ArchivedLogs:Beginnings And Endings

From X-Men: rEvolution
Beginnings And Endings
Dramatis Personae

Hive, Micah, Jax

6 May 2014


Part of the Perfectus TP.

Location

<NYC> Harbor Commons - Courtyard - Lower East Side


In the lot by the river the skeletons of houses have begun to grow flesh, actual character to them now in the wood and stone skins stretching over the bones below. The work days have been more pleasant for the spring weather that has rolled in but the day is winding down, now -- not quite /over/, just yet, but getting there. There's still a general clamor, workers yelling to each other, machinery going; beneath it all the whir of an electric scooter motoring onto the lot can barely be heard. Hive is slouched forward in the seat, eyes narrowed as he surveys the lot, heading off straightaway to one side to retrieve hard hats for him and his companions. << Not even a month. >> There's something -- almost wistful in the soft echoing chorus of his voice, his words quiet and somewhat distant. << Could even walk through the first one. Well. >> His eyes drop down to his scooter. << So to speak. >>

Micah is back to his crutches today, though still rather slow over distances and requiring frequent rest breaks. His auburn hair is mussed and mostly hidden beneath an olive newsboy cap. His clothes remain simple: a blue T-shirt with faded jeans and sneakers. He doffs the cap, stuffing it into the messenger bag hanging from a strap crosswise over his torso, and swaps it for the hard hat. Observing Hive as he motors about, his eye is more to the handling of it than anything. "Let me know if y'want me t'change the top speed out any. Makin' it lower gives y'more graded control, but...slower. So I left it fairly high t'start." His eyebrows bounce upward at the offer. "Oh...wow, which one's walkable?"

Jax is trailing in the wake of Hive's scooter, following along as close behind it as he can manage; his steps have been dragging, somewhat, a sluggish-tired droop to his posture. He is dressed simply today as well, high black boots and black skinny jeans, black wrap top with flowy half-sleeves. Black nailpolish, too, though this has a rainbowy sheen to it; his black eyeshadow has rainbow glitter as well. "Ohgosh." A small smile curls across his face at this news, his step perking just a little out of their heavy-tired drag. "A month, that's -- whoa. Right. Wow. Are you excited, /I'm/ excited. We gotta have the /biggest/ party."

Hive exhales slow, closing his eyes as his lips give a small upwards twitch. There's a faint flutter of his mind against Jax's, and after some short consideration he decides, << Maybe. Little -- slower. >> His eyes open again, and he slumps back in his seat. << Excited? >> He sounds puzzled at this idea, his voice quieter than before. << Oh -- >> His shoulders sink, eyes drifting off towards the river. << We're excited, >> finally comes the distant-detached reply. He lifts a hand, gesturing off towards a house in the middle of the row of houses. << Rachel and Ines -- Joshua. Can't see the upper unit. On top of each other. Not side by side. You can have a party. If you like? >>

"Yep, just a sec." When Hive stops, Micah plugs a small control unit in to the side of the joystick and taps a few buttons before unplugging it again. "There we are. Give that a try. Backed it down just a smidge." The control unit plops back into his messenger bag, a hand moving to Jax's shoulder. "S'/definitely/ excitin'. Should have some kinda...block party once everyone gets the chance t'move in. But maybe also somethin' just for things /openin'/ earlier? More housewarmin' like?"

"Y'sound /terrible/ excited." Jax drops a hand to squeeze at Hive's shoulder, a quiet note of laughter in his voice though there's concern lacing his thoughts, quietly /fretting/ at Hive's detachment (too many hivees? Losing himself? Maybe he just doesn't think he'll be /around/ to see the end of it?) "Oh gosh. D'you have housewarmin's for whole housin' -- /developments/? I've never /been/ to an openin' of one! That's -- that's kinda-sorta-awesome." He leans into Micah's touch, partly affectionate and partly /grateful/. "M'commencement's on the twenty-eighth. Can we jus' have a /huge/ party that weekend for /everything/?"

