ArchivedLogs:Proper Winter

Proper Winter
Dramatis Personae Jax, Steve
In Absentia	2016-12-11 "I don't really got much of a -- pack, elsewise."
Location <NYC> S.H.I.E.L.D. Headquarters - Cafeteria
The dining hall is capacious and bright, furnished with round tables and comfortable chairs for S.H.I.E.L.D.'s agents and other employees. Floor to ceiling windows along one wall look out over the architecture and bustle of midtown Manhattan, and opposite that, a long gleaming counter with glass serves up a vast variety of food, with sections set aside for special dietary considerations -- some with their own color-coded plates and utensils. The quality of the food is decent, for the most part, if a bit on the bland side until fairly recently. Sundays are quiet, around S.H.I.E.L.D. Quiet through the offices, quiet through the halls -- quiet in the cafeteria, come lunch. Lunch is, though, still served, even to the meagre population of die-hard workaholics inhabiting the building; a rich peanutty sweet potato and eggplant stew, chicken noodle soup, cornbread, spice cake. Even with the reinforced thick windows the wind can occasionally be heard whistling, reminder of the abrupt snap of winter cold outside even if in here it's toasty and warm. Jax is just carrying a newly-replenished pot of mulled cider out from the kitchens -- the last one quickly emptied on the cold day. He's dressed fairly blandly; red skinny jeans dusted with a metallic silver sheen, tall black stompy boots, a very thick and very soft black sweater, hair dyed in shades of metallic blue ombre. He is slow as he crosses to set the kiiind of overfilled pot down, sloshing a little bit of the hot cider out onto his arm with a small grimace. Steve has arrived somewhat late for lunch, still dressed for church -- pink pinpoint Oxford shirt, silver tie with a subtle star motif, black plain-front slacks (a matching jacket draped over one arm), and black Oxford shoes. He is busy loading his tray (singular, today) and stops short with hand half-way to spice cake when he catches sight of Jax. Gaze snaps down when he sees the pot tip. A small sympathetic wince. Cake forgotten, he comes over to the beverage area. "{Are you alright?}" in Spanish, as he takes in the other man over with a quick, appraising glance. Jax glances up quickly, a sudden flush in his cheeks. "Oh! I -- it's, yes, {I'm fine, it's fine.} It's only a small, it's -- I'm." He wipes his arm hastily against his sweater, ducking his head with a small wrinkle of his nose. "Just a little splash. Um. Did you -- want some cider?" His smile is small, and quick. "It's fresh." Steve lapses into a smile -- broad, if a little cautious -- his brows relaxing. "Would I ever!" He picks up a mug and holds it out, boyishly eager. "Good hot cider is one of those timeless tastes for me. Always puts me in mind of cozy winter nights by the fire. Only...with a lot less shivering and coughing, these days." His eyes flick to the window and the chilly gray day outside. "It's certainly feels like proper winter, now." "Well, I don't know if mine can quite live up to a proper winter ideal of -- cracklin' fire an' all that, for that you'd need --" For a moment Jax breaks off, eye slipping down to Steve's outstretched mug and a hazy distance in his expression. His brow creases faintly, smile fading. Taking the mug, he carefully ladles it full. There's a fresh smile on his face by the time he hands it back. "But I like to flatter myself it's decent, even if it ain't -- snuggling up with a book and a pup around a fire in a snowstorm perfect." He follows Steve's glance toward the window. "It's been due, I guess. Kinda feels the same in here." "I don't need a fire, though I've done my fair share of snuggling up with a book and a pup already." Steve watches Jax's hands move, quiet and still for a moment, as if hypnotized. "I'll gladly lend you Zenobia if you want her company while I'm at work one of these days. /She'd/ probably be glad of the company." He accepts the mug back and settles it carefully down on his tray. "She's snuggly enough when she's gotten enough exercise, but she still likes being in the midst of a...pack, I guess." "Oh -- oh." Jax's eye widens for a moment, posture straightening briefly -- then slumping back against the table. "Well, I can't have her in the kitchens anyway. I don't really got much of a -- pack, elsewise. Kinda just..." Shrug. He covers the pot of cider, settling it in the center of a hot plate to keep it on warm. He fidgets, slightly restless, with the sleeve of his sweater, looking at Steve's cup with a faint frown. "My ma used to always make a big pot," he admits, sudden, a deeper blush in his cheeks. "While we was trimming the tree." "I thought she could stay in the visitation room, since its become such a happening place -- folks have been