8487/Reconciliation, Part I

Reconciliation, Part I
Date of Scene:	29 October 2021
Location:	The Onion Maiden foodtruck, adjacent to Gotham U
Synopsis:	Instead of meeting Tim's fist, Martin just meets Tim. And Lonnie, too! But only for a little bit before he and Tim get into a fight. Awkward. Tim and Jon bring Martin up to speed on the whole book situation afterward, though, so at least it was a semi-productive meetup. Shame that everyone but Martin has lost their appetite by the end, though, because Onion Maiden is really just that good.
Cast of Characters:	Tim Drake, Jonathan Sims, Lonnie Machin, Martin Blackwood

---

Tim Drake has posed:
    Once it's decided that a second attempt at introducing Tim and Martin is something that ought to happen, it just seems appropriate for such a thing to happen on neutral ground. Which isn't actually the University, but an open alleyway nearby that is the daily location of the Onion Maiden food truck, much beloved for its delicious, vegetarian Asian-American fusion food.

    It's a nice alley, promise. Clean. Crates set up in various arrangements to function both as seating and as tables. Tim is honestly a good enough customer that he probably didn't have to hastily stuff $500 into the tip jar and ask for them to stick around after hours, but he did, and so the truck remains.

    He hobbles on his crutches to a nearby crate to sit on, having already put in his order, and then he pulls out his phone while he waits.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon texted Tim with a rather vague 'need to talk about the Book and things, and Martin needs to come,' because this whole spy business is entirely new to him even with his shiny new SHIELD badge burning a hole in his pocket. He does /not/ bring out the shiny new SHIELD badge. He instead walks into the alley and rather ostentatiously tells Martin to go greet Tim while he orders for them both.

    Oh, yes, he's going to force them to make small talk while he looks at the menu. Dr. Sims is nothing if not a proponent of direct communication, however awkward it might be.

    So then he's over at the food truck, smiling brightly at the people still inside as he looks over the menu. Takes his time looking over the menu. Tim might recognize that he looks a little less tired, a little less tense, than the last time he saw the man. So that's something, at least.

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    The guy who shows up is 6'2", redheaded, with his hair up in a bun and a pair of glasses on. Antifa t-shirt, black leather jacket with patches and decals all over it, tight jeans with rips at the knees, heavy boots, long-fingered hands with scarred knuckles. This is all offset by the fact that he's walking a terrier mutt with one ear sticking up and the other ear flopped over. He whistles, before he walks into the alley.

Martin Blackwood has posed:
    Martin sits at the same location as Tim and awkwardly settles. "H-hi... again" he says. "I... I didn't get a chance to thank you" he says. "For being kind and welcoming to Jon, that is. Esepcially given..." Given that he was an absolute mess for what Martin put him through? He doesn't say it but it's there.

    "I also should say that I'm sorry. I know my actions caused him more pain than I can know and you had to deal with some of that grief while being his friend." He looks at the young man and blurts out. "I'm trying to clear the air here and doing a horrible job at it I know. But the attempt has to count for something, right?"

Tim Drake has posed:
    Tim is in one of his usual incognito outfits, AKA a too-big hoodie and jeans. There's a Gotham Goliaths baseball cap pulled down low on his head too, mostly blocking his line of sight. Though he still looks up immediately when Jon and Martin round the corner, and waves at them both politely. Not even a hint of a glower in Martin's direction!

    "Make sure to try the tots," he says in lieu of greetings, because seriously, you gotta try the tots. And while Martin settles nearby, Tim looks at him over top of a cup of black dahlia horchata, which he sips from. "Hello."

    It's said in a perfectly pleasant tone of voice, and is of course totally fake. He could try harder to be convincing, but it's his barest effort sort of play at being civil. Generally reserved for paparazzi and politicians. Which, oof, rough for Martin.

    He's briefly distracted though by the sound of a whistle near the mouth of the alley, and his eyes flick in that direction. Tim's mouth thins into a line in an effort not to smile at Lonnie--and Yap's--appearance, before he sets his drink down and looks over at Martin. The noise he makes when Martin says he's "doing a horrible job of it" is clearly one of agreement. "Explain your thinking for me on this," is his response, neatly side-stepping everything Martin has said so far. "Really, I want to know. How can someone who has suffered a loss like you have," and Tim of course doesn't name names, but he was at the cemetery with Jon, so it doesn't need to be, "Turn around and do that to someone they love?"

