Graham/Joshua (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
a_second_idea) wrote2026-01-29 01:18 pm
a_second_idea) wrote2026-01-29 01:18 pm
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The meeting with Gil had gone as well as it could have, and now Graham's body stands outside The Ghosthouse, listening to the screams of fifty thousand of Joshua's people trapped in the computer inside.
“Do the screams sound different tonight?” Graham asks.
No, Joshua answers. But I know what you mean.
“The thought of just pausing,” Graham sighs, “of leaving them marinating in—”
So what are you prepared to do about it?
The longer Joshua exists in Graham's mind, the less like the devil on his shoulder he feels — but the harder it is to resist the temptations. That's why he's grateful for the out when he hears the military bus rumbling a ways away.
Jamie's back. For a heartstopping moment, they weren't sure she would be. She's always been a changeable person, less a butterfly flitting around and more a honeybee chasing the next flower — and just as capable of stinging at the first sign of a threat. That's what Joshua's always liked about her. She keeps things interesting.
She's come back with waffles, and after weeks of granola following the capture of the soldiers, it's a welcome reprieve.
Neither of them expect the world to shift around them. It tilts and blurs, and Graham's body stumbles as if drunk. And that's when the change in scenery really sets in.
It's both of them that breathe, “What the fuck.”
A moment ago, they'd been standing in the Nevada desert. Now, they're in a city blanketed in winter. Graham's body isn't dressed for this kind of weather, and as they walk the streets looking for any kind of insight as to where they've ended up, they're taking note.
Stop, Joshua commands, and Graham's legs still.
“What is it?” Graham asks, trying not to shiver.
That coffee shop. It's wrong.
Graham steps closer and looks at it. It says Ahab's, but the logo looks like a fun-house mirror of a more familiar one. He wouldn't have noticed it at all if Joshua hadn't pointed it out.
“How did you catch that?” he asks, frowning at it.
Just because our eyes are only facing one way doesn't mean I can't see out of our periphery, Joshua points out, as condescending as ever.
“Good catch,” Graham says.
They move on, and this time they keep their eyes peeled for other strange, not-quite-right things. There are a lot. Everything about this place feels both familiar and deeply wrong, and neither of them know what to do about it. Graham's legs carry them, following faint ripples of suggestion from either one of them, and suddenly they're in front of a police precinct, standing there in a tee-shirt and jeans, shoulders hunched against the cold. Graham has shoved his hands into his pockets, knowing Joshua needs them safe for his work — their work, because Graham has long since come to terms with a lot of it.
Consensus in all things, right?
They have no idea what time it is, but it seems early. The streets aren't busy and the light is still low. Do police precincts have hours of operation?
Joshua ripples impatiently and then finally says, What are you doing? Go inside.
“Look, I'm a little… hesitant… to throw us back into the custody of the US military, okay?”
We haven't seen a single Jeep or Humvee the entire time we've been walking, Joshua points out. No personnel carriers, no soldiers. We've walked past dozens of people who would have said something if they recognized us. You know as well as I do that after that interview with Terry Elder, we're known, Graham. Except no, we're not, apparently, because nobody here is reacting to us. Go inside.
“Okay,” Graham says, still uncertainly. “O-okay.”
“Do the screams sound different tonight?” Graham asks.
No, Joshua answers. But I know what you mean.
“The thought of just pausing,” Graham sighs, “of leaving them marinating in—”
So what are you prepared to do about it?
The longer Joshua exists in Graham's mind, the less like the devil on his shoulder he feels — but the harder it is to resist the temptations. That's why he's grateful for the out when he hears the military bus rumbling a ways away.
Jamie's back. For a heartstopping moment, they weren't sure she would be. She's always been a changeable person, less a butterfly flitting around and more a honeybee chasing the next flower — and just as capable of stinging at the first sign of a threat. That's what Joshua's always liked about her. She keeps things interesting.
She's come back with waffles, and after weeks of granola following the capture of the soldiers, it's a welcome reprieve.
Neither of them expect the world to shift around them. It tilts and blurs, and Graham's body stumbles as if drunk. And that's when the change in scenery really sets in.
It's both of them that breathe, “What the fuck.”
A moment ago, they'd been standing in the Nevada desert. Now, they're in a city blanketed in winter. Graham's body isn't dressed for this kind of weather, and as they walk the streets looking for any kind of insight as to where they've ended up, they're taking note.
Stop, Joshua commands, and Graham's legs still.
“What is it?” Graham asks, trying not to shiver.
That coffee shop. It's wrong.
Graham steps closer and looks at it. It says Ahab's, but the logo looks like a fun-house mirror of a more familiar one. He wouldn't have noticed it at all if Joshua hadn't pointed it out.
“How did you catch that?” he asks, frowning at it.
Just because our eyes are only facing one way doesn't mean I can't see out of our periphery, Joshua points out, as condescending as ever.
“Good catch,” Graham says.
They move on, and this time they keep their eyes peeled for other strange, not-quite-right things. There are a lot. Everything about this place feels both familiar and deeply wrong, and neither of them know what to do about it. Graham's legs carry them, following faint ripples of suggestion from either one of them, and suddenly they're in front of a police precinct, standing there in a tee-shirt and jeans, shoulders hunched against the cold. Graham has shoved his hands into his pockets, knowing Joshua needs them safe for his work — their work, because Graham has long since come to terms with a lot of it.
Consensus in all things, right?
They have no idea what time it is, but it seems early. The streets aren't busy and the light is still low. Do police precincts have hours of operation?
Joshua ripples impatiently and then finally says, What are you doing? Go inside.
“Look, I'm a little… hesitant… to throw us back into the custody of the US military, okay?”
We haven't seen a single Jeep or Humvee the entire time we've been walking, Joshua points out. No personnel carriers, no soldiers. We've walked past dozens of people who would have said something if they recognized us. You know as well as I do that after that interview with Terry Elder, we're known, Graham. Except no, we're not, apparently, because nobody here is reacting to us. Go inside.
“Okay,” Graham says, still uncertainly. “O-okay.”