ArchivedLogs:Hopes And Dreams

Hopes And Dreams
Dramatis Personae Lucien, Micah	4 May 2014 Healing progress. (Part of the Perfectus TP, Prometheus TP, and Future Past TP.)
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. Lucien's garden is a pleasant oasis away from the urban sprawl of the city; with spring actually /springlike/ now it's become even moreso, the flowerbeds blooming bright and colourful and the vegetable garden starting to poke up with an abundance of greenery. This Sunday morning is pleasantly cool, sunny and bright to make this spot that much more of a picturesque retreat. Lucien, at the moment, doesn't really look to be particularly enjoying his surroundings. Seated at the table in pale linen pants and a lightweight blue sweater, he just looks pale and somewhat tired after his daily session with Micah, head propped in his palm and his other hand curled around a mug of chai hot chocolate Desi has just brought out for them. Another mug sits by Micah's chair; there's quiche on the table as well, cheese and spinach, though Lucien has barely touched his as yet. Micah reaches for his chai swapping the mug out for the laptop he had been working on during the hour of...sitting and otherwise just watching Lucien concentrate quietly. His plate shows mostly finished food on it, as well. He is dressed weekend-simple in a kelly green shirt with a cartoon red panda on the front, faded jeans, and sneakers. An olive newsboy cap perches atop the messy auburn hair on his head to shield his eyes from the sun that has finally made an appearance again. “You doin' okay, honey? S'it gettin' harder? I was hopin' this'd be easier for you over time as...maybe the mess in m'head'd be...less.” He frowns slightly at this. "You worry," Lucien murmurs quietly, a very small smile tugging upwards at one corner of his mouth, "entirely too much." He closes his eyes, lifting his mug to his lips to take a long slow sip. "The mess in your head /is/ getting less. How do you feel?" "It's what I do. /Maybe/ some other people don't worry enough an' I have t'make up for 'em." One of Micah's eyebrows climbs a little higher than the other. "No seizures today? I was hopin' with...doin' it so spread out like this it wouldn't be as hard on you, too." His free hand reaches to the back of his head as if this can help him sense what is going on there. "Is it...almost better? How much more d'you think y'have t'do?" His gaze moves down to his feet, a hint of a grin spreading across his lips. "Mostly feel like I been sittin' a long time." "No seizures," Lucien reassures Micah, lowering his mug to pick up his fork instead and take a small bite of quiche. "I am fine, Micah. I could do perhaps with a nap, but nothing worse than that." He glances over at the other man, tipping his fork out towards the rest of the garden. "You could stand. Walk. Is it getting at all easier? I mean, granted, there are components to that I cannot help with, but --" He slices off another mouthful of quiche to eat it, washing it down with a swallow of cocoa. "If you continue with me daily by this time next week we will be done. Perhaps earlier," he allows, after a moment's thought. "I could stand to push myself harder." "Good, good... It'd be nice t'try an' get back t'work next Monday. I mean, the one after this one, not t'morrow Monday. But I don't want you t'overdo it. Just can't always trust people t'/tell/ me when they're overdoin' it's the thing." Micah takes another swallow from his mug, finding it a new spot on the table before reaching for his crutches. "Yeah, it's been gettin' better. An' a lot faster'n it otherwise would, for sure. S'just...really rough with Jax not workin' t'finish school. Now me not workin' on account of /this/. Then the...um. Medical expenses." He blushes, a rapid filling of red through his face. It seems a good enough time to stand and be looking at his feet instead. "Don't mean t'sound like I'm rushin', s'just," he pauses to sigh as he works at shifting his weight from foot to foot experimentally, "what it is." "I think we can manage that." Lucien tips his head in a small nod at the mention of next Monday as a goal, taking another bite of quiche. "You should both be back to work soon enough, though, non? Well." His brows furrow. "You, at least. Hm." He glances over at Micah as the other man stands, watching with thoughtful assessment at the shift of weight. "I could go longer, if you wish. Another half hour? Two hours, each time, instead? Get you out of here by Wednesday and back at your job." "Faster is better, provided it doesn't...hurt you. I'm still gonna have therapy t'work at once we're done /here/. Bodies are hard." Micah walks a few steps at a time, getting used to the new adjustments in his head. Relearning how to move over and over again with each of these sessions. "I'll have t'trust your judgement on how much is /okay/ for you, hon." His teeth sink into his lip at the mention of Jax. "I...don't know. What's gonna happen with Jax. He can't /see/ right, he don't /feel/ like 'imself. Doin' 'is paintin's near impossible. But he wouldn't be much good in his guard job in this current state, or tattooin' folks. I think the teachin' position might be all he can handle 'til...somethin' changes." Lucien picks up his cocoa again, sipping at it slowly as he watches Micah walk. He stands, cocoa still in one hand, reaching out to trail fingers very lightly against Micah's forearm as the other man moves, his quiet assessment extending now to actually watching the communication between brain and leg during the motion. "Two hours, then. I'll let you know if I need to stop." He takes another slow sip of cocoa, lips compressing afterwards. "/Is/ something going to change?" Micah nods, continuing his slow movement, stepping in different directions rather than proceeding out of Lucien's reach. "Let me know when you're ready t'start again, then." Another nod answers the second question, though his brows knit with it. "Somethin', certainly. Just not sure if it's...that the effects of the chemical will wear off. Or if they'll find a way t'treat it. Or if he'll be /adaptin'/ t'the way things are now. Whatever it is, s'gonna be a change." His jaw tenses slightly. "Just feels like one thing after another with us. Like...I went an' got all messed up /gainin'/ abilities an' Jax did the same /losin'/ his. 'Fore I'd even gotten m'head back on straight." "Will you need to call your husband? /Can/ he meet us down here?" Lucien drifts along slowly at Micah's side, brows furrowing and his fingers not leaving the other man's arm. "Well. We shall get your head back on straight. And after that -- I can think of worse things, really, than depowering Jackson. Perhaps it will force him to slow down. Take a /break/ from all the chaos." "I'll send 'im a text that I might be a little bit late. Sure he wouldn't mind the excuse t'hang 'round a bit. The church's got the refugees at it this time 'round an' all. He can visit with folks. We was plannin' t'maybe go see Hive an' Dusk after...it'll just depend how worn out he is. He's had no energy since...all this." Micah stops for a moment. "Y'want I should keep walkin'? Or I can sit. Whatever's easiest." His head shakes at the assessment of Jax's powers. "I can think of worse things, but only 'cause there's a lotta /bad/ out there. He ain't just lost 'is ability t'make shields an' lasers an' illusions. He ain't...gettin' energy from the sun anymore. He ain't /seein'/ the world the way he's used to. He don't feel like 'imself. Was bad enough that he lost all 'is piercin's an' tattoos in the fire. But not t'be able t'perceive the world an' feel 'is body as 'imself? This is /real/ hard on 'im." "Keep walking," Lucien urges, hand still resting lightly against Micah's arm. He lifts his cup to take another pull from his cocoa, longer and deeper this time. His brows furrow at the mention of the tattoos, a short sharp breath exhaled. His lips compress, but he is quiet a while before he speaks, eventually only wondering, "/Will/ he be able to finish his school work in such a state?" It's an absent question, slightly distracted as his focus turns in towards Micah. It's followed soon by another, a little more wry: "Hive survived this mission, then?" Micah nods at that answer, obediently continuing to move without moving out of Lucien's grip. "He's got one more paintin' t'do, an' a little over a week t'do it in. If he were /himself/ I'm sure he'd finish no problem. But between havin' no energy an' not bein' able t'see right? I don't rightly know." He sighs again, brow furrowing further at the question of Hive. "Survived in that he isn't currently dead, yes. What /condition/ he's in is another question entirely. He might be needin' your help again, soon. 'Least he'll let you. He won't let the doctors do nothin' useful 'til all the raids are over. But I don't think he's /got/ long enough for all that." "With half his team depowered?" Lucien gives his head a small shake. "Likely not. How are they going to /do/ another raid, down so many people? That is not an answer he should be waiting on." His fingers tighten around his cup. "Tell me some good news. So many people just seem to be drowning." "I know...I know, that complicates things even /further/. Who's t'say whether they won't just all be better again in a few...weeks, though? Never claimed Hive wasn't one of the most stubborn people I know." Micah's shoulders slump a bit, or as much as they can while he's using forearm crutches to stay upright and ambulate. "Good news? Um. Good... This is helpin'? An' Jax /is/ gonna graduate right soon. Um..." His cheeks colour as it takes entirely too much thought to come /up/ with good news. "Nobody /died/ on the raid, but y'already knew that." "You know a fair few stubborn people. Perhaps it comes with the X-gene." Lucien drops his hand away from Micah's arm, gesturing back to the table as he moves over to sit down once more. He pinches at the bridge of his nose, setting his mug down and taking another bite of quiche. "That