ArchivedLogs:Everything

Everything
Dramatis Personae Jax, Micah	17 July 2014 Serious talks.
Location <NYC> Candyland - Harbor Commons - Lower East Side
The stairs lead up into a landing hall, bright as well with a set of bay windows and a wide cushion-strewn ledge beneath them at its far end. To the right of the landing the first doorway opens into the bathroom, warmly coloured in yellows and reds and sandy tiles; its large bathtub-shower also holds a mosaic on one wall, strange fire-creatures and manticores echoed in the small fiery faeries sprinkled at sporadic intervals around the rest of the room. Past the bathroom on the right-hand side is a smaller door into a linen closet before the actual door into Spencer's bedroom. Spencer's sturdy furniture set has been designed with rambunctious children in mind, most of its structure climbable with a loft-bed connected by a short tunnel to an also-lofted reading nook with a sliding door to turn it into its own private cave; the desk and dresser sit beneath the bed and there is a shelving unit beneath the platform that serves also as steps up into it. A slide down off the bed falls down into large squishy beanbag and the whole of the structure has been designed and painted reminiscent of a spaceship, a theme echoed in the way the closet doors have been painted to look like the TARDIS. On the left-hand side the first door leads into the master bedroom, bright-lit not just from its huge windows and skylight but from a rather exorbitant overabundance of lamps. It's colourful in here, the hand-crafted wood furniture (king bed against the left-hand wall, pair of small nightstands to either side of it, a pair of dressers flanking the closet on the right, a large desk with a multitude of drawers and shelves along the back) cheerfully painted, the walls home to plentiful artwork, brightly coloured glass figurines scattered around the shelves and stained-glass suncatchers hanging in the windows. One set of windows leads out onto a balcony, stretching out to share with the guest bedroom adjacent; it's set up for /lounging/, a large hammock at one side, a pair of hanging net chairs flanking the table on the other. Next to the master bedroom is the smaller guest bedroom, sunny-yellow and furnished with queen bed, dresser, a small desk of its own; doors here lead out into the balcony as well. At the end of the hallway shortly before the window nook, a hatch in the ceiling drops down a rope-ladder that leads up into the tiny attic-space; not so much a proper /floor/ as it is a sloped-ceiling nook of space beneath the roof, it nevertheless has its own circular window and skylights and rather than left unfinished it's been furnished with beanbag and folded futon-mattress and a tiny low table with drawers tucked beneath it. Lighthaus is quieter, with Spencer in bed. Not /entirely/ quiet; the shower still runs downstairs with one of their temporary foster-labrats preparing /herself/ for bed; there is quiet noise coming from behind the closed guest bedroom door where the other of the two is watching television on a borrowed laptop. Jax, though -- /he/ is quiet, slipping out of Spence's room to creep back towards his own. It sees little enough of him these days, long enough here and there to change clothes, to grab something out of his closet, to /attempt/ sleep in fits and starts that never last. Today it seems no different; he's heading straight for his dresser to root through it for a change of clothes to swap out his bland-boring grey hiking shorts and plain blue tank for something a little brighter. This late on a pleasantly cool evening, breezes and nighttime insect sounds are filtering in through the still-open windows. Micah has long since swapped out his work clothes in favour of a quick shower and more casual wear, bluejeans and a chocolate brown T-shirt on which a stegosaurus curses a T-rex of its 'sudden but inevitable betrayal'. He's been in the bedroom just long enough to collect a stray sock that escaped the bundle being stuffed into the hamper after his shower, tucking it in along with the rest a bit belatedly, having slipped out of Spence's room bare minutes before Jax. Now he is simply standing at the window, looking out into the darkness and the dots of light that are the other houses, the common house, small spotlights and path lights along the grounds. When Jax enters, he