ArchivedLogs:Holding On

Holding On
Dramatis Personae Shane, Micah, Jackson	15 December 2013 All kinds of family talks. (Part of Prometheus TP.)
Location <NYC> 303 {Lighthaus} - Village Lofts - East Village
This apartment is cheerful, in its way -- bright and airy, its floor plan open and a plethora of windows providing it with an abundance of light. The tiny entrance hall opens into a living room, small, though its sparse furniture and lack of clutter give it a more open feel. The decor is subdued and minimalist; black and white is the dominant theme, with occasional splashes of deep crimson to offset the monochrome, though of late myriad bright-coloured dragonflies swarm across the living room wall. The couch and armchair are upholstered in black corduroy, the low wide coffee table central is black wood and glass-topped, and a few large pillowy beanbags provide additional seating by the large windows that dominate the back wall. The living room and kitchen both hold a rather inordinate number of lamps in addition to the ceiling lights; standing lamps, small lamps on each counter, large sunlights in the corner. More often than not, they're largely all turned on, too. Towards the back, a couple of doors lead off into bedrooms and bathroom, and to the right, the kitchen's tile is separated from the living room's dark hardwood floors by black countertops. Above the bedroom to one side, there is higher space; a ladder climbs up to a lofted area looking down on the living room. Standing in front of the partition between living and cooking area is a large fish tank: one lone Betta, blood-red, swims regally among several species of black and silver fish. A hallway beyond the kitchen leads further into the apartment. Another bathroom stands just into the hall and the farthest door leads to the apartment's final bedroom, the door usually kept shut to hold in the acrid fumes of turpentine and paints from within. The afternoon is pushing its way toward evening, the day cold and only growing colder now that the sun has passed its zenith. Micah is just returning home from a delayed and then dawdling brunch out with Dusk. Though he kicked the worst of the snow from his boots before entering the building, a bit of the icy stuff still clings there when he makes his way in the front door. Pausing on the mat to avoid spreading water, he quits himself of his holstered crutches with their winter tips and his copious outdoor gear. Beneath he wears his usual Batsignal hoodie, Reading Rainbow-dash T-shirt, patchy jeans, and socks striped in blues and greys. His hair is a right mess from being in and out of his woollen hat several times today. There's music playing in the apartment when Micah returns home, a /fiercely/ exuberant violin piece coming from Shane's bedroom. He emerges at the sound of the front door, still playing as he toes the door open and heads out to /peer/ at Micah. He's not even bothered with dressing, today, in boxers even this late in the day. "Still alive?" He's eying Micah with intense /scrutiny/ at this question. "Not a popsicle? Not beaten to death or anything? Not a zombie?" Micah chuckles at the image of the violin-playing boxer-clad teen wandering through the room in front of him. “Yes, alive. No, not a popsicle. Though I'm surprised /you/ aren't, runnin' around in your underpants in this weather.” He moves into the living room, sinking down onto the couch and leaning into the crux of its arm and back. “No beatin's, no zombies. Ran into one person who recognised me from the papers or some such, but she just asked some questions. Nothin' hostile or nothin', really. Full of omelette an' fried potatoes, so I'll call that a win. This been your day so far?” He lifts a hand to gesture lazily toward Shane. "/We/ have heat and a million people I'm not exactly running around /in/ this weather. I'm /so/ out of this weather." Shane drops his bow hand, song cutting off abruptly mid-measure. "Bastian had some trouble outside though so I thought I'd make sure. Cuz with the --" He waves his bow towards Micah. "People recognizing you from the papers that can get /dangerous/. And you're not made of /rubber/ like us." He hops over the other arm of the couch, sitting in a crouch beside Micah. "Yeah, I've been practicing. Daiki's here," he informs Micah now, "cuz the snow would make biking back from the train to school a pain. But he's asleep I maybe