Paranoia Blues (Josh)

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Gabriel Underwood.

His former student had attacked James, had threatened the Institute as a whole, all because he was a sadistic, power-hungry, narcissistic sociopath. This was clear to Sean, and Gabriel’s tendencies had been clear to him for some time, even if he’d been alone in that impression for his entire tenure at Hammel. Given the circumstances, Sean thought that he had done a remarkable job of keeping calm. He’d helped plan, had given all of the details necessary, and had again recommended his colleague in Boston to stave off lasting trauma for James.

Then he’d checked every mind in range, checked every student and faculty member surreptitiously to make sure that everyone was secure. They were. Gabriel was long gone, nowhere to be found on or about the property. This came as both a frustration and a relief; a relief because the children and his coworkers were safe for the moment, but a frustration because it was never good to lose sight of an attacker.

The attack angered him; the psychiatrist had very little family. At this point, his coworkers – former students and current colleagues alike and his students were most of what he had, children to him in a way. His children.

And then there was Josh, the man he loved like a brother, the one person he knew better than anyone else still living. His stubborn, obsessive, well-intentioned best friend, the one who knew him better than anyone else still living.

When he’d finally had a moment’s peace, he’d left voice mail on both Josh’s home and cell phones. “I can’t talk long now, but please, please be careful if you go outside. Don’t talk to strangers. I promise I’ll explain more later.”

He’d hoped that Josh would receive the messages; he’d hoped that Josh would heed them.

The school was quietly on Red Alert, and Sean had a million duties as a result, which left him with less time to check on his friend physically. But when, finally, he was through with meetings, with reviewing his records, with library research, with sessions and phone calls and emails, done with the conference with their Japanese sister school, he’d packed up and left, inviting Josh over to supper, and insisting that he drive the other man, rather than let him walk or ride his bike.

Perhaps the measures seemed excessive, but Sean knew the danger all around them. After all, paranoia was the irrational belief that others were after you. This was neither belief nor irrational; the knowledge was far too real.

Parking the van in Josh’s driveway, he honked the horn to announce his arrival.

[Joshua Bernstein]

Josh hadn't received either of Sean's voice mails until he'd arrived at home, by which point he had already spent a good portion of the afternoon at the library chatting with Clarisse. He was surprise and bemused at the cryptic message, which wasn't at all helped by Sean's second call, which included no explanation but further warnings and a puzzling insistence on playing chauffeur when (as far as Josh could tell) it would make so much more sense to transport himself to Sean's rather than have his friend come out to pick him up and then drive back to his house. He had capitulated, however, as Sean seemed utterly convinced of the necessity of these arrangements.

As he'd been forbidden to leave the house (any more than he already had, at any rate) he contented himself with sprawling out on the couch with a copy of Ab Urbe Condite by Livy until the familiar bleat of Sean's old van sounded from somewhere out front. He very carefully marked his place in his book and turned out all the lights before heading outside, meandering down the driveway to greet his friend.

"So, Jeeves, what's all this about avoiding strangers?" He asked, pulling open the passenger side door and climbing in. "Is someone kidnapping old geezers off the streets of Pilot Ridge? Do I need to start carrying around a can of mace?" He knew that this scenario was unlikely, but he had no idea at all what could be behind this bizarre behavior. He hoped that if he teased enough Sean would come clean about whatever was actually to blame rather than continue being mysterious and vague.

"I'm sorry I missed your call the first go round." He apologized in a more serious voice, "I was at the library. I'm afraid I did talk to someone there, but I assure you that I accepted neither rides nor candy. Actually," He realized, suddenly suspicious, "She was researching old crimes. You could have told me about the high crime rate before I moved here, you know. This isn't one of those small towns with a meth lab in the middle of downtown, is it? Because I was really under the impression that walking about Pilot Ridge was just as safe as walking about the Financial District. But now I discover that women around here research crime as part of their medical duties and then my best friend starts acting as if merely walking outside in the daylight is going to get me killed. Not," He added, "that your impression of the sibyl isn't good, but I'm all out of practice in puzzling out oracular proclamations of doom."

[Dr. Sean Neville]

The telepath sat alert and warding off a migraine, behind the wheel of the van, as he waited for Josh to come out. The lights dimmed through the window, he noticed, which was a good instinct for hiding as well as what was undoubtedly Josh’s effort to conserve energy. But then his friend took his sweet time actually leaving the house and walking down the driveway to join him. He rubbed his eyes, warding off the pain that was brewing, and turned his head when the passenger-side door opened.

He didn’t reply immediately to Josh’s gentle needling, instead he carefully composed what he wished to say, before throwing it all to the wind. When given the opportunity to get a word in edgewise, he told the other man, quite seriously, “I love you.” He then sighed softly, pressing himself to continue lest they have yet another one of those conversations. “Even if that love isn’t expressed romantically anymore, I still love you, and I’ll be damned before I let you get hurt.”

He hoped that he had managed to impart the seriousness of this: that Josh was his family, his oldest and dearest friend, his first love, and in a crisis situation, he needed the other man to be safe. For his own sanity, he needed to be sure of that, lest he worry about Josh being the innocent bystander – he assumed that he would be, rather than the target, as very few people knew about Josh or his connection to Sean, and Sean’s mind was difficult to penetrate. But he was still a non-powered, gentle soul, who had a habit of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, and Sean didn’t want him out on the street unattended with Gabriel and his potential cohorts – there had to be cohorts – running around. He hoped that he’d managed to convey that with his admission, rather than merely making the rest of the night awkward for both of them.

But his friend had made a valid point: that Sean had conveyed little that was helpful to him, as Josh hadn’t been present at the meeting in Claude’s office. Forcing himself to speak rationally, he replied, “As far as I know, nobody cooks anything downtown that isn’t at a restaurant or a bakery, and honestly, I wish that this were something as simple as drug crime. There’s a very dangerous man, a meta, running around right now, and I feel infinitely better knowing that you’re safe with me.” He frowned slightly at the other man’s admission that he’d spoken with someone today, and was prompted to ask, “Would you be terribly upset if I read your mind?” That he asked implied that this was more than listening to a surface thought, and that he was on edge.

