[OPEN] You bear the scars, you've done your time;

[lightgunhustler]

Who: Jo Harvelle & you!
Where: Fifth floor training room, the bar and Fort Dixon-Potter.
When: August 12th, throughout the day.
Rating: PG, will alter if needed.
Summary: Loss is inevitable, but still difficult to bear.
The Story:

[ A: Fifth Floor, Room 20, Morning ]

It was entirely by accident that she discovered he was gone. It had been months, now, since she and Tom had seen each other on a regular basis, though they had gone from complete radio silence to very occasional and very brief visits, most of them pet-oriented. They weren't exactly friends, and they certainly weren't what they once had been, but Jo still cared enough that his well-being meant something to her. Him getting help meant something. That morning, she had gone by Tom's new room on the first floor to visit with Jellybean and perhaps, discreetly, check in to make sure Tom was feeding himself. If not, she would have slipped him some breakfast and maybe offered a light scolding before parting ways, but when she got there, Tom himself was nowhere to be found. In fact, nothing that hinted at him ever having been there remained.

No bed, no guitar, no stack of Western novels, no hoodie or rumpled cargo pants on the floor. Nothing at all except for Jellybean herself, the kitten wandering around the room and looking at a loss, mewling pitifully in hopes that her owner would reappear and answer her. Jo felt a knot beginning to form in the pit of her stomach -- most of Wonderland would be glad to see Tom gone, all things considered. For a little while, she might have felt the same way, but not now. She grit her teeth as she entered the room to rescue the kitten from her mourning, scooping Jellybean up and letting her come to rest in the crook of her arm. Whatever the human residents of Wonderland might have thought of Tom, it was an opinion Jellybean wouldn't share. Animals didn't judge. To her, Tom wasn't a murderer or a monster or even sick, as Jo had been forced to see him. He was just Tom.

The only other thing left was a platinum band on a chain, left in a heap on the floor. Jo might have missed it if she'd walked away too quickly, but she recognized it for what it was and crouched down to claim it. Normally, Wonderland didn't leave people's belongings behind, but she knew why it had made the exception this time. The ring didn't belong to Tom, it belonged to her. She'd tried to give it back -- but there had never really been any real transfer of ownership. She exhaled slowly, pocketing it as she quickly excused herself.

It would take time to sink in, but for now, she would throw herself into her morning routine -- early, if need be, in order to distract herself, to let herself process. She stopped by her own room on the fifth floor with Jellybean in tow, just long enough to let Jormy join them, the Jack Russel terrier at her heels as she continued to make her way down the corridor. Room 20 had been an empty bedroom for ages, but a few months back she'd put in some mats and gym equipment, along with weapons for training. It wasn't as fancy as the training center that had been put together since then, but it was what she and her short list of students needed -- a place to work with relative privacy.

Today she left the door open behind her as she so often did, allowing both Jormy and Jellybean the freedom to roam if they so desired. Instead, both terrier and kitten perched themselves on the bench that sat beneath the window on the far side of the room, watching curiously as Jo wrapped her hands and began to attack the hanging bag she had set up at full force, each blow causing it to swing a little harder than the last, feeling anger and something else she wasn't quite able to define boiling up within her and pushing her to work harder, as though she'd expend all of that negative energy if she hit it hard enough and her chest would feel less tight.

Instead she felt something within her snap, and rather than take another swing, she felt her shoulders drop and covered her face with her hands before the tears could come. She swallowed them back as best she could, and yet it wasn't nearly enough -- she leaned her back against the wall and let herself slide downwards, slumped against the mat as she cried it all out.

It was another good five minutes before she managed to pick herself up, swallowing the rest down and preparing herself for a second round with the hanging bag. A whole lot of punching things was exactly what she needed to feel better.

[ B: Bar, Afternoon ]

By the time noon rolled around, Jo had managed to pull herself together. She was never public about her grief, keeping it to herself the best she could, and today was no exception. She was working the bar alone that afternoon, as she often did, though today there was far more than slinging whiskey on her agenda -- she'd spent her first half hour at the bar inventing projects for herself, things that didn't necessarily need to be done but that would occupy her.

She always dealt with loss or upset or anger the same way. Hard work was the best cure for any emotional ill, something she'd convinced herself of ages ago. It felt good to accomplish something, to do what you were good at, to bury yourself in something so deeply that you didn't allow yourself too much time to think about exactly what it was that had you down. Most of the time, this method was successful. Today, the results weren't as solid as she would have liked, but a quick glance in the mirror over the back of the bar showed her that she didn't look too much like she'd been crying, which would have to be enough for her.

Anyone who wanders into the bar for the duration of the afternoon will find her either serving or cleaning, and especially quick to tend to their needs -- not quite manic in her eagerness, but near enough that it may seem as though she's compensating for something.

[ C: Resistance Hideout/Fort Dixon-Potter, Evening ]

The hideout was quiet when she got there that evening. She'd made use of it as a training facility in the past, particularly when training Lena a few months back, but her business here tonight was stricly busy-work -- distraction, though admittedly a distraction that would prove useful. Leave it to her to find little things that needed to be done for the sake of some kind of catharsis.

Passing through the main room was difficult. She hadn't been there since the big meeting back in June, and it had been difficult enough with a room full of people. Now it was just her, and even though there was no stain on the floor to show where Tom's blood had been spilled back in February, she could see it as though it had never been cleared away. She remembered firing those shots all too clearly. It didn't matter that it had been the right thing to do, that she'd saved herself and who knows how many other people in the process -- he'd already taken lives, but surely he would have gone on to take more if she hadn't done anything at all. Still, it haunted her. For awhile, she hoped that maybe it might stop. It had been some time since she'd resigned herself to the fact that it probably wouldn't.