turns slowly to watch the other man's small flurry of activity across the room. Jax peels out of his clothes, folding the shorts to sit them atop his dresser though the tank goes straight in the hamper, too. He tugs on a pair of red capris that sprout abstract swirls of black and silver design after he has donned them, but frowns as he trails fingers through a drawer, teeth wiggling indecisively at a lip ring without settling on which shirt to pair with this. His head tips forward slowly, one hand lifting to scrub fingers beneath his eyepatch. "M'goin' out. For the night." He doesn't look at Micah, just frowns down into his drawer. There's a faint restless jitter to him -- bouncing faintly on the balls of his feet even while standing in the same place in front of his dresser, drumming fingers rapidly on the edge of the drawer. Micah moves closer, stocking-feet padding softly to deliver him to the edge of the bed. "I know. I went t'talk at Luci for a little bit after work. Had been meanin' to for a /while/ an' just...never found the time." His fingers tug at his pants leg where it has gotten snagged up on the socket of his prosthesis. Tugtug-pull-smooth. "He told me y'were goin'. On account of I asked if maybe he'd be able t'help y'sleep sometime an' it turned out you'd be there anyhow... Did y'want t'maybe talk 'fore y'go? I feel like things've been...messy. I don't even really know what's goin' on anymore." "Yeah, he texted and said you were..." Jax trails off, still staring down into his drawer. It takes a while but eventually he pulls out a black corset-styled tank top, sheeny with curling shimmery-black vinework embroidery. He slips his arms through it, finally turning back around as he starts to snap its series of tiny hooks into their catches. "Talk 'bout what?" "I don't know...anythin'? I don't know what you need right now. D'you /want/ some time away from me? I can stop pesterin' at you. I just don't...know what t'do now." Micah's fingers continue to fidget at the fabric over his thigh long after it has settled out. He /almost/ stands when Jax starts working at all of those hooks, but doesn't, deciding it would be best to wait for an answer to that question before /fussing/ over Jax more. Jax shakes his head, at first, working his way up the row of snaps. "I don't really know what t'do neither." His hand smooths down at the front of the shirt once he has finished its fastenings, and he curls a hand over one shoulder to reach for one of the ends of the lacing that runs up its back. He drops his hand again afterwards, leaving this untied. "I /want/ you. I want t'/be/ someone that you --" He breaks off here with another shake of his head. "I jus' don't know how to fix nothin' right now. Maybe I've losed track of how much is even broke." The dangling lace and lack of being told to go away finally pull Micah to his feet, sliding up behind Jax to tug the laces into place and tie them off in a series of unhurried movements of his fingers. "T'be...what?" His brows knit in confusion, not knowing where to begin with that fragmented sentence. The laces tied, he moves back toward the bed, but this time catches Jax's hand to lead him along with him. Jax's head bows as Micah tightens and ties the laces; in the other man's hand they shift colour slowly, from black to red to match his capris. He gives his head another shake, lifting his hand to trace fingers lightly against the tiny currently-unlit dots of colour in his collar. "Better." It's barely a whisper, just a shaky breath of a word. The heat radiating from him is fierce as his fingers curl tentatively against Micah's, following towards the bed. He doesn't sit at first, biting down hard on his lip and shifting tentatively as though to lower himself to the floor. Catching himself and rising again to look at the bed uncertainly. He settles a little gingerly on the edge of the bed beside Micah, tense and fidgety-uncomfortable where he perches. His toes rest on the floor, one knee bouncing rapidly. "Jus' want you – happy." "Y'don't need t'be...dif'rent, honey. I love /you/. I've been upset lately but it ain't been you." Micah's hand wraps tighter around his husband's, squeezing gently. "I mean...other than...I know y'were angry with me an' /that's/ upsettin'. But that ain't nothin' t'change your...be-ing over. You're allowed t'be angry with me." The jittery bounce