The drab colors and lights of World War Two had faded to black once more, leaving the room in shining darkness as the credits began to roll.  Jonas sighed, tilting his head to first one side, and then the other to stretch his neck as he shifted his position on the couch.

The stress of the last few weeks had finally built to its penultimate wait; the plan was to put their strategy into action the next night.  They knew approximately where Macduff was staying, and Downer's friend on Level Nine had been working to brew the Essence d'Amherst that was essential to their ambush.  Each of the members of the small group that Adon had christened the Book Club knew the role they were supposed to play.  There was nothing more they could do until the morning, and so they had all gone their separate ways, off to find their own peace until the morning.

Neither he nor Adon was likely to just relax that night, so Jonas had invited his friend and partner over for the evening -- nominally to talk strategy, but really just to give them both something to do.  Review had turned into discussion, which had dissolved into contingencies that had slowly gotten more and more preposterous -- Jonas didn't really think that Macduff was going to manage to transform into a werewolf, bite each of his attackers, and then set the Imperius Curse on them and turn them loose in London, but at least they had a nominal plan in place if he did.

"You want another beer, mate?" he asked the man next to him, doing his best not to grimace as he rose to his feet.  Preposterous contingency plans had finally devolved into watching his favorite television miniseries coupled with copious drinks: arak until they'd run out of both ice and clean glasses, at which point they'd shifted back to the emergency beers that Jonas still kept stashed in his old office.

It hurt to stand after sitting for so long, but the darkness helped hide most of his wince.  The relentlessness of recent days had taken its toll on the red-headed investigator's mobility.  Jonas had grown used to the aching in his knee whenever he pushed himself too hard, but the pain was near constant now.  Arresting O Morain, scrambling to find what traces they could of Rosier's attacker, facilitating the dueling trials of Trevor Reid and Atalana Kanika, and all of the extraneous hours they were putting in to fuel their off-the-record hunt for MacDuff -- there was only so much the old injury could take without flaring up again.  The balm that Adon had once given him was now gone, and he was certain that the Runespoor bites from the other day hadn't made the situation better, even if the usual effects from the venom had never appeared.

At least walking helped -- even if it was painful at first, stretching his knee occasionally meant it wouldn't hurt like hell later when he tried to sleep.  Moving stiffly, Jonas limped across the room to the television set, pressing the eject button on the DVD player.  The red-haired man sighed, balancing his weight on his good leg as he fumbled for the next DVD out of the case, and then slid it into the player. 

"Reckon that's the difference between what we do and what it must have been like for you back in the army, innit?" he asked as he pressed play, and then turned to limp toward the kitchen table.  As much as he tried to keep his tone light, the words took on a quiet, thoughtful note as he grabbed another pair of bottles.  "A bit harder to call in reinforcements when you're off in enemy territory somewhere.  You ever get caught out somewhere like that, A?"

Adon did not like to watch Jonas tottering about--gingerly setting his foot out, experimentally, as though uncertain it'd hold weight.  It made Jonas seem fragile.  Helpless.  He'd never say it--at least he really hoped he wouldn't in the course of this evening--but he was relieved Jonas was not going to be actively engaging MacDuff tomorrow.  If magiclessness had gotten Jonas into  trouble before, at least now, it would serve as an appropriate excuse to get him out of it.

Though the excuse Adon had said--the pleasant veneer of truth--had been that Jonas was critical in ensuring the safety of the assailant's targets.  He would stay in the safehouse with Hestia, Dreogan, the Trevelites, and Amherst. If things did go wrong, Jonas would be there.  Adon had his misgivings on what good Jonas would be, if everything went to hell--but it did make him feel a little better knowing Dreogan would be there.  The man's paranoia had a way of working out, most times.

Except when--

Adon heard Jonas' uneven gait and turned his head, noting the man came with beer.  That's right--they'd gone through all the arak already.  Adon took one of the beers with a gruff thanks and flicked the bottle open. Jonas also seemed to be in a macabre frame of mind--asking of he'd experienced anything like...

