ArchivedLogs:AU

AU
Dramatis Personae Jax, Micah	2015-02-25 "Alternative's doin' a lotta not hopin'. An' that seems just pretty...hopeless." (Part of Future Past TP. Takes place a while after waking up from futurewalking.)
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. Jax hasn't been up to bed tonight -- fairly normal for summer, more unusual this time of year, though not unheard of now that it's edging out of the darkest part of the year. Early morning finds the kitchen already smelling like breakfast -- tofu scramble still warm on the stove -- and the very chocolatey smell of cookies baking in the oven. /He's/ curled up in a beanbag, laptop out and tablet in his lap, an unfamiliar (filthy) canvas jacket draped over his shoulders as he works. A subway car, graffiti-covered and dilapidated, windows cracked, door jammed partly open, its back half lost in darkness. Micah eventually comes slowly down the stairs, still going through the little neck and shoulder stretches that accompany recently waking. He is already dressed for work: TARDIS blue polo shirt over navy henley today, with his khakis and socks with multicoulour polka dots on them. His hair is very likely at its straightest for the day, having recently been subjected to a combing. "Mornin', hon." Moving in next to Jax, he reaches down to pet at the other man's hair. "Did you sleep at all? Bakin' an' drawin' already." A little head tilt is directed at the jacket. "Kinda a dif'rent look for you." Jax's head tips into the petting, eye closing. He shakes his head. "Yeah. No. I don't know. Kind of. I don't..." His shoulders shiver. "Ain't mine. There's scramble on the stove. Some guac an' salsa in the fridge if y'want t'add 'em." "I'm guessin' no, if there's all that goin' on, too." Rather than going after food, Micah slides in next to Jax, curling an arm around the other man's shoulders. "Not... I don't recognise it. Did you go out an' not have enough layers for gettin' home or somethin'?" He returns to the petting once he's settled in, eyes going over Jax's drawing idly. Jax nestles up against Micah, dirty jacket and all; it smells kind of like it has been through A Lot. And possibly that Lot included the sewers. "It's Flicker's." Just... a lot less clean than their very fastidious friend. His mouth opens briefly and closes again. He tips his head up, pressing a hard kiss to Micah's lips and then just tucking his head against his husband's shoulder. "I didn't mean to steal it he might freeze." It could be that Micah has a little more experience with ignoring slightly sewer-smelling clothes than average. He certainly seems to be doing so now. "Flicker? What was y'all up to?" His brows knit, concerned. "The kiss is returned, arms wrapping all the tighter around Jax for it, though the concern doesn't fade. "Can't he just...come through the house an' pick it up when he needs it? Don't even need to go /out/ here. Shouldn't be doin' no freezin'." Jax shakes his head unhappily. "It's Flicker's like. Years from now. I think I might have accidentally... went. In the future." He still sounds -- a little bit confused about this. Uncertain. "I thought I was dreamin' but I woke up half froze with this coat on." "You had a future dream?" This isn't usually something that would cause excitement, but Micah's tone actually brightens somewhat. "That...that means you're /in/ the future then, doesn't it? They...haven't been manifestin' items so much, though. I don't know as anybody else's had that." The brightness /does/ still war with fretting, Micah's hand moving more slowly-soothingly through its stroking motions. "What happened? D'you wanna talk about it? I know those...those dreams've been pretty traumatic. For just 'bout ev'rybody who's told me 'bout theirs. For sure all of mine have." "No -- no." Jax shakes his head firmly. "I don't think it was a dream. I think it was /me/ -- in the future. I was wearing all these exact clothes and thinkin' that I'd just fell asleep doin' work an' --" His brow furrows, teeth pressing down against his lip. "An' Flicker said I done died two years past. He near hugged the breath out of me." "You...time travelled? How--" The importance of that seems to slip away right along with any remaining bright-anything as Jax continues to explain the events. Micah follows suit with extremely tight hugs. "Oh. Oh. I had thought. It seemed. It's just. Oh. Honey. We're doin'...we're gonna...it ain't gonna /be/...that. It /wont'/." "I don't know how, exactly. I think it's Hive. I mean I /know/ it's Hive -- helping. But I don't -- know how it works, I --" The oven timer goes off. Jax has been sagging into the hugs but he pries himself away, now, putting his tablet to the side to stand and head to the kitchen. Sans oven mitts he starts to take out cookie trays (two from each of their ovens) and load the ovens up with a second batch. "I -- I just don't know how I feel. About all this. Meddlin'." With no more Jax