on the right side of his face that still grew facial hair. He was so surprised by Shiloh's voice that he dropped the razor. He stared at the phone for a moment. A female voice was droning, asking him if he wanted to save the message, delete it or-.

Sam saved the message. Shiloh must have called his phone during the night, left a message for morning. He felt a small point of warmth in his stomach. So much had changed. Changed from that first day. It almost felt surreal.

He looked at his bare ruined face in the mirror. "I'm doing the right thing." He said softly, out loud.

His reflection looked back at him, accusing. Even to his own ears, the statement rang false. How could he be doing the right thing?

His reflection shook it's head. Then why was there a lock in the tower? He imagined the words coming out of his reflection's mouth.

"He doesn't sleep there anymore. I wouldn't ever h-hurt him." He told his reflection. This time, it seemed to smirk. There was an insolent glint in his listing right eye.

He covered the right side with a clean silk patch, tying it behind his head. Cosmetic surgery had been an option for the last twenty years. He had considered it more times than he could count.

Even with the clouded eye hidden, his reflection grinned broadly. That is your real face. The smooth part, that's just a mask.

Sam closed his lips over his teeth, relaxing from his taut grimace of a smile. "Shut up."

--

Today was an important day. A suit-and-tie day. Sam left his pale blue shirt, silk tie, and grey suit coat folded over a chair for now. He stood at the stove top in a white strap-style undershirt and his suit pants. He felt flecks of bacon grease pelting his arms and the top of his chest.

Odd. After everything, that he still enjoyed bacon. He breaded some fresh red slices of tomato and dropped them into the grease with a satisfying hiss.

Over the crackle of the tomatoes, he could hear the soft creak of a door. There wasn't a good view of the second-floor bedrooms from the kitchen, so he stayed put, waiting for the soft click-clack of Shiloh's footsteps to draw near.

The entrance to the kitchen was on his blind side. He could hear click-clack-click, then silence. He resisted the urge to turn his head. He had spent most of his life overcorrecting for his weakened (or patched) right eye, but Shy... Shiloh needed a moment to scope out the room. The young Onus had earned his nickname many times over. Sam knew by now to let him initiate contact.

Shiloh rapped the cabinet with his knuckles, and Sam knew it was safe to look. He turned his head. The doctor in him quickly noticed that Shiloh was standing straighter than ever. It was good to see him walking with good posture. Not mincing, like his insides hurt.

"Morning, Shy." Shiloh flicked his face up before looking back at the floor. He had a hard time maintaining eye contact. But the young man smiled a little, flicking the tip of his grey tongue out to taste the air. "Smell good?" A slight nod, and Shiloh patted his stomach. His ward had a very hard time speaking, but he was very good at communicating.

"Help yourself, I'm almost done with the tomatoes. I'll join you in a minute."

Sam was not an imposing man. He stood all of five-foot-six, and he weighed maybe a hundred and fifty pounds soaking wet. Many Onus stood taller than him, not to mention full humans. But Shiloh was very small, even for an Onus. He flipped the tomatoes and watched Shiloh lean forward on the toes of his casts so he could reach a plate. His doctor's eye saw that Shiloh's hands were trembling more than usual this morning.

"Actually..." Shiloh halted instantaneously, looking at him. A week ago, he would have flinched. Progress? "Let me get that for you."

Sam's plates weren't made of glass. But the last time Shiloh dropped one it had made a loud clattering noise and startled Shiloh into one of his (thankfully rare) panic attacks. It had taken almost an hour for Sam to coax him out of his hiding place, the nearest bathroom. To convince him that he wasn't angry.

Sam put the finished tomatoes on a plate lined with paper towels. He forked two directly onto Shy's plate. He checked his watch, he wasn't expected at Generations for an hour and a half, yet. He piled his own plate high with scrambled eggs, bacon, and fried tomatoes.

Starting recently, with a few notable exceptions (soup, mainly) Shiloh ate almost exclusively with his hands. Distribution of olfactory receptors among Onus was maddeningly random. Sam wrote his thesis on Onus sensory organs before going on to research an immuno-booster for the mothers of Onus with the late Marion Kinicke.

