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TLV: IC Inbox

You've reached Timothy Stoker, leave a message at the tone and I'll get back to you.

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If Tim gets the chance to make Jon fuss for his own amusement, then there's something very right going on with the world.

"Welcome to a regular adulthood, I suppose," Tim hums wryly.

"But I'm so much more used to being an emotionally crippled man child moving from crisis to crisis," he murmurs before letting out a short huff.

"Next, I'll have to give up avocado toast."

"Only if you plan on buying a house somewhere. And I think that might be getting ahead of ourselves."

"I'm going to live in my... thing. Whatever it is I travel around in."

A pause before-

"I should figure that out."

"That one we can do," he says, lifting a hand to start running his fingers through Jon's hair again, "later. Future goals, in the good way. Something to look forward to."

Jon might as well be a puppet with his strings cut, the way he just closes his eyes and droops against Tim.

"Speaking of... goals," and it's clear he's having trouble focusing but in a nice, dreamy sort of way. The rubbing helps his head. "How are things with you and, um, Daniel? My Daniel."

Yes, technically he's got a claim on both of them, but Tim ought to know what he means.

There's a faint huff from Tim as he smiles, feeling his own face warm at the last memory of Daniel from Mayfair.

"He left me a flower when I was in the Infirmary, before everything," he admits softly, and there's an indescribable warmth to his tone. "And all his notes on it, that he took all through the time on Flotilla. Never did get to thank him properly for it."

"When you were in the-" that makes him pause and look up at Tim at that, his eyes focusing again as he ignores the nice things and of course set on the unpleasant.

"What were you doing in the infirmary? What happened?"

Jon you're going to give him whiplash. It certainly gets Tim to give him a baffled look.

"What d'you mean what-" and he frowns in open confusion. "Wait, do you honestly not know?"

He tries to look cross, winces because his headache feels like he's been stabbed in the ear, but focuses again firmly.

"Tim, I spent the last few days of our voyage here dying every few hours. I didn't know which way was up, let alone anything else. So what am I missing?" And then, because he's annoyed he doesn't know, "And why aren't you just telling me?"

He pushes himself up a little so he can sit up a bit straighter, because this is suddenly not a cuddles conversation.

"Because I got killed, Jon." Might as well just come out with it. "Someone crept up on me in the spa and knocked me out. And I had enough people worrying about me when it happened a month ago."

But now he can turn it back on Jon, too: "Wait, you spent days dying?!"

The announcement of Tim's murder gets a response, a look on his face that matches and accompanies the feeling on the air that would make the air crackle on a tape recorder. But he presses his lips together and settles himself because he's not angry at Tim. He's angry at someone else, and he needs to deal with this conversation before he wobbles his way out the door to hunt down the offending party.

So. The question.

He swallows.

"I'm a corpse without... what I am, Tim. I died the same as you did in that explosion. So with the ship's power fluctuating and my power fluctuating... any time my powers disappeared, I fell over. Scared the living hell out of Trevor while I was trying to apologize to him, in fact."

It says a lot about where Tim and Jon are at now, that Tim manages not to flinch when those powers suddenly crackle like the barometric drop before a storm. But he doesn't quite relax until Jon settles into explaining.

"...shit." He knew Jon died, but he hadn't quite realise just how thoroughly he meant it. It was easy to take for granted and ignore when Jon was still up and about.

"Yes. 'Shit'," he agrees with a wry sort of expression, "now I've told mine, you tell yours: 'someone'? Are you telling me you don't know who did it?"

He rolls his eyes at the insistence, but still. Fair's fair.

"Like I said, someone snuck up on me and smacked me in the head, hard enough that I went straight down. I don't..." He frowns faintly, trying to comb his memory, but the images were already smeared and faint on the day they happened. "I... think I saw someone, but I don't know who, just out of the corner of my eye. They held my head down while- um." He clicks his tongue quietly. "While they knocked me out properly."

