9180/Friendship is Hard

Friendship is Hard
Date of Scene:	20 December 2021
Location:	9180 The Triskelion: Redfox's Pen
Synopsis:	Jon presses Cael on some of her shit - and the two try to talk out their worryingly similar traumas. Friendships are hard.
Cast of Characters:	Cael Becker, Jonathan Sims
Tinyplot:	Path of Glory

---

Cael Becker has posed:
    It doesn't take a genius to figure out that Cael has demons to work out: though thankfully not the literal kind. She comes at Sims hard during their sparring session, allowing him little quarter, and little chance to recover as she pushes him harder than ever before. She treats her two friends a little more distantly than she had before her abduction, and her trip to Hawaii - though it's even more pronounced with Sims, as she refuses to meet his gaze, or allow any physical contact outside of sparring.
    And it's Sims. Very much 'Sims,' and not Jon, whenever she does address him.
    After the training session, she picks up her things without a word, shoving her empty coffee container into her back, and setting off towards the corner of the property where a pen had been set up for the strangely mutated fox she had befriended. Once inside, she settles onto a rock, setting loose a live feeder-rat she'd picked up at a petshop, and watching in silence as the creature excitedly pursues his prey.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon notices.

    He noticed the way Cael pulled away yesterday. He notices the way she hits hard, the glare in her eyes, the way she's sullen with Sam and barely talks to him.

    The fact that she keeps calling him 'Sims.' It's making his heart break.

    He goes to grab more coffee--he hasn't been sleeping well the last few nights--and brings one for Cael, pouring a generous shot of whiskey into hers. He comes back bundled up against the upstate cold, green scarf wrapped about his neck, and offers out the whiskey-splashed coffee as he approaches the pen.

    "Thought you mind need a pick-me-up."

Cael Becker has posed:
    By the time Jon returns, Redfox is happily tearing into his ratty treat, the unfortunate creature's movements already stilled in death. Cael watches Redfox dispatch his prey in dispassionate silence, her coat pulled warmly about her, and her gloved hands shoved deeply into her pockets. She hears the approaching footsteps, and the gate to the pen opening and closing, but she doesn't look towards the approaching person, assuming anyone on the Triskelion's grounds is authorized to be there. It's only as Jon speaks that she glances towards him from a moment, then away again. "Thanks," she offers simply.
    After another glance his way, she accepts the cup, taking a sip. Surprise plays across her features at the taste of the whiskey - followed by a quiet sigh of relief, and a small smile. Yeah... That's //exactly// what she wanted.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon wraps his hands around his own coffee, holding it for the warmth more than the taste or caffeine, just now. He eyes her for a long moment, looking over her aura. Sighs.

    "I told you we could handle it," he says softly, "and then... we didn't. You'd just started to let me in, and now I'm failing you already. Insisting on handing myself over to the enemy--the same enemy that hurt you."

    He swallows, and looks down at the ground. "I'm sorry. I... don't know how many times I have to say it, but I will. I didn't mean for it to go like that."

Cael Becker has posed:
    Cael flinches at Jon's words - direct, and painful, and to the point. Her head droops down, and to the side away from her friend - hiding her features from view as she feels her heart ache, and fights the urge to scream, and rage, and find something to throw. Or to hit.
    "And if you guys can't handle it..." then what chance has she?
    "He'll kill you," she offers in a quiet voice. She knows Jon doesn't believe that - but what proof does he have, really? "Or break you. Or- or twist you around to something that serves him." Like she had, for a short time there. "And you want me to just let that happen." Her voice is flat and leaden in her pain - the sort of voice that implies all the tears have been shed, and the well has run truly dry.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "I want you to help me figure out how to survive it," Jon says softly. "I... I can't... /stop/ you from trying to save me from this. I know that. I just... wish I could explain why I can't..."

    He hesitates. "...Look, I've been thinking about it, because I don't... think I said it right, the other night. If... if /someone else/ broke the deal? Convinced Michael to let me out of it? Defeated him first? I could accept that. But I... I /made a deal/. I cannot try to back out of it /myself/. I can't /ask/ you to try to save me from it. I gave my word, and deliberately going back on it would violate /ma'at/. Does that... make sense?"

