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February 1st, 2009

[Feb. 1st, 2009|12:52 am]
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Who: Steve and Olivia but Peter and Walter are welcome to join in!
What: Hanging out
Where: Boston, the basement at Harvard
When: Saturday
Rating: Probably PG-13 if Walter keeps talking about sex xD and quite possibly for darker themes. I never know.

Insert awesome song lyrics here because none come to mind )
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[Feb. 1st, 2009|02:34 pm]


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[Current Mood |calm]

WHO: Bela and Robbie
WHAT: Shooting away frustrations
WHERE: Local shooting range
WHEN: Before the Super Bowl party.
WARNINGS: None I could think of. Discussion of sex, maybe?

Bela had gotten to the shooting range before her son, readying her ammo in her personal weapon. Dean had threatened to hide her guns, but this one was staying with her. It had seen her through a lot.

The range was a bit out in the country, but the train had dropped her right off. She couldn't help but wonder how well she and Dean had taught Robbie to shoot. She'd almost have been happier if he was a complete novice at it, but he was a Winchester. She knew better.
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[Feb. 1st, 2009|03:33 pm]


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Who: Tony and Kate
What: Talking
Where: NCIS offices
When: Today? (maybe yesterday?)
Warnings: None

Ready to return to work, sort of. )
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Set Adrift [Feb. 1st, 2009|05:10 pm]


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Who: Constable Fraser and Inspector Thatcher
What: Trying to figure this all out
When: Right after this
Where: Coffee house somewhere in London
Warnings: None.

He needs air. He needs solitude. Something. Anything. There's too much that's changed without warning, without preparation, and he needs time alone to try and make sense of it. But he has no Consulate to take refuge in, and the streets of London are unfamiliar. There's nowhere private enough for his liking that will let him deal with this immense undertaking. He'll have to settle for being invisible in a public space-- if he can get that invisibility, considering his distinctive red serge tunic, that is.

Fraser takes it upon himself to ask a passerby for directions to the nearest coffee house, and approximately fifteen minutes later, he has found a small table in the back corner of a fairly quiet establishment. It is here that he begins to try and collate his thoughts, beginning with the withdrawal of the wallet that contains possibly the second biggest bombshell this strange world has to offer him: the family photo.

A wife and two children, whose husband and father he has just inexplicably, for all intents and purposes, replaced. But he is not a fit replacement, and he cannot ever hope to be the man who has vanished in his stead. And as he gazes upon the photograph, he cannot help but feel as though he has unknowingly committed the worst possible crime imaginable. There will no longer be a husband or father in their lives, unless there is some method of placement reversal. These children will grow up with an absentee father, known only by name and deed.

It's too much like his own upbringing, and it pains him beyond measure to think that he too has suddenly become the man he never wanted to be, and followed his father in the precise footsteps he swore he would never take.

He is stuck here, without his career-- his life-- or a home save this shared one he cannot return to. He has no friends, no place to go, and these lives are forever changed, even though he knows that logically, the fault is not his. The damage is done. They will have to know.

Fraser sets the wallet with its accusatory photograph down on the table, and covers his face with one hand. As if that alone can shut out the insanity that is this bizarre world.

Dear God. What is he going to do?
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