ArchivedLogs:Recovery

Recovery
Living Arrangements, Tea, and Awkwardness
Dramatis Personae Jackson, Doug, Micah
In Absentia	5 April 2013 Jax and Micah go for food and caffeine for deHiving recovery. Doug wanders in. Awkwardness ensues. >_>
Location <NYC> Tick-Tock - Greenwich Village
The quiet sound of soft music and softly running water greets the entrants to this tea house, playing from speakers hidden and trickling waterfalls cascading down the rocky fountains by the entryway. The ambiance here is subdued, a quiet escape from the bustle and noise of the city, focused on only one thing: tea. Tea of very good quality. They serve it in over eighty varieties, black and white, green and oolong, rooibos and herbals and mate, flavored and straight up. The seating here comes on cushions or kneeling chairs around low tables, the decorations in earth tones, and the knowledgeable wait staff is always helpful with a recommendation or a snack suggestion to pair with your drink. Between unhiving and his nominal bodyguarding stint at the clinic speech and /other/ work at the club and then class Jackson has been -- -- well. Busy. /Cheerfully/ busy, if watching him is any indication; he's worn a smile nearly all the while! Maybe not while getting tased. Certainly while bartending immediately afterwards. And then swimming and then morning mass and then back home (prooobably for not just breakfast but a short stint of pre-class cuddling) and now -- now! There is finally a little downtime. In which Jackson does not /particularly/ feel like cooking, so he is instead tucked at a chair near the front, half people-watching out the window (Greenwich is /good/ for peoplewatching) and half watching the waterfall-fountains nearby. Also, waiting for his food -- a ginger-carrot-miso wrap -- and idly looking over the tea menu. So many teas. Even with his tea addiction he might be a little overwhelmed by the selection, because: "-- having to make choices with a migraine is like cruel and unusual punishment." In the subdued environment of the teahouse he is a bright spot of colour. Rainbowy armwarmers (one is striped, one is black with bright stars), bright mismatched socks, a short shiny vinyl black skirt. A pink t-shirt reading 'I'm one of the bravest girls alive'. Hair up in pointy liberty spikes, black with pink and purple tips. Silverychrome nails tap against the tea menu. Taptaptap/tap/. He also wears a smile. This is probably pretty expected. If he's tired it does not /show/. Watching out the window in your neighborhood almost assuredly means a familiar face or two will pop up. Today, Doug is one of those faces, although he does not look as sunny as Jax. He seems a bit weary as he pushes into the tea house, a backpack slung over one shoulder and his laptop bag across his chest, nearly blocking the Fruity Oaty Bars logo on his faded grey t-shirt; his snug-fitting jeans are ripped across one knee, although it looks more intentional than anything. He stops when he gets into the restaurant, blinking as if he's taken a wrong turn while he takes a slow turn, seeing what tables are available. There's a small press of lips when Jackson is spied, then he's heading in that direction. "You look happy," he states in a too-casual voice as he claims the table next to the older man. "Did you get some good news or something?" Micah is taking his first sick day in pretty much /ever/ since coming to New York. He is Totoro T-shirt and patched jeans clad, slouchy-slumped next to Jax in a near-boneless way. It’s the kind of posture that gets glared at by mindful parents and therapists. He is also waiting on sandwich-type foods that include cucumbers and hummus, because cold cucumbers sounded fantastic. “I am not a fan of this Hiveover. And pickin’ things out here was hard /before/ all of the headache in the world happened.” A little grin still manages to tug the corners of his mouth upward, offered to Jax with a slight improvement of his upright sitting. Doug’s entrance and greeting also prompts a wave. “Hello.” "Oh --" Jackson's forehead wrinkles for a moment, but he lifts his hand to curl his fingers in a wave at Doug. "Hi, um, sorry!" He sounds a little worried. "I mean should I not be happy? I can try not to smile. I don't think there was good news." He turns to flick a glance at Micah. No sunglasses today, lost yesterday in the tasering. Just an eyepatch, bright pink. "-- was