2013.07.23 - Soul Touched

Elijah sits in a slightly secluded section of the beach. This place isn't far from Mutant Town, his usual haunt, but here he's a bit more away from all the people, all the prayers, all the constant presences. They're still in his range, of course, their energies spilling into him, but they're fainter, more distant, and he can mostly just have his own thoughts in his head without too much interference. He's removed his hooded sweatshirt, leaving him only in his sleeveless Bug Bunny tee, a donation bin cheapie that he's already beginning to wear to threads. His boots are pulled off, his toes feeling the sand as he closes his eyes. The scars on his hands are visible without his gloves, thick, puckered scars on each wrist, along with the soft scar tissue along his throat. The throat tissue are, for those with such experience, obviously burns. The ones on his wrist are...less obvious.

With the day off from Anita Bella and time to fill, Fern has undertaken one of her favorite activities today... riding the Staten Island Ferry! Most New Yorkers only see it as a mode of transportation, a necessity, but to Fern it's a magnificent, FREE boat ride. Usually she'll just ride it back and forth a couple times, then wander off, but today she's decided to explore Staten Island a bit more than she's done yet. She's even found her way to an honest to goodness beach! A mental note has already been made to bring her bathing suit next time, but she's still contemplating going wading even though she's just wearing shorts and a tank top. Her feet sport comfortable sandals, and she's got a messenger bag draped across herself by it's strap, letting it bounce at her hip as she walks. As she pads along, looking for a likely spot away from crowds to get her feet wet, a lone figure catches her eye. She leans her head forward, squinting against the lowering sun, then smiles. She immediately veers off into the sand, waiting until she's close enough to not be shouting to raise her voice enough to carry to him. "Elijah!"

Elijah turns his head, in surprise, almost leaping to his feet. He must have really been lost in thought to have not even noticed Fern's approach. While his power does not penetrate into her mind like a true telepath, he can feel her presence now that she's close to him, the warmth and friendliness radiating off of her a soothing counterpoint to the sullen wariness that characterizes most New Yorkers. He feels a bit exposed, without the armor of his hoodie and jacket, but realizes that it would probably be impolite to yank them back on, especially given the very warm weather, so he just raises an arm rather lamely, mouthing a silent 'Hello, Fern".

Fern does radiates delight at running into a friend, stepping a bit awkwardly through the shifting sand but making forward progress. "Hi there! I was just walking up there on the path and saw you down here. I hope I'm not interrupting?" she asks, brows lifting questioningly. Some people do go out to have some alone time, and Fern tries to be mindful of not just assuming her company is always welcome. Her eyes stay on his face, not straying to take in the visible scars, almost as if she doesn't notice them. "I just couldn't go by without saying hello."

Elijah shakes his head, "No. Please, stay." he says or, at least, mouths, gesturing towards the spot on the sand next to him. He resumes his place slowly, looking back out at the sea as the sun is beginning to set on the beach. The families and children that make up most of the beach's visitors are already starting to filter away. There are a couple of tattered paperbacks next to his jacket, old detective stories by Raymond Chandler, and he reaches into his coat, trying to find his notebook...wait, where is his notebook?!?

The smile that had tempered just a bit brightens again, and Fern wastes no time in pulling the strap of her bag over her head, dropping it onto the sand as she plops down herself. And immediately gets sand up her shorts. "Great! I didn't want to butt in if you were trying to be alone." She leans, absently brushing at her rear, uselessly because she just settles it back in sand again. "I was riding the Ferry today, and thought I'd have some exploring time." She looks around, musing, "I never really thought about there being beaches in New York City."

Elijah nods in agreement, gesturing at the sand around him, but continuing to look for his notebook. With a sigh, he realizes it must have fallen out of his pocket, probably somewhere back in Mutant Town. He looks at Fern and gestures for a notepad, gesturing towards her purse. Maybe she has something he could use? Still, he does notice how pretty the...beach is. Yes, the beach. Pretty beach.

As her eyes wander back to her companion, Fern's head tilts curiously, until she realizes the predicament after a second. She's already reaching for her bag as Elijah motions, "Lost your notebook? Or I hope you just forgot it at home. I hate to lose things." She pulls the bag nearer and opens it, rummaging around. There's no attempt made to hide the contents, and it's all pretty normal stuff... a paperback book, her phone, a packet of gum, a hammer. Mostly normal stuff. She doesn't have a notebook (another mental note, it'd be good to have a notebook in there) but she pulls out a bundle of papers that are stapled together. A script for a commercial that she auditioned for but doesn't hold a lot of hope at getting. She has a pen as well, so she turns the script over to the blank side, and offers both out to Elijah. "Saved by Ace Laundry Detergent," she grins.

