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.

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The last few weeks have been rather emotionally charged. Or maybe the last month or so, really.

Feeling as though he'd hurt Jon's feelings some time back, the situation with Hux, his conversation with Tony, and taking his hurt feelings out on a few buildings that needed to come down anyway but had been a poor way to work his emotions out, and then Sansa having her child- which was about the only thing that had gone well as of late.

All in all though, with his emotions flying all over the place, it's left Altair feeling very worn out. More so than usual.

Even so, he's still dutifully showing up at the hospital every day. Still cleaning and working on getting the place fixed up, as they never know when the next emergency might happen, the next storm, or people getting injured some other way.

Arriving to do just that, he sensed Jon out where he favored taking a break. Altair still felt like he had some apologizing to do, for brushing Jon's trauma off the way he had, and he couldn't apologize without talking to him, so he headed out to him to do just that.

Hopefully he wouldn't mess their friendship up further. He wanted to be someone Jon could lean on when he needed to, wanted to be of some use to him. The last thing he wanted was to push him away by being a thoughtless, self-absorbed moron.

Jon may not sense Altair in the same way the Sith can sense him through the Force, but he is yet rather aware of Altair's unique mix of anxiety as the other man draws near. It's not always the same. It never really is, for no one. But pretty much everyone has their very own, very personal and very deeply rooted fears which they often may not even be aware of. In many cases Jon can't even place them anywhere. He usually wouldn't even really notice them if it weren't for how empty this city is aside from their little group of captives.

So when he knows Altair is about to arrive, Jon draws in a deep breath, which he slowly exhales as he looks up to spot the Chiss approaching. He straightens his posture, straightens his face and straightens his tone before greeting Altair with a nod.

"I wanted to ask about the other day..." He begins with a weary voice, brows pulling into a frown. Then he sighs. "But you look dreadful. Again."

"One of these days those comments of yours are going to kill every bit of confidence I have in my appearance, you know that, right?"

It was said with a very much tired smile, because he was pretty sure that he looked as worn out as he felt. Even his veil couldn't hide that, and it especially couldn't hide that he was already starting to lose the weight he'd gained when he went home.

Of course, he didn't come out to make the conversation all about him, and he reached up to pull his veil off so he could look at the other man- it was only polite.

"I wanted to talk to you too. I... Wanted to apologize. Been wanting to apologize for a while now... When I found those flowers, you shared something very personal with me, and it flew straight over my head."

Altair always knew he had a thick skull, but he hadn't thought it was that thick. And he hadn't thought he was that insensitive. But apparently he was. Of course, these were things he needed to work on on his own, and not burden Jon with.

He put a hand to his chest then, and gave a polite bow to go with his spoken apology, "So... I'm sorry."

An apology really isn't what Jon has expected and he tilts his head a little while shifting his sitting position, uncrossing his legs to stretch out one of them while pulling the other up to rest his arm on.

Oh.

That.

He looks down for a moment, then simply shakes his head and lets out a small sigh before waving his hand lightly, cigarette still between his fingers "Just... F-forget about it. It doesn't matter anymore." He pauses. "But... Thanks. I guess."

Another pause follows. A longer one as Jon tries to find the right wordings for his inquiry. His transfer from one topic to the other may not be the most elegant one and he does begin it with an exhale turning into actual words.

"Anyway. The other day I... I think I saw what you did. Outside the city. You seemed upset."

Maybe it didn't matter any more to Jon. It did to Altair. He hadn't wanted to hurt his feelings, after all, or to make Jon think he didn't care about him. He was happy that Jon seemed to accept his apology, though guilt still gnawed at him, in the back of his mind. That guilt was his to struggle with though.

"... Honestly, I don't think anyone here is unaware of what I did," He said, letting the subject be changed.

"I was upset, yes. And I dealt with those feelings in the most childish way possible."

Or perhaps just in the most typically Sith way possible. Altair wasn't really sure.

"I feel better now."

"Do you really." Jon asks without asking, a single brow moving up as he gestured for the veil Altair has been wearing just moments ago, making it clear that he doesn't believe the Chiss.

"I agree that it was a childish reaction. But before that, it was a dangerous one. Maybe not for you, but for everyone else." Again, he pauses, his thumb toying with the end of the cigarette now and his eyes drop down to it. The urge to light it is there, but...

Jon forces his eyes closed and lets out another long, steadying breath, focusing his voice "I want to know what caused it."

"I know."

He couldn't deny something he knew to be true. He'd lashed out childishly, and he sort of deserved any piece of mind anyone had to give him. He wouldn't discuss it with just anyone, but he would accept them being angry at him.

He moved to take a seat then, keeping some distance from Jon, as he didn't want to get into his personal space. But he didn't want to stand either, wanting to give some indication that he was okay talking about it, since Jon was asking, and that he wasn't about to excuse himself and run back inside to hide elsewhere.

