bakerstreet | Forced Telepathic Bond Meme: I'm With Stupid

[OOC: Spock is telepathic by nature but she'll be very surprised to suddenly have a link with someone.]

[Ow his head really ~~fucking~~ hurts. Jim is rubbing at his temples as discreetly as he can from his chair, but this is Jim and nothing he does is discrete.]

[Abrupt pain makes Spock draw in a sharp breath at her station, fingers pausing over the console. She's not prone to headaches, and this pain isn't hers anyway. It's someone else's. That shouldn't be possible. Closing her eyes, she checks the state of her shields. They're in tact. She experimentally lowers them slightly, and stiffens when the pain increases.]

Edited 2012-12-09 01:11 (UTC)

[Jim can't hide his flinch without moving, so he stands stiffly and moves deliberately to Spock's station. He barely glances at the readings.]

Got anything?

[She's distracted enough that she doesn't sense her Captain approaching, and when she looks up him there's a moment of bared distress in her dark eyes. It's quickly smothered, however, and she stands.]

No, Captain. May I... confer with you, regarding something -- [She hesitates, forces her shields back up as high as they'll go. It's not enough to block out an unfamiliar thrum at the back of her mind.] Private. And possibly urgent.

Of course. [Jim grabs the back of Spock's chair in a vice grip.]

Mr. Sulu? You have the conn.

[He doesn't even wait for Spock to stand before leaving the bridge and he has to fight not to slump and grab his head.]

[Spock follows him out into the turbolift. The second the doors slide shut, she lets out a small gasp. She's been taught to control pain but she can't control it this time because it's not her own. No, it's his. She doesn't know how, but there's a link between them, and with her head pounding she can't focus to examine it further.]

You have a migraine. [Of epic proportions, if she might add.] Have you been to see Doctor McCoy?

[She's pointedly not looking at him.]

He'd jab me in the neck. [And could you lower the voice please? Your voice is kind of echoing in his head. He leans against the wall and covers his eyes.]

[Making a split decision, she directs the turbolift to the deck with their quarters. Her voice is significantly softer when she speaks again.] I imagine that would be unpleasant for both of us at this time.

I would have thought you'd enjoy watching that.

[So sue him. He's on the floor now with his head in his hands. Only Spock gets to see this. Jim trusts her enough not to go running around telling everyone how the captains head might just explode.]

You wanted to talk to me?

[Distract him. Quietly.]

[ OOC: Dexter is a scientist, very logical, and largely lacks any sense of empathy, so this is probably going to be quite traumatic for him. Even when he does understand, he can still be a little retarded about dealing with emotional people.

He is also an accomplished, ritualistic serial killer who has murdered a couple dozen violent criminals. Please be aware a large amount of his thoughts revolve around getting the next fix of a kill. ]

[It was a normal day and Byakuran was preparing some hot chocolate with marshmallows in it. It was then he noted that voice in his head that didn't belong to him. He was used to having telepathic connection with himself from different parallel universes. This was something new and worth taking time with. He sat down with his cup of chocolate and listened.]

[ ooc: Alistair is aware of telepathy but under normal circumstances has no such abilities himself.

He can't stand to be around people for extended amounts of time so being linked to someone like this would be rather traumatic for him. ]

Edited 2012-12-08 14:03 (UTC)

[How did she get out and about again? No idea. Maybe the link is the special form of punishment to break Rule Number Lucifer-Knows-What stating something like "Don't Run Away," or "Don't look at the Shinies," or "Don't Expect Things To Ever Be Normal In Your ~~After~~-Life".

Maybe she just broke the "Don't Steal"-rule once too many.

Whatever it was that caused it, at some point, Alistair will face a not-quite-ordinary-human and at that moment, his head will feel like exploding. A loud boom, maybe a gunshot, clowns dancing in a trailer, confetti flying, a diamond the size of a ostrich's egg, a disfigured man hissing, chains, whips, laughter, a man singing --

And in between that, his own thoughts.]

What did you do? [Hostile doesn't even begin to describe it.]

[ There's someone in his head.

There is someone in his head.

Alistair has one friend (well, sort of friend) in this world and that person he can stand to visit about once a century or so. He doesn't like people. He doesn't like being around people.

His first instinct is to just kill her and be done with it, but he is stopped by the thought that he doesn't actually know what that would do to him since they're apparently linked now or some such nonsense.

Damn but it's loud in his head with two sets of thoughts in there, why must her mind be so noisy!? ]

Get out of my head!

[ His hostility is on about the same level as hers, with a frisson of fear to it as well. This could get panic-inducing fast. ]

Edited 2012-12-08 14:54 (UTC)

[Good luck trying to kill what's already dead. Won't go over well.]

I would love to, hobo --

[Flash to a homeless-looking man wearing clown's make up playing the harmonica. A voice, this strange woman's voice, asking for directions in the most impolite way possible.

Throwing away the useless map, refusing to give the hobo change.

The very same hobo, singing a song for a crowd. Her screams can be heard through it.

A sharp breath, this time not a memory but reality. Current reality.]

I can't stop this. I'm not the one controlling it.

[ Already dead, what's that supposed to mean? She's obviously not a vampire.

Oh great, but now she knows that he is one because he just thought it. God, he hates telepathy, it's one of the more annoying gifts around.

As he thinks it there's a brief flash of an impossibly beautiful face. A bronze-haired boy with golden eyes. Then another face, a man with translucent-looking skin, black hair and eyes as red as Alistair's own. That face is combined with a feeling of intense mistrust, Alicakes has a bit of an issue with authority figures and Aro is just about the highest one there is in the society Alistair tries his very best not to live in.

So many loud thoughts from the girl! STOP SCREAMING. ]

I'm bloody well not so I don't see who else it would be.

[ Is there a gifted vampire around here somewhere that's playing with them? Has the Volturi sent some new and bizarre weapon after him to punish him for being there to witness for Carlisle? He thought he'd gotten away before his presence there could be detected by them. ]

Edited (I swear I can words) 2012-12-08 15:28 (UTC)

[She's part of the Devil's Carnival, a... special place in hell.

Vampires. Fucking vampires. She's stolen purse containing a star-crossed-vampire-lovers-novel once. She knows how these things end.

Then again, whoohooo, can't be killed. Does that mean he drinks blood? Could he turn her into a vampire? Would that mean she'd escape the carnival?

Something about 'Aro' is intensely unnerving, though she's not sure whether that comes from his thinking or just... 'Aro'.

Okay, she can't help but laugh when she picks up 'Alicakes'.]

'Alicakes', huh?

[Stop screaming is easier said than done when you're whipped. 666 rules are policed, 666 rules you must keep. Else shadow takes all.]

Hold that thought. Gifted vampires? Volturi? What?

[Merrywood's thought on this go more into the direction of Hell. All of Hell. Any part of Hell.]

Alistair.

[ Never call him Alicakes. Ever. Nobody does that, nobody is allowed. He doesn't even know why it was in his head, all right? Someone must've been stupid enough to say it once and it stuck.

Could he drink her blood? Maybe it'd be bad for him.

Hell. He remembers being taught about it as a boy, remembers how he was supposed to fear it as the place where all bad people went. Sometimes he thinks Astaroth didn't turn him, that really he just died and this is just a great big elaborate infernal punishment.

If Hell is real he'll be taking even greater care not to die than he already has, because he'd be sure to go there.

Quick flashes of centuries of hunting, blood, blood and more blood. Red eyes gleaming in the night as he appears out of nowhere from the shadows. Quick, efficient, never messy. He's not one to take pleasure in the pain of others, he just wants to get it over with. ]

And none of that is any of your business.

[ Vampire business, he'll be killed for letting her know any of it at all, even if it wasn't on purpose. He'll be on the run forever now. ]

Edited (WORDS WHY CAN'T I YOU?) 2012-12-08 15:53 (UTC)

[She'd so call him Alicakes, but it's not like it looks as if they'll meet all that often, right?

Unless they'd end up trying to resolve their little... connection problem. Which she'd love to, because fuck vampire thoughts in her head. She didn't need all these blood-drinking images.

Great, elaborate infernal punishment. Describes the hell she's seen quite well. There are images of Lucifer in her head, with his damned book of fables and his plan to raise hell, to wage war against heaven.]

Yeah, I'd agree, but the thing is that your business is kind of in my head now. And when whoever comes to kill you for letting me know, then guess what'll happen to me. They won't let me get away.

Never mind that they'll probably mesh badly with hell.

[Blood blood blood, goddammit Alistair. Better than John's whining over his little son lost, John, bruised in the rain with his overall torn, with one shoe off and one shoe on...

Yeah, sorry for the random bit of man-singing, this kind of happens occasionally.]

[ No Alicakes. It's a rule.

She has a point, the Volturi wouldn't let someone like her live, though maybe they would if they thought they could turn her. Aro would probably love to have something like her in his little menagerie.

So Lucifer really does look that silly, does he? Though he supposes it's scarier in person.

He could probably find whoever is doing this, given enough time. If he could just focus, but it's damn hard with Merrywood chattering away both in his head and out of it. ]

Maybe it'll go away if we separate.

[ Which sounds like a fantastic idea to him. ]

[If he acts out, he'll so be called Alicakes.

Okay, no Aro. She doesn't quite know how this business works, but she doesn't want Aro around. At all. He can turn somebody else. Anybody else. She doesn't even want to meet him. She's had enough crazy people claiming to own her, thank you very much.

Lucifer looks supremely hilarious, but he also seems to see kind of everything so she hasn't gotten the chance to laugh.
Actually, being killed in a shoot-out with the police and then going through hell (literally) has kind of damaged Merrywood's sense for funny things.

And she'd love to stop thinking to help him, but that is kind of difficult with all the weirdness coming from his head. Magical sort of track-abilities, vamp-boy?]

Would be good. Your mind is fucked up.

[... Because hers totally isn't.]

Can you turn into a bat and fly a couple of miles?

[That's what vampires do, right? Right.]

[ At least she's clever enough to realize that the Volturi are bad news, she gets a point for that.

Not that it gets her anywhere since all people are on negative about a billion points with Alistair but hey, it's still a point.

He doesn't say anything, he just takes off running as fast as he can, which given what he is is pretty damn fast so he's very far away in a matter of minutes.

Too bad the chatter in his head still remains.

I swear if I have to stay exactly on the opposite en of the world from you to make it work I'll bloody do it.

He could, too, what with his gift and all.

No! Stop thinking about that. ]

[What's your problem with people, Alicakes. They're okay as long as they're not dead and assholes about it.

... Wow, fast. More awesome than turning into a bat, for sure, but still not helpful, since his moping remained.

I think we can safely assume that being half a world away won't solve the problem.

This is why I have a problem with people who look like hobos. All they do is getting me into trouble.

... What gift?]

[ I just don't like them.

Screams as he tore through a room full of villagers in newboorn feeding frenzy, Astaroth's smiling and beautiful face as his father brought Alistair before him, Father's face as he was crushed by a too powerful shove from a son who didn't know how to control his new body.

Coming home to realize that his mother and sisters had been the prize paid for a throne he'd never wanted, and now he was alone, all alone with a throat still burning with thirst.

The frenzied flutter of wings as his birds fled, the aching loneliness they left behind.

He clamps down on the flood of far too personal thoughts, knocking a tree down with an angry yell of frustration.

What gift, she asks. Well, she'll find out sooner or later if this goes on.

I can track things. If I focus on what I want to find I'll get a sort of sense for where it is. I can narrow it down if I have enough time and whetever I'm looking for doesn't move. ]

[This isn't what Merrywood had expected. Also not something she knew how to react to. There is something like sympathy on her mind, but this kind of emotion is already being ruined by the carnival.

There's also no past. There's flashes of the shoot-out and a few unclear, incoherent pictures of people that must be friends or family or ... people she'd known, but she can't name them. Or make sense out of them. She's forgetting.

And she suspects that that would be something he'd rather do, but that might just be her.

And there goes the tree. What even.]

Sounds useful.

... So, as I understand it, you could find who-or-whatever is causing this?

[ Dunno, since we don't know who did it.

Hard to focus on finding something when you don't know what it is you want to find.

He rushes back to her, focusing on the clamour in her head to drown out the sadness in his own. It doesn't take very long before they are in the same place again. ]

My best clue is the Volturi, what about yours?

[ His question is asked awkwardly, since it's closer to normal conversation than he's come for decades and he's not really sure how to go about it or if he wants to.

His mind flashes brief explanations of who the Volturi are. Vampire royalty, enforcers of the laws. ]

Edited 2012-12-08 17:58 (UTC)

[She has yet to get used to his speed.

... Why is that thought a thing.

Also, she doesn't like this vampire royalty thing.

... Unless their shiny possessions are part of that, then she'll have something to focus on.]

The Ticket Keeper, in case I broke one of his list of moronic rules. But he only sends others to do the dirty work, which would mean it'd be The Tamer's fault. I've never seen him do anything other than whipping offenders -- [there's a flash of pain and of her, looking at her scarred back in the mirror] -- so that is unlikely. Lucifer himself... I am not sure what he can or cannot do.

I've never seen any of them act against the living, which you sort of fall under. That is God's job. But God couldn't mess with me, since I'm kind of out of his reach.

[She shrugs.]

[ You won't ever get used to it because we won't be connected for long enough.

Not if he has any say in it at all. ]

But you are an offender?

[ Like he isn't. They might be after him right now. ]

[Not nearly long enough, no.

She firmly believes that they must have a say in that. A vampire and a... whatever she falls under now. Hell help her, she doesn't want to be one of Wick's Woe-Maidens.]

Attendee. With 666 rules you do not know, that makes you an offender pretty quickly.

I lost a game, actually.

[There's a flash to her admiring a huge diamond, and a disfigured man, The Twin, as she'd find out later, telling her how to win it. Hello, hello, hello, beautiful stranger.

The shadows creeping closer. Her not noticing.

Three coins. Three clicks in the 'chamber', an empty, fake egg, and the diamond would be hers.

"These games are rigged," she said.

"Don't pussyfoot. Shoot," came the reply, in her own voice - the Twin had taken her appearance and she only now noticed.

The coins are tossed, missed, missed, missed, missed, missed. And with each miss, more things are taken. Her money, her jewelry, she'll be a bit flustered at the clothes part. Another miss, and shadow takes all.

He already knows about the whipping, the hobo clown's song, the 'follow-up' as is.]

I'll be one of them, eventually. They already have me, this and death should be punishment enough. As long as you're not associated with heaven or about to die, you should be golden.

I've never heard of a gift that can do this... and even if they could I don't see why they'd use it as a punishment. Sort of defeats the purpose of...

[ But really, it makes a sort of sense. He suspects that if she can be killed, being linked to her when it happened would be... he doesn't even want to think about it.

So if they get the two of them all tied up with each other, bound like... oh, ew, almost like mates only worse... and then they take it away in the most brutal way possible. Yeah, that'd be a punishment all right.

But pretty wasted on a bit player like himself. Aro's got Demetri, the best tracker in the world. There is no reason to waste this much energy on Alistair. ]

What kind of gifts are there?

[Do you think dead things can be killed? The Scorpion's ear got bitten off and it grew right back.

Tamara got stabbed in the chest.

And there was an after for that one, too. She came in with Merrywood.

Actually, the fact that they all died and now live and breathe could be a proof.

... Mates? Mates? MATES?]

Okay, Demetri, Aro and fucked up mental connection aside - no mating.

[ AKJHAKSJDHKJDHD THAT'S NOT WHAT HE MEANT. ]

No mating at all.

[ Don't think about it. Don't think about it. LALALA NO MENTAL IMAGERY HERE.

Gross. Just. Gross. ]

Gifts are pretty personal.

[ Aro can read every thought you've ever had if he touches you, Demetry can track you wherever you go, Alice can see the future. Kate gives people electric shocks, Jane gives pain, Alec robs you of your senses... the list goes on, really. ]

[Yes good, no mating is good.

/whoohoo mental imagery, because fuck you, Alistair.

Literally, apparently.

Okay. Different thoughts. Now. Gifts. ]

Oh, that doesn't make your Volturi any less unnerving.

[ Yes, gifts. That was disturbing.

Also she was getting it wrong he'd probably feel much colderandnonononotgoingthere.

GIFTS. ]

They're not to be trifled with.

Edited 2012-12-08 23:07 (UTC)

[Totally going there, because someone's not gotten laid in a while and

... colder?

Like. Ice cold?

That sounds uncomfortable. So she's trying to NOT think how that could work, but it's like the thing with the kangaroos - nobody thinks of kangaroos, but when you start talking about kangaroos, there, boom, kangaroos, rumbling away over the vampire sex thoughts.

Whoops.

Actually, maybe vampire sex thoughts are similar to kangaroos in that way.]

Yeah. No. Not at all, got that.

Okay, what are we going to do now?

[ Humans are a lot fleshier and warmer than vampires okay it would be weird and probably squishy.

Not that he'd know since he's never-- mind that let's think about something else. ]

I don't know. Try to find a way to find out for sure who did it I suppose.

[ So very constructive. Enjoy a wave of soul-crushing pessimism. They're doomed. They'll be stuck this way until one of them dies.

Maybe he should try killing her after all. ]

[There is exactly one reply she has to that, but she has to say it out loud.]

So... You're a virgin.

[At least she finds something other than soul-crushing pessimism!

Virgin Vampire Alistair.]

You know, you can try. But I think that'd bite you into your handsome hobo vamp ass.

[ He knew she'd react that way. ]

Some of us have other priorities.

[ He's not ashamed, because why would he be? He's spent an awful lot of time avoiding contact with other people, it sort of stands to reason that he wouldn't have been having sex either. ]

Think I'd be the one doing the biting.

[ But just what does she think would happen? ]

[She is incredibly mature like that.]

Yeah, mine are elsewhere.

[And by elsewhere, she means 'in bed'. Or elsewhere, really.]

Oh, it's getting hot in here.

[Purposefully misunderstood.

What she thinks... well. She doesn't really think it'd kill him, she just believes that she'd be out and about in a matter of minutes. Hours, tops. But what does she know, really? Anything could happen to him.]

[ No point in trying the killing thing, then.

Why would you make that leap of... oh, okay, biting, now he gets it. You really don't want to go there, girl, these teeth are razor sharp. ]

You're hilarious.

[ So funny he forgot how to laugh. ]

[She wouldn't test him.]

You have a serious issue with your laughter, good man.

Whatever part of your brain is in charge for generating joy is kind of broken.

If it is I don't need it.

[ There's nothing to laugh about anyway. ]

Okay, so what do you do all day? Sitting on a tree, moping? Wandering around while avoiding people and happy thoughts with equal vigor?

[ ... that about sums it up, actually... ]

[...]

Well, good thing you're tied to me now. My boredom will force you to take up different activities.

[[Personality swapped with Prussia and definitely not aware of the telepathy.]]

To put it bluntly, Germany was bored. So even if he seemed to be just sitting there in perfect silence, he was making all kinds of airplane noises in his head while following an imaginary zeppelin with his eyes while randomly letting it crash against different pieces of furniture, the ceiling or a wall only to proceed with a freshly imagined airship.

Waiting. Was. Boring.

Prussia scowled in irritation. Waiting certainly was boring, but Germany hardly needed to complain about it so loudly! Or make such distracting noises. He leaned back slightly in his seat, wondering when they would be let in to see their boss. Certainly he was busy, but one would think that since he had summoned them, he would have done so when he could actually speak to them. Clearly such foresight was beyond the man, which honestly didn't surprise Prussia.

Austrians really were quite useless, after all.

If Germany kept that ridiculous game of his up, Prussia was going to snap. In his head he was already thinking Stop that! as hard as he could in his brother's direction. Although, mentally wanting Germany to act a certain way had never worked in the past.

"Eh-?" his current mental airship popped out of existence. Germany blinked and turned his head to look at his brother, a dumbfounded look crossing his face "Stop what?" I didn't do anything!

This wasn't going to be one of those moments when Prussia was just randomly annoyed with him, was it? Or did his brother added Being annoyed to his schedule somehow? Unlikely. Germany always got a copy of his brother's schedule to his very own ones. Granted, both schedules were very similar because Prussia only trusted Germany to be independent for about so long. Now sitting here and wasting their time with waiting sure crossed Prussia's schedule at one point or another.

