Adon had taken a bit of time between work and his arrival home to grab a bite from Pret-a-Manger, eating as he went. First he went to Monument. Then he went to Leadenhall. But he wasn't ready to go home. So he went to the Tower.

Adon felt perfectly at ease thinking erratically so long as his feet followed the same pattern. And so, eventually, Adon started walking down random streets he'd never been to before until he was in an entirely unrecogniseable place. It was then, with the sun already well set, that he Apparated to the doorstep of his flat before pulling out the keys. He stooped to sprinkle the kosher salt, stepping on the crackling crystals as he turned the knob and entered. Jonas was sitting on the couch which was, for the time being, his bed, hang-out space, and office. Joh wasn't anywhere to be seen, but the soft glow emitted through the thin paper of her screens implied that she was in her room.

"I'm home," he announced, closing the door and locking it. He placed his palm flat upon the door, waiting five seconds, until he heard another click. This would be the new lock he installed since yesterday. It had, in fact, made him late to work this morning, but he'd had time to get a cupcake for his boss and thus, was able to use this excuse to allow for tardiness. Sweeties made everything better.

He'd be needing a lot of sweets just now, he decided as he thought over the day. He reached into his pocket to pull out the closest thing: a leftover peppermint. "So," he said to Jonas, moving over to sit on the arm of the sofa, "just came back from a walk. You were right about the Tower. It's very lit up at night. Takes a bit of time to get there, but view's worth it."

It was incredible how long a day could become when there was nothing to fill it.  Jonas had taken the children to school in the morning, met Anna for lunch - to 'talk,' denoted in air quotes - and then had nothing to do but wait around all day until Adon's 'roommate' (also in air quotes, but only when the Israeli Auror wasn't looking) got off her shift. 

Everything he'd been working on was at a standstill.  The Runespoor investigation couldn't move forward until they met with Dreogan, the other wizarding case was understandably on hold, and Jonas didn't quite trust his focus enough to work on anything mundane.  Despite Adon's well-meaning cautions, he'd stopped by his office to grab the rest of his files and the security tape, and then spent the rest of the afternoon in a coffee shop, alternating between trying to piece events of the previous day together and using his phone to cheat on crossword puzzles that the other patrons left laying about.  There had been neither hide nor hair of Lexus at the office, which was probably for the best at the moment.  Dragging yet another innocent individual into his mess of the moment was not something he particularly wanted to do.

Most of his planning had to be put on hold until Eleor got off work.  He and Anna were both in agreement that staying at Hestia Eleor's house was only a temporary solution; Jonas had felt incredibly relieved that she had even accepted that much, although he supposed that after a big enough paradigm shift, everything was relative.  But magical defenses, Floo monitoring -  between his current lack of magic and the years he'd spent away from Level Two, it was impossible not to feel uncharacteristically helpless.  Before he even knew what could be done, he'd have to talk to Adon.

As the wait for the Auror's return had stretched on, Jonas had devolved into the completely inane to occupy his time.  When the door finally opened, he was sprawled on the sofa, trying to convince two of the virtual islanders who now lived on his phone that they did indeed want to proceed into a bamboo hut for the next two minutes.

"What?" he asked distractedly, not taking his eyes off the game.   "Oh.  Yeah.  Brilliant, innit?  Glad you could find something important to occupy your time with.  You should've jumped onto one of those double-decker tours of London while you were at it, mate."

Jacoba was seriously starting to wonder how her brother had managed all this for four and a half years.   Going between the two 'worlds' wasn't easy and she'd only been at it for ... how long had it been?  Three months?  Three and a half months?  Something like that.  But, having to remember not to order butterbeer at the corner coffee shop or remembering not to recommend to the average Reducto clientele that they should just download the mp3s of whatever music wasn't in stock at the shop did get confusig after a while.  And, she'd never had to hold up any illusions to the standards Sasha had had to around their parents. 

Why getting picked up by the newest inhabitant of Couch Eleor had been such a catalyst for that realization, she wasn't sure, but that dichotomy had struck her with an unusual intensity as she fell instep with Jonas through Diagon.  Of course, Adon meeting her at the front of Reducto had become a norm - the shift from normality (the normality of getting picked up in a wizard's only alley by her wizard boyfriend), perhaps, had intensified the significance of the reason for the shift in pattern.  Possessions.  Bloody hell - that was the type of thing that happened in Stephen King movies.  Not in the real world.  Or, at least, the real muggle world.  Which, again, brought her back to the start of the whole mental race track of a brain loop. 

