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[ ACTIVE / SEMI-OPEN ]

Who: John Sheppard & various (& maybe you!)
What: Various Stages On The Grief Arc: An illustration of John Sheppard being a disaster
When: Mid to Late November & Early December maybe
Where: Olympia & Dranbu
Warning(s): Some arm injury gore in one thread!

1. OLYMPIA -- Mid November
John is pretty sure he looks a mess to anyone who knows him, but that's precisely why he's avoiding most people who know him.

He's called out of work to give himself a recovery buffer and is taking a walk with Seren, who is completely oblivious to his problems. Seren is still a puppy, and her excitement for everything in their surroundings and for him to play with her is a good distraction -- even if he wishes she understand the word 'chill' on occasion.

The little German Shepherd is starting to grow up quickly, though. She's smart, smart enough John suspects to know exactly when she's just ignoring John's instructions. Old enough to know better, young enough not to care. Off the leash, she's skipping ahead of him with her nose to the ground -- sniffing for traces of other dogs who might have come this way. At this time of day there aren't too many, mostly people, and although she mostly just runs up and down finding things then bringing them to John (or John to them) occasionally she gets curious and bounces toward another human. Either because they smell interesting or have something with them that smells interesting.

Seren shoots toward the new person and bounces curiously while John jogs to catch up, jacket loose and unzipped over his plaid shirt and jeans.

"Hey!" he prompts sharply, and the puppy stops and looks over at him. "We talked about this, manners!"

Apparently bouncing at people is not a good display of puppy manners.

2. DRANBU -- Late November/Early December (specify before or after people change back!)
After having pretty much been holed up in Olympia drowning his sorrows for most of the month, once he finally makes it out to Josa Forest (initially to help Ianto, but then staying to sate his curiosity about what's going on) John realises he does... feel better. He probably should have come out sooner to give himself something to do, instead of just skulking around avoiding everything, but hindsight is 20/20 and all that. At the time he hadn't felt like he wanted to do anything.

Once he's there, though, actually exploring Josa Forest again after his initial trip out with Phoenix helps take his mind off things. The tree villages are interesting, and John picks through them as much to satisfy his own curiosity as to give him a reason to be --

To be away from things that he's absolutely not avoiding but also, is avoiding.

The markets of Dranbu, he notices, are very animal-focused. So after a long moment picking through things he catches the attention of someone and hesitantly asked:

"Do you have anything for dogs...?"

They point him further a long and John lofts an eyebrow curiously, turning and padding in the direction he's been pointed -- bumping into someone near a different stand along the way and setting his good hand on them apologetically to steady them. The marketplace is busy and also, not designed with space in mind. He supposes that's what comes of not normally having this many visitors.

"Sorry," he says with a wince, and bends to try and pick up whatever it is he made them drop. "Here, let me --"

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Yes. Of course the answer is yes, though Ianto doesn’t reply aloud. Instead motioning his assent and gesturing towards the other man to indicate he is intending to continue. Giving him the opportunity to refuse — that no, in fact, he’s had enough of Ianto’s help, his arm be damned — before he reaches forward to continue his work.

And this time, no. He cannot feel the other man’s discomfort or pain. He won’t be able to tell how nauseous he is or whether he will need a break before he passes out or not. He’s going to have to rely on John to communicate all that to him. Or not, he supposes, which will only prove his point.

He begins with the cloth. Washing the wound as best he can while keeping his arm as steady as he can. Though in the end he does need to get out the tweezers for some things. Picking bits of dirt, fiber, and god knows what else out of the open wound. The act alone makes him feel a bit queasy. But he refuses to admit it aloud. If he had to do this with no gloves, no protection from this ridiculous power that the Natha decided to give him, he would. For John.

It's easier for John this way, too. Easier for John to feel comfortable with guiding Ianto when he isn't conscious that the man might be able to read his every little feeling. John Sheppard is a man with a hundred invisible lines in the sand, some easier to feel out than others, and as much as he may trust Ianto right now things are still too delicate.

So he talks Ianto calmly through cleaning his wound, reassuring him that it's good that it starts bleeding more -- that it needs to flush itself clean and bleeding will do that as much as the water will. He talks him through applying a dressing properly, with feeling his arm to see if he can tell if it's a fracture or a true break.

