ArchivedLogs:All the Way Home

All the Way Home
VROOM.
Dramatis Personae Micah, Jax	1 May 2014 Returning home from the raid. (Part of the Prometheus TP.)
Location <NYC> St. Martin's Church – Harlem
St. Martin de Porres Catholic Church is not large, but it has a quiet majesty to it all the same, in the way of many old churches. A tall stone building tucked into the center of Harlem, it is one of the earliest Catholic churches in the city, and it looks it. Inside, the wooden pews stretch off towards the alter, the crucifix an immense and solemn wooden carving that presides over it all. Most of the windows are stained class, rich and vibrantly colourful depictions of various saints and Biblical scenes. Small recesses along the wall hold the Stations of the Cross depicted in intricate stone carvings, and the prayer alcove holds real flickering votive candles unlike many modern churches who have switched over to electric. The vaulted ceiling has detailed painting done between its arches, and the distinctive scent of frankincense often lingers faintly in the air. Below, the basement of the church has been heavily modernized; there is a pair of meeting rooms for classes, a pair of bathrooms with showers, a door leading out to the tiny adjoining rectory building where the pastor lives. In tribute to the church's namesake, ministries for the poor are a large part of the church community; one room holds a wealth of donated clothing that is free for any to take. With the large dining room and industrial kitchen that serve hot dinners six days a week and distribute donated bags of groceries every Monday, there are frequent visitors through here who are often in need of the helping hand. Despite the /many-many/ bags full of Tupperwares /full/ of food that Micah brought to the church yesterday, he is here again, cooking. He is wearing a rust-coloured henley over faded jeans, sneakers on /both/ feet as he is getting used to his prosthesis again. Most of the time he is spending seated in his lime green ultralight chair, though his neon orange forearm crutches are hooked into the bar on the back of it for him to pull out from time to time for tasks that are better accomplished standing. The current food item cooking seems to be hearty chili from the smell of all the spices wafting through the kitchen. Perhaps thematically, he is singing Simon and Garfunkel's "Homeward Bound" to the stock pot as he stirs it, leaning heavily on one crutch to reach into the massive metal container. There's been a slow trickle, throughout last night and the day, of people being 'ported back to New York from the Tennessee safehouse; with last night's batch consisting of all the most injured, the bulk of those brought over today are due for /shelter/ rather than medical care. Jax -- could probably still use a bit of the latter, admittedly. He's waited till last to return, hanging back until Hank is flying the Blackbird home (with Sage and Lorna and five new teenagers likely due for Xavier's, if their families can't be found) and all the rest of the rescuees and his team have made it safely home. But after waiting till evening to /get/ home he has more pressing things on his mind, even, than his bandaged-and-slung arm or the (fresh, at least) bandaging also wrapped around his neck. And so when Mirror!Joshua drops him off at the church among the refugees he is on a hunt, not for medical care but for his husband. It's a slower hunt than it probably would otherwise be; his eye is squinted a little bit shut, his steps not-quite-straight in a somewhat /disoriented/ weave. He's changed clothes, at least, clean and showered at the safehouse and now just in lightweight tan hiking pants and a plain blue tee. He comes up behind Micah at the stove, slipping an arm (for once, not overheated and lingering at a fairly /average/ body temperature) around his husband from behind and thunking his head lightly in between Micah's shoulderblades. At the sound of new people arriving in the safehouse, Micah perks, glancing over a shoulder before turning the heat down on the stock pot to simmer. The spoon hits a spoon rest and he reaches for the lid to cover the pot and just let things slow-cook for awhile. He totters slightly as Jax leans against him, hand reaching for the countertop to steady himself. "Oh, hon, you're back!" He turns to place his back to the counter so that he can free an arm for hugs. "Easy, though. Just started standin' again today. Ain't quite got m'sea legs yet." Kissing Jax's forehead lightly, he looks the other man over. "Looks like y'might not've, either. Y'need tendin'? Anybody else in the group need t'be seen to? I know they said folks today were gonna