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Shiloh was pretty well in the dark when it came to the ‘battle royale’ just past, his knowledge limited only to what he saw before, after delivering the artifact to Mark, he was whisked back to Deus and the scrutinizing eye of the Death lead.

The artifacts, however, no matter where they were, had a light that stood out to Shiloh, items that would have appeared normal on the other side of life glowing brightly on his plane. It was how Jack caught his attention, standing outside the buildings a few days after the event, along a route that Shiloh had been using in his exploring. After all, the dangers of the island weren’t quite so dangerous to the incorporeal, and if nothing else he was learning a much better lay of the land. He’d been about to return to the labs, to his body and to most likely his boyfriend, but the glowing life effusing from the artifact caught his eye.

It didn’t seem likely of Caelius to play in broad daylight, and curiosity piqued, Shiloh ventured over. If it had been anyone suspicious, he had the advantage of not being able to be seen or heard but as he neared the object, it’s holder was neither Mark nor Sam, or even the strange woman he’d met early.

It was Jack.

Shiloh was relieved, mostly that it wasn’t the Death lead but also that Jack was alive and well. And since it was Jack, he was free to sate his curiosity without repercussion, and with out wasting any time, his hand reached out to touch it again.

“How’d you get your hands on this?” he wondered aloud, though he knew Jack had no way of hearing him.

Jack’s reaction was certainly not one of indifference, and was certainly different than the reactions Shiloh was growing used to getting – none at all.

Shiloh started as much as Jack had, letting go of the artifact and moving back a few paces as Jack cursed. He stared at Jack, and then at the artifact, wondering if it somehow worked both ways. It was glowing much to brightly for him to be able to tell if it was the same one he had carried to Mark, all he knew was that it existed, and was there and for some reason, him coming near it and touching it had put Jack on high alert.

Jack shouldn’t have been able to see him at all, yet when he spoke it was entirely to the contrary of what Shiloh had thought had been the rules of whatever afterlife he’d descended into. He considered ignoring the command, worrying about his safety. They were supernatural hunters at heart after all, and it seemed whatever view Jack was getting of him, it wasn’t the full picture. But instead of a weapon, Jack pulled a camera out of his pocket instead and Shiloh tilted his head, curiosity overriding caution. It was just like one of those ghost stories, or something from a horror movie and lucky him, he got to play the ghost.

“Make sure you get my good side,” he joked as the camera flashed, watching Jack as he hastily inspected the polaroids. It seemed like Jack intended him no harm, at least not yet, and Shiloh couldn’t deny that he was dying for the chance to talk to someone who wasn’t one of the Death leads or another supernatural being.

Not that it was really talking, he thought as he reached forward again for the artifact with his fingers, focusing his energies on it. With each passing day he was getting better at moving things, ever since he first discovered he could, and the artifact was no exception, lifting slowly out of Jack’s hands as Shiloh concentrated on it.

He had to admit, it was pretty cool.

Shiloh had recently become aware of his ability to move objects, only small ones and only for short periods at a time but when he considered his situation, it was a better method of communication than nothing, and he was considerably excited that Jack seemed to understand his attempts better than most, thrilled at having someone recognize him beside the Death lead, with whom Shiloh had no desire for prolonged periods of conversation, a feeling that was clearly mutual, by the amount of times he’d been chucked out off the office.

Jack was seemingly prepared for the situation as he pulled out a small flip pad and pen. Unable to help himself, Shiloh went straight for the pen, picking it up excitedly, the pen bobbing a little in the air. He entertained no ideas of holding both pen and paper, and being able to sustain enough energy to write, so he left the pad in Jack’s hands, and proceeded to do his best to scribble his name.

It was harder than it looked, Shiloh having to hold the pen with both hands to move it around. He managed one letter, the ‘S’ wobbly but legible, and he followed it with another and then, feeling recognizing the feeling of his energy depleting, he settled for his nickname, not wanting to have to end the conversation prematurely simply to recharge.

Shiloh nearly hugged Jack for getting the hint, but by the time Jack would feel the ghostly presence near him, Shiloh was focusing his energies on the next task, far too eager to nudge the pad of paper than to express just how happy he was to be recognized. Considering that he and Jack didn’t know each other all too well (though Shiloh had a hard time not picturing him in those awful shorts), it was amazing progress, and a better outcome than Shiloh had ever expected.

In his excitement, he may have nudged a little too hard, with enough force to push the item from Jack’s hands.

Shiloh was glad someone knew it, watching Jack’s victory celebrations. From his side of the veil it had been more cautious optimism, almost too afraid to hope, especially when the thread of his life force was held in the hands of someone who quite enjoyed snipping them in half. Still he smiled at Jack’s enthusiasm, it was always pleasant to hear someone rooting for one’s survival, even if it was only to prove a point.

But, like Jack, he was happy to chat.

Jack, after all, was capable of holding intelligent conversation, or at very least, was able to bend his rules of the supernatural enough to play along, and Shiloh was infinitely grateful that things had taken a more jovial turn, instead of Jack trying to dispose of what should have normally been a paranormal threat.

He lifted the pen again, concentrating on it in his hands, and shaky vertical lines appeared as he pressed it against the paper not once, but twice, answering both of Jack’s questions.

He remembered it well, and though Jack made no deal of it, the guilt hung over Shiloh’s head. He’d had only one option and he’d chosen Ian without hesitation, leaving Jack and Finn and the other Hunter with contend with staying alive on their own. If only he had been able to find Mark quicker, he could have stopped all of it from happening, could have saved more… But Jack stood in front of him anyway, alive and well and Shiloh looked him over as if assuring himself that the man was indeed okay.

Then came more questions.

Still holding the pen, he answered the first with a short vertical line then paused, considering the next part of what Jack was asking with careful deliberation. Could he trust Jack? He had thought he could trust Lucky but that had proved to be a massive oversight on his part.

Hadn’t the Circles said themselves, however, that knowledge was power? It stood to reason that that power could go both ways. Focusing a little harder, he answered Jack’s second question by drawing a small shaky circle. An ‘O’.

It was too many questions, too fast, too much conversation for his hands to keep up with. He understood it all fine and knew exactly what he wanted to say but he couldn't say it, couldn't make the pencil work well enough. He tried to write something more substantial but it only came out as an illegible scribble.

With a sigh, he went back to simple lines, doing his best to construct a '1'. One year, that was his time limit. He had one year to convince the leads he was worth saving, that he was better off not dead.