Cael Becker has posed:
    "I understand why you made the deal," Cael offers quietly. "One life for five..." The math is certainly sound.
    "I could offer myself," she suggests. "But he doesn't want me." He'd made that plain enough. Michael was //done// with her. "He thinks I'm free." She lets out a humorless laugh. "And I've never felt more trapped." Well. Aside from that //once//, of which they are both well aware.
    "I don't know what to do."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "I know," Jon says softly. He goes to find his own rock to sit on and settles down on it, finally sipping at his coffee. "I... don't really either. It's not like... it wasn't something I thought through extensively. It's just that... nothing was working. Nothing harmed him, and he wanted to take people, and... and if we tried to fight him, right there, with the circle powering him and no preparation..."

    He stares down into his coffee. "Someone could have gotten hurt. Someone could have died. One of my /friends/ could have died. And I... could stop it. So I... did."

    He swallows. "I... hate to think that means I'm going to lose you as a friend. That was never... I didn't mean to hurt you. Anything but that."

Cael Becker has posed:
    There's a long silence from Cael as she sips her coffee, letting her gaze go back to the fox she'd 'rescued' from the mist. It picks up the remnants of what was once a rat and trots over to Cael, dropping it near her feet, and bumping up against her. She reaches out with a free hand, petting it between the strange boney plates, and scratching at its head and ears as she gazes down at the creature.
    "I know you're scared," she offers in a quiet voice. "And you need your friends. But I-" She cuts off, her breath catching in her throat. She'd rather not be having this conversation. She'd rather run away from all of this.
    "I'm not strong enough," she offers.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "Damn it, Cael..." Jon's fingers tighten on his coffee cup, frustration etched in every line of him. "I... look, I understand. I /do/. I spent a /decade/ and more not having /any/ friends. Every relationship I had was professional except my husband and our daughter, and once she died..." He shakes his head. "I /get/ it! It hurts, to watch your friends die! It hurts to let people in, after they do! It hurts to... to... risk losing them. It... I... two months ago, I had /no one/. I thought Martin was dead, a demon meat-puppet was pushing me away from the only people I had left in the world..."

    His knuckles turn white. He takes a long breath. "When I said I had your back, I /meant/ it. If you got shot on an op protecting me, don't you think it'd tear me up inside? Don't you think it'd hurt like /hell/? If you got /captured/ protecting me..."

    He has to stop. Gasps, to try to keep from crying. Because she /did/. He wants to scream that this isn't fair. That he stood by her and listened to her and helped her after she got captured. But she has to know that, and it's probably just making her guilty.

    "Christ, Cael, if you need space, that's... that's fine, just... just /say/ so. 'I need some space. I need some time. I'll be there, when I wrap my head around this.' Is... is that all this is?" He looks up at her, eyes very wide. He's always tried to project strength and confidence at her, but he can't help being vulnerable, just now.

Cael Becker has posed:
    Cael doesn't know what to say, or do. She's doesn't know how to respond, so she sits in silence, her heart a raw, aching, leaden thing in her chest. Breathing is hard enough, let alone speaking, and so eventually she slips from her rock to wrap her arms around the strange, mutated creature that felt like the only point of stability in her world.
    Death would be easier than this.
    "I lost my mother. And Alis," she offers in a quiet voice. "My best friend at school... betrayed me." That's a story that's never come up. "The Alhambras... let Alis die." She can hear the pain in his voice - the need. A pain so similar to her own. What can she possibly say? What can she do?
    "I'm not strong, Jon," she offers in a quiet voice. "I don't want to hurt like this. I don't want to lose another friend." Why did she start letting people back in? Why?
    "It was better when I didn't have friends."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "Was it? Because I remember not having friends. Not having /anyone/. And the only time it didn't hurt it was /numb/. That's... that's the point of living. /People/ are the point of living."

    Jon looks down at his cup. "What... what do I have to say? What do I have to... /do/? I... gods, I know how to be a therapist. I know how to help you deal with... everything you're going through. But this..."

