revivalproject

[It takes him a moment to interpret what he just witnessed, but when he does it makes him laugh before that breaks into a concerned grimace. He already had to be careful enough with what he said to Jon, what the hell was this?]

Draw me a diagram, that's what you're focused on, you can't think about anything else because you have to show me how right I was. I'm on my way with this beauty. You can tell me how it works when I get there.

[ Jon isn't too bothered by the laugh, actually taking that moment to glance off sideways in thought, scratching the side of his head while sorting through the information and plucking free the pencil from behind his ear. ]

You- Aren't wrong, you know? We will need reference charts for the Chiss as well...

[ His words trail off as he catches the rest of what has Tony just said and blinks twice. ]

Th-that's not how this works! How are you even going to carry that thing?

How many times do I have to tell you? I never am.

[And if everyone would get involved with this fantasy of Tony not being wrong, it could almost be true.]

What, are you offering to help? I have my ways.

[And the rest of the day, anyway. It isn't like he's charging for the time, and if he happened to see Altair on the way, maybe Tony could get the story from him.]

Ah- y-you know I'm--

[ -useless.

Yeah. He doesn't say it. A brief crackle of static flickers through the image and Jon just sighs. ]

Fine. I have nowhere else to go anyway.

[ Not true. But for now he's staying here. Until he runs out of paper. ]

It was a while before Tony came rattling into the hospital, realizing as he stood at the doors that this place was almost entirely unfamiliar to him in the daylight. He trusted the route Sansa and Tyrion had lead him on while she panted through her labour, but slowed as he came to the room he had lingered in anxiously that day, less confident about where to go from there. What kind of hospital didn't have any kind of wayfinding system to help orient him? Downward was his direction, and the shuddering thumps of his already pathetic cart with the generator parts rattling on it announced his progress as he made his careful way down the too-tall steps, one wheel at a time.

The swamped generator already in the basement took him some time again to gut and recompose, but the bones were there and he got a few parts that could be easily refired out of the arrangement. He was going to miss one of the two crystal rods Hux had gifted him the most, but he did know where to find it in a pinch and came away with a strange, cracked and empty casing of an expired one. By the time he was done and kicking the generator back to life to give it a test, it must have been dark out again, and maybe whatever crisis had started him this way today had fizzled out enough to navigate the underlying issues. That was worth figuring out, before he offered to Altair that his backup power was officially online, in case that just set off whatever had happened here again.

Jon has made it a point to not interrupt Tony at his work.

Yes, the obvious noise the man had made upon arrival and the commotion of his descent down the stairs hasn't been missed. With the building being empty aside from himself at that point, it really has been impossible to miss. But he has left him to finish his work while sticking to deal with his own mess, with that ceaseless stream of information he has dared to unplug and now has to leave somewhere.

It has been a terrible idea. He has known this before he tried this foolishness and even after having managed to cut the stream off somehow the way his mind simply felt sore remains a very good reminder. He will sort through the results later - and burn certain pieces.

As silence settles down in the basement, Jon dares to make his way down but stops awkwardly at the door of the generator room to survey the battlefield. Obviously he has gained no knowledge about engineering, he can tell as much by his very own confusion about what all these things even are.

"...I... ah..." Pause. "Thanks." Another pause. "-for the generator." And the work. "Can I- Offer you some tea?"

That greeting was awkward enough to make Tony freeze in anticipation, not sure from the pauses if Jon had made his way down to snap at Tony again or tell him that his brain had fallen out from the leaking-unlocked-door thing he was dealing with. Tea was much more welcome, and Tony tossed the part he had been idly polishing into his cart of scraps for Cal to find later with a sigh of relief for a break. "Of course, definitely," he said to the tea as he picked his way across his mess to the door, twisting the rag he still carried to keep his still busy hands occupied and pulling it taught as he froze up again in front of Jon, not sure now how to deliver a proper greeting. Instead, he continued, "It was nothing, I told the doc I would fix it. Guess that's you now," and shrugged with an unsure smile because he wasn't clear on what else he was supposed to do with that information yet besides carry on as normal. That did lead him to, "Ah...sorry. About before. We-- I didn't know you were doing this alone," while Tony looked away, suddenly very interested in a bolt that had rolled across the floor and wrapping the cloth crushing tight around his knuckles then. It was pretty clear to him now what 'needlessly reckless endeavours' could have meant. So, there were some changes that he could be making, not all normal.

