ArchivedLogs:There's More

There's More
Dramatis Personae Jax, Micah
In Absentia	25 April 2014 Sharing the less-than-great news. (Part of the 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. It is not all that late, really; on a Friday evening, at least, there is still plenty of life happening around the school. Rec room bustling, the vibrant sound of drums coming from the music room, a pre-dinner basketball game happening out on one of the courts, a game of Frisbee on the lawn. The windows have been open in here through most of the day and a fresh breeze is still drifting in, rustling the golden curtains where they've been loosely tied up at the sides of the windows. Jax is tucked in front of the coffee table in the sitting room, not on the couch but sitting on the floor at its base, leaned up against the sofa. He's been dressed brightly, today, wide-wide-wide leg purple-and-black pants, a tight sleeveless turquoise top with long black fishnet shirt beneath, silver-and-purple makeup. His eyepatch is indecisive. Blue with a dragonfly, pink with glittery stars. His laptop is open on the table, S.J. Tucker playing quietly from it, and a pile of Intro Painting watercolours sits alongside the computer waiting for JUDGMENT. He has a spiral-bound notebook propped against his knees, teeth digging at his lip and pencil twirling rapidly between his fingers as he examines one painting. It is early enough that Micah has not been back to the room from work yet, still clad in his TARDIS-blue polo shirt (today over a grey long-sleeved tee) and khakis. Out of pure habit, he brushes his knuckles to the door in a soft one-two knock before pushing it open. His movements are perfunctory as he sets his messenger bag aside and removes his shoes near the door. Though this latter function is unusual for /him/ in that he doesn't so much as bend to untie the shoes, rather just kicking them off with the toe of one foot pressed to the heel of the other. He watches Jax working, taking several steps forward before pausing, grey-gloved fingers curling against the opposite arm. Jax tips his head up, glancing over towards the door at the knock with a reflexive, "C'min?" that fades into a puzzled -- then happy -- look when he sees Micah entering. "Hey, honey-honey." His smile is quick and warm, one hand dropping to rest against his notebook as his other continues with its pencil-twirling. His eye flicks upwards over Micah, teeth scraping against his lip again. "You jus' gettin' in, sweetie?" Micah just nods at first. "Had that meetin' with the Professor 'bout what he'd found out from Sublime," he clarifies, moving up behind Jax's seat. His hand eventually releases his own arm to trace very lightly against the back of his husband's neck. "Oh -- oh." Jax's eye widens, teeth digging harder against his lip. His head bows, very slightly, goosebumps prickling up along he back of his neck as Micah's fingers trace against him. "Did you -- learn anything?" His brows knit together, head turning a little more to peek up at Micah. "D'you /need/ anything?" Again, Micah nods, apparently in answer to both questions. His hand touches in a little more firmly, following around Jax's neck as Micah moves from behind to beside him. He leans in as his hand slides under the other man's jaw to his chin, tilting it upward. Tilting his own head to match, he presses his lips to Jax's, soft at first, eyes falling closed. "Sweetie, what did he --" Jax's pencil clatters to the floor beside him, its twirling ceasing. His breath catches, for a moment; he presses back against the base of the couch where he's been sitting, hand lifting to rest against Micah's side. There's a sudden tension that curls through him, his lips pressing back to Micah's gentle but hesitant. Foremost in his mind there's uncertainty, unsure how much contact Micah is /okay/ with, warring with a deep wrench of longing to just sink /in/ to this contact. But these things are fluttering to the top over a mess of /other/ stresses, wondering what was /said/ in the meeting and what news it might have for their future mixed in with earlier worries he's been carrying, about Hive and Dusk, about the need to plan upcoming raids, about helping B navigate the tangled mess of /identity/ issues, about whether Hive dying of cancer now means all the potentially-prophetic dreams are not in fact the future. It's coloured as it ever is in his unpleasant mix of too-harsh, too-bright, amplified at the moment by a blistering throb of headache and churning excess-energy buildup after two weeks and change of no-sleep again. Obstinately, Micah keeps his hold of Jax's chin, lips pressed more fiercely into the kiss. He sinks from his lean into kneeling at the other man's side, though exactly how much of that is for comfort and how much is out of /necessity/ might be open to debate. His other arm wraps around Jax's shoulders, somewhere between holding and holding /on/. He pulls away just slightly, managing a few more small kisses before his head is /swimming/, his forehead finally falling against Jax's shoulder. His eyelashes are beaded into a damp fringe. Jackson finds his breath again in a small shivery gasp when Micah doesn't immediately pull away; his arm slides around his husband, mouth pressing back with a deeper flush of hunger /fierce/ and strong in his mind, a tangled knot of love and want and need that surges almost in tandem with the /also/ growing uncertainty about how okay this is. His knuckles press briefly to his lips when Micah breaks off, other arm still looped around