"Yeah," says Trouble. "That's scary, sure. But there's no way out of it. It's not that I don't care that I'm going to die, exactly. It's that worrying about it won't make it go away, and since I can't just not die - and there's some ways it might turn out pretty awful if I could - I don't care that much whether it happens when I'm sixteen or when I'm sixty. What I want is for it to be - my choice. For it to happen because of a risk I took on purpose, or because I decide I'm done, and not just sneak up on me out of nowhere."
"Look," says Bella. "You haven't known me very long, you're scared of me, you're prematurely cynical, etcetera, you have no reason to believe I'm good at anything except writing school essays - I understand you have no reason to believe I'm going to be able to accomplish anything remotely interesting with my life - but do you think you could stop steering our conversations straight into how very functionally worthless you think I am at anything except having charmingly naive good intentions?"
"Uh... most of it?" He latches on to the part that seems most important. "It's not that I think you'd be bad at it, it's that I think it's impossible. And not even impossible to get anywhere on - I mean, I'm pretty sure there actually is a law of physics that says the universe has a sell-by date, the best we're ever gonna get is to stick it out that long and then go down with the ship, right? But I don't think even that is coming anytime soon. Thing is, though, just because you can't get the whole thing done yourself in the next hundred years doesn't make you useless."
He takes a breath.
"It's part of the same reason I was scared of you. I wouldn't be so scared if I thought you were just talking big. But you're not, are you? When you wanna get something done, you don't just sit on it. So fine, yeah, when I say 'good luck with that', it means I don't think you've got a hope in hell of finishing the job. I don't think anyone does. I think it's an impossible fucking job. But shit, can't I still hope I'm wrong? Can't I still be glad you're trying? I mean you, like specifically you, because you are the kind of person who could start a job like this and get somewhere. You're the kind of person who could start the job. I wouldn't give most people even that much."
"Laws of physics have been disconfirmed before." She sighs. "All right, apparently I was misreading when I heard something along the lines of 'affectionate contempt'."
The next day comes and goes, with Oreo cheesecake. A day later he wants to bring her pie again, and manages it somehow despite his left arm still being mostly nonfunctional.
He doesn't seem noticeably afraid of her, but then, he never has.
She collects oven mitts and takes the cobbler. "It's fine. When you were still in the hospital you guessed it'd take you a week of being back in school, or so, to stop finding me scary."
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"Death is never getting to do anything, ever again, even be upset about that."
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He takes a breath.
"It's part of the same reason I was scared of you. I wouldn't be so scared if I thought you were just talking big. But you're not, are you? When you wanna get something done, you don't just sit on it. So fine, yeah, when I say 'good luck with that', it means I don't think you've got a hope in hell of finishing the job. I don't think anyone does. I think it's an impossible fucking job. But shit, can't I still hope I'm wrong? Can't I still be glad you're trying? I mean you, like specifically you, because you are the kind of person who could start a job like this and get somewhere. You're the kind of person who could start the job. I wouldn't give most people even that much."
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He doesn't seem noticeably afraid of her, but then, he never has.
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He laughs. "Sorry."
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