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Futuristic Returning Travellers (IC)

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December 24th, 1918

London was in ruins. Not the buildings (apart from a few minor destructions), but the people. The war had brought them closer together, but it had also ripped them apart. So many sons and fathers were missing or dead, at least as many of them wounded and in hospital. Christmas Eve wasn’t what it had been before the war, but for the first time, it was Christmas again.
There were lights on the trees, Christmas dinner and candles in the windows to lead the fallen souls back home.

A young man was staring out of a window, his shaking hands folded in his lap, staring at the lights that had spread around the neighbourhood, around the grey hills of the surrounding. It was quiet, so awfully quiet, like someone had put a pillow over the landscape and the snow, which only seemed to amplify the ringing in his ears. Empty eyes wandered downwards and got stuck on his hands, that were clinging to his trousers, to somehow hide the fact that they were trembling like twigs in a storm. He hated the fact that they weren’t as steady as they had been before, the fact that he couldn’t even hold a gun, or a glass of water- it was dishonouring.

John Garnett had enlisted for the army later into the battles. He had been living in London for two years, before the enthusiasm of his fellow young men had gotten to him. Before he had joined, he had been working as a banker, because he was good with numbers and hell knew they had needed someone like him. But then the disbelief in their superiority, the pessimism had come, but he had known, deep inside, that this war wasn’t lost, that this wasn’t over.

Now, he was sitting here, trying to remember how it had been before the war, what he had done all day. He remembered his diary, the leather covered notebook that he had had, must have lost somewhere in battle, because he couldn’t find it anymore. Maybe it was somewhere on the battlefield, along with all the other dead bodies, a life lost alongside those of the friends he had made along the way to where he was now.
Ever since he had come home, he had had troubles remembering. It had started with the simple things, like who he should notify that he was back. Why didn’t he have any family to go back to? He had been so sure that there had been a mother and a brother that he would go back to. Had they died in a bombing? Had they left, never to return?

John had noticed pretty fast that he had nowhere to go, so the first thing he had done after getting home had been to see the families of his fallen friends and pass on the letters they had written for their loved ones, in case they wouldn’t make it back.
The last family he had visited had asked him if he wanted to stay. They had lost both of their sons and had a farmhouse to maintain and he had agreed. They had treated him like a welcome guest, even though right now he wasn’t of any particular use. He just cleaned the stables from time to time, the physical work being good for his uneasy soul.
John didn’t sleep much; usually woke up after two hours, hearing gunfire and screaming, ducked besides the bed and pressed his back against the wall. When the urge to move became unbearable, he wandered off, ran over the fields and got back to the farm a few hours later. It had gotten better with time, but a month wasn’t long enough to heal and he knew that. He still could hear the gunfire; he could still smell the smoke. When people were around, it wasn’t a problem, because he could pretend that he didn’t hear it, shift his focus. But when it was as quiet as right now, he wished that it would just stop, that all those memories would be erased.

A little girl pulled on his jacket and made the soldier snap out of his trance. He indistinctly remembered her name; she had introduced herself as Sophie.
“Mister John, do you want to sit with us?”, she asked in a very childish London accent. For a moment, John’s eyes found her gaze and he smiled. He hadn’t talked much since he had arrived here, but they had always been very patient and nice to him, they knew that their son and brother had been a close friend of John. If he had ever taken John along and introduced him to his family was lost somewhere in the fog that surrounded everything pre-war, but the family seemed to care for him deeply.
With heavy movements, the young soldier got up from his chair and let the little girl lead him to the table, where everyone was eating in silence. His roasted chicken stayed untouched, until Sophie nudged his side and smiled at him.
“You have to eat”, she stated and he did. Following orders, that was all he could do in his state, even though he was sure that he needed to do something else than get through the day.

The Christmas night passed quickly and when the morning came, John was awake already, pressing against the wall for safety from the guns in his dreams.
Run, don’t look back, jump for cover. Don’t die.
He got up and covered his head with his hands, as suddenly he felt something resurface. The book, he had hidden it somewhere in London. Somewhere timeless, where it could be found… Why? His mind clouded and his heart pounding, he stumbled towards the chair where his freshly cleaned uniform was folded. He put it on, strapped his boots and walked outside.

He was back in the city by noon, when he entered the public library and searched the aisles for his notebook. It was still there, hidden between two ancient lexica that no one ever touched. He pulled a pen, which he had taken from the reception table and promised to return it, out of his pocket and started writing. He didn’t know what he was doing, his heart still pounding and his mind calm, like he was following an order that had to be completed immediately. His hands still shivered when the letters were formed, which made them look cryptic and almost illegible, but he wrote down what he had meant to write.

December 25th, 1918

I am living with George’s family now. They have a small farm a little outside of London and since George and his little brother are gone

The pen made a movement and drew a line all over the book, as the ringing in John’s ears became louder and louder. He had to stop writing, because his hands were shivering too much. There was no way anyone would be able to read this. Quickly, he stuffed the notebook back where he had taken it and left the library. The pen had been dropped to the floor, where it stayed for another two hours, before the librarian picked it up. She also found the book, which had been badly hidden, as if someone had been in a hurry. Curiously, she opened it and read through the firstly beautiful and later more sloppy handwriting. It was the story of a young man who had come to London to live a better life and he had been caught up in the war.
With a frown, she put it in her pocket, to take it home. Almost a hundred pages full of messages and small, but touching stories. She could make something out of this.


February 26th, 2030, 12:00

Anne was flipping through the book she had been given, eyes flashing over some of the pages, just to get a general overview of what this was all about. It was a small paperback book with the title “Story of a soldier”. It was badly written and old, the pages turning yellow already - a cheap print version of a cheap book, so what would she want with this? What did her bosses want with this information? It was just a story.
It was a preparation for a case, that much they had told her. But then again, her employers had never been very transparent about their intentions. Anne didn’t mind, she was helping a lot of people on their behalf and that was everything that she needed to know.

When she had been approached by them two years ago, she had been working for an addiction treatment centre, where she had learnt a lot, but had also seen that despite her best efforts and skills, the patients had always found their way back to abusing drugs. Just before she had started to doubt her abilities as a psychologist, they had pulled her out of her misery and offered her a job at a closed facility. No odd working hours, no overtime and double the pay for the same hours she had been working now. She had even been offered a small flat close to the premises, which she had politely declined. She liked living with her sister and her sister’s wife and the house was big enough for more than three people. Especially since their son Benjamin had moved out, the two of them had had more than enough space for another resident.

A call on her comm startled the woman for a moment and she put the book down onto her desk, as she answered it by pressing the small button on her table.
“Yes?”, she asked, hoping that whoever was calling was meaning to reach her and not someone else. It was one of the young scientists, who were overseeing the room that she wasn’t supposed to go. She knew that amazing things were done in there, something involving time travel, but she had never been informed too much about what was going on.
“New patient”, the scientist told her, “Room 120. Wait there for him.”
“Understood.”
The comm beeped to signalize that the line had been disconnected and Anne started walking down the hallway to room 120, which was her usual place to hold therapy sessions. Curious, she set up for whoever would be coming in.
 
World 1 Modern Day. //

Three hundred and ninety-three days had passed since they had last spoken, three hundred and forty days since J’s assigned return date. Two hundred and forty days since the trail had gone completely cold and only a hundred days since Orion had last barged into the branch lead’s office and demanded permission to look for J himself.
Nearly swaying his superiors to allow him to take over the case, his relationship with Jonathan Garnett was thrown out as a conflict of interest. It was no secret the pair had been involved before J’s disappearance, sharing a home and life around their bizarre line of work.

Meeting had been a beautiful moment of dumb luck on Orion’s part, he’d nearly made a fool of himself approaching J for the first time. Orion had kept track of the days during his pursuit just as carefully, perhaps a strange habit but something he’d done since he’d begun his work with the agency. Time seemed to slip by inconsistently now that he’d blurred the lines and walked in both worlds, always feeling ill at ease in the second world.

Orion could barely focus on anything other than just how long J had been missing for, he certainly wasn’t the first traveler to go missing but he’d always been so much more responsible. Waking up alone had left a steadily growing void within the lonely tracker, he knew how impossible it was to track someone down during that era, if J had been killed, no records would be found.
Out of place and out of his element, the time he’d traveled to in the second world was terribly impressionable and could cause a hiccough or even another split. The overwhelming danger of the situation had Orion losing sleep and slowly losing his mind to worry. Despite their ability to climb into different versions of their world, the technology was too new for any sense of reliability. Having Jonathan become nothing more than a lesson in traveling was agonizing to consider, Orion wasn’t going to allow them to leave J behind.

Word 2 Modern Day. //
The first mission handed down after he’d been cleared for duty (thirty days ago) had revolved around an absolute monstrosity of an assassination within the United Kingdom. An almost irritatingly popular suit known as Scott Taylor had been shot during some sort of gathering and Orion was handed the responsibility of dragging his second world counterpart over. One of the first adult extractions done and one that was luckily going to cause less of a fuss due to the man being fairly unimportant in his second life.

Perhaps unprofessional and risky, Orion had opted to swing by the London Library in search of a shared drop space, somewhere J had been smart enough to leave a trail only someone from the agency would pick up. The diary stashed away in between ancient books in the classics section had been missing for the first time since Orion had learned about the failsafe. Keeping track of his time in world 2 and leaving a detailed map in finding him, the lack of a diary altogether had Rio combing over ways the book had been misplaced or moved. Denial carried him through the mission, forcing himself to cling to the delusional idea that he’d just missed it.
Nearly derailing his own mission with selfish distractions, Orion managed to pull himself together enough to focus on the fairly important kidnapping ahead of him. The world two version of his target would be significantly less protected, though any family might add a layer of difficulty.

Actually finding the man had been a bit of a struggle due to his parents passing young in this world, the foster system had arguably been less together than world one. Two months in world two and Rio finally tracked the man down to an island in the Bahamas.
For a week he followed the man around and learned his habits, running into him more than once to establish some sense of trust. No family, no ties, and a habit of isolating himself made him almost too easy to approach. Finding out Scott was open-minded and something of a degenerate gave the heavily tattooed tracker an easy way into the man’s life, only needing to invite Scott over one night to walk the man right into transport. Despite nothing happening between them, Orion still felt somewhat dirty for leading someone on while J was still missing. Part of him hoped J would be home and he would have to face the music for allowing someone to get handsy while he was on a mission, Rio had never been so crushed to not have a fight.
Instead, he’d crawled home and spent the next six days recovering on his own, dealing with the flurry of shadows that always seemed to follow him after traveling.
Over the years he’d grown to dread the unsettling week he’d spend seeing people moving around just out of sight, the gift world two lovingly sent along whenever he managed to steal another one of her people. Orion often wondered if the manifestations were people he’d wronged through his actions, though the idea seemed improbable.


World 1 Modern day. //
Four hundred and seven days since J had gone missing and Orion began feeling the cracks in his composure forming, unable to tolerate the lack of closure. He was dragging himself into the office after his mandatory quarantine, considering completely avoiding his morning meeting.
He was never given the chance to dodge anything, two people waiting for him in the main briefing room quickly. Running was briefly considered as the nature of the visit held the possibility that J was dead and they’d only found out, he took a breath as he kept his stride and approached the pair dressed in black.