Elijah takes the pen as he watches all the stuff coming out of her bag, a bit amused but nonetheless patient as he waits to see. The papers are a bit crumpled, but he's not entirely unused to crumpled. He takes the pen and smiles, writing, "Thank you. I am glad to see you. Yes, the beach is a very nice place to go. It makes you forget about the city a bit," he writes. He realizes quickly that he will have to write small, the short nature of the commercial meaning it's only a few pages...

Fern shuffles everything back into the bag as Elijah writes, and when he's done she's got it set aside again. Her eyes are on the paper as she leans to read, brushing arms with Elijah. They're both warmed from the sun, and Fern might even be starting to show the blush of a beginning burn. She should probably always carry some sunblock, too. "I'm glad to see you too," she says, glancing over at him. "I was wondering how you'd been, but don't really have a way to contact you to check up." There's no assumption he's got a phone, because he wouldn't really need it, and it's a bit of an expensive means of tapping out communications. Her eyes wander toward the water and she nods, "Even though there's always people, you can still imagine you're a million miles away as long as you don't turn your head and see all the buildings."

Elijah shakes his head ruefully, writing, "No phone. I could maybe get a free one, but I never had anyone to call before. And I hear most of the people who need my help already," He says, tapping his head gently with a finger. "I have been well. I stopped a drug dealer in Mutant Town last week. There is turmoil among my people, about Genosha and humans. I just try to help people and stay out of it." he writes. He watches her look towards the water and smiles, "I go swimming sometimes. I know they say not to, but I do anyway. But I would heal, if something was bad." he writes. He doesn't move away from the contact, enjoying the touch of another person. He has so rarely been able to touch another person, and having the pretty girl so close to him feels...nice.

Fern's attention is back on Elijah's hand as he writes, and she nods. "I've read a little in the paper, Mr. Adams always leaves his newspaper behind for me when he comes in for lunch." There's quiet concern in her voice, she knows a number of people things like that affect. But she brightens again, shifting her shoulder to bump his lightly. "Look at you, being all hero-y," she teases playfully. There's a pause before she ventures, "So, that's some of what you can do? Hear people in your head, and heal if you get hurt?" If she wonders why he has scars then, it's not asked.

Elijah brightens at being complimented for his heroism. While he does good for the sake of good, while he thinks it's his (literally) divine mission to protect and defend others, it can be a lonely and thankless job. Gratitude is rare and he warms even more for this woman who gives him the appreciation he rarely receives, especially when he...well, he did save her the one time, but that was a while ago and he didn't do much. In response to her questions, he bites his bottom lip and nods, writing, "Some of it. I draw strength and healing from other people. The more people around me, the stronger I am, the faster I heal. Sometimes, if there aren't many people around or if," he hesitates, and then writes, "the hurt is too great. And I can sense people around me. And share thoughts with touch." he adds.

A light frown creases Fern's forehead as she reads. She never likes to think about the reality that a lot of her friends do things that regularly put themselves in danger. While she understands, or tries to, their need to do the things they do, it doesn't make her worry any less for their safety. "Can you hear thoughts all the time, or only when you touch someone?" she asks, curious about that. So curious, in fact, that for a few moments she has an internal monologue consisting of ''Can he hear me now? Maybe I should watch what I think. I wouldn't want him to think I'm terrible because I don't think that man over there really needs to be eating that ice cream cone...''

Elijah shakes his head softly, even giving a silent laugh as he sees the crinkle in her brow, rather intuiting her worry, even if he can't hear the actual content. He writes, "Only if we're touching and only if the other person allows me. It is not just like talking and listening, though. It is a sharing of self. It takes a lot of trust." he writes. "People are very private and I understand that. Which is why I usually keep a notepad on hand," he says, making a wry face.

Red brows lift as she read, and Fern asks, "So... that person hears you too? What you're thinking?" It's considered a moment, because that could make communication so much easier. She reaches over, pointing to the words 'It is a sharing or self.' that he's written down. "I'm not sure I understand that." She doesn't think of herself as a very private person, although every girl has some secrets she likes to keep.

