Owner	Pose
Jonathan Sims	The car drive home is fairly quiet. Jon doesn't seem to want to talk, focusing on his phone instead. When Martin asks who he's talking to he snaps "Tim Drake," which gets a comment from Martin about Tim even knowing about MI13 and DEO at all. Jon waves that off and then goes back to his phone.     The tension is thick enough to cut, is the basic idea.     Their apartment is dark, and a little dusty. It's clear Jon hasn't been here much and hasn't had their cleaning service in either--/another/ contract Martin's going to have to renew. Half of their possessions are in boxes, and there are half-eaten boxes of takeout in the kitchen and on the coffee table. There are books, too, and not dusty ones--books about lucid dreaming and ethnobotany, about ancient Egypt and astral projection.     Jon's been studying his new world, because of course he has. When in doubt, Jon studies.     "Sorry about the mess," Jon mumbles as he flicks on a light and starts gathering up takeout boxes. "Been a little busy." As if Martin's a guest, and hasn't lived in this apartment for years.
Martin Blackwood	Martin moves around the apartment, running a finger along the dust and looking at the depth of the trail he forces in it. "Where have you been staying?" he asks, looking at Jon.     "There's not enough physical disturbance to say here." He gestures at the shelf with its coating. "Even if you hadn't touched things while here, your presence would leave its mark. "You haven't been here... so where have you been?"
Jonathan Sims	"Doesn't matter," Jon says evasively. "I'm not there anymore. Been back here. Mostly." He's gathering up the books, now, and some notebooks full of writing next to them. "I was going to move somewhere else, but... ahh... well. That's not happening." He shrugs, then takes the first armload back to the second bedroom, the one that used to be Lyra's that they converted into a library.     There's still a couple of the notebooks on the living room coffee table, if Martin would pick one up to look through it.
Martin Blackwood	Habits, old or new, die hard and Martin can't help but pick up one of the notebooks. He flips through a number of pages, examining the contents with a discerning eye.     He's already taken note of the books and filed that bit of knowledge away for context more than anything. He frowns and waits for Jon to return.
Jonathan Sims	The notebooks are filled with Jon's writing, that precise almost-cursive that he prides himself on, so different from the usual doctor's scrawl. He'll say that he doesn't /need/ notes, per se, so his notes are for others and therefore must legible.     These notes, however, are /not/ for others, or at least no others that Martin can determine. They're the sort of rambling discussions with himself that he has when he's deep into a research topic, theorizing and speculating, using the notes as a substitute for bouncing the ideas off of someone else. There are also what look to be diagrams of an esoteric nature, possibly magical, and notes around them of Jon theorizing on what each one does.     "It's a good thing you came back when you did," Jon says as he comes back out of the bedroom. "I was going to pack everything up and sublet the place. I suppose we won't be doing that now, hmm?"
Martin Blackwood	Martin immediately sets the notes down where he found them and moves to the kitchen. It has only been a month but it feels like so much longer since he has set foot in this apartment. This place was his home, *is* his home. Why does he feel like a stranger in it?     He frowns, confronting Jon on his notes will only infuriate the man. He has to find the right time. Instead he turns to face Jon. "I certainly hope not. Dreadful practice. I understand that it helps people, but I'd rather not let strangers into our home."
Jonathan Sims	"Like I said... I was going to..." Jon frowns and shakes his head. "Doesn't matter now." He gathers up the rest of the notebooks, and takes them back to the second bedroom.     When he comes back out, he pulls the door shut. "Ahh... dinner! We should... I'll just... should I order something?" A pause. "I'll order something. Umm. Chinese? Chinese. I need a smoke anyway."     And then, rather abruptly, he's gone out to the balcony, presumably to call their favorite Chinese place and smoke a cigarette.
Martin Blackwood	Martin frowns at the balcony and walks a bit more. He realizes why he feels like a stranger in the flat. Because he is. Something has changed in the apartment, something he can't see. He looks to the bedrooms.     Martin is a snoop, professionally. And so as he makes his way toward the bedrooms, he makes almost no noise despite his boots not being suitable for stealth. At the two bedroom doors, he pauses and considers.     Not his own room, no. Too close. Too much a place of refuge. No. If something was different it'd be in the spare bedroom. Lyra's bedroom. He takes hold onf the knob and turns it before entering.