He gave his brother a flat look. Although he hadn't thought he'd said that aloud, perhaps he was so frustrated that it had just slipped out. "Making those noises. Stop." It really was intolerable enough that they had to wait here instead of actually doing work. Although he had no intentions of scheduling his emotions, if Prussia had any such plans, now certainly would be an excellent time. It was not as if he had anything better to do.

He rubbed the bridge of his nose. Now that Germany was being quiet and letting him think, he went back to mentally reviewing his schedule and calculating how much it had been thrown off thus far by this unanticipated delay. At this rate, he was going to have to spend his relaxation time working. Again.

Germany could almost feel his brother's annoyed tone. Though even if it irked him, his current confusion won and he protested while leaning back in his seat and closing his eyes "I didn't make any noises, Brüderchen! Your perfectly silent and considerate little brother stayed awesomly quiet by your side as to not interrupt your musings!"He nodded at himself and crossed his arms behind his head, squinting one eye open in Prussia's direction "Ah~ You could really do with forgetting about that schedule of yours for a while. Spending your free time working is no solution!"

Behind sceptically furrowed brows Germany worried about his brother after all. But frustratingly enough the older nation usually refused to listen to him. Germany made a mental note to capture some squirrels to set free in his brother's office shall he find him working during the time that he should be relaxing.

What Germany might feel next is an odd mixture of abject confusion as well as righteous indignation. Prussia bolted forwards in his seat, stared oddly at his brother. He knew he hadn't said that aloud. However, another thought was more pressing. "I don't care how you figured out what I usually spend my evenings doing, but if you so much as think for another second about releasing squirrels in my office, you will never have another free evening until the next millenium!" Prussia kept his voice down low, so as not to disturb their boss.

Prussia's confusion clashed hardly with Germany's own at the sudden motion and Germany just stared back, dumbfounded. Until he visibly clenched his teeth "Oi!! Stop reading my mind! That's creepy!!" Germany scowled back at his brother, but his expression softened and he let out a sigh. He had clearly caught Prussia's words. And what they meant...

"Working so much is unawesome. At least let me help! Bruderherz needs time for himself. Away from that desk!"

"I'm not reading your mind, runt. It's scientifically impossible for such a phenomenon to occur." He folded his arms over his chest as he stood, tired of just sitting and waiting. Given a few more minutes, he would start to pace out of sheer frustration, as he never handled waiting well. Especially not when he had to consider something like what his brother said.

It was... well, it really was nice to hear that Germany wanted more responsibilities. Especially as if his brother did well, it would ease a lot of his own workload. The issue was, he wasn't entirely sure it was a good idea. Germany had proven to be extremely irresponsible in the past, abandoning work because of boredom or because he had a 'more awesome' idea of what to spend his time on.

He sighed. If only he could be certain that the work would get done. "That will not be necessary. It will go faster if you are not involved." Which was a blatant half-lie to anyone who knew Prussia's thought processes well enough. At least when Germany did work, he was startlingly efficient; almost as good as Prussia was. If Germany could only maintain that attitude and not get distracted...

"No, of course you're not!" Germany made a face up at his brother upon catching his doubt and frowned deeply. Of course he was efficient! He reached up with both of his hands and pressed his index fingers against his temples while glaring up at Prussia "Well, my dearest creepy brother. Try reading this! Ommmmm~"

What Prussia was to receive, however, was much rather 'Strawberry pancake with potato sauce. Strawberry pancake with potato sauce! Strawberry pancake with PO-TA-TO sauuuuuce! I'm gonna steal your work and do it without you noticing just as I sometiems do anyway! Pets are awesome pets are awesome pets are AWESOME and if you keep being this grumpy I'll make Austria my bestest friend in the world and force you two to have an AWESOME tea party! Strawberry pancake with potato sauce. Strawberry pancake with potato sauce!! Darn, that sounds almost edible!'

Edited 2012-12-10 09:19 (UTC)

It wasn't often that Prussia was rendered so speechless that he was also rendered thoughtless, but there you have it. A perfectly blank Prussia, at least for a long moment.

With how... strange... this situation was, that he could clearly see that his brother's lips weren't moving and yet he could hear is inane rambling perfectly fine... well, could anyone blame him that the first thought he finally had was, Make that potato pancake with strawberry sauce, and perhaps it would be edible.?

Germany snapped the fingers of his right hand and sharply pointed at Prussia with it, eyebrows moving up in an almost accusing way "See? That's creepy!" But your suggestion seems not bad. I'll try that when we get home.

"Hey! You should try that on the boss. Maybe you can manipulate him into giving us some fun orders for a change." Or make him be less grumpy. He's worse than you, seriously.

The younger nation seemed far less disturbed by the entire idea of his brother reading his thoughts. In fact, it seemed pretty awesome to him.

He stared at West, confused as to how this was happening and disturbed that it was. He had always liked his privacy, and to have his own mind open to anyone else was horrifying. It could have been worse, though. It could have ended up where someone other than his little brother could hear his thoughts. Still, he had to fight down his initial surge of panic before he responded. "I do not think I can do that. Perhaps you should try, since you seem to be reading mine."

It was proof of how shell-shocked he was that he even suggested that to Germany.

Blinking once while his expression didn't change, Germany commented on the high load of worry and confusion he received from his brother with a mildly perked brow and some worry on his own. Prussia sure worried too much. Germany went with simply being obnoxious about it "Ke~sesesese! You think so, Brüderchen? Hah! You may be right. The awesome me should try that, indeed!" He stuck his tongue out and winked up at his brother "But don't you agree that this is pretty awesome? Of course we've been awesome before, but how awesome is it to read the thoughts of others? HAH!"

Germany added a small cackle at the end. It should be enough to mask the worry he still kept for Prussia. He'd just stress himself over this now...

"Keep your voice down," he hissed. Prussia started to pace, expression settled back into its usual emotionless lines despite the inner maelstrom of worry, confusion, and above all a feeling that could best be described as DO NOT WANT. Because he would much rather have his privacy than to have his thoughts on display for anyone to read, even if it meant he had no idea what others were thinking.

Not that it wasn't a useful ability. If he could read more than Germany's mind, it could prove helpful in negotiations and such. And even if he was only limited to West… well. It seemed West's troublemaking days had finally come to an end. And no, Germany, he does not care if you heard that thought.

"Maybe you're right. This is fairly… awesome."

"Of course it is" Germany said out loud and added a muttered "...and who're you calling a troublemaker, dearest Brüderchen...?" He glanced away innocently, but couldn't help but catch the changing vibes of emotions and lines of thoughts emitting from his brother. Prussia's mind sure was worse than a beehive. A very closed beehive. Yes, Germany was probably worse in some regards, but he at least used to voice most of his thoughts by default.

"Now stop worrying so much!" Germany finally declared and stood up "Let's have some fun with this!" Germayn went over to his brother, grinning, and reached to catch one of his wrists. They waited here long enough already.

West would come to find that whilst Prussia didn't speak much unless he was giving orders or a lecture, his mind never shut up. He was constantly thinking, from mundane things such as whether he wanted to read a new book he had overheard someone mention to a full analysis of defensible positions and choke points in every building he entered (because one should always be prepared to either take over a building or secure it against invasion).

"The man who thought shaking up a jar full of insects in a meeting was a good idea is who I am calling a troublemaker, Brüderlein." He stared at Germany, and then at the hand holding his wrist. The fact that their boss had summoned them warred with the fact that he had his schedule and he wanted to get back to it. And all of that warred against the pressing desire to go have fun with this new ability. Though he suspected that urge was Germany's.

Although, they probably ought to find out the limits of this skill…

No. He had work to do. "You may go if you wish." At least now he didn't have to directly supervise West to know what he was doing.

Edited 2012-12-11 19:24 (UTC)

Germany's mind wasn't that unlike Prussia's, apparently. Only that the younger nation kept a lot less useful thoughts and a whole bunch of very brief flashing ideas that never got very far after all. There were lots of things he wanted to do or try to do but also fears he kept to himself instead of phrasing them. A very dominant vibe, however, is that of wanting to not be left on his own.

"You weren't there. You should have SEEN it, Brüderchen!" Germany proclaimed, tugging on his brother's hand "It was awesome!" And he grinned widely as he briefly recalled that moment. He wouldn't tell Prussia of the wasp hives he had located in the forest and the plans he had with those. It wasn't that long until the Olympics were being held by them after all! Oh, it would be amazing...

He gave another encouraging tug "Com on!! Going alone wouldn't be any fun!"

He pondered briefly the merits of yelling at Germany before settling on a subtler method. With his index finger, Prussia lightly poked Germany on the forehead. "I can hear that, you know. So guess what you will not be doing at the Olympics." His annoyance and frustration was barely suppressed. God, but West could be great if only he would stop to think how his actions made them look to the world, and so not do the more juvenile ideas that came to mind!

"Now, one of us needs to keep your country going, and since you have yet to indicate that you will be doing so, that means it falls to me." Yet again. "Go have fun, West. Unless you would rather stay and work." Really, he felt he was being extremely generous by offering to let Germany run off and not get back to work.

The poke made Germany flinch back a little and blink once in response "Oi. Don't listen to that! It's a surprise!" he said with no apparent intention to let go of his plan. His brother simply didn't understood just how awesome it really was yet.

But Germany let go of Prussia's hand at the repeated refusal and frowned briefly before turning away with a huff to mask his disappointment "Fine. I will have fun on my own, then. Because that's awesome! Everything I do is, even if I do it by myself! You... Just have fun... Not having fun."

With that, Germany went to leave the room and head towards the exit of the building. He'd just wander to the market. There were always people there. Let his brother spend his time with the boss if he liked doing that so much.

"And you're not doing it!" he growled out. If he had to handcuff West to himself for the entirety of the Olympics just to ensure that he wouldn't ruin things for them… Well, then he would. Since it was possible that if he just locked his brother up, West would escape regardless. That, and it would look strange for West to not show up when he was technically hosting the Games. "Now. Stay out of trouble." He watched West leave before heading back to his office to resume working.

Sometimes it seemed like life would be so much easier had he just killed Germany and taken his name and lands after putting all that work in to unify him. And yet… he had grown fond of the brat despite it all. Well, even if he had to do all the work, it was fine. Perhaps Prussia had really gone soft, but he wouldn't trade his West for anything.

Well. Maybe his West, but capable of managing his own affairs.

After about an hour and a half of trying to work, Prussia gave in to the thoughts that kept distracting him -wondering what West was doing, musing about the marketplace, those sorts of thoughts- and put his things away. He grabbed his coat on the way out of his office, tugging it on just before stepping outside to hunt West down.

Germany's visit to the marketplace had been less entertaining than he had hoped for it to be. It hadn't taken him long to figure out that the thoughts of every other person around were none he could hear like the ones of his brother.

So by the time Prussia got there, the younger nation had wandered on already. Not too far, however. Prussia may find him near a nearby playground, kneeling next to a fallen tree with a small tin box on his knees. In the box there were a few fresh leaves and who dared to look closer may even notice several snails on, between and underneath those same leaves with Germany picking further snails from the dead tree to drop them into his box.

His mind was occupied with a blissful blankness and a simple song he mentally hummed to himself while picking snails.

It took a bit to find Germany, as he had moved on from the marketplace and was not thinking much of anything, but once Prussia realised that the song he was hearing was not actually being sang by anyone, it became somewhat easier to locate his younger brother. And perhaps he hummed it aloud as he crouched down next to West, to peer into the box.

...Oh, he hoped that West wasn't going to release them into any buildings.

"I was rather thinking about breeding them in your closet~" Germany replied with a mild smile and plucked another snail from the tree's bark before shooting his brother a quick glance. If him being this open about his plan wasn't giveaway enough that he was just joking, then his mind practically screaming 'It's a joke, now smile!' may be getting the message delivered.

Germany closed the box and placed one gloved hand on it securingly before turnign his head to face his brother fully "Did you have fun with the boss?" he asked, his smile turning into a bit of a grin "Let me guess: You didn't get any of his crazy thoughts, did you?"

The smile he offered looked more like a pained grimace. Okay, so that was not his brother's plan, but then, why would he be taking the snails from their home...? Ah, well, he would find out eventually. Germany couldn't hide his mind forever; he certainly spoke it often enough that Prussia didn't think he knew how to hide what he was thinking.

"That is correct. I presume you have also figured out that this is only between the two of us, then?" Perhaps... perhaps when he had become truly bored (though he was blaming that on Germany), he had tried to read the minds of others. And had no luck.

'I did.' Germany nodded, his grin becoming more genuine and he actually spoke out loud "This is awesome!" Hearing what Prussia thought clearly was. His brother tended to be fairly secretive about his thoughts, so this was quite a bit of a treat.

"You should sing more often!" Well, it had just been humming, but that was still close enough to singing with Prussia involved. So he'd encourage that.

"I wouldn't call it awesome, but I suppose it could be worse." For starters, he could have his mind linked to anyone else. That would probably be the second worst scenario. The absolute worst would be if that anyone else happened to be Austria or an Austrian...

And if West managed to get him drunk or into a church, Prussia would be more than pleased to sing. Otherwise, it simply was not going to happen.

Germany could get him drunk and into a church if that doubled the chance of his brother to actually sing. Though that would most likely entail both of them ending up drunk. And when letting Germany drink coffee was already a bad idea for anyone wanting to keep a remotely collected mind, then letting Germany get drunk clearly was the worst idea anyone could have lest they're fond of being thoroughly embarrassed in public by an overly energetic nation that would shamelessly toss aboard even the last little bit of dignity and decorum.

"Hey. Neither of us is Austrian, Brüderchen!" he reached over to pat his brother's shoulder encouragingly "It's only the two of us. Which automatically makes it awesome because the awesome me is involved as well! Now. Let's go!" If Prussia paid attention to Germany's mind, he may have caught something similar to 'I'm not sure where to just yet, but that only makes it more fun!'

Prussia was fairly certain that for one to eschew all dignity and decorum when drunk, one first had to exhibit those qualities when sober. Otherwise it was merely the same behaviour as usual, just with poorer decision making skills. Regardless, he had absolutely no intentions of getting drunk, especially not this early in the day.

"You have no idea where we are going and this is supposedly fun…?" Germany's mind was like a bag of cats. That was the only explanation Prussia could come up with, as his little mental secretaries had long ago given up trying to fathom West's mind.

"Of course! The fun starts with not knowing where you're heading!" Germany replied and got back on his feet, storing his little box with snails in one of his jacket's pockets with a somewhat catlike grin crossing his features before he reached out to pull Prussia up just as well "Come! It's like going for a walk! Just without the planning you usually do!!"

He ignored the offered hand, straightening up on his own. "If we get lost, I am not helping you find out where we are." Which was a slightly ridiculous threat to make, between the mental link and the fact that they were in Berlin, but Prussia felt it needed to be made on general principle. It reminded him also that he'd have to work out how to keep West from reading his mind…

"I imagine I will regret this, but lead the way." And don't start any trouble!

Germany pulled his hand away as it was being ignored but laughed anyway, the joy of his brother agreeing easily overpowering the brief disappointment triggered by Prussia's refusal.

"Getting lost? The awesome me?! In Berlin? Brüderchen, you should know your adorable little brother that holds the innocence of a puppy better than that!" And in fact, Germany probably knew Berlin better than most others. It was his capital, his heart, and he'd spend countless hours wandering these streets already, if not only due to the lack of a personal car and his brother strictly refusing to lending him his one more time.

Giving a quick nod, however, the younger nation went on towards a nearby street, humming a little to himself yet again.

"Stop calling me that. Show some respect." Perhaps he was just being grumpy on principle now. Prussia couldn't very well complain about what they were doing, or truly offer any other response to West's words, but he wasn't going to let the younger nation have the last word.

That convoluted... metaphor? It certainly wasn't a simile, but... oh, well, whatever it was; Germany's convoluted description of himself made Prussia sigh. What was with the brat and puppies anyways? ~~Birds were clearly superior. It was an eagle that had adorned his flag, after all, not some damn dog.~~ He crossed his arms over his chest as he followed, resolutely ignoring the citizens they passed.

It would truly surprise them more if West did manage to get them lost, all things considered. Especially as he was well aware his brother had to walk everywhere. (He would have been more inclined to lend his car had it not been for that certain incident involving the river. Cars were expensive!)

It was simple: Puppies were adorable. And so was Germany if anyone was to ask him. But also, an adorable little puppy could turn into a big and awesomely strong wolf once it grew up and ceased being cute. But as for now... Germany was quite comfortable with just being cute. People liked cute things, didn't they?

While he lead the way, Germany managed to circle around his brother and turn himself into a bother by either nudging him or pointing out things that they passed by as if Prussia had never seen them before "...and over there is a reaaally awesome playground. And when you head into the forest from there, you'll eventuelly come across a small cave that I think badgers live in. At least sometimes. There are LOTS of squirrels almost every time also! They're cute, but difficult to catch. I can do that, of course, kesese~ I'm the best squirrel catcher around!!" with squirrels only being one kind of animal he kept catching for some shenanigans or others.

"Oh-oh-OH!! Let's ge left here! There's a small market place between those houses. But there's no market today. Let's still go there!!" He pulled at Prussia's sleeve and pointed in the direction he had set his eyes on, his mind giving away his actual intention, however When there's no market you get the best view on the little old church there and it's pretty in the sunlight!

[Fate's mind is mostly quick, about like an alert cat's examining everything in his surroundings for danger or a chance to get something from them. Yes, this means you too, with the link.]

[Chrome, for all that she's young, has a mind as easy to delve through as a dense mist. Illusion atop misdirection wrapped in half-truths and outright lies. Twisty is a good word for her, although reaching deep enough to untangle those lines offers a picture of a strong core wrapped in a terribly broken shell.

[There is also another link, something deeper than mere telepathy that cannot, quite, be touched and another person far on the other end of it.

[Really, she's mostly thinking Again?]

*It had woken him up. Rudely. It was the sound of a person's voice right there in his ear. Cranky, he rolled over, throwing a pillow in the direction of where he thought the offending person was. Little did he know that the voice he was hearing was actually in his head.*

Shut it.

Edited 2012-12-08 16:01 (UTC)

[It was some Persian song Jeannie was singing to herself in her head. Humming on the outside, but in her mind there was music as she worked on hanging new curtains inside her bottle.]

La la la la....such a lovely splendid day. Who shall I find to amuse me today? Someone exciting and interesting...

*As his mind cleared, Arthur began to realize there was no one in his room. Not even Merlin. Sitting up, he looked around in confusion.*

...Hello?

The music stops, Jeannie hearing his voice outside.

Aha, so there is someone out there...if only they would open the bottle...

[The Duel Monsters Creator was in for a surprise...No one had been able to read his mind, though he could most certainly read theirs. Those who are linked with him will be feeling immense sorrow he always carried with him despite his confidence.

He was a man who didn't relate his true emotions well. Especially not given he was currently in the midst of a tournament. Couldn't let that be portrayed so easily to his little duelists, now could he?]

Edited 2012-12-08 17:51 (UTC)

*Through the essence of others' hearts concerning the cards, and a few glitches in technology, a toon had been born. He'd been realistic, almost completely lifelike and indistinguishable from normal life, down to the watercolors.

*He was grateful to be by Pegasus's side - a man that greatly enjoyed toons - but he found himself perplexed by the sudden feeling of sorrow that almost felt like his own.

*As of late, Soren himself had started to feel a little... upset. What was going on with this lovely card creator? This artistic mind? He'd attempted to harden his heart, to freeze it, in the light of others'. He couldn't afford to be hurt - emotions that he wasn't sure that he knew how to handle. Could he help this man, to whom he owed so much? Or was it useless?

*It was early in the morning, before further Duelist events, that the sense of emotions not his own hit - and doubtlessly, Pegasus would feel Soren's. That sense of frustration, loss, bordering on desperation without fully reaching it.

*Soren's brow furrowed somewhat as he forced himself to work past those foreign emotions - both his and Pegasus's. As it was just after breakfast, there was no better time before they both got swept up during the day.*

...Pegasus? May I speak with you for a moment?

"A-ah...?"

Startled, the duelist creator had indeed felt...something. Strange. Foreign. Not quite his own. It was all he could do to keep from being surprised. Soren's emotions mingled in with his, and it was...not quite conducive to what he'd been thinking of just moments before, about his departed wife. Indeed, he felt conflicted. A strange confusion...

"Ah, yes of course you may, Soren. Whatever is the matter?"