Onus had eyes, they had ears, and noses, and tongues. But they also had patches of hypersensitive skin on their bodies that seemed to pull triple, or even quadruple duty. The patches always had bilateral symmetry, but remained unique from individual to individual. The unique sensory organs were referred to as SSO's (Squamous Sensory Organs), or light-sensitive derma in scientific company. In more common parlance, Sensory patches or Onus spots. Among certain social and political strata, the terms were... earthier. Snatchskin and Freakrash being the most popular.

Sam had already done a few simple tests, asked a few questions. Shiloh was one of the approximate 80% of Onus who could sense light with his SSO's. He was in a rarer sliver of the population that had more olfactory and taste receptors in his SSO's than he did in his tongue.

Sam watched him smile at picking up a slice of tomato, tasting it already. It was worth it. Worth getting up early and going through the trouble to cook. If only just to see Shiloh smile like that. After taking a small bite, the young man wiped his fingers and scrawled a quick note in one of his notebooks. He slid it across the table to Sam, so he could read it.

YUM. Shiloh made the letters blocky and three-dimensional, with little comic-book lines bursting away from them, for emphasis. In the upper right hand corner of the page, he had sketched Pocky, but crossed it out so Sam would know that YUM was the point of the exchange. It was a shame. The sketch was quite good.

"I wanted to give you another checkup this afternoon." Sam spoke between bites of egg. "It's been a few weeks since your surgery, and I just want to see how everything is going."

Shiloh glanced up at him, and Sam thought the young man's pale skin looked a little pink. Especially around the ears and high up on his neck. "You look a lot healthier, Shy. You've forgotten to take your pain pills a few times, walking easier. I could even get you into some lighter casts." Shiloh nodded hard enough that his clean white hair flopped into his eyes. He smiled with his teeth. It was a good thing to see. Shiloh's smiles had once been a very rare thing.

Now for the hard part. "I... ah. I also managed to pick up some things for you. You told me about your family doctor. I contacted him. He keeps good records, which is unusual for doctors who provide care for Onus. You were fairly up to date on your vaccines, but there are a few that you need to catch up on."

The look that came over Shiloh's face was enough to make him pause. Shiloh fiddled with the pen for a few long seconds. He started to write, and scribbled out his starts three times. Finally, he just scrawled and circled a large question mark.

"HPV, for one. You also haven't gotten the Tdap. That's tetanus, diphtheria, and pertussis. It also couldn't hurt for you to get a flu shot." He could hear his voice settling into professional rhythms. It was easier to speak as a doctor than as... than as whatever they were to each other. Sam knew he still had to try.

"I don't want you to do anything you hate, but—"

Shiloh was writing. Sam trailed off. Shiloh flipped the notebook towards him. He had excellent handwriting, but the lines were uneven and a bit smudged. Some days it was better, but today his hands were shaking too badly.

Sam could see Shiloh's half-starts, despite liberal scribbles.

Do I have

Why

Please don't

I don't have to like it.

"No, I guess not." Sam felt a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, but didn't give in. He slid the notebook back across the table.

Shiloh was a magnetic presence for Sam. Whenever the younger man was in the room, it was difficult to avert his eye. Some of it was just analytical, but not all of it.

Not even most of it.

He was fascinated by the structural beauty of Shiloh's cheekbones. Mesmerized by the way his skin was almost translucent in some light. He wanted to know how soft those lips would be against his skin. He wondered how it would feel, to have Shy's long sensitive tongue lick him all over. If he came over the patches on Shiloh's back, would he like the taste?

This wasn't a healthy way to think. No one knew that more than himself. He filled the silence with his words. Trying to get away from the worry-circle of his thoughts.

"I went through the emails you sent yesterday. You do some great work, sometimes Sami calls you my secretary."

Shiloh smiled and his cheeks flushed bright pink. The color on his pale face made him look like a china doll. He didn't reach for the notepad. He just made a gesture, a lazy beckoning with two fingers. go on.

Sam checked his watch. It was about that time. "I have to go now, but I want you to think about maybe doing that sort of work more... officially?"

Shiloh cocked his head.