The news shared caused Orion’s knees to buckle slightly, another traveler had chanced upon a rough draft of a novel in the later nineteen-thirties, an opus on the great war that was based on a soldiers diary. The entry had thankfully been dated and signed by a man who wasn’t supposed to exist during that window, leading to a few days of searching before J had finally been spotted. Moving with a group they couldn’t quite extract him from, it would seem he’d planted himself into the timeline and had spent four years in the past of world 2, before their initial interference. Orion had to force himself to remain stoic as the pair walked him down one of the long corridors leading to travel.
A clear message in the action, Orion had demanded to bring J home and the duty was being handed over, an immediate bloom of anxiety asking just why they hadn’t extracted J themselves. It wasn’t as though they could dash off and yank him out at any point, they needed to intercept him during a very narrow window and the duty was being entirely placed on Orion.

“What happened to him?” The question came out so much more raw than intended, thankfully his brittle tone was ignored, instead, Orion was instructed to sit down and listen.

“He spent four years in the past, he served in the great war”

Orion felt his blood run cold over the timeline, four years was more than a mistake, four years seemed downright intentional. A pang of rejection grew deep in his stomach, flirting with the idea that J had outright abandoned him and their life in favor of a fresh start. The early nineteen hundreds weren’t exactly a dreamland of a time to visit, especially in the war-torn city of London. Whether or not the world had simply swallowed him for a time or he just lost track and lost his ability to return, Orion had spent more time than he cared to admit searching their old drop locations.

“The source material was found in her office in 1940, in Paris, the entry is Jonathan Garnett’s and its dated December 25th, 1918. Notes say she found it in the London Library. You’re on retrieval”

Orion fought the urge to stand abruptly once the date was handed down, already forming an itinerary in his mind, aware he couldn’t just dive back and snatch J out from an earlier moment. The impact of their people on the second world had barely been researched, only the negative effects of travel between them had truly been cracked after a few years of breaking borders. Orion dealt with shadows, J with epilepsy, the effects of the transition seemed to only worsen the longer one stayed where they didn’t belong.
Following the pair down towards the actual travel area, a brief stop-off had him collecting some ambiguous clothing to blend in, pelting both travelers with questions. If the diary had been moved, it would completely explain why it had been missing during his visit to the library during the previous week.
Hope found Orion again as he forced himself to take in the remaining concerns and details surrounding someone who’d stayed for so long, this was completely new territory. Using Orion was a risk in its own but a familiar face could keep J from bolting or unraveling.

Personal transport and a strict set of rules to only interact with Jonathan were handed down once Orion was changed into something more appropriate for the era, he was more than practiced with keeping his head down. Using cosmetics to hide away the tattoos on his face (something that would stick out almost outrageously) and brushing up on an overview of that day in history, he knew this was one of the few periods they had shared with the second world, one that had managed to hold on to its major events.
Hours of reading over the copied pages of the diary found in World 2 would follow, highlights of locations and people he’d mentioned in passing. A family would make their appearance later on, giving Orion an uneasy sense of jealousy, four years had left a lot of room for J to move on.
Shame would find him shortly afterward as he read about the young man’s death, cursing the file for offering the pages in order of relevance rather than date. He couldn’t help reading over the fresh correspondence multiple times, even if the thoughts outlined a completely different life.
World 2 .// December 25, 1918

Two days spent hunting and Rio was facing four hundred and nine days since he’d last seen J, only two since he’d received any world, his heart had spent the better half of the trip racing and skipping several beats as he watched the library, waiting for any signs. Fascinated with the damage the city had taken during the air raids of the first world war, the city seemed to finally be pushing to mend after such devastation. It was easy enough to blend in among refugees and new arrivals, renting a room that offered a view of the last place Jonathan could have been. Orion would spend Christmas eve watching the library from the rented room, keeping out of the public eye and not daring to sleep in case he missed J. The timeframe was so tight, he wouldn’t be able to double up and return once he’d already walked through this period in World 2.
By Christmas morning he’d grown impatient enough to plant himself inside of the library and wait patiently near the door, keeping himself tucked away enough to avoid any attention.

Hours would be spent waiting and Orion wouldn’t move, willing to be patient for just a little while longer after having to wait for months on end. It was impossible to settle and get comfortable, impossible to even read anything while he waited, too anxious about missing someone walking through the heavy doors only a few feet away.
Each movement would have his eyes darting upwards, disappointment growing greater with every person who wasn’t J.

After midday had come and gone, Rio finally laid eyes on Jonathan for the first time over a year, a surge of adrenaline kicked in almost immediately. Every ounce of discipline had gone into not jumping up to rush his boyfriend, not cause an absolute scene in such a fragile time period. Instead, he would sit, white-knuckled, waiting for J to pass by again and ensure the diary was properly left behind for the future author. Though the book didn’t carry a massive change in the timeline, nothing negative had happened when it was introduced, there was no need to shift the timeline more.
Counting again, only minutes this time, Orion struggled to settle his heart rate and actually put together a plan. Though Jonathan hadn’t seen him, he hadn’t been mentioned in the diary entries either, none of J’s previous life had. Orion couldn’t be sure if it was done in an effort to avoid any questions or due to J really wanting to cast off his previous life.

Jonathan passed by once more and Orion stood to follow, noticing the signs of distress, he’d lived with that man for long enough to know when he was about to fall apart. Nearly walking right by J once he left, Orion stopped hard in front of the man pressing himself to the wall and shutting down.
Orion couldn’t help himself now, half rushing over to tend to the clearly spiraling man.

“J-Jonathan Garnett” Orion said, stupidly, reaching out to place a hand on J and breaking a number of rules on how to handle someone having a breakdown. Only a nod would be given back, no recognition, no excitement, just a blank stare that brought a new level of pain into Orion’s chest. “Come with me” His voice cracked slightly under the strain of his own rapidly forming grief. Piling on as much encouragement and any flat out lies he might need to get J moving, the window for leaving was closing and Orion didn’t want to force J and risk causing any damage. Instead he would do something incredibly reckless that would likely only work on a day like Christmas, where practically no one was out and about in the cold. Orion would yank Jonathan into a snowy alcove and trigger the smaller retrieval device, holding the shaking man in his arms as tightly as possible.

World 1 Modern Day .//

“We have a return in chamber 3”

The dull drone of an automated voice flickered into existence before Orion found himself standing in an empty room, still holding Jonathan as tightly as possible. Terrified he might vanish if the hold slipped for a moment, Orion couldn’t form words to explain the tight sensation taking hold in his chest. His pulse beating out of control, he soon felt a set of hands begin wrenching him free of Jonathan as a series of firm commands to let go of Garnett were being spoken directly into his ear.
Letting go after a few moments of outright nagging, Orion was forced to move backward as medics entered to assess Jonathan. It was humiliating to know they had planned for his unraveling, seeing the security brought in to restrain him and drag him from the room. Despite his outrage, Orion knew medical care was necessary, J had spent four years in the wrong world. A selfish narrative would begin running through Orion’s mind as he was hauled back to sit through his own assessment, he managed to keep his mouth shut, desperate to get through the appointment as quickly as possible.

MePersonally MePersonally
 
February 26th, 2030, 12:30

30 minutes they left her to wait with nothing to do than stare at the wall. It was probably a delicate situation, someone to calm down, someone who had forgotten where they were or was being chased by the shadows of wherever they had gone. It wasn't an uncommon thing to leave her in the dark about what was going to happen, but "new patient" was a whole new level of vague. Anne hated not being informed about the sense of her meetings, especially since she needed to direct the conversation according to her goals. The Agency didn't seem to understand that she wasn't a psychic, who could see the patient's problems by just looking at them. Information was vital for her kind of profession, especially if she wanted to help, really help.
When someone finally entered the room and briefed her on the situation, Anne was almost relieved; she had already feared that she would have to wing this one.

Her orders were easy: Assess his mental stability. Prepare him for what was to come.
They had just retrieved the patient's boyfriend from some failed mission in time and they weren't sure if the latter one's brain had taken damage. It was a little early in Anne's opinion, especially since the trauma hadn't even had time to manifest in any kind, so she decided to focus on the time that the boyfriend had been missing rather than the actual retrieval. Being used to those kind of patients being around longer than just one meeting, she figured that she could just wait until he was ready. And hell, he would need some support if what the neurologist told her about possible outcomes for his boyfriend was true.

The first thing she noticed when the man entered the room, was the fact that they had to force him to come here. He kept on pulling back, trying to convince them to let him go. He probably wanted to be by his boyfriend's side. Understandable. Even though Anne had never really had the urge to connect with anyone on a deeper level than her professional relationships with her patients, she knew that the last thing this man wanted to be was here, stuck in that awfully comfortable chair. She understood and she agreed with him. What was she supposed to do, now? He was way too upset to talk to him properly.

First thing that Anne did was send the security guards away. They weren't of any use but to listen to what they were talking about and Anne wouldn't let that happen. If they didn't tell her anything, why would she give them the information she had for free?
"Bad day?", she asked the man opposite of her, quietly taking note of his lack of attention towards her. Why couldn't they wait with the assessment? Why did it have to be right now? Was there an important mission he had to perform?
With a sigh, she showed that she wasn't entirely comfortable with the situation either, that she understood that he didn't want to be here.
"Tell me what you're feeling. It won't make it go away, but it'll keep you from trying to hide it."
She could see through his trained poker face, could see the growing uneasiness underneath it. She had been working with addicts, after all.

TheSaint TheSaint
 
World 1 Modern Day .//

The transition home hadn’t treated Orion well at all, he really hadn’t noticed how rough he felt until he was being hauled off by security to sit down with a doctor. Doing his best to keep his cool and at least appear as though he had his thoughts together, Orion weakly tried to convince the men he didn’t need to sit down with a shrink.
True to his rugged exterior, the tracker would become a grey rock when questioned, blaming it on his extensive training. He didn’t enjoy answering questions and had only really offered any personal details over to J, someone who had likely forgotten every conversation they had shared. Orion knew he was drowning in grief by the time he was sat down and made to face the doctor, barely feeling at home in his own skin after breaking through worldly barriers. He had been told there was a high chance Jonathan would suffer some memory loss but it wasn’t a cause for concern. He couldn’t have had less faith in the agency, no one had ever spent more than a few months in the past, many people could barely handle a few weeks before feeling overwhelmed.

Orion’s eyes were blown wide, the deep brown iris barely visible behind the void-like pupil, the vessels webbed through the white tissue in his eyes would be inflamed and entirely too visible. Rio looked as though he’d been dragged out of the depths of hell and was willing to bet half of his soul had crumbled into nothing on the journey home. By the time Orion was sitting down across from Anne, the webbing of vessels surrounding his eyes were now darkly tinted. The pressure of the travel had always left him looking much worse off than he felt, today was the first day he felt dead on arrival.

“Bad day?” Anne’s question had a brittle cough leaving Orion, the closest thing he could manage to a laugh. The comment was likely the understatement of the century but he understood the need to break the ice gently. Orion spent his life convincing people to follow him to a variety of fates, some more sinister than others. "Tell me what you're feeling. It won't make it go away, but it'll keep you from trying to hide it." The follow up was fair, though Orion wasn’t even close to ready to face the chaos just below the surface.

“You’re a psychologist, right?” Orion was impatient already and perhaps unfairly assuming she knew more than he did, certain they were forcing him into the appointment in order to brace for bad news. “Doctor Taylor, right? You’re a shrink, can you explain to me how he can forget everything?” Not bothering to answer her question, Orion was doing his best to remain calm and professional as he spoke. An outburst in front of the medical staff and he was risking a longer treatment plan, he knew he was toeing the line already by politely interrogating about a patient she hadn’t seen.

