ArchivedLogs:Not Letting Go

Not Letting Go
Dramatis Personae Micah, Jax
In Absentia	30 November 2014 Part of the Future Past TP. Takes place just after horrible war dreams.
Location <NYC> Candyland - Harbor Commons - Lower East Side
The stairs lead up into a landing hall, bright as well with a set of bay windows and a wide cushion-strewn ledge beneath them at its far end. To the right of the landing the first doorway opens into the bathroom, warmly coloured in yellows and reds and sandy tiles; its large bathtub-shower also holds a mosaic on one wall, strange fire-creatures and manticores echoed in the small fiery faeries sprinkled at sporadic intervals around the rest of the room. Past the bathroom on the right-hand side is a smaller door into a linen closet before the actual door into Spencer's bedroom. Spencer's sturdy furniture set has been designed with rambunctious children in mind, most of its structure climbable with a loft-bed connected by a short tunnel to an also-lofted reading nook with a sliding door to turn it into its own private cave; the desk and dresser sit beneath the bed and there is a shelving unit beneath the platform that serves also as steps up into it. A slide down off the bed falls down into large squishy beanbag and the whole of the structure has been designed and painted reminiscent of a spaceship, a theme echoed in the way the closet doors have been painted to look like the TARDIS. On the left-hand side the first door leads into the master bedroom, bright-lit not just from its huge windows and skylight but from a rather exorbitant overabundance of lamps. It's colourful in here, the hand-crafted wood furniture (king bed against the left-hand wall, pair of small nightstands to either side of it, a pair of dressers flanking the closet on the right, a large desk with a multitude of drawers and shelves along the back) cheerfully painted, the walls home to plentiful artwork, brightly coloured glass figurines scattered around the shelves and stained-glass suncatchers hanging in the windows. One set of windows leads out onto a balcony, stretching out to share with the guest bedroom adjacent; it's set up for /lounging/, a large hammock at one side, a pair of hanging net chairs flanking the table on the other. Next to the master bedroom is the smaller guest bedroom, sunny-yellow and furnished with queen bed, dresser, a small desk of its own; doors here lead out into the balcony as well. At the end of the hallway shortly before the window nook, a hatch in the ceiling drops down a rope-ladder that leads up into the tiny attic-space; not so much a proper /floor/ as it is a sloped-ceiling nook of space beneath the roof, it nevertheless has its own circular window and skylights and rather than left unfinished it's been furnished with beanbag and folded futon-mattress and a tiny low table with drawers tucked beneath it. Though the weekend warmed up, it has done so in a rainy fashion, steady pattering of raindrops and heavy cloud cover muting the early pre-dawn rays of greyish light. Despite the warmer temperatures, Micah has nested into a nearly comical number of blankets in the bed: My Little Pony quilt, Care Bears comforter, a few other geometrically patterned or rainbow-hued covers, and one fuzzy Exploding TARDIS blanket wrapped tight in his arms. For all of the layering, Micah is hardly /under/ any of the blankets, having kicked and tossed and thrown most of them away. The quilt is half-tied around his right leg. The rest of him is exposed save for one fuzzy purple sock, lavender henley top, and Mane Six cutie mark pajama pants (tied off beneath his residual limb). All of the fitful tossing and turning finally wakes him with a half-cry strangled off in his throat, turning into a whimper as he fumbles blindly for Jax. Sleeping or not, he is being subjected to desperately-squeezy...kind of hugs, kind of just /holding/ tight. Jax /is/ under a good number of blankets, snuggled down deep, possibly to make up for his typical lack of Bundling come bedtime. Just boxers, the layers of blanketing providing the rest of warmth. Around the room there's the typical host of shapes and shadows shifting restlessly and these deepen with the whimper-cry, with the squeezing. Deepen, then start to fade; Jax tenses, eye shooting open as his breathing stills. For one tic of breath and then another he is just frozen in bed, listening to the room around them