FBI Director James Comey Monday offered the most definitive repudiation yet that the Obama administration wiretapped President Trump’s New York offices in advance of the 2016 elections.
“The FBI and the Justice Department have no information to support’’ Trump’s wiretap assertions, Comey said.
Comey, appearing before the House Intelligence Committee along with National Security Agency Director Mike Rogers, also confirmed for the first time publicly that the FBI was investigating Russian interference, including communications between Trump associates and Russian officials.
*big thanks to @namjeune for helping me proofread and more shit~
Your day started in darkness. There’s voices, hushed and muffled, speaking way too close, as if someone were beside you. If you could shiver in this dream-like state, you would at the eerie, almost ghostly whispers in your ear.
Your body is heavy and numb of feeling with your mind blank, just as blank as the dark world surrounding you. It doesn’t register in your mind that maybe your eyes were sealed tight until little of your senses begin to function and your fingers twitched, bright lights filtering through the darkness. It’s blinding but you force yourself to grab a hold of reality and pull yourself out of the tempting arms of unconsciousness.
Cracking open your heavy eyes, the first thing you register is the pure white ceiling directly above you. Upon awaking, you inhale sharply, your lungs eagerly welcoming your first breath since coming to, the oxygen mask attached to your face fogging up with evaporation when you exhale. Without much strength in your body with a peculiar throb in your head, your eyes flit around without twisting your neck.
The room you’re in is purely white with beeping machines and organized counters pushed towards the walls furnishing it. You could fairly guess that you were in the hospital, but for what reason were you here?
It takes a lot of whatever energy you had to attempt to recall the events prior to your awakening, but your mind is blank and it only causes the throbbing in your head to worsen. Your eyebrows furrow at the pain, finding the will to raise your hand and grip your forehead, the limb suddenly the weight of an anvil.
Your fingers brush over the top layer of gauze wrapped around your forehead, a sting forcing your jaw to clench when you press down on a certain spot above your temple. Glancing up, you spot the needle fixed into your arm, connected to an IV drip.
“Oh! You’re awake, perfect, I should call Dr. Nam right now!”
It’s only a few silent minutes before a feminine face peers over you, her body clad in baby blue scrubs and her hair pulled back and out of her face in a tight bun. Her doe-like brown eyes are wide with relief as she smiles down reassuringly at you.
“Wh… who are y-you?” you manage to croak out, your voice hoarse and filled with uncertainty as she helps you sit up, fixing a pillow to support your head and carefully pulling the oxygen mask off your mouth.
“I’m Nurse Oh, you’re at the hospital… Miss… are you alright? Does your head hurt?”
Oh no it feels fucking amazing, you think bitterly when your head throbs. However, you can’t help but notice the hesitant pause after Miss. Did she not know your name?
Your eyes widen when you realize you also didn’t even know your own name. Hell, it suddenly occurs to you, you have no idea who you are, and what you were doing in the hospital in the first place.
“You don’t know.. my name?” you ask hesitantly, gauging her reaction carefully as she goes through a state of shock. Her mouth opens and closes for a brief second, and just when she finally utters a noise, the door opens and who you assume is Dr. Nam walks in.
You size him up as a fairly tall man, his elongated body showing off a white lab coat with the same baby blue scrubs underneath, his hair is nicely styled off his forehead, and in his hands is a clipboard of papers you can barely care for when you’re having an identity crisis blowing up inside of you.
“No evidence of identification was found on you or at the crime scene, Miss,” Nurse Oh sighs as the doctor checks your vitals.
“Crime scene..?” you ask, your brain straining to figure out the blanks. You found yourself in the middle of a complex word search, with nothing but blanks and no answers to fill them. Whatever they said kept drawing more blanks, memories you had no idea of. It frustrated you, anger blooming across your chest the longer the nurse and doctor continued to ask you whether a limb hurt or if you could move it.
Doctor Nam stopped, and looked up at you, his eyes narrow as they intimidate your own into averting elsewhere, “Your body was found.. you were shot in the head when we found you, thankfully you hadn’t bled out.. you’ve been in a comatose for the past two months.”
“You’re lucky the bullet didn’t pierce through any crucial areas, only one side of your brain was damaged, I assume only your memories have been affected and nothing physical like moving or speaking.”
It’s on cue that images flash through your mind, images of an alley, the muzzle of a gun aimed right at your head when you turn. There’s blood, too much blood that you can’t recognize the color of the ground when your body shuts down and makes contact with the floor.
“Hey, are you okay?”