Jonathan Sims	The library is where the most change has happened. Normally there's bookshelves lining every wall except for the wall with a window, where there's a reading nook and a little shrine to Lyra with some of her favorite things. Now, two of the bookshelves on the wall opposite the door have been taken down, the books presumably in the boxes stacked to one side.     In their place are a pair of cork boards, each covered with sketches and post-it notes. Jon doesn't /actually/ do the red string business, but he /does/ have elaborate color coding schemes on push-pins and post-its.     Or... he used to, a decade ago, when a man named Elias Bouchard had drawn him into a group that ostensibly was meant to worship the Eye of Ra, but was in fact a cult intended to give the man power and wealth.
Martin Blackwood	Martin moves forward, his eyes scanning over the post-its. He's searching for what John's been working on in this fashion. What would push the man to such lengths that he'd fall back on habits he had learned under the tutelage of a cult? And who is the focus of all this work?     It couldn't be all Sasha, so much work and he would have tracked the woman down himself by now instead of being surprised by her arrival in the cemetary.
Jonathan Sims	One board is labeled THE ARCHIVIST, and has bits on there about Sasha, Gertrude, the Archive itself, Thoth. There's a demon, Nergal, off to one side, and it's pinned in the same color Sasha is. There is, perhaps blessedly, nothing about the Eye of Ra there.     The second board is labeled THE HIDDEN WORLD and includes scraps on magic, demons, vampires, gods, superheroes. There are names, most of them ones Martin doesn't recognize but one he definitely would: John Constantine.     There are also number codes, and Martin can swiftly put together than the number codes correspond to number codes in the notebooks. This is what Jon's been doing, while he's been gone. Trying to put together pieces of a puzzle that he has no other way to grasp, in the only way he knows how.
Martin Blackwood	Martin sighs. "Oh, Jon... I left and you fell to... to this?" he asks the room softly. "I'm... I'm so sorry..." He sobs, guilt welling up too high for his emotions to contain.     He turns, wanting to get out of the room to try and compose himself before the man returns from his cigarette and ordering moment.
Jonathan Sims	It's too late for that. Jon's standing there in the hallway, Martin's name dying on his lips. His eyes are wide, and he looks almost terrified, like he's expecting to be reprimanded.     "I'm sorry," he manages after a moment. "I'm sorry. You weren't supposed to see... I'm sorry."
Martin Blackwood	There is no reprimand on Martin's lips. Instead, he moves forward looking for all the world like he wants to hold Jon, his arms tentatively opened. "No. *I'm* sorry" he says. "I... I left and you... you got lost... and I wasn't there to..." He's crying now, tears running down his cheeks.
Jonathan Sims	Jon isn't really looking at Martin. "You weren't supposed to see this," he repeats, and then he pushes on past the shorter man, on into the bedroom.     "I didn't mean to do it," he says, as he walks over to the first corkboard. "I just, it's just, there's been so much going on, and I've been trying to... to /understand/ it all." He starts taking things off of it, pulling them down like it will erase what Martin saw. "I didn't mean to. I didn't. I know... I know you don't like... but I just didn't know how else to... nothing makes /sense/ anymore." He's shaking a little. "Nothing makes sense, and nobody was helping, so I... I had to..."     The shaking intensifies, bad enough that he drops a push-pin and goes scrambling to the floor to try to pick it up.
Martin Blackwood	"Jon..." Martin says dropping down to grab the push pin in steadier hands. "It's.. it's okay. I'm not... I'm not mad at you..." He doesn't look mad. Sympathetic, perhaps, but not mad.     "I understand. I do. Your world fell apart and you did what you had to make sense of it..."     He rises and offers the tack. "Do you want... we should talk about it..." He nods and his expression still looks like he wants to hold Jon and let him know that everything will be alright.
Jonathan Sims	Jon shakes his head. "No, no, it's fine. I'm /fine/." He reaches out to take the tack from Martin. "See? Fine. Everything's... fine. The world fell apart, yes, but I went on. I'm going on. I'm /fine/."     He turns to look at the corkboard and shakes his head. "Just bin the whole damn thing," he mutters, and goes to try to pull it down off the wall.
