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The small dot of visual reassurance that always brought such contentment had, in an instant, brought everything to a halt. That small dot was not where it should be, not back within the perimeter whose coordinates correlated with the infirmary, not following any predictable function.

Not moving.

That realization carried Mimsy out of the room, hallway, and building before any other thought even arose, and all of the if/thens that began to bud and spawn from that single thought led to grossly unfavorable thens that she did not want, and she did not stop until she could see the dot on the screen and on the ground in front of her.

It was impossible for her to determine what was more distressing, between the sight of him like this and the fact that she could not begin to theorize what might have resulted in such a reaction. The only time she could recall seeing him so wracked with grief was on the occasion of Clarice's demise - which was concerning in its own sense, considering the accompanying implications.

She took a deep breath, dropped everything that she had been carrying in her hands, and hurried to kneel next to him. At first, the only sound that came from her (excepting the earthy tearing of grass uprooted in her haste) was one of uncertainty, something small and quiet that seemed almost afraid. Her fingers trembled just inches away from him, repelled by a barrier of doubt and panic. This was a crisis. Volatile, hypercharged with energies she still did not understand, powered by cells she still believed herself to be deficient in, and interference came at such a risk now. One incorrect imbalance, one misplaced variable, one touch from hands that had no practice in stabilizing or repair, only an inherent need to destroy to see all of the tiny pieces all spread out in a row, neatly categorized and ordered in lines of tiny data points that were much more sensible than a human could ever be - just one failure, no matter how small, could be the catalyst for the crisis to become cataclysmic.

And it would be her fault.

Yet, despite the expanding enumeration in her mind, past all of the statistically high opportunities for irreparable consequences, she couldn't continue to restrain herself from reaching out to touch him. One hand fell to rest on his head, repeatedly petting his hair with gently curled fingers, and the other squeezed his shoulder once her arm was wrapped firmly around him. None of him crumbled or combusted beneath her fingertips, which was a good sign.

"Robert?" Her fingers tightened against his shoulder again, more urgently. "Hi, Robert. I am here. I love you. What is wrong?"

The brief overview of those two important facts, meant to serve as a reminder and solution, was stated as if there were no other conceivable possibilities for reasons to be upset; and though more than one part of her might have believed that, she still waited patiently for an answer.

Because those were the facts.

Ah, this was familiar.

As Mimsy settled into the inverted cocoon he had created for her, reversed in the sense that her release would signify the transition of the confinement itself rather than its inhabitant, she remembered. She thought of the time they spent on the floor of a hallway, just like this, while she patiently waited for him to grieve. She recalled how much of that time contained scattered interjections of how upsetting it had been to hear that he loved her dead cousin, directly prior to using her as a comfort blanket to cuddle close.

(If Clarice was back, was she?)

But her body wasn't tense now, even in spite of the stirring concern, and she didn't sit perfectly still, and it was important that his condition improved as soon as possible. This might have been familiar, but it was not nearly the same.

"You are not crazy," she reminded him, with an unyielding forcefulness to her tone. "You are sane. You are sensible. If you say that you saw Clarice, then I believe that Clarice was there."

That was the easy part.

She moved just enough to allow her arm some freedom, and placed a hand on his cheek, before brushing her fingers through his hair again. After a soft shhh (it worked for the Mimsy in the mirror, after all), she shifted again, until his forehead could rest against hers. The thumb on his cheek pulled down on the skin beneath his eye - look at me - and she smiled only when she could be sure that he would see it.

"Robert. Listen to me." In her eyes, still piercingly hyperfocused, it was very clear that refusing to do so would result in something unpleasant. Possibly more unpleasant than this. "Clarice has left you once before, and all of the evidence indicated that she would never return. Now you have new evidence - and what does that evidence prove to you? 'Gone' is not a qualifier that I find reasonable to apply any longer. When you and I part each day to tend to our work, and you cannot see me, do you feel the need to mourn me? Am I gone? You miss me, certainly, and I miss you - as she undoubtedly does as well. The desire to be present, in close proximity to me, drives you to return to me at the soonest point in time. Perhaps she has had a great deal of work to accomplish before she could return. Perhaps the requirement for this work will diminish over time. Do you not have a considerable amount of evidence to support the claim that she will see you again as soon as she is able? This day alone should have provided that, and I am well aware that prior events additionally encourage this claim."

She paused to close her eyes and take another deep breath.

This was terrifying. This was painful. Her position in his life and all that she had disrupted, all that she had claimed and conquered, all of the emptiness she filled to ignite a need for her instead - it had all been in the absence of Clarice. Purposely so.

