ArchivedLogs:Kind

Kind
Dramatis Personae Micah, Jax	13 January 2015 '
Location <NYC> Candyland - Harbor Commons - Lower East Side
The stairs lead up into a landing hall, bright as well with a set of bay windows and a wide cushion-strewn ledge beneath them at its far end. To the right of the landing the first doorway opens into the bathroom, warmly coloured in yellows and reds and sandy tiles; its large bathtub-shower also holds a mosaic on one wall, strange fire-creatures and manticores echoed in the small fiery faeries sprinkled at sporadic intervals around the rest of the room. Past the bathroom on the right-hand side is a smaller door into a linen closet before the actual door into Spencer's bedroom. Spencer's sturdy furniture set has been designed with rambunctious children in mind, most of its structure climbable with a loft-bed connected by a short tunnel to an also-lofted reading nook with a sliding door to turn it into its own private cave; the desk and dresser sit beneath the bed and there is a shelving unit beneath the platform that serves also as steps up into it. A slide down off the bed falls down into large squishy beanbag and the whole of the structure has been designed and painted reminiscent of a spaceship, a theme echoed in the way the closet doors have been painted to look like the TARDIS. On the left-hand side the first door leads into the master bedroom, bright-lit not just from its huge windows and skylight but from a rather exorbitant overabundance of lamps. It's colourful in here, the hand-crafted wood furniture (king bed against the left-hand wall, pair of small nightstands to either side of it, a pair of dressers flanking the closet on the right, a large desk with a multitude of drawers and shelves along the back) cheerfully painted, the walls home to plentiful artwork, brightly coloured glass figurines scattered around the shelves and stained-glass suncatchers hanging in the windows. One set of windows leads out onto a balcony, stretching out to share with the guest bedroom adjacent; it's set up for /lounging/, a large hammock at one side, a pair of hanging net chairs flanking the table on the other. Next to the master bedroom is the smaller guest bedroom, sunny-yellow and furnished with queen bed, dresser, a small desk of its own; doors here lead out into the balcony as well. At the end of the hallway shortly before the window nook, a hatch in the ceiling drops down a rope-ladder that leads up into the tiny attic-space; not so much a proper /floor/ as it is a sloped-ceiling nook of space beneath the roof, it nevertheless has its own circular window and skylights and rather than left unfinished it's been furnished with beanbag and folded futon-mattress and a tiny low table with drawers tucked beneath it. It has been a clear and sunny day, at least. Warm, if one stays indoors. Micah is extra bundled, having a tendency to feel colder and shakier even with the worst of his withdrawal seizing on Sunday and Monday. He is bundled in...bats. Batsignal hoodie, Flutterbat tee, jeans, and socks covered in little purple bat silhouettes. Wishbear wrist warmers add some warmth to his hands, which are also helped along by two mugs of steaming spicy cocoa. It takes some mug-shifting and use of a hip to negotiate the door and slip himself inside, closing it behind him. Though still a little wan and racoon-eyed, he's looking a little less bad than the past few days. Jax is only recently out of the shower, still half-dressed in thigh-high mismatched colourful socks beneath faded old jeans; he's currently stuck somewhere between /picking out/ a shirt and /rearranging/ the contents of his closet. His head turns when the door opens, shifting so his eye can move to Micah, but then returns to the closet. "I swear I can't never manage to keep track'a where my belts gone to. No matter how many I get I can only ever find the same two." Micah settles the mugs onto coasters on the desk, moving in behind Jax to survey the closet. His hand rests on the small of the other man's back. “See, I solve this problem by only /havin'/ two. We should get y'one of those...hangers with all the hooks on it that you're s'posed t'put the belts on by their buckles? Get 'em all in one place so they take less herdin' later on.” His head tips forward to rest on Jax's shoulder. “How buried in this are y'right now? I wanted...t'talk, but not t'interrupt you.” "I /was/ jus' tryin' t'get dressed." Jax leans back into Micah's touch, his eye closing in time with a small shiver. "You