9071/Vacation Therapy

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Vacation Therapy
Date of Scene: 13 December 2021
Location: A Video Call between Hawaii and Ecuador
Synopsis: A slightly incoherent, scattered Cael seems to find some sort of center - at least for the moment - with Jon's help.
Cast of Characters: Cael Becker, Jonathan Sims




Cael Becker has posed:
    It's evening in Hawaii - and a spectacular sunset is playing out in the background through a hotel window as Cael turns on the video call. She has a fruity, slushie drink in front of her that she gives a dubious, disapproving look. It //needs// alcohol - but she's not being allowed any at the moment, for good reason. Still, she takes a small sip as she waits for Jon to pick up - sinking down into her overstuffed chair.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    It's late enough in Ecuador that the group has returned from their time at the volcano, had dinner and conversation, and people are getting ready for bed after a long day. Jon's on a balcony, the lights of Quito stretching out behind him with a truly fantastic cathedral as the centerpiece of the view. He looks a little windswept, wearing a tee and overshirt both in light brown that Cael might recognize as probably being SHIELD issued.

    "Good evening," he says with a smile. "How're you feeling?" The question has genuine interest behind it, rather than the sort of forced camaraderie medical professionals often adopt.

Cael Becker has posed:
    Cael gives an uncertain shrug of her shoulders. "I mean. Isn't figuring out the answer to that question the whole point of the call?" she asks in a dry tone, as some of her defenses force themselves to the fore.
    She stares at her drink for a few moments, then glances back to the phone that's propped up on the table in front of her. "I mean. ...not really great, though," she admits a bit tensely. "Sara and Wade are looking at, I dunno, what sorta stuff we can do here tomorrow..."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon nods, shifting a bit to sit back in his chair. He's using a laptop, by the angle of the screen. "I think processing the emotions is more the point of the call. Ahh, full disclosure... Sara called me last night, to tell me how you were doing. That's when I signed off on the trip and told her you'd need to be calling me." Just in case she hadn't already heard.

    "That said... how are /you/ finding the trip? Are you /wanting/ to do anything tomorrow, or just... sit around and drink fruity slushies?" He smiles.

Cael Becker has posed:
    "I'm... not surprised she did," Cael admits in a quiet voice. "She was, uhh... I don't think she was prepared for..." She stumbles over her words, and then gives up with a small shake of her head.
    "I remember things both ways," she finally admits. "I remember being furious, and fighting like hell, and trying to get away, and- and realizing nothing that I could do-" She stops and swallows hard, staring down at her drink. Admitting to that degree of helplessness was not comfortable for her.
    Even more quietly she adds, "And I remember just how //good// it felt when... when I finally gave in. I've never felt like that before, and it was such a... relief. And nothing hurt. But I also remember that I've never felt that much pain in my life. How do you make sense of //any// of that?" she asks.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon sighs softly. "Mind control can be like that. Overlapping, confusing impressions, confusing your own thoughts with the things they want you to think. It's alright if it takes a while to sort out." A pause. "It's alright if you can't /ever/ sort it out. That's quite normal, really."

    He frowns and leans forward a bit to reach for something off-screen, winding up sitting back with a glass of what looks to be fruit juice, which he sips from. "It's true that you fought, and it's also true that you gave in. And... it's also true that, in the face of such horrible pain, you might have given in regardless of the mind control. That doesn't make you weak, it just makes you... human. I..." He sighs. "Right now, /whatever/ you're feeling is okay. Confusion, guilt, remorse... whatever it is, I'm not going to judge you for it."

Cael Becker has posed:
    Cael nods, and remains silent for a while, staring at the glass in her hands. She doesn't drink from it - she just stares at it, rather than looking towards the man on the screen in front of her. "I want that peace, Sims," she finally admits quietly. "I want it so badly. And I know it wasn't real - it was a lie - but I //remember// it. I remember how it felt. And- there's a part of me that's so grateful you guys came for me, and a part that- that wishes you hadn't, because at least it'd all be over, now."
    She clenches her jaw, eyes squeezing shut to hold in the tears. God, she felt weak, admitting that. "I don't know what to do. I... I don't know how to stop hurting."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "Do you want to die," Jon says softly, "or do you just want the peace? It's... not weak to feel either one, especially not after what you've been through. But I think it's an important clarification. Do you want to die... or do you just want to stop /hurting/?"

    He doesn't mention that he can see Cael's fire there on the screen in front of him, dimmed, a little fuzzy through the transmission, but /there/ as surely as if she were right in front of him.

