Nothing But Bones

40: Jarring

"He's not some poor man." Tiff sets the specimen down and turns on the faucet to rinse out the jar. Having some sort of methodology in place when her head is so light seems to be helping. "He was going to keep trying to kill me so he would have a near-infinite necromantic energy source at his fingertips."

"Oh god, Tiff—"

"He didn't want his genitals. He didn't want them back. I asked him when I was doing the urostomy. You could ask Dr. Deseret— she was there. He just spat on me again, so I had Kepler run upstairs for a second jar." She pauses and chooses to clarify, "The first one was for urine. To be clear."

"God, Tiff." There are a thousand emotions she can read in those two words. Astonishment. Disappointment. Regret.

"I'll feel guilty about it later, I promise." Maybe she just doesn't have the capacity to care right now.

"It's not that I want you to feel guilty. It's more that..."

"That what?"

Esther sighs in the way she always does. "So much happens to you all the time."

"Speak for yourself. You got a space STD and you're still Chosen."

"Well— Hold on— Just because it can be transmitted through fluids doesn't mean that I have an STD, much less one I want to talk about with my kid."

"How did you get it, then?" Tiff doesn't wait for the beat of telling silence. "So— I'll be home in maybe four days."

"Four days? Is there more to do, or are you just sticking around for something?"

"Yes."

"Tiff, that's not an answer."

"It kind of is."

She lets it hang in the air for long enough that the words catch in her throat like grapes and her aunt has to prod, "Well, why is it the answer?"

"I'm not— Oh." Tiff giggles. "You're not going to like this."

"Try me."

"No, I mean it. It's— I— Boris Covington was acting as a portal to that in-between extradimensional space, and I did what I always do."

There's an accusation there when Esther asks, "Jumped through?"

"No, reached out to what came through. It stabbed me, just a little, and then, you know, it's going to be fine, but—"

"Tiff."

"It's not like I'm dead, I'm just—"

"Tiffany May."

"I'm not dead! It's fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. I'm sure. We're going to fix it in a minute.

"Well." Esther pauses, hesitates, and ultimately says, dead serious, "As long as you're going to be okay, I have some news."

"Shit." Tiff frowns and fiddles with the wad of toilet paper she was using to wipe out the jar. "What is it?"

"Let me— Let me— Hold on. I have to figure out how to say this."

"Are you pregnant?"

"I am not pregnant."

"I'm just asking because— it wouldn't be the first time—"

"Tiffany May, I am not pregnant."