“Buckle up,” he added, as he pulled down the parking break allowing him to back the van out of Josh’s driveway. They could discuss more while on the road.

[Joshua Bernstein]

Josh silently contemplated what little Sean had communicated as they left his house. The comment about a dangerous man running around sparked the image of someone literally running through the streets, setting people on fire at random. No, that was ridiculous, he would have heard if anything even remotely similar was happening. That was what the news was for, breaking stories about murderous psychopaths; of course, hearing about that sort of event would have required actually having the news on, which he hadn't. Well, drats, maybe someone really was running around setting people on fire.

"Well, that's disappointing," He commented at last, "And here I thought you actually desired my company." He wished he could reassure Sean that he was capable of taking care of himself (sometimes the other man seemed to think this wasn't the case), but vexingly enough in the circumstances he was probably entirely correct. In fact, any situation where someone was determined to do him bodily harm was largely out of his control, a reality he usually ignored because his other choice was worry, and that seemed highly ineffective. He wasn't certain how being in Sean's presence equaled reliable protection against a dangerous meta-human, either, but arguing wouldn't accomplish anything more useful than annoying his friend, which was even less productive than worrying.

"I suppose I can accept that. But just so we're clear, if this individual you're concerned about bothers showing up at your house I expect you to follow the self-preservation part of your brain because I am not going to forgive you if your protective instincts get you killed."

He wasn't expecting his friend to look quite so distraught at the revelation that he'd had a conversation at the library, particularly as he'd clearly escaped that encounter unscathed. He was glad that Dr. Prideaux was not a man, because that meant she couldn't be this unknown menace his friend was worried about. She'd been so intellectually engaging; he would be disappointed to discover he'd been fraternizing with someone evil -- although if she were evil and dangerous and running about murdering people (he assumed there must be rampant murder going on for Sean to be so anxious) then she would have killed him there. And probably the librarians and other patrons, as well. Still, it was obviously important to Sean's peace of mind, so he nodded in belated acquiescence. "Yes!" He responded, then immediately corrected that to "I mean, no, I won't be upset."

He was curious about the details of this situation that had his best friend so agitated, but he had the feeling Sean had divulged all he was willing to at the moment. Perhaps the actual details were too disturbing for him to relate; maybe one of his coworkers had been among those killed. Or perhaps there had been a massacre at the school and students were dead and injured, but the culprit escaped with nobody able to apprehend him. Why hadn't he turned on the news when he arrived home? Then he would already know the situation and wouldn't have to rely on an obviously traumatized Sean to fill him in. If someone he knew was killed, or he'd been witness to murder, then naturally he wouldn't want to talk about it.

"So!" He began, casting about for a less upsetting topic of conversation, "What's for dinner?"

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Sean gave Josh an “I’m not amused” look at the comment about not enjoying his company; he knew that his friend was trying to lift his spirits through humor, but he’d also greeted him by letting him know precisely how he still felt about him. His urge to protect the other man aside, that should be enough for Josh to realize the seriousness of the matter and that the telepath always enjoyed his friend’s company. Even when crashing his car, although he could do without another car crash which is why Josh wouldn’t be driving the van anytime in the near future.

As for the warning, Sean nodded, because he could agree to that, to a point. He honestly didn’t think that Gabriel would see him out, but he also didn’t want Josh in the realm of collateral damage, just in case something happened tonight. The telepath was confident enough in his psychic ability that he felt he would win in a psychic battle of wits against the younger man, with little injury on his part, which is why he could make such a promise to Josh regarding self-preservation. Soberly, he said, “I won’t give you cause to humiliate me during my eulogy just yet.”

The telepath managed a slight quirk of his lips to convey his acknowledgment of Josh’s permission, and then he focused, lowering his barriers enough to see into his friend’s so very familiar mind. The familiarity of his friend’s mind made probing easy, requiring little effort or concentration, although as it was a potential invasion into his very self, Sean tried not to do so without permission, as spousal privilege – or its functional equivalent – didn’t apply to their dynamic and hadn’t for many years. Once touching Josh’s mind, he made short work of gingerly looking through his recent memories, merely to check on who his friend had run into today, to see if he recognized anyone as a potential danger. Unfortunately he couldn’t read minds through memories, otherwise his work would be all the easier.

Seeing a familiar female face, he managed a sigh of relief. Disengaging from Josh’s mind and setting his mental shields back into place, he began to chuckle, although it was a dry, humorless sound. “You met Clarisse.” This was a huge relief, for two reasons: the first that Josh hadn’t run into anyone harmful while outside this afternoon, and the second that Clarisse was present and accounted for. Sean had tried to find her earlier to no avail; apparently she had left school grounds prior to the meeting. He could scratch her off his list, although he still wanted to check in with her, but that could wait until tomorrow. This was a tremendous load off his mind.

Slightly calmer now, and with Josh safely buckled into the passenger seat, Sean began to drive. “Lasagna and salad, unless you want to object now.” He had enough food in the house for a week’s worth of meals, and if Josh wanted something else, he wouldn’t mind making it.

Sean was silent for a few moments as they drove down Josh’s block and onto one of the “main” streets toward his own house. However, he felt he owed the other man a better explanation, and he commented on something he had overheard earlier but had let go without remark. “Nobody is being stabbed on the street, but this man is dangerous regardless.”

[Joshua Bernstein]

Sean's nod was enough for Josh. He doubted anyone would bother attacking them in Sean's house (but he was sure they wouldn't attack him in his house, either), but if they did he had as much of a promise to flee as he was likely to get out of his friend. "I would never humiliate you!" he sniffed dismissively, "I'll make sure to tell only lies, don't worry." He patted the other's arm reassuringly. I had better not be giving your eulogy anytime in the near future. Or ever.