John feels a wave of pain and nausea as Ianto does this, and closes his eyes for a second against it but tells Ianto to carry on -- he can handle it but he just needs a minute.

He does handle it, but he drinks an entire glass of cold water afterwards and spends a few seconds breathing slowly.

They splint it as best they can, and John picks at the rest of his bread before retreating to lay down on the bed. He feels overheated, and sore, and exhausted and still a little dizzy.

"Did they say how long this stuff lasts?" he mumbles. Then, realising Ianto may be unable to read minds: "the painkillers."

Will he wake up in pain? If so, he wants to be ready for that.

Ianto feels exhausted himself. Even though he had not been injured himself, even though he could not feel John’s emotions through the gloves, he could tell when the other man was hurting. Going through the motions of making him bleed, of feeling along his arm to understand the nature of the break, dressing and bracing the wound and the arm both. It had been a lot. Not that Ianto isn’t glad that he could be there to help the other man, but his hands are shaking at the end of it all, and he certainly doesn’t feel like finishing his broth himself.

Glancing up at John where he had lay down from where he had been cleaning up, Ianto considers the question. How long does the drug last? How long has it been? Ianto glances down at his wristwatch, doing some quick mental math before he replies.

“You’ve got 3 hours before you should really take much more,” he says, quietly making his way over to where John is lying before tentatively taking a seat on the edge of his bed. Frowning down at him for a moment longer before gently setting a hand on his shoulder to ask, “Do you think you’ll be able to get some rest in the meantime?”

"I can try," John allows, because he can't exactly promise if he'll manage it or not. He's tired, sure, but he's also uncomfortable. His arm means he can pretty much only sleep on his back, where John normally sleeps on his side. He sighs and sits up again, pushing up with his good arm then leaning to begin an attempt to undo the laces of his boots one-handed.

"You should get some rest too," he continues, "can't nursemaid me if you're exhausted."

Since he suspects Ianto is more likely to do it for John's sake than for his own.

He watches John struggling with his boot laces, wondering if he would appreciate the help or whether he's had just about as much help as he can stand at this point.

"Yeah, maybe," he agrees tiredly. Rubbing a hand over his face and glancing across at the other bed. The bed that John would probably appreciate if he moved over to instead. Had that been a hint, for that matter. He looks back to the other man's struggles before making up his mind and slipping off the edge of the bed to crouch before him. Gently brushing John's hand out of the way so he can tackle the laces himself.

"Here. Let's get you settled first."

He makes a vague sound of protest, but John leans back anyway and lets Ianto take over -- watching him undo his laces with a sigh. He doesn't much like it, but it's quicker and he's tired.

"Just so you know," he grumbles. "This is not a kink. I'm not into being nursed, I'm a bad patient."

Spoken like a man with extensive experience being nursed. He's not actually the worst possible patient, but John gets restless easily. He doesn't like staying still and doing nothing.

Ianto quirks an eyebrow at John's words, refraining from pointing out that he doesn't need telling that the other man's a bad patient. He's pretty much worked that out all on his own at this point.

"Well," he replies. "I suppose that I'll just volunteer myself to be mauled next time. Then we can find out what sort of patient I am instead, shall we?"

He throws a glance up at the other man with his words before tugging off John's first boot and reaching for the second.

"You're a bad patient too," John points out, although admittedly maybe not as bad. John isn't sure. He'd like to think he can be reasonable but he supposes it depends on the situation. He can definitely be unreasonable too given the chance.

He flops onto his back and stares at the ceiling in an unfocused, foggy sort of way.

"I guess we deserve each other."

It stings, the way he says it, and Ianto supposes he's grateful that John isn't looking at him, so that he doesn't see the blow it lands on his face. Lowering his eyes to his hands as they work on John's second boot, quiet as he finishes loosening the laces and pulls it off. Setting it aside with the other before pushing himself to stand and cross the room to the second bed.

I guess we deserve each other.

Do they deserve this, he wonders. Deserve to keep hurting each other. He had been happy, before. Or as close as he has been in a long time. The thought of it now makes him want to cry.

Sinking down on the edge of his bed, he moves to remove his own boots instead.

"Yes, well. Thanks for that vote of confidence," he replies, tossing his boots haphazardly to the side. It's easier to pretend like it doesn't matter than to admit that it does. "Are you going to lie down in that bed properly or should I be looking to hire someone to carry you out of here tomorrow instead?"

