revivalproject | Sorting the Trash [ closed ]

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Sorting the Trash [ closed ]

WHO: Jon & Tony
WHERE: On the Agrii ship // Mess Hall
WHAT: Two experts at sharing and expressing their emotions need to talk...
WHEN: Post-event // during the flight back to Agra 10
WARNINGS: This may not go well?

Normally, Jon doesn't shy away from confrontations and conversations, but just like any other person ever he isn't very fond of talking abut his emotions. Which is but one reasons of many why he has never been one to seek relationships or the closeness of other people. Though these days he is also inclined to say he doesn't deserve it. The intimacy, the closeness, the comfort and warmth - Those are for people, not for monsters. And ultimately, that's what he is, isn't it? Ans monsters don't deserve love or comfort or happiness.

It may be time he just stops pretending and finally embraces what he is, just as Helen kept suggesting.

And yet his heart keeps yearning. It's not pleasant. It hurts. The distance as well as the insecurity. It may only be him, though. Tony may not be bothered by the separation at all. He has others. Others who are willing to play along merely to satisfy their carnal desires, unbothered by that dreadful weight of unrequited emotions and one-sided affections. Jon for his part has never been very interested in these particular activities - And it's the least thing he wants to have himself reduced to.

With all those thoughts and many more it is that Jon sits in one of the far corners of the mess hall, wringing his hands on the table, waiting. Waiting for Tony to follow the request he has left for the man to meet him here so they can finally have that talk.

Jon has made sure to listen to one of his tapes once everything was over, so he has recovered a decent degree. He's still tired and still keeps himself wrapped in that ridiculous bright robe that has offered him false warmth and comfort so far, but has also only wound the wrench around his heart tighter with that still so painfully familiar smell clinging to the fabric. He could have left it in his room, yes. But part of him feels like he may need this false security. And part of him may actually still dare to hope. Which even Jon believes is a foolish endeavor at this point.

Tony doesn't love him. The man has made as much clear. The man cares more about robots and machines than people who at best exist to serve his lust only to be discarded after use. Jon knows as much and it's foolish to expect anything else. Demanding loyalty as Tommy has suggested would get him laughed at at best. Such would require Tony to care. And so Jon is here for the closure others have suggested he seek. He only needs Tony to confirm what Jon believes to know. He needs the man to say it and just rid Jon of those hopes he shouldn't be clinging to. They won't have to speak to one another ever again after that. Jon can return to his library and Tony can resume rotating between his various lovers and his machines.

Biting his bottom lip at the thought, Jon looks down at his own hands, now clenched tightly together and he lets out a frustrated groan while prying them apart and considering to just get up and leave and if he's quick enough maybe not have this conversation after all?

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Too late. Movement at the mess hall doors was an Agrii flailing their hands in excitement at Tony, who did his best to continue to look rigidly professional despite the guy having more enthusiasm than the answers that Tony was looking for. The engine core, it was very clear, was new to absolutely everybody on board, and despite that, this Agrii stuck close to Tony as he curiously climbed around it and very happily answered any of Tony's wondering questions with observably untrue suggestions, full confidence. Of course it was the machines that made Tony slow to arrive. Looking calm and severe like this ship was a business acquisition that he was disappointed with, Tony made an effort to quiet this Agrii that was trying very hard to be his useful friend as Tony threw a glance around the hall. The Agrii continued to chatter as Tony spotted Jon, tilted his head slightly in acknowledgement and finally smiled, an expression that was gone when he turned back to the Agrii and (with some effort to discourage this from turning into a hug) mimed him into a not completely unrecognizable handshake. As the moist alien bounced away, Tony didn't very well hide how he wiped his hand with discomfort on his sweatpants, a minimal step up from the gold undersuit to trying to appear competent and sharp, and obviously the only sartorial option he came prepared with if that was what he had going in lieu of a suit. It didn't seem like the Agrii knew any better, but it didn't make Tony feel any less underdressed.

He slipped from there out of sight briefly, to reappear and approach Jon at his table with a cup of what the Agrii called chocolate, but largely tasted like spiced molasses if Tony didn't think too hard about it. The peanut butter flavour was still a persistent feature, somehow. Stop thinking about it. He slid the cup in front of Jon as he took a seat beside him, careful of his space and thinking he probably could have taken a different seat, now that he was there. So, it took Tony a beat before he tilted his head again. "That suits you," was a blatant lie, the robe was wearing Jon and the red felt more like it was in competition with his eyes than bringing them out, but Tony still continued, "You should keep it." It took digging his fingers into his own elbows with his arms folded out of trouble across his chest to keep from leaning over to cuff the sleeves up over Jon's hands and at least try to make this look slightly true.

