it's the first time in a year and some months that vik has woken up in a bed that isn't in a cell. it feels good — the bed isn't the best, but it's his. there's no sound of anyone else in the apartment he's got except himself, and that's all he can think of as he lies in the bed, breathing in and out steadily.

it's not a good situation. far from it; he's only got two thousand, one hundred, fifty-three dollars and a single cent to his name. he was able to at least pay for three months of rent when he'd gotten this place but that's no real buffer, he gets that. he needs to get a job that won't mind that he's a felon, he needs to see about where all his old shit is, and from there, he has to rebuild from there.

he had prepared for this, behind bars. he was a lot of things, but he wasn't stupid about this. living on his own, somewhat on the margins, wasn't a new thing for him whether it was back in london where he'd taken on too much responsbility for a kid or it was in his earlier years, bouncing around from place to place, making ends meet spare enough that he could keep going. what is different is that now, he was a felon and that made things a lot harder.

even more considering who had landed him in jail in the first place.

which, yes, was himself. but it was also that stupid venture capitalist with that big, annoying smug look on his face and his inability to just understand where he wasn't wanted. a vague notion exists that the guy was probably on the look out now that vik was gone, that he probably was waiting to hear about him, the guy who'd pummeled his face in years ago.

his jaw sets at the thought. he probably was happy vik had spent so much time in prison, that he had to live like this. complained to all his millionaire friends, paid for a new set of teeth but milked it elsewhere for points, for sympathy.

none of which vik was interested in. he'd done what he'd done; and the only remorse he had was that he wasn't smart enough to have done it on the clock where it could be legally fine. what hurts — outside of the lack of freedom, outside of the way things had taken — is the fact that he'd lost friends, a good boss that night. that he'd been like his father, hadn't used his head when he needed it most and now had to look at a daunting future.

but then, he's not really like his father. he was used to having to work, used to having to do what he had to by any means.

probation was for one year. he could work for one year, reporting in. and he could get a job, as soon as he could.

there wasn't any room for failure and vik would have to adjust to that, make plans and get things started. for now, though he had boxes to get through, money to sort out and get on his feet. take any job he could for now, make sure that he was doing what he needed to do. keep his nose clean and keep his fists to himself.

it makes him smile a little bit. then he rolls out of bed, yawning, rolling his shoulders. he runs his fingers through his hair, annoyed — and added finding out a way to cut his own hair, too. he gets up, opens the box and resigns himself to cereal for breakfast.