to snuggle, Micah does finally make his way into the kitchen, fetching coffee while his husband handles the cookies. "It's Hive? Is this what... All I knew was that he did something to increase his psychic reach or somethin'? Flicker weren't too clear on the details. But...he made it so the dreams /take/ people to the future?" Micah's questions are somewhere in the neighbourhood between confused and incredulous. "I don't know how we /don't/. Just knowin' what we know now? Whoever gave us these dreams kinda made the decision on meddlin' or not meddlin'. The dreams themselves done gotta be changin' things just 'cause we /know/ things." He stares down at the empty-waiting mug in his hand, teeth digging into his lower lip. "I gotta ask you some things. On the topic of meddlin' an' when is too much. Also. After... I wanna know what happened in your dream if y'wanna tell me." "I think he made it so his reach is all the way into the future." Jax shivers slightly, getting a spatula to transfer the cookies from their sheets onto stacked wire cooling racks. "I think he made it so he's powerful enough t'-- t'do that. Reach across -- years. I can't even /imagine/. /He's/ the one sendin' the dreams back, though. An' I guess -- the one takin' people, now? I was /there/, Micah. I was really-truly there. Think my toes nearabout got frostbit." He stares down at the cookies as he lines them up on the racks. "Like I said I don't think it was a dream. I think I just went t'the future. I was -- was talkin' to Flicker. He was fillin' me in on what the past couple years -- um, the /next/ couple years? Been like. Will be like. Jim had told me -- told me that Hive. That he talked t'Hive -- future Hive. That they want us t'be ready --" His brows crease. "I think Flicker wants help gatherin' information. From the government or Oscorp or -- findin' out how t'stop all this, but. I don't know how we /do/. Micah, I was /there/. He was holdin' me, it's not a /dream/ it's a /world/. A whole /world/ full of livin' breathin' people." His hand shakes, two cookies slipping off his spatula to fall and splat, still warm and gooey, to the floor. "... what did y'want t'ask me." "That's...crazy." Micah's head just shakes at this, pouring coffee into his mug once it is ready. "I guess ev'rythin's kinda been crazy. Just 'cause it's crazy don't mean it's not happenin', but..." He sucks breath in between his teeth, just-audibly. "I guess we...work with 'em? Whoever has these dreams...transportations, whatever. We should get a database goin' on all the information we get /from/ the future. Could help us know what t'do." The breath is sent back out less-noisily over the surface of the too-hot coffee to cool it. "It's...I guess it's like an alternate reality. Full on sci-fi style. Parallel universe reachin' over t'try an' make sure we don't end up them. An'...that maybe we can make things better for /them/, too. They ain't got /food/ in that future, much less the ability t'do a lotta research." He blows over the coffee again, trying to figure out where to start. "Maya. She's still missin'. Missin' dealin' with all of /this/. Hive ain't never been a...dream manipulator. Maya /is/. An' she an' Strange /did/ talk at each other." Cutting himself off from rehashing /all/ of that story, he pushes forward instead. "I got a personal item of hers from her roommate when I went t'check on 'er. An' permission t'have Sean try t'look in on 'er if other methods weren't helpin' find 'er..." "But we ain't gonna be /makin'/ anything better for them, Micah," Jax replies, frustrated. "If we do this, there ain't gonna /be/ a them. They're askin' us to /destroy an entire world/ to save ours. I don't know if I can do that. Not on /purpose/." His brows pull in tightly. He stoops to pick up the fallen cookies, grimacing and getting a cleaning rag from beneath the sink to wipe melted chocolate off the floor. "Can Sean even do that? Like, we don't even know if Maya's -- what Maya's..." He trails off uncertainly. "If /time/-travel's involved." "How do we know that, though? Y'go on alternate reality an' parallel universe theories...our future /already/ ain't gonna be exactly theirs. They must be existin' separately, somehow. Ain't none of the people in that future remember havin' dreams 'bout that future in their pasts, do they?" Micah's expression clouds, lips pressing thin. "An' I /been/...a person in that future. Pretty sure even if it /meant/ not havin' it exist anymore at all. That person'd be willin'. I'd venture t'guess a lotta the others'd say the same." His shoulders sag as he ventures a tentative sip at the (still a bit too hot) coffee. "When I promised I'd ask, things didn't seem /quite/ this complicated yet. Was months ago, an' we just couldn't seem t'meet up meanwhile. I did...tell 'im. How complicated it is. With dreams an' realities an' time travel possibilities an' all that. That I got no clue just how or where she got lost. He still