postictal | ic inbox; entranceway

What.

Jay stares, eyes half-lidded, as the idea works its way through his head.

Tim's offering to let him stay the night. Tim says he looks shaky, which rankles him. He's not weak. He's had hundreds of nights like this before, and only one of them's killed him.

Hilarious.

He thinks back to something excised from his head, recorded and played back in Tim's voice (and played back later through tinny camcorder speakers). We're not gonna get anywhere like this, working solo.

"Okay," he mumbles.

Dimly, he scans the room for anything he can sleep on: a chair, a couch, whatever. He'll take the floor, no problem. But there's something else he has to deal with before he can sleep.

"Can I...?" He gestures toward Tim's closet.

For a second, he genuinely thinks Jay's gonna snap at him for suggesting it. He almost looks like he's about to, like he's got a mind to - and who could blame him? It's not like they're friends. It's not like they're anything but on-again off-again allies, wobbling distrustfully along, trying to piece together answers when Tim's holding possession of half the board.

Okay.

Tim releases a breath he didn't realize he was holding, blowing it softly out between parted lips.

"Yeah. Go for it." He reaches over and scrapes the window open, peers outside. It's a hot night. He slides it shut again, as if the complete break from his own routine would mask the fact that it's a front for what he's about to say next. "I'm gonna grab a smoke real quick."

"Alright." The response is automatic, trained after months on the road. Tim would step out on the balcony or just outside the door or against the side of the car, and Jay would spool through the day's footage until he got back.

This place isn't exactly a Howard Johnson, though.

"This floor have a balcony?"

"Yeah. Near one of the tea rooms." He doesn't actually step outside to smoke very often, but it gives him an excuse to get out of Jay's hair, just so he doesn't get sick of him, and it gives Jay the chance to smooth that drape over any coarse edges he doesn't want anyone seeing.

Gives them all a chance to just - breathe.

And it gives Tim a chance to stop breathing. Ha.

"I'll, uh...be right back. Yeah?"

He's not going far. It always felt safer to stick close to the room after dark, with the exception of a few late-night dinner runs. This is familiar. Same as always.

Same as a few months, as compared to a few years. This may be familiar, but it isn't normal.

It's more normal than nearly anything he's experienced since he got here, though, and Jay can feel himself sinking into the routine despite himself.

Tim's gone, so it's time to go through the footage. No footage. Time to get a new tape.

He reaches into Tim's closet, and after several false tries, manages to get it to spit out SD card that fits the camcorder. Storage isn't great, but he's had worse.

Wind back, set to record. Open up the computer. (Not here.) Open up Twitter. (Not here.)

Wait for Tim to get back.

Tim blows out a plume of smoke, one hand hooked over the railing, the other pinching his cigarette between index and middle finger. The night's heat isn't unbearable to the point where smoking's a bad idea, but the nicotine's liable to keep him awake for hours to come.

He wasn't about to sleep anyway.

It only takes a few moments, but he draws it out. Let the ash trail out between fingertips and wisp out across the breeze. Takes a minute to eye the darkened, distant treeline, which sits there innocuously in the distance, the same as ever, before he starts back through the hall.

Camera perched and blinking, ready to track them through the night. The first few nights in grimy hotels had been the hardest, for a variety of reasons, but the inability to escape the piercing, flickering red of the recording light had left him tossing, turning, huddling, for hours on end. Wondering if Jay had the same difficulties adjusting, before deciding not to ask. Why would Jay notice, or care? He might as well be attached to the camera, the way he carries it around.

He shuts the door behind him, dropping into the desk chair.

"You good?"

In the absence of an armchair, Jay's sitting on the ground, his back up against the foot of the bed. He's in full view of the camera.

He jumps when Tim opens the door, but after a moment to process who it is, he sinks back to the point of half-sleep he'd unintentionally reached while waiting. He's not actually asleep. He's just not really thinking about anything is all.

Tim asked a question, didn't he? Jay nods, head lolling.

Maybe he's more exhausted than he thought. Maybe.

"You lock the door?" he mumbles.

God, he's just barely holding on, isn't he? Tim glances at the doorknob once before reaching over and clicking the lock shut with the satisfying slide and chunk of bolts.

"Yeah," he says, a trifle unnecessarily. Feeling considerably more awake than he did prior to all this shit, he glances back in the direction of the camera, that beady little red light that no longer drills into his skull quite as thoroughly as it once would have.

"Now get some sleep,Jay, jesus."

Jay huffs out a strange little noise that might be a laugh, but he's not sure he can pinpoint what's funny. Maybe it's being scolded about staying up, when they both know what's kept them up for years is as real and solid as the bolt in the door. Maybe it's just the exasperation in Tim's voice, like Jay's insomnia exists just to annoy him personally. Maybe Jay's always been a little punch-drunk at sleepovers.

The noise comes again.

Yeah, sleep sounds like a great idea.

Reluctantly dragging himself out of his comfortable slouch against the foot of the bed, Jay reaches into the closet and withdraws a pillow (thin, but manageable) and a blanket (weird texture, but warm). He wraps the blanket around his shoulders and sets the pillow on the floor, and he's not sure when head met pillow but it's there now and he's not moving.

Tim, on the other hand, is not asleep at all, like the filthy hypocrite he is. Should've offered him the bed, seeing as Tim's not using it, but it might be kind of weird when Tim was just...in it. And Jay's out like a light pretty much immediately anyway. So.

He runs fingers through his hair and sighs, low enough that it hopefully won't wake anyone.

God, what a day.

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