(no subject)

[drpsychosomatic]

Who| John Watson and open
What| Venturing out after waking up in the Capitol
Where| Tribute Tower, possibly other locations later
When| Before date auction


It hadn't been a particularly glorious or sensational death, and John was almost glad of it. He woke in the Capitol as if from a particularly vivid nightmare, but his leg would no longer reliably support his weight no matter how hard he sat in his room and hated himself for being unable to just think through the psychosomatic injury. He'd had to accept the arm of an avox to get himself safely there, and he hadn't left since.

He'd have to get a cane, again. Sherlock would hate it.

Speaking of Sherlock- he hadn't avoided him exactly, but he hadn't sought him out either. Hours seemed to slip past like breathing until the idiotic futility of it all was too much and he knew that he'd never, ever get out of his room unless he forced himself to, right now. Right this instant.

Asking for a stick was one of the hardest, most humiliating things he'd ever had to do in his life. Once he had it, he heaved himself upright, took a deep, steadying breath, set his jaw- and stepped out.

Comments

[wantsajetpack]

Pepper had slipped outside needing fresh air. She was actually distracted by something she was flipping through and almost crashed into Dr. Watson.

"Sorry," She made sure she hadn't bumped him too hard at least... Pausing she remembered him from in the arena. "Danny's associate right?" Hey give her credit she was still trying to get past the Death by turtle thing.

[drpsychosomatic]

He offered her a smile, tight but not unfriendly.
"John Watson. I think- we met, didn't we?"

[wantsajetpack]

"Pepper Potts, we met kind of in the arena, I was with Danny. Though it wasn't that long." She closed the book she was reading and held out her hand. "Pleased to formally meet you though Mr. Watson."

[drpsychosomatic]

He shook her hand firmly. "That's right. I am sorry, about the Arena- there was nothing left when we came back, we didn't even know what had happened..."

[wantsajetpack]

"It's okay, I figure can't really blame you guys. Not like we wanted to be in there in the first place right?" Okay maybe Harley... Pepper still wasn't sure what to think about her, but she wasn't going to hold grudges outside the arena.

[drpsychosomatic]

"Have you seen Danny since?" he asked, wetting his lips- he didn't particularly want to discuss blame, the lack of it, or anyone's desire to be in the Arena. "People don't always-- I assumed he'd come back here."

[alldeduction]

Sherlock was at the entrance to the District 7 suites, absolutely furious and arguing with the Avox that was blocking his way, stoic and silent.

"I don't care if he's asleep," Sherlock snapped, "I will wake him now let me--" But he cut off abruptly as he saw John, and suddenly stood up straight.

"There. See. Not even asleep. Now if you don't mind--"

[drpsychosomatic]

John didn't quite know where to look or what to say. Shame overwhelmed him in a sudden, bitter wave.
"Sorry," he said, his weight shifting, awkwardly. "I was coming to see you..."

[alldeduction]

He had not expected the awkwardness, or the sudden tension between them. He had forgotten, perhaps, in the weeks between, of how exactly they had left off. Had replaced their last parting with the usual steady current of their friendship. (Though he hadn't forgotten the death. Couldn't.)

The awkwardness hit him like a hammer and he sniffed, straightening.

"Yes. Well. I'm here. Would you prefer to be here, or--"

[drpsychosomatic]

He smiled- a tight, thin thing that only really qualified as a smile because there wasn't another word for it. His fingers curled around the handle of his cane.
"I need to get out of here," he said, because if he couldn't be honest with Sherlock, who was there left? "Get me out of here, Sherlock."

[alldeduction]

He moved out of the way, hitting the button for the elevator and watching the door slide instantly open - (How gratifying) - before gesturing John through. Only once the man was in the elevator, the door closed behind him, did he speak again.

"You have a cane." He said, with the same tone of voice one would point out the weather.

[drpsychosomatic]

John glanced up at the ceiling, wet his lips, and returned to staring straight ahead at the closed elevator doors.
"I don't want to talk about it," he said. "Alright? I don't. So-- so don't."

[formersurgeon]

Joan couldn't watch it.

It was on all the screens, of course. The last flurry of deaths before the victor was crowned. She knew how it happened, or how it started, anyway. Saw the bear trap snap onto his leg. And couldn't watch past that.