there good news? I could probably make up some. Um, feverfew is good tea for headaches but it tastes terrible, they probably don't have any here." He frowns at the menu, but then smiles back up at Doug. "How're you? -- Oh maybe a Keemun. I think today is kind of like a Keemun day." "I don't know," Doug says, jerking his chin in greeting to Micah as he settles himself. "I wasn't really telling you /not/ to be happy. You just look it." There /might/ be a bit of challenge in his voice. Certainly there's a bit of a set to his jaw, though he keeps smiling as he picks up his own menu. "I'm good," he says, turning his attention to the selections available, wrinkling his nose as he comes across less-appetizing things. "I'm busy with school, and trying to get out and meet people that /don't/ live in our building." He looks up, offering a small, teasing smile that doesn't -quite- reach his eyes as he directs it Micah-wards. "Or in front of it." Then it's gone, and he lifts his eyebrows at Jackson. "How have you been doing?" “I don’t believe there’s a power in the ‘verse can stop Jax from bein’ cheerful,” Micah quote-quips with a grin and a /soft/ chuckle. Soft for the sake of his own head. “I don’t know that this qualifies as normal headaches. I haven’t been doin’ my normal headaches things for it except drinkin’ gallons of water because…um…how d’you heal Psychic damage in Real World system?” His fingers comb through his hair as if this might help his head feel better. “I bow to your superior tea-knowledge here.” Micah actually bows his head a bit in Jax’s direction before looking back up to speak to Doug again. “Small world, right? Go out and just run into neighbours, anyhow.” "Other psionics," Jackson advises, by way of headache-remedy. "I know a couple of folks who're -- oh, but /man/, they'll mostly all be recuperating now too." He frowns, considering. "-- mostly. Though we /do/ know a guy who might --" His teeth drag against his lip, considering this. His cheeks flush slightly at the quote and -- hey look! It's a geek reference he /does/ get, mostly thanks to the twins' influence. Though his only acknowledgment is a subtle shift of clothing, easy enough to miss; his clothing grows /patches/ on it, a teddy bear on one leg, a heart on a pocket, a little blue flower on his shirt. "I look happy a lot," he offers lightly, his smile brightening just a touch. "How's school? How's meeting-people? -- this happens all the time," he assures Micah, "New York's secretly just a small town all dressed up." "This town is /too/ fucking small, for a city," Doug mutters, his attention already back on his menu. Either he's not listening to conversations about psionic headache remedies or he's ignoring them. His careful disinterest about it speaks to the latter, though. "School's fine," he answers, scanning the teas with a deep frown. "Meeting people -- well, it happens. I don't know how /good/ it's going, though." He lifts a shoulder, and tosses his menu on the table. Decision /made/. "But I'm meeting them. I guess that's what's important." He offers a tight smile, and looks back, locating the server. "I'm still looking for a roommate," he adds. "So I'll have that going on over the next couple of weeks." “Only but so small. There’s an /out/ to go /to/ that don’t involve hangin’ around your neighbour’s corn field.” Micah is still managing quiet-laughing for his own sake. “Meetin’ people’s good. And shoppin’ for roommates is good for meetin’ people. Gives you an excuse to get to know all about folks real quick-like. You online shoppin’ for people or just postin’ at school or what?” Jax's mild costume alteration does earn an appreciative eye-squinting smile. Something in Doug's mutter tenses Jackson, for a moment; at least, his fingers stop their tapping, his eye abruptly dropping back to the menu. If his smile dims, though, it isn't noticeable. He does rub a hand a little awkwardly at the back of his neck. "Roommate," he says, "cool. I mean -- I mean, cool. Me too, I guess." Though he doesn't sound quite certain about it. "Meeting new people's /fun/ though! I mean you learn so much interesting stuff about folks when --" His fingers flutter towards Micah. He pauses, as a waiter approaches, first to order a pot of Keemun for his table and then for Doug to place /his/ order too. "-- I'll have you know /my/ cornfield was /the/ happenin' place to hang out," he