Cael Becker has posed:
    There's a long silence from Cael as she sits with her eyes still squeezed shut, and her hands gripping tightly to her cup. In some ways - aren't they the same thing? Isn't one just a means to that end? It's confusing to sort out the thoughts and make sense of what she's feeling, and thinking.
    "I just want the pain to stop," Cael finally answers. "I've- it's hard to think of times when I //haven't// been hurting. It's exhausting."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "Yeah," Jon says, tone still sympathetic. "And you already know what the angel offered wasn't real, but... it was /based/ on reality. On the way love can feel, the way meditative relaxation can feel." He sighs. "Some of this... it's just going to take time. To let the wounds heal, psychologically. You're not laid up in a hospital, but I think on some level your mind knows you /should/ be."

    He frowns. "Cael, ahh... I don't think I've asked, but... what religious beliefs do you have, if any?"

Cael Becker has posed:
    "I //want// it to be real," Cael says a little desperately - before letting out a breathy, humorless laugh. "But, uhh... probably be healthier turning to heroin, then going after that particular high again. Yeah?" She repeats the laugh, then reaches up to brush with aggrevation at her eyes.
    "I don't want no fuckin' hospital," she asserts quietly, but fiercely. "You know, before all this? Before- before that stuff in the Garden, before Alis came back... I thought it was all bullshit. Deluded people telling themselves fuckin' bedtime stories to feel better about things. Telling themselves their loved ones aren't gone, 'they'll be together again.' I- I thought you died, and you were gone. Lights out. Now... Shit, I don't know what to believe anymore. Angels are real, ghosts are real - //Gods// are real..." She still refuses to look at the screen - talking about all of this is difficult enough without trying to add eye-contact to the equation. Without having to see pity on the faces of her friends. Or fear. Or maybe even disgust, or disdain.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    The expression on Jon's face is... understanding, more than anything. "I don't know where the dead go, myself, except that... some of them go where we went, the other night. To /nothing/." He swallows. "That only some go there implies maybe there's something else...?" He shrugs. "I asked just because... it matters, in terms of... I am /not/ going to suggest you suddenly start praying to a higher power. But it can be helpful for people to think about what they... believe. Maybe you come to where Batman evidently is... all of this can be explained by science, /somehow/." He huffs out a breath. He's still not sure what he thinks of /that/. "It also helps to have the context, to know what you're struggling with."

    He takes a drink of his juice. "I suppose what I'm getting at is... I'm going to /speculate/ that the angel hit you in your particular... pain points. You're hurting. Your life's been difficult. You want love, comfort, peace, but you also push it away... because you're afraid it's not genuine? Or because you're afraid of losing it, maybe? You're afraid of things being bigger than you can handle, of the helplessness in the face of... the vast expanse of the universe, and everything you don't know. So you meet an angel, and it gets into your head, and it's... bigger than anything you've faced, and offering peace and comfort and... purpose?" He raises his eyebrows. "Is that... about right?"

Cael Becker has posed:
    "I used to believe that," Cael answers - as Jon talks about Batman's view of the world. "But that doesn't make sense anymore - God, I wish it did. It was so much easier..." The world made more //sense// when she could at least believe that science would always have the answers - if you just knew the right questions.
    She nods helplessly at his assessment of matters. "Something like that, yeah," she admits.
    And then she's off on a tangent, her gaze finally lifting as she says to Jon pleading. "I'm sorry I hurt you, you know. I'm so sorry. I- fuck, I don't even understand why you'd want to- after I hurt you like that. I'm so sorry, Sims. I thought- I- He was in my head, and I- even then, I didn't want to hurt you, but-" She'd had to. She wipes at her eyes in frustration adding one more time, "I'm so sorry."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "Hey..." Jon sits forward suddenly, breaking out of 'therapist' mode all at once. "Hey, Becker, it's okay. It's... trust me, I..." He stares at the screen like he's willing his feelings to Cael, not that it really works that way. "I /understand/. I understand what you went through better than you can possibly know. The... giving over to a higher power, the false sense of peace, doing things you'd /never/ do if you were in your right mind, hurting people you care about..." He swallows, expression pained.

    "Cael, if I'm going to start pointing fingers for that, I'd have to start with myself. And I /know/ you didn't /want/ to hurt me. You thought you were doing the right thing. So I can forgive you, and I do." He sighs. "I... know it'll take a while to forgive yourself, and that's okay. But damn it, you wouldn't have /been/ there if not for me. So even if I /didn't/ understand, I'd at least listen."

