ARCHIVED.

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the words that want to rise from his mouth are a deeply sarcastic that’s nice, honey. what rises instead are his eyes over the lip of the laptop, flicking between miles, the screen, miles, the screen. 

          “ ... fuck, fine, ” he pushes the laptop aside with a huff. “ but I’m coming,          and you don’t get to bitch when I have to stitch you up after. ”

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he laughs, louder than he probably intended— alcohol has a way of stripping away a lot of james’ frigid professionalism. he’s not quite giggly drunk, but he’s definitely loud drunk, and he had promised matt a few drinks to celebration their recent success.

        " and you, matt, are a third-rate skiddie brat, ” he glances dreamily down into        the cheap drink swirling in his glass, contemplative. " but that’s why I like you. ”

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the words come stifled through heavy blankets and james’ face buried thoroughly in miles’ chest. sundays bring with them a complete lack of obligation— not to dedsec, not to murkoff, not to work. just them. and when the sun struggles to shine pale light through the overcast sky and the faint tapping of rain against the window are what greet him in the morning, then who is james to deny mother nature telling him to stay in bed?

          a tired moan slips from his lips, digging himself deeper into the cocoon of           miles and blankets. “ and a great opportunity to stay right here. ”

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they’re at a bar— him and phil, they’re drinking, and james is pressed a little too close to his side because there’s a guy a couple stools over who is giving him some seriously bad vibes. in public, like this, intimacy is strictly forbidden; he knows phil can, will, and has decked people who make comments about them, but that doesn’t mean james invites such things— and the bars make him uncomfortable. even in places like roscoe’s, james’ discomfort runs high, only soothed momentarily by a small nudge of phil’s foot under the table.

         “ where is he? ”

because they’re supposed to be meeting someone. a friend of his, recently in town. you’ll love him, he’s an asshole, phil tells him. ( phil tells him he’d like a lot of his friends who are assholes— phil considers himself an asshole. phil is the light of james’ life, and james takes that assignment with a grain of salt. )

                     “ patience, young padawan, ” phil’s reply comes on the tail end of a smirk,                      scanning the bar. “ he’s working his magic. ”

and phil points him ( discretely ) across the bar, to a man with a shock of white hair— james wonders for a moment if that’s some edgy cool dude thing or if he’s… genuinely unsure how that would happen naturally. nevermind. 

                                            and their new friend finds james’ eyes, and with a wink                                             mouths: watch this.

this is how james park met spencer fitzgerald: conning a drunk asshole at a dive bar.

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miles finds him with dark, pin-point pupils and unkempt clothes, a disaster held together by flannel and cigarettes. of course dedsec had jumped on the massive tapes, and had looked to shelter anyone coming out of it who needed protection and wanted revenge, but miles is a whole other storm. he looks like the thing hell coughed up because it couldn’t break him down.

their meeting is tepid at best. miles is exhausted in a way that leeches down into his soul, and james’ mind is set with pity ( which he knows miles won’t appreciate ) and the slow spinning of machinations against the company that did this.

           “ try to rest. you’re safe here. ”

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           “ eugh. ”

his frown only grows more severe as wrench plays the footage again. the shadowy figure, and the screech like a hundred digital banshees as the feed cuts to the two women previous in frame— gone. the noise makes him flinch more than what feels to him like a pre-manufactured jump scare: except this is footage they lifted from a real camera, and the women are really gone.

         “ I think the audio is going to kill us before the shuffler does. this have         the same encoding as the first one? ”

meme. meme tag. inbox. not accepting.you didn’t mention who so you get mariko.

she looks like his mother after tens years of loveless marriage and a bad smoking habit. the way she drags her gaze across the room feels like she’s cutting each and every one of them down with a look— the way you look when you have nothing left, when your grief and guilt manifest as an anger that can’t be remedied with soft words and guided meditation.

                                  julian forced him to come here, but that doesn’t mean he can’t find                                   solace in the others who were forced to be here as well.

they sit quietly in the corner and talk of conspiracy, volunteering answers out of obligation and hopes of getting back to their own world. and while they don’t find peace with the group, with balls of healing light, with forgiveness— they find something in each other.

                                  she’s a bitter bitch, but she’s his bitter bitch. 

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this had been amr’s project. break the robot out of robot jail. but now that he’s here, james isn’t really sure what to do with the guy. but he knows this: the hackerspace is safe. even if spot ( seriously, spot? ) has to duck to avoid bumping his head on the ceiling, it’s insulated from any passing spy vans, and more importantly: secret.

          “ james, ” he responds. his tone is cool but never intentionally so: if spot          sticks around, he’s going to learn that it’s just how james is. everyone here          has learned to read around the ice. ( he’s so tall— james has to crane           his head up to meet his gaze. ) “ sorry about all the chaos earlier. jail          breaking isn’t usually so hectic for us. ”

                                                                                     ha, ha. puns.

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he can tell by the way the light runs up the contours of his jaw that he’s got a killer profile that those bottle cap glasses do absolutely no favours for. they’re coworkers, and james is very firmly the new guy, but that doesn’t stop him from wanting to tear those stupid frames and his untailored slacks off him and drag him the furthest place this city has from a department store to get him into some nice goddamn clothes. 

this is something, he decides, he will make happen slowly. because a face that gorgeous shouldn’t be framed by something like those. 

                                                                                      it’s a work in progress.

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every once in a while clarissa manages to say something so piercing in so few words that he can only regard her as her father’s daughter. this has to be the product of her upbringing, he thinks— but it’s true that fire was lit in her eyes before they adopted her. 

                     he wonders sometimes, when she’s asleep soundly on the couch with sissel                     curled upon her lap, and that fire has been soothed to embers, if he didn’t                      learn from her. 

       “ I’m not lonely anymore, ” he admits softly, brushing hair behind her ear       in a rare show of more obvious affection. “ let’s work on you. ”