does add, a little quieter. "I've got an ad up on the university boards," Doug says in response to Micah's question. "But I don't know. My lease is up in January -- I'll probably move to the dorms, if I don't find anyone by then." He glances at Jackson. "You're looking for a roommate?" he asks, clearly disbelieving. "Where are you going to put them when the kids come home? The broom closet?" He shifts his attention to the server, then, and waves his hand helplessly at the menu on his table. "I don't remember the name of it, but I want the blackberry-orange tea, and some of those lemon curd tarts." He furrows his brow, glancing at the window. "I'll drink the tea here, but I want the tarts to go," he amends, settling further into his chair. "Meeting people is all right. I wish I understood them better." Micah does have questioning eyebrows for a second at Jax’s announcement of possible roommate searches. But he does not actually ask. His grin broadens at Doug’s announcement of possible dorms, because, “dorms are fun! It’s pretty much just constant people /everywhere/. And someone is /always/ awake. I did dorms for a few years as an undergrad. Infinite gaming opportunities, too. Just…don’t get /too/ attached to anythin’ bein’ clean /ever/.” He finally stops his excited rambling for a drink from his half-empty glass of water. "I done dorms all through high school but I ain't never for college," Jackson admits. "High school was pretty much just nonstop people everywhere though. Got pretty much used t'no privacy ever, was weird goin' from being an only child to -- that." He rubs at the back of his neck again when Doug orders his food. "Think people take a lot of practice at understanding, just like most other things. Gotta sorta study up." "Yeeeeah," Doug says slowly, reaching up to rub at his face. "You two have pretty much sold me on never living in a dorm /ever/. That sounds like Hell." He purses his lips at Jax's observation, and a small roll of his eyes that's directed away from the older men. "I suppose they do," he offers after a long moment, looking back with slightly lifted eyebrows. "So, what's the story on you looking for a roommate?" “The idea of high school dorms is kinda bogglin’ my mind right now.” Micah gives Jax a cross-eyed look at that. “Not that my mind is takin’ much to boggle currently. I think I’m baseline scrambled for now.” He stretches creakily, resulting in a taller posture. He may end up sitting upright, yet! “Really? I thought it was mostly fun.” His mouth ends up quirked over all to one side, not quite sure what to make of dorms being /not/ happyfuntimes. "Well, was boarding school," Jackson says, nose crinkling up at Micah's cross-eyed look. "Yeah no I mean it was great! Was a lot of fun and you certainly ain't never lonely. I mean if you're lookin' to meet people it's basically /guaranteed/ meeting people. S'always people around and things to /do/. -- /My/ dorm was always clean, anyhow. But we had regular inspections for /clean/, college don't do that so much I don't think." The question just gets a rolling shrug of one shoulder. "New York's expensive," he says with a crooked upward twitch of lips. "No privacy? No quiet? Not clean?" Doug wrinkles his nose. "Yeah, that's not my bag. I gotta have things clean and neat, and quiet." He frowns. "All that muffled talking in the halls -- I'd have a migraine all the time." He lifts his eyebrows at Jackson. "It'd be like riding the subway, only without stops." He snorts at Jackson's observation, but it's unclear if it's a laugh or not. "Yeah, it is," he agrees. "But don't you work like fourteen jobs?” “No, they don’t. You pretty much have to be capable of Epic Guiltin’ your roomies or just clean things yourself out of sheer /argh/ after awhile.” Micah is going through a range of comical scrunchy faces at this. “/Muffled/ talkin’? Yeah, you clearly have not done dorms before. It’s more…people tyin’ each other to computer chairs with toilet paper and holdin’ races. Or wanderin’ around playin’ covers of pop songs on the banjo. Or Silly String battles. Or pretty much anythin’ else you can get away with until someone yells to an RA about it.” The ‘fourteen jobs’ comment earns /another/ nose crinkle. “Multiple jobs is not a guarantee of adequate funds, unfortunately. Though I only have two-ish, personally.” "/Definitely/ ain't much'a no quiet. I mean, we had quiet hours