ArchivedLogs:On Hold

On Hold
Dramatis Personae Flicker, Jax
In Absentia	2015-03-07 "He's not -- /dying/ for this world that's never bothered to even see --"
Location <NYC> The Unicomplex - Harbor Commons - Lower East Side
Flicker and Hive split the basement in this apartment; coming down the stairs emerges into an open expanse of shared space, with a pair of desks on opposite walls and large cabinets holding an enormous library of board and card games. The bookshelves here are packed predominantly with sci-fi and fantasy as well as a mass of roleplaying sourcebooks. The walls are eclectically decorated. A replica of Arya Stark's Needle, a few bright-colored but anachronistically somewhat morbid paintings of Jax's, a Mega Man X poster, a stained-glass suncatcher hung in the window and a collage of feathers framed on one wall. Up near the ceiling there's a large square hanging frame strung with netting -- a nearly ceiling-wide sort of hammock though it's hard to immediately discern how to access it. A side door leads to the bathroom, small but neat in pale stone tile. Towards the back there are walls dividing off the actual sleeping areas, tiny-cosy rooms mostly only large enough for the bed-dresser-closet combinations they contain. It's generally easy to figure out which one of the bedrooms is Hive's from the large amount of /clutter/ contrasting Flicker's perpetually tidy space. Flicker's full bed can be folded up into a recess in the wall, while Hive's larger queen hangs from the ceiling by sturdy black chains. Knock knock! Bright and chipper at Geekhaus's basement door. Well, bright, anyway. More of an announcement than a request for permission; Jax is trotting down the stairs with a tray of breakfast in hand. Chocolate waffles with strawberries and whipped cashew cream on top, tofu scramble with mushrooms and kale and hot sauce and salsa and guacamole. Orange juice. Hot cocoa. /He's/ still dressed in pajamas, though, or what passes for it these days. More /comfortable/ hiking pants instead of jeans. Sweatshirt over warmer base layers. A little stiff and bruisey from the previous night's fight. "-- Room service!" "... Oh my gosh." Flicker isn't quite awake yet. He's in thick long fleece pajama pants and a white undershirt, curled up in Hive's bed. Sort of drowsing, sort of scrolling through his phone. Mostly drowsing. Beside him it's hard to tell if Hive is awake or asleep. /He/ always looks kind of the same. "Oh /man/. You're -- the best." "I know." Jax is cheery about it, too. He heads through the larger room to the bedroom, setting the tray of food down on the nightstand. "I kinda am." His eye flicks to Hive, teeth scraping down against his lip. "Y'sleep aright, honey-honey?" Flicker sits up slowly, sliding his legs over to drape one off the edge of the bed. The other tucked under him. Phone set aside. His eyes track to Hive for a moment, too. Then back to the food. "No crazy future haunting my sleep. If that's what you mean." Shrug. He reaches for the juice first. Big gulp. "... Not any more than it's /always/ haunting these days." Jax takes one of the juices for himself, settling down onto the edge of the bed by Flicker. "Guess it's hard to shake." His voice is quiet, fingers curling hard around his glass though he doesn't actually drink." Flicker exhales. Lips twitching up. Kind of a smile? Almost. Not really. "Guess so." A small shake of head flicks hair back from his eyes. They level on Jax after. He trades his juice out for a plate of food, balancing it on his lap to pick up a fork. "You were pushing pretty hard last night. Got kind of brutal out there." Jax's cheeks flush deeply. "S'fight club," he protests with a wrinkle of nose. "Don't it usually?" Flicker's brows just raise. Jax's fingers fidget with his glass again. "Eat'cher waffles." His cheeks are darker, posture still twitchy-restless. "There was another dream. Or not-a-dream. Just kind of got yoinked off to the future again." Now he does take a sip of his juice. A very small one; his grip on his cup doesn't relax. "All jus' keeps... gettin'. Worse." "Worse than murder-bots killing everyone and them locking up the entire mutant population of the country?" Forgive Flicker for sounding a little bit skeptical. He does, at least, start eating his waffles. "I don't feel like future-me is very responsible. Am I just kidnapping you? To this dangerous -- you could die." "That ain't my worry. Been in plenty'a places we could die, t'gether." Jax does manage a small smile, here. Just a tiny sliver, tipping a glance up towards Flicker through his bright fringe of hair. But after this, back down to his glass. "Honey-honey... before Hive. Before all this --" He gestures to the telepath's inert form. "Started. Did he. Did y'all talk -- 'bout. Him. Comin' /back/ from this? 'bout what that'd look like -- bout how t'step him down from -- alla this." Flicker's chuckle is quiet as he starts cutting his waffle into neat squares. "And been back out of them. But." He spears a strawberry and a chunk of waffle together. Chews it over slowly. "Yeah. We talked. And talked and /talked/." His grip is tight, on his fork. "The truth is there's no sure way. I told him I'd be his anchor. Remember him for him. When he'd forgotten. And I do, I will, I /am/. But he's --" His head shakes, slowly. "It took so long to get him back after the zombies. Lucien had to build his mind back from practically nothing. And that couldn't /compare/." Jax's fingers tap against the side of his glass, rapidly. There's a small shiver of light around him that condenses down into a haze -- a murk of dark shadow twining around his arms, coiling low around his legs. He slides a little bit closer to Flicker, tucking close to his right side so as not to interfere with his eating. "I talked to Hive. In the future. He said --" He stops, hesitant. Flicker just keeps eating. Slower, admittedly. Methodical bites. Leaning up into Jax when the other man moves closer. "Said?" Quiet prompt. "That he knew. Going in. He wouldn't come out of this." Still eating. Chew. Steadily, like he's counting the number of times before he can swallow. Stab another strawberry, another neatly severed square of waffle. "Doesn't mean it's true." Quiet again, when he finally speaks. "We've changed it before. He's just Hive. He doesn't know everything. I told him I'd bring him back. I told him I'd hold on --" "He said it'd be -- I mean he's got a whole /world/ in his head." The darkness coiled around Jax is deepening. "And if they want us -- if they're tryin' to get us to /change/ that world? Destroy it, end it? This is gonna end with us tearin' that world right /out/." "It doesn't /have/ to," Flicker snaps, sharper. "I /told/ him I'd bring him back. God, after /everything/ he's done -- and he just keeps throwing himself back in there over and over and /over/ and he's not -- /dying/ for this world that's never bothered to even see --" He stops, sucking in a sharp hiss of breath. His fork clatters down against his plate as his hand lifts. Pressing to his eyes, hard. Smaller: "... I scheduled my surgery for spring break." And, /much/ smaller: "I don't know how Dusk's done it. Keep going on like --" Jax sets his glass aside; he curls his shadow-wrapped arms around Flicker, pressing a kiss to the teleporter's temple. "It doesn't have to," he allows, though it's soft and uncertain. His hold curls tighter, forehead tipping to rest against Flicker's hair. "I'll come with you. If you need someone. I don't --" He swallows. "I don't imagine it's ever been easy. But he ain't never been /alone/. You ain't gonna be, neither." Flicker has no answer for this. Just a trembling, shivering up through his posture and out through his unsteady breaths as he sinks into Jax's hold.