9910/Path of Glory: High Time to Awake

Path of Glory: High Time to Awake
Date of Scene:	29 January 2022
Location:	Grand Central Station
Synopsis:	After the battle at St. John the Divine, Cael wakes and talks to Jon, who reveals some of his struggles and burdens. Also, Amit never brings the damn whiskey.
Cast of Characters:	Jonathan Sims, Cael Becker

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Jonathan Sims has posed:
    There were only three deaths this time, and one of them, once Jon actually looks at Veira Lazarescu's dossier, probably isn't much to worry about. Evidently she just... does this. She dies, she comes back after seven days. He ensures her body is sent wherever she's supposed to be during that week and writes a note thanking her for her sacrifice--even if she's going to come back, dying and returning can't be much /fun/.

    It also hits home rather personally just now, so there's that.

    Terry takes Cael back to Grand Central Station, and that lets Jon stop worrying about her long enough to take the statements of the dead and gather up angel feathers and archangel blood from the Cathedral. He needs to see to the dispensation of their ashes, and there are several wounded, and there is a defense of Grand Central to prepare for. There are reports to write, and Jon really ought to get a cigarette or two, and maybe some food, and he really is intended to do /all/ of that when he comes through the portal himself.

    But when he gets there, Cael hasn't woken up yet.

    He frets about that, talking to the medics about whether or not to move her. They wind up deciding to leave her where she is, on a cot in the area of the Main Concourse where the wounded are initially brought, even as others such as Sarah Rainmaker are moved off elsewhere. It lets Jon be in a somewhat central area while he stubbornly stays near his girlfriend. So Agent Singh sends people to him, and they talk in hushed tones about supplies and defense preparations, and Amit gets his steps in, running back and forth gathering supplies for Jon to prepare the angel leavings to go into the Archive: flasks, bags, his silver Sharpie.

    It's probably a conversation with Amit that wakes Cael, because Jon raises his voice for the first time that night. "Not right /now/!" he's saying. He's sitting on the floor next to Cael's cot, two globes of water hovering in the air next to him. One seems to hold feathers, the other blood. In front of him is an Erlenmeyer flask into which he's slowly, /slowly/ draining boiling blood out of a third globe of water. Maybe it was the smell of blood that woke her and not the raised voice.

    "Does it /look/ like I can /eat/ right now, Amit?!" he snaps at the boy, gesturing to the things in front of him. "This here is the blood of Saint Michael the Archangel, the being who /literally/ created our universe. If I fuck this up, I could potentially destroy the whole bloody station, or at least accidentally let him in through my wards, so if you don't mind, tell Singh I will eat /after/ I'm done with the volatile angelic bodily fluids!"

Cael Becker has posed:
    "Oh," the boy replies, frowning at the sharp tone in Jon's voice. "I didn't realize, Agent Sims, I just know Agent Singh was real insistent, and I know Agent Becker would be too - ummm. Should I tell him you need another thirty minutes?" Amit suggests. Honestly, he has no idea how long it'll take Jon to finish his task, but that seemed like a good enough estimate to him.
    "Damn straight I would," Cael agrees in a sieepy voice from her position on the cot. She blinks up at the high ceiling about her, not bothering to move much on her cot. Her body aches all over, and with her mind still in a fog of sleep, she's trying to piece together her recollection of //why// she was in so much pain. "...but don't blow up the station. My dog is here." Isn't he?
    In point of fact - he is, and hearing Cael's voice, the pup's tail slaps several times on the floor, as he nuzzles at and licks Cael's cheek.
    "Bear, you're so gross."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon's entire demeanor changes on hearing Cael's voice. He turns to look at her, sealing off the dripping of Michael's blood into the flask below. "Oh thank the gods," he breathes. "You're okay?" He wants, very badly, to get up and hug her, but... he /does/ have all this magical detritus to take care of first. "/You/ almost got blown up, you scared the wits out of me."

    He can tell she's in pain, but he can't really do much about that, either. Probably best to finish what he's doing and then tend Cael.

    He sighs and looks back at the boy. "I... I'm sorry, Amit, I shouldn't have snapped at you. Why don't you bring us both some food, and coffee? And a flask of whiskey. I can always re-heat the food when I'm done." But if he doesn't get food for the /both/ of them, Cael probably won't eat. "See if you can find something with noodles?"