“How did he forget about his home? His life? Would this only happen to someone who wants to forget?” Cracks showing now as Orion’s voice grew tight and he cut himself off, forcing a deep breath that would force the bubbling of emotions back down. He needed to stay composed, stay reliably calm and capable of taking care of Jonathan if he could be released.
Fidgeting with the sleeve of the wool coat he wore, Orion did his best to maintain eye contact, willing himself to suffer through the anguish.
Over a year had been spent refusing to mourn a man missing in time, over a year of counting days and moments. Orion was faced with less than thirty minutes since he’d last held J and felt the pending wait spiraling out of control. Grief was settling in and refusing to budge, despite the loop of positive thoughts Orion would run through in an attempt to loosen the intrusive thoughts.

Adjusting the way he was sitting again, Orion leaned forward and dropped his face into his hands, breathing in heavily as he dragged them up and through his hair. Attempting to physically center himself before trying to unpack just how he was feeling about Jonathan’s return.

“I’m feeling confused, how the fuck, sorry, how does he not know me? We share a flat” Orion was too focused on the possibility that J wanted a fresh start away from him, afraid he’d missed some symptom of unhappiness in the weeks or even months leading up to the trip.

MePersonally MePersonally
 
February 26th, 2030, 12:45

He had finally started talking to her and he was telling the truth. It was more than she had hoped for, but given his physical condition, she guessed that he didn't have much of a chioce. He might be good at keeping his composure, but he looked like he had just survived a plane crash.
The way he was close to lashing out, close to losing the face he was so desperately trying to uphold, made it clear to her that even though they were dancing around the answers like two samurai about to fight, he wasn't ready for this.

“You’re a psychologist, right?”
She nodded as an answer. This wasn't a feeling but at least a glimpse of what was going on in his head. She was satisfied with that, because it meant that he was starting to open up. It was a careful approach, but asking her those questions meant that he was voicing concern. It was the first step in the right direction.
“Doctor Taylor, right? You’re a shrink, can you explain to me how he can forget everything?”, he continued, the aggressive undertone more prominent, now. Oh she felt like she was sitting in that filthy old office again, talking to an addict who didn't want to stop heroin.
"I don't like that term", she replied to him, "Shrink sounds a little disrespectful, don't you think?"
He didn't stop, didn't look at her when she said it. Anne decided to let it slide, this one time.
"But, you know... I can't give information about a patient I have never seen. I can't even tell you what happened, because I haven't been informed about anything. Just that apparently the procedure had an impact on his brain and that it may be reversible. That's all I know."
She saw him sink into the chair. That wasn't everything, was it? That couldn't be everything she could tell him. She really wanted to be able to tell him more, but she didn't know more herself. Well, they had shared some nasty details with her, but she couldn't make her own conclusions if she didn't know anything about the procedure.

“How did he forget about his home? His life? Would this only happen to someone who wants to forget?”, the man continued. Hell, she didn't even know his name, wasn't allowed to ask for it. But she knew that he was slowly putting himself in a turmoil that he wouldn't be able to keep bottled up very much longer.
"Alright, look", she started calmly, trying to lead his attention away from the obvious panic loop he was starting to get caught in, "We can talk about your boyfriend all you like."
She waited, no response came. She wasn't even sure if he had understood her words. With a slightly softer and more motherly tone, she continued talking to him.
"But right now, this here is about you. I want you to focus on yourself for just a moment and give yourself room to feel whatever you're feeling right now."
Trying to find his glance and lock eyes with him as a way to ground him failed, because he hid his face in his hands and took a deep breath. Well, at least she knew now that he had ways to deal with the upcoming panic he had experienced.

Silence settled for a few seconds, she saw his body language change. A small smile appeared on the pschologists face when he finally started taklking about himself.
"And the fact that he forgot makes you worry?", she asked, "You keep on talking about you living together. Are you afraid that that might change?"
Carefully, she examined his reaction to that question. Nonverbal cues were way more reliable than words, in her opinion.

TheSaint TheSaint
 
Orion hadn’t even really processed what he’d been told, in reality he’d been warned than J’s prolonged presence in the past would have negative effects. People had forgotten scraps of information in the past but no one had turned into a blank slate the way Jonathan had, Orion needed to get his hands on the remainder of the diary.
Putting together a course of action in the middle of a conversation, avoidance at its finest, Orion felt as though he might faint if his mind stopped searching for some solution. He couldn’t quite nail down what he was feeling outside of panic, rejection had left a bitter taste in his mouth, along with the agonizing disappointment of being so close yet out of reach.

Gripping his armrests again to endure a deep breath, white knuckled and obviously struggling to reign in his anxiety, Orion was losing focus and spinning further into a panic. Three hard breaths and Orion snapped himself free of the spiral, forcing the anxiety back into the void he’d been using to suppress everything he could. It wasn’t anywhere close to professional to be breaking down in front of a doctor like this, he was running the risk of being removed from active duty. He would never voice how unstable his own sense of purpose was, how thin his self worth was outside of work and his relationship with J. Orion had poured all of himself into work before he was introduced to Jonathan and so taken with his fellow traveler that six months were spent meticulously learning everything he could through conversation before making a move.

“I don’t think he’ll be keen on sharing a bed if he has no idea who I am, doctor, and I feel as though forcing him to come home might be a poor course of action” Orion was compartmentalising everything like a seasoned pro, neatly packing another trunk of baggage away in the back of his mind. “I love that man, Dr. Taylor, I just want him well” More honesty with a tidal wave of emotion successfully held back. The manic energy had left his tone as he forced himself to settle down and focus on surviving the assessment.

“Have you dealt with patients who suffer something like this? Even Altzheimers? Amnesia?" Orion was doing his best to be as polite as possible with his questions, clearly more interested in what might happen to Jonathan. He wasn't quite ready to unpack any of his relationship and lay it out before the doctor, not wanting to invite someone so freely into his personal life.
 
This was senseless, annoying at best. Painful for him and exhausting for her, seeing him suffer through it and shut down. It was too much right now, too much for him to handle. Again, she asked herself why they had made her do this right away. Of course he was emotionally compromised, everyone would be after pulling their significant other from a mission gone wrong, even more if the sigificant other didn't remember them. Anne had to accept that this wouldn't lead anywhere but in circles, she could see him shuting down every second she watched him, packing away his emotions. She had seen this so many times before, mostly with the travellers who didn't stay in the past for long.

“I don’t think he’ll be keen on sharing a bed if he has no idea who I am, doctor, and I feel as though forcing him to come home might be a poor course of action”, he stated, seeming more distanced to the situation, now. Somehow, he had perfected the act of repression to the point where they could talk about this rationally. She nodded again.
"It might be. But how do you know if you don't try?", she mumbled, more to herself than to him. She had already accepted the fact that she had to move this assessment to a later date, when everything had settled inside him. But if she was already here, she could as well help him deal with the situation he was facing. The statement that he loved his boyfriend only showed how insecure he was about the whole situation.
"Okay", she sighed and shook her head slightly, giving in to his need to talk about his boyfriend, "Tell me about him. I can't do a diagnosis, but I might be able to help you understand what's going on. Tell me what happened, how it was before..."

Anne listened attentively, giving him room to talk about everything he wanted to tell her. Maybe, the happy memories would pull him a little off the edge and she could get a clearer picture of what exactly had happened. Even if she tried, the psychologist couldn't deny that she was curious. Memory loss caused by time travel, that was something she had never heard of. Was she selfish, trying to find out as much as possible? Was it really her urge to help or was it just her profressional interest? Why couldn't it be both? She would sure as hell try to help this man, even if she just did it out of personal interest.

TheSaint TheSaint
 
“I feel like I’ve been mourning him for months” An honest enough statement, Orion would leave out how little sleep he’d gotten as he battered his own psyche with thoughts of outright abandonment. Jonathan had been so much more responsible, he’d been the first Orion had seen to leave a tangible map of his movements through an era. “He’s the smartest traveler I’ve ever met, he’s brilliant-he” Cutting himself off to keep from gushing in circles, still dangerously close to unraveling.

“We don’t have to lie about anything” Orion’s tone was steady once more as he carefully put together an answer for the doctor. “I’m not sure if you noticed, I’m not exactly forthcoming with my feelings and this is difficult” Forcing himself to breathe steadily as he firmly forced his composure back into place, unable to tolerate his emotions surfacing. Talking about Jonathan had varied in difficulty over the last year, he’d gone from unable to look at photos to desperately hunting over abstract change notes in the second world timeline. He had forced himself to keep a brave face at work, unable to handle the way people aware of their relationship would look at him. For weeks he’d dealt with a workplace that seemed determined to tell him J wasn’t going to be found and he should accept it, then a leave (a very necessary leave) had been forced on him.

“Everything was normal, we communicated, we had a healthy level of intimacy, we talked through small disagreements” Orion was deconstructing things down to a checklist now, distancing himself from the painful details, unwilling to dive into how seriously he’d missed waking up next to Jonathan. Still fidgeting as he spoke, Orion could feel his system begin protesting, the spartan serum would no doubt be running low now that his mission was over. A flicker in the corner of his eye had Rio glancing to the left for a moment, realizing the shadows were starting already. The impact from traveling was settling in, a few days of shadows flitting around just out of sight to truly help him come down from the trauma of the trip.

“We are-were coming up on almost 1095 days as a couple, three years, I don’t even know what it is for him now-when he forgot about everything” Orion had foolishly filed his relationship with J as a reliable timeline in his life. “I don’t know if I can handle losing him twice” Finally he was able to explain his greatest concern. Their relationship had come out of a bizarre shared trauma that really couldn’t be replicated through simple courtship. Jonathan had kept things professional for months, until an impatient Orion had dragged him into the dark and kissed him.

Orion knew he was getting ahead of himself, pointlessly tormenting himself before anyone could give him a definitive answer. The concept of breaking these barriers was so new, the lack of any known treatment was causing anxiety to rise in waves within Orion.

MePersonally MePersonally
 
What was he trying to justify, here? She just wanted to know something, she didn't know enough, correction, she didn't know anything. He somehow seemed to assume that she knew all about him, all about his boyfriend. The mask of the all-knowing psychologist was quickly dropped and she sighed again. Now, he was talking about his feelings. Now, that she had asked him to tell her the story of what had happened. Why was she always left in the dark like this? Couldn't she be curious for one damn time?

"He's smart? Why that?", she asked, curiously. He really seemed to think that she knew more, that she had any idea which patients she was facing.
She smiled a little when she noticed that he was quickly changing the subject, probably because he was afraid of giving away too much about himself, telling her about their relationship. It was sad to see how it was tormenting him, how he was desperately trying not to let it show.

"You count the days? Why?", she asked, a little confused by his unconventional method of time measurement. Maybe it was nothing, but maybe it was something important and she would be damned if she missed it. He was one strange guy, especially with the make up on his face now running off and making a face tattoo visible, just enough so she could notice. He was definitely not the normal kinda guy. But that was what made him so intriguing to her. The others were all shy, correct, a little static. Not him.