Elijah ponders. It's very hard to explain how his particular ability works, finally writing, "It is an opening of inner doors. Not everything comes out, but everything can be accessed. I would let down all my defenses and you, in return, let down yours. Also: you cannot think one thing and say another. You cannot lie or pretend. You would simply be yourself and I myself." He realizes he's writing now as if she said she's thinking about sharing, which, of course, she didn't. She only asked about his powers. He blushes slightly, adding in a quick scribble, "I do not mean to presume you would want it."

There's a smile for that last bit added, and Fern shrugs her shoulders, her arm moving against his lightly. "Well, I can't really think of anything not to trust about a guy who's already been there when I needed to be gotten out of the way for my own good." She nudges her bag aside so she can turn where she sits, facing Elijah and crossing her legs Indian style. "What do we need to do?" Now she's making the presumption that he's offered, but that's part of her nature. As is jumping in with both feet and hoping she lands without breaking anything.

Elijah hasn't soul touched anyone...in a long time. It's a particularly intimate feeling, but one he used to share only with other followers of the Brotherhood, as a spiritual exercise, as a confessional tool. To use it just to talk to a pretty girl almost seems wrong and yet...what else is the power for? He's learned that the way of the Brotherhood wasn't the way. The world is much farther and wider and stranger than he ever imagined, and yes, there are dangers and evils, but it is not the End Times. He is not the savior. He's just a man, a man with power, yes, but a mortal man nonetheless. And it's okay for him to hold hands with a woman, to let her into his mind. He will not be sullied. He reaches out and takes her hands and she can feel the presence of his mind rushing in around her, a soft voice in her ear, Elijah's voice, the one he lost on the night he burned, "You just have to let me in," he murmurs, the internal voice like a whisper in her ear.

Her hands are smaller than his, soft despite the work she does in the restaurant, as sun-warmed as her shoulder was. Not knowing at all what to expect, Fern keeps her eyes on Elijah's, trusting that it won't hurt because he would have said, and the whisper of his voice makes her blink and look to her left. When she looks back a second later, it's with a smile, "I heard that." Speaking that conventionally, she thinks the next, "I don't know how." She's an open girl, with little, if anything, to hide, so there's no attempt to pull away or hamper the connection at all.

Elijah closes his eyes and pushes softly and, it's true, she doesn't know how, but all she had to do was want to allow it, and she does. The world around them dims, the beach and the city and the horizon receding as they dive into one another's very essences. Eli, more experienced if a little out of practice, helps to keep her stable, the psychic equivalent of holding her hand, keeping her steady. He could run through her mind easily, through her memories, her feelings, her dreams, all of them open to him, pushing and nuzzling at his inner senses, but he helps to keep them at bay, just as he keeps his own darker things at bay. Not out of fear or privacy: Elijah, while he does not want to force others to see his suffering, is not truly ashamed of it. He just knows that people sometimes misunderstand or even overreact to it. He doesn't want to put them in the position of having to know about his suffering, because it changes the way they see him. "Just hold steady," his voice says, finally getting the two of them psychically linked properly, their thoughts able to flow back and forth with ease. When she regains a sense of the outside, his other hand is one her cheek, part of holding her steady (and a reflex from his days in the Brotherhood), "You're all right," he says, knowing that the feeling can be disquieting and overwhelming. "I'm here."

For a moment it's almost a dizziness, but yet that's not quite exactly it. Nor could it be called an invasion, since that denotes force and that is certainly not involved in this. Still, she can feel that push, even if she can't really rationalize it, and the blurring and fading of their surroundings has her eyes closing against it, until that initial oddness warms into a familiarity. She takes a soft, audible breath, squeezing the hand still held in her own lightly, and when she opens her eyes she blinks several times, as if waking, before her warm blue eyes return to his more icy gaze. With this contact, she doesn't really know how to hold things back, so there are flashes of her life easily there for him. Mental images of her family (she looks strikingly like her mother), the view from her first time ever on stage at the age of seven when she played a carrot in the school play for Nutrition Week, to something as recent as the latest 'thanks but no thanks' call about an audition last week. She nods at the reassurance, her smile gaining confidence again, and her next thought just slips from her. "Your hand is warm."

Elijah laughs softly, and this time she can hear it, albeit in her head, but it's in his face, too, his mind working to synch them up until it becomes normal, naturalizing the experience. It's a little surreal, this connection, and she can feel things from him, too. Glimpses of a rural setting, with wide green fields and the smell of soil. Church, with wide aisles and smiling children, with choruses and men in white clothes laying hands on heads. And she can sense the darkness, even if he pushes it behind him, a slight smell of burning, the taste of blood in her mouth for a moment, a distant cry before pushes it away, not so much hiding it as redirecting her attention back to him. "As is your soul, Fern Fiddlehead. It has been so long since I've been able to...speak in this way. To commune. Thank you for your trust."

