ArchivedLogs:Bitter
| Bitter | |
|---|---|
| Dramatis Personae | |
| In Absentia
|
11 January 2015 ' |
| Location
<NYC> {Lighthaus} - Harbor Commons - Lower East Side | |
Bright and sunny-light, this house lives up to its name. With a plethora of enormous windows flooding the place with light and an open layout, the ground floor feels more spacious than it is. The small entryway has a closet space for shoes and coats, and doors at either side leading to the neighboring apartments. Past this it opens straight into the living room, a wide expanse of space bordered on one side by a curved set of stairs leading up (with colourful glass tiling on the risers between each stair) and next to these, the half-wall into the kitchen. Cool pale tile underfoot and many dark cabinets with a small walk-in pantry, plentiful custom granite countertops, black and speckled faintly with rainbowy flecks, lots of hanging space overhead for cookware, a large double-oven. There's a strip of rather detailed mosaic-work in the kitchen backsplash, colourful glass tiling depicting strange fantastical herbs and small faeries and firelizards darting among them. In back of the kitchen, a door opens up to a small sunroom, wide and two-stories high with a balcony overlook from the second floor; two of the windows here have cushioned windowseats, and there's a wealth of herbs growing in hanging pots and small window-boxes. The back wall of the living room is nearly entirely dominated by windows, huge and allowing a view of the river beyond with bench windowseats lining the sills. There are plentiful paintings on the wall, surreal and fantasy-inspired, mostly in shades of blacks greys with bright bursts of colour that are mirrored in the decor -- monochrome upholstery on the couch and armchair but colourful throw-pillows, black and white huge corduroy beanbags (and one large red doggie-bed,) soft throw rugs also in mostly black and white with splashes of rainbow woven in. The hand-built furniture -- tall chairs by the kitchen/living room counter, dining table and chairs in the kitchen, low coffeetable in the living room -- has been hand-painted as well, black with bursts of colourful abstract designs. Along the living room's other wall, doors branch off to a full bathroom -- in white and deep blue with one wall of the shower done in colourful intricate mosaic too, an underwater scene full of strange mythical water-creatures; tiny water-sprites have been interspersed at random points in the rest of the wall tiles, as well. There's a small studio space beside the bathroom, large windows as well and a gratuitous amount of shelving and cabinets along the walls; this room has very /little/ colour in it, just white walls and black furnishing. It is quiet down here, largely deserted in the ground floor of the house. Sun is streaming through the slightly-frosted windows of the sunroom, where Jax has curled up with Obie in a windowseat. The beagle is shedding fur onto his church-clothes, nuzzled up against his dress shirt and slacks in sleepycontented drowsing. Jax is paying the shedding little mind -- he’s paying /everything/ little mind, honestly, a little pale and zombie-like in his blank-eyed stare at his computer screen. There are emails there that he’s probably not reading, given he’s been staring at the same one quite a long time without touching it. One hand hovers over his mousepad; the other rubs mechanically between Obie’s ears. Bright magenta streaks are shot through his mop of black hair, though against this contrast, sans his usual vivid makeup he looks incredibly washed-out, pallid, dark circles beneath his eye, his other covered by a plain black patch. Obie’s tail thumps in slow wag against his leg; after a sufficient amount of head-scritching the beagle rolls over, baring his belly in shameless reminder that that, too, could use some attention. Theoretically, Kay let himself in a little while ago, not long after Jax had gotten home. But there was first a fridge to raid, a bathroom break, a glass of orange juice that needed rinsing out after he'd helped himself. Boots kicked off at the door, his long bared feet make more than a few quiet 'erk!' sounds of stopping abruptly on the kitchen floor, and finally with a soft chiming of his wallet chain he's heading for the