[ At face value, there's no reason to believe it wasn't an accident. Plenty of scrapes, bumps, and bruises to prove it. Not to mention the vague memory of it being dark outside, of heading down a narrow street too fast, taking that turn too sharp. It's pretty easy to imagine the rest, right? The first thing that comes to mind is a car crash. There was also the dim memory of lights, of voices overhead, a machine beeping, panic-- then nothing else before jolting awake in a hospital bed. Like something you'd get out of a movie.

Desmond knows better. He doesn't understand how he knows better, but he knows it wasn't some accident. So, if it wasn't an accident, what was it? Not a question he thinks he'll get an answer to out of the staff. Especially when subtly pressing for details got him nothing, asking small questions he already knows some of the answers to, but (surprise, surprise) they didn't. Not for a lack of trying on their part. The staff seemed to genuinely want to help, too...

Play it safe, his gut tells him. So, Desmond does. He decides to wait patiently for release (not an easy feat; he was itching to get somewhere that felt less exposed), use the opportunity to wander around and see what details he can pick up from idle conversation. On the upside, at least he's not attached to an IV line and was given some hospital clothes to accommodate his wandering. Desmond isn't too banged up. It's not the ICU, after all. Feel free to bump into him!

If you're in the patient lounge, don't be surprised to find Desmond there, either, while he's with you getting tea or coffee or whatever it is you're after at the table said things are laid out on. ]

Visiting someone? [ he asks whether you're a fellow patient or not, out of idle curiosity and also because he's got to get to know someone around here.

And don't worry! Desmond doesn't really seem like he'd do any harm. Hell, he's the sort that looks downright friendly, really. ]

[ Ah, the Fourth of July. Nothing says "Happy birthday, America!" more than a community potluck, a lazy afternoon, and fireworks. Desmond had intended to skip on it, but good ol' Chuck had insisted, and there in lays the frustrating and horrifying part of Wayward Pines, Idaho, if you'd have asked Desmond. He shows up to the event because he felt a sense of obligation to. After all, he'd been working for Chuck for the last nine years. Chuck wasn't just his boss, Chuck was his friend-- he'd even been invited to Chuck's tenth wedding anniversary. Desmond's known little Elizabeth since she was born. Worse, he was her godfather.

But here's the thing: Desmond hasn't known Chuck for nine years.

The Wayward Pines' truth of just who Desmond Miles is will tell you that he's a stand-up fellow and handyman working for Andy "Chuck" Johnson. Works hard, does it well.

It's days like this that make the line between what little real truth Desmond knows about himself and what he thinks he knows very blurry. So, honestly, you may very well find yourself in a conversation with him as if you'd known him (and he'd known you) your entire life over food, maybe beer. Bump into him, do whatever, it's a party, right?

Later that evening, it won't be hard to find him, either, provided you either a) catch Desmond in the act of climbing up the side of a decently tall building to enjoy the fireworks (hey, a guy's gotta have some fun), or b) actually spot him perched on the edge of it. ]

i say "endure" you say "_____"