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...aight.

[ The video comes to life with Jon giving the camera a weary look. Though aside from his usual appearance of disheveled restlessness, he actually looks... Healthy? Like he's been having a very good meal? None of that makes him look any less concerned, however. Or less stressed. He may have gone even more grey over his own birthday. ]

So- The storm is over. And... I can't help but notice we have lost- A few of us.

[ He presses his lips into a thin line for a moment before going on. ]

No actual victims to the crash or the storm, just... [ A small gesture with his hand. ] Vanished. Their names are no longer on the network.

[ He checked. He freaking went and picked up the Communication data point to check especially for certain people but he's not going to admit how much his hands have been shaking and how long it took him to pull himself back together after seeing those names still present.

Especially one name.

A deep breath. ]

Some of those that- Left. They had information on the Atroma. And I... I never got any of that on record. I believe it might do us well to get what information is still present recorded. I ask those of you who know anything about them to find me at the former library. Yes, former. I don't think it's quite accurate anymore to refer to it that way. It's just...

[ And he shakes his head, waving the matter off dismissively before muttering. ]

...hope everyone's alright.

[ A pause, and another deep breath and he turns the video off with a soft click. ]

[ PRIVATE to Tony ]

[ -but he's really just setting the feed to a locked frequency before losing his nerves on a public broadcast. ]

Talk to me, please. I couldn't find you in the storm, I-- I... I was worried... Still am. Please tell me you're okay!

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[This response doesn't come as quickly as his usual texts, and maybe he could have used that time to actually answer, but]

Library?

[ As much as he hates using text, Jon has little motivation to change the setting. Instead he's just glad about the response. ]

that's where i am

[ As much as he wants to argue that he just said he doesn't think it's a fitting name for it anymore, he's not in the mood to type that. ]

basement

[Much faster this time, before Jon can even send the follow up, nothing to deliberate over:]

On my way.

[That part is going to take him a while, though. Try not to fall asleep before he gets across town. He hasn't been in the basement yet, and today he is not eager to test his limits of new experiences.]

follow the second shelf from the left to the far wall for the door. easy to miss.

[ And that's about as much as Jon is willing to write at the moment. He will just sit and wait patiently while doing some simple, soothing chemistry work down here. ]

"He's alive, it's okay, he's alive..." Tony was muttering to himself as he crossed Temba, picking his way around the overextended lake from the Forge to the erstwhile library, hunched with his arms hugged around himself and eyes darting anxiously, barely lingering on deep puddles where he expected to see another bloated corpse with every corner he turned. These reminders of the storm were like fresh wounds on the city, feeling infected and rotted where the rain was supposed to wash away and renew. At least the network was working again, or Tony's connection to it, either one letting him pull the undersuit from his bones to cling tentatively around the ports in his skin, ready to envelope himself defensively at the first wrong sound.

The echoing, empty hall of the library wasn't nearly as comforting as it should have been, but at least it wasn't damp like the Forge was, where Tony had been sweeping the corrupted water out the door, the fire well doused and out of commission. He paused there anyway, trying to take a deep breath and release some of the tension he could feel all the way to his toes curling in his boots; he knew he already looked like hell, he could try not to be entirely pathetic and worry Jon any more. He still had one arm arm braced across his chest as he picked his way carefully down the stairs, trying not to make too much noise so he could peek into the basement and retreat quietly if he had come this far just to find another monster.

The only monster to be found in this basement in the Archivist. Aside from that, what greets Tony down at the base of the stairs at least appears to be light in the form and shapes of various large candles and alien lanterns placed in strategic places around the initial entrance area of the basement make sure to limit dark spaces to a minimum. And while this area obviously has been turned into Jon's main working area for the time being, those lights make it clear enough that at least two longer hallways split away from this one room to offer room to the darkness chased away from that spot.

Jon's workspace is more on the basic side, yet functional. And unlike Tony's forge kept at least tidied up. Two smaller shelves half filled with various containers, a workbench with what eerily looks like one of those cheap chemistry sets for children carefully set up and upgraded with various pieces to make it actually useful. A notebook sits there as well along with a pen as a small set of scales and similar tools. And between all of these lies the little light-emitting disc Tony has gifted Jon back on the ship. As for Jon himself, he sits in front of that workbench, hands in his lap and watching quietly as a mixture of ingredients heats up and melts together over the flame of a small Bunsen burner.

