twenty-eighth jump;

[ataraxites]

CHARACTERS: Any and all.
LOCATION: Gravity Couches and beyond.
WARNINGS: Maybe some swearing, or even some violence, and more than likely some implied (and possibly explicit) nakedness.
SUMMARY: Another month, another jump, another round of new faces.
NOTES: It could just be the standard sensation of air on wet skin, but if you bother to check, you might notice the steam rising from your body, barely there and gone within a minute. By the time you get to the showers, it will be clear that it's not just taking you time to adjust. The room is cold — colder than usual, but no worse than the last jump. While it's nothing dangerous, it's certainly motivation to hurry through the usual routine and get dressed quickly.



It's getting closer.




YOUR EYES ARE OPEN.

KEEP LOOKING.

You wake up in darkness.

There's a breathing tube jammed down your trachea, and you're suspended in a tube of clear blue fluid. Upon registering your level of consciousness, the gravity couch drains the fluid surrounding you and retracts the breathing apparatus; the doors in front of you open, and you're deposited on the floor of a stark, sterile medical bay.

You are not alone.
There are others who have come before you, others who are awakening beside you. Some may be familiar to you, perhaps even friends. Others have much less amiable plans. Some are merely alien and inexplicable, but there are always those who might mean you harm.

After you catch your breath and your vision returns, you notice a number on the inside of your forearm. Maybe it's a familiar number. Maybe it means something. Maybe it's just a number. But the number—completely unique to you—is a tattoo, and it does not come off.

If you enter the room adjacent to the medbay, you will find a small locker with your number on it, surrounded by rows upon rows of identical lockers. Inside, you will find a few of your personal items, a communications device, and a ship's uniform in your exact size. The comms device is fully powered and connects directly to the ship's network; it's your only means of communication beyond physical conversation. Upon turning the device on, a neutral, automated voice will say, "Please take the blue lift to the passenger quarters." Any other attempts at communicating with the rest of the network are met only with static.

This is your welcome party.

Comments

[doggedly]

We--

[But he cuts himself off, because there's no good answer. And there's that hopelessness, again, made sharper by the loss of James. His throat suddenly feels thick and tight, and he doesn't say anything for a moment.]

We can't do anything.

[jurisimpudent]

[A little nod, far from happy. But this is not the defeatist screed it sounds like.]

There's one thing we can do, though. We can survive.

[doggedly]

[His mouth tightens again, and he looks quickly down the locker bank, tearing his eyes away from Edgeworth.]

For how long?

[jurisimpudent]

Until we come up with something better.

[His answer is quiet.]

Because an answer will come.

[doggedly]

[He keeps staring away, and he doesn't look back at Edgeworth. That hot feeling is back behind his eyes; he swallows hard, doesn't acknowledge it. He doesn't acknowledge anything, or even react, but eventually--after a long, tense pause--he sinks down, his back still against the lockers, his forearms resting on his knees and his shoulders hunched. Something of the fight bleeds out of him in that movement, leaving him bowed--still tense, but bowed.]

[jurisimpudent]

[And Edgeworth - Edgeworth looks at him a moment, and then sinks down to sit on his heels. Then he lowers himself down further, to sitting. He hesitates a moment, but -

It's easier to do now than it was before; after all, this was what he did when Remus left. He reaches out, and he pulls Sirius into a rough, fierce hug, holding him tightly, trying to give him some bracing comfort.]

[doggedly]

[He doesn't fight it off. Which speaks to where he is, really, because usually--any other day--Sirius might fight this off, or else twist away, make some joke--and he feels that urge, a little, like a crawling feeling under his skin, something that takes him back to being a first year, all prickly and angry and unused to this.

But he still doesn't shrug away. Nor does he shift into it, or lean his weight against Edgeworth--but he doesn't lean away, either, just sits, stiffly, uselessly, his hands at his sides, staring furiously over Edgeworth's shoulder.]

[jurisimpudent]

It's going to be all right.

[He's rotten at comfort, awkward and clumsy; he hugs too long, doesn't know what to say or do with his hands, doesn't read cues well. And, God, he's always so afraid in moments like this, that he'll overstep some boundary or do something wrong and wreck his friendship. So there's a measure of fear in it, doing that and saying that, but -

He's got to. The worst thing to do would be to back away like a coward. So even though his hug is awkward, and his words are meaningless, he has to try.]

