9209/How To Resolve Interpersonal Conflict At Work

How To Resolve Interpersonal Conflict At Work
Date of Scene:	21 December 2021
Location:	The Triskelion: Courtyard
Synopsis:	Jon and Cael are forced to sit down and air out their issues. By Sam.
Cast of Characters:	Sam Wilson, Cael Becker, Jonathan Sims

---

Sam Wilson has posed:
    0700. Like always, Sam is already out in the fields beyond the Triskelion, enjoying a relaxing ten or fifteen minutes alone before his trainees arrive, with a thermos filled with coffee and a journal to read on his phone. The sky has progressively become darker and darker with each passing day as time marches on and winter looms ahead, but this has only prompted him to include a few SHIELD-issued LED work lights on stands in the usual setup.

    Which is, of course, already ready and waiting, the mats and the cooler with water and the trunk with the wings in it.

    A new addition today, though: atop the cooler sits one of those insulated coffee pots like you might take camping, as well as two empty mugs and a small assortment of the usual accoutrements, possibly swiped from the Triskelion's cafeteria. There is also a pyramid stack of foil-wrapped tubes that are still warm enough that they're steaming in the air.

    Sam checks his watch, takes a final sip of his coffee, and then slips down from where he's been sitting in the back of the SHIELD SUV he uses to haul everything out. He exhales slowly and then rolls his neck as he looks out towards the building looming out from the cold fog.

Cael Becker has posed:
    Cael arrives at a prompt 06:59 - definitely on time, but not early. Mornings are too horrific for being early. Her workout clothes are are under a much warmer outer jacket to protect her against the chill of the winter morning as she props her motorcycle up on its kickstand beside Sam's SUV, and approaches the man in silence, hands shoved into the pockets of her jacket, and a woolen cap pulled down over her head - a mess of blonde and rainbow-hued hair showing around the edgs. Sam is offered a simply nod of greeting in silence.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon is promptly on time at 0700, as he's been every day for training when he hasn't alerted Sam ahead of time that he wouldn't be there. (The only exception were the few days he was off in Nilaa but you can't really text people from Magic Land.) He even showed up while his arm was in a cast and then a sling, doing what he could to stretch and run, going through physical training exercises. He's told Sam some of the things going on out in the world beyond the Trisk, but he's still been showing up every day, determined, steadily improving.

    He comes out of the Trisk himself, workout clothes under a puffy jacket, dark circles under his eyes more pronounced than usual. He smiles to Sam, though it's a little strained, and nods to Cael. The tension's thick enough to cut with a knife. He peers at the coffee pot.

    "We're not /that/ sluggish of a morning, are we, Wilson?"

Sam Wilson has posed:
    Both his trainees have adapted to the early start time quickly, and he's hoping that by now it's less a chore and more a habit. Not that late nights don't exist for SHIELD agents, but it's much more likely to get called out early than late, in his experience.

    And Sam has long since adapted to it, thanks to his time as an airman.

    "Nah," Sam answers, and then he nods his head pointedly to the little setup. It will soon be revealed that the coffee pot is in fact filled with hot chocolate, the bougie kind that's made with real milk and actual melted chocolate in addition to cocoa powder. The mugs, which have lids, have a little pile of mini marshmallows inside them even. Then to go along with are breakfast tacos on homemade, pillowy tortillas, with thick cut bacon slices nestled in with cheesy scrambled eggs and heavily spiced potato cubes. It's pure comfort food, very little nutritional value to be had here.

    "We need to talk," Sam says. From the back of the SUV he pulls out three folding chairs, which he sets down. Two facing one another and one set further apart. "And by 'we' I mean 'you two'."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon heaves out a sigh. Not really put-upon but more 'ahh, yes, of course.' Because it's what he would have done, down to food--maybe not the same food, he would have gone for tea probably. It /is/ what he did, yesterday after training, bringing Cael a coffee with a dash of whiskey while she visited Redfox.

    Of course, there hasn't been a mediator when they've been talking, even if Sara /did/ try. So maybe that's... something.

    He fiddles with the hot chocolate while he says, "We... /have/ talked, Wilson. I'm not certain... well. We can explain. But..." He glances at Cael, and sighs, and then goes back to finishing off getting hot chocolate and dropping into one of the folding chairs.

    It doesn't take a telepath to see that he's tired, and worried. He looks like a man with the weight of the world on his shoulders. But he focuses on hot chocolate with mini marshmallows, can't seem to help the ghost of a smile that passes over his expression. Look, who can resist hot chocolate with mini marshmallows?? Supervillains, /maybe/.

