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[hippie_ninja]

This is Jesus. Leave a message.

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[hippie_ninja]

It happens. Emotions are complicated and overwhelming, even for someone who was always allowed to have them.

"Focus on the ones you know," he suggests, because it's what he has had to do many, many times in the past. "Enjoy the chocolate. Tell me why you're worried?"

[konstant]

"Because I can see that things are difficult for you."

The concern for strangers is familiar, is normal. The new part is saying anything about it, is expecting someone might actually want to hear it - someone might believe he means it.

"Not - what those things are. It doesn't work that way. But it still worries me."

[hippie_ninja]

He's quiet for a moment. He has another piece of chocolate.

"I'm used to having things to do. Important things. I've been hurt before, I've been imprisoned before." The details are locked up under the scars. They don't matter for what he's trying to explain. "And when I got out or escaped, all I had to focus on was making it through the next day. Finding food, a place to sleep, making sure my people made it through. I don't have that here."

Another piece of chocolate. Another long silence. "I get confused sometimes. I wake up and I don't know where I am--but that makes sense. It just lingers sometimes."

[konstant]

"You're used to not having time to process, to cope," he says, quietly. He doesn't rush Jesus, he listens, he watches.

He has a piece of chocolate too, and he considers what he's being told, remembers the question Jesus asked him: he's not alive. What is he now?

"And there's a lot to process here. More than usual for you, but also the same things."

[hippie_ninja]

"I think a lot of it is not knowing why I'm still here. I died." He can say it out loud and accept it now. "I didn't want to die, I had things I still wanted to do, but I did. And now I still can't do any of those things--I can't help my friends. I can't help shape the new world. I can't teach anything useful to new survivors because none of us are in any real danger."

He rubs a hand over his eyes, as if trying to clear some other vision from them. "But I still have myself. And I still know myself. I just don't know how to fit into a real society anymore."

[konstant]

There it is again, that word: real. It gets thrown around so readily, and it means so many different things.

"I'm sorry," he says, low, quiet. He didn't leave any friends behind, but he knows how it feels to have lost a deeply felt sense of purpose. "It's hard to focus on the good, new things when you're still mourning the old."

[hippie_ninja]

"That's what kills people where I'm from. They never learn to let go of the old." And Jesus has never been one of those people, he has never struggled to live in the moment.

But he's never faced any situation like this one.

"Maybe it was always going to be like this, though. I wasn't settling in very well in my own town... And I helped build it. I was running it. I died because I was so desperate to be away from it I rushed out the first chance I had something to fight."

[konstant]

"You fought before?" It's part in corey, part confirmation. For K, Jesus's world is as alien from his own as Los Angeles is from everyone else's. The geography is the same, but nothing else.

And everything else is the part that matters. "You weren't happy with the new?"

[hippie_ninja]

"I was. It was thriving. It was everything I wanted a new settlement to be. I just wanted it for other people." He doesn't know how to explain how strangled he'd felt there, how close the walls were and how all the people he would die for also made him want to escape for months.

[konstant]

K sets the chocolate aside, and sit still in quiet for a moment before deciding to reach out and rest his fingers against the side of Jesus's hand. He doesn't try to hold on to him, but he does leave his hand readily within reach.

"It's... Difficult, sometimes. Wanting things for others that you know aren't right for you." His voice is low, not a presumption, but a truth shared.

[hippie_ninja]

"It makes me feel ungrateful." He hesitates, because that's true but it's not the real issue. "Makes me feel broken. If I can't enjoy peace, there has to be something wrong with me."

[konstant]

"Why?"

It's a genuine question, cautious still, but he's willing to hear Jesus out. He wants to understand, not just humans but this one in particular. The things that make this one in particular look at him like he sometimes does.

[hippie_ninja]

"I spent so long fighting for people to be able to have their families. Their homes, their gardens, a place they could be safe." A place they could vote, a place they were free from tyranny. "But I can't have any of it. I don't want any of it when I have it."

[konstant]

Can't have any of it. That's a different sentiment than the rest of it, but K stays focused for now.

"That makes you different," he agrees, "But why does that make you broken?"

[hippie_ninja]

"What sort of person is only happy when there's violence?" Not the sort of person Jesus wants himself to be, but here he is.

[konstant]

"Are you happy?" he asks.

"Or do you feel useful?"

[hippie_ninja]

"I'm useful." But that's the public face version. He's trying to give K honesty beyond that.

"But there is some happiness in it, too."

[konstant]

K feels an element of satisfaction when he's forced to engage violently with rogue replicants; it's not pronounced, it's nothing like his primary driving force, and it doesn't last past the heat of the fight so K has always assumed it's from one blade runner mod or another. He doesn't understand finding any joy in it.

But he does understand this: "Like you said - feel what you feel? That alone doesn't mean there's something wrong with you, unless or until you act on it."

[hippie_ninja]

"I know. Logically. But I know who I was before the world ended." What he means is just, "I still feel broken. I always have, in some ways, but it's worse since I came here."

[konstant]

K presses his lips together, but doesn't try to say anything else. He knows what that's like, to feel wrong, to feel different than he thinks he should. He's not sure there's anything anyone could say that would make him feel better.

So he traces the first half inch or so of the line on Jesus's palm and he nods.

"I hope it's a matter of healing," he offers, quietly.

[hippie_ninja]

It's funny how such a light touch on a part of his body others rarely touch can soothe him.

"This helps." Just so K knows, because he knows how helpless he has felt when other people have said things like this to him. "I think it's one reason I like being with you. Whatever I am now, you're okay with it."

[konstant]

"Whoever you are," he amends quietly, looking up, but he smiles and leaves his hand where it is.

"I'm glad. I was... Concerned that whatever happened to you in the Zoo would make this too difficult."

[hippie_ninja]

"I needed a little time." But it was, in the scope of things, very little time taken to recover. "I decided that I wasn't going to let anything that happens here take me farther away from the people I care about."

[konstant]

"I would still care about you if we never touched again. I would still want you to be happy, to be safe and healthy."

This place might have introduced a new angle K wouldn't have pursued otherwise but it isn't the only reason he's here or wants Jesus here.

"But it's important to me that part of that feeling safe is physical, too. I like that it has been."

[hippie_ninja]

"So do I. And I do want to touch you again." He laughs a little, because the wording is a bit forward, the words aren't ones he ever thought he'd put together into a statement, but it's true.