of Jax's leg grows faster; his fingers squeeze and relax, squeeze and relax, against Micah's. His eye has fixed down on the floor, brows creased deeply. "I was /hurt/, you --" His lips press together as the light around the room flickers brighter and then calms again. "Might as well be me, I ain't /helpin'/. An' I'm /supposed/ to. Help. I want you to have a /home/, somewhere you --" He swallows, voice a little thicker; slowly his weight is sliding a little more /off/ the bed, a little more towards the floor. He pushes himself back up to settle on the bed properly, shoulders tense and head bowed. "Don't want to be mad, sss--" He presses his lips together to cut off this word, eye closing tight. "Jus' want things t'be okay." "Honey, you're gonna hafta finish a sentence if y'want me t'follow you." Micah's hand holds firm, just a constant-steady presence. "Y'were hurt. Maybe we should talk about that? I don't wanna be hurtin' you. S'unavoidable that it's gonna happen sometimes, but it seems like...somethin' that maybe we should talk about when it happens? Otherwise it's hard t'make it better." His head tilts to regard Jax more closely. "Don't wanna be mad, but you are. Or you were. S'maybe also somethin' we should talk about?" The tilt turns into a shake. "No, honey, that /ain't/ you. You ain't never made me feel unwelcome. That ain't remotely on you, okay? Let's...deal with the things that /we/ do need t'deal with first, maybe?" "I ain't mad, now. Now m'just." Jax swallows hard, shifting again uncomfortably where he sits. "Scared." The lights flicker again, and he scrunches his eye shut tighter before opening it again. "It don't /matter/ if it's on me or not. It /matters/ that you don't got somewhere you feel welcome. An' you /should/ have that an' if you can't have that here we should be somewhere you /can/." His other hand is clenching in hard against the bedsheets as the heat burning beneath his skin climbs uncomfortably. "Okay. We still need t'talk 'bout the other things, but I can tell we're not gonna get there 'til after this..." Micah's hand keeps up its grip in spite of the intense heat of Jax's skin against his. "Y'might wanna burn off some lights or random shields or somethin', hon." His other hand slides along the jumpy-bouncing leg. "I feel welcome /here/." Something about the emphasis on that last word implies a rather small scale, perhaps encompassing only the /room/. "An' it's...somethin' /I/ can deal with, honey. Y'can't change what other people are feelin' deep down. They gotta want to. So that /ain't/ on you. An'...you've had t'deal with bein' a /lot/ more unwelcome than I'm feelin' here pretty much everywhere else /but/ here. It's just. Somethin' that's gonna happen, world bein' what it is. You're already puttin' as much as y'can an' more into changin' the /world/. So you're good. Okay?" Jax's breath hitches inward, a sharp (pained?) gasp at the mention of putting what he can into changing the world. He shakes his head emphatically, fingers twisting the sheets up into a ball. "Can't change what other folks're feelin' maybe but we can change -- change our /surroundings/ change. Who those folks /are/, change --" He tugs his hand sharply away from Micah's to press his knuckles against his lips, a small tremor running through his tensed shoulders. "I ain't /good/ it ain't /fair/ to. To you or the kids or. What good is it puttin' my energy into savin' the world if I can't even do right by my own family? The world don't need me. They need me. /You/ -- need me." Though the last of these statements is more uncertain, questioning, than it is confident, more /plea/ than assertion. "Sugar, where we were stayin' before the owners were doin' everythin' they could t'throw you out an' people /blew the place up/. It's not gonna be any dif'rent anywhere else. I think I can handle some grumblin' an' name-callin' an' distrust an' folks takin' out some frustrations on me from time t'time. It was just...somethin' I thought maybe at least /certain/ people'd gotten past with me an' it hurt when I /really/ found out that was wrong. But I can handle it. Please, b'lieve I'm not just /sayin'/ it. I mean it." Micah looks a little surprised at Jax suddenly jerking his hand away, then simply rests his hands in his lap. "You'n the kids get /unwelcome/ pretty much everywhere /but/ here. Y'deserve t'have a place where you're able