ArchivedLogs:Leaving

Leaving
Dramatis Personae Hive, Micah, Jax
In Absentia	8 November 2014 '
Location <NYC> Harbor Commons - Sunroom - Lower East Side
Bright and warm, this room is set up to enjoy a little bit of the outdoors even year-round. Tall glass panes make up most of its wall in between wood supports, providing a wide three-sided view of the garden and yard outside. As well as the inner doors leading back into the kitchens and dining room, an outer door leads out to the outdoor gardens, as well. Inside, the room is airy and green -- a plethora of potted herbs and plants hang from the ceiling, as well as ring the room in a series of narrow wooden raised-beds that provide growing space for a selection of herbs year-round. Outside of the herb beds that ring the room, this place is designed simply to come and relax; quiet and simple, with clean stone floors and neutral-toned wicker furniture adorned with comfortable cushioning. Some of the chairs ring stone-and-glass tables for eating or conversing; a few more solitary seats come in the form of rocking chairs or netted hammock-chairs hanging from the ceiling. Hive has not been exceptionally talkative since leaving Busboys. Possibly crotchety, possibly just in /pain/; his expression certainly has often suggested such. He hasn't been back long; long enough to get himself a /new/ coffee (the last one was drunk on the way home) in a helpfully more or less spill-proof thermos. At the moment he's tucked himself into the sunroom, curled up beneath a blanket in one of the hammock-chairs, with his coffee and his prescription bottle of Very Strong painkillers -- which he hasn't actually touched. Though he's rubbing his temple like he /wants/ to. Micah /might/ be following Hive around a little, half out of concern for the pain face and half to deliver the lunch bag wherever Hive ends up. He kneels at the table closest to Hive, unpacking the bag onto it. “What d'you need just now, hon?” he checks in before unpacking the remainder of his own lunch, offering to open the pill bottle, offering to leave, or any number of the other things vying for What Would Be Most Helpful in his mind. Jax has been at work, only just returning home, himself. He's actually not slipping in here to check on Hive /or/ look for his husband, initially. There are supplies in his hand to indicate that he was here to take care of his cleaning-the-sunroom chore. He's casually dressed, thick warm thigh-high mismatched stripy socks beneath a nondescript denim skirt, black plaid flannel shirt over a long-sleeved peacock-blue tee. His brows furrow as he sets his things down, and he wanders over behind Hive's netted chair, sliding arms around the telepath's shoulders from behind. Squeeze. Hive leans back into Jax's hug with a small shudder. His fingers close around his pill bottle, shaky enough the rattle of the pills inside is audible, but at the moment he leaves it sitting in his lap. His head gives a small shake, together with a sharp huff of laugh. "Need..." His teeth grind again. "Think I'm a little. Past..." He trails off, tucking the blanket more warmly around himself. "Honey, don't...do that. Please, if there's somethin'. Y'can tell me--us." This last Micah amends as Jax delivers hugs. He gives his husband a nod and a hint of a smile in greeting. With the rattling of the bottle, he finally settles on helping Hive with getting to his meds, kneel-scooting closer rather than getting up. He takes the bottle, glances at the directions on the label, and fishes out the appropriate pills to offer. There's a sharp twinge of worry in Jax's mind at this, a clenching pang that soon mingles back into the sharp-bright-painful technicolour riot of his mind. He circles around the chair, kneeling as well at its other side to tuck his cheek against Hive's blanketed lap. "Somethin' happen, sweetie?" Hive's fingers unfurl to release the bottle. He drops his hand down to rest on top of Jax's colorful hair, fingers brushing slowly through it. "No. Just been a -- no. It's -- been. Loud. I can't --" He takes the pills but frowns at them in his palm as though he's forgotten what they're for. "It's funny, after the surgery when I couldn't. Hear anyone I -- didn't know how to --" His teeth grind again. "Not sure getting it back's any more a blessing, though." “S'gettin' 'is mind-readin' back,” Micah explains after Hive finishes answering. “S'your pain pills, hon. Looked like y'might wanna take 'em just then.” He pets one hand on Hive's knee, the other seeking out Jax's hand to give it a squeeze. "Loud? Oh, that's --" Jax nuzzles up against Hive's touch, reaching up to sneak the thermos so that he can uncap it. "This hot? Maybe should get some water." He eyes it dubiously before standing so that he can dart off to the kitchen and return with a small squat glass of water. "S'it been rough? Comin' back? S'possible at the Clinic they might could help with -- if it's been. Hurtin'. T're-adjust." Hive shakes his head, lowering it to lip the pills off his palm. Leaning forward, he doesn't try to take the water from Jax. He leans in, instead, to gulp it from Jax's hand and swallow the pills. "It's not that. I mean, /is/ a fucking headache, but it's not a fucking. Headache. It's just. You forget how much everyone /else/ –" "Clinic might could help there. Or maybe Matt could help a little? If y'just need it turned down from time t'time? 