The quick side glance was something she had seen in all of the travellers who made it in and out of her office. Even though she had been told that they were completely normal side effects of the time travel, she wasn't entirely sure if this was true. Then again, Anne had been told so many half truths at this job that she wasn't sure if anything they told her was truthful. She had never bothered, until now. Because this man here, he was really suffering. It wasn't a delusion or an anxiety disorder, which came with the job of travelling through time, of visiting places that no one in their time had visited before. This was about something much bigger; memory loss and a man who had forgotten his boyfriend. She couldn't just ignore this one, right? Even though it was just curiousity and a little bit of empathy, she couldn't just do as she was told.
"Come on, I don't know everything. If you want my opinion, you have to give me more than that", she tried to motivate him to give her more details.

TheSaint TheSaint
 
Orion knew he needed to slow down and listen if he wanted to resolve anything, the anxiety growing within his words had him nearly running his mouth. Twisting his hands slightly, Orion seemed to settle himself once more and allow his gaze to meet Anne’s.

“I count the days because I felt like I lost the concept of time during my first trip, it keeps me focused” He replied, quite honestly, he’d struggled with keeping track of anything after his first return. Counting days from major events in his life was an easier way to keep track of time in world one.

“I don’t think I’m ready for this conversation, doctor, could we please reschedule?” Orion knew he was wasting everyone’s time just spinning his wheels, he would have to come back for clearance soon enough and just needed time to process. Blaming the strain from travel on his inability to think straight, he needed to go find somewhere to lie down until he could be given an update on Jonathan.

Whether Anne would grant him a follow up or not, Orion would politely excuse himself and take his leave, desperate to hide himself away for the rest of his spiral. Whether it be a cigarette, shot, fresh air, or hit of something a little stronger, Orion needed something to change before his breathing failed and he fainted.

Orion wasn’t given a second to breathe, once he left the office and ventured out into the building a commotion pulled his attention back. Rushing down the hallway towards him was a frantic looking Jonathan with a few members of internal security in hot pursuit, likely close to using violent force to stop the chaos.
Unsure if Jonathan was rushing him to intimidate or out of recognition, Orion didn’t move and braced himself for the impact of Jonathan’s tackle.

A gunt left Orion as he was taken to the floor, quick about twisting his body out from under J, well aware of just how strong he could be. Slipping an arm around J, he was nearly thrown in the blind panic the hold was likely causing. Feeling an elbow catch him in the chest, his grip broke and Rio let loose a rough cough before lunging forward to drag J back to the ground and grappling to keep the panicked man in one place.

“I don’t want to hurt you, J” Orion said, struggling to wrap an arm around Jonathan’s throat, hoping to put him into a gentler submission hold. It wasn’t out of the norm for the pair to wrestle, though Orion was often the one initiating any in home attacks. Having Jonathan genuinely trying to get away from him was completely different from the playful wrestling between the two.
 
The concept of time was a fragile one and she knew that. It was human constructed and easy to lose track of when travelling through different time zones. Jetlag was the best example for that. So if something minor like six hours difference could throw you off the wagon, how bad must it be with months, years? Coming back to find everything the way you left it while you completed an excessive mission? Anne could only guess the damage this could do to the human mind, but she woud look into it, do some research. She didn't exactly know why, but this man had sparked her interest in the whole story. How powerful did something have to be to alter people's memories, or erase them? How much damage could it do when a man who seemed to have working coping strategies (nothing said about the quality of them) would lose the concept of time alltogether?

He seemed to grow more uneasy with every second passing. Was it only the panic to lose his boyfrined or was there something else, something she couldn't understand? He was behaving like an addict, preparing for the next shot and wanting to get out of this room as fast as possible. She would have asked him about it, but he requested a follow up himself. That was good, he was seeing that he needed it. Or maybe, he was just doing it to ease her mind, to make sure she wouldn't give a veto when they asked her if he was fit for duty. She still would, though. She would give him at least a month time out, because he needed it, he did. He desperately needed to sort things out at home and take care of his boyfriend. So she nodded, of course he could go.
"But before you run off, I want you to take this." She held out her card to him. On the back of it, she had scribbled her private phone number, just in case he needed something. Or had some important information.
"If you wanna talk, or if you feel ready to tell me some more", she spoke and tried to lock him in place with her glance just for a few more seconds, "Call me directly. Don't request a meeting, they might send someone else." Anne smiled. "I'll do some research about time travel and amnesia. There's gotta be some theoretical work. And when you're ready, you call. Then I'll tell you everything I know."

The man rushed outside like his life depended on it. Anne had just been about to sit down, as she heard a commotion outside. Curious as she was, she opened the door of room 120 just wide enough so she could peek. The guy she had just talked to stopped a soldier (at least the other man looked like one) running from the security. They wrestled on the ground for a while, until her patient said something that made the other one freeze. Was this the boyfriend? He did look like a psychological mess, but also physically tired. Anne had never seen him around, before, but then again, she wasn't really the kind of personell they trusted with a lot.
Should be different, she thought to herself, as she fully opened the door and stood above the two men, lying on top of each other. Moving carefully, very well aware of the dangers of J (that was the boyfriend's name, apparently) remembering that he needed to escape. But he didn't. He just lay there, underneath her patient and panted. Well, it was quite a sprint from the hospital section to the hallway they were standing in, now, if he had even come from there.

TheSaint TheSaint
 
December 25th, 1918

John had been caught in those flashbacks before, the beating of his heart and the inevitable shaking of his hands being a little too familiar to him. The wall in his back granted him safety, as he was tumbling through a set of memories, their last moments before they had been ordered to attack. They had been close; the boys had been able to hear the gunfire from afar. The tanks had made a terrible noise, like a factory machine crushing iron. He stood, pictures rushing through him like a flood, unable to stop what was happening with his breath. The ringing in his ears was so loud, he could barely hear the noise around him.

Suddenly, out of the foggy streets, a man approached him. He was running, stopped right in front of him and said his name. John wasn't sure if this was a dream or reality, if this was a part of the flood of memories he was experiencing. That man, whoever he was, seemed so familiar. The reason why he wasn't fighting him was simple- he didn't want to die here on the battlefield. That man knew his name, so he had to be one of them. He pulled John out of the fire and tackled him to the ground, into the snow, holding him down and pressing against him as tightly as possible. The body contact sent a tingling sensation through the soldier and he had to catch his breath for just a little while.

Grenade?

The blow of whatever it was threw them down, John felt like it was worse than anything he had ever experienced, although it triggered a memory he couldn’t quite place. Something deep down told him that he wasn’t in danger, so he stayed perfectly still until the weird feeling was over and he found himself surrounded by bright lights and people, so many people. He must have passed out, because this was not London, this wasn’t the streets he had been roaming just a moment before.

February 26th, 2030

Someone pulled away the other man, an action that made him want to scream, even though he didn’t know why. Suddenly, hands were all over him and he was being picked up, carried away from the man who had saved him. Who? Who had saved him? Why had he still been holding onto him?

George?

Had it been George? The soldier and friend he would have bet his life on any time… But he was dead, right? Or had that been a dream? A horrible dream…
“Hey, Garnett. Are you awake?”
They knew his name. Where from? Paramedics? He didn’t recognize them, but he had seen so many faces during the battles…

Nod. Nod for hell’s sake!

He couldn’t. He was frozen. But he managed to open his mouth before they shone a light into his eyes. Light, too fast, too bright. He was feeling dizzy and what followed could only be described as his mind shutting down. His body fell and started cramping in an epileptic seizure, but John didn’t feel any of it. While his brain cells were tingling, his mind was dropped into a trance of strange colours, while a paramedic shouted.
“You stupid idiot! You knew he was epileptic! What do you think photoreceptive means?!”

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

Not a grenade again. No, he was in a bed, safe. What was this constant beeping? It was getting faster, then slower again. He couldn’t even open his eyes for a moment, he was just too tired. The feeling of something on his finger caught his attention. What was that clip…? He pulled it off, which sent the beeping into a siren like tone immediately. People rushed into the room, while John was running out of the room, his head covered by his hands. They were bombing again, he needed to get to shelter!
“Garnett! Are you bonkers?!”, a woman shouted after him and he turned around. Another face he didn’t know, but that woman obviously knew him. He stopped in his movements and looked at her, brows furrowed. He just stood and furiously tried to find her in his memories, because he knew he knew her!
“Get back to your room, come on now”, she tried and came closer, “You just had a seizure. You shouldn’t wander about like this.”

He nodded. Then he let her take his arm and lead him back to the room, a hospital room. He let her, followed tamely, until somewhere in the building, he heard a hiss. He could tell from afar what it was, they didn’t have to explain. Gas.

Pushing the woman off him, because she was holding him back, John took a leap and ran. He sprinted through corridors, as suddenly a man with a gun stood in front of him. He only saw an unfamiliar uniform and didn’t hesitate but tackled the man immediately. Three other men were chasing him, but he had the advantage of adrenaline in his system. He cut a corner and rushed up the stairs, running without thinking, really. His heart was pounding, but he couldn’t afford to stop, he had never felt so threatened.

Someone got a hold of him, but he could shake them off by throwing a well-aimed punch between their eyes. He felt a nose bone crack, then he continued running, his worn-out body slowly giving in. He slipped on the tiled floor- his shoes still wet from the melting snow- and for a moment he was working on regaining his balance. It was just that moment it took for him to miss the man who was now blocking the hallway. He could have avoided this, but behind him, there were still those people. He didn’t have much of a chance, so he sped up, in hopes of his body force being enough to get the block out of the way. Where was he running? Why was he running? He had forgotten about that. Danger, he was outrunning danger, like he had done so many times at the battlefield.

Instead of trying to get out of the way, the man who had been blocking the hallway went down with him. He was on top of him, quickly, which made very clear that this man was a soldier, or at least a trained fighter. With an elbow to his ribs, John was able to break free and stumble back to his feet, only to be thrown down again a second later. The men who had been behind him had stopped; they were watching them fight. A spark of ambition flew through John’s body and he tried to break free again, kicking, trying to get his hands free… But it was impossible.

“I don’t want to hurt you, J.”

That voice was so oddly familiar that he froze in surprise. His eyes widened and a strange feeling of safety ebbed over him. Not being able to place the feeling with any memory he had, he just let it pass and looked up at the man who was restraining him. J, why would anyone call him J? His name was John, Jonathan Garnett. Still, he knew that he was that person called J.
His tensed muscles relaxed for a bit and he closed his eyes, taking a few breaths to satisfy his burning lungs. It looked like he was asleep, now, his body relaxed and calm, only his hands shivered, like they had always done since they had retreated from the front.

TheSaint TheSaint
 
The frantic nature of the fight screamed of someone waking from sleep walking, someone who had just landed in unfamiliar surroundings and was trying to escape. Orion would have done the same, they were trained to be absolute ghosts in world 2 and had strict orders to stay completely off of the radar.
Orion had run like this in the past, though never in a building this heavily guarded, it truly showed how valuable Jonathan was to the whole company. The man had managed to evade some very well trained guards and practically make it out of the hospital wing of the massive building.

Feeling Jonathan still, Orion didn't let up his hold until he felt the muscles beneath him grow slack. Shifting to sit up, Orion out his back to the wall of the corridor and pulled Jonathan up, cradling him against his shoulder. The hold had turned from restrictive to a tight embrace within moments, Orion's own hands trembling as the adrenaline calmed.

"I've got you, J. You're safe, I promise" Orion's words were low and soothing as he spoke, he was still paying close attention to Jonathan's body language in the event of a seizure or another act of rebellion.