"Like D-Day?" Adon sputtered in bemused surprise--hovering over the lip of his bottle as he processed the thought. "Like the Brécourt Manor Assault?" He set the glass down on the table; gave an amazed guffaw. "No. Not like that. Unless you're meaning fixed-target attacks. I have lead a couple of those. And it was usually with only about 13 men, though the intelligence was solid, and we were not going up against a whole goddamn platoon." He shook his head.  Dramatic music started to play, as images of uniformed men flashed across the screen.  If he was not careful, between the drink and the orchestra, and disembodied patriotism he was feeling surging through his blood at the moment, he might get carried away.

"In my unit, you really only need reinforcements if your plan goes to shit.  And, yeh. If that happens--there is no backup."  Because you could be in Uganda or Syria, for all you knew. Top-secret, deep reconnaissance had a way of making you inaccessible.  "Good luck then," he said with a bitter laugh as finally he took an inaugural swig from the bottle of beer.  "You'd give an arm for Apparation, then. Though--I might have broken the Statute a few times. The way I saw it, when stuck in enemy territory, and an operation gone to pot--and you're entering what you had been told was a civilian household, but it's actually an enemy outpost-- Apparation's as close as you can get to being in two places at the same time--to being your own reinforcement; and I couldn't fail my men--it didn't make sense to hold back and lose lives for that. The Ministry seemed to understand. The men--" Jonas was still standing there, beer in hand. Adon tilted his head before grinning and reaching out.

"Well. The men didn't quite understand." He flicked the lid off with his wand. "But," he held the bottle out in offering, wiggling the fingers of his wand hand-- "they did start calling me Houdini." He looked smug. "They didn't mind it though. Magic gives you the upper hand--when you're the only one who has got it."

"The more difficult times, though, were when I force side-alonged with one of my own men. It only happened three times, but it really shook them up. One of them nearly lost his mind in the heat of it and jeopardized the whole operative." He took another deep swig of the beer, his face growing hard. "I had to Obliviate him on the spot, just to get him to stop..." In a quieter voice, he added, "Moshe was never really the same after."

"There were plenty of religious men in my unit--I wasn't one of them, but there wasn't a man out there who didn't pray to something that they'd never have to face--that they wouldn't be in one of those situations that needed reinforcements."

The music ended; the screen went temporarily dark before the music looped back, the faces of Winters and Nixon appeared. And all the men whose names he hadn't really bothered to learn yet.  Adon was quiet for several moments, thinking.  The silence beneath the sombre string and brass orchestra settled.  Adon studied the faces carefully.  Why was it that you never really learned the names of the minor characters? No one in the world was a minor character...

Adon never really had checked in with Moshe after leaving the IDF.  And no doctor--no Muggle doctor'd ever make him right again.

Abruptly, Adon cleared his throat as Nixon's face reappeared. He gave a sharp laugh. "I still don't buy it, Jonas. You definitely look like Winters more than I look like Nix."

Apparently he'd missed the humor inherent in his question.  Jonas rolled his eyes good-naturedly, giving a bemused snort as he held the beer out to Adon.  The Israeli had been quick to identify with the American miniseries the first time they'd watched it, even if he did seem a little too intent on proving his own worth as a soldier by pointing out every single mistake or inconsistency that he noticed.  As long as the other Auror was enjoying himself and there weren't too many scenes involving vehicles traveling at very high speeds, Jonas was content to let Adon prattle harmlessly away as he tuned him out and watched the show.

The question, though, seemed to have inspired some less than enjoyable thoughts in his friend.  Jonas sighed quietly, his mouth pressed firmly closed as he regarded the younger man.  Even if he didn't really know -- even if he could never truly understand -- he could sense the weight of the story as surely as if it were his own.  The tension of their original meeting had settled into a comfortable investigative partnership after 5 January, and a close friendship as the weeks had stretched beyond that.  He understood Adon Eleor better than he should after only six months.  He didn't need to know what the Israeli had been through, the details of each mental and physical wound, to offer unspoken sympathy in return.  Their friendship meant silently sharing the burdens between them.

And apparently not letting up when it came to running arguments.

Jonas gave a snort, directing a swat that wasn't really intended to injure at his friend's arm.  "Just because of the bloody hair color," he complained loudly, shaking his head as he lowered himself to resume his seat.  Hiding his grin wasn't really working, but Jonas tried it anyway as he arranged himself on the sofa next to his friend.  In the grand scheme of things, there were far worse red heads to be compared to than Dick Winters. 