Jonathan Sims	"/Art Bell/?!" Jon splutters, drawing himself up, glaring at Martin. "You're comparing me to that... that /hack/? I will have you know that even at the /worst/ of the whole 'Eye of Ra' business I was at least working off of /verifiable/ information, I am not a /conspiracy theorist,/ Martin."     Of course... he's snapped out of the daze he was in, trying to clear everything up so Martin didn't see it. Which... is probably the point, yes?
Martin Blackwood	Martin listens to the outburst with a knowing soft smile on his face. "Which is precisely why we don't have to bin it all, Jon" he says. "It's all valid information and good to have just... the process here is..."     He searches for a word that is light enough to not hurt the man's feelings. "Concerning. Which is why I'm all for binders." He keeps the frown in place. "Are you sure we can't talk some about it. I mean, what you have been doing in my..." Another pause to let some guilt wash over him. "Absence."
Jonathan Sims	Jon stares at Martin and then his shoulders slump. "I... I've been..." He glances at the corkboards, looks around at the notebooks. Then he goes to throw himself into the chair next to the little shrine to Lyra, letting his head fall back onto the headrest.     "I've been spending time with John Constantine. He has this... vigilante group now. So... fighting demons and necromancers and almost dying more than once." He shrugs, and though he's keeping his tone even, as if it's not big deal, Martin can tell there's strain there.
Martin Blackwood	Martin frowns as Jon starts. He moves to lean against the wall next to his daughter's shrine. The resemblance between daughter and father is rather uncanny, really.     At the mention of Constatine he frowns more deeply. He has always had reservations about the man, and none of it has anything to do with his aesthetic.     "He's in town? And has a *group?* As in more than just one or two who hang around him and his pal?" he asks. That Constantine would have followers to his own rather chaotic code of ethics was... concerning.
Jonathan Sims	Jon nods. "They have, umm, amulets to communicate, they're trying to organize... a vigilante dark magic fighting group, essentially." He laughs. "Not that it matters much! I pissed him off so much I wound up leaving. He didn't like my comments about him moving entire buildings from Liverpool into Hell's Kitchen." He shrugs.     Then he sighs and rakes his hands through his hair. "The demons, the magic, the vampires... they're all /real/, Martin. Which I've known for a while, I just... hadn't /seen/ it all. Sasha, the demon she'd turned to... it's a demon that John made deals with, the first one he interacted with, so he... had been trying to track down Sasha, but there's been /so much/ going on..."
Martin Blackwood	Martin went through the same realization 15 years ago. Knowing that demons and vampires and necromancers were real on an intellectual level and running into one in a fight for the first time were vastly different things. He lets himself experience a brief bit of relief at the fact that Jon has distanced himself from Constantine but then feels the guilt well up because clearly it's upset Jon.     His eyes go to the wall hangings again and he sighs. "Let me guess... you've been running around with John but he hasn't been telling you anything or training you for anything you go up against?" he asks with a frown. "But he was the one you turned to... and so between his lack of tutelage and your own habits..." He gestures to the wall. "Oh, Jon, I'm so sorry."
Jonathan Sims	Jon stares at Martin. "What...? I don't know what you're... well, yes, John's been terribly busy, so I've been trying to figure things out on my own but I haven't quite known where to... how do I know which books have real information and which don't? I had talked to an old friend of John's, Nettie Crowe, about getting magical training but there's been so much going on before that, so it's been..."     He scrubs a hair through his hair and waves at the corkboards. "I know, I know, but it's /not/ that bad, /honestly/, I haven't been permanently injured, I'm still alive, I was just... trying to figure things out, that's all."
Martin Blackwood	Martin frowns. "Jon... the last time you did that was when Elias was treating you as a tool and not as a person" he says crossing his arms in his rest position.     "Am I wrong? Is John teaching you about magic? About vampires, necromancers? What Sasha had become, was he *including you* in his... attacks, or at least scrying attempts at her?" There is an edge in his tone. "I would love to be wrong here. Truly. But from I remember of John Constantine, he isn't very inclusive if you are named Francis Chandler."