He greeted the Toon with kindness, the grief turning into pure and unadulterated love. He did so love his toons, after all.

Just like that, that odd sense of sorrow was gone from his perception, or at least masked, by that love. The Toon felt his face turning a soft shade of pink.

That sense of love felt like it was surrounding him, enveloping him in a blanket-like embrace. The intensity of his own response surprised him. He felt his heart pounding in his chest (and, thankfully, the look of realism kept his body from reacting like normal toons - in example, one's heart "literally" beating out of their chest. But it still felt like that was what was happening to him.)

"You know that you can talk to me if there's anything bothering you, right?" he managed to reply nevertheless. But even so, his voice had wavered just a little.

That sense of love was just so overwhelming.... He was a Toon, though. It... it would be bad if he developed feelings for him.

"I know I'm just a Toon, and that I'm still new to the world, but the least I can do for you is listen." He wanted to be of use to Pegasus. He wanted to be able to help him through anything that he struggled with.

[While refreshing himself in the bathroom, von Karma pondered upon the previous night's... development. It had been quite... impassioned. Certainly, it wasn't something he'd planned to do; he'd never met Mr. Crawford before, and engaging in such intimate activities with someone unfamiliar to him wasn't his way of conducting matters. He had to determine how this came about.

He'd had very little of that bottle of fine wine, so it was unlikely to have been from that... or was it so unlikely? Just how well sealed was it? Just how trustworthy was that server? Was it possible that the server and Mr. Crawford knew each other... and perhaps even conspired to bring about this very compromising situation?

This he must find out right away. He belted the robe around him, securing his modesty as much as possible, then marched right into the room where Mr. Crawford awaited him.

But before he could utter the first word, a large wave of intense emotion nearly overtook him. Inexplicable sadness and anguish. Instantly, memories of his own departed wife flooded his mind, and it was all he could do to dam them back. He resisted the urge to squeeze his eyes shut, but he realized too late that his hands were clenched into blanched fists. He took a deep breath and relaxed them, then finally addressed the young man seated before him.]

Mr. Crawford. About last night...

[He trailed off as another surge of ~~unnecessary~~ feelings swept over him, causing his voice to waver a little upon the last word he'd gotten to speak.]

Edited (HTML fail) 2012-12-16 20:24 (UTC)

[Pegasus sat, facing the window in his high-backed chair, seemingly lost to the sea of "unnecessary" feelings for a time before redirecting his attentions on Manfred himself. He was…a little confused himself as to how this happened, but it was significant that he believed in fate. He had given Manfred his soul, and in return…Manfred had, in a sense, given his, as well.

When he heard him enter the room, Pegasus turned, and instantly felt a rush of heat to his cheeks.

It was as if someone had turned on the light in his eyes, for suddenly the darkness that lingered in his mind parted momentarily, the melancholy subsiding somewhat for him to feel a slight vexation, though he wasn't sure it was coming from his own mind. Indeed, being an experienced mind-reader himself, he was certain of it.

But, Manfred himself evoked a sense of fondness or affection, one that was strong enough to mask the perpetual loneliness and soul-wrenching grief that afflicted him.

Why, just the other night, they'd…hadn't they? It dawned on him that he'd never been so rash about anything in his life. He'd always been careful, especially when offering a part of himself to another. The wounds tended to be deep, when inflicted, after all.]

Ah, yes…?

[Hesitance crept into his voice, his gaze becoming somewhat demure. It wasn't in Pegasus' nature to be shy or coy like this, but around Manfred he couldn't help it. Especially when he got so intense like that. Not that he was some blushing virgin, exactly. He was probably more terrible a person than the prosecutor took him for.]

[Alex is sort of used to having a semi-telepathic link with her vassals, the vampires she has turned. Thhey may not usually hear everything she thinks, but he will supersede s theirs, her opinions color their core personalities. They want what she wants, even if they might have a different way to get it.

So, for a vassal, a telepathic link would just be an upgrade and offer explanation for the shared emotions. For everyone else... Yeah, not usual.

Some of her thoughts are very mundane: cute boys, new movies, shopping. Some are names and phrases: Bathroy, Claudius, semper fidelis, Rasputin, dhampir. Some are detailed memories: hunting vampiires, an older man in a Marine uniform, turning her vassals.

It's a little chaotic, but it's probably not really overwhelming.]

(Non-vassals are more than welcome. If you want to try the vassal connection, I can handwave Alex's usually very conservative stance on turning people and say she was induced to change your character. Definitely not required, though.)

[It had sort of been a group vacation. A trip on Stark to get everyone to loosen up, not to mention an unspoken apology for what he'd pulled last month. Clint would mention it, but part of the all expense paid trip was that none of them would ever mention it again. Who said you couldn't throw money at things?

Darcy was included in the apology, considering she was the one that had gotten stuck in an elevator shaft for six hours because of it. As far as internships went, Clint hoped she was getting paid for this one.

He and Darcy had set off with the Hulk at sunset, in search of a nice place on the beach to build a bonfire. The others were supposed to join them later, but halfway there they'd been ambushed. Whoever they were, they knew what they were doing, considering Bruce had been knocked out with a tranquilizer before Clint had even realized they were in danger. After that, things had gotten hazy. Some secret lab. Some experiments with Bruce and an inevitable waking up of the Hulk. When the big guy started smashing his way out of there, Clint had made sure Darcy and he weren't far behind.

They hadn't quite made it half way through the lab before an angry Hulk overturned some kind of equalizer and what would later be explained to him as a gamma bomb rocked the building. SHIELD had fished them out of the wreckage and now he was sitting in the med bay of the Helicarrier, reliving the last time he was unlucky enough to end up here.

He moved to the doorway which opened easily enough for him and made his way down the hall, pausing outside of Darcy's room. He knocked lightly before stepping in.]

Hey. You alright?

I feel like I've been hit by a bomb. [But hey. Free cable and room service. And it only took a near death experience.

She's really far from okay.]

And what's with the food here? This is quality mac n' cheese. You tried it before?

[He chuckles and moves further into the room, perching on the edge of her bed.] Well, we were. A gamma bomb.

[He looks at the mac n' cheese and shakes his head.] Never actually been here long enough to get served a meal.

[He pauses.]

But hey, free cable and room service and it only took a near death experience.

Right? You don't even get this treatment in your quarters. It's like...a huge apology. I'm sorry you almost died. Why don't you watch some HBO.

[She leans back against her pillow and looks at him.] Did anyone die?

[He raises his eyebrows the tiniest bit at her question. Somehow he hadn't really expected her to be concerned with that.]

Yeah, I guess a couple of the lab staff got taken out in the explosion. [Pause.] But I think, considering they were playing with a live action Hulk, they knew the risks.

They're just doing their job, right? Like normal people just with shady morals. Or maybe no other choice.

[She can't say what's more insulting. That he doubted her or that he's acting like it's not a big deal. People DIED, Clint. They're not coming back from that.]

Lots of people take jobs just to pay rent. Even smart science-y types.

[He meets her eyes for a moment and then gives a small nod.] Yeah.

[Because how can he really argue with that? She's right. Even if the morals were shady, they were still people. Mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters. But they were also people who were okay with keeping the three of them locked up. He might have felt a little worse if one of them had lifted a finger to help them. Still, he's going to let Darcy be the decent person she is, even if he can't really be that version of himself.]

So what's the prognosis? You look like you're gonna live.

Hard to say. [Darcy shifts against her pillows and stabs the remaining noodle in her bowl and pops it into her mouth. Damn right she has morals. The moral high ground is where it is at.]

I let a little cleave show earlier and the nurse dropped my poor defenseless juice box. I might only have hours left to live.

[Clint bit back a smile and nodded gravely.]

That's a bad sign if I ever heard one.

[He turned towards her a little more.] So what are you going to do with your last few hours?

Quality time with the boob tube and my favorite archer boy. Duh. [She scoots over and pats the bed.] How'd you escape Nurse Ratched? I can't even get up to pee without ten nurses descending on me.

Archer boy? [He raises his eyebrows, but he sits as instructed, looking amused.]

Decoy.

[He looks her over a little more closely from this vantage point. If the nurses are being that attentive there must be a good reason for it.]

How are the ribs?

Bro. Whatever. Sit. I'm not a field agent. They are afraid i'll sue them through the nose if i get a hangnail.

[Damn. Course he'd have a decoy and he'd have known what was wrong.]

They're there. It's not my fault the Hulk sort of fell on me. Dude topples easy when being blown back.

...Bruce is going to avoid me forever isn't he? Do you think he likes cake? I will totally bribe him with my grandma's super awesome spice cake. No one can resist cake.

Can't sue 'em. Not unless you got out of signing the waiver they give to new hires.

[He pressed his lips together in sympathy. He was no stranger to cracked ribs. They hurt like hell.

Avoid doesn't even cover it. Banner's going to beat himself up about this for months. Might even disappear for a little while.

[He shrugged, forcing a neutral expression. He wasn't about to break that to Darcy. It'd just make her feel bad.]

Probably. But everyone likes cake. It's worth a shot.

Shit. Really? [Holy Fucking Crap. Not good. It wasn't even his fault. It was science nerds and SCIENCE IS PROGRESS people who are at fault.

And probably General Ross. But he could take something long and sharp and shove it up his ass.]

He can't run away. Who else can toss bad robot guys into walls like him?

I'll make YOU a cake if you get him to stick around long enough to get me to talk to him.

[Clint's eyes snap over to Darcy.]

Who said anything about him running away?

[Though maybe it just occurred to her that Bruce isn't about to let this one slide.]

You want me to start bossing the Hulk around?

Uh. You did. Just now.

[H'Okay. Clint's gone cray-cray. Is there a hotline for that. A Call-Button to summon Natasha? A Bones to come stab him in the neck with a hypospray? Something?]

I want you to start bossing around Bruce. He's less likely to smash you. There is a fine and subtle difference.

No I didn't.

[Not out loud.] Does she really think Bruce is about to listen to the guy who got him into that mess in the first place?

What makes you think he'd listen to me?

Dude, don't even start. You didn't drag him with us. Guilt isn't pretty. It'll give you lines right between the eyes.

[His eyes narrow as he looks at her.] I didn't say that.

[He gets to his feet, moving in front of her and reading her expression carefully.]

Something's going on here. How'd she know what I was thinking? Maybe the gamma bomb did more than the white coats think.

OH SHIT. Craptacular shit! Not good. I so didn't sign up for freaky mutant brain powers. This was not on any of the forms I signed.

[Darcy recoils from Clint's really gorgeous face, pressing back into the pillows, eyes wide in shock.]

Why didn't it just turn us into giant rage monsters like Bruce? I would have made an awesome rage monster. I could totally have rocked that level of anger.

[Despite the seriousness and the shock of suddenly finding that Darcy Lewis of all people could read his mind and he could read hers he can't help but smile a little at her inner monologue.]

I didn't sign that form either.

[He shrugged.]

Who knew how these things worked? We're just lucky to be alive.

Is it just us? [She bites her lower lip and glances over his shoulder at the open door.] Do we hear anyone else? Because I saw What Women Want and fuck no am I listening to every passing thought everyone has ever, ever had.

[He raised his eyebrows in surprise and then let out a small laugh before trying to bite back the smile.]

I missed that one. Was it good?

[He moved towards the door and stuck his head out.] Nurse. [He gestured towards the room.] There's something wrong with her dressing.

[A nurse appeared a second later and moved towards Darcy. Clint looked pointedly at her and then back at Darcy.]

Picking up on anything?

Unless you get off on sexism and Melt Gibson wearing pantyhose...

[The nurse is all proficiency and cool beside manner but other than sending out irritated vibes.]

Silent as the grave.

Neither of those have really done it for me.

[He nods at the nurse when she looks up at him, but says nothing.]

Nothin'. Guess this is just our party then. Am I the only one thinking this calls for a truce? Obviously there are going to be things we're thinking that we're probably not going to want to share.

[Hysterical laughter nearly took over her. Uther yeah. Yeah there was. Like how often she stares at Steve's perfect apple bottom, or contemplates the Hulk's dong. Or how the last conscious thought she had before everything exploded wasn't only oh shit I'm dead but how nice Clint's arms felt around her. Yeah. Things like that.

She cringed.]

You could hear all that couldn't you?.

Yep.

[He grinned at her, giving her a look that said maybe he had underestimated her. Or in this case her mind.]

So let's lay down some ground rules. No comment. No judgement. Until we figure out how to fix this.]

[Because it was just a matter of time before Darcy picked up on the complicated and very secret relationship he had with Tasha, or the way he liked to aggravate Hill just to see that little furrow in her brow. Or the fact that he was fairly sure the only reason Bruce had joined them on the way to the beach was because he had caught Clint watching Darcy the day before as she'd sat on the couch, bobbing along to her iPod.

His eyes flickered up to hers.]

So, truce?

Truce.

[Now if only there was a hole she can slink into and DIE. Things Clint does not near to hear. One. She contemplates Avenger cock. Two. She thinks Clint's arms are boss.

Yeah. This could be a long few hours until someone straightens them out.]

[Clint clears his throat and grins at her. He raises an eyebrow at her as the nurse they've called in finishes up checking the wrapping around Darcy's ribs.]

If it's any consolation, you've got a boss rack. Not that I think about it. Or that I'm thinking about it now.

You're full of shit, Barton. I can see you.

[And if she adjusts herself against the pillow a little, pushing out the girls some more, who's going to judge? Her momma would be very proud.]

Think you can spring a girl from hospital hell?

[The laugh escapes him before he has a chance to force it down and a small smile lingers behind the smile.]

Possible. You in any shape to move fast?

How fast are we talking? Ninja needing to take a leak or elderly grandma on a scooter? Because I'm leaning more toward the grandma end of the spectrum.

[Cracked ribs were a bitch. She could really, really live the rest of her life without having it happen again. She wasn't fast to begin with. This was pathetic.]

That's what I thought. Then I guess we're just going to have to BS our way out of here. You got any regular clothes laying around?

Do underpants count? Cause I haven't seen my bag since I got in here.

And here I was hoping that was the one thing you didn't have.

[Clint paused and looked at Darcy.]

That falls under the truce clause. [He cleared his throat and moved to the door, checking the coast.] Alright. Give me five minutes, I'll find you something.

You get back in three, hotshot, I might let you see what I meant.

[She quirked a brow. Cracked ribs or not she had fucking fantastic breasts and she was not afraid to use them.]

Stop.

[But it wasn't as if he could keep a straight face at that invitation. Or turn it down. He was back in two with a pair of scrubs and a pencil.

He handed them to her.]

Top might be a little small.

[There was no real hint of apology there.]

Not on your life.

[She bit her tongue and grinned. Way too easy. But damn was she impressed when two minutes later he came back with something that wasn't a hospital johnny.]

You're going to have to help me here, Barton. I can only raise my arms to zombie level. [And to make a point, she let out a growling moan and raised her arms a few inches off the bed.

Right before her ribs twinged. ]

ow. I hope you brought that granny scooter.

It's on standby.

[He set the scrubs down on the bed and moved so that he could get at the ties in the back of her gown.]

Not my normal means of undressing a girl, but it'll do.

[He moved in front of her and nodded to indicate she should lift her arms.]

Work with me, granny.

Doing my best, Merida. Not all of us have freaky healing powers or are on the good drugs. [She lifted her arms again, not at all whimpering, nope. That was the sound of freedom calling.

God, that sounded horrible even in her head.

Which meant it sounded just as lame in Barton's.

Happy days.]

How am I normal?

[He wasn't exactly Captain America. He could feel the soreness pulsing through his own body, but somehow he'd gotten less knocked up than Darcy. The good drugs were helping too though.

Maybe that was why he wasn't quite so disturbed by sharing thoughts with Darcy. That or her thoughts sounded a lot like his own.

He shot her a sympathetic look, his eyes searching hers to see if the movement was too much, but gave her a small grin as she finished the thought.]

You're definitely not.

[He leaned in, curling his fingers underneath the fabric of the gown and pulled it off carefully.]

Oh ha. Thanks, Hawkguy.

[Darcy leaned forward. Help was so needed right now if they were ever going to get the hell out of here. SHIELD was scary, okay. She knew that when she signed on. That didn't mean she had to FORGET that.

And their nurses were WORSE.]

This is the worst sort of strip tease I've ever taken part in.

Guess you've never been to Cambodia, then.

[He's trying to be respectful. Honest. Still, it's hard not to appreciate the view, though it is tempered a little by the sight of the bruises. He grabs the scrub top and rolls it up in order to slip it over her head a little easier.]

Would it make you feel better if I hummed some strip music?

Would it have a good beat?

[Darcy grabbed his shoulders and tugged herself toward him, kissing his cheek]

If anyone ever says you're less of a gentleman than Steve, I'll deck them.

So what now, Captain Biceps?

You can't strip to a slow song. Well, unless it's Boyz II Men.

[He freezes for a second when her lips brush his cheek, his fingers brushing the inside of her rib cage. He lets out a small, surprised laugh and meets her eyes, surprised at just how much he wants to lean in and kiss her.

And oh, yeah. She probably knows that.]

Pants?

Good call. As much as I like a healthy breeze down below, I can't say it would be a great idea right now.

You know someone has to be watching us by now, right? There's no way someone isn't.

[Bruce's mind runs on multiple levels simultaneously, at the top, thoughts of whether a cup of coffee to wake up is worth the inevitable jitters and sour stomach. Under that, an ongoing conversation he's having with himself on the relative merits of MWI versus oscillatory universe theory.

Under that is a low hum, like the background activity of a beehive best left unstirred.]

[It was the story of Loki's life that when he worked this spell, a gentle and subtle slip into the mind of Dr. Banner, that it would fail so gallingly. A testament to the fact that everything he tried crashed and burned. Oh, but he wasn't going to linger on that, ever forward, ever forward. He might gain some advantage through this anyway, the beast had more secrets to give up than Loki-

it never did to lie to oneself.

But he did anyway.

His thoughts were a chaotic mess, no lines of logic, no neat trains of thought. An explosion of ideas, mental word salad, strings of runes and lines of pragmatic diagrams that intersected with the cosmos, absolute nonsense and whatever he'd watched on television that morning.

It was enough to drive a sane person mad.

On the other hand, so is the fact that Banner seems to be engaging in internal dialogue with himself. And holding up both ends of the debate markedly well. Even if Loki could feel a strange pressure behind his eyes.]

Edited 2012-12-09 00:30 (UTC)

[When it hits him, his first thought is of the Hulk, but while there's a hallucinatory feel to it, it isn't the same overwhelming full sensory white noise that is his experience of the Hulk, it's more like the induced hallucination experiments he volunteered for at Harvard.

When he can pick out the thoughts about "the beast" and his secrets and a spell gone awry, there's only one explanation.]

Loki. [The background noise spikes before Bruce damps it down.]

I've been told arguing with oneself is a sign of madness if another answers. [He inwardly scowls at having been found out so easily.

And narrows eyes at that background noise. What was it? The beast?

Tsk. Obviously Banner's precariousness with his own personal safety began early if he was experimenting early on. Though whatever was a Harvard? He had only to poke a little in Bruce's mind to find out.

Ah. And how ironic the beast was so educated. At least he would prove useful this way. Hawkeye had tactical knowledge, but cultural diversions such as the Facebook and Internet Memes were not the sort of things Loki sought.]

You must do it constantly. [He's looking around now, trying to sort through the added noise and input in his head to get some indication of where to find Loki.

The thought of having that crazed alien in his head makes his skin crawl, and feeling Loki's mental fingers in his brain plucking out information was even worse.]

The mass murderer doesn't get to call me a beast.

[Curiosity, digging in Loki's mind as though finding a new corner of his own mind with thoughts and memories long forgotten.]

Advice from one mass murderer to another? [He knows about you, Bruce. He knows.

And he's scowling because he can feel you in his mind, a wave of rage rising. Out, mortal. But he can't pry Bruce out, though his mind twists and his power fights, there's no way to evict him.

Don't mind him, he'll just make himself at home in your space, then. Digging and sifting, while he tries to keep his own thoughts contained and locked away behind doors and traps and dragons and words written in arrow straight lines.

It won't work, but he tries. He'll not be humiliated by you again.]

You did it for fun.

[When he described Loki's mind as a bag of cats he'd had no idea how near to the truth he'd been, if the cats were feral, rabid, with sharpened claws and bloodied fangs. There are corners he touches that he flinches away from, pits of jealousy like sulfuric acid.

