ArchivedLogs:Priority

Priority
Dramatis Personae Shane, Micah, Jackson
In Absentia	20 April 2014 Shane is less than pleased about Friday's all-nighter at Sinai.
Location <XS> Playground
Set on the still-expansive grounds around the side of the school, this area is to the outdoors rather what the rec room is to the indoors. There's a large basketball court out here; a fenced-off tennis court adjacent. Further distant there are setups for other sports -- a large track, a soccer field. Closer in to the school, though, in its own large enclosure adjacent to the basketball and tennis courts, is the playground, a huge expanse of equipment set up on alternating plots of slightly squishy flooring and mulch. Centrally there is a large sprinkler-fountain, not always /on/ but it can be turned on with a push of a button; spreading out around this is the actual playground equipment, sturdy and varied. A huge dome constructed in honeycombed interlocked poles and rope netting rises hiiiigh for climbing; a large swingset holds four pairs of swings. A large roundabout in bright colours stands in one corner near a long see-saw. The huge bridge-and-tunnel castle structure at one end has many routes of entry, from poles to climb up (or slide down) to a small climbing /wall/. Monkeybars. Four different slides of varying lengths and spiraling. For the adventurous, between things to climb on and jump between and bounce across it is probably possible to skirt one end of the playground and back without touching the ground, though it might take a particularly adept feat of balance and agility. Or possibly wings. It's slinking on towards eveningtime but there's still a good stretch of daylight left. It's cooler today than it was yesterday, but pleasant enough that there's still quite a lot of bustle out on the Xavier's grounds. There's a basketball game going on down on the court. Daiki and Karrie are playing tennis just adjacent to the playground. On the lawn nearby there is some sort of /thing/ that might have started out as Ultimate Frisbee but has turned into a bizarre free-for-all with very /flagrant/ power-usage that more resembles some sort of mutant Calvinball. Spencer is embroiled in the middle of /this/, perched giggling (with FRISBEE currently atop his head like a /prize/) on Taylor's broad-muscled shoulders, tentacles twined about his legs to keep the boy's seat safely in place. One of Brett's silvery-liquid limbs is streeetching-snaking towards the frisbee which -- has promptly /vanished/, teleported to only the gods /know/ where. Not that it /matters/; Xerox has made for them a giant /stockpile/ of FRISBEES. MOUNTAIN-O-FRISBEE. Dennis shoots the entire pile out from under him on a gushing /torrent/ of water. Shane is not taking part in the games. He's over on the playground, leaning up against the fence, webbed fingers curled into its mesh and black eyes staring through it, gills slowly fluttering. He's dressed neat-sharp; a green button-down with mandarin collar, grey vest, grey slacks, polished wingtips. His other hand is slipped into the pocket of his vest, forehead tipped in against the fence as he watches the game beyond. It has been a long Sunday for Jax and Micah so far, a long drive to drop Jax off at church for much of the morning for Easter services and brunch, Micah off at the safehouse to feed Dusk and Mel and the less church-going folks there. Then a trip to bring the new Sprout to visit with Hive and Flicker. After dropping Mel and the little one back at the safehouse, yet another long drive has just brought them back to the school grounds. Micah moves over to the passenger side to open the door and help Jax out, even though he doesn't /need/ the help. Micah himself is looking quite a bit less fancy than /any/ of the folks making an Easter effort for the day, a simple aubergine henley shirt worn over jeans and sneakers, his auburn hair thoroughly tousled by this stage of the day. He is peeking at his phone with increasing frequency as the day wears on, despite having alarms set on it already. Jax doesn't need the help but he takes it anyway, slipping his arm into Micah's as he hops down out of the car. He's dressed up, more, if not dressed up particularly /traditionally/ in lightweight sunny-yellow suit; there's a stained-glass mosaic of dragonflies patterned across his skull in very metallic shades. He is distracted by the noises coming from the lawn, arm still threaded through Micah's as he wanders that way, smile spreading broad-bright as he watches the -- well, /whatever/ game this might be. It's a slower drift that brings him up towards the fence, head thunking lightly against the opposite side of it. "Not in no frisbee mood, sugar?" Shane's nostrils flare as the other men approach, something twisting his face briefly, sharp and unhappy. His gills flare faster. "Oh, good." His voice is bland-dry. "Your kid was actually more important. /Today/." Micah lets himself be led over to the playground, eyes scanning this...whatever-it-is game curiously in attempt to decipher what it is. He