calling it 'club house', 'shindig', and so on." Steve's eyes drop down to his tray. "Lo siento, I didn't mean...I just meant she'd enjoy being around people, even if it's only one or two, more than being alone most of the day." He bites his lower lip. "Oh! Did you see the photos from the winter decoration party?" His voice has gone up in pitch, but the bright flash of his enthusiastic smile looks a little forced. "It's splendid -- the tree, the lights, the windows, the cider..." He takes a careful and dramatic sip from his mug, "...well, the cider wasn't as good at yours." The smile fades away quickly. "But I just kept thinking about Christmas last year." Jax's smile, at least, looks warm and easy. "Oh? Oh! I ain't seen." His eyes lift toward the ceiling -- around them there's a flutter of colour as silver-frosted pine roping strings itself from the corners of the room, wrapped around with twinkling rainbow string lights and cheerfully glittery-designed glass baubles. The decor lingers only momentarily before fading. "I'm sure it's lovely, though. Lights an' tree an' --" His fingers wave, vague, before his hand drops back to the edge of the serving table. Clenches there, hard. "... be Yule soon too." Much more muted. Steve smiles again, slow and pleased, as his eyes follow the progress of the evergreen garland around the room. "It's beautiful," he agrees softly. Then, a bit more lively, "The dogs had a wild time of it." He nods slowly, looking down at his tray. "Oh, yeah. I'll offer the Tessiers a hand decorating, too, if they've a mind to and just haven't gotten around to it. Not that I imagine they'll have the energy for it tonight -- Luci's always exhausted after Sunday performance, and Matt's been out of town all weekend." "Dogs, psh. Horus an' Ion is usually..." Jax's smile warm for a moment, fond, then slips away as his brows pull inward. A flicker of shadow curls around his arms in brief wisps, also soon to far. "Oh -- oh. You -- they..." His eye lowers, teeth catching at his lower lip. "Have. Have you seen them much? Lately? They -- probably been busy." "Well, I suppose a /lot/ of people had a wild time of it," Steve admits, leaning back against the counter. "Horus seems to take a tithe of the ornaments as a matter of course, and Ion has once again pressed Egg into service as reindeer -- oh gosh, did you know they can /fly/ now? More like glide, I guess, but still." His smile, too, fades at the question. "I haven't seen as much of them as I'd like, and I don't think it's /just/ busy, though they certainly are." He frowns deeply, thoughtful. "They're under a lot of stress, and I just don't know what I can do except...keep offering to cook, as poor as my showing must be, by their standards. Well, and dogsitting. Zen just adores Flèche." He pauses a beat, a faint smile flitting across his face again. "/Everyone/ adores Flèche." Jax's hand lifts, fingers pressing lightly against his lips. "Fly? Gosh, they're gonna be a handful an' then some. Not that Ion ain't -- well ready to handle -- oh, he musta been so thrilled." His other arm curls around his chest, fingers squeezing down against the soft side of his sweater. "Don't suppose," he says with a crooked half-smile, "they'd give you any clues on how t'help if you -- asked 'em. Ain't -- really much their style, huh?" His fingers are curling a little bit tighter as he slowly straightens. "I -- I should. Should let you get to your -- you ain't eating." "Ion is so very proud, and so very equipped to keep up." Steve doesn't speak for a moment, just gazes at Jax raptly. Then shakes himself out of it. "I've asked… /gently/. Maybe /too/ gently, but you know them -- better than I do. Maybe I should be a little less circumspect." He looks down at his tray again, as though he'd forgotten about it. "Oh! Yes, I -- I'm pretty hungry. Also, keeping you from your work, though..." He glances toward the kitchen. "If you're about done back there, would you have lunch with me?" "I'm a terrible person to ask, I jus' barge in an' kind of impose helps on 'em. They're pretty solid about saying when they /don't/ want you around, anyway." Jax's blush has returned, fiercely. There's a very slight flutter of light around him -- faint, brief -- then his smile returns, quick and apologetic. "Oh! I -- I should. I should probably --" He looks down at Steve's tray, then back up toward the kitchen door. "Prob'ly get back to work. I -- hope y'enjoy it, though." His head tips toward the food. "I don't think it would be quite the same, me doing that." Even so, Steve seems to consider it for a long moment. "I might take some inspiration from you, though." His eyes light up more than just literally at the glow that blooms around Jax, if only for a moment. "Maybe another time?" Quiet, hopeful. "And I'm sure I'll love it. {Thank you, again.}"