Cael Becker has posed:
    "I'll see what we have, sir," the boy replies - adding a bright, "Glad you're alright, Agent Becker! I'll bring Bear something, too," before he takes off at a trot. That was one of the things Cael liked about the boy - he had some hustle. Everywhere he went - it seemed to be at a run.
    "I don't think I'd say no to a bucket of aspirin," Cael remarks, her gaze still up on the ceiling, as she tries to blink the fog out of her mind. "But... I'm okay. I think. I mean, I heal faster now, right? So I'll be fine. We won, didn't we? ...how many did we lose?" she asks in a quiet, sympathetic voice.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "Two," Jon says somberly. "Three if you count Lazarescu, but evidently she... comes back after seven days?" He shrugs. "I'm not clear how, but it's fairly well-documented by WAND, so I'm not going to question it. That's probably why she was willing to do what she did. Poor Terry, though... he looked /devastated/." He sighs.

    He lets the blood start dripping out again, filling up the flask already covered in hieroglyphs and the Eye of Horus. "I think I can offer some more healing in a moment, once I've got this sealed up. Maybe it won't actually do much, but it might ease the pain." He furrows his brow slightly. "What do you remember?"

Cael Becker has posed:
    "Two," Cael repeats quietly. "I'm sorry, Jon." The numbers were getting smaller and smaller - and that was good, but unless the number was //zero//...
    "We were at the church, right?" her eyes closed as she tries to remember the fight. "I was fighting an archangel... If was fun." Was that something she should admit? Was that something she could keep from Jon even if she wanted to?
    "I was fighting an archangel..." she repeats thoughtfully - and then startles. She starts to sit up, then winces, and lays back down. "Michael went after you."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon smirks at 'it was fun.' "I imagine it was," he says softly. "I... rather enjoy sparring, I find. It's exhilarating, even if I'm not all that good at it. I enjoy the fight, the challenge, the competition. It's... rather thrilling, you know? It's the... the /deadly danger/ that's terrifying. Suriel didn't seem like she was all that intent on /killing/ you."

    He glances over at her. "Yes, Michael went after me. But I broke his lance and threw him at the ceiling." He frowns. "Threw him /through the roof/, which I was /not/ expecting." Another glance toward her. "You went after him. You were angry."

    Drip, drip, drip. The blood keeps siphoning out of the globe of water that holds it safe, by Jon's will. Three different globes, each holding powerful and volatile substances. How much concentration must that be taking?

Cael Becker has posed:
    Cael lets her hand dangle over the edge of her cot, and Bear reposition himself, to her hand rests on his shoulders. She scratches idly the pup's shoulder before remarks, "I had to get him clear before he blew. Couldn't let him take out several blocks of the city...." Jon and his forces included. "I got him high enough, didn't I?"
    There was a note of regret before she adds, "I shouldn't have stabbed him with the spear. I was just so mad..."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "He said he's going to come right at me every time now," Jon replies, with a sigh. "I think we're going to /have/ to stab him with the bloody spear, or... do whatever we need to do. Blow him up, to get him to leave the battlefield." He shakes his head. "I don't think it was a mistake."

    He smiles, still focusing on the blood. "You got him up high enough. My barrier was able to protect the church, and only one other building fell. No other deaths that I could tell. But you..."

    The smile fades, and he swallows. "You fell out of the sky," he whispers. "I had to fly up and catch you."

Cael Becker has posed:
    "You flew?" Cael asks quietly. A faint smile plays across her features before she adds, "Well, damn. I'm sorry I missed that."
    Her expression quickly sobers before she adds, "If he comes at you every time - if we have to kill him to take him out every fight, and he keeps going nuclear... I mean... //Someone's// going to have to try to fly him clear //every time// before he goes off." That... doesn't exactly sound feasible. "Unless... portals?" she asks hopefully. They'd have to bring someone with portals with them to every fight. Fuck.
    As she's ponder this - Amit returns, with a bag containing two sealed containers of chicken and rice soup, some bread rolls, some apples, a pair of cup-noodles - along with a carafe of hot water, a carafe of coffee, and a pair of milk cartons. "I got what I could," the boy replies. "But the canteen hasn't exactly had, umm, the best selection these days. I was told to go talk to Boram about the whiskey - so I'm still on that. This'll do, right?" he asks - starting to hand the bag off to Jon - and then immediate realizing his mistake and setting it down nearby instead. "Sorry. Sorry, still busy, I know."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "I did, indeed, fly. It was... surprisingly easy." Jon's voice holds a sense of wonder. "I could probably do it again, to get Michael clear of the battleground, if need be. Or portals, yes. Something. We'll figure out... something."

