ArchivedLogs:Honesty

Honesty
Dramatis Personae Micah, Matt
In Absentia	2 August 2014 Working through stories.
Location <NYC> Tessier Residence - Backyard - Greenwich Village
Living in the heart of Manhattan means space is precious, and as such, the yard behind this house is small. It is as exquisitely well-kept as the rest of the place, though; all available space has been meticulously cultivated and transformed into a lush retreat from the concrete and asphalt of the city. The borders of the garden are lined in a wealth of flowers, the selection chosen to provide a panoply of color in all seasons save winter. A grassy rock-bordered pathway separates these from the raised-bed vegetable garden that dominates its center. The far left corner of the garden plays host to a tiny rock-lined pond, goldfish and a pair of turtles living in its burbling water. To one side of the pond is a garden table and set of chairs and presiding over the pond, a large oak tree with a hammock underneath, its branches spreading out over the tall brick wall that screens the entire area off from the city outside. It’s actually growing somewhat /chilly/ out here after sundown -- at least by August standards, and between the cool breeze and the threat of rain Matt has thrown on a light jacket over his red Yoda t-shirt. Much of the garden is dark, though by the pond where Matt sits there is a host of candlelight flickering -- /occasionally/ one or two of them gutter out in the breeze, but he lights them again when he notices. /He/ sits cross-legged in the center of a circle of white and yellow-orange candles, elbows propped on his knees and his face dropped down into his hands. On the rocks by the pond there is the remnants of dinner, broccoli-orzo casserole and marinated tofu and a half-finished glass of blueberry-ginger lemonade; it sits beside the copy of /The Lies of Locke Lamora/ that he was reading the other day. The noises of traffic and talking in the city beyond the walls drift in, though here in the garden itself it is quiet. Micah's steps are somewhat hesitant as he moves from the house to the yard, directed there by one of Matt's sisters. He is dressed simply, feet bare after a trip through the house, bluejeans faded and thinning over the left knee, charcoal grey T-shirt depicting a band of Minions absconding with the TARDIS. Locks of auburn hair peek out messily from beneath an olive newsboy cap and a matching messenger bag rests at his hip. One hand clasps around a Tupperware container with a red lid. He moves into the yard, sitting a pace or two outside Matt's circle but not speaking at first for fear of interrupting. At first Matt doesn’t look up, just staying seated where he is, face still buried in his hands. After some while, though, he lifts his head -- mostly, at first, so that he can relight one of the candles off of its neighbor. He tips his gaze over towards Micah with a small smile, still not saying anything but extending a hand towards the other man in invitation to join him. Until the hand is reached out toward him, Micah sits silently, watching one of the candle flames dance in the breeze. Matt's smile draws one in kind from Micah and he rises just enough to bring himself over closer, settling next to him. He reaches an arm over the other man's shoulders, holding him tight in greeting. “Evenin', hon. Y'got a minute? I don't wanna keep y'from anythin'.” His other arm is busy with lifting the Tupperware. “Brought some chocolate chip blondies. Jax made 'em, so they're safe. But I /totally/ told 'im to, so...” His smile tugs into a crooked smirk. Matt curls his arms back around Micah in return, squeezing tight and not letting go even after a standard amount of /hug/-time has elapsed. His head drops forward, thumping down against Micah’s shoulder. “You’re not keeping me. Just. Have had a lot -- on my mind. But I think distractions are kinda good.” His smile has stretched broader when he lifts his head again, finally dropping his arms. “Distractions in blondie form, /even/ better. Is -- is poor baking skills /contagious/? Cuz he’s probably okay even if you’re suggesting things to him.” Micah deposits the container in Matt's lap, hand moving to muss the other man's hair instead. “Distractions is nice sometimes. An' no, Jax's bakin' is still excellent. I was just claimin' credit for what was really minimal effort on my part.” It's rather a busy hand just now, moving into a fist to circle over his heart as soon as it leaves off its petting. “I wanted to apologise for the other night. I didn't mean...” He sighs, shaking his head. “How're y'doin'? Is there anythin' y'wanted t'talk about?” Matt gives Micah a puzzled look, in answer to this apology. “You wanted to -- why? What?” He bites down at his lip, eyes shifting down to his candles. “It wasn’t your -- I mean, things are just kind of uncomfortable all around, right? I don’t guess