ArchivedLogs:Losing Yourself

Losing Yourself
Dramatis Personae Jackson, Micah	26 March 2014 Patching things up after the fight and advice from Aloke.
Location <XS> Chimera Room – FL2
The guest rooms at Xavier's are spacious and comfortable, well-furnished suites readied for visitors. A mid-sized guest suite, its sitting room is large but its bathroom and two accompanying bedrooms -- one a queen, one holding two full beds -- snug and cozy. Its windows look out over the front yard, providing a wide view of the forests and lake in the distance. In here the decor is subdued, tawny golds and ash-grey stone with hints of green thrown here and there to brighten it. Monstrous creatures prowl the room's artwork, amalgam in shape -- lion heads, dragon wings, scorpion tails; small glass figurines hunch on the bookshelf and hang painted on the walls. It's quiet in the suite, a few hours after the fight in the art room. In his bedroom Spencer is playing with the K'nex Micah newly purchased him, watching Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles on a laptop borrowed from Taylor. There is food on the table in the sitting room -- it must not have been there very /long/ because it's still quite /hot/, untouched in its takeout containers and smelling spicily of Indian, with a mango lassi in a takeout cup on a coaster beside. At the moment Jackson is nowhere to be /seen/, though the closed bathroom door and running of sink behind it is a fairly good indicator that he is, in fact, still around. Micah wanders upstairs after a few hours of finishing work on orthoses crafted for the day's orthopaedics clinic patients, his extremely-tousled auburn hair and work clothes smelling even more strongly of plastics and glues by the time he slips through the door and pushes it softly closed behind him. His head tilts at the smells of Indian food which...don't really resemble the dinner that had been prepared for the students in the dining hall. “When...did y'get takeout? I didn't notice nobody leavin' the parkin' lot...” The sink shuts off. Jackson emerges from the bathroom, half-dressed in jeans but no shirt; there's still a distinct /glow/ hovering around him, and /he/ still, faintly, carries the smells of -- the beach? Briny saltwater on his skin. His eye lingers on Micah a long moment as he shuts the bathroom light off, and then his head ducks, a deep flush colouring his cheeks. "You went back out t'work without eatin' no dinner, I -- thought I'd --" His hand lifts to rub fingers slowly against the top of his head. "It's from Aloke's family's place. There's baingan bharta and some dal and some rice and lassi --" He trails off kind of uncertainly. Jax's glow and oceany smell just add more confusion to Micah's expression. "Where'd you...how..." He blinks a few times. "Oh, did y'go with Aloke? That would explain the--" his hand gestures in Jax's general direction. "Y'really didn't have t'go t'all that trouble. I could've just grabbed a sandwich." Micah moves in to rest a hand in the small of Jax's back. "Just...didn't feel like eatin' right then," he admits quietly. "Yeah, he took me --" Jackson hesitates here, a little uncertainly. "-- Actually I ain't /sure/ where. A beach. Somewhere it was /warm/ an' sunny. We stopped on the way back on account'a -- on account'a you hadn't eaten nothin' an' the kitchen-leftovers'd be cold an' I wanted --" Jackson's flush deepens, small wisps of red creeping out into the glow around him. He shivers, drawing in a shaky breath and leaning back into the touch of Micah's hand; his skin beneath is fiercely hot to the touch. "I know. I --" He swallows, head bowing further, but then lifting to tip bright blue gaze to the other man. "Micah, I'm sorry. I am. I said things to you that was hurtful and completely unfair an' you didn't no ways deserve that. I sometimes kinda just -- panic and -- I don't honestly know why I was even /arguin'/ with you anymore except for the sake of being /stubborn/." “Sure the sunshine did y'good.” Micah's hand slides up Jax's spine as the other man leans into his touch. “That's a lotta trip t'pick up some hot food, but thank you.” He steps in a little closer to the other man as he continues to speak. “I love you, honey. An'...sure's sugar y'can be real mule-headed. But...if y'got legitimate concerns it /is/ good t'talk about 'em. I'm just...not sure how much of that was havin' legitimate concerns an' how much was throwin' up roadblocks just to...I dunno. I don't wanna read things into what you're doin' or sayin' if it weren't your meanin'. Maybe we could try talkin' about it again sometime? Don't...have t'be right now 'less y'want it t'be. But sometime.” Jackson closes his eye. For a moment he breathes deep and slow, leaning forward to tip his head against Micah's shoulder as the other man's hand travels up his back. "We can talk if you're okay to talk. I won't be such a jerk this time, I promise. An' I /do/ have -- /did/ have -- legitimate concerns about how much slack we reasonably can afford but. I also just kind of panic. I expect," he doesn't actually sound in any way /happy/ about this, "we got a lot /more/ slack-room if B's helpin' out but." He shakes his head, exhaling heavily. “I'm okay to talk.” Micah tips his chin to place a kiss on the top of Jax's now-bald head. “I can draw up a real budget an' go over it with you if you're open t'the idea. An' B can help an'... Are you /really really/ against the idea of using the unclaimed funds for raid purposes, or was that just a knee-jerk response at the time?” He nods, likely more felt than seen in their current position. “If B wants to relieve some of the pressure for the rescue missions an' refugee care, that'll sure help. 