Quiet tapping at Jack's door, tonight, quite lateish - followed by a soft
thunk precisely reminiscent of a head being leaned against the door in
question. Mmm. Wood. It's nice. It holds people upright.

He opens the door - he's still fully clothed, and freshly windblown by the
look of him; just back from a ride after getting his bike back. "Hello,
Miss Pryde," he greets, oddly quiet, even for him.

Kitty straightens up hastily as the door opens; the lack of sleep is
visible, her hair's gone from 'tamed curls' to 'tangles' thanks to
wandering over half the city tonight, and her eyes have the bright glaze
of somebody running on caffeine (but not quite manic enough to be anything
any stronger), but other than that, she's looking pretty much normal.
"Jack, hi. How're you doing?" If he clears the way, she'll step inside,
but hover near the door - not too far into his space tonight.

The answer for the night is, very clearly, 'not well'. There's a weird,
fragile quality to his stare as he looks at her for a long moment. You
know, this time, I'm too far gone even to lie about it, for all that's
what manners demand I do. But there's no use in telling the truth, either.
"Do come in. Would you like some tea?" There's the scent of tea in the air
- Darjeeling.

"I think you need that more than I do," Kitty replies. Along with a drink.
And some real sleep. And food that doesn't make him sick. And a /rest/. "I
won't stay long - I just wanted to check in on you. And let you know - I
talked to Kate. I think she understands what's going on a little better
now. She's not panicking so much anymore. And I looked in on the Host.
He's, um, he's okay. And kind of apologetic. That wasn't really /him/ you
were talking to - he doesn't remember a thing."

"That's good," he replies, dully. "Kate, I mean. I'm very sorry about last
night. The Host - you'll tell him so for me, won't you? I didn't mean - I
don't know what happened either." Other than that I had a momentary fugue:
all part of the all-expenses trip to the land of 'Barking Mad'. "I'd go
apologize myself, but I rather suspect I'm persona non grata."

"It'd probably a good plan," Kitty admits, "to stay clear at least till
the problem's cleared up. I'll carry any messages you like, though." She
closes her eyes ... well, not exactly. She blinks, really, but her eyes
don't want to open back up afterward for a bit. "I hope you at least
remember? I think some of what he said was important." No reproach, just
an honest question.

The look he levels at her is opaque, but he nods once, pouring out the tea
into a plain mug. "Of course. Well, just offer my apologies, at the
moment? The rest of it...." he shrugs. The one person who's a source of
information about the Tower, and he's already managed to put paid to it.
Good going, Jack, you're batting 0 for 0. "And I do remember." And wish I
didn't, clearly.

Pfft. Kitty already told him that wasn't Lorne talking. And Jack has
another source. "I'll relay it," she says. "No problem. And it's - good
that you remember. I think there's a lot in what he said." She rubs at her
eyes for a moment. "Lot of hints. I think - I think we know more than we
think we do about this. We just don't know where to look for it yet."

Celliers sits down at the little kitchenette counter that serves as a
dining room table, cupping the mug loosely in his hands. "I would imagine
so. Someone knew something there, even if it wasn't him." He's strangely
still again, without the various tics and movements that make up a Jack at
rest, winding down.

"And I seriously don't think it was on our side." Kitty's still hanging by
the door, fingers twitching a little absently from time to time - fiddling
with her jacket, or the straps of her backpack. "Jack. You're /going/ to
find the place." That's said with a perhaps unwarranted measure of
certainty. "From what got said last night - I think you might already be
able to. You just don't know /how/ yet."

He props his chin on a hand, and simply eyes her for a long moment, as if
trying to puzzle out something in her features. "Oh?"

"How do you know you're looking off the path if you don't have an idea, at
least at some level, what the path is?" Kitty replies. "And if you
/really/ couldn't find the place - why would anyone, or anything, be
trying that hard to /convince/ you you couldn't?"

"There is that," he concedes, softly, sipping from his tea. "Though I'm
not sure what difference it would make, even if I did get there. And I
don't know what the price involved, will be, this time." Because the death
and return thing isn't something he can take again.

"I don't know," Kitty says quietly. "We don't know what the Tower is. So
we don't know what happens if it comes down. We /do/ know that thing was
trying /real/ hard to convince you you couldn't stop it - which means
chances are you can. Same logic. Nobody tries that hard to stop someone
from trying something if it really is impossible."

Another nod. "And this Tower matters, somehow. It is, I suppose, vaguely
reassuring to know that it isn't entirely a figment of my imagination. And
the Host - he has no idea as to who or what was speaking through him, or
how that happened?

"None." Kitty shakes her head again. "He doesn't remember anything. My
guess is you /might/ have just talked to Claire's opposite number, if
there is such a thing. But that's just a guess." Or to your own
self-doubt. But Kitty ain't mentionin' that one.

Celliers sighs, once, and shoves the teacup aside. "There would have to
be, wouldn't there? And - please, excuse me? I don't feel quite myself."
Thank you, Captain Understatement.

"Could be worse," Kitty replies wryly. "Our opposition could be as
disorganized as we are." She reaches back for the door. "Good luck, Jack.
I'll, um. Keep you posted."

"Thank you," he replies, having already limped for the door to the
bedroom. He doesn't even look back to see if she's let herself out.

She has. And locked the door behind her, no less.