wanted t'try. Just...with a psychic sitter that could help ground 'im or put 'im back in order in case somethin' goes wrong." Reaching up, his free hand rakes through his hair. So much for the neat-combing already. "I just...brain fixin' made me think Luci. But I'm stuck. On whether I /should/ even ask or just tell Maya's roommate we couldn't use this avenue? It's gettin'...stackin' abilities. Puttin' more people in danger. Just look where it's gotten Maya an' Hive already... I feel like maybe I'm takin' things too far. Askin' too many people to jump down this rabbit hole." "I don't know that. But how do /you/ know it /ain't/ so? And frankly I don't /care/ what future-you is willin' t'do. Or future /any of them. Because you wantin' your family back jus' ain't strong enough for me to help /potentially murder/ seven /billion/ people." Jax's hands spread out wide. "An' if I stand right here an' don't do nothin' to stop it, I'm sure there's plenty of folk dying right this minute, too. Don't mean that's a good argument for me to pick up a bomb an' lob it next door." His fingers rake through his hair once he is done with the cleaning. He stands, slumping back against the counter. "I don't know. They can all say no. Ain't like Sean or Luci or any of 'em /gotta/ do it." "I don't know, honey. It don't...it just don't seem that way's all. When I look at it. It ain't like it's /killin'/ nobody. Seems like there's nothin' but death in that version of things. If it don't ever get t'be...more people'll live. An' that just won't never happen? Since it /ain't/ happened...yet. Either that or it continues to coexist on a dif'rent...plane or whatever." Leaning against the counter, Micah continues to sip at the coffee despite the temperature, just to give himself something to do. "It's kind of a paradox, though. If what we do makes that future not happen, that future don't happen to stop it from happenin'... So I think it /must/ be the parallel existence thing. Otherwise it'd all...collapse. It couldn't /be/. Right?" He nods mutely at that last pronouncement, some time passing before he answers. "They could all say no. But they wouldn't even have the chance if I weren't askin'. So I just...I don't know if I /should/. That's all." "I don't know how to /not/ look at it that way. It /already is/. That world /already exists/. I was /there/. I was /touchin'/ him I'm /wearing his goddamn jacket/." Jax sucks in a sharp breath, pressing his knuckles to his lips and sliding down against the counter to slump into a seat on the floor. His knees pull up against his chest, his chin dropping against them. "They're grown adults. They can make their choices, right? I can jus' /imagine/ the look Luci'd be givin' if he even heard you ditherin'. Like /he'd/ hesitate t'say no on a thing he don't want t'do." "That's...I mean, what I'm sayin'. Either what we're doin' /won't/ do nothin'. Or it's gotta be existin' separate from what we do. S'the only way any of this could work... Oh, honey..." Micah sets his coffee back on the counter, moving in rather a sight slower to sit next to Jax, arm reaching to circle his shoulders again. "What can I do?" He nods at Jax's pronouncement on the other topic. "He does...have some pretty pointed looks. Okay. I'll ask. We'll just hafta see what they say, then. For Maya's sake." Jax tenses under Micah's arm, his shoulders tightening as he hunches in on himself. "But you're sayin' that based on -- what? All the /experience/ everyone's had with time travel? All the research that's gone into this? No. Jus' some guesses you're pullin' out of /hope/ an' a lotta sci-fi movies. The honest truth is we don't /know/ how time travel works or how any'a this could possibly even exist. Or if it'll keep existin' if we work to /destroy/ it." "What's the alternative, though? We just...do nothin' on the chance that what folks from that place've done ain't /already/ changed things so much that it ain't gonna be anymore? An' the chance that it /ain't/ existin' separately regardless or somethin' like that? I just don't see...why the we're-gonna-destroy-ev'rythin' option is any more likely than all the other possibilities." Micah's head shakes slowly. "I don't think there's no way for us t'know. I'd rather...work t'prevent all of the terrible that's s'posed t'happen, t'see if we can make it better for /our/ future. Than do nothin' an' know for sure at the /very/ least that we've /let/ all that terrible happen. Since the fate of that other-future ain't somethin' we can know." He decreases the contact at Jax's hunching and pulling away, just a hand on the other man's back now. "What did Flicker say? I'm...assumin' y'all kinda told one another what was goin' on." "I don't /know/, Micah." There's a tight edge to Jax's voice, his back growing starkly hotter, felt even through the jacket against Micah's hand. "An' I don't care either. There /ain't/ no way to know what's gonna happen an' that don't mean I want to