Tony has taken to freezing in place a lot around him as Jon has come to notice. He seems much more at ease around others, which... Is fair? Hardly any of the others are likely to have gotten into his head. Hardly any of them are likely to have made the man as uncomfortable as he has. That's... He really shouldn't feel too surprised by that. And yet it doesn't feel good.

Though he allows himself to feel relieved when his offer for tea is being accepted and he mirrors the uncertain smile with a slight incline of his head and, as Tony looks away, brings up one of his hands to place it over the one Tony tries to strangle with his cloth in a simple 'It's okay' gesture.

"Don't- Don't worry about it." He finally says, his voice lacking any of the harshness Jon has proven to be rather capable of and he releases Tony's hand to gesture for him to follow Jon back up "Let's head upstairs."

It was still awkward, but the gesture at least told Tony that his gift had been accepted and they could focus their anxiety on whatever was going on with Jon's brain. Try to, anyway. Tony relaxed enough to release a finger from his curled fist to catch Jon's in appreciation before he pulled it away, then tucked both hands in his pockets with the rag before he did anything else to disturb the equilibrium as they tackled the uncomfortable stairs.

"So, what happened to him?" he asked, not a lot of 'him's that he could be talking about then, since Jon wasn't offering and Altair seemed like a neutral enough third party to fill the space with-- at least it was someone else to focus Jon's energy on, and they had already gotten the really invasive stuff like alien anatomy out of the way for him. It seemed safe enough. "The last time we talked, he seemed very concerned about everyone, so..." Tony wasn't going to claim he knew the guy well, but that wasn't an equation he was having an easy time doing the working of. If it had been a performance just to make Tony feel awful, well, it did kind of work, Tony was convinced.

"To- ...oh." Jon cuts off his own question upon figuring out the answer just a moment after beginning it and just shrugs while leading the way back up to the ground floor and offering the simple version first. "We... We had an argument."

He leads the way towards the emergency area of the hospital, which by now has been brought into a decent working state. As long as one manages to look past the piles of paper sheets left across the reception desk and around it, each sheet covered in neat, small handwriting back and front. The topics vary greatly, but Jon leads the way into the room directly behind the reception desk, which houses a makeshift kitchen, mainly consisting of a sink for water supply and a couple of bigger boxes to serve as a patched together counter and a row of smaller boxes pushes to one of the walls with some blankets draped over them to serve as sitting opportunities and one additional to be used as a table if needed. This one is occupied by a few notebooks and pencils. The counter sports a set of vacuum flasks, some mugs, a couple of unlabeled plastic bottles, a couple of smaller pots with one sitting on a makeshift tea stove-like contraption. And a plain box that Jon keeps his tea in.

It's naturally the counter Jon moves on towards to start preparing the promised tea.

"I... I believe I tried to explain to him that... That I'm a bad fit for the hospital. That I might hurt someone here by accident. It turned... Bad. Quickly." He pauses while watching the pot he has chosen fill with water. "I made him cry."

An argument wasn't a surprise, Tony wouldn't have pinned the pair of them to have compatible personalities without plenty of very pointed words, like a pair of scathing mothers-in-law that hadn't agreed to the union in the first place. Both of them had raised their voices with Tony, that wasn't hard to imagine. How some sniping had led the guy who cared so much about the population's welfare during the power outage to up and quit this position was not as clear--it was hard to find a rhythm with Jon, sure, but...Okay, Tony could see that. The paper piled around the desk catches Tony's attention long enough to slow him down behind Jon, trying to make out the topmost sheet on a near pile, but he hurried after him into the break room as Jon continued to explain. It didn't really help Tony understand the argument.

Tony didn't waste any time draping himself among the blankets, one foot on the floor and the other stretched to the end of the boxes with a hum for the back support, elbows up until he felt a satisfying pop. It was not comfortable and did not help Tony put together what Jon was trying to tell him, but it was horizontal. "Who have you hurt?" seemed like as good of a place as any to start. That was its own, separate issue scrambling the data.

Depending on which of the papers Tony has checked, he may have either spotted an in-depth analysis of friction drums, a description of the Tazaungdaing festival or everything a person would ever wish to know about giraffes. Not necessarily worth his time, but Jon won't stop him from reading.

What does stop Jon for a moment, is Tony's question and he turns around, empty hands clasping together as he looks at the other man guiltily.

"You."

That was one. And probably still the one that weighs the heaviest. Jon exhales, then glances away.

"...Tommy."

He's pretty sure Tommy counts. And Jon turns back around, preoccupying himself with getting the water to boil to not put his shame too obviously on display.