Edited (idk what happen, enjoy english) 2020-08-27 15:25 (UTC)

A gift. Of course Tony arrives with a gift. It's always gifts and material goods and him wanting to build something for others.

Jon sighs and feels at least a little thankful that Tony has chosen not to sit across of him, so he can just stare at the cup before tapping a single finger against it, somehow already feeling calmer now that Tony is here and he doesn't have to fret over possibly running or not. And then there is this by now very familiar behavior. "I don't need this, Tony." He says matter-of-factly, and in fact referring to the beverage as well as the robe. "You don't have to buy me, you know." A pause. "You- You already had me."

Jon's voice wasn't the tight, nervous one that they had breached this ship with, or the tired murmur that he had come back into the shuttle bay with, but his typical scolding neutral that he seemed to reserve for Tony that made him smile again, eyes closing briefly to welcome it back, despite the rejection. Of course Jon didn't need a drink or clothes, but some people bought cars and paid for expensive tuition and that had to mean something even if they never said it. "I'm not..." he tried to correct, not sure how Jon had made that connection immediately, because Tony didn't think he expected Jon to give him anything in return. That wasn't strictly true. The tuition had been a transaction as well.

There were two problems with the language of Jon's follow up, making Tony discard the rumination on his gifting with a slightly surprised furrow of his brow, lips pressing tightly together. For starters, and this might have been easier for Tony do deal with, that was a similar language of possession that Reeve had said Jon used before, and that Tony found uncomfortable in unfamiliarity. Whitney had claimed him that way, maybe, growled in frustration. Reeve was too sane to do the same. And if, for seconds, Jon was already framing what they had in the past tense, Tony could at least try to minimize the shrapnel. "You should talk to Reeve," he said, staring as Jon was doing at the cup. "He doesn't--" Deserve any blame, to be subject to Jon's compulsion, or to lose the chance to find Jon as a friend, all might have been true but centred Tony's concern around this problem that he had caused. Instead, "He doesn't trust himself to be in control, and this power grid thing is important to him. If you're there and doing your thing and bossing him around, you know, he can pretend he's not steering the ship." It would be good for Reeve. And Reeve's careful kindness would be better for Jon, much more adept at working out what made him happy. But still, for seconds. "What changed?"

"Jesus Fucking Christ!" Jon exclaims, his voice exasperated and he lifts his head to turn his attention towards Tony. "This isn't about Reeve! I have nothing to say to him anymore - Why would I? Th-this is about you and me, Tony. Or it should be." He falls into a bitter silence for a few moment, eyes darting around as if searching for answers that aren't there.

This is already going badly, isn't it.

Letting his shoulders drop, Jon exhales a soft curse. "...shit." And he inhales again before his eyes shift back to Tony, though the bitterness in his face and tone remain. "...do you remember what I told you at the hospital? When I- I... When I told you how I felt? It was your friend Reeve that convinced me to tell you. He knew. He fucking knew how I felt. And I know I never got a response from you. I remember your silence. But he knew. And it didn't matter to him. I didn't matter." He keeps his eyes on Tony for another moment before turning his face back forward and look down at the table. "I won't ask who else you got, but-... just-... What even was I to you...?"

The exclamation didn't quite startle Tony, making him drop the tight hug of his arms across his chest instead of wincing defensively, and gripping one hand onto the back of Jon's seat to brace for a blow that didn't come. The other hand spread onto the table only briefly, too restless to lay still and clawing up to start tapping as Tony nodded, of course it wasn't about Reeve, that was what Tony was trying to say, Reeve shouldn't have been collateral damage in the first place. The silence that Jon concluded on felt thick, unwelcoming of Tony opening his mouth to try to point out that it was about Jon, so he snapped it shut again. He needed a drink.

It wasn't as much of a nod in response to what Tony remembered about the hospital, because it sounded like they had very different experiences there, making him frown but try to agree nonetheless. Reeve had freaked Jon out, they both left, and when Jon returned he demanded Tony tell him how he felt like Tony hadn't been trying to tell him every day, and Tony was pretty sure he said something. He must have, because Jon didn't leave again. That Jon was still asking, and still hadn't heard what Tony was trying to show him made Tony mutter, "I don't know," with a dawning terror of a very lonely future suddenly coming into focus that made him turn to look across the dining hall, like he was searching for his answers, to blink quickly. 'Who else you got' was damning. This whole trip was turning out to be a torturous reminder that Tony couldn't fix his way out of who he really was, that drunk weaponeer incapable of loving anything. "I thought I was taking care of you, I thought I was giving you what you asked for, I don't know how to do any better than that," he elaborated, still searching for what the fuck that meant now. What was he doing to Jon, if he wasn't loving him? "You deserve better than that," Tony readily admitted.

