2013.07.11 - Poetry Of The Deed

It is about three hours after the Joker has broken out. In that time, the capable staff of the hospital has brought the battered vigilante back to consciousness and done their best to mend him. Two broken ribs, several minor fractures, cuts, bruises. The Joker did a number on him, but what was worse was the knowledge that it wasn't even a third of what he could have done to him.

Vorpal, or Keith, remains on his bed and looks out the window onto the grounds of the hospital with a listless expression on his face.

Second rate hero. C-grade vigilante. Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will break far worse. Especially when they have the sting of truth to them.

He looks at the book he had in his hands. He couldn't focus on it. Shrugging it, he taps it and shoves it off the bed, letting it fall on the ground and spread wide open.

Sometimes, it's better to be unconscious than conscious. Having watched the reports of the events, Brynn knew where you would be. When she walked in the front door and demanded to see the feline hero who tried to help... she was rebuffed several times. However, it's not just her sword arm that is talented. She learned the art of diplomacy over the years, and put that to use.

Eventually, she was told where to find you. So she struts along the hallway... really that's just how she walks. Anyhow...

Your door opens, and a cute little stuffed mouse is tossed onto the bed just before her voice says, "I thought you might want some company."

Keith closes his eyes, recognizing the voice. "I have enough company in my head right now," he says, sounding tired. "And tomorrow there'll be even more as the city goes n about how I let the Joker and Harley Quinn escape."

He doesn't touch the mouse, but he also doesn't bat it away. He's not cruel. "You're going to have to speak to Thor and Sif."

"Oh is that the only problem?" asks Brynn as she saunters into the room, gathers a chair and settles into it beside the bed. "Do you think that Thor never failed at a task? That the Lady Sif won every battle she engaged in? What matters is not that they escaped. What matters is that when they did so, you stood between them and freedom. You stood up like a warrior, and did your best."

With a nod, she leans back in her seat and adds, "That is what a warrior does, win or lose, and you face it with courage. None could ask more."

This gets a hiss from him and he looks away. Clearly she touched upon something, some nerve that was live and curled up inside him like a hook. "I'm /not/ Sif and I'm /not/ Thor. I'm not a warrior, I'm a---" John Constantine's words fly up his throat like poison --"second-rate vigilante playing at being a hero."

He turns to look at her, "And I'm not going to guard someone's life when I can't even guard a cell block. Thor and Sif deserve better than that. You take that order for the alloys and cancel it, and find someone who can actually do the job."

He stays silent for a moment. "Your shield isn't lost. They have it with the rest of my stuff. You can ask the nurses, they should have it."

"To Niffleheim with my shield." remarks Brynn. She calmly listened to your words, and is responding now, "You think they want someone who is arrogant, and believes he is flawless? Or someone with the courage to stand up regardless?" she asks. "Do you know what the definition of courage is... at least in my book?" she asks before she leans in closer. "Courage is not being without fear. If you want to see courage... it is in those who are afraid to go, and yet they go anyway. Those who try... even if they are not sure they can win. For only in trying, can they truly find out. A warrior is tested by failure, tested on the field of battle. A battle can be lost without losing a war my friend. I cannot -give- you confidence. Will you allow me to at least help with your wounds?" she adds.

The cat shakes his head, a scowling stubbornness setting about him. He attempts to cross his arms, winces, and just leaves them crossed over his lap. "I haven't earned that, and don't you dare. And when it comes to guarding someone's life from assassins, courage doesn't matter one whit if the work can't be done and the person you're supposed to protect gets killed. I am not the droids they want." he says, looking at the window and finding something, anything of interest in that nearby tree. "And the last thing this city needs is a wannabe who can't deliver gumming up the works"

"Do you know what the most important ability of a bodyguard is?" asks Brynn. She inclines her head, "It is as true now as it was in ages past. I am fifteen hundred years old my friend, and I tell you... the only important ability is the willingness to die in place of your charge. That courage, I will never know, for I am Eternal, and even if killed, I will return. At times, I envy mortals their mortality, for in that... is where one finds true courage and valor. You are a warrior born. It is up to you to find it within yourself. Nobody else can find it for you."

She stands up a bit then and adds, "Though, if you wish, I can try to help... encourage you. I can teach you what I know... knowledge I have gathered of combat over fifteen centuries of battle."

The cat shakes his head, though not at what she's offering. "You don't want to be a mortal. You don't want to be insignificant, absolutely -nothing-. Look at yourself," he says, looking at her, "You are Eternal. You are mighty, you are strong. Me?"

He smirks and looks at the window, "I'm the punchline to a joke that wasn't even that funny. Less than a normal mortal, least than a hero, and far lesser than the mightiest. I died, and by dying I became the greatest joke- a ridiculous freak incapable of living a normal life. Surely, I thought, my abilities would be worth -something-..." his voice becomes throaty, almost like a growl "... but when a clown with a joybuzzer can take you down, it only becomes clear how much of a joke you are in the end."