be less'n less injured each trip, but still." "Sorry," Jax whispers, closing his eye tight and drawing back just slightly when Micah wobbles. His eye stays closed when Micah turns around; he curls his good arm around the other man, wrapping it there tight and holding Micah close against him. He tips his head in, nuzzling down gently against the older man's neck. There are -- questions being posed to him. But he doesn't answer them, instead just holding his husband closer, fingers gripping in against the small of Micah's back. Secure against the counter, Micah pulls Jax tighter against him. “S'okay, honey, just... Are /you/ okay? Y'ain't...even answered anythin'.” Leaning in, he presses another soft kiss to Jax's forehead. “Maybe we should sit. M'chair's just here.” He nods to the chair not a foot from him, shifting slightly toward it. Jax doesn't really /answer/ the question of sitting, either, though he's pliant enough with Micah's movement, shifting slightly when the other man does. His fingers knead in against Micah's back, clenching up the other man's shirt into his fist. "We made it. Back. Here." His face presses firmer into Micah's neck, breathing slow. "You're standing." Micah takes that bit of give to shift further, gripping hold of the chair to pull himself into it. He tucks his crutch back behind it before reaching for Jax's hand on the uninjured side to tug him closer and into his lap. "You're here. An', yeah, standin'. Balance is off an' it hurts if I do it for more'n a few minutes at a time, but... So much faster than it would've been. S'usually forever just gettin' t'the point where y'can tolerate havin' a prosthesis on, much less weightbearin' through it." Carefully so as not to aggravate injuries, he holds Jax close. "Are you okay? D'you need me t'check your wounds? Let's get y'some water, at least, maybe?" "Good. Good, that's good, has Lucien been -- has it been --" Jax sinks down into Micah's lap willingly, curling himself in against the other man's side, his breathing shaky as he turns his face in against the older man's shoulder. "Water. Right. I -- got a little bit shot," he finally acknowledges. "I think it might hurt." Against Micah he is very faintly trembling, a tiny quiver rippling through him. "But after Mirror's rested ze can -- can." He lapses into quiet, just nuzzling up against the side of Micah's neck. "S'it been okay back here?" "Yeah, s'been helpin'. Slowly." Micah's hand strokes along Jax's back soothingly. "Maybe we should get you t'lie down 'stead of just sittin'. Y'don't sound good, honey. Y'need stitches? Still bleedin' anywhere?" Micah shifts so that he can propel his chair with both of them in it, grabbing a bottle of water from the counter as he moves to find an open cot for Jax. "Things've been quiet this time. Folks comin' back so slow an' not so seriously injured as usual. S'been much easier t'take care of at this end than it's been before." "S'pose I need stitches," Jax agrees, "but it don't matter much if ze can just. Heal me up once --" This trails off again, and Jax just stays curled in close at Micah's side, his fingers resting against the other man's stomach, scrunching in slow grip-release-grip-release against his husband's shirt. "I'm okay," he finally manages. "I'm fine. I just. I just." He pulls in another slow breath. "I should go check on Hive. An' -- an' maybe Dusk an'. An' the kids. Are they --" His words drop off once more. "Honey, y'sound like maybe you've lost a good amount of blood." Micah pulls up next to an empty cot and locks the brakes on his wheels. "Get lyin' down an' we'll have y'drink some. See if we can get y'stabilised enough for the drive home if we're just gonna healer y'up on the other end of the drive. I'm sure folks here can manage the minor injuries an' tendin' the food. Y'can check on Hive /after/ we get the holes in you plugged up. An'...apparently we're not s'posed t'visit Dusk 'til Hive gives permission. So. Maybe t'morrow for those things, hm? The kids are fine. They're at home. I told 'em I'd get back in time t'get Spence ready for bed." "It isn't that." Jax frowns, head shaking, and for a moment he just clings closer to Micah. He lets go eventually, though, slow and reluctant, eye cracking open for a moment to get his bearings but closing again quickly. He pushes himself to his feet, sliding over to fwump back down to sit on the cot. "I mean I did. But I slept and I'm. /Fine/, I just." His good hand reaches forward, kind of half-patting, half-pawing at Micah's knee. "I just can't breathe. And I can't see and I think I might. Have. Vanished? Like I fell off the world and." Pat-pat-pat. "There's a big hole. Are we going home