tampered | if i forgot who i am, would you please remind me

[ When it happened the first time, Jim drifted uncertainly between believing he was hallucinating the entire City was a nightmare and shutting down completely, and it was only the return of his First Officer that grounded him in the reality of the situation because, dream or not, Spock was a constant source of logic and strength. He was the anchor Jim needed, after dying, and he doesn't care now that they have all been in the damnable City for months and months on end (You're a bad captain, can't even get your people safely home) or that he knows, horribly, what it means when someone vanishes.

And Jim tells the photograph of Spock in the Hall of the Missing to Go fuck yourself because, no. No, he doesn't want to have to do this without him. He isn't going to stop searching for Spock because some unseen fuck up of an unnatural anomaly tells him that Spock is lost.

Jim refuses to let Spock go without a fight. This time, he intends to search the entire fucking wilderness if he has to scale the mountains themselves.

With his crew divvying up the City proper into sectors to rake under explicit orders, Jim is shaken enough by what Pitch Black tells him (I cannot sense your officer) to head down into the underground where trams and trains have long been abandoned to rust through the disused veins of the subway. He shoves a torch in a satchel and straps Spock's tricorder to his waist along with both of their phasers, one kept in-hand, and roots through Spock's drawers for the silver Science Division badge carefully placed atop a blue shirt. Jim pins it inside his coat and heads out after leaving a note on the kitchen counter for Leonard: Gone to search the subway. He doesn't offer an ETA homeward-bound.

So, after several hours already spent scouring the bustling streets and buildings above, Jim can now only hear his footsteps echoing dully back at him from the rounded ceiling and walls of the entombed station. The light from his torch swings back and forth, communicator hitched on his belt and one of the phaser-guns in a fist. Given the City's penchant for zombies and boneys over October, he isn't entirely convinced that sort of sick shit evaporated on a curse's whim. ]

Spock! [ It doesn't sound like his voice as it careens down the empty halls. He takes care not to get too near to the edge of the tracks and tells himself to swing his light down there, just in case. Fuck you, Spock, if you're ~~dead~~ injured I'm going to kick your ass. ] Spock! Spock, call if you can hear me, it's Jim. Bang something! Throw a stone, anything.

Spock ... !

[ One thing that Pitch discovered rather quickly upon his arrival was that there was a strong undercurrent of fear running through the City. He'd been happy to immerse himself in it, in the way one would sink into a healing spring, bringing himself some internal equilibrium. He'd been too lean on real fears after the Nightmares and Fearlings had taken him down after Burgess and while he'd not betrayed that in his two meetings with Toothiana, he'd not escaped that encounter physically unharmed either.

But in the scant few weeks he'd been here, he was already doing better. Not fully restored (and some part of him wondered if he would be able to get back to that height he'd reached after taking down Sandy) but active once again. He had tested his control over the nightmare sand that he had left and found it usable, though he could get none to form properly: they dissipated back into grains as soon as he removed his touch from them.

They need a few strong bad dreams to anchor them, the Boogeyman realized. Or an unreserved terror... And then one of the signatures he'd been taking note of had disappeared, and Pitch Black had smiled in a way not ever meant to reassure or comfort. It wasn't long after that

The Fearlings were restless and hungry, slinking along the brick and tile walls, lurid as living tar. Pitch himself moved from shadow to shadow, through patches not remotely large enough to hold his stature, following the man. The torch seemed woefully inadequate and the curving gloom swallowed it up, making the contrast between light and dark seem jagged and harsh. When Jim reaches the edge of what Pitch considers his he finally speaks, voice echoing off the vaulted and curved ceilings. ]

He isn't down here, Captain.

[ He's so preoccupied that the voice startles him in a way that has trained instinct snapping to attention, phaser held aloft ahead of the torch-beam. Out of the corners of his eyes, the shadows seem to shift, but it's black-on-black and Jim isn't accustomed to working in the gloom. He turns around, unable to fixate on the origin. ]

No offense, but I'm not taking anyone at their word today.

[ Just what he needs, though. A creature able to slip through the shadows themselves. No matter how obliging Pitch has been up until this point, when standing alone in the cold, dark, dank marrow of the City's bones with only his own breath for company, Jim isn't comforted. ]

You don't mind if I keep looking, do you?

Do you ever?

[ It's mostly rhetorical, though the undertone of amusement suggests Pitch knows the answer already even if Jim decides it's due a reply. ]

Not expressly mind, no... but despite appearances, you are poking around what I've taken as my residence.

