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xp_logsHaller, Sooraya, and Arthur have a quiet moment in their flight back to New York.
The filtered light of what hung above the clouds shone off the pearlescent walls of the private jet's interior. The main focus of the space was a central, beautifully-carved mahogany table. Two cream leather chairs sat on either side, opposed by a matching couch that gave the entire cabin a conversational feel. It was less of an airplane and more of a flying living room — the onboard bar and flatscreen only added to the effect, even if they were being dutifully ignored.
One of the chairs was claimed by a blond man who sat peacefully perplexed over a knitting project that most closely resembled a multi-colored wool sock. From afar. With a generous interpretation of “sock.” The contented look on his face as he worked suggested it was the practice that was his real joy in that and not necessarily the result. A simple task.
Arthur squinted in assessment, and shared his thoughts with the room: "Could this use more color?"
Jim, lagging from the previous day and slowly sinking into the leather couch beside Sooraya, revived enough to glance at the proffered object. Socks were arguably the least exciting of garments. Arthur's solution appeared to be creative colorways and sheer enthusiasm.
"Is that possible?" Jim asked after a minute. To behold Arthur's project was to visually taste the rainbow.
This got a considering look, but Arthur's attention passed around the room in equal measure. Whatever he saw led to an entirely self-satisfied conclusion of, "Socks could and should be interesting. Tell a story."
Sooraya studied the sock for a moment and she tilted her head as she searched for words: "Most socks are boring. And they shouldn't be." She finally agreed. "But with all of those colors... it's like many stories are all shouting to be heard... if that makes sense."
"Ooh," Arthur openly pondered, moving a hand to his chin, "I like that for a sock. Like every step's a little dare to make life just as interesting as what's on your feet." This was paired with a boyish smile. Just a pinch of genuine wonder. "I haven't found a hobby that's really stuck yet," he admitted, "so might as well go big. Make the first pair memorable."
Jim regarded Arthur with mildly perplexed amusement before exchanging a glance with Sooraya. Arthur was indeed going big. The article in question was about to surpass its origins as a humble sock: a mere sock could not hope to contain the intense investment of its creator. Now it was verging into scarf territory — colorfully.
"I for one will definitely remember them," said the telepath with total honesty.
"I think most people who see them would remember them." Sooraya shook her head playfully as she sipped from her tea. "Do you plan on wearing them yourself or are they a gift for someone? A welcome home gift for Jim maybe?" She turned her head, a teasing grin on her face.
Arthur stared at the project in his hands like he was just seeing it for the first time. Not from a new angle, but instead the curious realization of, "Huh, I've never thought that someone might wear these." There was the twirl of a knitting needle as he considered, and his smile flashed with mischief. "I like that. They'd be like a secret under all of those chinos." He leaned forward. "See who's really paying attention."
Jim snorted. "Only Warren thinks about that. That's a mystery that would remain forever —" a yawn caught him by surprise and managed to climb its way alongside the rest of the sentence, "— unsolved."
"I can think of a few others who'd notice. If they'd really appreciate it . . . that is the question . . ." Sooraya glanced over to Jim, a soft smile playing on her face and her voice lowered a bit as she saw him fighting to keep his eyes open. "So what story do the colors of this sock tell for you, Arthur? Or is it more just a colorful medley? Somehow it kinda reminds of the pictures I've seen of Mardi Gras and other things like that. A huge crowd in all kinds of colors, dancing and moving together."
The other man's eyes were also on Haller. "Let's call it a happy accident," Arthur said with a wry smile. "Knitting keeps my hands busy. I like calling it a colorful medley, though." The twirling needle turned into a drummer's spin before it flipped into the air briefly. An example. "Good way of pretending it is art. Dress it up."
"Although," and his attention moved to Sooraya as he raised an eyebrow, "Tell me more about these folks noticing people's socks."
Keeping his eyes open was a battle Jim had no desire to win. Exhaling, the telepath leaned back against the soft leather upholstery and just listened.
"Don't ask me where and who, but I came across a fierce debate about the use of socks." Sooraya shrugged with a little giggle. "Opinions varied from cynics who thought socks are just a piece of clothing so it doesn't matter who wears what to those who thought a sock drawer is the perfect way to make a profile of someone. I didn't stick around long enough to hear . . . " She fell silent, just a little started as a weight settled on her shoulder.
