[Frank knows the feeling of being restrained via straitjacket. He recognizes this situation all too well; right down to the appearance of the military man. Though his memories remain spotty, he's lived a similar life as a military experiment.]
[Once, he would have responded to such an accusation with, if not anger, then the polite stiffness reserved for ridiculous statements. Once, he would have denied it without hesitation, without doubt, without room for compromise.]
It was a dream.
[Once, he would have had confidence in himself on that front.]
[On most nights, she pretends to be asleep or just offers sympathetic silence. Tonight she's wide awake, golden eyes widening in something incomprehensible as she stays still on her side. Her gaze is fixed on the shaken man.]
[For perhaps the first time in his life, he flinches at the sound of her voice, squeezing his eyes shut. He can feel the blankets pooled in his lap, but he can feel the tight pull of the jacket as well, and he has always hoped with a deep, desperate fear that this is the real place, this is where he is and she is and they were-
-and if he is wrong he is right he is there then he has killed them all (again) and he's not sure he can live with that.]
[The words are difficult to utter, even as she shifts to sit up and reaches to put a hand on his shoulder. She had been on the other end once. She had been his interrogator. The memory was suffocating.]
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...You were a prisoner as well?
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It was a dream.
[Once, he would have had confidence in himself on that front.]
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You...
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-and if he is wrong he is right he is there then he has killed them all (again) and he's not sure he can live with that.]
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[The words are difficult to utter, even as she shifts to sit up and reaches to put a hand on his shoulder. She had been on the other end once. She had been his interrogator. The memory was suffocating.]
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