You jolt from your initial shock from the sudden onslaught of memories, but it leaves you empty when nothing else returns to you. The memories are there, you conclude, compiled in a sturdy box inside your brain, something restraining you from reminiscing them.
What could have happened that your brain completely blocked out all of your memories, leaving you with no recollection of who you were? Who would shoot you in the head in the first place? What connections did you have prior to the shooting that caused you to get stuck in this place?
“I’m fine,” you say as reassuringly as you can, managing a small bitter smile that is enough to make the doctor lay off and leave you alone to yourself and your thoughts.
Before the nurse leaves you, she turns on the television for you, leaving you as well after reassuring you that after you find the strength to move around again you’ll get discharged and maybe find a detective to help your crisis.
And that’s what you’re determined to do. You force yourself to forget the fact that you have retrograde amnesia, and push yourself to recover your regular motor skills.
It takes you a few days to be able to feed yourself without the need of a nurse to spoon food like a child.
It takes you a week to be able to push yourself into an upright position in bed without a nurse doing it for you.
It takes a few more weeks to be able to stand up without having to hold the hand of a nurse to balance yourself, however your strength only lasting to an extent before you seek the help of her to get you back in bed.
It takes you a month to begin to make baby steps, using a crutch as your support. With being able to walk, you’re no longer wearing those damned diapers that make you feel like a toddler. For the past month you’ve been nothing but an infant learning how to crawl and eventually walk, it’s a hit to your dignity when they have to change your diaper due to your inability to walk. However, you’re relieved to be able to carry yourself to and from your bed to the restroom.
It’s days after when you’re able to roam the hospital, your legs beginning to function how they would if you hadn’t been in a coma.
During the span of a month, you’re disappointed when no one claims to know you. There’s no family visits, friends, a boyfriend maybe, nothing. There’s no leads to anymore memories, just the knowledge that you were shot in an alley, and even then you had no idea where that alley could be.
When you’re finally able to ditch the crutches and walk on your own, your discharge from the hospital in the near distance, you’re suddenly hit with the realization that you had nowhere to go from there on. What were you going to do when you knew no one, you didn’t even know yourself? You had no name, no background, no home as far as you knew, there was nothing for you outside of those glass doors as you signed the forms for your discharge.
You’re jolted out of your thoughts by the receptionist, she carefully slides you a piece of parchment that you realize is the bill for your stay at the hospital. The price wasn’t as scary as the fact that you basically had nothing, there was no way you were going to be able to pay at this rate.
“You have to cut me some slack,” you try reasoning, desperate and beyond frustrated with your horrible luck, “I’m unable to pay for this, I have no idea who I am and what world I’m about to step into outside those doors, I have nothing…”
She shakes her head with a pitiful look her eyes, it almost makes you want to slap her for looking down on you like some abandoned puppy, even if that was what you were. Just an abandoned animal, no family, no home, nothing.
“I’m sorry Miss there’s nothing we can do about it, you can pay in increments but until then you-” the receptionist is interrupted by another voice, more masculine but not deep. When you look up, you’re not expecting the first thing you see to be a head of fluffy-looking orange locks.
“I’ll pay for her, partial now and in increments until it’s fully paid for.”
I’ve been in this hellhole of a fandom for just over five years now and nothing. and I mean. nothing. has come close to the publication chronology Lawrence Miles managed to pull off with Dead Romance coming out before Interference and the glorious timeline fuckeryof Father Kreiner and the Horror.
In the TV Movie, the Master has no regenerations left and gets stuck in the Eye of Harmony.
In series 3, the Master says the Time Lords resurrected him to fight in the Time War.
The MacQueen Master says the Time Lords saved him from a predicament.
During the War in Interference, the Time Lords are said to have cloned the Master.
In series 3, we see a child Master in CIA robes looking into the Time Vortex.
In Titan comics, we see the War Doctor fighting alongside a child Master.
Not saying the child Master who looked into the Time Vortex is the child Master from the Time War, and that MacQueen-child-Jacobi-Simm-Missy is a clone created by the Time Lords to fight in their war, but I’m strongly suggesting it
Warning??: He just talks about his childhood it doesn’t talk explicitly, just implications of death and abuse really.
Instead of taking you back to the living room, he leads you into his room where he sits you down on his bed. The queen-sized mattress is familiar, dipping under both of your weights. It takes you back to the time Taehyung handcuffed you both. How you had to spend a night in Jimin’s room, a pillow wedged between you both.