'Cause that was the one thing I didn't have a complete plan for.” The kiss draws another shiver, a faint tension in Jax's posture where he leans against Micah. "It'd be good to -- have it all kinda. Planned out on paper," Jackson agrees. "Less -- panicky with the numbers there worked out. An' the police funds, I --" He hesitates here, lifting his arms to curl around Micah. "-- T'was maybe a knee-jerk response but I don't think for the reasons you think. I /don't/ quite feel comfortable with it but I don't --" His head shakes, slightly. "Was less the idea itself an' more just panic at the thought of bein' the one to /make/ that call. Feel like so many decisions I make in life got so many /other/ people's lives tied up in 'em in such /big/ ways an' I just -- weren't in a good place to be thinkin' about those calls right then on top of tryin' to figure what our family was doin'." He huffs out a quiet faintly disgruntled noise: "-- Only I gotta, because there ain't really no /separatin'/ all /that/ stuff from what's happenin' with our family anyway. It just -- felt like a lot an' I couldn't. Didn't. Handle it well." “I can do that. Work everythin' up on spreadsheets like for work. S'a thing. I've had t'do.” Micah presses in closer, supportive where Jax leans. “Y'don't...really have t'be completely in charge of that call, honey. We /know/ enough folks as was involved in that whole thing. We could ask 'em what they think of the idea, get a feel, y'know? Go forward from what they think of it.” His hand moves up to pet at the back of Jax's neck. “An' we don't have t'decide everythin' right now. I can get you the budget things for us. Then there's B donatin' t'the rescue efforts an' askin' the folks we know as were involved in the fight ring. We /can/ kinda keep those a little separate now that we know we /got/ options.” "Okay." Jackson takes another deep breath. "Okay. You're right. I /don't/ gotta be in charge of -- it just. In the moment it felt real overwhelming. But I can ask other people --" He trails off uncertainly, leaning in closer to Micah. His head tips in a little more, the back of his neck slowly arching into the touch, though the tension in him is growing. "You should eat, too. 'Fore that gets also-cold." Though rather than let go, his arms tighten around Micah. "I /am/ sorry. About earlier," is softer. "I love you." “That's...one of the things I was tryin' t'say. Not /everythin'/ is always on /your/ head, honey. There's other folks out there as can help with things. An' do things. It don't /always/ have t'be you if y'let others help.” Micah pulls Jax into the hug, returning it with a firm squeeze. “Would be a shame t'let it go cold after all that effort t'obtain it. An'...y'been under a /ton/ of stress. It's gonna come out somewhere sometime. It ain't...like we fight very often at all.” His arms wrap tighter. “Love you, too, sugar.” "Yeah. I jus' --" The glow around Jackson tinges a little bit redder. "Was too busy freakin' out to listen to you." Slowly, reluctantly, he pulls back, letting his hand slip down into Micah's to lead the other man towards the couch and the food on the table. "I -- can't remember I mean when. /Do/ we fight. I guess we've kinda -- had strong disagreements afore. But not like --" His nose crinkles up as he folds himself down onto a corner of the couch. "I mean, not that I'm /complainin'/, I've had the worst sick-unhappy-/clenchy/ feelin' in my tummy since leavin' you." “We've had...um...a couple. Sorta had one in the car outside Lucien's once. An'...right after I... Right before they came an' took you off t'jail. Was pretty fighty...feelin', at least.” Micah's hand gives Jax's a little squeeze as he is led, sitting on the couch where he is directed. He picks up the lassi to take a sip through the straw before returning it to his coaster. “Honey, y'didn't...leave. I did. An' I apologise for kinda walkin' out but y'seemed like y'maybe needed some space. T'step back from it for a minute.” "That last one was pretty fighty," Jackson agrees with a small shudder. "Didn't like it that time neither an' the clenchy feelin' didn't end for weeks." When Micah sits down on the couch, he moves, sliding off the couch instead to kneel at its base, head resting against Micah's knee. "I needed to get