ArchivedLogs:Lies Of Omission

Lies Of Omission
Dramatis Personae Sebastian, Shane, Micah	27 December 2013 So, the twins have this really amazing sense of smell...
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. It's long since past dark and the apartment has lapsed into an eveningtime quiet. Spencer is in his room, happily devouring the second Hunger Games book. Daiki is not yet home from work and Sebastian only recently is, dressed in dark cargo pants and a pale green long-sleeved henley shirt, happily devouring a large carton of Szechuan chicken. There's a bag of takeout on the counter. Kung pao tofu, garlic bok choy, eggplant with plum sauce, a box of scallion pancakes, a carton of edamame, a carton of vegetable lo mein. Pepper steak and chicken wings and a /second/ carton of Szechuan chicken and a carton of black pepper chicken too. ...The twins eat kind of a lot. Shane's in his bedroom, that much is quickly obvious from the soft violin music coming from the open door; of late, he has been practicing a /lot/. He's also been to work, that much is also evident given that he is not looking particularly /dapper/, just in dishwashy-appropriate jeans and plain black t-shirt. He has not /yet/ been lured out of Bedroom by the dinner-smells, which likely means Bastian hasn't been home all that long. Music, still taking priority. When the apartment door opens, it is quietly, with care given to minimize jingling keys, thudding locks, and slamming. Micah looks tired as he slowly unwinds himself from his outdoor wear and stows all the layers away. His hair is a wild mess that looks like he has been fussing at it a great deal more than is typical even for him. He is wearing his bleach stained xkcd shirt and patched jeans with a weary expression. Now and then his teeth click against a ginger hard candy in his mouth. Shuffling over to the couch, he collapses heavily onto it, scrubbing both hands over his face before settling into staring at the far wall silently. Sebastian pauses in his eating as Micah peels off his winter layers, chopsticks freezing halfway to putting a chunk of chicken in his mouth. A low growl rumbles in his throat, soft and harsh. The music in the bedroom stops. Sebastian's growl stops, too. His nostrils flare, eyes closing. "Hi, Ba. Long day?" He heads to the kitchen, putting a kettle of water on the stove, and gets a bowl out to put some fresh white rice in it. He carries this to the coffee table along with a glass of water, then returns to the counter to bring the eggplant and a clean pair of chopsticks, setting it out in front of Micah. Shane has emerged from his bedroom, meanwhile, violin still in hand. He puts the violin aside on the end of the table, crawling up onto the couch. And perhaps forgetting his lessons about propriety; his face nuzzles up into Micah's neck, drawing in a deep breath against his father's skin. Then nuzzles downward. Sniffing. Shoulder, chest. He pushes his face into a palm, snuffling there, too, with a nudge-nudge-nudge jostling that resembles /Obie/ more than it does most /people/. Micah pours the effort in to form a watered down smile that he offers to Shane, turning it on 'Bastian as well when the teen enters the living room with food. "Hey, Shane. Thanks, B," he says with a great deal more softness and less brightness than his usual greetings. "Yeah, it's been...another day." His hands leave off scrubbing his face for fussing through his hair. Shane's snufflings earn a tight hug and a mixture of odd smells from Micah's clothes and skin: metal, gunpowder, stale sweat, vomit. Shane might recognise Regan's scent, faint but present in his clothes. Micah looks at the food carton but makes no move to claim it yet, still sucking at the ginger candy in an attempt to combat queasiness. "Did somebody hurt you?" There's a thin hard edge to Sebastian's tone. He slips back into the kitchen, rummaging some fresh ginger out of the fridge to start grating it into a mug. Shane hugs Micah back, fierce and hard and tight. His snuffling does not immediately stop, though. Burrowing into Micah's hair, nudging lightly against the corner of Micah's mouth, pressing his face against the other man's neck again. His arms stay around Micah even once this stops. His hand lifts to draw claws in gentle combing through Micah's hair. "What happened." "What? No, I'm not hurt. Just tired. A little stomach upset. I'll be better after a little sit-down an' a shower." He leans into Shane just a bit, hand rubbing at the boy's back idly. "S'just been a really long couple of days. Where's Spence?" The question comes with a sudden darting-eyed inspection of the common area. Shane's