Nowhere To Run (Tes)

It hadn't even been a week since he'd arrived on the island when Jonah got the news he had been dreading since he had moved back to New York to work at Hadley and, more importantly, be closer to his parents: his father was dead. He had passed away in the hours Jonah had spent in the air on the flight from New York to Oregon. His mother had had a few days to get over the shock, so at least she wasn't weeping by the time she finally got in touch with him, but that did little to soothe him, all things considered. "Why didn't you call and tell me sooner?" Jonah asked, deadly quiet and stone-faced, as if she could see him, as if he was trying to be strong for her although it wasn't necessary. "Sweetheart, I told you, I couldn't reach you before now. Believe me, I tried. Besides, I knew you were getting settled into your new place there, and I thought it could wait a few days while I made arrangements for your father's cremation. You've known this was coming, Jonah. Don't act like you didn't know. You saw what kind of condition he was in a couple of weeks ago. You can't say this comes as a shock." No, he couldn't. But despite that, and no matter how many deaths he'd seen in the hospital and nursing home over the years - not to mention Hadley's triple suicide - he was still horrified and heartbroken at the news.

Visiting his parents those two weeks ago, he'd had no idea it would be the last time he'd ever see his father, no matter how bad he'd looked at the time. Mostly, he couldn't have imagined that he would be relocating in a week's time when it felt like his life in Phoenicia was finally starting to take shape, becoming his own for the first time since he'd left New Orleans. The way it happened was too cruel. The biggest reason why Jonah had applied to Hadley was so that he could be closer to home, and to his ailing father. But the Hadleys died in an unexpected and untimely manner, and GR Biotech bought the institute and shipped their charges to a new location, a private island. It hadn't seemed so bad at first, but now, when he was needed at home the most, he couldn't be there. The timing was all wrong, and the unfairness of it brought tears to his eyes as he held the phone so tightly in hand he could hear the plastic creaking next to his ear. Death. So much death. It was everywhere, and worst of all, it was in his head now.

The unpleasant irony of the situation was that he hadn't needed to leave Phoenicia. He could have stayed. He'd been given the option of resigning or continuing on with the new company by relocating. Considering the state his father had been in at the time, he should have stayed. He shouldn't have gone. But his mother would have never let him give up his job, not when the inevitable could have been another day or a whole year away, not when he had such a bright future and promising career ahead of him. And Jonah would have heard the sense in her words and gone despite his doubts. All paths led to Green Ridge, apparently. He liked to think that he would have stayed had he known, and maybe he would have, but how could he have known? It was impossible. There was no use pondering the possibility when the only thing that could have made him stay was the gift of foresight, and while Jonah was a lot of things, psychic wasn't one of them.

He dashed drops of saline from the corners of his eyes while his mother rambled on about a memorial service and cremation options. He had tried willing them not to fall, but that obviously hadn't worked, so it was time for a little physical intervention. The tears were quickly whisked away on his fingertips as if they'd never been, but he couldn't hide the involuntary sniffle that echoed down the line in a gap between his mother's words. She quickly fell silent. Whether she'd heard the sound or it was just a mother's instinct, he didn't know. Likely it was a little bit of both. He was going to start blubbering like a baby in about five seconds and mothers always knew when that was going to happen; the sniffle only proved it. "Jonah, I'm sorry. I don't know why I'm going on like this. I'll call you later and we'll talk about this then, okay? You need some time to process and... be alone. Just keep unpacking, alright? Don't go out. And call me later. Or I'll call you. Maybe even tomorrow. Don't worry about it. All I know right now is that you need some time to think, baby boy. I've had plenty more time to prepare for this than you have." Jonah nodded, realizing a moment later that she couldn't see him. Her words were as comforting as they'd always been, making him feel as if she was in the room with him, her arm warm and soft around his shoulder, her perfumed cheek pressed against his, murmuring that everything was going to be alright.

He wished he could believe that. Deep down, he knew that the sorrow would pass and everything would be alright eventually, but in the moment, logic held no domain over him. He was made up of raw emotion, and all he wanted to do was clutch his mother's blouse and sob, to tell her that no, everything wasn't going to be alright, despite the fact that she always knew better. He was a child who wanted his mother, but she was right, he needed some time to think, and talking on the phone would only make him feel worse that he couldn't be there with her. She was wrong about one thing though - he sure as hell didn't need to be alone. In fact, he couldn't stand the thought of it. He had to get out, had to go...somewhere. Even in his grief, Jonah couldn't stand not being around people. He needed the reassuring crush and soft susurrus of humanity around him, the soothing sounds of other people going about their day not knowing or caring that someone else's world had stopped turning. He couldn't stand the oppressive boulder of his loneliness and knew that, even if he couldn't get rid of it, he had to forget it somehow. If that meant hiding in a clothing rack in the nearest garment shop and listening to the sound of feet go shuffling by - if that was what he had to do to feel normal - he'd do it. He could have his grief, but he was going to endure it like a man. He was going to be like everyone else and hold it inside of him like a secret, something the rest of the world didn't need to know. "Okay, mom," he whispered. A few more pleasantries were exchanged, mostly on her end. "I love you." Click. And that was it. He was out the door.