Glancing to the side, her smile turned soft as she saw Jim's head resting on her shoulder. "I didn't stick around long enough for the rest." She finished her sentence in a low voice.
The telepath's breathing had gone deep and regular. His eyelids didn't even flicker at the movement.
Her smile was mirrored, if only incidentally, by the blond across from her. "Clothing is," Arthur mused, "a choice. Gives a sense of how someone wants to be seen. I’d say it is the things they think people won't notice — socks, necklaces hidden under shirts, that all — that can show what they don't want to hide under a costume." He shrugged. "But socks are sometimes just socks."
Arthur's eyes were suddenly drawn to the screen across from them where a cheerful infographic showed a simplified course of their flight. "Looks like we'll be arriving just on schedule," he said.
"That's good." She simply agreed, her voice still low. Sooraya carefully turned her head again as the weight seemed to settle more heavily on her shoulder. "He's probably exhausted, but gonna get a crick in his neck if he stays like this." Narrowing her eyes a little she cast around the cabin, quickly locating what she wanted. "Would you mind getting me one of those blankets, Arthur?"
In the meantime she pulled over a small pillow in her lap before shaking Jim just a little. "Hey, put your head here if you wanna sleep? Otherwise you're gonna be so sore when you wake up. Hey . . ." Within a moment or two she was greeted by one eye opening just a tad.
"Mm? Oh . . ." Jim's transition from Sooraya's shoulder to her lap was more of a slow collapse than an actual change in position, but it achieved the desired effect. As soon as his head hit the pillow he was asleep again.
Sooraya shifted a little so both were a little more comfortable, gently petting his hair as she did so. "Well, he is definitely out." She commented with a small grin.
Arthur had only just returned from across the cabin then, blanket in hand. He paused silently to appreciate the scene before lifting the spread slightly. A gesture asking for direction. He motioned, prop in hand, to her in a 'do you want to?' and then to Haller in a 'or should I?'
"Probably easier if you do it. I don't want to twist around too much and wake him up."
The blanket was carefully draped over Jim's lean form, and gloved hands moved him only slightly to make sure the man was appropriately snug. Arthur backed away slowly, and his lingering gaze was radiant with affection. He couldn't help but return Sooraya's grin.
"We did it, huh," he said gently. It wasn't a question. He let his relief gust through the space like a warm front, a welcome sign of spring or the release of a held breath.
"Still a little battered and bruised, but yeah . . . we did it." Sooraya's grin turned a little wry as she continued to run her finger through his hair. "And it'd be nice if things stay quiet for a bit, so he isn't tempted to hide again . . ."
The only reply was a soft snore from Sooraya's lap.
For now, at least, their quarry had finally stopped running.
*****
Warren and Jessica meet the traveling trio at the airport when they return from Scotland.
The ride to the airport would have been awkward had it been anyone else, but it was Warren and he didn't even stop to think that Jessica would hate every moment of the ride.
Why would she? He had donuts. He had deep-fried dough for Haller.
Deep. Fried.
If that wasn't a sign of the depth of friendship he had for the man, Warren didn't know what was.
Also — he brought Jessica. And even had Taylor Swift playing for most of the ride, because clearly who didn't like Tay Tay?
The one thing Warren totally forgot to do was clear anything with the airport, so now he was like a peasant, waiting at baggage claim. He hoped no one recognized him.
A pointed five feet away — she was not waiting with him, she was waiting near him — Jessica stood with her arms crossed. The atmosphere around her chilled with the air of murder she was emitting, a consequence of enforced proximity that she had not quite been able to fling herself out of a moving . . . vehicle to avoid. Despite the soundtrack, the company, and her better judgment.
"Warren Worthington! My guy!" The lightly accented voice rang out over the din of the small airport, projected with an actor's expertise in playing to the back. If that announcement wasn't enough, the same voice — a touch more confused but even more delighted — continued, "And is that Jessica Jones?"
It wasn't hard to find the voice's source.
