Tim looks up, poised for the next bite of s'mores-parts, caught like a boy with his hand in a cookie jar as the underbrush shifts and moves and someone comes out through. There are others, talking, but as the fire light resolves and the darkness lifts, Tim doesn't care about anyone else.

His stomach falls or maybe flies into his throat, a huge swoop of--of everything. He's on his feet, off the log he'd been perched on at the edge of the fire light, in a moment. What other option is there?

The last time he saw Sasha, it wasn't Sasha, but the memories aren't muddy anymore. He's not sure if that's this place or what's happened to him or knowing what happened to her. He practically trips over his feet to get to her, reaching for her, pulling her into a hug without any hesitation.

"It's really you."