<< /Terrible/ excited, >> echoes back to the others, though it's mostly in Jax's own voice. Hive's hand returns to the joystick, slow and shaky as he starts moving forward again, navigating wide around the somewhat obstacle-strewn construction site towards the more-finished houses. << Can have parties for whatever you like. We do own the whole block. -- Better, >> he decides, after testing the new speed. And then, << You're walking better, too. >>

Micah just smiles softly at that, knowing full well how much Hive was looking forward to this. "Y'look better with that...just needed some finer control. S'good." He follows along again after placing Jax's hand on his own shoulder to help stabilise him, since his hands are busy operating crutches. "Commencement's a good word. Could be a commencement party for all the things startin'." A small snort of laughter answers the walking comment. "Thanks. Darn well should be. Spendin' at least an hour a day each in therapy an' with Lucien in m'head."

"S'good t'see you gettin' out." Jax's hand stays resting on Micah's shoulder, kind of thankful for his husband's slow speed with his own exhausted-dragging steps. "-- Think June's when Shane an' Aly's lookin' to open Evolve, too. S'gonna be commencin' /all/ the things. An' we'll all be back in work an' --" He hesitates, closing his eye -- which makes his steps /more/ stable, really. His fingers curl just a little bit more firmly against Micah's shoulder. "He's been workin' crazy-hard gettin' back t'normal. It'll be nice t'jus' have -- life. Back."

<< /Ha/. Lucien. Don't envy you. Or your wallet. >> Hive steers as far as the currently dirt-floor pathway up to the house before stopping, head tipping back to look up towards the sky. << Normal. >> His hand drops to his lap, eyes fixing upwards. << Anyone remember what the fuck that -- that. That. >> His words trail off, gaze just lingering up where it has fixed.

"S'good t'see everybody gettin' out. An' just...seein' people. Why do I feel like I never /see/ nobody anymore?" Micah's steps slow a bit further at the squeeze to his shoulder. "We do need t'stop for breath for a bit. S'just been one crisis after another lately." His wince at Hive's comment is readily apparent. "Of all things I'd been thinkin' I was gonna need t'take loans out for, /Luci/ wasn't on the list. An' yet..." When Hive pauses, his brows furrow, glancing up to follow the other man's gaze. << You okay, hon? >>

"Because y'never see nobody no more," Jax answers, and despite the light amusement in his tone there's regret in his mind, wistful memories of the ease of stopping by one apartment to the next in the Lofts, Game Nights and making rounds dropping off cupcakes and even just chats over laundry. He stops when the others do; it takes him considerably longer to follow their gazes upwards, cracking his eye open and frowning in confusion a while before slowly tipping his head back to squint up as well. It doesn't help much; he closes his eye again shortly. In his /mind/ the sky overhead darkens with huge black wings, soft and velvety. "Oh, I remember normal. Even if our normal was always kinda strange. We'll get back there, yeah? It had a lot more hugs in." His nose crinkles up at the thought of Lucien and he adds, "... jus' might be we'll be kinda /poorer/ when we get there. He's a good investment, though. I'd pay him twice over if it meant gettin' you back where y'want to be."

<< You never see anyone, >> Hive agrees, softer than before. << The school is far and we're all -- scattered. And broken. And dead. >> A small tremor runs through him at the wings flapping through Jax's mind; they echo, for a moment, through Micah's, as his eyes stay fixed upwards. His shoulders curl inward, tensing. << ... broken, >> whispers again, in the back of their minds. And, more clearly, << s'worth it, though? Good at what he does. Do you really need a fucking loan for -- because. If you -- we can. Help if. If. >>

"Yeah...guess we don't." Micah's tone is low and sad, no amusement about it. His eyes mist over slightly at the projection of wings. "D'you still...have 'im, Hive? Does anybody know if he's...?" He hesitates to say 'okay', knowing full well that he's not, but not having a better word to fill in for the status check. "Don't...ohgosh, we'd be in debt /forever/ 'stead of half of forever payin' 'im more. Already took out a loan." This comes with a nod to Hive. "Like I keep tellin' y'all whenever we're up against it, I can /get/ banks t'give me money. S'just...gonna be fun an' excitin' tryin' t'pay it /back/. I know /everybody's/ strapped even more'n usual between the fire an' buyin' in at the Commons. Y'all don't need to...I get it. Thank you for wantin' t'help."

