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

[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?

[jurisimpudent]

[Edgeworth hesitates, and then is more truthful than he ought to be - because this is about Sirius, bringing him some comfort. But he tells the truth.]

It's different for me. I have to go on even when I have no hope. I have duty to sustain me.

[Then, back on track:]

If you knew that he'd what?

[doggedly]

[His mouth twists wryly at that--duty, right, yeah, but what happens when that ends, when it becomes clear that what they're doing is sustaining meaningless structure--but he can't say that to Edgeworth, even right now. Duty is what he has. There's an envy that comes with that thought, for all that Sirius has rejected responsibility as often as possible.

But the question of James distracts him anyways, as it always does and will.]

That we'd be able to save him. If we go back--I want to remember. If he's back at home, at least he's alive. If that's really what happens to us. He's alive, and if I can remember-- I can do something. I can keep it that way. Because he's not dying, I'm not letting that happen.

[jurisimpudent]

[And Edgeworth's expression firms at that. His voice gains a new sort of certainty.]

So don't.

[Is there some facetiousness in this? Is there any condescension? Is he being at all patronizing? Edgeworth himself isn't sure; he's not entirely certain whether he's constructing some absurd fantasy for Sirius, whether he's building a lie for him to hold onto. But that's always the way with him. Edgeworth is devoted to the Truth, and he is devoted to Justice, but sometimes to keep from sinking under the waves of the misery about you you have to convince yourself there's a rock to cling to. You have to build a lie to keep yourself swimming. All criminals are evil, and the fight against them will improve the lives of those around him. Non-criminals are good and virtuous. A bit more research, and they'll find some way to get home. On some level, Edgeworth knows these things are only half-true, but he holds to them with fierce will because he needs to.]

You are determined to have that happen, aren't you?

[doggedly]

Yeah. Of course.

[He bites out his response, short, his tone a bit more clipped now that he's had time to bury any sudden surge of sadder emotions.]

But we don't know what happens. That's the point.

[jurisimpudent]

So what?

[Edgeworth frowns; his chin lifts.]

Do Gryffindors typically get hung up on the fact that they can't pre-plan very effectively?

[doggedly]

This is different. This isn't--

[It's not, in its essence, very different. Not when it comes down to it. A shit plan that they make work, that's the way they always do it. Only these stakes feel higher, too high to gamble with.]

You don't know how we'd remember. No one does.

[jurisimpudent]

[And Edgeworth shakes his head.]

You're right. I don't, and no one does. So what.

[doggedly]

So--

[But he cuts off, with a scowl, and pushes a hand over his face.]

What are you doing?

[jurisimpudent]

Pointing out that this sort of defeatism is unlike you. You're Sirius Black. You stood in that hallway, outside the bridge, and you lectured me about there being some other way, some way by which they could be saved, and now I am eating crow because they were saved. This isn't you, and when the shock wears off, you will know that.

[doggedly]

[Edgeworth is right. And when he says it, there is a part of Sirius that knows: he's right. He can feel it, even if it's at dissonance with everything else that he's feeling right now.

And yet there's one difference, and he says it, flatly:]

This is James.

[And he can't even begin to come to terms with the twist that he feels, deep in his chest, when he says his name. James. Quickly, he looks at the floor.]

[jurisimpudent]

[And Edgeworth forces a shrug that's quite nearly careless.]

That means there'll be two Gryffindors working on it. I think that improves the odds.

[doggedly]

[That answer hurts, a little. Sirius and James, the unbeatable fucking team. Sirius' shoulders hunch a little, as he stares down at the floor, and feels suddenly--weirdly--dizzy.

But after a beat of silence, he manages a quiet laugh.]

Two cleverest. Don't forget that.

[jurisimpudent]

[And Edgeworth's hand comes out. He grips at Sirius' upper arm - bold enough to try for contact once again.]

Two obscenely clever ones. That went without stating.

[doggedly]

[He doesn't shrug away this time. He stares down at Edgeworth's hand--only for a moment--and then looks at him, with a thin smile.]

And you being so clever yourself. That's quite the vote of confidence.

[jurisimpudent]

Well, I suppose that's another thing. You have me on your side, too.

[That causes him to give a little expression - a scrunched nose of dismay, just briefly there and then gone. He despises sounding egotistical; but anything to cheer Sirius up.]

[doggedly]

[But it helps. Sirius' smile firms a little, especially at that look on Edgeworth's face, and even though he looks away, it's not quite as heavy.]

And you'll read all the books we don't want to, right? It's perfect.

[jurisimpudent]

And criticize you mercilessly for not having read them yourself.

[doggedly]

You won't. Because you'll secretly like being the one that's read all the books. Or not so secretly.

[jurisimpudent]

[A hesitation, and then he says:]

I like to be of help.

[It's a non-confession, but it still feels like something weighty. It's an admission, if only in his mind, that he wishes he had a place to fit in in their group.]

[doggedly]

[It's such an idiotic thing to say. Classic Edgeworth. Sirius glances over at him, a smile tugging suddenly at the corners of his mouth.]

Yeah. I know.

[And it's good, that he does. That goes unsaid. There's a beat, and then he reaches over to clap Edgeworth on the arm, once, bracing, far more like his usual self.]

You're a prat.

[jurisimpudent]

[And at once, a smile of relief blossoms on Edgeworth's face. It looks a bit pathetic, with him looking like hell - as he does - but it's genuine and heartfelt.]

I'm beginning to think prat might be a compliment.