"It was a few different things... I... Got to talking with someone I hadn't spoken to before. About the Jedi and the Sith. Mostly the Sith."

He shrugged slightly, "My people aren't good. I know that. Most Sith are murderous lunatics. But I see what the Empire could be, I see potential for good, should they have the right guiding hand... As the Emperor of the Eternal Alliance and the Sith Empire's ally, I now have the power to be that guiding hand."

He was going somewhere with this.

"But this person, when he heard about what the Sith are, what they've done, what they'll probably continue to do long after I'm dead and gone... He judged me based on that. Refused to call me by name, and though I know it's not what it's about, every time someone has called me a slave, or a filthy alien just replayed in the back of my mind..."

If he had a credit for every time someone had done just that...

"Made me feel like I'm not a person. Just some thing..."

He sighed, this was... Difficult to talk about, "Didn't help that he suggested I have no empathy for others."

The laugh was followed by a loud bang and clatter from the library entrance, like what was left of the door had given up its hinges and rattled to the hall floor. A brief silence was followed by a brisk, determined step heading Jon's way, any sound in this empty, silent building unavoidable, telegraphing Tony's ever commanding appearance in the doorway. It was his height and calculating stare, easily finding and lingering for too long on Jon, that did most of the work for him this time, though; he was a thoroughly different image than he had made when they last saw each other at the carnival. There, he was prepared for an event. Here, he looked like he didn't anticipate to be out of the workshop for very long, the only concession to a change of environment the singed jacket tied around his waist and draping over a belt of tools so he didn't swelter in the sun as he hauled his cart across the city. He was still sweat and soot stained from the forge, hands still wrapped and goggles tangled in his erratic hair, looking more like the engineer in the belly of a ship than someone who should have been allowed in the dining room. He wasn't here to raise the alarm, though, taking his time after his measured stare Jon's way to glance around the room and shoot him a questioning look, finding no one else there to be laughing at. "Your still is in the hall," he said to excuse the noise now that he clearly hadn't needed to make it known someone was coming in to interrupt. Slowly making his way further into the room, he continued, "It's in pieces, you'll have to show Cayde. I made some adjustments to your design, but you're a smart guy." The igniter was more useful there anyway.

Tony sauntered over to the desk, planting both hands on it to look it over curiously before twisting around to lift himself up onto it. "Where's your phone?" he asked. He didn't ask, did you lose it, is it broken. But he cocked his head expectantly, already pulling a fine screwdriver from his belt. He had, undoubtedly, made a few mistakes. Among them, he came to realize quickly, was perhaps leading with 'why don't you need it anymore?' when he texted approximately twenty-eight burns to his knuckles ago. When it was clear that answer wasn't forthcoming, he had tried 'what is the lonely?', then 'what are hunters?', and, to his credit, didn't actually let himself send 'who am I supposed to be jealous of?' at that point, getting the message that Jon wasn't typing. That didn't mean he hadn't made some commitments. It wouldn't take long, he could be gone soon and Jon could go back to ignoring him again.

Not so empty, not for long. In this city that saying of three's a crowd seems almost apt, difficult as it seems to get even that many in the same place sometimes.

For a natural loner, Cayde hadn't figured it would get to him. Even with the City's fall after the Red Legion's attack, it had been surprisingly easy to fall back on his old habits. It wasn't even a matter of playing hero so much as just figuring out the most efficient way to take out the bastard that dared invade that last sanctuary of humanity. Except things didn't go as planned and he almost got permanently stuck in a Vex looping warp but that's another story.

But if anything it had whet his appetite for returning to the field instead of standing behind a desk all day. This? This isn't quite what he'd wanted. The last thing he wanted was the responsibility of fixing up someone else's home turf, and you can't shoot storms into submission. ...can you?

The sparse city and it's sparser population just makes it harder to run into people unless you know where exactly they're going to be. Never mind that Jon hadn't specified where the library was, but with enough time as he's got on his hands, Cayde's wandered everywhere to sniff it out. He hears the echoing laugh as he quietly walks the halls. Jon's definitely got his work cut out for him. Maybe he's snapped early. That poor man. Drawn tighter than a bow and more skittish than field mouse.

Now where is he?

The sudden noise draws Jon's attention to the door of this part of the library, and of course, soon enough, Tony appears in it.

Jon takes a long, deep breath, eyes narrowing and lips pressing together as he tries to ignore the other man's appearance.

It's not an easy task.

He slowly breathes out again.

Tony announces his delivery.

Jon takes another, deep breath.

Tony moves to his desk, asks for his phone.