A few blocks shy of Adon's building, Jacoba had parted ways with Jonas, ducking into an internet cafe to check her email.  As she'd suspected, there'd been a few long, complicated ones from her grandmother's lawyers and one from an acquaintance of an old professor, after paying for the printing jobs, she'd gathered her things and finished the trek home.  The emails in hand, she'd slipped into her room after a brief greeting exchange with Jonas and settled on her bed.  It was going to take some time and a few attempts to get through those emails.

At the sound of the door and amusingly domestic announcement of Adon's arrival, Jacoba grinned to herself and gathered the emails into a stack before slipping out into the main room.  "Evening," she offered the two men who'd already settled into their usual rhythm of banter - they're usual means of communication, it seemed.  Not wanting to interrupt the two, she offered Adon a soft smile before moving towards the kitchen.  She left the papers on the counter and tugged the fridge open.  "Anyone want anything?" she asked, withdrawing a Späten for herself. 

Adon rolled his eyes at Jonas's glib response, reaching for a pillow and, none-too-delicately whacking his good knee with it. "Brilliant." He could critique Adon's time usage all he wanted; Jonas had been here making virtual characters' lives hell. "You know, you're a vengeful god," Adon said, eyeing the iPhone. Jonas was still at that game, PocketGod. "Do you ever give them a break?" Adon felt some sympathy with the inhabitants of Jonas' fictional island. Adon didn't really believe in a God -- if he did, the feelings of betrayal and bitterness would doubtless outweigh those of faith or gratitude. Still, at times, he felt as though he were constantly battered from all sides by some cosmic force yet undefined. One that delighted in making his life difficult. With a fantastically morbid sense of humour.

By that standard, today had been hilarious. Starting with the phone call from the rabbi which implied his brother's mental collapse--or religious revivification; it might be the same thing. Next, the conversation with Raynor and the returning impulse to quit his job; then came the hours of scrambling to pick up Dreogan's responsibilities on the Reid case as well as his own, and now -- now he was stuck talking to a house guest who wouldn't un-guest himself for an hour or so so that Adon could embark upon yet another painful conversation.

No, this was supposed to be as difficult as possible. Damn Pocket-God.

Adon smiled, guiltily, back as Jacoba entered the room and crossed over into the kitchen. He shook his head at her offer. "Sandwich," he prattled off teasingly, shaking his head. "I'll make it later. No drink, though; haven't eaten anything yet." And while it would be unwise to have a conversation of this nature while hungry, it would be fool-hearty to do it inebriated.  He looked to Jonas, sitting blithely on the couch, back to Jacoba. He didn't really feel like taking another walk; it was cold and he was just warming up. But it might keep it short.

Adon considered the alternatives. Bedroom; it was soundproofed. Bad idea. Bedrooms in general were a bad idea. Really, he'd prefer to kick Jonas out, but that might defeat the purpose. Jonas shouldn't be out, alone, in the cold. Literally. That's why he was on his couch, damnit. "Joh," he called over to the kitchen, reclaiming the pillow should Jonas decide to get cheeky with a retort to what he was about to say, "you ever seen the Tower at night?"

The digital island inhabitants were still not cooperating with his attempts to encourage socialization, which was probably some sort of metaphor for his life right now.  With a sigh, Jonas hit the button to quit the game.  Leaving his island paradise be for the evening would do well for his sanity.

"What?" he asked, turning the screen off.  "Oh, no - I mean, yeah, I was.  Different game," he explained, flashing the Auror a lopsided smile.  "This one's not about smiting, it's about mastering cultural achievements."  And maneuvering miniature people into bamboo huts, but he wasn't going to tell Adonn that.  'Developing indigenous culture' sounded much more worthwhile.  "Even the best vengeful gods can only handle so many erupting volcanoes, yeah?"