"That is enough of that." says Brynn with the definite snap of command in her voice. "I can understand a certain... lack of confidence. I can understand anger and frustration. But I will -not- tolerate self pity. Now, you will get up right now. On your feet. You hurt... great. You are suffering. Fine. Push through it. You are coming with me right now. That is not a request... is that understood?" she asks as she steps over towards the window. "... what? I can't just get up and leave, I've got a bill to pay, for crissakes. Do you want me to, on top of it all, be billed as the bill-hopping cat?" he crosses his arms this time, because darnit.

"Your bill is covered." says Brynn. "I understand that medical treatment is expensive in this... backward modern world. So I took the liberty of making a donation to the hospital. It is too late to argue it, because a quarter of a bar of gold is more than enough to cover your treatment. Besides.." Brynn smirks, "It was leftover from the gold I used to make Sif's cape out of." Holy crap, a whole cape of worked gold. "Now, if you are out of arguements...." she reaches out and gestures... and the window opens. The cat grumbles, getting up and going to the window to look at it "What is it that you want me to see?"

"See? Nothing." says Brynn as she simply steps out of the window onto nothingness, floating there even as a gesture brings you into the air with her. "We are simply leaving." she adds as she starts drifting towards Brooklyn and her shop.

"..." as they start drifting, Keith starts to panic, visibly "I don't think this is a very good idea" There is a surprised scream underneath as they pass some distance over a bridge "... because I am wearing a /hospital gown that opens at the back/... Half of Brooklyn now knows what my ass looks like!"

"Is it my fault that you did not disguise yourself as you did when you visited me last?" asks Brynn. She's not feeling very sorry for you at all, "Besides, it is just the body. The conservatives who settled this nation not so long ago... were really very repressed." she remarks, the flight accelerating steadily...

"I can't disguise myself- my illusions aren't working..." In this, he speaks the truth. He pushed his abilities to the limit during the break, and it'll be some time before they start working again. "...oh geez, and I thought it was bad when Superboy mooned Kuwait...." he grumbles and hides his face. Worst. Day. Ever.

It's going to get even worse, "You have fur concealing your flesh. Though if you prefer, I could share your condition." And she gestures to her arm, where the sleeve of the same sort of gown you wear appears to have wrapped about her arm, slowly working its way up towards her shoulder as New York passes by at high speed down below. She's up to almost a hundred mph, and is taking it easy for your sake of course. "But we are almost there." she adds.

"... I can just see the headlines-- Moon Over My Hammy--Naked flying people over New York" The cat sighs, but there is no use in arguing with a goddess. He was feeling sorry for himself. He wasn't going to deny that. Cats were like that--- setbacks sent them sulking for a day, or more... how much worse it was when it was something of this magnitude instead of a scolding from an owner. As usual, thinking brains made everything incredibly more complicated. "At least I hope I don't see my ass plastered all across youtube."

Of course, Brynn isn't a goddess. She was mistaken for one many times though. "Brooklyn actually." offers Brynn. She gestures and the direction of your flight alters, angling down towards the front door of her shop. "Here we are. Now, how injured are you... really? Do you need help or can you tough it out? Lick your wounds and move on?"

"I've got two broken ribs. They'll heal, eventually." He answers reluctantly. He had decided that even if he felt pain, he wasn't going to show it. His pride had been injured enough tonight, and the last currency a cat had was his pride.

"Good... leaving them as is will be a part of the lesson. If you are capable of functioning then... you should learn how to fight without your powers, how to push on when you are injured. How to use pain to your advantage." Brynn opens the door and leads you inside. "I've some of your armor complete, but for now... what say you show me how you fight. I know I've said things that pissed you off, so c'mon... use that and attack me." she says as she simply turns to face you. The look he gives her is simply priceless. If she could instagram it, she would probably get meme-gold out of it. It was a 'Really?' mixed with 'Come on' and 'What's your damage, Heather?'

"... must I? I've had the snot kicked out of my by a psychopath, I'm exhausted and I want to sleep." He says, groaning. "And I still have to face Patrick with my failure."

"When you are exhausted. When you are hurting. When you are at your worst, then you -must- rise to your best. When you think that you cannot go on, you must push yourself harder than ever before." says Brynn. She steps back a half pace and adds, "You don't need to attack -me-, but we need to find a way to get this into your soul."

The cat growls at himself, looking at anywhere but her. "... ever heard of the Sacred Band of Thebes, Brynn?" the cat says, rubbing his arm.

"I spent my time in the north, and east. I did not venture down to Egypt often. Please illuminate me." offers Brynn as she crosses her arms before her.