    The look he turns on Martin is narrow-eyed, calculating, not quite with censure--it's more the kind of someone who is trying their very best to figure out a puzzle.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon keeps standing there, ordering horchata and then tots and then entrees, taking his time with each. He's wearing his favorite emerald green sweater and brown slacks, walking shoes, his hair has been getting long enough to curl on his neck and he's not doing anything about it. He spots the man walking into the alley and turns to give him a polite wave and a smile. Maybe grabbing his attention so Tim and Martin can have this out. But he won't move to intercept.

    This isn't revenge on Martin. Not really. But if he's not there trying to defend anyone the conversation can go easier.

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    Lonnie, for his part, merely smirks at Tim and says, "Shot again huh?" He raises an eyebrow, and then says, "I would've taken you out for longer." He clucks his tongue, and then says, "How many of your ribs did I break that one time? Eight? Nine?" He walks up to check the menu and then he says, "Yeah, I'll have the Dawgz with everything, and my dog will have a-" He looks down at Yap, who barks. "Well, he's into meat, being an obligate carnivore, so I'll pick him up a Doggacino and some turkey bacon on the way home. Thanks though!"

Martin Blackwood has posed:
    Martin pauses and takes a deep breath. "I made a mistake" he admits. "I looked at the situation presented, and in the split seconds that I had, I made a decision that was wrong. Sometimes people do that. And a lot of the time, those wrong decisions hurt others." He looks at the crate(table) top.

    "I thought that in directing the attention of Sasha and her cult on me I would spare Jon the threat of attack. I was wrong, obviously." He sighs. "And that error hurt Jon more than I know. I didn't trust him with the knowledge that I was alive either, thinking *that* could insulate him. Again. Wrong."

    "I know some of my frailties. I know that when I get upset, or afraid, or sad I withdraw. I hide. I isolate. This... was one of those instances. I was so afraid that I isolated myself from Jon, from my co-workers, from my responsibilites" he replies. "But I can't go back and fix them. I can apologize. Which I have. I can make ammends. Which I have started. And I can vow to never leave his side again in that fashion. Which I have done." He looks up and fixes Tim with his own direct gaze. "If you would set a greater pennance... then please do. I will gladly take it to offer contrition to the both of you."

Tim Drake has posed:
    The look that Tim sends Lonnie's way is vaguely murderous. "It was only five," he snaps out as Lonnie walks by, though the venom in his voice isn't quite as effective seeing as how his head turns to watch Lonnie as he approaches the food truck. The whole up-down thing he did? Very unsubtle.

    Tim does not look at all embarrassed when he faces Martin again.

    "I'm not judge, jury, and executioner here," he points out, after what ends up being a very long pause. "It... just, it was a really dumb thing that you did. And based on what I think I know your actual profession is? I would've guessed you had some skill at making quick judgment calls." He starts to pick at a fraying thread on the sleeve of his hoodie. "So. Uh. Do better."

    Sails fully deflated, Tim turns to look over towards both Jon and Lonnie at the food truck. And this is a good time to point out that they're seated far enough away so as to not be overheard talking about all this, of obvious reasons. He sighs. "All I could think about after was--."

    Well, whatever he was going to reveal there, Tim reconsiders. Up at the counter, one of the food truck workers sets down a couple of compostable take-out containers and nods his head towards Tim. Obviously they're not going to ask the guy on crutches to come pick up his food! They'll make one of his friends (so they assume) do it for them.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon blinks at Lonnie for a long moment, murmuring 'again?' to himself. Then the food is up, so he grabs it for Tim and walks over toward the crate-table. "I see it like this," he says, and... it's not a thing he's said to Martin yet. "A man loses his daughter and gets injured on the same day. It almost ruins his marriage. They rebuild, and /just/ when everything seems fine... his husband is screaming about dreams of demons, about hearing people's thoughts. He's a wreck, a mess, unable to function because he's overwhelmed by what's happening to him. And then assassins show up, and it's... the last straw. He's already watching his husband unravel, and now maybe he's going to /die/. He couldn't save his daughter... but he can save his husband. So he falls back on his training. Makes a decision, to focus on a mission over personal feelings. Because that's what he can do, what he understands."