Unfortunately, Jonah's mask of normalcy crumbled like soft clay far sooner than he'd expected or planned for. It struck him inside of the library, as he was running his fingers over the tough, wrinkled spines of old, leather-bound volumes he had no real interest in. It wasn't that Jonah didn't like books - he just didn't read, normally. He didn't spend enough time alone, and he usually had different pursuits in mind when he was. It was as simple as that. What time did he have to read when there were people to meet and songs to be sung? Drinks to be consumed and bodies to hold against his own? There was no time for reading outside of work, but that didn't mean Jonah didn't care about books. Out of all the places he could have fled to on the island, it was the library he'd chosen, and it wasn't just because he suspected a certain lanky librarian worked there. Books were safe, books were an escape, and in a library you were never really alone. The paper whispered to him in a soothing, motherly language as he took up a volume of poetry and smoothed its pages outward. He could hear the rustling leaves of other people's books too, the low drone of polite voices - calming, familiar. The words on the page before him closed around him and held him as close as his own mother would have done had she been there, the black print enfolding him, taking the noise and chaos in his brain and replacing it with silence. That was right up until his brain registered the words he was reading, anyway. It was a poem about loss, thick and impregnable with grief, bringing the dark, rolling stormclouds back into his head. Jonah bit his lip mid-whimper, trapping the sound before it could grow too loud or catch too much attention.

He groaned softly, and as his knees would no longer hold him up, slid down the length of the bookcase at his back until he was crash landing on the floor, limbs flapping as uselessly as a ragdoll's, the book of poetry falling open into his lap. It was still on the same damned page as before. Jonah almost cast it away from him in a fit of irrational rage, but he gathered it up close to him instead, his long, waving hair cascading over the cover. It was no teddy bear, but it was all he had in the moment, so he clutched it tight because it was real, and the only tangible and solid thing he knew wouldn't slip through his grasp. He cried quietly, somehow managing to avoid the loud, embarrassing sobs he knew would come out of him later, because as much as he didn't want to be alone, his body wouldn't let him cry properly until he was. He was trapped in limbo, stuck somewhere between functioning and catatonic, the two far ends of the spectrum. And where did that leave him? Crying like a nancy on the floor of the community library, clasping a volume of centuries-old poetry he hadn't even planned on reading to his chest. He'd only meant to pretend, but apparently, pretending would get him nowhere. Funny, it had never failed him before, but he supposed this was a circumstance he'd never prepared for. Most people never got the chance to. It was easy to pretend you were okay with it until it happened. Denial would only take you so far, like a New York cabbie when you only had five bucks in your pocket.

Skin that was usually very pale anyway had been more so of late, taking on a sickly, almost chalky hue as his health wavered constantly. Tes was still convinced it was only a very bad dose of the flu, that any day now he would wake up and be perfectly healthy and contented again. Well, as healthy and contented as he could be. He had always been something of a sickly human being, mentally and physically. That was one of the reason the doctors had never quite been able to find a medication that would work to cure his disorder, to make his young life properly liveable. Every drug they tried brought out a whole myriad of different side effects, many of which were more agonising for him than the syndrome itself. The near-constant migraines and nausea were nothing compared to the immense sudden weight gain that Risperidone caused, or the never ending tears and anxiety of Clomipramine.

To Tes, however, nothing was worse than the complete mental and physical numbness of Clozapine. This major tranquilliser was given to him when he was young to try to sedate his mind, to give him a break from the constant chaos and allow him some time to be able to function like a relatively normal human being. It had worked too well... Tes' whole life had been one long attempt to escape his own mind, to find an inner peace and sedateness that life had, for some reason, decided he was not allowed to have. By the age of eight he was screaming near constantly, crying and clutching at his head, trying to get it to shut off. No child should ever have to endure that kind of pain, the pain of a mind that simply did not know how to stop. Each neurone constantly firing, every single detail about the world around him stored for all eternity. Completely unable to switch off, to relax, to unwind. The only times he could sleep were when he literally cried himself into complete exhaustion, and even his mind had little choice but to disengage then. The Clozapine had fixed that.

By blocking the receptors in the dopamine pathways in the brain, they lessened the messages his brain was firing around. What it actually did was completely halt Tes' moods and emotions, flat-lining him to nothing much more than a shell. He couldn't feel sadness or fear, happiness or boredom. He was in a constant state of complete numbness, and he hated it with a burning passion. He had spent so much time trying to silence his mind, but not being able to feel anything at all was completely terrifying. From that day on it had been a constant uphill struggle for his family to get him to take any medication at all.

And then he had found his own way of self medicating. The street drugs introduced to him by friends had the beautiful side effect of sending his mind off its usual one-way path of slow self destruction whilst giving him euphoric highs or blissfully relaxing lows. They were the perfect distraction in his world full of chaos, and it wasn't long until he found himself falling back on them time and time again. The denial was there constantly, of course. Didn't need them, weren't a crutch, no addiction at all. He was merely a user, not an addict. Addicts relied on their individuals poisons to get them through the day, and in his mind, Tes was not like them. He preferred having them there, but over so many years he had managed to convince himself that he did not need them. Just like he didn't need the bodies that he kept finding himself pressing against...

A hand reached up, brushing dark curls away from his forehead as the lanky librarian paced around his new kingdom. Many times now he had questioned just why he had come to this rock, why he had left behind the lights and potential of New York to babysit yet more special cases on an island in the middle of nowhere. Granted Phoenicia was the armpit of nowhere, but it was only a drive away from night life that could offer absolutely everything that he could ever want or need. In the city there was no shortage of clubs and bars, bodies and chemicals rolling into one perfect night after another. This island offered none of that, no escape from his colleagues and the “patients” of yet another facility. He was now about as trapped as the lab rats that the company kept, so why had he come here? Perhaps it was obvious, really... he simply had nowhere else to go. He could not go home now, not after all that had happened. It was a choice of stay with the people he vaguely recognised, or move to yet another godforsaken hole and start all over again. At least with this move he would get to keep his job role.