    He eyes the boy and then smiles and nods. "Thank you," he says, "That's perfect. Just, yeah, set it down, we'll get to it." The blood has finished dripping into the flask; Jon lets the globe of water disappear with a visible sigh of relief and goes to seal the thing quite firmly, drawing more hieroglyphs upon its surface.

Cael Becker has posed:
    "We'll figure it out," Cael agrees with Jon, but there's lingering worry there with that news. No real surprise, though, given what Jon had just told her.
    She looks up to see Amit standing over her bed - a slightly anxious look on the boy's features as she asks, "Anything else I can get for you, Agent Becker?"
    "She shakes her head - then regrets it, before she adds, "No Amit, it's fine. Thank you for helping."
    "I'll come back with the whiskey, and Bear's dinner," he promises, flashing Cael a smile, and Jon a nod,, before he's off again at a jog.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon watches Amit run off with an amused smile playing across his lips. He sets aside the flask holding Michael's blood, and reaches out to pick up the empty flask, on which he begins to draw an Eye of Horus with his Sharpie. "What's bothering you, love?" he asks idly as he does so. "Just Michael's personal vendetta against me, or something else?"

    He glances at her out of the corner of his eye. "You know," he says almost conversationally, "my barrier protected us from the blast. I wonder if I could create a sphere around him instead, to hold the blast /in/?"

Cael Becker has posed:
    "The vendetta ain't enough?" Cael asks simply. She sighs - trying to organize her thoughts with a mind that was having trouble holding a thought for long. "If he stops you from doing what needs doing... If we can't get him clear before he blows... If we can't hold the explosion in..." There's a lot of bad things that can happen - but most obviously, people could get killed. Lots of people, and all under Jon's command.
    "Testing your barrier idea means putting everyone at risk. Like's avoid it if we can...."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "It's a last-ditch idea," Jon replies, brow furrowed and dark eyes intent as he fills in the outline of the Eye of Horus that he drew. Most of his concentration is there, infusing the ink with his will, with his intent for the apotropaic magic to seal in what he's putting in the flask. "I'm not going to test it unless I have to. But it's better to have contingency ideas in place /now/ rather than freeze on the battlefield."

    He sighs as he finishes the drawing and lowers the flask for a moment, looking to Cael. "He's had this vendetta the whole time, dear." That's a new one. "He was... I don't know, giving me time to gather the power of the wellsprings? Seeing what it would take to get me to actually fight him?" He smirks. "Or maybe Lady Death handing him his ass at Thomas Jefferson Park convinced him to take off the gloves. He /relishes/ the fight. Not... not the killing, but the battle, the conflict, the... /competition."

    He snorts and rolls his eyes. "Honestly, what we /need/ is some angelic sport he can run around testing his mettle in, but that's still only half his Purpose. Though I suppose he could do what any modern superstar athlete does and give back to the community in the off-season?"

Cael Becker has posed:
    "Okay," Cael replies as Jon says the idea is only meant to be a contingency. "You're right," because - quite frankly, he is. Her fingers continue scritching at Bear's shoulders - and as much as she'd like to reach out towards Jon, she knows she can't yet. What is it they say about patience?
    ...a lot of bullshit she never much cared to agree with, really.
    "I'll start an angelic racing circuit," she remarks in a dry voice. "...I just worry.."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "I know," Jon murmurs. "I know."

    Then he sighs and sets the flask aside. The most dangerous thing he had is taken care of, so he leans over to run his fingers through Cael's hair, gently, his touch soothing. Magically soothing, not just physically so; he's got enough concentration available to infuse the movement with some of that energy.

    "You probably have a concussion," he murmurs softly. "You got away from the worst of the blast, but it hit you pretty hard." He frowns, and brings his hand around to stroke her cheek. "I worry too. You /scared/ me." He laughs. "I didn't even realize I'd created wings until I was already in the air, I just... I just... gods, Cael. You've /got/ to be more careful." Like he can talk.