[ His lip curls in the mirror-image of a smile. ]

Then I apologize, Mr. Black, but as you yourself know, I'm down one officer. [ The phaser follows the torch-light as he cautiously advances. ] As soon as I'm finished, I'll leave you in peace.

But I'm not leaving until I've seen every inch of this place with my own eyes, even if it takes all day and night.

[ Something slavering and stocky moves past Jim and Pitch silently calls the Fearlings back, seeing very clearly what the Captain cannot: that they're circling like lions, just beyond where the torch's light is cast. They obey the unspoken order but they're like bees in a hive, thrumming in the shadows. ]

I will be frank with you, Captain: I dislike that tone.

[ But Jim's fear, his anxiety, it's singing like a harp note through the underground station and it's delicious. As easy as it would be to wrap him in a tendril of shadow and fling him out of his home, the Boogeyman wants to keep feeding that fear, not have it turn to anger-- like souring otherwise good milk. ]

But I know you are under duress and I will let it slide, this time. If you are so insistent in searching down here, then it makes good sense for me to expedite it. Look away for a moment, it will seem brighter than it is.

[ Pitch moves towards one of the wall mounted brass lights, now tarnished with age but it turns on at his touch, a very dated yellow incandescent glow -- nothing like the clean fluorescent he's probably used to -- spills across the tile towards Jim. ]

[ The phaser's hum heightens as he flips the safety, the immediate fright of that something touching him more of a disgusted shock than real fear. No, the only thing that terrifies him is the idea of leaving Spock down here at the mercy of such things; Jim has no self-preserving terror for himself, whether Pitch likes his tone or not.

The dim glow of the bulb is enough to have him lower the torch slightly as he squints through the illuminated shadows, flicking the light toward the feet of the figure he believes is Pitch. ]

What exactly have you got down here?

[ Pitch stays behind the light so that only the leading edge of him is illuminated though as Jim's eyes adjust it will be more than adequate to light up the "room" that they're in. A stairwell is behind Pitch, dark steps yawning upward, while the curve of the tracks on the recessed ledge below catches the light on its trio of rails. At Jim's question, Pitch chuckles, a low and rolling sound. ]

Exceptional acoustics.

[ Snorting, he squints up at the tall shadowed man, doing his level best to remain diplomatic and not raise his torch, although he very much wants to. ]

I haven't got time to chat, Mr. Black, I need to finish searching. After this, I've got a forest to scour.

I'm aware.

[ Jim's fears bubbled with knowledge of what lurked in those trees. Pitch uttered a put-upon sigh, gesturing down the curving tunnel before moving in that direction himself, pale hands clasped behind him as though they are to take a leisurely stroll. Some hundred yards ahead, a new light flickers on and the one behind them winks out. ]

Come along then, Captain. Mind the drop to the left.

[ Through the stress and worry, Jim glances over at Pitch as they walk. He really doesn't like the shifting shadow-monsters, but between them and their master he prefers to stick to their true north. After several minutes, his nature gets the better of his mood.

That, and he hates the echoing silence. ]

You're being very obliging. Thank you.

[ Said drop to the left gets a sweep of the torch-light in passing. ]

[ The lights continue to make a trail like static yellow will o' wisps, lighting one section at a time. The underground station is actually quite large, perhaps intended to be more of a central stop than a mere way point in its day. The glows from the light -- always come on past Pitch, so that he never has to stand in front of it -- illuminate a surprising amount of attention to architecture and colour that has, in some spots, been wiped clear of dust and age. The fact that the lights work at all, even in this odd configuration, is proof enough that Pitch has been doing more down here than just inhabiting its shadows.

He makes an amused noise in the back of his throat when Jim finally speaks, glancing sidelong and down by several inches. ]

It is a sorry enough state down here without you stumbling around and knocking things over, yelling enough to shake the glass from its holdings.

[ One slim hand points upwards toward a pane of decorative glass high overhead though which dim moonlight filters. Of course that's only a small portion of his true reasoning here, though it's not a lie... it merely sounds better than telling the man that his presence bred fear from fear, and Pitch was enjoying it quite a lot. ]

And admirable intentions to locate your officer aside, you should not go rushing headlong into places where things hide.

[ It's very aesthetically unique, he'll say that if asked in the future. Creepy as hell, but he guesses that's Pitch's MO. ]

It's whether they're hiding him from me, that's all I care about.