    He lifts a brow at Martin as he hands the food over to Tim. "That about right, love?" He hasn't wholly forgiven Martin, that much is obvious, because if he understands all of that he could've just said so instead of letting him flail at Tim. But he /does/ understand, now.

    And then, "So... is this the elusive Lonnie?" He gestures toward the man and his dog. "You didn't mention rib-breaking." He turns the lifted brow on Tim. A silent question.

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    "Pretty sure it was seven." Lonnie replies, easily, as he puts in and pays for his order, before he walks over, and drops into a seat next to Tim. He stretches his legs out and he relaxes, before he looks around at the others. "Elusive?" He says, looking at Tim, before he looks back at Jon. "Rugby."

Martin Blackwood has posed:
    There are standing tears in Martin's eyes as he looks at Jon. "That's... exactly it..." he says to the man. "How... I... I'm sorry." He takes a deep breath, and pushes down any waterworks before looking up again.

    The tall red-head finally seems to register on him and he blinks. "I don't think we've met. I'm... Martin. Martin Blackwood. Jon's husband" he says offering his hand to the man.

Tim Drake has posed:
    What Jon says when he comes over to the table seems to be more for himself and his husband's benefit, so Tim is absolutely fine with accepting his food and busying himself with that. One box is a the Kale Em All salad and the other is the Graves At Sea tots. He breaks apart a pair of chopsticks and starts mixing up both, casually, as he waits.

    And then it's time for introductions. "This is a friend of mine that I met through Zatanna," Tim says, for Lonnie's benefit. "Jon, this is my boyfriend."

    It's really just that Tim talks about Lonnie a lot that makes him seem elusive. But is Tim going to admit to that? Pfft, no. Anyway, Martin takes care of his own introduction, so that's all taken care of.

    Lonnie gets to field the question about Tim's broken ribs, because Tim himself is noisily slurping at his horchata. But he does shrug, mid-sip, and then nod up at Jon. "I told you we weren't friendly when we first met," he adds. He bends over carefully so that he can scritch behind Yap's ears with a few murmured words aimed at the dog. It's not quite baby talk, but... lots of "Good boy"s and "I missed you"s. Though Tim does press his side against Lonnie's once he sits back up.

    "So," he says. He's not eating yet, though his food is certainly ready to be consumed. There seems to be a sense of waiting for everyone else to have their food, because Tim is polite like that. "You wanted to talk about things?"

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    For a moment, Jon just... /looks/ at Lonnie. "Rugby," he says, deadpan, and clearly doesn't believe the excuse. "Right. Well. I'm Jon Sims, and yes, a friend of Tim's. It's a pleasure to meet you."

    But then he moves on, turning to smile at Martin. "I've known you for half my life, I'm a psychiatrist, /and/... well, and then there's... recent developments." He means the psychic abilities he's gained. "Of course I /knew/ once I had the mental werewithal to think about it. But! I'm glad that's all cleared up. No more broken noses or ribs, I would hope."

    He... hesitates, then. Glances at Lonnie. "Have you, ahh. Have you..." He huffs out a breath, runs his hand through his hair. "Have you told him about the book?" He leaves it vague enough for Tim to dissemble, if he wants.

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    Lonnie tips an imaginary hat in a brief nod, and then he looks over at Martin. "Listen. I haven't been in a lot of relationships?" Actually just the one, "But in my experience, if you feel you have to apologize at all, and I apologize for very little - I live a life of intent - you generally only have to apologize once." He looks over at Tim.
    "Book?"

Martin Blackwood has posed:
    Martin doesn't look surprised at the discourse about rugby or injuries or even this mysterious Book that Jon brings up. Jon understanding of his situation is a weight off of his shoulders and allows him to focus on something else he'd been meaning to look into.

    "Would you like to be able to walk without the crutches?" he asks of Tim during a break in the baby talk to the dog. "I can heal you... if you would allow it."