She felt almost guilty, like she should have watched. He had watched her die, after all, maybe it was the proper thing to do, to witness his death, even if she wasn't actually there. But she couldn't.

She also found that it took her more time than she would have liked to go see him afterward. She wanted to see if he was okay. To let him know, let him see, that she was okay. She hesitated, though. Surely he'd want to see Sherlock first. Surely he'd want to rest. Surely...

Finally, all her "surelies" exhausted, she made her way to John's District suite. She told the attendant that she was there to see him, and had a seat in the common area to wait.

[drpsychosomatic]

John hadn't quite been sure how he'd approach his alternate universe counterpart if and when they both found themselves in the Capitol, and so was slightly relieved to see her in the common area waiting for him when he limped in. He offered her a smile.

"Made it back, then," he observed, companionably, crossing the room and settling in the chair opposite, leaning his cane against it almost automatically. "It's good to see you."

It was, surprisingly. He wasn't quite sure what that said about him.

[formersurgeon]

She had been nervous about how he would react to seeing her again, but the smile was good, and she offered one in return.

"I did," she answered. "It's good to see you, too."

She glanced at the cane, her smile fading ever so slightly. Huh. She had been under the impression that when people were brought back to life, all of their wounds were healed. But John didn't have a limp in the arena.

"Did you hurt yourself?"

[drpsychosomatic]

He stiffened- just a little. Enough that an observant person would notice his discomfort at attention being brought to it.
"It's from before I was brought here," he said by way of explanation, as lightly as he could manage. "Shot, in Afghanistan. Plays up sometimes. I'll be fine."

[formersurgeon]

"Oh."

She noticed his reaction, of course, and suspected that the problem with his leg was likely more significant than he was letting on. Right then was clearly not the time to talk about it, though. And as much as she wanted to ask him how he was doing, she also suspected they might need to talk about something else first, lest they just deepen the discomfort.

"I went to go see the other Sherlock...the one who lives here? And he's exactly like my Sherlock. Right down to his mannerisms. It's beyond weird."

[splendid_roman]

Ian hadn't expected to see John needing a walking stick. He couldn't remember seeing him with one before, but it was equally possible that Ian just hadn't noticed.

Ian smiled as he approached John in the corridor. "How are you?"

[drpsychosomatic]

He smiled, pleased to see Ian up and about and as safe as any of them were in the Capitol.
"In need of a beer or ten," he joked amicably, his eyes tired but full of companionable warmth. "Though maybe not today. I think if I started I wouldn't stop until someone had to carry me home. You?"

[splendid_roman]

Ian chuckled. "I could say the same." There was always something to be said for beer. "I am on my way to get something eat, if you'd like to join me. I'm fattening myself up for the next arena," he added.

[tis_allgood]

Cuthbert Allgood is an ass in many ways, but he would never mock a man's injuries. Unless he earned them. Which made his opening line a lot harder to think of this time. Sure, he could boast that he had shaved Sherlock's head and slit his throat, but that was quite literally insult to injury right now. But it was better to clear the air with this man than let it fester and turn into a fight later.

"John, was it not?"

Bert does his best to look like the shamed teenager he should be. Maybe if he showed the proper amount of contrition he wouldn't be in so much trouble.

[drpsychosomatic]

John stopped, turning and looking Cuthbert straight in the eyes. He smiled, cooly, remarkably steady on his feet as he sized the teenager up.

"That's right. John Watson. What can I do for you?"

[tis_allgood]

He hesitated a moment, not expecting a relatively normal greeting.

"I did not expect to see a man hurt after his return. I know the healers here were able to give me back my arm. But if you're been returned in this state does that mean your friend..."

He hadn't considered that Sherlock would be back in the Capitol with the hair cut he an Karkat had given him and the mental image made Cuthbert smile despite himself.

[drpsychosomatic]

His expression tightened.
"It's an old injury. From before. So no, Sherlock's quite fine, thank you, though I don't think he's half as precious about his hair as you seem to think he is."

[tis_allgood]

That was a relief, in a sense.

"It was not about his hair, it was about marking him, humiliating him and letting everyone here see it. But I did not come here to rub salt in that wound, rather to close it. My debt with him has been repaid, I no longer have a reason to seek his hurt or destruction."

He bowed his head to try and stay serious.

"I would not expect his friendship, or yours. But I thought it best to tell you I have no further ill intent toward him."