"Yes!" He confirmed, noting the sigh of relief gladly. That meant Clarisse was on the Sean approved list of people he could communicate with; excellent news, as he'd already come to the conclusion that she was someone he wouldn't mind spending more time with. He didn't believe that his judgment of other people was particularly poor, but he had to admit that Sean had some advantages he didn't and thus tended to take his opinion on people into consideration -- some opinions more reluctantly than others. "She was very engaging, and has a high opinion of you. In fact, I believe the word she used to describe you was saint." That thought still brought a smile to his lips.

Lasagna and salad sounded delicious, both because he tended to either eat whatever was lying around or (occasionally, when he could be bothered) fix sandwiches. An actual, honest to God meal was a rarity. An honest to God free meal (and with Sean, at that) was even better, and he was certainly not going to be ungrateful and picky about it. "No objections, that's exactly what I wanted." He assured his friend, "Especially if I don't have to cook it." He laughed, "Although if there's anything I can do to help that doesn't involve cooking, let me know."

Ah, there. Sean was going to open up and share after all. Josh hated being wrong more than anything, but occasionally (only occasionally) he felt relief at realizing he had been incorrect. He was particularly glad that his initial assumption that anyone had died or his best friend had been traumatized was incorrect. "Dangerous but not stabbing people on the streets...." He mused, "Is this the same person who kept leaving Ron Paul '08 fliers in your mailbox? I feel your pain, I do, but obnoxious campaigning isn't illegal. We'll simply have to counter him with our own fliers this year. You have paper and markers, surely? We can work on designs...." He trailed off, staring out the window as the pine filled forests passed by. It had been years since Sean had shown any enthusiasm (or the level of enthusiasm Josh desired) for the in-your-face activism of their youth.

"So this dangerous man!" He shook himself from his reverie to throw more serious questions Sean's way, "I assume that something is being done about him, that the police or the FBI or some other authorities are alerted to his existence? I appreciate your concern, but I can't just shadow you until there's no longer a threat." He had a job! Sean had a job!! He had parents to visit and a rabbit to feed! He couldn't just put his life on hold because some psychopath was running about Pilot Ridge. Correction: He didn't want to put his life on hold. "Am I supposed to just not go into work? Hole up at home? Stay with you? Or what? I'll be careful, but at least tell me what I'm supposed to be watching out for."

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Josh’s protest did more for Sean’s nerves than all of the tea he’d downed today. This was one of the many reasons they were friends; Josh’s anxieties and intensity aside, he could make the telepath relax like nobody else could. “While you’re lying, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention the flag burning incident.” Instinctively, he reached out with his left hand to cover the other man’s on his arm, although he immediately drew it back to the wheel. Hearing his friend’s thought, he found it easier to reply without words. I wouldn’t want anyone else to give it, but I’m not rushing off to die anytime soon. I still have Social Security to collect.

“You’re kidding,” Sean muttered, although Catholic jokes were usually beyond his friend’s repertoire. Sean knew that he was liked well enough at work, and that some of the younger faculty looked up to him, and true, Clarisse had come to him for advice, but Sainthood was an entirely different level. Not that the Church would canonize him, as he’d been to one too many reproductive rights rallies, and had had too much sex without being married, not to mention the bisexuality and his atheism. It was both a warm and depressing thought, someone regarding him so highly. All the more reason he had to be on his toes, to keep from failing her and the rest of Hammel. “She’s young yet; she’ll learn.”

Sean wouldn’t ask Josh to help him cook anytime soon, not with his friend’s kitchen habits. But supper wouldn’t take too long to prepare once they made it safely home. At the offer, he replied, “You can set the table and keep me from having more than one drink.” A glass of wine would take the edge off, but he needed his faculties clear tonight.

“If this was about Ron Paul, I’d be thrilled. Even if this was about Lyndon LaRouche I’d take it; he’s safely in prison.” He watched Josh turn away, and he knew what his friend was thinking; at any other time, he’d at least have friendly banter about protesting, whether he went through with it or not, but today he just wasn’t in the mood. They reached a stoplight, and Sean lifted his hands from the wheel briefly to rub his temples; his migraine was worsening. “Could you check the glove compartment and see if there’s any Excedrin in there, please?” He could use the caffeine, and the throbbing had grown maddening.

Josh’s question regarding the authorities was a fair one, although they were handling this internally for now. Police didn’t understand meta-human abilities, and although it was criminal to assault someone, powers or no powers, explaining this beyond a reasonable doubt would be nigh impossible without setting off a wave of anti-meta backlash. And James wouldn’t want to testify, surely. Besides, they would have to track down Gabriel, which was a much larger problem than calling in the authorities, who didn’t have a tendency to employ psychics and thus would be vulnerable. The entire situation was a mess, although someone was going to get law enforcement involved soon. So he murmured a vague, “They’re on the lookout” and left it at that.

Sean had turned that question over in his mind the entire trip to Josh’s house, and then while waiting in the driveway. He had known that the other man would ask it, not simply because he knew his friend, but because it was the logical question to ask. And as much as Sean didn’t like the idea of letting Josh out of his sight tomorrow, he would have to. He couldn’t avid work in the morning, because Claude and the rest of Hammel needed him, and Josh would be uncomfortable there for political reasons, as well as because it wasn’t his job, and he wouldn’t be any safer at a place that had already been attacked. Josh wouldn’t be safer at his house without Sean there to watch over him, so there was no reason he couldn’t go to work tomorrow. The telepath would simply let the worry nag at him, although hopefully he would feel better after a night of sleep. “You can go to work if you want. I just feel better knowing you’re safe tonight.” Did his voice sound as vulnerable to his friend as it did to him? He hated feeling like circling the wagons was his best defense.

