9092/Long Overdue

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Long Overdue
Date of Scene: 13 December 2021
Location: Casa Gangotena, Quito, Ecuador
Synopsis: The Archivist and Balm have a long, long overdue talk. Phoebe is no longer in fear of being forced out of the Justice League Dark for how she was introduced. Jon becomes aware of Phoebe's Jar of Hearts spell and the possible long-term affect it may have ... and deadly results if the spellwork suddenly fails. They make each other cry, but the air is cleared.
Cast of Characters: Phoebe Beacon, Jonathan Sims




Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Night had settled over Quito. There was the normal sounds of a city, traffic, people laughing, the lights of the courtyard below as some of the guests mingled together, enjoying drinks and lights and being together in a beautiful place in the boutique hotel.

    Above them, lit by the lights below, Phoebe sat in the window of one of the common areas of the suite the four were set up in. She was bare foot, sitting in the window for the cool night air to be let in. She wore a colorful scarf that she had been convinced to purchase wrapped around her shoulders like a shawl to cover the burn-like injury on her left shoulder, where her skin was now lighter in color, minus the entry point of a scorpion's stinger.

    Her hair was in a jersey cloth wrap, keeping it out of her way. She wears a tank top beneath the scarf-shawl, and soft pajama pants, and around her neck a silver locket. All seems calm, for now.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon has been outside on the balcony of the suite with his laptop, taking a video call with a patient--Cael Becker. He's checking in with her daily, evidently, while she's off in Hawaii. He comes back in with his laptop closed, wearing the jeans and green button down he'd worn to dinner. (Who knew the Archivist /owned/ jeans?) He pads along through the room and sets down the laptop on one of the tables.

    Martin and Tim are off doing other things, so it's just the two of them in the common room. Which is probably why he heads over toward the window Phoebe's sitting in, stopping a few feet away and sticking his hands in his pockets.

    "It's a lovely view," he comments quietly. "Tim certainly knows how to pick a hotel."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "He does." Phoebe comments with a small smile, leaning her head back against the window sill as she sits in the open window. She looks like she should start breaking out into song. "... he's about the only person who could have gotten me out of the city right now." she adds quietly, and her thumbnail presses lightly against her sternum. A little scratch. She doesn't want to say how she thinks it's somewhat about appearances -- you don't have the last name Drake, or Drake-Wayne, and stay in a Best Western, after all. She keeps her eyes out over the city, fretting, watching.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "It was probably a good idea. Getting out of the city, I mean. We need the break from... everything." Jon notes the tic with a slight frown. "He'll be alright, Phoebe. I've been keeping in touch, he's doing okay." He has his worries, but he'll address them when they get back to New York.

    He goes to grab one of the chairs near the window, sits down and peers at Phoebe. He's been debating how to approach the subject, and finally decided it's been left long enough to just... tackle it head-on. So he takes a deep breath, lets it out.

    "...What's going on with your aura? There's a hole there. Right where you keep scratching." His tone is... concerned, rather than judgemental. Maybe she doesn't even know.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "... anyone else I wouldn't have gone. I have responsibilities." she states, and she presses her thumbnail again. Strong emotional responses are triggering the tic. And then she blinks at the question, and physically has to mind her hand, and put it back to her lap. Her legs draw up, toes crossing over one another as her left arm loops around them, and she brings her shoulders up.

    "... how many people have noticed it?" she questions softly. She taps her fingers lightly on her shins, drawing her legs practically to her chest.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "I don't know," Jon replies quite honestly. "I would suspect Zatanna has, but then I don't know how well she can see auras. Otherwise..." He shrugs. Sighs. "It's taken me this long, but then I've been... well. Avoiding things." His tone is apologetic. Avoiding things is not the most mature of responses, after all.

    He leans forward a bit, brow furrowing. "What is it? An injury? Or... something else? I don't... quite understand what it is I'm looking at. I'd say it's just the result of the pain you've been through, but that's usually... different. Striations of different colors, depending on the person, or sometimes a visible wound on their astral body. This is... different."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe makes a disagreeable sound, and she closes her eyes.