The milky white skin of his face was smeared with grime and dust, a light coating covering his jacket, prints on his trousers where he had tried to dislodge it from his hands. This was his library now, his new kingdom, and it would still be a long while yet before it was brought up to his standards. Alphabetising the tomes would take the longest, and would be saved until last. For now he was in the middle of a huge scale tidying operation, and judging from his appearance he looked like he was losing the war against the dust bunnies. Fingers ran through dark curls again as he wandered through the vast adult fiction section, dust rising into the air from his hair like the worlds grubbiest halo. Austin. Austin. Austin. Austin. Austin. Tolkein? What the hell are you doing there? Even though he had not intended to work on the books themselves yet, the copy of Silmarillion was carefully removed from it's horrific placing between Pride & Prejudice and Sense & Sensibility and placed on the nearby book trolley for rehousing later, soft grumpy mutterings rolling from his lips as he did so. “Idiot people don't understand the value of correct book placement for easy access and retrieval. Would think they'd never ran a library before. Even a six year old can understand basic grouping and organising.”

A soft sound caught Tes' attention, though he couldn't quite place what it was. Long, elegant fingers dived into the carrier bag that was tucked into his belt, retrieving a fresh cloth that was used to wipe the no-doubt months old dust from the shelf where the crime of the randomly placed book had been committed before he went to see what the noise could possibly have been. The now dust smeared cloth was discarded into a bin as he passed, hands rubbing at tired eyes and leaving fresh finger-smudges across his lids and brow. And then he saw the nurse, crying leaning against one of the shelves in the poetry section. Tes didn't bother to try to hide the slightly shocked look at the sight, but it wasn't long before the shock turned into concern. Even though he had only seen the nurse a handful of times before, those times had been very memorable to him and he liked to think that he had perhaps finally found someone he could have an actual friendship with, rather than nothing more than a string of one bedroom encounter after another. The concern then mingled back with shock as Tes realised this. He wasn't really used to repeat encounters, never mind seeing someone he had laid with in a completely non-play setting and still actually wanting to be near them.

After a long moment the shock turned back into concern again, and the massively grubby librarian leaned against a shelf a little way from the nurse, head tilting slightly to see the book clutched in Jonah's arms, unusually quiet for a long moment before he spoke. “If you are looking for sad and deeply emotive poetry, you certainly made a wise decision. If you wish for a little more privacy to read than the shelves offer, you are welcome to my office. There is a kettle in there, and I believe there are biscuits in the mini fridge...” Tes paused for a moment, unsure how to go on. Crying people was something he had absolutely no experience dealing with, but he was sure he knew how this was meant to go. The next words came out quiet, as thought being tested, like the speaker was completely unsure if he was saying the right thing. “Would you like to talk about what is upsetting you?”

Shit. He was caught. And by Tes, no less, though what else could he have expected by coming to the library? He didn't want the other man to see him crying, but it was too late for that now. Jonah didn't have to lift his streaming eyes from his knees to know who it was. He knew as soon as his long shadow fell over him, as soon as he heard his deep, accented voice, so very suited to quiet, intimate places like libraries and bedrooms. Mortified at being discovered by his occasional bed partner, he raised his head and ran his palms over his eyes, clearing them of tears. Afterward, he kept those bloodshot green orbs glued to a loose thread in the fabric of his jeans. He didn't want to look at Tes just yet, didn't want to see the pity etched on his face -- or worse yet, his complete and utter indifference to the scene he'd stumbled upon. Jonah didn't expect Tes to care or even ask about what was bothering him, but the last thing he needed to see in those moments of vulnerability was just how little he mattered, how expendable he was. He needed a friend, and he didn't know if he could count Tes among them yet, but their repeat encounters suggested that they were, perhaps, on their way to a tenuous friendship. It was part of the reassurance Jonah needed in order to know that he hadn't made a mistake by coming here. The library was the one place he had known he would feel safe because he had a friend there. He hadn't known for sure, but considering Tes' position in their last place of employment, it had seemed the most logical conclusion for his subconscious mind to come to.

"I wasn't looking for poetry," he said softly, voice clouded with the thick, humid aftermath of tears, the back of his throat raw and choked with emotion. "I just picked a book at random. Should've known better. Only I'd manage to find the saddest book of poetry right now." The sigh that escaped his lips was desolate, weary, and so were his eyes when he finally directed them to Tes' face. The other man was often so immaculate it was a shock to see his brow and his clothes smudged with dust. "What happened to you?" A short bark of a laugh escaped his lips but was quickly cut off when he realized how impolite the question sounded. "I'm sorry. That was rude of me to ask. Being a librarian is very dirty work, I'm sure." For once, his words weren't laced with the double entendres that were so customary to his everyday speech, evidence to how upset he was. "They left this place in quite a state for you, didn't they?" As if to emphasize his point, he trailed a pale, delicate hand along the shelf closest to him and rubbed his fingers together to dispel the dust into the air. Truth be told, he felt as grimy as that shelf, in need of a hot shower and a good mental scrubbing.