Cael Becker has posed:
    "I'm sorry, love," Cael says sincerely - letting her eyes fall closed in response to the touch. There's a sigh of relief as some of the pain begins to easy - including a faint throbbing in her head she hadn't even been fully cognizant of.
    "But what else could I have done?" she asks bluntly, "once he started to go up? I had to get him clear. I tried to get myself clear. If we could have your feline-friend there for every fight..." Then they could be prepared for it, but if not....

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "I know," Jon murmurs, trailing his hand back along Cael's hairline, dragging the soothing magic along with his fingers. "I just... it's... contingency planning. I need to practice flying. We need to have multiple ways to get Michael--or the other archangels--clear when we destroy them. Because, damn it... it looks like we're going to /have/ to destroy them."

    He sighs, and considers, for a moment, just lying his head on the cot next to her.

    "I /hate/ this," he murmurs. "I hate what it's doing to me. Forget dying... these /battles/ are changing me. I don't... I don't /want/ to be this... /warrior/. Thinking tactically, itching to... to have another bloody /go/ at Michael. It's not... me."

    Or is it? His "fight or flight" /is/ naturally stuck to "fight," after all. Has he just been convinced he's "not a fighter" by people more interested in bolstering their own egos in comparison to him? After all, the person he's taking the most advice from about this war is an /Amazon/--and they're some of the finest fighters in history. And she'd not be likely to tell him not to fight at all.

Cael Becker has posed:
    "What's wrong with fighting, Jon, when you're standing up for yourself and others - and not picking fights? I hate what the deaths are doing to you. I know you grieve them all... I hate that, but then- it might be worse if you //stopped// grieving them." Because that would be quite a change from who Jon used to be.
    "For now you have to fight - doesn't mean you'll always have to. Doesn't mean you let it define you. Doesn't mean that's who you //are//. It's just what we have to do." She reaches out with her free hand, resting it over Jon's arm as he continues to soothe away her lingering aches. She knows she has bruises, broken ribs - possibly even some internal bleeding, to go with the concussion - but little by little, it was easier to breathe, and more comfortable simply to exist. It was a relief.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "You don't know..." Jon makes a frustrated sound and shifts himself around a little bit. "I got kidnapped back in November," he says, offhandedly, like it was nothing. "A couple weeks after we started therapy, remember? I got my arm broken on an op, and then I had to push back our Monday session to Tuesday? Well, that's because I got kidnapped. Right off the bloody Hyperloop in broad daylight." Again--like it was nothing. A walk in the park. Nothing to talk about. And he /did/ just... come back to work the next day like nothing had happened.

    He sighs. "I woke up in Arkham. They... thought I knew the identity of a particular costumed vigilante, probably because I'd brought a psych profile to my old boss. And I'd never felt so... so bloody /helpless/. I was strapped into this chair and my arm was broken and they'd wrenched it and all I could do was... wait. I knew people were coming for me, and I just had to sit there and wait. And after, I started training at the gun range, every day, because if I'd just been able to /fight/ them..."

    He sighs, and leans back a little to look up at the ceiling. "In the two weeks after you started going to therapy with me, I went to Egypt and helped kill a necromancer, found out I'm on the short list of people the British Crown calls when there are problems that threaten the Empire, went on that classified op where I broke my arm, hopped through a portal to another dimension, and then... well. And then I got kidnapped. And that's not even the craziest two weeks I've had since I became Archivist, even /including/ this invasion!" He shakes his head.

    "I'm going to have to fight, Cael. I'm going to have to fight, because I'm the Archivist. I put the bracer aside because I thought the press of ancestral memory was making me brash and foolish, and maybe it was, but I... I run /toward/ the danger. I always have, even before I became Archivist. It's in my /blood/ somehow. I've got the... the /hero/ impulse." He rolls his eyes.

    "Aren't I supposed to be a... a therapist? A healer? I... I'm not..." He closes his eyes. "'Bleeding heart,' they used to call me at Arkham. 'Jonny Sims, the foolish bleeding heart who wants to /save/ the inmates.' Donna pointed out that Gaea chose a scholar. I'm not... I'm not /supposed/ to be a hero."

