ArchivedLogs:Horrible News

Horrible News
Dramatis Personae Shane, Micah, Jackson, Spencer
In Absentia	8 April 2014 Spencer goes missing...very briefly. (Same time as and slightly after captives scene.) (Part of Perfectus 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. Sneeeakcreep. Creepsneak? Tinycreep? There is a /very sneaky shark/ making his way into the room right now. A very /dapper/ sneakshark, /so/ much more dolled-up than he has been in days past, in very elegantly tailored crisp silvery-grey button-down with mandarin collar, dark pinstriped vest, black slacks, /fantastic/ wingtip shoes. His eyes are big and wide, messenger bag not actually slung over his shoulder (that might rumple his clothes!) but held in one hand as he closes the door quietly behind him to peer around. Micah is seated at a desk in the sitting room, laptop in front of him with a wealth of spreadsheets full of neatly marching bits of /data/. It is a little difficult to tell if he is reading it in intense concentration or just /staring/ in the general direction of the screen. There is a small aqua vacuum-sealed Thermos close at hand, whatever caffeinated beverage is inside not doing its job well enough. His hair is evening-mussed with clothes to match, navy henley worn over jeans with a faded black hoodie unzipped over the rest for warmth. Jackson has only recently emerged from showering, a small respite from his recent marathon painting sessions to go train in the DR; he's possibly going to head right back to painting soon enough. He's dressing again now, though, faded jeans and a Xavier's tee that he's tugging on over his head with some small measure of agitation. Or possibly just the habitual restless too-much-energy that's characterised his /everything/ these days; even now after training the heat radiating off him is still very much present as he slips back out from bedroom to sitting room. "-- Oh. Shane." He sounds a little startled. His eye skips from Shane off to the second bedroom, and then back. "Hey, honey-honey. Y'aright?" Shane continues SNEAKING QUIETLY, despite having been seen. It's possibly he's not actually attempting to be stealthy so much as he is just exhausted, dropping back into his default predator-habit more reflexively than for any particular reason. He drops the messenger bag onto a couch, stopping first to throw his arms around Jackson, burying his face against Jax's chest in sudden tight hug, and then move on to Micah where he sits; his arms snake around Micah from behind, eyes closing as his cheek presses in against his father's shoulder. "Holy /fuck/, he's burning the hell up. -- Your eyes turned off. Think it's time for a break." Jax speaking is what finally causes Micah to look up. "Hey, hon--" He is interrupted by the mention of Shane, turning to regard the teen sneaking about the room. "Shane, hi. What's up?" He lifts a hand to pet at the back of Shane's neck with the hug. "Apologies," he says reflexively at being caught not-quite-working. "I haven't been able t'concentrate on...anythin' paperwork related the past few days." His eyes dart back over to Jax, lips pressed together tightly. "Might could be 'cause he still ain't sleepin'. Gonna call Lucien t'see if he can't /sedate/ 'im soon enough." The way he says it makes it sound like a repeated comment that has moved on from idle thought to actual /threat/ over time. A flush of deep crimson floods Jax's cheeks, eye dropping down to the ground. "Concentration's been rough, I don't think nobody faults you for that, sweetie." He moves further into the room, leaning against the back of the couch with a continued jitter-bounce running up his arm where it's propped against the sofa. Maybe conspicuously ignoring the talk of sleeping. "/You/ come in here t'work, sweetie?" He's glancing over at the messenger bag Shane brought with him. "Didn't they give you medication for that?" Shane /frowns/, very much not ignoring it. "Pa, it's been fucking weeks. Can't you. Like. /Die/." He doesn't let go of Micah, squeezing a little tighter and turning his face in further against his father's shoulder. "I -- no. I was working and I um --" His voice has dropped lower, something unhappy-wretched twisting in his tone. "Spence kind of. Kind of. Took off." "Brain's slowly turnin' into a neurochemical sludge-puddle as we speak. An' /yes/. He can like-die," Micah answers Shane's