    He closes his eyes for a moment, tears spilling out. "I said I'd have your back," he repeats. "I couldn't let Michael hurt you again. I did the /one/ thing I could do, to protect you, and you're... pulling away. It's not..." It's not fair. He shudders, and shakes his head.

    "Why are you /mad/ at me?" Of course he assumes the anger's directed at him.

Cael Becker has posed:
    Cael's breath catches in her throat. Why would he think that? Why? Her grip tightens on the fox until it lets out an uncomfortable whine, and she's forced to release the creature, her breathing coming in shakey gasps.
    "I'm not," she finally offers. "I just-" She scrambles for words, but feels like they run through her fingers. The more desperately she reaches for them, the harder they are to find.
    "It hurts too much. Everything hurts. I don't want to care. I don't want to care anymore. I- I let myself rely on you, and now-"
    She was going to lose him. She was sure of it.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon looks up at her, frowning. "If you're not mad at me, then what...? It's... that's always... it's me, it's always me, that's... that's why people leave. Because I screw up, do something stupid, and they... they get mad, and they leave. They kick me out. That's... that's what happened with... with the fake Constantine. That's how it hurt me. It... it drew me in and then I... I hurt it, and it yelled at me and threw me out." His hands are shaking, despite the tight grip on his coffee cup.

    He struggles to get ahold of himself, but whatever it is that happened to him has him gasping for air. "If... it's not me then... then... what is it?"

Cael Becker has posed:
    "I said! I said already!" Hadn't she? Didn't she? She sinks her fingers back into the fox's fur, seeking that little bit of stability it offered, when all Cael wants is to run, and escape this conversation. "Two weeks. Two weeks until he takes and you and- and... who knows what comes back, if anything does? I can't do it, Jon! I can't!" she shouts in desperation. She lets out a bitter laugh. "I know what he can do to you. How am I supposed to live with that?" she asks. "Tell me how? How?"

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "How the hell do you think /I/ am?!" Jon actually shouts. "How do you think my /husband/ is?! Do you think I don't want to run in terror? Scream? Do you think I don't wish there was /some/ way out of this? Why do you think I'm... trying to figure out how I can make it /useful/?

    "Damn it, Cael, if you're so /angry/ about this then... then /fight/ it!" He's crumpling his coffee cup, he's gripping it so hard. "Don't... don't /listen/ to me, make your own damn choices. Go to the end of the universe if you have to. I... I can't /ask/ you to do that for me, but I /can/ tell you to... if you need to... if that's what has you paralyzed... that... that I won't fight this... well, damn it, make your own choices! That's what this is /about/! Even if I don't like it, they're /your/ choices!"

    He stares at her, gaze earnest. "What would you do, if you could do /anything/ about this?"

Cael Becker has posed:
    Her own grip on her coffee cup is less than steady - as much as she desperately wants to drink and enjoy what he brought her. She's much too distraught to manage so much as another sip, as she lets out another of her humorless laughs.
    "I can't, though. I can't do anything. I'm helpless in this world. I'm powerless against him. Your friends were supposed to handle things..." And they failed, utterly and spectacularly. They'd seemed every bit as powerless as she was. So what hope was there? "...we're all going to end up dead, or puppets, like I was," Cael says in a flat, empty voice.
    "If I could do anything?" she asks. "I'd kill him. Make him feel what I felt. I'd... take your place. You'd be more good in this fight than I would. I can't do any of those things..."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "We're /not/ going to fail," Jon snaps suddenly. "We weren't ready, but we will be. We know what's coming. We're reaching out to /everyone/ we can. We will save the universe."

    He reaches out to grab her arms, looks her right in the eye. "Nobody got hurt on Saturday. Nobody died. I /will not die/. And I will get information that we need, and I will come back. I /swear/ to you, on... on... on my honor. On /ma'at/. Do you understand? Whatever happens with Michael, I will come back to you, as /myself/, or may my soul be forfeit to the Eater of Hearts."

    There's a feeling in the air, a stirring of the weight of a mystical promise. It doesn't really matter what Cael thinks about it--Jon promised, and he /has/ to uphold that promise.

