[ the Sanctuary is the last place John wanted to be after the rescue. not a big fan at the best of times, finding the people he'd set out to save trapped in a ward off from the rest and left unnoticed and unassisted has done nothing to garner any love. and then there's what happened in that ward. the thing he'd love to be far, far away from. the duties he'd love to abandon for the sake of not being reminded of— but he's been reprimanded before for his stubbornness, the hypocrisy and futility of it in the face of other people's need. taking his fury out on the Sanctuary now would only deny people who need it the medical attention he can provide. and he's too stubborn to be a coward about the rest. John had taken that first night away, spent it in his office at Shades, patching himself up and sleeping off the worst of it, keeping out of the way as the tail ends of the rescue effort turned into the beginnings of the recovery. and the next day he went back to the Sanctuary, and started work.
for the most part, he's avoided the bedsides of friends. those are conversations he hasn't got it in him to handle. but as the days go on and people start to drift home, overcoming the worst of it and moving on to their own more private recoveries, the number of people up and about, testing their legs, also rises. so he catches glimpses of people here and there, familiar faces. ducks into doorways, swerves down other corridors.
John's first response on seeing Prior's face is to flinch - visibly, no small twitch but an active movement to turn around and go suspended mid-action, caught on pause. the result is a jarred half-turn that stops short, with John's eyes still fixed on the man hobbling as gracefully as any man is able to hobble down the corridor towards him.
John's second response on seeing Prior's face here, seeing Prior hobbling down the corridor towards him, seeing him in clothes instead of bedclothes and on his feet instead of resting, is: ]
What are you doing out of bed?
[ barked. a fine hello, for the first time they've seen each other since before he was taken. but just because John hasn't been in to visit doesn't mean he hasn't been watching. doesn't mean he hasn't had somebody fill him in on the details of Prior's state, on his progress, on how he won't stay in his fucking room.
one hand bunches into a white-knuckled fist at his side, the one external giveaway of the sheer effort it's taking to keep him stood where he is. whether he wants to go toward or away he doesn't know - and he hopefully won't find out if he can just keep it balled up tight enough, with blunt half-moons pressed into his palm.
John has his own bruises, ugly and angry across his jaw and high on his cheek, lip healing from an earlier split. but rather that be what shows on his face than what's going on in his head, the roiling mix of fear and fury, heartbeat almost obnoxiously loud and leaping in his throat. ]
city visits!! but in the sanctuary
for the most part, he's avoided the bedsides of friends. those are conversations he hasn't got it in him to handle. but as the days go on and people start to drift home, overcoming the worst of it and moving on to their own more private recoveries, the number of people up and about, testing their legs, also rises. so he catches glimpses of people here and there, familiar faces. ducks into doorways, swerves down other corridors.
John's first response on seeing Prior's face is to flinch - visibly, no small twitch but an active movement to turn around and go suspended mid-action, caught on pause. the result is a jarred half-turn that stops short, with John's eyes still fixed on the man hobbling as gracefully as any man is able to hobble down the corridor towards him.
John's second response on seeing Prior's face here, seeing Prior hobbling down the corridor towards him, seeing him in clothes instead of bedclothes and on his feet instead of resting, is: ]
What are you doing out of bed?
[ barked. a fine hello, for the first time they've seen each other since before he was taken. but just because John hasn't been in to visit doesn't mean he hasn't been watching. doesn't mean he hasn't had somebody fill him in on the details of Prior's state, on his progress, on how he won't stay in his fucking room.
one hand bunches into a white-knuckled fist at his side, the one external giveaway of the sheer effort it's taking to keep him stood where he is. whether he wants to go toward or away he doesn't know - and he hopefully won't find out if he can just keep it balled up tight enough, with blunt half-moons pressed into his palm.
John has his own bruises, ugly and angry across his jaw and high on his cheek, lip healing from an earlier split. but rather that be what shows on his face than what's going on in his head, the roiling mix of fear and fury, heartbeat almost obnoxiously loud and leaping in his throat. ]