A bubbly blond man emerged from behind a banner advertisement touting the many tourist opportunities in White Plains, New York. He was trailed by two far-more travel worn figures. Arthur himself was dressed in entirely too many layers — the type of man to wear what he couldn't tightly pack a carry on — and the only thing stopping him from waving was that he seemed to be carrying everyone else's on-plane luggage.
The man slowed to flash a more private smile to the dark-haired, taller figure behind him before giving him a playful shoulder to shoulder tap.
"Hope we haven't kept you long," Arthur said as they closed the distance. "Lucky us it was a boring flight."
Jim, already jetlagged and absolutely looking the part, found the gears necessary for switching tracks to exuberant greeting were stuck; his personal engine was still careening in the direction of "utter disbelief."
"Warren Worthington," Jim echoed, slower and with greater incredulity, "and Jessica Jones?" He looked at Arthur, then at his other companion. "Are we in that CS Lewis book where they're suddenly back in Narnia with everyone they ever loved and it turns out it's because they all died in a train crash?"
"More like in Dante's Inferno. With the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse ready to ride through at any moment." Sooraya muttered quietly before addressing the woman trying very hard not to join them. "Hey Jess, thanks for coming to pick us up. And I have to ask . . . any chance you came in a separate car?" She threw a look that was just a shade of obnoxious towards Warren.
Jessica's relief at Sooraya's presence gave way to a flat, despairing glance toward the exit. "When you see what the fuck he kidnapped me here in, you're going to understand how much I fucking wish I had," she said, not bothering to keep her voice down. "There is only one upside — it has a bar."
Seeing Sooraya made him frown. He didn't remember that she was there too. That was fine. He didn't have to talk to her anyways.
"No one is dead. Ramon is an excellent driver, and he is waiting for us. So grab your things, chop chop. There are donuts to eat, drinks to be had, and catching up to do." Like usual, Warren didn't give anyone a chance to say much else while he babbled on about how annoying it was to have to find parking (which he didn't have to do), how annoying traffic was (which he wasn't driving through) and how inconvenienced he was due to the minute splash of oil he got on his slacks (which he wouldn't have to clean out). By the time they got to the limo, he tossed himself on one side and sighed heavily.
"This reality business is painful. Haller, you were lucky living on an island in the middle of nowhere. Nothing to bug you. Not even a phone so you could call your loved ones who were worried. Ah yes. So relaxing." This was obviously a pointed comment.
"Um, yeah." There was the bootheel of guilt he'd been anticipating, although he certainly hadn't expected Warren Worthington's foot to be the one doing the grinding. The man came off so bulletproof it was genuinely jarring to realize he had feelings to hurt. Jim avoided Warren's gaze as he tried his utmost to communicate with Jessica, without telepathy, that he would consider it a personal favor if she didn't bring up certain frantic late-night texts in mixed company.
"Sorry," he mumbled. "I was wrapped up in myself. I wasn't being a great friend."
"Hey now," corrected a much more cheerful voice next to Jim, and Arthur's hand inched to hover protectively near Haller's closest knee. Subtle. What wasn't subtle, however, was the closed-mouth smile that the man was using like a threat. "We're here to celebrate David being back. Plus, he needed to disconnect from all of us. Center himself." Arthur didn't say 'enough of this already,' but it hung in the air.
His narrowed eyes met Jess's first, but then moved over to Warren to pin him in place with kindness — or something like what kindness became when it was filed off at the edges. "Warren," he continued brightly, "Just imagine all of that time David here would be spending alone in a too small room, resting and reflecting and whatever, sipping breakfast tea while developing a regretful Scottish burr. You helped rescue him from that terrible fate."
Without thinking Sooraya leaned forward, putting herself between Jim and Worthington. "It won't help, Arthur." She stated wryly. "Some people help simply because they want to help. Others because they want to put a feather in their cap... or so they have first chance to whine and complain." As she turned back to Jim, her voice softened quite a bit: "I've asked Alani to make sure your bed is made and that there is water and food in your suite. Might not be a bad idea to get some peace and quiet there first."
