damned_institute | Day 44: breakfast

Yuffie had died.

No, really. Seriously. She had actually died. Bleeding all over the place, making a horrid, sticky mess and scaring the hell out of Suzaku; she remembered it clearly. Kind of. Sort of. Through the blood loss, the pain, and the visions. Through Aerith's voice whispering in her ear, Cloud's stricken eyes, and her own panic. As bad nights went, it had been Bad, capital B and all the trimmings, and oh, god. She sat, trembling on the edge of her bed, eyes closed and hands pressed hard over her racing heart. The by-play between Landel—Landel!—and Lydia barely even sunk in. There was nothing in the whole world, any world, that could prepare you for something like…

Had it all been some kind of hallucination?

Had she imagined the whole thing?

No… She didn't think so. Nightmarish or not, Yuffie knew reality. But if it had been real, how was she alive now? That kind of pain wasn't something you could just cook up, was it? She thought about it all the way to the cafeteria, drifting behind her nurse without focus or intent. Maybe if she tried to stay clinical, tried to step back… But she'd never been good at that when things got personal. And every time she closed her eyes or blinked, she swore that the scenes played back to her, like an overused commercial on a crappy channel on a crappy TV, in a run-down dump of an inn that smelled like mothballs and yesterday's breakfast.

The scent of blood and damp, rotted wood clogged her nose. Disgusted, Yuffie shoved her bowl of cereal—handed to her by a clucking Plucky—off to the side so that she could melt into her chair, palm heels scrubbing against her eyes. Too much. This was… Too much. She couldn't even paste a plastic smile on her face to make herself feel better. Her usual shield, the white noise of inane babble that could filter out almost any crisis, was in tatters all around her. Five minutes, she gave herself.

Five minutes (not) to think, five minutes to get her act together, because there was no way she could let herself shatter here. No way…

[Closed to Sheena]

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Leonard continued to copy from his other notes, writing as Joshua circled the table:

THIS PLACE IS NOT SAFE. THE INSTITUTE BRAINWASHES PEOPLE- SPECIAL COUNSELING. HALLUCINATIONS. THERE ARE MONSTERS HERE- YOU ARE NOT THE ONLY ONE WHO HAS SEEN THEM. YOU HAVE PROOF. TRUST YOURSELF.

ACCORDING TO JOSHUA, THIS IS YOUR FOURTH DAY HERE.

"Glad to know I've not been here forever," he said as he finished scribbling the last note. So I'm a relatively new arrival. I've not been here long. The question is how much longer will I be here? Is there a way out? I'm not willing to believe there isn't so easily. "Have you been here long?" I wonder if an institute from the Twilight Zone would let us leave. Or bring us here for actual medical reasons. Hm.

He scribbled a few remaining notes on a couple of the photographs before he called it quits, taking the torn page and placing it in the front of the journal in front of the other pages. "I still have a few organizational steps to take, but I'm missing some supplies. Guess I'll get them later somehow."

There was no doubt in Joshua's mind that, if someone were to look at the notebook without any context whatsoever, they would find it the work of a madman. The ideas were disjointed, with odd emphasis choices and word order, and without the supporting evidence, there was no reason to believe it. Other than the fact that it was in Leonard's handwriting and he trusted himself so implicitly.

"I know where you can get some supplies, depending on what you're looking for," he offered casually, "but as for me? I've been here for a bit longer than that. ...can I ask a rather pointed question?" Normally Joshua wouldn't have bothered asking permission, but there was something about Leonard that made him want to treat the man with kid gloves. Now why could that be?

Returning to one of the last pages of his notes, Leonard read the list: "I need tape, some paper- bigger paper than this- and maybe a Sharpie. Nothing out of the ordinary." Maybe if I'm on my best behavior, a nurse can fetch them for me.

He closed the journal, putting his pen in his pocket as he took another quick bite of toast. "You have a question?" he said, ready to answer.

"Hm... all three should be in the Arts and Crafts room, right over there," Joshua said as he gestured towards the Sun Room, "though a Sharpie might be a little more tricky to find. Mind if I ask why you want one?"

Still... the more important thing was the question, which made Joshua purse his lips and tap his chin thoughtfully before speaking as bluntly as he always did. "Do you remember what put you into this condition?" There were a wide variety of reasons why it had to have been something relatively recent; which meant that it was misadventure. And that meant that Joshua wanted to know.

Leonard took a quick note on where he could find the supplies he needed, stopping when Joshua asked his second question. He caught sight of his hand- Remember Sammy Jankis. He tried notes- got confused. I'll have to be more careful with mine. I won't let myself forget what I'm doing, or why I'm here. Or what I have to do.

"Two men broke into our home in the night," he started. "I killed the first guy. In the bathroom. He was... " Leonard trailed briefly, remembering. "I shot him, killed that fuck. There was a second man- there had to be. I remember I was struck from behind. It's about the last thing I do remember."

He closed his eyes, still seeing his wife's face before him, her breaths shallow and fast as she suffocated. "Head trauma. That's how I got this way."

He had to say, it was impressive that Leonard had managed to achieve that. Not everyone could defend themselves from people who intruded into their homes, and managing to kill one on his own? Most impressive indeed! He'd say that, but there was something far more important to discuss. And to think about. A head trauma... that was a fascinating development. One he'd have to keep in mind.

There was one word that stuck out in that explanation, though. One that made Joshua blink curiously. "...'our'? Were you living with someone?"

"My wife," he answered quickly, her face still before his eyes. She's gone. There's no turning back. Only moving forward.

He clasped his hands together, leaning on his elbows. It's like you never left. I don't even know how long you've been gone.

"She was murdered that night," he said quietly.

He'd been married? That explained a lot, and it also explained why he had something to orient himself even in situations like this. It was something to be envied, in a way; that he remembered her, even in a situation like that. But it also meant he was frozen, too; frozen in a way that would keep him from moving beyond that one moment. Or so Joshua thought, with the information he had.

It was something he'd love to work with in his own world. Alas, he couldn't drag Leonard into a Game, not here. Perhaps once he had a foothold, he could see about it.

For now, though, he was fascinated with Leonard, looking at him with undisguised interest, his breakfast forgotten as he focused on the man in front of him. "What happened to that other man?"

Leonard shook his head, trying to remember old habits, ways that had burned themselves into his mind through order and repetition. "The police didn't believe me. He disappeared. Set it up so it seemed there'd only been one guy. I know there were two. There had to be."

Leonard felt there was something else there, something else he was forgetting. He ignored the notion, feeling sickened just thinking of him. "He's out there somewhere. I'm not giving up until I find him and have his blood on my hands."

Hm, now that didn't sound suspicious at all, did it? But the important thing was that Leonard clearly believed it, and it drove him on like nothing else. In one way, it was admirable; it certainly meant that the man could keep going in harsh circumstances. On the other, however, it was a tremendous detriment.

Oh yes, Joshua would have to play around with that later, when he got the chance.

For now, the breakfast shift was winding to a close, and soon they'd have to part company once more. Aggravating, but this was as good a time as any. "Considering what he did, I suppose no one can blame you," the boy quietly acknowledged, "but to find him, you'll have to get out of here, first. That's not exactly an easy task."

Day 44: breakfast

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