my head on straight, s'true enough. Aloke came an' -- talked t'me an' -- whisked me off into the sunlight a little an' -- that. Helped. Calm down enough to /think/ on what you was sayin' and not just -- panic. Think I just -- ain't been in a real good, um. Place? Kinda -- stressed. A little bit. I done slept about -- four or five hours since wakin' up at the Clinic." “Yeah, I...was pretty much a miserable mope-face for a lotta the time y'were gone after that.” Micah cringes a little at that reminder. “I'm glad you're feelin' better, hon. Light an' all's good for you, too.” A hand reaches out to rub at Jax's scalp when the other man rests his head on his knee. “Honey... I know y'been worried 'bout gettin' paintin' done, but y'gotta keep /yourself/ from fallin' apart in the meantime. Y'need t'get some decent sleep. Maybe could start t'night, now that you're...charged up an' in a better place?” Jackson is quiet, here, eye closing and his cheek pressing to Micah's knee. His arm snakes around Micah's leg, wrapping up against it and curling his fingers inward to press in slow kneading against Micah's shin as though reminding himself of the shape of it. "Y'should /eat/," he urges softly, squeezing himself closer to Micah. "I'll -- be aright. Light /keeps/ me goin' so -- bein' all charged up'll make sleep pretty /unnecessary/ for a bit anyway." “Oh, oops. Kinda...forgot with you bein' right there.” Micah repurposes the hand providing headrubs to assist with retrieving food from the table. “Might be good t'catch a /little/ nap here an' there anyway. Even if your /energy/ is fine, your brain undergoes a lot of restoration and reparative processes when y'sleep. Might find y'feel better an' less stressed after. Gotta take care of your noggin', too.” In answer to this there is, at first, only more quiet. Jackson's cheek nuzzles in against Micah's leg, his arm tightening its grip. "-- Do you think it's still my brain?" Despite whatever patent absurdity this sudden question might seem to possess he sounds very much entirely (apprehensively) serious about it. “What? Why...wouldn't it be?” Micah's surprise-confusion at that question interrupts him in the process of mixing baingan bharta with rice. “I mean...it's not even like...with Hive losin' 'imself connected t'too many people. Which is another issue. T'discuss...later. T'morrow maybe.” "I don't --" Jackson is blushing fiercely red again, turning his face in against Micah's leg in a futile attempt to hide this. "I got blown half to death. /Most/ of the way to death. An' then kinda rebuilt?" He stretches out a pale unscarred arm in front of him, then drops it back to his lap. "Rebuilt into -- some. Body that ain't -- mine. I mean, half of mine was blown /away/ so that's -- pretty much a miracle I'm here at all. Only but it ain't -- me. An' I got kinda exploded that musta done a number on my brain /too/ I can only imagine it's as -- rebuilt as the rest'a me is, I smashed myself /pretty/ bad in the -- shockwave -- anyway." He shakes his head, fingers clenching hard against Micah's pants. "Just -- feels like the world blew up an' then I woke up -- someone else. S -- {sorry,}" he offers the apology in uncomfortable Vietnamese. "I -- it's a stupid -- my head's full of stupid. But you're -- right we. We should talk to Hive cuz if -- if we /are/ right about goin' all Borg /aggravatin'/ the sick, too, then -- then he's aggravatin' something bad." "Honey, you still had your brain pretty well intact or y'wouldn't have been...alive an' thinkin' s'long as y'were. That kinda damage usually s'kinda fatal on the /quick/ side." Micah leans down to place a kiss to the top of Jax's head before returning to his food. "You're not stupid, honey. But you're /still you/. Everythin' that's been healed and restructured an' replaced on you /still/ come from your own cells an' all, your own DNA behind it, just...accelerated by other people's healin' abilities 'stead of just your own. An' y'still got all your own memories an' experiences an' thoughts an' feelin's. Right?" He watches Jax thoughtfully as he eats for a moment. "Might be...those feelin's you're havin' would also be a good thing t'bring up at your next therapy session, too? Not feelin' like you're /you/ s'kinda serious." He just nods agreement at the assessment of Hive. Jax's face stays a little bit buried against Micah's leg, his breathing slightly shaky and the glow that surrounds him slowly starting to dim. His answering, "-- right," does not sound at all confident. "I'll have a session again on Friday. Should -- probably talk t'Jane then too. About --" He fidgets, uncomfortably. "-- about takin' leave. Maybe if we sit and work out a budget tomorrow? Then Friday I can -- ask." His arm curls further around Micah's leg, hugging himself tight against it, fingers kneading in at his husband's calf. "Some part of me never's felt like me," he admits quietly. "It -- s'like I was mentioning when I woke up at the Clinic, I -- half the time I