[ Like a pane of glass, refusing to let them touch. If anyone ever assumes that role, Jim isn't sure he'll be held responsible for his actions. ]

Edited 2013-12-28 08:50 (UTC)

[ Pitch appreciates beauty when it also has function. They continue the path for another few moments until finally he turns, this time not stepping out of the lightglow, letting Jim see exactly the find of pointed look he's wearing, punctuated by eyes as gold as the halogen. ]

Why are you down here, Captain? And don't say you're only looking for your officer as we both know--

[ a taste. a feeling. a sense. yes, that fear there. ]

--you've reached the conclusion he's not down here in the tunnels with the rest of us shades.

[ Two days have come and gone with no sign of his First Officer. Jim hasn't yet showered and only drank water during the search for Spock, and now ... now he simply wanders. The cabinet that hides the hole in the wall between their apartments is shoved aside and hesitantly he enters, looking around. Opening the fridge to find food that will go uneaten neatly packaged and labeled, as if Spock is saving it for later. In his bedroom, Jim finds himself collecting the Starfleet uniform and taking it back to his room to fold in a drawer along with the warm grey coat he initially bought in case Spock returned, all those months ago.

He keeps holding the silver Science pin, thumb rubbing against it absent-mindedly as he slumps in a heap on Spock's sofa. It's so quiet. He tilts his head to ask why, stops and grins as though pained before his expression sinks all over again.

You can't even get your crew home, he thinks, swallowing a hard lump in his throat and blinking back dampness as he stares unseeingly through a chair. He could have been eviscerated and you don't know. After all this time, what happens to people is a mystery. Where do they go? Why are their memories altered when they return? Will he return? And why are you so selfish that you wish he would, compared to granting him his freedom? What are you without your ship, Kirk? ]

You're such an asshole.

[ It's spoken to the empty room without feeling, a murmur bitterly aimed at either himself or Spock for not being around to get in his mind and banish such thoughts. Hell, he just wants Spock nearby, he wouldn't even have to talk. Can't save your friends, Kirk. Well done. Jim passes out hunched on the couch in Spock's apartment, the silver Science Division pin dropping from a curled hand to the floor. Generously, he dreams of nothing, hollowly hoping he will wake up to an annoyed Vulcan.

You lost him inside the stars. ]

[ it's not an annoyed vulcan that finds him, unfortunately, but a critical doctor and long-suffering best friend. he figured that jim would be here, after the cabinet hiding the hole in the wall has been moved. he wouldn't have entered otherwise, but situations change.

the message that spock's left him is still ringing in his ears, something along the lines of him apologizing for leaving bones alone to take care of the crew - and it's captain, of course - and asking him to remain a strong, vocal reminder of what they need to do to get home, and as much as he'd like to be annoyed at all that, he can't. he knows that spock means well.

( which, you know, annoys him further, but we're digressing. )

he sits on the edge of spock's sofa, waiting for jim to wake up, one hand holding up a book meant to pass the time, and the other resting on jim's arm, thumbs slowly making circles against his skin. perhaps it's meant to comfort jim, or for bones to find a solid point to hold on to. ]

Edited 2013-12-28 06:55 (UTC)

[ He wakes up with a jolt, the quietness and a touch on his arm bringing a burbled Spock? out of his lips before he can twist his (aching) neck and squint over at the real culprit. His shoulders sink when it's Leonard instead, not out of disappointment but veering sharply away from excitement.

Jim shifts and sits up, scooping the silver badge off the floor to press into a hand as he rubs his eyes. ]

What time is it?

Almost dinner time.

[ he keeps his hands on jim's arm, his hold loose but - readying. ]

I'll cook while you take a shower. You stink.

[ He holes himself up in the City Labs building new phasers for the crew. Spares, improved tech, extra comm units that can send alerts when they fall out of the range of the City. Jim locks the plexiglass doors and ignores the goings-on outside of them, battered jeans and tshirt remaining the same for a handful of days as he survives on snacks from the vending machine down in the lobby, hair on end.

His communicator lies open on the desk, taking calls but otherwise not bothering to reach out for help. ]

[Uhura does what she does best in a crisis: she throws herself into her work. There are bits and pieces of videocameras strewn across her desk, far too messily for them to be of any use to her, far too messily for her to actually be doing work. It's just a distraction, an excuse to beat on the useless ancient tech that gave her only but a few glimpses of Spock before she reported him in missing. None of it did any good in the beginning and it surely does nothing at all now that it's been confirmed that Spock's portrait is indeed in the Hall and the search has been called off.