The other house inhabitant had emerged from her room at the sounds of Adon's arrival.  Jonas swung his feet to the ground, sitting up a little hastily as Jacoba headed into the kitchen.  It was hard enough to get a read on the young Muggle woman, but trying to connect the dots of who was related to whom was a bit like trying to play parcheesi on a chess board.  As far as he could assess it, she was the sister of the boy that Dreogan had taken in who had been kidnapped by Malvivicus and Katsaros, but thinking about it too much made Jonas's head hurt.  If anyone ever tried to diagram their current disaster of a situation out, he hoped they were prepared to use a lot of connecting lines.

"Naw, I'm alright," he replied cheerfully, attempting to discreetly consider the Auror.  Home late from work.  Distracted.  Long walks alone.  Putting off supper.  He knew those signs.

Adon was apparently still pontificating on the state of the Tower at night.  Jonas made an effort not to roll his eyes as he pushed himself up from the sofa.  "Yes, it's very lit up!" he called helpfully to Jacoba.  "Takes a bit of time to get there!  But the view's worth it!  All the major points, aren't those?" he asked Adon nicely, shifting to tuck his phone into his backpack.  "Unless you wanted to recite them yourself again, in which case, my apologies for spoiling the discussion."

Jacoba leaned against the kitchen counter as the two men bantered, prying the cap off her bottle of Helles.  She took a couple long sips as they delved into various aspects of Jonas' simulated responsibilities.  She'd never seen the appeal of such games.  In the past, she'd had enough trouble finding a way to keep her own affairs in order - the last year things seemed to have worked themselves out but she still didn't feel any desire to see to the every need and whim of pixels.  No - give her a battle hammer with a +30 power to go bashing through leagues of animated skeletons any day.  But, she hung in the background, watching as Adon and Jonas pondered the philosophical implications of Jonas' means of passing the time. 

Arching a curious eyebrow at Adon, Jacoba nodded her head, leaving the ktichen with only the beer in hand.  Mixed messages weren't uncommon in the household - Adon had proven on a few occasions he was prone to them - so Jacoba gave the yes-sandwich, no-sandwich answer little second thought.  It had been a difficult couple of days, on the heels of a difficult couple of weeks.  A little uncertainty wouldn't be entirely unexpected.  The offer to go for a walk after just coming back from a walk, though, seemed more out of place than the usual peculiarity. 

"I have," she answered, truthfully, glancing briefly at Jonas as he offered his support for the plan.  Did he know something Jacoba didn't know?  Something told her the activity had more to do with the walk than the tower itself.  After only a brief pause, she added, "but, it's a sight that never gets old, no?  I'll get my coat."  She set her bottle down on the coffee table and slipped back into her room and changed into a heavier pair of corduroys and slipped on her winter coat. 

Once back in the entryway, she glanced back towards Adon, nodding.  "Shall we, then?" 

"Ah, cultural achievements," Adon retorted in a passing mimicry of Jonas's light whatever-it-was accent. Adon really didn't know if it qualified as "English." He suspected people like Raynor with their curt, precise diction, might take offense. "So, what have you achieved today, ipod God?" It was an iphone. Adon knew he was about to get the correction immediately and rolled his eyes preemptively. iphone didn't rhyme with God. Ergo it was less funny. But some people just didn't get humour.

Adon's wit, which was already wearing a bit thin, was so greatly reduced by the time that Jacoba emerged from her room with a coat that Adon only managed a brief glower at Jonas before standing up from his perch on the couch arm. "Yeh." He tucked his hands in his pockets and nodded, moving towards the door. It was only then that the realised operating doorknobs required hands. He pulled his right hand out of its pocket, resting it on the knob. He paused and glanced back to Jonas. "Achieve away. Don't miss us while we're gone," he said before holding the door open for Jacoba.

Once on the other side of the door, Adon exhaled a bit, as though he might, still in the warmth of the hallway, see his breath. He gave Jacoba an anxious smile before motioning to the lift and once more repeating the process of holding the door open for her. On the way down, he fretted a bit, shifting his ankles as he looked at the lit numbers above the door descend in order. "So. . . everything went well today? I mean, with Jonas picking you up?"

The cues were subtle but they were there.  His restlessness and fidgeting.  That brief nervous smile outside the lift.  His persistence in looking at everything else when not flashing a nervous smile at her.  More restlessness and fidgeting in the lift.  Something was on his mind.  And, when one combined that with her previous suspicions about the Jonas-free, nighttime stroll, Jacoba got the sinking suspicion she knew where this was headed. 