the older man's waist. "Ohgosh, m'sorry, I --" His hand rubs slowly against Micah's back, head tipping to press a kiss to the top of the other man's hair. "Sugar, what's -- goin' on?" "We gotta find you another place t'sleep," Micah answers with one of those shaky little laughs that don't have much to do with amusement. "It's...we ain't... It ain't changin' much. Knowin'. Ain't near as much use for /anyone/ as I'd hoped it'd be." The shake of Micah's head just grinds his forehead into Jax's shoulder. "He can't put Dusk back. The wings. They got put on a man who didn't survive the process. Don't know...where the body is. Gonna try t'find out if maybe what's left of the wings might be of use for Kate t'figure things out. But if we can't do it /soon/, sure it'll be too late t'try anythin' anyhow." He pauses here, swallowing hard past a lump in his throat. "Ain't -- really been feelin' much like sleep lately anyhow." Jax's hand keeps rubbing slow against Micah's back. His forehead rests, briefly, against Micah's hair, before he lifts his head again. "I wasn't -- really expectin' a whole lot he could do for Dusk," he admits; a small shudder runs up through him, though. "Wait, gonna -- try an' find the --" His teeth click together. There's a moment of quiet. "Okay, but what did he say 'bout /you/?" "Honey...you /do/. Feel like sleep. So much. Y'need it." Micah shivers against Jax slightly. He draws a slow breath at the question. "Can't put me back either," he answers softly. "He don't even know if there /is/ a way t'reverse it. Though he thinks if I didn't have any of Rasa's genetic material on me anymore than /probably/ the powers'd go away, too. But it wouldn't change...what he did t'my head. It'd be like a person who was born with two intact legs havin' a traumatic amputation an'...even then there'd be no guarantee. An' I can't. It'd be months and months of rehab. So...we can't. Even see if that might work." He bites down hard on his lip. "An' Sublime's still connected t'me. He can connect t'my thoughts an' my memories an' see what I see. Not...right now. The Professor's got 'im where he can't right now, but. Who knows what'll be done about 'im in the long run? They can't just take his abilities away. They can't just keep 'im in the Danger Room forever. They can't expect 'im t'just go t'jail. An'...even if he /did/, he'd still be /in there/." Micah's free hand lifts to tap against his temple. "Why couldn't we? I feel like with everyone else you're willin' t'go to the ends'a the earth t'see all the possible ways we could help /them/ an' when it comes t'you it's like you -- forget we even /have/ resources, I mean, 'tween the healers we know an' Lucien an' -- there'd be /ways/ to -- recover from --" Jax pulls in a slow breath, fingers scrunching hard against Micah's shirt. "I mean, I don't even know what it /is/ you want. Because you don't say what you'd /want/ t'do only -- act like options is ruled out /for/ you." His fingers release their grip, palm just splaying flat against Micah's back. "... connected to." His head tips back, resting against the base of the couch, his eye fixing up on the ceiling. "Oh." For a few beats he's quiet, just breathing. Slow and deep. "S'it gonna be like that forever, then?" "'Cause it ain't that /simple/, honey. Healers could heal the residual limb back faster, sure. But they can't train your body how t'/work/ proper. Walkin' ain't /easy/. It takes a lotta work t'train /all/ the systems in a body t'work with a prosthesis for walkin', much less...every other kinda gettin' around. It'd just take too long t'be feasible, even with shortened healin' time." Micah just shrugs. "I ain't /actin' like/ the option's ruled out, sugar, it just /is/." The last question earns another shrug, shoulders rising and falling almost limply. "Yeah, I think so. I mean. I can ask Luci if he can...find the connection or whatever? But he an' Hive both missed it completely when I had 'em checkin' before. So I'm not gonna get my hopes up over it." "I didn't say it was /simple/ but that don't mean it's /impossible/ like you're sayin'. Micah, we do a hundred impossible things every week around here. An' no, it /ain't/ ruled out. You're jus' /actin'/ like it is. Healers can heal your limb back faster and /Lucien/ can help put your /brain/ back how it was before faster. To train your body back how it should go." Jax's hand falls away from Micah's back, lifting upwards to dig the heel of his hand in against his eye. "You ain't a /single time/ in all of this actually said what /you/ want to do here. All you done say this whole time is what you think you /have/ to do for a bunch of reasons that ain't even the full truth of it. But not /once/ actually jus' said what it is /you/ --" He exhales sharply, eye closing as his hand falls back to his lap. "Okay." The intensity has bled out of his tone to leave it just flat and tired. "So now what?" Micah tenses and curls up tight against Jax's side. "There's more," he interrupts softly. "Apparently this process is pretty unstable. It ain't...just the people as don't take the initial graftin' well. It's... The powers can get less controlled. They can evolve. An' people sometimes reject the whole thing an' still don't make it. So. There's that." His voice is flat and quiet where Jax's is intense. "Ain't nobody tried t'/undo/ it before. Don't know if that's...more or less /safe/ than leavin' it alone. Don't know much of... Y'know Lucien had seizures just lookin' at m'head before, right? I'm not. I ain't said what I want 'cause all I want is