as a very faint shimmer-glow blossoms over their bed. It's only a moment later when he's reassured himself that they're /not/ in fact under attack that he turns over on his side, arm curling around his husband to pull Micah in just that much closer. "Hmm?" Micah's face burrows into Jax's shoulder, breathing gone ragged and shoulders a little shaky. “Everybody's dead,” finally comes out in a sleep-roughened voice with no real explanation behind it. “It's all destroyed. Everybody's gonna die an' if we don't we're underground an' they're gonna. Machines.” Squeeze. Burrow. "Wha?" Jax's face turns down, pressing against Micah's hair. The shadows around the room fade away entirely. His fingers knead in slowly against the older man's back. "What? Sweetie, I'm right here. You're right here. Ain't nothin' destroyed. Was a dream, I think. It's okay." "It /wasn't/," Micah argues back, though the tone is simply pained. "Was. But wasn't. Pretty sure it was one of those. Felt like one of those. The ones that happen." He shudders and swallows hard, some semblance of waking logic creeping back into his brain. "I was there. You /weren't/. Weren't...you or Spence or the pups or...none of you was. I think you're all dead, it's... Looks like ev'rythin' exploded, it... Was like a war. Like...the future scenes in Dollhouse. Bein' out on the ground in the Matrix. Well, maybe not that far it weren't entirely...covered in machines, but. It weren't...like here no more. An' we were all... Jim was torn up. Ion looked half-crazed. Tola was so...thin an' wilty an' brown an' Mel just looked...so far at the end of her... An' I was..." He shudders again. "Y'/weren't/ there an' it was bad." "Dollhouse?" At first this is what Jax picks up on, the most /confusing/ part of all this. "You was in a --" He stops, shakes his head a little. "OK, you sure things wasn't just..." He trails off, lips pressing to the top of Micah's head again. "I mean, you coulda just not seen us right then? Maybe I was off -- somewhere. Else. Maybe. Ion's /always/ half crazed an' Jim ain't exactly been in one piece a /while/, sug." His hand rubs slowly at Micah's back. "... what do you think happened?" "S'a show...goes real bad in the future an' s'a war an'... Nevermind, that ain't important." Micah finally manages to pull back from Jax's shoulder enough to look at him. "I don't know. Didn't feel like were nobody else there. Felt like, this was...it. Family. Tryin' t'survive after the place was all blown up an' there was /somethin'/ chasin' us. Big. Mechanical. Sounded almost like armies marchin' in' or. I dunno. We didn't /see/. We were too scared t'see 'cause it was gonna kill us. Just tryin' t'scavenge food an' supplies." Another shudder. "No, they looked...way more not good. All of us looked like we'd been /through/ a war already. I was...both legs was gone. Burns wherever wasn't under clothes. Whatever happened was /bad/." His teeth bite into his lower lip /hard/, tearing a little bead of blood lose, dark and crimson over the blanched-white skin. "In the dreams. That Doctor Strange was always talkin' 'bout a war happenin'. An' with Maya's roommate sayin' he'd /been/ there? I think...Jax I think this is /happenin'/. Tola looked maybe five, six? Hard t'tell she was /so/ thin. Maybe a little older an' just malnourished." His eyes scrunch closed, concentrating on details. "Had a touch of grey goin', but that don't point t'things much more specific, neither." Along with the description, he frees up one hand to touch fingertips to his temple. Jax frowns at the mention of Micah's legs. One of his own legs perhaps unthinkingly slides out to curl against Micah's, tucking in against where his husband's pajama pants are tied off. "Five, six, that's -- that's years from now, honey, I don't -- don't even know how anyone could possibly..." He bites down on his lip, squeezing Micah slowly closer. "... we know any way t'get in touch with this Doctor Strange person? Seems like that might be the best. Best to see where these dreams might be comin' from, at least." “It's years, but it's a /war/, Jax. Y'gotta start way back t'keep /wars/ from happenin'. So many things all roll up an' make for wars. If I were tryin' t'stop this an' could talk t'the past? I'd make real sure that I went far enough back they /could/ stop it. An' that they b'lieved the messages by the time it got t'the real important part. Maybe that's why...why