The question was: what should she do?  Pretend she hadn't figured it out?  He was obviously avoiding the topic, temporarily.  And, for all she knew she could, after all, be jumping to the wrong conclusions.  If she was wrong, she could avoid looking the fool or making things more awkward by keeping quiet. 

The immediate strategy was obvious, though.  "It went fine," she offered, as casual and conversationally as possible.  "Didn't see anything beyond the usual gawk."  Her extended absence from the Alley had meant that the muggle was now a fresh sight along the street.  "Jonas got home ahead of me.  I stopped in to the library to check my email.  Still waiting to hear back from Elisa.  And my Oma's lawyers.  I - solche Quatsch" she muttered more to herself, shaking her head.  Taking care of her brother had provided a nice distraction from ... everything.  Since he'd left for school, weeding through these emails had taken its place.  "I'm just so over lawyers."

Cold air hit her face as she stepped out onto the sidewalk.  She paused just long enough to tug a lemon drop from her pocket and pop it in her mouth.  She held out the pack to Adon before slipping it back in her pocket.  "You know.  It's incredibly tempting to try to take your hand.  But, as well as you may have this disguised as a romantic stroll, I suspect that kind of would be counter productive to wherever this is going." 

Adon gave a wry little smile at talk of lawyers. "You know," he began casually, somehow feeling this perfectly encapsulated the awkwardness, the stiffness, the meaninglessness of a first date, "I considered going into law, once." He waited for the laugh, because to most people, he was military. He was muscle. Good with arms and hands and feet. But Adon didn't like that part of himself so very much. It -- got brutal too quickly. It was why he switched to intelligence. It was why he favoured desk work over field work. It was why he was proud of carefully constructed reports and wittily laid out banter. The laugh didn't come, and Adon remembered with a pang why: he was talking to Jacoba.

Either way this went, it would be for the best. If she wanted to stay together, well . . . that was already a course they'd decided on. And if it didn't go that way, it would be one less thing to feel guilty about. One less concern. They both had enough. Like hers about lawyers. Adon broke his prolonged silence. "You know, it's possible that the lawyers just--"

He halted his words to listen wave away the lemon drop offer and to listen to her words.

"Wow," Adon said, face vacant a moment in a half-gawp of his own. He ran a hand over his face before looking at her sidelong, allowing the protection of an ironic smile to creep over his features. "You didn't even let us get down the block. Brutal."

Nothing was easy with Jacoba; it wasn't her fault . . . entirely . . . and he did mind . . . entirely . . . yet he wasn't about to wade through all of this--the relationship, the laughs, and painful, soul-bearing discussions, if it would be more painful down the road. In the long-run. . . in time. And this was precisely the problem: the trouble with those types of phrases was that that was just what he didn't have. The road was short; the sprint was, too. There was no time. Just a quick drop and a short stop. At least Jacoba had not been fooled into thinking otherwise.

"Huh," he managed before clearing his throat. He looked back up at the high-rise, contemplating if they should even pretend to walk to the Tower now.  She seemed to want to get this over quickly. He had had it planned out. They'd ask about their days. He'd transition to talking about meeting with Tam. Which would mean mentioning his temporary assignment status in London. His request to stay permanently. Then the Death Dream. And then the question. But nothing was easy with Jacoba. She didn't follow script.

He addressed her concerns first.

"I don't know where this is going. Or what's productive or not. I don't," he reaffirmed with a helpless shrug. "But I'll start with what I do know: I care about you, Joh. You know, a lot. So . . . but I talked to my boss--" Jacoba probably knew her by name by now, "Raynor today, and it left some pretty big issues on the table. I'm not sure how long I'll be here and you've been through a lot in the past month, and, just considering that, I'm wondering how prudent it is to just . . . keep going ahead like this."

Because standing stationary was cruel, because standing stationary was like awaiting a firing squad, he peeled off, beginning to walk, hands still in his pockets as he looked up at the sky. If there were stars, they were muffled by the bright lights of the city. He wondered if walking these streets, so near to the bank, made Joh think of her father. He'd ask, but. . .
 