now?" "We're goin' home after I check your wounds an' your vitals an' you drink a whole bottle of water an' we bring some juice for you t'drink along with. If there's somethin' wrong, I wanna know 'fore we're way out from everythin' on the road." Micah frowns slightly. "Y'seem woozy an' I don't know how much of what you're sayin' is from that." Micah moves himself to the edge of the cot, gently encouraging Jax to lower himself to lie down so that he can check the assorted wounds and dressings. Jax lies down obligingly, though his hand moves to stay on Micah's leg when Micah moves to the edge of the cot. "Okay. Okay," he agrees, moving his arm to push up the sleeve of his t-shirt enough to better expose the bandaging wrapped around it. The wound on his neck -- a graze along the side of it -- is doing mostly fine, though the hole torn through the meatier part of his shoulder is still slowly seeping blood into its bandaging. "It's not that. I just can't feel anymore. Everyone's back though so I. Don't think I need to." Micah's brows knit as he inspects the wounds. "S'mostly the shoulder needs t'be sewn up or magic-healed t'night. But you're /cold/. I'm-a check your blood pressure an' all. But I'm worried how much blood y'might've lost if you're cold an' woozy an' not walkin' straight an' can't feel things right." For now, Micah closes all the bandages back up, as they are relatively fresh and doing their jobs. He reaches for Jax's wrist and gets a quick heart rate before scooting back into his wheelchair to retrieve a blood pressure cuff and stethoscope. "Just checkin', okay?" He wraps the cuff around Jax's less-injured side and places the stethoscope, going through the faster-inflating, slower-deflating, listening and watching process quietly. "I'm cold because they stole all my sunlight." Jax turns his wrist over, arm a little trembly beneath Micah's fingers. "And my eyes too. I can't /see/ right so it's hard to -- I can't feel --" He shakes his head, fingers curling in towards his palm. His heart rate and blood pressure both come in at perfectly /average/ rates; 78 bpm, 110/76 -- though both kind of on the very-high side for /him/ as he tends to run excessively /low/ in both of these. His eye cracks open again, peeking up at Micah's face though quickly closing once more. "... It's not the. /Bullets/, it's just, they. Took all my -- some drug of theirs. I think they stole my. Powers." “Oh/gosh/, d'you think they /poisoned/ you? S'it just that y'can't access your ability or d'you feel...sick? We should maybe get y'over t'the clinic. If it's poison, they need t'get it /out/ of you /quick/.” Micah's nose crinkles at his findings. “Though your vitals are pretty-darn normal. So that's promisin' at least. That /they/ aren't respondin' like poison.” He picks up Jax's hand, kissing his palm, then the inside of his wrist. Then he picks up the water bottle, uncapping it and handing it over. “Water's good for you, either way.” "I was puking my guts out all last night. S'gone now. But I still. Can't. /Feel/ the --" Jax turns his hand upwards. His fingers curl in against Micah's cheek for the kiss. "The world. The light. It's like forgetting how to --" He wraps his fingers against the water bottle, though he doesn't take a drink. "I just can't. Can't --" He pulls in a slow breath, dropping his hand to rest the water bottle against his chest. "I'm sorry," he whispers, quieter. "I'm fine. I'm fine, I'm sorry. We can go home? Unless you were busy I can just. Stay here a bit, it's okay." "S'nothin' needs doin' here as can't be done by somebody /else/. They can text me if they got questions," Micah asserts firmly. "I know, honey, it's... Prob'ly like the exact opposite of what happened t'me with Sublime. An' it's gotta...be every kind of uncomfortable an' disorientin'. Did anybody snag a sample of what they put in you, though? I'm worried 'bout you havin' unknown chemicals on board. It could...just be somethin' temporary that they found shook up people's access t'their abilities. Or it could be somethin' worse. Got no way of knowin'. I'd feel better if we had a doctor look at you an' a sample of the stuff. Once we get you filled up on the water. If y'still look okay an' your vitals are stable. We'll go home an' just have Hank an' a healer take care of you. I'll send a message ahead." "Yeah, Ash got. Got samples. Sent 'em on t'Hank an' the Clinic both." Jax's fingers crinkle in at the water bottle, squeezing against it and then relaxing. Squeezing, relaxing. "I'm fine," he insists again. "I'm fine. I mean. Most. Most everyone on /earth/ manages jus' fine without. Drinkin' in light I don't need. I'm fine. I'm fine." He squeezes at the water