ArchivedLogs:Giving Thanks

Giving Thanks
Dramatis Personae Micah, Jax	27 November 2014 Warning: discussions of abusive relationships.
Location <NYC> Guerrilla Garden - Lower East Side
Situated on the lot directly adjacent to the distinctive sleek form of the Mendel Clinic, this space was once abandoned. The chain link fence around it is still rusty, dilapidated, and the signs affixed to it still unwelcoming -- rusty as well, reading KEEP OUT, and PRIVATE PROPERTY. For those who venture into the slitted gap cut out of the fence, though, the yard within tells a different story. Neat and cleaned of any garbage and weeds, the once-abandoned lot has been rebuilt. Packing crates have been broken down for their wood to create raised beds full of rich soil, each bed neatly tilled and tended. Stakes label the different plants growing -- a wealth of vegetables growing three seasons of the year in the carefully tended soil. Around the edges of the lot, smaller beds have had brightly coloured flowers planted, lending even more cheer to the little hidden garden. Very eclectically mismatched seating has been brought in; old packing crates, chairs scavenged from curbs, though it's all been brightly painted. Thanksgiving has continued to be snowy, though less gross than the night before. The sun hiding behind those clouds, though the rays are very dispersed through the light-fluffy, has helped the situation immensely. Big, fluffy flakes continue to fall lazily into a sheet on sidewalks and deeper drifts over greenspaces. A fair amount of the Guerilla Garden's planting spaces sport sparkling white blankets where plants used to be. The TARDIS van pulls up alongside, parking not nearly so much a premium today as it might be any other day. Micah engages the parking brake and shuts off the engine. He is dressed for being out in the snow: Jayne hat, pumpkin orange ear wraps beneath its ear flaps, coils of Fourth Doctor scarf, candy corn striped convertible gloves layered /over/ a pair of black liner gloves with capacitive fingertips, puffy olive coat over Batsignal hoodie over orange and red plaid flannel over plain white T-shirt, flannel lined jeans, snow boots. If a warm is to be had, he is going to /find/ it. “Alright, sugar. It ain't a long haul from the back of the van t'the coolers, but snow looks like it's piled in a bit. Should watch for ice.” Jax is bundled, too. Chunky-tall stompy black boots liberally festooned with buckles over purple skinny jeans, triple-layered armwarmers (rainbow under mismatched colourfully skull-patterned ones under Funshine Bear wristwarmers) under a chunky colourblocked sweatshirt under his sheeny silver jacket, silver-and-purple scarf, black cap pulled down over peacocky-colourful hair that is growing out shaggy. No gloves on his hands, though. Large mirror-lensed sunglasses on his eyes. He leans over to peck his husband on the cheek before he hops down lightly out of the van. "I'll watch." The passenger-side door closes behind him. It's a moment before he reappears to open the driver's door -- with kind of a /flourish/, presenting the crook of his arm to Micah to /escort/ him down out of the van. "Okay. It ain't so much that I can't haul all this stuff on my lonesome it's just. That I kinda like oglin' /you/ totin' around heavy things all rugged-like." At the moment it might almost look like they're heading to /Oz/, a glowing yellow path winding from door to the back of the van, from back of the van to the garden, but where it fades away it leaves in its heated wake neat cleared pavement cut out of the ice. "Gonna be watchin' for a /minute/, me tryin' t'haul through this kinda terrain. Gotta crutch it," Micah explains with a chuckle. The arm is very helpful for getting down out of the van, letting him steady himself on Jax while he reaches back in for the crutches. "Yep, that's me. Picture of rugged." In all of the geeky wool outerwear layers. He is just settling into walking with one arm in Jax's and the other supported on /both/ crutches when the pathway melting happens. His eyes widen. "Ohwow. That's a handy trick. Can I just haul y'around with me all winter? Make clean roads for me t'walk on?" After opening the back of the van, Micah ditches his crutches inside to make more room in his arms for toting of things. The ground is /nice/ and clear, after all. "Mebbe slow," Jax says with a small crooked smile, a kiss pressed to the line of Micah's jaw, "but I'm learnin' t'be useful." He tromps along after Micah to the back of the van, giving a faintly satisfied look to the