Her curiosity might not be as easy to redirect as some, especially when it comes to the well being of those she considers friends. The images that they share almost seem to slide somehow, one to another, and the first reminds her of her home, the next of Sunday school and waiting for her parents to be done with the service. But even though he tries to shield the dark part, she senses enough, her nose wrinkling with the phantom smell, not the familiar woodsmoke of backyard fires, the coppery tang suddenly on her tongue like a penny, and she frowns even as he tries to put that away from her. "What..." She stops the question that was going to come, at least gaining a measure of control, but her eyes drop to the scar at Elijah's throat. Her manners are ingrained despite her questioning nature, and the thought that comes back as her eyes lift has changed, although her face still holds that light frown. "Of course I trust you." Even in thought, there's a light chiding.

Elijah considers softly, "Trust is not an easy thing. I do not know that I have earned that trust, but I thank you for it nonetheless. And you are right to question. I have been trying to protect you from some of the truths of my life. And I can share them with you but, I do not want to cause you hurt or harm. Because of our connection in this way, some of the experience will be quite intense, almost overwhelming. You could feel as if it is happening. I will try to hold you steady, but, if you want to know...I can let you." he says. He draws her close, both physically and spiritually, knowing he will have to use his own strength and his own peace with these experiences to shield her. But she should know. If she wants to be his friend, she has to.

While many would call her entirely too trusting, sometimes Fern does put her faith in the right places. "You're welcome, Elijah," comes the soft, unspoken reply. "If you want to share, I want to know. While I don't know how to stop you from seeing anything, I don't think I'd try anyway. Our past all makes us who we are today." She moves as she's pulled nearer, not giving a thought to the sand, not holding the reservations about physical closeness that most New Yorkers seem to. Her family would be called 'touchy feely' by those who aren't comfortable with the casual, easy contact they share. Her eyes hold his, and she waits for what comes next.

Elijah embraces Fern, both physically and psychically, drawing her close and laying her head on his shoulder. It's instinctive more than technical. Elijah's never had anyone teach him how to use his powers, he's always had to figure it out on his own, so the gesture, while not strictly necessary, derives from his intent, his desire to protect and comfort. That desire, connected as they are, is deeply palpable, his feelings for Fern: protectiveness, affection, curiosity, attraction, hope, but also the fear, the fear of someone new, the fear of caring about someone, knowing that those he has cared for have not fared well...and have not always deserved that care.

But he does share, and she can see, as if through his eyes, those moments. The childhood in the Brotherhood, almost idyllic, Elijah's unquestioning obedience and good nature making him the perfect child in an environment like the cult. The discovery of his powers, first by himself and then revealed to the leaders...his subsequent exploitation, first as a miracle worker, then as a would be savior. The crucifixions began when he was fifteen, long nights in the barn where he would be nailed and speared, the wounds echoing among the sparse population through his power, taken as divine favor, holy marks of God's presence. She can only taste his pain for a moment, but she knows that it is intense, overwhelming, that he remembers it always, every night. That's why his hands are scarred, because there were so few of them...and because it happened, so many times, over and over, until his parents came, not to rescue him, but to destroy him. They thought him a false prophet and a blasphemy and they burned the cult and themselves and their son with it. He survived, but only barely, his voice lost, his faith damaged and his life...

His life. For the first time, his alone. No one else's. He still believes in God. He prays every night, and he feels, ever more keenly, the purpose and the presence of that Spirit in his life. But he no longer believes in cults or churches, in mediators and men. He draws his strength from people and so it is to them that he returns it. His is not to be a life as a leader or a savior, but as a servant. A protector.

He's crying, soft tears having run down his face, and he wipes them from Fern's as well, the shared experience letting those emotions roll over them both as one, holding her close to his strong chest as he finishes, "That is who I am," he says softly. "Who I have been and who I have become and who I want to be. Now, Fern Fiddlehead, you know me."