bottle again, crumpling it inward enough this time to displace a good bit of water that splashes down over his fingers and soaks into his shirt. "Joshua too. An' Kay. An' Sage. An' Lorna." "Good. Good, that's a start in figurin' out what they did. We're just gonna hope whatever it is s'temporary 'til we hear otherwise." Micah pats at Jax's wrist above the water bottle. "Drink it, honey. Don't just wear it. If y'were vomitin' a lot, y'need t'keep hydratin' even more." He keeps petting at one of Jax's legs so as not to impede him potentially drinking the water. "An' /most/ people deal fine with havin' two legs. But it was real... I couldn't walk. An' nothin' /felt/ right. I get it, honey, it's...not /right/ for you." His head shakes slowly. "Ohgosh. Oh/gosh/. But they're all...physically okay? Just not able t'access their abilities, too?" "Oh -- oh." Jax nods, when Micah says to drink the water, obediently lifting the bottle to his lips to take a large swallow. "I can't even see," he whispers, fingers crinkling at the bottle as he rests it on his chest again. "I mean, I /can/ see but nothing looks /right/ and I don't know how to. Process -- it into. Sensible --" There are tears leaking slowly now out of the corner of his eye, though he doesn't seem to notice. He nods, slow at first and then quicker. "Yeah. Yeah, no, they're. Fine. We're fine. It was bad at first. Then it passed. Now we're okay." "Hey, hey... It'll take some time, honey. Your brain's just not used to...this. S'just like me learnin' how t'walk /again/. Okay? It makes sense, don't...beat yourself up over it." Micah slides into the bed next to Jax, curling in next to him to hold him. "Maybe this'll go away 'fore y'even get the /chance/ t'adapt to it. We don't know yet. Let's just...sit here 'til y'finish your water. Get y'home an' get Hank t'take a look at you, okay? I love you. We're gonna do everythin' we can t'make this better." Jax nods heavily, pushing himself a little bit more upright long enough to settle back down, this time with his head in Micah's lap. "Right." And then he's silent a long while, just lying there. His eye cracks open slowly; another shudder runs through him as it does. He lifts his hand, fingers lifting uncertainly in the general direction of Micah's face; it takes a bit before they settle against the older man's cheek. "... m'whole team came /home/. An' all the labrats on top. Flicker ain't even in the hospital." Catlike, Micah moves his cheek to Jax's hand, rubbing against it. "That's a blessin', that people ain't as injured as usual. An' are alive. An'...man, Flicker was /due/ a break. He's been built back up too many times lately." Micah scoots in even closer to kiss Jax's forehead. "I'm sorry you're havin' t'deal with this, though, honey. The rest is good, but this is tough. I love you an' we're gonna work through it. Just make it through that bottle an' we'll go home." Whether the repetition is helpful to /him/ or meant to be reassuring to Jax or some combination is unclear. Jax's breath comes out in a slow relieved rush at the nuzzling touch of Micah's cheek against his hand, /this/ sense at least still familiar-reliable. Grounding. His hand brushes back slowly, palm cupping the side of Micah's face as his fingers curl into the other man's hair. "Weren't so injured as usual. Kay an' Joshua got the hurt put on 'em pretty bad 'tween the -- Osbot -- lasers an' bullets an' -- an' Flicker took a bullet t'the leg an'. Lorna took a dart in the /eye/, might could have Mirror look at her when she gets back 'fore gettin' t'me. An'. An' we gotta check on Hive he sounded -- sounded a bit. Beat by the end but." He pulls in another slow breath. His palm presses more firmly to Micah's cheek. "But s'a blessin'. We made it an'. An'. An'." His head tips up; he swallows the rest of his words in another long-slow pull from the water bottle. Micah just keeps kissing Jax's forehead, the top of his head, the fingertips that curl against his face. "Mmn. Sounds like it weren't pleasant, but all fixable, at least. That's somethin'. An' got all the folks out of the lab, too." He snuggles in close against Jax, again avoiding the worst injuries. "Flicker can check on Hive t'day. We can check on 'em /both/ t'morrow. T'night we get you set an' we go home an' we see our kids an' we get Spence t'bed an' then we get /you/ t'bed." "I have so many hugs for them," Jax says quietly, once he's drained -- /most/ of the bottle, at least. "So -- many." He squeezes his eye tightly closed again, fresh tears spilling out down the side of his face to trickle down against Micah's pants. "... I can go to bed with you." His breath catches, a quick shaky hitch of sound