Tim Drake has posed:
    Immediately after Lonnie says that four letter word, Tim replies with "Don't ask." And then, despite saying that, he continues with. "The demolition crew found a hidden room in the foundations of the estate. My dad hoarded a very dangerous magical book." He doesn't look at Lonnie, because instead he's focusing on Jon and Martin. "Lonnie is here for emotional--and, uh, possibly physical," you know, on account of the bullet hole in his thigh, "--support, but I'm not getting him involved in this. It's already nearly killed someone I love, I'm not giving it a do-over."

    And he's still not looking when he reaches over to wrap his fingers around Lonnie's hand. Tim's inhaling just then to work himself up for something when a few things happen: one food truck worker calls out with the remaining orders stacked on the counter while the engine of the truck itself roars to life, as they're clearly about to drive off, and Martin offers to heal Tim.

    This, as one might imagine, gives Tim pause. He frowns over at Marin, uncertain. "How does your healing work?" he asks, and he puts the emphasis on the word 'your'. To Jon, this is probably a clear indicator that Tim's familiar with Phoebe's healing.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon files that away, nods and comments, "Right, I understand," then gets up and jogs over to grab the remaining orders from the truck. He thanks the food truck workers profusely--he already left them a rather large tip--and carefully walks back over while juggling the boxes, giving the others time to handle revelations.

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    Lonnie gives Tim's hand a squeeze and then he raises an eyebrow. "Oh, I knew about your father's artifact-hunting from before you were born. You didn't?" He looks puzzled at that. "It's not exactly a huge secret. The Gotham City elite children have a checkered history, have ever since the city was founded. Weird cults, fraternities, sororities, black magick... I mean they're kids with a lot of money, no morals, and they get bored." He shrugs his shoulders, as if it's just a fact of life in this city.
    "I'm honestly surprised you never asked him about it. I mean, he WAS an archaeologist."

Martin Blackwood has posed:
    Martin listens to Lonnie's reveal and waits for Jon to return to explain to Tim. "It isn't that different from Zatanna Zatara's abilities, though obviously from a different source. It's an effort of will. I shape the ambient energies of the world around me and utilize them to whatever means I can employ."

    "In most cases the energy comes from me and me alone, but sometimes... with consent of course, I can utilize the energies of others for larger effects. Your leg," he nods to the injured appendage, "a gunshot wound, shouldn't tax me too much. I've had enough practice that things of that nature come without difficulty. I might need to eat, but fortunately... we're at a restaurant and food is provided." He smiles looking at his meal. "It won't take but a moment. If you agree to let me help you."

Tim Drake has posed:
    The expression on Tim's face when he rounds on Lonnie is probably as shocked as anyone present has seen him. Well, Martin barely knows him, but whatever, it does still technically count.

    "I--he told me everything went into museums. I went to see some of the collections, even, and they--the staff knew him. It was real." His tone shifts to something guarded, maybe even hurt, though an old, deep sort of hurt. Wounds that had scarred over ripping open again. He looks down at his food, suddenly not very hungry at all.

    His shoulders hunch in, and Tim blinks once or twice before all of the emotion is wiped off his face, and he straightens back up, as if he's completely unbothered. And now with an awareness of Jon's empathic abilities, there's a similar deadening of all the internal turmoil Tim was just feeling. "That would be great," he says to Martin, with a faint smile. "Let's, ah, wait for the truck to leave--"

    And of course that's just when one of the workers leans out from the driver's side to wave goodbye, before the truck zips away down the other end of the alley.

    "Okay. What do you need me to do?" Tim holds out a hand across the crate-table, expecting skin-to-skin contact being a necessary component.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon frowns for a moment as he parcels out the food to Lonnie and Martin and himself--having picked up Lonnie's food as well. He has tots, the General Ngo's, and the Fistful of Curry. He deftly breaks apart a pair of chopsticks as he keeps frowning at Tim. "Sometimes people think the truth is too hurtful, and a lie is easier. It's rarely true. Secrets are one thing, but..." A pause. "I would guess that perhaps he didn't want to hurt you." Tim is clearly a person with a good heart, after all, who is obviously hurt to learn about what his father had been into.

    But that's all he says, and he lets the conversation move on to healing Tim, stirring up his tots and starting to eat.