"Probably not. Um, thank you." Sooraya and Arthur's presence on Muir should have tipped him off, but the simple truth that people had actually noticed his absence was slowly beginning to dawn on him. Jim wasn't sure how to take that. As a lifelong introvert his natural reaction to finding himself the focus of attention was to find the nearest rock to crawl under, cockroach-like, which was perfectly complemented by the look Warren was giving him.
"Look," Jim said to the limo at large, "I really do appreciate this, guys. I have a tendency to shut down when I'm stressed. I don't always realize how much it's going to impact other people. I'll try to be better at communicating next time."
Jessica had already found what looked like a stupidly expensive premixed cocktail in the bar — but it was blessedly alcoholic and would give her the distance she needed from this situation, which now included heartfelt speeches. "Oh my god, please don't," she said, her dark eyes meeting his mismatched ones with a now-perfect understanding of exactly who he could have been texting about kidnappings instead of her. "As if it wasn't bad enough hearing from you — "
The telepath's eyes widened slightly in barely-concealed panic.
" — all the time before you left," she finished, not completely without mercy. She took a long sip of the cocktail — gin and elderberry? What in the ever-loving fuck was an elderberry? Best not to ask — and added, "Maybe you could set up a vacation auto-reply. Match can show you how." Probably.
Arthur, for his part, had settled back in his seat with a conciliatory doughnut in order to more carefully study the vibe of the vehicle. His earlier weaponized cheer had been exhausted, and all that was left a man grasping for some way to bridge to the mounting tension.
"We could use some music," was his solution as he leaned over to activate the eldritch display for the limo's controls. The lights dimmed. Neon popped as a preprogrammed laser light show accompanied the dulcet tones of Taylor. Wavy spectral visions danced in mirrors on the ceiling.
Cause karma is my boyfriend, the music added helpfully.
All Warren heard out of all this is the following: "Someone named their child Match?" That was more confusing than Haller disappearing. That, he could kind of understand. But Match?
"Please tell me their middle name is Set and last name Love."
And then Warren laughed because he was hilarious. This was going to be a great ride.
Sooraya simply dropped her head back, eyes closed, wishing they were home already. Blindly she reached out, finding Jim's hand and giving it a squeeze. A tiniest smile crossed her face as she added a sarcastic thought: "Welcome home."
The filtered light of what hung above the clouds shone off the pearlescent walls of the private jet's interior. The main focus of the space was a central, beautifully-carved mahogany table. Two cream leather chairs sat on either side, opposed by a matching couch that gave the entire cabin a conversational feel. It was less of an airplane and more of a flying living room — the onboard bar and flatscreen only added to the effect, even if they were being dutifully ignored.
One of the chairs was claimed by a blond man who sat peacefully perplexed over a knitting project that most closely resembled a multi-colored wool sock. From afar. With a generous interpretation of “sock.” The contented look on his face as he worked suggested it was the practice that was his real joy in that and not necessarily the result. A simple task.
Arthur squinted in assessment, and shared his thoughts with the room: "Could this use more color?"
Jim, lagging from the previous day and slowly sinking into the leather couch beside Sooraya, revived enough to glance at the proffered object. Socks were arguably the least exciting of garments. Arthur's solution appeared to be creative colorways and sheer enthusiasm.
"Is that possible?" Jim asked after a minute. To behold Arthur's project was to visually taste the rainbow.
This got a considering look, but Arthur's attention passed around the room in equal measure. Whatever he saw led to an entirely self-satisfied conclusion of, "Socks could and should be interesting. Tell a story."
Sooraya studied the sock for a moment and she tilted her head as she searched for words: "Most socks are boring. And they shouldn't be." She finally agreed. "But with all of those colors... it's like many stories are all shouting to be heard... if that makes sense."
"Ooh," Arthur openly pondered, moving a hand to his chin, "I like that for a sock. Like every step's a little dare to make life just as interesting as what's on your feet." This was paired with a boyish smile. Just a pinch of genuine wonder. "I haven't found a hobby that's really stuck yet," he admitted, "so might as well go big. Make the first pair memorable."
Jim regarded Arthur with mildly perplexed amusement before exchanging a glance with Sooraya. Arthur was indeed going big. The article in question was about to surpass its origins as a humble sock: a mere sock could not hope to contain the intense investment of its creator. Now it was verging into scarf territory — colorfully.