an' even /then/ --" Jackson's head shakes, an amused smile curling up his lips. "Best t'invest in some good earplugs." He sits up straighter, a little bouncy-happy as their food and tea is delivered. "Thanks!" he chirrups to the server, and then with a shrug, "I work plenty, but. I mean. New York's /expensive/ and I mean s'not like I got no family, um --" His cheeks flush slightly. "Helpin' out, so. Gets tight sometimes." Another shrug. "You movin' out cuz money?" "Still sounds like Hell," Doug says to Micah with a small shrug. "Not the kind of environment I'd find very relaxing." He offers an apologetic pull of his mouth that might be intended to be a smile. "But it does sound good for meeting a wide variety of people." The expression does turn into a smile when the server appears, nodding as his tea and a white paper bag are placed on the table. His ears pinken at the comment about family, and he's quiet as he turns over his cup, rubbing the inside with a slice of lemon. "Not really," is his answer to the question, although he doesn't elaborate. "Like I said, I'm not sure I will." "Oh food. /Bless/ you, you are /amazin'/," Micah heaps excessive praise on the server. Because /food/. He manages to wait a polite beat before stuffing sandwich in his face. "Hrgm." Oops. Mouthful of food! Chew. Swallow. "This is why I am still sleepin' in a van. Everythin's kind of ridiculous up here." The tip of his tongue darts out to retrieve a remnant of hummus from his lip. "Oh --" Jackson frowns, the pink in his cheeks deepening. "But then why -- I mean, it's not cuz -- do you not like --" His teeth scrape against his lip. His attention fixes on his own wrap, which he looks at a long moment before picking up to eat, somewhat less eagerly. He slants a look to Micah. "-- Well, not /always/ sleepin' in a van." This is maybe Kind Of Concerned. "It'd be for a lot of reasons," Doug says, in a weary voice, not bothering to look over at the pair. "None of which are anyone's fault. They just are what they are." He exhales heavily, and pours out his tea, watching the vapor rise from the rim of his mug. There's color that blooms in his ears when Jax amends Micah's statement, but his expression remains unchanged. That is to say, he looks tired and maybe a little lonely as he gazes out the window, watching a cute guy walk by talking on his phone. He /might/ have forgotten Micah and Jax are there. Micah is apparently one of those people who frequently treats food like he has never had food before. Or at least not any time in recent memory. He has to keep reminding himself to stop inhaling sandwich to speak. "Oh, it's not always... It's not that... I mean, I'd..." He can't seem to pick more than the beginnings of a sentence. He takes advantage of the opening provided by Doug staring out the window to shift his eyes from Jax to Doug /meaningfully/. Micah is not saying certain things for /reasons/. The colour deepens in Jax's cheeks, first at Doug's mope and then at Micah's meaningful look. He ducks his head, sheepish, his frown a little apologetic. He picks at his food slowly, nibbling in slow contrast to Micah's inhaling. "Sorry." His knuckles rub at his temples. He leans forward to pour two cups full of tea. And then just picks at his wrap. Nibblenibble-peek over at Doug-nibble more. "For what?" Doug says, picking up his spoon and stirring at his tea thoughtfully. If he's aware of the sudden awkwardness, he's keeping it off his face. Not so much out of his ears, which are a mild pink color. "You were just asking. No harm in that." Ohgosh, everyone is blushing so now Micah is blushing, too! He has gone straight for rosy pink across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. He hides behind the tea cup Jax filled for him, blowing softly over its surface to help it cool. Micah is torn between trying to dismiss Jax's need for apology and /not/ bringing more attention to it. The end result seems to be /not talking/. Doug has been putting the apology aside already, though, so that should be okay? Hm. Times when you miss casual telepathy: this is one. "Yeah, but I just --" Jackson's red is deepening to crimson. Pickpicknibblenibble. "I just don't want to have -- don't want you to feel like --" There is colour creeping further, just the faintest tinges of it leaking out from him. "Feel like you gotta -- like you ain't --" Now he reaches for his tea, taking