stacks of coolers tucked in among Micah's gear. "Jus' kinda wish we had time t'do this /every/ day. Let alone money. Oh /gosh/ but havin' Ion about made cookin' more interestin' last night." He leans in, one knee rested on the lip of the van as he hauls two of the coolers forward to pass them to Micah before taking a pair for himself. "Thank goodness for /gas/ ranges." "Mmn. /I'm/ not one t'complain 'bout slow. Ain't gonna see me runnin' nowhere on an average day, after all." Micah nuzzles a little against Jax at that next kiss. "Could see you caterin' for a livin', honestly. Though...still a money issue in the deliverin' t'people who can't afford it department." He nods /enthusiastically/ at the range commentary. "Poor Ion... There's a reason 'now we're cookin' with gas!' is a sayin'. So much better. Can actually have a food durin' a power outage without settin' illegal campfires." He gives a soft little grunt as he accepts the laden coolers. "We're transferin' stuff from these into the ones that live here, right?" "Yeah. Maybe. Mostly. I don't know if there'll be enough? S'kinda -- /Thanksgivin'/ levels'a food, s'more'n our usual. If we run out though we can -- prob'ly jus' lose some coolers. Anole'll maybe bring 'em back an' if he don't --" Jax shrugs, leaning back slightly to brace the coolers against his chest as he moves away from the van and towards the garden. "They need 'em more'n we do, m'sure. Do we --" His head tips back towards the grey sky as he walks. "Even got a /tiny/ bit of idea how many folks are turnin' up for dinner tonight? Like. Ballpark. I mean I think we're somewhere 'round fifty-some as actually /live/ there now though that -- don't mean everyone's doin', like, hippie-dinner jus' cuz they live at the Commons. But bundlin' in friends an' stray XS kids an' stray labrats an' -- malfunctionin' electrokinetics..." "I dunno. Yeah, we can leave a few if there's not enough space in the ones here. Though we did end up with an impressive collection after awhile. Dunno /where/ the Morlocks started diggin' up new ones from." Micah's voice is a little tighter as some of his core muscles are dedicated to stabilising and carrying. "I dunno how many people're comin', neither. I'm just gonna keep cookin' 'til we run outta food or places t'put food. Assumin' everyone as lives there is comin' an' bringin' friends. Plus XS kids, labrats, strays. Speakin' of which, gotta see if we can sneak some story outta Jack. See how old he is. Might be we should recommend the school at 'im." Hup-thump. Cooler meets ground by the snowy block-shaped mound that implies other coolers inside the garden. "Think Dusk is goin' up to Isra's parents' for dinner." Jax's nose wrinkles at that, brow furrowing uncertainly. "But Taylor's sister's in from out of town an' like. Some teeny wisp of /adorable/ I think might be an Ines-cousin? I ain't sure entire. Jack --" For a moment he looks blank at this name before placing, "Right okay Jack. Invisible Jack. Kinda hard to peg an age on the -- right." He lowers his coolers to the ground, too, exhaling sharply once he's set them down. "We /do/ kinda attract strays, don't we." The crease in his brow is deeper, with this. "Do you think that's like a -- us thing," he's gesturing, frowning, between himself and his husband, "or like a /us/ thing." The flutter of his fingers indicates a -- /broader/ us, on the second. “Well, that'll be... I have no idea what her family's like, actually. Maybe it'll be delightful.” Micah shrugs at this, utterly unknowledgeable on the topic. “Yeah, I asked 'im just t'stay the night an' for dinner on Thursday. Dunno...what's goin' down after that. I gave 'im the address t'the shelter where Mel works. Never sure exactly how much t'offer at folks t'where it don't come off...pushy or creepy or whatever.” His brows furrow a little, expression turning pensive. “Well, we're in a city t'start. Then we're 'round a lotta institutions that help folks in need. Then...people with special abilities don't have an easy time of it so's they /tend/ t'be folks in need often enough. An' then...guess we're addin' some bleedin' hearts t'the mix just a little.” He shoves snow off of the top of a few of the coolers so that food can start transferring over. "What, like, hey little boy. You want to get into my van? I'll take you back to my house for the night. Got some treats for you." Jax shoots a crooked grin over to Micah as he opens up one of the cleared-off coolers, opening one of /their/ full ones, too, to start filling the empty one with still-hot containers of roasted turkey, ham, gravy. "Yeah coming from you it's hard to see. But from someone what don't know you it's -- s'hard to tell the line 'tween kindness an' creeper. 