Cael Becker has posed:
    "He condemned me for hurting people. And then he- then he made me hurt my f-" Even in her grief, and pain, and suddenly flaring anger she strangles off that last word, abruptly turning away from the screen. While she still holds that frozen drink in one hand, the other hand hugs tightly into her stomach as she fights, and fails to hold in racking sobs.
    Hating the lack of control, she finally lets the drink fall from her hand, so her right hand to lift to the back of her head, where it grabs hold of her short hair. She clutches it tightly - not enough to cause any real pain or harm - but tightly enough that the pressure gives her something to focus on. Something to help her regain her control.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "He made you hurt your friend," Jon finishes, and his expression is mournful. "I know. /He/ did that, not you. I'm... /furious/ with him, for hurting me and using you to do it. Because if the judgemental git has a problem with me, he can come at /me/ and not my /friends/."

    He sighs. "You didn't do anything wrong, Cael. It's not your fault, even if it feels like it is."

Cael Becker has posed:
    It takes Cael several long moments to reassert some semblance of control - something that's clearly important to her. She hates looking this weak - she hates //feeling// this weak.
    Finally, though, she manages to speak again. "I tried to get away," she says softly. "I couldn't. There wasn't a way out. I tried to fight him - he stopped me, mid-swing. Made the chair just... disappear. He- something picked me up, and I couldn't move, it was too strong. And he- he took it. He took the bag, and he broke it, and then he- I tried so hard to keep him out, I didn't want- I didn't want to be another crime scene for you and Sara," she admits. "I didn't want you to have to-"
    She lets out a huff of humorless air. "Anyways. I was helpless, and that's what happened, and I don't know how to stop... thinking about it all, and remembering it all, and hurting, and I just- I want it to stop. I'm a //mess//." And she's a burden to Sara.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "You didn't want me to have to take your statement," Jon supplies, and sighs. Sits back a little, shifting back into therapist mode. "You didn't want Sara to have to free you from chains at the base of a cross. And... we didn't. You fought long enough to give us a chance to come for you. I... I was so afraid that..." He stops, and swallows back tears. "We made it in time. That's what matters. And that's on /you/, Cael. You fought. Even if it didn't work, you /did/ fight. That's important to remember."

    He sighs. "It's okay to be a mess. That's what I meant by... look, I get that you don't like hospitals. Most people don't. But you're hurting right now, it's /natural/ to be a mess. Nobody expects you to function at a hundred percent right now, or even fifty percent. It's been, what, a day? Whatever your mind's doing right now, it's okay. You're trying to sort this out."

Cael Becker has posed:
    "I don't know if I could fight again," Cael admits quietly. "I don't know- if it came again, if I could- If I'd have the strength to fight, knowing that I- how futile it was." She'd been as weak as a baby to that angel - and he'd let her know it. Let her feel every terrifying, demoralizing moment of it. She could feel her heart rate picking up again at the memory, and she forces herself to breathe deeply and slowly to try to balance it out.
    "I, uh..." She struggles for something else to focus on, and latches onto the first passing thought. "I told Sara I didn't want her to get fired over- That we didn't need to come here in the middle of her case. She said- She told me I was more important," she tells Jon in a disbelieving tone. Even her own mother hadn't sacficed for her. Why would Sara? It didn't make sense.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon waves a hand. "We'll take care of that, one way or another. Really, there's no point in the case remaining with the NYPD. I said that I'd find a way to get her some mental health leave, given what happened, but I think she just classified the whole case." He smirks. "Reasonable, really, given the crater in the middle of the street. They'll probably think that the killer's an alien."

    He tilts his head. "Why is it so hard to believe someone would do that, though? Would sacrifice something for you?"

Cael Becker has posed:
    "It's her job, her career. The NYPD means... everything to her," Cael asserts immediately. "Why //would// she give that up for me?" Sh shakes her head in confusion. It just, honestly, doesn't make sense.
    "I've, uh- the only one who'd ever- I'd've done anything for Alis. She'd've done anything for me. We ran away to stay together. Stole. Joined a gang. She's the only one who ever- I mean, foster homes, there's a bunch of 'em that just want the check, and they want you to be no trouble. There's some that want to help, but give up if it's hard work. Social workers are all overworked. Even the ones that want to help - they just sign off on anything, and move on to the next case. My own mother didn't- couldn't..." She lets out a huff of frustrated air, and stares down at her hands.
    "It just doesn't make sense to me, that she'd do that."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "Well... she was already on her way there. But..." Jon sighs, brow furrowing slightly. "Cael... you're not a foster kid anymore. There are people in the world who care about you, who are willing to sacrifice for you. I know that's... strange, when you didn't have that growing up. But it's /true/."