it's been slowly movin' forward like this.” Something else makes Micah shiver, yet again, and it's not the cold. “Last time it jumped forward was when Maya disappeared. I'm also worried this means somethin' else happened to 'er. We got the doctor's publicly listed contact information. Was already plannin' t'see 'im in case he knows what happened t'Maya. Just...maybe should do that 'bout as immediately as possible. Don't know...who I should take with. Flicker's had the most of these dreams that I know of. Maybe. I don't...I don't know. But we've /gotta/ do somethin' 'bout this. Can't let things just...fall apart like that. /End/ like that.” "So many things all roll up," Jax agrees with a slow frown, "so how would we even /know/ where to start? With -- /stopping/ it? Like. What -- what triggered... if I look at the world t'day I could imagine any /number/'a things might start a war. Half'a them long since past." His teeth wiggle at his lip ring, head thumping down against the pillow. "I jus' -- this is a whole whole whole lotta maybe, honey-honey." "I don't know, honey. Maybe more folks'll have more of these dreams. That's how it worked figurin' out the...that raid. If we'd b'lieved these dreams from the start an' had more time with those, then maybe... We gotta treat this like it's happenin'. There's just no other options. No good ones." Micah's arms wrap around Jax again, tugging him close, holding him possessively. "If the doc's behind all this, could be he's seen /all/ these dreams done gone out. Not the piecemeal each of us as've gotten 'em has. Maybe he knows more. 'Bout this. 'Bout Maya." Another tighter squeeze comes here, poor Jax being subjected to a full on compression treatment this morning. "I'm not lettin' none of you go without a fight." "Seem to get to that place a lot, don't we? No good options." Jax relaxes into the hold, his hands stilling against Micah's back. Just pressing there, firm and warm. He tips his head down, face pressing to Micah's neck. "When do we do anythin' without a fight?" There's just the barest shred of amusement in his voice. "Get to /that/ place a lot, too." "Not yet. Not yet. We still got plays t'make at this point." Something about Jax's relaxation eases Micah's tension somewhat. He loosens his grip enough to pet at his husband's back. "Gonna talk t'the doctor. Maybe he'll know more. If he can't find Maya, got...Jim could do his thing. I got that stone for maybe Sean t'look. Maybe /she'll/ know more if we can talk to 'er. Just gotta..." his lips twitch as if they might be considering a wry sort of grin, "exhaust all the options. Hope they lead us t'more." A quiet purring rumbles in Jax's throat. He nuzzles up against Micah's neck, fingers trailing against Micah's back. "... Jim Morgan. /Time/ P.I. Could have his own series." Now the amusement in his voice is clear. "We'll do. I mean we'll look -- hard. But can we do it like. After more sleep." Just a tiny hint of prettyplease in his voice. The rigidity in Micah's spine softens a little, letting him sink back further into the mattress, nestle in closer to Jax. “You go ahead if y'can sleep. Never argue with you sleepin'. Don't know how much sleep m'brain's gonna let happen t'me just now, but. I'll try.” His head tips down to place a kiss on Jax's forehead. "Mmm." It's half a sigh, half a whimper, melting in against his husband. Jax's hand slides around to Micah's side, eye closing again. But opening, after a few moments. "I could go make some tea. Draw a nice bath. Help get your brain less in freakout mode." That little sound earns more kisses from Micah, pressed to Jax's temple, jaw, and throat. “No, no, honey. Y'do all that it'll be time for y'to be up for church. You sleep. Maybe just...layin' here with you sleepin'll make me more likely t'sleep. Just /havin'/ you here's kinda easin' off the freakout mode. A lot.” "'kay." It's a drowsy answer, as Jax nuzzles in against Micah's chest. "My next suggestion was gonna involve more mouth. Less clothes." But now he's just curling his arm snugger around Micah, twining his leg snugger between Micah's. "Love you, sugar. I ain't goin' nowhere." “No surprises there. S'the usual suggestion when you're lookin' for things t'do an' we're already in bed. An' sometimes even when we're not.” Micah does finally manage a little smile, fingers twining into his husband's hair. “I love you so much, honey. I'm not /lettin'/ you go.”