ArchivedLogs:Tomorrow

Tomorrow
Dramatis Personae Micah, Jackson
In Absentia	25 November 2013 Yeah, it's probably gonna get stuck in your head, too... (Part of Infected TP.)
Location <XS> Chimera Room – FL2
The guest rooms at Xavier's are spacious and comfortable, well-furnished suites readied for visitors. A mid-sized guest suite, its sitting room is large but its bathroom and two accompanying bedrooms -- one a queen, one holding two full beds -- snug and cozy. Its windows look out over the front yard, providing a wide view of the forests and lake in the distance. In here the decor is subdued, tawny golds and ash-grey stone with hints of green thrown here and there to brighten it. Monstrous creatures prowl the room's artwork, amalgam in shape -- lion heads, dragon wings, scorpion tails; small glass figurines hunch on the bookshelf and hang painted on the walls. The late afternoon sun is spilling in through the room's windows, curtains thrown open wide to let the light in. The golden brightness gives the room a warmth that belies the bitter cold outside. Micah's laptop is sitting on the bed, softly playing Heart's "Dog and Butterfly". Micah is singing along as he pulls items from the pile of laundry mounded next to the computer, folding some and hanging others. The couch has several stacks of Spencer-clothes on it awaiting eventual transfer to the second bedroom. Micah's messy auburn hair has the look of having air-dried from the shower not long past. His clothing has been changed from what he had on in the morning, consisting now of an entirely /different/ pair of faded-patchy jeans, a TARDIS blue Doctor Hooves T-shirt, an unzipped Batsignal hoodie, and a pair of socks with illustrations accompanying 'one fish, two fish' on one and 'red fish, blue fish' on the other. The door to the suite opens to admit Jackson, somewhat /chilled/ from outside, dressed comfortably in black hiking boots, black cargo pants, bright rainbow sweatshirt under his dark blue and black jacket. The jacket he peels off, hanging up inside the door and shedding his boots as well before continuing into the bedroom. He's pale, smells a little like sweat and a little like burning, and when he presses a kiss to Micah's cheek the touch is very cold. He tips his head, quietly listening to the music for a moment with a small furrow of his brow before just digging into the laundry to start helping fold. Faint wisps of colour flutter through the air around the room, slowly shifting and pulsing in time with the music. "Y'know, even jus' all mess-haired foldin' laundry you're pretty much the most beautiful sight I could ever hope t'come home to." Micah's face blossoms into a bright smile when Jax enters. "Hi, hon!" Once Jax is out of his coat, Micah takes the (still blissfully dryer-warm) sweatshirt that he's holding by a cuff in each hand, wrapping it around Jax as he pulls him into a hug. "Flatterer," he accuses playfully, accompanied by a little kiss to the angle of the other man's jaw. "I'm startin' t'feel downright /domestic/ with all this takin' care of things 'round the house an' just waitin' for m'fella t'get home from work." He places another kiss on the side of Jax's neck before releasing him from the sweatshirt-hold. "Feel like I should have dinner on the table or somethin', but it's kinda early yet. An' we both know how much y'/don't/ want me bakin' you anythin'." "You're startin' to /look/ downright domestic." Jackson leans into the hold with a soft happy sigh, tipping his head to one side to allow the kisses. He answers them with a small nuzzle to Micah's neck, lips brushing softly there. "Kinda almost picturesque if you don't think too hard 'bout work bein' zombie-huntin' an' teachin' a school'a freaks." Even once released his arms curl around Micah, and he follows the kiss with a second. "It'll be through soon, though. Tomorrow, maybe. Maybe the next day. S'practically /quiet/ out there. An' then --" His chin rests against Micah's shoulder. "Then back t'normal life, I guess. An' /I'll/ handle the bakin'." "I was thinkin' of sewin' m'self a nice little apron with ruffles along the sides. Pocket in the front. Floral, prob'ly," Micah continues with a giggle. "Ain't nothin' about your teachin' ruinin' any pictures. Zombies...I'll give you that one." He nods at Jax's mention of returning to normal life. "When d'you think we should move back t'the Lofts? Guess some would depend on school startin' back up for Spence. I'm gonna have t'spend a couple of days gettin' Lucille back in drivin' shape, once I pick her up from the Clinic. Could do that down Jake's or borrow the shop here, 'bout equal. Just need the quarantine lifted 'fore I could bring 'er this way." His head tilts slightly. "Don't know when I'll be able t'get back t'work. Need all the non-emergency hospital programs goin' again. An' for people t'be back t'livin' in the ci--in town." "That'd be incredibly cute. Could /you/ wear it while /I/ bake? Just the apron," Jax teases, fingers slipping beneath Micah's t-shirt and lacing together at the small of the other man's back. "I don't know. Move back once Spence's school's up again, or once mine