'specially considerin' some'a the creepers in this city, /ugh/." A shudder runs through him, his nose wrinkling up again. "Why's it called that? Bleedin' heart. I mean what qualifies you s'that an' not jus' /carin'/. Is it like, the empathy thing or is it --" He trails off with a faint blush, continuing to tuck food containers neatly into the cooler. "Seriously, though! I get t'this point where I'm like...hi, right. I am fully aware that I am a stranger askin' you t'get into m'/van/. Ohgosh." Micah's cheeks pick up a layer of blush at that, which he hides by opening a second cooler full of assorted casserole dishes in oversized Tupperware containers to load over. "An' it ain't just that, I mean...maybe not everybody /wants/ t'be comin' into strangers' houses an' bein' offered help all the time. Never know when they're gonna spook or be offended or whatnot, neither. On top of potential creeperiness." He keeps stacking the food over Tetris style until his first cooler is empty, then moves on to the next. "S'what people say t'disparage folks they think worry 'bout other people too much. Which is t'say more'n /they/ do. S'far as I can tell." "Oh, that's -- way less jaded than where my brain was goin'." Jax's blush deepens, head shaking once he's emptied his cooler of all its meats. The next one has large amounts of tubers. Mashed potatoes, candied yams. "Like if you're naive enough t'open your heart up t'folks they're jus' gonna be stabbin' you in it when they got the chance. Which -- honestly wouldn't be half wrong for some'a my experiences /neither/." His crooked smile has tipped a bit thinner. "Not that it seems t'have learned me none." He flexes his fingers, hoisting the now-empty coolers with much more ease as he straightens for Round Two. “Guess that could be. Thought it had more of a self-sacrificin' implication. Y'know...feelin' so hard for other folks you're givin' up of yourself for 'em. S'pose there's an implication that you're doin' too much or folks's gonna take advantage or the like, though.” Micah's next cooler is very /vegetable/ filled. Green beans. Squash. Peas. Spinach. Corn. “Looks like all the salads an' desserts're still in the van,” he observes based on the things that have been unloaded thus far. “Think there's another full up with casseroles in there, too. So many casseroles done happened yesterday.” He closes off his filled coolers and hefts his emptied ones to return to the van for the next load, as well. "Mmm." Jax's smile fades away, brows furrowing as his expression grows more distant. "Yeah, I -- yeah. That -- I can. Relate to --" One arm wraps around his chest, fingers of his unloaded hand curling hard against the opposite biceps. "Yeah." There's a small shiver of light around him, and he shakes his head quickly, smile blossoming swiftly back across his face. "Yeah. Lucky for them, too, you make a /darn/ fine casserole." The empty coolers thud against his leg and against each other as he trots back towards the van, sliding them into the back and picking up a second pair. “Think most of us can who've ever had that accusation levied,” Micah agrees, patting Jax's shoulder once his hands are free of coolers to do so. He leans in for a quick cheek-kiss before grabbing the last pair of coolers from the van. “Mmn, thanks. Think there's a fair /sight/ of excellent cookin' goin' out here.” Another little lifting-grunt as he starts off toward the garden again. "Yeah. Yeah, that's -- most likely true. I just -- yeah." There's still a touch of distance in Jax's voice, here. A few stray tendrils of shadow coil themselves up around his arms. He's careful with the coolers as he sets them down, peeking inside with a hint of pride. "Kinda glad for the chance t'whip up some pies. Ain't really an /everyday/ sorta thing, pie. Cobbler, sure. But pie crust, that's like. Special occasion kinda food. Like when you get t'take your time. Put some /love/ into it." These ones each have their own individual design. One with a lattice woven out of twisted ribbons, one topped with flaky-golden maple-leaf shaped cutouts, one with edges all bordered in crimpy little stars. There may be a bunch of pie-artwork yet to finish up at the Commons, too. Micah's settling down of his coolers on this last trip is likely a /little/ less gentle than he intended. So much heavy lifting of things! The first one he opens is, indeed, more