[The feed flickers and snaps to life in the middle of Wednesday afternoon. The berry is on his desk, and Tim is on the floor surrounded by dissembled stacks of notes. Hundreds of papers, some still in neat piles, some spread out individually for full-viewing. He picks up sheets and sheaves, turns through them quickly, eyes scanning the documents in something like panic. You wouldn't say he's crying; his breath is careful and slow, he's steady in his hands and just a little pale in the face. But those are tears. Sets down the notes in his hand, scrubs the heel of his palm over his face.
[Tim sits very still for a few moments, and then stumbles onto his feet to go for the berry. He knocks over a stack of paper, but doesn't much seem to notice. Nor does he notice that the berry's on. He's not familiar with this accidental activation thing.
[He switches the feed to audio:] Buck--no, uh, sorry. Sorry, you're--busy.
Ah--
Alex?
This--this wasn't supposed to be real.