head turns; the twins exchange a look. Sebastian breaks it, turning his attention down to his ginger-grating. His gills flutter quickly. "In his room." Shane wraps his arms more snugly around Micah, holding Micah close against his side. For a moment his face nuzzles in again at Micah's neck. "You remember that time Kay almost died in the woods and Pa went and unleashed us like goddamn bloodhounds to track him down?" "Okay...I just hadn't seen 'im an' there's dinner out is all." Micah still spares a glance for Spencer's bedroom door. His arm tightens around Shane. "Of course I remember...that night was awful. But I ain't bleedin', guys, I promise I'm not hurt." "He has a book," Shane explains. "He has /priorities/," Sebastian adds. He measures a helping of peppermint leaves into a tea basket, clipping this onto the side of the mug. "And we /know/ you're not bleeding, it's just, don't you think maybe if we can track down a guy using his jacket we can maybe also tell --" "-- when you're /full of shit/, is what he's trying to say," Shane says more bluntly. "Do you know how many times I've been shot? It's --" "-- Kind of recognizable." Sebastian's gills flutter rapidly, words breathier-hitched. He pulls the kettle from the stove when it starts to whistle, pouring the mug full of boiling water. "And okay, you're not shot," Shane acknowledges easily. "So who --" "-- was shooting at you," Sebastian asks with increased agitation in his tone. Shane lifts one of Micah's hands, pressing it to his face again. "-- were you shooting at," he corrects his brother, though with a similar level of concern. "S'okay if he's readin' but he should find a good stoppin' place an' eat, too." Micah's eyes widen, nostrils flaring slightly at the boys' speculation. "I ain't been shot!" he protests, nodding when Shane's assessment agrees with this. He winces when Shane takes his hand. "Wasn't shootin' /at/ nobody. Just target practice. Figured I should learn how t'use a handgun. You're always frettin' 'bout how I need t'learn how t'fight, Shane..." He just leaves off, staring shifted down to his hand. "Target practice make you throw up?" Shane sets Micah's hand down again, nuzzling back against his father's neck. Sebastian flinches, faintly, at Micah's answer; for a moment his eyes widen, shoulders tightening up in a small unhappy cringe. His expression clamps down after this, just blank and focused. He adds a very small squirt of agave to the ginger-mint tea, stirrring the mixture; though he takes the tea leaves out once it's steeped, he leaves the grated ginger in. He's silent, as he brings the tea to set it on a coaster in front of Micah, studying his father's face and then his twin's. Then just studying the floor. "I fret," Shane agrees, a little muffled against Micah's skin. "And then you refuse to learn, why /now/." "I...just ain't fond of the idea of shootin' at nobody. Got to me, I guess," Micah explains in a low murmur, eyes still cast down at his hand. "Seemed like the time t'learn." He shifts in his seat, uncomfortable with /giving/ the series of evasive answers. Sebastian's gills flutter faster, as he sinks into a crouch beside the table. His hands rest on his knees, fingers curling in tightly. He looks up to watch Micah's fidgeting, jaw clenching slightly and his posture tense. "It /is/ good to be able to defend yourself." Shane's brow furrows. His head tips up slightly in his nuzzling, lips pressing tiny-light kisses first to the corner of Micah's jaw and then to the side of the neck. "Just, but, if --" "{Stop.}" Sebastian cuts in in a low murmur of Vietnamese. "{He's lying anyway.}" "What," Shane answers blankly to his twin, first in English, only switching back to Vietnamese after a moment, "No, he's {never /lied/ to us} I just get worried." Sebastian's gills flutter again. He doesn't answer this exactly, just looks up at Micah's downcast expression and uncomfortable shifting. Shane's arm squeezes gently at Micah's side. A slow frown creases his ridged brow. "{I love you,}" is at least a very /familiar/ phrase by now. Sebastian nods towards the tea. "It's mint and ginger. It should help settle your stomach. Do the smells bother you, I can put the food away for now." Micah's eyes dart from one twin to the other at the talk in Vietnamese. "I know y'worry, honey, but it's gonna be okay." His hand pats at Shane's back reassuringly. "I love you, too. All of you." He blinks a little rapidly for a moment, then leans forward to collect the tea. "Thanks, B, that's real thoughtful of you." He even takes a small sip from the mug. "No, please. Y'all eat. Just...need t'settle an' I'll be fine." "Okay." Sebastian