ArchivedLogs:Find Some Happy

Find Some Happy
Dramatis Personae Ion, Micah
In Absentia	14 July 2014 A little ill-advised time out in the rain.
Location <NYC> Harbor Commons - Space Station - Lower East Side
The soft grass and paved walkways of the courtyard give way to rubberized flooring in black and blue tiled squares, marking out the boundaries of the playground. The equipment that stands on the softer flooring is brightly-coloured, a definitive space theme going on. To one side a tall rocketship takes the place of a more traditional castle, handholds on one side to climb up to the inside and a tall sliding pole and wavy long slide on the other sides to get back down; its inside holds an abundance of platforms and nooks for climbing and hiding. The rocketship-castle is connected to a twin one by a swaying bridge and a set of monkeybars or, in a more roundabout fashion, a series of tunnels to climb through; on the other side, the ship is a tall climbing structure composed of cross-crossed beams and netting. Separate from the elaborate climbing structure, a swingset holds two side-by-side pairs of swings, and over to another side a large sandbox has a retractable cover to roll up over it when not in use. The rain has not ended. It's been going in fits and starts all day, here a drizzle, there a peek of sun, here a sudden downpour. At the moment it's settled /definitively/ into that latter, distant rumbles of thunder rolling through and flashes of lightning illuminating the black night sky. This weather isn't exactly /tempting/ most people out of doors -- though with the Commons' /crowd/ lately there's still occasionally figures darting between the Common house and their own residences, sprinting to keep the soaking to a minimum. At least, most people are. Up atop the monkeybars on the playset there is definitely a figure perched, silhouetted against the sky in one of the brief flickers of lightning. Ion's white shirt is plastered to him, his dark shorts darker still and heavy with dripping water. It's somewhat of a wonder /how/ he finagled himself to the top of the monkeybars -- with one leg and one arm both in black /casts/ and, at least at last check, quite a lot of bandaging and stitches holding his torso together, he -- /probably/ is not meant to be monkeying around. Ion has never been the greatest at following directions, though. Least of all doctors' orders. And so here he is, gripping the monkeybars with his good hand, casted leg stretched out across their top and his other leg dangling down over the side. Face tipped up towards the pouring rain and a smile on his face that lacks its usual manic-ferocity to be instead just -- simple. /Happy/. Kind of awed. Sleep doesn't always come easy, particularly in a house that is still filled with guests that don't all have typical sleep patterns down yet. It's the kind of night that would be asking for a walk outside to get some cool air and quiet if not for the rain. Not, apparently, that Micah is letting this deter him. He wanders out of the Lighthaus door and into the courtyard, on the path to walk around the gardens and maybe take a break from soaking in the gazebo...but there's a figure just /hanging/ around out there. With casts on. In the rain. He walks his pajama-clad self (navy blue paint-splattered tee over tiny-TARDIS spangled pajama pants, sneakers on purely to protect his prosthetic foot, bare head now covered in soaked hair) over to the rocket and leans up against it, just watching Ion for a minute with a hint of lopsided grin. "Y'know you're gonna have t'get those taken off an' replaced pretty much...as soon as y'get inside." "Ay, querido, that's what I got you for yeah? Doctor me up good." Ion's eyes don't leave the sky, a small breath shivering inward at the next flash of lightning. "Else maybe, maybe I just never come in. Nice out here. This weather, it's perfect." "Hm. I'll have t'take y'to the Clinic. I don't have a cast saw. /And/ I'll need t'get permission from your doc first. You remember who was takin' care of you there?" Micah doesn't look to be in any hurry to leave, leaning downright languidly against the playset as he is. "It is nice t'be out in the rain sometimes. I don't do it that often. Gonna have t'take a cool hairdryer to m'leg when I get in, too. It can get a little wet but I'm not s'posed t'soak it." So, everyone's out in the rain against medical advice here. Ion gestures to Micah, one hand beckoning the other man closer, over to the platform that leads up to the monkeybars. "You come. Up here is better." He pats the bars beside him in /invitation/ to join his illicit perching. "What you need a hairdryer