Ye Shall Receive


abby_icon.gif joseph_icon.gif

Scene Title Ye Shall Receive
Synopsis Despite reservations, Abby is summoned down to the Grand Central Terminal. Divine intervention ensues.
Date February 17, 2010

Grand Central Terminal: Joseph's Room

It's past dinnertime, not that that means a hell of a lot down here, when eating is an irregular thing and what the sun does so far above them is its own business. Joseph has a room to himself, and unlike this morning or the night before, he's even staying in it. The room is fairly bare, with a wooden chair pushed off into the corner, a cot located opposite it, far side from the door, and a lamp casting electric light through the dank and lonely space. He probably should have taken Deckard's advice and gotten a TV and VCR moved in here. There's a Bible, resting upon a low table next to the head of his bed, and upon that, a crucifix on a chain lies coiled, gold plating gleaming.

The porn mag is no where to be seen, it should be noted, and the cheetos long since devoured or discarded. There's a lukewarm half-finished cup of tea in Joseph's hands, and he sits cross legged on his bed, clothes meant for both comfort and modesty — ones one can walk around inb as well as pass out as necessary. He's peering into the milky liquid like he could scry from it.

"Ask, and ye shall receive"

One phonecall, Ample chatter and distraction from Brenda and her chest, a taxi and Abigail had slipped away for a few hours when word somehow filtered through that Joseph was asking for the blonde. She of all people knew, that it wasn't a request that she could very well deny. A handful of books, a thermos filled with soup freshly made and all manner of other things that someone who's sick - or in this case detoxing - might enjoy having.

But she'd managed to make it to Joseph's door quietly, a promise to stick around for a few hours and help out around the terminal as long as she could. If that happened to mean sticking around the pastor, then that's what it would be. She offers up a kind smile to the man of the cloth, backpack with goodies over her shoulder. "So I heard, you met Bella and that her hospitality was faaaar better than Logan's."

"Mmhm. It was just the vacation I was lookin' for." Joseph looks like he could use a meal, one that stays down for any length of time, and time spent in the sun which he's hardly seen even after he got out. The kind smile is met with a wan version of his own, black eyes ticking on over towards where he can see a reasonably full backpack is slung over her shoulder, guilt making lines at his eyes as he rests his head back against the wall he has his back braced against. "Sorry to drag you down here, but I needed— "

He doesn't go into what he needs from her, taking a breath and continuing on with, "Someone. You didn't have to bring anything."

"I promise, next time, club Med, or a sandals resort, or we can go on a cruise. I'm pretty sure they have cruises where it's not hedonism all the time" Normally, she'd ask to come in, but being that it's the Grand Central and he did call for her, she eschew's asking permission and just heads on in proper. THe bag carefully levered to the ground so she can dig out the thermos and a spoon. "It's no tree lizard soup, but it's still pretty good. If you can handle just the broth, go ahead, it's pretty light. Should keep for a few hours. And don't be sorry. You'd have done the same if I'd asked for you Pastor Sumter. You know it, well as I do. Wild horses wouldn't keep you away. I'm the one that's sorry. I wish I could be down here the entire time but… There's a crazy Russian and I start a new job in two days"

The bag is pushed over so he can explore it's contents. no porno will be found in there. Bottles of gatorade though, peppermint for upset stomachs, a care package of comfort items. Slippers even. "If you need anything else, I can get it and have someone bring it. Can I sit on the bed or is the floor safer?"

Unappetising tea is set aside, Joseph dutifully puts out his hands for thermos and spoon, twisting off the cap. The scent of the broth is a welcome kind of savory aroma, better than anemic teas and sterility. The bedsheets have been changed a few hours ago, even, no longer carrying that unwashed fever scent that drove him out of the room only to collapse from cramps in a dank tunnel somewhere else for Kaylee to find. "Thank you," is a humble offer, before he shifts to the side, recapping the thermos for a little later and setting it down.

"You can sit." Once he's inspected the contents of the bag, wearily setting this aside too, Joseph winds his arms around his midsection, eyeing the opposite wall. "Times like these I'd try to talk to my pastor. But can't exactly go to Ashby and Tennessee's awful far away, so congratulations on bein' the closest thing."

Abby takes up a seat while Joseph speaks, listening and trying to make as little noise as possible while doing so. One foot remains on the floor, the other is quickly lost a shoe and a socked foot tucked under her leg crosswise. She's not about to put a dirty shoe on his bed.

"Well. I do got a pair of wings on my back. Though god didn't put them there, just a drunk choromokinetic. Last shrink you met decided to hook you on refrain again, so I could see avoiding those. That and, I came to you after Staten and after Tyler Case when I was in need to just talking. I can do the same for you Joseph" There's a pause as Abigail looks over, palms coming together and rubbing her hands slowly back and forth, mentally noting that she needed to buy some lotion on the way home.