'parently does good things for Sera t'have 'im do that now an' then." Micah's hand continues its absent-minded knee petting. "Everyone else?" << ... hates you. >> Jax's mind finishes this involuntarily despite efforts not to. His head bows as he tips the water up to Hive's lips, setting it aside on a table once the pills are swallowed. He settles back down beside the chair, cheek resting on Hive's lap again. "/Do/ you want t'talk t'someone? Or would y'rather jus' -- coffee here. Enjoy the sun." Hive's lips press together, head dropping back against the net of the chair. "Hates you," he completes dryly; this time his hand drops with kind of a /thunk/ back onto Jax's head. Whap. "That's the thing. It doesn't matter. If they're. Rude. If they're polite. Can fucking /hear/ people shut down. Not trust you. Not want --" His fingers press harder to Jax's head. "Honey, I don't think it's that people /hate/ you. 'Least not everyone. Maybe they do get mistrustful 'cause they don't want people hearin' their private thoughts, but that ain't...that ain't personal an' it ain't hate." Micah leans in a little, practically hugging Hive's leg. "An' it's not everyone even don't trust you. S'a lotta people /love/ you, telepath or not." His head nods forward, forehead bonking against Hive's thigh. "We love you." There's another twinge in Jax's mind, a stirring of uncertainty at Micah's initial assertion that doesn't quite resolve into words. His shoulders tense up, but he just tips his head back to look up at Hive. "Love you kinda enough t'make up for -- but. If it's hard to -- Matt could still help. With -- but the people who matter, /we/ love you no matter what." "You got a skewed sample of the world, dude." Hive's tone settles into just quiet, his head shaking. "People in /this/ kind of crowd, /they/ get mistrustful. And that's the people who're /okay/ with freaks. Most of the world..." His fingers knead down against Jax's head again. "Not. Hearing them, it isn't the point. What are my fucking options, just. /Erase/ who I am or. Just constantly feel how much that's -- always going to --" There's a bright glisten to his eyes before he closes them again, hands falling back into his lap. "Just tired." "That's prob'ly true," Micah agrees softly, head turning to rest a cheek on Hive's knee but allowing him to look up at the other man, as well. "What about increasin' your level of control? I don't...know a lot 'bout how people control their powers, but. For the five seconds I had 'em, I didn't have no control over 'em, neither. Most of the time. Reined it in once or twice. An' Luci seemed t'think he could /teach/ me how t'do that better. I think...maybe it'd be easier if y'had a choice as t'when y'were listenin' without havin' t'get /rid/ of your ability t'do so when you /want/. Think between the Clinic an'...maybe Matt's help controllin' how active your ability is an'... I dunno. Maybe it /can/ be trained?" He bites his lip at the shininess in Hive's eyes, lifting his head again as he takes one of the hands and kisses its knuckles gently. "Just love you, honey. Wanna help whatever way we can." Jax's mind is clouding /itself/ over, somewhat, a crisp bright web of bright colours strung over it to obscure whatever is beneath. "S'what we do at the school with -- get a lotta psis comin' through. You got options, honey-honey. An' we'll help y'find them." "Used to control it better," Hive admits, frowning, "but all the -- after the labs kept. Fucking so much with my. Cutting into -- haven't been able to keep it quiet ever since they." His fingers trace against the scars at the side of his head. "Could be trained again, maybe. Takes time, though. And I don't have --" He lowers his eyes, looking down to Micah. "-- don't /want/. Much more of that. You want to help, I just. Want to go somewhere -- quiet and --" He shakes his head, a distinctly spiky-painful ripple of mental touch rippling briefly out. "Maybe...maybe it'll be dif'rent now that the chip's out an' all. Maybe you'll have more control again, an'...it's..." Micah's teeth dig harder at his lip this time, torn between bringing up another thought and just helping Hive to that quiet he's asking for. The ripple of pain gets only the slightest tensing in his jaw, by comparison. "What