for, anyway, you got that." He snaps his fingers like he's trying to /remember/ the next word, pointing over towards Lighthaus: "Husband, right? Goddamn /furnace/. Bet he can fix the wet real quick?" Micah comes closer as requested, but only to the platform. He shakes his head slowly at the monkeybars. "I try t'climb up there in the wet an' /I'm/ gonna need somebody t'put casts on /me/." A little chuckle rolls at the idea of using Jax as a stand-in for a hairdryer. "Oh, no, we don't wanna /heat/ it dry. Hence the /cool/ hairdryer. Too much heat ain't good for the components, neither." His smile tugs a little wider. "He's good for warmin' up after, though. Best cuddles." "Ohhh. OK I see. He maybe melt your leg? Probably not great. Had enough melting people lately." Ion drops his hand back to the monkeybars behind him, slowly dragging his way over to their end when Micah comes to the platform. Getting himself down is -- predictably /also/ ill-advised, curling his good leg around one of the support posts so that he can slide down the slippery-wet bar like a fireman's pole. And -- kind of land a little bit on his bad leg with a hiss that doesn't dim his smile when he settles, flopped back to lie down, on the platform beside Micah. "Kay, he like that. Always a /fire/. Best in winter." His eyes are still fixed on the sky, his cast-arm curling across his stomach almost protectively, breathing a little heavier after clambering about. Another small shiver passes through him when the sky lights again. "This," he tells Micah, "this the best storm I ever see." "Mmn, yeah, that'd be the concern," Micah replies with an exaggerated wince. Despite his protests of precarious footing for himself, he reaches up to wrap an arm around Ion and help him down as gently as possible. "Y'break yourself again, I might have t'get the doc t'come out, /too/. 'Stead of just me. I been doin' enough practicin' outside my license with alla you as it is." The admonishment is half-playful, Micah's smile going nowhere soon. "It /is/ a pretty nice one. Coolin' things down. Some pretty lights display. Good cracker on the thunder here an' there." Ion leans into the assistance and -- doesn't really /stop/ his leaning even once he's safely down, tucking in closer to Micah's side than is really necessary. "Pretty light. Pretty rain. Look --" And then he's quiet, good arm stretching up towards the sky with fingers unfurling like he can /catch/ the lightning, pull it in. "I'm still here." In quiet Spanish his words sound quietly /pleased/. "Some days before, these weeks, since that raid, I just wanted. Want to hurt /everything/. This, though, this -- this it can stay. You know how long has it been since I feel the rain like this?" Micah doesn't complain about the leaning, just wrapping his arm more snugly around the other man. One eyebrow quirks upward at the comment of still being here. "Does your ability usually get set off in the rain? What...happens?" His head tilts to one side, grin a little dopey just watching Ion enjoying the rain. He reaches over with his free hand to tuck back a particularly drippy curl from the other man's forehead. As if that's going to help keep the water out of his eyes. "How long?" Ion shakes his head, curling in a little bit closer and tipping his head up into the brush of fingers when Micah rearranges his hair. "You touch me before, huh? Gets a little /zappy/. Water and electricity, they ain't no friends. Get stuck in the wet -- /one/ accident, I maybe end myself. And the storms it's the worst. I been hit -- {twenty-one}," he holds up two fingers on one hand, lifts one finger on his casted hand, "-- so many time by the lightning. Then I don't /know/ what happen. Black out, wake up six city away cover in burns with my heart trying to stop." His eyes turn back up to the sky, brown skin glistening under the downpour. "Thirteen. Last time I enjoy the rain. Sit out with my mama, mis hermanos, have some music, some dancing. I definitely not dance in the rain since then. One second forgetting what I am and --" His eyes finally close; the motion spills raindrops down his cheeks like tears. "Is nice night." "Just a little," Micah agrees on the zappiness, again without any air of complaint. "Ohgosh. Are you safe if y'stay inside, or has it happened even then?" His arm squeezes a little tighter around Ion's shoulders as he leans in to press a light kiss to his forehead. He circles his fist over his heart in a signed 'sorry' at the rest of the story. "Hon, that's... It's hard, missin' family on top of it all, I'm sure." "Safe --" Ion wobbles his hand in the air. "/More/ safe. Safe from the wet. Lightning still