Martin sits, his back thudding quietly against the door, and he puts his head in his hands. He's dimly aware of John stumbling a bit, but he clamps down on the urge to reach out and help. John has had every bit of dignity stripped away from him, had to be bloody carried for far too long a time, and he is not going to make it worse now by mothering.
So he just sits there until his breathing slows. He looks up slowly, his hands dragging down his face, to find John venturing slow and awkward, more like a newborn deer than a cat, into his flat.
"I can contact Eliot," he says softly, "or Daine. They might be able to... undo this somehow." He knows as he suggests it how unlikely that is. As far as he knows, Eliot has barely been able to scratch the surface of getting his powers back, and Daine... he's certain there are ways she'd be able to help with the situation as it is, but how's not sure she could actually change it. He huffs out a breath, rubbing once more at his face before getting up.
"What can I do?" he asks, knowing immediately how unfair it is to ask when John cannot answer. "I... are you thirsty?"
It doesn't matter if he is, actually. He'll need water. He'll need... Christ, he'll need lots of things. It's late, creeping into Friday now, and he can't resolve any of this now. Not just the possibility of a magical resolution, but basic necessities: food, Christ, he supposes John will need a litter box, he can't imagine how horrendous that proposal will be.
One step at a time. He moves to the kitchen and fills a bowl with water and sets it gently on the floor.
"I'm sorry," he says again, because it'll never feel like enough. "I know this is awful, but I..." He sighs and looks away, feeling stupid and self-conscious over what he's about to say. "We'll figure this out, all right? And I - I'm going to take care of you. However I can."
He's almost glad John can't answer him. He hopes, all the way down there and in the relative dark, that John also can't see his pathetic, damning blush.
no subject
So he just sits there until his breathing slows. He looks up slowly, his hands dragging down his face, to find John venturing slow and awkward, more like a newborn deer than a cat, into his flat.
"I can contact Eliot," he says softly, "or Daine. They might be able to... undo this somehow." He knows as he suggests it how unlikely that is. As far as he knows, Eliot has barely been able to scratch the surface of getting his powers back, and Daine... he's certain there are ways she'd be able to help with the situation as it is, but how's not sure she could actually change it. He huffs out a breath, rubbing once more at his face before getting up.
"What can I do?" he asks, knowing immediately how unfair it is to ask when John cannot answer. "I... are you thirsty?"
It doesn't matter if he is, actually. He'll need water. He'll need... Christ, he'll need lots of things. It's late, creeping into Friday now, and he can't resolve any of this now. Not just the possibility of a magical resolution, but basic necessities: food, Christ, he supposes John will need a litter box, he can't imagine how horrendous that proposal will be.
One step at a time. He moves to the kitchen and fills a bowl with water and sets it gently on the floor.
"I'm sorry," he says again, because it'll never feel like enough. "I know this is awful, but I..." He sighs and looks away, feeling stupid and self-conscious over what he's about to say. "We'll figure this out, all right? And I - I'm going to take care of you. However I can."
He's almost glad John can't answer him. He hopes, all the way down there and in the relative dark, that John also can't see his pathetic, damning blush.