    "It's not an injury. I did it on purpose." she lets the words sink in a moment, She grasps both her hands on hre legs to not scratch at the irritation.

    "Normally, combatting depression, PTSD, you might prescribe something like a serotonin uptake inhibitor, to work through anxiety and try and balance things some other mood stabilizer. My powers make it so that drugs don't work on me... they haven't since I was fourteen and I tried to ov--" she trails off a moment. She looks out over the city, looking at lights electric and candle twinkling. Hearing laughter below.

"The spell. What it does is I detatch memories from the emotions that are attached to them. So it hurts less. So any time I get too upset, it irritates a little bit. It aches... like when your feet get too cold. But like I said... I have responsibilities." she turns to Jon.

    "I need to be able to think through things with a clear head. Tim needs me. Chas needs me."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon frowns at that, thinking it through. "I might, yes. Or I might prescribe an anti-anxiety medication... or for someone with powers that make medication impossible I might prescribe yoga, meditation, other such things. I would not..."

    He hesitates. He doesn't want to say this the wrong way. "SSRIs, anxiety pills... they're not a /substitute/ for therapy. Someone with depression or PTSD is almost always /also/ going to have talk therapy or some other sort of way to learn how to deal with the difficult emotions. CBT, psychodynamic therapy, EMDR, art therapy a lot of the time for PTSD. Something."

    He gestures toward Phoebe. "The emotions are still /there/, aren't they? Sitting underneath everything. They're not being... processed, or re-framed, they're just... down underneath everything. You're not really dealing with them, you're just... pushing them aside. What happens if the spell breaks?"

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "I do yoga. Meditation. Martial arts. Vigilantism. I saw therapists, went to confession, saw priests." Phoebe shrugs slightly, and then she raises her right hand, and scratches at her left. She still has the leather dog collar hiding the white inik of the circle tattooed to her skin.

    "... they're not. They are actually bound to flattened pieces of red-painted tin, rolled up and bound with hemp twine wound with strands of my hair and kept in a glass jar with black salt. THere's times I feel like I should feel things. I should feel sad, or angry, but it's just like..." she leans her head back.

    "... it's like the emotional equivilent of the sound a microwave makes." she describes "A buzzing numbness."

    And then a question of what happens when the spell breaks. She pauses a moment. She looks mildly peturbed.

    "Enough emotional backlash to stun me at the least, lose control of my powers temporarily at the medium, completely heart failure and anyeurism at the worst for physical effects of sudden, catestrophic failure?"

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon sighs and sits back a bit. "And you did this because... there's been too much to deal with. Everything going on, all the... emotional ups and downs of the last year. And you don't have anyone to talk to? Or... it's still too much, despite all of that."

    He frowns down at the floor. "...I wish I knew how to help," he admits. "It's hard to... it's hard. I know. I mean..." He laughs and rakes a hand through his hair. "I am /specifically/ not supposed to be thinking about the fact that maybe the fate of all of creation rests on our shoulders. Martin's orders. So I get that it's... a /lot/. Even the well-being of one city is a lot. I just... isn't there some other way to handle all of this?"

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "... it's been a year. A week ago was the anniversary of my house being torched and my adopted mom almost dying. And... I didn't have anyone to talk to. Everyone on the team has someone who is at least a little like them. Mentors who were able to provide guidance when needed, and at one point I would have given almost anything to be part of Diana's, or Tim's... but I'm too different. I'm not an Amazon, and I'll never be at the same level Tim is." Phoebe gathers her scarf a little more, pulling it up to totally hide the injury from the Fireman's Gala. It's refused to heal completely.

    "... there were two people I trusted in this world more than anything else. Two people who if they told me to close my eyes and jump, I had the faith they would catch me. I walked into the Laughing Magician and met the real Constantine for the first time a couple weeks back, and was down to one."

     She pauses, and looks to the blue and gray banded watch on her wrist.

    "The other is probably feeding his caffeine habit right about now."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "Mine is in the shower, I think," Jon says softly. "When we met... I didn't have /anyone/ like that. So I know how difficult that is." And there are problems, there, not that he mentions them. Not the time.