The shuffling of boots had Orion glaring at the group standing with their guns drawn, a fierce warning in the travelers dark eyes. Building security was a more than capable group but he didn’t trust them to not handle J too roughly.

"Take another step, you lot won't make it to the infirmary" Orion said, using the same steady tone, wanting to keep the man cradled in his arms as calm as possible. Jonathan's seizures weren't a secret, Orion was far from forgiving for the attempted use of potentially lethal force. He was almost grateful he'd captured J, he would have likely gotten himself shot if someone else had tackled the escaped traveler.
Security actually standing down was impressive, though he was certain no one wanted to get anywhere near Jonathan after he’d torn through him so easily. Rio was certain an actual fight could have been a nightmare, he wasn’t about to punch an epileptic and he certainly wasn’t hitting his boyfriend.

"What are you doing here? Get a fucking doctor" Orion nearly snarled, soon turning his attention back to the man held tightly in his arms. Too damn long, over four hundred and twenty days since he'd last held J and Orion was nearly coming undone from the bittersweet relief. Jonathan Garnett was alive, wounded but alive, the best medical staff in the world were at their call. Orion wasn't sure if the agency was aware of how unreasonable he could be, how poorly things would go if Jonathan wasn't a top priority. As ridiculous as it was, the heavily inked traveler wasn't going to be complacent, the whole company owed Jonathan for their early success. .

“Cohen intercepted…” The conversation buzzing down the hall as security updated their own branch leads on the situation had Orion’s shattered eyes fixing on the man’s body language, keeping himself rigid and ready, putting just how wildly protective he was of Jonathan on display. Orion would be the first to admit both had been through more than enough suffering over their respective times, even without knowing the gory details of J’s time in the war. He’d spent years studying history, war was something no amount of training could prepare you for.

"J, it's Rio, stay with me" Mumbled reassurances offered as Orion pressed a kiss to the side of J’s head, truly not caring who witnessed the display. He'd waited for over a year to see his boyfriend again, he wasn't going to worry himself with the opinions of building security. Even knowing Anne had likely overheard the commotion directly outside of her door, he was certain she could understand his emotionally charged reaction. Another reason Orion was far from eager to have the guards argue with him, there wasn’t a force in the building that would have him letting go now.


MePersonally MePersonally
 
John’s heart was still pounding, but he waited what the other man would do. He still wanted to run, get out of the building, but he was clever enough to know that his body wouldn’t make it that far. And where was he supposed to go? He didn’t even know where they had taken him, a big disadvantage on his side. As much as he tried to rationalize it, deep down he knew that it was the man who was cradling him The man who pulled him up and let him rest against his warm body, who let him feel his heartbeat and made John’s speed up. The man who whispered "I've got you, J. You're safe, I promise" and John believed him. He let his head sink into the other man, breathed in the familiar smell of whatever exactly it was that he smelt like.

"Take another step, you lot won't make it to the infirmary", his saviour threatened his followers calmly. Even though he spoke like he was still soothing him, John recognized the low growl of urgency in the other man’s voice. His breathing was slowly evening out, he felt safe, protected in that man’s arms. Slowly, he tried to lighten the embrace, just to get an actual look at the man who was holding onto him so tightly, but it was close to impossible to get him off. So, the soldier waited, froze in place as the other man gave an order to his followers and they moved away. For a moment, John was relieved, but then he realized what that meant: That man was one of them, probably higher in rank than they were, which meant either his death or his freedom. Whatever it was, Jonathan decided to play along for just a little while, until he had found out what was going on.

"J, it's Rio, stay with me.”

His heart hadn’t been prepared for those words, it seemed, because it felt like it was breaking. There was something wrong, terribly wrong. Why was he crying? Somehow, those words made him feel sad, relieved and happy at the same time, like he was in someone else’s body, someone who had known that man for a lifetime, someone who was coming home. Instinctively, he leaned into the kiss that was pressed on his temple, a feeling of coming home flooded through him. Was that the place where he had come from, the place he couldn’t remember? Where was he? What was this building? He had never seen anything like it before, even though it seemed so familiar to him.

Finally, after sitting on the floor for quite some time, the other man- Rio- finally loosened his arms around John and gave him the space to get up. The soldier got off the ground, movements heavy, again. There was no need to run, he could rest. Standing, back to the wall, he noticed the woman standing opposite of him, staring. She wasn’t a danger, so he ignored her and brought his attention back to the man who had stopped him. It was the same man who had brought him here, he was certain of that, now. It took him some time until he realized why that face was so familiar. The skin was darker and his eyes were more awake than he remembered them, the face less stoic and his movements were quicker, more skilled. But all in all, he was almost sure to recognize the man, now. The fat that he had introduced himself as Rio was confusing, for the man he remembered, the man he thought he had in front of him, would never choose such an unusual name.

“Ge-Geor-ge?”, he asked, stuttered, his voice broken and husky. It felt strange to use it, he hadn’t done so in almost a month. He wasn’t even sure if his lips formed the right words when he urged them to say the name of his fallen friend. Maybe he had survived, maybe they had buried someone else’s body parts. He had been so sure, but maybe it had all been an illusion, a dream like those he had every night.

Anne was sure that she had never seen anything quite as interesting and dangerous at the same time in this building. It had always seemed to her like the white and clean walls of the hallways, the tasteful but unpersonal furniture in the rooms and the always empty cafeteria were the most boring and safe places in the world. She had always been an adventurous person, but it seemed like she had forgotten about it as soon as she had been offered this job. Maybe, the money had lured her in, but maybe it had been her need for something that actually changed something in this world. Perhaps she had looked for a bigger picture to her work rather than improving one person’s pathetic life. Whatever it had been in the past, she didn’t regret changing her job right now.

J, the man who had been running down the hallway, was now completely calm, cradled by his boyfriend’s arms, almost sinking into him. So maybe he had remembered, after all. Or maybe it was just a feeling of familiarity, something he couldn’t fight in his clouded state of mind.
The thing that Anne had noticed first was the fact that he was wearing a uniform, one that seemed to be an amazing resemblance or just really old. With a smile she realized just how much that man meant to her patient, though the latter was definitely overreacting – at least according to her standards. For a man this impulsive and love stricken, it might be a normal reaction.

The most interesting part, however, was the way that J’s mimic changed when Rio – probably a nickname, but hey, a name at least - told him to stay with him. She could almost feel him suffer and the tears that rolled down his cheeks a second later were proof of just how much he felt. Slowly, Anne stepped outside into the hallway to have a better look at the whole situation. J’s eyes slid over her for a moment, but then he turned his head back to Rio. Something wasn’t right, there, though, because just after a moment, it seemed, he had forgotten again and went back to calling Rio George.

George…

Maybe just a coincidence, but a weird one. Did J stand for… Jonathan? They had given her that book for a reason, for a new patient they had told her. Was this the guy who had written the diary? Was this the soldier from world war one? Did Rio stand for Orion, the guy he had left behind? The author of the book had always talked about how the soldier had had some weird obsession with the constellation. But what if Orion had been his boyfriend? What if…

“Oh crap!”, it slipped her mouth and she pressed a hand onto her mouth to cover her shit eating grin. This was amazing. This was like Sherlock Holmes, but a hundred times more real. So, Anne rushed off to her office, grabbed the book and read it, no, consumed it. Her eyes slipped over the words as if they wanted to rip them off the paper and suck them into her head, so she would never forget them. Every single word was important, every phrase that author had quoted. He was missing Orion, not the stars. But maybe he didn’t remember himself.

A horde of doctors and nurses came back with the men in the strange uniforms. He wanted to run, but the man who wasn’t George, but looked so much like him, held him back, so he stayed. They took him back to the room, where he was asked to die down on the bed and rest. He collapsed onto the soft mattress almost immediately. As long as George was there, he felt safe. With a smile on his face, he fell asleep a few moments after, sinking into a darkness that didn’t seem too threatening, for the first time in years.

February 27th, 2030, 10:30

When he woke again after what felt like an eternity, it was by the noise of gunfire. He sat up quickly, while his mind already planned ahead for him to pick up the gun next to him and shoot. When he reached for the heavy and cold metal, there was nothing there. Irritated, he looked around, stumbled off the bed and crouched down, pressing his back against the wall, as the noise of his comerades screaming ebbed into silence and the sound of the enemy breaking through the barricades and fences. He closed his eyes, unable to move, as his heart was racing. They were close, too close.

TheSaint TheSaint
 
"You want to hear my story? Coming in here asking my story like you Oprah." Clinton snorted as he moved the next tab under the microscope, not sparing his latest coworker any manners as he dialed in to the specimen. The silence that came from the front of his workstation really shouldn't be an issue; he was good at blocking people out, losing himself in his own little world as he worked. It was the way that they just kept staring at him, like he was the one plastered on a slide. It was bad enough when the newbie asked if the music in the lab could be turned down, or that they allowed someone into his work space to begin with. While Clinton didn't mind the occasional panel coming through to see his latest spoils or even one of the other scientists passing through to watch the resident genius at work. That was fine and dandy. He liked the attention well enough, encouraged it even by insisting that he need a couch in the lab space for his 'fans' to take perch on. What he didn't like however, was being loomed over like this. He didn't like that the male was standing so close that he could pick up on the no doubt expensive cologne that he wore (where did they find these people? Was there a catalog for morally ambiguous scientists and goons that they selected from?), the tangy notes making his nose itch in an unpleasant way. Five minutes alone with the guy and he could already tell how clingy he was. Great.

Just when he thought that he was going to get some peace, just when he thought he could enjoy the second bridge in Pitch Black, there was that meek voice cutting through his concentration, and his breakdown. "May I at least know what you're working on, Dr. Ren?" Clinton was immediately pushing himself away from the microscope, both of his hands held up and pushing back on the air like he heard the most outrageous thing ever.

"Woah, woah, watch where you're going with the big 'D' word now!" Despite the bewildered look that overtook his body language, Clint was sinking back into himself. One hand pushed back the lab coat to settle on his tipped hip, the other bracing on the table to lean part of his weight into. When he smiled, it wasn't friendly in nature, it held entirely too much teeth. Clinton wasn't a subtle person. He wasn't interested in being subtle. Which is why he didn't hide the head to toe uptake of his coworker, or silence himself from the low whistle after. Not a coworker (at least not yet), an intern. Young, probably some promising first year ivy leaguer, brain still full of grand ideas of changing the world. Naive. Innocent even. Cute in his perfectly pressed slacks and polo shirt under his lab coat, the kid practically screamed eager to please. Oh, and how much Clinton loved the type. Loved to ruin it. It certainly wasn't his birthday, but he'd be a fool not to take this opportunity. As if they hadn't learned with Miss Victoria.

"Tell me kid," He did not miss the adorable little scrunch of his nose from the name (definitely a prissy little richie rich), or the way that he took a step back when Clinton leaned in to his space. "Do I really look like a doctor to you?"

Clinton really didn't need the answer. He knew what sort of picture he painted; standing here in a pair of street shoes, jeans, and a Chon t-shirt, auburn hair in a wild mess, scruff two weeks old, with his ears stretched and skin littered in ink. He looked like some punk off the street wondered in and picked up a lab coat and started dicking around with things. Whenever any of the new travelers came through, they refused to believe that he was behind anything at all, at most a lazy intern that was one sneeze away from being put in the ground. The fact that he never addressed anyone with an sort of formality was just the icing on the cake.