casseroles! He pauses in his activities, just watching Jax for a bit, slowly digging his teeth into his bottom lip in little blanchy half-moon divots. "Honey, you're soundin' like you're talkin' more'n just generalisations there. You okay?" He scoots a little closer to his husband in order to reach a hand over and rest it on his knee. "Somethin' y'need t'talk about?" "Oh!" Jax blushes, the shadows evaporating from around his arms as he twitch-jumps, a touch startled. His hand drops, resting on his husband's. "Oh, 'pologies, honey-honey, I think I -- I think I was..." He trails off, blush deepening as his other hand reaches to swipe snow off a new cooler and open it up. He's gentle as he starts shifting pies over, one-handed -- unlikely as it is that the careful pastry work will /really/ survive intact being toted by Morlock teenagers down into the sewers. "Was -- somewhere else. I didn't mean to make you get all worryface I was kinda lost for a sec." His head tips up, sunglasses reflecting worryface right back at Micah. "I love you, you know that?" "Lost is lost, but y'was gettin' a little shadowy, there, sugar. Y'don't gotta...worry 'bout worryin' me. I just...don't want you t'brush things off 'cause y'don't wanna worry me. Sometimes there's things y'need t'talk about, right?" Micah leans in to deliver a half-hug (no disturbing the pies!) before returning to his unpacking and repacking of foodstuffs. "I love you, too, sugar. Ain't no doubt there." "Oh -- 'pologies." Jax looks down at his arms, though the shadows have faded. He leans into the hug, butting his head up against Micah's squishy many-layers-cushioned chest with a happy purr. "Sometimes. I don't know. I -- huh." Now he just looks a little bit thoughtful. "S'odd, I guess, the stuff that's come up an' the stuff that ain't. S'just so much of life feels like a whole 'nother lifetime by now, y'know? S'like all this constant chaos tryin' to kill us an' everyone around us, hard t'say I /need/ t'talk about things years gone by, right? Jus' every once in a while a memory hits an' s'like, /whoa/." "Don't apologise, honey. Y'were havin' a feelin'. You're allowed t'have those." Despite the fact that Micah has returned to working, he hasn't /quite/ lost the worry-face yet. "You're a /little/ bit talkin' circles 'round it, though, honey. Need t'talk. Wanna talk. Help process things. Any of that? Sorta what I'm here for. I mean, among other things." A playful smile blooms a little brighter on his worried-feature face at that. "Like lettin' me ogle?" A crooked smile tips up across Jax's face, too. "An' delicious casseroles." It fades back into thoughtfulness, though, as he returns to carefully tucking his pies in as snug as he can make them. "It was a feelin'. There was -- there was a guy. He was my first --" His brow furrows uncertainly. "Ain't really sure what t'call him. First a lotta things, I guess. I was /real/ dumb, though. Young. This was like, /pre/-Prometheus days, I weren't even through high school. Younger'n the pups by a bit." His frown deepens. "... don't never feel that young at the time, do it?" “Mmn,” is Micah's answer to that, lips quirking to one side. “Think m'casseroles are m'attempt t'make up for not bakin'. They're /almost/ bakin'. Without the disaster.” Once his first cooler is unloaded, he takes a break to lean against Jax's side, just being close. “Ain't gotta preface young an' stupid in relationships t'me. Y'done heard a fair enough number of /my/ young an' stupid stories.” Another little kiss finds its way to the angle of Jax's jaw. “You're always the oldest you've ever been at the time.” Tiny-shrug. "Was my first summer really bein' on my own in any sense? I'd been up at the school but that summer I was apprenticin' at Inkline for the first time so was livin' in the city. Hadn't never before. Met him at Evolve, actually -- back in the --" Jax's lopsided smile returns. "Y'know, like, /I/ used to hang out at Evolve /before/ it was cool? Back in, uh, the day when didn't hardly nobody know about it but the mos' /hardcore/ of us freaks. An' we got t'talkin' an' he was. Said he was. Didn't have no place t'live an' I brought him back t'my place. Jus' t' crash, right, 'cept he was all. Sweet an' pretty an' he kissed me an' hadn't nobody never kissed me before an' crashin' on my couch while he looked for an apartment kinda jus' turned to stayin' in my room for -- a /minute/. Or two. An' he never really seemed to get no closer t'actually /gettin'/ no job or no place of his own." Jax has paused in his work, fingers just trailing against the edge of a cooler before dropping to rest against Micah's leg. "We wasn't exactly datin' or anything. Like we kissed once or twice an' that was it, right? He was jus' stayin'. He dated other people plenty. 