You suddenly feel insecure, lowering your head when you realize your dimple is out on display for him. But your insecurity doesn’t match the amount of anxiety and fear that’s swelling up inside of Jimin as he glances at you warily.
He doesn’t know how to start, suddenly clearing his dry throat and scratching the back of his neck.
Eventually he starts. At the very beginning, when his father left him and his mother, the woman going insane in result. It had been gradual at first, her attacks more verbal than physical as she began to go out more, drinking and looking for a replacement. Then it became violent, fear grabbing at his younger self and forcing him into a cage of trauma and loneliness. He could vividly remember his thoughts and feelings, the pain and the torture. He was utterly lonely. He had to face this ordeal all on his own, wishing for a day that he’d be able to escape from the punishments that laid waste to his body. No one was there to help him survive, he did it on his own despite his desire to keep taking it until he could feel no more and finally part from a nightmarish life such as his.
Jimin paused every now and then, gauging your reaction, only to find you concentrated on solely him. Your expression was distressed, eyes glossy as he continues on about Chief Ahn, coaxing him to escape and providing him a switchblade. You immediately knew where this was going, Jimin trembling and out of breath, choked out how he continuously stabbed his mother, after she tried strangling him, even after she was no longer breathing. Everything had built up, the pain, the loneliness, the depression, and came flooding out of him in that moment he decided he needed to defend himself or else he was not going to be escaping any time soon.
At that time, Jimin might’ve been wary of any men who saw any kind of attraction in the monster that had been his mother. But no one has ever reached out to him before, and he would’ve taken anything to escape that hell house. If Chief Ahn hadn’t pushed him, maybe he’d be rotting away dead after so many beatings at this moment. That still didn’t change the fact however that he had gone ahead and murdered her.
He went on about meeting Min Yoongi, the boy who took him into his family and treated him like a little brother. Through him he had met Namjoon who had a great sense of justice and deduction, prompting them to join him in studying to be a detective. Taehyung had been the goofy and yet serious-when-needed kid when they went to a training academy, unsurprisingly becoming Jimin’s best friend despite their polar opposite personalities. Hoseok and Seokjin were met at the precinct.
Then the story took a turn and he spoke about Jungmi, how they met, how he totally fell head over heels for her. He was blinded, thinking that maybe not all females were terrible. He’d sincerely thought the guys were being hypocrites, that Taehyung was only jealous, that Yoongi was trying to get with Jungmi. Up until he found her in bed with another man.
Of course. Of course. They were not to be trusted, he told himself. Women were the epitome of evil. Liars. Succubi. He despises them.
Another side of him thought they were horrible beings. Scary creatures hidden under the skin of a human. That side feared them. They were not only scary, but they were weak. Easily killed. Easily broken. Easily giving into lunacy.
He hates, hates, hates them. Despises, detests, loathes.
Startled, his body jumps slightly at his name being called.
Hands reach out to him, for a second they’re drenched in scarlet and he’s retreating away in fear until he blinks to only find them clean. Glancing up, you’re there, knelt on the ground before him with a soft smile lighting up your expression.
You’re an angel, he thinks. Whereas another side of him believes that its all a facade, that you’re nothing like an angel, only a manipulative demon that’s ready to tear out his innards until he’s no more.
However, you gently swipe your fingers over the tears that had been rolling down his cheeks. Your fingertips are soft, careful and hesitant as you catch the crystals that fall from his stinging mocha eyes.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper, voice sounding much like a melodic lullaby, one that he vaguely remembers his mother singing to him when his father was still with them. A brief reminder that his mother had once been the most beautifullest woman to ever walk the earth until she became one of the most hideous and most terrifying creatures to set foot on it.
You carefully stand up and Jimin is quick to throw his arms around your waist and bury his face into your stomach. Your chest tightens at the sight, letting your hands dangle at your sides just like the last time he’s opted to holding you.
Surely what he’d done in the past would bother you, haunt you even, but not as much as they haunted and tortured the man - who was much like a scared child at the moment. However that was the past, Jimin is a good person, you believe. If he hadn’t done what he did, then he wouldn’t be here. It was a matter of be killed or kill and survive. He never meant to attack his mother, it was self-defense, and yet he still blames himself and lets it haunt him that he killed the woman who gave life to him.
Jimin falls asleep like that, waking up immediately when you try to pry away his arms, only to refuse to let go of you. He’s much like a little lamb, a cub, a pup even, urging you onto the bed and curling up into your back with his arms around your middle.
His calmed breaths lull you into a deep sleep, falling into a serene darkness that is later interrupted by the intervention of sunlight pouring in from the narrow crevices of the window blinds. You expect him to be curled up against you when you wake up, only to be surprised by your front row seat view of his marred backside.