I'm sorry. It's awful. But it will be all right.

[doggedly]

I hate this.

[He grates it out, roughly, and he has to shut his eyes for that moment, at least, though he still doesn't grip back at Edgeworth or move his hands or anything.]

I fucking hate this place, I want--

[He can't finish that sentence, doesn't know how, and his shoulders raise sharply even though he's in Edgeworth's grip--not to shrug away, just defencive.]

[jurisimpudent]

[And Edgeworth's arms finally loosen, just a bit, so that he can pull back.]

I know.

[doggedly]

[He transfers his gaze to the floor between them instead, still not pulling away entirely himself, but sitting, tense.]

It's worse.

[Than Remus being gone, he means, but he doesn't qualify that.]

He was better than me. In-- everything. And he's gone back, and he's just going to die, because he's--stupid and noble and good, and-- [He makes an irritated noise between his teeth, shoves the heel of his hand against his eye--] Merlin. I hate this.

[jurisimpudent]

He might die.

[He pulls away entirely, dropping his arms awkwardly.]

Or he might not. Time stands still at home; people come from different periods; things are undone.

[A hesitation, and then, quietly:]

And if he dies, it's not because of his goodness. It's because some madman decided to kill him. It was his murderer who got him killed, not him. And not you for any perceived failing.

[doggedly]

[The harsh noise he makes this time is more a laugh than anything, but no less bitter.]

It's his murderer, yeah, with help from the secret-keeper, who I insisted on. And if time does stand still, if everything they say is true--and we don't know that--then it's true that we forget everything, when we go back.

[jurisimpudent]

If we go back under the current circumstances. Which we might not. If we figure something out -

[doggedly]

We won't!

[He shoves back as he snarls that out. He shoves away from Edgeworth and gets to his feet, quickly--too quickly, his hand aching--dizzy from all of this, from shifting so quickly from emotion to emotion--but he has to stand, he's too caged-in while sitting--]

We won't, we keep saying that, but-- there's nothing to figure out, there's-- fucking hell, just stop. I don't want to talk about this anymore. I don't want to think about any of it, I just want--

[Well, for James to be back. But that's impossible. He sucks in a breath, staring fixedly at the floor, and he doesn't finish that sentence.]

[jurisimpudent]

[And Edgeworth rises to his feet as well, but he doesn't approach. He feels idiotic now for before - for allowing himself that ambivalence over James' absence. Because James would know what to say. He would be able to make Sirius feel better, would be able to banish this misery. Edgeworth -

He's not equal to it. He doesn't know what to do or to say.

So he just says, miserably, quietly:]

I'm sorry.

[doggedly]

[He laughs, again, a short sharp bark, and he hunches over himself, he grips at his hair with both hands, sets his teeth together. And it doesn't help. Nothing helps. He could tear the fucking locker bank apart and it wouldn't help.

In the silence, he breathes out, raggedly.]

I need to--

[He can't finish that one, either. He stops himself, and swallows, hard--but when he speaks, his voice is smaller than before.]

I don't know what to do. Without him. I don't know... what to do.

[jurisimpudent]

[He stares down at his feet. Swallows. And he ought to just go, he thinks, before he makes this worse yet - but instead he offers - ]

You were without him when you first arrived.

[doggedly]

[His mouth tight, he looks quickly over at Edgeworth.]

Yeah? And?

[jurisimpudent]

And you were fine then.

[doggedly]

Yeah, well. Then I'd only been here for a few months, right? There was some-- end in sight, there was some bloody hope at something that isn't just this. More, and more, of this.

[He gestures around, at their surroundings.]

Hardly the same fucking person that I was then.

[jurisimpudent]

[He looks up, hesitantly holds Sirius' gaze.]

So you could...deal with this if you had some hope it would end.

[doggedly]

[He doesn't break gaze with Edgeworth, but his expression doesn't soften, either.]

Are you asking me, if I could?

[jurisimpudent]

[And Edgeworth gives a little nod.]

[doggedly]

[He stares at him a moment longer--and then loses some of his tension. However slight the adjustment, it's still there. And he looks away, down the bank of lockers again and still, for the moment, doesn't say anything.]

Yeah. If I knew, that he'd-- [He pushes his hand through his hair, grips at the back of his head, hard, a moment, before he drops his arm.] Yeah. I could. Couldn't you?