Cael Becker has posed:
    Sam's words bring Cael's defenses up - and her body telegraphs that clearly, from the wary look in her eyes, to the set of her jaw, to the way her shoulders tense. Unseen, her hands ball into fists in the pockets of her jacket, as she fights the urge to simply turn on her heel and stride away.
    It's a childish reaction, she knows, and she respects both of these men too much to sink that low. But God, if it isn't a close call.
    She waits for Jon to get his things and get settled first before she'll approach and fill her own cup, looking askance at the tacos, and finally accepting one of those as well. Hot cocoa and tacos aren't exactly a natural pairing in her mind but- well. Huh, is that eggs and bacon. "Looks good," she manages, before she settles into one of the chairs. %

Sam Wilson has posed:
    "Then explain. I have the Cliffs Notes version of events but I know both of you have been keeping things from me," Sam says, and he holds up a hand to forestall any reply. "Which I understand and support. You are both adults and I trust your judgment. But it's now affecting your working relationship with one another, and we need to address that before it gets worse."

    He calls a quick time-out while he gets himself a taco, and refills his thermos with hot chocolate. Then, Sam settles down in the odd seat, and looks between Cael and Jon. "Thanks," he says to Cael first, for her compliment, and then as he unwraps the aluminum foil from his taco, he clears his throat. "So what we're going to do here today is give you both the time and space to say what you need to say. We're not going to point fingers or try to make this someone's fault; I want you both to focus on what you're feeling and what you experienced."

    Then, without preamble, he gestures to Jon. Guess Agent Sims is in the hotseat first. Sam takes a bite of taco and settles in to listen.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon leans out of his chair to grab himself a burrito, once Cael's settled, and fiddles with the wrapping while he tries to think of how to explain what's going on. "Well... I don't know if you've read the report, but... the Justice League Dark has been dealing with... well. The Archangel Michael possessing my friend and going on a killing spree. He took Cael, and... well, it's not my place to say what happened, but it was... bad. We captured him, and I... tortured him for information. Burned all the feathers off one wing." There's a haunted look in his eyes as he says that. Killing spree or no, what he did was monstrous.

    He sighs. "That's... not really the problem, though. On Saturday, we tried to exorcise Michael from my friend, and it went... wrong. Very, very wrong. We just... helped him open a gate to Heaven instead. And then... Michael wanted retribution against those who'd captured him. Myself and four others in the room. Nothing was harming him, I knew we couldn't stop him or fight him, and I knew... I knew he'd take me. Just me. So I... dropped my weapons. Surrendered. Offered myself up, to take their punishments."

    He slumps back in the chair. "It worked. He left, with no more fighting. We gained a reprieve, a chance to catch our breath, maybe evacuate Manhattan before he returns with his army. But... he's still going to expect me to come... face retribution."

    He frowns down at the burrito. "I won't die. It will be... awful, and terrible, but I'll survive. I... know that, it's..." He sighs. "I /felt/ it, when we made the deal. Cael doesn't believe me, and... she's understandably upset that I'm facing torture from the same being that hurt her. She wants me to try to get out of the deal, but I... /can't/. I gave my word. And... we talked, and I... I understand that she's hurting, I'm not... I can wait. She needs time."

    He hunches his shoulders a bit and starts unwrapping the burrito, slowly. Despite what Sam said, there's guilt on his expression, and his shoulders are hunched. He looks more tired than ever.

Cael Becker has posed:
    Cael looks at the food in her hands, but she's neither eating, nor drinking. Talking about this makes her feel so nauseous that //any// food would suddenly lose it's appeal.
    She's honestly relieved that it's Jon that speaks first - though she does interject quietly when the man claims her pain is not his to share. "He got into my head, Sam," she offers. "He made me want to die. Made me believe I deserved it. Made me enjoy being tortured. Sims, and Sara, and their friends - if they'd come just five minutes later..."
    Then they wouldn't be having this talk.
    She lapses back into silence, letting Jon finish his tale, her eyes closing and her jaw clenching tightly as she fights against the feeling of nausea that threatens to overwhelm her.
    Is it too late to get up out of her chair and walk away from this conversation?

Sam Wilson has posed:
    Even though Sam has certainly read the report, his expression doesn't give anything away. He sits there and listens, not interrupting, and aside for a few points where his eyes tighten and brows draw downward with sympathy, Sam remains quiet. Though he does continue to eat, perhaps simply as something to do, or perhaps to encourage Jon and Cael to do the same.

    "I'm sorry," he says. First, to Becker, when she interjects to share a small snippet of her story. Then he repeats it, to Jon. He's still taking it all in, and since it's now Cael's turn, his attention shifts to her. "Take all the time you need," he tells her.