"Didn't you just get through saying I talked too much to be Winters?  You can't have it both ways, Adon," he retorted, flashing his partner a grin.  "Either I am or I'm not, mate."

The relief at sitting down again was enough to help him relax.  Jonas balanced his beer in one hand, fumbling for the remote with his left to start the next episode.  They'd left Easy Company stranded in France.  Their war had only just begun.  And watching the familiar story tonight, after a few too many drinks and with his mind already prone to mulling over the events of the coming day, it was impossible not to draw comparisons.

"You know..."  He trailed off as his thoughts wound back to the unpleasant territory that he'd been mulling over a moment before.  Adon recoiling on the opposite side of the road, separated from him by a glass window and half a block as the assailant who'd looked like his brother had driven a knife into his stomach.  And even before that, the broken look on Tait Aldridge's face as he finally gave in and asked to die, a ghost from a lifetime ago. 

These weren't things that he particularly wanted to think about, not tonight, but after the violence of the past half hour, they were impossible to shake.  A quick drink of beer was barely enough to keep him from showing it.

"You ever think that maybe we should be planning this differently?"  He didn't look at Adon, not directly, but watched him out of his peripheral vision as he lowered his drink again.  "I mean, I was thinking about it, and it's the same sort of thing as all this."  His knee was still aching quietly, despite the uncomfortable confession.  Jonas kept his gaze focused on it, lacing his fingers around the cool glass of the bottle.  "You lot know you're walking into a fight, and Knockturn's as close to enemy territory as we can get in London, innit?  Shouldn't we arrange for closer backup, just in case?"

"I was talking looks, Jonas. Unless you're suddenly wanting to make the case that appearances are tied to personality traits--which would be pretty illogical, especially for you."

It was almost like he wasn't trying.  Adon felt too distracted to try, now.  He hadn't dwelled on IDF days for a good long while--actual tactical maneuvers; and regrets...

"You ever think that maybe we should be planning this differently?"

"You mean tomorrow?" Adon asked--which was definitely not where his thoughts had been.  He pressed his lips together as he thought, sighing through his nose. "Hm. No."  Rolling his shoulders, he took a sip of his beer, and settled back into the somewhat lumpy cushions, applying a little force so that they would conform to his body shape.  Holed up sufficiently, he began to explain.  "Maybe the way we planned it could use a little work. But I think the plan's just fine." Another sigh. "It's just that if anything does not go according to plan, my gut instinct here is that it will be quite difficult to pull together." He shook his head grimly.

"There's no chain of command. And no decisive leader. Which means, if there is any deviation--in order to adapt--the group would need to reach some sort of instantaneous consensus. And given the size of the group," he paused, "and some of the personalities, I'm going to be honest and say that'll be one hell of a feat. There's a reason why vigilantes don't normally travel in packs.  It's usually a solitary vocation; or a clear leader and a sidekick."

It felt good--to talk this through. To explain the reservations he'd first felt since the inaugural meeting of the Book Club.  "In combat, you don't ask consensus. Winters did not ask 'Picante--how do you feel about jumping into that pit of Germans, just now?' He gave orders. And you've got to do that--you've got to get to a point where you're able to do that. That's the backbone of an operation. You may not even trust the judgment of the man giving orders--and that's the soldier's struggle--but you obey. Because if everyone does what they think works, then nothing will."

Shit--he was not looking forward to tomorrow. "What I'm planning on doing tomorrow," Adon said, "is making sure I'm the first person to get to Dugan. It'll help to moderate the situation; and hopefully, reign in some of the aggression that's already present.  We need to get answers about Tawse and Robin. I'm inclined to think that won't happen if Pratt or Bagnold get to him first."

He wet his lips. "It's not a matter of reinforcements--it's a matter of needing a strong leader... and the way this is set up, I'm not so sure that's even a possibility."

Apparently analyzing small group tactics was the Israeli version of sitting around and talking football.  Adon had taken off on another tangent, and Jonas found himself having to force his thoughts to follow along.  The points that he raised made sense -- there was no leader of their group, and the fact that no one had gotten strangled yet was probably due to sheer luck or the fact that Pratt had been much less spirited than usual.  Going into any kind of high pressure situation was much, much more difficult when you didn't trust the men next to you.  He'd seen that already, with Dreogan's possession and Tamis's run in with Tawse. 