"I don't want to read, but that's very kind. Thank you. I think I might like some tea though. Could go for something stronger, but I suppose it's a little early in the day for that." No doubt his last stop before returning home would be the bar, Black Creek Inn & Tavern. He'd heard it was a nice establishment, and it was probably his last resort if he wanted to forget the conversation he'd had with his mother not an hour ago. "I would like to talk, yes, but I don't want to take you away from your duties." Jonah had thought that he didn't wanted to talk about it, but now that someone was offering, sincere or not, he realized that he did. Tes was a smart man and a neutral party. He'd know what to say. And even if he didn't, perhaps the silence between them would be companionable enough to put him at ease for a little while. "If you don't mind, maybe I'll just sit in your office until I can pull myself together." Christ, his father was dead. How had he thought that he could go about his day as if nothing had changed, as if everything was normal? Jonah wasn't Superman, but he liked to pretend that he was, liked to think that he was impervious to the kind of pain that so often brought other people down. Obviously, that wasn't the case. He was as vulnerable as the rest of them were, and knowing that he could be so weak frightened him into near hysteria. He felt pathetic, lost, hopeless.

Jonah stumbled to his feet before Tes could offer a hand up, using the shelf behind him as leverage. He wanted to show that he was capable of doing at least one thing on his own, even if it wasn't much. Carefully, he returned the volume of poetry to its place on the shelf, his fingertips leaving imprints in the dust. He wiped them off on his jeans, the black denim absorbing the pale ash as he rubbed at his thighs uneasily, thumbs hooking into the pockets beneath his hips. He resisted the urge to fidget even more, suddenly feeling small and ungainly and almost childlike under the librarian's scrutiny. He wore a concerned expression, a look that was blessedly free of pity and so far from apathy that Jonah felt the nervous tension in his muscles ease up slightly. He couldn't deal with either one of those things right now, and perhaps Tes knew it. Even if he didn't, Jonah appreciated his calm, kind demeanor and the offer of comfort, no matter how small and seemingly insubstantial. It meant a lot that someone would take the time to express concern for his state of mind, and it didn't particularly matter to him whether it was done out of a sense of propriety or a genuine desire to be there for him in his time of need. Surely Tes had better things to do. He could have just as easily ignored Jonah as acknowledged him. For choosing the latter, he wanted to throw his arms around him in silent appreciation and acknowledgement, but he knew that would probably make the other man uncomfortable, and he didn't want to scare him off when he needed the company so badly. Honestly, he would have consented to be held by anyone in that moment; they would only be acting as a substitute for his mother, whose arms he wanted more than anything. As he was an adult, he had to acknowledge the reality that she wasn't there and wasn't going to be there. He had to find another way to soothe himself, and perhaps talking to Tes was the first step.

Perhaps there was a part of Tes that actually wanted to be friends with the nurse, to be able to class him as someone that he could talk to, someone more than just a casual fuck as and when need and want dictated. He had spent so much of his life alone, the weird and awkward freak that none of the other kids wanted to play with. Always last to be picked for sports because he was weak and fell down a lot. Never picked for classroom debates because his tongue took over and no one else could get a word in edgeways. Turned down for dates to the school ball because no one wanted to be seen with the lanky geek that always cried and complained that his head hurt. Disorder? What disorder? All the other kids saw was a weakling book worm that didn't know how to shut up, even when they used brute force to try to teach him. It was amazing how an eight year old boy could carry on trying to explain just why the young lads who lusted after women with boobs big enough to feed a crèche usually ended up taking it up the arse, while he was terrified and in such extreme pain, as several lads he had stumbled upon while they were sneaking a peek at a naughty magazine one of them had smuggled into school kicked the holy living shit out of him.

This vicious pattern of behaviour carried on well into his adulthood, and though it may have settled a little somewhat since the move to Hadley, it still occurred from time to time. Like during the group therapy session he had ran. Tes had always believed he was incapable of having friends, of properly knowing anyone that genuinely wanted to spend time with him. For a while he had thought Katie had been the exception. She was kind, friendly and beautiful, and most importantly she never judged him. All those times he had accidentally said something he shouldn't have or gotten high to the point that she had to look after him, and never once had she shown anything but love and care for him. Funny how one tiny thing can completely change everything... “I have always found most poetry to lack positive associations. Even poems that were clearly written to make another smile have always seemed somewhat dismal to me. As though the writer was in acute depression and writing to try to cheer themselves up. I never recommend poetry to those who are upset.” His voice was calm and quiet as always, perhaps even a touch more so than normal. Jonah was in the library, the type of place Tes doubted the nurse visited very often. Could the nurse have been maybe looking for him, looking for his company? Was that maybe just wishful thinking? Did why he was here really matter at all?

Tes did not understand emotions or how they worked. Try as he might he could not work out why people sometimes felt sad or angry, jealous or happy. He could understand why different situations could make a person react differently, but he could not logic a reason for why even small things sometimes had such a profound effect on a persons mental state and well being. Tes felt emotions himself, of that he was certain, but it bothered him that he didn't know why. He could understand the feelings of loss and isolation when a loved one died, or the feelings of contentment and relaxation at the end of a long evening with your body entwined with another, but he couldn't make sense of sadness or happiness. How and why could these perfectly normal, perfectly natural events create such a profound state of being that it could completely alter a persons outlook on life? Tes could completely understand that losing a loved one or getting some other horrifically bad news is difficult, but he couldn't understand why it crippled some people to the point that they took their own life.

As Jonah commented on the state of him and barked that quiet laugh, a look of utter confusion crossed the librarians face. What did Jonah mean? Was his shirt untucked? After a moment of confused pondering Tes eventually looked down, noticing the dust and grime for the first time. “Oh...” Blue eyes widened in baffled surprise, a quiet laugh leaving his own lips. “It's okay, I didn't notice. This poor library has been badly neglected, left to collect the signs of the passing times. Books are treasures, each one precious and perfectly unique. They hold the secrets of our past and our hopes for the future. They inspire and motivate. A single book has the power to completely alter the passage of time... They should be cared for with the respect and love they deserve. I want to make sure that happens here from now on.”