Fern is relaxed as she rests against Elijah, closing her eyes, not needing them to see the images that roll from Elijah into her head. Still, even closed, her eyes move as if watching, as they do when she dreams. The gentle images of his early childhood are warming, but then the light fades into darker images. She winces as she sees, through the eyes of his teenaged self, the first time the nails are pounded into his hands, and that momentary taste of his pain brings a soft, verbal moan in sympathy. How he came out of that even as whole as he is seems nothing short of miraculous, and a testimony to his inner strength that it didn't break him into little pieces. Surely he can feel that from her, and the respect that comes with it. She sniffles as he draws the images back and wipes his thumb across her cheek, and it takes a moment for her to straighten but not pull away, eyes opening again to look up at him. "I'm so sorry you had to experience that, Elijah," she says without sound that anyone else can hear. There's pain and sorrow, but no pity in her thoughts and her hand lifts to likewise tenderly brush his tears from his cheek.

Elijah cannot hide the reaction that touch brings in him, that mingling of confusion and affection and...well, he is a boy, he can't help it, that brief images of their lips touching just...part and parcel of the experience. They are, for a moment, one, in ways more intimate than a fleshly joining could be, so even that brief, errant impulse cannot be hidden. Elijah, having grown comfortable with this version of himself, with being unable to hide from who he is and what he feels, just smiles, "I have endured what I have had to endure. What, I believe, I was meant to endure. No more and no less. Others have suffered much worse than I. My job is to try to spare it from others whenever I can. My gifts enable me to do that.' He pauses for a moment, thinking about something, and so, of course, it comes out, "You are gifted, too, Fern. Your understanding is a gift. You listen, even to a man who cannot speak. That is rare, that patience and virtue. Most judge me on appearance: homeless, dirty, silent. Or for what I am: mutant, freak, outcast. You have always just seen me as myself. That is a power, and a rare one at that."

The only sign that Fern caught that momentary image of a kiss is a sudden quirk of her head, but she doesn't linger there. She shakes her head in denial at his own stoic acceptance of what was done to him, "None of us are meant to endure such pain. That comes solely from men who are misguided." It's clear in her head that she's never been able to accept the teachings that God is vengeful and sometimes even petty, forcing misery on people to make them prove their belief. She cannot believe that anyone is made specifically to suffer by Divine Will. "You didn't endure it because you were meant to, you endured it because you are strong. Your gifts have nothing to do with that other than being the means for madmen to justify their perversion. And you do what you do now because you are strong enough to overcome that." It's not like her to talk back, but she feels as if Elijah is taking too much of the blame on himself somehow. But she speaks her mind, quite literally, and then lets it go, not battering him with her take on it. His next thoughts cause her to demure, her eyes dropping as she blushes lightly. Typically, her thought is, "I'm just a small girl from a small town doing the best I can."

Elijah tightens his arms around her, shaking his head, "That is not such a small thing, Fern. The city makes people forget that people are just that, individuals like themselves. I feel it when I connect with them...which, by the way, is another effect of this power, I'm separated from the others for now. There is only you and only me. But, yes, you're from a small town, so you see every person as a person, not just an impediment in your path or something from which to make money. You care, and that is not a small thing. And you are a small girl and a very pretty one, and I like you small and pretty," he thinks. "As for the rest...whether the suffering was meant or just a reflection of the nature of those men, I cannot know. I have done my best to make something of it, as you have seen. I think that I am succeeding. You are right, though, perhaps I blame myself sometimes. I have always felt responsible, I think it is natural to feel that way. Guilt and pain can be hard to let go."

She won't be convinced that there's anything special about the way she sees people because it's just how she is, and she's never seen the world any differently than that. There's still gratitude for the kindness and praise, but no thought that she deserves it. Her eyes don't raise again until his thoughts turn back to his suffering, and then they come up to meet his gaze. "It's natural for us to blame ourselves. And it's hard to let go, yes, but you have to, Elijah. That pain is in your past, and it wasn't your fault or your destiny." She pauses and the thought that arises is conveyed even as it's formed. "If it were meant that some people must suffer, then what you and others like you do wouldn't make a difference. But you do make a difference. Because that's just not how things ought to be." There's an earnestness to her eyes that matches the tone of her thoughts.

Elijah has a certain joy that bubbles up in him in response to Fern's good natured, hopeful and earnest response. That true goodness, that inner core of "Fern-ness", for lack of a better word, is something that he's always sensed in her, even if it's inarticulable, but his appreciation of it is no more lessened by the inability to put it into words. "I'm afraid I'm going to remain quite firm in my belief of you being special, Fern. I don't think you're capable of dissuading me from it. Your very discomfort with it only confirms it. It's one of those catch-22 situations," he smiles. "But you're right. I need to spend less time dwelling on pain and the past and more looking towards the future, whatever that future may be." he smiles. "Thank you for reminding me of that."

