revivalproject | Of Heart Breaks and other Intermissions

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Of Heart Breaks and other Intermissions

WHO: Jonathan Sims & you~
WHERE: Various
WHAT: May catch-all
WHEN: What remains of May
WARNINGS: He has cigarettes and feels terrible. Horror themes may pop up?

Cigarette Break [ hospital ]

A large slab of rubble a little away from the hospital's the emergency entrance has come to be Jon's preferred place to take a break. Or to just linger around to pass some time between cleaning up. Or to dwell on what sits on his mind.

It's that piece of rubble Jon can be found on. Sitting cross-legged and leaning against an even bigger piece of rock, a cup of tea next to him and a cigarette between trembling fingers. It's not lit and Jon makes no move to light it. Instead, he simply stares at it. He knows exactly who has left these anonymously for him and that... It still hurts.

Just another rejection, right? Those just seem to be happening to him... No one really wants him, no one needs him. Even here at the hospital. Not that he has any medical training to offer. Or any helpful magic. He's hardly even any use at cleaning this place up.

And he's getting tired of it. Tired of feeling useless. Tired of getting rejected. Tired of not knowing what to do.

Altair should arrive at the hospital soon, right? He has meant to talk to the Chiss. Though at this point Jon wouldn't mind any interaction that doesn't end with feeling rejected.

Reality Break [ around the city ]

Taking some time away from the hospital as well as the library feels necessary every now and then. There are still plenty of areas he hasn't explored yet and wandering about... Well. Aside from trying to fix things, what else really is there to do?

Jon spends a good amount of time in the Northern part of Temba. The gaping hole in the ground that used to be a mine is quite effectively keeping his attention for some time. Whatever has happened here to cause this damage... He wants to know. It has to have been dreadful. He also makes it to the hangar, wandering inside and instantly feeling just as lost as he has been on his first visit to this place.

He still can't believe these are actual space ships. But he doesn't enter the one he has been assigned to either. Just takes a moment to stare.

The entire North-Western area, not far from where he has claimed some small personal place for himself, is entirely peculiar. He will wander along the fenced-off structures thoughtfully. No one would stop him if he were to try and break into one of these, right? Has someone ever tried? All he needs is to find a way over or through these fences... Though as much as he contemplates the possibilities, Jon makes no move to try entering. If the tunnels have taught him one thing, then it's to at least attempt to prepare for such excursions.

Heading towards the forge..... Now that's a mistake Jon realizes once he draws near enough to spot the structure in the distance. And there he stops, guts twisting uncomfortably as his mind helpfully replays Tony's words to come by the forge for him to finally fix that broken front camera on Jon's phone.

A crack Tony remains responsible for in a way. Just as the man is responsible for invoking false hopes and false security and- Christ. The Archivist mutters something under his breath before he turns and makes to leave the area again before everything comes bubbling up yet again.

Lunch Break [ amphitheater ]

The large amphitheater is empty when Jon enters it. At least a center area at ground level is, and he doesn't bother to check thoroughly. At least he isn't walking into another training session and just may be able to distract himself and his mind for at least a short while. He crosses the entire area until he reaches one of the lowest benches and sets his satchel down on it before pulling out his tape recorder and the book Cayde has given him.

Right. It's about time he gets to read and record this. And as the library lacks a room that doesn't ruin any recording attempts through excessive echoing, one of the theaters will have to do. The acoustics in them has been the most acceptable during his testing.

He sets the recorder down at the bench and presses down the record button before stepping out into the center of the theater, opening the book once he has taken his place and opens it on the first page, muttering a little at being reminded just what the Exo has done to the book "...Jesus, this is a mess." But he still clears his throat.

"An account of Cayde-6, Hunter Vanguard of the Last City. Recorded by Jonathan Sims. ..." And he proceeds to read what Cayde has written between the actual text of the book, finding it easy and soothingly familiar to let himself drift off and let the written words carry him and his mind away at least for a little while.

God he really has missed doing this, hasn't he...

If anyone is to wander into this, they get the chance to test just how jumpy the Archivist can be. If they were in the theater from the very beginning, maybe enjoying a little nap on one of the upper ranks, they can either enjoy the reading, or yell at him to shut the hell up.

Mental Break(down) [ library ]

The shelves of the library remain depressingly empty, even as Jon slides Cayde's book onto one of them with the neatly labeled tape recording of its content sitting right on top of it. He sighs, shoulders slumping as he lets his hands drop to his sides.