"Yeah," he agreed, nodding along in agreement as he took another drink.  The fermentation of the beer tasted bitter as it stung his throat.  This wasn't entirely the way he had planned to get at the subject, but he could take a different tack.  If they were talking tactics -- following orders, establishing trust -- that worked just as well.  The only order he hadn't followed in recent days was jumping over the bloody bannister, and he still wasn't certain how Adon had expected that one to turn out well.

"Right.  So there's a flaw.  And what if something does go wrong with Pratt or Bagnold?"  He glanced at the younger man, making the effort to focus and meet his gaze.  "We've seen Radley too, in the heat of it -- he's no bastion of control either, mate."  It felt something like a betrayal, saying that about his former partner, but Archer Radley had changed from the man Jonas had once knew.  The incident when Tamis had gotten hurt.  His near loss of control in the interrogation room.  The big Auror was teetering dangerously close to the edge.

The more he thought about it, the worse the plan was seeming.  And not just because he was so unhappy and frustrated at being written out.  It would be one thing if there were no risk -- or minimal risk.  But Adon had said it himself.  He planned on being the first to engage Macduff.  If something went wrong, he'd be the first to play the price.  And this time, if something went wrong -- if there was a knife, or an ambush in an alleyway -- then Jonas wasn't going to be anywhere where he could help.

The red-haired Auror took a deep breath, swallowed hard, and steadied himself.  "I just think," he started, more cautious than certain, "that maybe it's a bad idea to leave you dangling out there alone like that, Adon.  I mean --"  He grimaced at the words he knew were coming; they tasted far more bitter than the beer.  "Well, I get it," he said with an unhappy shrug.  "The magic.  I can't be with you lot in the thick of it.  But if something does go wrong, wouldn't it be better to have someone nearby that you could trust?"

"If we had an unlimited supply of taxis, Jon--" Adon began, trying to make light of it. But it felt unnatural, even if it was, he acknowledged, easier.

Bagnold, Pratt,--even Radley might not take orders from Adon. It was true. And it was much less likely that they'd be able to, in a moment's notice, come up with a cohesive, coherent strategy to minimize risk.  It was no reflection on character; they simply hadn't had the three years' training and five years' practice that he had to get to that point.

"I wish you could, you know," Adon said, giving his partner an awkward, sidelong glance.  "I'd feel a hell of a lot better about it, yeh." Because then, at least, there would be one person working with him--not against him--no matter what. Everyone else had some sort of agenda in this plan. Adon's agenda in executing the plan was... executing the plan. That was how you kept things from getting out of hand. You kept them from meaning something. Pratt, Bagnold...

"The only other person I'd trust in that operation--who had magic--" he said, with a sigh, "would be Dree. And he's not good enough in combat--trust me on that. And I need him at the safehouse with you. Because if this doesn't go well, that's right where they'll come, and I need people I can trust there."

Adon thought a moment. "Really, on the balance, most operations go smoothly. No hostage situations--maybe one or two injuries; very seldom do we get casualties. And, really, to put this in perspective, this is just one man. It's not a large, high-risk operation."

Perhaps it was for England, but not for him.  "We've got a good presence, even if he isn't alone--and if there's one thing about the Knockturnites we've noticed from the factioning and squabbling between the likes of Sellaphix and Tawse and Briggs; even O'Morain's arrest--is that they can't get enough common ground to really unite; they sell each other out, they pick fights amongst themselves; they're still more interested in looking out for themselves as individuals to get behind a united cause."

He blew on rim of the beer bottle as he thought, smiling slightly at the hollow, whistle-like noise that came from it. "So. Let's be honest. The Book Club might not be the most cohesive, organized bunch out there, but if we're in sorry shape, the Knockturnites are even more so. I very much doubt a rallying call, or an immediate counter-attack." He glanced at the tv thoughtfully. "Though I don't know... You would probably have a better notion of that. You think they're capable of mobilizing at a moment's notice?" To his knowledge, the Book Club still had the element of surprise.

There was a beat longer of silence than there should have been. Adon shifted on the couch to look more directly at Jonas, and swallowed. The man looked grey.  "Jon--" he began, not sure what he was going to do to make this better. Was he upset about the magiclessness? Or that the operation might go bad?