He sighed then, taking a cleansing breath so he could explain the situation, and the history, in as clear and rational way as possible. “He’s a puppeteer. Not in the children’s entertainment sense, but it’s the noun for a person with his ability, a rare gift to mentally use another body as his own. But instead of using this power consensually for the sake of helping others or doing what one might do with friends and family, he’s a textbook narcissistic sadistic sociopath and inflicts pain on other people wearing their skin, and then disappears before he has to deal with the consequences.” Sean could feel his blood pressure rising, at the thought of what Gabriel had done to James, and what he could do to someone else. “Not to be arrogant, but he can’t touch me.” Gabriel wasn’t nearly stupid enough to try and risk being trapped in a coma for as long as Sean felt like keeping him there; on the contrary, her was intelligent, which made him dangerous.

[Joshua Bernstein]

"I give my pledge to omit all stories that end with setting things on fire. Likewise, stories that one or both of us were too inebriated to remember and had to be filled in on later. Your immolation of an American symbol to your dark gods of anti-patriotism will remain a secret, don't worry." Josh promised, placing his hand over his heart in a show of sincerity. "and if I die first I promise to return as a ghost just so I can give your eulogy. How's that?" His hope was that Sean died very old, and as they were only two years apart he fancied he wasn't going to be in any mental condition to be giving a eulogy by the time one became necessary. He doubted he'd remember any of the stories he'd promised not to tell, so even if he did manage to totter up to the podium to give a speech on Sean's life he surely wouldn't say anything interesting except by accident. Maybe the grieving audience would be gracious enough to chalk any slip ups to senility.

He nodded in acquiescence to Sean's request . "Sure, I'll drink all of it so you don't have to. Does that sound fair?" He grinned, leaning forward to pop open the glove compartment to grab the green-tinted bottle, shaking out one of the desired pills and handing it to Sean. "Although if you're going to be popping pills all night long I'm not going to let you have even half a drink. Mixing alcohol and medicine always ends in pain. Didn't you learn anything in college?" He demanded, scanning the label for instructions on alcohol consumption. "Oh, looks like you're safe. This one doesn't say anything about not drinking." He tossed it back into the glove compartment and snapped the door back in place. "In all seriousness, if you don't feel well then don't feel obligated to cook. Take a nap, I'll fend for myself. I know where your pantry is."

"You would rather I call in sick." He observed, noting a distinct lack of enthusiasm in his friend's agreement. "Fine, I suppose I can have food poisoning. Although then people will wonder why I keep letting you feed me. Perhaps I'll try a 24 hours virus." He doubted that the firm he was currently working with would find itself a target anymore than his home would, and he greatly disliked skipping work for any reason, but if security theater was what it took for Sean to not worry himself sick then one day staying home couldn't hurt. He didn't think he could stand more than that, though; staying at home when he could be working was not his idea of a good time. He felt much more productive being at work, even if he wasn't necessarily doing any work.

"Oh." That was a bit of a disturbingly powerful gift, and it certainly made sense why Sean was so worried if he knew someone with those powers was running about abusing them. If there was some good defense then his friend would have suggested it, which meant that really the only chance anyone had was to avoid catching this man's attention. That was not a thought designed to lift hopes. "Oh." He repeated, frowning at Sean. As a general rule arrogance wasn't a trait that he associated with his best friend, and he was sure that if he didn't have reason to believe he was untouchable by this unnamed menace then he wouldn't have said anything, but rather than being reassuring that single comment made him a great deal more anxious. "You...you're sure about that? You don't think he's going to try to touch you, do you?" Because if that was the case then Sean wasn't the only one who was going to be a nervous wreck. Even worse, he had absolutely no ability that would be remotely helpful in protecting Sean. He would have to trust that the other man knew what he was talking about when he said he was invulnerable to the danger posed, and really until either the threat was taken care of or Sean's claims had been proved true there wasn't much chance Josh was going to rest easy. Why did I ask? Oh, right, I was going to worry either way.

Their arrival at Sean's expansive lands was a welcome distraction from this unpleasant train of thought. "Ah, La Villa Del Neville." He shaded his eyes with one hand to admire what was in his eyes a mansion. How anyone on an educator's salary managed to purchase anything so huge was beyond him. It was, however, a second home of sorts. "Did the Excedrin help any? If it didn't I'm ordering you to take a nap, because as your best friend I have that right. And as a lawyer that is clearly my area of expertise, so you can't argue."

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Sean nodded slightly at the other man’s pledge, a signal that the promise was acceptable and that he appreciated it. Particularly some of their drunken escapades; even the ones he remembered made him blush, and the ones he didn’t remember... “If you come back as a ghost to give the eulogy, I’ll be sure to come back and listen to it.” One ludicrous promise deserved another. There was, however, a serious undertone; the telepath had no closer friends than Josh; the other man was his family, and he wanted nobody else to give his hypothetical eulogy. Today’s events had made him both paranoid and maudlin, which meant that it would be a long, unpleasant evening if he couldn’t snap out of it before a depressed episode took root. Perhaps the urgency would keep the depression at bay.

“That’s just fine.” Problems didn’t tend to arise when at least one of them was sober, and Sean planned on staying sober throughout the evening. To do otherwise was a security risk, and the added benefit was that it would keep him from doing something he might regret come the morning. “I learned not to let you map subway routes in college,” he pointed out, which was as much as his mood would lighten this evening. “And I know they don’t; that’s why I use them.” That and the added caffeine in every pill; a wonder drug, those, since they did manage to help with telepathy-induced migraines. Sean then grimaced at the thought of his friend trying to cook anything in his kitchen; he respected Josh and the man had many talents, but cooking wasn’t among them. “No, it’s fine. The ricotta’s draining in the refrigerator and I have fresh ingredients and everything. I’ll be fine.” They would be at his house momentarily and then he could take off his shoes and relax a bit.