Jax curls an arm around his chest, his other hand still resting on Micah's shoulder. "But not -- we can fix --" His brows knit together, weight tipping back onto his heels. "Ain't always gonna be broken." He looks back to Hive at the question about Dusk, a sharp (guilty) tug of ache in his chest at this. "-- is he safe, at least?" He shakes his head, though, at the offer of help. "The Clinic's still payin' me an' Micah'll be back to -- we'll make it work. We'll jus'. /Build/ our own furniture for the new place."

Hive shakes his head slightly, head still tipped back. << He wanted us gone. We left. Wanted to be alone. >> There's an uncomfortable tense edge beneath these words, sick and maybe guilty, too. Hive sinks down lower in his seat. << Everybody's always broken. >>

Micah's thoughts protest the idea of Dusk /actually/ wanting to be alone, but he says nothing. There is an additional undercurrent to all the other worries, a sharp memory of beating Dusk with a crutch, worrying that /that/ is the last thing Dusk might remember about his involvement and willingness to help in the current situation. He has his own guilty feelings about this, though the logical part of his thinking immediately argues it down. He is quiet while his mind is loud and swirling for some time. "Do we know anythin'? Did he say anythin'? Where he was goin'? What he was gonna do? When he might come back?"

"Alone? In his -- is he even fit t'be -- I mean, for him /or/ for anyone else, is that a good --" Jax cuts himself off with a sharp breath, his own thoughts skating back to Dusk's teeth tearing in at his neck, Dusk's body crushing down agains this. The terrified hurt-animal whine of his voice. "Do he even got a place to go?" he asks, quieter.

Hive's eyes stay fixed upwards, focused on a puff of cloud overhead. << He said -- >> His eyes close; his mind presses in against the other men's in a twisting jumble of guilt and pain and anger that drowns out, for a moment, the noisy bustle of the construction yard. << -- he didn't want to drag us -- >> The lean of his mind pulls back abruptly. In his lap, his hand curls into a fist. << Don't think he was /planning/ on coming back. Has always been kind of a fickle bastard though. >>

That answer scrunches Micah's eyes closed tight, tears dewdrop-limning his reddish lashes into clumps. "Wouldn't drag nobody... Just. Want him. Miss him." The hurt-longing-ache continues well past the words in his mind. He gives his head a shake as if to shove it away. "Did he at least get a phone or somethin' t'take with 'im? We got any way t'contact 'im?"

Jax's fingers curl abruptly tight at Micah's shoulder, his breath catching; the /guilt/ in Hive's mind focuses his attention as much as the words do. "Drag -- you where. Hive --" His teeth dig in against his lip, a sudden twisting knot coiling sick and unhappy inside him. "... please. Where did he. Go."

<< Didn't want to drag us, >> Hive echoes softly. << Might not survive right now. Losing someone we're joined to. So he asked us to leave first. >> His fingers clench and unclench, eyes squeezing tighter closed. In the background of his mind there are trees, rocky cliffs, a stream; all he says is, << -- He wanted to be alone. >>

Micah shudders deeply under Jax's touch, the images from Hive building to a conclusion. "Hive, he don't mean t'kill 'imself? T'go off alone an' not even tell anyone an'..." His breath hitches and he covers his mouth with one hand, wobbling slightly on the opposite crutch.

"An' you jus' /let/ him?" Jax blurts out immediately, sharp and more than a little panicked. "Hive he weren't even a /little/ bit in his right mind, how --" He stops, biting down harder on his lip and sliding his hand down to Micah's elbow, standing up more steadily when Micah starts to wobble. His thoughts are racing, worried and angry and already trying to identify the scenery in Hive's mind. << How long ago did he take off? Was he serious? Maybe there's still time -- >>

<< What the fuck should we have done? >> snaps back angrily. << He asked us to leave. It's his fucking life. You think having someone /control/ him after all he's been through would've helped shit? If he wants to end it that's his -- >> This cuts off in a sharp hitched breath, Hive's shoulders still tight. << -- Sorry, >> whispers softer, shaky and broken. << Can't just. /Take/ him. Just because we /can/ doesn't mean -- doesn't -- doesn't -- /sorry/. >>

“Hey, hey...whoa.” Micah's hand leaves his mouth and holds onto Jax, supporting as much as supported. “None of this is Hive's fault, he's still tryin'...t'do the best he can with his ability's just...hard. T'know what's okay t'do, right?” He bites into his lip to stop more tears from threatening to well up. “S'there any...hint of how we can find 'im? He shouldn't be alone. Not with this. He just got healed an' he ain't even had time t'process or t'/talk/ t'nobody.”