wore him out. Do you want a hot -- something hot. To drink? Wait," his eyes narrow on Micah with suspicion again. "Did /Dusk/ get beaten to death or popsicled?" "Well, /I'm/ still cold, so maybe I'm just projecting." Micah tugs at the hem of his heavy hoodie in illustration. Wearing /layers/ indoors. "Hasn't quite gotten dangerous yet. Think with it bein' cold that folks mostly don't recognise me outside on account of all the hats an' scarves an' whatnot? An' other than work an' groceries, I'm not around /too/ many places indoors, either. I've had some people yell stuff at me in the store, but not much aside from that." At the relaying of information about Daiki, he grins and shakes his head a little. "Well, whatever way we figure for gettin' the lotta you t'school t'morrow is what he can do, too. Maybe the roads'll be clear enough for drivin'. Or Joshua will be free t'get folks up there all quick-like. Or there can be some combination of train an' somebody from the school fetchin' y'all at the other end of the line." The question about Dusk gets yet another head shake. "Dusk's fine, too. Also full of delicious diner brunch. Some folks give 'im that /look/ folks always give, but nothin' serious. Home's usually an easier place'n most for 'im t'go. An' he just wears that big ol' coat of his over 'is wings when he's outside. Everyone's fine, I promise." He reaches out to pat Shane's knee in reassurance. "Hot drinks...if you were plannin' on makin' somethin', I won't say no, but I got no specific needs." "When people yell stuff at me sometimes I just /smile/ at them real big." Shane demonstrates, a fierce toothy grin. "Somehow they don't usually get reassured." He sets his violin down -- in Micah's lap as the apparent nearest available surface -- and lays the bow beside it gently. Hopping to his feet, he pecks Micah lightly on the top of the head. "I was going to make cocoa anyway, it's been at /least/ ten minutes since Pa's last sugar fix. -- Taking the train with Daiki gets /weird as fuck/ when people are in a hate-mutants-/more/ cycle." "Somehow I don't think that'd be 'specially intimidatin' comin' from me, but I mostly ignore 'em anyhow. Yellin' is not a way t'/engage/ a body in a conversation. I figure if someone wants t'talk t'me they'll /talk/." Micah shrugs, fingers running over the body of the violin that is suddenly in his lap. "Ain't the first time I've had t'deal with people bein' ugly in public. Had boyfriends when I was back home an' didn't make no efforts at hidin' it none. Even get fussed at just for walkin' with crutches or gettin' 'round in a wheelchair occasionally. An' some folks just /fall out/ of normal life if I go runnin' in shorts when it's warmer out." The little kiss tugs his lips into a smile. "If you're already at it, cocoa sounds lovely. An'...yeah, that's gotta be...awkward." "It's funny because like. His power affects how people feel about /him/ but not how they feel about anything else at all and definitely not how they /behave/? So sometimes ugly people act ugly. They get all weird and protective and then I'm the horrifying freakmonster who's a /danger/ to him." Shane's gills flutter here, an amused smile curling his lips upward. "What was wrong with your boyfriends?" He slips off to the kitchen, getting out a pot and some almond milk to start heating enough cocoa for Many. "Wait why do people get stupid at you for running or being in a wheelchair?" He sounds genuinely puzzled over this. "I mean what the fuck do they even /say/?" He peers over the counter at Micah in no small amount of bafflement. "What do they want you do to, grow another leg?" “So they suddenly need t'get /you/ away from your boyfriend, despite y'bein' no threat at all. An' hijinx ensue. Ugh.” Micah squeezes his eyes closed briefly at that. “Aside from 'em bein' boys an' with /me/? Not a thing. Folks ain't always kind about gay couples in public, 'specially openly affectionate ones. It ain't.../as/ much a thing up here. But back home, 'specially years back? Not acceptable.” He looks down at the violin, fingers still playing along the polished wood. “With the other stuff, s'usually just...people makin' loud comments about 'cripples' or bein' in the way or whatnot. Or if you're in a wheelchair an' they have to wait for the lift on the bus or somethin'? S'like you're personally wastin' their time for /hours/ t'get on. Most people are