The cat sighs and paces on the floor. "not the one in Egypt... the Thebes in Greece. In Boeotia...the Sacred Band was a troop of picked soldiers. The elite force of the Theban army. It consisted of 150 pairs of male lovers." He is quite aware of how Thor felt about the subject... but at this moment, he couldn't give a rat's ass about anyone's opinion on it. "The army was undefeated and one of the most fearsome armies in the ancient world until King Phillipus finally defeated them at the battle of Cheronea. The Thebans of the Sacred Band held their ground and nearly all 300 fell where they stood beside their last commander, Theagenes. It was said that all three hundred men lay dead and facing towards the enemy, not a single one retreated. When the King saw them, he wept and said 'Perish any man who suspects that these men either did or suffered anything unseemly.'"

The cat turns to face Brynn. "The reason behind that army was said to be "what lover would not choose rather to be seen by all mankind than by his beloved, either when abandoning his post or throwing away his arms? He would be ready to die a thousand deaths rather than endure this. Or who would desert his beloved or fail him in the hour of danger?""

Keith seems to have memorized it quite well. Truth be told, it made a huge impact on him when he read it as a teenager.

"... you have no idea the shame that I feel. Of how -useless- I was, my powers were, my whole self were, incapable of doing something Batman- a man without powers- would have done in a snap. And I'm supposed to go back to the man I love with this shame smeared across my face?" He snarls and paces. "It's not losing. I've lost before. It's -uselessness-."

"And yet, you faced the enemy. You did not run." offers Brynn. "You bear the proof of that in your injuries." And Brynn smirks then before adding, "The greeks loved their tales of three hundred, didn't they?" she adds. "And from what I hear, the Batman is far more than -merely- mortal. Or as I heard one person say, "There's nothing -mere- about -that- mortal." She leans back against her counter-top and keeps her arms folded over her chest. "So, you are done now? You are planning to sit idly by while this Joker you speak of... runs rampant? You will allow your mistakes to harm others too? That does not -seem- like one who would stand up for what he believed in, win or lose."

"Haven't you been listening? I'm trickery!" he waves a hand--- an illusion tries to form, but he's still suffering the effects of having pushed, nothing appears except a few blurry images that disappear. "My powers work once, and then everybody knows what the game is. Heck, the Joker didn't have to see me this time around to know it was me. And I'm supposed to go after him? If Batman is no -mere- mortal, neither is the Joker. You have no idea what that... thing is capable of. Eddie said even Hel would fear being near him-- and I believe him." He leans against the other counter, fuming and trying to ignore the pain of the ribs. "Strength, Speed... of all the powers I could have come back with, I turn out to be an effing amusement park."

"You are a fighter my young friend. If you want my recommendation... do not define your abilities by your ability to cast illusions. Let your ability support your skills. Can you create an illusion that will do something like...." and with a flicker, and a ripple, she simply fades out. "This?" she asks aloud, still where she was. "Imagine the tactical advantage, striking from an unseen location, letting the mind of your enemy try to fathom not just who is attacking her, but -what- is attacking. From what I have seen, that is what the Bat does, he allows his enemies to fear him so much that when he -does- show up, their own minds have already made them believe they cannot win." Then she grins, "My father told me once, long ago... that when you honestly believe you are going to lose, you will always find a way to make it happen."

"I can't. I can become invisible, but the moment I speak or attack, I become visible again and I can't become invisible until I'm out of sight of those eyes. My illusions can't make me invisible, it's a whole different power." Keith sounds frustrated, as if he has thought of that before... and found the limitations of his power. "At the first blow, I become irrevocably visible again. Heck, if anyone even bumps against me or I say 'ouch', it's all over."

"Then we work on..." and Brynn fades back into visibility, "Creativity, using the abilities you -do- have to your advantage. My own illusions are not so much illusions, as glamors of the mind. Anyone looking my way, has the image I desire, projected into their mind. Are your images based on actual light? Because if so, that could prove quite useful." The life of a superhero is a dangerous and chaotic one. One night missing coming home is not unheard of. Two nights happens on occasions. A third night, that is something that is enough to make even the most stoic of people start to worry. Checking police reports through his normal lets not think about how illegal this might be means Patrick has tracked down most of what his room mate, partner in crime fighting, and loved one has been doing. The records search ended with the break out at Arkham, and reports of an injured hero. Patrick made it to the hospital just in time to miss Keith and Brynn, and spent some time tracking back where the woman has taken the cat.

Patrick made his way to the location he is sure that Keith was taken to with asurprisingly sedate pace. If the cat is in trouble running would do no good, as would busting through the door a rushing into a situation he had no knowledge of. Worried and lacking sleep he still knew well enough that going into anything without the right intel was a bad idea. He has been secretly listening at the door, thank you electronic survelence equipment, for a short time before deciding to make his enterance.

