ArchivedLogs:Still

Still
Dramatis Personae Jackson, Micah, Vector
In Absentia	20 October 2013 Processing complicated feels. (Shortly after Micah and Dusk's conversation.)
Location <NYC> 303 {Lighthaus} - Village Lofts - East Village
This apartment is cheerful, in its way -- bright and airy, its floor plan open and a plethora of windows providing it with an abundance of light. The tiny entrance hall opens into a living room, small, though its sparse furniture and lack of clutter give it a more open feel. The decor is subdued and minimalist; black and white is the dominant theme, with occasional splashes of deep crimson to offset the monochrome, though of late myriad bright-coloured dragonflies swarm across the living room wall. The couch and armchair are upholstered in black corduroy, the low wide coffee table central is black wood and glass-topped, and a few large pillowy beanbags provide additional seating by the large windows that dominate the back wall. The living room and kitchen both hold a rather inordinate number of lamps in addition to the ceiling lights; standing lamps, small lamps on each counter, large sunlights in the corner. More often than not, they're largely all turned on, too. Towards the back, a couple of doors lead off into bedrooms and bathroom, and to the right, the kitchen's tile is separated from the living room's dark hardwood floors by black countertops. Above the bedroom to one side, there is higher space; a ladder climbs up to a lofted area looking down on the living room. Standing in front of the partition between living and cooking area is a large fish tank: one lone Betta, blood-red, swims regally among several species of black and silver fish. A hallway beyond the kitchen leads further into the apartment. Another bathroom stands just into the hall and the farthest door leads to the apartment's final bedroom, the door usually kept shut to hold in the acrid fumes of turpentine and paints from within. The apartment smells sweet, today, rich and chocolatey with the scent of baking goods laid over a background scent of onions, garlic, spices. Even with the crowds flooded into the apartment Jax has some parts of routine he is adamant about keeping to and so at some point today he has been to church. There's some vestige of this still visible in his button-down shirt (purple, with thin white pinstripes) and dress socks but he's traded out his slacks at some point in the intervening hours for more comfortable black terrycloth pants. He's just pulling two trays of brownies out of the oven, a large pot of curry simmering on the stove. Vector is in the kitchen with him, clearing a second pot off of the stove so that there is space for Jax to put his trays. Micah does not bounce his way through the door as usual. It opens quietly, just a rattle of keys, a little creak open, a little thud closed. He's already padding around in stocking feet, white socks dotted with red and blue smiling fish that seem a great deal more cheerful than he does. His shirt doesn't help the impression, powder blue with a Cheshire-smiling Totoro face on it, worn over his usual patched jeans. He stops at the counter between the kitchen and living room, leaning against it, just watching the extremely /normal/ kitchen goings-on going on. "Hi, honey-honey. Y'want a brownie?" Jackson waves a glowing hand towards the tray of brownies. "He might want real food, first," Vector suggests with a very small smile. "The rice is done, would you like some curry?" Jackson scoffs at this pragmatism, getting a spatula to chop the brownies into squares and put two of them on a small plate. "They're still hot an' gooey an' with a glass of coconut-almond milk it's basically perfect right now." Micah's head shakes slowly, when he remembers that he should actually /answer/ the offers of food. His lips press together flatly as if to hold something in. He waits until Jax is no longer handling hot things to step across the floor, up close to him. He takes Jax's hand and brings his mouth close to the other man's ear to avoid having to bring his voice above a whisper. “Need you,” he says simply, tugging at the hand in the direction of the bedroom, hoping this movement is communication enough. Jackson's sunny smile dims, his eye shifting from Vector to Micah. He bops his head lightly against Micah's, just nodding. He takes the plate of brownies with him, slipping along with Micah into the bedroom. In the short trip between kitchen and bedroom he's already dipped his head to his plate to make an entire one of the steaming hot brownies disappear. He's licking crumbs off his lips as he nudges the door closed behind them. "You alright, honey-honey? What's goin' on?" Micah takes the plate once they are in the room, depositing it distractedly onto