good about it, s'just some folks gotta run their mouths 'bout anythin' they can. An' as far as the leg, some people think it's unseemly or somethin'. Like it should stay covered up so's /they/ don't have t'look at it. Disabilities make some people uncomfortable, an' some folks don't deal with it well. Not sayin' these are /acceptable/ responses, just that they happen. An', thankfully, they're rather the exception than the rule. But...that was a really long way 'round just sayin' that I'm used t'people's mouths. An' I'll get by okay. So y'don't have t'worry. Okay?” "/Oh/, oh right, the gay thing. People have called me a fag before but I figured they were just like. Generally pissy I mean they'll say the same thing to B or to Taylor or -- I don't know it's hard to tell when they're actually meaning /gay/." Shane turns around, heading to a cabinet to get out sugar and cocoa powder and cinnamon and cayenne. "But your leg looks freaking sweet. Although I did see this article the other day about all these crazy awesome-looking prosthetics like one was all steampunky and one pretty much /looked/ like you'd expect an android to look and one was all painted up with flowers -- you could put /art/ all over your leg and it'd be like tattoos!" He stares down at the milk pot for a moment. It does not oblige him by boiling. He presses his hands to the countertop, leaning up onto his arms to lean over the counter. "Wait, so. So being affectionate in public with Pa or -- or wearing things that show your leg off, that's --" He frowns, sliding back from eager down to puzzled again. "-- inappropriate? I mean it makes people uncomfortable?" He snorts at Micah's last statement. "Don't be stupid, of course I'm going to worry. You're my dad. Just because you're /used/ to assholes giving you a hard time doesn't mean I have to be okay with that." "Yeah, that /did/ turn into a general-purpose insult, but...no, it's usually /pretty/ obvious when people are actually wantin' t'give you a hard time for who you're with. 'Specially when they start gettin' all...religious about it. Those are the folks that'll /follow/ you just t'keep fussin'." Micah lifts the violin to facilitate pivoting in his seat so that he can face Shane more easily to continue conversation, setting the instrument back down once he's sitting sidewise on the couch. "Ain't actually a lot of surface area t'mine, all things considered. An' I kinda like the sleek an' streamlined approach. Not a lot of foofaraw t'get in the way." The question of inappropriateness earns a heavy sigh and a moment's thoughtful silence as Micah decides how to approach it. "Yes an' no? This is where things get complicated. It /used to be/ that it was utterly unacceptable t'be openly gay in public. An' it /used to be/ that disabilities an' /people/ with disabilities were things t'keep secret an' hidden as much as possible. 'Cause they made folks uncomfortable. But it ain't right t'force people t'hide who an' what they are. Just like...it makes some people uncomfortable t'have people with visible mutations around, but it's /not/ right when people won't let you in a restaurant. Or like it would make some people uncomfortable t'have people of another race share the same bathrooms, but it /wasn't/ right that they forced people into separate facilities. Sometimes things make people uncomfortable, but they need t'get over it, 'cause other people got the right t'exist in public. S'that makin' any sense?" The door to the bedroom opens; Jax has perhaps been /summoned/ by the promise of almost-cocoa. He slips out of the bedroom, dressed in mismatched bright-coloured socks, extremely wide-leg JNCO jeans, his rainbow-striped hoodie on over his 'Let's switch gender roles!' t-shirt. He comes up behind the couch to kiss Micah on the head, slipping around it afterwards so he can flop down and move Shane's violin and bow to the /table/ to commandeer Micah's lap with his head instead. His legs drape over the couch arm. "I pretty much carry the foofaraw for the both of us," he says cheerfully. "An' when people got a problem with folks on account of who they are, that's a problem /they/ gotta deal with." Shane's gills flutter quickly, his attention focusing downward on the pot. The milk in it is starting to bubble; he tips in sugar, cocoa, a sprinkling of cayenne, a larger one of cinnamon. For a time he is quiet, the noise from the kitchen only