He pushes other thoughts and memories out for Loki to distract him. Saturday morning cartoons and dead baby jokes he heard in sixth grade.]

And you can't even see why what you did was wrong. [Families mourning loved ones, destruction and pain left in the Hulk's wake. Loki might not feel regret, but Bruce's is as bitter as chewing on aspirin.]

Practicality. Not something so mundane as fun.

[And the imagined slights, the overreactions to the most mundane misinterpretations. There's no remorse because none has been shown for him! (lies) There's more than one twisting undercurrent around these thoughts, Loki's own- I only wanted to be your equal and the repetitive and growlingly angry, I was a king- a taste slightly artificial.]

Human, Jotun, as all vermin, you will breed more. [A flash of the Jotun, large blue beasts of a race that fight with ice, Thor cracking that ice, killing with his hammer. Loki on the bridge, attempting to destroy the entire realm.

He pushes through the cartoons and dead baby Jokes to see that remorse, that bitterness. Weakness, more like. He sifts through Bruce in India, finds great amusement at his encounter with the Widow.]

Conquest is never wrong. The things you would have been gifted after my rule was accepted- tsk. Your diseases, your wars, your suffering, is that not symptom of your freedom? Free to harm. Free to take.

Cruelty. You'll never be a leader. You don't know the meaning of the word.

[And Thor calls humans petty? He should get a look at his brother's mind. Better him than Bruce; it's making his head hurt while he tries to find some comprehensible hook to get Loki to see where he's lost his shit and gone skipping off into completely sadistic lunacy.]

They were people with more to contribute than whether they'd kneel to you. Admit it, you tried to rule us because you aren't strong enough to rule the Jotuns or the Aesir.

[There's a sudden mental shout of GET OUT! and the background noise rises to a low roar, like a wave cresting before dropping back along the beach of Bruce's consciousness.]

Life is cruel, Doctor. As you well know.

[ The shouting catches his interest, but he doesn't pry for now. He will pry later.

For now he's looking at Bruce's interest in Tony. Ah. Now that was interesting. ]

The Man of Iron? Truly? [ A smile like a cat with cream.

There is no rhyme or reason. Only Odin and Loki falling- being thrown - falling- letting go. The darkness of the spaces between the stars where time stretches on and on.]

Life is cruel enough without adding to its measure.

[He's disappointed that the shout has no effect at all. He'd hoped for some reaction other than fleeting curiosity.

To deflect from Loki's interest in Tony and the thoughts that Loki homed in on in particular, he pulls at memories of Thor.]

[His smile is mad as a hatter. ] Oh. Did you think to frighten me with your beast? [ He knows something you don't know, Bruce, minds connected like this? He can and will rend your mind should the beast sic itself upon him.

Of course. It works in the reverse as well. ]

With his status I'd not take him for ergi, but there is your beast to consider- [And he fairly snarls as Bruce invades those memories, the good- the memories that stay his hand and the bad- know your place. ]

[If he didn't know it before he knows it now and Loki is underestimating him if he thinks that Bruce's mind is going to be anything at all like a normal human's mind. It wasn't even before the Hulk, but after the Hulk? And after years of study and self-discipline? There are a few landmines hidden away in there.]

Ergi? [He pulls at the definition and snarls inwardly, the background noise of his rage rising in volume without receding this time.] My beast should have torn your head off when he had the chance.

[He takes great pleasure in baiting your self control, Bruce. And presses further- ] Temper. The rage only proves the accusation true. Shh I'll not out you to my brother.

[ And he's forcing his way into Bruce's memories, deep in. Flashes of Bruce's father, the bite of a belt, the sting of a fist, the rank smell of alcohol soured breath and angry words. ]

[Screw you and your "accusations." His anger is for the threat to his friend.]

You shouldn't have gone there.

[Welcome to Bruce's personal house of horrors. It's like a gravity well - drawing you deeper and deeper, and the farther you go, the harder it is to pull away. He pushes memories at Loki, making them personal - the sense of powerlessness, of being ground down by someone bigger and stronger, the fear.]

[Oh Bruce, he's laughing at you. It's adorable, really, but he has his own persecution complex, his own golden pillar of perfection ever grinding him down- but when he reaches for those memories, it's as if all he can grasp are Bruce's terrors.

A shiver of panic rides through his thoughts and he's twisting, pulling at Bruce's memories, unsure whether he's snarling and thrashing aloud or only mentally. ]

Stop this! Cease! [ But is it the manin the memories he yells at or Bruce? ]

[Enjoy the feel of real persecution, of real oppression, and of the true feeling of being in the hands of a capricious "god" who thinks that cruelty is a useful tool in ruling the home. Bruce shoves this at Loki, and if there's an undertone of Eat it! well...

If Loki was going to go for the memories anyway, Bruce is going to give him the full ride.]

[He almost can't breathe for it, he'll never own to the wet patches on his cheeks at the memory of Bruce's mother's murder.

But.

But.

Loki is nothing if not the God of Martyr Complexes and the grip of Bruce's memories does not hold him long. And he is a bitter god. A petty god.] Like for like. [He hisses, and if his voice cracks, he does not acknowledge it.

Instead, he attempts to hit Bruce with the weight of the void, the memory of falling and falling, of freezing and burning and endless black until his mind almost unmakes itself. Unbidden come the other memories, No, Loki, and the well of hopeless despair, at the disappointment in his father's eyes yet another time the time when Loki wishes it to be the last. When he lets go and wills it to be the end (will, because hope is a tenuous thing, shredded by Odin's words). ]

[The endless black for Bruce is nothing he fears; it's something he tried to embrace, but it wouldn't have him.

A father's disappointment? What he wouldn't have given to have a father who loved him enough to be disappointed, although the burn of the disappointment still strikes him, leaves his heart clenched and throat tight. You had thousands of years of a father's love you fool.]

[Love? Love? He'll eat your heart, you stupid, stupid mortal.

So low you are to wish contentment as second, as a relic cast aside when proven of no more use. A monster playing at a god. He is a monster. He'll prove it. He'll show you. He'll hurt you for seeing this, for knowing this.

And he's fighting at his own spell, the serpent eating his tail, but it gets him nowhere. Gains him only a splitting migraine. How can these humans thwart him over and again? He digs claws into his own mind to stop the answer from bubbling up, Jotun. Monster. Snake in godly skin.

He remembers Bruce and all that vehemence turns back upon him once more. His fault.]

[With the deep well of self-blame that Bruce carries with him, it takes little effort to leave him teetering at its brink, knowing that almost everything in his life is the result of his choices or simply his existence.

If they weren't in public, if there weren't innocents passing them even now, he'd let it go and leave Loki to face the brutal simplicity of the Hulk's mind.

But he can choose here and he does, the roar underlying his thoughts is loud, almost deafening, but still damped down because Loki has already made him change once almost at a whim, and Bruce isn't handing him that power again.

All of it, all of the madness being forced into his consciousness, the sheer alien nature of Loki's mind, leave him with bolts of pain slamming through his mind, sending showers of sparks across his vision.]

[That choice only heightens his rage into an incoherent fury from which only snatches of you are no better than me can be caught because he failed to bring about the Hulk.

Just the brush with that roar, however, leaves him physically shaking, doubled over on the bench, the memory of slammed about as he was fresh in his mind and bones.

And then he's losing it. Just twisting to the side, one arm braced on the bench to vomit over the side of the wood slats.]

[Bruce only has long enough for the briefest flash of smugness I am better than you before the memory of what the Hulk did to Loki hits him. It isn't the remembered pain that does him in, but the whirling perspective of being whipped from side to side, slamming into the floor over and over.

The pain behind his eyes is blinding, so all-encompassing that he barely registers sliding off the bench to brace himself on all fours while he retches onto the jogging path.]

I'm going to kill you. [The threat loses impact when Loki retches again after delivering it. There's a distinct lack of that mad rage behind it, more a sullen blame. That this is all Bruce's fault somehow and not Loki's.

He was never good with taking responsibility. Persecution complex.]

You wish. [Managed between heaves from a mostly empty stomach. He knows he can't die, and if Loki could manage it for him, it's not the loss that it would be for some people.

He catches the attempt to shift blame and thinks as clearly and loudly as he can, I'm not the idiot who screwed up a spell. That's all you.]

You'll wish. You'll [Hurling.] beg for .... death. [His head hurts too much to put a proper threat together.

The fault of your tainted biology.

But he's despairing a little, because not this.]

Pray you aren't the one begging.

[Sheesh, Loki, you wuss, it's pain, but try resisting the onslaught of a physical transformation for years and see what you know about pain.]

[Oh, but it's more than pain. It's memory dragged and clawed to the surface and given to you.

He's not okay with this.

He's also just going to sort of half sprawl on the bench.] You are sorely mistaken if you think to frighten me. [Thanos' face comes unbidden to mind. The threat of the Other. Eugh.]

[Have a big old slice of Be Careful What You Wish For Pie, asshole.]

I know who frightens you. [And letting the Other Guy out would probably short out Loki's brain for a little while.

He smiles even as he retches, and lets his control go to the surprisingly sweet sound of cloth ripping across his shoulders and back.]

[This is turning into a dreadful day, he thinks at the sound of cloth ripping, sparing only a moment to appreciate his own grim frustration at how this mortal continues to best him.

But only a moment, then there's just the terror of the Hulk, of his mind, of his physical presence and Loki's entirely unable to do anything physically but just sort of sprawl there, but mentally he's beating a hastily strategic retreat into his own mind.

Trying to think. Thoughts slipping through his fingers like water in his own panic. Oh he loathes this. It's terror and frustration, things he normally expresses on others as his rightful due.]

[The low hum rises to an overwhelming roar that doesn't abate as Bruce's body adds mass and height. It's like standing in front of concert speakers when they blast white noise loudly enough break glass. There are thoughts, but they are fractured and far less complicated than Bruce's.

The thought as the Hulk rises from the ground is that Loki has hurt him and he must pay for it.]

I don't suppose [Loki starts, upper lip curling as he assesses the green beast, it's mind nearly overwhelming his ability to just concentrate if the beast would just shut up and stop thinking.] that we could work this out.

[Hulk looks down at the sprawled form of Loki and lifts his head, his lip raising in a sneer before he turns away and strides with heavy steps to a tree behind him, reaching around to snatch at Loki where he's hiding under an illusion.

He's deciding how best to smash you, Loki, that much is coming through the noise.]

[Even that small distraction should have given him time- if he could just get a moment of peace- and he knows it's coming but he can't concentrate enough to-

well.

He's just looking sour and unpleasant and twisting in Hulk's grip.

Why and how can they always win?]

[Now that the Hulk has made an appearance, alarms are going off throughout SHIELD monitoring stations, and fleets of black Suburbans are mobilizing.

The Hulk takes Loki's head in one huge hand and his mental image of crushing it until it pops comes through loud and clear.]

Unhand me, you vile thing. [He sneers and tears into the Hulk's thoughts. Rage at the manhandling, at the thought of what that creature thinks it can do propel him past fear, past whatever else might be a good idea.

He will suffer defeat, but he will never admit it and he will certainly not attempt to throw himself on anyone's mercy. He's mentally trying to wear the Hulk down.]

[Rage? The rage that the Hulk returns to him should strip flesh from bones, but at least now he wants to make Loki suffer more than he wants to feel his head pop.]

[He can't match toe to toe with Hulk for rage, but Loki's is still formidable, he armors himself in every perceived slight, every moment he thought he did not receive what was due. Every bit of praise or affection that he thinks ought to have gone to him and went to Thor instead (whether or not it's truth, well, liesmith). ]

I cannot undo the spell if you do either. [He snaps, face twisted up in a snarl.]

[Hulk's lips peel back from his teeth. The overwhelming noise of his fury protects from most of Loki's distractions, but he hears the words spoken aloud clearly enough.]

No Loki, no noise. [It's a simple solution, one he's ready to enact before squealing brakes draw his attention to the shining black Suburbans that have cordoned the park.]

Telepathic connection, thick beast, severe one end, the other leaks out. Your body might survive, but I'll pull everything else down with me. [And he can hear the thrum of the SHIELD vehicles.

At least he has pants this time.

Director Fury steps out, unarmed, hands up.] Doctor Banner. Well done. You apprehended him. Put him down now and we'll take him into custody.

[Hulk looks from Fury to Loki and back again. The considerations that crackle through his mind are simple, but there's something disrupting the noise, something like a distant radio transmission, static-y and virtually unintelligible. Under the static is Bruce's voice, cutting in and out until the meaning is lost, but whatever sense he's trying to convey gives Hulk pause.

With a disgusted grunt he tosses Loki to land at Fury's feet and turns to leap away from the park, putting distance between himself and the puny god.]

Are you serious? Shut up. 's way too early for that oscillatory universe theory shit. [Jim has no idea the voice he's hearing isn't a real voice but rather a mental one, or that the low hum isn't from his usual hangover. His own mind is barely stirring, sluggish with the weight of sleep. In an attempt to drown the noise out, he rolls over, burying his head under a pillow.]

[Bruce snaps his eyes open and stares at the bunk overhead. No, really, what the hell? He hasn't said a thing since he woke up, hasn't even really opened his eyes yet, so why is Jim acting like that was out loud?

It has to be some side-effect of being thawed after more than 150 years of cryo-stasis. There's still no cure for his condition, but the world has certainly gotten interesting.

Tossing him into Academy classes might have been a little premature, but Bruce has found that there's nothing like the consistency of education to give him some grounding in a world that has gotten even broader and weirder than the one he left behind.

None of which explains why Jim reacted to his morning musings as though he'd been talking to himself.

And maybe if he studied more than partied, he wouldn't have that hangover.]

[For some reason they thought being paired with James Tiberius Kirk, genius rebel without a cause, would be beneficial to acclimating Bruce. Personally, Jim's not sure they thought that idea all the way through, but whatever. Bruce is smart, at least, though he could definitely stand to be a little more fun.

Muffled words from under the pillow:] Hey, the amount I party is equal to the amount I study.

[There's a moment of silence, and then Jim suddenly sits up. He's all bed-head and wide eyes as he peers down at his roommate.] What do you mean that wasn't out loud? You've been talking this entire time. Incessantly. About... coffee and the many-worlds interpretation.

[And what is that humming? Jim shakes his head as if that will clear it.]

[Bruce pulls a face at the space above him. Fun? Try being fun when the whole world has moved on without you and things still aren't any better. Now he knows how Steve feels tripled.

He rolls his eyes at Jim's assertion about his studying, passingly reminded of another friend long gone before he pushes that down.]

I didn't--

[You're hearing my thoughts?]

[Don't mind as Jim blatantly gapes. Yep, that was... not said out loud. What the hell?]

I-- [Shit, is this real?] I'm not telepathic. In fact I'm pretty psi-null.

[Jim's mind starts to race, and there's an underlying current of sheer panic. He has so many things no one else needs to be privy to. Dark things.]

Hey, hey, slow down. Slow down. [Getting noisy in here all of the sudden.]

I'm not telepathic either. I've got enough problems without that in my lap too. [Sitting up to scrub his face and try to get his thoughts marshaled to avoid hitting Jim with anything he shouldn't know.]

What's different? Other than the telepathy. We have to know what triggered it.

[Calcutta at dawn, light violet-grey. It's like trying not to think of a white elephant.]

[Oh, great, thanks, now he can't stop thinking about white elephants. Actually, that's better. Jim focuses on that image, pushing the panic down with slow, deep breaths.] Sorry. I just-- [have a lot of shit of my own.

Shaking his head again, he looks around the room. Nothing's changed there. He doesn't feel any different beyond the sudden ability to hear Bruce's thoughts.] Can you hear anyone else, or is this just limited to us?

[Planck's constant's also a good one. Old theorems, formulas, not the Hulk, constants and variables and whiskers on kittens, these are a few of my favorite things.]

You know as much as I do. I haven't "heard" anyone else, but there's no way to know if there's a range on this other than going out there.

[He gestures to the door.] Be my guest.

[Jesus, Bruce, could you be any more random? Jim presses two curled fingers to one of his temples. He can deal with this like he dealt with being abandoned.

Abruptly getting up, he heads for the door, throwing it open and stepping out. Completely uncaring of the fact that he's in Academy sweats and nothing else. A few other cadets stare but otherwise, nothing, not even when he pointedly squints at someone (and gets an odd look in return). He paces a few feet down the hallway to make sure.

Returning to the room, he closes the door with a shrug.] Seems to be something between us, unless no one out there is thinking. Which would make me seriously wonder about Starfleet's standards.

The next question is whether there's a limit on the broadcast distance. [Abandonment happens, keep moving.] If we can get out of each other's heads, maybe we can focus on other things.

[He gets up to grab his civvies and pull them on over his boxers and t-shirt.] Like figuring out what happened. You're okay Jim, but I don't even want my girlfriend [Betty, long gone] having an all access ticket to my thoughts.

[That's what he does. He keeps moving. If he stops...

Jim forces his thoughts back on track, but not quickly enough to prevent a flash of an arena, screaming, bloodied hands.] Wait, so you're gonna -- what? Go across campus? Across the city? What if there's no limit?

[Then we're screwed.]

Then we try shielding. [Raking his hands through his hair, he tries not to dwell on that glimpse of Jim's secrets. Every man is due his measure of pain and his privacy with it. God knows he has enough to go around. He turns his thoughts to what could disrupt whatever has entangled their minds this way.]

Occam's razor - we start with the simplest answer first. That's distance.

No, we're not screwed. I don't believe in no-win scenarios.

[At the mention of shielding, Jim makes a noise that's not quite human.] Shielding. Oh my god. Okay, wait. I know that. I just hadn't thought of it because, well, your thoughts are really freaking distracting. No offense.

[Moving to throw on a decent shirt, he continues to talk, mind racing again but in a different way this time. Ideas are connecting, expanding, and it's more like a light show of sensors going off than anything.] Shielding is basic technique taught here, what with all the alien species we're expected to encounter and who knows how many are telepathic. I haven't had any courses in it yet but I was supposed to start soon so I have some of the more basic information.

[Still stuck in the 21st century in some ways, Bruce had been thinking of actual physical shielding, but as soon as Jim's mind goes another direction, he wants to slap his own forehead. Of course.]

Is there anything we can do as a quick fix? Because if you think my thoughts are distracting it's just because you're used to the mess in your head.

[Not that his head's any better, he's sure. He has to feel a little sorry for Jim for-- la la not thinking about white elephants in the middle of the room especially not when the white elephants are decidedly green and angry.]

Is an anti-telepathy helmet too much to ask for? [Preferably without having to bring any authorities in on this. Who wanted to have the freak factor upped another order of magnitude?]

[ When Natasha doesn't come out of the bathroom, body tucked into the bathtub (I don't know, she's been in there for hours and refuses to talk to anyone) it's not because she's afraid. It's because there's an uneasiness rolling through her head, reminds her too much of the Red Room and the last time someone was sharing space in her skull, and it's—

Even superspies need time to process. ]

[Phil gives her a solid hour in the bathroom alone, a solid hour he spends hiding in his office. But eventually he knows she needs to come out; if nothing else, there's a mission de-briefing that needs to get done, and Fury won't wait for anything, least of all sudden, magic-induced telepathy.

He keeps his mind carefully blank as he turns the bathroom handle — this is upsetting for him too, okay, but he doesn't have the same track record of this sort of thing that Natasha does, and the very last thing he wants is to spook her with an order — calling out quietly to her so she knows he's coming in before pushing open the door and stepping inside. He doesn't even look at her yet, just stares at the floor, trying so hard to keep his mind quiet.

They can do this.]

[ He tries, and so does she, but it's pointless to pretend like they can't see it. It's like a live wire, red and frayed and buzzing that runs through the back of Natasha's mind, coiled tight enough that it might snap — it's only through a careful sense of monitoring that it doesn't. Maybe SHIELD's own telepaths disabled all the killswitches and subconscious protocols but that doesn't mean Natasha's devoid of it, that knee-jerk reaction to chase blood instead of anything human. (Her priorities have never quite run parallel to anybody else's — her uneasiness grows when it's Phil she's sharing that with.)

Her eyes glance up at him, surprise absent in the set of her expression and what comes next is like a wisp of smoke eeking out through a leaky tap. It's warm enough to mean hi, to mean it's good to see you, but there's a certain sharpness to it that it's the only thing Natasha bothers to verbalize. ]

I need you to give me a minute.