the nearest flat surface. Once Jackson has nudged the door closed, he turns back to the other man. He steps in close, wrapping each hand around one of Jax's arms and pressing the full length of his body into the other man's, pushing him back against the door forcefully. Equally forceful is the kiss that follows, lips pressed to the other man's with a sense of urgency. For all of this, the energy from Micah is not at all sexual. Just...full of need. For contact, for closeness, to feel Jax's presence warm and alive against him. It takes several moments for him to tear himself away again. "Oh --" Jackson's breath catches, his arms instinctively starting to lift to wrap around Micah when they're caught and pressed back. His body sinks against the door, and the soft relaxation of his body against Micah's is a counterpoint to the other man's forcefulness. His mouth still tastes chocolatey as he kisses Micah back, deep. He draws in a deep breath, head falling back against the door when Micah breaks off. "Wow. Um." His face is flushed, breathing a little quicker than usual, and he makes no move to try and move /away/ from his position against the door. "Wasn't expectin' that, Sir." "Sorry. I just..." Micah shakes his head, not really able to verbalise his thoughts. He moves over to the bed and perches himself on the edge of it, patting the space next to him for Jax to sit. "Are you okay, Jax? I mean...really okay." His brow furrows and he chews at his lip, not sure how to broach the topic. "You would tell me if somethin' were really wrong, wouldn't you?" Jax curls one arm across his chest once Micah has moved away, fingers touching lightly to the opposite arm where Micah's hand had held. He is slow to follow, moving across the room to sit beside Micah, one leg tucked up beneath himself and his other foot on the ground. "Me? I'm --" He shakes his head uncertainly. "Could stand to aim these raids for /summer/, ain't slept since the night we got back an' the sunlight ain't long enough for my tastes." He shrugs a shoulder, looking back at Micah uncertainly. "Honey-honey, what's wrong?" “I was talkin' with Dusk about...what happened. With you two on the raid.” Micah reaches out to take Jax's hand, pulling it over to hold it in his own lap. “He thought it was...maybe strange. That Malthus was able t'get t'you as much as he did. That your shields didn't protect you more. Did somethin' go wrong?” "With Dusk -- oh." Jax's fingers clench and unclench in Micah's lap, pressing down against the other man's leg. His head shakes, a small furrow in his brow. "I mean he -- he turned off all the lights because he had -- he knew it would be stronger. For him. Harder for me." Micah's other hand reaches over to Jax's wrist, slipping a finger under the cuff and tugging on it gently, almost experimentally. “Did they not help as much as we had hoped they would, in the dark? It just...seems like he made a really poor choice in powers t'steal. T'be goin' up against you. Considerin' how much Nox would flinch away at the littlest /glow/ of you.” Jax turns his hand over, slowly, swallowing as he watches Micah's finger slide under the cuff. "No, I --" He quiets, his eye just locking onto the cuff. Onto Micah's finger. He shivers, his head bowing slightly. "They did. Help." “So what went wrong, Jax? Can you not...tell me? What happened?” Micah's brow furrows further. He tries to keep the hurt out of his voice, but a little still slips through. Jax's mouth opens, and then closes again. His wrist trembles beneath Micah's finger. Dark wisps of smokey shadow curl up around his arm, briefly obscuring the cuff. "I told Dusk. To leave him behind --" His eye hasn't moved, gaze fixed fast on Micah's hand. "But he left and." Beside him, his other hand curls tight against the sheets. "I didn't -- I was – tired." Micah's eyelids drift closed at that answer, his head nodding once in acknowledgement. He soon forces them back open, however, hazel eyes locking on Jax's face to observe his expression. "How long have you been tired, honey?" The way he says the word implies more than just physical exhaustion. Jax's expression is blank, a neutral mask brightened by shimmery makeup and the bright colourful metal of his piercings; he stares ahead at Micah's hand, the darkness creeping up higher to hide the vibrant tattoos on his arm. "These raids are pretty gruelin'." Micah releases the wrist cuff, his hand travelling up Jax's arm, tracking beneath the shadows. "Jax. I'm not just askin' about the raid. I think y'know I'm not just askin' about the raid. D'you...d'you feel like y'can't /talk/ t'me?" He swallows back the creeping feeling of hurt with this again. "I...I really wish y'could. But...would it help t'have someone you /could/...talk to about it? I know your