if there was a way. T'kill off the tumour. Maybe t'heal the damage that's been done between the surgeries an' what happened in the labs an'... Would you want t'try?" "Quiet like your house or quiet like -- not -- New York City?" Jax's brow has furrowed deeper, head bowing at the mental energy; it pulls an echoing ripple of flutter from the light in the room. "An' is that an /alone/ quiet or you want a company? I mean even if that company ain't /us/, we could call Flicker or somethin' if. Jus' want to know what'd make y'most comfortable." Hive's legs slowly start to unfurl, gradually shifting down to find the floor. He turns his face against his shoulder, rubbing his cheek there briefly. His breathing is shaky through the quiet that follows, before he shakes his head again. Uncertain at first, but then more firmly. "... meant what I said before. Kinda glad for it. This fucking world, it isn't." His fingers scrunch down against his blanket. "Be glad to be. Done. -- Quiet like quiet. Not a million goddamn minds hammering at --" His teeth grind again, slow. "... only the ones I love." “Sugar, I apologise, I don't mean t'push, but. Y'got a lotta 'kindas' in there. So I don't know what t'think.” Micah gives Hive's knee one last squeeze before moving out of the way in case Hive does want to stand. “I do...have a thought. For non-standard treatment. But it'd be dangerous an'...it'd hafta be what y'want. Not just me wantin' you or wantin' you t'be here for Mel an' Tola or... Just...you.” He shifts back a little to be able to look up better. “It's not like you hafta decide right now, I just won't know whether I should bring it up again or not.” Jax is quiet. He just stands, offering his hand to Hive to help steady him if he is doing the same. His expression is very neutral, his mind the same riot of colour that it had been before. "You need t'get away, s'places you could go. For -- for some. Quiet. You jus' tell me what you --" His voice isn't /quite/ as steady as his expression. "More dangerous than getting my head sliced into, 'cuz that was pretty touch-and-go. Even --" Something in this thought pulls Hive's mouth down, thinly. "You want to know the truth, I didn't walk out of that last appointment because I was /mad/ at Dr. Toure. I walked out because I thought he might be right. Certainly get where he's coming from even if he's not. And I don't -- want to fucking live in a world where this kind of shit is the /better/ choice." His eyes turn to Jax, briefly. "How many decisions have you made -- I made -- any of us. Where we --" His eyes shift outside, to the windows to the garden beyond. "I don't want it, Micah." He takes Jax's hand, pushing himself up slowly to his feet. "Feel okay about it, you know? I think I've /earned/ my fucking rest." Micah nods quiet agreement with Jax, offering support for whatever Hive needs. "Only more dangerous in that I don't know that it's been tried before. But if it works, it could be...like a silver bullet kinda cure, y'know?" He stops as Hive begins talking again, letting the other man have his say. "Okay. You tell me if you change your mind. I won't...push. Unless you do." His gaze is drawn down, studying his own knees. There is an odd quality to his voice when he speaks again. "I don't like it. But it's not m'place to...agree or not. You let me know what you need an' that's what I'll do. Meanwhile, I'm...here. For what that's worth." << More than most people have. >> It's not a /happy/ thought. Jax squeezes at Hive's hand, briefly pressing his forehead to the other man's shoulder. The thoughts surfacing in his mind, of years of raids and years of deaths, of Vector and a city teeming with undead, of Mihail and the bloody mess of dying kid -- these he is /trying/ to push back down but it's only working middling well. His forehead stays rested against Hive's arm a moment longer before he lets go. "I love you." << (don't go) >> flavours this quieter underneath, sick-tired-desperate, but he doesn't say it. He sinks down to take the chair that Hive has vacated. "I know." To one of them, to both of them, who knows. The wetness in Hive's eyes hasn't left, but the shakiness in his gruff voice has. He squeezes Jax's hand back, and heads slowly out the door. Micah shifts slightly again to let Hive leave, not moving to follow since...well, he wouldn't be /leaving/ if he wanted them to stay with him, would he? Instead he climbs up into the chair next to his husband and reaches an arm out to curl around Jax and pull him close. Jax turns in to nestle against Micah, pressing his face to the other man's shoulder. His arm curls back around his husband, warm and steady, and though the light around them shivers (badly) he is very still. Just a slowly tightening squeeze of fingers at Micah's side, and a slowly spreading patch of damp against his shirt.