#maria-the-answer

"Put it down, ma'am." It's not bravery that lets him look down the barrel of her gun without flinching, nor is it stupidity, no matter what others might say. No, he has a much more tangible shield from her wrath. One clad in green, and no doubt using all his vast brainpower to explore all of the painful ends to which Lyle could use that baton that currently robs him of breath.

It was so nice to talk to another functioning adult. She had met Maria when Jon and Edward were in the asylum and the two had hit it off. Of course she has Adam, but sometimes it’s just nice to talk to someone who isn’t (or was) a criminal. Maria had called her and suggested that they take the kids to the park for a playdate. Victoria couldn’t be more excited to play with the twins.

Adam, Edward, and Jon were out on the playground with the kids while Eliza and Maria sat on a bench and cuddled their babies, Arthur and Jasper.

 Does Jon find you attractive? || Still accepting

His eyes cast downward, cheeks tinting a faint shade of pink. “Well I...you...well of course I...” Congratulations, he’s flustered.

@maria-the-answer​ said:

Just sending a welcome-back smooch from a Bunny to our favourite Prince of Puzzles! ~

A cold you already had, and made significantly worse after staying awake nearly forty-eight hours.” she answers, softly, laying a hand feather-light on his shoulder to guide him back down. There’s no force behind it, none but its weight, but the meaning - and insistence - is clear. “You need to take better care of yourself, Jon, you can’t keep doing this...” Maria Mason is a mother hen through and through, and this is no exception. She’s perched on the side of the bed - the bed she managed to get Jon to while he was still vaguely lucid - and is watching over him with a gaze of soft concern.

“Can I touch your head? Is that alright?”

“I’m fine Maria it’s not-” he’s cut off by a coughing fit, one that shakes his emaciated body like a sapling in a windstorm, disproving his statement rather quickly. Dammit... He had and experiment running, just his luck...

Unprompted || Always accepting!!

“Do I now...? How strange, I wonder who it could be.” A raised eyebrow as eyes lazily travel from his book to the guard’s face. There was only one person who chose to visit him in this place, that knowledge was not uncommon, but true emotion is nevertheless hidden behind a mask of mild curiosity, at least until his gaze comes to rest on the dark haired woman.

“Ah, of course, Miss Mason. If you’ll leave us be then?”

Long fingers discreetly adjust his jumpsuit collar as he stands, a movement that could be mistaken for vanity, but merely serves to hide the fresh set of bruises that adorn his shoulders and neck. A tongue as sharp as his was as much a liability as an asset in a place such as Arkham, where inmates and staff alike were quick to anger and slow to forgive. But there’s no need to worry his visitor, she does enough of that already...

Hands clasp behind his back as he leans forward, the smallest of smiles tugging on the corners of his lips, when Crane speaks her name in greeting it’s as if a great secret is shared between them.

“Who- What-” He rasps, quickly turning towards the voice, his eyes slightly glazed. Oh...christ his throat hurts... Slowly, Jonathan lies back down, slightly glazed eyes locked on hers questioningly.

“When did you...when did I...?” He doesn’t remember collapsing, or even lying down for that matter, although such a thing was bound to happen with his tendency to push through discomfort. ...God, it’s cold...is it the room or is it him...?

“I’m fine it’s..it’s nothing.” He mumbles, trying to sit up again. “Just a cold...”

What he couldn’t say || No longer accepting

Maria,

There is only one reason you should be reading this, I hope you didn’t waste too much money on the funeral, I’m sure it won’t be well attended. I’ve written this in the hopes it will tie up some loose ends, but I won’t enclose it in my will. Maybe you won’t find it, maybe you’ve let my presence haunt the house, everything just how I left it. I hope not, that would be goddam depressing and sure as hell isn’t bringing me back. But I’m rambling.

I’ve put this off for too long, not because I dislike dwelling on my eventual passing (I’ve never been one for thanatophobia, as you know) but because...as much as I’d like to speak freely, it’s difficult. It always has been, I suppose.

More then anything else, this is a letter of thanks. I’m not a good man, my redeeming qualities are few if, indeed, they exist at all. But you allowed me into your life nonetheless, hell if I know why. You’ve been safe. And I think you know what a rarity that is for me. So thank you, Maria. If I thought it would do anything, I’d tell you not to morn me, I’m not worth your tears. Take care of yourself, for me if not for your own sake.

And goodbye, I love you. I’m sorry I couldn’t say that aloud more often.

Always yours,

                       𝒥𝑜𝓃𝒶𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓃 𝒞𝓇𝒶𝓃𝑒