".....and don't ask about the night Sansa gave birth." This one feels more like a confession. "I... I didn't hurt her, but... There was fear. So much of it. So close, yet still too far. I- I.... I felt... Jesus. I could have scaled these fucking walls that night!" The last part comes out sharp, with the Archivist clenching one hand against the edge of his makeshift counter. Then he lets go, exhales once more and lets his tense posture slump forward slightly.

"That's why I wanted to quit. I can't help anyone, Tony. All I can do is... Make their suffering worse."

Tony wasn't expecting to hear a great answer, but the one he got made him stop squirming around on the bench to meet Jon's eye with a question on his face, the furrow of his brow only deepening with the addition of 'Tommy', like whatever Jon had done to the pair of them was related. It was when his tension ramped and he swore that Tony sat up, on his feet in time to pull Jon's shoulders back again as he slouched, hands under both arms to open his chest again against the resistance of Tony behind him. It wasn't a firm hold, but it lingered until Tony felt convinced Jon wasn't just going to slump over again. Jon had made it clear that his relationship with fear couldn't be called an addiction, but a lot of what he did said otherwise. "You didn't hurt her," Tony repeated over Jon's shoulder, as much to confirm that wasn't a lie now that he was this close as to reaffirm the important beat of that story. "So you can stop beating yourself up." Positioning himself in a place where the people were guaranteed to be on edge, no matter the reason for the visit, sounded a lot like a drunk working at a bar, though. "The only one that you're making suffer is you." And maybe Altair, they would have to address the crying thing, but that wasn't going to help Tony make this point-- Jon had probably made the right call, for the wrong reasons, and had expressed himself with equal eloquence to the doctor. Voice lower, because this felt much more complicated to Tony, he added, "And you didn't hurt me." Jon had to be weighing scaring and frustrating Tony far more heavily than those were worth; he already knew Tony could take a shot, he should have known better, and Tony thumped his chest with one finger to remind him. "I think I would have noticed."

That sudden move is an unexpected one and not one Jon could or would resist. Much rather he feels like crumbling away against the solid form at his back. The undeserved reassurance and warmth and that voice that feels too close to not make him want to shiver.

He resists the urge to look up and over his shoulder, instead keeps his eyes on Tony's hands while Tony points out the things Jon knows, yet prefers to disregard. It's the last bit he doesn't know - Doesn't expect to hear even as he feels his ears burning from those words. For the second time he finds himself raising one of is hands to cover Tony's, but this time to stay rather than withdrawing again right away. Only until his heart rate has calmed down again, he tells himself. Everything else would be...

"...thanks." Jon manages to mutter. For what exactly, he doesn't know. But at the very least some of the tension he tends to be wrapped in so very tightly seems to have eased away. He still doesn't feel remarkably great about what happened, but... Not entirely left alone for a change. Useless, yes. But less rejected.

"Why do you put up with me..." Less a question and more a thought he probably should have kept for himself. Questioning what little support he has, when has that ever worked out?

That was still addict language to Tony, regardless of how abstract it was, making him hide a tired smile in Jon's hair as he took the touch of his hand as permission to wrap his arms across Jon's chest, still holding his shoulders straight, not entirely convinced anymore he could do it himself if Carol couldn't in this position. 'Me' in that case, and in Tony's case, and he was sure plenty of others he had met in church basements, was the hunger, and deep in it and the kind of depraved shit the hunger made a person do, made what else there was of himself very hard to see. "Because," he started, full confidence though he had to think more on how he had to phrase his answer, fingers drumming on Jon's shoulders to process, head tipping slowly like he gathered the thought. "You're incredibly intelligent, except when you're too humble and can't see your own strengths," he said, because admitting that Jon was smart enough to keep a conversation lively and seemed to be one of the few people who could see beyond his own nose to the wider problems they were actually dealing with, did not negate the fact that he was a frustrating idiot, "and tolerate plenty of shit for someone who is not afraid to be the asshole," even though if anyone outside of this room asked, Tony was not going to say he appreciated being called out, "and surprise me every time I think I have you figured out because I keep seeing these flashes of all of these incredible people I left back home but...you're something else entirely." He took a deep breath, feeling too heavy, so he finished, "Why anyone else would put up with you, though, I don't know." None of that meant he was a good nurse, or that the hunger wasn't there, or even that he hadn't caused any of the pain that was plaguing him, it didn't solve any problem, but there was plenty of Jon to put up with. That was an easy one, from the outside.