Cael Becker has posed:
    There's a long silence as Cael sits, hunched inwards - her arms resting on her legs, her head lowered, her eyes closed. She's yet to take as much as a nibble, as she struggles to sort through everything that's happened, to find something to share. "What do you want me to say?" she finally offers in a leaden voice. She sounds exhausted, and it's a fair bet that she hasn't been sleeping any better than Jon. "The Archangel Michael got into my head, took away my freewill, and tried to kill me. He made me attack my... friends," there's a painful hesitation over the simple word. "Things were getting better, but then I come back and-" Her breath catches in her throat, and she falls silent, a spasm running up her back as she fights agains the urge to throw up on the snow.
    "It was supposed to fix things. Instead - he's coming back. He wants to kill everybody, or turn them into- the sort of thing he made me. All of us - forever." She lets out a breathy laugh as she adds, "The sick thing is, it felt so good at the time - so right. So, hey, maybe it wouldn't be so bad."
    But if that were true - then why is she so terrified?
    "So yeah. Sims is turning himself over to that //monster// - and he thinks I oughtta thank him for it," she remarks, a little bitterness creeping into her voice. "I can't do that."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "I--" Jon cuts off his protest at the last thing Cael said, huffs out a breath. Hunches his shoulders instead and shakes his head.

    Eating a burrito sounds /really/ good right about now. So he focuses on that, and not arguing. Arguing won't help any more than it already has.

Sam Wilson has posed:
    Once Sam has crumpled his aluminum foil into a little ball and tossed it into the back of the SUV--littering is bad, folks!--he sits there with his hands folded together. It's not really a stereotypical therapist sort of pose, not with the way he's leaning forward slightly, elbows on his knees.

    He's just listening, actively, and it isn't until the very end, when Jon very nearly tries to start arguing that Sam, too, begins to open his mouth.

    But Jon stops himself, and so too does Sam, with a faint nod. He takes a moment longer, perhaps gathering his thoughts, before he breaks the silence.

    "I'm not going to pretend I understand some of the broader metaphysical implications of an archangel trying to end the world," Sam begins, his tone even. "But in some ways, trauma is universal. And by the sounds of it, you've both been through a hell of a lot of trauma recently."

    Sam rubs the back of his neck. "Okay... let me see if I get this right. Cael, you were captured, and brainwashed. Nothing in the SHIELD coercive persuasion resistance training prepares you for that. I also won't just sit here and say 'It wasn't your fault' because you're both smart enough to know that. You nearly died, and you don't want Jon to go through the same thing."

    He turns slightly, towards Jon. "Jon, you nearly lost a friend, and rather than risk that happening again--to more than just Cael too, now--you're willing to let yourself be tortured."

    Here, Sam pauses to let both of them have a moment to parse what he's just said, let it sink in. Then he nods. "Does that sound about right?"

Cael Becker has posed:
    "It wasn't just brainwashing," Cael offers in a quiet, almost lifeless tone. "It was bliss. It was peace. It was the best feeling I've had in my life - but I wasn't me anymore." And he was torturing and killing her at the time.
    She takes a shaky breath in, and lets it out slowly before agreeing, "But yeah, sounds about right."
    She still hasn't moved from her hunched position. Her eyes are open now - but they're directed down towards the snow at her feet.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "It was that, yes, but also..." Jon runs a hand through his hair. "It was a tactical decision. It was..." He frowns. How can he explain?

    "For all we knew," he says slowly, "the Armies of the Host were coming through /right then/. Fighting wasn't going to work. But an act of love, of compassion? That might give an archangel pause. And... it /did/. We have time to evacuate Manhattan now. To prepare battle plans. To save people. I did it for my friends, yes, but I did it for the people I swore to defend, when I joined SHIELD."

    He drops his eyes. "And almost everyone I've talked to--including the people in that room--act like I made a foolish, rash decision I need to be saved from. I don't really want 'thank you.' But 'damn, that's hard, how can I help' would be nice."

    He shakes his head. "I don't expect that from Cael, though. I understand." It sounds sincere.

Sam Wilson has posed:
    "I'm not going to sit here and critique your decisions, either of you," Sam says, head tipped downwards. "I meant it when I said when I trusted your judgment. The only thing I'm concerned about is getting you both the help you need to recover, and making sure that you don't lose each other's friendship in the meantime."

    And in what is absolutely a move to give himself a moment to just... sit with the knowledge he now has, he takes a long, long drink of hot cocoa. It's one thing to read a professional report, but the impact of hearing a first-hand account from two people he considers friends is hard for Sam, for as little as he's letting it show.