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    Lonnie pauses, and then his expression softens. He still has hold of Tim's hand. "Tim - for a genius, sometimes you miss the really obvious thing."
    "Your father, when he was young, he did some things that were not - good. Maybe not evil, but selfish. And then he stopped. Has it yet occurred to you *why* he stopped? Maybe it's because he found something that mattered more. I feel like I can understand your father pretty well. I mean, you infuriate me and I'm pretty twitterpated." He looks over at the others, and then admits, "I generally put my faith in process I can track. Whenever anybody break out magick, I ask myself, it's all transactional, so who's footing the bill? So before you lay magick fingers on my boyfriend, what cost is he paying for this?"

Martin Blackwood has posed:
    Martin looks at Lonnie. "None for the actual healing, I am footing that... like I said, hunger. If it was ten years ago, I'd probably need a good 8 hours sleep after but what I do keeps my abilities rather in shape." What he *does* he doesn't elaborate on.

    He frowns and considers. "As for after... well, he'll have to build back any muscle atrophy he's sustained from not using it. And it might be a bit sore for twenty four hours. Nothing tylenol can't handle."Turning to Tim he shakes his head at the offered hand. "That won't be necessary. I just need to be able to move my hands above the injury. And you can stay clothed, I just need to know where on your leg it is."

Tim Drake has posed:
    Tim's hand pulls back, and he casts a glance towards Lonnie in his peripherals. Only for a moment, though, before he shakes his head. "It's fine. He's dead now, and what's done is done. All we can do is clean up the mess he left behind."

    And then, for Martin's benefit, he gestures to his leg. The one not lined up against Lonnie's, of course. "The bullet passed through my Sartorius muscle," and Tim indicates where, "Into the medial compartment, where it lodged in my Adductor magnus muscle about an inch--three centimeters--below the skin. There's a surgical cut on the back of my thigh where the bullet was removed."

    He delivers this with the kind of familiarity with biology terms of someone whose major is pre-med. Strange that Tim's is mechanical engineering and computational mathematics.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon is making mental notes and filing them all away as he eats. To Lonnie he comments, "Before you ask what Martin's terms are for bearing the burden of healing Tim--and I suspect you won't believe mere altruism--we are here, in part, to... well. To rather /insist/ that Martin be involved in helping with the book business." He glances to Martin; he's the senior agent by far, and the one to reveal what's going on, if anyone.

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    Lonnie looks over at Tim, and then he collects his Dawgz, and his Dog. And he says, "I'll tell you what: We can have a conversation about this when you're less of a mind to dump all your mental baggage all over your deceased father and in more of a mindset to think about this with an open mind. Parents choose not to share parts of who they are with their children all the time, Tim. And children keep secrets and hurt their parents all the time, too." Low blow. "And yes, I'm mad at you, and yes, this is a fight that we're having."
    He certainly seems to be chill about it as he whistles up his dog and collects his dinner. "And yes, I still love you, you're just being a *snot*. Your father might've been flawed, but at *least* you had one. Jon, Martin, a pleasure to meet you." He departs.

Tim Drake has posed:
    Off Lonnie goes, and through everything that preceded his exit stage-left, Tim has said nothing. He's already in the mindset of suppressing his feelings, so aside for a couple of flinching blinks, he just takes the hits.

    Tim stares, just for a moment, at the space Lonnie had previously occupied. And then without a word he closes up his takeout boxes and tucks his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. "It's fine. You can go ahead," he says to Martin, all flat affect.

Martin Blackwood has posed:
    Martin watches Lonnie go with a frown and then the frown deepens at Tim's closed response. He would say something, but it's not his place. Maybe not even Jon's place here. Instead he stands and moves around to the leg.

    That Tim gave him such clear directions on where the damage was, was good. Martin wasn't pre-med. He has a Masters in the field of study. And Tim has given him essentially a Google Maps directions list of where he needs to work. He takes a deep breath and makes a few strange gestures, his fingers crooking into odd shapes. After the second such gesture, concentric rings of green-blue energy surround his hands. A few more gesures and runes of power pulse around the rings. Another and the rings set to spinning.

    Finally with seemingly an effort of pushing a great weight Martin sends the spinning green-blue light into Tim's leg. The sensation would be like pouring hydrogen peroxide on an infected wound. There's a stinging, burning sensation but it's short and after a pleasant cool feeling settles in.