    He shifts a bit in his chair. "I think... maybe that's an important thing to focus on. To keep in mind. You're /not/ a child anymore. You're not helpless, you're not alone. Even if you don't understand magic, you don't come to this world without knowledge and experience--you have two and a half decades of life behind you already. Your life isn't what it was when Alis was alive, and never will be again."

    He hesitates, ever-so-briefly, then goes on, "I've found it's... the hardest part of... growing up. Accepting that sometimes you're powerless. Sometimes there's /nothing/ you can do. But... we've talked about it, some already, ahh... choosing your reactions. You /can/ choose whether or not you fight a hopeless battle. To some people, choosing to fight even in the face of inevitable defeat is honorable... to some, it's a silly, worthless gesture. You can't control the outcome... all you can control is /you/. And, admittedly, sometimes not even that."

Cael Becker has posed:
    People who care about her... That's still a strange notion to her. Sara, and Sam, and... Her gaze flicks towards Sims' on the little screen of her phone, then away again, down to her now empty hands. "It just doesn't make sense that she'd give up her career like that," she insists quietly. It's beyond strange for her.
    "I don't like feeling hopeless. I mean- I don't think anyone does. But, growing up- if you seemed weak..." She shrugs helplessly. "It was an invitation for trouble - you know? You'd get singled out. You either learned to hide it - or to bury it."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon sighs. "That world that you were in, even the 'tough' people don't come out of it healthy, and they're certainly not strong. Strength, emotionally, is about bending rather than breaking. Admitting to weakness and asking for help. Having hope, even in the face of adversity." He smiles. "There's a difference between 'hopeless' and 'helpless,' too. Even when one cannot do anything /oneself/, they can still have hope. I had to throw all my carefully-laid plans out the window and trust in the other group to get the spell done at the same time as we were, and then I had to trust d'Arqueness to draw and fuel the circle... and hope that it worked."

    He frowns, briefly. It worked, but... well, 'we briefly ended the universe' isn't something Cael needs to know just now.

    Instead he says, "Hey... can I ask... is it /really/ so hard to admit you have friends?" He raises a brow. "Pezzini cares about you, a great deal. So do I. We're willing to bend the rules for you, because... sometimes that's just what you do."

Cael Becker has posed:
    "Well. I'd felt both for a while there," Cael admits quietly. Hopeless, and helpless, as the angel held her and forced his way into her mind. A shivers runs over her form, and she hugs her arms tightly around her middle once more, as if that could drive away what she was feeling.
    It doesn't work, of course.
    As for her friends... "Yes," she says a bit wryly. "It is. I- Sara's my friend, I know that. Sam too." But that seems to be all she's willing to admit, as her gaze flicks towards Sims' features on the phone for a moment, before looking away once more just as quickly.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "And I'm... not?" Jon frowns slightly. He can't quite tell what's wrong, he's not really getting anything but general emotions over the video call, but it seems like something vaguely hanging over them both.

    After a moment, "It's okay if you don't think of me that way, Becker. No pressure. I'm just glad you came back to us." He hesitates, then, "Or... are you afraid being my friend means we can't have these sessions anymore...?" It's a stab in the dark, but it's what /he/ was worried about.

Cael Becker has posed:
    Cael winces at that question, her postures shifting subtly, angling a little //further// from the view of the camera in response. She doesn't know how to answer that. She //needs// Jon right now - needs him desperately if she's going to have any chance of getting through this without someone something stupid.
    At his second question, her gaze shifts part way towards the screen, but just as quickly it turns away one more. "Doesn't it?" she asks quietly. "We're just... colleagues. We //have// to be."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon sighs. "I... I know I said that, when we first started this, but..." He frowns. "I... don't think it works that way for me, anymore. I don't have /time/ to have normal patients, so everyone I'm actually helping are people I fight alongside... and you can't do that and /not/ be friends, not if you're going to to it effectively."

    He smiles. "So, normal professional ethics get replaced by... superhero professional ethics. I still wouldn't treat my husband, but..." He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. "I think I need to ask the Chief how she handles having her own husband as a subordinate. But it was a foolish thought, that I could work with someone as closely as SHIELD agents work together, train with them, and /not/ be their friend. If I can't treat you... then I can't do my /job/. I have to figure out how to handle that, though. You don't have to worry. I'll be here for you."