She forced herself to look away, heading back towards the weapon stores. It was time to take inventory. She'd figure out what they had, figure out who knew how to use what, and then see about setting some more lessons in motion. Whether it was her that taught them or Natasha, it didn't matter, so long as they were getting people armed and ready and safely able to use the weapons in question. Anyone who entered the hideout that night would find her with a clipboard and pencil, counting and re-counting both the contents of the arsenal as well as the current food supply. Given what they knew about what was to come, squirreling away as much food as possible was a priority, too.

Comments

[vates]

Oh, shit. His mind instantly goes to Channing, and he bites his lip hard to keep that memory down right now. He nods and moves more into the room; Nax trots over to him and sniffs his heels, then goes over to Jo to do the same, though she gives Jo a lick before she rejoins the other animals.

"I didn't know you were seeing anyone. I'm sorry." He's afraid to try a hug in case that sends her over the edge again, but he comes to stand next to her at the punching bag, close enough that she can lean in for a hug if she wants one.

"We can do whatever you want. Train, talk, whatever." Kevin bites his lip, then adds, "My girlfriend died, about a year ago I guess now."

[lightgunhustler]

She doesn't quite lean in for a hug, but does lean close enough that their shoulders touch, just for a moment. It's strange, having to reboot her friendship with Kevin, but she's been more than willing to work at it -- and right now, she appreciates that he, too, has been so willing to rebuild.

"I don't think anyone knew who wasn't here before-- things happened, back in February. It was messy. He hid away after that."

That was putting it mildly.

After a moment, she moves to hold the punching bag steady, an invitation for him to take a swing. They can talk and train at the same time. The distraction would be welcome, and it sounds like he has issues of his own to work out.

"I'm sorry that you lost someone, too. It's never easy." No matter how long it's been. He may have had a year to move past it, but that doesn't mean it stops stinging. "Some people might argue that Tom just went home and he'll be fine there, or as fine as anyone ever is, but..." She shakes her head.

"People go back to the point they arrived from, or so I'm told. He had a bad head injury and was bleeding out when he first got here. I think he went back-- he probably won't make it."

Back to being injured, back to staring down the barrel of a gun and not understanding in the least why he was being confronted -- because he would have forgotten everything he'd learned about himself here.

[vates]

Kevin had mainly offered it up so she could know that he's okay to talk about all of this; he's lived through something not quite the same, but painful enough. He takes the invitation and swings at the punching bag; it still stings, but he thinks he's getting better at it.

"Oh man." He shoots her a sympathetic look and then hits the bag again, finding his stance. "It's lucky for him that he got a little extra time, at least."

He would add that it's good he got a chance to be with Jo, too, but it ended messily, so maybe not so much.

"It can't have been easy that things were rough between you for a while."

[lightgunhustler]

"Yeah. Good that he got some peace of mind for awhile. Seems like that was in short supply where he came from."

She shifts her weight to her other foot, adjusting her hold on the back to keep it from swinging out of control. Kevin's been getting better, steadier with his strikes, more controlled, which is important. If it ever comes down to him having to defend himself again, and she knows it will, he can't be panicked and flailing -- that's a good way to end up dead.

Though with the both of them, sometimes that seemed a little like a moot point.

"We didn't see each other much during that part, but that didn't really make it easier. ... he didn't have a lot of friends here. Now that he's gone, I feel like I should have made more of an effort to make sure he was okay."

Except it had been so much more complicated than that. Tom knew why it was hard for her to be in the same room as him. It was hard for him, too.

[vates]

"Yeah, but you weren't just friends, you know? You were in a relationship. So that's different."

Kevin's only had a few relationships, and he was with Channing the longest, so he's not sure he's going to be able to give good advice here, but he figures he can try.

He exhales, then takes another swing, and another, feeling the impact all the way up his arm. Sometimes when he does this, it's hard not to think about when he might need to punch someone in the face, and what the context will be. Will it be Sam again, trying to burn out his soul? Or Crowley, or Metatron? Or Dick Roman? Though if it was Dick Roman, punching him in the face would be a bad idea.

"You know. Maybe it would've made things harder for him."

[lightgunhustler]

"A lot of people don't seem to get that."

She spares him a glance and a tired smile, one that says just how much she appreciates his perspective. It doesn't matter to her whether people can find it in themselves to forgive Tom or not, or even if they're sad that he's gone -- the fact that they're not just makes her feel like for awhile, those folks missed out on someone who could have been an incredible friend, if they'd given him the chance, but she can understand their perspective, too.

People hated him for what he'd done, and it was easy for them to do so because they'd never really taken the time to get to know him. Hearing that someone understood why she was so crushed to see him go, even if they hadn't been together for months--

It meant a lot. She was tired of being told that she shouldn't feel bad for someone she cared about, tired of being told that he was a monster and it was as black-and-white as all that. What he'd done had been monstrous -- but it hadn't been him, either. Not really.

"I think so. Kind of why we steered clear for so long. It was just-- hard to talk after everything. Hard to look at each other." She couldn't look at him without seeing a murderer, he couldn't look at her without remembering with painful clarity just how badly he'd tried to hurt her while not in his right mind. It had put anything even resembling friendship on the backburner. "I wanted to see him get some help, while he was here. Thought he might benefit, we've had a therapist or two come through, but-- missed his chance, I guess."

He wouldn't be seeing anyone about his issues now, once he'd finished bleeding out.