t'be yourselves an' be safe." His hand /twitches/ on his knee, wanting to take Jax's again but deciding not to. "We do need you. But we /have/ you. Y'can spend time on things other'n just your family, honey. It's allowed. We know we've got you." "It'd be different," Jax whispers. "It'd be different if /I/ was --" His fingers are still scrunching into the bedsheets and now the reason for the jerking-away is becoming apparent, a faint wisp of smoke starting to curl up from the singeing sheets in his hand. "I don't -- I don't know that you /was/ wrong I think -- I mean I ain't tryin' to minimize none of what folks -- I jus' think tensions is kinda high all /around/ right now an' --" He swallows, crumpling the sheets tighter though he drops them, patting at the cloth where it's starting to smoulder. "/Do/ you? Know? Because the other day when we was talkin' it -- you --" He grits his teeth, turning his hands upward as a shimmering prismatic bubble blossoms in the air above his palms. "If you were /what/, honey? What're you gettin' at?" Micah doesn't press further, as /smoke/ is happening. "Honey. Y'maybe're gonna wanna do those lights. Or shields or somethin'. You're startin' t'burn." His hands itch at his knees again, clearly wanting to reach over to Jax but not really /able/ to just now, considering. "Of course I do. I just... What /is/ it, sugar? Y'gotta actually tell me. I ain't got no telepathy anymore." "If I was different." Jax's fingers close against the floating bubble in front of him, stretching wider to pull the tiny shield along with the motion like taffy between his hands. Streeetch, smoosh. Stretch, squish. The field expands, wider and oblong where he leaves it to hang in the air before him. His face is paler with the effort of manipulating it, eye fixed in on the shield. "I don't know. I don't /know/. It's everything, sir. When we was talkin' the other day, the things you was sayin' --" The shield in front of him wavers, solidifies again. His eye flutters closed. "Not about Themis House. Jus' the way you /talk/ to me is like. Like you're sayin' I don't -- don't /care/ about the kids s'much as you or don't. Care 'bout what they need s'much as I care 'bout activism or --" The shield shivers and vanishes; Jax drops heavily back against the mattress, shivering as well despite the intense heat still rolling off him. "An' then y'got that on /top/'a sayin' how this ain't home an' there ain't no way t'fix it an'. An' on top'a how you /look/ at me, things like -- like not sleepin' enough, like I'm jus' doin' it t'be /ornery/ an' --" His hands fold in against his chest, shoulders tightening in hard. "An' maybe you're /right/, maybe there jus' ain't no -- you know," there's a shaky edge of laughter to his voice now, "you're the first. The only. Human I ever done date. An' I'd do anything t'make it. Make it /work/." "Honey, no. It's not that I don't think y'care. It was just that y'had a real strong /emotional/ reaction t'what B was sayin' an' it kept you from stoppin' t'listen t'hir. An' it's understandable that y'had that reaction. I was just tryin' t'explain..." Micah's eyes press closed for a minute. "When y'were accusin' me of /encouragin'/ B t'go through with it. Or of defendin' that place. I weren't tryin' t'do neither. I just wanted t'hear /all/ of what B had t'say. An' t'really look at what it was ze was /sayin'/ ze wanted. Without tellin' hir what ze should do or that what ze's feelin' is wrong. It's just what I would...I don't care /what/ the kids come t'me with, no matter how bad an idea it might be, if it's upsettin' 'em as much as that was upsettin' B, I feel like I should hear what's /behind/ it. Be that safe place for 'em t'process all of it. Have the full picture 'fore givin' advice. An' I just...assumed y'thought that way, too. But it felt like y'were yellin' at B instead an' I think ze felt that way, too. Ze cried hirself t'sleep clingin' at me after that an' never did bring hirself t'talk out what's goin' on with hir. All ze got out of it was that you were mad at hir, an' I don't think that's helpful t'anybody." Micah slides down into the bed beside Jax after the other man flops down, curling up against him now that he's less in danger of /combusting/. "I don't think y'do things t'be ornery. I /do/ think you're too stubborn t'take care of yourself 'cause y'wanna take care of everyone else first. An' that's part of what I love about you an' it's one of the things that frustrate me the most about you /because/ I love you. S'just like...with the sleep thing. You'd never stop t'think of askin' Lucien t'help. Or Nzinga. Or...anythin' like that. 