    "I thought Zatanna was mentoring you?" He tilts his head a bit. "Or is that still... are you still figuring it out? The relationship, I mean. The trust. However different your magic may be, she cares about you, I know that much."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "That's different. She's helping me fill in the gaps, but it's... it's not the same." Phoebe replies softly. Her legs pull up harder, her arms crossing in front of her shins.

    She takes as deep a breath as she turns to Jon.

    "I don't want Zee to feel like she's a replacement. And I made it clear that I don't expect her to parent me like the other one did. And it'll be fine. Once things settle down I'll be able to look at the jar and see what needs to be done. Until then, I'll deal. It's easier than blowing up at everyone." she remarks evenly.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "You're missing a parent, not a mentor." Jon sighs and sits back a little bit more. His shoulders slump a bit.

    "I barely remember my parents," he says softly. "I was six when my mother died, I didn't have the perfect recall. I remember she smelled like roses and cinnamon, and Granny Moira said she used the tandoori like she was born in India. I don't remember my father at all." He shakes his head. "I always felt like I was an... inconvenience to Granny, and then my first mentor dragged me into a cult and maybe wanted to steal my body by replacing my eyes... and then the /second/ one heads up /Arkham/ so you can imagine how good /that/ went." He rolls his eyes.

    After a moment, "Martin and I... well, Martin's never had a good relationship with his family, either. So when we moved here, we started over, with our daughter. It was hard, it /is/ hard, but we're working on it." He sighs. "I suppose I'm saying... it hurts like hell, not having family. It's terrible to be alone. But family can be a lot of things... it can be friends, a team, and honestly most people I've met with living parents they don't hate find their relationships change as they get older anyhow. You... build something new. But you need... part of family is sadness, and anger, and... and wanting to blow up at everyone about the person you saw as a father and everything that... happened there. A family figures out how to get through that, through the rough times."

    He gives Phoebe a rather pointed look. "I mean, really, when will things 'settle down'? In another year? Ten? It's okay to be angry and upset, Phoebe. It's... /normal/. If people can't help you with that, that's /our/ failing, not yours."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "I'm missing four parents. Maybe a fifth, soon. Phoebe replies quietly, but she listens. Her nose wrinkles a moment at the memory of the mage that switched bodies by moving his eyes into people (grrrroooooossssss) and then the head of Arkham. Yeah. Not great mentors when dealing with teenage girls with martyr complexes.

    But she listens, her dark eyes that warm brown and showing both her inexperience and her exhaustion and that little bit of fear nipping at the corners of them with the fire she had been playing with.

    "I yelled at Lydia and Zee. I blew up at you because I was scared that Chas would think... that I was just another bad thing the other one brought into his life. He already has a daughter. Why would ne want two, especially when one's..." she trails off.

    "Especially where one's third-hand and broken like I am?" she finishes, and then she brings her hand up and wipes her palm across her eyes.

    "Love cannot exist where there is doubt. I can't not doubt other people's affection for me. THat's just how it works. And that's something I have to get over."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Something odd happens to Jon's face, like it half-crumples and then he stops, smoothing it out mostly. He still looks concerned, however. "Phoebe... love /can/ exist where there is doubt. It /does/, all the time. Part of it is... loving people anyway. Despite the doubt and the fear and the anger and the pain. Or maybe because of it."

    He sighs. "I... I mean... you were wrong about what I was saying to Chas, the other day. My issues with him and John go /way/ back--me telling him he gives John Constantine too much leeway is the cornerstone of our friendship." He smirks, briefly, then says, "But you were right, probably, to yell at me, because I shouldn't have said it in front of you. It wasn't something to... air out in public like that. Your anger and pain, it's... reasonable. To be expected. You don't need to hide it, shove it away."

    His expression turns... earnest, almost. "If nothing else... you needn't doubt that people care about you. Why would Chas want you as a daughter... why /wouldn't/ he? You're smart and brave, heroic and caring... if Lyra had grown to be anything like you... if--" He stops. Glances over at the door to the room he shares with Martin, then looks back to Phoebe. "You're an amazing young woman. I'm honored to know you, and to call you a friend and ally."