"...a responsibility." Jon concludes sadly, yes still glued to the table. To Tony he was just that. Someone for him to take care of. Like a child. Or a pet. A liability.

The thought makes his chest tighten uncomfortably. "I-... I don't need you to take care of me, Tony. To me, you... You aren't just someone who brought me gifts, gave me items or builds something for me. I could have never reduced you to that. I, ah... I hoped you would care about me, rather. And for a while I believed there could be more. That we... That we could be partners. Equals... Be... Important. For one another."

He has to pause, unsure if he manages to get across what he is trying to convey. So he takes a breath and risks glancing back in Tony's direction. "I still care about you, Tony... And it hurts. It hurts because I can't show you that I care. Not without risking being hurt by you in turn... I feel trapped." What he deserves or not is not exactly something Jon feels willing or able to discuss, but he knows what he feels.

Asking Tony to sum up what Jon was to him, then claiming he wouldn't reduce Tony to any such sum was an underhanded trick that had Tony's hand jumping from the table to scratch at his chest in frustration. It wasn't a new one to Tony by any means, but it didn't become any easier to deal with now that he recognized it. "You aren't just anything," he tried to insist, and he was sure he had already said that, too, making him believe at this point that he hadn't been able to see any part of what Jon was dealing with, so fixated on his own caution. "When did I tell you--that I kept seeing parts of you that I thought I recognized, and I thought I could anticipate, but you keep surprising me," he said, and now that he did, wondered if he had ever actually told Jon that out loud, or if it sounded as bad the first time as it did now. Maybe Jon hadn't understood, didn't realize that was a good thing. Just like this, right now, he didn't think being taken care of was a good thing, and Tony's frustration had him looking to the ceiling imploringly before he could meet Jon's eye and admit, "The thing I want most is for someone to take care of me." So maybe he was putting that on Jon, and wasn't paying attention, and he had to work to swallow his heart trying to claw its way out of his throat just for saying that out loud, so he didn't put that on Jon, too. "And I made you do that, and I haven't earned it, and for that I am sorry," he tried to address the hurt. "I thought I was protecting you, by...by letting you be, keep your distance, because I knew, you know, this is," he tore a finger away from his heart to flick between them and the table and this excruciating conversation's apparent inevitability, "this is awful. Why would you want more?" More, Tony thought, was a lot more of Tony hurting Jon, but it happened anyway, so Tony had to amend, "I think I was protecting myself."

"Protecting yourself... From what?" Jon asks with a vague gesture between them, more or less indicating their current conversation himself before his hand takes hold of Tony's. "...this?"

A lot of the rest Tony has said and admitted are difficult to make sense of, but that simple last sentence is obvious enough. And he has just admitted that the best way he knows to take care of someone is by giving them things, which is- It's a little concerning.

Jon maintains a light hold on Tony's hand. It's not enough that Tony can't pull away, but restraining him isn't what Jon is trying here - He wants Tony to talk to him. And maybe him trying to encourage Tony to do just that is, yet again, Jon caking care of Tony in some way or another without quite realizing it himself.

"Also.... Please, Tony. I believe I already said that you- You don't have to earn my love. It... It's not a good to be traded or bargained for. It's given. Freely. You only need to accept it." Though this mentality of having to earn someone's affection... It may at least explain all those gifts Tony keeps handing out. And he certainly has been doing that a lot as Jon's fatal visit to the forge has taught him.

"Aren't you hating this?" Tony asked with a manufactured smirk and roll of his eyes that wasn't entirely because they felt too vulnerably wet. Staying carefully equidistant might not have been completely satisfying, but it was supposed to stop them from breaking violently further apart just to be stuck cradling a hollow chest for the loss and cracking the armor open to try to claw the ground back. Tony was pretty sure he would rather Jon had just let him keep pretending everything was fine if he never had to say something like 'I want you to take care of me' out loud. How scorchingly selfish that sounded, in his head even after Jon was doing his best to make Tony acknowledge that bad habit. Taking his hand didn't help make Tony stop it, as much as he wanted it to, but he did finally drop his brace against Jon's seat with the other and try to stop looking so on guard, folding his hands together over Jon's in his lap.

