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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(no subject)
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.”
no subject
He nodded when Mr. Shapiro said he wanted to go to the train station. That was the next best step for any new arrival.
"I do, but it's pretty easy to find. Leave the precinct through the door marked Parliament Street Exit, turn left, and it's about six blocks that way on the opposite side of the street," Daniel said. "There's an Information Desk that'll have a manila envelope for you. Oh, and don't worry if the person behind the desk isn't friendly. I don't know how they get hired, but none of em are actually welcoming."
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"Thank you," they say. "Really, we appreciate your help.
"Joshua speaking: I'm moderately impressed you handled my existence inside Graham so well, Detective. We were... concerned that revealing me in a world where nobody recognized us by sight would have been a dangerous move for us. Yet even despite knowing nothing about Red Camp or the Nevada Project, you barely flinched at the idea of alien life, let alone two consciousnesses in a single body."
As every time before, Joshua's tone is cold and hard, but there's a modicum of respect in it as he speaks.
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"Well, I've gotten used to strange things," Daniel replied. That had been true before Darrow and it was true in Darrow. "There are people here who have magic powers, people who are ghosts but you can still see them, even vampires. We had a whole vampire turf war a few years ago, which really sounds like someone's playing Horror Movie Plot Mad Libs."
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"Graham speaking: I haven't heard that one in awhile. I used to do those with my kids."
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Graham chuckles again, and then shakes their head, smiling wider. "Graham speaking: No, Joshua, it's a way of calling someone a nerd or, or a dork. It's just a sort of insult. I didn't realize people used it, actually."
It's possible they're both stalling at this point; it's easier to sit and talk with Detective Sousa than face the possibility that he's telling them the truth: that they can't leave, that they'll find an ID card and other things waiting for them at the train station. It's also possible that they're just gearing themselves up to go back out into the cold without a jacket.
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“I mentioned that the last year I remember is 1955. Sometimes my language is stuck in that decade and the decades before it.”
He wasn’t apologizing for it. It was just how it worked for him. At least his text messages sounded less like telegrams these days.
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As soon as the question is out, Graham sighs softly and lifts their coffee to sip it. Joshua wants to collect the data, and it's not Graham's place to stop him. That's sort of the whole point of Acceptance. Graham is afraid to know the answer, but that doesn't mean they don't still need to know it.
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"Almost nine years," he replied. It's the end of January 2026 and I got here in mid-February 2017."
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That's still all Joshua, despite the lack of the preceding announcement, and it's barely a question as it is.
"Uh," Graham says, blinking like he's reorienting himself. "Uh, G-Graham speaking: what, what do you mean nine—
"Joshua speaking: nine years is not acceptable. We have things to do, I have people I need to save." Joshua's voice doesn't raise, but a fresh, steely determination enters his tone.
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He wasn't sure about "people to save" but he also wasn't going to ask. It was, once again, not his business.
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Graham shakes their head. "Joshua, you know we can't," he says, and holds up a hand to Detective Sousa. "Sorry, Graham speaking: we can't— no Joshua, we're not going to do that.
"Joshua speaking: then you're condemning everyone we love." To Detective Sousa, he says, "Tell me who is in charge."
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“I can tell you who the mayor of the city is, but he’s definitely not in charge,” he replied wryly. “There’s no one person in charge here, or at least there’s no one person that controls who stays and who goes, as far as I’m aware. On the other hand, I don’t know if they’d make that public if they were. They’d be the most loved and hated person here at the same time.”
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"Graham speaking: what we need is to get a jacket and find somewhere to sit and think," he reasons. Fine, Joshua pouts. They sigh and say, "Detective, thank you for... your time and understanding. We'll get outta your hair."
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"Let me walk you back to the front lobby so I can let Sergeant Woodward know you're leaving."
He put his mug of coffee down on his desk and pushed up from his desk chair.
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"Look, we appreciate the answers you have given us," they say.
They follow Detective Sousa out and nod again at Sergeant Woodward as they're checked out. Then they offer Detective Sousa a hand.
"We wish we could say it was nice to meet you," they add, a glimmer of amusement in their eye.
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"I won't take it personally. You need anything as you're getting settled, though, come back here. If I'm not in the office, the desk sergeant will know where to find me."
He'd offer that to anyone, but especially new arrivals