trapped somewhere between a sob and laughter. "I can go. Lie down an' /sleep/. /With you/." "M'sure they've got quite a few stored up for you, too," Micah reassures with a small smile, giving Jax a little squeeze. The kisses move down to Jax's cheek, over the little tear trail. "Y'can sleep /right/ next t'me. The whole night. We're gonna sleep /so much/ sleep, neither one of us'll know what t'do with ourselves." His fingertips brush over the back of the hand holding the bottle. "Finish that up an' we'll get to it, okay?" Jax pushes himself slowly upright, swinging his legs down off the side of the cot. He stays tucked in close at Micah's side, though, nestled up snug against the other man. He lifts the bottle again to slowly pull down the rest of the water, lowering it emptied back to his lap. "Y'could hold me an' wake up without a /single/ burn." His head turns, slow and a little stiff at the movement of his neck, to nuzzle in against the side of Micah's neck. "An' no horror-scenes t'wake up to an' the bed won't be on fire even a little." Micah gently helps Jax up to sitting, petting at his head and back as he nuzzles in. "Not a single burn? Think m'aloe cream's gonna get lonesome," he teases, having grown rather /used/ to frequent minor burns cropping up in his life. He places yet another kiss to Jax's cheek. "Okay, honey. Y'ready t'go home?" "I could give you a tattoo," Jackson volunteers, more brightly than before. "If y'need somethin' new t'salve." He melts in more against Micah's side, his breath shaky-slow at the question. "M'ready for about a million hugs," he answers finally. "After that I don't. Really know. What if this -- what if." He squeezes his hand into a tighter fist, the empty plastic bottle crumpling up in his grip. "Okay. Okay, I'm. -- Woah can you be m'seein'-eye cyborg? It'll be like the /future/." "Y'really want to? I've never had one before, but if there's somethin' y'wanted t'do." Micah shrugs slightly, arm snaking around Jax's waist at his melting and shakiness. "Good. Millions of hugs, on delivery. I'll text Hank an' the twins an' a reminder for somebody t'handle the food here once we're in the van, 'fore we get on the road." After making sure Jax is stable in his seat, Micah transfers over to his wheelchair once more. One of his hands pats at his lap. "I can give you a ride out, if y'want. Or if y'wanna walk, y'can just keep a hand on m'chair an' I'll go in front." "Wait, really?" For a moment Jax sits up straighter, his eye widening and a sudden smile flitting across his lips. "I mean you'd really let me?" His eye closes again after this with a small wince, though his smile doesn't fade. He rubs his knuckles in against his eye, dropping his hand eventually to push himself up only long enough to settle back in Micah's lap again. "Vroom," he says quietly. "Of course. I mean, it'd have t'be somewhere I can cover with regular work clothes, on account of the medical field is silly-conservative 'bout that kinda thing. But that don't exactly rule out /a lot/ of real estate." Micah reaches out to rest a hand on Jax's knee, until he moves to join him in the chair. "You can so be in charge of the sound effects. An' I'll get us where we need t'go." "Oh," Jax shakes his head in mock-disappointment, "-- drat, I guess that rules out tattooin' a buncha tengwar across your forehead." His head tips in to rest against Micah's shoulder, arm curling loosely across the other man's chest. "I can vroom so hard. Does it make you go faster if I do it more enthusiastically?" Micah giggles at that. "Wouldn't argue the Tengwar too hard, if it had t'do with somethin' y'were puttin' t'gether. Just...yeah, not in the face." The giggles continue, a pause given to pet at Jax's shoulder before Micah wheels them for the door. "Absolutely...to a certain extent. I'm pretty sure we're over the chair's weight limit by just a /touch/ when both of us are on here. So I got a lower maximum speed. But it helps up to that point." Jax exhales quietly, nuzzling in against Micah's neck. His hand drops a little lower, resting at Micah's hip and curling the hem of the other man's shirt into a loose fist. He touches a light kiss against Micah's collarbone; when his face nuzzles back in there's a trace of dampness once more where his eyelashes brush against Micah's skin. "Love you," he says, softly. And then, with a good deal more energy: "/Vroom/." "Love you, honey," Micah replies softly, yet /another/ kiss to Jax's cheek. "As you wish." He takes off at top (available) speed for the door, naturally stopping to navigate their way out of the door, then speedily again to the van. Which will do some vrooming of her own, all the way home.