school has counsellors, and Io's clinic will have people an'... I'm /worried/ about you Jax. It's...I think maybe you're not okay. An' I had t'hear it from Dusk instead of you. An' that worries me more." Jax's brows slowly rumple together, his head shaking. "No. No, no, it ain't that. Honey-honey, I -- of course I can talk t'you, you're one'a the only people in my life I --" His hand turns up, fingers wrapping gently back around Micah's arm. "I just ain't always good at -- I don't -- I didn't say anything because there was nothin' to /say/, I was /fine/ --" He hesitates, curling his fingers tighter around Micah's arm. "-- s'what I kept tellin' myself, at least. I couldn't tell you no different if I didn't even want to think it myself." “Honey, I don't... If you ever feel like y'can't fight anymore. Or it's not worth it to...t'be /around/ anymore, those are things...somebody needs t'know about. I /want/ t'know about.” Micah's hand squeezes Jax's tighter, where it is held in his lap. “Just...the thought of you givin' up on...bein' here with me...I can't. Somebody needs t'know t'help you before it gets t'that point, honey.” Jax just shakes his head again. "Every time I wake up there's just." His voice has dropped lower, his hand shaking against Micah's. "Takes a real long time 'fore I can think of why to -- wake up, I --" His other hand lifts to scrub at his face, a faint tremble to his voice. "It ain't like I'm sittin' here /planning/ -- nothing, I just." He blushes, gaze still fixed downwards. "S'part'a why I don't like to sleep much. 'Tween the nightmares and feeling like it'd just be so easy to --" He swallows. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm sorry. S'been so normal a thing for so long now I forgot it was even worth mentionin'." Micah pulls Jax in by that arm, leaning into him and wrapping him in a tight hug. “Honey, that ain't... That ain't okay. An' it shouldn't be /normal/, it's... Y'need t'be workin' through those kinds of feelin's with /somebody/, honey. Y'got so /many/ reasons t'be here. An' so many people who love you an' need you. An'...so many people I think you love, too, an' it's... I know it's hard. There's a lot of hard. But y'gotta stay in touch with the things that you're /livin'/ for.” He places a kiss to Jax's temple. “I don't think...that y'should go on any more things like this. Raids or missions or whatever. 'Til you're /sure/ you're wantin' t'come back from 'em more than not. It's too much of a danger t'you. An' t'your team an' everyone if you're not. Sure y'wanna make it out.” His voice has tightened through this last series of observations, though his face can't be seen in their current positions. Jax leans back into the hug, his head tipping down to rest at Micah's shoulder. "M'sorry," he says again. "M'sorry, I --" He blinks rapidly, lashes fluttering against Micah's neck. "I didn't never think -- you just get used t'life bein' one way, y'know? We been doing this for so long, I can't -- remember when I --" His arms curl around Micah, squeezing tight. "I love you. I do got reasons, I just -- sometimes it's hard to – remember." "Shh, honey, no. Don't...apologise. Y'feel how y'feel. We just gotta...deal with it." Micah pulls Jax in closer, his hands rubbing along his back. "D'you think... I mean, y'aren't the textbook picture of depression, hon, but, d'you think maybe there's that, too? 'Cause that's an actual medical condition. It's not...just bein' sad or weak or anythin' an' there's /help/ for that, too." Micah nuzzles into Jax's neck for a moment before speaking again. "I love you, too, hon. D'you remember back not long after we first met...when I didn't know much about you yet? But it was like this, with all the refugees everywhere an'...I told you that if you ever needed t'talk t'someone, t'tell 'em about what had happened t'you an' what went on with you, that I could hold it? I meant it. I still mean it. An' I can still hold it. I know you're strong an' y'like t'try t'do everythin' yourself, but... I'm strong, too, hon. I don't know if you can ever understand. Just...how much I love you an' what...what I would do for you. I'm here, okay?" "I -- don't know," Jax admits. "Life's been so messed up for so long I don't -- ain't sure how I'd know to tell what's just stress from things /happenin'/ an' what's stress from my brain bein' out of sorts." His hand shifts, tracing along Micah's arm, fingers trailing against the other man's wrist and then curling through Micah's. "I remember. An' I know -- I know you're strong. You don't need no flashy superpowers, Micah, I see it every day in everything you do. There's just -- so much. Ain't I think you can't hold it, /I/ just don't even never know how to put words to it all." “Okay. That's okay. I think we just...maybe