Jon's hand follows Tony's to its new position when the man wraps his arms tighter around Jon in an unwillingness to let go which may just as well be a fear of losing that hold that feels like it's the only thing preventing his heart from plain bursting out of his chest. The increased tightness of that hold may seem restrictive to some, but to Jon it feels... Safe. As if those arms and the strong presence behind him are the only thing holding him together when he has been about ready to fall apart.

He hasn't been aware he has been holding his breath at the brief flash of fear that Tony might pull away again. But then Tony speaks and Jon finds himself exhaling as he rather feels the man's voice resonating in the chest he is pulled against than hearing it. Low vibrations that seem to offer comfort on a whole different level than spoken words ever could and he closes his eyes, leaning his head back slightly to listen without comprehending.

Comprehension limps behind several paces, but eventually settles in as well, which is when Jon dares to open his eyes and glance over at Tony, now that he has his head tilted back enough to do so anyway. He's perfectly aware that his ears are still burning and his face may well follow suit in but a moment as he admits a simple thing, the hand still covering Tony's trembling slightly at the faint dread that his confession might yet again tear them apart.

"...is it bad that I... don't care- about anyone else...?"

As carefully as he tries to pick his words, Jon knows he has to prepare himself for the impending fall.

It didn't sound that careful to Tony because he didn't know what to do with that question. See, still surprising him; Carol would have thanked him for the effort even though it was clear she wasn't really listening. Holding his posture up had given Jon at least enough confidence to say something ludicrous, so Tony dropped his arms, hesitant to release Jon because of the hand still over his but not sure anymore if he was interpreting that signal correctly. He did usually want Tony to stop doing something, and it did sound like he was trying to scare him away again, his expression too hard to read in this position to help Tony work it out. "...in general?" he asked as he came to brace one hand on the counter, the other just slipping, unsure, down his chest to leave an exit open. Jon really couldn't mean to reconcile not caring about anyone else with wanting to leave the hospital over fears of hurting someone, that was going to be much harder to try to talk out than whatever he thought justified it in his head.

The realization just how his words must have sounded despite how careful he has been trying to be naturally comes about two seconds too late, causing Jon to freeze in place as he feels one of Tony's hands slip away and instinct has him clutch both of his hands over the one yet remaining, pinning it in place while his expression turns into a crimson-faced type of awkward terror. Whatever depths his heart has dropped down into, he can't tell.

Maintaining his grasp, Jon turns towards the arm belonging to the hand he is holding captive as he turns to face Tony, his expression shaky in response to having accidentally dropped a boulder onto that thin sheet of ice he has stepped onto. The cracks are there and one false step will have him tumble down into the icy abyss below.

"N-no-" He starts, eyes darting around for a moment as if he can spy the answer somewhere "I mean..." And he drops his head forward, looking down at that tangle of hands and doing only so well at hiding his face.

"I mean I don't care... About anyone else-- being able to p-put up... with me... like this..." Jon's voice drops away and he knows he's trembling despite feeling despite hardly realizing it. All he wants to do is lean forward. But that might just be that fabled one misstep to send him falling.

Jon looked unsteady enough that Tony thought he could be on the verge of passing out again, or maybe that was what he looked like when he was about to cry because he was very red, and Tony was quick to catch him by the shoulder as he turned again then slide his hand up along his neck to check his heat and the flutter of his pulse. Neither was great, and for a horrible second Tony thought he might prefer the fainting to the crying because he was sure Jon would feel it as deeply as his anger and that was overwhelming, so the answer he got was a relief at first. He breathed a laugh and tugged him forward, carefully untangling his hand from the knot Jon was trying to tie them in to wrap him more steadily against his chest again. They were trying to deal with Jon's litany of other issues right now, they hadn't even discussed the giraffes, this was not one he should have been worrying about. Tony's answer was nuzzled into his hair, where he pressed a kiss and muttered, "Great, fuck 'em," which was supposed to mean, that's alright, I'm happy to be the one putting up with you, I'm not going anywhere and, you can relax, which he hoped came across somewhere between that and the pressure he slid down the back of Jon's neck to quiet the trembling. If he could ignore the anxious skipping of Tony's heart, that would help, too.

It's admittedly hard to ignore someone's heartbeat when he finds himself so close to it. Not when it's this renewed closeness, that brief laugh, the muttered response and being this near to said heartbeat that shatter several layers of tension Jon hasn't even been aware of almost instantly.

He isn't sure if he likes the faint anxiety, however. What it might mean and whether there even is anything he can do to ease it.