"I just mean to say I don't think it's as bad as all that. 'Enemy lines' is kind of a glamorous term for Knockturn. I'd... I'd like it if you could be there, but..." he wet his lips. He really didn't know what Jonas wanted to hear right now. "But we'll be okay.  I need someone I can trust with my mom--with Amherst and your family--too, you know..."

If this did not start out as the conversation he had wanted to have, then it hadn't turned into the answer that he wanted to hear.  Adon didn't dismiss him -- not outright -- but the awkward admittance that Jonas wasn't going to really acknowledge didn't help.  He'd heard the reasons before, mulled them over in his mind to see if they really made any difference.  Someone did need to stay with their families.  But it didn't need to be him.  Save for the fact that unlike the others, he didn't really count as an Auror.

Adon was still making it about tactics.  Jonas had been quite content to discuss them for hours upon endless hours earlier, but he was tired, his knee ached, and he didn't really care anymore.  He shifted uncomfortably, trying to force his mind along this new course.  No, he didn't think Knockturn could mobilize in an instant, but Tawse had proven that he was capable of staying a step ahead of them before.  If he guessed what was coming -- if he had somehow used Colburn to ferret things out, or if he had infiltrated their group as well as he had the Ministry --

If imagining the consequences to Adon had been an uncomfortable line of thought, then this one was even worse.  He trusted Adon and Archer, but the others -- Spencer had already been shown to be susceptible to mind assaults.  Pratt was unpredictable, made more so by the loss of his parents.  Downer and Amherst were both unknown quantities, already manipulated by Macduff.  And Bagnold, for all his gruffness, was a pureblood just like Tawse and Macduff.

But this wasn't a road he wanted to start down. 

Jonas shook his head, mentally changing the subject as he tried to focus on Adon's words again.  His partner was trying, offering tentative assurances and reasoning that might have been good enough for Jonas to latch onto, if he'd really been looking for a way out of this.  But he didn't want it.  Not an easy escape.  He'd had far too much practice at taking those.

The red-haired man shook his head, not meeting his friend's gaze.  "You've got your brother with our families," he said tiredly.  "That excuse loses traction quick, mate." 

He rubbed his free hand over his face, pressed at his eyes, and then took a deep breath.  "Alright."  The word came out sounding steady, even if he didn't feel that way.  The endless title music from the DVD was starting to make his head hurt.  Jonas fumbled for the remote, jabbing at the buttons as he began to click through the menus, doing anything to make it stop. 

"Look, it's well, Adon," he said after a beat.  "You don't have to make up excuses.  I get it."  As unhappy as he was, saying still felt a bit too much like complaining; Jonas grimaced, slanting a look at his friend in a silent apology. 

"I mean, I know I need to sit this one out."  He forced the words out, and then shrugged, as if he didn't care.  "And that's fine.  It's too late to be debating it, and it makes more sense for me not to be there, and I trust you lot as much as I can, yeah?  But then the next fight comes along, and then what?  I'm waiting that one out too?" 

Jonas sighed.  He felt exhausted.  He wasn't sure if it was the alcohol, the late hour, or all of the pressure as of late, but his head was suddenly aching almost as much as his knee.

"This isn't why I came back," he said, staring blankly at the television.  Somehow, after all his button pushing, he'd ended up back at the title screen again.  "Not to run the investigations and then trot off whenever things get bad.  I walked away once, Adon.  I won't do it again."

Jonas didn't want reasons, but he wanted to feel better about this. He wouldn't take the consolation, but he wanted to be consoled.

Adon gave a frustrated sigh, puffing air from his cheeks. "It wasn't an excuse--" Adon began, but Jonas dismissed his attack as easily as he'd unleashed it. Jonas was talking about Feelings--and Adon listened, trying to follow and appreciating the glimpse into, apparently, what Jonas had been angling at since he asked that out-of-left-field question about D-Day. Adon still didn't pick up on his friend's subtle cues from time to time, but he certainly did appreciate the translation, when it came down to it.

Except that he wasn't liking where this was going:  "This isn't why I came back."

"Hey--" he protested, a hurt expression crossing his face. This was taking a route he was not comfortable with.  Jonas questioning his place in the Corps. Maybe even doubting his decision to return. Nominally, Jonas said he wasn't doubting the choice--wasn't going to back out now, but that wasn't what Adon had heard. Jonas didn't want to have to walk away, but he was being forced to because of an inability to perform magic. Which was making Jonas wonder... what? If he should walk away?