The change in his feelings, from the low of the memories to the high of his thoughts of her, spill over like everything else has since they opened this connection, and, while it's not as bright as usual, Fern's smile returns. "Well, who am I to try and make you think any less of me?" But there's still that whisper of "I'm nothing special." underneath it. She goes on, not giving that thought time to develop. "You'll learn that I'm always right." The smirk comes through in thought just as clearly as it ever does in her voice, and it's mirrored in the wrinkle of her nose. His thanks get a nod. "It's what friends do. I won't just let you punish yourself. That's over."

Elijah frowns softly at that bit of self-doubt, that creeping underbelly of low self-esteem under the surface. He can't hide his feelings about that, but, instead of chiding her for it, just tries to open up to her all the good ways he feels about her: the way she's been so good to him, patient with his troubles, encouraging him to see himself in a better light and, of course, tonight, in banishing his pain. It's a brief acquaintance, but Eli isn't exactly a social butterfly, and Fern's practically the only person he's seen more than once, outside of the neighborhood. "I will do my best,' he says solemnly, their bodies cradled together a bit. Lost in one another's minds, the sun has gone down, the crowds at the beach leaving, the two of them isolated and alone off to the side of the beach. "I think you missed your boat."

The warmth of Elijah's thoughts are soothing, and Fern is relaxed in their lingering embrace, even if 'the worst' is over and it might not be entirely necessary any more. His observation of the time has her sitting upright immediately as she looks around, finally taking in the fallen dark and lack of others around. "I can't miss the boat," comes her thought, "I can't sleep on the beach." There's a flash of her tiny apartment in Harlem, and while it's not much and the neighborhood could certainly be better, it's still home and secure and not sleeping on a beach. "They run late, there's got to be at least one more going back."

Elijah ponders, "I don't think so, not this late...I could probably leap us there, if I'm careful, although it would be difficult. There's a chance we could land in the water and have to swim a bit," he says. He's a strong swimmer, but he's not sure how Fern is. At least the water would be warm, in this weather, although, of course, these are the only clothes he has. The sun would dry them out quickly, however. "I will get you home, one way or another. I wish I had a place to offer you, but...I do not know that you would find my rooftop that hospitable. It is private and quiet, but I do only have the one bedroll."

For all that she loves the water, Fern is not that strong a swimmer, and the immediate inner shudder at the thought flows through to Elijah easily, along with an image of being tossed into a pool, and the panic of floundering. She adores her brothers, but they were still brothers and not above the occasional urge to torture their baby sister. An image comes up in her head, Justin Hammer, if Elijah would recognize the weapon's dealer, and a warmth of simple friendship. But the man only works in Staten Island and would surely be long gone already himself. Options come up and are discarded in turn, find a cheap hotel room (she doesn't have the money), steal a boat (as if), swim (we've visited that one), stay on the rooftop.... that one lingers longer than the others before it's struck down (it would put him out). Frustration and consternation bubble within the young waitress as she tries to come up with a viable option.

Elijah shakes his head quickly at that last thought, "It would not...put me out. If anything, it would be good to have company. Real company, and not just the whispered thoughts of bedtime prayers..." he smiles softly. He finds himself holding her more firmly as the memory of that pool incident spills over her, as if he were supporting her in the water. Elijah himself is a strong swimmer, happy childhood memories of splashing in the lake, playing games with the other kids. "It would be very humble, but I have a few small food items, things from the donation bin. I cannot say it would be a great meal, but it would be...nice. For me." he says simply. Another thought is evident and impossible hide. That, above and beyond the practicalities, he does not want her to leave.

Fern eases almost immediately, the sincerity of his thoughts unmistakable. Surely that whole 'nothing is hidden' thing coming to the fore. She nods, "I'd like to stay. But you don't have to feed me," is added with a mental chuckle. Despite her own dire straits, she's still better off than him, with a roof usually over her head rather than under her butt. "And if you need to take care of business, I'll be fine while you're gone." He can't hear any calls for help now, but if they lose contact he might feel compelled to rush to someone's aid. She'd never stand in the way of that. There's a finality to her thoughts as they come lightly, "Alright. Take me home." There's nothing untoward in her thoughts about the situation, no notion that the night will be anything but chaste, if perhaps spent in close quarters. And there's a comfort with that. The feeling comes up of something lost, lonely nights, "It'll be nice for me not to be alone, too."