want t'find me a shirt an' a belt I'll be golden. Else /I'll/ be starin' all day." He moves aside, picking up one of the mugs to carry it to the bed and sink down onto the edge of the mattress. Not sipping, just sniffing at the cocoa. Oh, relying on Micah for clothes. This is an efficient, if not remotely fashion-conscious, proposition. He finds something soft and long-sleeved, coupling it with a belt that doesn't /obviously/ clash, resting these on the bed beside Jax. On the other side, he settles himself in close. “Been feelin'...hung over t'day. But like I have half a brain t'process with for the first time in...feels like forever. An' havin' any clarity at this point, seems like I need t'start an apology tour. Startin' with you. For all the stupid, crazy things I did an' put y'through recently.” He shifts as if to put an arm around Jax, then stops remembering the other man was aiming to get /dressed/ and that's hard to do with someone else's arm in the mix. “I love you. An' you deserve better'n what I been lately. I am so...there ain't words. For a proper apology.” Jax sets the mug on the nightstand, pulling the shirt on and rising briefly so he can tug the jeans higher on his hips, slide the belt on and pull it snug. Then sit back down to /actually/ sip at his cocoa while Micah speaks. "... Oh." His brows crease, slow and uncertain. "That's -- I mean, that's. Thank you. But I -- you. Didn't. It ain't like you. /I/ was also -- stupid. An' crazy. An' not thinkin' things through good." Once Jax sits back down, Micah's arm does snake its way around him. “Just 'cause we was both actin' crazy don't mean it don't bear apologisin' for puttin' y'through it. Or at least...acknowledgin' what it was.” His teeth dig into his lip, nibble-gnawing at it before he speaks again. “When I said I'd leave. I never meant I /wanted/ to. You...got that, right? I just... I was afraid y'were gonna die, sugar. An' I would've done anythin' t'make that stop. Until Ion showed up, I just couldn't think of anythin' t'do but t'get Eri away. An' when Shane said he just wanted Eri t'be /gone/, that was... What logic was left in m'brain just took that literal. Like if I got 'em out of the house, they'd come back an' help you. Until I could figure what t'do next.” His arm squeezes a little tighter. “I love you an' I don't never, ever want t'leave you.” "Oh." The softness of Jax's tone, the small dip of head and furrow of brow, suggests that maybe he /hadn't/ got that. Slowly, he nods, heavy and unsure. "Oh. Okay. I -- good. Because I don't -- want. You to. I mean not that I'd want you to /stay/ if you wasn't happy but I don't --" He stops with a blush, a flustered bite of teeth against lip. His weight sags in against Micah's side. "They came back." Micah's brow furrows at the uncertainty in Jax's voice. "Honey, no. I...more than anythin' you're the most important thing t'me. An' I'm not...upset or unhappy with you, in any way. Talkin' 'bout leavin' was...nothin' t'do with you. Um...other than that it was t'do with tryin' t'keep you /alive/. T'weren't nothin' you /did/ is what I mean t'say. I love you an' I never stopped lovin' you, even when I was bein' crazy." A second arm joins the first to encircle Jax fully, pulling him close. "They did. They did... I also...need t'apologise for that. For not...realisin' what was goin' on an' lettin' what happened happen. I know y'keep /sayin'/ that you agreed t'the whole thing, too. But it was my idea. My...thought that our family had room in it that weren't there. My stupid need t'try an' make things /better/ for ev'rybody that just made things so much worse." Jax lowers his cocoa to his lap to keep it steadier while he's pulled in closer. "I don't -- think s'a question of /room/. I mean, c'mon, Shane's always tryin' to farm us out as parents t'/everyone/. I think t'was a question'a treatin' them like they wasn't /part/ of this huge important decision." His brow creases again. "An' that ain't a stupid -- need. You /love/ people. A lot. An' care about 'em. A lot. That's -- that ain't /itself/ a bad thing at all." “I know /that/ was the main concern, just in addition...” Micah's head shakes slowly. “I thought that, too, at first. That they was needin' us less an' moved out an' liked t'offer us out t'other people. But I'm not sure, now. Needless t'say I won't be bringin' no proposals for new adoptions to 'em no time soon.” His eyes trail down to his knees, as if the denim covering them is in some way interesting. “Isn't it, though? Stupid. And...not...good. We've been through this b'fore. B almost left /b'fore/ 'cause of me. Always tryin' t'/care/ at people too much. Lovin' too much. Trustin' too much. An' I always thought...I thought that I /was/ doin' right for other people. Helpin' other people. But I'm not sure anymore. I feel like no one ever tells me anythin'? An' maybe somehow that's my fault. 