get me three time inside. It like me, you know? I eat up all the power. But that, that --" He cracks his eyes open to squint up towards the sky. "More power than I can eat in one meal." His eyes close again, shoulders relaxing into the squeeze. He shakes his head slowly. "Been a long time. Long long time. Yesterday," he admits with a laugh -- a little bit /bitter/ of a laugh, "they showing on the TV. So many face. Sobbing Argentinian children. Could have swear this one girl, she just like mi hermana growed-up more." His eyes close again, hand stretching to the side to rest over Micah's apologizing-hand. "Is okay, though. Here. I /got/ family." "Oh/gosh/. Don't guess no kinda lightnin' rod's gonna help that none, is it?" Micah's eyes are wide, or at least as wide as they can be with water dripping into them. "That's kinda terrifyin'." He looks down at the hand wrapped over his. "Could y'get back there, if y'wanted t'go? I know y'said your family'd be real hard t'track down one time. But...if y'wanted t'be /home/?" "{You make a better lightning rod than me, I'll be glad to have it.}" It's quick and amused, more glib than Ion's usual patchy English. "Home, what's home. My family, /they/ my home. Back there we never had no house, right? Pack in a bus, wander. How you find that? The people you love, that's always home. Kay, Dusk --" He trails off, squeezing Micah's hand tighter before his fingers unfurl towards Lighthaus. "Why I go looking when I got home here?" His smile is creeping back, though it's small, a little crooked. "Besides. I go, I explain where my life gone? Tell her those cages? Tell her thing I done now? I break my poor mama /heart/." Micah just /blinks/ at the rapid-fire Spanish, raindrops beading off the reddish fringes of his lashes and spilling down his cheeks. Yep...nada. He just moves right on to the next thing that comes in English. "S'good y'feel like y'got that here." A rueful and yet still amused smile is sparked by that last comment. "I know your feelin'. /Never/ used t'keep things from m'momma 'til I moved up here. S'just some things y'can't /tell/." "Ay, ya. She had her sweet boy. She maybe can keep that, at least. Some days, I think maybe I go? Find them? Seem a --" Ion hesitates, fingers pressing down against the sodden white fabric of his shirt. "Selfish. /They/ by now maybe move on." He tips a crooked grin over to Micah. "What you keep from your mama, half your life be on the t.v." Micah just nods along slowly for awhile. "It's hard. T'know what it is that you're wantin' 'cause y'think they'd want it...or if it's just what /you/ want. Or what you /want/ 'em t'want." His well-soaked shoulders rise and fall heavily under his sopping shirt. "Didn't tell her none of the stuff goin' on with the labs an' the raids, pretty much 'til it came out publicly. 'Bout all the madness that happened with Sublime. Or...'bout Malthus tryin' t'kill me'n Jax in the sewers. 'Bout 'im tryin' t'come after m'family, or... The rest of it." His eyes drag down to stare at his hands. Ion lets out a slow breath, whistling through his teeth. "You start listing, then it suddenly -- seem like oh shit. Life it's been fucked /up/, huh? Take it each when it come, it don't seem so much. Start to add up, though." He pulls himself a little bit up on his elbow with a small wince, reaching to rest his hand over Micah's again when the other man's eyes drag downward. "You got a family you love. Do anything to protect. Don't need no details, yeah? Sure your mama can understand /that/ part just fine." "It does make a pretty impressive list after awhile." Micah shrugs with that, the gesture somehow /shy/. He shivers a little at the unexpected hand over his, considering where his thoughts had been sitting regarding that hand. "Definitely no details. Pretty much...no cause for all that. Think she'd just go mad with worryin', I kept her up on all the real details. Be nothin' but baked goods from one end of the house t'the other." "Pff," Ion's tone is slipping easily back into light, now, "who you live with? Your house, it /already/ nothin' but that." Micah lets his head flop over to drip on Ion's shoulder. "It's not the first time someone's accused me of marryin' m'momma in Jax. The two of 'em /are/ a lotta like in the ways that they're alike. But /so/ very dif'rent in the ways they're not." "She bake like he do, /I'll/ marry your mama." Ion's hand curls up behind Micah, casted arm resting heavily at the other man's side when Micah's head rests against his shoulder. His other hand slides up, trailing against Micah's arm; his eyes drop to watch the play of water against skin with largely the same wonder he had been turning to the sky. The next crack of lightning overhead puts his smile back into place, warm and delighted. "{Thank you.