Jon follows the movement with his eyes, then exhales. He takes another deep breath while Tony awaits his response. Jon's response is a question of his own. Asked slowly, deliberately. The edges around his words flickering slightly with the Compulsion he just barely holds back. It might be notable enough for Tony to pick it up, tickling playfully around the truth this question seeks.

"What. do you. want?"

As he speaks, Jon steps out from between the shelves and into the open space that now sits between Tony and the exit. In the library's dim light the slight, bright green glow in his eyes is obvious. And if Tony carries his own phone with him, he may notice a faint, protesting crackling noise being produced by this small piece of technology. This visit. It isn't merely about delivering the still. Or about keeping a pointless promise.

Jon listens to Altair's words, tilting his head back against the rock he is leaning against and closing his eyes while following the information given. His fingers idly play with the unlit cigarette and when Altair is finished, the Archivist remains silent a few moments longer, processing the little tale.

Then his brows furrow slightly and he opens his eyes again, setting them on the Chiss. It takes Jon another moment to finally respond.

"You are... Younger than me, Altair. And you have achieved far, far more than most people might ever even dream about achieving in their entire life. Why... Why does the lack of acknowledgement of one person that doesn't even know you..." He trails off for a moment, shaking his head. "Why does it matter? You are an Emperor, Altair. The ruler of your people. A public figure and a person in power wielding great power. There must be thousands who disagree with you, your views, your decisions. That will dig through your past to use it against you. Here it's... One person. That hasn't yet had the chance to properly get to know you. Even I hardly understand much about the Jedi and the Sith yet. It's... A lot! And some people just happen to be more outspoken with their opinions than others." So, yes. He considers the reaction a bit much.

Jon sighs again "Will you tell me who it was?"

"It wasn't rational. I know that. It just pushed right on issues I thought I'd long since buried."

Not dealt with. Not gotten help for. Buried. Because that was all he could do with them. To a Sith, they were weakness. As an Emperor, there were bigger issues than the trauma that had plagued him since his childhood and would continue haunting him until the day he died.

"So I know that it's my own fault, that I got angry, and that that anger lingered much longer than it should. It was stupid, and I shouldn't have lashed out."

He'd learned his lesson already. He knew what he'd done was wrong.

"Does it even really matter who it was?"

The break in the network connection to his device was more obvious first, like a limb falling asleep and sending pins and needles up Tony's spine that left him with an itch at the base of his skull. It was a sparking distraction, making Tony wince and unsure if Jon's eyes were really glowing like that, or it was an oncoming migraine. That was new. Tony hadn't connected to the network yet the last time they were here together, leaving him wondering if he had, would he have noticed the magic the first time, or if this was something different. If this was deliberate, and Jon knew exactly what he was doing because he could see it, and asking Tony anything only served to humiliate him.

It definitely didn't make Tony want to answer, afraid of what might come out this time if he opened his mouth. Instead, he watched Jon warily as he placed himself in front of the door, then rolled his neck like he was thinking and definitely not looking for another exit. Up seemed to be his choice. Not about to be threatened out of the room so easily, though, he pulled himself back further on the desk, shoving anything in his way there carelessly behind him as he crossed his legs and leaned back on his hands, resolute and uncowed. With the tool still in his hand, he tapped restlessly at the desk and Tony raised his eyebrows expectantly in response, slowly licking his lip between his teeth to show that it was going to take a lot more to get him to talk. This wasn't his first interrogation, he was an expert and could make waterboarding a negotiation. He had already made his request.

He hasn't heard Cayde enter. But Jon does, at some point, pick up the faint steps and notice a shadow passing the shelves. It's the latter that has him step out into the open and spot the Exo.

"Cayde." He says in recognition, but not without a small frown. Though he makes a good effort to mask what he has been dwelling on.

"Do you need something?"

The Exo smiles easily enough, even when not greeted with one in turn. "Oh there you are," he replies. "Actually I was looking for something to write on, but for a library, this is a very sad selection."

In retrospect he probably could have separated those two sentences, but he figures it works out either way, no matter how Jon might interpret it. He tilts his head at the Archivist, a metal brow lifting just so.

"How's it going, chief?"

Jon doesn't like this reaction, but he isn't exactly surprised by it either. And against better judgement, he steps closer. Ignoring the burning in his eyes and the way his chest tightens the closer he gets. Why even does this impossible man still maintain that effect on him? Tony doesn't have the right! And yet he can't help but watch closely.

"Tell me." Jon demands again, this time adding a little more force to his words. Also to hide the tremor entering his voice and the slight shaking of his hands as he balls them to fists by his side "I don't want to hurt you." He presses the words out with a lack of steadiness he dislikes to notice in his own tone. He doesn't really have the strength to maintain this threat for long. Not with the lack of actual statements to feed on. But Tony... Tony doesn't know that much, right?