Cael Becker has posed:
    By the smallest, barest degrees, Cael's gaze creeps towards the screen of her phone, until she's studying it obliquely from the corner of her eyes. She doesn't speak for a while, but when she does, she offers, "I need you right now, Sims. I- I can't go shopping around for another therapist in the middle of this. I-" She lets out one of her humorless laughs. "How many therapists can you tell 'An angel kidnapped me, made me nail myself to a cross, and I //liked it//?'" she asks. "How many therapists would believe an angel made me stab my friend in the shoulder?" Grief, and regret flicker across her feeatures, and for a moment, she fights the urge to apologize yet again for that.
    "I need you," she repeats. "I can't handle this without help. I can't. I'll- I'm pretty sure I'd hurt myself."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "And that's why I'm here, on this call, right now," Jon says, tone as reassuring as he can possibly make it. "I'm not going /anywhere/. Because, look, it's... the whole 'don't treat your friends' thing, it's about having an emotional distance, right? Well... I can't. I've come to realize that mostly went out the window when I became a telepath. So it's... stop being a therapist, or figure out how to help my friends."

    He sighs. "I remembered... when I swore the Hippocratic Oath, it didn't say anything about not treating my friends. Keeping their secrets, yes. Not performing unecessary procedures, focusing my life and work on healing the sick, but... nothing about /who/ to treat. If anything, it told me to treat /everyone/ I come in contact with. To make that my highest goal. So... you won't have to find another therapist. I'm going to be here, to help. Got that?"

Cael Becker has posed:
    "Got it," Cael confirms, even managing to flash the man a brief smile. "I, uh- thank you, Jon," she offers in response. "There's part of me who can't really understand- how you can forgive me so easily. But I'm glad you can."
    She worries her hands together, fingers twisting, turning, and squeezing before she asks, "We'll find a way through this, yeah? And... and it'll get a little bit better. Bit by bit." Her tone is filled with uncertainty, as she tries to convince herself of the truth. She won't always feel this bad - it'll get better. It got better after Alis died - she can get better from this, as well. Right?

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon nods. "It will. I promise. And one day you'll wake up and realize you haven't thought about it all day. Then for weeks, then for months... or maybe it'll never be that far from your mind, but you'll figure out how to go on, one way or another."

    "Are you going to try surfing? I hear it's quite the thrill." He smiles. "Haven't had the opportunity, myself." It's a ludicrous thought, too, the Archivist up on a surfboard.

Cael Becker has posed:
    "I, uhh.. I don't know," Cael admits, offering Jon a small, wry smile. "I guess I might. I've never really gone to the beach before. Umm... I saw some brochures for like... skydiving, though, and hang gliding..." she suggests. "And those, umm, parachute boat rides?" She gives a shrug of her shoulders before adding, "And Sara was saying something about snorkeling, and whale watching, and... stuff like that. There was a 'swimming with sharks' thing, too," she suggests.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon smiles. "Well, try what sounds like fun. What you feel up to. And if all you feel up to is lying on the beach sipping fruit slushies... go ahead and do that. You're on vacation. Do what you feel like doing, and we'll handle things on this end."

    He tilts his head a bit. "You okay? Anything else you wanted to talk about?" Or should they wrap it up, he means. It /is/ late, in Ecuador.

Cael Becker has posed:
    "I think we've adequately covered how very //not// okay I am," Cael remarks in a dry tone. "But I'm... I don't know. Maybe it feels a little more tolerable? Or maybe I'm - maybe I just don't feel as alone?" she asks.
    "We'll talk tomorrow, yeah?" she asks - the skin around the corners of her eyes tightening as her voice pitches up subtly. She clears her throat, forcing her tone back down as she adds, "Promise no 4am phone calls this time."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "You don't have to promise that," Jon says with a chuckle. "Do what you need to do. But, yeah, we'll talk again tomorrow, okay? Take care of yourself, and let people take care of you. Rest well, if you can."

Cael Becker has posed:
    "I dunno, Sims. You're gonna need at least some sleep if you're gonna keep putting up with me," Cael counters, flashing a brief smile. "I, uh... I appreciate it, though." She takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly before adding, "You get some sleep, too."
    She doesn't move for a few moments, but eventually she leans forward - reaching for the phone, and disconnecting the call. She slumps foward, resting her head on folded arms, and simply breathing - slowly and evenly. She can do this. Can't she?
    Sure she can.
    She hopes.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    The call cuts off, and Jon's smile fades. He slumps in the chair, tilts his head back, to stare at the sky beyond the balcony.

    There's a rumble of thunder, a flicker of lightning.

    "In this last of meeting places, we grope together, and avoid sleep..."

    He shakes himself, and gets up. Closes the laptop, picks it up, and heads back inside to try to sleep.

    Out over Quito, rain begins to fall in sheets.