Once more, he glanced over to her, eyes trying to decipher any signals there. She talked to Dree, and Dree talked. Did he ever talk. He was not even sure how much she knew. "This isn't some predestined--" he paused a moment, marveling at his grotesque word choice. Excellent, Houdini. Just excellent. His voice was a bit fainter as he pushed on, "this isn't all set in stone. You have a say in it, too." Anxiously, his hand ran up and across his face. He wouldn't be the tyrant that Fate was. He could let Jacoba change his mind. With some discomfort, with that flash of self-understanding that came at the most inconvenient times, he realised this was precisely what he had had in mind. This wasn't a discussion. It was a plea.

"Harah," he cursed quietly.

She grinned up at Adon then turned away to breath a small, white cloud into the charcoal grey sky.  "I could see that.  Bet you'd be a good lawyer."  Granted - she didn't know a lot about lawyers.  In fact, she'd had very few interactions with them before this whole bit with her father's estate ... and her mother's estate ... started bubbling up.  "Not sure you'd like it, though.  At least not these sorts.  Maybe other breeds of lawyers are less ... I don't know." 

Condescending.  Concerned about money.  Preoccupied with finding ways to screw people over for their own gain.  There were some lawyers who were out there to actually try to do some good.  The ones who were oozing out of the woodworks to 'help' Sasha figure out what the next step was were far from them.  But, whatever the lawyers might have been or might have been doing was going to remain a mystery.  At least while whatever the bigger issue was hogging the spotlight. 

Jacoba glanced up at Adon with a twinge of guilt and an apologetic grin.  Had she jumped the gun?  Was she sounding paranoid?  "I'm sorry.  I just ... I've been here before.  You know?"  It always came at some point.  And, to be honest, she'd actually managed to avoid overstaying her welcome for longer than usual.  But - it was inevitable and experience taught her the sooner she recognized the signs and the more readily she obliged, the easier it was all around.  The more quickly she tried to pretend the idea was mutually beneficial, the easier things seemed to go.  No matter how much of a lie it was. 

Jacoba's eyes widened and she took a deep breath before letting it out in a long, slow, relieved sigh.  Yes.  Apparently, she had been jumping to conclusions. 

The tone of the conversation, of course, was still fairly damper but she couldn't suppress the relieved, pleased smile that spread across her face.  "I know," she admitted even though, in retrospect, it had been a relief to hear it.  "And, it's entirely mutual."  She fell quiet, forcing her attention to focus on the rest of what he said.  That, after all, was the crucial information.  What this whole conversation was about.  She followed his lead and fell into step next to him.  Even after his quiet little curse, she continued to walk in silence a few moments, giving herself a few moments to gather her thoughts.

It was difficult to shake years of habit and experience.  Her immediate, reflexive reaction was to pinpoint and focus on any tidbit of Adon's words that could be construed or misconstrued into rejection.  At some point, it always came.  She could count the number of friends she'd known for more than a year on one hand.  Her parents had rejected her.  Until recently, she'd believed her brother had rejected her.  Beyond the reflex, though, Jacoba knew that's all that was - an emotional knee-jerk response.  She gave herself ten steps to indulge, silently, in the impulsive panic before refocusing on the present and reminding herself things were very different this time.  She had some control over the outcome here. 

As if a slight change of their literal plan would help illustrate that fact, Jacoba extracted a hand from her own pocket and gave Adon's sleeve a slight, wordless 'head's up' tug before hanging a right at the corner rather than continuing in the direction that would lead them to the tower.  "You don't know how long you'll be here."  She repeated.  She took a few more steps in silence.  "Are you going on another trip?  Or.  Do you mean Dreogan's dream?"  Given the events of the last few days, either seemed like viable options.  "Is that why ... you think this isn't prudent.  Are there other reasons?"

"Well," Adon protested, "that's just it, really. Good people--" Not that he would classify himself as that, "people with principles need to go into the dark places; it's the only way change happens." Spoken like an Eleor, Houdini. Adon gave a slight, grim smile at this. There were some things he'd never get away from.

"I've been here before.  You know?"

"I have, too," Adon said, the memories of Thea holding his ring in her fingers, not on her hand, as they spoke, the tightness in his chest as he thought about it cutting his words down to sharp, precise syllables. "But 'here''s not where you think it is. We're . . . nowhere yet." He gave a brief, bitter laugh if disbelief. "We're not even to the Tower!" Which, he reminded himself, she'd already been to.