    He rubs a hand across his face. "I know I can't convince you to... fix this now. To go back home and go into that jar and deal with this /now/. I'd like to try, because I think... I think saving Chas might need /love/ more than merely spells. But I... will at least ask you to have someone look over the spellwork? Make sure it won't backfire and hurt you, kill you? I mean, if we lost you... gods, I don't want to think about how /Tim/ would react, let alone everyone /else/."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "I know. Everyone has history with John Constantine," she gives a very overembellished teen eyeroll, with just the crack of a smile "except me." Phoebe produces a very lame and unfunny joke.

    "... and no, it can't. It's like... Psyche and Eros. Eros treats Psyche with respect, gives her /everything/ she could want. And when she begins to doubt his love after her sisters begin saying he's a monster, that's why he hides." Phoebe flexes her fingers. She wants to scratch so badly at her chest right now that her fingers are twitching.

    "Only it's myself telling me that I'm the monster, because obviously I'm just making people love me because of my powers, producing oxytocin in their brains when my aura's on." she explains "So I attached myself to people it wouldn't affect. Tim's one of them. Bart. John was another. Chas... nyyeeegh..." Phoebe waves her hand a moment, flipping it back and forth. "I don't think the aura affected him, but I can't be sure it wasn't some other external stimulous that triggered the response in his brain to let a weird semi-homeless seventeen year old girl sleep in the spare bedroom because his best mate told him to." Phoebe mutters... but at the mention of how Tim would take it if the spell backfired...

    "... I remember at the Gala. Tim had my head in his lap, and was covering me so the water wouldn't get on my face. He risked.... he risked a lot that night. He brought my medical record from the Roost, because it was the most recent scans I'd run on myself, right before I moved to New York." Phoebe's face softens. She takes a breath, and lets it out, and she feels more tears on her cheeks. "I have to be able to be there for him and not think about my own problems right now."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "Psyche and Eros is a bunch of Greek garbage," Jon says, voice sharp. "The Greeks treated women like property. I would /not/ go to the classics for life advice." He sighs. "If you boil it down like that /all/ love is just oxytocin, though. So what? That doesn't make you a monster. And... even if you were? So /what/? Monsters deserve love, too." He looks down at his hands, at the gold band on his left ring finger. "Most of the people we call 'monsters' are just... different, anyway. I say telling someone they're 'monstrous' because of love is the real problem."

    He grows thoughtful, talking about the Gala. "I remember," he says, softly. "That's how he and I met, and now Tim... I trust him with a lot, and I don't... trust easily. But that's why I'm saying..." He makes a noise of frustration. "I cannot in good conscience... you're nearly 18. You can make these choices for yourself, to a degree. I don't think it's healthy, or sustainable, but I won't force you to undo the spell. But for the good of all of us--in case something happens, in case it unravels or gets hit and hurts you or someone else--just have someone double-check the work. And that's not a reflection on you or your abilities... it's... the heart is a strange and difficult thing. Our ancestors believed it was the seat of the soul, after all."

    He frowns. "Phoebe... your /ib/ is where your Light is. The spell won't last forever, and there could be problems even if it's stable now. And if your Light dies... then a lot of good and important things die with it. Whoever or whatever made you think you're a monster was... someone I would like to give a good talking to. But... you deserve love, in all its forms. And you deserve to be angry, and upset. And your /friends/ deserve to help you with that. Tim deserves to know what's troubling you. So does Bart. And trust me, Zed and Lydia can handle being yelled at." He smiles, sadly. "But at the very least... /please/ see to your safety, with the spell."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "I wish it would have been under better circumstances than my being broken. Or Midnite's stupid hat." Phoebe remarks. She presses her lips together a moment at the memory of being in the room, sweaty, covered with blood and sharpie and not allowed to eat a donut. That was torture. She wanted one of those chocolate donots SO BAD. But she looks down a moment.

    "Bart knows." she quietly murmurs. "He knew right away something was wrong. He made me tell him, otherwise there was going to be no way to satisfy him. He's bad on that." she purses her lips a moment, and then taps her fingertips on her legs.