eventually just shrugs and shakes his head with a small chuckle. Whatever-it-is seems /fun/, at least. His glove-clad hand lifts to wave along with a smile in greeting at Shane, which...abruptly falls when the teen speaks. "Hello t'you, too, hon." Jax's eye opens just a little bit wider, startled as his nose scrunches up. "-- Huh/what/." He lifts his hand, scrubbing it against the side of his face and turning to look from Shane back over to the game. "Shane, that ain't hardly -- y'all are /always/ important t'us. Things jus' sometimes -- I mean, ain't like anyone was quite /plannin'/ on -- jus' come sorta sudden. An' then 'specially with the hospital bein' how --" His cheeks puff out, breath expelled heavily. "... ain't nobody more important than y'all. Was jus' one night that –" "-- you couldn't be fucking bothered to be here for him?" Shane cuts in sharply to finish this, eyes fixing out on the game (where a young girl is levitating the frisbees into a whirling frisbee-tornado that Brett is attempting to snatch out of the air; some of them seem to be slicing his arms in half but this doesn't seem to /hurt/ him much, liquid-metal limbs just reattaching nearly as soon as they are cut.) "Liam's fucking /dead/. And his nightmares have been --" His teeth clack together hard. "And all you both give a shit about is playing hero to /anyone fucking else on earth/ because, what, there's not a single fucking taxi in all of New York? Noone in the seven /million/ people who live in the safehouse who could have escorted her? Maybe the baby's fucking /actual dad/? But no. It's gotta be you guys. It /always has to be you guys/." His fingers are curling harder into the metal of the fence; it's an odd combination, the sheer strength of /his/ hand easily enough to start bending the metal where it presses into the corners of the chainlinks, but the metal easily enough to start cutting into the thinner webbing between his fingers. "Hardly goddamn sudden either, running into trouble. Pretty sure there was /someone/ telling you for months now it was going to be a shitshow if this kid turned out a freak. Don't know who that could've been. You wanna see my fucking /surprised/ face that it took all of fifteen minutes for her life to start turning shitty?" Spoiler: his face is not surprised. "It's not like that was a /plan/, Shane... We weren't off bein' /frivolous/. There was serious stuff goin' down. Who was s'posed t'help get Mel t'the hospital if we weren't there? Hive, who's havin' trouble even standin' most of the time now? Jim, who just stopped bein' a tree five seconds ago from when he /saved Jax's life/? With all the nice, accessible vehicles the two of them don't have?" Micah has gone from just not-smiling-anymore to looking incredibly exhausted in no time flat. "Nobody has any way of predictin' how long labour an' delivery's gonna take. This one just took over twelve /hours/. An' we wasn't just doin' nothin'. Jax was ready pass out any second 'cause he hadn't eaten all day. /Hive/ was ready to pass out any second 'cause he's /sick/ an' was worryin' himself t'/death/ over what was goin' on and /needed/ people there. An' then the hospital kicked Mel out not five minutes after the kid was out of her. How was she s'posed t'get t'the Clinic with everyone refusin' care? She wasn't exactly in /walkin' around/ shape by then... We came home as soon as she was settled there. Just because things are hard for this baby don't mean everyone should just give up on her, or her family." Jackson's shoulder's sag, flinching at Shane's words, flinching again at Micah's mention of Jim. He turns, eye focusing out towards Spencer as he droops, tired, back against the fence. "Mel didn't -- exactly have a ton'a options, Shane, she --" But he doesn't actually finish this sentence. There's a slow guilty droop of his posture, gaze still fixed over on the game. "You don't fucking /get it/." Shane snaps this angrily, fingers curling into a sharper harder grip on the fence, metal creaking in protest as it bends. "He's /eight fucking years old/. How the /goddamn hell/ is it your /problem/? /He's/ your problem. There's a /dozen/ people living at the safehouse, Mel's been pregnant for fucking /months/ she could've made arrangements. Arrangements that /didn't include you/. Labor took twelve hours? That's /twelve fucking hours/ you could've rented Flicker a goddamn /van/ to take her there in. But you're more interested in fucking excuses. But it's /always your problem/. Because you /make it your problem/. Because /everyone else/ is always more important than us, whether it's going out and fucking /dying/ for them or just /never goddamn being here/ because her kid and everyone else's on the fucking planet is more important than your own." "Shane, /let go/," Micah responds foremost, eyes on the boy's hands to indicate his meaning. "You /really/ think we're never here for you?" The question is much softer than the order, legitimately seeking an honest answer. "I mean, all the time? Not just...durin' the week I spent tryin' not t'accidentally