sunroom… after a moseying search through the house, wherin his brows furrow faintly deeper with each empty room he finds. Black t-shirt with a modified skull and crossbones, narrow-fit jeans set just low enough on his hips to show off the hem of his gray boxers, he's shaved the sides of his head for no particular reason, head-scars or no head-scars, he comes to a stop in front of Jax. And just stands there for a moment, with his thumbs hooked in either pocket. Hip cocked at an angle. "...boy, your kids mentioned you were kinda dying but uh." Micah looks rather a mess himself by the time he comes dragging into the sunroom. There is still cold clinging to him from outside despite having stripped off his coat and shoes, hat and gloves by the door in from the Commons grounds. He is left in a Firefly hoodie, red henley under black tee with Toothless and prosthetic designs drawn on it, jeans, and panda socks. Despite all the cold, his hair is trying to decide whether to spike up or plaster down to his head, dark and damp with sweat. “Oh, you /are/ back from church, hon. Good, good. Told Spence I wanted t'check. He's still out with some of the other kids on the playground,” the words come out a little roughly between a bit of panting. He collapses into another chair, acknowledging Kay first with a limp wave before he finds his breath again. “Hi, Kay. Mmn. Never let a group of school-aged kids challenge you to...anythin'. On a playground. I think they're actually monkeys. Might need t'get a tree planted in the house for Spence.” His fingers shove at the wet hair clinging to his forehead. “Let me know when y'want lunch, sugar. Got tons of leftovers of the casseroles from yesterday.” Jax tips his gaze up slowly from his computer screen, blinking in faint confusion as though he’s forgotten that Kay was there. A moment later, though, a small slow smile is pushed briefly onto his face. He shifts his hand to rub at Obie’s belly in the same mechanical motion he’d been scritching before. “Oh. Hey, honey-honey. Did you want -- I could get you. A.” Frown. “Coffee?” He glances towards the kitchen, shifting his gaze to the door as Micah returns. “Could build him a -- cat tree. In the. Somewhere. Basement. People-sized.” His other hand starts to lift, starts to wave towards the basement door, but ultimately just flops back into his lap. Kay'd half-extended an arm towards Micah when he first entered, but when the younger man opts to slump past it casually drops. His eyes are still set on Jax's face, anyway, mouth slanted in /either/ a grin /or/ some neutral default smirk that doesn't change much shape when he pretty much wraps his long-fingered hand briefly - gently - around the front of Jax's FACE to try and stifle his attempts to offer him /all the things/. And leans in to stage-whisper confess against the side of Jax's head, "I helped myself." He releases the photokinetic the next moment, though, to kneel down (alongside the dog, which he doesn't seem to have much acknowledgment for at the moment) in front of Jax and attempt to move his laptop aside. To place a deeply warm hand over Jax's brow, the side of his face, the side of his neck, "-how long's he been this fucking cold? Sheeee-." Unless Jax seems unwelcoming, he'll be putting arms around him. Kinda… gather-gather style. While distracted-commenting with faint amusement, "Boulder-Dash would never wanna /leave/, you guys put a friggin Kid-Tree up in here." Micah offers Jax a small smile at that suggestion. “That actually sounds kinda fun. Y'know your son,” it's a running joke when the kids do certain things, which one they belong to at the time, “told me I should go an' rest on account of I'm /old/.” The playfulness he had mustered collapses further into the chair along with him. “Kinda cold soon as the days start gettin' shorter. Cold outside, an' less light.” He gnaws at the inside of his cheek a little. “Add t'that gettin' exsanguinated an' drugged an' not bein' able t'have lights on for a week. I been keepin' 'im all...blanketed an' warm food an' drinked an' lit up s'much as possible. But goin' t'church meant venturin' out in the cold, /too/.” For all that, Micah looks a bit worn himself: pale and dark-circled under his eyes. Very likely he could keep up with Spence better (if not /well/) on an average