Tes did feel genuine concern for the other man, and this realisation surprised him somewhat. He had never really spent time getting to know the people whose bodies he had laid with, and, Katie excluded of course, he had likely shared more words with Jonah than with all of the others combined. It displeased him to know that someone who was actually willing to spend time with him away from the bedroom was unhappy, and for a reason he could not explain, he honestly wanted to try to help Jonah feel better. It was a shame he had no real idea how to accomplish this. He wasn't exactly an expert at comforting people. “You are not inconveniencing me in any way. Technically I am not supposed to be in today, it is my day off. I just... couldn't get comfortable at home knowing how much of a state this place was in. I do not mind your using my office at all. It is open to you at any time you wish. Along with ot--”

NO! Brain! Gutter! Out! Tes mentally flailed, only just being able to stop the words before they flooded out of his flapping jaws. For a moment the librarians mouth formed soundless words and then he sighed softly, rubbing a grubby hand over his eyes, refreshing the dark smudges there, and shook his head slightly in frustration at himself. “Sorry. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to say--... sorry. I... Sorry.” As Jonah stood Tes nodded softly, a deep crimson blush warming his pale cheeks, and began to lead the way towards his office at the back of the vast library, hoping and praying to a God he had never believed in that Jonah was not about to bolt for the hills. He would rather get a beating again than have the only person in years he had properly talked to run away from him...

Though Tes was freely offering his office space, as well as a listening ear, Jonah still felt slightly guilty about being found crying in his library. It made him wonder what the other man would have done if he'd stumbled upon a stranger in his place instead. Would he have ignored him? Asked him to leave so as not to upset the other patrons? Jonah supposed that he was lucky he'd found the library, of all places, because he was sure his melodrama wouldn't be looked upon so kindly in any other establishment. They might think he was an adult patient on day leave from St. Christina's, and wouldn't that be awkward.

Jonah was no stranger to emotion, but though he understood his emotions, and how they worked, he didn't always like them. There were days, of course, when he woke up on the wrong side of the bed and couldn't figure out why, but for the most part, every one of his moods had a reason, and those reasons were justified. For the most part, he was a charming, happy-go-lucky sort of fellow. He had a well-paying job, a beautiful home and his health; it would be selfish for him to want anything more. So he lived every day as if it could be his last, enjoying every second, minute, and hour as it was given to him. Jonah prided himself on living wholly and entirely in the present. Now, however, he wished time would be speed up so that he didn't have to suffer through another moment of unbearable agony. This kind of pain was worse than any bodily affliction or injury. It hurt him in a way nothing else could, which made it unique in its severity. His heart literally ached where it staggered and faltered in his chest, as if it might break, and that pain spread through his veins and tingled in his limbs. It hurt to think, to stand, his bones tired and aching, his eyes red and sore. He hated it.

At length, he managed to put one foot in front of the other and inch his way forward, closing some of the gap between he and Tes so that he didn't feel so distant from the man. It was then that the librarian's eyes dropped to take in his own disheveled appearance, and his reaction made Jonah smile. It was almost imperceptible, but it was there nonetheless. "Your passion for the written word is inspiring," he murmured softly, and though there wasn't much enthusiasm behind the words, they were sincere. "I don't read as much as I should. No time. Well, I could make time, but I don't. Reading is a very...solitary thing, and I try not to be alone if I can help it." He paused, sucking his lower lip between his teeth, gnawing at it. "That's why I came here today. I probably do need to be alone, but I just can't stand it right now." His eyes shot back up to Tes', gauging his reaction. The man seemed as calm and unflappable as always, and Jonah appreciated how steady he was, how reliable. That kind of steadfastness was what he needed to pull himself together and not dissolve into a blubbering mess again.

Jonah expelled a shaky sigh of relief and ran trembling fingers through his hair when Tes said he wasn't inconveniencing him. Perhaps it was silly to worry about being a bother, but despite his self-absorbed tendencies, he wasn't so selfish that he didn't think about other people and their feelings. His job and his very nature demanded that he care about other people. That usually ceased to matter when he was out prowling at the clubs, but that was different. Most everyone was there for the same reason, and pesky things like feelings could be left at the door. When he took someone home for the night, he entered into an unspoken agreement with them. The only feelings that mattered were the physical, the tactile; emotion had nothing to do with it and that was just the way he liked it. But again, this was different. He had willingly sought out someone he'd already lain with, and perhaps it wasn't smart to be showing Tes this damaged, vulnerable side of himself, but the librarian was the only person he felt comfortable enough to do that with, one of the hazards of living on an island and having limited connections. Tes had started out as a one-night-stand, but he was quickly becoming a friend, and Jonah didn't want to cut ties with him or censor himself around him. He was surprisingly good company, in the bedroom or out of it, and if nothing else, Jonah felt he owed him his honesty. It was only decent.