The older is in the midst of getting ready for work, picking through his closet for a shirt, until you inevitably squeak in surprise.
He jumps, yanking off the nearest clothing to shield his torso as he turns to regard you with an embarrassed frown. The blood has rushed to his cheeks, and my goodness, how could someone look cute while simultaneously having the blessed body of a god? However, you stray away from the fact that he is absolutely gifted with toned and rippling muscles, and focus on the fleshy marks that decorate his skin.
“Sh-shit… how long have you been awake?” he asks, eyes flitting around the room and landing on everything except you. He’d woken up that morning nestled into your middle. Instinct almost had him shoving you off the bed, instead he quickly pulled away with a fiery blush crossing over his cheeks and his heart pounding loudly in his chest.
There had been that usual feeling of revolt and disgust. Underneath that was a foreign sensation that spread across his chest whenever he gazed too long at your slumbering form. A side of him wished to crawl back to your side and continue holding you against him. That side wanted to prolong the moment of sleeping beside you, so much that he could possibly have wanted to sleep the day away with you instead of going to work.
“Not long…” you whisper, shifting to sit at the edge of his bed. Should you ask? Or should you leave it as an untold mystery until he finds the will inside him to tell you?
As if he had heard your distressed thoughts, he tentatively made his way over to you, taking a seat beside you. “You must be thinking up a storm, huh?” he muses, glancing at you.
“Or perhaps you’re ogling at my body and thinking of nasty little thoughts, you pervert.”
The corners of his lips twitch at your expression twisting in shock as you lean away from him, dumbfounded by his accusation. There’s a miniscule of a smile that’s threatening to break out on his face, his throat rumbling with a chuckle that you catch.
“It’s nothing special,” you snort playfully, “I’m sure I’ve seen be–”
You pause, a sudden wave of dizziness washing over you. You can vaguely hear Jimin call out to you, his voice drowned out as though your head was being dunked underwater. Black races across your vision, your senses shutting down when one second everything fades to black and in a blink you’re in a room completely different from Jimin’s. It’s one that’s nostalgic, bringing forth a feeling of comfort.
“Like what you see (Y/n)?”
Glancing over, instead of Jimin, there’s that man again, whom you’ve previously assumed his name was Jungkook or Kookie. And much like how Jimin was, he’s standing there in all his glory, shirtless with only a fluffy white towel hanging low around his hips.
His moist, honey skin glistens under the intruding sunlight, bathing his body in some kind of godly light that accentuated the dips and indents of his muscular torso.
“Pfft.. are you kidding?” you laugh, although your cheeks are glowing a definite hue of scarlet and you definitely can’t keep your eyes off the gift that is his amazingly sculpted body, “I’ve seen better than whatever that is.”
“Oh?” he smirks, one brow raising suggestively but you’re not phased by it, more like it makes you smile at his antics, “Shall we check the lower half then?”
“Nooooooooooooo!” You exclaim furiously, even jumping to your feet to emphasize your rejection as soon as his fingers curl around the hem of the towel.
He grins, bunny-like front teeth peeking out from underneath his upper lip as he grins at you, “I was just kidding you little perv… or maybe you actually wanted to see me naked…”
He mock gasps, “(Y/n)! I thought we were best friends, I never knew you saw me like that!”
“I don’t, you little shit! Are you sure you’re not the one who has feelings for me?!” You pout, an utter lie through your teeth when you knew full well that as of recently you’ve come to terms that you were starting to develop feelings for your best friend. They were feelings way too intimate to be felt towards a friend.
He grins cryptically at you before he turns around to look through the closet for clothes.
“Maybe… maybe not.”
The scene ends with him taking out clothes, the conversation casual and small. You regain consciousness with a sharp inhale, eyes peeling open to see Jimin and Taehyung hovering over you with concern written all over their expressions. Taehyung has a cell phone cradled close to his ear, quickly speaking to whoever before hanging up with a relieved sigh.
You wonder, since Taehyung’s here, if he questioned Jimin about why you’re even in his bed in the first place.
“You gave us a little scare (Y/n),” he smiles softly, slipping his phone into his pocket, “I was just on the phone with a 119 operator.”
Jimin, who’s now wearing a shirt to cover his torso, heaves a heavy breath. “Did you remember something?” He must’ve remembered the first time you had gotten a memory with their help, how you knocked out. At that time he’d gotten a panic attack, the crime scene a reminder of his murderous deed.