'Cause y'don't wanna put people out an' y'got things that need doin' anyway an' there's more important worries than not gettin' sleep... An' I just /worry/ about /you/. An' feel like I nag at you all the time t'try an' get you t'take more time for /you/ an' better care of you, so sometimes I don't...say it when I'm thinkin' it an' that prob'ly comes across anyway 'cause I'm no good at not telegraphin' everythin' all the time." Micah's teeth catch into his lower lip, pressing until it blanches. "Please don't... I don't like that divisive language. Tryin' t'make out like some folks ain't human, y'know I don't... It's just things like that get t'me after awhile. Apologies, honey, it's all this...startin' t'add up an' rub a little raw at me. But it's /not you/. /We/ work. An' this is home 'cause /you're/ home for me. It's just the way that people've been pushin' me away lately I... Then the things that Hive said an' t'say this doesn't /matter/ t'me an' /then/ t'throw me out it was the last...I couldn't handle /that/. I'm sorry. It just. /Broke/ somethin'." Jax presses his palm against his eye, trembling badly against Micah's side; the heat still lingering in him isn't quite /fire/-starting levels but still enough to redden skin with prolonged touch. His head just shakes, at first, tension cording tighter through him through the first part of this. It's only on the second bit that he finally speaks up, tired and unhappy. "They can't -- can't /help/ this. Ain't nothin' they can do to turn off the /sun/. Or me. It ain't half so simple as jus' gettin' my brain t'quiet down, it --" He pulls in a shaky breath, tears sizzling dry against his cheek. His hand falls back to his chest, eye fixed up on the ceiling. "... but I ain't. Human. I." His fingers press down hard against his chest. "Jus' want to make it. Go away. Wouldn't none of this /be/ a problem if I -- if I /was/ normal, if." His breath shudders out, lights flickering again. "... know how you feel, lately. 'bout -- somethin'. Breaking. But m'gonna /fix/ it." "Sugar, you've been dealin' with the sun for years. Is there somethin' dif'rent now? Couldn't you...try t'use up as much of the energy as you've stored as possible an' /then/ have someone help with the sleep part? That's seemed t'work in the past is all." The questions seem entirely earnest and not rhetorical, legitimately curious as to what is going on and how it can be helped. Micah /winces/ at the use of 'human' and 'normal'. "You're not some dif'rent species. An' there is no...normal. You're /you/ an' I love you an' just like anybody you've got some unique /issues/ but we can find a way t'help that." Speaking of stubborn, Micah's arms are wrapped around Jax's ribs /tight/, heat be damned. "You don't need t'/change/ you. We just need t'help you an' take the time an' energy t'do it. There's options an' we ain't tried everythin' yet. Don't give up." "Been dealin' with it for years an' for years I jus' done /live/ with the pain an' the not hardly sleepin' this time'a year," Jax answers with a sharper exhale. Briefly, his lips twitch up kind of /wryly/. "Only jus' most'a life t'weren't nobody around to /fret/ about it. Summer comes, I /can't/ use energy up s'fast as I pull it in. Just ain't no way. Ain't like it's just a plain an' simple -- take it in, let it back out. Burns other energy than sunlight, y'know? Need food, need /rest/ -- I'd /hurt/ myself tryin' to keep working myself enough t'burn it all off. An' jus' /forcin'/ me t'sleep when I'm still holdin' on to that much power's like as not to be dangerous t'everything /else/ around me." Jax finally turns in towards Micah, when the other man doesn't let go, burying his face against his husband's shirt. "I ain't givin' up. Ain't never. M'just tryin' to. To /find/ an option that --" He shakes his head, the room brightening again as slowly the heat inside him ticks down little by little. Some of the tears that squeeze out from his eye now actually last long enough to dampen Micah's shirt. "... jus' been so scared," he whispers. "Feel like I'm jugglin' too much -- too much -- an' like when I start t'fumble s'always /you/ an' the kids what drops outta the air first. Like I'm always lettin' you /down/. An' I don't want that, I. I /love/ you. I don't know how much longer I can --" His voice drops quieter, muffled against Micah's chest. "Jus' maybe B got the right idea. Maybe these people -- maybe it's better. Jus' findin' a little normal." "Have y'talked t'folks at the Clinic about it? Maybe they could help. If not with all of it, then with parts. Pain management or /somethin'/. There's gotta be a better way, but it's gonna take folks as know more than..." Micah's teeth dig back into his lip, his arms pressing tighter around Jax. "But you /don't/. Y'ain't been like B...or what I think maybe it's been like for B. I've /gotta/ just get hir t'set aside a big block of time an' talk t'me about it. You've always...identified with your ability. An' embraced it. An' it was /awful/ for you when y'took that dart at the raid before this'n. With the diabetes an' your vision not workin' an' havin' no energy. It was like y'was sick all the time..." One hand reaches up to pet at Jax's head. "I still wanna talk at these folks 'fore /anybody/ really considers usin' 'em. We don't know enough 'bout their methods or their motivations yet. I dunno. Maybe if they're...actually tryin' t'help. Maybe they'd have somethin' that y'could take just...like, once a week or once a month or somethin' in the summer t'give you a day /off/. Not take your identity or your ability but give you a chance t'/recharge/ without the excess tryin' t'kill you." A heavy sigh heaves slow through his nose, long and deflating. "I'd feel better 'bout all this if the Clinic were doin' it, an' not this unknown factor with the creepy website an' the really non-inclusive language on it. But I get that it's...hard t'wait not knowin' when or if they'll come up with somethin'. We should keep an open mind for all of /everyone's/ options. Not just B's." "This Themis place, it scares the heck out of me, Micah. The way they talk it ain't no --" Jax pulls in a shaky breath, curling an arm around Micah, fingers tightening in the other man's shirt. "Y'know, I done talk t'folks was in the labs a /long/ long time. An' when they started they was takin' volunteers, too. Then it shifted -- started takin' in -- in prisoners. Convicts -- still a /choice/, right, go there 'stead'a jail -- an' then there weren't no choice at all. An' now." A shudder runs through him. "But don't nobody never go into these things from the off thinkin' let's jus' /do evil/. But the whole philosophy being /founded/ on the thought that we're /less/ than humans, human is /normal/, human is what to /work/ towards, that ain't. -- They get successful at all, you give it a year an' I'll show you some poor kid drug up to court on some nothin' charge an' a judge tellin' 'em go get cured or go get locked up. An' they'll still call /that/ voluntary -- till it ain't no more." His fingers knead in at Micah's back, slow and firm. "...an' even with all that. Even with all that I'd /do/ it. I'd /go/ if it meant a chance'a fittin' in in the world enough that -- that we could /have/ a home somewhere --" His tears are soaking in faster, now, his breathing ragged. "Clinic's -- Clinic's workin' on it, they maybe -- maybe." But here he just falls into silence, shoulders trembling and his teeth digging down hard into his lip to stifle the sobs that are trying to work their way out of him. "I always think," he finally says, "maybe it'll be better after -- after the next raid, after the next crisis is over, maybe then we get a rest. But I don't. What if it's jus' always like this? Jus' always gonna be -- I don't think I /can/ take this. Not forever. M'barely holdin' myself t'gether as-is let alone. All the rest'a everythin' m'supposed t'be handlin'." "Don't you /dare/. Don't you dare do somethin' y'don't really want for you on /my/ account. I don't want it. I don't want you to." Micah's arms squeeze tighter again, holding Jax close and protective against...who even knows. Maybe /himself/. "That whole philosophical issue is /why/ I keep askin' people not t'use that language. Humans an' not humans an' /normal/. Words is important. They change the way people think, they link concepts in your head. These people /scare me, too/. I think that's...what people ain't been gettin'. They been gettin' terrible upset at me for sayin' there's an /off chance/ that