"I for one will definitely remember them," said the telepath with total honesty.
"I think most people who see them would remember them." Sooraya shook her head playfully as she sipped from her tea. "Do you plan on wearing them yourself or are they a gift for someone? A welcome home gift for Jim maybe?" She turned her head, a teasing grin on her face.
Arthur stared at the project in his hands like he was just seeing it for the first time. Not from a new angle, but instead the curious realization of, "Huh, I've never thought that someone might wear these." There was the twirl of a knitting needle as he considered, and his smile flashed with mischief. "I like that. They'd be like a secret under all of those chinos." He leaned forward. "See who's really paying attention."
Jim snorted. "Only Warren thinks about that. That's a mystery that would remain forever —" a yawn caught him by surprise and managed to climb its way alongside the rest of the sentence, "— unsolved."
"I can think of a few others who'd notice. If they'd really appreciate it . . . that is the question . . ." Sooraya glanced over to Jim, a soft smile playing on her face and her voice lowered a bit as she saw him fighting to keep his eyes open. "So what story do the colors of this sock tell for you, Arthur? Or is it more just a colorful medley? Somehow it kinda reminds of the pictures I've seen of Mardi Gras and other things like that. A huge crowd in all kinds of colors, dancing and moving together."
The other man's eyes were also on Haller. "Let's call it a happy accident," Arthur said with a wry smile. "Knitting keeps my hands busy. I like calling it a colorful medley, though." The twirling needle turned into a drummer's spin before it flipped into the air briefly. An example. "Good way of pretending it is art. Dress it up."
"Although," and his attention moved to Sooraya as he raised an eyebrow, "Tell me more about these folks noticing people's socks."
Keeping his eyes open was a battle Jim had no desire to win. Exhaling, the telepath leaned back against the soft leather upholstery and just listened.
"Don't ask me where and who, but I came across a fierce debate about the use of socks." Sooraya shrugged with a little giggle. "Opinions varied from cynics who thought socks are just a piece of clothing so it doesn't matter who wears what to those who thought a sock drawer is the perfect way to make a profile of someone. I didn't stick around long enough to hear . . . " She fell silent, just a little started as a weight settled on her shoulder.
Glancing to the side, her smile turned soft as she saw Jim's head resting on her shoulder. "I didn't stick around long enough for the rest." She finished her sentence in a low voice.
The telepath's breathing had gone deep and regular. His eyelids didn't even flicker at the movement.
Her smile was mirrored, if only incidentally, by the blond across from her. "Clothing is," Arthur mused, "a choice. Gives a sense of how someone wants to be seen. I’d say it is the things they think people won't notice — socks, necklaces hidden under shirts, that all — that can show what they don't want to hide under a costume." He shrugged. "But socks are sometimes just socks."
Arthur's eyes were suddenly drawn to the screen across from them where a cheerful infographic showed a simplified course of their flight. "Looks like we'll be arriving just on schedule," he said.
"That's good." She simply agreed, her voice still low. Sooraya carefully turned her head again as the weight seemed to settle more heavily on her shoulder. "He's probably exhausted, but gonna get a crick in his neck if he stays like this." Narrowing her eyes a little she cast around the cabin, quickly locating what she wanted. "Would you mind getting me one of those blankets, Arthur?"
In the meantime she pulled over a small pillow in her lap before shaking Jim just a little. "Hey, put your head here if you wanna sleep? Otherwise you're gonna be so sore when you wake up. Hey . . ." Within a moment or two she was greeted by one eye opening just a tad.
"Mm? Oh . . ." Jim's transition from Sooraya's shoulder to her lap was more of a slow collapse than an actual change in position, but it achieved the desired effect. As soon as his head hit the pillow he was asleep again.
Sooraya shifted a little so both were a little more comfortable, gently petting his hair as she did so. "Well, he is definitely out." She commented with a small grin.
Arthur had only just returned from across the cabin then, blanket in hand. He paused silently to appreciate the scene before lifting the spread slightly. A gesture asking for direction. He motioned, prop in hand, to her in a 'do you want to?' and then to Haller in a 'or should I?'
"Probably easier if you do it. I don't want to twist around too much and wake him up."