Cael Becker has posed:
    "Jon... you fuckin' moron," Cael says in a dry, but somehow fond voice, "why can't you be both?" she asks bluntly. "You keep running towards the danger. You keep trying to help, to heal, to save lives. You can be both - you already are both. Maybe a healer that wasn't a hero wouldn't have worked. I mean, probably wouldn't have. Yeah?"
    That hand resting on his arm gives him a little squeeze before she adds, "But more importantly... why the fuck is this the first time I've heard about any of this - huh?" she asks. "You're not my therapist anymore. How can I be there for you if I don't know- if you don't tell me any of this shit?" A few tears spring to her eyes, and she lifts her hand from Bear to wipe them away, "I know how hard it is... to feel helpless. I knew you guys were coming for me - I just didn't know if it would be in time or not. It's... being helpless like that is one of the worst feelings - isn't it? I'm sorry you went through that, too." She has her head tilted towards Jon, watching his face with concern and sympathy.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "I mean, it wasn't... it just... happened, you know?" Jon shrugs. "I screwed up, somewhere, and someone in Arkham decided to grab me, and... it all worked out. I wasn't even hurt or anything. We don't even know who did it, not like they've come back. I mean," he laughs, "that's /hardly/ the worst thing that's happened to me in the last few months."

    What on /Earth/ has he been through that he can just laugh off 'yeah I was kidnapped and terrified and we don't even know who did it, but it's no big deal'? And so /sincerely/ say it's not remotely the worst thing that's happened to him?

    He frowns at Cael. "Do... you really want to know everything? I mean..." He shrugs. "I haven't even really told my own therapist everything. I can't... seem to find the words." He presses a hand to his chest, frowning. "Martin knows... most of it, I think. I mean, I'm sure he can extrapolate, from the way I was acting when he came back."

Cael Becker has posed:
    If that wasn't even the worst of it... The concern in Cael's expression grows even more accute, her eyebrows drawn down and in towards each other as she studies the man, a frown pulling at her lips. "Of course I want to know, Jon. I was to be there for you. I want to support you." She starts to push herself up on one arm, ignoring the stab of pain in her side from ribs that haven't compeletly healed, as she tries to pull Jon in towards herself for a hug.
    "And you say you're not brave. You're such an idiot. How'd I end up falling for a dumby, huh?" she asks in voice that's gentle, and caring - despite her words.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon blinks at her. "I... I don't... I'm not an /idiot/, Cael," he splutters as she pulls him into the hug. "A-anyway, I can't... if I start talking about all of that I'll... lose my focus, and Suriel's blood and the feathers of that Dominion will wind up all over the place, and... and you're /hurting/ yourself, here, let me..."

    He pulls back a little and looks away, focusing on trying to figure out where she's injured still. "Every other empath I run into looks at me like I've got an open wound," he murmurs. "I... I start crying when I /think/ about the last few months. I... l-look, I'll tell you, I j-just... I mean, you've been... you've made /all/ these horrible things worth dealing with, so I'll tell you, j-just..."

    He frowns, reaches out to gently touch her side, to send healing energy there. "Michael's going to attack tomorrow." He gestures toward the ceiling, still not looking at Cael. "When Zatanna's wards fall. After that? Please? C-can it... wait?"

Cael Becker has posed:
    "Jon, I don't mean now," Cael answers quietly, letting Jon pull away from her - a sigh escaping her lips as his magic soothes the shooting pain in her side. She gives him a look filled with gratitude.
    "You're right, this is an awful time for it. But we need to make the time, sooner or later, and it doesn't need to be all at once. I want to be there for you - like you've been there for me. I mean - I don't have any of the training you do, but... I can listen. I can try to understand." She lets out a sigh before adding softly, "You don't //have// to tell me anything, Jon. But you need to know - I want to listen, and be there for you. I want you to know you're not alone."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "I want to," Jon says with a frown, turning away and picking the flask back up. He sets it on the floor in front of him, and hovers the globe of water still filled with blood over it. This blood he lets drip into the waiting vessel faster; it's not /quite/ as potent and dangerous as Michael's, and he really does want to eat.

    He sighs. "I want to," he repeats. "Do you remember, when we... when we were fighting, and after the, umm... the SHIELD holiday party, when Sara kept going on and on about how terrible it would be if the world lost me? All the good I do in the world? And I... I pointed out I didn't have a therapist, a mentor...?" He sighs. "I have a therapist now, yeah, but it's... it's still..."