It's just as empty as he feels, isn't it. How... fitting.

Why does he even still bother to try? It's not like anyone here needs or wants him around. Even the Agrii have gotten very quiet. Maybe their captors have been attacked and wiped out by now. That United Federation of Planets T'Pring spoke of doing away with this potential threat. It's possible, right? And they are not trapped on this planet for good.

So why does he still bother trying? Can't he just give in at last? Cast off whatever shreds of humanity tie him down and be the monster he can still hear Helen encourage him to be? Turn this city into a hunting ground. Draw out dark secrets and terrors and leave everyone with their own, personal nightmares until his actions get him hunted down by all these heroes.

A humorless, shallow laugh echoes through the empty library halls. Heroes do need monsters to hunt, right? Maybe that's his place after all.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

It's not exactly a relief that Tony doesn't have the luxury of lingering on how embarrassing that statement was, sharply aware of the manipulation now that it was out and the flare of anger at the invasion competing with the humiliation of it only lasting until the sound of Jon's voice shocked them both cool. That sound was a clutch of ice around his heart, inexplicable, making Tony finally stop clawing for the network so the only static he could hear was the distant sound of the communicator, tinny in his pocket. The nanonetwork stopped its skittering search, streaking down Tony's arms instead as it let gravity unfold it, feeling like a tickle of hot sweat down Tony's stomach that made his tense muscles twitch.

He didn't know if that was another magical compulsion, still convinced that if he could stop his treacherous mouth from moving he wouldn't be coerced into the system, but that got harder with every move Jon made. Tony was already wound tight, so the shake of his head at Jon's accusation was small and subtle, not quite a commitment that was over as soon as Jon raised his hands. He had to force himself to let out a long, slow breath watching and waiting for the attack while every inch Jon's hands moved upward felt like a reckless crank of the wire through Tony's core, already humming and ready to snap. It made the touch to his face a relief, still intact, only the blistered and nicked skin of his hands cracking as he clenched down hard on the edge of the desk. At the change coming over Jon's eyes, Tony's widened, not sure if he was watching a monster take over Jon to protect its avatar, or that was Jon, but it added a scalpel edge of terror to that voice.

Using the only tool he knew he had, Tony dropped his voice low and gentle to talk him down, ragged around the short, stuttering breaths he could take under that gaze and forgetting that he was trying to hold his tongue, "I know, I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I didn't think you would have stayed, and I should have trusted you. I'm sorry. I didn't want you to be the one to leave. I know. I don't want to--" Tony swayed further forward, dropping his chin to bow into Jon's frustration again, closing his eyes this time with a pleading knit of his brow. Don't ask anymore. Neither of them wanted that.

The apology, Tony's voice, its tone - It all sends a shiver through Jon's very being and those hands that have already started to slip away again from Tony's face move back up again slowly, fingers brushing through the man's messy hair to come together again behind Tony's neck while Jon moves what closer he can get to the table and press his own forehead against Tony's head, drawing in long, shuddering breaths. It's an odd embrace. Somewhat awkward, but-- It helps. The closeness, the apology that has been apparent in more than but words. It helps Jon to calm down again, helps his mind to settle. His heart won't settle, though. But it beats in a much less painful way.

He really doesn't want to ask anything else. Hadn't wanted to from the start.Tony doesn't like it and he doesn't like seeing the man being subjected to it.

The static fades away though Jon's trembling doesn't cease. When he speaks next, his voice is his own again, yet not devoid of the tremors either "...I, I'm sorry. I didn't... Sorry I did this to you." He tenses. "I wish I could make you trust me." Though after this? He may be right to fear that trust may never be possible for him to earn.

It was going to take much longer for that embrace to draw any of the tension out of Tony, his eyes slitting open to watch cautiously as Jon moved closer and darting to assess every twitch and tremble, waiting for the sign to take a breath before Jon got a hand around his throat. That was a big reaction to Tony clumsily abandoning him at the carnival, and while Tony knew what that felt like, he did it to Jon first for a reason, he didn't know what else could trigger a reaction like that while he was still on edge. Sunset would have hated the soot and blood on Tony's hands, so he kept them close to the desk, and the armor would have yanked Tony back if he tried to draw away.