Whether there are other areas with different setups down here isn't obvious at least from right there.

While Tony does his best to be sneaky to not wake any creatures down here, Jon can't help but notice the slowly approaching anxiety. Not his own, mind you, but he can feel it slowly creeping up his neck either way while watching over his mixture. And he doesn't exactly like it, since Jon has an inkling what the source might be. So he turns his attention to the entrance of his basement instead, concern etched into his features as he slowly gets to his feet.

"...Tony?"

The only part of the room that Tony actually noticed was the light, appreciating the warmth of it as he made his way down after anticipating finding a cold, dark basement, and he glanced curiously between the flame of the candles and the burner on the desk as he took the last step. Nothing else hit the processor yet as his focus jumped to Jon, then froze there. Like the basement, Tony had been expecting the worst, despite the video, and instead of another private horror to bear, Jon looked--good. Better than the last time Tony had seen him, which was always true, Tony thought, despite its unquantifiablity, like he couldn't actually conceive of how divine Jon actually was and hold that image in his head, like the opposite of craving the warm buoy of a drink and settling for the burning blindness of the truth. That didn't help, that thought just made the gnawing ache that drilled through Tony's chest and pinched his spine painfully enough to keep him from sleeping, the ache that Tony thought was that drink, worse.

Fuck, he was a mess.

What Jon definitely looked better than, quantifiably, was the last time Tony had seen him dead. Or the time before that. Or the first time he had found the body in the woods. If he had any way of expressing that to Jon, it definitely hadn't been over text, and it was quickly revealing itself to be just as difficult for Tony in person. Aiming for very casual, and landing distinctly closer to breathless as his chest tightened, Tony went with, "Hey," and leaned one hand on the wall still by the stairs to stop from swaying like he felt like he might have been. "You okay?"

It may be hard to tell just what horrors exactly the storm has had for Tony, but no doubt he hasn't been spared. The obvious lack of words speaks volumes. It's in that void of verbal exchange that Jon steps forward, concerned yet at the same time relieved but also feeling guilty for failing the one person he had wanted to help first and foremost.

"Tony, I- I'm so sorry!" He all but blurts out just before coming to a stop immediately in front of the man, wanting little more than to wrap his arms around him but mentally telling himself off from doing so in light of Tony already having to steady himself against the wall. Jon opts to try and take Tony's other hand in both of his instead, ready to offer to support him over to his recently abandoned chair if needed. "I'm fine, but- Please. Come and sit down. I have tea down here - And some food. Have you been hurt?"

Has he been worried? Of course he has been.

Jon didn't have to be the one to close that distance, coming close enough and reaching for Tony's hand enough to convince Tony that it was obviously Jon that needed this hug, it was fine, and if wrapping both his arms around Jon's shoulders to pull him close where Tony could bury his face in Jon's hair made that rod in Tony's spine melt incrementally enough that he could finally drop his shoulders and maybe fall asleep right here, they could both still pretend he wasn't actually that pathetic. The apology surprised him, and Tony almost asked why Jon thought he should be apologizing when Tony clearly should have tried harder to reach him and not let that storm get into his head, but he could already hear them trading that same apology and leaked a slightly hysterical laugh instead. "I'm fine, I'm great," he promised, because he had no wounds to speak of, nothing had attacked him and the worst of his aches were all self-inflicted.

Hardly pathetic, just been through a lot. Jon understands. He's been there and would be there himself at this point as well if he were more human and the storm would have had a different affect than feeding him. At least he is apparently still human enough for his heart to give a little jump at the embrace before he returns it eagerly. And he's still human enough to at least try and hide his expression of utter relief by pressing his face into Tony's chest with a mutter. "...I missed you."

And yet he's still perfectly aware that Tony in fact isn't as fine as he claims to be. That he is trying to put Jon at ease. Which Jon can appreciate in some way, but at the same time knows that he won't be at ease until he knows Tony isn't about to collapse on him any longer.

And so he keeps mumbling against that reassuring warmth his face is resting against. "Please come and sit down anyway. Let me fetch you a blanket. And tea."

What a simple phrase that was for Tony to have been unable to construct it himself, and still yet couldn't make himself say it despite how much it helped ease more of his tension yet, tugging at his heart guiltily but glad to know they had been feeling the same way. Maybe because it didn't quite do justice to the kind of loss he felt in mourning. Before he let Jon lead him away, he did manage to nod, carding one hand through Jon's hair then pressing a kiss to his temple, hoping that was clear enough.