watches Micah a moment more, then stands, gills still fluttering fast. He scoops up his tray of chicken, disappearing with it into his bedroom and shutting the door behind himself. Shane pulls away, a deeper frown furrowing his expression as Sebastian leaves. His gills shift as well, and he starts to stand, but settles back against Micah's side once the door closes. His face turns; he presses another kiss to Micah's neck, and then rests his forehead against it. "Will you, really?" "B, you don't have to..." Micah watches after 'Bastian as he retreats, expression crumpling. "I'm sor--" His head shakes, no hand free to sign instead. When he looks away from the door, it's down into the mug of tea. "S'just a little upset stomach. It'll pass." "He's not leaving because of the food." Shane's voice is quiet, not accusatory but just straightforward in explanation: "He's leaving because you've never lied to us before, and that hurts. B's not really used to trusting people to /begin/ with." He closes his eyes, head still tucked against Micah's neck. His hand drops to rest, very /lightly/ against Micah's stomach, rubbing there in slow gentle circles in habitual motion usually given to Jax instead. "Does Pa know?" "I know he's not..." Micah bites down on his lip, fingers clenching tight on the handle of the mug. "An' I'm not...I'm just. Leavin' out details on account of. I can't..." He lets out a slow breath, shaking his head and drinking from the mug. "I can't. Not him, either. Especially not. Him." "Ba, please, don't /insult/ me, it was bad enough to start." Shane's voice cuts in sharper when Micah hedges that he's just leaving out details, his posture tensing in reflexive irritation. "Not /him/? But he's your --" He hisses out a sharp breath, aborted halfway through as his gills flare rapidly. "Ba, we're your family. And we /love/ you. Whatever it is, it's not -- you don't have to just carry shit alone." “I'm sor--” Micah's brow furrows in frustration. “I'm not, honey. I know...I'm bein' vague an' evasive an' givin' y'all real superficial half-answers, but I'm tellin' you all I can tell you. I need t'keep y'all out of this. 'Specially him.” He sips the tea again in a vain effort to relieve the sandpapery feeling in his mouth. “But I'm not alone in it, okay? I just...can't. Tell you any more.” "Pa goes off regularly to -- so many really dangerous -- horrible things and he still tells us -- I mean, and we /know/, you know? He goes on raids and he stocks the freezer full of meals and we /know/ it's not because of all the people who're coming back it's because every time he does that we need to be ready because /he/ might not. Come back. Every raid, every time he gets yanked out because someone hit their panic button, every -- fuck, with how many death threats and bomb threats Io and the clinic get, every fucking time he goes to /work/ I get /ready/ because I think it might be the time that he doesn't come home." Shane closes his eyes. He presses closer to Micah's side, hugging his father close. There's still a restless unhappy tremble to his gills, shivering rapidly. He touches his lips softly to Micah's neck, just beneath the corner of the jaw, holding the contact for a long moment. "And there's still something /so bad/ you can't --" Another kiss, another squeeze. "... You're really scaring me, Ba." Micah tugs Shane closer, setting the tea mug aside to pull the teen nearly into his lap. “Honey, it's not even that. S'prob'ly a sight less dangerous than...the vast majority of what your pa does. Just needs t'stay as secret as it can. An'...he can't know because he won't let me do it an' I have to. Does that make sense? An' even if I /could/ tell you two, I wouldn't want to. 'Cause then I'd have t'ask you not t'tell /him/ an'...that's not fair.” "Won't /let/ you? But you're the one who lets /him/ --" Shane slides /actually/ into Micah's lap when Micah tugs him closer, though turned to scrutinize Micah's expression leaves him largely straddling the older man. His brows rumple deeply, forehead eventually dropping down to rest against Micah's. "Okay." But it's not an /accepting/ kind of 'okay', more of a let me think this through sort of stalling. "Secret. And he won't let you. But you're not going to die. Just --" He draws in another breath, slow and deep, shivering uncomfortably at the smells that linger on Micah. His hand slides down Micah's arm, curling fingers around Micah's hand. "-- Get arrested." “It's not like that, honey. B'lieve me. If he knew, he'd stop me.” Micah's mind is far too full of other concerns to worry the least bit about propriety, arms wrapped around Shane snugly where he