Cael Becker has posed:
    Making eyecontact is painful, and hard - and so it doesn't last for long. Cael's eyes will find Jon's, and then start away again, only to return cautiously a few moments later.
    She wants to believe his words. She wants to believe that they will win - that they can't be defeated, as long as they don't give up. And that the world can never end.
    Except, it can. And sometimes you can fight tooth and nail with every ounce of strength you possess - and still lose. The memory of the helplessness she felt in Michael's grasp, suspended in the air, as he pressed his way into her mind...
    "You thought you were," Cael points out quietly. "I don't know how to help in this fight. My gun is useless. How do I fight angels, Jon? How do I protect myself - let alone anyone else? What good am I in this fight?"

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "We enchant the bullets. Or the gun. Or a set of silver knuckles. Negative energy, demonic energy, whatever we need." Jon says that firmly. "Damn it, Cael, you're the fighter between the two of us. I'm /still/ aching from sparring earlier. You tell us mystics what you need enchanted and we figure it out. What do you think /most/ people are going to have to do, in order to fight this war? That's what d'Arqueness does--she enchants her claws, to fight. Maybe... maybe we figure out how to get more bale water, put it in a weapon. I don't know!"

    He sighs, and drops his hands. "Fighting isn't my forte. I still think we're going to win this some other way. It's just... you want me to have all the answers, and I'm not... I'm not a fighter. That doesn't mean we can't do this--we /can/."

    A pause, and then he looks away. "And maybe... maybe we don't. Maybe we try, and we fight, and we fail. But I'm not just going to give up. And I don't... I don't think the woman who emptied her entire damn clip into an archangel is going to either."

    He looks back. "I mean... if those bullets had the right enchantment... you could've hurt him. And even though you couldn't, you /tried/. You didn't give up, in the moment. Gods, I wish I knew the right words to get your fire back. You should be burning so brightly the angels will be jealous, not... dimmed like this."

Cael Becker has posed:
    "Not the entire clip," Cael admits, before letting out a breathy, desperate laugh. She lifts one hand to rub at her eyes, and then forces herself to sip at the coffee - to try to find some comfort, and some reassurance from the warmth, and the subtle burn of the alcohol.
    "I'm scared," she admits. "I've fought awful things. I've fought with Cap, and Hulk, and Barnes, and Sara... But I've never felt this powerless, and the stakes have never been this high. And- and I don't want you to go through what I went through, 'cuz I think it broke me a little."
    She takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly before she adds, "I'm best with a gun. But it'd be good to have some - I don't know. A knife, or some knuckles or something, if I run out of ammo. If it gets too close-quarters..." But she doesn't expect to survive something like this and come out the other side.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "Thank you," Jon says suddenly. "For saving the bullet." It's the strangest thing, to be thanking someone for being willing to kill you, but it comes out before he can think about it. "I... gods, that's weird to say, but it's true. I get why. And that's why I can't... I can't ask you /not/ to try to do whatever you can, to save me. That's what having my back means, right?"

    He swallows. Eyes her for a moment. "I've been broken before, Cael. I came back. Even if Michael breaks me, Martin will know what to do, and I'll heal. I'll come back. That's... why I can make that promise. What you went through... I've been through it, too. Magic and drugs, not... an archangel, but... I wasn't prepared, then. I wasn't the Archivist. I didn't have the people around that I do now. If I could come back from that... I'll come back from this."

Cael Becker has posed:
    He understand. Thank God he understood. A strange sort of relief fills her at that, and she lets out a brief, breathy laugh. "I didn't want him to take you," Cael admits quietly. "I- a clean death would be better than- I wouldn't let him crucify you." And she won't.
    But Jon is so certain that that's not what will happen.
    What if he's wrong?
    "What if I don't heal from this?" she asks flatly. "It hurts. Everyday, it hurts."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "I know," Jon says, and he /does/. "I can't pretend... I thought I was okay, after all these years, and then I thought I lost Martin and..." He shakes his head. "And I wasn't. So long as I have Martin, I'll be okay, but without him? I was a wreck."