But Jonas wasn't going to. Because he said so.

"Well, that sure as hell is a relief," he said, a peevish edge to his voice. "Because I don't want you to walk away, either--and I didn't think you would." He swallowed, hand reaching for the beer bottle that had been deserted on the table. He needed something to do with this hands.  And watching Jonas fiddle with the remote--Adon was half of a mind to tell him to just turn it off, but that would end any pretense that what they were having right now was not simply a chat between DVDs. There'd be silence, and there wouldn't be something Adon could look at, whenever he felt too awkward to look Jonas in the eye.

Still, there was no denying it.  The thought kept returning to him on a daily basis: if Jonas had his magic, he would better be able to keep himself safe, as well as Adon.  If he had had magic when Hyskos had attacked, Jonas could have Apparated to his side instantaneously, while there was still a fight to intervene in. If Jonas had his magic, he could have more easily gotten out of the way--or at least stunned--that Runespoor.  If Jonas had magic, he'd be able to keep his own family safe. And Jonas wouldn't need to worry about him every time he said he was going to go pick up takeout. By himself. At night.

"The next times will be different--because we're going to get your magic back," he said stubbornly.  "No I know it's not as easy a matter as just fixing it," he said, with a slight roll of his eyes. Jonas had gotten a real kick out of Adon's potion-induced strategy of "fixing" Jonas. "But I think I may have a lead..." he looked anxiously at Jonas.

This was dangerous ground. The last time he'd done something like this, Jonas had burst out screaming at him. Adon had wanted to get out of his car immediately.  "I didn't provide any names--or any personal information, but I did talk to a friend of mine. A very talented cursebreaker. And I think she could come up with something... but she'd need more information..."

Now was a really good time to be doing something with his hands, he decided. Grasping the bottle, Adon took a long, extended sip, glancing at his partner through his peripheral vision to see if he should do anything about preventatively stopping his ears.

The red-haired man sighed, even as some of the tension left his shoulders at his partner's words.  As irritated and simple as it had come out, somehow the statement of belief helped.  This wasn't about walking out unless he made it that way.  They were taking reasonable precautions.  His friends would be alright.  And perhaps he could even use this as motivation to solve the bloody problem -- to find a way to get his magic back so that he could prove his resolve the next time.

For the first time in the conversation, it seemed as if Adon had followed him along his train of thoughts.  Jonas glanced at his friend, eyebrows raising as he listened to the other Auror's words.

"Yeah?" he asked thoughtfully.  He could question the suggestion -- give in to the tightness that threatened to clench at his chest whenever the subject of sharing information about himself came up -- demand to know what had been said, how much had been given away -- but this was Adon.  It had taken a decade for Jonas to reach the conclusion that you couldn't pick and choose when you trusted someone.

"You think it'd help, you can tell her what you need to.  I trust you."  He gave the younger man a tight smile, easing any tension that might have still remained in the granting of permission.  "It'd be a bloody relief if something worked," he admitted.  Jonas stretched his legs out in front of him, gingerly extending his knee.  "I already talked to a Cursebreaker -- Tait's mum -- but I reckon you never know.  Maybe your friend can help."

He leaned back against the pillows of the sofa, content to watch for a moment as the sepia-toned faces on the television screen faded in and out.  His head still hurt and his knee still ached, but it felt as though a weight had been lifted anyhow.  The next day and night might not be easy, considering that Jonas occasionally felt as if he wanted to chew his leg off if he was stuck waiting somewhere for more than fifteen minutes without the ability to use his iPhone, but he could trust that this would turn out all right.

"Alright," he said after a beat.  Lewis Nixon's face had appeared on the screen again; even aside from the hair color, he did sort of resemble Adon.  "I reckon that's all well.  But --"

This wasn't going to be a subject that Adon was going to be happy with him broaching.  Jonas broke off, his gaze shifting sidelong toward his partner, his expression softening.

"There're some things where I reckon it doesn't matter if I've got magic or not," he said quietly, lifting his beer to take a drink again.  "If things get bad, or if -- you know, you have to go back to Israel again."  The reference hung in the air between them; usually, any reference to Adon's prophesied death was enough to set the Israeli off, but making the point somehow felt important now.  "I just want to make sure you know that I'll be there for that one."