Elijah is...well, in theory, his thoughts are chaste. He doesn't consciously consider propositioning Fern or 'making a move' on Fern in any way. But, connected as they are, she can feel his feelings, and, as such, when he lifts her in his arms, preparing to carry her off to his rooftop lair (which is, okay, a donated pup tent, a hot plate, a sleeping bag and a small pile of paperbacks), he has to pull her body close to him and his instincts, that animal part of him, responds, the surge of desire present in his veins, the urge to kiss her again there, this time lasting longer, a flicker as her face is brought close to him. A blush suffuses his features as he realizes she's feeling that desire that spikes in him, even in an unintentional way, "I...I'm sorry," is all that he says, and he leaps away, and she can feel actual guilt there. He doesn't want to horrify her and the teachings on sin that which he was raised with, while he has intellectually rejected them, are deeply ingrained, even as he tries to hide his thoughts of how bad and wrong it is for him to have those impulses, even for a moment...such thoughts would have earned him quite a whipping, once upon a time...

As she's lifted, Fern slips her arms around Elijah's neck, her grip tight but not uncomfortably so. She doesn't miss that feeling, it's impossible to miss, but she doesn't point it out either for confirmation nor denial. She just ducks her head next to his, her temple to his cheek. "Don't be sorry." It's soft and forgiving and not judgmental. There's no hint she herself sees it as wrong, in and of itself. He's human. She's human. But there's no thought of 'Take me! Take me now!'. But there's that betraying flush of pleasure that it would occur to him at all. She doesn't cling to him when he jumps, her trust enough to not feel fear, but her hold doesn't loosen any, either.

Elijah leaps from place to place with surprising agility, his strength growing as he moves into more populated areas. He does have to release their connection briefly, letting him access his powers sufficiently to cross over particularly large obstacles, but always re-establishing again quickly, until they finally reach his lonely rooftop. He sets her down very gently, his breathing warm and heavy in the wake of the exertion, briefly thankful for the distraction and the flickers of privacy to try and get himself in order. When he does re-establish contact, having turned on a small electric lantern for light, he says, "I apologize nonetheless. I have spent very little time with women, in my life. The Brotherhood was very old-fashioned about such things, it's been...something of a culture shock here. And...I've never held a woman that close, outside of my mother, and it was...very different to hold you," he says simply, keeping his eyes turns softly down.

Fern has the grace to appear oblivious as she tries to shake sand out of her shorts while Elijah sees to granting them light, trying awkwardly to get her hand up her shorts from the back to get rid of the sand that clings stubbornly to her skin. When he's near she takes his hand again, and his apology is dismissed with a shake of her head. "We're both human," is the simple thought that comes, while she tries to stifle her own lack of actual objection to the concept. It's too hard, though, and she sighs, taking both of his hands and looking at him directly. "I don't think you're any more the kind of person to take something like that lightly than I am. And I trust you, remember?" is added more lightly with a squeeze of his hands.

Elijah smiles softly and nods, squeezing Fern's hand softly, "Of course. I would never do anything to harm you, Fern," he says, and it's utterly true and easily perceived as being so, although, of course, he could be lying and his entire power is a weird mind control, but the ruse would have to be awfully elaborate. "Being human... there are some people who say that I am not human, of course. But I feel human. I have human feelings. You are right, it is natural and normal to...feel this," There it is again, stronger now somehow, as if feeling a hint of something from her has created a link to their feelings and she can feel his confusion. This isn't something he's ever encountered before, as his attraction for her and hers to him sort of...bleeds together. "I was considered an unholy thing, untouchable. I didn't even date," he laughs softly, rueful but not in pain about it. His life, he always knew, was so very strange, but seeing it compared to Fern's, he recognizes just how very strange he is. He's a grown man who barely knows how to deal with being attracted to a girl. How very stunted he must seem.

"I know that you wouldn't, Elijah," Fern responds softly. "That's just not in you." Which she has a better idea of than most, now that they've got this deeper connection. She releases one hand to bring hers up, touching his jaw softly. "Whatever anyone else thought, that's not you." Now that thought flickers through her head, of leaning forward and pushing up and letting their lips come together softly. But she shakes her head. "It's human. You are human." The thought is pointed and clearly without room for discussion. She changes the subject, looking around. "Nice digs. If I didn't live all the way up in Harlem I'd make you crash at my place. It's not much, but it's not a rooftop. You deserve better."