need somebody t'help y'sort it all out.” Micah pulls back from the embrace just enough to be able to look up at Jax's face. “Can y'promise me that you'll make an appointment, for when the clinic opens in a few weeks? I'd worry less if I knew somebody was gettin' you t'sort these things out regular, make sure it don't just...slip on by like this again. Be on top of it if it /is/ somethin' that needs medical treatment.” He runs a hand up the back of Jax's neck, to pet at his hair. “An' come t'me even if you're just full of /feels/ an' the words aren't there yet. We can work that out together, too. I want every part of you. Just greedy that way.” He leans in, lightly kissing Jax at the corner of his mouth. "I promise." Jax tilts his head back, pressing into the touch. There's a very small smile that touches his lips, a little crooked; though it doesn't look it, his cheek is salty-damp against Micah's lips. "Oh --" His voice drops softer, after the kiss, and he turns his head to follow it with a second one, soft and full. "Be greedy. You're allowed. Every part'a me is yours, sir." “Good,” Micah replies with a little sigh to his exhalation, relieved at Jax's agreement. “S'always better t'have a plan. Gives things direction.” He kisses Jax's cheek again, and again, where he finds the hidden tears, deliberately rendering the other man's illusions purposeless. “Good boy,” he completes the earlier sentiment now, back to...almost ensuring himself of the other man's complete existence, hands travelling along his back, his side, the length of a thigh. “I love you.” "I ain't had much by way of plans lately," Jax admits, soft and almost guilty. "Not when it comes t'the long term. When everything keeps exploding it's hard to see past the fire right here in front of us an' prepare for a bomb nex' week." Illusion melts away under Micah's kisses, scarred face now too-pale, dark shadowed under his eyes, blotchy and damp in dead giveaway of crying. "Love you, honey-honey." He relaxes in against Micah's side as the other man's hand moves over him. His own rests at Micah's waist, fingers gripping the fabric tight. “You've had a lotta plans, hon,” Micah reminds gently. “I just think...ain't been enough acknowledgement of 'em. This whole...all these people comin' back, almost entirely uninjured. Your /whole team/ goin' out an' comin' back, with no real serious injuries but yours? That was you. You planned alla that. An' the trainin' before, for your team. An' puttin' your team together. That's all you. That's always you.” Jax's relaxation encourages him, cradling the other man in his arms and lowering him to lie back on the bed, head resting up on the pillows. “You done earned a whole lotta thanks, an' a whole lotta gratitude, an'...a little time t'rest an' regroup an' /relax/ yourself.” He settles down on his side, pressed up against the length of Jax's side and propped up on one elbow, his opposite hand still navigating Jax's body. Still /there/, still his. Jax snakes an arm around Micah's waist, tucking in at the older man's side once they're lying on the bed. "Rest." That sounds a little bit amused. He nestles closer to Micah's side, his fingers curling in against Micah's waist. "Sometimes I forget. I mean, we do this so much, too, s'still hard to remember that it's -- worth note." He draws in a deep breath, relaxation coming further as Micah's hand moves over him. “Mmhmm. Rest. Mandatory.” Micah snuggles up against Jax when the other man nestles closer. He lies down further to free up his other hand, both of them working the buttons of Jax's dress shirt open. Down from the collar, all the way to the waist, one at a time. Once unbuttoned, Micah lifts himself up again to slide over Jax, sitting with his knees on either side of the other man's hips and resting back against the other man's thighs. He slips the shirt off, one sleeve at a time, gently pulling it free with the easy skill of one who is used to undressing people who cannot assist in the process. Then his hands renew their seeking, though kneading as they do so, massaging at tense muscles starting up at Jax's neck and shoulders and moving downward. “More'n worth note. You're amazin',” he adds as his hands work. Jax is more than capable of helping with this process, but there's something comforting about it all the same. He nuzzles against Micah's neck, keeping his own effort to a bare minimum of movement as Micah takes his shirt off. His head turns to the side, eye drooped lazily half-closed as Micah's hands start kneading. "Oh," he draws in a slow breath, soft and happy. "/I'm/ amazin'? Oh gosh, honey-honey, your hands -- if /I'm/ amazin' there ain't even words for you." His muscles stay tense, but gradually start to relax, his breathing slowing into soft contentedness.