"You wouldn't carry me yourself?" Is John's reply, implying that no he doesn't feel like moving to get into the bed properly. Not yet, anyway. "I'd carry you," he points out. He would, although the arm is likely to be a problem in that regard at the moment. He could strap Ianto to him again, or something. He'd figure it out. It's all small print anyway.

Ianto raises an eyebrow at John's question, sitting up to glance at his prone form where it lies sprawled across the other bed.

"Of course I would," he replies. "Or at least I'd do my best to try. It's a long walk through that forest. At least it was for me, at any rate. You've been giving me the impression you've had just about all the help from me that you can stand, though." What with this vein of conversation he's been meandering down.

All the help he can stand?

John makes a face at the ceiling, squirms to try and work a little further up the bed.

"That's not true," he grumbles. It's not that he doesn't want Ianto's help. It's not that. John just... He doesn't want to hurt him. He doesn't want to hurt himself. He just... he needs a little space, that's all, and Ianto -- Ianto isn't great at giving space.

"Isn't it?" Ianto wonders aloud across to him, raising an eyebrow at the other man before glancing back down at his hands. Maybe he isn't being fair. John has let him help this much, after all. But had he wanted him to? That is another question entirely.

Then again, maybe this is his fault again. There had been a time when John had worn himself into the ground, and whether it was something to do with the Natha or something more, for a few brief minutes he'd forgotten this place. Forgotten him. John had had no problem letting him fuss over him then. It has to be now. This. Him. And all the damage he has left in his wake.

"No," John protests, and it comes out a little whiny but what the hell. He can be whiny. He's tired and sure he's had painkillers but he's still sore and a little nauseous and he hasn't eaten enough. "It's not like that. It's not about that."

It's not about not wanting help from Ianto. John isn't wildly keen on too much help in general, of course, but none of this... it's not like that. It's not the way Ianto is making it sound.

Edited (idk i don't really have a 'tired and whiny' icon) 2019-03-10 17:51 (UTC)

John is tired, but so is Ianto. He's been stuck out in that forest for days before he got stuck up in that tree, and while it tried to give him everything that he needed, it couldn't force him to sleep well. It couldn't give him back what he really wanted. Or maybe it had, in its own strange way. Forcing him to call John. It hadn't forced him to come, though. That had been entirely John on his own. But here they are bickering again, and it's all wrong between them, and now John is injured as well, and Ianto can't even comfort him right either.

What right does he even have to try? He supposes he's given that up as well, in all this. It's a bitter thought, and it only makes him more tired and frustrated besides.

"It doesn't matter," he replies, which they both know is a bald-faced lie, but the guards are up now. He's pretty certain he's forfeited his right to demand answers, as frustrated as he is. "It's been a long day," he continues. "You should try and get some sleep, if you can."

It does matter, though. John knows it matters. He can tell it matters.

He fusses tiredly, face scrunching as he shoots a sideways look toward Ianto on the other bed.

"It's not like that," he repeats. "I've not had enough of you."

He hasn't. It isn't that he doesn't want Ianto's help, it's just... It's just difficult. It's just different.

Ianto doesn't understand why John is pushing the topic when he quite obviously does not want to talk about it either. He shoots him a glance in return, the expression on his face making it pretty clear that he doesn't believe him for a second, before he makes to start unbuttoning his over-shirt and readying himself for bed.

"You don't have to lie to me because you think it might make me feel better, John," he replies, and it's hard to keep the frustration out of his voice when he does. "The only reason that you're here is because I couldn't even fend for myself for a whole week without needing to call you to rescue me, and the only reason you're staying is because you damned near lost your arm in doing so. I'm not kidding myself. Neither should you."

Lie to him?

But he's not --

"I'm not lying," he protests groggily, "and I'd have stayed either way if you wanted."

He would. John goes to roll onto his side then catches himself with his good arm -- realising just too late that his other is in no state to do that. He fumbles to shove himself up awkwardly, trying to sit up so he can watch Ianto's reactions. So he can try to better judge the conversation and maybe, if he's lucky, not make this all worse again.

Ianto watches the other man struggling for a long moment before he forces himself to look away. Finding it difficult not to allow himself to simply cross to him right there and offer his aid and assistance when that right there is the entire reason they are having this disagreement in the first. If that is even what this might be called.

