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It was a rare night that Jeremiah was out this late but he had, after all the time off for his medical leave, had to put in at least one dark thirty shift. It helped clean up his desk at least (though that place on his desk where it was scorched with his hand print forever stayed covered). The only reason he was stopping at the bar was because he had said he would pick up their usual from Darlene's.

The usual was the restock to their liquor cabinet that they had been going through a bit faster than normal.

These late hours did not do Jeremiah any favors, not with the quiet. Not with how his mind continued to turn everything over and look for something, anything that would give him a clue where to-

"Thorne?" he found himself saying before he could stop himself. The younger man was there, at the bar, and right next to Jeremiah's preferred seat (you could tell it was his because there was still a small vibe of hellbine wrapped around one leg). His head tilted lightly in greeting, Jeremiah claiming his favored stool and waving at the bartender so they would come by next.

He had texted a couple times, of course, just checking in. The same had been done with Chris but-

"What's the poison of the evening?" he asked, instead of the usual greeting. There was no need to say 'it's good to see you' or 'how are you doing'. It's obvious and Jeremiah is not that person.

Jeremiah's lips pressed to a thin line at the mention of fathers and drinks. "I would suggest not drinking anything that reminds one of their father but considering-" There was a roll of his shoulders, not just an attempt at easing the ache that never left but to get rid of that uncomfortable feeling.

That other ashdown and it's residents knew him far better than he liked.

"Whisky, if you haven't had any yet. Borr's got a special bottle he keeps tucked away for when I'm in a mood," he finally huffed out instead, leaning against the bar and looking over the younger man. The bartender eventually made it over and Jeremiah did get that bottle of whisky brought over along with two glasses.

The silence is fine because he is pouring them both a drink. In this kind of lighting, his eyes sometimes catch the light and they're not at all human anymore, not with the way they reflect light back and glow. It was a change Thorne probably missed but judging by the other's appearance- There were changes there too.

He is silent for a beat, taking a drink from the tumbler before he finally answered. "She is," he said, rolling the empty glass between his hands because he downed the entire contents, "but not for lack of looking for her or trying. Kuroda apparently tried to finish the job but someone stopped the blade and got her out."

"The world is full of shite fathers, mine among them. Thankfully, as you said, rest in peace." Not that that did not make him think of Ezra, the unending fire, and the fact that he brought up so many of the same reactions and feelings.

Yet at the same time-

No, this was not the time or the place for these thoughts.

Jeremiah's lips twitched upwards into a smirk, something troublesome there and likely not at all familiar to Thorne (but he had heard about it; that troublesome youth he had been). "In a manner of speaking, yes." The tumbler was refilled, his finger ran counter-clockwise along the rim of the glass while he watched Thorne. It went down smoothly, the whisky, but there was a taste of something pleasant on the tongue afterwards and a warmth that lingered far longer than usual.

He leaned forward, glancing towards him when he asked 'what now?'. His eyes slid shut and then opened. In the poor lighting of the bar they were inhuman, cat-like and reflecting back the limited lighting. The shadows, the darkness, hid nothing from him but other ashdown ...

"I keep looking for her," he answered finally, "and you likely watch the places you expect her to appear." Jeremiah was no fool because he remembered how Melany had put him through the paces without ever really trying. Her magic had been oily on his skin and left him feeling-

"You find things that help when you can't move on. When you are so focused on things and you're-" drowning underneath it, went unsaid. "The right friend or," his lips twitched, "the right bed if necessary." Ever blunt and honest. "It's different for each of us, how we're able to move on but you can find it." Jeremiah took a sip of his tumbler, not downing the entire contents this time. "Not that it's easy but in the end it's about trying because the inaction is what eats us all."

Jeremiah laughed, something low and dark and rich, and shook his head at Thorne. "Perhaps and I certainly expect that you'd be surprised about just what I did in previously mentioned deep, dark past." His lips twitched. "... but equal footing is easier found than trying to get years thirteen to twenty-four from me."

He has a habit of playing with his glass once it's empty, rolling it between his hands and fingers drumming against the side before he refilled it. A couple more drinks in and he was likely to do tricks with it or something else equally ridiculous. "There's nothing that will stop that, nothing but taking back what she took." Not that he could offer a solution for that. Nothing that was not time and security and finding your feet once more.

"Perhaps not a bad thing then, if you were already thinking about it ..." Jeremiah lips twitched once more but then he, of all things, winked before he spoke in a much softer tone. "It is from experience but also not something I often talk about. I spoke lightly of it but it's trust and more than that, if it's the right person."

The glasses are refilled when Thorne empties his and Jeremiah tilted his head towards him when his voice dropped. "It makes you human," he said finally, "and stronger than you imagine." Even with the rawness of Thorne's eyes and the way he spoke. The older man had to push away his own ire, the need to find Melany and hurt.

"... and just like me," he offered. "I can't say that I do not have the same, that I reach for the same when I can't quiet things." Jeremiah looked over to Thorne. "If you've found someone who can do that you are quite fortunate."