    Deep breaths, Sam. You're gonna get through this, if nothing else than for Cael and Jon. He begins with, "I'm not going to ask either of you to just forget about what happened and try to make up, either. That's just as much a work in progress as getting you both into therapy. All I want is for each of you to take a moment and consider things from one another's perspective. Even if it doesn't ultimately change your opinion in this disagreement, I want you both to ask yourself if you trust and respect the person sitting across from you enough to at least believe what they did or how they reacted is based on their best judgment and done out of care for one another."

Cael Becker has posed:
    "Where do I find another therapist who can take me at face value when I say the Archangel Michael made me nail myself to a cross - and I liked it?" Cael asks flatly.
    It's a serious question, though. Where?
    After another long silence she offers slowly, and cautiously, "I can... undestand why he did it." The words are treated so carefully, it's as if she expects them to bite - like a venomous viper. "But I- I can't look at him without thinking of that monster, and what he did, and what he's going to-" She cuts off, her jaw clenching tightly, as she holds her breath to ride out the subtle spasm as her chest and her stomach heaves.
    And there - that is the real problem. For Cael, at least.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "I have done that," Jon says softly, not looking up. "I've been in a similar situation, Cael's been having daily therapy sessions with me since we saved her from Michael--until Sunday, anyway. I understand where she's coming from. She's hurting, she's traumatized, and the thing that hurt her is going to hurt her friend and she can't stop it."

    He looks down at his hands. "She wants me to fight. She doesn't understand why I won't, why I refuse to get out of the deal. She wants to vomit every time she thinks about it. She doesn't trust that I will survive because she... I think she thinks I'm delusional. She doesn't understand magic, and she's trying to parse this through her worldview, and it comes up as making no sense."

    He sighs. "She needs me. I'm her therapist, her friend, her lifeline to understand this terrifying world she's been thrown into. She has a hard time letting people in, and she /just/ let me in, and now I've put myself in terrible danger. It would be easier to... not care. She wishes she could stop caring."

    He looks up, finally. "I understand her perspective. Other people's perspective is all I've been thinking about the last couple of days. That's why I'm willing to be... patient. Which I told her."

    Doesn't mean it doesn't hurt, in the meantime.

Sam Wilson has posed:
    "It might be hard to hear, but SHIELD." Sam lifts a hand to gesture backwards to the shape of the Triskelion, slowly beginning to appear out of the fog in the early morning mist.

    And then his head turns toward Jon. He doesn't say anything, but his eyes narrow, and then Sam sighs. "I know it's difficult, but Jon can't be your therapist any more. Ethically, it's not right. He might be able to understand your perspective but his friendship will inevitably blind him to being objective. It's exactly why I can't offer to do the same." He leans forward. "But last year I had the actual Spear of Longinus--the Holy Lance, Spear of Destiny, whatever you want to call it--and had to travel back in time to keep it out of Nazi hands. Then I came back to active duty and had a mental breakdown about it, and my SHIELD-appointed therapist helped me through that." There's a lot more to that story, wrapped up in his childhood as the son of a pastor and his own struggles with belief. Now is not the time to go into that.

    This is also not the time to mention that therapist was a HYDRA plant. Nope.

    "And if you can't get out of the deal, Jon, then I will make sure SHIELD does everything it can to prepare you. We're going to get *both* of you through this."

Cael Becker has posed:
    Cael offers no comment - instead she focuses on breathing calmly, and evenly when her rising panic is trying to force heer to hyperventilate. Hearing Jon lay out so simply everything she's been struggling with in such calm and simple terms is hard, and she can feel her tears leaving silent streaks down her cheek to freeze in the cold morning air. Sam gets a simple, wordless nod from the woman - but for now that seems to be all she can manage.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon sighs. "I've been struggling with that. We only realized we were friends recently, this past week, and I wasn't going to make her switch mid-crisis. And... I might have to stop /entirely/. The only people I have time for are the ones I work with, and I'm going to get close to them, so..." He sighs, and runs a hand through his hair. "The Chief wants me to be a psychiatrist for people, but I cannot stay in the Triskelion taking appointments all day. I... I don't know."

    He looks down at his hands. "It's one of the reasons I didn't have friends for years. It's hard for me... not to care. Once I start caring and making friends I don't want to stop. Easier to keep the barriers up with everyone."

    A pause. "And... I /am/ looking for a new therapist, Wilson, but you know it takes time, and the universe is maybe ending." He laughs, shakily. "I'll appreciate the help, though. I need to talk to the Chief, I sent her a message, but we'll need to mobilize, and I need to figure out how to get government officials warned." He sighs. Point being... I will be certain to get help preparing."

