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[mrballisticsdummy]

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[mrballisticsdummy]

[Jacobi places the two bottles on the table beside him and a hand on Tim's shoulder as he passes to inspect what the Admiral's brought.]

Do you know what the hell you're doing?

[statementfuckingends]

I studied architecture as a passion projects for five years, I know what structural integrity looks like.

[There's a distinct silence from him.]

..but no, absolutely not.

[mrballisticsdummy]

'Hey Jacobi, why don't you help me?' 'Sure, Tim, I can probably do that for you.'

[Said with a laugh from the kitchen.

He walks out, hands on his hips as he pulls off his jacket and tosses it to the side. And, because he means business, the hairtie comes out and he pulls his hair back from his face.]

Alright, let's see what we can do. How have you been?

[statementfuckingends]

[Alright, he'll snicker at that. He'd swear they're the same bloody person sometimes.]

Ahh, you know. Never really my best after a flood. [And maybe the humour falls a little flat in his tone there.] But, I'll live. How about you?

[mrballisticsdummy]

[He notices the change as he kneels down and notices the damage.]

You didn't grab any spare wood, did you?

[Jacobi finds a flashlight and shines it inside the darkened parts of the couch.]

What was wrong with that flood?

[statementfuckingends]

Under the table, just wanted it out of the way.

[For a moment it seems like he's just ignoring the other question, as he shifts his weight to properly support the couch, but eventually he sighs quietly.]

I'm not a fan of things tampering with my memories. It's fine when it's like, just yourself getting turned into an entirely different person. For a certain value of fine, obviously. But everything all at once is just. Easier.

[mrballisticsdummy]

[For Tim's benefit, Jacobi doesn't turn around. He doesn't do anything except find the broken piece inside the couch and make a note of them as he works. He finds a hammer next and tries to straighten out a bent piece of metal.]

But you were still you. Only a little different? [He's not arguing. Just clarifying for himself.]

[statementfuckingends]

Right. Just. Same old everything, only there were bloody daemons there.

[There's a bitterness in his voice, born from hurt. That something so intensely emotional and personal like those couldn't change anything. It was just an extra layer of everything being fucked up.

He'd loved Bertha, in the way you can't help but love certain parts of yourself, but the memories of her have no joy in them now.]

Just made things worse, comparing them.

[mrballisticsdummy]

[He nods once.]

Yeah. And you remembered her from home, you remembered having her around all the time. But now you know that it's all bullshit.

[He stops banging and sits back, reaching for the wood to reinforce the newly-fixed metal piece.]

What are you comparing?

[statementfuckingends]

Well I remember Bertha nearly getting eaten by worms too, that was fun.

[Despite himself there's a sort of grim humour to his tone, but when he shifts his weight again his silence is... uncomfortable.]

But now, looking back? I can see how they all avoided touching Sasha's daemon. And none of us ever noticed. I'm not even sure if we could.

[mrballisticsdummy]

[Jacobi keeps working while Tim talks. Lets him get it out. And notices that it's the first time in a long time - if ever - that he's heard him talk about Sasha in any capacity other than in passing.]

Why?

[statementfuckingends]

[Tim's suddenly very glad Jacobi's not looking now, because he has to lift a hand to wipe down his face. Tries to keep his voice from sounding thick when he answers.]

Jon hasn't really told you anything about her, has he?

[mrballisticsdummy]

No one has.

[He's pieced together parts here and there, but no one - not Jon, not Tim - has done more than give him little pieces of information here and there.

He doesn't glance back. Deliberately.]

[statementfuckingends]

[It takes a while to get the words out. Not because he doesn't know what to say; he's thought about it sometimes, since meeting Jacobi, and there's not a better way to phrase it.

He just doesn't want to.]

She was... our friend. One of the best.

My Maxwell.

[mrballisticsdummy]

[He pauses at that and turns around finally, looking up at Tim with concern and a little apprehension.]

What happened?

[statementfuckingends]

[Tim isn't looking at Jacobi, just leaning on the couch staring towards the kitchen, one hand curled loosely near his mouth. It's just the slight pinch around his eyes, the tension in his jaw that betrays what a lie the casual air is.]

We got separated during Prentiss's attack. I went into the tunnels, she made it into Artefact Storage.

[He swallows, and it does nothing to alleviate his tension.]

A Stranger monster was trapped there, in a table that got brought in, and it... got her. Replaced her.

[mrballisticsdummy]

[Another replacement. Jacobi actually winces a little. For both their sakes'.]

Shit.

Then what happened?

[statementfuckingends]

Nothing.

[That gets a damp chuckle out of him.]

You said Lovelace got replaced by one of the Listeners, yeah? Imagine if Lovelace was just... wrong. Different hair, voice, personality. Completely. But everyone keeps calling her Lovelace, keeps acting like she's the same person she's always been. Even photos and recordings change, unless they were made on tape. And you were the only one who could see it and know.

[He presses his hand against his mouth for a few seconds.]

It wasn't even any of us that knew. It was Melanie, another-- a new staff member who got tricked into joining us.

[mrballisticsdummy]

[He lets out a long breath, feeling it in his chest. He stands up. Moves to stand beside him.]

How did she know?

[statementfuckingends]

Completely arbitrarily, as far as anyone can guess. The, um. The Not-Them feeds on fear, obviously, of. Someone being very obviously wrong. Not who it's supposed to be. But for that to work, someone has to know.

[He's not sure how he'd feel if it had been him, who'd been stuck knowing. He might have snapped a lot earlier.]

Martin and I didn't learn the truth until we saw it turning into a monster to go hunting Jon.

[mrballisticsdummy]

[He also is a little relieved that it wasn't Tim. Thinking of what would have happened if that had been Maxwell, if Jacobi had known it was wrong, that she was wrong, and no one believing him. Having lost her and no one knowing - well, he shoves that away because it's hard enough to think about having lost her anyway.]

Were you able to - get rid of it?

[statementfuckingends]

No. I dunno where it went, but I never saw it in the tunnels again after it ran off.

[And some days he'd considered it, just to look. Just to know, for sure.]

Martin told me, though. Apparently it didn't die, it was there in the apocalypse. Not that it matters, now Jon's averted that.

[mrballisticsdummy]

[He raises a shoulder in a shrug.]

Mmm, it might still matter to you. [He puts his shoulder against Tim's. Just lightly.]

[statementfuckingends]

[Tim leans into the touch a little, automatically.]

Dunno if it should. If it even counts. None of us remember who she even really was, I wouldn't be able to tell you if she came up and bloody slapped me.

[He sniffs, runs a hand down his face again. Forces his voice to stay even.]

Jon, um. I think he has a few tapes with her voice on it, the real her. Something about it doesn't let the Not-Them affect it.

[mrballisticsdummy]

[He's quiet for a moment and then lightly puts his arm around him. Tim's taller, so it goes around his waist almost automatically, but they're past things like that.]

You haven't listened to them.

[It's not a question.]