With his head bowed to watch as he worked Jon's fingers flat against his palm, Tony tried not to hear what Jon said as an offer, because before it was all past tense and Jon was trapped, and it was hardly the first time Tony had only been listening for what he wanted to hear. Like Jon saying how he liked his touch, and melting into him, and Tony trying very hard to ignore when Jon followed with, that wasn't what he wanted, he didn't really do this. Tony felt like he was having the slowest heart attack. "I left you, that time, with the fireworks," he started carefully, "because I was so...scared of you being the one to walk away, like you did. I knew, already." That he adored that determined set of Jon's mouth, and that it would be painful when he left; Tony could see this future already. "Isn't that sick? I'd rather do that to you, and you were so angry with me, and I couldn't put that puzzle together," he chuckled, a weak sound that didn't last. "I remember what I said to you, in the hospital," he realized, because Jon was so often angry at him and Tony vastly preferred that to Jon not talking to him. "I said 'unconditionally'. Do you not remember that?"

"I hate us not talking more." Jon answers with a little twitch of his fingers between Tony's hands. "And I hate being kept in the dark. Not merely in the literal sense, but... I suppose you already know that." He pauses here, taking a moment to sort his thoughts, eyes now on their hands and how familiar that touch still feels. "Talking isn't a bad thing, you know? It helps clear things up and... And I want- I need this cleared up." Even if it hurts. And getting reminded of the fireworks... Yes, that one hurts. And it has Jon press his lips together tightly for a moment, a frown finding his face.

It's Tony's conclusion that has him look up at him again. "...I didn't want to leave - You let me go. We could have had this talk that very night had you given me a reason to belief it mattered to you. That I mattered... Instead I felt like a replaceable fool..." Letting out a heavy sigh and his shoulders drop, Jon looks away once again, muttering. "...unconditionally... That's a lie though, isn't it? You have a condition. Your condition is that you want your freedom. That you don't want to bind yourself but know yourself free to pursue whoever you desire."

Having to say this out loud makes him feel nauseous and Jon gently pulls his hand back while the rest of him feels like crumbling to dust. "....that's not a condition I can meet. I'm sorry."

There were so many big and little omissions in what Tony shared with Jon, and would continue to neglect as much as possible as long is there was still the immediate danger of Jon leaving, that Tony could only tilt his head apologetically, glancing away for this further failing. And further, "I'm not going to chase you," he more readily provided, but still didn't quite meet Jon's eye. "I'm not going to make you stay with me," he said, shaking his head, and if that was what Jon meant by his possessive language, and it would always make Jon feel like he didn't matter, they might have met their crossroads. Tony wasn't about to make anyone take him, he wouldn't even take himself if he could help it. That was a cruel demand.

If this crossroads was the condition that Jon had just imagined-- and it seemed like it, the hinge of the problem, making Tony's fingers curl then twitch away as Jon withdrew his affection-- it wasn't nearly as dire. "I never said that," Tony replied. "You never said that. I didn't lie to you." At least, not about that. Not sure what to do with his hands now, Tony tried to sort his words with them, only to spread one back on the table and the other over his chest, coming up with only two, "What else?"

Jon is silent for a long moment, feeling too hot and too cold at the same time as he stared into the empty space ahead of him and his heart feels like it is about to simply burst from his chest.

He isn't sure what to make of Tony's tone at first, but he can already feel himself tremble at the idea of losing this man for good. He hasn't been aware of yet how much he doesn't want that to happen.

It's those last couple of words that pull Jon back from wallowing in his own dread and look back over at last, appearing a little confused. "Wha- You mean if I just... Asked you...?"

It's true. He never said anything. But it had never occurred to him that he had to do so. And yet that vague idea of hope has his heart do something else than attempting to implode for a moment.

This should not have been as confusing as it appeared to be. For a beat, Tony stared back at Jon, not sure what he had done along the way to make him think Tony was even capable of saying no to him, to any outlandish request. What Tony produced might not exactly have been what Jon had intended, but Tony certainly couldn't remember denying him anything. So he narrowed his eyes, worrying his lip, that question in his face then eyebrows raised expectantly, because Jon must have figured that out in the time since he had to ask.

Finally taking his chance, Tony tugged at Jon's arm to fold up his sleeve, rolling it so it wouldn't drag over the table or whatever archaic recording he was doing. "What else?" he prompted again, more confidently since it seemed like Jon understood what he was asking, even if Tony hadn't meant to ask it that way.

And it's Jon's turn to stare, struggling a little bit with believing this is happening, but at the same time not fully capable to mask that growing excitement as he readily lets Tony fuss about his sleeve.