God help him, the kid had the decency to blush a pretty shade of cherry. Clinton had the urge to lick it. Then again, he really didn't need another lecture from the makeshift HR department (disgruntled higher ups, "That's the third intern this quarter Ren") about boundaries. Not when there was so much to be done around this dump. He resisted the urge (even if he really, really wanted to feel the heat under his tongue), settled for drawing his tongue over his lips in a poorly hidden suggestive act. "You really want to know?" Eager was exactly right, with the way that they were nodding their head so quick it was starting to make him feel queasy. "Alright, come on then. Let's get it over with." Clinton set his hand perhaps a hair too low on his back to be considered purely friendly but not so much that he was grabbing a handful of cheek - he had some self control, didn't make him a saint. There was some purpose to it of course, it wasn't entirely an excuse to get his hands on the intern, he simply used the light pressure to guide him over to the control panel. There he would enter in a series of codes, provide a finger print scan, and a retinal scan. Security that could easily be bypassed he would argue, but he wasn't getting anywhere on that front. A sultry voice would purr out his voice (one of his greater accomplishments) as the locks disengaged and he was able to pull out the seemingly harmless vial from the refrigerated drawer. The liquid inside hardly gave way to it's contents, being a transparent lilac that was so light it was hard to distinguish the color without direct light. He carelessly tossed the small vial from one hand to the other, a fiendish delight curling his toes when he saw the male practically leap out of his skin to catch the glass when it was thrown his way. The male cradled it to his chest as if it were the most precious thing on the planet.

"You know what that is don't you?" Of course he did. There was no way that the kid would show up in the program and not know what he was getting himself into. He was probably someone that requested to be directly in his circle. Not that he would complain, eager pretty faces were always welcome in his lab. "That's the one and only Leonidas." Or, maybe he didn't if his face was scrunching up like that. Clinton didn't know if he was appalled that they gave him someone completely oblivious, or if he was excited to have a blank slate. Both held their positives, both held possibilities - "I thought it was called the Spartan?"

Clinton blinked. Did this kid really just .. ? So he gave it a minute, seeing if the two names would sink in. A few seconds turned into a few minutes, and all that he got was that same determined look and the shifting of feet.

Wow.

Okay, alright..

They fucked him. Raw and dirty with this one.

Coughing awkwardly into his fist in attempt to dispel the thick cloud of embarrassment around them, he closed the drawer in favor of rifling around another. "So my villain origin story," he paused only so that he could open up another drawer, this time being somewhat careful with the tray of vials that was extracted (careful going out the window when he closed the drawer with his foot as he walked away). Once the tray was set atop a clear table he lifted another vile, even smaller than the first. "My momma was an officer for Houston PD, you know that shit show of a city. They have one of the most intensive training programs for their recruits, supposed to be one of the hardest to pass in the whole country. So she said, I don't fucking know. Anyway, momma starts fucking her lieutenant you know, some sort of power trip mixed with adrenaline. All that gotta go somewhere I guess. Marcus, guy's name is Marcus. Marcus has a wife and kids already, the whole package deal. So what's that mean when I come along? Shit's too hard for a single parent, especially a single officer. When I was six we get our asses out of course, all the fucking way to Dallam county of all places, went from corporal to a sheriff's deputy. This small ass town that everyone knows everyone's grandparents and great grandparents. Not a whole lot to do there," As Clinton explains, he starts to gather a series of other materials and tools, setting up a small station to start up a mixture with the second vial. "Watched a whole lot of TV, I mean, I watched a whole bunch of it back in Houston too. Momma says it ain't no trouble as long as I'm watching something useful. Watched a whole bunch of nature documentaries at first, but the science channel, now that always got me. Watched a lot of that. Something about Neil Degrass Tyson's voice is just relaxin, you know? I think I remember more of his voice than I do momma's. I'm not gonna lie, I was a nerdy little shit. Extra credit at every chance and gagging for the fucking science fair. First year I made this lemon battery you know? It just made sense to me. I fell asleep during independent reading time, but formulas and compunds? I'm all over that shit. Next thing you know I'm begging momma for a chemistry set, saw some infomercial for it, and I just had to have it. Like, this was it for me. This was what I was born to do. Can't tell you how many extra chores I did, how many times I rubbed her shoulders in hopes that I get this thing. I'm telling you not a damn thing in the house, the fucking property was safe from my chemistry set when my birthday came."

Clinton can't help it, he's still human. He's smiling fondly at the memory before he can really stop himself. The damn intern is smiling at him too and that's when he decides that it's just a little too warm for his taste. Rules be thrown to the gutter, he was shucking off the coat onto his stool before he was clearing his throat and getting back to work. "I'm thirteen, I've exhausted the limit of my school's resources, the library isn't getting anything new in and I'm starting to notice shit. I'm left alone more often, momma starts coming home later and later. I don't know what the fuck to do with myself. All of a sudden there's the god damn sheriff pounding at the door at the asscrack of dawn on a Saturday. It's urgent, I need to get my coat and my boots on now. He's going to take me to his house to hang out with his wife and kids cause something's wrong. I'm barely awake and tryna pull on my boots and it must not be fast enough, because Sheriff Wendell is crouching in front of me and helping me get them on. His hands are shaking and he says momma ain't doing too well. I'm more awake now 'cause that doesn't make sense. I heard her boots on the wood an hour ago. Just a fucking hour into her shift and momma's hurt. I have to get my coat still, get in his truck, and momma's hurt. Put her life on the line in fucking Houston for years and she gets shot by some scared kid on the run from his abusive parents. Kid barely knew how to load the thing, let alone have the presence of mind of what pulling the trigger meant."

"She makes it, jesus kid you can stop holding your breath. She ain't a deputy no more, not with the pain in her back from the muscle damage. She's always cryin, always always cryin now. She can't make it down the stairs so I gotta get things for her. So she gets these pills and now she's real happy all the time. So happy and silly. If you knew my mom, you would know that didn't even come close to right. My mom was as serious as a heart attack. Thought I'd try it, I'm a little scared so I think maybe just a half of one. I got a couple hours while she's passed out, so now's as good as a time as ever. Holy fuck," Clinton's laughing, clutching his stomach at the eruption of laughter. By the time that he calms down he's wiping at the corner of his eyes and the intern looks morbidly curious. "I found my new passion. From there on out, it's all about chasing that feeling. I don't wanna take momma's pills, she needs them and I'm not that selfish. 'Sides, shit makes me real sick and I could do without that. So I start this crusade to find my perfect high; neighbor's kid sells weed and charges a ten for a forty. Drinking makes you stink real bad, and it tastes awful. The green he sells is real cheap and makes you mad paranoid. Not exactly ideal for going to school with that kind of high. Doesn't help that my gramps wants me to come around more and now I'm back in Houston for every break and long weekend. But it's got it's perks you know? Gramps is mad generous, he'd faint if he found out my allowance was spent on finding a quality shit. I have to buy for the trip and enough to stock up for the return back home. At fifteen I'm kinda over it. I want to be high, but I don't want to be slowed down while I'm working on shit, I can't be high and go to swimming team. So I thought if I wanted to be productive, I'll just try some coke. I'm already curious, and I heard it's great. Crash certainly isn't worth it. So now we're on the greatest crusade, me and my best friend Garret; a clean high with all of the benefits and none of the side effects."

Clinton isn't ashamed to be smiling now, now when the little project of his leaves him with carefully distributed cubes in a silicone mold. This he takes the utmost care of, walking slower than strictly needed to assure it's survival onto one of racks in the refrigerated cabinet. Only after he deems that it's sitting exactly right is he pulling out the bottom mold, one with solidified cubes. once more he's gesturing for the intern to follow him, this time into his office. The lab has it's quirks (the couch, the bright yellow stool, his ivy and the stereo system for his music), but his office looks like it belongs to a twenty-two year old. Rather than non-slip tile, it's a soft cherry wood. Bright LED lighting is replaced with muted mint (the color helps inspire him). There's a living room set up with low sitting couches, a coffee table with scattered papers and pens, a fluffy looking rug right underneath. The bamboo blinds are secure over the floor to ceiling windows that face out into the lab. His desk extends along the length of the windows and wraps around half of the right wall. The computer set up is obviously for more than just cataloging and filing - if he's going to have this fucking unbeatable connection he was damn well going to take advantage of it. That's not what's most important in the office. Oh no. These are all nice little things to have, but they're far from making the list of necessities. It's the cheese burger jar that's perfectly centered in the corner of the desk. Clinton all but falls into his chair, pushing off to roll on over to said jar so that he may open it and pop out the little cubes to store inside. The mold long forgotten on the smaller portion of the desk when he's placing one of the cubes onto his tongue, about a quarter of the size of a sugar cube, to dissolve as he sprawls himself out into a more comfortable position. Not so much as a minute ticks by when he's opening his eyes back up, pupils noticeably dilated.

"The first one I made, made us throw up for three days. The second thing, gave us a bloody nose immediately after snorting. But the third time - the third time I got it down. I just wanted to get fucking high, I didn't even go to school those first two weeks. Just laid on the couch blitzed out of my mind - probably shouldn't have helped myself to an extra dose or two." Thinking about it gives him butterflies in his stomach, makes his entire body feel tingly in that way that only the third batch ever could. "Garret's a fucking bro, let me tell you. Brought me my school work, and I told him - I said 'G, this is it. This is the real shit. I've not had a single shitty experience with this one, now it's up to you'. So I gave him a bag of it, told him he didn't need more than a tiny scoop, and that we'd both take it before school tomorrow. Shit's fucking amazing. Like you're floating around all day but you aren't foggy. I'm fucking fifteen, and Garret, being the older athletic one that he is, says he's having troubles bulking up, says he doesn't want to deal with all that roid rage and shrunken junk shit. So I thought, hey man, I got you. We have about three things we like to take at this point, and he's helped me with them all. Of course I'm going to put some stuff together for him. Believe it or not - shit fucking works. Man looks like he's trying to become muscle first. He's lifting more, he's faster, when he goes away to Detroit for Spring break he doesn't have withdrawls. Shit if fucking genius. So he tells his friends, and their friends tell their friends, and next thing you know I'm at the fucking Travel Agency, bottling this shit up for people dicking around with time."

"That," Clinton points to the vial that the intern is still hugging close to his chest. "Is the perfected original. Tastes like berries, the crew really like that. Keeps them in tact so that their bodies and mind don't deteriorate when hopping through time. Our little Herculean squad, our personal tanks in for battle, they get Alpha 3; think of a heavier concentrate of Spartan with extra emphasis on stamina and strength. Heard it makes their skin glow like they pregnant, makes their skin real silky. Tastes like cherry. Now our long term travelers, they need something a little more stable. Something less for DPS, they get Omega. All the benefits of the original, with the added perks of keeping their sanity. Staying in different times really fuck with your head, think mid dementia levels of deterioration with aggressive mood swings. Supposed to give a little intelligence booster too, I find it helps. That one is my special mandarin orange - hardest fucking thing to get the flavor right let me tell you."

One look and Clinton was definitely smitten. It wasn't often that he would get someone who's star struck expression was lost before a week. He was looking at Clinton with the most unimpressed expression, and he was practically drooling at the thought of a proper chase. He hoped this intern would reject him, felt his hear jump in his chest when he was beckoning for the male to come closer to him and only received a skeptical brow to be raised in turn.