does, or whenever you can start work. Whichever comes up first, I guess. Ain't had no notice from his school yet -- nor mine. I wouldn't guess neither'd start till after the holiday by this point nohow. An' I think it's -- been good. For the pups. Havin' us both here." He frowns, slightly, teeth wiggling at a lip ring. "Things're gettin' back to life but kinda slow-like, down in Manhattan. I wouldn't wonder if," he admits a little unhappily, "there'll be a fair few more people after all this needin' your services." "Oh, y'need an assistant?" Micah lofts a brow, his back arching into Jax's fingers. "I promise not t'eat /all/ of your icin' before it goes on things." He wraps his arms around the other man, the sweatshirt dangling by one sleeve from his hand. "Prob'ly ain't nothin' gonna really start 'til next Monday, you're right. If they lift quarantine, I'll just bring Lucille down here t'get 'er back in shape for once things /do/ start up again." There is a slow nod at Jax's speculation. "I feel like I'll have a lotta /new/ patients, prob'ly. But I worry how many of my old ones wouldn't have made it through this. Just the flu part of that illness would've been hard on my kids with compromised respiratory systems. An' all the folks with limited mobility... I feel like I'm in for a lot more bad news once I start checkin' on folks." His arms squeeze tighter around Jax's waist. "I think us bein' here's been good for the kids, too, yeah. I had a really long talk with Shane today." "I need eye candy," Jax corrects with a soft laugh, fingernails lightly kneading down against Micah's back. "If you bring her up here, you mind if I hang 'round the garage some an' watch? I know -- pretty much only jus' the bare minimum of what's goin' on under a vehicle's hood. Should maybe actually learn some day." His smile fades away at the rest of the conversation, head nodding slowly. His arms tighten around Micah. "Yeah. There's -- likely to be a lotta bad news comin' outta this, that's near certain. I'm s--" His eye closes, briefly. "I'll store up no end of hugs for you, if an' when y'need 'em. -- Talk with Shane 'bout what?" “Think I might could manage that,” Micah teases back, shivering slightly under Jax's touch. A little sound not unlike a purr is barely audible in his throat. “You're welcome t'watch, but ain't likely t'be all the much 'under-the-hood' kinda work goin' on. S'mostly body work. Just from what I remember happenin' on the way into the Clinic, I gotta replace a side mirror an' work out a bunch of dents an' fix the wheel alignment. Paint job'll need one heck of a touch-up, too.” Micah's teeth press against his lower lip briefly before launching into the next thread of conversation. “Had t'stop 'im gettin' too physical with me again t'day. Turned into a whole long conversation on boundaries an' appropriate behaviour an' roles an' sex. Boy's still all kinds of confused about...all of it. Got me t'wonderin' if there's any kind of...I guess it'd be a special instruction department...here? Social skills classes, life skills classes, that kinda thing. I mean, what do the kids with no parents do with these kinds of issues? All those kids we just kinda...foist off here after the raids. They all gotta be confused about /life/.” Jax's fingers trace up along Micah's spine, slowly. "So I shouldn't encourage the only-an-apron outfit on you when Shane's around, is what you're sayin'." The teasing fades into a serious look, though, as he reluctantly disengages to turn back to the laundry. "S'a lot for him t'figure out, the upbringing he's had." His brow creases deep, teeth clicking once more against his lip ring. "Classes in -- how t'function out in the world again?" He considers this a moment, then shakes his head. "We ain't got those. Lord knows we got kids who need 'em. There's therapists they get sessions with but -- gosh, jus' all the everyday life things I feel like it's sadly kinda sink or swim. It's -- real hard not to want to adopt /all/ of them who don't got no one but, um. Classes might -- fill that gap more practically." "Might could be addin' a little fuel t'the fire, yeah," Micah agrees with a chuckle. "He's got /so much/ t'figure out. It ain't just...that, either. He's back t'askin' about what the point of 'im goin' t'school is. He was skippin' 'is Russian class when we talked. Part of it's that I think he's bored. Prob'ly he could test out of some of 'is classes, if they do that here? Especially the language stuff; it seems t'come to 'im so naturally. Let 'im focus on the things that are actually challengin' so he doesn't feel as much like he's wastin' 'is time. But...I tried t'talk to 'im about how he could go t'college online, if he had t'do it that way. An' work from home like Dusk. Or find a place that's acceptin' like here or the Clinic, or like Jayna an' 'Bastian did, but... It's rough. I feel like y'all need more'n just counsellors. Y'need a social worker who could guide these kids through the systems an' find 'em school an' work that can accommodate their needs. Behavioural psychologists t'help with the behavioual issues an' with buildin' social skills an' copin' mechanisms. Even