a large gulp that is followed by a swift hiss at /burning/. "Sorry," he says again. Doug sighs, glancing over at Jackson's reddening face, and drops his shoulders. "And here we are again," he says, and pushes his cup away from himself, reaching down to grab his laptop bag. "I thought we settled this. Anything I do from here on out," he says a bit sharply as he loops the strap of his laptop over his shoulder, fishing his wallet out and dropping some money on the table. "Will be because it's what I feel best for me," he continues. "It will not be predicated on what any /Hollands/ or /Hives/ or /Zedners/ -think- or -hope- are the reasons." His mouth presses tight, and he jerks his backpack up onto his shoulder. "But thanks for your concern," is stiff and so not heartfelt. "Now, I'm going to scoot before I have to send you another goddamned apology basket." His speech made, he snaps up the white paper bag, and looks at the pair. "I'll see you guys around," he says, and then he's heading for the door. Micah is not coming out from behind his cup. It is of /immense/ importance to get it to drinking temperature, apparently. His ears have picked up the task of telegraphing his blush, however. “No… I don’t think… No one meant to…” Sentences, they are not getting to end today! “Please don’t feel like…” He finally gives up and sighs heavily, rippling the surface of the tea in his cup. “See you later.” He offers weakly. The colour is leaking out further from Jax's skin and he ducks down lower behind his teacup, pulling in a slow deep breath. "I didn't mean that -- Sorry," he mumbles again, wincing. He hides his face in his hands as Doug gets up, and doesn't lift it again until the teenager has reached the door. "Hrf," he tells Micah, muffled against his palms (though this position thankfully, at least, leaves him insensible to the /looks/ his red glimmer is attracting.) "Well. That. Was." Also not finishing that sentence. Just hiding his face. Explanations are lost on Doug, who does not look back. The fiery red of his ears speaks volumes, though. And the fact that he somehow manages to slam a soft-close door on his way out. Micah has to resist the temptation to thunk his forehead into the table. “Ohgosh, I’m so sorry. I think I made that worse instead of better.” He tests the temperature of the tea with a tentative sip for lack of a better thing to do with his hands. This works so well that it distracts /him/. “Oh wow, this is really fruity tea.” His expression has shifted instantly to ‘pleasantly surprised’. "I think teenagers're gonna be the death'a me," Jackson says this muffled still, but looks up afterwards. "An' I mean that's an accomplishment cuz I get shot at fair regular. Or dragon'd apparently. Or /tased/." His nose wrinkles. And wrinkles further when he notices their server staring at him. His shoulders hunch down, although /noticing/ only makes the air redder. "M'glad you like it it's -- most of their stuff is good." Micah rests a hand gently on Jax's back, rubbing idly with his palm in a reassuring fashion. The stares from other people manage to get him sitting up straight, finally, his posture stiffened with protectiveness. "You still feelin' mostly okay after that? No palpitations or anythin'?" "Yeah, I mean, I'm -- yeah." Jackson flashes Micah a smile, quick and bright. The touch calms him, somewhat; at least, the red starts to fade, slowly. "I mean, s'hard to tell what was /that/ and what was jus' my /brain/ implodin', you know?" His teeth sink down against his lip for a moment. "I mean I should be askin' you the same he had you for way longer and that's way worse than a little bit of tasin'." “I still can’t…ugh. I hate that cops are allowed to get so taser-happy. There are so many people with /conditions/ that can’t handle that. I mostly only ever ended up briefly bein’ held for questionin’ at protests. Nothin’ /quite/ that excitin’.” Micah squints his eyes closed for a moment at the reminder of brain implosion. He keeps his hand pressed to Jax’s back, making small circles between his shoulder blades, when it seems to be helping. “He didn’t /really/ have me any longer’n’ you. I sort of had the Hive revolving door installed in my brainmeats. He’d pulled away completely before hoppin’ back in there that night we convinced him to get rid of all the non-volunteer/non-necessary Hivees.” His expression is briefly thoughtful. “I guess