'Cause it sure seems t'happen a lot. But maybe everyone sayin' that they needed help an' wanted help an' appreciated help. Maybe didn't really. At least not from me.” Jax's fingers curl around his mug, his eye lowering there. "I think maybe they offer us out t'other people on /account/'a -- they need us. An' /have/ us. And wanted t'share the support /they/ get that other folks don't. But not cuz'a not needin' that support no more. Jus'." He shakes his head, tightening his grip on his mug and lapsing into an uncomfortable silence. "I don't know," he admits, softly. "/I/ -- aint'. Good at... tellin'. Things. But other people -- I." His lips press together, shoulders tightening. "Maybe s'just always gonna be hard." "I wish you felt comfortable talkin' t'me more. I try...just t'anticipate your needs, but sometimes it goes wrong. Like...I was tryin' t'take on more an' more of the things needed doin' when your health was gettin' bad 'round Eri. An' it took /Hive/ tellin' me that weren't helpin'. He ain't even...here. Or talkin' t'hardly nobody. But he was the one that talked t'me." Micah pulls back just enough to be able to look at Jax better. "Am I just hard t'talk to? Do I make it hard for you somehow, t'tell me what you're feelin'? 'Cause I'll try t'fix...whatever it might be." It is /his/ shoulders' turn to tense at this last. "I just think...maybe I should pull away from some of the things I got wound up in. There was always some good /reason/. I mean, the pups loanin' us 'round the school an' the kindsa things they was sayin' the kids needed, but... Maybe I should step down from teachin' there. Only go when the pups ask." The tension turns into more of a slump as Micah continues. "An' the Morlocks, I...just /kept/ doin' what I was doin' after Nox asked for help. With food an' supplies an' the gardens, especially. But once she was gone I kept doin' it kinda in her name? An' for Anole. But maybe I should...let them be, too. It's just so hard t'know... Kay done fussed at me for /not/ bein' 'round your church so much no more, but there ain't been...folks there done figured out their systems themselves, once they rebuilt an' we stopped sendin' 'em Prometheus refugees. So I thought they didn't need me anymore, not for more'n visitin' if I pick you up or drop you off. But then he done fussed at me /for/ bein' at the school an' helpin' the Morlocks, where I stayed 'cause I thought they /did/ still need me. An' the Clinic. I don't know. I don't know what t'do 'bout the Clinic." Jax lifts a fist, circling it over his heart. "I don't mean to -- it's just. Not easy for me to -- I don't. I -- sorry." He shakes his head. "You don't make it hard, I make it hard. I can't -- I always feel like I -- I jus'. I'm not good at." He gestures vaguely towards -- his mouth. Face. Somewhere. "I feel like there's a balance 'tween listenin' t'alla Kay's anger an' -- jus' pullin' back from /everything/ on account'a. That. You /ain't/ the only human teacher we got, y'know, an' you /sure/ ain't the only human staff at the Clinic, outside of Security s'/mostly/ humans. In Medical it's near /all/. School is more half an' half. Ain't nobody got a problem with --" Another shake of head. "Ain't like you gotta stop doin' your /job/. I mean the classes you're teachin' is useful. The work you do at the Clinic is definitely useful." "Would it help if we got a couples counsellor? D'you think? I mean, we're usually /good/. We're good t'gether. But if y'don't feel like y'can talk t'me, that's maybe somethin' we should work on t'gether." Micah tenses up again at the talk of Kay. "I mean...me an' Kay ain't never been besties? We don't spend a ton of time t'gether other'n...when everythin's in crisis mode, really. But I sure thought we were /friendly/. An' if he...if he honestly thinks all those things 'bout me? That I'm /preyin'/ on folks an' usin' 'em an' discardin' 'em an' bein' where I'm not really wanted nor needed. If he thinks I'm doin' it t'form some kinda list of mutant accomplishments, like they ain't even people? An' I thought we were friendly? What must ev'ryone else be feelin' when I show up?" Consistent with the previous