Jonathan Sims	"I..." Jon hesitates, and then immediately, /defensively/, "I'm /new/ to all this, Martin. He can't bring me along for every scrying thing he does. And his daughter's been in danger, and there's... just been a /lot/ going on, you know?"     He hunches himself up a bit, in the chair. "It's not like Elias. It's not a... a /cult/, Martin. It's just. It's been. Busy. And... and things have been hard, but that's just... the life, right? Things are dangerous, people almost die, you shrug it off and move on." Oh, the /pain/ he's hiding under a veneer of indifference.
Martin Blackwood	Martin moves away from the wall and kneels down. "I'm not saying it's a cult. But I am saying that instead of giving you the proper intiation to this life and this world... John Constantine is treating you as anything *but* new."     He reaches a hand out and places it on Jon's knee. "Busy or not... there is a protocol for this sort of thing. But he is not the type to follow protocol and so... you've been on your own." He looks behind Jon to the boards and shakes his head. "And you went to a method you remember when you were essentially on your own then too. Before I was able to get you out."
Jonathan Sims	"He keeps insisting I don't know anything," Jon protests, "not /new/. I mean, it's so /infuriating/, I just keep--"     And then he stops, and /blinks/. "Oh. Oh, good lord. It's just the way Elias treated me, isn't it? Not telling me anything, mocking me for /not/ knowing things, telling me I couldn't /possibly/ understand... giving me bits of affection and attention and then yelling at me for the /slightest/ step out of line..."     He buries his face in his hands. "Oh. Oh gods. I /knew/ there was a reason I keep saying I need to not... I just hadn't /consciously/..."
Martin Blackwood	Martin doesn't hesitate this time. He moves up and gives Jon a hug if the man allows it. "Jon..." he says softly. "I don't think he was doing it on purpose." He remembers John being chaotic but not entirely malicious. "He probably just doesn't understand what you can do and so instead of taking the time to figure it out he set you aside... and since he's been, as you say busy, he hasn't decided it's time to pick apart what you can do."     He pulls back and looks at him. "But I don't think that's the place for you anyway. Vigilantism doesn't suit you, at least, not in the way that I know you. You need..." He frowns. Did he want to bring up his suggestion now or should he wait? He is torn on his move.
Jonathan Sims	Jon is sobbing now, and actually leans into the hug while it's there. "I know," he sobs. "I know! I gave him back the necklace. I need to give him my key to the flat I was going to have in his building. I need to pick up my things. I /want/ to be his friend, I... I..."     He sniffles and looks away. "I have a /crush/ on him, Martin," he says softly, voice ashamed, cheecks going darker.
Martin Blackwood	Martin doesn't seem remotely surprised or even angry. "He's a charming man... sometimes" he says with a shrug. "Charisma has served him well in the past and I suspect it will do the same in the future. But..." He pauses again. "I don't know that he's good for you. Especially given..." He gestures to the boards.     It seems something settles in his head and when he speaks it's with a level of conviction that hasn't been there the entire night. "Can I... Can I make a suggestion?" he asks. "And I don't need an answer right now, but... it might... it might help. A lot of things."
Jonathan Sims	Jon... blinks at Martin. "You... you're not angry?" Then he laughs. "You knew. Of /course/ you knew. You know... everything, most of the time. I'd think /you/ had psychic Jon-focused powers."     He reaches out, slowly, tentatively, to take Martin's hand. To thread their fingers together. Something in him shifts, relaxes. "What is it?" He's looking up at Martin with that wide-eyed gaze he gets sometimes, vulnerable and open and trusting. He /trusts/ Martin, even now, and that's the problem, isn't it? The thing that has Martin guilty, that had Jon angry and then trying to hide things. Martin didn't trust him.