[He nods quietly, a small smile on his face — it's good to see you too — and he leans back against the door, sliding down it to sit on the bathroom tile.]

Okay. [He's just going to wait for her here, let her sort out her own mind before he tries to force his on her as well.

He can wait.]

[ Slowly but smoothly, the way wire cuts through butter, the red to her thoughts shutters and then blinks out completely, like a candle snuffed by a pinch of fingers. The red of her hair against her skin and the bathroom tile is too dark to look like blood and there's a strange feeling to the way her thoughts seem to settle, like the way tumblers fall into place inside a lock, sliding into order. (Damage control inside your own head is never a quick job.)

She breathes in, then out. Steady inhales and exhales of breath and, eventually, her eyes open, her smile not-quite matching his, but an attempt all the same.

Thank you, says the thought, even if her mouth doesn't. ]

[He stays over here on this side of the bathroom even though he wants nothing more than to get up and crawl over to her, to reassure with touch — whether he'd be reassuring himself of her he's not sure. Phil's doing his best to keep a lid on his own thoughts, his own emotions, because Natasha's having a hard enough time with her own brain, she doesn't need to fight his too.

When she looks up, he huffs out a quiet little sigh of relief.

Anytime, he tries, still not really sure if he's doing this right. You okay?]

[ There's no answer, at least not in a thought or a word. It's more a feeling, the way a wave smooths over a rock on the shore — clean and anchoring enough to mean yes even though she can pick up on his worry. Maybe they've never been the most verbal people — never had to be — and even without the magic or the science or whatever it is, she'd know something was bothering him. She's spent enough time with him to know that.

Natasha doesn't move an inch, except maybe to blink and tip her chin, but there's a quiet tug on the end of the thought he sends her, like she's rapping her knuckles on the front door. It's not quite a let me in, but it's close enough — I'm okay, now; what about you? ]

[He still wants to go over to her, but he keeps still again, holds back enough to lift his shoulder at her.

I'm okay.

And then he carefully lets down his guard, and maybe it's like opening a door but it feels more like letting his walls collapse under their own weight; one minute he was sitting across the room, buttoned-up and pure Agent Coulson, the next he's laid bare for her to pick across.

There's confusion, worry for her, worry for him, an ache in his chest that will never go away, that deep-seated roiling uncertainty of what this all will mean in the long run for them, whether or not it's permanent and how it will affect them later on down the road. But underneath all that, Phil is an ocean of calm, clear water. He's centered, he's happy, his mind rejoices at being so close to her even though they're on opposite sides of the room. Beneath all the worry of today is a deep, quiet hum of love, and if he feels it bubbling up in his chest whenever he looks at her, surely she can feel it now too.]

[ If he's laid bare, the way Natasha seems to slip into the space between his thoughts is with a strange kind of care. It's the same way her body remembers when to step and when to pirouette, her precision the same way a blade slides through the space between ribs. There's confusion, and worry (me too, her thoughts say, and then there's a strange kind of resistance like she has to grow used to sharing that kind of thing, now that they're linked).

Natasha chooses then to move, climbing out and sliding down the wall to sit next to him. She's not touching him, save the warm line of their shoulders — if Phil is an ocean then Natasha is a desert, dry and harsh but far from barren. (You surprised me, her thoughts seem to say. I didn't know I could love you.)

But it's something else she vocalizes, practicality before sentiment: ]

I can't work like this.

[It's totally cliché, but when she reaches out (into his head), he feels almost relieved; comforted like a missing piece of a puzzle has slotted into place. He makes room for her in his mind like she's always been there, moving aside so she can fit around him the way he's let her fit around the rest of his life.

He leans a little into her shoulder but doesn't take her hand, doesn't turn to look at her, nothing. Just a quiet press of his arm against hers.]

No. [Also aloud, because this is something that requires the precision of words, not the slideshow of feelings that flashes through their minds.] We'll both be benched until this is sorted out.

[Only then does his hand shift against the cold bathroom tile, sliding over to curl his fingers around hers.]

[ Her fingers might not curl against his but she leans into the join of their shoulders, pressing against that line of contact. The tile is cold against the balls of her feet and it's a passing observation, how he's wearing that tie she got him from Manila — if it makes her smile it's quickly drowned in a sea of frustrations. Natasha's not good at downtime; it makes her restless, even if she understands it.

An inhale, an exhale, and then she shifts to rest her head on his shoulder, a tumble of red falling down the slope of her face. ]

And if it's permanent?

[ It's Natasha, so she's not looking for reassurance — it's a real, logistical question. ]

[He squeezes her hand gently, a slow press of his fingers around her hand as he tries to sort out his jumble of thoughts. Feeling her frustrations simply amplify his, but he's better at pushing that aside than she is at the moment. Yeah, he doesn't want to lose his job, or get benched for the rest of his life, but he can't focus on that right now. He has to reassure her, to get through the debrief, to settle into something else until they can fix this.]

If it's permanent... [A quiet sigh pushes past his lips and he gently rests his cheek against the top of her head.]

Then we'll have to find something else to do.

[ There's a thought that passes, unguarded and unfiltered, through her head. It's the kind that says I love you, the words pressing at him like her hands do when she moves above him in the dark — the kind that's anchoring, letting him focus on what he needs to before tackling his own. (She doesn't need his reassurances, but this isn't about that.) ]

We could join the circus, [ Natasha says, a half-attempt at some kind of joke. ] Learn magic tricks. Run away from this life of crime.

My mother would be so proud. [He turns his head a little to press his lips to her hair — I love you too — his thumb slowly stroking over her knuckles. He clings to that likes a lifeline, focusing on the warmth of her affections until he settles down mentally.]

Are you okay, sweetheart? [The endearment slips out without him meaning to let it go, but he doesn't try to backtrack.] I mean, really?

Mm. [ Her hum is mild, neither this or that, but her evasiveness isn't deliberate — or so her thoughts say. Instead it's just one of those expressions that Natasha hasn't quite deciphered yet, that for how well she wholly knows herself love isn't always something she always understands. ]

I was seven, the first time. It's a little uncomfortable. [ She exhales, not bothering to clarify. ] I'm alright.

[His thumb doesn't stop stroking her hand, though there's a brief stricken tinge to his thoughts. Thinking about the Red Room and what that did to Natasha always makes his heart hurt.]

I'm here for you. [She knows that, he knows she knows. But he needed to say it.]

[There comes a time where you shouldn't share quarters anymore. Telford felt entitled to that ever since he led his first expedition. That was ten years ago.

Now here he is, sharing a room with Everett as if they were rookies again. And there's snoring.

Telford is wide awake, staring at the ceiling.]

Wonder what would happen if I just stapled his nostrils shut.

[It's temporary. Or should be.

Just until this alien telepathic enhancement thingie wears off. You would have thought Telford would be used to the occasional stint of rooming with Young.

...At least, until he could skim across Everett's subconcious and hear the snoring in his brain, too.]

[Okay, no.

No.

There's things that are not acceptable and there's things that go beyond that.]

Wake up.

[And you just get a confused jumble of thoughts as a response. Outside, Everett gives a loud snort and a grumble.

Guess that's a no.]

[Okay, but. Telford is not putting up with that.

So if he needs to physically get up and shake you awake, guess what. He will do exactly that.

Think you're entitled to more sleep than he's getting? Think again.]

[To which David will encounter an annoyed growl and Everett turning onto one side, back to you.

The snoring is a lot quieter, but still there...]

[Pinching your nose shut.

Just be glad he doesn't smother you with the pillow.]

[And it takes a few moments for Everett's subconcious to realise he can't breath...

...And Telford will feel a sudden overwhelming panic from him as his mouth opens, gasping, and he wakes up.]

[Telford winces back, releasing the nose from its grip. It's a good thing, probably, because otherwise he would have been caught in the act.

He's downplaying it, running his hands over his face. Jesus, talk about a plan backfiring.]

[Everett stares wildly around, his gaze landing on Telford and looks at him confusedly.]

Wh... What?

[He exhales, looking a little bewildered. A little tired.

A little pissed off.]

Good morning.

[Everett looks to the clock on the table and frowns slightly.]

S'three in the morning?

[He sounds sleepy as hell.]

I know.

[He's been watching that clock for the past hour or so.]

You snore.

[You get a Really look. You've known him how long?]

You're just realising this now?

I wish.

[And the pointed look right back at you.]

But it's a little more invasive this time.

[Your mind is a mess, btw.]

You can hear it through this thing?

[You have got to be kidding...]

Sure can.

[He rubs his face, sitting down on his bed again.]

How long did they say this is gonna last?

This is ridiculous...

[Everett sighs.]

They're working on it. They've brought in medical scanners from Atlantis.

Edited 2012-12-09 19:47 (UTC)

[At first, he thinks it must be the ship. She's mucked about in everyone's heads before. Another simulation? The onset of mild insanity, at long last?

It's bothersome, at least, when he thinks everyone he passes is talking, some low whisper, about such random subjects, sometimes to themselves. But nobody's ever speaking. Or what they're saying is something completely different.

He goes to TJ, once, complaining of headaches, insists on getting himself checked out as thoroughly as possible, and when she found nothing physically wrong with him, Rush decided, naturally, that it was best to keep his mouth shut about it for now. He'd get around to mentioning it if he thinks it's necessary. It's not entirely out of the question, not so hard to believe, telepathy, after everything they've seen out here. But he's sure the reaction would not be pretty if people (if Young) found out that Rush, of all people, could suddenly glean into their minds. It's not like he's doing it on purpose.

Which makes moments alone that much better. He's been trying not to let it get to him, but sometimes it makes it so hard to concentrate. He already has a fairly good grasp on people as it is, this crew especially. So, at a console, alone, trying to work, it's the best option without deliberately going to a less visited part of the ship or secluded in his quarters at the moment. Only hearing himself think. Perhaps he's been avoidant lately, distracted, but hopefully nobody's noticed or worried too much.

At least it tends to give him fair warning when someone's coming before he actually hears their footfalls, sometimes.]

[Young has been battling with headaches, too, and he swears he's going to go insane from the voices.

He's been doing the same, isolating himself wherever possible, but he's the commanding officer on this ship. He can't keep doing that, but whenever he tries to show face, he ends up hearing their thoughts. It's distracting and disconcerting. Especially when they're frustrated with his orders.

It takes a lot to not call them out on stuff like that.

He's noticed Rush doing his usual thing of not telling people where he is, not answering his radio. Frankly, he doesn't give a crap any more. He has bigger worries. Which is why he's surprised to see him at that console.

And Rush should be able to sense that.]

Rush.

[Rush can certainly feel Young coming, tenses a fraction, anticipation and annoyance. The slightest hint of fear (found out? no, how could anyone guess?), though he tries to bury that deep. Surprised? No, that's coming from Young.

And what could be so surprising? But he obviously can't ask that. Has to act as though he only hears the verbal words only. This might have been much easier if they had only been auditory hallucinations. Damn.

He cocks his head, turning fractionally toward Young.]

Colonel Young.

[Anticipation and annoyance. He couldn't expect anything else from Rush...

Still, he picks up on that fear and frowns, confused slightly at why he would be scared to see him. Unless he was working on something he shouldn't be.

Young positions himself at a console, this room now unused since they discovered the bridge.]

What're you working on?

[Rush makes a small noise in the back of his throat, as if cutting off a scoff.] Just a few programs, algorithms. Running simulations on some of the equations Chloe and I have been working on without bothering everyone on the bridge.

[Because the bridge is too crowded. Though, really, sometimes it had felt so crowded when it was only him (and Gloria, and Franklin). He glances at Young, eyes narrowing a fraction. Why is he here anyway?]

Nothing for you to worry about, I can assure you.

[And there's some suspicion there. Everett's eyes narrow slightly at that, but he stops himself from calling him out on it.]

Good.

[He has a right to be here. And he's getting all defensive now.]

What exactly are you working on? [He's genuinely curious.]

[Rush sighs, annoyed, but he keeps his voice more or less level.] Would you really like me to go over the details with you? Because I'm sure we could get Eli down here to make it all make sense for you.

[Hostility is likely suspicious, though. And he doesn't need that. He doesn't need anyone to check in on him, to look at what he's doing, hover over his shoulder, or any of that. Anything that requires being near him. Rush rubs at his eyes. They should be trusting each other now, he knows, but what good can come of this? Just breathe and ignore it, Nicholas, like always.]

I apologize; I admit I haven't been taking the most proper care of myself lately, and I suppose I'm getting a bit snappy without reason. Seems like a good indication to quit now and get some rest.

[If Young could trust Rush, he would. This would all be a lot easier if they could trust each other. But Rush's past works against him.

He sighs inwardly at the snide comment, not really expecting anything else. And Rush should be able to feel that. And at the apology? Genuine surprise.]

It's okay. I've not been myself lately, either. [Ever since their last journey through the gate.] I think we all need a break. Some nice planet for a few hours.

[No smut please.]

[So whatever that experiment was supposed to do, this was not it and all Bennett does is...stare. Wide-eyed in that way where it's unclear what's going through her head exactly because she might possibly be out for murder but since she can hear his voice in her head, she suspects he can hear hers too. Which is deeply unsettling. Bennett already knows that Topher knows she's a little off kilter but he doesn't know how particularly elaborate her murder fantasies can get when she's cranky. Now he will and being the ball of paranoia that she is, Bennett expects this will be reason for a breakup.]

Edited (HURRR HTML FAIL) 2012-12-09 00:32 (UTC)

[Topher's immediate response is somewhere along the lines of holy crap I never should have made that Fury joke and a string of other incoherent media babbling that almost drowns out Bennett's murderous impulses- almost, because eventually his thought noise flatlines at catching a bit of her paranoia, which doubles back on him, feeding into his own about a number of things, starting with we are both so dead and seriously can we blow each other up from the inside out now, because that's awful... also cool, but mostly awful.

He makes a noise of protest.]

Nononono. None of that. You start getting freaked out, then I'm gonna freak out and there's gonna be a whole mishigas of freaked-out-ness. And I just used Yiddish unironically, so that's probably not the best sign.

[Bennett never really understood The Fury and all the jokes Topher had made about it but now she does. Which sends her into another downward spiral of paranoia, thinking that oh God, what if he only wants to be with her because of her arm? That's disturbing on so many levels.]

I'm fairly certain this is a, this is a perfectly good reason, we have a perfectly good reason to...freak out right now. Freaking out is a perfectly reasonable response to being able to hear your thoughts.

[Ever heard someone try to defend his life choices mentally while verbally falling all over himself.

Now you do, because over everything Topher is presently saying, there's an underlying panicked stream of IT'SNOTABOUTTHEARMTHEARMWASATHINGLIKETHEGLASSESOHGODDON'TTHINKTHAT.]

But if our heads explode, that's counterproductive... and messy.

[Which in turn just adds to the snowball of anxiety over on this end. SO YOU ONLY LIKE HER FOR HER DEAD ARM AND HER GLASSES. She whips her glasses off in retaliation. TAKE THAT. Since you only like her glasses, Topher, STARE AT BENNETT'S FACE WITHOUT THEM. This twisted logic only really works in her brain. No one else is excepted to actually understand it.]

If Alpha and, and Echo could handle 50 brains in their heads, I'm, I'm fairly sure that we'll be fine. With each other.

[Except for the part where she doesn't think that at all because he's already driving her crazy and it's giving her a migraine.]

[Topher full stops, brain and mouth in sync for a second, because all he can think to let tumble forth is a mildly exasperated] Really? [But at least that moment of Bennett-level ridiculousness- and even peering into her head, he's not certain he grasps the logic- calms him down enough to think rationally. She has a point.

Of course she has a point. She always has a point. She's brilliant and he has first class seats to her brilliant mind and- NO. FOCUS. He inhales and then exhales.]

Don't be so cynical. I think two reasonable geniuses should be able to crack what a serial killer and an activist managed. [A beat] That... wasn't the part you said out loud, was it?

[She may love him but that doesn't exempt him from Bennett's violent thoughts. The more he rambles on, in his head and out loud, all she can imagine is stabbing him with the screwdriver that's laying out on the desk. Repeatedly. When she realizes that's where her thoughts have gone, she starts shouting in hopes that her voice will drown that out because the last thing her epic insecurity needs is an even more legitimate reason for Topher to just run out of fear for his life.]

No, that's not what I said! And-and I doubt either of us could be considered even remotely reasonable at the present moment. But sure, if you'd like to use more accurate descriptions of Alpha and Echo, here. The serial killer that you created and the borderline psychopathic activist that has nearly killed both of us.

So stop.

[Her voice trails off a bit at the end there because ow, her head. Even the somewhat dimly lit lab is making it worse and getting her nauseous.]

[Topher's entire brain goes into a slight haze of wordless panic and then flatlines. Again. Until all he's doing is replaying the image of being stabbed with a screwdriver over and over again. Normal people would think to run from that, but who hasn't had a few murderous thoughts about people they love every now and then, right? He threatened to throw Ivy out a window once...

...He didn't actually mean it, but... It did happen. And now that memory is there for Bennett to see. He'd be more concerned about that, except screwdriver.]

Maybe reasonable was a little bit too strong, but, hey, we might well be close to the psychotic break... Also BTW, Alpha was a serial killer before I made him crazy.

...A would-be serial killer. [THERE IS ALWAYS TIME FOR SEMANTICS. Also it makes him feel better than Alpha was just baseline crazy.]

[Bennett scrunches her face and pouts. She doesn't want to know about him wanting to throw Ivy out a window because she's the one with the temper and he's the more mild-mannered and not-violent half of this relationship. Then she starts going back and forth in her head over what to say since she's the type that needs to plan ahead before speaking, otherwise she'll just stutter and blabber through it.

The result is a lengthy internal monologue that runs in circles and follows that same twisted logistical pattern that's probably started to sound like a whole new language in Topher's head.

Bennett abruptly stops and lets out an exasperated grumble because she can just feel him in her head trying to make sense of it all. She bolts up from her chair and glares at him.]

I'm going to go find my pills. Maybe if we're far enough apart from each other, this- this mind-reading nonsense will stop.

[It's actually quite fascinating and his head is sort of quiet and interspersed with random swells of my god your head and why are you so perfect. It's pathetically kittenish, like his own head is watching her thoughts swim by like fish in an aquarium, fascinated by each and every one.

...Only for her to slam the metaphorical door shut on him and he's left blinking, unaware that completely got glazey eyed and dopey there for a second.]

If it doesn't, it could be... a thing. I mean, you'd never have to wonder if something bad was happening or vice versa. [Yes, the optimism is astounding. He starts to follow her, realizes that would be counterproductive and then stands there awkwardly.] I'm just saying, there's definite good things about it.

[Words don't come out of her mouth but she gives him another cranky expression and her thoughts start piling in his head at a dizzying speed. Part of her brain is focused on his commentary. It makes her angry that now she knows for certain that he really does think she's perfect and that is a standard she cannot possibly live up to because she's so far from that that Bennett can't even figure out why he thinks so in the first place. It doesn't make sense and he's stupid. Then another part of her is going off on a tangent about how he drives her absolutely crazy with how he can be so optimistic all the time. There's a million reasons that this could be a horrible thing that just ends up hurting both of them and all he can think about is how perfect she is and how hearing each other's thoughts could theoretically be a good thing. And finally, a bit of her is already brainstorming ways to fix this mess and reverse it. Knowing that he just heard all of her mental rambling, Bennett just sort of huffs off to get an imitrex and a glass of water downstairs. She just needs to walk away from him for a little bit and cool her temper. Pretend that she's still alone in her head.

When she comes back up to the lab, she doesn't say anything at all to Topher. Bennett just heads straight for the lower level and sits on the couch. He may approach her if he dares.]

Edited 2012-12-11 00:29 (UTC)

[And Topher already knows it didn't actually work, but he lets her stew in that for awhile, keeping his thoughts calm, even if calm for him is seeing how much of the Imperial March he can recall from memory- all of it. It's not exactly Mozart, but it's better than a constant parade of reassuring thoughts.

Eventually, he follows her down and sits down beside her. Their heads are calmer now anyway- as cam as either of them can get with their flurry of excited mental energy.]

It could also make for an interesting project.

[Because both of them loved to tinker and sure tinkering with their own heads wasn't what they usually went for, but what the hell? They got each other into this.]

