ghostthatlingers | Sanctum IC Contact

We need to talk.

The day starts in what is both a strange and completely normal way at the same time. Tex isn't in bed. That's not actually the strange part. That's the very normal part. It was hardly unusual when they were a more regular thing for her to be gone in the morning, whether she was just up earlier or actually gone. No, the strange part is the house, an actual god damn house, that he's woken up in. Having York's hidey hole was strange enough, but this is a full size bedroom. It's got stairs and a full kitchen and a living room and--it's a house. They've got a house.

It's fucking weirdly domestic for two people with their histories.

He has to wonder what today is going to be, what sort of new shit today is going to bring. Arriving here, snow hell, Carolina, Tex, York, here--no time to breathe, and yet what happens when he has a chance to breathe? He can't sit around and do nothing. Carolina had suggested some things, and York wants him to learn to shoot, and part of him is still isn't entirely certain this is real. After all, Gary's time loop had seemed real, over and over again, and apparently it never had been.

The fuck was 'real' anyway.

They haven't talked about Epsilon yet, but they both know the other is aware of his arrival. It's without sex or ceremony that they go to bed that night, Church turned away from her instead of desperate to cuddle up. He's been battling a headache all day, along with the growing feeling of wrongness nestled in his head and his chest.

I'm not you. Trust me.

You just sound like me is all. And replaced me on my own team. No big deal.

It's gotten harder and harder to keep up the lie to himself--and it is a lie, or, he's pretty aware that it's a lie but refuses to acknowledge it to the best of his ability. Bad enough with Doctor Church around, the big old revelation of YOU ARE A COPY staring him in the face. His name had never been his own, not even something he'd gotten designed or assigned to have. It was just...someone else's name. He'd called bullshit on Wash, but he knew, deep down, the temptation to know, to understand, had led him to hop into the former Freelancer's head.

--but you need to ask yourself, what if I'm right? If I am, or if you have any doubts, not finding out will haunt you for the rest of your life. Not just finding out about you, but finding out about everyone close to you as well.

Turned out that the rest of his life was a lot shorter than he'd ever planned on--and exactly as short as Washington planned.

And it wasn't just his life. Delta. Theta.

Tex.

He should be exhausted and drop right off, but he can barely close his eyes, even as the clock rolls forward minute by excruciatingly long minute. That's why Flowers was a Freelancer: to keep an eye on the most important asset. It's why there were robots around the bases when it wasn't standard equipment. It's why he was surrounded by fucking morons and why Vic and Command had been a fucking joke.

It's why York had found him such a god damn disappointment.

Hell, he couldn't deny that it all made sense, in the most fucked up way possible, but how could he just abandon all the preconceived ideas he had about what his life was or who and what he is? His head pounded.

He tried to be carefully when sliding out from under the sheets, pulling on some pants and padding out of the room. No need to wake Tex if he could help it. Downstairs, he pauses in the kitchen. He doesn't need coffee, isn't sure he can stomach food right now, but--he digs out a bottle, avoids the tequila, but vodka will do. Maybe a warm buzz will calm down the clamor in his mind and lull him to sleep.

It seemed odd to celebrate a 'new year' when it hadn't been anywhere near then before he came here. Still, it was the least of the oddities he'd been learning to deal with in the weeks since his arrival.

The biggest of them is sitting at the table, just noticing him as he approaches. Looking at him with the face of his dead wife.

"Texas," despite the subdued lighting the welts and bruises are painfully obvious. "What the hell... was this York again?"

Some things were harder to adjust to than others.

Tex, it's Epsilon. I need to speak to you...

It's kind of important, and I think I can trust you better on some of this than I can trust some of the others here. Especially as it involves the Director.

And Carolina's been acting strange. Actually? To be honest? She's scaring me. That's why I'm using text.

Dude you got your safehouse privileges revoked until I can fix the one you wrecked with Carolina.

So first was getting up while it's still dark out. And cold. Dark and cold, when he could have been warm and asleep in bed. Then there was the fire, and then there was dealing with a crazy person with voices in her head starting fires, and once she was squared away, he couldn't just fuck off the rest of the day.

Well. He probably could've. He wonders if anyone would've even noticed. Man, sometimes he thinks Grif had the right idea all along. What a stupidly brilliant little motherfucker. But fires needed fought, people needed let in and guarded and escorted and to look vaguely threatening at.

Basically it's been a long fucking day, and he's glad to be home, and he aches, and everything sucks. But he can go back to bed, trudging up the stairs in his boots and shedding armor along the way.

[ there's that half-second of sort-of-silence after the message recording finishes and the beep goes off, ambient sounds of a couple pieces of machinery, and then a very muffled word or two from Tony that aren't possible to be made out.

what you can make out, quickly after that though, is a somewhat robotic but enthusiastic bark. there's a little shuffling as tony gets closer to the microphone again. ]

Pooch's mostly done. Needs you here for the finishing touches, owner transfer, yadda yadda. Lemme know when you can drop by.

[He's been waiting for a good moment to surprise her. Half because he's not sure she'll take it well, half because he thinks he's being a dumbass and way too sentimental. But, to hell with it, he's figured out how to use a shiny brand new camera, and he's willing to risk severe injury to surprise Tex with it.

He peers around the corner into the living room, meanders in quietly.] Hey Tex, think fast! [The moment she turns to look at him, she's going to have a camera in her face snapping a pic.] Yeah, success! Look at that face!

good save.

thanks.

My boxers were ruined when I woke up. Wanna take a guess why?

Tell me you're not helping that bastard out.

Tex? Hey. It's FDR. ...But you know that. Look, I'm checking in. Okay? Let me know how you're doing.

Hey. So. Me again. I don't know-I mean, I'm sure you're somewhere safe, right? Anyway, call me back.

Hey. Soooo, it's been like...45 minutes. Do you have your glasses with you? Make sure you have your glasses-well I guess you can't really- okay. Call me.

Would you mind if I visited you and Church sometime

Hey Tex so I have a question were you around when Maine got brought in his first day because apparently something went down with the boss and he's being a giant poop and won't tell me and I bet it's an awesome story

Hey, it's Kirk.

So, the cookies finally finished baking. Turns out the oven was off the entire time. Sorry about that. Oh, and I have your gun I think you might want back.

So if you have a little time today, I'm free.

Is it true?

So am I waiting for u to get home or what bc wtf I know youre listening to this

I believe we will be able to perform the port work that has a good chance of negating the artificial behavioral modifications. Would you be available in the evening some time soon?

[There's a rather uncomfortable pause, silence on the line as the caller shifts her weight. This, really, is a call she'd much prefer not to make - and there's no small sense of irony here, at least where Carolina is standing. ]

...I need to talk to you. Privately.

Let me know when and where we can meet.

The hell were you thinking, Tex?

Text; Day 130 (Morning)

Day 131 - action