She at least acknowledged, though, that even if they were "here"/nowhere, they were there together. He gave a wordless, single nod to this. She was smiling; curious. He had nothing more to say on it. This conversation was so completely uncontrolled. This was supposed to be his ground. But they were nowhere, and he had nothing to stand on. The last month had been a freefall, and he'd be willing to cling to anything.

But when Jacoba put into words the cause of it all, he cringed.  Had the ground of nowhere been there, he'd have felt it drop from beneath him at the mention of the dream. "I should be going back to Israel soon," Adon acknowledged. He should. His work would most likely require it. And Adnan Musallam in Jerusalem, his mentor, was willing to work around Adon's current constraints. "But if I do," he said, glancing at her nervously, "I'm not certain --" he'd be coming back. He stopped: stopped talking, stopped walking, and for a moment, stopped breathing. "Before I say anything else, what do you know about the dream?"

Jacoba chuckled and shook her head.  She considered pointing out that she would be more than happy if Adon had pursued the field of Domestic and International Estate and Trust Fund Laws.  As nice as it was to have someone on her side who was familiar with the whole realm of Level Two of the Ministry of Magic, she probably would have traded that for a familiar face in all this legal muck.  At least until the legal muck was behind them.  Then, Adon could go back to being an Auror. 

But, those were hurdles to ponder later.  For the time being, her mind was preoccupied with the other topic laid out on the table of nowhere.   

She nodded her head.  Chances were, Adon had been at a much more significant 'here' before than she'd ever been.  For the time being, it was enough of a relief to know she probably wasn't facing being homeless again.  Everything else, it seemed, they could talk through.  And, no.  They weren't at the tower.  "I kind of opted against the tower."  It was probably a needless admission.  He'd just walked there and back a few minutes ago.  He'd probably figured out she'd changed course long before he'd come to a stop just next to the sign for the Bank Underground Station.   

Like most girls, Jacoba had had her share of fantasies about what falling in love would be like.  Those fantasies had gradually evolved from the prince-hell-bent-on-rescue-riding-up-on-his-fiery-red-stallion phase through the Victorian gentleman-come-a-courting phase and into the more recent most-handsome-rockstar-picks-you-from-the-crowd phase.  In none of its manifestations had it ever resembled something like this. 

"Soon?"  She asked.  Soon was a frustratingly relative term.  Soon could be within the hour or within the year.  "And ... are you ... is your intention not to come back?"  Her stomach churned slightly; she wasn't entirely sure she wanted to know the answer.  Was that the point of this conversation?  Was he telling her he was leaving - like he had in October.  But, unlike then, regardless of what happened, he wasn't planning on returning?  She knew it was always a possibility he might not- regardless of what that dream might or might not have shown.  For all anyone knew, he could get bit by a cobra while crossing the street.  She wasn't even sure if there were cobras in Israel.  But, if it changed things entirely if he fully intended to not come back. 

She took a deep breath and turned towards Adon.  After a moment, she looked down at her feet, shrugging apologetically.  "Dreogan made us promise not to tell you ... he was pretty adamant about it.  I know the man that hexed my brother and took him to Malvivicus-"  She hesitated a moment.  "I know he kills you in the dreams.  I know he's a criminal - obviously."  She fidgeted nervously; uncomfortably.  "I know Dreogan's been having them for a while now.  And, I know there is some ... I don't know ... prophetic qualities to them.  But," she added, quickly, shaking her head.  "I've known that for a while now - before I agreed to start dating you.  I ... I went into this knowing that.  And, to be honest, I'm not sure what's there to be gained from us breaking it off." 

She shrugged her shoulders and shook her head, looking back up at Adon.  "Let's face it.  I'd care what happens to you whether we're dating or not.  If you're trying to protect me from getting hurt if something happens to you ... it's too late for that." 

Adon held his breath as she explained the extent of the dream. The information was not complete, but it was more than he'd expected. "Wait--" he interjected. "Us? Who is 'us'?"

"Well,"  Jacoba said, shrugging a little awkwardly.  "Isaac and myself.  He'd come to ask where Sasha was and had helped me get to your brother's."

Adon frowned slightly as he rolled his shoulders. "Oh." In context, it made sense. They were looking for clues. And looking for the culprit. Dreogan'd eventually found him. And yesterday, he'd found Dreogan.