(She, of course, saves those videos anyway, being the more sentimental half of the couple. The full-on human. The one with the illogical and silly emotions.)

Jim's presence barely registers on her radar at first, only getting her to glance up at him after the second or third (maybe fifth; she wasn't counting) crinkle of a plastic wrapper. Uhura says nothing as she gives him a once-over, noticing that he looks as bad as she feels, but it's not like the days haven't left their mark on her either. Her eyes seem to be constantly stained red and puffy, her throat ever so raw, her words short and clipped, a sign that she doesn't really feel like saying anymore than is purely necessary.

It's not how they usually do things, but then again it's not where they usually are, right?]

[ Working alongside his crew is almost as peaceful as it gets, if the quietened, vibrating anxiety held within his breast is anything to go by. In the labs, he sits a couple of desks across from Nyota. A chocolate bar is eaten without the slightest bit of attention, wrapper thrown into a bin, and it's only when he is staring at the new comm he has been working on that he glimpses her at the other side of the room. Alone.How much time has actually passed since she looked up from her console? Jim can't bring up even the roughest estimate.

One of the candy bars he's liberated from the vending machine is placed on the edge of her desk after he walks over, head down. It's all scaffolding to keep them up, ensuring they remain conscious and focused with food in their stomachs, nothing more. Jim stands behind her, a hand on the back of her chair, and watches the video feeds.

Finally, tearing his eyes off the grainy footage of Spock walking down a street on the day of his disappearance, he nods down at her. ]

You need to get some rest.

[ Pot, meet kettle. ]

[She instinctively begs off the chocolate without so much as a shrug of the shoulders, like it doesn't exist, eyes dipping back down to the plastic and screws in front of her. Uhura's gotten so used to limiting her chocolate intake, just in case of impromptu kisses in discreet corners, that she doesn't notice she's still doing it for someone who isn't here to appreciate her motives.]

I'm fine.

[Uhura's not. She knows it. He knows it. All four walls around them know it. It should be insubordination to lie directly to your superior's face, but if she's not questioning his condition, who is he to question hers?]

[ He doesn't blame her for that mild insubordination, not in the slightest; it doesn't even register as such between them, because he knows her. Jim cares enough about her to have to make himself view it as such with conscious effort. ]

You can come back first thing tomorrow morning, but for now I'm revoking your clearance to the lab. [ Blue eyes search out brown, not unkindly. ] You need to sleep. I'll inform you if the system picks up anything on the comms.

If you don't mind, sir, I'd like to continue working.

[Nice words, but not quite said that way. Her tone and cadence broadcast that she isn't looking for his permission into or out of the lab. She certainly isn't looking for his permission on how she chooses to ruminate. Most of all, she doesn't care for any of it. The cat that hops up on the opposite side of the the bed, the wool winter hat lain across her dresser, his leftovers in the fridge, an unfinished chess game... all things she doesn't want to see right now.

But none of this is said in actual verbiage, just the tensing of her shoulders as she digs into a particularly stubborn screw that appears to be mirroring and mocking her both at the same time.]

[ The thing about being the caotain is that, while suspecting some deep emotional imbalance in any (or all) of his crew, he needs to look beyond it. ]

Nyota. [ His tone is quiet but firm. ] We've got the comms open, we're working on new ways to keep tabs on people, there's nothing else you can do tonight. You're no good to me like this, so come back in the morning when your mind has recharged.

[He's never used her first name. The sound of it in Kirk's mouth, on his tongue, is like a splash of ice water on her face, unwelcome and shocking. Uhura would compare it to it being pronounced in a heavy Klingon accent, so foreign to her ears.

She lays her screwdriver down calmly, which is probably scarier than if she slammed it down or thrown it aside. Uhura has always had some measure of control within her, the type of control that had her classmates commenting on how she was untouchable, maybe even a bit of an ice queen, but the fractures are barely being held together right now, duct taped at the very least, and she leans her arms on the edge of the desk, cupping her face in her hands as she breathes once, twice, shakily.

When she speaks, it's from the confines of her hands, words muffled and hollow.]

I don't want to go there right now. Just... please. Just not right now.

[ His hand slides from the chair to Uhura's back, light but there. In his clenched jaw, a muscle tightens. ]

You can stay at ours. Bones will give you our room.