[When he sits down, Bennett sighs and leans her head against his shoulder. This is exhausting. She starts thinking of how she's going to respond and goes through numerous possibilities before she just sort of gives up on talking at all. It's kind of proving to be inefficient at the moment.

It'll be an interest project, yes. She can't deny that. It's just irritating that this happened in the first place. Plus, she doesn't really fancy the idea of tinkering with their heads since tinkering is what got them into this mess.]

[Hm. There's a bonus he never considered. The ability to talk without actually talking. They could sit there in silence and bat ideas back and forth and no one would look at them weird. Well, they would, but weird looks because of two people staring in silence is a little bit different than weird looks because two people were talking about reconfiguring the human brain.

They couldn't exactly keep secrets from each other, but they could keep them from everyone else. On that thought, he rests his cheek against her head. He's not the type to keep secrets all the time, but...]

I dunno, Ben. I think I can see this working out. [Now that they're calmer.] It just might take some adjusting, y'know?

[It really shouldn't surprise her that he isn't phased by this, that he just keeps seeing all the advantages and not thinking that this will be horrible. Bennett is just having a hard time of wrapping her own head around this. Telepathy shouldn't even be possible in the first place and she still doesn't like the idea of him being able to constantly know what she's thinking about.

Even if they already knew each other so well that it felt like they were reading minds.]

We need to at least figure out whether or not this is going to hurt us in the long run or not before we settle on adjusting.

[But it's sci-fi and it's fun and it's a new puzzle and God only knows that if anyone has ever considered the true power of telepathy before now, it's Topher Brink. He'd program brains to be telekinetic if he could. Consequences don't matter. It's all in the game.]

Like run some nifty experiments? [He perks up a bit, already interested in the possibilities. He's done his own brain scans. This is cake. In theory.] It might be a good idea to test the limits of it while we're at it.

[Yes, go right ahead and brains to do something that might possibly overload all those brains. While its similar, being connected to a brain in a completely different body is still different than Alpha or Echo having a bunch of minds stockpiled in their grey matter. He may think its fun but Bennett will have none of that. She's still concentrating on THIS BETTER NOT KILL US.]

I wouldn't necessarily call it nifty.

[Topher's, at least, ruled out the possibility of their heads exploding. That's the only comfort he can offer, mentally or otherwise.]

No, but I like that you actually used that word in a sentence. [Goofiest grin ever. WOW WHAT A DORK.] C'mon, Ben. Don't deny the coolness of the X-Men factor. [He nudges her with his shoulder.]

[He's an idiot if he really thinks that's the only sort of comfort he can offer. There's...other ways and OH GOD now he can hear her trying not to think of...dirtier things and she's sort of failing at it and this is exactly why they shouldn't be able to read each other's minds. The more she gets herself worked up about this, the more she wants more cuddles which only serves to knock down another domino and start a new twisty path in the awkward rube goldberg machine that is Bennett's thought processes.

She pulls herself away from him and frowns because her brain is going off on a tangent about how jeeze, Bennett. You're being super clingy and all you can think about is being even more clingy so stop clinging because now is not the time to be hanging all over Topher and he probably doesn't want to be clung to anyway because no one likes a cling so it's best to just move away and...he can hear all of this nonsense too.

With a brain like this, it's really no wonder why she's completely bonkers.]

You're not, you're not a bald professor in a, you have lots of hair and aren't in any way paralyzed and I-I'm not a red head.

[It's probably a miracle she remembers that much about the X-Men.]

[Topher tries not to laugh out loud, but the real problem lies in trying not to think much on anything she's thinking and instead his head all but explodes in a flurry of sci-fi film statistics and Daft Punk music scoring it all, all to cover up anything he might have thought about one thing or another. Cuddles, however. Cuddles, he can do. He wraps an arm around her shoulders as she tries to pull away, all to pull her back, because there is no being clingy here. Only safety and a complete failure to be reassuring.]

I dunno. You could probably pull off red hair. [He grins dorkily.] You're gonna make yourself sick worrying about it or give us both brain aneurysms... Though probably not that one. Relax.

[He removes his arm from around her shoulder and places his hands on either side of her head, using his thumbs to gently massage her forehead.] Relax. Just stop thinking so hard for, like, a second. You'll feel better. Promise.

No. [She affirms, her consciousness suddenly flooded with the memories of the one and only time she had ever dyed her hair. Or rather, Caroline dyed her hair that heinous plum color the day before she started working in R&D at Rossum HQ. Topher would probably find the panicked fit Bennett threw afterwards to be priceless.]

If I was meant to pull off red hair, I'd have two recessive genes on chromosome sixteen that mutates my MC1R protein. Instead I--

[Everything just sort of gets derailed in her head after a few seconds of him doing that and she slowly starts to relax. Of course, her thoughts go back to analyzing him and his actions and how can he possibly have the patience for dealing with her like this but she stops and leans back into him.]

You should go back to thinking about the Imperial March. That Daft Punk is still annoying.

[ Imagine this, Topher. Maybe it's the thing your nightmares are made of -- after all, it's not the maker who is supposed to be strapped to the chair. It's not the programmer who is supposed to have his mind meddled with. And it's definitely not comforting to be strapped to a makeshift dental chair with makeshift wires connected to makeshift motherboards in a makeshift laboratory that really is something more out of a horror film.

Is he dead? -- Always so paranoid. -- Reckon it'd be no skin off my back if he was dead -- Idiots! The point of this isn't death! -- It's not?]

No. The point of it is more mindblowing than that...

[ He utters the words almost fondly, his fingers moving forward to cup Topher's chin with a surprising gentleness. ]

Hello, Mr. Brink. Did you fall asleep?

Edited 2012-12-09 16:42 (UTC)

[There are many, many things wrong with this scenario. Gaps in memory are probably one of the biggest, most totally rational things to get paranoid about when you work in the Dollhouse, so not being able to remember the path between Point A to Point B as he starts to return to consciousness is a bit alarming, but not nearly as alarming as Alpha's voice and being touched. Suddenly he jumps or tries to and it ends up being little more than a full body shudder accompanied by the sort of horrified look you definitely see in horror movies.]

What the- [He hisses out, going for anger, but actually only pulling off incredible fear. You don't wake up with the boogeyman in your face and pretend to be anything other than scared.] How did you-

[No, there's no how. There's no why. He yells this with a megaphone at everyone who tries to figure it out. Alpha is Alpha is Alpha. And Alpha is here. His eyes dart around to take in the Frankenstein's monster of a chair and he tries to sink down lower into it, like maybe he'll merge with it and this nightmare will end.]

Now, is that any way to address old friends? No 'hello?' No 'long time, no see -- except thankfully I can see since you decided not to remove my eyes from their sockets?' Topher... we're hurt.

[ Alpha's attempt at looking upset really only comes out mocking and condescending. It probably wasn't any real attempt at all, though, if that's any consolation.

He reaches out idly to pull one of the wires from Topher's precious forehead, gingerly checking for scorch marks or anything residual. Alpha slips into something a little more doctorly to check vitals. ]

And how are you feeling? Any aches and pains I should know about? Any tingling sensations? Your anterior spinal artery doesn't feel ready to implode on itself, does it?

[The sound Topher makes is equal parts squeak and terrified laugh, and something that might be a vague choking sound like someone possibly resisting the urge to throw up, because things he definitely didn't want to remember- Alpha's handler getting his eyes thumbed out of their sockets.]

Maybe if you'd gone with a slightly different decor. Like something in a nice beige. [It's that point when the fear is so overwhelming that being smarmy is about the only thing he has to him, but it doesn't sound convincing in the slightest.

At the questions, he just stares at the ceiling, suddenly panicked that he has no idea what just happened and animal hindbrain takes over all logic and reason and understanding and comprehending and the general brain system check that would answer all pressing questions is overrode by something primal and animal in him yelling THERE IS NO GOD. IT'S ALL OVER. EVERYTHING IS HORRIBLE AND YOU'RE GOING TO DIE. ALTERNATELY THIS ISN'T EVEN YOUR BODY.] What did you do? [He strains a bit trying to get a better look at his own legs.] I swear Alpha, if this isn't my body, I'm gonna-

[He swallows and then grits his teeth, because there are reasons why threatening Alpha isn't a good idea and one of them is that Alpha has thumbs and he has eye sockets.]

-scream like a girl, honestly, but it will be very annoyed screaming.

Edited (A MILLION AND A HALF EDITS LATER, I THINK I FOUND ALL THE DUMB TYPOS. Way to not proofread.) 2012-12-11 06:26 (UTC)

Funny. The decorator in my mind seems to think something in mauve would be better.

[ He can feel the panic. The first sign that the experiment was successful -- after all, this is just the next step up from a remote wipe, isn't it? Telepathy. Alpha slowly circles Topher like a hawk, only swooping down once he reaches the back of the chair -- pressing his palms flat on either side of the boy genius's head and hovering over him.

Personal space is overrated. ]

There will be plenty of time for you to scream -- in agony -- in fear -- in lust -- Okay I think I speak for 35 of us when I say, disgusting.

[ He shakes his head to briefly throw back the various personalities. Amusement drains from his face, hardening into annoyance. Annoyance at Topher or at the various voices chattering away in his mind, who knew. ]

-- you've been left in your pathetic body.

[ He backs up, moving toward his various machines -- tapping away onto old school keyboards. ]

I wouldn't really have use for you if you weren't.

[Every now and then, Topher has to stop and wonder about Alpha's imprints. After awhile, intakes become a blur, but then you stop and wonder, okay really who asks for a schizophrenic? But that's neither here nor there.

Despite tensing at the touch and nearly going into all out hyperventilation, Topher focuses up, concentrates on breathing in and out and thinking, except the thinking is a bit difficult because there's something in his head that probably shouldn't be there and he scrunches his face a bit, trying to shake it out. Those were not his emotions, excuse you.]

Then can I reiterate the what did you do part? [He lets his head drop back against the back of the chair.] God, my head.

Edited 2012-12-12 19:08 (UTC)

Topher, really, you're spoiling the fun. Aren't you supposed to be the genius, the creator, the all-mighty, all-powerful god? The man behind the gray-matter curtain? I'm disappointed you haven't come to the conclusion yourself.

[ He becomes smug, the corner of his lip pulling upward for a cruel smirk. ]

Or is it that the created has surpassed the creator? [ He tongues the tip of his teeth, enjoying the taste of those words -- being able to gloat and prove just how much he has ascended. ]

Fine, fine, fine. I'll give you a hint. [ Alpha leans back against the wall, folding his arms over his chest and studying Topher with consideration -- or perhaps more cat-like; a predator watching prey. ]

Imagine you are a synapse -- a single synapse lost in the sea of many synapses. Only now, you are connected to a network.

I'm sorry, Alpha, I have a headache. [His tone is drier than sandpaper and this time he doesn't have the decency to cringe and look apologetic. Alpha all but said he had no real intentions of killing him... Did he say that? Or does he just know that? What's going on in his brain right now?] It's the trauma. It's making me significantly less fun.

[Topher's bitching, however, gets cut down to size by Alpha's delight at that statement. It's not true, even if Topher's always been impressed by how far ahead Alpha was. He'd never admit that, however. Or admit that he was simultaneously annoyed and proud by it. He'd be prouder if Alpha wasn't such a psychopath.

...And then it clicks.] Ohhh no. You didn't. Tell me you didn't. That's not- [It occurs to him that he's still a little tied up at the moment, but that doesn't stop him from trying to throw his entire body into his mixture of shock/awe/horror.] I mean, it is feasible, but actually going through with it...

[And then it occurs to him that this isn't two geniuses talking about a monkey in a lab. He's the monkey. His eyes go wide as he processes what the extra feedback in his head actually is.] You sick son of a- [He bites off the curse before he can actually say it, preferring to just stare open-mouthed.]

[How did this happen? Uhhhhhh jamjar shenanigans I guess. Sure.

Now granted, Hama's been able to do this her whole life. But as the only other telepath she knows is her brother, it's a little alarming to abruptly sense someone else's presence in her mind. But who? No one else is in the room with her.

Tentatively, she prods at the link, enough to transmit a sense that she's aware of the intruder's presence - along with a warning.]

< You are trespassing. >

[ See nothing could be worse for Laguna. Fact is half of what he says is a mistake. Taking this into account, the totality of what he thinks is an even bigger mistake and an amazing mess.

Since he, quite obviously, had not realized there was a link of any kind, expect him to jump when he hears a voice in his head. ]

AH! What the-- Kiros? Ward?

[ No answer... ]

( Huh... I hear voices now?Or is there a ghost here? FreakyBetter not tell that to anyone of they'd think I go crazy. )

[That surprises her. He wasn't aware of her? But she certainly didn't initiate contact.]

< Who are you? >

((No smut option, please.))

[It's been a long night.]

[It's been a long... week? Month? However long it's been since he died and just kept right on going from there, traipsing through Hades and Hell, devoid of much of anything beyond an occasional cigarette. But that was all right.]

[He hadn't paid too much attention to Uriel's speech about what being Setsuna's guardian would entail, and to be honest, mind-reading hadn't been on the list was it was. But maybe if he had listened a little better, the thought running through his mind as he gulped down his share of the dinner Kira had scrounged up might not have been Shit, I haven't even had the chance to masturbate since we got here.]

[Setsuna sputtered loudly into his own bowl, choking on the ride and slamming it down before he gave Katou a gentle shove.]

Katou! Gross! Nobody needs to hear that shit! What's wrong with you? Keep some things to yourself.

Huh?

[Genuinely puzzled, Katou shot Setsuna a look that was half-confusion, half-indignation. Around a mouthful of half-chewed rice, that was quite the accomplishment.]

I didn't fucking say anything! What's your problem?!

[Setsuna was immediately puzzled. Katou's indignation seemed sincere, and immediately he felt bad for shoving the other boy. But if Katou hadn't said anything, then... "What the hell?" The words were soft, befuddled, and as clear as if Setsuna had said them out loud.

Of course, his expression likely said as much for him even without any telepathy involved. But he said, and shook his head, like he as giving in to something.]

Sorry. I just...

Forget it. I think I'm hallucinating.

["Hallucinating Katou talking about jacking off? Yeck. I guess I still have sex on the brain after all. I hope we find Sara soon."]

[Katou swallowed. Barely. His eyes had gotten wider with each passing second as Setsuna's thoughts started to hit his brain. He stared at Setsuna as he rubbed his forehead, hard, as though that would help the situation. Whatever it was.]

[I'm losing my fucking mind. His mouth wasn't moving. But I wasn't, hey, I wasn't thinking about Sara! Why would I? All I was thinking about was jerking off, so I can't be going nuts! Right? ... Right?]

[The silence lasts a few seconds but feels way longer than that to Setsuna. His brain has temporarily ceased all function.

Then there's a tentative, "Yo, Katou?"

His lips don't move, but he's staring intently at his friend, his dinner forgotten.]

[Something a little like understanding starts to pass across Katou's face. Whether it finishes is probably another matter entirely.]

[... Hi?]

[At least if I've lost it he has too.]

[Drills, trainings. Plans for infiltration, assault, extraction. Schedules -- his own, his command's, his superiors', the labs'. Where to move troops, where to send a single SOLDIER. What meetings are when and with whom. What reports need reading, what reports can be shunted to an underling. Which Turk has been assigned to him this time, where they're hiding, and how much to let them see.

But really, that's if one delves deep. The surface of his mind is calm and as emotionless as the man himself strives to be. He is, after all, the perfect SOLDIER.]

[Suddenly this bar wasn’t as comfortable as it had been when he’d first arrived. Then again, George doubted that the handful of drinks he had were helping much. Well. They might have been helping. A little. To cap his nerves at leave. It wasn’t until a person passed by up at the bar that a mirrored part of the wall opened up, catching his eye and making him look.Then his nerves weren’t so capped and a wave of anxiousness washed over him.

After a second of looking, blue eyes darted back to the table. He couldn’t even look at his own reflection. George’s chest tightened along with the grip on his glass as he sunk into the booth. What the hell was he supposed to do? All he wanted to go was drink himself to sleep. But he also knew that wasn’t going to resolve anything. It wasn’t going to change the nagging thought in the back of his mind that he was supposed to be dead.]

[ooc: Or you're welcome to come up with your own option!]

[You are supposed to be dead. Jim knows that it's not an exaggeration when people tell him he looks like his father, just like he knows that said father died right after he was born. So it's not possible that he's sitting in a booth across the room, and it's not possible that Jim is simply looking in a mirror.

There's just, some guy that looks like the old holos he stole from his mom's room as a kid. And that happens. Sometimes that happens. That's not weird. There's no reason to approach--oh well, he's doing it anyway. Jim's standing in front of the man's booth before he can really say he thought about it, trying his best not to stare because up close, he looks even more like his dad.]

Hi. [And in his head, he adds, even with an ironic tone: you look like my dead father.]

[He knew he was supposed to be dead. But how was he alive? That was the puzzle and it was freaking him out the more and more he thought about it. Like, seriously, really? He was alive and he remembered things. If that wasn’t as trippy as about to meet your son who you didn’t know was your son, well, regardless; he was in for a hell of a night. George was just finishing off his drink in a few more gulps when he was approached, clearing his throat with a sigh as he looked up to the blond for a fleeting moment.]

Hey. [Every vibe he gave off read he didn’t want to be bothered but then he chuckled, a wide grin growing across his face. That thought sounded nearly as clear as day to him.] Look I appreciate the, uh, thought? But that’s gotta be the worst line and I—

[George stilled, staring at his empty glass while he pondered those words. They were a little fuzzy, weren’t they? Those weren’t spoken. His brow crinkled before he slowly looked back to his guest, blue eyes going a little wider. He looks like me. I look, I used to look, like… him. Kind of.] Uhm. [Words, George. Don’t be creepy.] Hi. You... you can have a seat, if you like.

[So much for not staring. And man, if he was ever did use that as a pickup line, he'd have to take a seriously hard look at his life.

Kirk looks down at his drink. Did I just... hear voices? He didn't feel weird, maybe a little buzzed but not drunk enough to be hallucinating.]

Thanks. [The captain slides into the booth across from him, trying not to look directly at this guy, because he'd definitely just stare. And be the really creepy one here.]

I'm Jim.

[The baffled look on his face certainly didn't lave when he heard this kid's voice again, talking about voices but not moving his mouth. Now George was starting to wonder if all the drinks he had were starting to catch up on him. Being gone for so long'll do that, I guess. But he was drinking strong liquor, how was he not on the floor?

He nodded, watching as the other sat. Okay, the staring is a little weird. Then he was shaking his head with a small sigh and closed eyes upon the realization; Not like I'm doing the same. Though once he was being introduced, earning himself another look at the name, he reached out his hand in goodwill.]

George. Is there something I can help you with, Jim? [Nearly stammering over the name, still taking in the great likeness this apparent stranger has to him, he's able to fight if off with a prolonged blink to get through it. Calm down, everybody's got that name. ...Alright, a lot of people have that name, it's a good name.]

[Kirk is willing to look past the fact that he might be having a mental break and hearing voices because he just called himself George. That can't be a coincidence. There's millions of people named George and he's willing to admit that his face is not altogether extremely unique.

But this is too much. Definitely having a mental breakdown.

Jim ignores the hand offered to him, in favor of rubbing his forehead.]

... I honestly don't know if you can.

[There was no fighting the nagging feeling in his gut, something about this kid... it wasn't right. Or, it was right and he didn't know which made it feel... wrong. The thought was annoying and it was giving him a bit of a headache, along with the fact he was stil hearing voices too and that mental breakdown deal didn't sound so bad to be honest. He was more than half way there anyway.

George took his hand back with a clearing of his throat.] All I can do is try. Gotta give me the opportunity though. This bar doesn't need two guys having a mental break now, especially not such a... powerful telekinetic. [He tried a chuckle to break the ever growing tension.] I promise, whatever you tell me? Nobody else will hear it.

[Jim gave him a curious look for that. Was this guy experiencing it too? It, being a general term for losing his mind. He's sure that George is not hearing things and seeing his dead father, that has to be his own special brand of crazy. Maybe his drink was spiked.

No one will know because you're not real.]

My dad's name was George. And you look a lot like him.

[That assumption was only half wrong because he'd still getting tingles from hearing words not coming out of mouthes. That curious look is met with one that's a little more confused.] You're a telekinetic, right? You've gotta be because I know I'm not...