The little gold cross, a slightly more stylish than the simple plain one he'd last seen her with, dangles around her neck, bumping against collarbone. "you have my ear Joseph, and my shoulder if you need it. If you like, we can pray as well" There's an offer of her palm to him, a very rare act in truth, for all that he's tried to do the same for her on occasion.

The hand is glance at, some gratitude seem to unwind the tension from his shoulders, a flicker of a smile. See, that's why he asked for her. Joseph does her the courtesy of wiping his palms against his knees before gently setting a hand down on her's, taking a breath. "I want it," he says, voice only just quiet enough to hear. "Like a fire that won't go out. Refrain. I used to drink, I— don't even remember if I told you. I found my salvation in the Lord — lot of Christians go that way, you know, though not all've 'em go on to be pastors, I guess. Anyhow. This is worse. Whiskey'll take you away but Refrain takes you back. Without the regret, none of what comes next. I remember my wife, my church—

"If we pray, I'll be prayin' for strength. To not just walk on out of here and take it away again, the fire. I can't pray to Him to do it or me."

"You never told me that you drank. I knew that something had happened that made you turn to the Lord. You never spoke much about your life. For good reason I suppose. I knew you were married but separated. That you still wore your ring" So addiction is something he's familiar with.

"It won't be easy. But you know that already. You've been here, down this road, down this path before. You're gonna be fighting every day, and it's gonna try and sink it's claws back in" Her fingers curl around his hand, other palm coming under to cup and sandwich his hand between hers.

"But you got friends, and you have the Lord, and there is prayer, and I'm sure we can find you a support group that won't done up and kidnap you. I'm sure those of us you know will be glad to make the time and go with you as well" The left side of her mouth cranks up high, a lopsided smile. "Your friends will do, what you need them to do, to lend you that strength if possibly Joseph. You know this yes?"

He almost laughs— certainly, there's a wry smile at the notion of a support group that won't kidnap you. "I know," Joseph says, giving her hand a light squeeze. "And 'm fortunate." His other hand comes to join the clasp — it's the one that would ordinarily carry his wedding band, but it's not, simply a pale strip of skin where the usually ever-present piece of jewelry would be. The next words out of his mouth be, let's pray, but driving pain in the form of cramps making daggers through his midsection, catching him off-guard and taking his breath away.

And as for Abby, the whole world disappears.

She has her head tipped up towards the sky, which is bleeding red with a sunset. Stars spangle in the indefinite rosy colours, and she can see she's no longer in New York City, certainly not the Grand Central Terminal. Louisiana land stretches on before her, familiar in its shapes and details, but oddly enough— it's begun to snow.

Flakes come down in swirling patterns, catching in her loose blonde hair, her eyelashes, and Abby watches herself put out a hand to catch some of it in her palm. When it lands, it smears grey — warm, not cold. It's ash. The sky is raining ash.

With a panicked whirl, Abby turns to face her childhood home, and then lifts her hands to protect herself from the heat of a roaring fire cracking the windows and eating through the roof, the walls, licking the already red sky with fanning tongues of bright orange flame, Halloween ghastliness painting illumination over the ash-strewn ground. She can't even scream before it seems to speed through the building at an unnatural pace, cracking black brick that crumbles down.

Something out of place paints itself in the scene. In the ash that cakes onto grass and pavement, the signs of a culprit can be seen. Wolf prints, impressed into the dust-fine mess, pad away from the burning wreckage, although the monster that's done this thing is long since gone.

"— okay? Abby? Gosh, I'm so sorry, I don't— " Joseph's voice is tense, edges in on the sound of crackling flames until the vision properly passes her by, hands still gripped in earnest. "It's this stupid power, I can't do one useful thing— "

It's been a long time since he did this. Asked or unasked. The last time it had been Delphine in midtown and the tree of knowledge, a warning or a hint, something.

Tanned fingers grip Joseph's hand tightly in response to him doubling over and meant as a show of the very support they were talking about. But soon enough in reaction to what's unfolding before her eyes. Eye's closing of their own accord automatically, but moving beneath lids as she looks up, looks down. The sudden intake of breath and shock at the sight of the white farmhouse consumed by flame. "Oh sweet Jesus" It comes out on one fast breath, the imprints of the wolfs paws in relief on the ground, in the ash. The visions tears a whimper from the blonde beside him and lashes dampen.

