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[konstant]

                                                                 

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[konstant]

He would not have guessed Monday, and for someone with an internal clock like his, that's it's own kind of distressing.

He rubs his temples harder until he feels his headache pounding behind his eyes and has to stop.

"I woke up here. I'm not sure how long ago but the last I remember for sure - I was in the Up on my way to Scratch. Thursday?"

[hippie_ninja]

He gets to his feet--wincing just a little bit--and takes a step closer, then hesitates. "Can I?" Examine him.

[konstant]

He's aware abruptly that though he does genuinely want Jesus here, he doesn't want to be touched. His head is such a mess right now though that he doesn't know how much is real and how much is everything in him trying to curl up and heal, and anyway, he does trust Jesus.

He nods, and straightens up from where he's leaned forward on his knees, offering Jesus carte blanche. There's nothing though. He's cool to the touch even for a normal human, and he shivers occasionally, but there isn't a mark on him that explains anything.

He thinks about it while he tracks Jesus's movement around him. "I think... I thought it was a dream but I think. There was a blade runner."

[hippie_ninja]

There is very little touch in the exam, at least, and what there is is professional and practiced. You learn fast how to assess people in his world, to know who is worth carrying forward and who won't make it.

A blade runner.

He doesn't have to know the full scope of what they can do to be appropriately concerned. Especially when he thinks of the timing, thinks of Rosita's mangled, modified Abraham, thinks of his own shifting monster as it kept pace with him through the streets.

"They hurt you?" Is the one thing he can't put a finger on, because K appears to be completely unharmed.

[konstant]

"He must have." It was a blade runner, and K is a rogue replicant. He hasn't been trying to think about it left alone in this room but now Jesus is here and K focuses on the sound of his breathing and makes himself try.

"I've been... Dreaming about one. And about -" Thinking too hard about the manufacturing line brings the sweltering darkness rushing back and he grips the edge of the bed, dizzy. "I woke up in the bathtub. Orla found me. I think he retired me."

[hippie_ninja]

"It's okay," his voice is soothing, low. There's a particular pitch to Jesus's voice when he's trying to comfort someone; it's comfort offered by someone who has seen the world end and still believes what he's saying.

He sits cross-legged, not touching K or reaching for him, but there in case he loses his balance or needs to be caught.

"We were all facing things from home that week." Meaning they're gone now, and no one is going to come retire K again. And if they tried, Jesus would be there to sneak K away.

"How often do you dream about him?"

[konstant]

He starts to shake his head, stops when it swims; his grip stays tight on the mattress, fingers digging into the sides like a bird on a branch.

"Not before the storms. I used to -" He swallows, considers stopping, but he's come this far. All he wanted while he worked the last case for the LAPD was someone else to talk it through with and now he has that, so he tries.

"There's. When I try to remember what happened there's... A dream I've always had."

[hippie_ninja]

Dreams are taboo territory for a lot of people, especially people Jesus knows. But recurring ones, he's always believed, can point to things if you're willing to untangle them. K seems to want that.

"What happens?"

[konstant]

"It's not what happens. It's... I don't know if it's a memory. It's supposed to be impossible. Rumors."

Did they keep you in a drawer when they were building you? Dark.

And right there in his baseline script even though he agrees: it's impossible.

"When they're building us, they pull us off the line, store us on hangers. Ship us in boxes, in wrappers, when we're paid for, then install the software. Everything that makes us distinct. It's not possible for us to remember anything before we're brought online. But when I have a bad dream it's dark, and it's close, and I can't breathe, and I'm alone."

[hippie_ninja]

In one sense, it doesn't matter if it's a real memory or not. It's affecting K the same way a memory would.

K describes a particularly horrible iteration of dreams Jesus himself has had: being alone and trapped, moved around with no way to move himself. Being completely at the mercy of indifferent forces he could never hope to stop. And given what he knows about K... He'd be surprised if someone as compassionate as K didn't have those fears.

It doesn't make it any less terrible.

"You've had that dream before you came here?"

[konstant]

He nods, and convinces himself to relax his grip on the side of the bed finger by finger, muscle by muscle.

He's shivering again, faintly, but constant.

"And when I try to remember details about what happened. I think... He put me there somehow. This time." He doesn't try to explain the previous times he's had that dream.