[Those words dug deep at him, his mind going blank as he sat wide-eyed and mouth ajar. The thought echoed in his head until he could have sworn his heart was torn in two and his stomach in his boots. He was real. ...Right? ] Well I, uh. [All too soon words were hard to come by as he did little things, fingers tapping on his glass for one, to make sure he was in fact real; to keep him from breaking completely while memories replayed.] I did have a son. ... Awhile ago.

[That felt like the understatement of the year.]

Never met him though. Didn't get a chance. His name was Jim too.[George looked over to the young man, trying to read something from him. Anything, really.] Your last name wouldn't happen to be Kirk, would it? [Though the way he asked made it seem like he already knew the answer.]

I'm not--[The words die in his throat. I did have a son... his name was Jim too. Holy hell.

Kirk exhaled sharply, like he'd forgotten how to breathe and the build of carbon monoxide became too much to handle. Oh God. This couldn't be happening. It was, as Spock would say, illogical.]

... it is. James Tiberius Kirk. [He swallowed hard.] Are you really real?

[His anxiety shot through the roof when Jim froze. All at once it did but didn't answer him. Was if he wasn't real? What if I am dead still? What if... I'm just. Imagining all of this. That particular thought made him swallow the lump in his throat hard; why would he do this to himself? George was about to ask the kid if he was alright, but when he finally started to move, Jim spoke up again

And then all at once he ached, a weak smile donning his lips while his eyes welled up. A frail chuckle escaped him before he dropped his head and shook it, his free hand eventually moving to wipe at his eyes.] Tiberius. I can't believe she actually named you Tiberius. I told her... [He scoffed, looking back up to Jim, grinning.]

Well, you're talking to me. The waitress who keeps bringing me Scotch seems to think I'm real. So I'd have to say I am. [George took a slow breath in, shaking his head.] Look, I don't know how, or why. I'm just as surprised as you; confused. But it's worth it now.

[If anything, when George mentions his mother, that's when it really hits home. This is his father. This is his dead father. And he has a point, the waitress seems to have acknowledged the both of them, so that's... somewhat comforting. It doesn't explain how this is possible.

Jim is back to staring, hasn't really stopped doing it honestly, but it's got more of an aspect of trying to take in every detail that he can.]

So, you're my father. [How many times has he wished to say that, how much did it hurt to know that because of Nero, he never got to meet his father. Too many, too much to put it into words. He wants to cry and punch him at the same time.]

[ No smut, please! ]

[The whole thing had been a little too easy. Granted, James was competent enough to make a lot of things look easy, but apprehending a cyber-terrorist with very little struggle (beyond those few thugs he'd had to kill) just seemed a little... simplistic. Things so very rarely worked out quite so smoothly for him. Perhaps that's where his paranoia lies. One job well done and he's suddenly questioning himself. But what was there to question when the villain was locked away and surround by armed guards?

He'd watched for a time, ignoring any conversation thrown his way. Professional until the last and waiting oh so obediently for M to show up and take over. He stands, silent and watchful at all the interaction between the fallen agent and the accomplished leader, merely creasing his brows in curiosity at the scenario unfolding. Poor, crazy bastard has had a tough time of it all, Bond can't deny that, but he's sure there's more than one side to this story. Still, what's displayed is raw and honest and difficult to misinterpret. An agents worst nightmare of capture, torture and failed suicide.

It hits Bond suddenly, like a bolt of lightning between his eyes. A migraine arriving faster than he'd thought possible and his temples attacked by sharp jabs of pain. He handles it well, keeping out of M's field of view as he subtly presses a palm to his temple, runs the hand through his hair and then shoves it back in his pocket, but he can't shake it off. There's more to it than a simple headache. There's odd memories and emotions carefully leaking through that he swears aren't his.

M departs with Tanner without a glance to him, and Bond's glad for it. He doesn't follow. More than ever, he's drawn to his company, even waving the guards off to stand back behind that frosted glass and leave the two of them in peace. He keeps his distance, teeth gritted as he watches, silent, uncertain and just slightly disoriented.]

[It's one of the moments that Silva has waited a long, long time for, to confront M once more. To look her in the eyes. To show her, face to face, what she did to him. He has to admit, it's all rather overwhelming, but it's as it should be. Endgame is coming, and he now feels ready for it.

But M isn't the only one on his mind, occupying his thoughts. And it's not even intentional. A match struck in his mind, illuminating the dark and damaged corners of his mind. Sees, in his peripheral vision, Bond react at nearly the same time. There's something else there. Silva can't tell what yet, but it almost doesn't bother him, not with everything else going on, not with the plan, with M, with the release of burden from showing off his wounds and seeing her face. Perhaps to some it would be jarring, the simultaneous love and hate, the twisted views he holds of his former employer, but he's held them for so long in his broken psyche that it makes perfect sense, balances out perfectly in a way that at least allows him to remain functional.

They're alone. There's a trickle of someone else. A big difference between guessing people, which Silva can do fairly well, and something...well, something much different. Something he can't yet name. Something from James.

He leans his head against his clear confinement, dark eyes locked on James when they are alone. Alone on purpose. The agent wants answers without asking. Silva would laugh if he had it in him right now.]

Not going to run under mommy's skirt, James? Not going to ask her all your unanswered questions with nothing but a look in your eyes?

[There's something in Silva's eyes. Something beyond the usual crazy. For a second James could swear there's an understanding between them, but he's crushing that out as quickly as it appeared.

It's impossible to explain in words just what is going on in his mind right now, but he knows that it's something far more in depth than a simple wave of sympathy for the ex-agent. There's knowledge. Things he can't put his finger on but things he's sure he didn't know only seconds ago.

With a grunt of an exhale, James draws himself closer to the prison, halting a few feet away and looking up at the captor with a level indifference.]

I think you can answer just as much of that. [He pauses, although has the distinct look that he wants to say something else, hesitating for a few drawn out seconds before deciding upon:] What was that, just now?

You tell me. Bothering you, hm?

[But it's bothering him, too. Not quite as much; certainly Silva finds it interesting.

He can feel it, something like--sympathy? Pity? Understanding? Edge of his consciousness, but there nevertheless. Silva's eyes slide shut, and he lets out a long exhale, relaxing stiffening shoulders, letting himself go, just a fraction. It's so hard to concentrate right now, even with all that's coming, because of all of those emotions that have been building up for so many years. Let it all flow out of him, let it settle back down in him. And perhaps... It's not just for him. It's a test. It's curious. Let go enough, and maybe something else will flow in, or out, whatever is between them suddenly.]

Hardly.

[The assumption had been that Silva was behind this, somehow. It's a ridiculous assumption to make, in hindsight, but what other explanation was there for it. James doesn't even know what it is.

And while Silva may find this little breather of his relaxing, Bond is hit with it all full force. Was that apprehension? He's got no reason to feel like that... Never mind, it's all seeping away, gradually retreating from the forefront of his mind to leave him with his own thoughts again. Thoughts that are currently twisting around the work ahead, and yet more focused on the male in front of him.

Don't be so bloody ridiculous, he tells himself, your imagining things. He'll blame it on lack of sleep. Only explanation for it.]

[It's so curious. He hasn't felt this whatever-it-is from anyone else, not even M, of all people who would be obvious. What exactly does that say about the two of them, then? Closer than either of them had imagined? Silva gives a little sight, meant to sound contented, but anything but.]

Mm, are you, though? You've quite the imagination if so.

[He doesn't actually realize that James didn't say it aloud. He heard it loud and clear as if he had.]

[But he definitely didn't just imagine that.

What Silva just said, just then, was a reply to something that wasn't even voiced. Unless... unless Silva was talking to himself. Always a possibility from that crazy.]

I didn't say anything. [He sounds certain of that.]

Of course you did. As much as I'd love to have your voice playing in my head all day, I...

[His expression crumples up, a sudden confusion welling up to replace the intrigue. Eyes open, pulls his head back to actually see the agent clearly now. Didn't say anything? How--?

That's the realm of science fiction. Ridiculous.]

More like fantasy. [He corrects.] Science fiction is at least occasionally believable.

[Wait. Did Silva's lips even move for that? It was almost as if...

Shit. Shit shit shit.]

What the hell did you do?

What did I do? Perhaps I should ask you that instead. What can I do sitting here of all places?

[Quite a bit. But that's not actually the point, because whatever's going on here and now, between them, is not his fault. He stands, paces back and forth in agitation, in thought. Slams a palm up against the clear surface and lets those dangerous feelings flow through him, anger and irritation and a very clear dislike for this situation. What the hell is this supposed to be? Why should he let anyone into his head?]

What trick is this?

[Quite a bit? Oh, so you've already got something up your sleeve, have you? Bastard.

Those feelings aren't something Bond is used to, stoic as he is, and especially coming from someone else. He almost mirrors Silva's movements, instead halting to slam his fist against the prison and grunt out his annoyance. He can't think like this.]

Stop it. [Snarled out while he tries to drag his mind away from all that anger.]

[James can't think? What about Silva? But he has to admit, seeing the same sort of emotions running through the agent, because of him, is actually quite entertaining. It's giving him half-formed ideas of control, but it's far too soon for that.]

Stop what, stop thinking and feeling? Good luck with that.

[It doesn't help that Silva is a little emotionally compromised. M's fault. This situation. He's given himself away honestly, to the marrow in his bones, and it's not something he can just stuff back inside of him in an instant. But maybe this is a good deal. Maybe, instead of just being the poor, crazy, dangerous fool, he can be understood. What if this could happen with M? Be even closer...]

[This is all too raw, too unfiltered for him to deal with. His head is killing him. But he remembers that pause that Silva did, the steady breathing that started to clear everything, and for once James considers than perhaps a bit of patience really will pay off.

He supports himself against the clear casing with a hand, slips his eyes shut and inhales slowly, exhaling evenly. Each thought, feeling and memory is slowly set aside while he tries to clear his mind, just like he does before the start of every mission. It's no easy task, especially not with the given company, but he seems intent, managing to mutter while he's at it.] Just shut up for a second, would you?

[Silva falls back to his knees, in front of James, to watch him. Anticipating. Eager. Anxious. But he tries to set the rest of it aside, focus on this rather than the rest. Face to face. Sets his hand up where James has his rested. Feel it out. Let's explore this opportunity. Please understand. But he doesn't say anything. Certainly wants to try and figure it out, maybe dive into this chance. He might let James in, but he'd love to see more of James.]

[James has no idea how this works. He still has his suspicions that this is some elaborate trick, but this all seems beyond the capabilities of even Silva. Maybe it's these old tunnels, maybe it's the similarities these two agents share, maybe... it could be anything, but this sort of thing doesn't happen in their world. Mind reading has and always will be magic tricks and conmen, not something that's actually feasible.

Still, he allows himself to slowly crack open his eyes and look at the face in front of him. How the hell is he meant to do this? Can he get into minds? Is it just Silva's or everyone?

Alright, he thinks, we'll start easy. Can you hear this?

Clear, concise thoughts, still locking his gaze to Silva's and quite obviously not doing a ventriloquist act.]

[Silva hears. And he laughs, something manic at the edges. This is insane! (Thinks the insane man.) Licks his lips, nods. Maybe they've both cracked completely, or maybe somehow their situations have managed to peer into an area between science and magic entirely--whatever has happened, he has to wonder what it's going to mean between them. The immediate future. (The very near future, the endgame, coming so soon.)

And you can hear me. Each other. Well, this would have come quite in handy but a few hours ago, don't you think? He goes for one of his wicked grins, but the corners of his mouth barely lift.]

[Fuck, he's lost it. After all this time, now is the time for his sanity to take a nose dive. With this psycho of all people.]

Might even come in handy now. [James comments out loud, more out of instinct than realisation. One does tend to speak when they're having a conversation, not stare intently into one another's eyes. And yet he is still staring, still focused, and cautiously probing forwards, trying to sort through his memories and thoughts and separate them from the mess of Silva's own. Trying to pick out what doesn't belong and focus in on it. Perhaps if he tries hard enough, he might find something interesting. Trouble is, seek too hard and he might find too much of what makes Silva the man he is today.]

Ah, yes, the captive, the prisoner, what else can I do but sit here and let you try and pick at me? [Silva gives a long hum.] I can feel that. It almost tickles. Seems like there's something you can actually be gentle with in your life.

[James will, however, want to be practical about it. Mother did teach him so well, after all. So any possible plans he has, anything about the near future, he's going to try and not let himself think on it. Besides, this is quite the distraction.

Of course, neither of them exactly have control, either. Some things filter through that just can't be helped. He's going to pick up whatever James inadvertently deposits and keep hold of it. And James...will do whatever he will do with what comes through from Silva.

What do you think you're looking for? Baring my soul to mommy wasn't enough? Would you like more?

Because even though he can, when he has to, agent training after all, set his prominent feelings aside when he must, they aren't banished completely. He can bring them back at any moment, the heaviness of his heart at seeing M, how small, how aged, the woman he would have given anything for staring him down like nothing (oh, but he knows she's not so blank inside, knows there are nerves struck, even if she never shows it on the surface~); the feeling of relief and finality at, yes, finally seeing her face to face, to look into her eyes again.

Even he can't describe his own emotional state, removing his face plate, seeing her react, is this a dream, is this really happening, all of those years coming to a head...? A tear down his cheek, it's coming to this, the end is coming soon, and it's everything and nothing like he imagined it would feel like--]

Is that what you want, James?

[Of course James tries to seek out only the most useful and relevant things to him, but that proves difficult when he isn't even sure what he's looking for or how to look for it. It feels like he can only scrape the surface, and once Silva starts focusing in on something, Bond is overwhelmed and unable to barge past.

Once the focus comes on M, it seems virtually impossible to escape, his own mind overrun with a point of view that isn't even his with concepts and ideals that he's never even thought upon. It's emotionally exhausting. More than James is used to, feeling as though he's the one that's just spewed his heart out.

There is, however, that one thought that reverberates around him. The end is coming soon. What end? Perhaps Silva merely means being locked up. That is, after all, quite a noticeable end to the life he was previously leading... Bond is certain he's just being paranoid. There's not a way out of this place.]

I don't need your self-pity, Mr. Silva. But, if you're eager to make this about 'mother'... [It's nothing too big, but James is soon bringing his own memories to the forefront. Little snippets of jobs well done and the approval from M. Never a smile and nothing too congratulatory, but from her, a simple 'well done' was like a knighthood. And the pride he could get from it was strong, smug but oddly humble.

She always did have her favourites.]

[She loves her special sons. He's been one before, was one for many years before being given up. And now his brother takes his place. Only fitting, he supposes.

Silva has some similar memories, a somewhat younger M, different locales, but similar in approval. Even something that looks like a smile, now and then, in more personal rather than professional moments.

He gives a scoff of a laugh, tugged out of him, and leans against the containment. It's a life that he misses, in his memories. Things were much simpler as an agent.]

She has such a surprisingly strong love. It makes letting go that much more painful.

Mm. [James isn't surprised to see similar coming from Silva, from past memories that belong to a man from before all the crazy. A name that James has yet to be told but gets a feel of from these thoughts that aren't his own.]

What did you possibly hope to achieve from all of this? There must be more to it than simply seeing her. [Perhaps asking questions will unwittingly bring things to the forefront. Find out what's really going on behind all of this, and just why there was such a big game before the inevitable capture. Silva must have known he'd be capture or killed the moment he started playing with fire.]

Oh, I think I know better than to tell you everything. [If he can help it.] I could have seen her at any time. Perhaps even after my recovery! And yet, I lurk in shadow until I can strike.

[It's unintentional, but even remotely mentioning it brings a flash of the pain attached, part of his skull damaged beyond what his body could ever possibly repair on his own. Missing teeth, sagging face, a fit of metal, a glimpse of scar tissue.]

Why do you suppose, James? Do you think you can glean this information from a broken man's thoughts?

[Never has questioning a prisoner been quite so painful as it is today. Even that simple question has got results that have him grunting out a soft noise of discomfort, lowering his head for a moment as he raises a hand (the other still pressed against the prison) to run down his face. His fingers unconsciously trail against his cheek bones and down his jaw, reminding himself that these aren't his memories, however real they might feel.]

It'd be a hell of a lot easier if you just told me. [Finally lifting his head again as he answers.]

It would, wouldn't it. [But he's not going to, of course. That would ruin everything. Backup plans at this point are not favourable for him.]

I'm sorry, James. We'll perhaps have to learn to control this...whatever it is. [And it's an honest apology, too. His experiences are not the kind that anyone should have to live or relive, and it wasn't an image, a memory, that he intended to share between them.] Do you think... [...that this will work with anyone else?]

[He knew Silva wouldn't make things easy. He already feels like he knows him better than he should. The telepathic link isn't exactly helping with that either.

But there he goes thinking questions and not voicing them which totally throws James off his current train of thought.]

Only one way to find out. [He moves himself away from the prison, finally, and heads over towards the frosted exit, knocking for one of the guards. The man who enters is curious but formal, and possibly slightly bemused by the double-oh summoning him in and staring silently. After a lengthy and somewhat awkward minute, James sends him off again with a muttered apology, then turns to Silva once their alone again.]

Anything?

[A sigh, sitting himself crosslegged on the floor of his pen.] Just us, then, hm. Well, it was worth a try. No getting into madame mother's head, sadly.

[He would have thought that one but figured he might as well just say it intentionally. And while James was poking about, cautiously prodding before, Silva's stalking around the agent's mind and trying the same. He doesn't think he's going to find anything he needs, certainly, but one can't blame him for being curious.] What do you suppose you'll tell her? Nothing at all?

[There's definitely something he can feel, an unwanted intrusion in his mind, the tickle and scrape of something that he can't quite put his finger on. He pauses in the middle of the room, hands in pockets, as he furrows his brows thoughtfully. There's little of value in there that Silva wouldn't already know, he considers, and any memories he doesn't want were locked away long ago that even he struggles to recall. James' mind, on the surface, is quite a simple thing, full of nothing but current plans and knowledge that only applies to the situation at hand. He's actually quite a pro and compartmentalising is something he appears to do quite naturally.]

Hn. She won't believe this. I still don't believe this. [He doesn't particularly want it, either.] Doesn't matter, anyway, you'll be gone in a few hours and we won't have to worry about it. [That's assuming this only works close range...]

Are you certain about that, James? [I'm here to stay, at least for now. Even death couldn't get rid of me. What does that say of your chances?

Well, even if there's not much to get from Bond that he doesn't already know, he can still play around with this newfound...ability, is it? He can already send images, thoughts, feelings across this connection, unwittingly. Or deliberately. He does wonder...]

Will you stay a while, perhaps, to feel this out? It's quite the opportunity, after all, and you want to dig out what you think I have hidden up my sleeves, if anything at all.

[Shit.

What if this is something more than a close proximity thing? What if he'll be able to hear Silva the other side of the world?

Maybe... maybe it might be best if he could hint at getting his company killed off instead of put into high security prison. Surely M wouldn't be adverse to the idea, so long as it can be suggested in the right manner.

Actually. He should really stop thinking about this sort of thing while Silva can read virtually every fucking thought he's having.

Piss off.]

Do you have anything hidden up your sleeves?

Oof, I don't think we do executions in this country anymore, James! As for my sleeves, you could come in here and check them yourself~

[Or he could come in and something else entirely could happen. He can't help a little innuendo, but it gives him an idea of a couple of buttons to push. Something to try.

Sex, after all, is a familiar subject to the both of them. Why not give it a try? Silva digs up the memory of sensations, the idea of bodies rutting against each other, the phantom touch of hot breath and slick flesh and all of that pleasure to mindlessly push through. He keeps his eyes locked on James, calm on the surface but oh so curious to see if the experiment has an impact.]

[Trust Silva to think of the most inappropriate use for this sort of thing.

But that's... that's actually very good stuff. Erotic and very real. More like a recalled sensation than some made up thought. James can almost feel it, or at least remember how it felt. Which is odd because it's not even his memory.

Thankfully he's got enough self-discipline to keep it in his pants (for now), huffing out a sigh that covers for any stutter of breath, while forcing himself to lock eyes with the other.]

I'm not coming anywhere, Mr. Silva. [He can do innuendo too. It'll hopefully distract from the fact that he's still trying to wrestle his mind to think of anything else that isn't sex related. But once the mind is on sex, it's a vicious circle trying to not think on it.]

[We'll see.