"Bullshit." The word manages to beat the tinkle of the bell above the door as the auburn haired young man steps into the store. Appearing to wear a pair of wireframe glasses, a red T-Shirt and jeans he takes a second to look over Vorpal before even doing his normal once over of the room looking for dangers, cameras, exits, and possible weapons. The last maybe not so much given what the store sells. "I have researched the insane clown every free second I have had since you first faced him and you have far more in your bag of tricks when it comes to fighting him than just illusions." Just like his declarative entrance there is no emotion at all in his voice, not een the emphatic raise in tone that sould be expected of anyone that knows the cat saying this. Keith was about to answer Brynn's question when who else but Patrick comes through the door.

It was getting worse. He wasn't ready to face him. How did he even find him? Why was he asking that question? He knew Patrick.

The cat immediately turns around and away from Patrick, putting his hand up to his forehead as if ashamed.

Of course, he's dressed in a hospital gown with the back flap wide open. That would be enough to embarrass anyone.

"... so you know what happened already..." he says weakly.

"He knows you stood up. He knows you did what you could and that you acted with honor and courage." offers Brynn. She is quite.. aware of things. As most folks with even minor psionics are. But she was prepared just in case. When Patrick first entered, one hand slid down just a bit from her torso, beneath the counter behind her. However, when it turns out that Keith knows the newcomer, that hand comes out from down there with a slender short sword gripped in it. The sword is set upon the countertop and she remains in the posture she was already in. "Welcome unknown friend. I am Brynhildr... and you are?"

The handsome auburn haired young man gives Keith and Brynn a second or two to process his being there before he steps farther into the store. Watching the cat turn from him makes the clone feel...less than good about the last three days. He nods at Brynhildr as she speaks. "I am Patrick." No last name, or anything else added to the name.

He moves quickly to stand directly behind Keith and if not stopped ends up with arms wrapped around the feline just holding him for a long second. "I know everything you have done in front of a camera, or that has been placed in a report for the last three days. I know you have faced multiple excedingly dangeorus threats with little to no backup including a man who is considered a danger even to Superman. I know that what Brynhildr said is correct."

Keith shuts his eyes tightly and tries to contain himself. He fails that roll. He slowly turns around and puts his arms around Patrick, resting his head on his shoulder and ignoring the pain from his ribs.

"...I'm sorry... I'm sorry..." he says quietly, "... I was unconscious in Asgard... I just came back last night and found... found out Booster is dead..." at this point his voice starts breaking "... and... I came to see Brynn and I was going to come back to the apartment when the Arkham alert..." he leaves out the reason of why he was in Asgard unconscious in the first place-- elf venom-- because it already was a long enough list. "...and then I blew it"

It's embarrassing. The trying not to cry thing even though it's obvious you want to cry. But this is Patrick.

Well, what to do when lovers are obviously reuniting. There is only one thing that can be done to make it work well. Brynn turns and walks towards the back and grabs three drinks. American beers since nobody drinks -mead- in this land. She comes back out and sets them on the counter. Picking up one, she twists the cap off and takes a gulp.

I saw the reports of the heroes death on the news. One should not mourn that he -is- gone, but celebrate the way he -did- go. He saved many lives... there is honor in that and I for one, raise my drink to him." Yup, she spent way too much time around damned vikings.

Patrick is, just as Keith surmises, Patrick. He holds onto Keith and lets him explain, as much as he is willing to at least, what happened. He holds onto his lover for a long time before he says anything. "Keith O'Neil you are a fool. You stand here blaming yourself for things you are in no way at fault for. You can not be blamed for being stuck in a demension outside your own without ability to return, nor for the death of a man who lived a dangeorus life and laid down his life for others, and you most importnatly survived a second encounter with a man who by all accounts has physical abilities that rival my own combined with a mind that rivals that of Tony Stark and whose reactions are entierly impossible to predict." If his hands were free Patrick might at least raise the beer, even if he is not going to drink it, as a saulte to the fallen hero.

Keith should know by now that Patrick had the infuriating propensity to be rational when provoked. He listens to his lover enumerate the many reasons for which he was a fool. They sounded right, but there was an emotional component that wasn't completely listening to reason.

"Alright... I'm sorry, I'm just having a hard time dealing with it." Brynn was, definitely, spending too much time with vikings, and Patrick had the training of a soldier. But to someone new to the whole lifestyle, the loss of a friend in the field was a very hard blow. "If I'd been there, maybe he'd be alive. Or if I'd been stronger...or faster... I could have gotten there."

It all goes back to that center of doubt. If I were this, if I were that. Taller. Stronger. A better person. The desire to mold primordial clay into what should have been instead of what was. If he'd been more ruthless, the dark elf wouldn't have escaped. If he'd been more heroic, Booster would be alive. If he were more like Batman, the Joker wouldn't have gotten away.