    Martin nods. "It's done..." he lets out a breath and moves back to his seat, dropping down with only a little more weight than he originally did. "How does it feel?"

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon draws a sharp breath in and then back out, glaring at Lonnie. Because, damn it, if Tim gets to be mad on /his/ behalf, then he gets to be mad on /Tim's/ behalf. "/That/," he comments, "was /not/ fair. The last bit. /Sometimes/, having a parent is actually worse than not." Does he glance at Martin? Only briefly, the slightest shift of his gaze that only someone like Tim might catch. Anyway, look, the point here is that he's showing solidarity with Tim. Mostly.

    He watches Martin work with some fascination. He hasn't seen all that much of Martin's magic over the years, it having been so kept to SHIELD and all.

Tim Drake has posed:
    "It's alright," Tim says. "It's better this way." He doesn't elaborate on what he means by that. And because he isn't meeting either Jon or Martin's eyes, there's no catching that look that might otherwise give Tim, clever as he is, more of a glimpse into their backstories.

    He at least watches when Martin starts to do his thing. It's not the same kind of magical process he's seen before, but Tim has enough awareness of just how much he doesn't know about it all, so he braces himself for anything. The pain of it, though unexpected, isn't enough to get past that, or how closed-off his expression is now.

    When it's done, he nods at Martin. "Thank you. This has been... it'll help a lot." Carefully, he lifts his foot, flexing the muscles in his thigh as he moves his leg. "Tender, yeah, but not bad. No worse than when I've overextended myself working out, or anything." He takes in a breath. "So, what did you tell him about the book, so far?"

    That last part is, of course, addressed to Jon.

Martin Blackwood has posed:
    It's Martin who responds. First, he reaches into a pocket and produces a folded slip of leather. He lays it on the crate table open. One side is an ID card. The picture is of Martin and all the pertinent information is there. Along with some that might seem strange: Blood type, Dominant Eye, Domininat Hand. The other side is a badge. A circlular shape holds a stylized representation of an eagle in flight. On the outer ring of the circle are the words: STRATEGIC HOMELAND INTERVENTION ENFORCEMENT LOGISTICS DIVISION.

    "I am Agent Blackwood of SHIELD and Jon is our newest recrit. Part of his enrollment was divulgence of his interaction with the Iron Bound Book of Skelos" Martin replies in a much more serious tone of voice. "SHIELD has decided--with your consent, of course--to assist in the secure containment of this anamolous tome."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "I'm sorry, Tim," Jon says, and by his tone and expression he's worried Tim will be angry. "I know I said I'd keep this a secret, and I /have/. But this thing... it's dangerous. Terribly dangerous. And if /anyone/ can help track it down, keep it safe, and keep your name out of the public eye on the matter, it's SHIELD."

    He stares at Tim for a moment, almost desperately, like he's trying to find a clue that he hasn't ruined their friendship, divulging this to SHIELD. Then he drops his gaze to his food, and mutters, again, "I'm sorry."

Tim Drake has posed:
    There's no real visible reaction to the reveal of the SHIELD badge. Tim looks at it for a moment, just long enough to capture the details on Martin from his ID, and then he nods. "My bet was on the DEO," he admits. Even when you do your best to account for all the evidence you have access to, an assumption is still an assumption, and Tim was prepared to be wrong about that one.

    "I'm willing to accept your offer of assistance, but I have some conditions. First off, this stays off the books as much as you're able. I'm sure there's some higher authority you're reporting to, but you keep mission reports verbal only with them. The last thing we need is to create a paper trail that someone will eventually be able to follow to wherever we bury this thing."

    Tim looks to Jon, then, and he takes a deep, steadying breath. It's a chance for him to pause and think, but honestly, he's been expecting this. Asking someone to keep a secret from associates is one thing. From a spouse? And one that has ties to some sort of shadowy governmental agency?

    His mouth thins a little bit, lips pressed together as he stares at his stack of untouched takeout containers. "Second, I have final approval of any agents you bring in on this. I'd rather that not happen at all, but I'm being realistic here. There's already four of us," he's apparently including Martin on the team in his mind already, "And we need to do our best to keep that number low," he says. His fingers pull at that loose thread on his sleeve, and slowly the hem begins to unravel.