The bodies tend to be faceless, just curved hips, bouncing breasts, tight asses, twitching dicks--men or women, it's never really mattered to Silva before, no reason to start now. But specifics filter through. Severine, for example. Oh, James should be most familiar with her frame, shared between lovers, at least for a night. Hitching breaths and shaking frames.

We agents, so notorious for our killing and our bedroom skills. Who knew they'd go hand in hand so well?]

[It's impossible not to have his chest heave a little faster and his eyes gain that tell-tale hunger, but Bond is quick to move, closing in on the cell and twisting away to rest his back against the clear surface. With arms folded, he can quite casually lean, not having to look or face his company and avoiding too much further visuals beyond these mental images.

Hn, if you're looking for some in return, I'm afraid I don't kiss and tell.

James seems eager to try clearing his mind again, breathing deep as he slips his eyes shut. It might work rather beautifully, were it not for the distraction of a fine ass or particularly good set of breasts that throw him off, just enough to have him straight back to the thoughts of sex again.

Pack it in. As threatening as he can make his own thoughts sound.]

[Just us in here, James. No need to be so shy. Why, if we can keep this secret from her, think of what else we could get up to without her ever knowing.

It's a delightful image, the one right in front of him rather than any in his head. Turn around. Are you afraid to let me see you?]

[But doesn't he want to see dat ass pressed against the cell? All while James lowers his head just slightly and grits his teeth. It's tough to focus on anything with lingering thoughts like this, but hell, he soon manages a smug little thought.

Keep talking, it's a great turn off.]

[Fine then. No talking. Or 'talking', really. Thinking in coherent sentences. He doesn't even think of sex...well, not really. Thinks of touching James, from his perspective. Fingers across the skin of his chest, up his neck, light caresses. Show Bond his body, his face, his attempt to keep from reacting.]

[He can't help but smirk at the visuals, at the ridiculousness of it all. Seeing himself in a scenario so fresh in his memory seen from the other side. At least he didn't do too badly at refusing to react, could have been much worse...

But he's told Silva to stop and it hasn't happened, and for that there must be consequences. His own thoughts fog somewhat, merging into the blurred visuals of himself sat on a chair, much like the one Silva was thinking of. But the recollection is dark. Unclear. There's the hazy vision of James looking down at his own body, naked and sweating, but the visuals aren't the focus, because seconds later there's a flash of searing pain and nothing else matters. Pure agony tears through the whole thought and even though it's simply a memory, Bond can't help but huff his displeasure at having to dig it up.]

[It's disorienting, now that Silva's on the other side, memories forced onto him. And the pain is sudden and astoundingly sharp. Silva slams a fist on the barrier, gritting his teeth, a slow inhale. He remembers reading about this in Bond's files. His own little torture. The memory is quite powerful and sharp, and he tries to let it disperse, diffuse.

Is that the road you want to go down now with me, 007?]

[Bond does his best to clear it away quickly, before more leaks out. Shove it back in it's little draw, lock it away and never think on it again apart from the occasional writhing nightmare, just like so many other things in his brain.]

No. [Said out loud as an assurance.] Consider it a cheap shot in return for you wank material. Some things don't need to be shared.

And here I thought we could have a little fun. I forget that sometimes agents are a little adverse to that. [But fine. Maybe he'll behave himself. For a little while.] How much do you think we might share that shouldn't be? Unintentionally, that is. How dangerous do you think it is, us being in this room?

[A low grunt as he finally turns around (his last memory certainly helped with clearing out any hint of an erection from all of that other stuff).]

And if I leave? What difference do you think that will make. I'll walk into Q branch and inadvertently share far more confidential knowledge than I can block out. [Which actually really sucks, now he comes to think of it. How can he keep secrets with someone else listening in?]

[He laughs.] James, how much do you think I don't know about MI6 and Q Branch? What isn't so wide open to me to see? And now, even your own mind...

Suppose you know it all already, hm? Still, I like to think there's a few things I can keep hidden away up here that those reports and files never mention. [Tapping a finger lightly against his temple.] I think I've got much more to learn from all of this.

And how much about me would you really like to learn? Oh yes, all my little plans, I'm sure, but what else? A little Hong Kong nightlife, perhaps? Glances at my missions of old? Or, no, you don't care about my more personal life, do you, or the man I was. You just want to get to the point of the matter. She's rubbed off on you, I think.

She knows how to get a job done. Can't fault her for that. [In fact, he'll take that as a compliment.]

I want to know your motivation, Mr Silva. What you're really here for. You hide away for almost fifteen years only to get yourself arrested? Mm, no. I think there's more to it.

Edited 2012-12-11 14:24 (UTC)

At least she hasn't raised an idiot child. Although, is it really my motivation you seek? I think she walked out the door and left us here some time ago. [There are wheels in motion, plans of a very long time in the making, but he can't expect the unexpected when the unexpected isn't something that should be able to even happen.]

Did you hear what she would do to me? Have my name stricken from the memorial. That really would be the end of him, wouldn't it? [Mommy didn't tell you who you're up against. She keeps such secrets.] Ay, and that would really be a shame, to let him fade away, no muss, no fuss, as quietly as she intended for fifteen years ago.

[As unexpected goes, this has to come pretty high up there. Unbelievable too. Impossible, even, although apparently possible enough not to be impossible.]

I know the most relevant details, thanks to you. Not much else I really need to know. Your past is insignificant compared to what you are now.

And yet it's the past that made me what I am now. Doesn't that mean anything in this situation? Someday down the road, James, you could be me.

I'll likely be dead before then. [He hopes.]

It's a hope I share for you. I thought the same, you know. Do you think that I was always like this, some rogue agent being naughty?

I think you've probably always had that psychosis. Likely wasn't as easy to spot before all this, but I think you had it in you to snap rather than break.

Ohhhh, James, it hurts how much you don't know. Why wouldn't she tell you all about me before sending you off into my grasp? She should trust you more than she does; you've got a good head on those independent shoulders of yours.

[I was just like you. Are you saying you will someday snap and attack your fellow agents? When I look at you... A glance in a mirror--a very different man than the one James sees before him. A little praise for Mister Rodriguez from M, a gun from Q branch, the feeling of the tedium of writing reports and the fun of trying to charm someone else up enough to do it for him, things that should be most familiar to the current agent. How does he get James to see, this wasn't always in him? Must he dig down, fifteen years ago, five months and a molar?]

She trusts me enough. [It was M, after all, that taught him trust was transient, if existing at all. Bond couldn't even trust his own girlfriend, his first true love. How was he meant to believe M could trust him?

The thoughts don't surprise him much, merely narrowing his eyes in curiosity. Agents like them had to be a certain sort of person, each with their own abilities, but all with the same training and the same goals. He doesn't see any of them as particularly sane. A sane person couldn't do the job that much of MI6 do.] I can certainly empathise, Mr. Silva, but I won't sympathise.

[Doesn't answer the question. You think you're likely to snap someday, then? Especially if none of us are exactly sane...

A terrifying prospect, but if it was likely, then it would happen more often. Or does Bond just think agents die before they ever reach that stage? Silva reaches, wants to pluck out the memory of that bullet as if reaching to touch that awful scar, wants to feel what became of the agent in his temporary death, the dependence on alcohol, too many pills, he wants to dig it up and remember, this is what happens to them when they don't die.]

[Silva's digging for fresh memories. It's something easier to find than most of the other thoughts and recollections stashed away to never resurface. James doesn't push back straight away, more curious on what exactly is being searched for. There's brief appearances of Macau, Singapore, his arrival back into MI6, and then a flash of his own face in the mirror, sneering- or perhaps grimacing, topless. The wound in it's later stages of healing, but James looks like shit, all stubble and red eyes.

James isn't ashamed of it. He's not proud either.

That wasn't my breaking point. I came back.

He shoves forth a reminder of him back with MI6, at M's desk, awaiting orders that led to this whole ordeal.]

[There are sad little details he catches, though. Bits of the testing Bond failed so miserably. How did he ever believe that he passed? Mother superior can be quite persuasive...

No, you came back, for all the little ideals you still think you want to uphold. Your betrayal still stings, and it will for some time, but she didn't send you to that death intending for you to fall from that train.

Sending you to me, however...

And now here they are again. James must think it a triumph that he took out all of those little nobodies of Silva's, that he sneaked the radio signal in, that MI6 came to the rescue (ha, rescue!) to take Silva in to where they both are now. Of course he's suspicious. Of course there's something more to this. Of course he let himself be captured; that was always part of the plan. If he'd wanted a showdown with Bond, he gladly would've taken his own shot, would have faced the agent down with his own physical skills and had a proper go at it.

She didn't trust you to get the job done then. She didn't trust you this time around, either. But she hoped, I'm sure. She never wants to do this. If you had died in my captivity, or even before then, it would have been a terrible personal loss, but she also would have had to shrug her shoulders and send someone else to get the job done. An unwanted memory rises, just brief flashes, but the idea gets across. Mission gone wrong? Got stupid, made a mistake, got captured? No, it was plan, someone tipped off the wrong people. Someone did this to him. Wasn't trusted. Wasn't trusted and came back wrong for it.]

If you ever are put into the situation where you break, James, rest assured, you would come to see the world my way.

[Perhaps James merely wanted to believe he'd passed those tests. Had so much faith in his own abilities that he honestly believed he'd done alright, beyond a few missed shots, a refusal for psych tests and a less than stellar performance at his fitness.

And yet, even after failure, he'd still succeeded against a top class assassin, thugs, even Silva. Even if his victory with Silva left questions floating in his mind about they why.

The mention of being replaced triggers something. Not self-pity for himself, but for all the other colleagues he's seen die, or even had to replace. Just like Ronson, he thinks unconsciously...

I already see it your way, I just hold up a little more faith in my country.

But he pays attention to those little flashes of unwanted memories, focusing on each one as it slips past and analysing carefully against what he already knows.]

The Chinese finding you... That wasn't a mistake. They knew where you were. [Not a question. He's working it out carefully, bit by bit.]

[A top class assassin he wasn't meant to let fall to his death through a bum shoulder. Thugs that really aren't any match for a Double-Oh. And Silva...allowed for this. There's been no real test of his skills, it feels like, but a damn good show so far.]

I made no mistakes. [No, his only mistake was, apparently, getting clever with his computers and getting too cozy with Chinese firewalls.] I did as I was told. But someone decided not to give me all of the facts. And I stayed alive for her, held my tongue for her, meant to kill myself for her. For your country.

[And she never intended to come back for me. He's come to terms with the fact that it's, perhaps, the whining of a child, but James shouldn't really blame him for the intense emotions attached with being burnt, given up, and believing for months, despite all of the pain, that he was doing the right thing. Staying loyal, all that time. Your faith will come at a price you only think you're prepared for.]

[Let James have his moment of glory, no matter how imagined it is.]

She gave you up. [That makes a lot of sense. The revenge. The obsession of seeing her. The drive to humiliate her.

You stupid bastard.]

You see? The things she doesn't tell you before sending you off. The sins she refuses to think on. Oh, all for a good cause, yes, I understand, but my experience changed me nevertheless.

[It's a casual wave of his hand as if the whole thing is rather inconsequential, but inside, it's anything but. Yes, he understands, for a smooth political transition and for the lives of a number of prisoners, it's a good deal. Fair trade. But Silva lets slip through the torment of finding out about it later, of putting the pieces together after he's escaped, after his physical healing has begun but long before the mental scars began to form. The obsessive thought of how it even happened running around in his head until the answer is right in front of him. The woman he trusted above all else, so draconian in her punishment for his supposed transgression, gave him up to those who would subject him to the worst imaginable pains. Faith shattered. Loyalty melted away.

Betrayal at the root of this whole mess. I cannot let it go.]

[James allows himself to think of the scenario, of the memories he's glimpsed and the tale that Silva had weaved to M earlier. Of how, under the right circumstances, he might have found himself in a similar situation, and whether he'd truly accept his fate or seek revenge. Perhaps he'd let his depression get the better of him. Or perhaps it really would be the final breaking point for him.

He doesn't let the thought linger long though, more intent on the issues at hand and never being one for reflection.]

There's only so much you can do from that prison of yours. [Unless there's something planned. More explosions? Unlikely. Silva would have already killed her that way if that were the case... unless he needed to see her first.]

You're quite right. [Fine. He supposes he can't force the situaion on James...well, he can, actually. But he won't, not immediately, not yet.] It's quite secure here. Underground bunkers and guards and bulletproof, shatterproof glass. She's done a good job of it.

And yet you don't seem the slightest bit concerned. Funny, that. [Yeah, he's on to you, Silva. He's still trying to work out whether it's the psychosis to blame or whether something is afoot, but he'll probably find out soon enough either way.]

[There might be the vague idea of the metro, but nothing more than that. No, ought to keep the details out of mind.] Oh, I'm quite safe in here, so I'm not worried about that. And all I really have to worry about is when mommy decides she's had enough of me and sends me off to jail. You can be certain that if we still executed people, she would send me to the front of the line.

[Like she did to me before; she just couldn't pull the trigger herself. Let James poke all he want. Silva can poke right back. He can distract with other thoughts and memories. Perhaps he can plant false ideas, send him running off the wrong direction?]

[It mildly irritates him that he can't get a hold on anything solid. If this were any other prisoner by a trained agent, Bond feels like he could have swept out all their plans, thoughts and memories in a single sweep. But no, he has to get a telepathic link with the one fucking guy who can apparently keep things hidden even in his own head. Not that James is any stranger to that.

She had her reasons. He's sure of that. Silva can spin all the stories he wants, but if M gave up an agent, he can bet his life that there's more to the story.]

[I don't argue that she did.

It's a skill developed during torture, really. If you keep the information that they want away from anywhere near the surface, you're less likely to spill it out. But perhaps Bond will be able to coax it all up closer. If he's clever. If Silva slips.

She did it for the lives of others. Cut her losses. Don't think I don't understand her reasons. But it doesn't diminish the pain.]

[Then perhaps I'll slip to a nice length of rope in the prison post. Give you a chance to finish yourself off properly this time.

And oh look, Bond's smiling at that. It's a twisted little thing, the corner of his lips curling upwards and yet his brows furrowing downwards. It's only a little thing, but it's the smile of a man who finds death a hilarious notion. Perhaps they've both just been surrounded by that shroud for too long.]

Edited 2012-12-13 23:23 (UTC)

[We're not the kind of people who can do that so easily. You failed to drown yourself in booze, after all. Death is a hilarious notion to people like them, to people who should have died a hundred times over and keep coming back for more, whether they wanted it or not.

It's funny, even, and Silva springs up, onto the seat in the center of the chamber, laughing all the while, reaching upwards. Posed gracefully, even.]

I think we'll have to find another method, hm? Perhaps proper cyanide this time.

A bullet to the brain would be a lot simpler. I'm willing to offer you that much.

[Put you down like a dog. It's easy to forget Silva can hear those little after thoughts, but in hindsight, he doesn't care at all that he's got access to them. The guy seems to appreciate the humour in it all anyway, as genuine as James might be in the offers of euthanasia.

Seems a shame to put the guy down when he can provide such entertaining theatrics, though. Especially what he's up to now, which merely has Bond watching with the smallest quirk of a brow.]

Simpler than trying to find something to hang myself from in here, certainly. [He hops back down, right into the seat, crossing his arms and legs, smirking.]

Ah, James, like a dog? You know, there are more humane methods for them. So, would you rather do the honors of putting me down, or watch me instead?

I've got no option but to watch you for the moment. Even if I could let you out of there, I doubt they'd appreciate me killing off an unarmed prisoner. I've got into trouble for that before.

[Not that getting into trouble for something stops him, but he can't help but recall the ribbing he got for that bomb maker shot on his first mission as a double-oh. Bond and M always had their disagreements, but more so back in those days when he was younger and far more eager to prove himself. Nowadays he doesn't have to prove himself.]

Hn, what are we going to do with you, Mr. Silva? [Mostly rhetorical, but he's sure that won't stop him. But it's a valid consideration to make. He can't have Silva being carted off the prison and still be stuck in his own head. It'll ruin his career, even admitting he's got voices in his head, let alone if anyone honestly believed he was a walking security breach.]

Quite the conundrum, Mr. Bond. Perhaps you should go ask for mommy's permission to get rid of the bad, bad man from her past for her.

[And whatever will happen with this connection of ours? To drive the point home, more poking. Light caress of mind to mind. You know, I have to wonder if this can be made all the stronger through touch. Why don't you come inside and find out, hm?]

Mm, perhaps I should.

[Killing him off seems like the most viable option right now. But if James kills off something that's in his head... then what? Does he risk damaging himself? He has no fucking clue how all of this works. It's something he'd love to experiment with. To poke and prod at for days. He can't even help but hesitate when Silva suggests touch. His mind considers the options sub-consciously, his curiosity getting the better of him.

But no. Don't be so bloody stupid, he tells himself. The biggest security risk and he considered opening the door for him? He must be fucking insane.

Nice try.]

[I'm hardly going to take the chance to escape with you right there to stop me. Besides, his plan should already be in play. No sense in altering it now. Silva is a very patient man, if nothing else. He can sit here for a long time, if necessary.

Of course, whether James even could stop him or not is another question in itself. This agent is good, very good, astoundingly good. Best of the best. No wonder he's top dog, mommy's little bulldog. But Silva used to hold that title as well.

Promise I won't tell anyone~]

[He grunts out his annoyance at the constant little niggles in his head, like a devil on his shoulder tempting him to make ridiculous choices. He does that enough as it is, he really doesn't need the additional support of Silva.

But really, what's the worst that could happen? The whole room is fortified. Silva would have to get through him first, then the armed guards, then escape through of a maze of underground offices and tunnels, undoubtedly running into plenty of trained professionals on the way. The entrance and exit were so heavily guarded that he wouldn't make it out alive...

I'll kill you if you try anything.

But that's a promising threat, is it not?

Especially as James is moving towards the door way, his right hand slipping under his jacket and resting at his gun as a silent reassurance to himself as he swipes himself in. Fucking stupid. But this mental connection needs to be investigated and he'd rather here than locked away in some asylum being tested on.]

Don't move. [His gaze isn't leaving Silva as he opens the door just enough to slip in and shut it behind him (... here's hoping the door is swipe exit too), hand still settled under his jacket.]

Are you going to behave?

[Silva only glances at the hand in the jacket; yes, of course, no funny business or he'll get a bullet somewhere unpleasant. The warnings are quite unnecessary.

But it's a victory for Silva, and one he never even planned on (since he planned on none of this...connection of sorts). James actually came into the cell. Knowing what a bad move it could potentially be.

He just smiles a pleasant smile as if two friends sitting down for tea. Doesn't move. Oh, but this is going to be interesting, even if nothing comes of any kind of physical touch. Now there's no surface to keep them apart, no turning and hiding until certain emotions or impacts of this connection subside. Just them.]

My very best behavior, Mister Bond, I can assure you.

[That 'pleasant' smile isn't something Bond finds very pleasant at all.

But he made this choice, to come inside, and he'll be damned if he'll let Silva put him on edge.

The reply has him slipping his hand away from his jacket and instead resting by his side, the other hand in his pocket to give him an air of aloofness. A usual look for James.]

How does this work, then?

[A look that Silva sees right through. There's no comfort in here, and neither one of them are likely to drop their guard. Silva rolls his shoulders, half a stretch and half a shrug.]

You think I know? I'm just as in the dark about this as you are. I only suggested touch. And I doubt you want me to be touching you again... But you're free to touch me however you'd like.

That's unusually considerate for you...

[Bond's glad for the lack of groping though, because he's the one with the gun and the power this time around, even if he is now locked inside a cage with this wild animal. Stupid move, he still knows that, but one that he couldn't resist.]

Alright then. [He shifts close enough to be arms reach away, no hesitation as he reaches out and places a hand heavily on Silva's shoulder.]

Forced Telepathic Bond Meme: I'm With Stupid

Spock (Rule 63) || Star Trek XI

1 & 4?

Re: 1 & 4?

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Dexter Morgan | Serial Killer Killing Killers Serially | Possible TW for Violent Tendencies

1 and 1

Eve Moneypenny ▸ Skyfall ▸ OTA

Alistair | Twilight Saga | OTA

2. Government. And by Government, I mean Hell.

Re: 2. Government. And by Government, I mean Hell.

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Germany || Hetalia AU || OTA

oh hai i'mma just ignore the prompts kay

Not that they're truly needed anyway.

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