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[statementfuckingends]

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

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[statementfuckingends]

Jesus fucking- Christ.

[There's not much else to say. Jon is doing his best impression of a constrictor python, pressed into his chest, and all he can do is cling back just as tightly.]

That's it, isn't it? It's over.

[epistemological]

[ Thankfully, he got the worst of the absolute uselessness out of him with Lark. ]

Yes, Tim. It is. It's over. It's done. For our world. For every world.

No more 'spooky'.

[statementfuckingends]

[Tim's quite happy to let the embrace linger for as long as Jon needs. God knows that Jon holding him up is half of what's keeping him standing from the sheer weight of this dawning revelation.

When they do finally separate a fraction, Tim brings a hand up to cup Jon's cheek, brushing over their matching scars.]

Still got these. [There's something oddly bitter-sweet about it. Evidence of something they've fought tooth and nail to never have to suffer under again, that most people didn't know existed.] So not retroactive, then. Just- a proper, bright future.

[epistemological]

[ He flickers a smile and he shakes his head. ]

I don't- I don't know if those will be gone. It hasn't- it won't kick in properly until I come back with Daniel. We've some business to attend to in his world.

[ A deep breath in. ]

A-and then I'm going to be human. No more Archivist. No more tape recorders.

[statementfuckingends]

Just-- Jonathan Sims. Useless prick.

[But the insult comes with an intensity of affection that abundantly clear what he thinks of it.]

What then, d'you think? Any more deals?

[epistemological]

[ That's a snort. ]

Oh, yes. I've, uh... I've got at least one more. Possibly two.

...for myself, frankly. Things I want. F-for the future. To make a life I want to live.