“It doesn’t matter if I’d rather you call in sick; you can go to work,” Sean told him. His friend was as safe at work as he was just about anywhere else out of his sight, and he’d already run through the possibilities mentally. Josh couldn’t come to Hammel with him, and he couldn’t skip work tomorrow, and thus his friend wouldn’t be under his watchful eye. And mind. Absent that, he didn’t need to disrupt the other man’s life any more than he already had. It didn’t matter at that point if he was at work or at home, as far as Sean was concerned. Both were relatively isolated and both were out of Sean’s line of sight and telepathic range; he would worry either way, but he would worry less now that Josh at least knew about the danger. He could give him a description of Gabriel so he knew who to avoid on the street. “Just answer your phone if I call.” That was a fair compromise. And this way, Josh wouldn’t have to use his vacation days on this; he could save them for more immediate danger or for his parents.

Sean knew that the power could be seen as disturbing by most people; it was only due to his time with Hammel and his sensitivity as someone who possessed a psychic power – one which others found disturbing as well although not usually quite as disturbing as Gabriel’s or Chase’s – that he also didn’t find it disturbing on its own. But Gabriel’s mindset and the choices he had made with his powers, using them in such horrible ways disturbed Sean, as well as that feeling of responsibility because the boy had slipped through his fingertips years ago due to the rest of the staff’s disbelief. He didn’t ruffle at Josh’s question, because he didn’t view it as insulting to his pride; besides, the telepath didn’t have much of an ego. He read it as his friend’s concern for him, and to ease that concern, he wanted to give as detailed an explanation as he could to someone completely unfamiliar with the situation and who had only that knowledge of psychic powers necessary to be close to a telepath. “You remember when I told you about how all powers have limits? One of his is that he can’t effect people with strong mental blocks – chiefly other psychics who know what they’re doing. I know what I’m doing.” He let out a sigh, and then turned to glance out the window for a moment. “Besides, I don’t think he’s after me; he was after information. I just don’t want you out on the street tonight as potential collateral damage.” There was a pause, before Sean asked, “You trust me, don’t you?”

The telepath had always been a little self-conscious about how quickly he’d managed to pay off his student loans and pay off the mortgage on his house; thus he didn’t brag about it, or discuss it often at all. He had earned a bit of scholarship money and student loans hadn’t been so burdensome in the 1970s. The money he inherited from his parents helped as well, since he was both the first-born child and the only boy; his parents old-fashioned enough that birth order and his gender had mattered. However, what paid the lion’s share was the fact that psychiatrists were compensated well for their time, even when they worked at schools instead of in private practice. He’d earned that money back nauseatingly fast, and on some days, he felt guilty for it. On others, he was grateful since he could afford a nice house; even if that nice house was in a small town in Vermont where property values were more reasonable than back home. “It helped a bit,” he told his friend, letting his thoughts slip back to matters at hand. He’d get over the headache; he always did. Now if only his heart would slow down.

As Sean pulled the van into the garage, he lightly tapped the brakes to bring them to a complete halt. “I’m not taking a nap unless you’re coming with me.” The statement hung in the air for a moment, but then Sean sighed softly, reaching up to rub his temple lightly as he realized how that sounded. He was tired, he reminded himself; he was tired and that was why he’d phrased his refusal that way. Turning the keys in the ignition, he popped them out and stuffed them into his coat pocket. “That wasn’t an invitation. I’m not taking a nap.”

[Joshua Bernstein]

Josh cringed at the reminder of many afternoons spent lost in the subway station while he assured his friend that of course he knew where they were going, he grew up here, after all. "Ignoring my advice on directions, that's a life long skill. When I ask you how to get to the supermarket from my house please don't return that favor." Not that he really thought that Sean would mislead him, either deliberately or otherwise; after all, his friend was the one who was most likely to actually know what he was doing when it came to the more mundane details of life if only because he didn't dismiss them as insignificant.

"I know I can go into work..." He muttered, but he dropped the issue. He wanted to go so it would be silly to argue himself into staying home. Answering his phone seemed like a fair compromise; he could go to work and Sean wouldn't have to worry that his law firm was being threatened. "Absolutely. I think I can do that," He promised, making a mental note to remember to keep his phone on him and in working order; no plugging it in to recharge and forgetting about it all day tomorrow. He rarely had it both on his person and turned on, but he could make an effort to fulfill his friend's entirely reasonable request that he change his phone-bearing habits for one day.

He nodded seriously as he listened to the other man explain about the powers of puppetry and their limitations. That did serve to ease his mind somewhat; logically he believed Sean when he claimed that all powers were limited, but that was difficult to remember when he was also being informed that a criminal was abusing a power that could temporarily strip people of their freedom of choice. He personally couldn't claim to fall into the category of people who wouldn't be affected, but as long as Sean could reliably claim to do so then he could cease worrying for the moment. "Of course I trust you." He responded immediately. I trust you. I just don't want anything to happen to you.

As soon as they were in the garage he unbuckled, not waiting for the van to stop. He opened the door a fraction before pausing to stare at his friend's comment. Sean had just breached their tacit agreement to never acknowledge any remnants of their former romantic entanglement. They usually managed to keep up an elaborate fiction about the state of their relationship, one that relied on a lack of honest conversation or emotional examination and one that Josh was willing and able to keep up because really he wanted to avoid admitting there was any need for conversation or examination or untangling. The clarification was entirely unnecessary; it would have been easier to pretend nothing had transpired had Sean not pointed out that there was any innuendo. He would have been unlikely to even notice the slip up, otherwise.

"I know it wasn't an invitation. You just said the Excedrin hadn't even kicked in all the way yet." Oops. He hadn't intended that last part to slip out. At least he hadn't voiced the other part of that thought -- and you haven't had enough alcohol for that to be an invitation. And Josh hadn't had enough alcohol to weaken his resolve, either: Alcohol and loneliness always proved to be a volatile combination, a quick way to break through their defenses. Perhaps wine with dinner would be a terrible idea for both of them, not just Sean, if they were both going to be this sloppy without its aid. He knew that if they hadn't been sober migraines and common sense wouldn't have mattered at all. He knew it but he was never going to admit it aloud as that might lead to talking. Although as Sean had noticed his mistake perhaps he would be more careful in the future. Josh was going to pretend he hadn't added to the general level of discomfort. Of course he hadn't noticed, there was nothing to notice. Nope, nothing at all.