    Before he continues, Tim lifts his chin and looks over at Martin to gauge his reaction, or maybe just wait for an expected refusal.

Martin Blackwood has posed:
    Martin frowns for a moment and then nods. "In the interest of your cooperation, I will concede to your conditions. It will make things difficult, but... you're reasons are sound and I can accept the logic in them." He starts in on his food and takes back his badge, slipping it into his pocket.

    "I admit that my knowledge of the *why* such a thing was in your possession--or well, your family's possession--is still a mystery to me." He looks at the food with surprise and starts in on it with more fervor. At a moment of pause he asks, "Could you possibly shed some light on that?"

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "As I warned the Chief, this thing tries to come to light. It managed to stay buried for centuries, though, hidden down a mineshaft in China." Jon's tone is professional as he looks up, but his expression is... well. He doesn't know what to make of Tim's expression, and now there's that knot in his gut and he's questioning every decision he's made for the past five years because that's how things go.

    Deep breaths, Jon.

    "Keeping as few people on this as possible would be best, and SHIELD knows how to handle dangerous items. I'm sure the Chief will understand the need for... discretion."

Tim Drake has posed:
    "No," is Tim's succinct answer to Martin's question. He shrugs one shoulder, limply. "Up until two weeks ago, I had no idea my father spent his entire career as an archaeologist stealing dangerous magical artifacts." The stray thread curls around his finger, and he tugs on it, the skin of his fingertip blanching white as his circulation is briefly cut off. But then the thread snaps.

    He lets out a slow exhale. "Last condition. Once it's done, everyone involved who knows where we put the book? We delete that information from their heads. I don't care if it's magic or telepathy, or if we physically have to go into the Archive to scrub that info, we do it." Tim points at Jon, and then Martin, before he gestures back at himself. "All three of us included. It ends with us."

Martin Blackwood has posed:
    Martin frowns a little more deeply at that. It was probably doable in a similar fashion to what Chief Carter had suggested doing to Jon in the first place so it wasn't out of the question, it was just... dangerous. Messing with people's memories was as delicate a matter as one got, mystical or mundane. Still, it if was to protect the planet, it was his misson to see it through.

    He nods again. "Alright. We can do that as well..." he says. "We will find a way." He looks at Jon. "In Jon's defense, he has not told me much about the situation only what the item in question is and his--and his power's--reaction to it." He looked to Jon. "If I am being included in this endeavor, it would help if I knew anything that was being left out."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon nods to Tim. "It needs to be gone," he says. "I agree completely. I already asked for SHIELD to figure out how to erase the knowledge from my mind."

    He hesitates, then says, "I can... I can tell you what happened." He shudders and closes his eyes for a moment.

    The Archivist opens his eyes, and recounts his encounter with the Iron-Bound Book of Skelos. From arriving at Tim's manor, to seeing the book bound in human skin. Tim stopping him touching it, Zatanna arriving. Him touching the thing and pulling out its history. Sophia showing up, telling Tim she knew his father. The struggle for the book.

    The /exact/ way it felt, to have his voice stolen, to unlock the thing. Horrific, intrusive, violating. How /awful/ it was, reading that book, how Jonathan Sims warred with himself, tried to pull away, to /stop/ reading those horrible blasphemies.

    Somehow it's all the worse that despite the pain in his voice, the Archivist is looking at a spot on the wall of the alley while he speaks.

    Then Tim shot, and Zatanna hit with the book. The witch disappeared, book in tow.

    Then Jon blinks and shudders himself out of the trance. He looks down at his food with an expression of revulsion.

    "I need a cigarette," he says abruptly, and stands to walk away, pulling a pack of cigarettes and spiderweb-motif lighter from his pocket.

Tim Drake has posed:
    Of course, Jon does an excellent job of relating the particulars of what happened. So Tim sits on the side-lines of the story and waits until the end, his eyes focused on the middle distance in a way very similar to how Jon, or rather the Archivist is, mid-trance.