    He regards Sam quietly a moment, then says, "I think I'm going to be leading a lot of the defense. I already have been. And I have thought about it, and... even if someone /did/ undo the deal? Most likely, all that happens is that Michael comes for all of us who bound and tortured him, and maybe it's worse than it would have been because of the betrayal of honor. The way to stop it is to defeat him first, I think. But I told Cael I won't stop her from trying to find another way."

    Even if it's /really/ clear he'd rather she didn't.

Sam Wilson has posed:
    Though Sam is aware Cael isn't particularly fond of being touched, and thus stays well out of her personal bubble, he leans forward now. His hand stretches out slowly, and if she doesn't object, he'll put a steadying hand on her shoulder.

    "The universe is always ending," he tells Jon. "There's always going to be another crisis. You're both going to make the time to see a therapist. I'm more than happy to help you both find someone you're comfortable with."

    Until then, though, there is a very rapidly approaching deadline for this particular end-of-the-world scenario. "I'll sit down with Peggy, if you think me being there would help," he adds.

Cael Becker has posed:
    "We have two weeks to stop him. Two weeks until-" Cael trails off, back into silence. She hasn't looked up even once the whole conversation - eye contact is just too much to ask of her right now, it seems.
    At the touch to her shoulder, there's a small twitch as if the contact has caught her offguard, but she doesn't pull away from it - in fact, the slow, deep breath in and out might be a sigh of relief.
    "I have the time," she adds. "And I do want the help. I need it."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon watches Sam put a hand on Cael's arm and relaxes a bit. At least she'll let /someone/ touch her. Good.

    He shakes his head to Sam's offer. "I will be talking to the Chief as a representative of the Justice League Dark. I've got this." And he does seem to. There's a kind of calm confidence--Sam might note that despite all of this Jon seems oddly relaxed, confident, sure of himself. As if he's dropped a mask he'd been keeping up.

    "As for therapy..." He sighs. "I will find the time--I need to be stable, given everything happening. Once I am back, we will have to stop Michael's army. I refuse to let him do more damage to my city than entirely necessary." Again, quiet confidence.

    He sighs. "I wish I knew the right words to make this... less painful. Last night, I just... all anyone wants to talk about when I bring this up is something I cannot do. If I thought I was going to die, I wouldn't even be here. I'd be hitting every food truck in New York with Martin and my friends, I'd be at Coney Island, I'd..." He shrugs. "As it is... I just want to focus on preparing, and /live/ otherwise. Dwelling on this just... /terrifies/ me. I will freeze, and I cannot freeze right now. But every time I turn around 'save Jon from martyring himself' is the topic of conversation and it's... I couldn't take it anymore. I'm sorry."

Sam Wilson has posed:
    Two weeks. Sam nods to that. "We shouldn't waste it, then," he agrees, and he gives Cael's shoulder a light squeeze before he stands up. The folding chair gets refolded and put back into the SHIELD SUV, and he gestures for the both of them to do the same.

    "If you're going to be fighting some sort of angelic army, then I don't have a lot of time to make sure you're both up for the task." He looks between Cael and Jon for a long moment, before he nods. "Okay. Time to bring out the big guns."

    He unbuttons his overcoat and tosses it aside, as well as his scarf once he's unwound it from around his neck. Underneath, he's wearing his usual training gear: sweats, t-shirt, hoodie. "Let's see if the two of you can last five minutes with me in the ring."

Cael Becker has posed:
    Cael listens to Jon in silence - sitting there with Sam's hand on her shoulder, and her head lowered. As the man across from her rises, she doesn't move - not yet. Instead, she offers her own quiet response to her friend's words.
    "I'm sorry, Jon."
    Maybe he hears it. Maybe he doesn't. Either way, she's on her feet a moment later, setting aside her untouched food, and shucking her own coat. It's another few moments, and a few deep breaths, before she finally lifts her head to meet Sam's gaze, and her arms come up to a guard position near her chest, stepping in towards Sam.
    Okay. //This// she can do.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon blinks and looks at Cael--whether or not he heard it, he /felt/ it. The people around him tend to forget that he's an empath. He doesn't know everything, but more than words tend to express.

    He sighs. "Bloody hell," he mutters. Pulls off his coat, and prepares to go toe-to-toe. Which isn't likely to go well--he's /not/ a fighter. But he's trying.

Sam Wilson has posed:
    In the end, Sam goes easy on them. At least enough that, yes, some combination of skill and teamwork is enough to keep Cael and Jon on their feet for a solid five minutes.

    Which in and of itself is a feat of stamina!

    And if Sam lets them get a couple of hits in for the cathartic effect, well, who's going to know. He still knocks them both onto their asses by the end.