Jax lifts his other hand, pressing his palm against his eye. "M'sorry," he whispers, "that -- ain't fair of me, I know it -- ain't your -- I'm sorry, I just -- he can't -- after everything he's --" He drops his hand, squinting with his kind of confused-blurry vision at the house in front of them. "We're so close. T'havin' our family all back t'gether again an' maybe some room to /breathe/ an' recover an' -- an' I jus' don't want to let nobody slip through the. -- D'you. Got any idea where he left /to/, maybe we can. Can go -- find him. I can't even imagine how jumbled up he's gotta be right about now."

<< Very, >> Hive gives in answer, but after this there's just a very long stretch of silence. He slumps back bonelessly in his seat, head tipping back to knock his hard hat halfway down over his face. << How many times we've heard /you/ thinking about killing yourself where the hell do -- someone's mind is -- >> He exhales sharply, lifting both hands though with his face already half covered they thunk against the hat rather than scrub against his cheeks. << Keep everyone's fucking secrets and then -- then -- >> His hands drop heavily back into his lap. << ... Neither of you exactly look in great /hiking/ condition anyway. >>

"We ain't askin' you t'take control of 'im again or nothin', honey. This is one of those...like, even doctor-patient privilege don't hold if someone's plannin' suicide, y'get t'tell. 'Cause he deserves the chance t'be /able/ t'think 'bout what he's doin'." Micah winces at the reminder of Jax's own suicidal ideation. "This ain't just idle thought, Hive. He's started actin' on it. Got you out of his head. Ran off on his own. Might have a whole plan in place. If /we/ can't get there maybe someone could /get/ us there. Or we could send somebody who can. He deserves a chance at gettin' his /life/ back."

Jax's head bows, a sharp spike of guilt flashing through his mind at the reminder of his own thoughts. "... has he?" he finally asks, quietly. "Thought about. What he's doin'. He's been such a mess. But I -- I don't know, /you'd/ know his mind better'n --" He swallows, hard, words a little bit choked.

<< Yeah, and telling then is pretty much a crock of bullshit. It's /his/ goddamn life. And if he doesn't want it anymore, that's his call. If you do go find him what are you going to do? >> Hive shoves his hat back into place, scrubbing his hands against his eyes. << He's been locked the hell up and tortured over and fucking over. What he deserves is the freedom to make his own decisions. Even if they're fucking stupid ones. >>

"He ain't gettin' a chance t'actually /think/ 'bout this decision, though. An' if it's a stupid one, it's one he can't /undo/. How's that help 'im at all?" The fingers on the handle of Micah's crutch clench hard, knuckles whitening. "He hasn't even gotten a chance t'/talk/ t'nobody. T'see what the other options /are/. People spend more time on a decision of where t'go for /dinner/. This ain't freedom, it's lettin' the hurt take over an' not takin' the time t'do anythin' about it."

"S'his decision but this is -- it's /permanent/ it's -- I jus' only want t'talk to him is all," Jackson answers Hive quietly. "I jus' don' want him to feel /alone/ an' forgot an' like there ain't other /choices/ than --" /His/ fingers are clenching hard against Micah's elbow. "If he's set on a thing then he's -- but he's got family an' he's got options an' we can /help/ him through this. If he'll. If he /has/ that chance."

Hive's eyes squeeze closed again, opening up only slowly. << Don't actually know where he's at, >> he finally answers, uncomfortable and unhappy. << Up north of your school, probably, if he managed to find a way out there. Where we go camping, maybe. Somewhere quiet and alone. That only leaves, you know, all the Catskills. He just wanted to get away. >> Teeth gritted, he turns to push his scooter forward towards the house's door. << Come on. Had a tour to give. >>

"It's okay. If he needed t'be alone an' clear 'is head for a bit. S'really dif'rent from goin' off t'kill yourself. Just wish I could /tell/ 'im that we're here if he needs us. Or just wants us." Micah's shoulders sag as he sets both of his crutches to the ground again, following after Hive.