it’s -- really easy for you either. Or --” He stretches out a hand, fingers flicking through one wispy flame, making it dance as it curls with the motion of his hand. “-- Or her.” “I upset you. It wasn't necessary. So I apologise.” Micah laughs a sad sort of laugh. “Not easy for me? I...begin to imagine I'm the only person in the world who /hasn't/ been tortured extendedly. Please don't worry 'bout me.” He nods at that last, however. “It is hard for her. Or...will be. Once she remembers exactly what happened. I think right now it's all still kinda...theoretical for her. Second-hand, almost.” Matt’s shoulders tighten slightly at this laugh, fingers flicking through the candle again. “It has been kind of a trend for people, hasn’t it?” He glances back up from the flame, eyes slightly wider and his brows raising. “Remembers?” This just sounds puzzled. “Did she get sudden amnesia?” Micah's brows dip, head tilting in a confused posture. “Sudden? Didn't they take her memories in their process? She doesn't...remember anyone. Or even the simplest things about her life before. It's why I was askin' Luci t'hold off on takin' her t'task 'til after she's had a minute once they set things right. S'gonna be a /lot/ t'come rushin' back on a body all at once.” He moves a hand to pet gently at Matt's back, yet another silent apology for bringing up sore topics. “N… no?” Matt’s puzzled look continues, his elbows slowly returning to his knees. Or starting to, at least; in the process his arm bumps up against the tupperware and he glances down, startled then pleased like he’s forgotten all about this. He shakes his head as he peels the lid open to remove a blondie and offer the container to Micah. “They gave her a lot of bullshit therapy about how awful mutants are but her memories were -- she was in the lab with me until /pretty/ soon before.” He swallows, fingers squeezing a little too hard at the blondie and dimpling deep smooshy fingerprints into it. “Before Jax and everyone. Showed up. Right up until the day before she chose to /go/ with that man I was talking to her about it and she -- definitely still remembered.” He shrugs a shoulder, lifting the blondie for a small nibble. “And that couldn’t even have been two weeks before the raid.” “But...I don't understand.” Micah's confusion prevents him from so much as registering the purpose of the open container presented to him. “She clearly doesn't /know/ us. Every conversation we've had, she's... Asked how we know each other. She didn't remember her relationship with Lucien. Or Anole. Or...her role with the Morlocks. None of it. I was telling her her own life story like it was someone else's just last night.” His head shakes slightly but repeatedly. “Would they've done that /after/?” “I’m telling you, she knew you when we were in there. I mean, she sent Luci that letter telling him I was alive. She sent it /from/ New York. How could she have sent a letter to someone she didn’t even know? /Why/ would she have cared enough to remind a total stranger about me?” Matt’s head shakes, too. His hand scrubs against his face. “I don’t know what they might have done after. Maybe she just doesn’t /want/ to think about it.” His fingertips rub against the scars alongside his head, a shiver rippling through him. “... the uncharitable part of me just wants to say it’s that much easier to garner sympathy and reject responsibility for her part in this if she pretends she didn’t know what she was doing.” “She did? But she didn't. She said she didn't.” Micah looks down at his lap. “What would she have t'gain by pretendin'? When she's gonna have her mind back soon enough either way? I don't understand why she'd have me /recitin'/ things she already knows. Shouldn't do any good but t'make me look foolish. At best. An' I usually do a good enough job of that without needin' help.” His teeth dig into his lip. “S'pose I could just ask her.” “She also said she was Dr. Leone’s daughter and that Themis had nothing to do with Prometheus,” Matt points out around another mouthful of blondie. At the question of what she’d have to /gain/, he just hikes his brows up again, licking a fingertip clean as he stares a long while at Micah. A muscle twitches in his cheek. It takes a bit before he lowers his gaze back to his candles. “Suppose you could just ask her.” “But that /was/ the brainwashin', wasn't it? What else would the brainwashin' have accomplished but that?” Micah's lip has a series of small divots in by the time his teeth release it. “I...I should just ask her. I shouldn't be troublin' y'with this further. I was s'posed t'be checkin' on /you/ an' if /you/ need t'talk. Not me.” As if to enforce this, he takes one of the blondies and bites near on half of it off. It is harder to speak with a full mouth, after all. “You should just ask her,” Matt agrees, though his tone is -- distant. The resemblance between him and