When it ends, a small gasp when the world rights itself and Joseph's voice comes back into play apologizing even as she swears she can smell and taste the flame and ash in the air. "no" She manages to croak out, prying eyes open to peer at the pastor and come to terms with what he showed her. "Don't.. don't apologize. You, your gift. It's, you don't have control over it right now. You'll get it back, the control. You didn't mean to and it's.. it's okay. It's not okay, but it's.. it's okay." Her tongue darts out, wetting her lips and holding tight to the others man and trying hard to cement a shakey smile on her face.

"It'll be okay Joseph. Strength right? I got.. I got a feeling we're both gonna need it"

Abby's smile isn't fooling him, Joseph's hands loosening into more of a gentle hold than a cling. "Strength to endure," he agrees, after a moment, taking her assurances at face value and letting go of some of the guilt for inflicting her with a vision. "Strength to change things, too. You know I'm not gonna ask what you saw, but let's pretend I'm any kind of pastor right now and let me promise you that you can do that. Though— I know my visions don't go so well if… if you weren't expecting…"

Communication trundles off the rails, Joseph closing his eyes and letting out a sigh, almost fussily removing his hands from her grip, frustration creating a furrow in his brow. "That's why I'm sorry. I ain't ready to do this yet."

"Those are such shitty words Joseph Sumter" No venom behind it, no disappointment but she means it even as she pulls at her sleeve so she can wipe at her eyes. "Pretend your some kind of Pastor. You are a Pastor, even if you have no pulpit to physically preach from and you're relegated to sitting in a room, in an abandoned subway station and talking to the next best thing"

Abigail looks over at him, expectant gaze in it's wake. "You want to pray for strength and two seconds after your ability done goes and shows me a terrible thing and who did it, you start saying you can't do it." She squares her shoulders and offers her hand out again. "The Lord showed that, through you for a reason and as much as I dearly want to run up to the surface and call home right this moment, I'm not going to. We're going to sit here, and pray for that strength that you need, and for faith, and hope, and acceptance of what's been done to us, of what might be done to us in the future and know that some day, you will feel ready again."

"You're going to call home."

The mattress squeaks its protest as he gets to his feet, and Joseph does the very rare thing of ignoring a reaching hand in favour of shambling off away from it, arms folding around his middle. "I believe the Lord showed you what He desired you to see, but I ain't got the know-how or the— the faith in myself to guide you with whatever it is. But I'm not gonna make you stay kneebound with me when you should be actin' on that. I don't have words anymore. Not ones I can believe in. They took that."

She's far younger than him, and part of her wants to be belligerent and stubborn, to put her foot down. Say she's not calling home. But… The war plays plainly across her face and her hands when he stands and shambles off. Stay there, get up and go to him, get up and do as he says, call home. She won't get a signal down here, not at all. She doesn't know if she might with Wireless now back and active whether she would. This would be the one instance in which she's disturb the technopath.

She wets her lips, parting them as if she actually might protest, clasping her hands together before she nods her head. "You're right. He doesn't show it, without reason and while you may not have actively done it, on request, it was important, and he chose to have you show it then"

Tell him? Not? "It's.. I'll explain later. After I make the call. But my home was burning. Louisiana. I need to call Agent Parkman, call home, see.. if it's happened" She digs her purse up from behind the backpack, sinking one hand into the back pocket of her jeans. "Promise you'll try some soup, a few sips at least, and uhh.. pray. For my parents, and strength."

"I will. Go on, now," Joseph says, tilting his head towards the door. As easily as he might summon her down here, so readily does he release her back into the wild, meeting blue eyes until his own blacker ones fix on the ground between them, his hands burying into the pockets of his sweater and shoulders curled inwards against chills imagined or otherwise.

She doesn't move away, not quite yet, lips pursed before she takes a half step towards the hurt man. "The world starts spinning again Joseph. It won't always be like this. I promise. One day it's just… it'll start spinning again and a little thread of normal is gonna come your way. Don't pass it up. Don't let life pass you by and dwell on the past. It's gone. It won't do you any good. Just.. take each day as it comes right now. Tomorrow will come, when it comes" She digs her phone out of her purse, flipping through the phonebook even though she knows her parents number by heart. "I'll be back. Either way, I'll be back. Try and.. drink something Joseph. Pray… pray for my family"

"I don't not believe you," is the best Joseph can offer, even letting a crooked smile come up. "Tomorrow's closer by than any yesterday and it can't be much worse. Go, take care of your family. I'll keep 'em in my prayers. And try the soup." And other words of reassurance, although there's a sliver of good humour in his voice, fidgeting with the collar of his sweater.

Abigail nods, satisfied with his answer it seems, regardless of whether they're sincere or not. Phone number que'd up, a second nod, she's head out the door, and once out of the hallway, she's running, leaving many a ferry in her wake wondering why she's moving like the devils at her heels.

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