for this to /go away/. An' it ain't like that's possible. So I gotta just...work with what is. I can't...keep goin' like it's all gonna go away, 'cause it won't." "/Listen/ to yourself, Micah." Jax's fingers ball up into a fist in his lap, posture tensing hard and stiff at Micah's side. "Ten minutes ago, you was talkin' about diggin' up /corpses/ jus' t'make sure every /possible/ option'd been explored for Dusk -- and let me remind you, I /actually asked Kate/ if she could fix his wings and her first response was no she ain't even /capable/ of it so this whole /thing/ is a crapshoot /anyway/. An' yet when it comes t'/yourself/ you're writin' off your options without even /botherin'/ with things like askin' Lucien what he could handle on account'a you've already decided /for/ him that it'd be too much. An' you're sittin' here tellin' me oh, well, psychopath murderer's gonna be in your head for life an' oh /by/ the way you might up an' /die/ at any moment but okay there ain't no /simple/ fix so may's well just give up hopin'. How on /earth/ m'I supposed to -- I love you /way/ too much to --" He presses his knuckles against his lips, the light around the room shivering restlessly. "-- m'pretty much jus' back to 'So now what?'. We jus' sit around an' pray you don't die?" "I don't know." Micah presses his forehead down harder into Jax's shoulder. "I just... I don't know. I just found out...all those things, /too/. An' can't nobody tell me how nothin' goes. Or what'd just make it worse. Or if anythin' even /could/ help. An' I just /don't know/." Jax's posture is still tensed, but slowly he lifts one arm, curling it stiffly around Micah's back again. His fingers wrap against Micah's side, squeezing gently at the other man's waist. "M'sorry," he finally says, heavily. "Don't suppose there's anyone much who /knows/ how things like this go. Feel like ninety percent'a our /lifes/ is jus' plungin' into uncharted territory'a /crazy/." His eye squeezes tightly shut. "S'pose I'd best get t'prayin', then." Micah leans into the half-hug, stiff and tense and tentative though it may be. "No.../I'm/...{I'm sorry}," he finally replies, the last in shaky Vietnamese. "I know. I'm the one who's s'posed t'have a plan. An' stay...steady an' calm an' know what t'do. But I just. I'm /lost/ on this one, Jax. I don't even know how t'get /un-lost/, much less have answers t'nothin'." He reaches for Jax's chest, palm resting there and just sort of /pawing/ at him slightly. "I love you." "You don't. Always gotta know what t'do. Nobody always knows what t'do. You jus' --" Jax lifts his other hand to rest over Micah's, squeezing tightly. "We'll get you un-lost, okay? I'll /find/ some answers. You jus' -- maybe gonna hafta work with me a little cuz whatever they are I don't think none'a them's /gonna/ be /simple/." Micah's head nods into Jax's shirt, which may be a little damp by now. "We don't never do much simple, anyhow," he agrees, voice muffled and a little hoarse on top of it. "I just love you all." It must help to assert something that /is/ simple and true, because he keeps saying it whether it's terribly relevant or not. Jax's arm curls tighter around Micah, pulling the other man closer against his side. There are faint wisps of shadow curling smokey-dark around him. His head turns, slowly, so that he can press another kiss carefully to Micah's hair. "Love you, too, honey-honey." His gaze drifts over the top of Micah's head back towards the window. "You gonna be up for dinner? It'll be sundown soon enough." "Not...hungry, but yeah. Should get it t'gether an' go eat with Spence." Micah pulls back slightly, nuzzling against Jax's arm. "We'll...need t'work out exactly when we're gonna tell the kids what parts of what's goin' on, an' how." He finally lifts his head, but wraps both arms around Jax in one last tight-squeezing hug. "At some point. Not just this second. I'll...go wash up. Then food." The coarser-open weave of Jax's fishnet sleeve provides less protection from nuzzling at his arm than the solid fabric of his shirt had at his shoulder; there's a brief shiver-spill of bright mental flare that, underneath the searing burn of too-much-energy and throb of headache is currently mostly sick, clenchy-tight with a twisting knot of fear at the idea of losing Micah set against a backdrop of something /hard/ and angry and very determined. "If this is -- jus' gonna be part'a how things are from now they should know --" His teeth sink against his lip as his arm squeezes back in final-hug and then drops away. "But when an' how s'more your choice. Comin' up on the weekend, though. Gives everyone time to -- process. Things. 'fore havin' to jump back into life." "I just...wanna maybe. Try t'figure more out 'fore they have t'deal with it, too. 'Specially...Spence. We can't just keep changin' what we tell 'im if things keep...comin' up or...if we get a new plan. It'll just confuse 'im. But I can't wait /too/ long if...things really /are/ the way they're gonna be." Micah's gloved hand gives Jax's shoulder a squeeze before he hauls himself up to standing. "Right. Time." Though the look he gives Jax says he doesn't want to move /any/ time soon, he heads off to the bathroom. Washing up. Then food. Jax's hands run over his face, eye closing as he sags back against the couch. "Right." It's offered somewhat hollowly to the empty room before he stands, and gathers his class materials together, carrying them with his computer off to the bedroom to leave the sitting room tidy and neat for Spencer before the Shabbat begins.