The sound of Jon's voice let his eyes fall shut again, trying to shut out that shiver that he couldn't ignore running down Jon's arms. "It was my fault," he insisted with a small shake of his head to dismiss Jon's apology, "I should have been more careful." After all, Jon had made it very clear from the start that toying with him was going to get Tony a big reaction, every time, and Tony hadn't given what Jon had been trying to tell him the respect it was due. Slowly, trying not to signal that he was pushing Jon away again and make the tremors worse, he tilted his head and forced the tension out of his shoulders to make space for Jon there, flexing his dirty hands apologetically between them before pressing them both flat to the front of his shirt, carefully out of the way. He didn't have anything Jon wanted to hear about trust.

Feeling Tony shift under his arms initially causes Jon to tense up, fully expecting the man to pull away from him. But finding him rather make room for a less awkward embrace... Makes Jon pause, unsure how to react. Is this Tony’s way of being more careful? More careful at playing with the monster or carefully setting the stage for a gentler rejection?

He lets out a soft exhale, both exhausted and yearning at the same time. Yearning to follow that wordless invitation, but also yearning to know if doing so is the right decision.

It’s Jon’s hand that finds its place on that offered shoulder. Resting there gently while Jon laments over it. He really ought to be used to being rejected by now, shouldn’t he... When helps he started hoping to find acceptance again anyway?

“I-“ Jon begins, but interrupts himself as the exhaustion he feels takes on a note of nausea and that hand he originally placed on Tony’s shoulder in a rather hopeful way suddenly holds onto it for support “.....-I think I need to sit down?”

Tony went, "What?" then, "Uh--" as he drew back enough to read what that was supposed to mean on Jon's face, still not finding the situation entirely clear. At least it was a face Tony recognized, as clear-eyed as he had known Jon to be-- that was, not black or glowing, but tired and just on the wrong side of glassy. The discomfort could have been anything, this expression would have been easier to discern if Tony knew for sure what Jon looked like when and if he was comfortable.

That didn't make his request any harder to follow, though; the instruction was clear. Tony straightened his back as he unfolded his legs and hastily wiped his hands down his front, pushing closer to the edge of the table to pin Jon between his knees and carefully take his elbows to keep him upright as Tony scanned for a seat in the dim room. What did Jon do in this place? Voice still a low murmur, Tony offered, "There's a bench behind you, against the wall, are you going to make it? Do you need...?" Anything, really, Tony wasn't sure what he could be doing, but gave a tug to Jon's arm to encourage him to take hold if the sitting was going to happen too immediately.

Comfortable is not exactly a state Jon tends to be in often. There's usually always something that prevents him from getting comfortable - Or finding rest. It's only gotten worse since the Archive.

"R-Right... Behind me." Jon confirms with a nod, his hand taking hold of Tony's arm. He turns his head slightly in the direction he at least believes to remember knowing said bench to be. He knows it's there. He has used it a few times - not necessarily to sit on it "Just... Help me over there. Please."

No, it may not make much sense to Tony at this point, but Jon is perfectly aware that he overdid it earlier. He has been feeling weak for weeks now, yet has refused to properly address the problem, hoping to find something other than the scavenged tapes he has been saving that works just well enough to keep him sustained and functional. So far with sparse success.

Whatever Jon's face was doing, Tony was starting to think he wanted to see it about as much as he saw the black eyes, making him raise a lip in his own discomfort at the weak gesturing. He slid slowly from the desk to keep one arm around Jon as he did, bending smoothly in the same move to scoop him up around the thighs and balance his weight against a hip and over a shoulder. He must have weighed less than Pepper, and in the same mumble he hadn't strayed a decibel from, Tony said, "We're going to have to put in some body work with you, get in some protein, you can do yoga with me, you don't even feel that one in the morning..." And they were at the bench for Tony to carefully kneel until he could feel the cool stone under his arm and shoulder Jon back against the wall. "Unless you're into that. You learn to like it."

Jon doesn't expect to be simply picked up like that. And, in fact, he wants to complain - But Tony's low voice cuts him short before he can get a single syllable out. So he just blinks at the other man, lips kept shut. The baffled expression remains even after Tony has put him down.

"You- Y-you do yoga...?" Jon blurts out the moment there is something solid under him and the risk of collapsing on the floor has been significantly reduced. It's pure wonder that delivers this question, and unlike the ones before, it's entirely harmless. Though he is quick to shake his head - an action he is equally quick to regret given his own lasting dizziness. He ends up looking down, fixing his eyes on the bench with a suitably embarrassed expression "I- I mean... I can't- I'm having a hard time imagining that."