"My mother holds an Earldom, you know," he replied, tone still conversational and playful, but there's a glint to his eyes all the same, "so regal does have some bearing and truth to it." Yet it also implied that he was that youth, that he was the one that rebelled against such things because there was expectations and rules and so many other things he had pushed back against.

Labeling Jeremiah Mercer was something he had never liked and still struggled against.

It would take a few drinks for him to truly get drunk, more if he wanted to really be there, but the whisky was warm in his belly and it was enough to make him feel a little more at ease. Less strung up than he had been even if the conversation was-

"It was not where you were meant to be, if you're content about it." Jeremiah leaned forward and then back, a roll of his shoulders and his body to stretch before he settled on his seat once more. He listened for a moment and then watched and he heard things that-

They were echoes.

They were thoughts he knew quite well.

"It's," he started after he was quiet almost a moment too long, "understandable." Jeremiah remembered Chris speaking of Thorne at the ball and he had not realized just how deep the bond went until this moment.

"... it's not easy," the words come out in a quiet voice, Jeremiah's voice raw for a moment before he seems to gather himself, "but you do it anyway. You'll push yourself, Thorne, like I do to be stronger, to be better, to do whatever it takes to make sure Alg will be alright. So I do not have to worry one day it will be his blood on my hands."

His drink disappears again, the contents of his glass swallowed in one go because this was not what he expected to talk about but he can. Jeremiah traded Thorne openness in turn, exposed core for exposed core. If only for a little while.

"They might just deserve more but they are also all we have and there's give and take in there." Jeremiah sighed. "For every time I think I do not deserve Algie, he thinks it twice over. That he is not strong enough, that he is not good enough, that he is-" A hand was raked through his hair. "I was falling apart and he looked after me. My mind was broken and he was there, supporting me even though there was not necessarily hope I would get better."

The glasses were refilled and he was studying the liquid, blue-green eyes looking over to the younger man. There was tiredness there in his eyes, in the line of his shoulders, and unease but in this he was determined. This was the one thing he was never uncertain about.

"I'm not good enough for him but it doesn't matter what I think because he says I'm enough and that is what matters. If Chris says you matter, that you are enough, that you are what he deserves ... You don't argue it. You become worthy of it." His smile turns dark then, for a moment, and his eyes glow once more. "... and you lay waste to anything that remotely thinks of harming him in any way."

"Call me Earl Mercer and find out what will happen to you," Jeremiah let out a huff, lips twitched upwards once more in wry amusement. It was no longer a sore point but he still did not like to think much about the mold he had once been pushed towards. "As for being seen with you? Considering I've been called a mangy stray before," it had honestly been years, "I believe I'm in the exact type of company I prefer."

Jeremiah preferred the kind of person who could handle themselves, who - underneath it all - knew they were flawed but also willing to work past it. To become greater (even if they would crumple every so often). The conversation was not at all what he had expected of it and he was waving the bartender over so that they could take the bottle and he could place his order.

It was not until they left once more than he spoke to Thorne. "I think it's probably time to give you a ride to Coalsmoke, Thorne, but ... It won't stop hurting, not that hurt. Not until you can reassure him enough but it's a struggle." Jeremiah struggled with it frequently. His view on Algie, on how he was, was not shared by the other man and it hurt sometimes. More than he could ever put into words.

"Yet you're doing all that you can do." Thorne is treated to a rare, true smile, albeit a sad one. "It's exactly what we both do for them until they get it and then continue to do so even after." There was a huff of laughter. "Most likely to their annoyance as Algie actually has punched me for being an over protective prat."

"... because you understand, Thorne, what is like to be down low." Jeremiah cut his eyes towards the young man. "There's a bit of a kindred spirit in you. I see myself sometimes and it's why I know you'll ultimately be alright."

It is left at that then, because Jeremiah can read the lines of Thorne's body. The set of his eyes, the way that he's fighting the exhaustion because of what haunts his mind and the back of his eyelids. It was not unlike when his mind and body had been overwhelmed. Jeremiah still could not quite shake the noises of a body protesting, the sounds of something dying slowly.

It is not entirely out of place in his thoughts now, not with Thorne like this. Bleeding out and Chris apparently the one who was able to stop him from falling completely. It was far, far too familiar and bittersweet. Did they know? Did Chris? The younger man gets a pinch to his side, mostly because he attempted to smile.

"None of that. Be yourself, Thorne, and never bother to smile with me if you don't feel a need. There are no masks, not here, not in this moment and not ever." His head tilted as he unlocked the passenger side to urge Thorne in. His car was forever meant to be across the pond with the driver side on the proper side if you asked him.

"When we were younger frequently enough that I know how hard he hits." Jeremiah laughed low, as he stood making sure that Thorne was not going to slide over on him or anything. "Older? ... sometimes and it's usually because ..." he trailed off a moment, eyes glowing now in the in the darkness and lights of the parking lot.

"I don't want to hurt him and I want to protect him and he's had to beat sense into my head or when I have erred and not been honest." He sighed. "Which I do not recommend. Come clean, Thorne, always, and if you have forgotten to tell something, then tell at the next opportunity because you do not know when someone else will do it for you. It is a far worse thing for something to come from someone else than you."