    He regards Cael quite frankly. "If you want to be sure I come back, that's something you can do--make sure Agent Blackwood is alive and healthy. I'm going to need him."

    He sighs, and looks down at his hands. "You... have an advantage I don't. Oh, I'm the Archivist, I'm a telepath, I have power... but I /cannot/ forget. Not anything. Every moment of the things Elias Bouchard did to me--the things he made me do--is etched in my memory. It hurts. I had to cross an ocean to get away from the memories."

    He sighs. "But even for me, time lessens the pain. The mind has an amazing capacity to heal. Right now, it's /new/, Cael. It's raw, and it's right in your face. But you'll learn how to handle it, how to cope with it, you'll find your fire. You'll go a day without thinking about it, then a week, then a month. It'll become part of the tapestry of who you are."

    He looks at her firmly. "Cael," he says softly. "If you're there when... I'd understand if you try to shoot me. I won't take your choices away from you." He laughs, shakily. "I'd /much/ rather you didn't. But... I know you care. I know you're just trying to help me."

Cael Becker has posed:
    "It would be easier if I didn't care," Cael breathes quietly. "It hurts so much..." Rather than looking at Jon, she looks down at the fox again - who's stayed near them through all this, and reaching into the pocket of her coat, she pulls out some berries she'd bought at the market to feed the thing. He sniffs them out - his eyes useless, and sightless, and eagerly gobbles them up.
    "I can try to protect Blackwood - if that's what you want," she offers quietly. "I can back him up. But we need to find me the means to do so."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "That pain is part of having friends. The pain... I hate to say it, but it /does/ tell us we're alive. Pain and sorrow tell us we're alive, but so does joy, and love." Jon smiles at her. "Love hurts, sometimes, but it's worth the pain. Loving someone, as a friend or otherwise, means working through these things. I mean... can you really tell me that you'd rather not be my friend?"

    He sighs. "Let's see what we can work up, enchantment-wise. We've got some time to prepare. I know some people, I'm sure others do as well. We'll need it for Red Robin, too, I think."

Cael Becker has posed:
    "Last week, I would have said no," Cael answers quietly. "This week..." She wasn't so sure. After another drink from her coffee, she pulls out one of those rubber toys filled with holes. It's been put inside a ziplock bag - because she's already stuffed it full of meat. Removing it from the bag, she tosses it - and the fox goes bounding after the sound and smell of the thing, while she watches.
    "I'd love to fill some ICERs with some of the water. I really, //really// want to shoot Michael - and see him suffer," She says flatly.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon hunches his shoulders and looks away, clearly hurt by the remark. He swallows. "Well," he says, "I don't regret it. And... I care about you. Even if... even if you have to pull away for a while. I'll be here when you're ready."

    He sighs and looks down at his half-crumpled coffee cup. Opens the top to take a long, long drink of the now-lukewarm coffee. "As long as you promise to save the bullets for Michael, since we don't have much..." He hesitates. "That stuff is /dangerous/. You understand? If I hand it over, it's like handing you nuclear waste. It would need proper containment. A warded clip or something."

    He looks over at her. "But I'd be willing. You deserve it as much as anyone, if not more."

Cael Becker has posed:
    "I know that, Sims," Cael remarks quietly. "And if I could have - if it would have worked - I'd... well, I'd make the same deal. Whether it was to save 4 lives - or just to save yours," she offers quietly. She takes another sip of her coffee, then glances over at Jon for a moment.
    Her gaze is back on her cup before she adds, "I could promise to save them for key moments. For Michael preferably, yeah. But if I need to take some sort of kill shot, to save one of our own, or to turn the tide somehow... I'm not going to just pretend I don't have something like that. You know?"

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon grins at her. "See... this is why I said you're the fighter, Cael. Look... I'm saying I trust you with a limited and precious and dangerous resource, okay? I may yet owe a piece of my soul for that stuff... but I don't regret it. So whatever you think you need it for, so long as you understand all I have is the one flask."

