[ He's shouting now, his throat raw. Slams his hand down on the counter, hard enough that it hurts, that it jars his bones. Fury and rage and terror bubbling up. The last thing he felt was his ribs wrenching and snapping. ]
[ He drops his head, cuts himself off again. Should have survived. If anyone. Nick didn't deserve to die.
Stephen collapses down, curling in on himself, leaning back against the cabinets. He can't breathe. It's not hyperventilating. It's some intense, crushing paralysis all through him that leaves spots going in front of his eyes. ]
He's crying. He can't hold all of it in. He can't grasp it all. There are things too large forcing their way through him. He didn't want to go back. He didn't want to see Nick. But he can't accept that Nick is gone. He can't accept never again. ]
[He was working, when he saw Stephen: working late, doing tedious minor bug fixes on the anomaly detector. Side effect of stress and lack of sleep, he tells himself. These things happen. And he had just got himself past disbelief and back into curiosity, ready to say something, when Cutter shows up and now Connor's about ready to fall out of his chair with shock, and maybe it is all just a grief-induced hallucination. But he's going to talk to them anyway.]
...there are two of my dead friends fighting over talking to me. This would be so cool if it was fiction.
[There's no enthusiasm in Connor's voice, and he hopes that when he rubs his hand tiredly over his face it's not too obvious that he's wiping his eyes.]
I don't know how to explain it. [ He is frustrated, and it all sounds so unbelievable. ] There's more than just time, there's other worlds, and things in between. I got a second chance, that's all.
I'm - sorry. I thought I'd leave you with Nick. I thought everyone would - would rather -
[ Rather have Nick than Stephen. The one who was always right, who didn't care what was in his way, who played by his own rules and saved lives. Not Stephen. Stephen was just a shadow.
He couldn't let Nick die for him. Not him and Helen. ]
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[ He's shouting now, his throat raw. Slams his hand down on the counter, hard enough that it hurts, that it jars his bones. Fury and rage and terror bubbling up. The last thing he felt was his ribs wrenching and snapping. ]
You can't do this to me.
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[ He drops his head, cuts himself off again. Should have survived. If anyone. Nick didn't deserve to die.
Stephen collapses down, curling in on himself, leaning back against the cabinets. He can't breathe. It's not hyperventilating. It's some intense, crushing paralysis all through him that leaves spots going in front of his eyes. ]
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[he gives it a few minutes and starts to wonder if this is his dying brain making him hallucinate.]
Stephen, you still there?
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[ He doesn't know. His head is spinning. ]
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[He gives it another minute.]
Stephen. What can you tell me about where you are?
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He's crying. He can't hold all of it in. He can't grasp it all. There are things too large forcing their way through him. He didn't want to go back. He didn't want to see Nick. But he can't accept that Nick is gone. He can't accept never again. ]
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It's okay.
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Uh.
Guys?
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Connor?
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[There's no enthusiasm in Connor's voice, and he hopes that when he rubs his hand tiredly over his face it's not too obvious that he's wiping his eyes.]
Where are you?
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[Alive.]
[Not gonna cry.]
When you were here, right? But can I just say? It's sort of the opposite of helpful right now.
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I'm - sorry. I thought I'd leave you with Nick. I thought everyone would - would rather -
[ Rather have Nick than Stephen. The one who was always right, who didn't care what was in his way, who played by his own rules and saved lives. Not Stephen. Stephen was just a shadow.
He couldn't let Nick die for him. Not him and Helen. ]
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[Connor's not doing that hopeful-puppy look on purpose, Stephen.]
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[soft laugh] You know, I haven't the foggiest idea where I am.
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[That's not the SAS, Connor.]
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And I heard that part. If I can find a way to reach it-- [now he's thinking seriously about this. No, Stephen, you don't get a say.]
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