day. He finally hauls himself out of his chair, flipping on sunlamps and fetching a discarded fuzzy Care Bears blanket to drape over Jax's shoulders. “Can I get y'some tea or somethin'?” A glance over to Kay includes him in this offer, as well. “S’basically what the ridiculous. Tower Hive done stuck in the Common-haus is. An’ y’know your kids is.” Jax trails off, leaning into Kay’s warmth with a slow exhale. “Jus’ been a little tired. S’all. Winter ain’t. An’ th’ Goblin an’.” His head shakes, hand lifting to curl at the blanket when Micah brings it. “Flicker could prob’ly. Make a good tree. S’workin’ on furniture for Egg, y’know,” he tells Kay. "Or that tree-guy lurkin' around outside." The one that… lives here, Kay? The faint quake in Kay's muscles aren't weakness - they're /restraint/ until Jax leans into him, and he relaxes into gathering him up firmly, awake-alive and firm-bony in every over-heated inch the poor exhausted bastard gets drawn into. Just kinda crowding in on the seat with Jax and helping situate the blanket around his shoulders. All while absently commenting, "Yeah. I know. And the /kids/ know." And his eyes - warm, playful, /hard/ raise up to Micah like the other man merits a sudden measuring and answers the drink offer with, "Ion told me he'd talked t'y'all." “Not sure Jim'd take t'/bein'/ a play-tree. Maybe if he was in the right mood.” Micah shifts a little awkwardly where he is standing, the husband-dog-visitor pile forming in front of him so he moves back to his chair. “Hadn't known y'had kids b'fore.” His head tilts slightly, brow furrowing at the sudden /look/ being given to him with no reason he knows of behind it. “We already did that talk, yes.” The roughness to his voice implies it wasn't an easy one. “S'already worked out.” “Maybe. Makin’. More’n /bein’/. But if we’re havin’ one /in/ the house prob’ly. Better t’build it jus’. From dead wood so it don’t. Need -- keepin’. Up.” Jax’s brows furrow, shoulders tightening at the mention -- of the kids, maybe. Ion, maybe. “Ion come by yesterday. I guess he. Talked t’Dusk an’ Isra an’. An’ the pups. They. Ain’t been…” His head shakes, quickly, fingers scrunching into Obie’s fur as his words taper off. Though there are other movements, arms settling more loosely, Kay's body has a way of shifting like an animal, with glinting eyes never moving from Micah. His head tips very slowly to one side, "You already… 'did that talk'?" His tongue prods for a blank moment into the side of his cheek and he - grins, turns to Jax with a kind of rapid shake of his head to jar back to what Jax had been saying, lower, "Lotta that going around, huh." “Right, I was just teasin'. Was a funny image.” Micah nods, moving on from the Jim-as-gym tangent. Kay's question earns yet another confused look. “Y'said Ion told you we talked. I was confirmin' that we talked? Maybe I'm more tired than I thought. I seem t'maybe be missin' somethin'.” He simply nods at the last. “Oh.” Jax blinks, teeth scraping at his lower lip. “I don’t think I -- funny. Right. S’ -- ‘pologies.” A brief tremor runs through his shoulders. He returns to his slow rubbing of Obie’s belly. “Yeah,” he agrees, softly, with Kay’s last comment. “S’been a lotta. I -- kinda. Kinda made some bad. Made a. Lotta mess of.” His head shakes again. “Jus’. Kinda messed. Up. A lot.”
“Honey, y'ain't gotta apologise for not thinkin' somethin's funny,” Micah's voice is softer speaking to Jax. “Can we not? With the passive-aggressive looks an' comments, please? I don't have the energy t'follow it.” He sounds...just tired. “If there's somethin' y'need t'say t'me, just say it. If it's gonna be upsettin' t'Jax, please let's take it somewhere else.” “... family.” Jax echoes this word with a small tightening of his shoulders, a small crease of his brow. “Ain’t somethin’ I been. Real good. Lately. At --” His teeth sink down against his lower lip, eye fixing down on Obie. “You sure y’all is gonna be -- I mean, th’Goblin’s been. This ain’t. They’re -- take a lotta.” His frown deepens. Shoulders tighten. “M’/right here/.” This time he looks up, shifting uncomfortably as he looks at Micah. “I mean I ain’t gonna. /Break/ if people. Talk harsh ‘round -- no more’n I have, anyway,” he admits a little ruefully. “M’a adult, I promise. An’ this is all. My. Family too.”