question, though he's looking at Jax as he does so. "And /does/ have meds." He rubs at his temples with the air of someone who has had this conversation a few too many times already before giving up on the headache and wrapping an arm around Shane instead. The tensing of his muscles is all the more noticeable for it. "Took off how? Where? Jax, can we start runnin' a tracker on his phone /now/, please?" The flush has left Jackson's cheeks very abruptly, replaced instead by a sudden pallor. His eye widens, a faint ripple of shadow darkening around him. "Took off like /'ported/ off? Whatwhen?" The shadow vanishes; he darts back into the bedroom almost immediately to pick up /his/ phone, his quiet voice audible momentarily in the next room over, calling down to Scott. "{I'm /sorry/.}" Shane's quiet Vietnamese is shaky and rough, "I couldn't stop him I didn't know he was about to -- he just /vanished/ I'm sorry." He pulls away from Micah, now, his gills rapidly fluttering as he moves off to the couch, dropping down to sit on a corner of it and curl downwards, arms wrapping beneath his legs and his face buried against his knees. "It wasn't like when he's scared or upset he just -- just /decided/ I don't. I didn't. Expect." "Hey. Hey, it's not your /fault/, honey. We don't...know for sure where he's gone. An' we've /told/ him not to. It ain't like y'can just hold 'im down an' keep 'im from 'portin'." Micah stands in order to follow Shane to the couch, half-kneeling beside Shane to reach over an pet at his gills. "He /just/ left, yeah? Y'did the right thing tellin' someone right away. We're gonna track 'im an' get 'im /right/ back home. Jax's callin' it in now." It's a great deal easier to stay calm when the talk is directed to calm someone /else/. Jackson is still pale when he returns, phone still clutched in one hand as he leans up against the back of the couch. "Ain't your fault, pup," he reaffirms, though he's staring down at his phone's screen and not at Shane, "they're trackin' his phone right now, this'll -- we'll find him, it'll be okay. How long's he been gone?" Shane shakes his head, his shoulders trembling badly. "I don't -- ten -- I don't know we were at the boathouse I had to come back up. From -- from the lake, it's. A walk I don't." His gills are stubbornly still panic-fluttering, but slowly eventually start to press back downwards. Jax's phone, the X-Men's trackers, may ping Spencer's phone -- right here in the room. Possibly because he left it here! Possibly because there is very /abruptly/ a small incoming Spencer hurtling in towards Jax, looking -- a little wide-eyed, but none the worse for wear, in the same Batman tee and jeans and light-up sneakers he's been in all day. His arms fling around Jax, face pressing in against Jax's side in a sudden very ferocious /cling/. Micah's gill-stroking continues steadily until...sudden incoming smallchild. He gives Shane's arm a squeeze before hurrying over to drop in a crouch beside Spence and Jax. "Spence-honey, what's wrong? Are you okay? Don't /do/ that! Y'know you're not s'posed t'go 'portin' off 'specially not now with all that's goin' on. Y'scared us half t'death." The admonishments might have more teeth if they didn't come with /hugs/. "Oh. OhgoshSpence." Jax's arms wrap back around Spencer, fierce and tight; he sinks lower to press his face against Spencer's hair, pressing one kiss and then another there. "Spence, where'd you /go/, you ain't s'posed --" He breaks off, Micah administering pretty much the exact same reproaches. "Spence what /happened/ why'd you take off? Don't go jumpin' place on your own, you know that. Ain't safe." It takes a while for him to pull back, first to look Spencer over as though to reassure himself the boy is in one piece and then to flick his phone back on, sending off a quick message to reassure Scott that all is /well/. Spencer doesn't answer these questions. He presses his face in against Jax's side more, hugs /tighter/, leans in closer. And then all in a /very/ abrupt rush, like he's /very/ determined not to forget this: "I have to tell you to contact Toma Lupei in Clinton in the Sun-rise-ApartmentsSecondFloor and don't-look for Nico-leta /okay/ and fuck-today fuck it {/I'm sorry/}," he adds in hasty Vietnamese, "but that was part of it." Shane has twisted around abruptly on the couch at Shane's return, wide-eyed as well, his gills rapidly