Still, the information laid him bare. He considered what he knew of Isaac Frasier. He seemed a quiet man; at least Adon'd never heard him talk. Of course, he'd never met the man. But anyone who holed themselves up for evenings in order to take apart Muggle devices with his brother. . . well, they were probably -- what was his mother's word? Nerdish. Still. Adon'd never met the man. It was not the sort of information he wanted mere strangers to know. "Alright," he added, feeling it might close the gash he felt at this. After a moment, he added, "Got to make one hell of a first impression on the man, now, to live up to that reputation."

It was the first attempt he'd made at making light of this situation. It, he was sure, would not be the first. But as with many first attempts, it was awkward, gangly, and unconvincing. He'd learn to lie better next time. "It will--" Adon broke it off right there. That was no way to structure this sentence. Future progressive tense was a bleak tense. "It happens in Jerusalem," he began, toneless. "I'm there to rescue Dree." There was no need to say how it happened. "Dree's had dreams like this before. Others. They've come true."

He gave a grim smile. "But I thought not me. Because I'm Houdini, you know? It's my gift." He gave a broad gesture in the air as though to demonstrate the magnitude of escapism, the grandeur of such talent. "I thought -- the man does not even know me. He had not seen Dreogan in years. Then he duelled him in Hogsmeade." He clentched his jaw. "And then yesterday, he possessed my brother. He saw everything." His hands dropped to his sides where he held them, rigid, with clenched fists. "In my brother's body, in his voice, he taunted me about how he would do it." He glanced over at Jacoba. "Prophetic or no, I think Katsaros will try to make it happen. The prophecy is self-fulfilling. If Dree'd just--"

He couldn't blame Dree. He was certain, at least, Dreogan was already doing that himself. This wasn't about Dree. This wasn't about him. Tonight, this was about Jacoba. He considered her words carefully and was, not for the first time, but rather uncomfortably, struck by how young her sentiments sounded. "I know you care, Joh," Adon said, giving her a slight smile. "And I'm glad. But Joh, there is something about dating -- if we go forward with this, we will care more. It will be harder." He added quietly, "At least to me."

Adon was frustrated. If it was coming -- however soon -- he wanted to enjoy what time he had left. He wanted to surround himself with people he cared about. He wanted to live for something. But if it was coming, he needed to consider them. And he needed to make this as easy as he could.

"If I go to Israel," he said finally, addressing her earlier question, "I don't think I'm coming back. I've arranged with Raynor and Musallam to stay here, while I can." He shrugged. "I don't know if I can stay away forever." He could think of nearly 100 things to call him back: requisite civic service, military service, the Auror's office, the Runespoor investigation, Dree actually being in trouble. Or his battalion friends. Or Thea--

Yet another thing he'd need to tell Joh about. Sometime. Not now.

He looked at where they were. He'd been caught up and couldn't quite place the block. He paused, shoving his hands deeper in his pockets. He hated the cold. This was so much more humid, so much more unpleasant than the cold in Israel. And he was not particularly relishing this conversation. "You have just to consider the very real possibility," he said, retouching on the main points, hoping to expedite a conclusion. "I think -- it will be easier, for me at least, to prepare for the worst." He glanced over at her expectantly, "and work for the best."

Again, Jacoba grimaced apologetically.  In retrospect, it probably wasn't great that Isaac had been there and privy to the whole scrying thing.  At the time, though, Jacoba hadn't given it much thought.  She hadn't known what was going to be coming out of the mirror-thing - what Dreogan was going to see.  It would never have occurred to her that the men that had taken her brother would have any connection with ... something like that with Adon. 

"I'm sorry," she offered.  Hopefully, this wouldn't have an impact on ... whatever this conversation was about.  "I'm not sure he's really all that worried about that."  Jacoba suspected something had had a bigger impact on Isaac's first impression of Adon.  At least Adon was trying for humor.  Meant things couldn't be that bad, right? 

Jacoba had learned a great deal about the wizarding world in the last few months but she knew there was bound to be the intellectual equivalent of the Encyclopedia Britannica that she'd yet to consider, let alone fully comprehend.  Scrying was bound to be one topic in one of those books she'd only flipped through.  She'd heard the word; she could probably point out someone scrying in a line up.  The ins and outs of prophetic dreams?  That was a whole other ball of wax.  She gave his explanation her full attention and even managed to ignore that childish voice that wanted so much to point out that she was sure Dreogan had had plenty of dreams that hadn't come true as well.  Or, at least, he was bound to have. 

