[OOM] no absolutes

[collects_strays]

At the edge of the forest, two dogs have been enjoying the summer afternoon. They lounge in the sunlight, just beyond the shade from the trees; they jump up when they spot birds passing among the branches above them. The larger of that two, with white fur and pointed ears, occasionally ventures farther out toward the lake, sniffing at the ground and pawing carefully at the damp soil that slopes toward the water.

The other, with a light, orange-brown coat, watches its fellow, but stays near the trees, seeming less willing to leave the forest.

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[themysciran_diana]

It's a good day for flying, or so Diana's appearance in the sky might suggest.

But upon catching sight of the dogs, she settles quickly and quietly to earth, moving toward them with a slow, gentle stride.

"And who have we here? I hope you're not lost. It can be difficult to find your way back from this place."

Animal empathy comes in handy in times like these.

[collects_strays]

The smaller dog jumps up, bounding from the trees to approach her. He recognizes Diana at once, and doesn't bark - when close enough, he circles her, sniffing at her boots, and then looks up at her expectantly.

The other dog is a little slower to leave the shore, and keeps a short distance away from them. He watches Diana for a moment, then barks once, and heads back toward the forest.

[themysciran_diana]

She crouches down to briefly scratch under the smaller dog's chin, then stands and looks over toward the larger dog.

"This is going to be painful, isn't it."

It isn't really a question.

Then she starts following the larger dog into the trees.

[collects_strays]

Winston overtakes her as they walk, both dogs leading the way deeper into the forest. As they walk, more begin to join them - another large one crosses their path, and Winston moves closer to her. Buster brushes Diana's ankles as he passes. Before long, all seven have jumped out from among the tresses, forming a loose group.

The forest grows denser, with less and less of the summer sunlight visible through the branches. The sounds of birds, of other creatures skittering across the forest floor, have died down, and instead there's a soft growl of rushing water, as though they were approaching a river.

[themysciran_diana]

She reaches down to pet each dog as it joins them, scratching gently between their ears.

"I'll try to make it all right. If I can."

For their sakes, and for others', as well.

Everyone here knows what intentions mean, in the end. But moving closer to the water, eyes seeking out any movement, seems to be the order of the day.

"Will?"

She'd hate to surprise him.

[collects_strays]

The sound of the water grows louder, but there's no glimpse of a river among the trees. There's no sign of movement, and the dogs start to hang back as she continues. The trees become dense enough to block out the sky entire, but beneath Diana's feet, the ground hardens - less like soil, more like concrete. The darkness that falls over her is sudden, and intense.

Enough so that when movement does appear ahead - a soft flicker of white light - the glow of it reaches toward her, like she's walking through a tunnel.

[themysciran_diana]

"Well, at least it's not Tartarus."

Probably. Oh, Will.

She walks forward in long strides, but deliberate ones, too. This is not a place for easiness, but perhaps purpose will serve well enough. She can hope.

But the light -- that may be a good sign or a bad one, and thus far Diana is not sure.

[collects_strays]

Her steps echo at first, the sound vibrating through long hall. The forest has faded out, the scents of it subsumed by dust and Clorox. But the sound of the river continues to swell, so loud that even her footsteps are drowned out by it. There's no water in sight, as though the tunnel must run under it. The light at the end grows larger, and continues to flicker, on and off, on and off, with the steady beat of a distant lighthouse. As she reaches the end, the rushing water grows so loud that she'll barely hear the sound of her own voice.

And then, abruptly, it stops. She's standing in a dark, silent room - at a foyer in the center of it, surrounded by two rows of desks and chairs that rise up against the wall. There's an empty desk a few feet from her, a lamp on it that's been switched off. The light is from the projector screen - at this moment, it shows a sketch of a simple clock face. The circle is lopsided, and the numbers spill out of it, tumbling down across the page.



"Hi, Diana."

Will is sitting behind her, in the back row. In the dark, only the light off his glasses is visible.

[themysciran_diana]

"Hello, Will," she says peaceably enough, all tension subsumed and hidden behind the outward simplicity of their friendship.

"I have to say I've seen you looking better."

That's not even counting the fact that she cannot very clearly see him at all, just now.

"I think your dogs are concerned."

[collects_strays]

The light clicks off.





And then back on. The screen now shows a man and young woman posing for a photo. Both are dressed in shades or brown and dark green, and the man holds a hunting rifle. She has long, dark hair - they share the same blue eyes.

"I wasn't expecting to see you here."

[themysciran_diana]

"Few people do," Diana says, studying the man and woman on the screen. Hmm. A family resemblance, but not to Will.

"But I'm glad I came."

This is nothing like a lie.

"Can you get yourself out of here?"

Or is he choosing to remain? She knows where she would put her money, if this were a betting game, and that is not the most comfortable of thoughts.

[collects_strays]

click



The projector shows a starling, black feathers flecked with violet, green, and gold. It's perched along the slim bars of a cage.

Barely, there's a sweet, high bird call. It's so soft, but seems to vibrate through the room, making it flutter like light over water.

"Are you sure you can?"

[themysciran_diana]

"This isn't my hell."

She's still speaking conversationally, gaze splitting itself evenly between the image on the projector and Will's mostly-obscured face.

"But I'm not really concerned about me right now. And I'll admit that it bothers me that you haven't answered my question. How much more worried should I be getting?"