He thought that Sean should take a nap, but he had no real authority there. Perhaps he could convince his friend to go straight to bed after dinner; after all, even if he wasn't trusted with the cooking he could surely be trusted to clean up after their meal. "If you don't want to..." He sighed, following the other man into the house. At least setting the table was something to occupy his time, brief as it was considering there were only two of them. He stretched it out a minuscule amount by attempting to align the flatware so that they were all the same distance from the edge of the table but this task proved more difficult than he'd thought it would be, so after a moment of glaring at the uncooperative table settings he meandered back into the kitchen to salivate over the upcoming dinner.

"I'm going to hover over you while you work," He informed Sean's back, true to his word standing as close behind the telepath as possible. It wasn't as if he had anything better to do with his time for the moment, so hovering and watching while his friend made dinner seemed as good a plan as any. It was, however, difficult to actually see over Sean's shoulder when he was standing this close behind the taller man. "And get in your way and generally make a nuisance of myself. Aren't you glad you invited me over?"

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Sean wouldn’t repay the favor, primarily because Josh hadn’t led them on the back tour of Manhattan and made them late from malice; he just didn’t seem to understand subway maps. Despite having been born and raised in the city. The telepath didn’t quite understand how Josh had such a poor understanding of the subway system, but he’d long made peace with the fact that his friend wasn’t perfect. But his flaws didn’t include malice; Josh was a good man who meant well, even when he erred. And besides, how could Sean let his friend starve to death by withholding the location of the grocery store? “I won’t return the favor,” the psychiatrist promised him, but he didn’t further tease as he might otherwise, because he wasn’t in the mood.

Sean was glad that Josh hadn’t argued with him further about going to work, because he didn’t have it in him to advocate for Josh being out of his sight and talking with people all day. He simply accepted it as a necessary part of his own schedule and the reality of the school; they would be separated for most of the day, while he tended to the aftermath, but he’d try to commandeer his friend for supper tomorrow as well. And if it took calling him during lunch or other breaks to feel a little calmer, he was grateful that Josh accepted that without argument. “Thank you.” All the other man had to do was remember to bring it and keep it on; otherwise Sean might go into a panic the next day if he failed to reach him.

There was only so much that Sean could do to reassure people about powers; those who had never experienced powers had to take his word on pure faith and credit, and those who had experience tended to think he exaggerated to spare feelings. In some ways, he was the poster boy for disaster, although Josh hadn’t known him during the worst of it, back when he couldn’t keep thoughts out of his head, back when he’d been slowly on the brink of losing his sanity. Back when memories weren’t safe in his care if he had a bad day, which is why his coworkers had been so cautious around him when Robert had passed away; he was a different man now. However, Josh had also seen him intimate, had experienced that intimate connection – the merge – that many telepaths instinctively began when in love. His friend had faith in him in a different way than his colleagues and the students did, because Josh had seen him fully grown, powerful and yet emotionally dependent. And he knew his friend trusted him, and that trust was very important. He closed his eyes briefly, hearing Josh’s thoughts. I swear on everything that I have and everything I am that I’ll keep you safe and live to see us as next door neighbors at a retirement center. The telepath wouldn’t let anything happen to either of them; worried as he was, Gabriel would not be his undoing.

The psychiatrist continued to rub his temples, sighing again. He hadn’t intended to open up that can of worms, but he was both careless because of the stress and also hyper-sensitive because his nerves were frayed. He didn’t want to scare off the other man, which was why he’d given the disclaimer; Josh had ended it the first time, and regardless of how many times they found themselves together again over the decades, his friend was skittish as a rabbit over it. The telepath had moved on; he was capable of living without Josh and could envision himself in a relationship with someone else for the rest of his life – had been in relationships where he could have settled down – but some part of him would always be happy to settle with Josh again given the opportunity.

Of course, the alcohol helped erode those carefully constructed boundaries, but a single glass of wine wouldn’t make a dent. He needed the wine to take the edge off. And if Josh got a little tipsy, the telepath was capable of saying “no.” Even if the thought of lying down with the other man – completely platonically – was a tempting thought for after supper. Although he had to assume Josh wouldn’t take too warmly to being a security blanket. He sighed and exited the car, letting everything go for now; he would see how he felt after eating.

He was careful to lock the door and then set about the kitchen, concentrating on cooking. He put together the lasagna into a reasonable shape and then shoved the dish into the oven. Afterward, he focused on the simpler task of making salad; with the time of year, there were farmers’ markers aplenty where he could get fresh vegetables. Tearing the lettuce and spinach was easy, and then he had to cut all of the other vegetables: tomatoes, cucumber, celery, carrots, peppers...

He nearly dropped the knife when he felt the other man come up behind him; oh, he was paranoid tonight. “Make sure you don’t get cut,” he warned his friend, since he didn’t want him to get hurt, and he didn’t want to take a trip to the emergency room.

The knife came down again, and he began scraping cut vegetables into the spinner. The salad spinner was one of the many semi-useless appliances he owned, given to him by relatives and coworkers who didn’t know what else to give him during the holidays or for his birthday. “And despite your greatest efforts, I’m still glad I invited you over. Unless you burn my kitchen to the ground, but that’s why I’m not letting you cook.”

Once he’d finished spinning the salad so it was well mixed, he dumped the contents in a bowl and stepped around his friend, to avoid elbowing him in the face, and set the bowl on the table. “I’ll get the wine; I also have some beer in the fridge.”