The thoughts ... these hypotheticals ... it was hard not to feel overwhelmed.  Overwhelmed by possibilities that were, right now, just that.  Only possibilities.  Not total inevitabilities.  But, they were possibilities with a certain degree of tangibility.  Part of her - that childish voice - was yearning to rear its head again and shout out that it wasn't fair.  That this just wasn't ... it wasn't right.  But, the only clear indication she gave of the inner tantrum was a frustrated groan as she pushed herself up to sit on the cold stone wall surrounding the stairs down to the underground station on three sides. 

What kind of answer was she supposed to give?  Was there even a question?  Every immediate gut reaction that came to mind felt like it would reveal some lingering insecurity or character flaw she'd been trying to work past.  If she yielded and accepted stepping back would be easier, would she be giving up to easily?  If she stubbornly insisted she didn't care and was willing to take the risks, would that be her being foolish and immature? 

She took a deep, long breath of the damp and cold air and attempted to collect her thoughts before speaking.  "If you really, truly believe things would be easier and better if we weren't together then-" she took another deep breath.  "-then I can respect that.  And, I'll leave whenever you want me to.  But, even if it seems inevitable this will end, it's not what I want." 

"I know what I'm getting into.  I know the risks.  And, even taking those into consideration, I'd rather spend what time I can with you.  I'm alright with things not being guaranteed - few things really are.  Take full advantage of what you have at the moment and appreciate it for as long as you're blessed with it.  Enough so that if or when the time comes you're without it, you look back with satisfaction at what you had - not regret for what you didn't fully appreciate."  People came and went - it was a reality in her life.  Yes - that invincible romantic side of hers had hoped that this would have been that magical time things just sort of worked out. 

Slowly, she shook her head, not sure if any of this was making any difference.  "You don't have to go this alone.  I want to help in whatever way I can.  But, if that really means me not being in the picture then ... I ... will respect that." 

Adon shrugged wordlessly at her apology. He supposed it wasn't really her fault the man'd been there, even if Adon hadn't wanted it. Nothing was in his control now, anyhow. Why should this be any different?

However, Jacoba addressed him in such a clear, rational manner, he felt his reason being restored. Even as she sighed and settled herself onto the ledge, Adon stood, still facing her, considering her in the light of the street lamps. He glanced up at the looming, black statue of some notable, memorialised so that he might be, in good conscience, forgotten.

She walked him through this. She wanted to stay together. She was prepared for the risks. And then . . . Take full advantage of what you have at the moment and appreciate it for as long as you're blessed with it.  Enough so that if or when the time comes you're without it, you look back with satisfaction at what you had - not regret for what you didn't fully appreciate.

Adon looked away, arms folded more tightly across his chest. Now she was a damned feel-good psychiatrist. He didn't need one of those. He needed a girlfriend. Or he didn't. "Sounds like you could write your own book," he muttered.

It was silent several moments. Adon remembered to count. He counted to fifteen. He wanted to count to ten-thousand before he needed to deal with saying anything again. "That's not what I meant," he said flatly, venturing to look back at her. He waited until five. "I'm sorry."

Ten.

He took a deep breath, looking skyward before releasing it in a long, drawn out noise that was half sigh, half groan. "Alright," he said, as though it took a great effort. "Let's do it." It was hard to feel enthusiastic about anything, just now. Everything tied up in his life had an element of ill-fatedness to it.

He sat down on the cold stone ledge, feeling the metal rail lining the wall biting into his back. He shifted. "I don't know what I would do if I couldn't talk to you about it," he confessed, a new tone of earnestness in his voice. "Jonas tries to fix it, taking about ketchup packets and nonesense. Dree . . . gets this look in his eyes. Raynor just wants to know I'm not quitting." He paused. "I haven't told my mother."

He couldn't feel bad about that right now. He needed to be in a position to take care of himself before he could take care of her. And that was what this was about, wasn't it? Figuring out if Jacoba was the sort that needed caring for, or if she could --

"I'd like your help," he said, wrapping an arm around her and reaching up to play with her hair. "Just . . . no advice book truisms? Please?"  His elbow hit the rail and, in irritation, he looked downward to evaluate. "How do you stay on this thing?"