“Apologies, sugar. I just...got m'protective hackles up still. Nerves are a little frayed. Just wasn't sure what to expect an' didn't wanna make y'sit through yellin' intended for me. I put you through...enough. Lately.” Micah's shoulders hunch, his fingers curling into the arms of his chair. He looks like what he /wants/ to do is go to Jax, but his husband is kind of buried under a pile of other bodies at present. His head shakes, eyes narrowing in incomprehension at Kay. “Excuse me? Would you /please/ tell me what you mean by that? I haven't been able t'answer a single thing you've said t'me since you came in. I feel like I walked in at the end of a conversation an' no one is fillin' in the beginnin'. I get you're upset with me. But that's all you're /givin'/. Just...explain. Otherwise all I'm gettin' is upset an' nothin' I can /do/ with it.” “Think everyone’s nerves is a li’l --” Jax’s hand drops away from Obie -- it makes even the beagle sit up, admittedly less because of tension in the room and more because his pettings have ended. The dog’s head plunks down onto Jax’s stomach with a longsuffering whuff. “Wait -- what.” His eye scrunches shut, hand lifting to scrub knuckles against it. “Now m’feelin’ a little -- also. Lost. My brain’s been all over fog all week.”
“Kay, you've never spoken 'bout your family t'me. Or I'd know. You've never spoken t'me 'bout your home or your family or nothin'. I don't even know /where/ you live. An' for all your bein' over here, like y'say, I ain't never had an invitation t'see or meet 'em, neither. Nor have y'ever...shown me pictures or brought 'em 'round for me t'meet. So I apologise for assumin' there /weren't/ no one t'meet.” Micah scrunches in further into his chair as if he lacks the bones and muscles to hold himself up unsupported. “Turns out there's this whole /gaggle/ of people livin' off somewhere mysterious an' not talkin' 'bout the fact that each other exists. I asked Ion last night. Who. And where. An' he didn't /tell/ me. Like it's a secret or somethin'. I don't understand but I haven't been in a place mentally t'negotiate.../why/ he wouldn't tell me. Or what's even okay for me t'ask anymore 'cause it makes no /sense/ why he wouldn't tell me.” “It's not like that. It's. I thought y'were gonna start this conversation all /over/ again. 'Bout how we should give up Eri. An' I did that once. We already did that once. Was one of the hardest things I've /ever/ had t'do an' if I hafta do it again, I'm gonna turn into a useless mess here again. An' then Jax might worry that I hate 'im for makin' me do it /again/, even though he's not... An' you have no /right/. No right when you haven't /been/ here. When all of you apparently didn't even know Dusk an' Isra /had/ a kid until we'd already been killin' ourselves /raisin'/ it. You haven't been the one goin' /through/ all of this. Watchin' your whole family fall apart an' tryin' ev'rythin' y'could think of t'put it back t'gether. Includin' /givin' the whole thing up/ just so that /maybe/ they might survive intact /without/ you because /ev'rythin'/ that's been goin' wrong has been /your fault/ from the beginnin' an' prob'ly they'd be better off!” Micah's volume has been steadily rising through all of this, though he chokes himself off before he gets to the point of actually yelling. “You shut the hell up with your judgemental bullshit. You don't know. You obviously don't know me or my family, neither. But you're sure willin' t'have hateful opinions 'bout things you don't know.” “... but I mean Ion an’ Dusk an’ -- we /know/ his. Family.” Jax leans back against the window when Kay stands up, pushing a slow breath out through his teeth. “Kay, t’ain’t that s’no interest things jus’ been -- all /kindsa/ stress an’ I know we handled this so --” He quiets when Micah speaks, though, fingers curling hard into his blanket. “... He weren’t. Actin’ like no secret --” This is quiet, kind of puzzled to himself. Then more quiet as Micah’s volume continues to rise, his lips pressing together. Knuckles scrubbing against his eye again. He slides off the windowseat, slow as he nudges Obie aside and gets unsteadily to his feet to circle around and curl fingers gently around Micah’s elbow. His eye flicks over Micah’s face, teeth catching at his lower lip. Then over to Kay, a slow frown drawing