the soft metal tapping of the whisk against the pot. "Wellok." He doesn't really look all that /convinced/, though. Mostly uncertain. "... so why is it their problem if I want to kiss Daiki but my problem if I want to kiss --" He looks up at Micah and Jax for a moment, but then looks back down and finishes instead, "-- B? Hm." He sniffs at the pot. "How do you feel about nutmeg?" Micah's grin broadens as Jax comes into the room, stretching wider yet at the kiss. As soon as Jax settles in his lap, his fingers bury themselves in the other man's hair, his other hand reaching to pet across his stomach. "Hey, honey, how was your mornin'? An' yeah, I think we can summarise a fair amount about y'just with 'foofaraw'." Chuckling, he musses Jax's hair a bit. "I feel very positively inclined toward nutmeg," he replies to the /easy/ question first. Again, there is a pause for arranging thoughts before he answers the other. "Because who y'like is part of who you are, whether you wanna argue it's an inborn trait or not. But havin' a sexual relationship with family members is different. Incest taboos exist for a number of reasons. Poor genetic outcomes in offspring. The role confusion things I been talkin' t'you about for awhile. An' there's some psychological theories that bein' 'round people durin' certain stages of child development just 'turns off' the ability t'be attracted to 'em, or even gives people that kinda squicky feelin' at the idea. So incest is still unacceptable. An' pretty universally so, at least in this society. Not t'mention largely illegal." "Churchy. Did the readings at Mass t'day which I -- do with some regularity but I think I just did today /because/ there was a few folks complainin' I shouldn't be allowed. Came home an' drew so much my hand's crampin'." Jackson's fingers flex outwards and curl back in. He sighs contentedly at the petting, closing his eyes with a small warm smile. "Mmm. Nutmeg's delicious." He bites down at his lip with the /rest/ of the questioning, though, staying quiet as Micah answers. His own answer is shorter, his brow creased in a frown: "Incest tends t'be illegal. S'like to be a hassle you don't want none of." He cracks open his eye, squinting towards Shane. "Why, /do/ y'--" But here his question stops, his frown deepening. His fingers flex again. "/Y'all/ have a good mornin'?" "S'not like B and I are going to have /kids/ /or/ like we're in any -- authority-position to each other. And being gay gives people squicky feelings too. I mean it just seems kind of arbitrary -- again." Shane frowns, sprinkling nutmeg into the pot and whisking it some more. He turns off the stove, getting out mugs to start pouring them full. His gills flutter rapidly at Jax's aborted question, eyes lifting to the couch and then returning to his work. "You know /I/ had a good morning." This comes with a quick grin, glance briefly shifting towards his bedroom door. "Is being a mutant a sin or something? -- Ba went out to lunch and lost Dusk on the way home. I think he /might/ have gotten hungry and eaten him and just not wanted to tell me. I wouldn't blame you if you did, though, Ba," he admits in a stage whisper to Micah as he brings two mugs of cocoa out to set them on Jack Skellington coasters on the table beside his violin, "he's /delicious/." At Jax's report of hand cramps and repeated finger flexing, Micah leaves off his belly rubs and hair petting to bring the hand up to his lips, brushing a kiss to the palm. Almost idly, he switches to a hand massage as he talks. “Never stops bogglin' m'mind how people are so judgemental an' exclusive in religions that are s'posed t'be about welcomin' an' forgiveness an' all that. Nobody's...actually tried t'stop y'goin, have they? S'just people runnin' their mouths so far?” He shakes his head a little at Shane's response. “It's not necessarily that there's an authority thing, honey, it's that you already have roles that are defined. You're siblings. That /can't/ change. So, there's always the chance that consent can be muddled by the other relationship or that sex could mess up that other relationship that's already set for you. That's all. Though it's different with you two bein' exactly the same age. Usually there /is/ more of an authority issue for older an' younger siblings, too. S'just...somethin' it's better not t'mess with.” “Pretty good mornin',” Micah replies to Jax, switching