}" That's quiet, again, his eyes drifting back closed. "You soaking wet, staying out here now." “She bakes like some kinda kitchen magician, but dif'rent from Jax. Definitely not vegan. Likely t'kill folks with all the butter an' sugar, but it's a /good/ way t'go.” Micah's smile has gone almost sleepy in its broad ease. “No need t'thank me for enjoyin' the company. An' the rain. Ain't somethin' I really just...sit out an' do much. Not s'posed to an' all. S'kinda nice t'do things y'aren't s'posed to from time t'time, though.” "Time to time." There's distinct laughter in Ion's deep voice. "My whole fucking /life/ it's one long string of shit I ain't supposed to do. Not killed me yet." Though the pained wince in his face /with/ his laugh kind of puts the emphasis in the 'yet'. "Not gonna argue any of that." Micah's arms wrap tight around Ion at that wince, as if trying to brace him against further incursions of pain. "Y'could bear t'take care of yourself a /liiiiittle/ bit more. Or let somebody else take care of you some. Just so y'can keep enjoyin' those things y'aren't s'posed t'do for a while." "I take care fine," Ion protests. "Everyone here. All take care, yeah? I got seven /million/ people for watching my back. How you think I still /alive/." He leans in closer at the tighter hug, settling in against Micah with a twitch of smile; his hand drops to Micah's side with a return of the laugh that -- admittedly makes him wince again even despite the extra-bracing hugs. "I'm enjoying. Never short of /that/ around you neither." “Okay. S'long as you're not one of those stubborn folks as don't let people who love you take care of you when y'need.” Micah...takes a moment to find an uninjured spot to /squeeze/ with that, settling on a gentle squish of the other man's shoulder. “Not sure if I'm helpin' or makin' y'hurt more, all this laughin',” he muses through a hint of chuckling of his own. “Though I'm guessin' helpin' if y'got no lack of enjoyment t'speak of.” Ion's fingers trail against Micah's side, curling in against wet t-shirt in a slow brush. "Hurting, enjoyment, they not --" He stops with an uncertain press of teeth to his lip, muttering something low in Spanish before he manages to come up with: "Sometimes go together, right? I seen. Jax sometimes he come with bruises /before/ Fight Club start." His fingers press in tighter, holding Micah closer to him. "I'm enjoying. /I'm/ enjoying. Is not just this rain, right? Thirteen, that's the last time my head --" He shakes his head, words dropping off again with another uncertain struggling. "Is like a drug. For me? Electricity. Can't turn /off/ though. Get in my head, is like. Fucking -- crack. /Always/ --" He exhales quickly. "But this, now, this different. Enjoy you now because /I/ enjoy. Get happy just /because/. Nothing else in my head but --" His fingers curl tight into Micah's shirt. "{Just this.}" Micah's fierce-bright blush might be visible even with the dim lighting and the spilling rain. "S'kinda a /thing/. For 'im." He nods at Ion's further explanation. "Havin' a clear head. Feelin' like yourself. Havin' the freedom t'/be/ out in the rain, an' enjoyin' the rain. An'..." The Spanish causes him to trail off again, not quite understanding. Though the fingers tugging into his soaked shirt drag the blush up and around the back of Micah's neck. "Freedom -- yeah. Maybe that. All the rest, that's me, too? The lightning and the /high/ and. All -- wouldn't give that up. Not never. Not for anything. But maybe -- sometimes. To get a /choice/ --" Ion's hand skims upward, farther. Following the path of the blush, maybe, because his fingers trail from Micah's side to his arm to trace fingers in /against/ the back of the other man's neck. "Is better to know. When I want someone, is --" Though here his English fails him again. He settles instead for just twining fingers up into Micah's wet hair. "Oh, no, I didn't mean t'say. Of course. Those abilities're part of you an' I didn't mean t'imply otherwise. S'just...if they get in the way of knowin' clearly what you'd usually..." Micah's ability to complete sentences is a little compromised by the hand moving up his arm, onto his neck. The blush keeps moving on as if trying to outrun the slow-petting hand, reaching the tips of his ears before it runs out of places to /go/. His breath catches, eyes falling closed with the fingers tangling in his hair. "I wasn't ever sure when y'was sayin' things before. If y'were just teasin' or..." This puts a bright smile on Ion's face, quick and