'cept then later I met this other guy. Sweet boy from my church, an' /we/ went on a date an' this dude he like -- he didn't. Like that." “Ohgosh, mutant-hipsterdom, I don't even know. What t'do with that,” Micah teases with a feigned groan. He curls an arm around Jax's shoulders, listening quietly to the longer story. “Mmn. Know a little too much 'bout folks gettin' jealous without no good reason. Must be some kinda...thing. 'round us.” He gives a little shiver, holding onto Jax a little tighter. His chin nuzzles against the other man's shoulder. “What...came of it?” "I'm an art grad we're kinda contractually required t'be hipsters," Jax answers with a brief grin slicing across his face. He leans in to the touch, head tucking against Micah's side. "He had some woman in my bed with him when I got back from my date like -- he was tryin' to make me jealous, I don't even know. It was just." His head shakes, teeth biting down against his lip. "I weren't jealous so much as /annoyed/ because I had to /sleep/ an' also it was /petty/ but anyway it led to a -- confrontation because he'd been kinda -- not dealin' with it well /before/ I left that evenin' either. But he, uh. Hit me." Jax lifts his hand, fingers touching lightly against his jaw. "Like /actually/ jus' hauled off an' punched me an' I --" His cheeks flush darker. "I /still/ didn't -- I was makin' excuses for him. An' it wasn't like --" He shakes his head, shoulders stiffening uncomfortably. "Like I said, it was. Dumb. I jus' kept thinkin' I could maybe help him. Somehow." "The trials I put up with," Micah replies with a sad, sad shake of his head and heavy sigh at the declaration of hipsterdom. "Mmn. S'a little less...dumb there than even things I've done b'fore. It ain't like y'all was datin' an' y'asked 'im t'move in, it's...y'were tryin' t'help somebody an' /they/ took ev'rythin' all wrong." His fingertips follow along right behind Jax's tracing his cheek, plus the addition of a soft kiss after them. "What...finally...?" His teeth dig into his lower lip again, experience with making excuses for violent people in relationships generally not ending well. "There's benefits t'pretension, too. You get the /most/ precious of pies." Jax turns his head just slightly, letting his face press in to where Micah's fingertips touch. A hard shudder ripples through him, the shadows coiling back around his limbs. "It didn't end well," he confirms Micah's unvoiced suspicions, "I mean, he stayed. An' it, it got worse. Not jus' the hittin' an' the controllin' though -- though that was worse too, he jus'. /He/ was -- dangerous. Not in the hittin' me way, in the. I was always real worried about the kindsa things he was. Up to an' I think that's part of /why/ I wanted so hard to -- to help -- as if I /could/ help. Anyway this one day this woman shows up at my house, right? Real serious-lookin', askin' me about him. Says she's from the FB-freakin'-I -- I mean, /these/ days I wouldn't /blink/, right, but remember this is like back in baby anarchist days when I /had/ two eyes an' hadn't never seen the inside of /any/ kinda cell an' thought chantin' /real/ fierce with a picket sign was like the height of darin'. So right, this woman from the FBI shows up, askin' about Temp an' /Magneto/ an' if he knowed nothin' about Magneto's whereabouts an' if /I/ knowed nothin' an'." His head shakes. "Nothin' came of it, she left, but he tells /me/ later he met the guy an' is considerin' runnin' off to join the Brotherhood. An' that's when I started to get /actually/ scared." "/Most/ precious," Micah confirms, though the direction of his gaze and tone of voice very much is not implying pies. His hands pet down Jax's arms, moving right through the shadows clinging there. He holds the other man all that much closer as the unfortunate story continues. "Did he really...join the Brotherhood?" A heavy sigh of breath comes visible from him this time, in the cold air. "How did y'get away from it?" "Yeah. I think. Yeah. I -- I didn't get away from it, he. Left -- left me? For --" The red in Jax's cheeks deepens. "Was the last big fight we had. Said he was goin' for real to -- join up with. Alla that. An' I tried t'talk him outta it, I /tried/, and he -- it got ugly. It got /real/ ugly." The next touch of Jax's fingertips to his cheek comes with a spreading of colour, dark and puffy blue-black along his face before it fades away. "I was scared for him. /He/ seemed scared. An' runnin' off t'go throw your life away on -- for all he done to me I didn't want him to get killed or in jail." His head shakes. "But he was goin'. Got messy before he left, though. I was real emotional an' the -- his powers, they was. Like Luci's. Nowhere near as powerful, but. He could make you feel things. Make you hurt bad or -- or not." His blush has spread, deeper crimson. "An' we ended up -- I don't know. I was scared. He was leaving. It was messy. That's how it ended, though. 