it does get worse the longer you let him sit there. When he was only there about a day, it was just a headache. None of the passin’ out and feelin’ like you have the worst hangover ever.” "The folks he's had since the -- for all month, they're --" Jackson's lips press together, and between Micah's rubbing and having someone /else/ to worry about, he is forgetting his embarrassment still more. The red glow fades away entirely, though it doesn't quite end the uncomfortable looks their table is getting. "-- some'a them ain't even woke up yet. Last I checked /Hive/ ain't even woke up yet." He grimaces, and leans slightly into Micah's hand as he finally sips again at his tea. "You should stay at my place. Till s'over, at least. Real veggies an' a proper bed an' plenty of rest." Micah winces at the word ‘month’. “Ohgosh, they’ve gotta be in bad shape right now. No seizures or anythin’, I hope?” He pauses to sip at his tea, lefty-fashion, since his right hand is keeping up its Jax-soothing mission. His answer to the ‘staying’ suggestion is a question instead. “You really lookin’ for a roommate?” Jackson drinks his tea lefty-fashion because he is a lefty. "Ain't heard about seizures -- not in them. Hive --" One shoulder hitches up in a shrug. "Might be a while afore he's okay again." His teeth sink down against his lip at the question, any semblance of a smile fleeing his face. "Maybe," he says, uncertainly. "Maybe a smaller place. I -- I don't know yet, I gotta see if --" Another shrug. “Poor guy. His lot has not been a kind one lately. At least he’s home now, though.” Micah has his head ducked down slightly, peeking back up at Jax through a fringe of reddish lashes, clearly uncertain. “Still no progress with the Child Welfare people? I mean…you don’t have to say, but I… I just worry about you. And them.” Jackson is quiet at this a very long time. He picks at his wrap, not really eating it so much as slowly disassembling it on his plate. "The twins said they didn't want to live with me," he finally answers. "There ain't -- gonna be progress. They don't want to come back." Micah’s brows attempt to meet, in a mixture of concern and confusion. “I don’t… Why would they…? That don’t make no kinda sense.” He sets his teacup back on the table, leaning over into Jax’s shoulder, body language clearly offering a hug if it is wanted. Jackson takes the hug, leaning into it immediately, his eye scrunching tight shut. "I don't -- I don't know, I ain't never -- was kinda foolin' myself, you know? I wasn't never no good at this -- I'm barely older than /they/ are, I don't know how I thought I could --" He stops, drawing in a slow breath when the light around him trembles. "Sorry," he mumbles. "I think everything's just kinda -- getting to --" Another breath. "I should pay. And. Go. Home." Micah holds onto Jax if he doesn’t initiate moving away. “They obviously /love/ you, Jax. This has to be about somethin’ else.” He rests his forehead on the other man’s shoulder. “If that’s what you want to do. Y’want me to come with you? Or d’you need…quiet?” Jackson doesn't move, face pressing against Micah's shoulder. "I don't know what's obvious no more. I thought -- I don't know." Another moment, another deep breath. "I think I need a nap," he says, wryly, "been a couple days since I slept an' I'm due at the club at ten. Do you want to --" Tugtugtug, on Micah's shirt. /Come/ finishes that sentence, apparently. Micah nods into Jax’s shoulder, the gesture apparent through tactile, if not visual, senses. “Nap sounds good. I’ll get the cheque.” He gestures for the server with the universal ‘let me give you money’ raising of one hand in his direction. "Ohbut I can --" Jackson's initial protest is reflexive. But then dies after a moment of thought, accepting this with a nod. Only now does he finally pull away, brushing a small kiss to Micah's cheek. Which probably earns Micah the same dirty looks Jax was getting earlier. Jackson gulps down the rest of his tea, taking a few more bites of food while their check is delivered. He /eyes/ the check, even. His fingers twitch. But he doesn't reach for it. Jax doesn't get a chance to touch the cheque, eye it though he might. Micah snaps it up, setting out appropriate cash for the written amount plus tip. He then snatches Jax up, as well. "Let's get you home." He nuzzles into the other man's shoulder a bit. Dirty looks be damned.