[PSL] time travel, time travel

[curriculum_fictae]

[ Martin had always known that Lukas would kill him in the end. If not along the way, then surely at the end, once he'd gotten what he wanted out of Martin, whatever that turned out to be. When the Lonely rose up to swallow him, he'd accepted his impending death with ... what?

What did he have left, really? Numbness, mostly. A hallucination of Jon in the Lonely, looking for him, but - but that was impossible, ridiculous. His mind playing cruel tricks. He settled himself down in the frigid surf, knees drawn up close to his chest, unshed tears frozen to his cheeks and lashes.

And then. A door. A door that shouldn't exist, that couldn't exist. That he shouldn't take at all. The Lonely was terrible, yes, but it was quiet, and it was peaceful. Martin was aligned enough with it by now to very nearly enjoy it, in a strange and terrible way. The Spiral would be infinitely worse than this quiet beach.

But ... it was hope, too. In a strange way. Hope enough that Martin found himself turning the door handle and stepping through, leaving the false comfort of the Lonely behind him.

The transition was unpleasant. Long. But Martin couldn't remember it after; he only remembered stumbling out through the door of a supply closet somewhere deep in the Archives, blinking up at the dim bulbs that pretended to be sufficient. What time was it? Had he escaped? Where were Lukas and Elias now?

And where was Jon? ]

Comments

[kayakking]

[Literal years. It's... a good sight? It's a good sight.

Better than the boss who put on a bit of an extra accent, tore down Martin, and pretended like monsters didn't exist. It... looked like his friend again.

Which is.. likely why the slamming door that would have happened just a day ago, maybe even hours ago doesn't.]

That's... [He gives a long sigh.] That's one more of these away.

[He tilts his glass.] And a request. From you.

[eyediot]

Hm?

[Wait, give him a minute, he'll get there.

Right. Drinks. Okay. Off limits conversation. That's all right. He wants to know, but doesn't need to know. Not now that their friendship is repairing.]

All right... What request?

[kayakking]

[He takes another slow sip.]

No recorder, no statement. I'll tell it to a friend. The Institute can get fucked.

[eyediot]

[Jon blinks at him, very clearly tipsy but still coherent enough to understand what's being asked.

He sets his glass down and nods, trying to look serious.]

Agreed. On. Every front.

[kayakking]

Right, so in the mean time. Your love life.

[eyediot]

God.

[Made one big loop around the block back to this nonsense. He feels like... Like some high school fanfiction role play is being written and turned into his life. This isn't him!!

Jon has to stop his head from thunking down onto the table at that.]

Please... Have some mercy.

[kayakking]

[That gets a grin.]

I'm just saying, you're going to be better off figuring it out sooner rather than later. I think that counts as mercy.

[eyediot]

I don't know how to figure it out!

[kayakking]

Yyyyoouuu could start with communication. I realize you're a 120 year old man and need a six inch distance during courtship and a long and sultry series of correspondence to warm up, but there are modern solutions.

[eyediot]

Excuse you.

[TIM THAT'S YOUR BOSS. But also your friend who, despite his absolutely flabbergasted expression right now, is glad you're his friend.]

Don't need anything sultry.

[Not his thing really. ZING that's one for Jon, eighty-five thousand for Tim.]

[kayakking]

[It DOES get a laugh, at least. Possibly in its sheer, baffled ridiculousness.

He looks at Jon over the lip of the glass, delivering a deadpan:]

I'll keep that in mind if I ever decide to complicate this already convoluted plotline.

[eyediot]

Do not.

[Not that Tim's ever really been privy to any discussion of Jon's (happy lack of) sex life, but lord.

He finally takes another sip of his glass.]

[kayakking]

[He lets the charade go with a laugh and a slight wave of his hand.]

Yeah, yeah. I see how it is.

[eyediot]

Hmph.

[It's just the quietest, most polite huff as he goes back to his drink.

God he shouldn't even tell him this but. If it gets the attention off himself, then.]

I think you're Officer Basira's type, actually.

[kayakking]

What? Seriously?

[eyediot]

Yes. She asked about you as, and I quote, "the hot one. Has the same scars but sort of makes it work".

[kayakking]

Hhuuuuh. I mean. I AM a catch. Can't say I blame her.


[At the mention his fingers rub at one of the pocks at his jawline thoughtlessly.

She IS one of his types: Short, serious and composed ENTIRELY of being a bad decision.]

I've sworn off police though.

[eyediot]

Probably smart after your last "run in" with them. All three of them.

[kayakking]

Okay.

That-

That wwwaaaas on me, but I hold that one was a matter of failed delivery, not that it was a bad idea in its pure and untried state.

[eyediot]

You're right, it wasn't a bad idea.

[Beat.]

It was a terrible idea.

[kayakking]

[Tim drops his head into his hands. The indignation is muffled.]

You don't get to say that.

[eyediot]

I think I just did.

[kayakking]

Denied. Completely denied.

How did we get onto that utterly restricted topic again?

[eyediot]

A high school romance novel that is our off-work hours life right now, apparently.

[kayakking]

[There is a long stare that only someone who worked that entry level of submission reading before getting promoted out. Someone who worked in the peak of the Young Adult boom.]

...

God. It really is. Complete with ghost romance and apocalypse warnings.

It needs at least two more passes through an editor.