[And that's when the tape gives way. It snaps and she snaps and the hand on her back is so supportive and comforting, things she's come to expect from Kirk, and she sobs into her hands, never ashamed of her emotions, just disgusted at how they've come about.

Uhura knew Spock didn't belong here. None of them do, but still, she reveled in having him around, spending amounts of quality time they were never afforded at home. All she wonders now is if he could ever come back again (if the rest of them don't get home first) and if he will end up like her, remembering nothing at all about his stay here, the small life they just began to cultivate together.]

[ He doesn't hesitate in wrapping an arm around her, offering his body for her to hide against as Jim's hand runs soothingly over slim, hunched shoulders. ]

I'm here, I'm right here.

[ He doesn't say It's okay because it really, really isn't. ]

[Deep down, somewhere where Uhura will only discover once she's fully calmed down and reflected back on this incident, she will be grateful he didn't say that. For all that Kirk is brash and bold, cocky and sometimes downright idiotic, he's a man who knows good and well when things just don't need to be said. False platitudes won't help. Support of the rest of the crew--her friends and family--will. Some of them weren't as close to Spock as she and Jim were, but one additional piece of the puzzle missing will sorely be noticed.

Last time she cried into somebody's shoulder, sobbed right into their shirt, soaking the fabric, it was over Jim. Now it's over Spock. She's tired of doing this multiple times for the people she loves.]

I hate this place.

Edited 2013-12-27 18:45 (UTC)

I hate it, too.

[ He's a big, gentle giant as he holds her throughout her crying, feeling too gutted and hollow to join in. It's as if all his grief has been knotted irrevocably into his veins and distributed throughout every inch of his body; it's tense and uncomfortable, he feels like he's going to be attacked at any moment.

His hand glides over her back. ]

We won't be here forever, I promise.

[She sounds childish and she knows it, whining in between sniffles. But why hide the truth they all (with maybe one exception and that's because Chekov has everything he wants here) feel? He doesn't need to promise her a way out, though. Uhura has faith in her captain, an undying loyalty that she hasn't questioned since the very beginning. He'll bring it to them one way or another.

But she hopes an exits comes sooner than later, not just because Spock is no longer here, but because all of them have jobs to do and none of them can be done here in between the days of calm and days of complete insanity.

Uhura's feeling all cried out and she pulls back from the embrace, hand coming to wipe at her nose and eyes. A little gross, but she's been worse for the wear before and she truly doubts Jim's in any shape to judge.]

You should sleep too.

[Or bathe. Change clothes. Something. Don't be the only one out of control here. They need their captain to be their rock. If she's of no use to him like this, how can he be of any use to her in the same condition?]

Edited 2013-12-28 10:38 (UTC)

[She's hesitated over contacting him, contacting any of them at all, because someone going home—especially when there's a whole family left behind (because that's what they are, she knows that)—is never an easy thing. And as friendly, as close as she's gotten to them (Spock left her a note, she didn't expect that), she doesn't think it's her place to step into their world, touch their grief.

But she cares. That's the crux of it. And she knows all too well what it feels like to be left behind, to have nothing but a note and a portrait and a memory that may not be shared if—when—they return. And isn't this what she told him on one quiet, hard day curled up on his sofa? So—can you promise me something, Jim? Say goodbye when you head off. My brothers never did. This is why, this is exactly it. No closure.

It's fairly early in the morning when she comes to the labs she's only heard about and never visited, stepping through the unfamiliar halls and equipment, a thermos of hot tea and a breakfast sandwich in a paper bag in hand. Food is the best way she knows how to help. She's a Weasley, after all.

Really, she just means to slip in and out, leave the two with a note, but she pauses when she catches sight of him, bottom lip caught between her teeth.]

[ His hair is on-end and he hasn't shaved in a couple of days, leaving him looking tired and grizzled as deft hands work the instruments in his hands, building new comm-links. Alarms, really. He looks hunted, run ragged by his search efforts and not entirely certain he cares.

He glances up and sees her through the glass, waiting a moment before reluctantly opening the doors. He nods her in, sitting up enough to fold his arms. ]

[Bloody hell. She thinks it but doesn't say it, stepping in at the wordless invitation, but there's no hiding the flicker of concern when her gaze sweeps over him. She's reminded vividly of George, of the weeks after Fred left and they all knew that meant he was well and truly dead, no more extra time with them or anyone else. But she doesn't say any of it, bites her tongue; maybe she has grown up, here.