alternation, he slumps again. "I done bled for the Morlocks in the sewers. An' for the refugees in Harlem. If they...think I'm there just for a pat on the back, I really don't know what t'/think/ much less do." "... I don't actually talk to my counselor either," Jax admits uncomfortably, biting at his lip. He lifts his cup, sipping again at the cocoa. Slowly, lingering like he's expecting it to help him find words. "Micah, you're. Human. I mean, there's gonna be some people, there's /always/ gonna be some people, where that comes with -- jus'. This huge barrier of suspicion an' distrust an' -- I don't think there /is/ a way around that. I /don't/. I don't think it matters /what/ you do or don't do. An' it ain't everyone, it ain't ever gonna /be/ everyone. But until this entire society's a /whole/ lot different than it is, it's /always/ gonna be some of us. I don't think that's a thing we /can/ help. Or change. I do think it maybe means -- bein' more cautious? About where t'help an' where not. Like maybe 'less people is /askin'/ you specific, t'ain't the place to --" He shakes his head again. "Step in. S'your call how comfortable /you/ feel helpin' when people /are/ askin'. Because /even/ when you're asked, /even/ when you're tryin' your best, you're /always/ gonna find people who plain-simple ain't /never/ gonna trust you fully." There's a hesitation, a slip of tension into his posture, before he finishes: "... an' that ain't a thing I'm gonna fault 'em for. /Not/ because I think they're right about /you/. But because they're /right/ about humans." "That don't really...help much, honey. Kinda defeats the purpose of counsellin', don't it?" Micah's hand pets slowly up and down Jax's spine. "I know. I'm acutely aware. An' I try...t'be extremely sensitive. An' careful with m'language an'...with the few places like the Fight Club where people've /been/ awkward with me, I try t'stay away. Even when I'm terrified there ain't enough medics for you an' the kids, but... It's just so hard when people /do/ ask. When the folks in Harlem was beggin' for medical care an' supplies. When Nox was askin' for help feedin' her family. When...Horus. Or Flicker. When you...I mean. This is how I even /met/ you, when y'called me, remember? All...dragon-acidy an' with a floor full of folks all injured an' hardly anyone t'tend 'em. An' /nobody/ t'tend you. I barely knew you then, but there..." His breath is just a little rough before he continues. "It's hard t'say no. It's so hard when I have /so much/ t'give an' I got the ability t'help keep people /alive/." A little shudder can be felt travelling through his arms where he holds Jax. "I get /people/. Just...strangers. Bein' suspicious. But folks as I might've counted friends? Not just bein' /suspicious/ but thinkin' just...horrible, nasty thoughts 'bout every /part/ of me? I wasn't ready for that." "Yeah... yeah. I -- know. I just. Don't -- know how. T'ever even start -- sayin'. Things. When I never feel like I --" Jax stops, pulling in a slow breath. Another sip of cocoa. "Things like Horus, like Flicker, I don't imagine there's gonna /be/ that same issue when it's -- one-on-one like that. When it's a /person/ comin' t'you, specific, t'help them, specific. Jus' gets into tricky territory when it's steppin' in t'help whole /groups/ of folk an' that's always gonna /be/ a hard place t'navigate, y'know? Cuz even if someone approaches you t'ask for help they ain't gonna be speakin' for the /entire/ group an' there might always be folk not wholly comfortable with you there. An' that's -- jus'. A difficulty. That I think you're always gonna have to /be/ navigatin' for pretty much ever." He bites his lip, teeth wiggling at a lip ring. "I ain't gonna pretend t'ain't hard, honey-honey. I /know/ it's hard. I've had folk /I/ thought was friends, folk I'd known an' liked an' worked side-by-side with for /years/ an' then somethin' happens -- sometimes it ain't even been a single /thing/ I've done. Somethin' comes up on the news or some /other/ mutant somewhere do somethin' an' all of a sudden there's this /barrage/ of jus'. /Terrible/." He shrugs, looking down at his cup. "But /I'm/ always gonna have your back. That's -- about all I can promise. The rest of it, we'll just have to. Take as it comes, I guess. Case by case where -- feels necessary. T'have the help. Where it feels like it'll be a worthwhile trade-off'a what you can bring that's positive versus what people might feel that ain't versus what /you/ feel up to dealin' with." “Never