“Of course I want you here with me,” Ianto replies to his folded hands in his lap. His expression furrowing slightly as he continues on to say, “I just don’t know if you want to be here yourself. Not with me anyway. You came here now because of me. There is a difference between the two scenarios.”

It isn’t as though they had been on the best of terms, when Ianto had left to come exploring here. But they hadn’t been on the worst of them either. It's hard to know where they stand, especially given their exchange in the forest.

"If I didn't want to be here I wouldn't be here," John says, which is -- maybe not strictly true. John would go a place he didn't really want to go for the sake of a person. He sighs tiredly, because it feels like no answer he gives is good enough but he doesn't know how else to say it? I'm here because I want to be, now shut up and let me sleep my arm hurts?

"Can we stop," he says softly, "with the thing where you tell me what I'm thinking and feeling? You know I hate that. I'm telling you I'm not lying. Please, Ianto, just... just listen to me."

Edited (no i wanted this icon) 2019-04-24 09:37 (UTC)

No, it's not true and Ianto knows as much, because he knows John enough to understand him as far as that. How damned self-sacrificing he is, and how to how far an extreme he would go for that matter.

John at least does have a point. He's putting words into his mouth, and he does know how the other man feels about that. But John still hasn't filled in the gaps himself. Hasn't done much talking at all, beyond demanding of Ianto what it is that he wants of this, and left to his own devices? Ianto isn't the most positive of men. Certainly not at a time like this.

"I'm listening," he says softly. Glancing back up at the other man, his blue eyes dark, guarded, and... Sad. He feels a little as though he's still waiting for the blow to come. That moment when John decides he can't forgive him for this after all. The moment when he realizes he isn't worth it, in the end. Hell, he'd left to give the other man some space, and he couldn't even get that right.

Okay.

John wets his lips nervously, because now he feels trapped under that gaze.

"What I said before," he begins, "I meant it. I still do. It's only been a few hours, Ianto, I haven't..."

He hasn't changed his mind. John sighs, shifting his weight and hesitantly touching at a patch of his arm that isn't sore and rubbing slowly at the skin.

"I want to be here," he finishes, as if repeating it might making it stick.

What he'd said before. Ianto's eyes fall to his lap again and his face flushes slightly at the memory of it. The image of John dropping to his knees in front of him. Begging him--

Sweetheart, I'd follow you anywhere you needed me to ... I'd do anything for you ... I don't wanna be without you...

Ianto knows John. He knows he isn't a man for such displays. And he knows he'd meant every word. It isn't as though he'd forgotten, exactly. It's just that he'd distracted himself from it, with this tension that had risen between them again. He knows he hasn't been forgiven just yet. He's not certain he's forgiven himself so soon either, truth be told.

"I can't understand why," he says softly. "You've always been so good to me. And I never seem to be able to get things right for you, in the end."

Even here and now. In his attempts to help, he's done it again. Made another mess, just like he always seems to do.

John huffs softly at that, drops his eyes away to his hands.

"I'm not exactly getting it right every time myself."

If he was, Ianto wouldn't be upset so often. If he was, Ianto would understand what was going on with him. If he was, he probably wouldn't already be divorced once over.

John knows he is as much responsible for the mess as Ianto, he just... he's not good at this. He's not good at talking about things. He doesn't know if he ever will be.

Ianto sits where he is for a few moments longer before pushing himself up, padding across the room to the bed where John is sitting and perching himself tentatively down on the edge of it beside him. Careful not to touch him in case John doesn't want him reading him just yet.

"All I meant to say," he says quietly, trying again now that he's closer once more, now that he should have the other man's full attention, "is that I've only been trying to help. This whole time. And I know you've let me, but. I know what it feels like to be tolerated, John."

He understands that he's a fussy person. People humor a lot of his eccentricities. But this isn't one of them, as far as he's concerned. Because that's just it. He is concerned. Glancing up, Ianto's bright blue eyes meet the other man's once more.

"I know that -- maybe it's not something that you enjoy. But all I'm trying to do is see that you're taken care of properly. Because I care." He pauses a beat, before adding softly, "I'd switch places with you in a heartbeat, if I could."

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i just found this open in chrome SORRY MY BAD....

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