    "Oh, it's not healthy or sustainable for long term. It's only supposed to give a group of people two days of clear thought, so that they can get through a current crisis. Like, for instance, a brewing war, or contending with famine, or your cousin trying to murder you." Phoebe remarks dryly. "I've had it going since... Constantine came back. Just... repeating." she taps her legs again.

    "I just need to keep it going until things settle down." she repeats, "And I can then sit and process through a year's worth of unresolved items and cry into my pillow like a heartbroken fangirl or something."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon sighs. "And if things /don't/ settle down? The entire universe might be ending, Phoebe. That angel..." He shakes his head. He's not supposed to be thinking about it. "My point is... I've been living with this sort of thing in my life for over a decade. Trust me, there's no 'good time' to handle things, no point where it 'settles down' enough to feel totally safe. Just... take the lull that you can find, whenever you find it. It'll be more okay than you think."

    A smile, a bit sad. "And... if it'll help... you can talk to me. That's what I'm trained for, after all, it's... what I've given my life to. Helping people. I... wouldn't want you to think that..." He trails off for a moment.

    "Zatanna said you're worried we see the... Other John's shadow on you. I don't know about anyone else... but /I/ don't. I held that Light that healed you in my hands for a moment." He puts a hand to his own chest, briefly. "I've seen the way you fight, the way you care, the things you're doing, right now, for your friends. I trust you. And I'll help you, if you'll let me. Whenever you're ready."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Well. If the universe ends again, it ceases to be a problem." Phoebe points out ruefully. That actually does crack a small smile, and she shrugs her right shoulder up. "Then it keeps going until it faults or I do. And then again, ceases to be a problem." she adds, trying to sound cavalier about the whole thing... but then the tone takes serious. She blinks a moment, and looks over to Jon. And she brings her hand up again, and this time not to her chest, but to the silver locket.

    "... I am worried that I would end up being a reflection of something that was dark, or evil, or just Wrong." she admits, and she swings her legs into the room, sitting now on the window and facing Sims. She folds her hands, and rests her elbows on her knees.

    "Because I loved him. I trusted him. I took every lesson to heart, starting with 'it's okay to throw up' and 'magic always demands a price'. I let him pull on my power. And there is nothing I would like better than for him to be at the end of the bar the next time I walk in there, all trenchcoat and arrogance with a silk cut hanging from his mouth, asking me about my cuneform and why there's still gum under table three. But I know he won't be. Because he never existed. And I can tell the logical part of me that everyone understands," her chin quivers. Her vision gets blurry, and her nose wrinkles. She takes a shuddering breath "And the logical part of me says that I am not a product of darkness, or shadow, or some mistake... but it still feels like I was. Because maybe if I had just been *better*..."

    And then Phoebe just raises her hands, and she covers her face.

    "If I had been better..." she breathes out, but can't find it to finish her sentence. Her hands don't go to her chest, just covering her face.

    "... maybe none of it would have happened, and I'd still be hiding in Tim's basement fighting shadows instead of whatever the *hell* life this is."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon presses his lips together, because he's trying very hard to figure out how to word something. Finally lets out a long breath, and says, "It... it did /care/ about us, in its way. It's... hard to explain. Like it wanted to be John, and it didn't know... how?" He rubs at his face. "My point is that it wasn't... /wrong/ of you to trust him. I did too, a /lot/ of people did, and... and I know... I know how hard it is to..."

    He looks down at his hands. "You're young, and you want to be... loved, and accepted. You trust someone, who turns out to be... nothing you thought they were. But if you went back and undid it all... you wouldn't have met people you care about. People you love. And we can't... dwell on that forever. The 'what ifs.' What if I'd been better, smarter, stronger? What if I'd paid attention to the signs? The problems? I think... we've all had that worry. Zatanna knows him, magically, better than any of us and... like you said. She never saw through it."

    He looks up, finally. "What we do now is we... move forward. /Together/. He surrounded himself with good people, and those people can build something bright and beautiful and strong." He smirks. "The Justice League Dark, I suppose. I like the name, myself." He shrugs. "And maybe... maybe John's never that to you, again. And it... /sucks/. And I'm so, so sorry that you lost that. I'm sorry that he hurt you that way."