    He sighs. "I know you would. I don't think either of us would be in SHIELD, if we wouldn't." He glances up and over at the buildings of the Trisk. "I've always admired them, you know. People throw out that HYDRA bullshit from a few months ago, but..." He shakes his head. "They've always been there, for Martin. They do work nobody sees, nobody appreciates. I never thought I'd /join/ them. I just..."

    He sighs, and looks down at his coffee cup. Drains the rest of it. "I... I'm going to have faith in you. That's... /really/ hard for me. I'm terrified you'll walk away and won't come back. But..." He swallows. "I'm going to have faith that... that you will, in time. But I... won't push, okay? I'm here. I'll do therapy. I'll protect you. I've got your back. But I know you're hurting. I know this'll take... time."

Cael Becker has posed:
    "I don't have faith in me," Cael counters quietly. "Not right now. I want to be everything you think I am, but-" It's hard. It's exhausting. Most of all - it's painful. She finishes off her own coffee, as she watches Redfox gnawing away at his toy to try to get all the meat out of it.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "I know. It's okay. You just... be what you can be, and I'll be here, alright? That's what friends are for. Putting up with your stupid jokes and your exhaustion and your fear and your pain. Believing in you, when you don't believe in yourself. You don't have to be anyone but who you are, right now. And... if that's who you always are..." Jon shrugs. "Well, that's who I'm saying I'm friends with, right?"

    He looks over at her. "Think you still need therapy every day?" Does she want to /see/ him every day?

Cael Becker has posed:
    "I make really bad jokes," Cael agrees - a smile flashing across her features briefly. Her gaze remains on the fox, and she's silent for several long moments befoe she offers quietly, "Thank you, Sims."
    As for the therapy? She shifts uncertainly in her seat, a frown beginning to tug at her lips. "I'm not sure about therapy right now."
    She doesn't doubt that she needs it. But... can she accept therapy from her friend? Especially right now?

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon manages to still his reaction to the statement about therapy. "Well... let me know, okay? I'll keep up your prescriptions if you want them. And I /do/ think you should try getting back into racing. I think it'll be good for you."

    He looks at Cael. "My grandmother went through something like this, in the Blitz. The Germans bombed London over and over, to try to break our spirit. We refused. We went on with our lives, and just... incorporated the Blitz right into it. Talked about it like it was weather. Visited bombing sites. Played music in the shelters." He shakes his head. "I won't pretend it didn't affect anyone... but if there's /one/ Granny taught me in life, it's not to let the bad things and the terror take over everything. That's how they win, in the end."

    "So... so what if the world's ending? Go out with your sister and have a race or two. Get your blood pumping, to prepare for the fight." He smiles. "I think it'll help."

Cael Becker has posed:
    "Yeah," Cael agrees quietly. "I'll keep the prescriptions up for now." What sort of mess would she be without the medications to bolster her? It was a worrying thought.
    "Racing would be good," she agrees with a small smile. "I've missed it. Though... Racing on a track won't be quite the same. ...considerably less morally ambiguous, though."
    And by ambiguous she means repugnant.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon smirks at her. "Can't have Falcon's sidekick having moral ambiguity, can we?" Teasing, but gentle.

    He gets up off his rock, turns to look at Cael. He desperately wants to offer a hug, but... she'd likely just shy away. So he just smiles and says, "Well... I'll see you tomorrow morning, then. And... thank you, for pushing, this morning. I need to get better."

Cael Becker has posed:
    "I'm nobody's fucking sidekick!" Cael counters. It's a common refrain - and while it normally annoys her - it brings a smile this time. She sees what he's doing there.
    "...but yeah. You'll see me in the mornings. And hell, I'll keep pushing your ass all over the place, until you get better."
    There's a momentary silence before she adds quietly, "I know I'm not easy. I am sorry."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon smiles. "Neither am I. In fact, once upon a time, I was /far/ worse. Arrogant and insufferable, to hide a deep-seated terror that I was unlovable and unwanted. Just ask Martin. Gods only know why he agreed to marry me. I still wonder sometimes."

    He sighs. "No need to apologize for who you are, Cael. It's alright."

    He turns away, to head on out of the cage.