occupational therapists t'work on adaptin' the environment an' materials as needed t'suit kids' abilities. An' special instructors for classes like they have for kids with behavioural problems or brain injuries or autism or other developmental disabilities. It's not that I'm sayin' the kids have disabilities, but they sure got special needs, it's... This is shapin' up t'be a really big proposal. I think it spun out on me. But I hate t'see these kids strugglin' with so little help an' so little /hope/." "Part'a it might be bored. Lotta it's I think just --" Jackson shakes his head, listening to Micah speak with an increasingly saddened expression. "-- jus' hopeless." He reaches out to take one of Micah's hands, squeezing it tight. "You're a good man, Micah." He exhales a heavy breath, folding a t-shirt in quick practiced movements. "An' you sure ain't wrong. These kids need -- so much more help than." He frowns deeply, head shaking. "We need so much more'n jus' counsellors. We could have a whole department jus' for tryin' to get folks adjusted to life if -- if we had the budget for it. I mean, I don't know, maybe if we had a kinda concrete plan we might could scrounge up the hirin' funds from -- somewhere..." He trails off thoughtfully, glance skipping sideways to Micah. "-- How d'you feel 'bout writing up a proposal?" “I mean, you guys have an amazin' school here. It's especially amazin' for the really bright, well-adjusted kids who are...gonna do well anyhow. All the challengin' classes an' everythin'. But the kids who need help just t'figure out /life/ need that more'n they're ever gonna need calculus.” Micah squeezes Jax's hand in return. He stops mid-way through folding a pair of jeans, his eyes widening at Jax's request for a proposal. “I can...ohgosh, this is kinda so far outside my field of expertise, really. I just know some from havin' friends who were in more of the special instruction programs, an' patients now. An' my mom did music therapy for some of the classes back 'round home. I guess I could ask for help since she /is/ a teacher with quite a fair bit of experience, maybe.” "An' I feel like that second category covers a /whole/ lotta our kids. Even the ones /with/ good families -- I mean, gosh, my folks are great but I was a /right/ mess when I turned up here." Jax's nose crinkles up, a blush dusting his nose and cheeks. "So -- apologies, honey-honey, I think. Half of everything I /done/ since the boys come into my life has been lightyears away from my field'a expertise. You're plenty right about the need, though. An' I can help figure out -- well, I don't really know what I can help figure out," he admits, "but I know at least what resources the school's already /got/. Filling out where it's lacking will be a whole -- other challenge." Micah pauses to rub a hand in a few slow circles on Jax's back at that blush, before returning to his folding. "I'll help however I can. An'...your input would be amazin'. So I don't come up with some kinda ridiculous idea of...not really ever havin' /had/ the experiences that y'all have. We just gotta find /somethin'/. So that these kids have some place t'go an' somethin' t'do when they finally graduate. Somethin' that isn't hidin' in the sewers with...oh/gosh/, Jax. Shane was also worryin' about Anole. He said that he'd left t'go check on the Morlocks before all this became such an impossible mess an' they haven't heard from 'im since. I told 'im I'd ask if maybe some of your team might go check on 'em, now that the zombie huntin' is windin' down?" His eyes fall closed for a moment with a heavy sigh of breath through his lips. "I feel awful I hadn't even thought t'try helpin' 'em before now. With supplies or anythin' since this went the way it did. There was just so much t'do up here an'...I kinda forgot about 'em an' that's /horrible/." "Oh!" Jackson's eye widens; he drops the shirt he's folding back to the bed, clapping fingertips to his lips instead. "Oh. Oh, gosh, the Morlocks -- /Anole/. I didn't --" His head shakes, quickly. "Yes. Oh. Gosh. Yes, I can -- go down an' see what they been needin', put together a -- oh /gosh/ that poor boy. An' it's so very cold now, too." He draws in a slow breath, forcing himself to continue folding, stacking the shirts in a neat pile. "Can do that tomorrow. An' then start workin' on a plan for the school. Wonder if the Clinic might have more resources," he muses, "mental-health type wise." “Not you,” Micah replies, quiet but insistent. “At least not alone. You gotta take a couple able folks with you or... S'dark. I don't want y'down there again when it could be an extra-dangerous situation.” He continues his folding mechanically, almost not knowing what to do with his hands anymore once the pile is distributed entirely into neat stacks. “Clinic might be a good option for one-on-one or more intense kinda treatment needs, yeah. Would be a help if they've got more resources'n we do here.” With the clothes folded into stacks, Jackson just turns to sit down on the edge of the bed, his own hands folding in his lap. "Don't think it's likely t'be no more dangerous than things we