Elijah is almost transfixed by that thought for a moment, overwhelmed, his inexperience leaving him somewhat less jaded than most men his age might be. Even kissing seems somehow exotic, overwhelming, impossible. He finds his senses, though, when she speaks again, the push of those words into his context breaking him free of the potent power of that image, "The rooftop suits me. I miss the stars, though. I hate that the city lights blur them away. I used to lay out on the hills around the farm, stare up at the sky and imagine the infinity beyond. We were told the stars were God's angels, looking down on us. I know now that that's...not quite true. But it's a beautiful thought anyway," he thinks. Beautiful, yes, she is...er, the thought is...

She's gentle but adamant, "There's a world of difference between living on a rooftop and laying out on a hillside. I don't care who you are, it's just not safe." Fern won't even entertain thoughts otherwise. She grew up in safety and quiet also, their childhoods having some similarities in that way. Her head tilts back and she looks up at the grey sky, back lit by the ruthless lights of the city. "We can make up our own constellations, or pretend that we can't see the stars because we're up among them." She turns, stepping in front of him, then back until her back bumps lightly against his chest, her head still tilted back as she rests his hands on her shoulders. "We can do anything we want."

"I would like to make up constellations' Elijah says softly, "or be among the stars. I do not know how I would shape one, though. I always remember the Hunter, with his belt, and the Bear...the Brotherhood did not believe in constellations, they thought them for pagans. I suppose I'm a sort of pagan, now, living under the stars...and I feel safe right now. Very safe," he says softly, the beat of his heart against her.

"I think that God gave us the stars so we'd have something pretty to look at at night. It's just a shame that we've made places like this where that's lost. We've lost a lot of the best gifts, because we're too short sighted." There's a melancholy as Fern thinks this way, as if she's disappointed with their species just in general. Which she is. Such potential, the power to create and so many humans turn more toward the power to destroy. Head back against his chest she yawns, her body trembling with the depth of it. "Oh man, I'm starting to feel tired."

Elijah can feel both the stirrings and her shift from it, the mingled consciousness meaning that her thoughts, while not quite his thoughts, can be sensed, like ripples in the water. The heat and warmth of her, the sheer feminine presence, hell, the smell of her hair alone is distracting, but he, too, tries not to think about it, although his hands do softly pet over her arms, almost a nervous gesture. "It's not hopeless. So long as people continue to gather together and try to find places for themselves to work together, to find common ground, we can't give up. Giving up means that evil wins," he says softly. He feels the yawn, laughing softly as he strokes her hair with one hand, "Sleep, then, Fern. I will keep watch for a while."

Fern turns her head to look up at Elijah, before she disagrees, "I think you should come lay down. I'll hold you so you can sleep in peace for at least a few hours." He's confessed that he's only got quiet when he's got a connection with someone, there's no going back on that now. And she does know what it's like trying to sleep when you have your own thoughts in your head, let alone hearing others. "Just for a while," comes to entreat him to see it her way.

Elijah smiles and moves up a bit but keeps her hand in his, "Together, then? I promise, we're very safe here. I've...got a bit of a reputation. They're not going to bother me," he smiles gently. He breaks the connection for a moment, eyes fluttering at the inrush of sensation from the world around them, the other minds pressing in as he unfolds his blanket. Best he check anyway, he'd feel bad if he missed an emergency in his selfish need for quiet. Still, it seems okay, nothing more than a few late night arguments. He extends a hand and pats a spot next to him as he lays on the sleeping bag.

Fern waits for him to get the bedding situated, feeling oddly alone with the contact broken, then she moves to stretch out next to him. It is close quarters, and she snuggles up against him, draping her arm across his chest and laying her head on his shoulder, reestablishing the contact. Oddly, or perhaps not so at all for her, a melody starts in her head, a song somehow oddly appropriate to the situation. Even as a thought, her voice is soft and sweet as the words come through, "Try not to get worried, try not to turn on to, problems that upset you, oh.... don't you know everything's alright, yes, everything's fine..."

Elijah doesn't recognize the song, having grown up so very sheltered, but he doesn't mind, because her voice is sweet and light for him, making him feel warm as he takes her hand in his, pulling her close to him. He doesn't interrupt or ask questions, just accepts the song softly and with simple gratitude for the comfort it offers, just smiling gently at Fern as he lets her sing them both to sleep, the mingling of warmth and desire and affection and tiredness bringing them together...