his brows together. “... where is this goin’?” "What," Kay laugh-exhales, "You think that fucking -- mutie school you /paw at the gates of/, or the sewerrats you jerk off to feeding or fucking -- /this/ place," hand flaps out towards the window, "Are the only safe places mutants go? Did you just completely fucking /forget/ about Fight Club or mother fucking /Harlem/, where Briar -- But by /god/ you were creaming your jeans to bring food and nuzzle around for /praise/ when it was going /on/. Jesus /Christ/ it's like this whole kneejerk flatscan /guilt/ thing you have going on lasts only as long as you can make yourself the hero. Then you just forget and look for the next /great/ cause. New /freak baby/? /Fantastic/, one more collection piece for the /set/. Nevermind whether it's killing your fucking partner and sending your kids - who, by the way, are /used/ to being forgotten and put aside when they stop being /fun/ - running away 'cause they got the god-given self-preservation to not wanna /watch/ you do it-- Ssss." It's Jax's question that finally breaks the fixed gaze and - actually, he kinda laughs, head dropping back and scrubbing at his head. "It's goin' where the rest of it's goin, I guess. Not here. I'm sorry, Jax. I really am. This ain't fair. And I don't like seein' it happen." “You really think that the Fight Club an' the way things were in Harlem are good places t'put an infant? Of course I didn't think of those. If there's other places I don't know 'bout 'em 'cause no one has /told/ me.” Micah's fingers tug through his hair. “No, that's great. No one is ever helpful 'cause they honestly wanna help when they see that it's needed. Or 'cause people /asked/ 'em t'help. Never that. Never someone's friend comin' t'their door askin' for help makin' a garden t'feed her family who happens to live in the sewers. Never a kid with no arms who can't talk goin' through his /telepath/ friend just t'be able t'beg for help the very first time he meets 'em 'cause he heard they might be able t'make arms. Never a school sayin' they got nobody t'teach the classes people keep sayin' they need. Never people draggin' 'em in t'help heal folks 'cause they ain't got enough people that know first aid. Never people callin' havin' a nervous breakdown 'cause they're takin' care of ev'ryone an' no one ever stops t'take care of /them/. Never that.” Micah's head shakes slowly at this, almost disbelieving. “Sure. Glory-mongerin' guilt. That's it. I spent my /entire/ life bein' either the helpless kid in the room full of able-bodied people or the least crippled cripple in the room. So /very/ sorry if that taught me t'be empathetic or made me wanna be helpful. So /very/ sorry that m'professional skill set is specifically made t'help people. So /very/ sorry that I try t'offer that help t'my community when so few people will. An' that even though people make it /clear/ they /don't/ think this is my community, it's the only one I've /got/ anymore.” He holds up both hands, fingers splayed. “Y'know how many non-X-gene-active friends I have stuck with me after I married Jax an' adopted the kids? I run outta names long 'fore I run outta fingers. Take out the ones like Mel an' Io who're in the middle of this all the time, too?” He puts the other hand down. “Don't even need two no more. So's a fetish t'deal with the people who'll still deal with me.” His breath hitches in shakily. “S'good t'know. S'good t'know I'm not wanted even if I might be needed. Maybe I should go so's you two can talk. Y'know. Just /family/. Got chores that need doin' anyhow. If that ain't bein' too /helpful/.” Despite all the sarcasm, his tone is just dripping hurt, his eyes threatening to do the same as he pushes away from the chair. “Hey, no, this ain’t -- /ain’t/ fair.” Jax’s frown deepens, a faint tremor in the light around him. “This ain’t no -- /fetish/ or guilt or --” His teeth clench, fingers squeezing a little tighter around his husband’s arm. “Ain’t nobody perfect but we been tryin’. To do what’s best for the pups an’ for Eri an’ for -- an’ we screwed up but t’weren’t cuz of no -- none of that. Micah /is/ m’family an’ I don’t know when folks is -- gonna --” He stops with another press of lips, relaxing his grip when Micah starts speaking. Then dropping his hand away altogether, his head bowing in time with another