Joshua took a moment to relax as he closed the car's door, shutting out the sound of the Eagle Hardware's parking lot. Head back, he shut his eyes and let out a sigh, visualizing his aches leaving the body with the breath. The work wasn't hard, per se, but it didn't let up. These men earned their pay. And, Lord, was he glad he had steel-toed boots.

He needed a shower and some food. Sawdust was in his hair and stuck to his skin in drying sweat. Joshua'd been holding a hammer for so long today that his hand felt cramped. He felt good, though. It was honest work, with a real result at the end of the day. The cash in his pocket was nice too.

The key went in the ignition but he didn't start it yet, trying to make a decision. Food first? Where?

From a few meters away, Henry Pym watches the Sentinel exit the store. He takes a single long drag of his cigarette, letting the smoke out slowly. From behind his own car, he watches the other man. He did that a lot, lately. Watching. 'Lately' being, of course, slang for 'always'.

Seeing the man head for his car, he started to ready his own keys. There was something to be learned here, the Epopt was sure of it. It'd be quicker if he knew what, but speed was a secondary concern.

Decision made, Joshua starts the car and points his car towards IHOP, because who doesn't love breakfast for dinner after a hard day's work? He switches the radio on and fiddles the knobs as he drives. Joshua passes over several talk radio gasbags and finally stops on an oldies station that's playing the "Theme to Peter Gunn."

It'd be nice to settle in a booth and relax with some juice and an omelet. No concerns and no surprises.

Henry waits, patiently, while the man chooses a destination. When he sees the car start, he takes one long, final, hurried drag from the cigarette, and stamps it out in the car's ashtray as he gets in.

A few cars behind Joshua's, he follows. His own thoughts of food were present, but a distant second to what he really wanted today. To catch the man alone somewhere. This was business, and business came before need, before sleep, before food. For now, there was only the car in front of him.

The drive was uneventful; not thinking he needed to be watchful, Joshua never noticed the car trailing behind him. Thumbs beat out the bass while a sax blared, evoking a feeling of cat-and-mouse, dark noir detectives lurking through the city. But real life wasn't like that, not really; and the feelings bled away as the song ended and the evening's news was recounted.

A few more minutes and Joshua was in a booth, laminate menu in hand and an orange juice already half-drained. Dinner, a jog, maybe some reading, then bed: an uneventful night.

Henry Pym, however, had other plans for the evening. Relaxation was given roughly the same priority as suicide. Leisure was classified alongside self-mutilation. In short, not part of the evening.

Instead, he followed the Sentinel. A few moments after the man parked, so did the Epopt. He waited for Joshua to enter the restaurant, then followed, exactly 20 seconds later. A hand held up to the waitress signaled to her that he already knew where he would be seated. And he did. Without any forewarning or thought of courtesy he slides in to sit right in front of Joshua. "We need to talk." The words are spoken neutrally, allowing little space for argument.

Luckily for everyone involved the Moros had noticed the man's approach. He couldn't quite place the face but the manner, the speech, jogged a memory. "Epopt." He almost added To what do I owe the pleasure? but bit it back, not wanting it mistaken for sarcasm. Joshua didn't know what Henry could do, but he'd always known he didn't want to get on Zilker's bad side and figured the same could be said for this one. Instead he just asked, "What can I do for you?"

It was the eyes. It was always the eyes. Somehow Henry always had trouble removing a certain something from them. The color could change, the shape, but there was always something at the bottom. Fortunately, today he was himself, not some disguise meant to fool people.

"Not using my title would be a start," he answers, the words almost a whisper. "But more to the point," he adds with a furtive look over his shoulder, "You have some information I want." This is the time a polite person would ask if the Sentinel was willing to help. But Henry Pym had left politeness behind a while back. "Tell me about our common friend. The Big H."

Yes, Epopt is such a dangerous word. The Butter Pecan syrup might come to life and attack us. But again Joshua held his tongue. The Guardians might be too eager to lock themselves away in their Great Game but they got results. And he was in enough trouble in Sacramento as it was.

He takes his time to think about the question. There was very little reason for Joshua to spill information on his former cabalmate, and friend, especially to the head of what was--in some cities--a secret police. But on the other hand he did have some concern about the Thyrsus, and the path he was taking.

Concern, sure. But that didn't necessarily translate to spilling secrets to this man.

"The Stones are no more and tensions are strained," he said. "What makes you so sure I know what you want?"

Not entirely unexpected, is the first thought that flashes across the Epopt's mind at the man's response. There were days where he wondered if being a good boyscout would make it easier to get answers to the many, many questions he had. Fortunately, he knew the answer. He had been a boyscout. It just made the answers drearier. Conclusion? The best answers are the ones that are hard to get.