"I... ah- C-can we... Can we try this properly? This time...? Try to make it work? Make... Us work...? Would... Would you want that?" He has to ask. If they are to make this work, he can't just make demands, it has to work for the both of them.

The stuttering was back, the kind that made Tony want to press his face into Jon's neck to catch each hitch of his voice like thrown sparks, but settled for gesturing for Jon's other sleeve to get him to at least turn closer. It should have been very obvious by now, so Tony shouldn't have had to point it out, but he said, "Boss, I don't know what 'properly' means. You've been holding out on me." As far as Tony knew, they were already doing something properly, until they weren't. Jon hadn't seemed interested in a date, never mind wondering about what else Tony was doing with his time. That Jon still needed to be caught up was a concern that had Tony pausing in his work then to watch Jon's face as he repeated, "I don't know how to do better." Tony might have been incapable of actually showing Jon love; if Jon wasn't hearing it yet, Tony was probably going to continue to hurt him. Tony certainly didn't want that, but it sounded like that was what Jon was asking for. "I'll try," he was always ready to assure, "But..." With a tap to his chest, he shrugged. They both knew it was broken already. Even now, his chest felt numb, cautious and ready for the next break.

"Properly." Jon repeats the word softly, his eyes now following the work of Tony's hands again. The answer he gives is surprisingly light, the tone devoid of accusations despite the spoken words. It's almost bordering to teasing. If Tony dares to pay attention, he may even catch the hint of a little smile. "I get to call you my boyfriend without you getting defensive about it."

That said, his eyes shift back up. "If you need something- Or want something... Please tell me. I want you to tell me those things. To trust me with what's going on with you so that I... That I can be there for you. I want to be that for you, Tony. We can try together and..." Jon raises the hand that Tony currently isn't busying himself with and reaches towards Tony's chest, yet not touching it. "...and maybe one day, if it feels right, I get to actually hear you say that you love me. I... I would like that." Which seems remarkably difficult for Tony to say. So Jon will accept the smaller and bigger gestures until then and do his best to figure them all out.

As long as Jon could keep explaining what he meant by this title, Tony couldn't really get defensive, though he shifted when he was finished into a defensive looking posture with his arms folded to lean forward on the table, hands deliberately tucked still. It didn't seem like a great time to remind Jon again that Tony hadn't lied to him, that he really was going to be a terrible boyfriend that was an asshole to him and ignored him, until Jon couldn't tolerate that anymore and stopped talking to Tony for good. Until then, Tony would let Jon call him whatever he wanted if it actually got a rare smile out of him. Maybe Tony didn't mind it, either, squeezing himself around the ribs, sure he could feel them vibrating. He would have tried to find a thousand new ways to tell Jon he loved him by now if they weren't at this ridiculous table in this ridiculous hall, surrounded by unnervingly gleeful aliens eating their sandwiches like they didn't taste wrong at all.

"You already are that for me," Tony assured him, which wasn't strictly true, but there wasn't anyone else that Tony trusted to scold him to health even when Tony was resisting; Jon must have realized he already played that part, even if he hadn't realized he was doing it while he did. With his own private smile, Tony said, "See, you can't help yourself, you don't listen." It would be nice if Tony could whisper everything he wanted and needed into Jon's ear and out of Tony's itching brain, and he looked over his shoulder to watch Jon curiously like he could believe this was another one of Jon's magics. Maybe eventually.

It's either him not listening properly, or Tony making himself difficult to understand. That detail still needs to be figured out between them. Though as it looks, they will be having that chance?

"I- I will do better." Jon offers in a voice made of soft determination. He wants to reach out and touch Tony. To coax the man's hands out from where they are hidden. To reach up and run his hands through the man's hair and cradle his head and just- Just hold him close. To feel that warmth and closeness and just breathe it all in.

He doesn't reach out, though. Instead, Jon holds his hand in front of the table before them both, palm up in a wordless offer for Tony to take it - To take Jon back. A physical confirmation of all those words that were just spoken. All those little promises that were made. Jon can only offer himself. It's up to Tony to accept him.

These aliens surrounding them likely had been watching their every move since they each arrived, based on the records on board, but Tony still took in Jon's offer on the table with cautious anxiety, not sure if he meant to make this a public statement or just one for Tony. Looking away like he had nothing to do with it, Tony slid his further hand out under his arm to capture Jon's, pulling it into the tight fold of Tony's arms against his chest with a distant pout. The journey from Agra 10 had felt painfully long without the ability to send Jon an impulsive text when he saw something he wanted to fix, or a star formation he thought he recognized, or the thousand offers he had composed when trying to buy him a gift, and even longer for not getting an record of his rich voice in return, and the relief from the tension in this action almost had Tony pouring that backlog out to him. If that portal that Ga Re had promised would let them travel home had worked, Tony didn't know how much worse that would have gotten. He might have ended up writing letters to someone who didn't exist anymore like Cayde. He tapped at Jon's hand, and in a flat voice that didn't sound nearly apologetic at all, said, "Sorry you didn't get to go home." That was incredibly selfish, he could have at least tried to sound more genuine, so Tony tapped at Jon's hand again like that was an apology.