feel like what, honey? This is just...we were just talkin’ ‘bout how I wish you’d talk t’me.” Micah deflates slightly with this, obviously discouraged. “I know...but most of the terrible’s been comin’ from...not all of you. S’been the people callin’ me a traitor an’ worse from the other side of things. Was bad enough when it was only folks that knew me...but with all the publicity an’ Vector, then. Just people on the /street/ accusin’ me of tryin’ t’kill their children an’ makin’ threats or even hurtin’ me, tellin’ me t’go back t’ ‘my own kind’. An’ that ain’t no… I ain’t /blamin’/ you or none of that like Kay was sayin’. Alla this done been my own choice, an’ I’d make it again. It just is what it is. So I retreated more an’ more with y’all. But. I don’t know. Startin’ t’feel like maybe I don’t /got/ a kind.” Micah curls in around Jax a little more snugly. “I really...just don’t know what t’think of people anymore. People been /actin’/ friendly. Arms ‘round m’shoulders. Standin’ with me through...Malthus. An’ maybe it weren’t real ever. An’ that makes me get t’wonderin’ if it’s not real with other people, too. I’m not good at tellin’ when people ain’t bein’ honest with me. What Kay had t’say weren’t based on nothin’ new. That kinda...that kinda thing had t’be buildin’ up a long time. An’ even...Hive bein’ in my /head/ still kicked me out. Things Dusk says sometimes. An’ I know it was a dream but the way B acted an’ looked at me when ze just /hated/ me so much for existin’...hurt more’n anythin’. So now I just don’t know. I don’t know what’s real or who’s just been /toleratin’/ me for your sake an’ not sayin’ nothin’.” Micah’s eyes blink repeatedly, forehead tipping to rest on Jax’s shoulder now. “Just feel like I wanna stay in this room with you an’ not leave again ever.” "I don't know. /I/ ain't no telepath. I got a feelin' there's just plenty of people that fall somewhere -- not where Kay is at. S'totally real possible to still love you, /actually/ love /you/, an' /still/ not never be entire comfortable with humans, /still/ have times an' places where they jus' can't deal with --" Jax shrugs, sounding a little tired now. "There's probably always gonna be people who's jus' toleratin' you for my sake." He frowns. "But there's also -- There's always gonna be people who love you. An' are /toleratin'/ you bein' human. For /your/ sake. If I had t'guess I'd figure that's more along the lines of where folks like Dusk is -- at." He shifts the cocoa to one hand, slides the other around Micah's waist. His nose crinkles up, teeth scraping against his lip. "Can't stay here forever. Ion's comin' over later tonight if he... remembers. I gotta bake cupcakes." Micah frowns slightly, furrow-browed at Jax still not completing his thought, but doesn't press it any further this time. "It's just…hard. Not knowin'. I don't want…I could leave people alone. If they wanted me to. If they'd just tell me. I wouldn't like it, but I'd do it. An' it'd be better'n...pretendin'." The hand around his waist encourages him to nestle in further, though the words make him sit up again. "Mmn, when'd you get t'be the practical one, too?" A hint of playful smile ghosts across his lips, an attempt to lift some of the heaviness from the mood. "Okay. I love you. S'good you're feelin' like bakin' again." With one last squeeze, he releases the other man to be kitchen-bound. "I'm not," Jax admits with a small furrow of brow, nestling in against Micah even as Micah is releasing him. "Only but s'his birthday, so it'd be nice t'have when he comes." Not that he's moving. Still slumping tiredly in against his husband's side. "... pretendin' is tiring." “Oh.” Micah's lips twitch over to one side, furrowed brow returning. “Apologies, sugar. I didn't mean t'dump a bunch of things on you, I just. You're the one I always know I can talk to. An' I don't...know what t'do with m'self anymore, I guess. I'll get past it.” He wraps his arm back around Jax when it's apparent the other man isn't getting up after all. “That's right. I keep...losin' all track of time. I should make a dinner, too. He likes people feedin' 'im.” Leaning in at that last, Micah places a light kiss to Jax's temple. “I love you, sugar. Just...whenever you feel like y'can. You can talk t'me, too.” "You don't gotta apologize for talkin' t'me, honey-honey. S'what m'here for." Jax starts to lift his half-drunk cocoa, but then just sets it back down in his lap. His eye closes, body a little trembly as he curls into Micah's side. "Love you, too."