Yeah, sure.

Was there anything in particular you had in mind?

[He sighs, and there's the sound of rustling as he takes off his hat and scruffs his hair.]

I'm not certain. I know he's creative and has a fair knack with a pencil. Anything that would help increase his skill and keep him occupied would be optimal.

However, my expertise was in thermodynamics. My appreciation of art, despite knowing the periods and having visited many artists, is generally limited to "I like this" and "This looks as though someone painted it on the canvas with their bare elbows." Not especially helpful in this situation.

I could always meet with him and see where his interests lie? I'm not completely qualified as an art teacher or anything, but I'm willing to give it a shot.

Even access to the materials will be helpful. I'm going to have to trust him to be responsible. But for now, he needs to act in a way to renew my trust.

Access to materials and supervision, I can definitely do.

[Jesse spends a good while raging, well past the point where it's about Mark Hoffman and his graduation. It's the Doctor, the Admiral, the Barge. Himself, obviously. Mr. White, maybe even more obviously. Not that he'd say any of this shit out loud, for the most part: he shouts, but most of it's at the Doctor, about being locked up. He hits the bars again. He doesn't have much to throw, but he does chuck his cigarettes against the wall.

And then, eventually, he wears himself out. Stomach churning as much with emotion as alcohol, he crawls onto the cot and lets sleep take over. Just before he passes out, he remembers something -- a warm voice murmuring in his ear -- and shifts miserably onto his side, pillowing his head on his arm.

He wakes when the Doctor speaks with a horrible groan, bringing up the other hand to clutch his head.]

Jesus...

[The words penetrate after a second and he wavers, thinking as best he can through the muzz. He knows, he already knows, that this is not an option again. But the pain...]

Aspirin. Tylenol. Something. Not...

[He swallows, his voice cracked.]

Edited 2012-04-16 04:11 am (UTC)

[He's not brave enough to carry poison against himself on his person, but he does fish a bottle of tylenol out of his fathomless pocket and reaches it through the bars. And since he just wanted him to wear the drunk off, he goes and opens the door itself to let him out.]

I'm already seeing a new job for you. That way in the future refraining from temptation will be a far simpler task.

[That's the start of the list of things he wants to discuss. But practical things for now. He wants those meds to start taking the edge off before he moves on to more important subject matter.]

[He gets up, weak-kneed, to get the bottle, leaning his head against the cool bars when he gets there. He pops two pills, dry-swallowing, and fights hard not to throw them back up again.

And when the Doctor talks about resisting temptation, he shakes his head wearily.]

It's not gonna happen again.

[He closes in his eyes and draws a deep breath, trying to compose just the right thought.]

And we'll work together to be sure of it.

But every time that you do that... [he sets his jaw.] ...you're saying that the thing that irritates you, Hoffman in this case, is more important than the people you need to be better for. Claire and your brother.

You very much can't let them be less important to you. [He at least has a bottle in case he does throw up. He'll get him a glass of water before he escorts him back to his room, just in case.]

[That hits hard, and it hurts just as much as the throb in his head. He looks up sharply.]

Hey -- it's not like that.

[But then he remembers the letter from Jake, the one that said pretty much exactly the same thing. His eyes fall, further protest dying on his lips.]

Isn't it?

[Though his tone suggests that he already knows the answer, and he swipes his hand down his face before heading out of Zero with him.]

I don't expect you to apologize to Hoffman [though that's more a "less contact for the moment, the better" sort of matter] but I would like you to speak with Arkady at some point.

[He'll know if he has to apologize to Claire or not. He's been making efforts not to meddle in the romantic lives of others, even if sometimes he feels as though he should.]

[On that point, at least, he's not going to put up a fight.] She's pretty mad, huh?

I believe so. At the very least she was brought to tears.

[Which he fortunately knows that she knew the risks. He won't get too defensive in her honour. But that she was that upset bore mentioning.]

[Jesse winces. He's not an asshole-- okay, he is an asshole, but not the kind who likes it when girls cry.] Shit. Okay -- I'll go up later.

Ask about... the job, I guess. [He's pretty sure he's fired, but maybe if he's nice enough.] You don't have to find me something else, man. I'm good, I swear. That... [He sighs, digging his thumbs into the inside corners of his eyes.] That's never happening again. Seriously.

You were barely there any time at all before you succumbed to the pressure. If you want to work there in the future, you'll have to have more time. [He pings the elevator.] In the meantime I'm asking for you a position in the art room.

It wasn't-- [He starts to grit out an objection, because the Doctor's got it wrong, but that brings him up short.] The art room?

Arkady has one of those soft and easily bruised hearts, but she also recovers quickly after having a good cry. She looks up, the sniffling already starting to ease after getting comfort from a few friends.

"I-it needed doing. I'll be all right. Just disappointed."

And a little tired and overwhelmed. But that bit was anyone after an emergency party shift.

He smoothed a hand over her bald head, giving her a sympathetic look.

"I'm disappointed as well. But you tried and you're helping now. I wish it weren't a social gathering based upon anger that someone improved as a person. People refusing that someone can change."

But she didn't need to hear his rant, and he stopped himself. Instead, he pulled her close and into his arms, encouraging her to lean into him.

"Mr. Hoffman already knows that he's walking proof that they're wrong about him. It was mean spirited but...mostly just juvenile. He deserves a better party, though, when he gets back."

She cuddles against him, tucking her head under his chin since she can do that in small-ball mode.

"I can be such a girl sometimes, I know. But at least leaking gets rid of things quickly for me."

With a bit of embarrassment, she pulled Jesse's communicator from between two piles of boxes.

"He's going to need this."

"Don't worry, I might be quite the girl one day, too." It was a joke, mostly. But he hugged her, shifting onto his hip and sitting more on the floor and clenching his eyes. Sometimes- sometimes he felt very old, and very young and inexperienced.

He missed his brother. He wished that he were there, right then.

He tucked the communicator into an overly deep pocket. He'd give it to him later. "I presume he will. And I'm certain you'll do something very nice for Mr. Hoffman, but lets allow his 'family' to arrange it for him." He doubted very sincerely that some of his friends could handle the graduation party being crashed.

"And if you are the girl, I shall do your fingernails and we shall watch silly movies together." She nuzzled him under the chin. Her telepathic sensitivity made goodwill a nourishing force for her.

"We'll find something, and not something disruptive."

"Only if you have it in amaranth or ictirine. Those are the only acceptable hues for fingers such as mine, I don't care about the incarnation." He could feel her goodwill, and did his best to return his own support without throwing up a wall accidentally.

"It all must have been a little much."

"Amaranth? I shall remember that. I wonder if there's quinoa-colored nail polish too." Her mind is settling down easily now that she has "company", especially his.

"It was." She wiggles her feet inside their bunny slippers. "But it got handled and that's the important bit."

He nuzzled the side of her head, somehow not realizing how close they'd gotten. Perhaps because he was strangely comfortable with it.

"Are you going to be alright for the rest of the evening?"

"I suppose I shouldn't be selfish just cause I like a cuddle." She smiled softly. "I will be all right. My usual pattern is to do one of those silly leaking-at-the-eyes thing for perhaps half an hour and then settle. Shorter if I have help. I just get rid of things soon as they come up, you know?"