"No, silly, they aren't with me," Miss Chaisson asserted, as if giving him a minute for his newfound dubiousness.

"Then how did you meet them?" Meddles confusedly inquired.

"As a hollogram, the newest invention of the 30s," Miss Chaisson explained. "How was I supposed to bring you if I wasn't there beside you?"

"But you did have access to the sub on shore, no-?"

"-No, I didn't."

"Then how did you-"

"-enter after you?" Meddles didn't even have to nod. "I got in just after you entered. Through the secret emergency hatch."

"Oh," Meddles only managed to say. His eyes shone brighter as he seemed to forget all sensible speech. The shock at the sudden realization froze on his features. His arms had unexpectedly ended up on Miss Chaisson's waist, as if the woman had willfully edged closer to him in their back-and-forth accusations.

He stared her down, until it was impossible to do so.

Leaning in, he kissed her.

***

He was tired. He was tired of waiting, but he never knew that until then. He was tired of every rein old age had tried to put on him, he was tired of facing exhaustion after exhaustion wave in between the anxiety that his life was flowing past him. He was scared of reaching his passing. He was scared of never having another day with mobility, when he wasn't remaining invalid as someone administered medication into his body, with his financial resources washing away like waves on sand, with no use except to keep his frozen body live for a week longer. He feared that, in a few days, he could no longer be alive, but he feared more the chance that he could face that end immobile, paralyzed and as slave, and then die. He was funny, he laughed, often watching the youngsters, he rooted for Led O'Donnell. But at the back of his mind, he always did remember that he wilted. His hair grayed. And that he was slowly becoming a corpse.

This is why, since in his mind he was young, he had wished to board on a mission. Why he had decided to enter the submarine. For life was so fleeting for him, mental struggles so hindering that he couldn't help but wonder what if he used up his time in such an existentially appealing fashion... His illness, sickness of sorts was growing on him, but it hadn't at all stopped him. For why remain sick and be painfully existing rather than stop being sick but be alive, for the very last time? He wouldn't choose the prior. He wouldn't succumb to the immobility. He wouldn't die factually dead!

But, then, why did he... Why did he kiss her?

The question froze his mind. He wasn't impulsive. Even his spontaneous decision had come to him rationally based. But this... Miss Chaisson... He had gotten lost in his own game. Had he tried to charm her? Perhaps. But for what? That had also been impulsive...

If he made someone fall in love with him, then that person would care for and rid him of what was left of his little freedom.

He broke away. His eyes were open. Hers weren't.

It took a while. But then, when their gazes met...

"I regret... I'm sorry, Miss Chaisson, I'm too crazy," he breathed, when there was considerable distance between them. Indeed, he was too crazy. Too crazy for her.

"No, no... - it was a mistake, we can't do that since we work..." her voice trailed off, like the cry of a lone seagull amidst the far-off skies.

"Yes, we shouldn't," Meddles agreed.

After a moment he freed himself from her hold.

"Goodbye, Miss Chaisson."

"Goodbye, Meddles."

He gently shut the door behind him, leaving her alone in the empty classroom.