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[Daniel looks tired, dirty, and a little haggard, but otherwise seems fine.]

Hey. Sorry I've been out of the loop for a bit, I was off in the woods.

[...technically true.]

Anyway, I'm around again, and I should be in the city for the a while. Let me know if you need anything.

[Private to Claire]

Hey, did you make it out alright?

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I don't like talking about what happened to me.

So long as that's ... known.

Nobody does.

But we're - tangled, and we expect things from each other in ways that we shouldn't and. I think it's important to sort that out.

I understand.

Good. If there's...somewhere you'd rather meet?

No. Nowhere in particular.

I'm fixing up a bombed-out place. Come by when you can?

I will.

I'll be waiting.

[ He sneaks out, after a time, and makes his way towards Daniel. He's starting to be able to identify and understand that feeling in his chest better; now it's much easier to locate him.

He lingers, outside, and sends out a telepathic touch, a sort of I'm here. ]

[Daniel isn't sure how much gets across, but he tries to send a wave of welcome, warm and fresh like the breeze off the sea in the spring, tugging the door open. The place is pretty stripped down, with a few basics set up in neat piles, cooking utensils and carpentry tools, with upside-down crates for seats. A dinged kettle hangs in the brick fireplace.]

I wanted to make you tea. It's not ready yet.

[I'm glad you're here.]

[He's afraid. His mouth is dry, his throat is dry, and his heartbeat is too fast. He's so sick of being afraid, but he can't stop it. He's lost all the control he used to have, and he despairs of ever getting it back.

He steps inside, feels the welcome, but it doesn't warm the icy core of him.]

I came a bit faster than I thought.

[He steps up close to Charles, close enough that he has to look up a little to meet his eyes. It's too close not to be awkward, and Daniel knows it, and the point was to give him a hug, but he's suddenly uncertain if he should.]

You said - you felt my mind as many.

I hope that's not uncomfortable for you.

[It's weirdly earnest, baldly said thanks to Daniel's own inexperience with telepathy, but he means it. He doesn't want to cause Charles pain.]

[How to describe it? Less like hearing the music of one trumpet playing and more like the rush of raindrops. So many voices make it white noise.]

No. It's actually a bit less uncomfortable than a real crowd.

It's best to warn you -- I'm not very good at blocking.

I don't mind.

[He turns and moves further inside, sitting on one of the crates and gesturing for Charles to take the other.]

I'm used to my emotions being shared on some level.

There are - some nightmares I wouldn't wish on anyone, no matter what you've already seen, but that's not about privacy or offense or shame or. Whyever normal people object.

[There's no hint of content associated with the worry, just a dissonant mental twitch away, like a scratched record, an old subconscious reflex more for his own protection than Charles's.]

Edited 2012-03-19 07:43 (UTC)

[It's worse, now. Charles feels scattered, like everything about him is running away in opposite directions. Like he's breaking apart at the seams just from being here with Israel.

And -- well, he thinks, what was so wonderful about those seams anyhow? Since when had he pieced himself together with more than spit and bailing wire?

He takes a seat, leaning his elbows on his knees.]

And I'm used to sharing emotions, on some level. I've always thought that telepathy was a better option for communication than the spoken tongue.

[He nods, almost idly.]

That's fine. I'm going to just talk, I think, because I'm used to it, and my signal-to-noise ratio is probably lower than most, but you can listen in all you want.

This may all be simpler if we establish that neither of us owes the other anything. We are from clearly separate universes, and there is no prior connection, no relationship. I saved you once, you saved me once, and we could leave it at that.

[He isn't sure that's what he wants.]

[Softly.]

You feel like mine.

I don't really care what dimensional sleight of hand is behind that. I want to take care of you, and your Israel isn't here to do it. You'd never owe me anything for that.

I don't know you yet, and I can't trust you or treat you like a hero I never had. But I want to be a part of your life while we're here, if you'll let me.

[A subtle tension in Charles' shoulders relaxes. He shivers, and his hands drift up, hug himself.]

You make it sound so simple.

Isn't it?

[A playful grin, because of course it's complicated and he knows it. But it's also simple, and he's daring Charles a little to come up with a reason it can't be.]

I've -- I've done quite a bit for governments. But now I want to be a man of my own conscience, not a man of someone else's agenda.

I'm not asking you to be an agent, or a soldier, or a fucking civil servant.

I'm just saying - let me. Be home.

[He ducks his head, and tears prick at his eyes. He wipes at them, impatiently.]

That may be the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me.

Oh, achi.

[Screw this. He scoots his crate over, scraping loudly against the floor, and leans in to give Charles that hug.]

[His fingers rest light on Israel's arm. Slowly curl and tighten in the fabric. And hesitantly, warily, he opens up a thin stream of his emotions, a trickle into Israel's mind. It's a jumble, a mess, far too many emotions to name or untangle -- good memories, terrible memories, friendships and hatreds. It's a tumult, and touching the raw roar of Israel's mind calms it, easing the force of a hurricane to a thunderstorm, even if only for now.]

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