Jon's desk finally solidified as Tony approached it, and gratefully slouched down into the chair as much to puzzle over what Jon had been occupying himself as to get off of his feet. Looking dazed, he glanced between the fire again and the notebook, trying to piece it together for himself, keeping one hand on Jon to keep him close instead of trying to replace that need with some tea. "Hope I'm not interrupting," he said, as though there could have been any situation he wouldn't gladly interrupt for Jon's attention.

Jon inhales deeply at the small gesture, then exhales to release some of the tension he has been holding in. The storm is over. They are back together and what mental wounds have been wrought can start to heal.

With Tony maneuvered to the chair and sat down, Jon takes a moment to wrap his arms and hands around Tony's head and shoulders protectively and let out a small sigh of relief while shaking his own head lightly. "You're not interrupting, Tony. You never are." The words are sealed with a small, yet dedicated kiss to the corner of Tony's mouth. "You're more important to me than anything I could be brewing down here."

He pulls away just enough to properly look at Tony and tilts his head just a little. "So how do you feel about that tea?"

That might not have established a terribly high bar to cross, some mystery goo bubbling away on Jon's desk, then Tony, and Tony was sure he could have been making a joke about that somewhere in the runoff of his brain, but instead he was glad that he struggled to open his eyes again after bowing into Jon's embrace because he could feel them burning at the gesture and had to squeeze them more tightly shut to try to shove that down. It left his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, making him shake his head in response for the tea, not feeling great. What he wanted was to wrap himself around Jon, like the last time he had to watch him die, to check that he was still exactly as Tony had mapped him, every piece still in place, and it left him hanging limply onto Jon's clothes as he scrubbed the other hand over his eye where he felt the betrayal of a tear tickling his nose anyway. What he really wanted was to just act normal, so if Jon could stop offering him things like he looked like he needed help, that would be great for this emotional volatility. "Tell me what you've been doing," he managed hoarsely, trying for the commanding impatience he knew intimidated anyone in R&D into keeping the pitch concise.

That Tony remains comparably silent is unusual and makes Jon tilt his head a little further, but it's quickly getting clear that Tony is still struggling. And it's very likely it's still tied to the storm. He presses his lips shut for a moment when Tony holds onto him and shakes his head. The tear isn't missed, but Jon doesn't comment on it. Instead, he pulls Tony closer again, one hand stroking through his hair while the other gives a little massage to his shoulder.

That Tony doesn't want to talk about what happened during the storm isn't a surprise, and so is his request for an explanation. A distraction. Normalcy...

Jon offers a little hum as he nods, leaving his one arm over Tony's shoulder while turning around enough to grab the small notebook ad flip it open with his other hand and putting it down on the table before the remaining setup. The page shows a row of formulae along with several notes and calculations, several of them stroke through. "I know I should make sure to make some more painkillers, but- I felt like trying something else. I know how to make stuff that keeps me awake by heart, but- We both know these days I could use something with the opposite effect. It's... I know it's foolish. And probably wasteful with the replicator broken, but..." He just shrugs. There isn't really much of an excuse.

The easy acceptance of Tony's poor signalling was devastating again, and Tony briefly resented not being able to provoke Jon into lashing out at him instead because that would have been much easier for him to handle. He definitely didn't deserve this. Focusing on what Jon was trying to tell him helped Tony push that down, but he found it difficult to actually listen and try to parse the formulae at the same time, making him squint around Jon before giving a pull where he had wrapped both arms around his waist to coax him to sit as well, bringing his voice closer where Tony might be able to process it better as he drew them both up to the desk.

Helping Jon sleep, right, hadn't they talked about this before? This whole place was starting to feel recursive, space had been less fractal. "Did the storm make you want to hurt people?," he asked, the question feeling clumsy even as it came out. There must have been plenty of fear in the city, just like there had been in the tunnels, for Jon to be chewing on this problem.

Finding something to help himself sleep, indeed. Especially when he finds himself outside the luxury of having a certain warm body to curl up against and soak in that soothing familiarity until it lulls him into that elusive state of actual sleep. It's just not something he can demand and when Jon finds himself by himself especially in those particularly quiet hours late at night, he rather finds himself dwelling on all the things and thoughts he knows are unhealthy for him to dwell on.