The Agrii surrounding them don't really bother Jon. There is little to hide from them at this point and- He's just bad at keeping secrets. Which maybe makes sense, all things considered.

Though Jon blinks at first when Tony turns his head away, and for a moment he worries that he has said something wrong - Only to find his hand captured and pulled in wordlessly. Almost as if Jon - or anyone - wouldn't notice just because Tony isn't looking. It actually does earn the man a soft, almost inaudible chuckle from the Archivist. Jon won't complain about the display. In fact, he's happy with this little piece of closeness he finds himself treated to.

Tony's words do little to rattle the gently smile Jon regards him with, the fingers of his free hand playing with the hems of the robe idly. He shakes his head. "I couldn't have left without at least talking to you, Tony. And now- I'm glad it's not an option I need to consider." There's a short pause here in which his hand gathers the fabric of the robe thoughtfully. "I think I would have felt guilty for deciding against returning to Earth..." Then again. Time is said to not move on while they are here. So no one is really missing any of them at the moment.

Regarding Jon thoughtfully over his shoulder, Tony had to acknowledge, "You could have gone anywhere," assuming that possibility hadn't been a lie all along, too. It was curious that finding this choice taken away from him absolved Jon of that guilt, because Tony couldn't shake his, but it was both gratifying to know Tony hadn't been unique in this consideration, and frustrating that they hadn't been able to talk about it when they felt up against it. That had been a dreadful walk for Tony. "It would have been nice to sleep in my bed again, though," he lamented with a sardonic smile, taking Jon's cue to at least stop considering it a choice he had to make for now, "My back has never felt worse." He was used to luxury, and was getting too old for roughing it, even if roughing it by Tony's standards included what the Agrii considered a reasonable pillow. While Tony's choice had included those kind of creature comforts, he knew Jon's was between a familiar demon and this apocalypse, and Tony raised his eyebrows in a question, wondering if there was anything Jon actually missed from home.

Edited (the language persists) 2020-08-30 00:06 (UTC)

"Easier accessible cigarettes." Jon answers without a pause, but with a short glance upwards. "And a proper pub." That would be a nice change of things. He can do without having to face an apocalypse or having to deal with everyone he knows turning away from the monster he is becoming. "Also... I have been anywhere. It's not worth the headache or the pain. It's... I just prefer knowing where I am." Not that they know exactly where Agra 10 is just yet, but they are on an Agrii ship and in actual contact with the Agrii at long last. They are finally getting answers!

His smile turning into a small grin, Jon reaches over his still free hand to give the back of Tony's shoulder a light pat. "How about we find that planet again that we stopped at for a while and see if we can make some trades to get you some proper bedding? You have been sleeping on the floor in the forge for how long now...?"

Tony should have anticipated that answer better, making him snort and start to nod before asking incredibly seriously, "These guys don't smoke?," like cigarettes should have been an easy find in the canteen of a group of beings who generally seemed to like the crust cut off of their sandwiches. The pub was more of a revelation, since Tony understood Jon to avoid anything that involved casually talking to other people outside of work hours, and would definitely be a more difficult energy to replicate for him. Cayde's bar, at its peak effectiveness, would still be a cycle of the same dozen people in what Tony anticipated as groups of four at maximum--a speakeasy, generously. "We can find a way to get Jonny D'Ville that attention he's been missing, surely," Tony decided this must have meant. That was much more fun than thinking too hard about one of Jon's stranger traits, lacking the curiosity to explore somewhere new, and this conversation had been hard enough on Tony's heart to deal with the concept that this likely stemmed from most of the new places being experienced during a kidnapping. That would probably sour the idea for Tony, too.

"Too long," he agreed about his bed situation, but he was squinting thoughtfully, not eager to return to the planet that started his violently short-lived binge. That wasn't an experience he wanted to repeat, and he already was mapping exactly where he could find more of that drink to continue the binge as he had intended, at the suggestion of returning. "What about we take a trip back with those furry guys?" he suggested instead. "They could have some cool shit. Failing that, I do like a bearskin rug, always very seductive." Their achieved ceasefire hadn't appealed the Graq to Tony much, without the nebulous details of the encounter that had sent Cayde and Jon back to the shuttle bay in that condition.