gears rather completely. “Went out for illicit omelettes with Dusk an'--” Whatever he was going to say is replaced by rapid-onset, fierce blushing. “Oh/gosh/, I didn't /eat/ Dusk. An' I didn't lose 'im. He had some other things he had t'do 'stead of comin' straight back here.” He hides behind Jax's hand briefly before remembering that he was giving a massage, eventually emerging and resuming the hand rubbing. “Thanks for the cocoa, hon.” "Oh, nah, just the handful that's prickly tends t'be the /loudest/. Most folks is fine. S'a few people stopped me today seein' if I wanted them to set up a /collection/ at Mass every so often for helpin' out the labrats what don't got a lotta support. An' our pastor -- I mean, well, he responds to the complainin' by setting me to do the reading so he's. /Well/. Same man from up in Harlem so y'know /he/ ain't gonna be fazed by a little gripin'. Though we're kinda havin' services in the basement of a Methodist church till St. Martin's is repaired." Jax's hand relaxes, fingers curling in loosely around Micah's. "Bein' a mutant ain't no sin. /Last/ Pope was pretty quiet on the subject except for a few real vague /maybe/-kinda-negative comments but this'n actually openly said folks should be welcomin'. Individual churches ain't so much the best at followin' through on that though. Oh, /thank you/, honey-honey." His smile curls wider at the cocoa delivery. "/Illicit/ omelettes, that makes it sound like they were full'a ecstasy. Was they full'a ecstasy?" His fingers curl inwards, hand mooshing up against Micah's face when the other man hides it. "Y'sure you didn't eat him? Cuz he /is/ pretty tasty. Wouldn't /nobody/ here blame you. Shane kept makin' fun of me all last month when I gave up on shavin' and was all scruffyface but on him it /works/." "We're not exactly the same age," Shane corrects Micah /very emphatically/, "/I'm/ older." He darts back to the kitchen to emerge with /more/ cocoa mugs, though these get delivered to his and Spencer's bedrooms. "It'd be kind of dumb if they said it /was/ a sin. I mean, you can't exactly /stop/ being a mutant. "/Were/ there ecstasy omelettes? I would eat the hell out of an ecstasy omelette. -- Though," now he's looking at his bedroom door contemplatively, "ecstasy /tastes/ gross. Dusk's blood is pretty much /like/ ecstasy, maybe I'll sprinkle some of /that/ in my next omelette." He returns to the kitchen this time to set the pot in the sink and fill it with water, and claim his own cocoa mug. He eyes it /thoughtfully/ as he emerges. Eyes his bedroom door, too. "... might not taste it so much in cocoa," he muses. "And OK I just ragged on you because you're so easy to rag on. The scruffy thing /was/ pretty sexy on you too. Especially with the whole apocalypse vibe it was like you became a total badass." He settles down on the floor in front of the couch, facing the men on the sofa. "How do you get to be a Catholic?" "Settin' up a collection? That's sweet...are they gonna try it? I don't even know how we'd start gettin' stuff back out t'the folks as need it, though. S'good, though, most folks are okay." Micah giggles at the question of drugged omelettes. "No, just /eggs/. Was a joke Dusk said when I was talkin' about goin' out t'get eggs 'cause we don't have 'em here. Though once I start cravin' omelettes might /as well/ have some kinda drug in 'em they taste so good when y'finally get one." He actually /snorts/ at Shane's plans to use Dusk as a /condiment/. "Oh, great, Shane. Let me warn Dusk you're plannin' t'keep 'im on the breakfast table like a bottle of hot sauce," he comments through ongoing giggles. With /everyone/ talking about eating Dusk now, his blush seems like it's just going to linger. "I dunno, I kinda like the clean-shaven pretty thing." Pausing in his massage just for a moment, he runs the fingertips of one hand along Jax's chin before resuming. "But scruffy can be nice from time t'time." He reaches for his cocoa, bringing it up for a sip. "Catholic questions is your field, hon. Have at." "By /four minutes/ what's that count for," Jackson answers with a laugh. "An' I don't -- think no restaurant's gonna serve you ecstasy omelettes but --" He follows Shane's gaze, head tipping backwards to look towards the bedroom door. "... do you got drugs in there, Shane, you can't make. Ecstasy-cocoa, /plain/ cocoa is orgasmic enough." His nose wrinkles, free