'least. For him. Things just kinda got messier for me. But," Jax's brow furrows in a faintly uncertain knit, "you already kindasorta know the part that comes next." "Oh," is all Micah manages at first, another layer of /fret/ in his features at Jax's revealing that he hadn't gotten out. A little strangled sound half makes its way from his throat at the purpling of Jax's cheek. "Ain't...even when folks ain't bein' right t'you. Ain't gotta wish 'em harm. 'Specially when they're the kinda people who /do/ just need so much help, it's...hard." It's /his/ turn to shudder at the description of the other man's abilities. "Goodness, y'couldn't. How could y'trust anythin' that y'were feelin' when...with somebody willin' t'abuse that kinda ability?" He just clings a little tighter to Jax's side. "He used it pretty hard, I don't even half /remember/ that night after the /fightin'/ part was done. But afterwards. After he was /gone/. There was people still, y'know? Like -- that FBI woman had come to talk t'him, like I said, an' there was. People'd been watchin', I guess. Him. Or my house. Or somethin', cuz every so often there was still." Jax trails off, tucking in closer against Micah's side as well. "But even when he was gone /someone/ kept watchin' an' t'wasn't real long after that I. Was headin' back from youth group one night, world come over all swimmy an' then --" He shrugs a shoulder, turning his mangled hand upwards. His thumb brushes across the stump of his little finger. "But like I said, you know the part that comes next. Was a heck of a first relationship, though." "Ohgosh, honey. I'm just..." /squeeze/ tight comes the hug, "sorry y'had t'go through /any/ part of that." Even after all of the experiences with the plague, sometimes that word still needs to happen. Micah kisses Jax's forehead before pulling back just to look at his husband. "What d'you need just now, sugar?" Jax leans in, pressing his lips softly to Micah's. "S'odd, y'know, I don't never hardly talk about it. Sometimes feels like that all happened t'someone else, all that was -- it /weren't/ that long ago but it /feels/ like. A different..." He shakes his head, kissing Micah lightly again. "I need. T'finish unloadin' this food so we can let Anole know t'pick it up while s'still hot. An' then I need t'go home. An' before we get stuffed on so much food we can't move for a week you can let me give you a massage. Help work out this heavy liftin'. 'Cuz sayin' all this, Micah, it jus'. Reminds me more'n ever how /impossibly/ thankful I am t'have you." Micah returns the kiss, gently, then is quiet for a time. "Might very well've /been/ a dif'rent person, hon. Not just how long ago it was, but...if he was manipulatin' your feelin's. An' /directly/ in some cases. It...practically /was/ a dif'rent person when he was around." His hand makes small circles on Jax's back. "Of course. Get the folks their food here an' get /us/ an' other folks their food at home." He gives Jax /one/ more tight squeeze. "That goes both ways, sugar. Constantly feel like the luckiest person t'have you. Love you /so/ much. An' ain't never gonna complain 'bout gettin' you hands on." This last finally sketches a smile across his lips. "Good." Jax butts his head lightly up against Micah's shoulder, then turns back to finish emptying his cooler, filling out the pie tins with plates of cookies. "Cuz I'm feelin' a powerful urge t'get real handsy. Or mouthy. Or full-body..." The smile that has returned to his face is bright and impish. "Ain't like we're real needed in the kitchen no more we've /done/ our piece." Micah's hand scruffs at Jax's head as he turns back to the task of emptying the last cooler over. “Hmm...sounds like we might need s'more time for all that. We can sneak back into our house as we get in. Won't even know we're back. Steal a little extra time 'fore the whole People thing starts t'happen.” Just as soon as the coolers are full and they can get back home, of course.