this thing is more helpful than it is bad an' I gotta check it out t'get a better idea. But it /terrifies/ me, too. An' the idea of takin' B to it. Of you goin' to it. Of havin' t'rely on them for if Spence does start t'get sick from his abilities." A small sound strangles itself in his throat. "You all are my /life/. It's you an' Spence an' B an' Shane. It's Dusk an' Hive an' Flicker an' Horus an' /everyone/ here...an' Lucien an' his siblin's an' Ion an' Violet an'... Peter an' Dai an' Anole an' the whole /school/. My patients at the Clinic. Everyone we work t'help. Everyone we work t'save. How could it possibly not /matter/ t'me? How could it /not/ terrify me? It's /everythin'/." "What /do/ you want?" Jax's finger still clench tight into Micah's shirt, his voice still muffled. There's quiet after this, tearstained face slowly turning up to look at Micah's face through the rest of all this. He tips his face up further, when Micah is through, lips touching softly to the other man's. "I love you. I'm sorry. I /love/ you. We'll -- we'll figure this. We'll talk t'B. An' the Themis people. An' -- an' might be we should talk t'Hive, too. Or Dusk. Anyone done make y'feel like this ain't your place because you belong here every bit s'much as any of us." His lips curl just a little bit upward, forehead resting against Micah's. "I mean, bunch'a misfits an' throwaways we got here, if any group'a folk should understand family's about /love/ an' not jus' genes s'us here." "I want you all alive an' safe an' healthy...an' /happy/ if y'can have it. Want everybody t'feel like /themselves/ an' like they got choices an' ain't /trapped/ in their bodies." Micah returns the kiss and more, pressing his lips to Jax's cheeks each in turn. "I love you. I love all of you. I just want you all t'have your /lives/. An' I'd /like/ t'be part of 'em without...without people feelin' like I'm some kinda foreign documentarian or outsider or trespasser or /enemy/. Just...love all of you." There is something simultaneously /small/ and powerfully desperate in Micah's tone through all of this. "You /are/ loved here. I don't mean jus' mean. Hive an' Dusk an' /alla/ them. Things just. Just so much mess right now, I think /everyone's/ head's not quite -- not quite. Clear right now." Jax wraps his arm tighter around Micah, kisses his husband again more fiercely. His face tucks in against the other man's neck, after this, hand running slow against Micah's back. "... got an appointment," he finally remembers, softer. "Due at Luci's soon enough." Micah's breath catches, a shudder felt through his ribcage where Jax's arms encircle him. The desperate tone transfers quite fluidly into the kiss, /need/ palpable in the connection. "Ohgosh," he finally manages words. "He cancelled another appointment for...prob'ly y'should show up on time. I can drive you. I kept you late." Jax's lips press to Micah's collarbone, holding there a long while. "You should come, sir," he answers softly. "I mean. If you -- if you'd. Like to -- if you'd want t' --" A faint flush of red tints the air around him. "I mean it ain't gonna be -- I just. Goin' kinda. Crazy you know, I jus'. Need to. Not think for a -- need the world t'go /away/ for a. For a bit." "Of course." Micah's arms crush Jax tight against him. "Luci said I should. I just didn't know if maybe y'needed...time away from me an' all but. If y'want me I'll go, too." He dots kisses along the top of Jax's head and down his brow. "Should both splash some water on our faces an' get goin', though." "I want you, sir. I always want you. I --" Jax draws in a shaky breath against Micah's skin. "Might get kinda. Intense. 'least I done ask him not t' -- hold back." His cheeks are flushed red, too, when he slowly pulls away from Micah, scrubbing knuckles against his eye as he stands. "I need time away from /me/." "I love you. I been tryin' t'learn... I know he's a lot better at that than I am, so it should at least be real...instructive." Micah places one last twinned set of kisses to each of Jax's blushing cheeks, the colour seeming to rub off a little on his own. "Whatever y'need, honey. I wanna help." Jax takes Micah's hand in his own, lifting it to press a kiss to the back of the other man's knuckles. "Need you." The simple answer comes with a gentle squeeze of the other man's hand, lightly tugging his husband with him towards the door.