"Alright, if you're sure it's okay..." He cut himself off mid-speech as Tes' words registered properly. "I do not mind your using my office at all. It is open to you at any time you wish. Along with ot--” Jonah laughed again, waving a dismissive hand when Tes began to apologize in his own awkward, stuttering way. "It is a comfort to know that, truly," he reassured him, a hint of the normal, everyday Jonah peeking through in the mischievous smile that graced his lips and the hint of amusement that twinkled in the mossy depths of his eyes. Tes turned and led the way to his office then, and Jonah wiped the back of his hand across his eyes, dispelling the last of the tears and warning the rest to keep off his cheeks. His mind was forging a path to the gutter too, and he wondered if that was a good idea given the state he was in. There was something tempting about the distraction, however, and following along behind Tes did little to alleviate the promise of it. He was intimately familiar with the way his body looked beneath that suit, and as distraught as he was, or perhaps because of how distraught he was, he couldn't keep himself from imagining that particularly delightful view now. Despite his towering height, Tes walked with a lanky sort of grace Jonah admired, especially from behind. He hated that this was the way to make himself feel better, but whatever worked, right? It was something he was comfortable with, at least, and he clung to it because grief was so much more unsettling and, thus, so much more unwelcome. He'd choose lust any day, even if it was wrong.

With effort, Jonah finally tore his eyes away from Tes' rear end long enough to make note of where his office was situated...just in case he ever had to find it again...for any reason at all. It was ridiculously easy to locate now that he was taking a proper look around, near enough to the circulation desk that you really couldn't miss it when you walked in. Jonah nodded and smiled in silent thanks as the librarian held the door open for him, ushering him in and then sealing them inside. The room was a mess. Tes was obviously still in the process of sorting it all out. Jonah didn't mind though, and he wasn't so shy that he hovered nervously near the door. Instead, he crossed to one of the chairs and transferred a sheaf of papers from the cushion to the desk before taking a seat. "You said you don't recommend poetry to those who are upset. What do you recommend then?" There was no mistaking the suggestive nature of the question that left his lips, and Jonah immediately set about to mentally chiding himself for it. Did he have no shame? His father was barely cold in the grave and all he could think about was how very much he didn't want to think about it anymore. Did that make him a bad person? Didn't he deserve some distraction? "I guess I should tell you why I'm here," he sighed, sounding resigned. Slouching down in the seat, he crossed one leg over the other, interlacing his fingers and resting them on his abdomen. He looked over his shoulder, tossing his hair out of his face to see where Tes had gone. He was only putting the kettle on. "My father passed away. My mother called to tell me not an hour ago. I just...couldn't be alone with that, you know? But I'm not sure I really want to talk about it either. I don't know." He shrugged helplessly, and turned his head to stare blankly off into space again.

Of all the emotions, of the entire spectrum of human feelings and expressions of those feelings, sadness was the one Tes understood the least. He had felt it before, of that he was certain, but it made no sense to him, and was therefore a huge annoyance in his mind. He did not like things that he could not understand, that he could not rationalise and form into useful, coherent thoughts. To Tes, if he could not understand it, then it was wrong. That was how things had always been. Everything in the world had a rational and reasoning behind it, could be described and made perfect sense. Of all the emotions, sadness was the one that stood out as making the least sense. Feelings of loss and insecurity were expected when one lost a loved one, but death was a part of life. It was just another stage, another thing that happened. Of course it was a regrettable stage, he could never say that he liked the thought of it, but he could not fathom why it was so very crippling to people when it was predictable. Everyone dies at some point, so why would anyone make a big fuss over it?

Tes didn't know what he would have done had it been anyone other than Jonah that he had found crying in his library. Back at Hadley there had been that one boy that had been hiding amongst the shelves, the one he had literally fallen over. Although the boy did not seem to have been crying, he had been clearly upset and trying to hide from the world. Unsurprising considering the state that had been made of his forehead. They had spoken for a long while, far longer than conversations usually lasted for the librarian, and even though he had never really found out exactly why the boy was so upset and hiding in the library, had had learned something. Emotions were powerful, far more so than they should be. They had the ability to change a persons behaviour and motives dramatically, turning brave men into cowards and cowards into men all set to storm the castle. They could take a clearly intelligent boy, or a nurse, and make him want to hide in a library.

“I have always found some peace in being alone. When one is cursed with such... eccentricities as mine, one tends to take advantage of every moment when they are not on public display. As much as I often need and appreciate more... intimate company, I struggle to spend time with normal people away from the bed. I can understand why you would wish for company, however. The average human mind is wired to be sociable, and the vast majority need the comfort of others when upset is brought into their lives, for whatever reason.” Just because Tes did not understand emotions did not mean to say he didn't feel them. Whatever had happened to Jonah had clearly devastated him, and that thought disturbed Tes more than it normally would have. Whilst he would not usually wish unhappiness on anyone, Jonah had been there when he was needed. He had listened while Tes spoke (usually at great length, whether he wanted to or not), and he had never seemed to judge him. Jonah was one of very few who knew about Tes' lifestyle, his drug use, his complete failure to be able to control himself, and yet he kept coming back. Did that make him a friend? Possibly. Maybe. Hopefully.

Tes felt genuine relief when Jonah just brushed off the near-disastrous comment, a whisper quiet sigh leaving his lips. Many would have likely gotten upset at such a slip, and Tes had honestly expected Jonah to be the same. The nurse was clearly distraught over something and likely didn't want to be hearing about such things. He could have easily just turned and walked away, perhaps after hitting the awkward librarian first, but he hadn't. Instead the reaction that Tes got was a welcome one, a hint of the usual nurse peeking through the rain cloud. That was reassuring and welcome in equal measure. Tes did not know how to understand people when they were crying, tears made even less sense than emotions. Why was it that when someone was sad, or happy, or shocked that they cried? Why did strong emotions cause saline solution to leak from ones eyes? It had no physiological reasoning that Tes could fathom, and that made it an anomaly of behaviour that he detested. There was no biological reason that he knew of for water to escape from a persons eyes for any reason other than to clear them of foreign objects. It simply made no sense, and therefore Tes had no clue how to deal with it. It wasn't like he was especially brilliant at handling situations that did make sense to him most of the time anyway.