And she had found herself in a position now precarious, with a necessity to prove her worth tenfold.

"Robert." Her voice wavered, and she cleared her throat before she felt confident enough to continue. "This is of paramount importance, above all else I have just said: you can. You can do this, and so many other things. You are strong, and capable, and brave, and steadfast. You have more heart than anyone I have ever encountered. There is no limit to what you can do, as long as you will allow yourself to acknowledge this fact. It is a fact, Robert. Look at all that you have accomplished when you believed in the reality that you were competent and deserving of what you desired. Look at how happy you are, all as a result of knowing that you could have that happiness. Look. Look at what you have."

The words were more obviously a plea by the end, and she was incapable of hiding that fact, because this was something that she couldn't do. This was something that she had no capacity to withstand.

This was not, and had never been, part of the plan.

"You are not stupid," Mimsy adamantly persisted, tightening her hold on his arm with constricting insistence, then released him to take his hand in both of hers. Their rings met with an audible clink of metal, and her worry warped into a small smile at the sound. "Especially...because you are astute enough to know to believe in all of these impossible things. It is only after you have acknowledged their potential that you are capable of discovering their distinct possibility."

Her lips brushed lightly against his, and she opted to forego a kiss, lest she interrupt his eager smile.

"But you know this." Maybe just a little one would't hurt, she reasoned, pressing a kiss to the corner of the grin. "You know this, and you have come to a very reasonable conclusion. I am so pleased!"

The idea was incompatible with all of the information that she had previously learned regarding the deaths of hunters, but that information was so simple to disregard, largely due to the fact that she had no part in compiling it. This was a much more thrilling concept anyway - the chance that one would be capable of continuing to interact with the world in intriguing new ways after their mortal life was a delightful idea, and an even better method of immortality, considering its apparent allowance of an existence in multiple worlds with the same consciousness. An existence with family and friends and endless opportunities to learn.

"The ghosts live in Halloween, of course," she answered, giggling within his contagious excitement. "It is entirely sensible, isn't it? She would be safe there, and would have so much to study that we are incapable of experiencing. I suppose this would be a bit like dreaming for her, following the same phenomenon that provides a connection between our world and another, like--"

The thought came so abruptly that she jumped as if she'd been startled, and she gasped as she looked up at him with wide eyes, glimmering with a curious spark.

"Oh! Oh!" She could do nothing but smile for a moment, as her physical ability to speak caught up with her torrential downpour of thoughts. "ALICE would know! ALICE has given our brother back to us! Perhaps she has helped Clarice - or would know where we might find her. Would you like to visit Halloween, Robert? Would you like to help her complete her tasks? If we do not locate her, ALICE will assist us. I am quite confident in our probability of success!"

The use of more tricky vocabulary had not gone unnoticed, aided in part by the fact that he had stopped to allow himself a moment of pride. It required a tremendous amount of effort to avoid another outburst of giggling at that particular moment (as she could still recall how counterproductive her similar reactions to coaxing him into wearing his glasses had been), but Mimsy could not withhold the smile, reflecting every bit of pride he exhibited.

"Yes, precisely." Robert and Shu were both as adamant about ALICE's merits as she was; this was always a relief in its own right, another point of pride in itself. "We will experiment. If we cannot contact her on her own, we can send our brother with a message of urgency. I have no doubts that she would respond forthright."

A trained messenger sibling was about the right amount of perceivable nonsense anyway, she thought.

They had been making such good progress towards reaching a logical conclusion for what their approach should be, but her own confidence was somewhat shaken as she saw indicators that implied he was going to cry again.

"And, well...if it is a second opportunity..." She tipped his chin up with one hand, and gently tapped his quivering lip with her thumb. "You need not fear this, either. I may have evidence indicating that you happen to excel at such things."

Apparently a reminder about second chances had been the correct answer.

As much as Mimsy enjoyed getting things right, she had little time to pat herself on the back for this one - Robert was celebrating well enough for both of them, and she could only cling for dear life in her best imitation of catlike reflexes.

"Yes," she tried to agree, which was entirely swallowed up by a much more enthusiastic volume.

"Yes, I--" It was a kiss that intervened this time, which she didn't seem to mind. Nor did she seem bothered by her mess of hair, or the skewed glasses that had slipped almost entirely off of her nose, and when he finally stopped moving quite so energetically, she relaxed into his arms.

"I love you too." She scrunched up her nose in an attempt to fix the glasses in an effort to see him more clearly, which only made it worse. "More than anyone else is capable of."

Whether or not it was right this time, whether or not it was true, she considered that to be a crucial reminder too.