I trust you. Adon gave a grin. Not so much because he needed to bear it, but more because he knew this was Jonas' personal mantra.  His own self-affirmation.

"Thanks, Jon. I'm not going to tell her any more than I need to. I may want to introduce you two at some point, if I get the feeling she's serious about this."  The mention of Tait's mother brought a raised eyebrow.  Tait did not often come up in conversation. He seemed a mythical or folkloric figure. His predecessor as both the lead investigator and Jonas' best friend. It was an odd foil--an odd lineage that Adon tried not to dwell too much on. "Guessing she wasn't much help?" He asked, trying to hide any bitterness there.  That was only slightly discouraging; he couldn't imagine what Jonas must have felt. "Well, my friend likes to show off a bit.  Impress. I think that will work in our favor."

Adon felt as though he'd just shuffled through a stack of disorganized paperwork on his desk, laid it in a neat pile, and slid it into a filing cabinet for safe-keeping.  Those were Adon's favorite moments of the day--the little accomplishments that cleared up sources of stress that Adon hadn't even known had been there.  Somewhat more merrily, Adon clinked his fingernails on the beer bottle as he took a sip. Jonas' willingness to shift conversations implied that whatever he had been trying to accomplish in that conversation had been accomplished.  Jonas smiled a little easier--and clearly moved on to the next agenda item.

Adon stopped, mid-sip, to look at Jonas.  Pulling the bottle away, he blinked. Jonas was talking about him going to Israel, now. And what could happen...

"Uh... yeh," he said haltingly, trying to figure out how much Jonas knew, and how he knew it.  There was no way Jonas could practice Legilimency without magic; and either way, Adon was more than certain he'd know if his partner had that ability.  Still, he'd been very careful about his correspondence with the IDF. Adon downed the rest of the bottle briskly and put the bottle down.

"Yeh, I know that," he repeated more assured, nodding towards Jonas.  "I appreciate it." He clentched his jaw and resituated himself to fully face the television set.  "You know," he said, tone shifting to one of nonchalance, "when you become career military, they can--within 10 years of your initial enlistment--call you back at any time. I think I remember reading something about them doing that to Winters; for the Korean War. Luckily they gave him an opportunity to get out before deployment..."

He cracked his jaw. "Actually, I've tried to do the same thing for the past month..." He ran his tongue along the inside of his teeth. "Yeh, they're needing me to report to train some new recruits... Apparently Roy Elgahanayan is booked or something..." he said, trying to make a joke that may or may not have been incomprehensible.  He took a deep breath before saying succinctly, directly: "It's just two weeks. I was allowed to push it back a week because of this operation, then another month because of Dreogan's wedding. But I don't think I can push it back much further than that. Maybe end of July. I think they are getting tired of answering my letters. Their responses are getting shorter, and I do not want to push them." He considered. "That could make the two weeks... unpleasant. Especially since I have every intention of making them fund my 29th birthday revelry. Thinking about filling a swimming pool with arak and swimming in it. Think they'll go for it?"

Adon had frozen up, but not in the way he usually did when the subject of the prophecy was broached.  Jonas watched him nonchalantly, his concern quickly solidifying into a frown as the younger man first affirmed his statement, and then began to talk around whatever else was bothering him.

Training recruits in Israel -- he'd heard something about that before, probably from Adon as some sort of distant hypothetical.  But now it seemed that the once-distant possibility had become very real.  His forehead creasing, Jonas kept his eyes on his friend.  Going to Israel didn't necessarily mean that the death-dream was going to occur, but Adon's insistence on staying away from the country had seemed like a much safer way of ensuring that it never did.

Jonas raised his eyebrows as the younger man finished, mulling over the words.  The humor was good -- at least Adon was trying.  "You really reckon you can dry the pool out enough that you'll be able to add the arak without a problem?" he asked nicely, flashing his friend a crooked smile.  "I'd hate for you to have to deal with some bloody film."

The possibility of Adon returning to Israel...of being half the world away, virtually inaccessible in the country that his brother had fated him to die in.  Jonas bit his tongue thoughtfully, directing his gaze up at the ceiling as he considered his options.  He had no idea if he'd accumulated enough of a holiday to just take two weeks off, but that wasn't necessarily how this had to work.  Tamis might not understand or agree, but she'd listen to him.  And he could sell the idea to Rosier.  Even if he couldn't, Adon wasn't going by himself.