Tes could feel Jonah's eyes on him as he lead the way to his office, burning into him, and he had to force himself not to swagger a bit. So very many years of city life, of hunting down random strangers in pubs and clubs, had taught him how to make the most of eyes on him, and it was a conscious effort to behave like a “normal” person with the nurse following him through the library. He was not just at work, he was with someone clearly unhappy who had sought out his companionship. There should be no room for where his mind had gone, where it was refusing to budge from. It was exceptionally difficult for Tes at any time to keep his mind out of the gutter, but when he could guess where the nurses eyes had travelled, he had serious issues not suddenly halting his walk, of letting the nurse bump into his back. Just a shred of contact, even if only for the briefest of moments... His head ached, as it had done solidly since the move. Distractions were difficult to find here. There were no clubs filled with willing bodies in easy travelling distance, and he had been clean since the drugs test at Hadley. His mind was gnawing away at him, and there was no way he had of getting it to stop.

Once they were inside the office Tes closed the door and headed towards the kettle, making sure there was enough water inside it before flicking the little switch. When Jonah asked about his recommendations for people who are upset, Tes' jaw flapped a little, a quiet string of sounds that weren't quite words leaving his lips before he went quiet. When Dean, his little brother, had died in November last year, Tes had not reacted the way most would have. Most would have cried, become upset and unhappy and likely been inconsolable for some time. Tes instead decided to carry on. If his brother was dead there was no point mourning. It would not bring him back. Surely the greatest way to honour his memory would be to carry on living, to ensure that he spent each moment loving it as though it could be his last? That plan had gone rather tits up...

As Jonah revealed what had brought him here, why he was upset, Tes was unusually quiet for a long moment. He had never lost a parent, had never felt that particular loss, so he was very unsure what to say. For once, nothing came into his mind. Not one word sprang to the front of his tongue and tried to crawl out between his teeth, and that was a blessing. Surely a moment of silence was preferable to some no doubt inane at best, hurtful at worst string of words that Tes had no control over. Eventually some words did present themselves, and Tes was surprised by how quiet and sorrowful the voice that escaped from between his lips was. “I am so very sorry, Jonah. I can't imagine how much that must hurt. If there is anything at all I can do to help, please just let me know... how do you take your tea?”

Jonah thought about what Tes had said a few minutes' prior as he set about to making the tea. "The average human mind is wired to be sociable, and the vast majority need the comfort of others when upset is brought into their lives, for whatever reason." Tes did not shy away from speaking of his eccentricities, which Jonah admired about him. Even on the day they'd first met, Jonah had sensed his strangeness, realized that he wasn't what most others would call "normal". There was something rather otherworldly about him, if he was honest with himself. Jonah didn't fancy himself normal either, but he knew that Tes was unusual in a different way: his mind was far from average, while Jonah considered himself a simplistic sort of creature, mentally. The one thing that made him not quite normal from the rest was his cross-dressing habit, and Tes didn't know about that yet. It simply hadn't come up. But did the fact that he liked women's clothing really make him all that strange? As far as feeling and emotion went, Jonah was much like the rest of the other people he knew. Tes obviously had a more difficult time grasping the way the human mind worked, or was supposed to work. He did not require the mundane social interactions that kept Jonah going on a daily basis, and seemed like the sort of man who would be perfectly content to affect a hermit-like existence so as not to be burdened by the world and its complexities; there was already a great deal of complexity in his own head for him to deal with, and he was too proud to ask anyone to share in it. Jonah didn't think that approach was an entirely healthy one, but then perhaps he wasn't entirely healthy either when he couldn't stand to be left to his own devices for more than five minutes at a time. Both men had vastly different approaches to life, and yet those differences seemed to unite them in a way. They understood each other, somehow, even if neither could explain the how or why of it.

When he thought about it in greater detail, Jonah supposed that maybe their approaches really weren't all that different. For one, neither of them tended to get too close to others. Jonah sought out social interaction more than Tes, but when both were on the prowl for company it typically ended in the same way, with a stranger in their beds. Tes used sex as a way to quiet his brain while Jonah used it as a temporary way of dulling the near-constant craving for human closeness; whatever the reason, the act ultimately served as an escape for both of them. In a way, emotion scared Jonah too. He understood it, but he couldn't get comfortable with the idea of letting someone in on a deeply emotional level, save for his parents, and that was different because it was written in his DNA. Friendship was about all Jonah could handle with most other males; he'd tried dating and it had been an abject failure each time, either because he couldn't remain faithful or because the other man expected more than he was willing to give. But could he really be blamed for not wanting to confess love to someone when he didn't feel it? It seemed that most people wanted to hear the words even if they weren't genuine, and that baffled him. He told his friends that he loved them, but they understood that it was a platonic thing and didn't misinterpret it for something it wasn't. Jonah knew that he was capable of love, but it hadn't touched him in a romantic capacity, not yet. He reckoned he'd come close to it, but those just might have been the hormones talking, and they'd never deceived him to the point where he let the words slip past his lips in the heat of passion. That would be foolish. He didn't want to lead anyone on or give them the wrong impression, so he held most lovers at an arm's length when the rendezvous was over. He wasn't cold or cruel about it, but they had to understand that the intimacy wasn't going to go beyond the bedroom...well, not unless he was in the mood to be bent over the kitchen table or counter or have a go in the shower.

