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He went very still, and did not answer for a long few moments while he thought about something recruiting and could not bring himself to ask who else had lived, besides Leslie.

His control over his voice was tenuous. "It got you out?"

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Bewilderment and rage took turns, and between themselves effectively displaced the guilt with which he'd entered Leslie's room.

Another long silence. Taym did not seem aware, any longer, of Leslie's emotional distress. When he spoke again it was almost as if he was speaking to himself. Possibly he was. "What the ******** did it get you out for? What the ******** was it doing there?"

Taym watched him with a strange face of concentration, his chest rising and falling under his jacket, too hard and too steady: a man carefully measuring his breath.

"Say that again," he said quietly.

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Taym's hands were no longer steady. They shook, and the tremble traveled up his arms and into the rest of him. And still he breathed, steady, deep, inhale-exhale, no longer looking at Leslie but as through him as Leslie had looked through Taym, and maybe more.

"Put that in your report," he said very quietly, and all the composure in his voice was more of a give-away than if he'd simply let the shaking there too, "and tell them to cross-reference my personnel file."

He did not say goodbye. He stood up and he left.

All Judge No Jury

He had included everything about the Not Taym in his report, and not just at Thompson's behest. From the shame of hiding under Marianne, to the pendants failing and how he'd tried four, to the...ways he staved off the hunger. To how Carlos died to "Taym", and how Ana's fate was unknown.

Leslie did not tell any of the others when it was; but it looked like there was no need for panic. He was released, promoted for his trouble, and sent off from the Infirmary.

The room felt sterile and musty. Before crawling into bed, Leslie made sure to get himself a bucket, as the dreams were likely not going to go away.

Deja Vu

The trial was soon, not that anyone knew. At least it'd be over with quick enough, instead of being drawn out over weeks and month. If they found him guilty, then... ******** 'em. If they couldn't realize that he'd been acting out of desperation, then they really didn't know how to ******** read.

Leslie's wounds had mostly healed. There were some scars on his back he hadn't had a chance to look at yet, a little x under his left eye, and the ones on his hands. That, and he still looked as exhausted and haunted as he felt.

Jack was a surprise, but it shouldn't have been. The infirmary was his domain more often than not anyway. He squinted at his options, then back up at Jack, lips drawn into a thin line. He grabbed for the blue one, popping it into his mouth. It was too sweet: the sugar all filmy in his mouth, and just a little bit sour. Leslie felt queasy.

He was probably here to administer a dosage of drugs. Leslie was in pain and not capable of sleeping without them, but with them came a sort of incoherence that made him childish and scared.

Or, well. It just made it show more. Leslie crunched down on the lollipop.

"Take it you're not here just with candy just because you feel like it?"

Noah

Leslie groggily rolled over, clutching his pillow like a child. He looked sleepy, unfocused, and freshly drugged. All of the above were true. The bandages on his arm had just come off, so at least he didn't look like an attempted suicide anymore, but it didn't do much for his pleasant disposition. The dark smudges underneath his eyes didn't do him any favors, either.

He regarded Noah with a sleepy, mistrustful eye, holding his pillow tighter. "Alcohol," Leslie said at long last, his voice both gravelly and scratchy, like he'd been crying too long. (He had.)

Deja Vu

Cliff notes, huh? Fine. "Russia," Leslie said, staring down at his hands, and when he closed his eyes, they were covered in red and gore, Patti's intestines in his grasp by the fistful. It was remarkable how much one body had inside of it.

"Something with-- red eyes. Takes you over, pulls you down, and all you want to do is--" He rubbed at his eyes. He was not a brave boy. "Kill everything. So...I mean. I did. But it doesn't last. You come off it like a bad high and remember what you did. Went to check on a base of seven with a partner and only I lived, and maybe one more. No ******** clue. Got rescued by luck. And now, uh."

Leslie waved a hand at the guard. "Waiting to see what they'll do with me. But uh. Yeah."

It was funny, how the most obvious sign that Leslie wasn't himself was not in how he looked, but how he spoke and carried himself. Already small, he looked even smaller with hunched shoulders and limp hair that hung in his eyes.