The blanket was carefully draped over Jim's lean form, and gloved hands moved him only slightly to make sure the man was appropriately snug. Arthur backed away slowly, and his lingering gaze was radiant with affection. He couldn't help but return Sooraya's grin.
"We did it, huh," he said gently. It wasn't a question. He let his relief gust through the space like a warm front, a welcome sign of spring or the release of a held breath.
"Still a little battered and bruised, but yeah . . . we did it." Sooraya's grin turned a little wry as she continued to run her finger through his hair. "And it'd be nice if things stay quiet for a bit, so he isn't tempted to hide again . . ."
The only reply was a soft snore from Sooraya's lap.
For now, at least, their quarry had finally stopped running.
Warren and Jessica meet the traveling trio at the airport when they return from Scotland.
The ride to the airport would have been awkward had it been anyone else, but it was Warren and he didn't even stop to think that Jessica would hate every moment of the ride.
Why would she? He had donuts. He had deep-fried dough for Haller.
Deep. Fried.
If that wasn't a sign of the depth of friendship he had for the man, Warren didn't know what was.
Also — he brought Jessica. And even had Taylor Swift playing for most of the ride, because clearly who didn't like Tay Tay?
The one thing Warren totally forgot to do was clear anything with the airport, so now he was like a peasant, waiting at baggage claim. He hoped no one recognized him.
A pointed five feet away — she was not waiting with him, she was waiting near him — Jessica stood with her arms crossed. The atmosphere around her chilled with the air of murder she was emitting, a consequence of enforced proximity that she had not quite been able to fling herself out of a moving . . . vehicle to avoid. Despite the soundtrack, the company, and her better judgment.
"Warren Worthington! My guy!" The lightly accented voice rang out over the din of the small airport, projected with an actor's expertise in playing to the back. If that announcement wasn't enough, the same voice — a touch more confused but even more delighted — continued, "And is that Jessica Jones?"
It wasn't hard to find the voice's source.
A bubbly blond man emerged from behind a banner advertisement touting the many tourist opportunities in White Plains, New York. He was trailed by two far-more travel worn figures. Arthur himself was dressed in entirely too many layers — the type of man to wear what he couldn't tightly pack a carry on — and the only thing stopping him from waving was that he seemed to be carrying everyone else's on-plane luggage.
The man slowed to flash a more private smile to the dark-haired, taller figure behind him before giving him a playful shoulder to shoulder tap.
"Hope we haven't kept you long," Arthur said as they closed the distance. "Lucky us it was a boring flight."
Jim, already jetlagged and absolutely looking the part, found the gears necessary for switching tracks to exuberant greeting were stuck; his personal engine was still careening in the direction of "utter disbelief."
"Warren Worthington," Jim echoed, slower and with greater incredulity, "and Jessica Jones?" He looked at Arthur, then at his other companion. "Are we in that CS Lewis book where they're suddenly back in Narnia with everyone they ever loved and it turns out it's because they all died in a train crash?"
"More like in Dante's Inferno. With the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse ready to ride through at any moment." Sooraya muttered quietly before addressing the woman trying very hard not to join them. "Hey Jess, thanks for coming to pick us up. And I have to ask . . . any chance you came in a separate car?" She threw a look that was just a shade of obnoxious towards Warren.
Jessica's relief at Sooraya's presence gave way to a flat, despairing glance toward the exit. "When you see what the fuck he kidnapped me here in, you're going to understand how much I fucking wish I had," she said, not bothering to keep her voice down. "There is only one upside — it has a bar."
Seeing Sooraya made him frown. He didn't remember that she was there too. That was fine. He didn't have to talk to her anyways.
"No one is dead. Ramon is an excellent driver, and he is waiting for us. So grab your things, chop chop. There are donuts to eat, drinks to be had, and catching up to do." Like usual, Warren didn't give anyone a chance to say much else while he babbled on about how annoying it was to have to find parking (which he didn't have to do), how annoying traffic was (which he wasn't driving through) and how inconvenienced he was due to the minute splash of oil he got on his slacks (which he wouldn't have to clean out). By the time they got to the limo, he tossed himself on one side and sighed heavily.