"Because someone wants that same information buried. Very deep." The words are a blank slate of emotion, without inflection. "Someone willing to kill to keep a secret." And for once, it isn't me, a part of him adds, almost sarcastically. "I don't want that." Eyes dart, briefly, to the other (very few) patrons, before focusing back on Joshua. "You give me what I want, I make sure it survives both of us if it needs to."

Joshua cocks an eyebrow at Henry as a server approaches to take the orders. He haggles over his omelet ("look, I don't want to get into a semantic argument about it, I just want the protein") but really he's trying to figure Henry out. He expected the Epopt to speak in code, but he'd never heard the man speak in dialogue from a le Carre novel.

"I have a hard time believing that the situation is that dire," Joshua said. "If there's really some sort of threat out there then point me towards it. That's my job."

Henry gives the Sentinel the time he needs to consider the situation. Gauging Joshua, gauging the situation, made that seem best. His gaze stays on the man, weighing, looking. The waiter gets a glance out the corner of the eye, and a simple order of "Toast, please, and orange juice." He lets the server move away, eyes fixed on the man's back. Once the two Mages are out of earshot again, his gaze turns back to the Arrow.

"Of course you do," the Guardian responds, apparently in response to the Sentinel's difficulty in believing the situation. "Everyone does. If we could take this head-on, you'd be the first to know." His tone is low, almost a whisper. Never too careful. Never. "But we can't. Not yet." He leans forward, putting an arm on the table, as though looking even more conspiratorial could help. "You want to know how serious this is? I'm asking for help, no intermediaries, no camouflage. Serious enough?"

As much as he wants to, Joshua can't fight that logic. Part of him wonders if maybe Henry was playing him--knew how to phrase it just to get the Sentinel to spill. But if this threat really did exist Joshua couldn't afford to be the one who stood in the way of resolving it.

"What do you need?"

Henry could have smiled. On the one hand it felt good to know he had taken stock of everything said and done and manoeuvred through the situation. On the other he wished he could share everything, right here, right now. But the universe is never that kind.

"Our good friend Ani," he answers, without even a hint of sarcasm in his voice. "Tell me about him." It almost sounds like an order. A very vague one to say the least.

Vague, indeed--Joshua had hoped that he could draw a bit more info from Henry and determine what, exactly, he was so worried about. But of course the Epopt had stepped around such an easy pitfall. Unfortunate.

Clearly the man wasn't fishing for basic information, which was a bit of a clue in and of itself.

"Before she left, Ankh put him onto a primal path," Joshua says. "His current difficulties seem to stem from her leaving the city so suddenly." Any parallels between that situation and his own are left unsaid.

"Hmm," Henry replies to the information, stroking his chin in thought, briefly. "Interesting, but probably unimportant." There's a short moment of thought. "This is probably from before your departure. You fought alongside him. How did he fight?" The tone, the way of speaking, doesn't change one iota. Neutral, controlled. More than a little inquisitive.

"Well, I--" Joshua starts, pausing while the food arrives, and waits until the server is well out of earshot. "I can't tell you that," he says. He holds up a hand to stave off the inevitable reply. "As in, I really don't have an answer for you. We only got into combat situations a few times. Each time I was busy with my own objectives, and each time he was using his own abilities. Beyond my ken." Which was, more or less, the truth. Although Joshua would be a poor Arrow if he couldn't at least hazard a guess as to how Animus preferred to fight. But why not make Henry work a little for it?

Henry gives the waiter a nod at the food's arrival. It apparently barely registers on his consciousness. Truth is, there's something more nourishing at hand. Something more necessary than food. An answer. His eyes shift between the waiter's back, and Joshua's face, until the former is further away. He's just about to interrupt at the man's reluctance to talk, but is fortunately stopped by the hand. He listens to the rest of the Sentinel's words. A twitch, a small spasm, crosses the Epopt's features at something Joshua said. There! "His abilities aren't interesting to me. His objectives, however. They weren't the same as yours?" Even though he doesn't say it, it's easy to imagine the word 'Elaborate' tacked onto the end there.

Joshua frowns, suddenly unsure--uncomfortable--with this conversation and where it has headed. His assumption had been that Henry's supposed "threat" was something external; but this probing seemed more like the Guardian wanted to de-claw Animus.

He doesn't answer right away. He cuts away a piece of omelet, forks it in his mouth, and chews as he considers a response. "I use a gun, Henry. He doesn't. And that's all I meant by that comment. You want me to say that I've ever known him to be less than committed to the ideals our little clubs share? Because I haven't. I'm not going to lie about that. I don't need to."

