2023-01-26 4:10:55 ¶ ●

I have this headcanon that when Jon wakes up from his coma he finds his nose slightly crooked. It’s not awful, not terribly noticeable, but certainly not how it was before. No doctor would question it, nor a visiting acquaintance; he survived a massive explosion and the collapse of a building, a broken nose is a logical injury.

It puzzles him though. If his nose broke, why not his fingers? Why not a fractured skull? He doesn’t remember it with any great clarity but surely he wouldn’t only break his nose, that couldn’t be it. But alas, who could he ask? The only other survivor was Basira and she would know even less than he.

As heals, returns to the archives, and becomes used to that slight bend to the left on the bridge of his nose, things do come back, bit by bit. Flashes of things from the unknowing, a story with each scene jumbled like an unsolved puzzle. Faces, voices, sensations, and a disgustingly heavy sense of unease, of guilt.

He remembers dancing most of all. It makes sense, the unknowing is a dance after all, but that doesn’t make it any less unpleasant. That happens near the end of it all, he recalls, but that couldn’t possibly have caused his broken nose, could it? Nikola was certainly rough with him, but what reason would she have to go near his face? Her dance was painful, but precise.

He remembers making eye contact with Basira as they were pulled into the theatre - a split second of connection, a sharing of terror as control and comprehension fell away into the abyss… But those things don’t bear thinking about.

Sometimes days, weeks go by without remembering a single thing, without even thinking about it. It’s never long enough though, and little things in every day life can twist in a second to a harsh memory. A teaspoon clinking on the edge of a cup turns to the high pitched squeal of a pipe organ; the growl of a dog turns to the groans of something else.

One day, crammed into a crowded train, Jon finds himself facing a tall stranger. The train slams to an unexpected stop sending him flying into the man, his nose crushing against a solid shoulder, releasing an explosion of pain and an entirely unexpected memory.

Just before the detonator was triggered, a scuffle on the floor (or what felt like it at the time), he’d fallen hard. A hand pressed into his face wrenching his nose to the side but the pain barely registered at the time because that wasn’t important! Because what really mattered was Tim. It had been Tim!

The final act of aggression that had lead to the destruction of the ritual, that horrible moment that saved everything, it had left a mark. Though a painful memory to have so clearly attached to oneself, there’s a strange joy in its origin, knowing it wasn’t left by something truly evil.

It’s an odd comfort really, to know that such a mark was left by a friend, an ally. But as sweet as the relief is, the bitter knowledge remains; Tim is gone forever, and that mark is a reminder of it in every reflection.

2023-01-29 2:50:39 ¶ ●

# TMA character as texts my sister has sent me. (part 2)

Peter Lukas

Basira (after being hired to the institute)

Nikola

Jon (at S1 Martin)

Jane Prentiss

Martin (about Jon, of course.)

Elias