To be fair, he is having an even harder time imagining himself doing yoga. Not that he has tried. Jon has a long history of avoiding sports of all kinds.

Then something else occurs to him and Jon's expression turns into a weak, yet still quite genuine smile "...also thanks. For... Helping me." Even if that has entailed being picked up like a lost cat on the street.

For the briefest moment, Jon looked moderately less cross-eyed. He was looking down again too fast, leaving Tony wondering if he had really done anything to help, frowning back up at that smile in concern and expecting the effort Jon put into the expression to be the thing to pitch him over and crack his head on the bench. Tony sat back on his heels, one arm draped over Jon's knee to press an anxious knuckle to his lip, his other tucked. still defensive, against his stomach, waiting for this to turn again if Tony couldn't keep him distracted. "Picked it up from a girlfriend, how else?" he muttered around his hand. "This total firecracker redhead. Kathy." Of course Jon didn't recognize the name and Tony took a deep breath, realizing all at once why trying to talk to anyone here was so fucking exhausting. Not having the Iron Man was one thing, but he had spent over a decade building an armor of persona in the tabloids that meant he rarely had to explain any part of his life to anyone--if they knew they were meeting Tony Stark, they already had their opinion of him and it didn't really matter what Tony had to say. He had never had to tell anyone about Kathy. "I thought I was going to marry her. And she shot me in the back." There. All caught up now. Jon could imagine what the court illustrations must have looked like on his own time. "So-- yoga, I was paralyzed, wheelchair, didn't think I was going to walk again, whole thing, and I would get so angry. Not at anything in particular, but I was so used to...Jim would have to get me a cup of coffee because I couldn't reach it, and I wanted to throw it at him. I'm not an easy invalid. So my physical therapist said, let's try this, and it was a lot of laying on the floor at first, which, you can imagine, pissed me off, but eventually, with a bit of the magic of modern science, I was still laying on the floor but I was thanking my legs for being so good to me and appreciating the time and my spine and Kathy a little bit, for getting me here."

This is... New. Tony talking, rather than him. Tony sharing something about himself. His time before Agra 10. An understandably difficult time for him, even.

And Jon listens in silence. Making sure to take it all in. This isn’t a dreadful tale of a near-death-experience.This is about the following recovery. Not a piece of fear and pain but the path that leads away from it. And while not as revitalizing as a statement filled with terror, Jon appreciates it more. This information has its very own value. It’s very own taste, so to say.

He smiles a little sadly. Receiving this information makes him happy, the story itself, however, is a sad one.

“I’m sorry this happened to you.” He says, placing one of his hands on the arm Tony has on his knee. At least his trembling has ceased.

“You... You seem to have recovered well.” Jon never would have been guessed that Tony used to be bound to a wheelchair.

Tony wasn't sure how much of that Jon actually heard, but he wasn't going to press it. There were plenty of good reasons recovery was a lonely process, and Tony didn't want to get caught in the distracting silt of suggesting Jon forgive him for shooting him in the back, or whether the monster Tony saw could even appreciate a shavasana. He could already feel that argument, Jon had a knack for hearing the wrong thing.

Instead, he watched Jon's hand cautiously, then bolted together a grin to say, "What did I tell you? Not a scar on me. Magic." The kind of magic Tony could believe in, anyway; a trick he could engineer, even if it took a little longer than a prayer. And his work seemed to have had some success here, too, but it was tough to gauge based on a steady hand, so Tony's grin faded quickly and he prompted, "How are you doing, what's the status?"

At least it sounds like a good sort of magic. Though Jon doesn’t doubt that To y would be perfectly able to pull off a few scars as well and make them look hot.

As for Tony’s question, Jon decides to go with the truth.

“Weak. Hungry... I think I will have to have a statement later.” He raises his head and looks over to the cupboard next to his desk “I saved a few of those I managed to find...” His attention flips back to Tony and he answers the questions he feels might result from this answer “Tapes. Some of the recorders that appear have pre-recorded statements in them.” A pause. “Think of them as ready meals.”

Not a comparison he would usually give, but one he feels might be the easiest to understand.