fluttering once more. "{Oh thank fucking God,}" is also in relieved Vietnamese. "Spence you scared me half to fucking death what the fuck, man." But he sounds impossibly glad, now, rather than angry, arms folding on the back of the couch as he looks over it at the others. "-- what the fuck?" The /rest/ of Spence's message just earns a blank stare. “Wait, what? Who...do any of you know who any of those people is?” Micah turns slightly to regard the others in the room without letting go of Spencer. “Honey, where did you /go/? What happened? Are you okay?” "What?" Jax lowers his phone once his message is sent, giving Spencer a puzzled look. "N-no, I don't got -- got no -- idea about. /Who's/ that, honey? Where --" He presses his teeth against his lip, brows furrowing as he looks at his youngest son. "/Nicoleta/," Spencer says again, determinedly, "she's in the room with --" But here, suddenly, he stops, face screwing up unhappily as he wriggle-twists away from Micah. "In the room with /Rasa/ and /Dusk/ and I need to bring them a /phone/ and I'm supposed to give you a /hug/ from them," and here he /marches/ back up to Jax to put his arms around Jax and /squeeze/, firm and almost dutiful before letting go again, "Rasa says ze couldn't get to hir phone and ze needs another and I can bring them /another/ okay and Dusk's not /Dusk/ anymore it's /not/ a good place." Shane's eyes open wider, gills fluttering faster through this. "Rasa's alive? Dusk's -- where /are/ they? Are they /okay/?" "Oh. Oh. You found the people. Spence-honey, you can't...go back there, it's not safe." Micah's heart thunders loud enough in his ears that he wonders if he'll be able to hear the others speaking. "Dusk isn't...Dusk? Ohgosh. Ohgosh, honey. Was he...alive? D'you know /where/ they were? We can send. A team. T'handle it. Not you, baby, you can't go back there." He squeezes the boy what is likely /uncomfortably/ tight. "Ohgosh. Oh, Spence, you --" Jackson's breath catches, for a moment, and he returns the hug way too tight and probably way too hot, a hard squeeze that he has to force himself to pull back from. "No, no, you -- you can't /bring/ them a phone, that's -- no. D'you know -- where they -- were? What d'you mean, Dusk ain't Dusk, what's --" He draws in a slow breath, rocking back on his heel. "You don't gotta go back yourself, sweetie, we'll send people. Back. The hug was nice but the phones -- Rasa's okay? Is ze hurt?" Spencer worms back away from all the /hugging/ again, shifting uncomfortably and looking down at his shoes as their lights flash with his fidgeting. "They're /alive/," he hedges uncomfortably. "Rasa has /bandages/ and Dusk --" His fidgeting grows worse, his shoulders curling inwards and his arms wrapping around himself. "They need a phone I don't /know/ they're in a /room/. It has /beds/ and /books/ and it's /dark/ and I /don't know where/ they just need another /phone/." His shoulders are twitching uncomfortably after this, his expression scrunched up with clear distress. He draws back away from the others, shaking his head again as he flees back to his bedroom. Shane slides down off the couch, biting down on his lip. "... fuck." His brows pull together, his hands pressing to the sides of his neck. "Sunrise? That's where Jim lives. Maybe we should tell this -- Toma-person. Before they walk themselves into a fuckton of trouble." He's slipping off towards Spencer's bedroom, too, worry etched into his features. "Okay. Okay. Spence, honey, please calm down an' don't /go/ anywhere, okay?" Micah releases his hold to give the boy some breathing room. "I can go there. It ain't safe for anybody else t'leave. I'll...check the names on the door or somethin'. Go door t'door like I'm sellin' /cookies/. I don't know. Meantime, can somebody get somethin' of Rasa's t'Sean an' see if he can speed-draw a thing that might help? We got /anybody/ who might be able t'sense where Spence just was? What's been comin' of people checkin' on the property from that company they found out about from the license plate? Sounds like this is gettin' worse by the day. I hesitate t'think what'll happen waitin' for me t'go t'this creepy cult thing tomorrow." He just...sits on the floor where he'd been crouched holding Spencer, trembling too much to get back to his feet. Jackson sinks down, too, to the floor behind the couch, curling his arm around Micah and pulling his