[hippie_ninja]

"You don't have to remember the details." In fact he might be better off without them. God knows no one survives by remembering every scare and every drop of blood, every nearly missed fatal moment. "Not if you can keep yourself centered here instead."

[konstant]

"I'm missing days. Worrying people." Jesus said he didn't answer the door before, and there are messages on his phone he hasn't been able to answer; he's not good at answering any questions right now.

"I'm sorry."

[hippie_ninja]

"You can explain to them when you feel better." Anyone who worries will just be glad to know he came through healthy. Anyone who doesn't make allowances for illness doesn't know how lucky they are.

"Just think about where you are right now. Our food is going to be here soon," he glances at the window but the shades are drawn. "And it might help."

[konstant]

The look he gives her is empathetic; he understands and he doesn't want to push, not when it doesn't matter right now so much as it's new information.

He tries to imagine what she's telling him and smiles faintly, an expression that vanishes when he thinks of California.

"For cases. There are protein farms a few hours flight outside the biome, but not much else. People can't live outside the megapolises anymore so it's a popular place for rogue replicants to hide."

[konstant]

Maybe it will. Maybe it won't. Maybe he'll feel better or maybe he'll break down from here. He doesn't know.

He reaches behind him and pulls the blanket back up around his shoulders, tries to settle it there and think of something to say to that.

"I'm glad you're here."

[hippie_ninja]

"I can stay the night if you want." He won't even be breaking a law if he does. And if K allows it, maybe Jesus being here will help him rest a little easier.

He gets up when the food arrives, limping slightly and only too glad to come sit again. "I'm glad we're staying in."

[konstant]

K does want him to, he knows the moment he hears it. He still feels bad about it but he says, "Orla moved out."

The bed on the other side of the room, if nothing else, is open.

But he watches Jesus walking, focusing like he'd said on the here and now, flinching back from the light but settling again by the time he says, "You are hurt."

[thecanarylives]

That's how easy the push and pull is. A smile one moment, a flicker of darkness another. But that's the nature of who they are, it seems. Shrouded in that darkness and trying, stubbornly to find the light. Even if neither of them believe they deserve it.

Her brow furrows, trying to imagine it. "I grew up there. Starling City, up near San Francisco. Least that land is good for something, I guess."

[konstant]

Right now he especially doesn't believe in his own worth. Caught between lacking purpose and the accusations pressed into his mind by the nightmare, he doesn't believe he deserves much of anything good.

But he can talk with hera while anyway. She came all this way.

"San Francisco is gone. The ocean swallowed up most of it and the rest burned up under the sun. Los Angeles covers the southern half of the state and nearly pushed into Nevada. It's one of six megapolises left on the planet, each built around a space port."

[hippie_ninja]

"The Dom was rougher with me than I'm used to." He gestures vaguely at his face. "He couldn't get me to fight him. So the sex was about punishment, too. I'll be okay."

But he does need time to recover, and not just physically.

[konstant]

K is still watching him as he settles, his eyes soft but steady, expression troubled.

He wants to say more. He can see that Jesus is placating him even if he does also believe what he's saying, and he doesn't want that; but he doesn't know how to ask for that either, so he stays silent and looks down at his hands in his lap where he's pushed back to bring his heels up onto the bed too.

Finally, quietly, "It would be okay if you're not."

[hippie_ninja]

He's not sure that's true. The options are simply be okay, or you don't survive.

Except here where even if you die, you don't die. It opens up a disturbing new arena he doesn't want to think about.

He gives K a small, wavering smile that doesn't last long. "I'm not."

Right now, then. Right now he's not okay.

[konstant]

His expression softens further, aching for his friend. He doesn't need him to talk about it, not really, not if he doesn't want to or can't. K can see everything he needs to see in a glance.

He reaches over to the blankets beside him. The bed is unmade, already slept in, so pulling the covers aside to make room isn't quite as clearcut as the gesture would be on a made bed, but he makes it all the same in invitation.

[hippie_ninja]

He takes off his boots (he should have earlier he thinks, chiding himself; these are the boots he was brought here with) and his jacket, and even though he doesn't want to be touched he climbs in with K because he isn't going to let anything ruin this comfort for him.