kill everyone 'cause Sublime rewired m'head an' I couldn't know that I wasn't gonna go crazy an' try t'cart y'all off t'be used for scrap parts?" Yep, life around here sure is quiet and normal. Jax draws in a slow breath, straightening to turn aside from the lawn and look back through the fence at Shane. "Shane, I don't --" He lifts a hand, skimming it slowly across his head. "I'm sorry," he says quietly, head shaking. "I -- it ain't that I --" But here he stops, shoulders falling again. "You think you ain't important t'us? Because that ain't even slightly -- you boys are the most important thing in my life. An' I'm sorry, I -- I /know/ I don't always do a good job'a showin' that. Or prioritizin' that how I need to. I -- shoulda --" He just swallows, fist circling against his heart. Shane growls, squeezing the fence tighter but letting it go; there's touches of blood streaked against the warped metal where the links have bit into his hand, webbing torn and ragged in between his fingers. The growl continues as his head thumps back forward against the fence. "Of /course/ I think," he starts, finally dropping back into -- just /tired/ instead of snappish, now, eyes narrowing out towards where water has turned to ice slippery-slick on the lawn and the myriad frisbees are being used as vanishing target-practice in midair. His teeth click together, his gills fluttering rapid at the sides of his neck. "Look," he says instead, "I fucking get it. There's a crapton of shit that always needs dealing with. And you deal with it. The world needs saving basically all the time. And we've gotten used to that. We /have/. I have to share you with the /entire goddamn world/ and wonder every fucking day if you're not even going to come home because --" He shakes his head sharply. "And B and I, we deal. Crazy fucking torture labs and kidnappings and murderers and apocalypse and the world exploding every goddamn day an y'all are /always fucking saving it/ and that's. Just how life is but fucking /Christ/ Spence -- isn't /us/. And the world wasn't fucking ending. But everyone else's problems are always the end of the goddamn world with you and there's /always/ some reason it /has/ to be you there saving them." "I don't go," Micah finally says, quietly. "I watch...everyone else leave. For these dangerous... So I /can/ stay with you all. I come in after everyone's already hurt an' broken an' try t'put it back t'gether again. This thing with the cult is the first time that I've gone /in/. An' I was /literally/ the only person who could do this, this time. An' it kept me away from folks for too long, which I /will/ apologise for. Because I was stupid an' didn't think of everythin' that could go as wrong as it did." Now he looks confused or incredulous or some fun combination of the two. "But...what you're talkin' 'bout isn't that. It's the one night we tried t'be there for Mel an' Jim an' Hive an' the baby. Who are /also/ our family. An' that took a little longer than expected, too. I just..." He bites at his lip, takes a deep breath before continuing. "I'm listenin'. An' I'm hearin' you. An' I'm just tryin' t'understand correctly. Is this more that we weren't here t'light candles with Spence this one time or that we were helpin' Mel an' the baby that's the problem?" Jax's brows pull together slowly, eye lifting to meet Shane's. "Okay." He rubs his hand across his head again, teeth sinking down against his lip. "This -- sounds like a whole lot bigger -- issue than this one night, Shane, an' I -- I mean I'd /stop/. I would -- I /will/. All of it if that's what y'all need. I /want/ to be there for you. I jus' don't -- I don't know quite -- exactly what you -- /need/ from us, Shane. In this or -- everything." Shane's hand flicks in one sharp motion in the air, dislodging a few droplets of blood from the end of it before returning it to his lips. He skirts around the edge of the fence, circling around to join his fathers on the other side. "/Kssh/," he hisses, sharp and irritable. "You're /still/ fucking -- away from everyone." His hand lifts, fingers hovering near Micah's cheek, but dropping without touching. "But I guess that's just --" His head shakes, gills fluttering fast. His eyes narrow outwards, towards the lake this time rather than the game. "It's not this one fucking /night/, dude and it's /not just Pa/ so don't /feed/ me that bullshit. Yes, this was the /one/ goddamn time Mel was having a baby but if it's not this then the Morlocks need food and you're getting exploded or refugees in Harlem need medical care and you're getting shot or /any fucking body/ needs help and it's on you two to save the world. I could give two /shits/ about Mel and her kid. She's fucking irresponsible, we've known that this whole pregnancy. Of /course/ she didn't make other arrangements for the birth when she started going into labor. Just like she didn't make other arrangements when she found out she was pregnant in the first place. But the part where suddenly that's your problem is a /pattern/. And it's a pattern that /we/ end up --" His gills ripple faster, breathing cutting off and his arms folding against his chest. "... I don't care, though." His voice is abruptly quiet on this -- incongruous statement, in blatant contradiction to his previous rant. "Of course you're not going to /stop/. You wouldn't be /you/." "We're tryin' t'fix that. As soon as...whatever information they can get out of Sublime gets shared with the class. An' just 'cause I can't touch /skin/ don't mean I'm not /here/." Micah reaches out for Shane's hand, gloved fingertips brushing against the inside of his wrist. "I'm /here/. I don't...this ain't /ideal/. It ain't what I /want/ an' we're tryin' t'make it better. But even if we don't, I'm still /here/." His head shakes slowly. "We had no way of knowin'...Malthus was goin' t'sneak into the sewers. If you'll recall, you an' B /both/ were down there when that happened. No way I'd have let either of you /or/ me be there if I'd known what was gonna... I was nothin' but a hindrance when that happened. I wouldn't've been there on purpose. An' Harlem... Was more bad luck. That I happened t'be there when. Malthus. He was kinda hard t'avoid there for awhile." Micah tries to move in closer to Shane, if he'll allow it. "But I won't...do anythin' anymore. That might be dangerous. Nothin' that ain't directly workin' t'save you boys or Jax, anyhow. Or that I ain't /completely uniquely/ needed t'do. Okay? No more questionable places for me t'be. No more high-tension situations that /could/ potentially turn into more. I don't b'long...in any of that anyway. So I will /be/ here. But...sometimes. Non-/dangerous/ situations'll come up that /I/ can help with. That I'm /good/ for. That I won't...be in the way of. So sometimes I'm gonna do /those/ things. 'Specially when it involves family, honey. Even if it ain't /always/ the most convenient... Y'all are priority. Default priority, always. But there's gonna be /rare/ occasions where somethin' comes up...like someone givin' birth early. I can't promise it won't /ever/. That wouldn't be honest 'bout how /life/ works." Jax's arms fold in against his chest, his head shaking. One hand untucks from the other to circle a fist against his heart once more. "... you do. End up. Shoulderin' /way/ too much of --" He swallows, shaking his head once more. "Maybe we should. Sit down an' have a talk about. I mean if I'm takin' on too much -- if I need to cut back on --" He tips his eye up towards the sky, glancing over towards the setting sun. "It's a serious conversation that -- because you /are/ my priority. An' all this chaos has been gettin' in the way of that way more'n is fair to y'all. An' I feel like that's -- somethin' that's on /me/ way more'n it is on /Micah/ an' it sure ain't on /Mel/ or her child, s'just kinda all spillin' out right now an' -- an' I'm sorry for it. An' it's somethin' we gotta work out. Because I /love/ you an' I -- m'sorry I ever made you feel anything's more important than that." "You /can/ touch skin just fine. It's not like you're the first telepath in the history of ever. Like /I/ give a fuck, you know who /my/ best friends are you think I'm suddenly going to cringe because you're in my head?" Shane's black eyes skim back across the field towards Taylor, Spencer still riding on the bigger boy's shoulders. /He/ draws back, though, when Micah moves closer. "I don't /care/," he snaps again. "Keep doing what you do. Life's sure as fuck never been /convenient/ for us I don't know why it'd start now." His teeth click together, gills fluttering, and he tears his eyes away from Spencer to look back towards the gardens and the distant workshop. "Whatever," he finally says, with a sharp shake of his head. "Do whatever you like. They're not /my/ goddamn family. I'm getting B. It'll be sunset soon enough." "I can, it's just...hard for me t'process so I been tryin' t'avoid doin' it /casually/," Micah explains calmly. "Y'might've had telepaths in your head before. So've I. But I ain't never /been/ one m'self. S'a bit dif'rent." He just lets his hand fall back to his side, not pursuing when Shane pulls away from him. "Okay. If that's what y'want." His hand moves to the phone he'd been checking so frequently. "7:22. Is s'posed t'be the time for our zipcode t'night. For the candle lightin'. I was gonna ask Spence if he wanted t'do the...stayin' up all night an'. If y'all had somethin' else. That's fine." He leans back into the fence, eyes falling closed. Jackson just dips his head in a small nod. "We'll -- see you. Inside, then." His voice has gotten quieter, a little distant. His eye tracks after Shane when the teen draws back, but then shifts back to Micah. He lifts a hand, squeezing gently at his husband's shoulder. "-- I should grab Spence he might want time t'get cleaned up." Shane just turns around, hands shoved into his pockets, gills fluttering rapidly as he heads off in search of his other half. “Okay.” Micah pulls his gloves on a little tighter. Blinks a few times. Takes a deep breath. Then peels himself away from the support of the fence to head inside.