While Joshua takes a delicate bite, Henry digs into his own food. He doesn't even look at the plate as he grabs a piece of toast, and bites off part of it. He ponders his answer to the Sentinel while he chews. No delicate cutting of the food, no nice manners. Not today. "The thought had barely crossed my mind. If I wanted you to say that, I would have asked." A lie. He reaches out, and grabs the glass of orange juice. He drinks in a careful measured sip, apparently not having forgotten how to drink properly. "If I knew what you know that is so important, I would have asked."

Well. That seems... almost convincing, but raises some flags of its own. Joshua takes another bite of omelet and points the fork at Henry. "You don't even know what you're trying to get from me. How can you be sure you're even looking in the right direction?"

Another bite of toast, another look, with eyes like a pair of drills digging deep into Joshua and looking straight into his soul. "You've been targeted. So subtly no one's even noticed." The Epopt could almost be jealous. It had been done with such grace. "Has to be a reason for it. Otherwise we wouldn't be here talking." A small pause as he considers sharing just a tad more. "Face the facts; Until I have evidence, you wouldn't believe me. So until then, I can't tell you everything." Which was, in a way, code for 'I can't tell you anything'.

Well that was certainly true--Joshua didn't believe him, not exactly. And he hated--he hadn't realized it, but there it was, with anger welling up as he thought about it--he hated how everyone else seemed to understand his place in things better than he did. From West, to Tyria, and now Henry of all people.

"Well I sure as shit am not telling you everything I know about Animus just on the off chance that his favorite brand of cereal is somehow going to flush out the enemy. I've known too many of you Great Game types to think you don't have some greater ideal you're pushing. If there's going to be a trail of bodies when this is over with, I want them to be the right bodies, and I'm not entirely sure we agree on who those would be."

Apparently the words don't faze the Guardian. Not one bit. Great Game. There's a propaganda term if I ever heard one. Besides, if anyone can know where the trail of bodies is once I'm done, it'll be the final proof that I'm rusty as hell. But there was a time for each thing, and this wasn't the time for that. "Already told you. No camouflage, no ulterior motive. Just information." Another sip of orange juice. "But it'd be a lie to tell you that answer was unexpected." And right there, right there, is where a robot could probably emote more than Henry does.

"Do me at least one favor. Until this is over, carry an extra sidearm, one no one knows about. And have eyes in the back of your head." He spreads his hands, in a 'look, I'm helpless and open, here' gesture. "Fair enough?" if the man was that set on being a vulnerable target, the least the Guardian could do was force him to get rid of the 'vulnerable' part. There were other reasons, of course. There always were.

Joshua held back a sigh as best he could as he heard the man's request. Considering how quickly the Ananke had demolished his weapons--how easily anyone with the right skill set could do the same--he'd been stupid to rely on only the one gun for this long. He should already be carrying a spare as it was.

"Fair enough," he repeated with a nod. Now the question was, where was he going to get one? Not from the Circle: he would count that as accepting help even if Animus were to be more lenient. In fact, he needed two: the extra, and then one more that Henry wouldn't be aware of. After all, the man had said no one should know.

Henry stares at Joshua a moment more, as though looking into his eyes would engrave the need for security straight into his brain. Finally, he nods. "Good. When you think of something else, you know how to reach me. If you'll excuse me, I have other things to attend to." He takes one last gulp of orange juice, one last bite of toast, and starts to dig out enough cash from his pocket to pay for the meal. "Unless you have a question for me." He barely leaves it as an offer. Truth was, of course, that it was a simple false courtesy, and nothing more.

Joshua waves off both offers. "The situation's covered," he says, leaving it vague as to whether he means the bill or the security question. And I have many questions for you, the Sentinel thinks, but there's no point in asking if you won't answer.

The Epopt hrn's for a moment, before saying, blankly, "Good." He gets up, still leaving enough bills to pay for both mens' meals. He turns towards the exit, but stops. He has a moment of hesitation, but makes up his mind quickly. There came a time when every man had to play the hand he'd been dealt. "One last thing. He prefers oatmeal to cereal. Quaker's, to be more precise." Without his expression changing one iota, he adds, "So no threat there." The truth, of course, was that it did represent a threat. It just happened to be a minor one that noone else believed in.

Without another word, he takes a brief look over his shoulder, and heads out. He focuses himself on what is ahead of him. What that might be is a mystery to anyone but him.

Joshua watched Henry leave, his face clouding. He had never, until this moment, really known what paranoia felt like. The man had been spot on about the oatmeal. What else did he know? And what was he not sharing?

The answers to those questions were fast walking away, hidden by the moving bullseye of suspicion. Where those answers fit, and where that bullseye will settle next, is anyone's guess.