Ginny sets the thermos and paper bag down at Jim's work space, careful not to nudge anything out of place. There's snow in her hair, her cheeks bright pink from the wind and cold, a sharp difference to the few blazing days of summer the City gave them after Christmas. With a quiet little smile,]

Hey. Thought you might be hungry.

[ b'elanna knows all too well what it's like to lose a member of her crew1family. even before voyager, when she joined the maquis and chakotay's crew became her new home, there was always a chance that some of them wouldn't come back. still, she's never been in command and she's never had a second, not really. the most devastating blow she's been dealt had been a traitorous best friend -- something that she doesn't think can compare to the enterprise's loss of commander spock.

her relatively better mood has departed with the cold by now. too many layers may keep her warm enough to focus on the work in front of her, but there are times when it makes it more difficult to move. when she enters, b'elanna is pulled from her initial goal of retrieving a small electric space heater she'd gotten to clear the worktable of the remnants of kirk's vending machine meals.

wordlessly, b'elanna scoops crumbs and wrappers into the bin -- if she'd known kirk better, maybe she'd do him the favor of starting an argument over it to allow him the chance to blow off steam. if he'd been a member of her department, he'd get a smack upside the head and a diatribe about keeping her damn department clean. b'elanna has no issue with striking q, but for so many reasons, she knows that response isn't an option here.

so instead, she simply holds up her small heater so he understands her following question: ]

Captain, do you mind if I use this on high? My fingers tend to stop working when they aren't in warp room temperatures...

[ she's given him four days of space. that's more than she'd give anyone aboard her ship. even seven would've received no more than a day (maybe a day and a half) before she found her regeneration cycle terminated from the outside, snapping back into the realm of conscious awareness to find her captain standing at the edge of her alcove. but this situation is different, as are these people, but this is all the time she can give him before the aloted distance crosses the line between breathing space and out right ignoring.

but when she enters, it's to place this on the workspace before him. she takes a seat on the edge of the desk, crossing one booted leg over the other. ]

I thought you could use a little 24th Century inspiration. [ it's the one that came pinned to her uniform the weekend she found herself reduced to a mere ensign who had no recollection of the woman she might become. it's a style and model starfleet stopped using just before she was ordered to the badlands to look for chakotay. she doesn't care if he tears it apart. ]

[Lydia may never have those days where you forget to shower or eat because you're so into a project that you can't be distracted by anything, but she understands how people can get in that mode...but she's not entirely sure that's what this is.

She's able to get into the building of course, but she's brought up short when she tries to get into Jim's lab. She can see him there hunched over and working through the glass. Her lips press together in confusion, and her hand curls into a fist so she can rap on the door.]

Jim? You okay in there?

[She doesn't know about Spock yet.]

[ it's started small, really, something that once sort of helped him keep nightmares at bay. long walks in the park has turned into hiking in the forest at some godforsaken hour in the morning. doesn't always work anymore, but the usual silence of the forest, aside from the escapades of the little critters and predators that live in it, is more than comforting in itself. he's not always alone, of course. occasionally, a few residents of the city do turn up to do much of the same, but john never bothers to talk to them. he's never been one for small talk.

he just likes to walk. add hiking to his list of hobbies now, after shooting guns and killing zombies.

tonight, it's not going to be long before he finds that he isn't quite alone. ]

[ It's the morning of the thirty-first and Jim needs air or he might go crazy in the labs. Aimlessly, he strolls his way into the forest, the quiet pathway letting his mind wander until he sinks down to sit on a tree-stump and lets his hands cover his face, breathing in the crisper air and not bothering to check the time. He'll ... do something later. Isn't sure what, but he can't hide his red eyes in the woods all his life, as much as he wants to.

Right now, he just wants to blend into his surroundings. ]

[ doesn't quite work out that way when jim's the kind to stand out wherever he is, john thinks, and the picture he makes when john finds him where he is almost poignant, startling john out of the fact that he's got company.

which, okay. ]

Jim?

if i forgot who i am, would you please remind me

26th, Underground Search » closed to Pitch Black

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28th, Absence » closed to Bones

Re: 28th, Absence » closed to Bones

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29th-31st, City Labs » OTA

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30th? idek.

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31st, City Labs »

( 12/29 )

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pick a date, forest hiking trail » closed

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