faced down there afore." His troubled look has not passed. "Anole ain't had his phone on him. Or it ain't been trackable if he has. An' the Clinic -- gosh, but I doubt they have much spare cash floating around, neither. But they /do/ got a whole department just for mental health so maybe this kinda thing's /already/ in their budget." “Oh, so it'll just be about as dangerous as one of the last times y'almost died?” Micah shakes his head firmly. “Don't go alone. Maybe take Flicker, at least. He could get y'all out of there quick if y'need.” He moves as if to collect a stack of clothes to carry to the bureau, then stops. Then starts toward them again and stops again. “I'm worried about 'im, too, hon. But there ain't no sense in takin' risks y'don't have t'take. Ain't gonna help Anole any if you're hurt or grievously injured tryin' t'find 'im alone an' then can't nobody help either of you.” Jackson picks up one of the stacks of clothes that sits beside him, holding it out towards Micah. "Yeah -- okay. That's -- fair points," he concedes with an uncomfortable twitch of posture. "Is dangerous t'go alone. I'll take -- I'll see if Flicker can take a break from Hivewatch an' topside zombie-huntin'. I don't think we're never gonna run dry when it comes to worries, are we?" Micah does finally pick up the stack of clothing when it is offered, taking it to the bureau to distribute into drawers. “I can sit with Hive an' Lucien while Flicker's helpin' you. An' y'already said the zombies were clearin' up pretty much. He has the time.” He pushes the drawer closed with a thud, turning back to face Jax. “Think we may keep hold of more'n our share somethin' regular, yeah.” With that stack of clothing put away, Jackson just moves the piles of /Spencer/-clothing to sit neatly next to each other. He reaches up instead to take Micah's hands back in his own, pulling the other man back in close. "Okay. I'll take Flicker. Guess there's more'n enough worry floatin' around without makin' you fret over /me/ to add to it." He leans forward, pressing a kiss to Micah's knuckles. "Is pretty much clearin' up. Sweep I did this afternoon was more unbearable for the /cold/ than for the zombies. I keep wantin' to go back out there again now. Help more. 'cept then I kinda also just want to stay right here with you." Micah is easily led by the hand, moving to stand up close against Jax. “Thank you. I fret over you enough when you're /not/ makin' unnecessarily risky decisions.” He leans into the other man, reclaiming one of his hands to wrap an arm around Jax's back. “If y'told your team you'd be back out there, I can't argue too hard against y'goin'. But otherwise...s'always more t'be done tomorrow. An' it gets dark so early now.” The hand at Jax's back scritches its way up past his shoulders and neck to pet at his hair. "I didn't tell 'em. I told 'em I was headin' in an' to send me a message whenever they did, too. An' that if I headed out again 'fore curfew I'd let 'em know. -- Mostly in the meantime jus' tryin' not to fret, myself." Jax leans forward, resting his cheek against Micah's stomach once Micah is standing close to the bedside. "They can take care'a themselves just fine. But it don't never stop being worrying anyway." His hand moves away from Micah's, wrapping instead around the other man's legs; his fingers knead gently at Micah's thigh. "Always more to do tomorrow." This agreement comes with a very small twitch of smile. "Y'know, since this all started tomorrow's always felt real hazy. I'm startin' to feel a little more sure it'll be there, though." “Well, good. That means you're all mine 'til suppertime, at least.” With both hands freed, Micah keeps one petting at Jax's hair while the other plies nails against his back. He chuckles at the observation of tomorrows, in answer to Jax's smile. “Definitely got tomorrows comin', hon. An' you can count yourself fairly lucky I didn't walk through that open door t'start singin' Annie or that song would be stuck in your head forever.” He dips his head down to brush a kiss to Jax's forehead instead. "Sir, I'm all yours /all/ the time." Jax's smile is brighter at this, and he shivers at the touch of nails to his back. He presses in closer to Micah with a small nuzzle against the older man's stomach. And then a small /swat/ to Micah's rear. "-- Oh my gosh you're terrible you don't even /hafta/ sing it. Jus' bring it up an'now it's /in/ here -- Micah you don't got nobody to blame 'cept yourself if I'm singing this for days." Micah giggles outright at the swatting, wriggling slightly and holding Jax even closer. “You started it with talkin' about bein' sure about t'morrow. I just took it t'the natural conclusion. Y'just try not t'be cheerful singin' that, though. Can't do it.” He leans down again, this time placing three little kisses in a row along Jax's neck. "I'd take that as a challenge 'cept I don't wear mope real good for long even on my best of -- oh. Ohh." Jax's head tips back at the kisses, and then /he/ tips back, lying along the bed and pulling at Micah to urge him down, as well. "Screw tomorrow," he decides breathily. "I'm pretty happy with right now."