    "The book has some sort of extreme reaction to Zatanna's presence, though I don't know the specifics of why," is all he can think to add. Then he looks up, watching as Jon goes, before he tucks his feet up on the crate with him. He wraps his arms around his legs, and it makes him look... not anywhere near 20 years old. Too young, and too weary for someone his age. Though he's still keeping his expression flat and the noise of his head quiet.

    After Jon has departed, Tim shakes his head. "Bad habit."

Martin Blackwood has posed:
    Martin watches Jon move a bit away. "There are worse ones..." he says. His tone isn't defensive, it's just simple fact. "Do you have any clue as to the identity of this witch?" he asks.

    "Any identifying features even in her magical abilites? If you've intereacted with Zatanna you know that not all magician's work their will in the same way." He seems to be leaving himself out of the matter as a magic user. "If you can remember anything about her spells it might help pinpoint her training and give us a lead on where she may go for rituals."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon stands way off away from the two of them, far enough to keep the smoke from them both, staring out at the street beyond the alley. Far enough to not hear the discussion, anyway.

Tim Drake has posed:
    "She called herself Sophia Crowne, but that was a fake last name. Then she gave us Cobb, but that might not be real, either," Tim says. Without anything to fidget with, he locks his fingers together in his lap and stares down at them. "I'm not really the person to ask."

    Still, though, Tim's head tips up and he stares at the evening sky as he recalls the event. "She used blood to cast her spells. Uhh--by writing with it, because I threw something at her throat to stop her from speaking. And then she left a sort of ash-like substance behind when she disappeared." His brows draw together as he looks over at Martin. "We have a sample of it, if that would help?"

Martin Blackwood has posed:
    Martin nods taking out a notebook and writing down the names given. "I'll burn this after I look into it." At the mention of the ash substance the woman left behind he look sup. "It might." He pauses and eats a bit more.

    "You said you're not the person to ask? Who else am I going to ask?" he asks. "I should speak some with Zatanna about it, of course, but you and Jon were the only other witnesses." He sighs and looks over at Jon again frowning.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon makes his way back over. "I think Zed was looking into Sophia," he says quietly. He's calling Zatanna 'Zed' evidently. He sits down next to Martin, stares down at his food.

    Then he goes and boxes it all up carefully. "She had pictures of herself with Tim's father, as well. Perhaps she's registered as an archaeologist somewhere."

Tim Drake has posed:
    Tim pulls out his phone and types out a quick text as he nods. "I'll get it sent over," he says. And then his mouth twists, as he looks up at Martin. "My knowledge of magic doesn't extend past D&D spells. You're asking me to give context to things I saw that I don't understand."

    When Jon returns, Tim lays his phone down on the table. "It's better to ask Zatanna. I went to her, first, once I found the book. She brought Jon in. I've been digging into my dad's past but things have been..." His eyes skitter away, and he looks guilty. "I've been busy. But I'll focus on this, try to find something on the mundane side of things."

Martin Blackwood has posed:
    Martin seems to feel that the meeting might be coming to close and he works to finish his entree at the very least. "Thank you. Keep us posted." He pauses and gives Jon a look. He looks like he wants to say something but instead returns his attention to Tim.

    "Will you be alright?" he asks. He's not the psychologist between them but it would not take much to understand the fight between Tim and Lonnie had upset the young man.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon frowns at Tim, hesitates a moment, then says, "I very much understand why you feel you have to take care of this. Your father helped bring it out from where it was hidden. But... just because it's your /responsibility/ doesn't mean it's your /fault/. It's alright that you've been busy."

    He hesitates, then says in the warmest tone he can muster, "We'll take care of this, okay? We'll fix it. And we'll keep anyone else from having to face this thing."

Tim Drake has posed:
    "Of course. I'm fine," is Tim's immediate reply to Martin. He even manages a small smile. Everything's fine, of course! He stands up, looking briefly at his crutches sitting nearby, before he starts to gather up his food. "Sins of the father," he quips as he tucks his crutches under one arm, and his food under the other.

    He looks over at Jon. "The sooner we bury it, the better." And that's maybe the first glimpse of how Tim's actually feeling, the grim determination that underlines those words. He nods once to the both of them, then also he nods down at the food Jon is boxing up. "Let me know how you like it, once you get around to eating it. I basically live off of Onion Maiden." With that, he excuses himself and starts to walk off.