Lucien is starkly clear with his quietly dryer, “She’s been so honest with you until now, after all.” He brushes his fingers against his head once more, dropping his hand to his lap afterwards. “I think it might be what I hate most about that place. /More/ than the torture. Just. She was my /friend/. And the things they manage to get us to do to each other --” There’s a deep pained tightening in his face. In his voice. “I will. The way people answer questions is as helpful as the honesty of the answer, usually,” Micah replies as soon as his mouth is clear. He wraps his arms around Matt again, this hug tighter than the first. “I've heard so many of those stories. I think many of the others would agree with you. It's horrific. I'm so sor... Mmn. That y'had to experience it first hand.” “I helped /start/ her down this road.” Matt’s words now are quiet, muffled into Micah’s shirt as he leans into the hug. “When they brought her in. They told me to -- to suppress her abilities. So they could put one of those chips in.” He shudders, again, hand lifting to curl around Micah. “And I /couldn’t/ -- didn’t want to -- she was always so powerful. I could make her /more/ powerful. They’d never have been able to keep her if --” His words break off for a second, breath hitching inward. “But when I said -- when I offered -- she just. Said no. Chose to --” When he breaks off here, it is, absurdly, with a laugh, quick and breathy. “Chose to. Become. /That/.” When he speaks of Neve his tone is oddly similar to Neve’s when she speaks of herself prior to her new life, as though /Neve/ is just some /thing/ inhabiting the real person he knew. “Didn’t want to be herself anymore. I could’ve stopped it. Would’ve stopped it. If it was just them /doing/ it to her. But even all the way back then she chose --” His head shakes, shoulders slumping sadly. “I wouldn’t have been any better than them if I just hijacked her -- /forced/ her to break herself free. But even -- even then I can’t help wondering if it wouldn’t. Have been. Better.” “You did what you had to. If y'hadn't they would've...maybe not even hurt you. But her. Someone else. Y'were too valuable to 'em. An' she might not've been able t'get out. Might've just gotten her an' others killed.” Micah clings, holding Matt closer at his quiet, at his lean, at that shudder. “She was broken long before she got there. She likely wasn't in a state to truly resist anymore. Even once the brainwashin' is undone. She's gonna need so much help above and beyond.” One of Micah's hands moves to pet through Matt's hair. “Y'did all y'could do in that place. They don't leave you any good choices.” “I guess she is.” Matt pulls back, here, tense again and ducking his head away from the pettings as he shifts away. He pulls his knees up towards his chest, one arm wrapping around his shins and the other hand -- still holding his half-eaten blondie, which he looks down at as though puzzled how it got there. Softer: “... I guess they don’t.” Micah unwraps his arms from around Matt when he begins to move away, hand taken back to form a fist and circle over his heart yet again. “I went an' upset you again. I didn't...we can talk about other things. Or not. Just let me know what y'need, okay?” “Just… kind of wondering what exactly someone has to /do/ for you /not/ to make excuses for them.” Matt nibbles at his blondie again, slow, a tiny -- thin and not really /amused/ -- smile curling up at his mouth. “Kinda hope you’ll understand if they’re not excuses I’m. Ready to listen to just…” He finishes off the blondie, licking his fingers clean and dropping his hand down to curl around his shin. He takes a deep breath, slowly lowering his knees to sit cross-legged once more. His eyes drift back towards the candles -- another two have gone out and he leans forward to light them again. “But I’m working. On getting to. A better place.” His hand settles down on his knee. His eyes close. “Maybe right now I just need quiet. Just -- sit. With me. A while.” “I'm...” It's been an extremely busy hand lately, just circling again before it has the chance to move away from Micah's chest. “I just try. Not t'assume the worst. There's enough bad without inventin' more of it in m'head, so. I don't. I know it's naïve an' it gets me in enough trouble with people, but. It's what I have t'do.” He pushes out a long, heavy breath. “But I don't have t'do it right now. Or out loud. With you. At all.” The request is answered with a nod. “I can do that.” Matt answers this with a nod, fingers tightening against his knees and then relaxing. The small touch of smile on his lips now is warmer, more genuine. For a moment he opens his eyes again, looking not at Micah but at the shifting dance of shadows fluttering and twisting at the edges of the candlelight, but he tears his gaze away from these to just bow his head, letting quiet wash over the garden once more.