husband in close. He leans back against the back of the couch, closing his eye and squeezing his hand against Micah's side. He turns his head, pressing a soft kiss to Micah's temple. Wriggling his phone back out of his pocket, he's quiet as he checks through his mail again. "Sage's just finished up her searchin' right about now. Turned up a wealth'a property. Twenty-seven houses 'round town. Dug up floor plans, says it looks like 'bout a dozen'a those might suit to --" His lips press together. "T'lock folks up in. That's -- still a fair few places t'go explorin'. We might want to grab Kay an' his folks, turn them loose on them s'well. Cover more ground that way." Against Micah's side, his hand is trembling, as well, rather badly. He draws in a slow breath, something heavy-exhausted in his tone. "I -- I should." He squeezes Micah against his side, presses another kiss to his husband's temple. "Should get up. Get everyone -- we could start. The searchin'." Micah nods, clenching his hands into tight fists to steady them. "Y'need t'send your people out in teams of three or more. Make sure there's too many t'get took at once." He shudders, working his way back up to his knees on the way to standing. "And /you/. Need t'go t'Lucien's t'night. When the searchin' is done. And let 'im help you sleep 'fore you kill yourself." He hauls himself back up slowly. "S'been enough of people gettin' hurt an' killed without us doin' it to ourselves." "Tonight when the searchin' is done? Teams of three or --" Jackson breathes out a quiet laugh, but it sounds a little /raw/. "Ohgosh. We manage that big teams -- need t'leave enough folks back /here/ t'protect the school too so. Ain't gonna be /many/ of us out there so I'm fair sure with the number'a places we gotta look, honey-honey, by the time my night's through it's gonna be mornin' again an' time to get back here an' teach. I'll --" He passes his hand across his eye, a jittery-restless twitch of gesture. "-- see who I can rustle up. I --" He stops here, just pushing himself to his feet, too, and wrapping his arm around Micah. Fiercely tight, accentuated by the uncomfortable heat coming from him. His head tips forward, pressing against his husband's shoulder. "Should we even be sendin' people in the middle of the night? I mean...it's horrible dangerous for the folks as already got took, but with these people's record? We're just as like t'get more people taken if we don't /do/ this right." Micah hugs Jax tight, arms squeezing in against him. "When it's over for /you/. Even if other people keep searchin', /you/ gotta sleep, sugar. You're burnin' up. Burnin' out. Not gonna /make/ it if y'keep doin' this." He keeps his hold on Jax, uncomfortable heat or no. "Probably not," Jackson agrees reluctantly. "Jus' hate the thought'a Rasa an' Dusk sittin' in --" He shudders against Micah, pressing closer. "But it'd be better for 'em if we take the time t'go proper prepared." His tone is thickly heavy with uncomfortable-unhappiness at this thought. His fingers curl in tight against Micah's shirt, his face pressing in against his husband's neck. "I can make it a good bit more," he whispers, and it's not so much protest as it is pleading. "Micah, I could hurt you. I could hurt /everyone/. It ain't always jus' illusions. You wake up an' I've started a /real/ fire -- or -- or worse an' you wouldn't have no time t'wake up at all." "I hate it, too. But I hate the idea of /more/ of you gettin' hacked up an' killed even /worse/." Micah looks sick at the idea of having to choose between /those/ two options. "What d'you need t'make it safe for you t'sleep? 'Cause if it ain't safe now, what's gonna make it any safer later, when you're even more exhausted? Is it somethin' Luci can help with? I mean...you've /always/ had nightmares an' trouble sleepin', sugar. There's /gotta/ be some way t'let you sleep safely." Jax presses his lips to Micah's neck, a soft light brush, at first, that grows firmer on the second kiss. "I -- I guess it won't be. Different later," he acknowledges miserably. "I just. Worry." His hands squeeze in tight fists in Micah's hoodie, lips pressing harder to Micah's collarbone this time. It takes a moment before he speaks again. "... I mean. They did. Give me medication it's supposed to. Help. Not-dream. I just. It's." His voice is a little smaller with the admission, "s'jus'. Scary. I think about /Spence/ in that fire an' the thought of -- /startin'/ another one /myself/ is –" Micah's grip loosens slightly, but only to drop his arms to encircle Jax's waist. "Then you should take your meds. /And/ talk t'Luci. An' between the two of 'em y'should be okay. Y'gotta sleep or you're gonna be endangerin' yourself an' others while you're /awake/, honey. Please? Maybe they can set you up with a cot in the basement or somethin'. Ain't there a more fire proof room in this place? Y'all got a holodeck, for goodness sake. Y'gotta have some /fire suppression/ somewhere." "It's -- pretty explosion-proof in there. In the Danger Room." Jackson swallows, turning his head to glance back towards the bedroom. "I'll --" There's a long uncomfortable hesitation before, unhappy-reluctant, he allows, "-- s'pose if we're gonna be searchin' tomorrow I should get some. Sleep t'night. I'll take the. Medication an' -- an' go. Down there." "I'd...go with you, but that'd defeat the purpose of you goin' down there, I guess. Um. Maybe I can go with you an' leave when y'fall asleep?" One of Micah's hands rubs up along Jax's spine. "Or...if y'don't think that's safe. Can they maybe make a simulation of...bein' in this room? For you t'sleep in? Maybe with a...holographic me there? Just t'lie there? I know you're not used t'sleepin' alone an' that can make it harder." "They can make a simulation'a pretty much anything ever but a sim-you would be --" Jax's nose wrinkles, a faint shiver rippling through him. "Not /you/." His arms tighten, and he tips his head in, pressing kisses up along the side of Micah's neck. "... plus if I woke up an' forgot t'wasn't you an' tried kissin' fake-you I'd feel -- that'd be -- /confusin'/ oh/gosh/. That's a little too sci-fi for me. Already /got/ a cyborg husband I don't need a /sim/-cyborg-husband. -- It's," His eye is suddenly widening, his tone /contrite/ and regretful, "s'been so long. Since I fell asleep with you -- or woke up with you -- /you/ wasn't used t'sleepin' alone neither, I -- I didn't -- I'm sorry, I never want t'hurt you an' I always do it all wrong." "Honey, you ain't hurtin' me s'long as y'take care of yourself." Both of Micah's hands trace along Jax's back now. "Can I come down with you? I'll make sure not t'fall asleep. I'll put in an earbud with music playin' or somethin' so I can't. An' just lie with you 'til y'fall asleep, okay?" He presses a kiss to the top of Jax's too-warm, bald head. "That way y'can fall asleep with me there." Jackson nods, his hands slowly unfisting to just rest, flat and warm, against Micah's back. "Y'keep this up," he says with a small laugh, "we're gonna hafta make you your own uniform." He nuzzles in against Micah's neck, then brushes his lips softly against his husband's. "You can come. S'early yet, though. Though I s'pose I do got a /fair/ bit'a sleep t'catch up on. But -- in a little bit, yeah?" He presses another soft kiss to Micah's lips. "Not -- quite ready for sleep jus' yet." Micah returns the kiss, slow and gentle. “Not yet. I gotta...go tell that Toma Lupei at the Sunrise Apartments what happened to Nicoleta, apparently. 'Less we got another X-gene free individual headin' that direction who wouldn't mind deliverin' the message instead. 'Cause still can't none of you do it safely.” He sighs, shifting away slightly. “At least traffic shouldn't be too awful this late.” Jax's kiss turns fiercer, at the reminder of this necessity. He squeezes Micah in a tight hug, forehead resting against the other man's. "Right. Yes. Y'gotta -- right. Be safe, honey-honey." His grip slackens, arms dropping reluctantly to let Micah shift away. "I love you." Leaning in to return the kiss, Micah wraps his arms around Jax again. "I'll be safe, honey. Just drivin' an' deliverin' /horrible/ news." He nuzzles against Jax's neck to whisper, "Love you, too, hon," in his husband's ear before moving away to gather his things for the drive. "Be back in time t'tuck you in." Jackson squeezes Micah's hand briefly as he pulls away, his gaze a little sad before it drops to the floor. "Think I need to tuck the little'n in in the meantime. An' hope he --" He doesn't actually finish this thought, though the slight paling of his expression probably finishes it for him. He steps in to give Micah one last peck on the cheek, then turns to disappear into Spencer's bedroom, to join Shane in tucking /Spence/ in for sleep.