That's when he would rather be able to take a nap.

He lets Tony shift his position, but shakes his head at the question before responding with a small frown directed at an empty spot next to them. "No. It didn't. But... It acted as if that's what I'm already doing..." It treated him like a monster. Like he belonged there. Welcomed him... And in a way it felt right.

Closing his eyes for a moment, Jon sighs and uses the arm he still has around Tony's back to pull his head onto the other man's shoulder before musing aloud. "The storm used our worst fears against us. I remain... Undecided. About how to feel about my experience." There is a certain comfort in knowing that he still fears turning into an actual monster.

While Tony was far from the correct person to try to help Jon talk through that complexity, a snare of magic Tony struggled to understand and vulnerabilities he struggled to articulate, he probably could have at least tried to listen. The mistake he made, he realized too late, was bringing Jon closer thinking that would make him easier to understand. The first warning was the slowing and stilling of his typically tireless fingers, worrying at the hem of Jon's shirt until they could press to the sliver of skin where Tony had secured him close around his waist. Then he was tipping his head onto Jon's on his shoulder, and he did manage to think for a moment that the language Jon was using was not quite right.

"It's a weapon," he was pretty sure he said, because Jon had to know that whatever effect the storm had on him had been deliberate, calculated and controlled, and should not be considered a force of nature. The rest of that context did not make the final cut, because Tony was very blissfully asleep.

Jon doesn’t notice what’s happening until it is too late. He feels Tony’s hand holding him close and the other man’s head leaning on his and hears Tony refer to the storm as a weapon, which isn’t something Jon will argue against-

And then silence.

It’s in this silence that Jon blinks twice, then glances over to Tony - Or what he can catch from the corner of his eyes.

Oh... oh. Okay. So.... Apparently they are resting now. Which is good, he supposes. But...

Tony could have let him go fetch a blanket, at least.

Jon lets out a quiet sigh and holds in a fond little chuckle before doing what he can to get as comfortable as possible without waking Tony up. He can do this. He can wait. He can let Tony have the rest he needs and maybe even doze off himself as little eventually...

It could have been the acrid smell of the forgotten experiment on the bunsen burner that woke Tony, or the ache in his tailbone and pinch in his neck from slouching in the chair very much not made for a nap. Either one should have made for a very unpleasant awakening, and Tony almost gave a start as he realized that was what happening, that sleep and finally crept up on him when he had been begging to meet it for days, and that Jon had been there, and that meant Jon was gone--except he wasn't, he was the warm weight against Tony and very much the reason Tony's leg was completely asleep. The panicked gallop of his heart took far longer to slow than it had to erupt, but Tony tried to take a steadying breath and gently check if he had drooled in Jon's hair (inevitable) without disturbing him. He very much should have left, that would have been entirely reasonable. Instead, he was still there, and Tony decided he would prefer it if Jon was always there to wake up to even if it meant this ache in his neck for the rest of his mornings, where he could delicately walk his fingers along Jon's waistband to the soft, ticklish warmth on his stomach, and trace the galaxy of the scars on his hand, well past where Tony could see as he watched the slow rise and fall down their bodies. He didn't know if Jon was actually awake when he tipped his head back to lean on Jon's and said, "I love you."

Jon gives a soft stir in response to Tony waking up and the body he is sitting and leaning on shifting as a result. He doesn't necessarily want to wake up, yet still finds himself with this dreadfully dry mouth that has him wet and smack his lips a few times while shuffling just a little closer to that comfortingly warm body that absolutely belongs there.

Though somewhere at the back of his groggy mind Jon knows it's Tony. And that it's Tony's arm around his middle and his fingers tickling him ever so slightly. And knowing all that only results in a content little exhale as Jon blinks his eyes open slowly only to glance up sleepily in time to pick up the man's words. It's only three little words, but those are enough to make Jon's heart beat faster and a cozy warmth to spread through his body. And he is pretty certain there is no way he isn't sporting the goofiest of giddy smiles along with a happy blush in response.

He gives no verbal reply. Only a little squeeze to Tony's shoulder with his one hand before Jon tilts his head up and back enough to press a small, loving kiss to whichever part of Tony's face he might meet. Might be his chin, his nose, his ear. Doesn't matter. Jon loves it all in return.

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