hand lifting to rub against his face. "Funny part is, I ain't even sure Dusk would say no if Shane asked t'squirt him on a meal." He tilts his head back down, nuzzling into the hand Micah rubs against his face. "You kinda get top preference on the status of my facial hair." His eyebrows quirk upwards at the question of Catholicism. "Oh! Umm -- well, you go to classes first. Catechism classes -- study what the religion's even /about/. An' if you learn all about what the Church teaches an' still want to be Catholic then there's a period of -- sorta thinkin' an' prayin' on if it's a step you really want to take? An' then you get baptized an' confirmed an' take your first Eucharist all at the same Mass, if you're joinin' the church as an adult. Comes in slower stages if you're baptized as an infant an' ain't had the chance to make the choice on your own yet. -- Why?" He rolls slightly sideways on the couch, not quite willing to move enough to pull away from his hand-massage but shifting so that his other hand can reach past Shane and get his cup. "You thinkin' on converting?" Maybe he should sound pleased at this, but he mostly just sounds curious. "It counts for a whole fucking lot thankyouverymuch!" Shane /huffs/ exaggeratedly, sticking his tongue out at Jax. He lifts his cup, taking a small sip. "Not. A /lot/ of drugs or anything. Desi and I were going to take them and watch trippy movies yesterday but we ended up building an igloo on the roof instead and then splotching it all tie-dye with food colouring. And yeah the cocoa pretty much stands on its own." He takes another tiny mouthful, cautious while it's still hot. "Um -- I don't know, maybe? I might try it out in a couple months." Shane shrugs a shoulder casually. "I'm trying being Shinto first and Buddhist next. I don't think I'm going to do so good when I get to Mormonism, though Flicker's been /way/ more helpful telling me about his religion than Hive has. But they don't let you have -- basically any fun. Not even /caffeine/, guys. It's pretty much crazy." "Are you guys...careful when y'do that stuff? Like, at home, with sober people watchin', in moderation? Y'gotta be especially careful with your physiology bein' different an' not knowin' exac'ly how things are gonna react. 'Cause you guys have trouble breathin' just /regular/ sometimes, y'know?" Micah's brow furrows, looking to Jax for back-up and perhaps clarification of ground rules that might already have been outlined in the past. "Does Lucien know Desi's doin' that stuff with you? You're aware those things are illegal an' can get you in all kindsa trouble if y'get caught with 'em, right? Also, whoever owns the property you're keepin' or usin' 'em on?" Again, his eyes track back to Jax from Shane. "They do the whole drugs talk in their health class at the school, right?" He interrupts hand-massage just long enough to sip from his cocoa and place the cup back on its coaster again. "S'good t'shop religions, I think. Better'n just doin' whatever y'happen t'fall into. Makes a more informed decision. But, oh...yeah, the whole abstinence from all things enjoyable thing, I've /never/ understood." "The health class talks about drugs," Jackson says with a /grimace/, "but it's not -- excellent, I don't think /abstinence/ education works no better there than it do with sex. I'd teach it different but --" He shrugs. "Ain't my class to teach. Anyway, the pups're s'posed to stick t'intoxicants only at home an' with a sober chaperon watchin' an' not /never/ with a friend who's underage /unless/ their guardian knows an' is alright with it so I hope Luci was aware." He doesn't sip at his cup so much as lap at it, tongue dipping out to lick at the surface of his cocoa. "I didn't even know Hive /had/ a religion till -- prob'ly 'bout two years after I met him," he admits. "He ain't always real keen to talk on his home life so if he's seemin' /uncomfortable/ an' not just his usual spiky, don't push, aright? S'plenty'a books I can get you on Buddhism if you're keen to learn." "There's actually an entire class /just/ about drugs," Shane says brightly, "-- though it goes into history and things a lot more actually looks really interesting. And oh yeah Luci totally knows, he doesn't really care about smoking weed or drinking or E although /kind of/ hypocritically he'd probably pitch a /fit/ if Desi ever dipped into /his/ stash." After this, though, he /frowns/, deeply. "-- Wait the property -- would /you guys/ get in trouble?" Now he looks a little alarmed. He looks back towards his bedroom door uncertainly, and still wears a frown as he takes another sip of chocolate. "... I don't know much about Hive's life before he moved West." “Mmn. I just worry about all the kids there as don't /also/ have families t'talk these things over with. All they've got are the classes an' other kids there. An'...I guess their mentors or whatever /if/ they're comfortable even startin' that conversation.” Micah's fingers move up to Jax's wrist and forearm to continue working there. “Well, it's never a good idea t'take things from people without askin' first,” he comments on the issue of taking drugs from Lucien. “Y'all never take things without knowin' what they are, do you?” The question of getting in trouble for illegal drugs on the property also gets a nod. “S'possible we could, yes. An'...I don't think Hive's real comfortable talkin' about that too much, honestly. Seems t'avoid it pretty consistently.” "Think some'a their advisors'd be okay with it. Some --" Jackson's hand seesaws in the air. He closes his eye, his breath shivering out slowly as Micah's massage works up further. "An' everyone'll have their different takes on it, too. I'm /fair/ sure my parentin' style horrifies half my colleagues." He continues to lap at his cocoa, his expression slipping into blissful between the drink and the massage. "OK, an' what Lucien does with himself is a whole 'nother question, you don't touch nothin' that hard do you?" His lips press together on the subject of Hive. "Yeah. He don't like to --" He shrugs a shoulder. "Lotsa folks you know don't really talk about their old lives much." Shane's frown deepens, at the affirmation that his dads may get in trouble. He stares down into his cocoa cup, then puts it aside to hop to his feet, vanishing briefly into his room and returning with one hand balled into a fist. He heads into the bathroom; a moment later the toilet flushes. He returns with empty hands to take his seat again and pick up his cup. "/I/ think you're doing pretty great," he assures Jax. "As a parent, I mean. And I don't mean he'd get mad 'cuz of /taking/ it he doesn't care if we drink his booze. Just get mad if she ever --" He waves his mug at Jax. "Did heroin. And no. I haven't. Don't really want to anyway." He taps the rim of his mug gently against his teeth. "... a lot of people I know had kind of shitty lives. I don't really know much about Dusk's either. I learned /so/ much about Flicker, we were cellmates in the labs for a bit. After Karrie but before Dai. But /now/ he doesn't talk about it much. And Ryan makes /up/ some new bullshit story any time Old Lives come up, but it's kind of funnier that way." "At least they're set up with advisors, I guess. Kinda the same luck of the draw with parents, too, whether they'll be good at talkin' through these things or not." Micah takes another few-seconds break for cocoa. His fingers return to slide firmly up the long tendons and ribbons of muscle in Jax's forearm, moving slowly across it. "No. No, good, that's a whole other kind of...it's better if y'stayed away from that stuff." He lifts Jax's wrist to his lips, a light kiss settling there before the massage resumes. "There's certainly somethin' t'be said for workin' /with/ kids 'stead of just always comin' at 'em like a tyrant. I think you're doin' fine, honey." His expression is thoughtful for a moment. "Come t'think of it, yeah, a lotta folks don't do much talkin' about their pasts 'round here. I never even really thought about it 'cause I figure there's a lotta...painful stuff. Just assumed an' don't ask, really." "Oh, sweetie, you didn't gotta --" Jackson's cheeks flush as Shane returns from the bathroom. He doesn't really give /much/ protest, though, just continuing to lap at his cocoa. "I worry about /Luci/ with that stuff, too. But he's hard to -- well, I mean, an' he can take care'a hisself, m'sure." His fingers curl lightly in against Micah's cheek during the little wrist-kiss, his smile warm. "Lotta folks like to stay private 'bout things. Or do have real painful stuff they don't want to dredge up. But Hive ain't -- think it's kinda the opposite. He don't bring it up much 'cuz'a it was /good/." "My advisor is /crazy/ hot," Shane volunteers. "And I know I didn't /gotta/. I mean like I