Matters of the heart were a mystery to Jonah, but he already knew he liked Tes a great deal more than most of the other men he'd known. He liked him well enough to risk repeat encounters with him, some of them in a friendly, everyday context that wasn't just about the sexual tension they shared. The abnormalities that most others might find offensive or appalling about the librarian were endearing to the kind-hearted nurse, who always knew what to do or say before things could get awkward between them. Tes was...a rather awkward person by default, but Jonah was a natural at making others feel at ease around him, so the majority of their interactions were pleasant and light-hearted. Nevertheless, it was a relief to know that the librarian was comfortable enough in his presence that he'd go so far as to invite him into his office. He had a feeling he wouldn't be willing to do that for many others - perhaps no one, but Jonah wasn't going to assume. He had no idea what Tes' other associations were like, if he had any, so he wasn't going to presume that this made him special in any way. Regardless, he knew Tes must care for him somehow if he wasn't willing to leave him huddled against the bookshelves with only his own grief for company. Again, he wanted to hug him for it, but that was perhaps more tender than either one of them were entirely comfortable with.

Maybe crying made no sense, but it had certainly made Jonah feel better. He knew that he wasn't done with it, not by a long shot, but he'd passed the first stage and could focus on something more than his leaky eyes now. He'd likely cry again later, once he was alone and that telltale lump had risen in his throat, signifying the start of a fresh batch. He could let himself go then, sob it all out until he couldn't anymore, and the following morning he could hopefully face the world with a better outlook. Getting over his father's death wasn't going to be the work of an evening, but the first few days would undoubtedly be the hardest to get through. If he could make it through today without completely losing his mind, he could make it through the rest of them, because none of them were ever going to be the same again, not now that he knew he'd only ever see his father's smiling face in memories or photographs. The back of his throat tickled, as if preparing for more tears, but Jonah wasn't ready for them yet, so he coughed quietly into his sleeve and pushed his thoughts away, down into the quiet core of him, which he'd only dare to open up and explore once he found himself alone. He wasn't looking forward to it, and as he sat there waiting for the kettle to boil, the thought hit him that maybe he didn't have to be alone, at least not tonight. Quit looking for excuses not to deal with this, Jonah. You need to be alone. You're in no state to go home with someone right now. -But look at him! It would be so easy, and I don't want to be alone.- I don't care. You can't process your grief, or get past it, if you don't let yourself feel it. -I've felt enough of it. I want to feel something else now.- Back and forth he argued with himself, and the indecision was enough to drive him mad without thoughts of his father still hovering in the background.

Bowing his head, Jonah rested his elbows on his knees and threaded his fingers through his hair, begging his mind to be quiet. Despite his best efforts to convince them otherwise, the voices didn't want to stop. Why could nothing ever be simple? The only thing that was simple was what he knew best (hint: not nursing), but there was a part of him that didn't want to let him have it. Should he listen to it? Tell it to go fuck itself? The temptation was there, and it was strong, but maybe that voice had a point... Christ, this is fucking frustrating! He didn't know which impulse to obey. There had to be some sort of happy medium, and he was wracking his brain for it when Tes spoke up again. "If there is anything at all I can do to help, please just let me know..." Those few, seemingly innocent words decided him, once and for all, for better or for worse. "Tea? No preference. However you usually fix it is fine. And thank you, very much. There might be something you can do, actually... I don't know if it's too much to ask, but would you very much mind accompanying me for a drink this evening? I haven't been to the tavern yet and I'd like to check it out. I'd really enjoy the company, and drinks are on me if you feel so inclined." He flicked his hair over his shoulder and turned his head to look at Tes, hoping to catch his eyes or at least draw his gaze with the subtle movement.

Jonah was bound to go to the bar with or without Tes, but he still hoped the other man said yes to the invitation. If he was going to take his mind off things, he was going to do it right, and it would be much easier with a companion in tow. He realized now that he couldn't let himself go home and cry it all out - maybe tomorrow, but not tonight. He'd done enough wailing for one day, and the idea of spending the rest of his evening curled up in bed with a box of tissues clutched to his chest sickened him, even if it was a natural, normal response to the news he'd been dealt. It wasn't as if it was going to help him get up and go to work in the morning. Speaking of work, they'd probably let him have a few days off if he called up and asked, but he'd do that tomorrow too. Right now the need for distraction took top priority, too strong and feverish to ignore, insistent, relentless, undeniable, insatiable. The idea of passing a sleepless night was much improved when Jonah thought of what he might be doing to someone else instead of crying alone. He had to resist the temptation to tack "please" onto the end of his speech, but he figured that would make him look too pathetic, so he only glanced at Tes with warm, heavy-lidded eyes and hoped his breathless gaze did the talking for him. It was so much easier to beg that way, and other men had a hard time resisting it. Tes, especially, must have saved a soft spot in his bed for him by now, following repeat encounters in which Jonah had delivered everything he'd initially promised and more. How could he resist? Jonah knew the vibes he was throwing off and that he was damn good at doing it. How could Tes turn him down? They knew each other well without clothing, but there was still so much to explore, not to mention places Jonah wanted to visit again.

"Have you ever lost anyone? How did you handle it?" It flew from his lips unthinking, unbidden. Jonah immediately winced and gritted his teeth behind closed lips, wanting to kick himself for his idiocy and impeccably bad timing. If that wasn't the biggest cockblock in the world...and, to make things worse, you just did it to yourself. Smooth move, Don Juan. Okay, so maybe grieving made him lose some of his touch, but it wasn't completely gone, and it would only come back in full if he kept it up (in more ways than one). The ball was in Tes' court now, so to speak.