It may be a lot more about talking to people than watching the. Which he refuses to think of as hunting, even though in a way these things may be tied to one another for him these days. Though even that aside, the atmosphere of an actual pub is... It's not something simply replicated, surely enough. Tony's comment earns him a soft punch to the shoulder anyway. No, he isn't mad about having that name dropped on him again, just mildly flustered. It's with a very faint blush that he admits: "...a few of the Agrii have called me that." Which he has yet to figure out how to feel about.

But he sets those thoughts aside at Tony's suggestion to visit the Graq planet instead and Jon raises a brow, frowning slightly. "You're not turning one of the Graq into a rug." He points out, tone just serious enough for that one statement. "Aside from that- Sure. We can see what they have. Maybe they know how to make very soft pillows..." The thought trails off. No, Jon certainly wouldn't mind a soft pillow.

It made Tony laugh at first, between the punch and Jon's blush and the idea of the Agrii enjoying that angry concert, but he could think of three likely ways they could have even known about this sordid past of Jon's and Tony didn't love any of them. They might have been pawns in whatever this weird game was, too, but it wasn't as though the Agrii had been generous hosts, either--Tony was as eager to befriend them as he was the Graq. They wouldn't make very good rugs.

"Maybe they're prolific tobacco aficionados," Tony added, as long as they were dreaming up their ideal Graq society. "We've been on the wrong planet all along, this is our stop, we get off here and learn to spit." Tony's tight grip around Jon's hand had slowly eased, until he wasn't clutching around himself anymore and he propped his head up in his free hand, tilting his cheek into his palm to smile back at Jon. "Listen, I'm used to everyone knowing all the important stuff about me, but you said you didn't want any part of the celebrity game, and I can tell that gal in the corner has a Jon shrine in her room, don't look, too obvious, she's writing 'Mrs. Sims' in her little notes as we speak."

Whether or not Tony is holding on to Jon's hand doesn't really matter. At least not to Jon. Not now that it has regained its place over Tony's heart and he can feel the man's heartbeat and warmth through his shirt. His other hand is just resting lightly on Tony's shoulder while Jon listens to him speak, barely holding back a snort at the suggestion of them learning to spit.

Somehow it's not the most dreadful thought, though? Getting away from this all - The Agrii, their own worlds, just the two of them... A nice dream to have, at least.

It's with a little sigh and the faintest chuckle that Jon leans his forehead against Tony's shoulder and shrugs, shaking his head a little. "...and you'd think I of all people would have an easy time to get used to constantly being watched." He has been aware of Elias keeping a close eye on him at all times and somehow has been able to brush that off even after learning how the man's power works in that regard. That he can see through every eye, regardless if it's a real one or just part of a painting, sculpture or abstract illustration. The Eye itself doesn't even need any of that. It just constantly watches its avatar...

Tilting his head a little to the side, Jon glances up enough to catch Tony's look, a tiny smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "So when do we want to visit the Graq?"

Tony might have been cautious about holding Jon's hand in the mess hall, but he gave far less consideration to reacting to Jon dropping against his shoulder, barely letting him rest there before pulling an arm around his neck with fingers scratching roughly through his hair, leaning on him as much as he drew Jon in to lean against his side. Since Jon didn't seem interested in the drink, Tony finally picked it up himself to taste, only to confirm it was exactly like his first experience with it and put it back down, "You're right, that's terrible, sorry about that," with a grimace. With everything Jon had already dealt with, he should have had a unique insight to what purpose there was to be so constantly scrutinized, but that reaction just seemed more tired, and Tony would have liked to have found something stronger to offer him. Coffee, at least; this was becoming a farce.

Dropping his arm loosely to dangle over Jon's shoulder, Tony gave a shrug, looking around the hall again with a different anxiety. There was a lot to do on this ship, in competition with a lot of space to see. "When I've figured out this engine, that won't take long," he declared, trying to find that balance. "We'll have to enlist one of the pilots. Poe won't mind...." Which should have been an easy suggestion that Tony was building in his twisting fingers, but they suddenly released, grasping at a different problem that made him clear his throat. Maybe this wasn't a great time to bring it up, figuring out what kind of boundaries were supposed to be between Tony and the people he slept with was a granular detail for a less tender moment. "Or Raphael. He seems nice. Have you met? He's a turtle." As though this was a personality trait.

