The Proposed

Let's look at this logically.

She... can't read minds. She doesn't know what anyone's thinking, let alone what you're thinking, which is good because let's be realistic. Not even you know that, most of the time.

But she can sense my confusion, my ... she could know

Randi didn't ask for this. She admitted she should have told me before, but honestly, neither of us suspected there'd be an after. Right? But she'd have known before I'd have. There's so much that goes on between the instant of attraction and the decision to act on it, and she was... she was privy to all of that. It might have even helped her make her decision, which would in turn have "helped" me make mine.

I just... I guess I just want to whine and say I don't understand. I don't understand, because I was sort of... ready to maybe jump in feet first. For cryin' out loud, I had a spare shirt tucked into my bag just in case last night happened again. Who is that? Not me, not usually, and what was different this time? Oh, right, the proposed lady-friend can read my mind. Kinda.

There's a conclusion there I don't want to draw. It's not even worth thinking through to decide whether it's even possible, because Randi wouldn't do that. But even as I sit here writing fervently about how it's not worth thinking about, I'm thinking about it. She... I thought it was so cool how she smiled at all the right times, said the right things, knew what I was feeling and how to sorta... fix it... Well of course she did. But. Those are my things to feel and deal with, and I just can't help feeling infiltrated and smoothed over when my unsettled emotions were inconvenient for he

This is clearly going to take more than 27 minutes writing in a journal to resolve. But I have to try to leave on a good note. Randi needs... well she didn't ask for help. She didn't ask for my help, and that's a whole journal entry by itself, but regardless, she needs it. Probably. Someone to talk to. Maybe eventually, I can be that for her. She was forced into telling me because of what we fell into together, but now that she has --

Well. Eventually.

So I Will

Mark Jacobs is dead.

I just had to write that out and stare at it for a while. And now that I've done that... I guess it's time to record the day for posterity.

Only, I don't really... want to. I've already written down the worst part of today. But in the future, I'll look back and the memories will be fuzzy - let's be honest with ourselves here, self. The memories are already starting to blur together, jumbled up by drugs and conversation and circular thinking as I sit here in Sonya Wilcox's guestroom, mixed around by life continuing on as though nothing's happened.

So I will.

Early this morning, we all got the call. The briefing was huge. The pictures were grotesque. I was thoroughly dwarfed by the magnitude of our mission. Eight went off without me, and while I worried about them, I have to admit I was relieved. And I had a mission of my own.

A mission which I put off in favour of walking Randi to wherever she needed to go. I was worried about her, for sure - she's not usually so agitated - but there was an element of procrastination for which I feel extraordinarily guilty now. Minutes wasted cost how many lives? I can't change it now, nor can I say with a certainty that walking around with her didn't do something to clear my head, that if I had stayed, I'd have been more frazzled and unable to do my job at all. But still.

In the end, all I did was do what someone else asked me to do. Ferris found an underlying infrasound signal, isolated it with all his devices and know-how, and all I did was the code-breaking routine. Drone communications are simple enough - I just had to decipher which signal groups were meaningful components and glean from our own radio communications what sort of drone action corresponded to it. And I think I got snappy at people doing it, which just sucks more. I did some reading online, though - the effects of infrasound on the old noggin are supposed to wear off in a few hours. So I can't blame being snappy on that any more. Sigh. Maybe in conjunction with the concussion...

Which brings me to Josiah's monumental screw-up for the day: Going out and about after we'd solved things but before we'd actually fully implemented it. There is no glory in getting mauled by the bad guys after you've told them to go away. It's just stupid. Stupid and... stupid. I ache everywhere. Randi had to cut my shirt off. Just embarrassing and ... stupid! And my head hurts. This isn't my first concussion, luckily, so I'm not wanting to puke every few minutes because I've turned my head too quickly or stood up too fast or, you know, looked at something too hard. But it is pretty miserable. I don't think I'll go see Randi tomorrow like she wants.

She might tell me I can stay in my own quarters again.

Here's to you, Lieutenant Jacobs. You saved all our lives, and we'll repay you by complaining about how tired, sore, and miserable we are. I'm sorry we didn't come up with a better plan. I'm sorry your last vision must have been of thousands of hungry, horrible drones bearing down on you. I'm sorry I sent them to you. But I'm not sorry that you went out the way you did; we all have to go sometime. You'll always be remembered by the people who know better as That Guy Who Saved The World.