sits. “Please...don't. Just let it go, please.” He squeezes Shane's hand back, his lips compressing simultaneously. “There's...that shouldn't happen. There's a non-zero chance of it happenin', but it shouldn't. So, please...” "Shouldn't. Okay." But it's the same kind of 'okay' as his last. Shane tips his head downwards, flattened nose brushing slow against the side of Micah's face, against neck, burying itself against Micah's shoulder. He draws in another slow breath, and then lifts Micah's hand to his face again. His lips press to knuckles, inner eyelids slowly blinking closed and his gills flattening closed as he draws in another slow breath, the metal and gunpowder and /vomit/ scents tightening his muscles harder. "{Who is it,}" he breathes this out first in Vietnamese, barely even a whisper. His eyes dart back towards his bedroom door, and then Spencer's. Then Jax's. He lowers Micah's hand, his arms curling back around his father, muscles still tense as he sets his forehead back against Micah's. "Ba, who -- who are you --" His gills flutter again. Micah's jaw sets tight, his hands rubbing at Shane's back until the teen claims one of them. He shakes his head at the question. “Shane, /please/. Don't. I /can't/. Y'shouldn't...know. I trust them. They're helpin' an' they've got a good plan. Can't that be enough?” His voice is a little thin, with a faint edge of desperation. "I wasn't asking about -- them, I can smell her on you I just. Was asking who you're planning to --" Shane's clear eyelids blink rapidly again, his eyes glistening bright. His arms tighten, and he nestles in closer against Micah, tipping his head to press kisses quickly. Against Micah's forehead, beneath his eyes, against his jaw. "I don't want you hurt." Micah's eyes go from scrunched closed to open wide when Shane says 'her'. “Ohgosh, Shane, /please/. Y'can't say anythin'. Please, /please/ stay out of it.” His pulse quickens, breath coming a little less evenly, the desperation in his tone only heightening. “Please. I should be okay. Just let it go. It'll be over soon. Please.” "I love you. How am I supposed to stay out of it, what would /you/ do if you found out /I/ was planning --" Shane's voice is uneven as well, his eyes squeezing shut all the way now with a small wet trickle of tears against his cheeks. His kisses don't stop, small and light, dotted to Micah's neck, cheek, the corner of the mouth, temple. "It's not going to be /over/, Ba. It's just not. You know the first -- the first --" He rests his forehead against Micah's again, eyes open again and his voice still shaky. "The first time I killed another person, I was eight. And I still have nightmares and I still. Spend a lot of time wondering if I shouldn't just --" His gills flutter quickly, fingers kneading slowly against Micah's back. "It's just not. Ever going to be /over/, Ba, not for you. Not for you." “I love you, too, honey. But you /have to/ stay out of it. It's different for you. 'Cause of who you are. We talked about this. I might end up in jail, but you'd end up /dead/. Honey, /please/.” Micah leans his forehead against Shane's shoulder, hiding his face. “It'll be over...for all of you. You'll get t'/live/. It's...I'm havin' nightmares /already/ so maybe it won't even be...that different.” He draws in a quick, sharp breath. "But I -- need you. Here. Not in jail, I --" Shane presses his cheek to the top of Micah's head, lifting his hand to stroke slowly at Micah's hair. His fingers run lightly against the back of Micah's head. There's silence for a while, his gills shifting rapidly. "... when?" Micah whimpers softly into Shane's shoulder at that, just briefly before he manages to rein himself in. “I know. I know, honey, but there's no other way.” He draws in another sharp breath. “Shane, I /can't/. Just...soon. Y'already know entirely too much.” Shane continues to stroke at the back of Micah's head, claws scritching in lightly against scalp. "Okay." This time it /is/ -- if not accepting, at least resigned, quiet and subdued and muffled in against Micah's hair. His head tips down further, lips pressing to Micah's neck. "I guess. You should shower before Pa comes home, he. Doesn't have our noses but he notices a -- lot." Except he's not actually letting /go/. Micah nods into Shane's shoulder at the suggestion. “It's where I was headed but I just had t'sit for a minute before I could...anythin'.” His breath is still faintly shuddery. "Okay." Shane squeezes Micah closer, his cheeks damp when his face burrows in against his father's neck. "Okay." He pulls slightly back with some reluctance, nudging Micah's face up so that he can look into the older man's eyes. "Just -- please --" But his words falter and fall off here, gills fluttering rapidly again. When Shane pulls back, Micah quickly presses a fist into each eye socket, trying to rub the moisture away before it can be noticed. The reddish lashes are still clumped with dampness when the teen tips his chin up. “I'm doin' everythin' I can. S'a good plan. They're...very confident.” He has some difficulty meeting Shane's gaze. Shane cups Micah's face in his hands, thumbs brushing slowly against Micah's cheeks. "Please don't," he whispers, "you don't have to -- to hide that --" His rapid blinking dislodges a few more tears of his own. He drops his hands to fall against Micah's chest, shoulders slumping. "Just, I need you. And Ba needs you and B and Spence and." His gills flutter again, and now he scrubs his fist against his own cheek, wiping away the tears there just in time for fresh ones to fall. "Can't we just. Leave. Just move. Somewhere far and quiet and safe." “Sor—I just don't wanna worry you anymore'n I'm already doin'.” New tears puddle up and spill over anyhow. “I know. S'why I've gotta do this.” Micah reaches up to stroke down the fluttering gills on Shane's neck. “Ain't no place as stays quiet an' safe forever. An' it's those places where...they find people an' steal 'em away or kill 'em an' hope nobody notices. There's just no other way. I keep. When I don't think I can do it anymore. I been thinkin' of /him/. Stealin' Spence away like some kind of fairy tale monster. Hurtin' 'im. Killin'...an'.” He shakes his head. “An' then I go back an' I shoot some more.” Shane's gills press downwards under Micah's fingers, breathing slowly evening out as they close. He kisses Micah's cheeks softly where the tears spill down, lips brushing them away. He growls, though, soft and low at the mention of killing Spencer, claws unsheathing. "There just -- there has to be /somewhere/, if we just. Live quiet and don't make trouble and --" His eyes drift back towards Spencer's door, though, muscles tensing. "Do you ever -- want to go," he whispers. "Away from this. Home. /You/ could, nobody'd -- bother you, you could have. Be safe, have a good -- life." “Somewhere we could disappear to so thoroughly the /government/ wouldn't know?” Micah shakes his head. “S'hard enough just one person playin' fugitive. But five? An' one just a kid? If there's a way t'do that, I don't know it.” Micah's head shakes again, his fingers continuing to pet Shane's gills down slow and steady. “No.” Shane nods in reluctant acceptance of the difficulty of disappearing their whole family. He takes in a deep breath, slow and steadying, but it shudders back out in a shaky near-sob at Micah's simple answer. "-- Oh." Despite the sob this just sounds grateful, relieved. His arms curl around Micah again in a fierce tight hug, mouth pressing to Micah's in an equally grateful-relieved kiss. For -- about a split second before he catches himself with an unhappy scrunch of expression and a hitched whimper in his throat. "{-- I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I.} Keep fucking it up I just. Please I love you I. Want things /better/ for you." Micah pulls the boy tight against him, just continuing to pet the gills down through the sob and the whimper. “Honey...no. It's okay. You're still learnin' an'...what's /proper/ s'the least of any of our worries right now. Don't get upset at yourself just now, we got more'n enough upsettin'.” He kisses Shane's cheek lightly. “I love you, hon. I just wish everythin' didn't always have t'be so hard for you all.” Shane trembles, in Micah's arms, nestling in snug against the older man and burying his face against Micah's shoulder. For a time he just sits there, hugging Micah close and focusing on breathing. Finally he pulls back, hesitating for a moment before dotting a light kiss to Micah's forehead. "I love you. I still, um -- really want to kiss you so I -- am going to --" He slides down to the floor, gills starting to flutter again as he pulls away and stands up. "... when are you going to tell Pa?" Micah just holds Shane close, tiny frame squeezed tight in his arms. The tears dry on his cheeks. “Love you, too, honey. Prob'ly...y'should go check on B an' make sure Spence knows there's food? I'm gonna...shower an' then I'll eat, too. Promise.” He stands, but leaves Shane the distance he's put between them. He pulls in a deep breath and sighs it out. “When it's done.” Shane draws in a shaky breath, and nods. "Okay. I'll -- check on them. I --" He swallows, shaking his head quickly. "... love you," he just says again, broken up quietly between flutters of his gills as he retreats to his bedroom.