amused. "Maybe I always teasing. Before. Maybe. You could have ask." His fingers press in slow kneading at the back of Micah's head, thumb brushing up to trace against the other man's cheek. It's probably not /helping/ the teasing question when his hand slides back down, trailing away from Micah's neck to slide against his back and ultimately come to rest right back at Micah's side where it began. "Kept meanin' to. Never seemed like the right time." That smile is infectious, drawing Micah's broader in spite of the unrelenting blushing, his skin likely rather /warm/ under that tracing thumb. His spine curls and shivers under the departing hand. "Guess now might be a good time to... So, were you?" Both brows lift, hazel eyes studying Ion closely. "Can't remember," Ion /promptly/ unhelpfully answers, amused smile undimmed. More helpful: "Not teasing /now/." “Seems a funny thing t'slip your mind,” Micah accuses gently, light laughter lacing his words. His free hand reaches up to trace fingertips slowly, almost delicately across the other man's smiling lips. “Hard for me t'tell. 'Cause even if y'were teasin', it was with /that/ smile...” A small shiver passes up through Ion at this touch, his eyes closing with water dripping down off his dark eyelashes, now. His hand lifts to catch at Micah's, holding it against his lips through one and then another small kiss pressed to the other man's fingertips. "This smile? I wear this one lots. Is the happy one." He laces his fingers through Micah's, his breathing just a little quicker. "Maybe I never been teasing, the two of you. Is just, vato, you /married/. /Even/ I'm not /that/ much a dick. I never know what-exactly is --" He shrugs a shoulder. "Everyone relationship got its own rules, yeah? /You/ know yours. /I/ don't. Flirting that's one thing. I'm not --" He breaks off with another uncertain shrug. "Push... y." "Right, s'a happy one. Just always makes me wanna kiss you, too." This is half-whispered as if relaying a secret. Micah's eyes slip closed at the little kiss, his hand pressing back against Ion's at the intertwining of their fingers. "It's...honestly /less/ complicated than most, though people wouldn't think... We both kinda feel like if there's /happy/ t'be had out there, then y'should grab for it. Whether that's with one person or...not just one person. I mean. Y'been 'round us'n Dusk before." Somehow, his cheeks manage to find a brighter, more apple-like red. "Dusk don't count I don't know nobody that boy /ain't/ boned. Is like some stop on New York tours by now." Despite that Ion's tone is /fond/ with mention of Dusk. Still kind of amused. It drops into something oddly /serious/ for him as he lowers their joined hands to his chest. "This world, that's a good way to be. Always lots of pain. /That/ finds you no matter what. The happy -- the happy you got to /take/." "Oh, goodness, he's not /that/ bad," Micah giggles at the colourful description of Dusk's sex life. His hand stays twined tight with Ion's, resting on his chest and feeling his heartbeat there. "Would y'be happy if I kissed you now?" Ion tilts his gaze back to the sky, blinking back the rain that falls down into his eyes. "Ahora mismo --" He stops, tries again in English: "Right now, I have happy. Much happy." His hand gently presses Micah's closer to his heart. "Would have much /more/, though. {Yes.}" Yes...yes Micah gets despite the Spanish. His arm curls in tighter around Ion, encouraging both of them to move in closer. Then his arm relaxes just slightly, fingers reaching up to tangle into Ion's hair. When his lips do finally meet the other man's the kiss is soft, rain damp, unhurried. The soft happy noise that catches in Ion's throat is lost to the drum of rain and a rumble of thunder rolling in. It's easy to /feel/, though, the way his body melts in to fit against Micah's, the gentle press of his lips in return, the soft touch of his fingers next to the harder feel of his cast resting against Micah's back. Micah presses in slowly to meet Ion, holding the other man snug to him, damp clothes just making damp clothes even wetter, if possible, for the closeness. He leans just a little into the hand behind him, careful of the injured arm. Slowly, he deepens the kiss, a soft-pleased hum so quiet in his throat that it is likely felt more than heard. Ion's lips part slowly when Micah deepens the kiss, motion almost languid in contrast to his usual manic energy. Just soft. Just /luxuriating/ in the feel. It takes quite a while before he breaks off, his smile returned and then some. "Yeah," he decides, hand lifting to brush water away from Micah's cheek. "Think I found some. Happy."