[Joshua Bernstein]

Josh peered around Sean's shoulder curiously. "Get cut on what? You're not planning on wielding that knife on me, are you?" It was a poor attempt to lighten the mood he'd helped ruthlessly murder earlier. "Sorry." He added in apology, noticing the knife slip, "I didn't mean to startle you." He'd not really thought about how his friend would react to being snuck up on when he was already keyed up and he felt a bit guilty. He should have been more sensitive. It wasn't as if the telepath's body language -- and, to be fair, every word out of his mouth -- wasn't a giant, neon sign proclaiming that his nerves were frayed. Wow, what a terrible friend he was, not taking that into consideration. He couldn't just treat this like any normal dinner together.

"I wouldn't burn down your kitchen!!" He protested, remaining stationary while he craned his neck to get a better view of the salad. "Although admittedly if you want dinner to be edible it's probably a good idea not to let me near it. But I'm sure if I caught something on fire at least one of us would notice before it got out of hand. I don't think either of us are that blind yet." Granted, he'd had to bow to age and acquire glasses, but he was certainly not yet as bad as his mother -- his vision wasn't so poor he wouldn't be able to see if a fire started. Or smell it, for that matter. "And don't you have a working smoke alarm?"

He trailed behind Sean as the salad was carried to the table. "Oh? What kind of beer?" He inquired curiously. He hoped it was Yuengling, although most anything alcoholic was acceptable. Of course, knowing Sean he had more variety than any of the local bars carried. "Actually, I suppose that was an invitation that I go get it myself, wasn't it...." He mused, turning about and marching straight to the fridge to rummage about until he found the promised beer. It wasn't that he disliked wine, but he much preferred beer, as unrefined as that preference may have been.

Once the alcohol arrangements had been made he pulled out a seat, his stomach growling loudly. "I hope it tastes as good as it smells," He complimented, trying very hard to wait patiently for the cue that dinner was ready to be served. He didn't want to push, because he knew that Sean wasn't feeling at his best, so he contented himself with eying the salad longingly and pouring himself a beer.

"So other than dinner what are our plans for the evening?" He wondered if his friend had given any thought to post dinner activities. Obviously a nap was out, since he'd been so unsuccessful in suggesting one earlier, but what with Sean's migraines he doubted they would be doing anything mentally challenging, either. He didn't want to sit and discuss the attack, because he wanted the other man to relax and reminding him about events he was already paranoid over -- he had locked his door as if anyone was going to try and break in with the lights on! -- seemed a poor plan.

He yawned into his beer, somehow managing not to slosh the contents all down his shirt -- possibly because it was almost finished. "You might not want a nap, but it sure sounds like an excellent idea to me." He hadn't even realized he was so tired until he'd sat down. He was not going to fall asleep before they'd even had dinner, he was not. "If you have anything exciting planned I'll try not to fall asleep on you, but no promises that my brain will function properly."

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Sean didn’t dignify the question about whether he would intentionally slice Josh with a response; his friend knew better. The entire reason he had insisted on having him stay the night was for his safety, and he wouldn’t intentionally hurt the other man. But his friend needed to be careful, because the telepath’s nerves were frayed and he was jumpy as a result. “I know you didn’t,” Sean said, which was as much absolution as he could offer. He took greater care while he finished chopping vegetables. Hearing the other man’s thought, he remarked, “You’re not a terrible friend. You’re the best one I have.” Surely Josh understood that.

“Better safe than sorry,” Sean informed him. He didn’t actually think that Josh would burn down his kitchen, certainly not deliberately, but he’d made the initial comment as an absurdity, to refute Josh’s joke that he might regret inviting him over. Unfortunately, the telepath didn’t have it in him at the moment to continue the banter more than that round, and he didn’t latch onto the topic of aging. He was still young enough to take care of himself, and Josh, and the students at Hammel, and that was what mattered.

Once the salad was on the table, he went to fetch the bread he’d bought that morning and set it out with the butter. Then he had to check on how the lasagna was faring. Over his shoulder, he replied, “Yuengling, what else would I get?” The telepath wasn’t much of a beer drinker; he settled for it when there was nothing else available or for certain occasions – primarily barbecues where liquor and wine were considered inappropriate - but he preferred hard liquor to get buzzed and wine to compliment his meals. The lasagna was coming together nicely; they just had to wait on it.

He trusted Josh to find his way around the refrigerator, and when his friend had his beer and he had his glass of wine, he had a sip to take the edge off his nerves. He wasn’t up to a toast either, as he could think of none that wouldn’t be depressing or focused more on the danger which lurked in the background. “It should be ready in a few minutes,” he told his friend. Then they could eat, settle down, and pretend for a few minutes that this was normal, even though it was anything but. Their suppers weren’t usually declared in the interest of safety; he usually didn’t need to threaten Josh with nightmarish possibilities to get him to come over for a few hours.

Sean took another sip of wine and thought through the question. “I didn’t make any specific ones,” he admitted, since there was no reason to hide the lack of forethought; he could be honest with the other man. “We could pop on an episode of Northern Exposure, if you want.” Josh wasn’t much of a television person, but he’d always seemed to enjoy the quirky show when it was on back in the early 90s, the few times they’d watched it together. The telepath had picked up the DVDs when they’d been released, as they were better than most of the television on at present; they didn’t write for his demographic and consciousness. Sean appreciated Josh’s desire to steer away from the topic of the attack, as he wasn’t at liberty to discuss it in detail; for both Hammel’s safety and for James as a friend, he couldn’t go into specifics.

“It’s fine if you nap.” The telepath intended for Josh to spend the night as it was, and so if he wanted to take an early night, he took no offense. He wouldn’t sleep well that night, but there was no reason for Josh to suffer that same fate. Sean ran his finger along the edge of his wine glass, thoughtful for a moment. “I might dust off the piano for a while, but I can be quiet about it.” Not that the rest of his behavior tonight wasn’t clearly indicative of how upset he was, but the piano was a clear sign. Sean didn’t play the piano for fun, not when he was sober; he used it as a means of meditation, but only when appropriately riled up.