Martin Blackwood	Martin takes the hand with little hesitation. "I just know you, Jon" he says with a fondness that Jon hasn't felt in a month.     "I... think you should bring your intellect and your abilities to SHIELD" he says. "At least, meet with Chief Carter. Talk to her. You don't have to sign up right away, but maybe feel them out?" He nods to the boards. "They could give you the direction you need to handle that, as well as the training and assistance with getting a handle on your powers at large. They helped me when I was just learning my own skills, gave me a reason and a purpose. Something to believe in as well as a support group to belive in me. "
Jonathan Sims	Jon swallows. "I... I'd been thinking of going to them anyway, I just had... /no/ idea how." He laughs and shakes his head ruefully. "I /want/ to help. I really do. The world, I mean. I have these abilities now, I should be helping people." It's hardly surprising, given what he's been around over the years. "I'll go with you. Gladly."     He hesitates, then says, softly, "I've missed you /so/ much, Martin. Everything's been... cold and lonely, without you." He squeezes their joined hands. "Something... something /awful/ happened to me, and I... I haven't been able to..." He shudders, and looks down, breaking the eye contact. "I can't bring myself to talk about it, it /hurts/ so much."
Martin Blackwood	Martin smiles as Jon agrees. He's genuinely happy that Jon is willing and wanting to help them in their quest. "Thank you!" he says. As Jon continues his smile falls. "I'm here... and if you can't tell me... I understand... but... I want to help you, Jon. I'm not going anywhere, ever again."     He pauses, considering the man. "Tell me what you can? Anything that you can? I promise I won't judge you or scold you... I understand that given what I did... the mistake I made... you might've made some poor decisions."
Jonathan Sims	Jon shudders. "I... it's... I can't tell you everything yet, I can't... /voice/ it, but..." He closes his eyes. "I was... psychically assaulted. It's... it's been... haunting me. I keep... remembering. I keep... trying so hard not to think about it. I keep trying to..."     He looks up, eyes drifting to the boards on the wall. And Martin can surely put two and two together: the boards probably went up shortly after whatever happened. A desperate attempt to exert control over a world that was spinning away from him.
Martin Blackwood	Martin listens and after a moment he nods. "I... I'm sorry..." he says softly. "Who?" he asks, and there is a definite hardness in his tone. A protectiveness that Jon would recognize all too well. Martin want's to attack whoever assaulted Jon and, from his actions in the cemetery, he might be able to if given direction. "And why?" he asks, just as softly.     He looks at the boards. "That's when you started that isn't it? All the books, all the notes, it's an effort to understand what happened and what you're... seeing?" he asks.
Jonathan Sims	Jon shakes his head. "No. Maybe? Not... not /that/. I can't... I can't talk about it yet. I've been trying to look some things up but I've gotten nowhere." He makes a noise of irritation. Martin knows all too well how much his husband /hates/ not being able to track down a thing.     "I keep feeling like it's my fault. I tell myself it isn't, I know what I'd tell someone else who was... was... assaulted. But I just... I touched the thing, I..." He closes his eyes. Shakes his head. Curls in on himself, and starts to sob.
Martin Blackwood	Martin moves in to hold the man. Their linked hands the only barrier between them. "It's okay. I... I understand. I do." He did, to a degree. Power such as Jon's came with a number of strings attached. That this assault is a result of one of those strings, isn't too far of a leap to make.     He pulls only a fraction away and tilts Jon's head up to look at him. Despite the tears, despite the messiness, he leans forward and softly kisses his husband on the lips. It's a slow and lingering kiss, meant more for comfort than for any sort of passion.
Jonathan Sims	Jon makes a whimpering sound at that, and clings to Martin as he returns the kiss, hands clutched into the other man's sleeves, like he's trying to keep him there, right there. When he finally pulls away it's only far enough to press his forehead to Martin's, eyes closed.     "Is this real? You're really alive? I'm not... I'm not... going to w-wake up and discover this has been a cruel nightmare?" His hands tighten in the sleeves.
Martin Blackwood	"I'm real. And I'm staying" Martin replied, bringing one of Jon's hands up to kiss his fingetips. "And I'm alive. Truly." He pulls away and kisses Jon on the forehead before rising, hoping to bring the man up with him.     "What did you order again, I sort of... lost track of it all with... everything else..." he chuckles and gives the board another long look before tearing his eyes away from it and putting it behind them both.
Jonathan Sims	"The usual," Jon says as he stands with Martin, and before he can say any more the doorbell rings. He chuckles, and sniffles. "That'll be them. Let's, ahh... let's go eat, and then get some sleep? I'm exhausted."     He turns to head on out of the bedroom, hand still threaded through Martin's like he's afraid to let go.