"..I'm sorry. I know both of you are probably right. I just need time for parts other than my brain to understand that." "I love you, I'm sorry I was gone," he says very quietly to Patrick.

"Okay, I'm going to tell you one secret that I spent literally... well many years learning." offers Brynn after another sip of her beer. "Would've, could've... never helps. What is done, is done. That can't be changed." Okay, so she's not a time traveler at least. "You could spend forever pondering what might've happened differently, but the fact is... it -didn't- happen differently. It happened the way it happened. So the only useful thing that can be done is to simply... move forward and deal with it."

Patrick says, "Of course I am right. That does not mean you should not feel how you do either." He reaches a hand up to lift Keith's chin so that Patrick can look him in the eye. "Loosing a comrad in arms is never easy, but Brynhildr is correct. Focusing on what might have been is only helpful if you are reviewing events to plan for next time. There is nothing that can be done about the past in this reality."

"Give me a few minutes and... enjoy your company." offers Brynn as she pats a chair behind the counter, "Come here and sit my friend." she adds, moving so that she'll be able to reach the ribs if and when Keith -does- sit. "The past belongs in the past. But... no, there is nothing wrong with you. You are more human than most, that is all. It is a good thing, and a quality that as I said, I am envious of from time to time."

She chuckles softly, "A famous author a few decades ago wrote something that I always loved. The prospect of hanging tomorrow, certainly focuses the mind today."

Patrick shakes his head. "There is nothing wrong with your head, or what is inside of it." He should know, he was raised around a number of people that really were off inside the head. At the mention of healing he raises an eyebrow and then looks at Brynn. "If you are able to heal him, I would be most appreciative of it." The clone nods as he listens to Brynn. "Far more human than many people." There is a slight ghost of a smile as he lets go of the cat and moves so that he can sit where commanded. Yes,he is talking about himself when it comes to the being human bit.

An ear twitches and Keith catches something in Patrick's tone. His eyes focus on him for a second and he files it away--- something he had intended to speak to his lover about the night the damned elf started the chain of events. He sits down, but holds on to Patrick's hand, squeezing it gently. "Samuel Johnson, Brynn? You're really breaking up my experience of Asgardians here... I thought most of your family and circles tended to be a little divorced from the mortal realm. Then again... if Sif knows what a Keebler elf is...'

"I am not Asgardian my friend." offers Brynn. "As I said, I am of the Eternals. I have only been -mistaken- for one of them a few times in the past. My people -were- once human... long ago." She pauses to recall. "Just over eighteen thousand years I believe it was. I am fourth generation." Four... generations.. in eighteen -thousand- years....

As Keith sits, she reaches a hand to his side.. it's obvious the way he moves, -which- ribs are hurt. And she says, "This will not be painless." as her eyes begin to glow and she narrows them. She's not seeing so much right now, as envisioning molecular structures, and reforming bone and marrow and tissue into the right shape. "For the record, aside from a thirty year stint in space... I have spent all of my years here, on Earth, or Midgard the Asgardians call it."

Patrick says, "Several years Oklahoma has undone being....no. Forget I said that." A moment of forgetfulness and memories of his home reality leave him making comments on something that did not happen, at least not yet, in this world. "What kind of elf is a Keebler?"" "A cartoon elf used in cookie paaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGgggngggggghhhhhh" it wasn't painless, indeed. The Joker had given Keith one hell of a beating- and it was only because he was covered in fur that it wasn't evident how thorough a bruising he had been given. There were parts of his face that were already evidencing a good amount of swell and which would look spectacular by the morning, though nothing threatening or serious.

However, not only were those ribs broken, but the entire side was tender and over-sensitive from having been tenderized by the Joker's loving shoes. "Mother of Grod that stings..." he exhales as the pain gets better.

I cannot suppress the pain. I can fix the damage, but.. I am a smith by temperment. My experience and skill involves hammering a blade until it is shaped properly. Please forgive the bluntness of my work." offers Brynn as she works. Her fingers coax the body's tissues, their very molecules to reform the way they should be. "The bruising, will heal best on its own. I am simply fixing the bones. That is difficult enough... now hold still." she adds with a bit of a smile. Sweat beading on her immortal brow, and her own flesh growing just a touch pale. Yeah, healing organics is hard and takes a -lot- of power from her ... capacitor, so to speak.

Patrick raises an eyebrow. Cartoon elves, right, just one more thing he needs to research so that he can understand Keith and other normal people. Later he is going to have to make sure that Keith knows for sure that he is not going out to do any superheroing for a while till the swelling goes down and most of the bruises fade. "We are going to increase training, especially in the defense and dodging areas."