"You never ask for anything. I could put you on Our Children's payroll. You could get some spending money—" Shiloh was vigorously shaking his head. He reached for the notepad.

"No, n-no, Sam." He stammered, and then slid the notebook over.

Every cent should go to the ones who NEED it.

I don't need anything.

Sam smiled wryly and got up. He washed his hands and buttoned his blue shirt. "Well, you can tell me if you ever change your mind about that. You help maintain the website, you know how many of my assets go to Our Children. I can afford it if you want something. Books, clothes, a pet?"

Shiloh cocked his head the other direction at the last offering. Sam laughed. "You're here alone all day. I feel bad. I don't have any pets other than Pocky because I'm not here to give them the attention they need."

Sam suddenly felt cold. It wasn't entirely true. He had one other pet. One he had bought and paid for. His fingers stiffened and fumbled, messing up the knot of his tie. His face felt hot.

Shiloh could sense the sudden change in mood, if not why. "Sa-am?" He whispered. He got up with awkward suddenness. Closed the distance between them with his graceless walk.

Onus had body hair. It was a common misconception that they didn't. Sam himself had studied the incredibly fine hairs on Shy's skin. It was so fine and short, that when the light dining room light lit him up from behind, his outline was softened. A literal silver lining. He didn't seem quite real. What was the word he was looking for?

"Sorry, Shy. A goose walked over my grave." The nonsense saying brought a tentative smile to the younger man's face. Shy had a square face. The impression was given by his jutting cheekbones and wide jawline. His large eyes and hollow cheeks made him look waifish. But when he smiled, two deep dimples cut into his cheeks. His dark eyes practically lit up. The faint stress-lines at the corner of his eyes and the center of his forehead disappeared. He looked radiant. Lit up from within and without.

Sam slid into his suit jacket, and his heavier winter coat. The young Onus waited patiently. Rocking slightly on his casts. Sam knew what he was waiting for. The light from the dining room gilded his cheekbones with a faint silver corona. His silk-fine hair floated in a fine halo around his head.

The word he was looking for? He found it.

Ethereal.

"Come here." He said softly.

Shiloh had come to him once. The day after the address. Sam could still remember how the Onus had trembled with daring. Since then, he had to be invited. Otherwise he couldn't build up the courage.

Shiloh was more gentle now. He didn't grasp like he was drowning, and he needed to hold Sam to stay afloat. He tucked his head under Sam's chin and hummed quietly. "Hmmm." And gave Sam an extra little squeeze before unmooring himself. Sam was ever-so-slightly behind schedule. Shiloh's hugs were good 30-second affairs. But he wouldn't have interrupted one for the world.

"Buh-...B-" Sometimes Shiloh was able to salvage the words, sometimes they got away from him. This was one of those times. Sam could empathize with that. The sudden sadness and shame in Shiloh's eyes made his heart hurt.

Part of him just wanted to kiss him. To kiss the hurt little frown off of those soft pale lips.

The madness passed. Instead he murmured. "I have my cell. I'll text you if I get lucky." The invitation for Shiloh to text him was unspoken, but clear.

---

"Anyone else would have listened after the first ten times we said no. Why are you still here?"

The man was a glorified secretary. A young dark-skinned man with thick eyebrows that almost met above his nose. His white shirt was immaculate, whiter than Shiloh's skin. He was crammed into a tiny desk outside the elevator to Geoff Burns' office.

Sam made his face very still and stared at the young man without speaking. He knew the effect his face had on people. The not-quite-monobrowed secretary set his mouth in a hard line, visibly uncomfortable despite his anger. "Mr. Burns didn't make any time for your appointment. His schedule is very busy. Go bother a church if you want charity. We've said no..."

"I have heard no." Sam knew the trick to speaking softly. The trick was not to stop. "I've heard a no from you, I heard a no from several lower-level cogs looking for approval. I have not heard a no from Geoff Burns, or really any confirmation that he knows I am here. Until I hear that no, you haven't seen the last of me, Mr. Suresh." He gave the young man a bland confident smile that he didn't feel at all. "And besides. The Vatican insists that Onus are foretold in Revelations. No neighborly feelings from that quarter."