Now Tony regretted not taking it immediately when he had the chance to ask what Jon had meant by eating fear, because it didn't seem entirely appropriate here to clarify, "You eat the tapes?" Jon talking about his monstrous habits was such a different experience than witnessing them that Tony almost started to second guess what had just happened, if it was just the light or the abrupt network disconnection jacking up his anxiety. That would have been a specific kind of hallucination to onset so suddenly, though, even if the idea of Jon slurping up film like spaghetti was patently ridiculous. What the hell was he trying to do with BD-1 then?

At least Jon's pallor made a lot of sense now. He had tapped in to something for his magic show, and the tank was empty-- and the kind of fear he caused that way wasn't even the fuel, it was empty calories. That really put Tony at ease.

“Good Lord, no! That’s not-“ Jon sputters for a few moments at that question. Half of it is in amusement, however. The other half? Low key embarrassment at The mental image Tony must be having of him that very moment. He still ends up having to bring his free hand to his mouth to cover up a chuckle.

“I... I listen to them. Their content. It’s... I just listen to them.” Just as he would listen to a story told to him directly.

The laugh finally released some of the tension that Tony realized he had been pressing the heel of his hand into in his gut, letting him take a deep breath for the first time in too long as he brought that hand up to bar his arm across his chest instead, fingers working into his shoulder. He slouched down onto his hip, elbow slipping from Jon's knee to hold there instead with his chin pressed to the back of his hand, trying to relax. Jon was just hungry. Tony could get cranky in those conditions, too. He said it himself, he didn't want to hurt Tony.

"Why haven't you been listening then?" Tony asked eventually. From his position, the benefits seemed to outweigh the downsides, and the tapes weren't going anywhere, not to mention the horror stories he knew even the few people he had met here had to share. Sansa's whole life was horror, Reeve's entire world was destroyed around him. All Jon had to do was play therapist.

For such a simple question, the answer turns out to be remarkably complex and Jon sits for a few moments in silence, simply looking down at Tony while slowly scratching the back of his own hand.

"That's... I only have three of them at the moment. I never know when I find another tape that has a statement on it. They aren't as common as the tapes in the recorders being empty. And I... I'm trying to save them." He presses his lips together for a moment, inhaling through his nose, then exhaling before he continues. "I was hoping to find alternatives by now. Exploring an alien world, learning about other planets, things like that. It's... It's not the same. But... I can last a while. About a month, then it starts getting unpleasant."

And by unpleasant he means physically taxing as starvation is setting in.

That didn't really answer Tony's question and he sighed, not sure how else to ask. The tapes must have lost their potency after the first time, he figured, but that didn't explain why Jon's alternatives didn't involve asking for help. Hell, Cal seemed like he was carrying around some dark shit and he had basically offered to talk it out when Jon came at him with a metal rod, he must have known he had options. That left Tony wondering about the bespoke horrors that must have been on those tapes that only Jon must have known were particularly nourishing, and shivered. Abruptly, he sat up again but found it ached to drag himself any further away yet, despite the suggestion of what must have been crawling around in Jon's head, and slid both arms along the bench to pin him in place with Tony's hands spread over his hips, not holding but suggesting he didn't squirm out of it this time. "Where's your phone?"

But Tony, you asked why he isn't listening, not why he isn't asking people to share their personal traumas with him. And, in a way, he has brought up his interest in personal accounts back when he looked for help with the data storage.

It hasn't really panned out and he isn't sure he really wants the entire city to know about this - Not while he has no way to escape everyone.

The sudden movement and the returning request for his phone is- It's a welcome topic change and a question Jon is less reluctant to answer by simply reaching into his pocket and pulling forth the requested device and holding it up "I always have it on me. Just- In case."

In case he was getting messages he wasn't going to answer? Tony raised an eyebrow but pursed his lips, not taking the chance to ruin his opportunity at snatching the device away from Jon. He had made it very clear why he wasn't going to answer Tony anymore, they didn't need to bring the monster out again. Like shuffling a deck of cards with one hand, Tony easily cracked the outer casing from Jon's communicator without any warning, tucking the plastic against his palm to check the hardware as he reached for his tool belt-- He left the screwdriver on the desk. He stared blankly at the device in his hand for a deep breath before rolling to his feet and stalking away with determination. It wasn't so bad once the band-aid was ripped and he had made some distance, just hollow feeling in his chest.

At the table, Tony bent over his work as he spread it across the surface, working quickly to liberate the lens that fell out easily in two halves at the first opportunity. The components that held the camera together around the lens weren't looking in great shape, either, but they seemed to still be functional, so Tony purred to the device, "You've got this, sweetheart, he's not going to be gentle with you every time." He produced the new lens tied in a rag from his pocket as he blew the useless glass away across the desk, and a pair of tweezers to keep it pristine as he slid it into place.