"I know them both." Jon answers while his eyes drift to the cup filled with that strange alien beverage to Tony's hand, once again such a familiar weight on his shoulder. Another little thing he has been missing. "Met Poe back on Risa - We talked a few times. Raphael took over as pilot on the ship I was on after Bucky vanished..." That's a wording that still feels odd. Especially now that they have found Bucky as well as Cloud. Mysteriously vanished only to show up with hundreds of sleeping Agrii. What's bothering Jon most is that he has been present when both men vanished and he didn't see it happen. Especially Cloud vanishing from the bridge while everyone from their group was there as well...

He settles with a nod and gives Tony's chest a little pat as his eyes shift back to him "I can ask if either of them is interested in visiting the planet while you take care of the engine?" It's an offer.

Right, Bucky. The anxiety tipped again, the amount of problems to fix on this ship outweighing venturing to an unknown planet for a potential shopping trip, but it wasn't like Tony had any idea where to begin with a mysterious abduction and coma. He squeezed his fist tight to release it again, trying to let this go, and muttered, "Yup," only to very quickly continue, "Do you think that's what's been happening to everybody?"

Not a great thought, and not one Tony meant to linger on, so Tony continued, "Do they have to be conscious for you to...?" with a finger twirled by his head, already shaking negative because he was pretty sure an unconscious person couldn't answer questions, magical compulsion or not. Wanda's power sounded like it worked a little differently, though. He was letting it go.

Of course Jon notices the anxious shift in Tony. It tends to be most notably in the little changes of his posture and tone. It makes Jon shift a little closer physically while also tipping his own head to the side a little while his eyes remain on Tony, studying his every reaction. Jon shrugs with the one shoulder that isn't by now pressed firmly to Tony's side while the accompanying hand scratches soothing patterns against the back of Tony's neck.

"I don't know." He answers truthfully. "Never tried. Wouldn't feel right..." Though he doesn't believe it's impossible. It may be similar to extracting someone's knowledge forcibly. One of those things that hurt him as well. Though Tony wouldn't be happy to hear this is something he could potentially do in the first place.

He taps his index finger against Tony's chest without removing his hand. "You can't fix everything on your own, Tony. Especially not if you're damaging yourself trying." It's a simple thing to point out, especially how easy it feels for Jon to tell just what Tony is thinking. "We'll take a break from this first, then figure out the rest." It's a lot easier, obviously, to make sure others take care of their needs than minding one's own. There's another tap to Tony's chest before pointing out another little detail. "I highly doubt they can watch everything we do on the Graq's home planet."

It would likely only get Jon to swear at him more if Tony asked how right it felt to compel Reeve for answers; if Tony was going to fix that fracture, he would probably do better work at a distance. It made him raise his eyebrows, ready to be defensive, when it sounded like Jon was reading his mind, but there were plenty of things Tony was trying to fix at this table. It didn't feel like he had dented the surface of any of them. "Break from what?," he wondered, gesturing out at the room and searching for what good he could point to accomplishing. "Getting the Graq home? None of these guys blowing up?" Well, now that he said it out loud, it didn't sound like a total failure; nobody died, they had all effectively completed the Agrii's mission statement out here, and somewhere between that realization and Jon's scratching at his neck, the humming tension up his back uncoiled to at least a lower register. It was the ragtag team of He-Rows that Tony felt like he hadn't helped at all, and was sitting on yet more questions and bigger problems.

He let out a breath and gave a nod of determination, right, a break, then started to laugh. No one was watching, loud and clear, and Tony welcomed, "You know what, engine's not even that complicated, in'n'out, you can give the pilot a call right now, I'm already packed."

Jon's mind reading abilities aren't nearly as advanced as Toy may believe them to be. He may know certain things from time to time, but actively reading someone's mind is still a taxing task for the Archivist. This may be something he gets more of a handle on at one undefined point in the future.

But for Tony and his constant need to fix everything Jon really doesn't need any mind reading abilities. He also doesn't interrupt Tony in his musings to offer an actual answer on his own, rather giving the man the time to figure it out on his own. As far as Jon is concerned, it's not difficult to see: Tony needs a break from literally everything. To simply be able to take his mind of everything and maybe earn a new angle of looking at all those issues.

Then he only needs to allow Jon to help him figuring out how to tackle them - One at a time.

The scratching of his fingers pauses when Tony laughs and it's Jon's turn to raise a brow. But he simply smiles at the response he gets in the end. "Glad to hear that. I will ask Raphael if he's willing to take the Vanquish to the Graq's home planet." Mainly because that's the ship Jon has been assigned to himself and he feels most familiar with it.

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