#jasper control

Happiness comes. White pearls, but yellow and red in the eye.

He knew it'd only be a matter of time before they started moving people back towards their offices, and he knows that having the Bureau newspaper up and running again would help the reclamation efforts a lot, keep the survivors informed of what goes on between departments as the director and the rangers slowly take back more and more of the House.

Through a mirror, inverted is made right.

But a part of him, perhaps a selfish part, almost dreads going back to the news room.

It's not like he dreads working again -- quite the opposite, in fact, because he's been going nuts without something to do -- but it's more like he dreads going back to the news room itself. Dreads what he'll find in there. He hasn't stepped foot in that office since the initial Hiss breach.

Leave your insides by the door.

He wonders if Helen and Hawkins are still in there. He wonders if his typewriter is still on his desk, frozen in time, page halfway through his last article. If his mug is still in pieces on the ground.

At least he wouldn't be alone -- Simmons had made it out, too. Thank God. If he had to work in there by himself, he might have gone crazy.

Still, though. There's this feeling of fear he can't shake when he thinks about stepping foot in there.

Push the fingers through the surface into the wet.

"As long as you have your HRA, you're perfectly safe." A ranger had told him, "you'll have an escort to and from the news room whenever you need to leave."

You’ve always been the new you.

He wishes it made him feel better.

You want this to be true.

________

Jasper has quadruple checked his HRA by the time he leaves Central Executive. There's no problems with the device that he can see or feel, the straps are secure, and he can both hear and feel the frequency it exudes.

He's safe. He'll be fine.

There's been fewer and fewer hostile Hiss sightings in his part of Executive over the last few weeks. Maybe they've lost interest. Maybe they've realised there's more important areas of the House to focus on. He doesn't care, really, as long as they stay as far away from him as possible.

More and more areas are becoming HRA-proofed, anyway. Central executive, the cafeteria, the mail room -- all now boast impressive, man sized HRA's on the walls. The newsroom doesn't have one, not yet, but it's a small enough room that they might not bother. That's fine, he tells himself. Both he and Simmons have HRA's. They'll be fine.

The HRA feels snug against his chest, the straps holding the box against him, yet an irrational part of him worries it's not close enough. He can feel the frequency reverberating in his chest, in his teeth. He's grown used to it, by now. It soothes him, if nothing else. Grounds him.

The hallways are quiet as he and Simmons walk behind their ranger escort. He can hear the Hiss incantation. He ignores it. Focuses instead on the sound of footsteps.

There's something else he can hear, and he strains his ears to listen. He can't quite place what it is -- chimes? A ringing? It sounds close -- is it coming from the HRA? That's odd. He never noticed it before.

Maybe he's just never listened.

It's actually somewhat... soothing. Something about it is calming his nerves, bringing his heart rate down.

He takes a deep breath. The HRA moves comfortably with his body as he walks. He breathes out, slowly.