    He blinks back tears and looks down at his hands again. "I can't say I'm sorry that he's gone. He... he hurt people too much. But I wish... Lord, I wish I could just... what use is conjuring things up when you can't conjure up a fix for a broken heart, you know?" He shakes his head and looks up again. "You deserve to feel this, though. To be hurt. It's okay. It's... we /all/ lost something, and we've all just been... dealing with it in separate corners instead of coming together."

    He shakes his head again. "That, at least, I can fix, or try to. Try to pull people together, to listen. To be there for my friends and this team, instead of running away. I'm... sorry, that I did that. Ran away. I should have been around, when you... I should have been here. Maybe you wouldn't have felt like you needed to do the spell." He shrugs. "Or... maybe you still would have. Either way. I'm sorry."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Constantine won't be that to me again. The house made him visit me once and other than the other night, that's the last I've seen of him. And that's okay." Phoebe states, and she ripes at her eyes, sniffling. "He doesn't seem like the parental sort. Luckily I'm only legally their responsibility for another two months and then I'm eighteen and legally adulted." Phoebe points out, and takes a deep breath, and then lets it out.

    "Thank you... for being understanding. Maybe if I hadn't... if things hadn't gone down how they did, it would be different." she whispers, and she then scratches at her chest again.

    "... so, has Chas woken up yet?"

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "I hear he's talked to a couple of people," Jon replies, blinking again to try to get rid of the tears. "I... am glad of the break before I talk to him, if I'm being honest. I have to..." He sighs. "I have to think like a... /detective/ or something. I have to /question/ him. I hate it. I didn't want to think it was any of you who summoned the thing, I /really/ didn't."

    He frowns. "We'll fix it, though. We'll get rid of the angel, and we'll help Chas, and even if we're mad at him--which I am, at least--he's our friend and he's part of the team. So we'll figure this out. I just... I wish I'd noticed sooner. Maybe we could have avoided this, too."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Or maybe we couldn't have. Or it would have arrived some other way -- but you're right." Phoebe purses her lips.

    "If we're going to get an angel out of Chas, we're going to need everybody in it together. With..." she holds up her hands "With one rule -- Meggan is *not* allowed to turn into Geraldine again. That was... that was weird."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "I saw, through the statement. That /was/ weird. I think she was trying to get at Chas to weaken the angel." Jon sighs. "I'll try to pass it along, next I see her. I make no promises, however. I think some of what she does is instinctual, more than thought through. She's one of the Fair Folk, after all, they're... different." He doesn't seem to mean that badly. Just, well, different.

    He smiles. "Well... will you be alright? I think I might grab Martin and head to the bar, just to... unwind some. Well... not that you can Tim can't come, of course." He smirks; he's sure she has a fake ID, and if so he's been ignoring it the whole time.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe in fact has four fake ID's.

    "Actually, I was going to see if maybe Tim wanted to go out on a run. You know, stretch the legs, see if we can't find something to bring home. Accent the tiki bar with something cool." Phoebe explains. And she gives a slight grin "Or find a rooftop and just break out staffs and spar. You know. Normal young people stuff."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "See if you can climb to the top of the Basilica del Voto Nacional?" Jon smirks as he stands up. "Well, send a picture if you do. I'm sure there's a lovely view from atop the spire."

    Look, if he's going to be mentor/responsible adult for a team of teenaged superheroes he's going to have to accept that they're going to do things like parkour across rooftops. It's just part of the life.

    "Have fun," he says with a smile. "And be well, Phoebe."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "What would certainly be a view for the Archives. Maybe if it's sunny again tomorrow, so we can just look like weird American tourists." Phoebe gives a nod, and then giving a yarn, she rolls her left shoulder.

    "Thank you, Jon. For not just... dismissing me." Phoebe states as she stands, and then just... very awkwardly... pats Jon's shoulder as she passes.

    "She was lucky to have a dad who misses her like you do."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon has to stop and choke back a sob. Oh, now he's going to get all weepy with Martin and yet again have to hold back blurting out secrets he's trying to keep. Damn it.

    He smiles, though. "Thanks, Phoebe."

    Then he heads into their room before he starts crying.