forget. Disconnect? Somethin'. Jus'. /Never/ felt properly like this body /fit/ me right or I -- belonged in it. Not till I started all the --" Colourful-bright, the detailed patterns of his former tattoos start to spread back over his unblemished skin. "But before then I'd jus'. Forget a lot. That this body was s'posed to be /mine/." Though the tension and apprehensive-unhappiness hasn't really left his posture or tone, a small quick smile touches his lips for a second. "Was -- kinda part of. /Why/ it was all the more excitin' when the whole'a New York got tattooed up like me. I mean, egotistically what artist /wouldn't/ want to see their work all over everywhere but -- but more'n that I'd just had a dream 'bout tattooin' New York an' then I woke up to -- that and. For /me/ my ink's always been kind of -- /real/ intensely -- personal it's like. The only way I started feelin' comfortable bein' myself to begin with. An' after all the love an' tears an' /blood/ I done poured into New York it was like -- like suddenly I woke up an' found myself connected t'the whole entire /city/ that way, too." He squeezes Micah a little tighter, head bowing sheepishly. "-- Aaaaand now I'm stupid-rambly again. Um. I -- you could. Gag me. Eat in peace." Micah nods at the plan to set up the budget. "That'll work fine. We'll get it all figured then." He places his food in his lap, eating with his right hand while returning to petting at Jax's head with his left. "If y'don't feel like this body is you...or yours....where or /what/ d'you think you're s'posed t'be? Or does it not break down that way?" He listens quietly, forking food into his mouth steadily as he does so. "Honey, it's /not/ stupid. An' I don't mind rambly. I like it when y'talk t'me 'bout things. But I /also/ can arrange the gaggin' thing. If that's what y'really want." "I don't know if it breaks down so clear," Jackson admits a little awkward-shy. "I feel sorta like I can /halfway/ relate t'B on a lotta things but -- only halfway. It --" He bites down on his lip, teeth habitually seeking out lip rings that are no longer there. "-- I mean s'pretty intense dysphoria but it ain't like there's something /else/ I -- want to be. It's more like -- jus' this real heavy kind of -- /detachment/ from." He waves his hand at himself vaguely. "Like I have to consciously train myself to think of this as /me/ or I just." He represses a small shudder, his grip on Micah's leg gently relaxing. "It was real bad when I was younger an' then I found ways to /make/ myself feel more connected. Like all the body mods." He tips his head back to look up at Micah with a crooked smile. "Maybe what I'm s'posed t'be is more colourful," is light and playful-joking in tone. But more serious again when he continues, "I mean, it wasn't like this was -- some huge crushing thing that was interferin' with my life -- um -- not. For a lotta years anyway. Jus' --" He stretches his uncolourful arm out again and then drops his hand to his knee. "Jus' kinda came back with a vengeance on account'a --" He shrugs a shoulder. "It'll -- pass." He turns his blushing face in against Micah's leg once more, adding shyly: "Gagging does help. I mean a lotta things have helped. Exercise. Certain kindsa repetitive /physical/ things. But. Just kinda givin' myself t'you -- feels a lot more like bein' /me/ than most any other time ever do." “S'okay if it's hard t'explain. Feelin's are complicated.” Micah's hand massages a bit stronger at Jax's head. “Well, we can get y'back t'more colourful on a permanent basis eventually. In the meantime, y'can keep illusionin' up what y'need. An' just remember I love you...all of you.” He smiles, blushing faintly as well as he nods at Jax's admission. “We can do that then, once I finish eatin'. Honestly might help you /relax/ if you're tied t'the bed. I promise not t'break your Lent promise...thing.” Jackson shivers at the mention of being tied to the bed, a tiny purr sounding in his throat. "Oh --" He exhales sharply, turning his face to muffle a small whimper against Micah's thigh. "I can't even /tell/ you how hard s'been not jus' -- I mean with everything that done happened I --" He shakes his head quickly. "When everything's goin' all t'chaos sometimes jus' gettin' /lost/ in you is the most -- amazin' thing in the entire world." His eye closes once more, and he just nuzzles in against Micah's leg. "Love you, Sir." Micah takes one more bite of his food before closing up the container and returning it to the bag. His fingers come back to Jax's head once freed again, though they trace from there down the back of his neck instead of just rubbing. "There's a whole /lot/ we can still get y'lost in without...breakin' the rule y'set." His fingers move back up, sketching now along Jax's jaw to turn his face up, leaning forward to kiss his now better-positioned lips full and deep. "Love you, Pet." His hand moves from jaw to neck, hooking two fingers under the collar there as he stands, leading Jax toward the bedroom.