While Jon misses Tony's expression or the reason behind it, Tony actually will receive a couple of answers to this little list of questions he sent over the following days - All recorded as voice messages, of course. And primarily questions that ask for plain facts.

He does wince a little at seeing his phone being cracked open this easily. Tony walking away? It stings in a way that hardly makes sense, given that obviously he has needs the desk to properly work on the phone. Though it takes some effort to stay where he is for Jon. To not get up and follow to watch. So all he gets is Tony's voice as he mumbles to the pieces in front of him.

"...you speak to it." He observes pointlessly. Because he doesn't occasionally talk to his tape recorders.

"She let me undress her, no reason to be rude," Tony explained absently as he fit everything back together. He only turned around again when the case was back on the device, tools away, and he was turning it on to check his work. The crack no longer marred Jon's camera image, and the focus didn't seem misaligned so--oh, god, is that what Tony looked like? No wonder Jon didn't want anything to do with him when he walked in here. Tony raised a lip of disgust at his own image, then took his time with the camera trying to push his hair into some kind of order that was never going to be satisfying under these conditions. Giving up on the project didn't stop him from shifting mercurially into a smouldering smirk that was gone the moment the shutter clicked. "Good. I'll put it on your tab," he concluded and tossed the device carelessly across to Jon, realizing his mistake at the apex of its arc with what was mostly disappointment. Jon was not going to handle that with grace.

Grace? Grace is not something the Archivist is blessed with, that it true. Certainly not this Archivist. And he is well aware just how badly this is bound to go. It wouldn’t be the first time he caught something with his face. Which is likely going to happen unless Jon manages to catch the device before it reaches him.

Of course there is no guarantee for him to make that catch - And yet he tries. By pushing himself onto his feet much to quickly, trying to grab the phone in the air with both his hands only to miss and... Have his chin catch the device after all. Which naturally results with other Jon and his phone tumbling to the floor. Not because the impact was too hard, but because Jon still hasn’t recovered enough for that leap.

At least the phone takes no new damage and Tony can look forward to the day that Jon accidentally sets the photo he has just taken as his lock and home screen given that his knack for technology is easily on par with his grace.

That was almost funny, until it wasn't. There was no way for Tony to react fast enough to catch Jon's fall, fully anticipating him fumbling the phone but not faceplanting in the meantime-- he hadn't even been standing. Tony was on his knees again next to Jon as quickly as he was able, one hand rubbing reassuringly down his back and the other sliding under him if he needed the help to sit back up again and show Tony the damage. "Shit, don't break it again with your face, there's plenty of ways to get me to come over without destroying something beautiful. Did I tell you yet that I was in Little League? I've never seen a worse catch in my life, that was honestly remarkable, you should be studied."

“...I don’t appreciate being studied right now.” Jon mumbles disapprovingly into the floor, but does pull his phone out from under himself before pushing himself up enough to more or less sit on the ground and inspect the device in his hand for any new damage. His other hand readjusts his glasses.

“I... i think it’s okay.” Just a Short sigh following his words before Jon makes a rather simple observation. “That really wasn’t necessary.”

That small cut on his chin? Already in the process of healing. So he’s okay in that regard.

When it was clear enough that Jon wasn't suffering from severe head trauma, Tony allowed himself to laugh, a bubbling, hysterical giggle that he composed quickly with a shake of his head and schooled his expression back into a somber frown. Okay, it really wasn't funny anymore now. He gave a brief touch of a knuckle under Jon's chin in apology for the dent, his expression very briefly genuine before he was bouncing up on his feet again. "What wasn't, that performance? I know, you would have been better off just staying where you were, my aim wasn't that bad," he said as he headed back toward the desk, and the direction Jon seemed to have been looking in when he explained the statements. They hadn't been on the table, so Tony took a guess at a cupboard to peek in. "You're going to eat," he announced, "and we're going to pretend that wouldn't have happened if you had been taking care of yourself, and then the next time I see you were going to start working on your balance. Just get aligned, get focused, fix your back a little bit before you start shrinking. More." He returned with a tape player and started to hand it to Jon, only to withdraw and hold it aloft expectantly, waiting for Jon to get himself together and off the floor or ask for help if he needed it. This would go very differently depending on the answer.

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