"This reality business is painful. Haller, you were lucky living on an island in the middle of nowhere. Nothing to bug you. Not even a phone so you could call your loved ones who were worried. Ah yes. So relaxing." This was obviously a pointed comment.
"Um, yeah." There was the bootheel of guilt he'd been anticipating, although he certainly hadn't expected Warren Worthington's foot to be the one doing the grinding. The man came off so bulletproof it was genuinely jarring to realize he had feelings to hurt. Jim avoided Warren's gaze as he tried his utmost to communicate with Jessica, without telepathy, that he would consider it a personal favor if she didn't bring up certain frantic late-night texts in mixed company.
"Sorry," he mumbled. "I was wrapped up in myself. I wasn't being a great friend."
"Hey now," corrected a much more cheerful voice next to Jim, and Arthur's hand inched to hover protectively near Haller's closest knee. Subtle. What wasn't subtle, however, was the closed-mouth smile that the man was using like a threat. "We're here to celebrate David being back. Plus, he needed to disconnect from all of us. Center himself." Arthur didn't say 'enough of this already,' but it hung in the air.
His narrowed eyes met Jess's first, but then moved over to Warren to pin him in place with kindness — or something like what kindness became when it was filed off at the edges. "Warren," he continued brightly, "Just imagine all of that time David here would be spending alone in a too small room, resting and reflecting and whatever, sipping breakfast tea while developing a regretful Scottish burr. You helped rescue him from that terrible fate."
Without thinking Sooraya leaned forward, putting herself between Jim and Worthington. "It won't help, Arthur." She stated wryly. "Some people help simply because they want to help. Others because they want to put a feather in their cap... or so they have first chance to whine and complain." As she turned back to Jim, her voice softened quite a bit: "I've asked Alani to make sure your bed is made and that there is water and food in your suite. Might not be a bad idea to get some peace and quiet there first."
"Probably not. Um, thank you." Sooraya and Arthur's presence on Muir should have tipped him off, but the simple truth that people had actually noticed his absence was slowly beginning to dawn on him. Jim wasn't sure how to take that. As a lifelong introvert his natural reaction to finding himself the focus of attention was to find the nearest rock to crawl under, cockroach-like, which was perfectly complemented by the look Warren was giving him.
"Look," Jim said to the limo at large, "I really do appreciate this, guys. I have a tendency to shut down when I'm stressed. I don't always realize how much it's going to impact other people. I'll try to be better at communicating next time."
Jessica had already found what looked like a stupidly expensive premixed cocktail in the bar — but it was blessedly alcoholic and would give her the distance she needed from this situation, which now included heartfelt speeches. "Oh my god, please don't," she said, her dark eyes meeting his mismatched ones with a now-perfect understanding of exactly who he could have been texting about kidnappings instead of her. "As if it wasn't bad enough hearing from you — "
The telepath's eyes widened slightly in barely-concealed panic.
" — all the time before you left," she finished, not completely without mercy. She took a long sip of the cocktail — gin and elderberry? What in the ever-loving fuck was an elderberry? Best not to ask — and added, "Maybe you could set up a vacation auto-reply. Match can show you how." Probably.
Arthur, for his part, had settled back in his seat with a conciliatory doughnut in order to more carefully study the vibe of the vehicle. His earlier weaponized cheer had been exhausted, and all that was left a man grasping for some way to bridge to the mounting tension.
"We could use some music," was his solution as he leaned over to activate the eldritch display for the limo's controls. The lights dimmed. Neon popped as a preprogrammed laser light show accompanied the dulcet tones of Taylor. Wavy spectral visions danced in mirrors on the ceiling.
Cause karma is my boyfriend, the music added helpfully.
All Warren heard out of all this is the following: "Someone named their child Match?" That was more confusing than Haller disappearing. That, he could kind of understand. But Match?
"Please tell me their middle name is Set and last name Love."
And then Warren laughed because he was hilarious. This was going to be a great ride.
Sooraya simply dropped her head back, eyes closed, wishing they were home already. Blindly she reached out, finding Jim's hand and giving it a squeeze. A tiniest smile crossed her face as she added a sarcastic thought: "Welcome home."