jus' charge into -- into /maybe/-killin' a whole /world/ on the /chance/ that we /maybe/ make it better an' who even knows? Who even knows that /we/ didn't blow up the world tryin' to stop it? That /we/ wasn't the ones who killed all those people in the /first/ place tryin' to play God an' I'm tired," his voice is rising through this, not so much shouting as uneven, strained, a little bit ragged-edged, "of people askin' us to make these choices where /we/ decide if /everyone dies/ I can't /do it/." "Okay, honey. Y'don't...hafta do nothin'. I'd /appreciate/ if y'did just let us know what information y'might have from this, for makin' as complete a picture as we can. But I won't ask you t'do nothin' personally, at least. Well.../this/ me won't. I can't make promises if y'run into the other." It is Micah's turn to tense now, wan and shivering despite the fact that Jax is sitting right next to him getting /warmer/. "But /I/ wanna hear these folks out. What they want, what they think it'll do. They're...off in the future an' manipulatin' all these things in the first place. If anybody'll know more what's goin' on, it's them, ain't it?" The arm slips around Jax again, reassuring. "It's not fair t'ask you t'be in alla this all the time. I'm still...gonna hear 'em out. Do what I can. I can't /not/ at this point. But I'll leave you out of it an' can ask any others t'do so as well." "Someone assassinated the President. An' someone blowed up the school. An' Oscorp helped make all these camps for shuntin' people off to -- Flicker wants us to -- investigate. I don't know. Oscorp. The /government/. See who /really/ started all this so we can head it off. But I." Jax slumps in against Micah's side, his shoulders still tense but trembling, now. The oven timer goes off again but this time he doesn't seem to notice. "If Hive is makin' this link, though. If he's pulled all these brains in an' is holdin' some /bridge/ open 'tween here an' the future what's gonna happen t'his /mind/ when it collapses?" The swipe of his fist against his eye is sharp and sudden, like he's /angry/ at the tears forming there. "Thank you. For tellin' me," Micah says softly, and this is all at first. "Findin' out what happened seems a reasonable enough request. Even just so they'll /know/." He squeezes tighter, tucking Jax in closer. "I don't know what t'do 'bout Hive. He didn't...really give us a lotta information 'bout what he was tryin'. Maybe if we can run into future-Hive, he'll... I just keep hopin' that /somebody/ knows what they're doin'. Already...collapsin' things or no...it just don't seem...good. For 'im." Understatement of the year. "I'm still holdin' onto hope that we can find Maya. Of course just for /findin'/ 'er, but also...maybe she'll know more. If she's makin' the dreams and Strange is makin' the time component an' Hive's bein' the mental link... Havin' as many parts of that triangle as possible might let us know what we can do t'help /Hive/, too. In m'world of really wishful thinkin'." Leaning in, Micah places a soft kiss on Jax's forehead. "I can get the things out of the oven if y'want, sugar. Ain't gonna help nobody none we start a fire or set off the smoke alarm, at least." "I think s'more -- so we can make sure it don't happen. But I. S'many folks as Hive's connected to -- it goes bad enough when he's losin' those connections /voluntarily/ after too long. If we jus' -- just /erase/ a whole world that half his /mind/ is in, I." Jax shudders again. His head tips back, looking up at Micah with a puzzled expression. "... huh?" "I honestly don't know what's best t'do for 'im other'n hopin' folks in the future know more t'help. An' hopin'. An' lovin' 'im an' takin' care of 'im meanwhile." Micah gives Jax another little squeeze. "The oven timer went off, sugar. If y'want me t'get the cookies, I can. But I gotta get up first." "Oh. Oh, cookies -- oh. Right. Yeah. I should -- right. Those gotta come out." Jax wriggles kind of upright, though he doesn't stand. "We do a lotta hopin'." "I got it, honey. They should be all cooked so it's late enough in the game that I can bring 'em out safe." When Jax moves upright, Micah disentangles long enough to /get/ oven mitts and retrieve the sheet of cookies. "Alternative's doin' a lotta not hopin'. An' that seems just pretty...hopeless." Jax's arms curl tight around himself, then relax. He slips his hands into the pockets of the jacket, shoulders tightening again. His brows furrow as his fingers curl into a fist; one hand pulls out, gripping an unwrapped partially-eaten granola bar. His frown deepens as he looks at it. Shivers. Puts it back away. "... yeah. I guess the alternative -- does." Potential cookie fire crisis averted and cookies safely (if a little more /done/) cooling, Micah returns to his seat beside Jax, holding him for now. It will be time to wake Spence soon enough. "S'all just doin' what we can an hopin' for the best. Love you, sugar. No matter what."