    He stares at the globe of water, watching the blood drip down. "I keep telling myself that people support me. People love me, they care about me, they want to be there for me. I know Martin does. I know you do. But I just... I still feel so /alone/ so much of the time. Like everyone, except you two, and Agnes, only really care about what they /need/ me for, and not... not for me."

    He huffs out a breath, shakes his head. "I know that's not true. I mean, I know Tim cares, I know Phoebe cares, I know Lydia and Sara and..." He runs a hand through his hair. "It's just... I'm going to /die/ and nobody's... checking in, you know? 'Hey, Jon, how're you feeling.' Well, they check in sometimes, but it's not..."

    He shakes his head again. "I'm over thinking things. I'm over thinking everything. That bloody demon meat puppet did a number on me. Do you know, it threw me a surprise birthday party and then had a bloody temper tantrum in the back room and then threw me out of the Night Brigade? While I thought Martin was dead, no less."

Cael Becker has posed:
    "And as much as I care," Cael says quietly, "I haven't always been well enough to ask how you're feeling. How you're coping with everything." There's regret in her tone - but thankfully not blame. There's no point in blaming herself for being unwell. "I'm trying to make up for some of that. And... I appreciate the things you do for me, like staying at the Trisk with me the other night. That meant everything to me."
    She lets out a long, slow huff of air, letting herself fall back fully onto the cot again. She was feeling better, thanks to Jon's help - but she still needed to rest, to finish healing. "I wish we could pause time, and go to Cedar Point, and ride every rollercoaster they have. I guess we'll have to do it after all of this is over."
    She frowns for a moment before adding, "If you ever think I'm ignoring what you need - if there's every something you need, that I just haven't managed to figure it out yet, give me at least a clue. I can be a little dense sometimes, myself. We're both allowed."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "It's not your job to fix my problems, Cael," Jon replies wryly. "We're neither of us each other's therapists, remember? It's... the problem is that all too often I care far, far more about people than they do about me. That's why I used to keep people at arm's length--I care /hard/, and fast. I'd risk my life for people who barely give me the time of day. Who decide to /bail/ when the going gets tough."

    Okay, so maybe he's a /little/ bitter about how certain people have reacted to this whole business. Threatening to run off to other dimensions, or disappearing from the battlefield entirely. Just a little.

    He sighs. "Anyway, I just... assume that I care more than they do. That nobody would really notice if I was just... gone. It's easier, safer, than thinking they care and finding out they don't. Than... than watching people I thought were my /friends/ turn their backs on me. But it means it's hard for me to... notice, to /feel/ the little things, especially since most people don't... go out of their way to tell people how much they're appreciated, you know? I tell myself I'm reading too much into things, because so often I /am/. Like... I really, really want to believe Donna and I are becoming friends, but... maybe she's just concerned about Caitlin. Maybe she's just trying to make sure 'Gaea's Champion' does well. Maybe she's just... nice. Maybe she doesn't put the... the weight on our relationship that I do. It's safer to think that's so. To tell myself that, no, I'm reading too much into her atittude."

    He has to blink away tears for a moment. "So I want to tell you, because... it might help quiet the voice in my head that says that if you /knew/, you'd run away. If you knew just how broken I am, just what 'being there for me' means, you'd leave. That you've fallen in love with the image of me as... as strong, and capable, the image I project to my patients. That you don't love... /me/." He swallows past a lump in his throat. "If... if I tell you everything, and you stay, then... then it's easier to believe."

Cael Becker has posed:
    "I know I can't fix it - but I want to make it more tolerable, and I can at least do that... I have to at least do that. Yeah?" Cael asks simply.
    She falls silent as Jon continues to speak - and as her concern slowly grows, she pushes herself up, moving off of the cot while Bear lifts his head to watch her. She knows she should be resting... But she also knows what she needs to do, is to tuck herself in against Jon's back, arms wrapping wordlessly around the man - so she does.
    "We push people away for very different reasons, I guess. But it leaves us in the same place. Or at least - a very similar one."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "Afraid of losing people," Jon murmurs. "Or finding out we never had them."

    He stares at the blood dripping down into the flask. "When I was fifteen, I thought I'd finally made friends. Finally, finally, after being bullied and teased and ignored... /real/ friends. People I could count on. Because, see, these boys I hung out with, they protected me, right? Kept the others from beating me up. I did their homework, they gave me cigarettes... that's what friends are, right?"