"We've made some progress on the Runespoor case, yeah?"  He glanced at Adon, met his gaze questioningly.  "You reckon two weeks'd be enough time for me to meet with Musallam and fill those blokes in?"

Adon cringed at the words "bloody film." "Yeh... I wouldn't want that."

He stretched his legs, kicking them up onto the coffee table and crossing them. "I figure if I give them a month's notice, they'll have time to make the accommodations accordingly," he said with a cheeky grin.  "Obviously I'm worth the fuss, or they wouldn't insist on me coming so much."  Adon liked that line of thinking.  He only wished it were true.

Adon's expression brightened to a genuine smile at Jonas' line of thinking.  "Well, perhaps a little progress," Adon said, amused. They'd had more success on the Runespoor case than--potentially ever. Bigger and bigger leads; and higher stakes. "Yes--you'll want to do that, eventually, and now seems a good time. Adnan's definitely easier to deal with in person. Though I suppose if he still doesn't want to give you information, he won't. He'd probably refuse to translate the files or something for you." He shook his head. "If you think that I am stubborn, just wait until you meet him. Hopefully 2 weeks would give you time to wear him down and not just fill him in, but get any information we think would be helpful. And we could even extend a couple of days, if you feel you'd need me there."

He grinned even more broadly. "Or just a couple of days for me to show you around. There's some good hiking up in the Golan Heights. And then there's the Dead Sea..." Adon gave a lighthearted laugh. The thought of Jonas swimming anywhere was particularly amusing.  He wondered how much sunscreen the man would need.

"You'll need a financial form IG-3185 for all this... I think it's in the appendix--one of the first forms, at least," Adon said. "And don't forget to turn it in before incurring costs, this time." He frowned.  "Alright, fine. I'll find a time next week to fill them out and get them to you." This would allow Adon the luxury of forcing Jonas to go. No backing out, once paperwork was done.

"I mean," he added, off-handedly, "if you think this is a good idea..."

"When the hell did I ever say that I thought you were stubborn?" Jonas retorted good-naturedly, smiling broadly back at his friend.  This was how things were supposed to be.  They were a team, united solidly in purpose and in method.  Since returning to the Auror Corps and partnering with the Israeli, he'd felt more sure of support than he had in years.  The supposed prophecy, even the ambush the next night seemed much less foreboding when they were working together.

Adon obviously liked the idea, too.  He was still grinning, going on about what they could do and blabbing something about paperwork that Jonas probably wouldn't have thought of until he was due to turn it in.  He flashed the younger man a crooked grin at the final off-handed question.  It wasn't a test; they both knew where they stood.

"Yeah," he said, still smiling.  "Reckon I'd like to, Adon."  If something went wrong, it meant he would be there for his friend.  And if nothing did, the thought of two weeks harassing Adon's old colleagues in the Near East Auror Office sounded delightfully like a holiday.  He couldn't remember the last time that he'd traveled, besides long weekends spent down in Cornwall.

"I'll need to talk to Anna," he murmured, thinking out loud.  That might be conceivably harder than convincing Tamis.  But she knew the situation with his partner, and she liked Adon.  Jonas suspected that she'd understand.  "See how much the Ministry'll pay for."  Get a passport, too; he wasn't even sure what went into that.  "But yeah, mate.  I reckon it'll work."

Raising his eyebrows, he elbowed the younger man in the side.  "Go grab the last two beers, would you?  They should be enough to get us through Carenten."  He was smiling, far more relaxed than he'd been when they'd ended the last episode.  Raising the remote, Jonas clicked through the menus, preparing to press play. 

The next day would come and go, whether he was happy about his role in it or not.  But now it felt far more like a trial of patience than of character.  Whatever happened with Macduff, he could trust his friends to get through it -- and beyond that, the fight with the terrorist werewolf wasn't their last final stand.  No one wanted to be the bloke who balked at the jump on D-Day -- least of all because that meant the plane had probably exploded -- but Easy Company's journey hadn't ended there.

There was an entire war to get through, and one of them would probably fall asleep if they waited too long.  Draping an arm over the back of the sofa, swallowing the yawn that he nearly needed to shield, Jonas hit play.