The static from the network that Tony compulsively tried to find a stable connection to was like a feedback loop in his brain, like he could hear the synapses firing against his skull, and the dissonance only made him try harder, as though even a little bit of the safety of the network to rely on would make it easier to think than cutting the connection and the static entirely. The nanonetwork seeped like sweat from disparate ports, searching aimlessly for an input, blotching Tony's arms and collar in a crawling gold. He was left with only his own brain to rely on, the cloying anxiety of an addict ramping with every failed connection, to confront that look in Jon's eye and the shake in his voice, and accept that he was causing it. Dread.

It wasn't clear to Tony what made him break his silence, it could have been the static or anxiety, or an urge to make amends now that he saw Jon clearly as he advanced, or just his own impatience with a game that made Tony quiet-- the workings of Jon's Compulsion were still not obvious. He had already leaned forward again, screwdriver left behind to reach over his ankles and grasp the edge of the desk, both less boldly vulnerable now that Jon got within striking distance and bowing into his demand. And he did mean to reassure Jon that he was just here to fix his camera, he said he would, but it came out sounding like, "I want you to like me."

Again, not how Tony would have put it.

"W̷̞̌h̴̗̕y̶̩̓?̴̀͜" Jon asks heavily, voice cracking around the edges. He's not sure what to make of that answer and his own lack of understanding making him grit his teeth as he steps well within range of actually touching Tony. He utters the first thing that crosses his mind while his eyes fall down onto Tony's arms, trailing the strange golden substance without understanding it either "...just so you can push me away again."

There's another moment in which he takes another deep breath and his hands move on their own accord, hovering over Tony's for a moment before shifting up a little to hover over the man's partially golden arms - Just what is it he is looking at? And why does it get secreted from Tony's body as if he were... bleeding? oozing? sweating?

Jon refrains from touching Tony's arms. Instead, his hands move higher, move to to get a hold of Tony's face instead. Making sure he looks at him - Looks him into the eyes. They're tired, worn and bloodshot despite the faint, bright green glow. And just around the edges something dark begins to seep over Jon's sclerae, creeping inward to ever so slightly turn them black. It's not something Jon himself is aware of, he just needs to have Tony's attention. Make sure he listens and understands.

"It still hurts, Tony." A short pause, and he repeats, hands already slipping "Ì̶͉t̵͎͝.̵̻̀ ̴̩͠H̵͎̋u̸̥̐r̵͉͠t̵̠̀s̵̖̏.̸̮̒"

"Humor me." Jon requests with a wave of his hand. They are a relatively small group on this planet and the list of potential suspects is even shorter. And Jon may want to talk to whoever set Altair off, if only to request they are careful.

His voice grows quiet before he continues and Jon closes his eyes. "Burying your problems does not make them go away, Altair. It leaves them to root themselves deeply and grow out of proportion without anyone noticing."

"The Agrii have no written language of their own. And therefore no written texts to store here." Jon replies with a small sigh, finding it easy to pass on simple facts. He turns his eyes away from Cayde and moves towards a small table standing at one of the walls along with a small shelf and an equally small cupboard "I can- I can give you some paper to write on."

Though he will avoid to directly look at the Exo again as he makes to gather up a few sheets of paper to pass along, deciding to take the question as an inquiry about the state of the library "It... It's a slow progress. The structure isn't collapsing, which is... Good. I suppose."

"Yeah, I think we covered that at the party when you were trying to correct their English," Cayde points out. He follows after Jon, continuing to look around as the two move towards the table as the man says he can provide. "Thanks, 'preciate it!"

The question had been vague, and as if to confirm the point of sturdiness, the Exo eyes the far walls of the building while Jon picks at paper. "Not-collapsing buildings are always good. I think everything's gonna be slow-going here in general."

The Archivist's behavior hardly goes unnoticed, but Cayde plays it off by poking around what empty pieces of furniture are around. It's something he tires of quickly, which has him wandering back to the table, perhaps just to take note of where Jon stashes his paper for future looting purposes.

"How about you?" he finally asks, leaning against what wall-space there is beside the table.

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.

Once he reaches the cupboard, Jon pulls open one of the drawers and pulls out a small stack of plain paper, holding it in one hand pensively once the question got extended to himself.

And he sighs, shoulders slumping slightly before he shakes his head “Tired. Bored. Nothing important...” He lets his voice trail off, then offers the paper out to Cayde.

“I.... ah, I gave the instructions for the still to Tony, by the way. Though I’m.... I’m not sure if he’ll still make it, to be honest. I’m sorry.”

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.

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Page 1 of 5

Of Heart Breaks and other Intermissions

cigarette break because of course

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Mental Break(down), clearly what Jon needs

BREAK - o wait that's like every title -- LIBRARY

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