"NNNggg....it's ok... you didn't have to... worry...." he says to Brynn, catching his breath. "... .... I tried to dodge... the Joker had the key for us to get out. He threw it towards a rioting crowd. I tried to catch the key... and that's when he tazed---OUCH...tazed me. With two barrels. I fell to the floor twitching and then he hit me with a chair. And then he just kept hitting...and hitting... and hitting..." Keith winces. He was sure that if the Joker hadn't been so intent on getting out, that he would have killed him right then and there.

---LATER

The really exciting part of the last few days is over, hopefully. Sudden trips to other worlds, Dark Elf poisons, insane clowns and their posse, and escapes from a Hospital found in a neighborhood named after a Death God would be enough to make anyone tired. Which is why Patrick has made every bit of the trip back to their apartment as easy on Keith as he could. Once in the home they share, what little of it there really is, Patrick makes sure Keith is sitting at the used and very cheap sofa that he picked up for them comfortably. "Have you eaten recently?"

"No, not really," the cat says, "But I'd rather have you here right now than food. I can wait for food for a little." He holds out his arms, "C'mere..." he says. Something is on his mind.

Patrick is, unfortunately, already moving away by the time that the cat says he would rather have Pat beside him. He is not gone long, just long enough in fact to grab something in the fridge and put it in the microwave or a few minutes before slipping back to where Keith is and joining him on the sofa. "You're healing, what you need is food and rest."

The cat chuckles quietly and then looks at Patrick. He felt like crap, himself, and probably looked worse. But something Patrick had said had jarred his mind to something he had said earlier. "Patrick, love... a while back you said you were...." he tries to remember the phrasing "... one of a group made to order. Replaceable. And tonight you said...." Let's try another tangent "... love... how exactly do you see yourself?"

Patrick blinks a little and then looks at Keith for a second. "I see myself as I am." It is simple, declarative, and truthful. For Patrick that is all that needs to be said, but living with Keith he has learned that the cat would need more than just that. "I am a clone, a copy of someone that died saving the life of a friend and a third of a unit trained for our lives to work together." He is used to defining himself by how he was made, and what he was made to do because until coming to this world that is mostly how he was defined by everyone else. "I am also partner to registered hero Vorpal, lover to Keith O'Neil, and lost being from another reality."

"...Patrick, those are things that talk about you, but don't tell me who you are...or how you see yourself." The cat frowns, putting his hands on either side of his cheeks to look at him. "...if I were to ask you to define yourself in terms that had nothing to do with your cloning... or your relationship to me... what would you say? Would you know what to say? Could you say what you like, what you dislike? And why?"

Patrick spends a long moment staring into Keith's eyes after his face is held and moved to look at the other man. The moment stretches into two, even three before the microwave doings and announces to the apartment that whatever he was warming up for Keith is done. There is a second where it looks like he is about to get up and go get the food even with the question hanging in the air, but he manages not to do so.

"They are who I am, and how I see myself." It is the only answer he can really give, in some ways it is like asking a small child to define themselves without using the relationships they have to others. "I...like fried rice and sushi? I like being your partner both in fights and in civilian life. I like clear mandated orders that are within the law and scope of my abilities. I dislike disorder, people getting hurt, and shrimp. What I like and dislike is less who I am than where I came from and what I was programmed to be."

"I think... I think we need to do a little work." The cat says, thinking about how Patrick phrases his answers. "Am I allowed to speak freely on that answer, Patrick?"

Patrick has a slightly confused look on his face. He has no idea what the cat is meaning by them needing to do work. "You can always speak freely. I have no way to know what you want or if I am missing something that I should not be if you do not tell me."

Keith nods at this, and says "Patrick... where you come from... and what you were programmed to be, are -not- who you are. The fact that someone grew you in a lab doesn't matter... and the 'programming' doesn't matter, an it doesn't make you you. It's what someone -else- wanted you to be... but it's not who you actually are. If someone kidnapped me and brainwashed me into being a hired assassin... it wouldn't be me. It'd just be a program someone implanted upon me. A violation of my free will..."

The cat takes a deep breath. "...the thing is, Patrick... you are not the man from whom you were cloned anymore than twins are each other. You have your own life, your own personality... and it's time you started valuing yourself as an individual.... ad someone -other-than a tool or the extension of a team. Your programming is not you-- your programming isn't what brings you to make love to me, is it?"

Patrick nods and listens to Keith and raises an eyebrow at the obvious growing emotion he has in the first part of what he has to say before he takes the deep breath. "If you were kidnapped and reprogrammed that is who you would be then. Our minds, our thoughts are who we are." That much he remembers from hearing arguments between his Father and others at the initiative. "Just as our genetics are who we are. They decide what we will look like how our minds work even how our brains work and process our thoughts."

