[Honestly, he hadn't been expecting her to visit. Of course he had hoped she would visit, that she wouldn't disappear into the world now that she was here, but he wasn't holding out much hope for it to actually happen. People said things all the time that they didn't mean, and he wouldn't hold it against her - for long.
So when they came to fetch him one afternoon with a comment that he had 'a visitor', Jonathan found himself pleasantly surprised. They were still treating him with kid gloves, healing injuries aside, and though he was accused of many, many things, his behaviour was not that of a criminal. He didn't fight, he didn't raise a fuss, and he was, in fact, one of the most well-behaved people who were being held there against their will.
You got more friends with honey than vinegar, Jonathan thought, and he would continue to behave that way until something gave him reason to behave otherwise.
He was sitting in the visiting room when they escorted her in, hands clasped together, wrists still bandaged from Helena's attack. There were fading bruises on his face, a row of stitches near his hairline, and though the plain clothing of the asylum was old and faded, he still looked like himself.
When she came in, he looked up, meeting her gaze, a hint of a smile pulling at his lips. Nothing was said, though, until the door was closed and they were afforded some bit of privacy.]
I wasn't sure you'd come.