    He sighs. "And then one day, I was... well, I was eavesdropping, because I used to do that a lot. Saw the lads I hung out with talking to another group that used to torment me. And I realized they were talking about me, so I hung back 'round the corner to listen. Can you guess what they said?" He flicks a glance toward her, then back to the dripping blood.

    "'Why d'you hang with /Sims/?' the leader said." He's put on an even more 'posh' accent than his own, and somewhat nasally. "'He's such a dweeb, and you know he's a queer, right? He just brings the rest of you down. Prob'ly hangs 'round you 'cause he wants to bugger one of you.'"

    He swallows. "That wasn't what was hard to hear. I knew what people thought of me. But my friends, I thought they'd... I dunno... say they liked me? Stand up for me? But... well..."

    His voice deepens a little, turns a bit more working-class. "'Sims is useful, ay? Never gotten better grades than since we let the queer hang 'round with us. All you gotta do is give him a smoke and a pat on the head and you've got him eating out of your hand. You oughtta try it! I'm sure he wouldn't mind more essays to write.'"

    He frowns. "And then they all... laughed. At me. For being such a bloody stupid idiot that I thought I had /friends/."

    He shakes his head. "Worst part is... I stuck around, because I didn't have anywhere else to go. Better false friends than getting beaten up on the regular, you know? But now, well... I wonder. I wonder what people are saying about me, behind my back. What they /really/ think of me."

    He closes his eyes. "At least I know you love me," he murmurs. "I can /feel/ that. I just want the doubts about why to go away."

Cael Becker has posed:
    "God, we were the same bloody idiots as teens," Cael remarks, letting out a quiet, bitter laugh. "My 'friends' made me let Alis die. Made me bury her under that saguaro. ...and I stayed with them. Where else would I go? It took Barnes for me to see straight, and go to the police."
    She remains where she is, leaning into his back, her arms wrapped around him as she offers softly, "I love you because you're brave. I love you because you're strong. And I love you because, even when I tried to push you away... you stayed by me. Why would I need more reason than that?" she asks.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon laughs, a little bitterly. "Because I'm not brave, Cael. I'm not strong. And I stood by you when you tried to push me away because I'm a glutton for punishment and I put up with shit I shouldn't."

    He sighs, and shakes his head. "That's not true. Not the last part. I just..."

    He leans his head back a bit, for support. "I'm glad he found you. Barnes. I really am. I'm glad he got you out, and you came here, and I met you. I don't think I could get through this without you."

    He lets out a long breath. "You should eat, love," he says. "I'll have this done in a few minutes, this and the feathers off the Dominion, and then I'll eat too. And put some whiskey in that cof--where the bloody hell is Amit, anyway? I /told/ that boy to get whiskey, you /deserve/ it, damn it. You were brilliant today, you know that? Just brilliant."

Cael Becker has posed:
    Cael moves around to Jon's side - just far enough to peer determinedly at his face. "Jonathan Sims," she says firmly, with that stubborn set to her jaw she gets at times. "You are brave, and you are strong. You didn't have to accept what's been thrust on you. You could have run from it - most anyone would have. You know what's coming, and you get up every morning, and you keep fighting - for me, for Martin, for your daughter, for the world... You're brave, and you're strong. And I love that about you." She leans in to kiss the corner of his mouth, before resting her head on his shoulder.
    "I wouldn't be here without you," she adds in a quiet voice. "I wouldn't be... on my feet without you. We're stronger together." A wry smirk quirks her lips before she adds, "Is that why Martin puts up with me?"
    She takes a deep slow, breath - seemingly perfectly content where she is. "I'll eat when you eat," she decides. "And Amit'll be back when he finds Boram."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "Martin doesn't 'put up with you,'" Jon says with a wry smirk. "Trust me... if Martin didn't like you, we'd /know/. He's not half so kind as I am. Oh, nicer, and more polite, but Martin doesn't like people as much as I do, most of the time. He sees right through most of the false friends I make."

    He smiles. "Honestly, it's... part of why I know I should rid myself of these doubts. If Martin thought you'd hurt me, he'd have told me so from the outset. And he doesn't. He's trusting you, with me, here. That... says a lot."

    He turns his head to press a kiss to the top of Cael's head, then says, "Well... I'd better get on this then, shall I?" He focuses his attention back on the archangel's blood dripping into the flask.

    Drip, drip, drip...