so much more than time has been taken [closed]

[deadeyedchild]

[Immediately following this.]

Jay moves Tim's body to his bed. It's hard. He feels exhausted, like his body has been on ice the whole time he was 'dead', muscles needing to learn again how to work. Tim's heavy and Jay can't really lift him, can only sort of roll him awkwardly up onto the bed. It's absurd and undignified and he doesn't give a fuck.

In fact he feels incredibly numb. The initial shock and rage and sadness has fizzled down into nothing. He's running on autopilot, auxiliary power. He finds Tim's keys and takes the one for his apartment. He finds Tim's phone and calls in to his workplace. They actually remember him from that one time he called in for Tim before.

He tells them the truth this time: Tim is in a coma. He's being cared for at home.

They tell him they're going to have to let Tim go, but that, if things look up, he's welcome to re-apply. They seem like good people. Understanding enough.

Tim's phone ends up in his pocket. May as well.

He stands there staring at Tim for too long, until he realizes he feels like he's going to faint. He's hungry, thirsty, he feels sick. His body is both catching up to him and rejecting all of this. He doesn't want to leave Tim, not ever, but he has to. Just for a bit.

He stumbles out of the apartment, locks it behind him, sweaty and cold. He stares at his hands, which are visible and solid and pale and shuddering.

He staggers down a few flights and into the hallway, moving down it like he's in a trance, stopping finally outside Daine's door. He lifts a trembling hand and knocks.

missing exits, missing people, recognizing geometric shapes [open to multiple]

[driftseeker]

Echoes of Raleigh, listen to me sing a horrifying chorus as her brother is ripped from the Conn-Pod, torn away with his life skewered on teeth larger than anything, his mind a shrieking turmoil of fear and agony and despair -

Mako wakes with a sharp intake of breath.

She doesn't have a brother.

She sits up in the bed in the apartment Gabe was kind enough to offer her, green like he said it would be to match the curtains framing the window, where the watery predawn light filters in to fall in puddled disarray over the rumpled sheets.

She braces hands to her temples.

She doesn't have a brother. She doesn't have a brother.

Mako jerks the covers back and pads to the kitchen, rattling around in a frantic attempt to fall into some morning routine. It is not until the loud groan of the coffeemaker pierces her ears that she realizes she does not start the morning with coffee. She starts with tea, Darjeeling black, and Raleigh would drum his fingers against the countertop impatiently, absently, as he waited for the grind of the beans to halt and the rhythmic drip of the machine to begin.

Coffeemaker abandoned, Mako flees into the outside world with its rush of cars and dizzying lights. She does not have much by the way of clothing, just essentials, simple and utilitarian.

She reads the name of the place at which she finds herself. Wilmot's.

She needs a drink.

No she doesn't. Raleigh needs one.

Mako has to sit down and order, and then she puts her head in her hands.