[Joshua Bernstein]

"Really! You didn't make any plans!" Josh shook his head in mock disappointment, "What is the world coming to." Not that Sean had any time to make plans, and as worried and upset as he had been earlier it would have been truly remarkable had he been in a frame of mind to come up with anything beyond supper, which he had probably already intended to prepare for himself. "I suppose I'll forgive you....this time." He teased, waving his fork in his friend's direction before prodding at his salad. There was something to be said for fresh, homemade meals: namely, they were a rarity and he appreciated them immensely. "This is really delicious." He informed the telepath sincerely. It was definitely the best meal he'd had in awhile....since the last time he'd been a guest in Sean's home, to be exact. In fact, meal was probably not the best word to describe anything he did in regards to eating unless someone else was with him and made sitting down to one worth his while.

He shrugged noncommittally at the offer to watch television. "That sounds fine." While he wouldn't go out of his way to watch it, he recalled Northern Exposure as being fairly entertaining as far as television went. Even better, it was television, which meant (in Josh's mind) relatively mindless, so hopefully that would be conducive to Sean relaxing and not suffering a return of the migraines that had plagued him on the drive over. "And we can even compromise and combine activities, since I might fall asleep half way through." By might he meant almost definitely, but the sofa was a better place to fall asleep than the dinner table. Even had watching T.V. been his favorite activity ever he would probably have not been able to keep his eyes open for an entire episode, and while far be it from him to say that Northern Exposure was boring (it wasn't) he was still tired. Much more tired than he should have been, he thought, considering he wasn't the one who had an attack at work to worry about and he wasn't the one who had been cooking.

He straightened a bit at the mention of piano playing, frowning over his plate at the other man. Now that was something Sean didn't do often and it was never a good sign. "If you need....if you want to, don't let me stop you." He hadn't thought far enough in advance to have thought about spending the night or not; even the earlier comment about him being safe tonight hadn't triggered any thoughts that he might be expected to stay over. If Sean wanted to unwind by playing the piano after dinner then he could quietly walk himself home, beer and predators be damned. He knew his way to and from his friend's house, although it was a much longer distance on foot than by van; even his bicycle would have been faster. Still, the fact of the matter was he could get himself home if need be.

"Is your piano even in tune?" He wondered, although he supposed that wasn't really the point of playing it. It wasn't as if Sean had said Hey, let me play a personal concert for you. "Don't worry, I won't listen." He promised, more because he always felt a bit like he was witnessing some deep, secret ritual he shouldn't than because he thought his friend cared. "If you'd rather not do anything after dinner, I can go home after we clean up so you can unwind." Without having to worry about entertaining his guest. As much as Josh liked spending time with his best friend, he didn't want to overstay his welcome, and knowing that the older man was stressed already largely made him feel in the way. He didn't want to add to Sean's stress levels, which he felt he had been doing -- a fact which annoyed him greatly.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

The telepath knew that the other man was just teasing him about making plans; Josh had no expectations, and he’d been quite accommodating of his paranoia this evening. To the best of his ability, he wanted to play along and give his friend some sort of banter, but the most he could muster was, “thank you for that.” Hardly the most light-hearted of retorts, but he had tried. And once at the table, he reached immediately for the wine rather than taking a bite of salad; this was also not the healthiest approach, but after a sip or two his nerves would calm and his stomach would settle, prepared for the meal. He managed to smile at the compliment. “I’m glad you like it. The cooking lessons are still on the table, if you ever want to take me up on them.” He didn’t have high hopes of either Josh accepting the offer, or if for some reason he did, of the lessons being successful, but should his friend want to try again...nothing could be worse than the disaster from when they were younger.

“Good.” It sounded as though they had a plan now. There were dozens of episodes of Northern Exposure to choose from, and Sean doubted that Josh would have a strong opinion either way. As the telepath didn’t have a preference, they could choose one at random and then settle down. Josh could fall asleep if he wanted; the sofa in the den, like all of the furniture in Sean’s house, was ludicrously comfortable and often sleep-inducing. “You’re welcome to fall asleep; I won’t mind.” As long as the other man was physically present, it didn’t matter what they did, because his company was soothing and there would be less worry since he would be in Sean’s line of sight and certainly within his telepathic range. The oven timer went off then, prompting Sean to rise from his chair, don the oven mitts and pull the lasagna pan out. He set it down on the counter to cool for a few minutes, and he went about gathering the necessary serving utensils.

Once the utensils were gathered and the pan cooled, he brought the whole kit and caboodle over to the table. Reaching for Josh’s plate, he began to serve. “Thank you.” He appreciated his friend’s understanding of his quirks and his peculiar calming rituals. He didn’t want to be rude, but in his current mental state, playing might well be necessary. Setting Josh’s plate down in front of the other man, Sean then reached for his own. He then sat down and began to pick at his square.

“You’re-” Sean began, and then he stopped himself. He’d spent all afternoon speaking in the imperative to those around him: “Tell the Board. Put us on Red Alert. Don’t tell the students under any circumstances. Lie down, James. Chase, keep an eye on him. Establish a perimeter. Everyone quiet down and listen up…” There was no reason to continue to do so. He wasn’t at work; he was at home, and he was speaking to Josh of all people. He took a breath and rephrased what he wanted to say. “I’d like you to spend the night; you’re welcome to use one of the guest rooms. And I can drive you to work in the morning on my way to school.” This wouldn’t be the first time that Josh had slept over since moving up to Pilot Ridge, and his “overnight kit” was still upstairs, ready to be raided for a toothbrush and fresh underwear.

And while he recognized that Josh’s question had been largely rhetorical, born of his surprise, the telepath still answered it. Crinkling his brow, he tried to remember the last time he’d played it, which had been quite some time ago. “I honestly don’t know. I’ll figure it out after supper.” Still poking at the contents of his plate, he tried for normal conversation, because he’d done enough to disrupt the evening. “So how was your day?”