very faint tremble of light. For a moment he glances away to the window, pulling in a small breath. His mouth forms a small O, but he stays silent, now. Letting Micah speak. His arm curls around his chest, fingers gripping his own biceps now. A butterythick warm wall of air pushes past Micah in a gentle puff - this would be Kay entering his personal space. Then /jerking/ to a stop midway through his second step and just remains there, mid-lunge. His hands fisted at his sides and pulled slightly back, ribbons of flames lick spectral-faint in and out of existence up the length of his forearms. Shaky-raspy, he takes in a breath, lets it out in a long stream, until it terminates in a hoarse incredulous laugh-noise. "... So I need you to stop talking. Right now. And try for just one fucking second to think about what you just said." His voice is it's usual raspy-tenor calm. But his eyes are livid locked on some distant point beyond Micah's shoulder, before they swivel with a twisting in his brow towards Jax. And the quaking in his clenched fists grows both weaker and more severe. Micah stops, clenching his jaw to try and keep the tears from spilling over now that he's stuck there. “I'm only sayin' what I'm /gettin'/ off other folks. You been extraordinarily hateful at me an' act like I got no right t'be here. How many people have told me that? Like who I /love/ is less important than m'genetics. You go on an' on 'bout /family/ an' then tell me I have some kinda fetish. For havin' this feelin' like folks is family t'me. So no, all of that sarcastic agreement is /not/ what I feel. It's not. But apparently everythin' I feel is wrong. Wantin' t'help Dusk an' Isra when /they're/ family t'me is wrong. Wantin' a baby t'raise with m'husband in /our/ family is wrong, t'share our love is wrong. 'Specially wantin' /that/ an' the rest of my family, too.” Micah turns, kneeling in his chair to look at Jax instead. “I love you, honey. I love you an' the kids. If I'd known it was gonna be like this with Eri, I never would've made that suggestion t'you. An' like I said then, if you hadn't /wanted/ it, we would've never taken it t'Dusk. Or even...if I'd known it was gonna be like this with the twins, if they'd /spoken/ to us at /all/ after we mentioned it. There might've been time to...change things. Certainly if anyone had any clue there was someone else who might... But Dusk an' Isra kept sayin' there /weren't/ nobody. You'd think if anyone'd know it'd be them! An' they was so desperate. An' I love them, too. Even...when I said I'd take Eri an' leave. It was 'cause it was killin' you. An' I couldn't find no other way /fast/ enough t'make it stop. I was so scared. I was /so/ scared I was losin' you after already ruinin' things with the kids.” So much for keeping the tears locked in, they're rolling now...at least /silent/ as they stream down his cheeks. Micah's hands reach up, one to each side of Jax's face. “I love you. More'n anythin'. You remember way back when I said I'd go t'that farm in Georgia with all of you? Just...leave off alla this. All this madness. Keep y'all safe an' quiet. Was 'fore we even got married. I meant it when I said it. But it...y'needed t'be up here helpin'. S'what y'said. An' I /understand/ that. More'n 'most anyone could. So here we are.” He sighs heavily, letting his hands slide down to Jax's shoulders. “I still would. Leave it all an' go with you. Farm an' write articles an' textbooks...teach some classes just t'keep some income...” The tone has gone a little wistful, his body rocking faintly with exhaustion just maintaining that simple kneeling position. Jax lifts a hand when that wall of air pushes out, his stance shifting to twist slightly between Kay and his husband. There's a faint ripple of light, his face paling slightly when flame starts to lick up Kay's arms. "Don't." His voice is soft, but it's firm. "This is my home an' my husband. Whatever you want t'say you say but -- tss. You're all m'family jus'." His fingers flick towards the flames. "Don't." He doesn't move, head turning when Micah's hands lift toward him. "... think m'scared a lotta things," he murmurs, soft as well. Less firm. His fingers curl in against his arm again. "Feel like m'losin' a lotta things. M'sorry. For alla this." Kay has begun to ease the locked muscles down corded