cosmicbxtch:
Nancy immediately sobered at the mention of home.
“Home?” she echoed. She looked around, taking their surroundings in. They were situated in a green field– a city park. It could belong to any city, though the grey skies did look fairly Seattle-esque. The only thing that caused her to pause was the surprising lack of people.
The streets were barren.
She lets Jameson help her up, dusting herself off. “Are we really in Seattle?”
The SPD vehicle isn’t lost on Nancy, clocking it at her 3. “What’d you say to my dad, Jamey?” She watches the severe looking woman mutter something into her walkie.
At his noble gasses question she merely shrugs, giving his hand an obligatory sniff when he puts it up by her nose.
Nancy’s eyebrows shoot up at his mentioning of a pandemic, “what– the black plague came back after I left?” she asks, taking the fox mask from him and putting it on as he instructed. “Damn, maybe my leaving was actually a blessing in disguise.”
The set off, leaving the little park for the grey cement sidewalk that wove through a grey city, under a grey sky– like a monochromatic trail. Nancy can feel a smoothie of emotions begin to bubble up inside her, and to distract herself she starts grilling Jameson.
“What did the large man say when you gave him details? What did he look like? Were my brothers there?” A pause. Her next question came much more slowly: “My mom?”
“It looks like most Seattle’s, to me.”
Jameson fixed the bear mask over his face, taking in a deep breath or two, to make sure he could. The breathing was easy, and it warmed his nose.
With her questions, Nancy seemed to be venturing out of her usual range of emotions: strong, punchy, manic, and something about the 90′s top forty list. He tried to encourage it by answering as best he could. “You ever heard of Toby Stephens? Maggie Smith’s son?” Jameson ventured, then quickly waved the thought away. “Probably not. If your universe has a Jim Duke, it probably skipped Toby Stephens.”
“We had a little Bond moment.”
Jameson recreated the conversation, mimicking Mr. Duke’s gruff voice.
“He said, Can I borrow a match?”
“Then I said, I use a lighter. He said, Better still. I said, Until they go wrong.” Jameson scratched his head, unsure of the finer details of the conversation. He had experienced many versions of it. He could only cross his fingers that he was telling the right story. “He seemed pretty happy about that, until he followed up. He asked me a question that sounded like code, something about weeds in the garden, and I had no clue what to say.”
“I told him about the day you went missing, about what you were wearing, about Dairy Queen...”
“That’s probably why that cop car is tailing us.”
Jameson waved pleasantly again.
“But I’d rather be in their custody than your dad’s.”
He almost forgot the question of her mother. It slipped his mind, having seen so many realities without her. “I don’t remember if your mom was there,” he said, honestly, “in most of the universes, I only saw an old black and white picture of her, on the wall.”
“I talked to her at least once or twice, though,” he said. He would have to flip a coin to guess whether his words were helpful or hurtful. “She was a nice lady. She bought me something called a Cronut. I’m still not entirely sure what it is.”
“If you asked, I’m sure she’d buy you one too.”
