Will Graham (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
empathicfault) wrote2023-02-20 08:07 pm
empathicfault) wrote2023-02-20 08:07 pm
PSL: Travels outside the Barge (w/Malcolm)
Piloting their new ship is a little difficult. It takes reading the (somehow enclosed) manual back-to-front and learning the control panel, now situated in what looks like a little closet on the window side of the living room. It's in the new hallway that leads to the small courtyard, which Will intends to decorate once they get this one chore done first.
Thankfully, the majority of the controls are intuition-based, going off the person who puts their hand on a small orb on the panel. The rest, as it turns out, is tweaking. And luckily (or otherwise), no tweaking is necessary for their first flight.
They're heading to Will's home world.
But Will doesn't specify where, just a year later than he left. he inadvertently brings them to where he'd left. The door opens from a wall of Hannibal's cliffside home, and looks out onto the driveway. The Dragon's wings are still there, staining the cement. They overlook the grey day and the churning seaside.
Will finds himself stuck in the doorway, unsure whether he's compelled to walk out and remember or slam the door shut and take them elsewhere.
Thankfully, the majority of the controls are intuition-based, going off the person who puts their hand on a small orb on the panel. The rest, as it turns out, is tweaking. And luckily (or otherwise), no tweaking is necessary for their first flight.
They're heading to Will's home world.
But Will doesn't specify where, just a year later than he left. he inadvertently brings them to where he'd left. The door opens from a wall of Hannibal's cliffside home, and looks out onto the driveway. The Dragon's wings are still there, staining the cement. They overlook the grey day and the churning seaside.
Will finds himself stuck in the doorway, unsure whether he's compelled to walk out and remember or slam the door shut and take them elsewhere.
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"That makes all of us, then," he replies, squeezing Malcolm's hand, then letting it go to bend down and pet the dogs. Franklin seems to be a part of the pack already, wagging and stumbling his way over to the door. He comes up to Malcolm and puts his paws on Malcolm's leg, leaning against him.
Will grins and makes sure they all get a sufficient amount of pets. He can tell they're going to have to schedule a lot of dog time when they're traveling, and won't that be a luxury?
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He looks over at Will in all seriousness.
“How did you do that? You told him he’s mine and it’s like he knows.”
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He doesn't point out that Malcolm is much easier to get to, for a slower dog, now does he point out that our was Malcolm that saved him from the shelter. He just gets up, gives a couple of finishing pats to Winston and Buster, and starts heading for the console room.
"I'll drop off the phone number for Molly. Then we're headed for Virginia, to assault a government official."
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"We're fitting so much into a day!" He enthused, following Will to the console room, Franklin trailing after him clumsily.
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Then he has to look through his old cell phone, because he's only been to Jack's house a couple of times. The last, Bella's misery nearly crushed him under its weight.
This time? When he tastes the stale air of dust and melancholy, he drinks it in. He opens their door into Jack's main hallway. As expected, Jack is not in. He sees the alarm pad next to the temperature controls, and he disarms it- it's fairly old and he's familiar with this model.
He opens their door again and waves Malcolm in. "We might have a long wait ahead of us. Feel free to come and rifle through his things. He certainly didn't mind going through mine, when the opportunity arose." Pointedly, he presses his thumb onto a light switch pad as he flicks the lights on. "They'll likely dust for fingerprints afterward, but I doubt you're in the database."
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“Let’s see what a self obsessed team leader keeps in his fridge,” he suggests, glancing around and heading for the kitchen.
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It turned out to be leftover Chinese takeout, but Will was close. There wasn't much in the fridge. The freezer, however, was full top-to-bottom with microwavable HungryMan meals.
Will's eyes flicker from item to item, cataloguing. The only charm in this place was infused by Bella a decade ago. The kitchen desk has FBI training programs and classes, the board is pinned up with new candidates, and there's a red tomato-sauce stain still on the stove.
"He's a ghost in his own life," Will concludes. "Haunting himself with his own workplace neglect. At least he holds himself to the same standards he holds others, unrealistic though they may be."
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