down his arms, looking down to note whisper of flames when Jax gestures to them. His lips thin, regardless of the slight upward twitch at the corners, and with another slow breath, in and out, the breath of fire recedes. He drags his hand over his mouth, bowing his face into it. Hawkishly watching either men's body language, for a moment he's silent and - concentrating? Distracted? Maybe he's thinking about sandwiches. Just breathing slowly. Whatever threat there may or may not be, Micah ignores it. He pulls Jax closer against him, hugging as best he can from his awkward reverse-chair position. “You got not one thing to apologise for t'me, sugar. Not one.” The hug squeezes a little tighter. “I gotta apologise for settin' this whole thing off. Then gettin' so swept up in things happenin' so /fast/ an' not havin' a chance t'do 'em right. Or in the right /order/. This all could've been so much less bad if there were only time t'figure things out better. I mean, /goodness/ if other folks had been steppin' up b'fore the hatchin' none of this never would've...even happened.” He chews at his lip, somewhere between stressful and thoughtful. “Just gotta hope...Dai askin' the pups t'maybe even talk with us again. I told 'im he could tell 'em what...was decided. Since I didn't think they'd even hear it from us.” Jax leans in to the hug -- though only slightly, only briefly, arms lifting to squeeze back before he pulls back, shift-turning again to watch Kay. There’s a faint tension in his own form, a slow push of breath in and out through flared nostrils. “/We/ done fought t’gether, you an’ me. You been in the thick of it with me. You /know/ I’m gonna have your back. ‘least I’d hope t’God by now you’d know my measure.” His head turns, slightly, glance flicking back to Micah before lifting to Kay again. “Micah’s my husband. My /family/. S’much as anyone is. Only but he’s the only one where we keep havin’ to /justify/ that over an’ over. But he’s gonna be m’family when things is good an’ he’s gonna be m’family when we screw up an’ that’s --” His hand turns up -- a little shakily. He might be slightly paler than he had been before. “Not a thing m’plannin’ on changin’ no time soon. An’ I’d just like. If that’s somethin’ people could start. Respectin’.” His hand thumps back down against the back of Micah’s chair. Possibly for /support/; he looks slightly unsteady on his feet. “... even if,” is quieter, heavier, a little mumbled, “we got a whole lotta work. T’do. T’get our family all back /together/.”
“Thanks for the rallyin' cry, sugar, but maybe y'should sit down.” Micah gives Jax a reassuring (stabilising!) squeeze and moves to get out of his chair and direct Jax into it instead. Kay speaking again just makes him look that much /more/ exhausted. “How many times do I hafta say this is my fault? I just /said/ it was. /Again/. That I started it. An' rushed with it. An' I was just...wishin' it had gone dif'rently. Guess I'm not s'posed t'/wish/ things now.” Micah's head shakes fiercely, eyes going fiery as he turns back to Kay. “Y'can insult /me/ all you want but, /no/. No, you don't get t'paint what I said that way. Not at Jax. That ain't one /lick/ what I meant an' that should be /obvious/. Yes, people have left me. Lots of people. But they aren't the important ones if they wouldn't stay. There is no /blame/ in that 'cept t'/them/ an' I wouldn't /have/ 'em if they felt that way anyhow. I was just tellin' you...it's not that I'm /obsessed/ with people expressin' the X-gene. It's that they're the only ones who interact with me, so that /has/ t'be...m'community. An' I don't /regret/ that, but it's my reality an' it /colours/ things. You sure have a /skill/ for makin' ev'rythin' bitter an' nasty.” “I know you,” Jax agrees, softly. “An’ we will.” His shoulders sag -- beneath the fuzzy Care Bears blanket, shaky as he’s been, there wasn’t all that much /imposing/ in him to start, really. Alas. But it drains away as he sags back down to sit again, stretch an arm out from under the blanket to scritch at Obie’s back where he’s still curled up drowsing on the windowseat. He swallows, lips pressing together, and pulls the blanket tighter around him. Quiet, through the rest of this. From somewhere beyond the door, Kay's unhelpful voice calls back, "Wonder where I learned /that/ from!" | |