Feeling that the heat on his face has drained away enough from near panic but still sits comfortably at the level of what he knows to be an unattractive blush, Jon tilts his head back and up, daring to seek Tony's eyes regardless. He frees one of his hands to reach up, carefully placing it at the side of Tony's face and letting his thumb brush over a yet just partially recovered brow before offering a small, insecure smile up "M-maybe not literally. But- Okay."

Tony's eye wasn't easy to catch, darting nervously around Jon's face, his blush and the usually hard line of his mouth, until they focused more safely on Jon's hair again as he deliberately combed it back into place, gently trying to put him back together like he had held his shoulder back out of curling in dejection, realizing as he did how justified Jon's panic really had to feel-- he had spent most of their time together trying to take him apart. That was a real leap of faith that Tony hadn't earned. That would have been a ratchet for his anxiety without the soothing touch of Jon's thumb, and Tony let his eyes close instead of panicking, relaxing back down with both hands against the counter without the worry that he was going to make Jon feel trapped and bowing closer to his level. He almost jumped away again with a surprised snort so he wasn't laughing right in Jon's face, finally meeting his eye with a question, how did Jon expect him to take that?, and pressed, "Are you sure? You didn't learn anything about Altair's anatomy that piqued your curiosity?"

It takes Tony a while to relax, Jon notices, but once he does it turns an insecure smile into a soft, genuine one. One that morphs into bemusement at Tony's reaction, which is followed by a raised brow, a brief look of contemplation, and finally a rare, playful grin, combined with a short shake of his head.

"Hmm... No." Jon says this lightly and brings up his other hand to properly frame Tony's face, then gently pull him closer. Almost close enough. He locks their eyes and whispers in a perfectly level voice "I feel like I can have a better time by simply painting you blue."

Taking Tony's face like that was a real test of his patience, only stalled by that expression that he was sure he had yet to see from Jon making Tony's weight shift noticeably as he started to pick one hand up to fully push Jon away and hold himself back from ruining his chance to find out what had put that grin there. He had no reference point, only further challenged by the steady delivery, to anticipate what he was going to say and found himself laughing as much at the proposition as discovering what Jon actually found funny, barely managing to suggest, "Finger painting, I hope. Think of it more like a sculpture." Totally patience bust by then, he was still giggling when he pressed their mouths together, a clumsy move that Tony seemed to be cultivating a habit of with Jon that Tony hoped wasn't as obvious to him, a clear sign of a giddy stumbling through tension that was not at all the kind of image Tony was used to presenting. There wasn't much of a reputation for him to uphold here, but that only made it worse, Jon didn't even know how cool Tony was supposed to be. His hesitant hold broke away from the counter to take Jon's elbow, asking for help to take mercy, don't make him laugh and guide him back on track.

Tony isn't the only one with an image he prefers to uphold. But while Tony went with cool, the Archivist rather hides behind a rude and scornful exterior to discourage any who might get too close and spot a weakness to exploit. But it's an image Jon isn't above to let go once he has decided to trust a person or even care for them. And for Tony, Jon has found, he cares a lot. Possibly even to a degree that might end up hurtful at some point.

But that's not something he wants to think about now. Not when Tony's laughter caught on and that kiss, clumsy as it might be, only feels right.

"You are aware that finger paint takes quite a while to apply..." Jon reminds Tony once their lips part, yet a hand at Tony's neck is gently set to discourage him from pulling away too far. The other hand slides down Tony's neck and closes lightly to let a single finger trail down his chest to its very center where it sits for a moment. A moment in which Jon holds Tony's gaze, then presses their lips together for another imperfect kiss adorned with a small chuckle and a light nudge of his finger, aimed to encourage Tony to move backwards and let Jon guide him back to that makeshift bench.

It wasn't clear if that was meant to be a promise or a threat, but Tony was sure it was the sexiest thing Jon had done to him, at least consciously, between the slow timbre of his voice, taunting sense of denial as he closed his fist for the barest contact and the unexpectedly intimate press of his fingertip that seemed to reach into Tony's core and make his breath catch; that was more sensitive than Tony thought it was, without a tough web of scars and feeling delicately hollow, not really a place he had let anyone see let alone touch for a very long time. It left him distracted and squirming in the kiss, then flinching away at the extra pressure and catching Jon's tickling hand to lace their fingers together safely against his shoulder. With his other arm around Jon's waist, it felt enough like he was leading in a dance that he submitted to a few slow steps back, focus more on capturing Jon's lips again and pressing for more contact, not eager to move away now that he had a taste. This was really not what they were supposed to be worrying about, Tony's charge to be careful had been severely drained of power.

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