said it wasn't a /lot/. And it was only there because it's /fun/. There's been a bajillion reporters snooping around and probably a lot of people mad at you and you know what's /not/ fun, would be you going to jail for some bullshit drug charge because it's easier than busting you for Prometheus." He frowns uncertainly up at Jax. "Good? Why wouldn't you want to talk about good, I would /revel/ in good. I /do/ revel in good. I tell all the kids at school that they can come over any time they need some dads because you two are pretty much the best ones and give good hugs and I have /more/ than enough dad to share. And I don't think being able to take care of yourself means it's still not nice when someone else cares enough to help out with it /too/. I don't know. Desi worries about him a lot. But I worry about /you/ guys a lot so I guess that's kind of expected." “Well, as long as your advisor's /hot/, I'm sure they're doin' a stellar job,” Micah teases, since /that/ was the only detail that Shane has chosen to share regarding said advisor. “He makes a good point, though. Folks is gonna be watchin' what we do more closely now, takin' advantage of whatever they find. S'best t'try an' limit /actual/ illegal activity what isn't somethin' important like rescuin' folks from labs.” Micah just blushes a bit at Shane's talk of sharing them with his schoolmates, though the blush is dusted in over a smile. This is lost as he chews at his lip a little with all the talk of worrying about Lucien. “I worry about Lucien...a lot. He insists he's good at takin' care of 'imself 'cause he's always /had/ to t'get by, but. A lotta what he does is /so/ self-destructive an' isolatin'. So. Yeah, I worry about 'im, too. He'd prob'ly hate it,” he adds with a slow smile, “so many people worryin' on 'im.” His fingers continue their work without seeming to need much conscious direction. “Good can be painful, too, honey. 'Specially when it gets taken away. Or when you're afraid it's goin' to be.” Jax rubs his hand against his face, eye scrunching up at Shane's comment on Kurt. His cheeks also tint darker at the mention of being shared. "Am pretty willin' to dispense hugs wherever they're needed." He stops lapping at his cocoa, actually taking a proper drink now that it's had time to cool down. "He's had a real rough year, too. An' I don't know if he's really got anyone left he trusts enough t'talk about it with. An' -- yeah." He nods in agreement with Micah. "Good can kinda ache when you're far away from it. Or mired in terrible. Or frettin' about -- they gone after a couple'a our families before. Y'keep some distance, might could make them less a target." "He'd definitely hate it but you guys are world champion worriers I don't think that should be an obstacle." Shane's tone is teasing as well. "Oh and he's hot /and/ like a -- pirate. /Swashbuckly/. He's our fencing coach, too." He grimaces. "/B's/ fencing coach, too." For a moment he scowls down into his cocoa, but it doesn't last long. "... I guess I'll just have to never lose you, then." Micah kisses Jax's wrist again before returning the other man's arm to him, resting it gently across his chest. He holds his own arm out wide, the other gesturing Shane closer for a hug. “Y'know with a little /application/ y'could get back t'your teams an' clubs, honey. An'...we're gonna do everythin' we can so y'don't have t'worry about that. Us losin' you or you losin' us. 'Cause we mean t'keep you.” "You can do fencin' again next year if y'keep on track the rest'a this one." Jackson squeezes at Micah's hand before his own is laid across his chest. "Thanks, sweetie," he murmurs, for the massage. "An' the plan's pretty much a for-life deal, pup. Don't think none'a us mean to go anywhere." Shane gulps down the rest of his cocoa, setting the empty mug back down on a coaster. He scoots closer to the couch on his knees, bonking his head lightly up against Micah's chest and wrapping his arms fiercely tight around his father. "/Pff/. /I'm/ totally keeping /you/. I'm strong as hell, I can hold on /tight/." “'Welcome, hon,” Micah answers softly. He circles his arms around Shane, squeezing him back tightly, though admittedly with less force than the teen. “How 'bout we all keep /each other/ an' then we're more likely t'stay holdin' on, even if somebody has trouble doin' it themselves for a minute? 'Cause that's kinda what family /is/.”