[collects_strays]

cli-||||||

Black hair pressed under glass

     blotted out, soaked in black liquid

        that contours to it, a dark shape

            and twin branches that curve from it

as the light

f l a s h e s

and then on. Entirely, wide pale sky over an open field. High grass sways, their shadows rippling across it. And another. If rises out, as though carried along a wave. Dark hair blowing with the grass, her fingers brushing the tips of it, blood streaked down the antlers that hold her up. Flat like a table, the ravens scatter at their appearance.

[themysciran_diana]

There's a starkness to Diana's features, as if this field too is a battlefield, and she is prepared equally for defense or attack.

Or prayer, though that is best done in the heart.

"Is this what's been waiting for you at home?"

Her blue eyes see much, this former Goddess of Truth.

"Or is this what you fear in the reflections of yourself that you see when you close your eyes?"

Diana has some of those of her own.

[collects_strays]

"This is when I met him."

Not in Jack Crawford's office in Quantico. In this field, in Minnesota. The glasses are gone - he's in dry, dark clothes, under a long gray coat. It looks out of place in the sunlit field.

"Breakfast with Cassie Boyle," he mutters.

There's bitterness in it, but it doesn't spread to his face. He takes a step closer to her, and here, with no fiber to collect, no evidence to contaminate, Graham shrugs off the coat. He covers her with it, just up to her throat. As he steps away, the breeze dies, and their surroundings seem to fall unnaturally still.

[themysciran_diana]

"I don't think she enjoyed it much."

She paces forward to flank Will, looking at him across the dead girl. She reaches down to smooth hair away from Cassie's face, tucking some stray locks into a braid. Out of the wind.

Go you well, sister.

"Is this when he met you, too?"

[collects_strays]

"Garrett Jacob Hobbs!"

At first as though someone were calling it across the field to them, but it becomes louder. The sunlight splashes on beige linoleum, filtered through yellow kitchen curtains. There's a woman's voice, trembling, breathing hard, trying to scream – and six gunshots ring out.

Blood, bright in the light through the windows, seeps up and pools on the floor. It smears itself across the counters, collects in droplets along the walls.

She's still breathing.

"No."

Graham's eyes are closed, he tilts his head back. You can make it all go away.

And the sun is strewn along painted white walls. A round, pristine room, flecks of dust catching in the shafts of light through the windows, quiet but vibrating. The only sound is a slow, steady drip, barely heard but felt like a pulse.

The dome above them is open, the large blue telescope just below it, most of the machinery around it draped in plastic sheeting. Except the desk, which gleams without a scratch. It's empty save for a low steel lamp, and a single piece of paper left across it.

The Wound Man.

[themysciran_diana]

Diana moves forward, slow and steady, and picks up the Wound Man -- or the paper that contains it.

"More of him?"

This, the dead girl, the man and the dying girl, the blood, the images -- all of it.

"Is all of this his? Left for you, or left with you -- Will. You've got to stop."

[collects_strays]

The sketch begins to pull itself apart – the man splits in half, and then on one side into smaller slices, over and over. As it dissects itself, shape of the body changes, its curves turning inward, a shade of dark hair spilling down over one still-intact shoulder.

Graham yanks the sketch out of her hand.

"Don't turn around."

[themysciran_diana]

Diana just keeps looking at him, blue eyes level and calm.

(Deeper within she is anything but, though that has no place here. Maybe later.)

"If it's in your mind you can't run from it, Will. And I think you told me once, you're absolutely terrible at forgetting."

[collects_strays]

"No way to avoid or erase."

You say you just interpret the evidence.



It's only a dark expanse that opens out behind them. As they begin to pass through it, it looks at first as though they've returned to the forest, the dim outlines of tree branches passing by and over them. But as the light grows, it flashes around them, catching on flecks of cracked green paint. Their footsteps start to echo again, hard over concrete, and then a steady clack on tile.

The thicket rises out from the dark, scratched steels bars and the shadows they cast along the floor. Light spills out from the windows that form above them, flowing over the tiles, rising up along the walls, washing over them to fill the long hall. They're surrounded by tall metal cages, each large enough for a man to stand inside. All of them are empty.

Except for one. To one side, the farthest from them. Graham walks slowly toward it, each step seeming to take longer than the last.

The girl from the photograph is waiting inside it. She wears a dark smock, her long hair pulled back behind her head. There's a scar along the left side of her neck, and her left ear is missing. As Graham approaches, she raises her blue eyes, meeting his, and gives him a calm, expectant smile.

[themysciran_diana]

Diana paces closer, standing at Will's shoulder but a little behind. His fears aren't hers to fight. But she can offer support.

And disturbing as the surroundings are, nothing here is tied to her fears and worries. Not at all.

(Well, maybe the girl. She doesn't look at all like Vanessa, but -- )

"Is this someone you want to forget, then? Or is there history you want to erase."

The scars seem suggestive of the latter.

Very, very much so.

[collects_strays]

"None of the above."

Her voice cuts through the air like the glint of a blade. She speaks to Diana, but keeps her eyes on Graham.

"He wants me in here with him."

"I wanted someone like me." He meets her eyes, and steps forward, reaching out to open the cage door.

[themysciran_diana]

"You can't make her like you just because you want her to be, Will."

Diana's voice comes from behind him, hand braced against the cage door to keep it open.

"Or because you need her to be. What did she want?"

Her other hand, not coincidentally, has dropped to the lasso at her hip. Truth is relative, yes, and mutable too, but none of that is a surprise.