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[sequestrated]

wilson.simon@cdc.org
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<span style="font-family:courier;"><B>FROM:</B> lastname.firstname@cdc.org <B>TO:</B> wilson.simon@cdc.org [[200 max character message here]]</span>	<span style="font-family:courier;"><B>CALLING:</B> WILSON, SIMON</span> [[3 minute max message here]]	<span style="font-family:courier;"><B>(1) VOICEMAIL:</B> WILSON, SIMON [[3 minute max message here]]

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[quatrain]

I'm not going to. [ ahahaha. he really won't. ]

You don't think I can take care of myself?

[sequestrated]

You don't drive your rover, do you. [Moving swiftly on. yeah, gl with that.]

[quatrain]

...no. I got Lancer to show me, though.

[sequestrated]

Lancer is in your rover? [A bit brighter; he likes Lancer, sort of.]

But no. You didn't really see, then. It—[he coughs]—wasn't about whether you could take care of yourself or not.

[quatrain]

Uh-huh.

[ and... okay. what simon says makes sense, but in a way that hé míng can't quite parse. he'd gotten a look outside at the feathers, the velocity of their attacks, and the blood later.

he goes silent for a moment. ]

Then what was it about?

[sequestrated]

God. Can we just talk about what's the matter with you?

[He's been ordering it in his head—what to say, what not to say. What not to think.]

It was whether you were lucky. Whether you did the right thing. Everyone who did what they were told, lived. You see? And people who didn't, uh.

[He sounds so dispassionate about it, all of it, except for that little wobble.] Most of them died.

[quatrain]

Then why didn't they listen?

[ there are a lot of things that 'are the matter' with him. ]

I know that they died. I know. It's scary. [ trails off a little, near the end, before he figures out what he's trying to say again. ] I don't think it was about being lucky.

[sequestrated]

Then what was it about? [He's not sure he wants to hear this.]

[quatrain]

Ah? [ a very brief pause. ] I don't know. It's too complicated.

[ JUST WHEN YOU THINK HE MIGHT SAY SOMETHING MEANINGFUL ]

[sequestrated]

[SIMON IS VERY RELIEVED PUT IT THAT WAY. All his breath escapes at once; he looks away from the phone-which-isn't-a-phone.]

You're right, you bastard. It is too complicated. There's no need to worry about it.

[quatrain]

Why are you calling me a bastard? [ he sounds more amused than anything, though. it's not so different in chinese. ]

I won't worry, then. Okay?

[sequestrated]

Don't. It's not worth it. Just—when they say go inside, go inside. All right?

[Let's leave it there. He actually sounds a bit relieved.]

Are you sure you're all right? Nobody's all right.

[quatrain]

Mm-hm.

[ he has his suspicions, but only barely, and with simon like this now he feels like he shouldn't share them anyway. ]

Then we can all be not-all right together! [ his tone is way too cheerful for that sentence, but... that's just how he is. ] You shouldn't worry too much either, right?

[sequestrated]

[It's a good call, Hé Míng.]

I'm not worried. I'm alive. [For all that he sounds the opposite.] There's a lot to be said for that, you know.

[quatrain]

Sure. Stay alive, Simon!

[sequestrated]

You too. Talk to you later.

[quatrain]

Bye!