Pat himself makes an interesting case study in nature vs nurture. He has all the genetics of the Original MVP and programming enough to try and make him just like him but has come out as different from him in some places as he is just like him in others. "If I was with you because of how I was programmed would that change how you felt about me? Does where what I feel or why I make my choices come from matter more than the fact that I feel as I do or make the choices I do? I know my value. Both in the effects of my actions, and to the dollar value in my creation."

"Patrick... my body is not the same body I had when I died. And yet... I'm the same person, even if I have different powers." Keith sighs and rubs at his forehead "...you aren't my slave. You are't my servant... and yet you speak of yourself as willing to be with me... until I saw fit not to have you. I mean..." he looks up. "Tthat's how people talk about cars, or vehicles... not about someone they love. For your sake... for our sake... I wish..."

"Did you purr when you were happy before, or would you have fought the Joker...twice?" Pat asks the question in his infuriatingly damned calm voice watching Keith. "What someone is, is very much part of who they are. When that changes so do they." He stops and looks lost in what to say for a second before thinking of something. "No, I am not your slave, or your servant. I am your partner and lover, and will be until the time you choose to not have me as such because I would not make that choice. /My/ choice, as who and what I am is to be here, with you. Your value to me though is such that if you were to choose otherwise I would accept your desires over my own." There are some circles of thought that might point out that what Patrick just said is one definition of love. "Yes it is how people talk of thing, but it is also how they talk about other people. I have seen enough to know for most the only difference in people and things is that they accept that people have desires of their own."

The cat nods, listening. When Patrick is done, he says, "But Patrick... there is such a world out there. I just.. I just see you trapped in this programming, this origin as if it were all that existed." He reaches for one of Patrick's hands, "What are *your* desires of your own? Something outside of the work that we do. It's not just a good idea.. it's healthy. Psychologically, and for developing one's character. "

Patrick nods and then shrugs. "You're right, there is a world out there, and it is a special and great place. That is why my desires are to do as I was meant to and protect it, even if it is not the same world I was created to protect." Patrick stops, seeing already how his line of reasoning is not going to work. "A healthy psychology is developed from the experience of a life time isn't it? I do not have that. If you remove my programming, what was known of the originals life, everything that was put into my mind I have ... at most a year's worth of memories and experiences. All of then reinforcing the view I have of what and who I am. My desires outside of my life's calling, and it is that more than it is my work, are based on you because that is what I know. The more I experience the more I know this will change but...as things are how can I have other desires or perceptions of myself beyond what I have experienced?"

"You are right, you haven't had time to experience much..." the cat says, and squeezes his hand. "Do forgive me... I forgot to take that into account, being worried about you..." a little hypocritical, because Patrick has as much reason to worry about him with what happened tonight. "I just didn't want you to.. well, lock yourself up. I have more experiences planned for us... and for yourself alone, because you must experience things on your own." A little exhalation, and the cat rubs his swollen face with his free hand. "I.. just don't talk that way about me not wanting you around, okay?..." A pause, and he leans on his lover a little. "... I don't think I could ever think of a place as home without you in it."

Patrick smiles and reaches up to gently pet Keith's cheek. "You have nothing to apologize for. You are as worried about my mental health as I have been about your physical health." He leans over and kisses Keith lightly on the top of his head since the cat has decided to lean on him. "Then I won't ever say anything along those lines again." After a second he does attempt to shift Keith off him so that he can stand, and go to the kitchen. The important part of the conversation obviously having finished he now defaults to the taking care of his injured team mate phase of things.

"I really am sorry that I couldn't get back in touch with you. See, the night that elf attacked me... I was going to bring something to you." At this, he reaches into the pocket of his uniform, which they'd gotten back from the clinic because he was not going to traipse around in that hospital gown. He pulls something out of one of the pockets- something wrapped in a cloth.

Patrick returns to the room with a curious look on his face. In one hand is a bowl, the other an elongated soup spoon of the type typically found at Asian restaurants. He makes his way over to the cough again offering the bowl of what turns out to be a very tasty miso soup and the spoon over to Keith before taking the wrapped object. He looks at it carefully, and pointedly does not start to unwrap it to see what it is until after at least the first sips of the soup are taken.

Keith chuckles, and he does the Good Kitty routine by taking healthy sips of the soup--- which he loves, of course. Patrick seemed to know every route to his stomach... but he wasn't surprised. He had come to realize that nothing escaped Patrick's attention.

In a way, nothing escaped Keith's, either. Wrapped inside the cloth is something rather unusual. It is a bracelet, silver with exquisite details engraved on it. They are abstract but flowing like curling branches. At the center itself, though, there is one engraving that is very distinct: A spider, with its legs splayed out. But the ornamentation surrounding the spider also could make it look, if one squinted, like a cat's face, with whiskers and nose.

On the reverse of the bracelet there are only three details: The two initials "P.K." and a date, which would have marked a month three nights ago.