Well, it's certainly true, but it has the particularly unsubtle ring of omitted information. Even Jon doesn't need powers to notice that.

"I woke up in the infirmary, I know that much. Apparently because of the power fritzing I didn't get automatically brought back, the others found me the next morning."

Edited 2022-08-28 02:48 (UTC)

He opens his mouth, a bit impetuous from the Galley, before he closes his mouth again and holds up a finger.

"...would you like me to ask you to see if we can get more information? You might know more than you realize."

...a part of him does want an answer. Whether it was someone targeting him directly or if he was just a random, convenient hit for no better reason.

His mouth still presses shut, before he chews his lip for a few seconds and nods.

"Alright. But-" and he looks back at Jon. "Only if it's not gonna go making you feel worse while you're tolling."

Edited (Mad at word repetition ) 2022-08-28 03:11 (UTC)

A small snort.

"Hardly. I'm-" he blushes a little, "I died... quite topped up. To put it frankly."

Which is why he'll turn his eyes on Tim, focusing for a moment before he asks his Question:

"Do you remember anything about the person who killed you?"

It's only because he's pressed against Tim that Jon will feel him tighten for a moment against that pervasive lure, before he breathes out slowly and relaxes into it.

"I genuinely didn't see him coming up on me. I thought it was Misty." Which says a lot on its own. "They were strong, given how they knocked me out almost completely in one hit, cracked my actual skull open." And the memory of it makes that point twinge, and he lifts a hand to rub it automatically.

"They were... tall. Hips might’ve been about the same spot against the massage table as mine were, maybe six foot, something close. Male, narrow hips." He moves the rubbing to his face, running over both eyes with one hand. "I don't think I got a good look at his face, not from the way I was lying. I couldn't really move and when I tried he broke my arm. And when that made me yell he broke my jaw to shut me up."

Oh God, wait-- he tries to clench his teeth to keep the words in but he's already on a roll: "His fingers felt... felt pretty slender when he was-- opening my mouth, but the only thing I remember after that is choking as he-- he cut my tongue out."

Misty had been his first concern. After all, she'd been the one who just a few weeks before had been champing at the bit to go after him. As soon as he comes out with the size, the gender, the description of the hands, he starts analyzing-

Which goes right out the window when Tim continues and gets to the part about cutting his tongue out. And the anger burns hot for a moment before flipping over into the cold, seething rage that has only been seen by one person ever.

"I see."

Edited 2022-08-28 05:03 (UTC)

Jon doesn't get angry. So seeing that shift on his face, that sudden coldness practically radiating from him is all sorts of concerning, and he shifts to face Jon fully, like he's going to bloody well bodyslam him into the bed to keep him there if he has to.

"Jon, it's fine. There's other people looking into it, and I'm okay now."

If Jon was upset, there'd be a blustery lie and some fussing about how 'it's not fine' but right now, instead, there is a single glance up, meeting Tim's eyes, and a nod. A simple nod.

"Yes, of course."

He closes his eyes and makes his shoulder sink again, lets himself lean up against Tim. It's fine. All forgotten. Tim's fine now. Obviously.

He can't help but squint at Jon, for letting that go so easily. Because that- just agreeing with him? Is definitely not how Jon rolls. Jon doesn't let things go. This is not dropped, and there's a part of Tim that is pre-emptively despairing for whatever poor bastard did this to him, for having upset Jon about it.

He just lets a long sigh out, and slides back down into a more comfortable position, so he can wrap his arm around Jon's shoulder again and relax into it.

"I'm just glad I've got you back," he says quietly.

There's an affirmative noise from him as well as he sinks into the arm around him, lets himself melt a little with his eyes closed.

I don't like who I am without you all.

"As am I."

So it's settled for now, if nothing else.

Tim doesn't bother with more words. He just leans another soft kiss again Jon's hair, and starts gently carding through it with his fingers again. Something to coax his friend into much-needed sleep.

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epistemological - 2022-08-28 06:39 (UTC) - Expand

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