"So you get paid to get high?" Clinton might just be in love. Mark the fucking calendar. He was absolutely in love with that snotty tone. He was openly leering at the intern (as if he wasn't already) as he pulled the male into his space, enough so that he may knock his legs into his bent knee to force him onto his lap. "That's exactly what I get paid to do. But there's other things too," He tried to argue, tried to make some sort of case for himself when he wasn't putting all of his attention on the other, choosing the best way to do so was to bring up a file with the latest notes for his newest serum. "If you want to stay here kid,"

"It's Nicolas." Funny, he didn't take him for a Nick. Not that he really cared about names right then.

"Nicko," He did not miss that same adorable scrunch of his nose. Or, the fact that he wasn't getting out of his lap, but leaning forward to get a better look at the contents of the screen. "You gotta find a way to make sure that you are irreplaceable. I'm sure you're plenty talented doll, but frankly you're boring." Clinton knew already from the incredulous look that he was given that Nicolas had never in his life ever been called boring. Oh, this was going to be so much fun.
 
The feeling of reality practically inverting was normally reserved for the pinch of traveling, breaking through boundaries that shouldn’t exist. Orion wasn’t sure how else he could describe the way his chest tightened as Jonathan addressed him by someone else’s name, someone who’d been mentioned a few times over the few pages of the journal he’d been given for research. A nagging worry that someone may have sought to maintain his focus by keeping any sordid details from crossing his desk had a new sense of outrage pushing through his concern.

‘Who the fuck is George?’

Orion knew this wasn’t the time for jealousy but he couldn’t quite bend all of his nature into submission, managing to simply stuff the wave of emotions back down. Forcing himself to keep things together for long enough to get J back to safety. He wasn’t quite sure if Jonathan had recognized him at all, instead assuming he was this ‘George’, whipping Rio back into an internal frenzy he once more stifled.
Despite the hurt he felt, Orion was a barely contained force of hostility once the medical staff had joined security. Wisely he was given a wide berth to walk with the likely still disoriented Jonathan, Rio wasn’t known for being overly gentle when pressed, though he’d never been physically violent with anyone on work property outside of J. Ironic really as the pair had never faced a true domestic dispute, their first unhealthy argument had debuted in front of quite the audience.

“Where do you think you’re going, Cohen?” A stern voice caught Orion by surprise as the group reached the infirmary, though he didn’t hesitate to follow J into the room to get him settled. Once the disoriented traveler was firmly back in bed and settled, a quiet but firm instruction to get his ass out of the way was sent forward and Orion reluctantly agreed. Aware he couldn’t press too many boundaries and risk-limiting his access to the man he’d been pining after for over a year. He could maintain some sense of dignity in leaving voluntarily and not causing any further scenes, it was more important to appear professional than ever.

Thrown out of the room while the staff checked Jonathan over further, obviously concerned about the four years he’d spent in a different time. Four years seemed improbable for survival but the science had yet to lie and the dates had lined up enough to grant Rio the opportunity to actually find J. What Jonathan had been up to during his time away had haunted Orion somewhat, often agonizing over abandonment during his lower points.

‘Who the fuck is George’

The bitter thought was free to run unchecked now, now that Rio was crashing out and forced to wait for permission to visit a man who couldn’t remember him. Orion was going to be sick if he didn’t crawl out of his latest spiral, he could feel his entire nervous system reacting negatively to the stress of travel and the strain on his own mental wellbeing. Four years had been long enough for J to move on with someone else, it wasn’t exactly a safe time to be romantically involved with another man but Rio knew Jonathan wasn’t a coward.

Breath catching in his chest as the first intrusive thought paved the way for an avalanche of anguish, Orion started moving as he tormented himself. J had spent more time living in the past than he’d even known Orion, he could have had a relationship that spanned longer than their own. Four years to their two, the pain that stemmed from being so easily left behind had him stopping to breathe for a moment.
Forcing a few deep breaths, Orion Cohen wasn’t about to buckle at the agency, there were far too many eyes on him in these halls. Today had been the first time an issue had arisen due to his romantic relationship with Jonathan Garnett and it had been an absolute disaster, likely validating a few concerns shared by human resources. The overall acceptance of their relationship had likely been due to the overall guilt from their superiors who would witness the physical and mental toll each trip took on them. Two years of excellent performances and no neglect of duty allowed the pair too much freedom, it was almost expected for things to erupt so chaotically.

Orion wasn’t sure when he’d begun moving again, he found himself unceremoniously slamming his shoulder into the heavy door of the lab. Punching his access code in and practically shambling his way into Clinton’s intimate moment with his intern.

“Get the fuck out” Orion said, his tone impressively calm when compared to how damaged the traveler looked. The intern was quick in extracting himself from Clinton, likely ashamed and not quite interested in being taunted or reprimanded. Orion was just grateful for the empty lab, shedding the wool jacket had worn during his trip and dropping it onto a stool. Rolling the sleeve of the old shirt he’d worn, the heavily inked skin would hold a mostly healed puncture mark from his last appointment with the good doctor.

“I need you to fix me, then I need you to fix Jonanthan Garnett-he’s back-he’s fucking blank, no clue who he is” Orion’s words were clipped, strained, packed tightly with suppressed emotion and all too telling of his mental state. Traveling had left him in worse shape before, the first return trip had left him hallucinating for six weeks-something he’d only told Jonathan about. “Doesn’t remember shit, had a meltdown and nearly got shot” Orion was just dumping now, he couldn’t help himself. “Doesn’t know who the fuck I am” He stopped himself after this, unwilling to risk a fresh breakdown.

Rushing Clinton really, he would half drag the chemical genius down to Jonathan once he’d been given something to settle the discord within his body.

MePersonally MePersonally
Lotheralaix Lotheralaix
 
Clinton doesn't remember a time when he'd been so enamored by the revolving door of interns that came through. Sure, they were fun to play with for maybe an hour. They were all too.. eager. Like they thought that if they gotten his approval above all else that they would be able to get their foot in the door with the agency, really make something of themselves if they had the inventor of Spartan on their side - which to be entirely fair wasn't necessarily wrong - they should just be going about it in a different way. They shouldn't be laughing so loudly at his shitty jokes, blindly following his every whim, and they really shouldn't be sleeping with their superior. Actually, Clint really liked to be the one to teach them that lesson. That wasn't the point. The point was, they had a higher chance of sticking around if they were going to do something to actually impress him, Clinton Ren than what they were willing to do with their mouth. Their real chance was here in what Nicky boy was doing; every time that one of his hands became curious it was smacked away with the cutest little snarl. Still, it wasn't like he was getting off of his lap, obviously too distracted by the formulas that he'd given access to.

Of course, just when things were really getting good, when he was being threatened with a trip to HR (which Clint would very proudly point out that he would need to leave his lap for this) the doors to the lab were banging all over the god damn room and creating a ruckus. Clint didn't need to look to know who was storming into the lab; not when there was only on person with the specific code to his little alcove. Especially not when no one else was going to be making a dramatic entrance. He'd groaned openly, forehead connecting with Nick's shoulder as they'd been interrupted. How was he supposed to enjoy his chase if he was busy trying to corral Orion and his ever changing spectrum of emotions? Clinton was only one man, there was so much that he could handle at one time. Not that he could even get the chance to attempt to juggle one (and there was one he was more than willing to devote more of his attention to) when Orion was scaring off the poor intern, probably scaring off his little play thing for the foreseeable future.

Not someone to pass up a good opportunity, Clinton leaned out of his chair for him to reach out and pinch the scurrying intern's ass. The indignant squeak almost made up for the interruption. Almost. "You know Orion, if you had an ass like that I may feel more inclined to help you out." Dramatic thing that he was, sighing after the rear that disappeared behind the heavy door without so much as a goodbye. The real test wasn't impressing him - a glance over at the jittery mass of tattoos crowding his office - oh no, the real test would be to resist this man's intimidation factor.

Pettiness would keep him from turning around right away as he normally would, intent on making a bit of a point with how purposefully loud his fingers were clacking against the keys. "Your mama raise you in a barn or are you just a degenerate junkie wasting my space?" Clinton hummed over his noise, at this point he wasn't even typing out anything special, just pressing his fingers over the keyboard in a blank document. "My weekend was fantastic by the fucking way. I went to this new pub, one of those high nosed places that brew their own IPAs with some starving art student's sketch slapped on the bottle, you know the type? Anyway, they got these chili cheese fries with five types of cheese and chocolate in their chili - it was fucking delicious." Still not quite satisfied with his little rant, Clinton was scooping up a handful of the cubes from the beloved jar, turning only once the lid was back on to face his visitor. Though, that would be generous way to describe it. Clinton was very actively not looking at Orion as he tossed the first cube into the air, pushing his feet along the floor to get the chair moving to ensure that he wouldn't be wasting any of his precious product. With the first cube rapidly dissolving on his tongue, he bounced his arm as if to prepare himself for the next throw. "If you treat him the way you treat me, I probably wouldn't want to talk to you either. Amnesia though," Another cube thrown and caught in his mouth. "That's fucking brilliant, I ain't never thought that getting rid of you would be that easy."

Only after he finished his last cube and his sense were positively buzzing did Clint actually look at Orion. And good god, this man looked wrecked. Involuntarily the corners of his lips shucked up into a smile that held entirely too much teeth to be anything but innocent. Clinton didn't try to school away the expression when he lifted his hand to his forehead, covering half of his face as he wilted in his chair. "I feel a hint of it coming on now, oh god you're such a headache, oh god who the hell are you causing me such pain?" Half leaned over the arm rest of his chair he would peek out over his hand, eyes shining in mirth at the clearly unimpressed expression. "What the hell do you want me to do for you spooky? My hands ain't big enough to really get you going, but if you give me a minute I'm sure I can find something to knock your brains out to make you a matching pair." As much as Clinton spoke, he knew that there was some limits to things - not necessarily hard limits - but limits nonetheless when Orion was in the realm of sobriety. The man must really be itching for a fix if he was willing to put up with him for so long without so much as a toke.

Clinton could be generous. Never let it be said that he wasn't an understanding friend. Not when he was so kind as to excuse himself to pilfer through his personal projects in the icebox. Something regarding Jonathan G was something to be handled delicately (and he didn't have the hands for it), he was going to need something calming just as much as it made his brain fire off. A hazy little high that would buy him time in figuring out exactly how he was going to get out of actually having to help. His new 'Berg concoction it was. Vial and a fresh needle in hand, he wasn't shy to smack the man's abdomen upon reentering the office space. "Sit your ass down, I'm not interested in having your cement ass squish me when you can't handle the kick." And that - playful as it was, held more truth to it than anything else he's said to Orion since he first entered the labspace. Clinton knew what kind of reaction that Orion would have in theory, there was no telling whether or not he was going to react in a way that left him pliant and clearheaded or if he'd bring down the building with his fall. Hell, Orion could seize out and die on his floor for all he knew (cared). The time that it took Orion to park himself on the couch, Clinton was pushing around the papers on the coffee table to get them out of the way, as well as search for his piece of elastic. Orion knew the drill; he'd keep his arm out and relax as much as he could while the elastic was tied around his tricep, squeeze his hand shut 2-3 times to get his veins popping out for best point of contact while Clint cleaned the area.