Patrick nods as Keith starts to eat the soup. He was not sure just how injured that Keith would be so went with what was most nutritious and easiest to keep down just in case. Once he has a chance to get a look at the gift a small smile appears on his face, one that grows just a touch recognizing the date on it. He does not say anything immediately, no outward thank you or hugs or the like other than making sure that Keith eats all the soup. Instead he puts on the bracelet and takes a second to adjust it so that it lays perfectly flat on his wrist where it can stay permanently without chaffing even while fully suited up. "It is a very nice gift."

Seeing his smile, Keith smiles back, looking at Patrick. For once, he refrains from saying what he wants to say, because it would ruin the moment. All he does is put the soup down, which he has finishehd with admirable celerity and gusto, and slides over to Patrick, placing a hand on his knee. He was sure that it was himself who had gotten the better gift out of the two. For a moment, John Constantine's mocking voice is drowned out by another one that said 'I know everything you have done in front of a camera, or that has been placed in a report for the last three days' The cat smiles at Patrick.

Patrick smiles and knows for a fact that while Keith got the better gift he has the best part of the deal. Not knowing about Constantine's words Patrick can't make a note to drop the man from the roof of a small building, but can see that something that had Keith worried has disappeared from his mind. Since Keith is done eating he grabs the other man and moves him so that Keith can lay back across his chest and he can sit with both arms wrapped around the cat.

Keith sighs, feeling Patrick's arms wrap around him, he leans into the warmth, purring. After a little bit of silence, he says, "...I must have been... fifteen, maybe younger, when I realized I like other boys instead of girls. Seeing what mmy world was like at the time... I never thought I'd get out of the Bronx. I'd spend every night hugging my pillow, wishing there could be someone out there I could get to know. Who'd be with me... who'd love me for being myself." A pause, "And then the sun would come up, and I'd try to forget I ever wanted that. But I could never forget, you know?"

Patrick nod and listens to Keith as he talks. He gives him a small hug, being careful of the bruised places. It is a bit surprising that he knows exactly where the bruises are despite the fur, or possibly not considering that this is Patrick. "I..think I know. Our room, once we were given an actual space for Red Team, had no windows or any way outside but we filled it with pictures we could find or pick up while we were on missions of the outside world. All three of us would dream of swinging through New York, or seeing the world outside of the base at night."

"...and here you are, swinging in New York." Keith chuckles, looking up at Patrick. "I don't know what the future's going to bring. It scares me a little, you know?"

Patrick nods and leans in to rest his chin on Keith's shoulder. "The future is in the future. What should be worried about is the present. No plan survives contact with the enemy, so it is best to not worry too much about what will come."

"Quoting Sun-Tzu at me?" Keith grins, rubbing his cheek against Patrick's chin. "There is something I do want you to consider."

Patrick shrugs a little. "I can neither confirm nor deny that." His voice does not betray the amusment he might be feeling any more than it ever does, but it seems at least one thing about living with Keith is rubbing off. He is develping a sense of humor. "What is it?"

"I want you to consider adopting a last name. Something that means something to you... it doesn't have to be now. Though you can if you want to. But... well, you've got the chance to create your own self now. I'd say that's a good starting point as any. Try to pick something unrelated to your past, but something you'd like to become yourself, maybe?" Keith says, yawning a little.

Patrick sits there and then nods after a second. "Ok, I will think on it. I will try to come up with a last name...although...I do not know if I have mentioned my name sort of already is one." He kisses the side of Keith's head after the yawn and then moves to try and get up while picking up the cat in the most comfortable way possible. "Although, now it seems is time for you to sleep. After the food you need rest to heal and be ready for when you are next called to fight." Keith nods "You know... I was called a second-rate hero.. and for some reason, it hurt. It hurt in the way that true things you don't want to acknowledge hurt."

Patrick carefully takes Keith back to the bed and lies him in it. "Whomever said that was an idiot."

Keith chuckles, "The funny thing is that now that I'm here, it doesn't really matter. Even if I am a second-rate hero, I've got a first-rate boyfriend." He yawns, "Love ya." he say, with yet another quiet yawn.

Patrick does not say the first thing on his mind, the fact that if Kieth is still thinking about it then it still maters at least a little to him. Instead he just wraps around around the cat and draws up a sheet to cover them. "I love you as well kitten." He says the words as if it was not something special to say in his normal tone of voice, but there is something special about them. It is the first time he has actually said them to Keith. Not that he could love him, or cared for him, or even that Keith was everything to him but that he loved him.

Keith notices, of course, and he closes his eyes with a smile. "See ya in the morning."

And then, he's snoring. Snoring might be too mild a word to describe the naso-pharyngeal symphony of telluric shockwaves that emanates from the young man. There's the Sleep of the Just, and then there's this-- a snore that would not only wake the dead, but would make them walk across the room in search of earplugs.