took far too long. And barely qualified. None of it was even news. Is this what your life is going to be, always?" "Maybe," Micah says in an off-hand, almost distracted fashion. He returns to his chair when directed, leaving an arm out for Lucien to touch if he needs to. "It's just been /hard/ lately. There was a raid. An' before that was the Perfectus thing. An' before that someone blew up the apartment buildin' that a fair number of people I'm close with lived at. An' before that someone shot Jax fulla /arrows/. S'just been kinda a lot lately." The fingers of his other hand drum at the arm of his chair. "There's been some good...in it, just not /new/. Commons is comin' along an' is gonna be amazin'. Shane an' Aly are gonna re-open Evolve. B's work is amazin'. Spence is /alive/." He finally reaches for his mug to drink from it again in order to busy his hand with something functional. "If the dreams're t'be believed, folks're all gonna get their powers back an' the next raid's gonna go smoothly, too. You're gonna be actin' an' Evolve's gonna go well an' B's gonna get into school an' Jax is gonna put on his art show an' m'job's gonna expand 'til I need permanent space an' extra help." He shrugs, expression a little helpless. "Art show." Lucien's brows raise, his hand reaching out to rest against Micah's arm once more. "Don't tell me that was also -- I dreamed about an art show the other night. Jackson's. Hm." He looks down into his mug, brows still lifted before he just finishes the last of his quiche. "Relying on dreams for all the good to look forward to in life seems somewhat overly optimistic." "Did you? We was talkin' 'bout it. Me an' Jax an' Shane. In another dream. Think Jax an' I both had that one." Micah's eyes follow Lucien's hand. "Ain't that all anyone ever does? Dream an' hope things come true? Work t'push 'em in the direction they was hopin' they'd go?" "Mmm. I was at the show. Discussing one of the pieces with Daiki and Desi." A faintly troubled look crosses Lucien's face for a moment, though it's pushed aside as he adds, "-- The show seemed to go quite well." He sets his fork down, lips twitching upwards faintly. His forefinger taps lightly against Micah's arm, other hand reaching for his mug though not yet lifting it. He settles in comfortably, eyes slipping mostly closed as his hand rests more firmly against Micah's forearm. "/Is/ that all anyone ever does? Goodness. It explains a /lot/ about the abysmal state of the world. I have never found hopes and dreams particularly useful for -- well. Anything." "Really? Which one? Was there a portrait of Ryan there?" Micah asks out of sheer idle curiosity. "Y'really don't think dreams of the future are good for anythin'? Or havin' hopes for things? What keeps anythin' movin' forward otherwise?" He sips from his mug again, looking down into it afterward. "Ryan? I don't know," Lucien says with a small shake of his head. "The piece we were looking at was -- rather bloody." His eyes close he rest of the way, breath exhaled in a short sharp rush. "Work keeps things moving forward. Occasionally sheer bloody-mindedness. /Hope/ accomplishes little and often does more harm than good when it is misplaced. As it so often is." "Bloody? Was this the show with all portraits or somethin' else, then?" Micah's brow furrows again. "Work for somethin', though. Nobody...does things without hopin' /somethin'/ comes of it." He sets his mug down once more and shrugs, settling back heavily in his chair. "Maybe I'm just doin' it wrong." "Something else. I think it had to do with war," Lucien murmurs, a touch of distraction in his tone, fingers squeezing gently in at Micah's arm and then relaxing. "Mmm. Perhaps I am. I /hope/ for very little and I still manage to get quite a /lot/ accomplished. I find it on balance a waste of time and energy." He lifts his other hand, rubbing slowly at the hollows of his eyes and then tipping his hand out to Micah's laptop. "You should get back to work, perhaps. I do not think I will be very conversational again shortly." “Mmn. That sounds entirely unpleasant. Though there's a place for unpleasantness in art s'much as anythin' else.” Another nod answers Lucien's suggestion. Briefly, Micah borrows his arm back to retrieve the laptop two-handed. Then he goes back to working, his arm still enough for Lucien to maintain his grip there. “I'm just hopin' /this/ goes well enough t'get back t'normal. Or what passes for it. For now.” "Unpleasant? No. It was --" For a brief moment as Lucien's eyes open again, his expression is distant, a very faint smile toying with his lips before it fades away again. "Powerful. And certainly beautiful." His eyes drop again, down towards where his fingers move back to rest against Micah's arm. "But it was a dream." His eyes close once more. "We will get you back to normal. Or what passes for it." Quietly beneath his breath he starts humming, Avenue Q's "For Now", a few brief measures of the song before his focus is once more absorbed entirely by his work.