"You think you can handle a large dose today?" Not that his opinion would be taken into account, Clinton was already pumping his veins full of the blue tinted gunk before Orion could get another breath out. Clinton waited a few beats, cleaning up the used supplies to keep from contamination. On the way back he was smart enough to snag his lab coat back up, throwing it carelessly after getting out the penlight. This too they were comfortable with, Clint having to lean into Orion's space and turn his face whichever way he needed it so that he could shine the light into his eyes. "What the fuck do you want me to do? I told you to shove his spartan pill down his throat with your tongue if he didn't want to take the shot - look to the left at my finger - he knew the risks and he still didn't listen. You want me to give him chest compression or something? Because I'm pretty sure - up, look up damnit follow my finger - because I'm pretty sure my CPR card is expired by a few years." Clinton pressed his thumbs into the hinge of Orion's jaw, having him move his head from left to right. "That hurt at all? It ain't supposed to so you better tell me if it hurts." After he tapped his fingers over Orion's forehead, waiting for a reaction before he moved onto either cheek and chin. "Shit's simple, you take the serum you have a good time. You don't take it, and you have a bad trip. I don't know how else that can be easier."

MePersonally MePersonally
TheSaint TheSaint
 
The disrespect pouring out of Clinton once Orion had dismissed his latest office toy, that would somehow move from uncomfortable to doe-eyed (like every intern Clint zeroed in on). Opening his mouth to offer up a promise of painting the lab with Clinton’s precious brain he if chose to test him, Rio’s now marbled eyes flashed to a poorly lit section to his left and caused the traveler to quickly place a hand on his empty holster. His right hand sliding up to the knife normally kept to his left. Empty leather would remind him of security demanding he turns his weapons over. A wise decision when it came down to a man dealing with several carts of baggage arriving at once, he was almost positive he was going to be put on some kind of probation. Jonathan was the agent who didn’t act up, Rio was more than aware he was testing the limits on his perceived immunity to basic rules.

“Afraid to be alone with me?” Fluidly turning back to Clinton as the man moved comply around his office in a powerplay that had Rio following him at a distance that would only hint at the threat boiling beneath the surface. Despite his desire to simply inform Clinton of his next set of actions, Rio knew better than to tell the genius what to do.
Another flicker of movement and Orion was looking back at that same corner, poorly lit and mocking him with indistinguishable shadows. Something coiling just out of sight and waiting for his guard to lower, waiting for an opening to drag him underneath the surface of the world. Each time he traveled the creatures seemed to take a better hold, or he was just growing more aware of what lurked in the dark.

“Help me and you can return to using the lab as your hunting ground” Rio spoke, brittle support of humor barely keeping the comment afloat as he moved closer. His hackles were raised and he wasn’t doing much to hide it.
Watching the mysterious cubes disappear as the ritual of dominance carried on with Rio being reminded of how little control he could force within these four walls. Words of abandoning all hope would normally echo around whenever he found himself standing outside of the door, aware he was going to be paying for his fix in one way or another.
Time and attention, validation and an unspoken agreement to test anything Clint would be exchanged for an escape from the emptiness he’d felt. At least he could rely on Clint’s silence on the matter, knowing the drg aficionado wasn’t interested in outing himself.

Finding himself on the couch with the all too familiar elastic wrapped around his upper arm and a needle finding its way into his vein. The sensation of the drug creeping through his veins had Orion looking down at his arm, expecting to see a glow through the heavy black ink covering his arms. A fluttering sensation pushing through his nerves as Clinton's cocktail sent his nervous system into overdrive, drawing his focus to the shadows playing around the edge of his vision. Movement had his eyes snapping up to an empty corner and narrowing, trying to put together a shape in the dark. Feeling the rush in his system climbing steadily, Rio knew he was in for an interesting ride, it always was when Clint was involved.

A pang of guilt over the shameful time he’d spent locked away in the lab, high as a kite on this very couch and letting Clinton try any combination he’d fancied. Really Rio wasn’t sure if this behavior was worse than the infidelity he suspected. Still, his ego was on fire as he fought to continue suppressing that painful information. He wasn’t about to hand Clint such easy ammunition, there had to be some mystery to get him out of the lab.

Twitching once the drug reached his heart, Orion coughed as he felt the new drugs surge off through each artery. His heart rate began to climb, pushing the strange sensation out into his extremities and causing him to shake his head. Hearing a rushing noise in his ears, Orion managed to keep himself sitting up and forward, knuckling his way through the initial high. An almost immediate brightness found the edges of his vision and the writhing shapes in the dark seemed to melt into the ground.
Colors slipped away and contrasted with each blink, causing Rio to drop his eyes down to his hands, jolting as he spotted a deep red splattering. Gone by his second blink, Rio realized he was hallucinating and quickly worked to ground himself.

Barely focusing while Clinton tried to check his eyes, Rio complied as well as he could, knowing the bloodshot orbs would be dilated and uneven.

‘Who the fuck is George’

The intrusive thoughts refusing to be ignored would once more surge forward and cause Rio to shake his head violently to prevent them from settling in. He couldn’t get caught up in what J had said before at least attempting to help him, which meant he really needed to hold it together right now.

“I can hear your heart beating” Rio mumbled as he crowded closer to Clint, keeping only a few inches between them. Driving home another of his never quite specific threats or simply reacting to the new drug, Orion softly tapped the second knuckle of his index finger twice against Clint’s chest. Tapping just to the left of his sternum, in rhythm with the beat of his heart.

“Do you have nothing from your research into the serum? You know you’re the only person who's smart enough to figure this out” An abrupt change of temperament came with his next words, trying to stay somewhat on task. He couldn’t let himself get tied up in conversations and toxic banter, there was someone who needed something to help him survive the return. Orion was really close to completely abandoning a polite approach and just hauling Clint down to the ICU.

“Would a dose of the serum have something of a retroactive effect?” Orion knew he wasn’t anywhere close to an expert in this field, truly stuck at the mercy of Clint’s whims. It was entirely possible the man would simply deny aid out of sheer disinterest, though a hope that the overall desire for a position of power over both travelers might serve enough temptation.

At this point he was badgering Clint with questions in a way normally reserved for interrogation, certain he was going to find some type of answer within the lab. Regardless of any protests, Rio wouldn’t accept ‘no’ for an answer and would drag Clint down to the ICU as politely as possible. Eyes still playing tricks with the fluorescent lights they passed as the drug would suppress the shadows and add a bizarre brightness to the world.
 
Clinton was scribbling his notes on the nearest piece of paper when Rio was crowding into him, talking about his heartbeat and making him stutter in breathy laughter. "That has got to be the worst line I've ever heard." Line or not, Clinton was diligent in his research and was quick to write the information down. He'd have to ask later when Rio's pupils returned to normal size if he was being honest about enhanced hearing, he would need to break down the formula to isolate what exactly was causing that - it would be a hell of a breakthrough for Spartan.

Clint was already back at his computer and looking back over the compounds when there was a voice breaking his thought process. Normally he could block out whatever Rio said, give a nod here, a hum or a well placed that's tragic and he would be on with his work. He's heard it all before; I miss Jay, why hasn't he come back yet, when I see him again, I have to stop this before he comes back, etc etc etc, more sappy and pathetic than the last bit. Rio rambled, that's what he did. Clint blocked him out without a second of hesitation. This time however? This time Orion was acting like there was some kind of urgency to the situation, as if someone's life was on the line (in a way that was half true - Clint would give fuck all about that) and not the result of someone simply disobeying protocol. Honestly, Clinton was getting more annoyed than anything, here he was giving away some of his best products to the ungrateful bastard free of charge, letting him poor his weak little heart out, and now he was being nagged? Now he was going to be hounded like this was his fault? He ought to salute Orion, for being a part of the KillJoy Corps.

"I don't know what the hell you want from me, you already know that bad things happen if you don't take the serum. There's a reason why you can get put out and down for refusing it. Don't you think I - watch it watch it! Not all of us are giraffes!"

He could not believe the turn of events. Could not believe the heights that Orion would go to in his selfish crusade. It was his stupid love plot, why on earth did he have to be a part of it? This was never a part of their agreement! Clinton wasn't stupid enough to try to hit the man that was practically choking him with the collar of his own shirt with the way he was being dragged down the halls. Clinton wasn't stupid enough to really challenge a man who was high to his ears and plenty capable of snapping his spine in two on a whim. Clint fancied himself a little too much to really put himself in anymore danger than a few half hearted insults that certainly wouldn't hit right. The grumbling didn't stop even as they were outside of a room, released and fixing up his rumpled clothing and hair for a semibalance of normalcy.

"Put your hands on me again and I'll burn all of my fucking research on Spartan." Clinton hissed as he swiped the folder stored outside of the door, flipping carelessly through the first few pages of the basics; return, vitals, and psyche. He recognized a few of the names that signed off on their assessments, feeling a bit amused with his own superiority over what was going on over people who were far more scholarly qualified than himself. That is until he saw the name signing off on the brief psychiatric exam; Anne Taylor. The color drained from his face instantly, any snark leaving his attitude as he groaned. "You've got to be fucking me." This wasn't going to be nearly as cut and dry as it would be if he had the drones working on things, but to have someone who actually took their job seriously - and maybe disliked Clinton's methods during trials of Spartan - was going to be a nightmare for the genius. "What has she already put in his head?" A question he didn't want to get the answer from Rio when he was entering the room and looking around for the shell of a traveler.
 
When Anne had signed the assessment, she hadn't known. She had diagnosed retroactive amnesia and PTSD, something she couldn't quite understand. She had never felt the urge to ask questions get as strong as in the moment when she had been placed on the side of the soldier's bed. A soldier, that's what he was. Out of interest and maybe because she had promised, she had taken the burden of assessing the young man onto her. Jonathan Garnett, the most interesting case she had had in ages; the man whose memory seemed to be like the exact copy of the book that she had been given to read. She didn't exactly know what to do with that information, but it had to be something she could use. Sure about that, Anne just needed time to think this over, to actually understand what it meant. How was this book a collection of his memories? Or were his memories a representation of the books? Something he had made up to compense for the emptiness in his head? She had to ask Rio about it, if he ever came back to talk to her.

Walking down the hallway to retrieve one of her patients files fromthe office, she suddenly heard the slightly upset voice of the chemist call out "Watch it, watch it! Not all of us are giraffes!", shortly after that, she saw Rio, pulling the chemist- oh what was his name again??- after him by the collar of his shirt. Whatever was going on, neither of them seemed to be in a fully awake state. Especially not Rio, who moved like he was about to fight anything that got in his way. She hadn't planned on heading for the hospital room of the young soldier, but now that the two of them were leading the way, she just couldn't stop herself. Following quietly, she made a mental note to aske Rio if he was doing drugs... If he ever came back to talk to her.
Well, if he wanted to know more about his boyfriend John, he better did. It hadn't been coincidence that she had taken the case. She wanted to be involved in this, out of pure curiousity. And oh, she hadn't felt so alive since she had been a teenager.

The young men didn't seem to notice that they were being followed, as they checked the patients logs and then proceeded to John's room. Anne was intrigued, she had never spied on anyone like this before, but she couldn't say that she felt guilty doing so. She had spent her carreer analyzing nonverbal cues and making them verbal, so how was this any diferent? She was just observing, waiting what they would do. When they entered the room, Anne went straight to the surveillance room and continued watching them on the screen. Sadly, that footage was without audio feed, but she couldn't afford to walk in there now, could she? She wasn't supposed to be snooping around, that was basically part of her job description. So she just sat and watched what they were doing, hoping that that would be enough to understand what was going on.

Lotheralaix Lotheralaix TheSaint TheSaint
 
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