Maybe you should tell them. You’ve been keeping your memories of that Jungkook person a secret from them, it was only fair since they were going through the trouble of giving you hospitality and helping you out that you tell them.
“Yeah… for a while my memories have only been about a person… and well…”
“Great!” Taehyung cut in, exclaiming with a bright grin, “Maybe we can find them, is it a he or a she, do you have a name and a face?”
The brunette overwhelms you with questions, but you can assume that he’s just excited that you’re one step further to regaining your memories. He’s grinning widely and his eyes are scrunched, gazing at you with a glimmer of eagerness.
“Jung… k-kook?… I think that’s what his name was…” you mutter, wondering how you were supposed to describe his looks. It’s not like they could so magically somehow find him, what if he was no longer living in South Korea, or what if he didn’t live in the area?
Jimin snorts from his spot, drawing both yours and Taehyung’s attention to him, “Well that’s helpful, maybe a last name to eliminate the hundreds of men named Jungkook.”
You shoot him an irritated glare, to which he meets firmly.
“Do you know what he looks like? Maybe you might recognize someone in the street,” Taehyung attempts at a smile, ignoring the frown on his partner’s face that seems to grow in size each passing second.
“Because there’s a very high chance that the guy will be in Seoul,” the elder sneers sarcastically, “Who knows he might be halfway across the planet, or even six feet under.”
“You never know Jiminie,” the brunette pouts, not phased by the bite in the former’s tone, “Come on, let’s get ready to go soon, yeah?”
Maybe Taehyung chose to ignore it, or he was plotting something, but you wondered if he was ever going to touch on the subject of why you were even in Jimin’s room to begin with. Upon entering the precinct, you found that it had been the latter after all when the first thing he exclaimed to the guys was: “Guess who I found in Jiminie’s bed this morning!!”
The orange-haired male immediately smacked him upside the back of his head while you looked down, hands reaching up to tug the bill of the hat to shield your face from the intrusive eyes.
Boisterous laughter arose around the room, along with some catcalls mostly from Namjoon, who is eventually chastised by Seokjin. Risking a glance up, you immediately notice the miniscule smirk on Yoongi’s face, raising a brow at you. Beside you, Jimin is pouting like a child, muttering how it was a misunderstanding and that they’re - in his words - perverted dumbasses.
“I think my predictions were right, you are a witch,” Yoongi jokes when you sit down in the lounge with him, accompanied by Jimin who is silently stirring his coffee. Puffs of steam rolled off its surface, rising and unfurling until it finally dissipated. From where you sit, you are pleased by the heavenly nutty aroma of grounded coffee beans.
“She knows, hyung.”
Those three words were enough to totally change something in Yoongi’s attitude. Like the flip of a switch, there’s a recognition that settles in the darkness of his irises, smirk falling into a taut line.
“Everything?” is his only response, gaze growing in intensity as he glances between you both.
Jimin nods firmly, and at that moment Taehyung peers into the room and calls out for the former who abandons his mug in favor of moving to check on his partner.
When the door is shut, Yoongi relaxes in his chair with a subtle smile, regarding you with a kind expression.
“So you did it,” he starts off slowly, “I knew you could.”
“Maybe I have,” you sigh fleetingly, sinking into your seat now that the intensity of the atmosphere has decreased, “I’m sure he’s still guarded heavily, but it was both a relief and scare to hear about what happened from him.”
Yoongi makes a noise of agreement, “That brat is stubborn, but you can’t really blame him for the way he acts the way he does.”
“You’re a brat too,” you frown, to which he raises a curious brow, “You told me you were just a colleague of his! But you’re like his adoptive brother!”
“That was for you to find out, and for Jiminie to say of his own free will,” he grins, a chuckle rumbling from throat, “This is his past, not mine.”
Yoongi has never grinned so widely in front of you before, and you’re greatly surprised by how his lips stretch back and even reveal the pink of his gums. His eyes are arched into half moons as he smirks at you.
“How about you huh, Taehyung let slip that you and Jiminie were sleeping together.”
Face heating up significantly, you frown at him, “I was only comforting him!”
The blonde laughs at your response, calling bull shit jokingly, and you can only sigh and crack a soft smile.
You’ve only progressed a rather large step, but Jimin’s wall is colossal. It’s tall in height and thick in width. The fact that he’s able to trust you with information so personal, it makes warmth spread across your chest.
You only hope that he doesn’t patch up the opening he’s decided to let you through, and continue to letting you break down his walls. You hope that you’re around long enough to achieve that benefit.