ArchivedLogs:No Light, No Light

No Light, No Light
Dramatis Personae Jax, Steve
In Absentia	2016-12-19 "I wish I could." (preceded by clint telling steve, followed by talking to luci.)
Location <NYC> SHIELD HQ - Infirmary
The infirmary has a comfortable reception area, exam rooms, offices for medical personnel, a few small rooms with hospital beds, in a rather extensive laboratory in the back. Except for the last, all of these look little different than one might expect at any upscale private clinic. The furnishing is new, the equipment state-of-the-art, and the decor tasteful, if bland (mostly artistic photographs of iconic New York landmarks). It's rumored that the food is actually quite excellent. From the outside, it's obvious that this particular patient room was designed for observation and quarantine, if necessary. It's entryway is double-gated, with coveralls and other isolation equipment in the airlock. On the inside, however, it almost be taken for any hotel room. Though large enough to accommodate two beds, it holds only one at present, piled high with pillows, safety rails and reclining functionality hidden away under its skirts. All medical equipment save for the IV stand are tucked into tall cabinets behind the bed, the beeps and chirps that normally characterize a hospital room all piped into the observation station next door. Wan winter sunlight streams in through the large, south-facing window. It might look, at first blush, like Jax is sleeping. He's tucked into the bed, nestled back against the mound of pillows, eye closed and a halo of metallic ombre-blue hair in disarray around his head. The sheets are pulled up around his neck, most of him not really visible beneath the covers, though his face is very pale. A pair of earbuds are tucked into his ears, any device they might be attached to also hidden under the sheets. There's not much else by way of Personal Effects in evidence around, the room sparse and bare save for a manila envelope on the table next to the bed, addressed to Jackson Holland and from Steve Rogers, in hastily scrawled cursive. The light around him is very still, though, no stray shadows or flickers of imagery that generally inevitably appear when Jackson is asleep. The soundproofing of the room is impressive enough that the opening and close of the outer door might not be audible over whatever the headphones are piping into Jax's ears, but the hiss and whir of the inner door cannot escape notice even before it slides open. Steve stands in the entryway, eyeing the door warily where it has retreated into the thick wall. He's in a forest green button-up shirt, no tie, top button undone, camel slacks, and brown dress shoes. He carries a silver thermos in one hand, and his shield is slung across his back in its harness as usual. The furrow in his brow eases when his eyes find Jax. "Hey," he says quietly, hesitating in the threshold a moment more before stepping inside and crossing to Jax's bedside in three long strides. His eyes take in the other man's pallor, and the frown returns, ever so slightly. "I...I brought cocoa." He holds up the thermos and manages a weak smile. Jax's eye cracks open, even as he burrows down a little further into the covers. His gaze skips from the door to the thermos, up to Steve's face. Back to the thermos, moving at a slow delay. "I like cocoa." Though he makes no move to reach for it. Steve drags a chair over and sits down to put himself closer to eye level with Jax. "How are you feeling?" he asks quietly as he unscrews the cap of the thermos and pours some of the steaming cocoa into it, holding it out for Jax with eyebrows slightly upraised. Jax doesn't take the cup, though he eyes it a long moment. "I don't -- I'm not..." He shakes his head once, quick. "Tired, maybe. Maybe." "Have some cocoa," Steve urges gently. "If you feel up to it, that is. Otherwise I'll have to drink it all by myself." His smile is weak. "I can go and let you rest, if you'd prefer." "It's cocoa. I got faith you're up to the challenge." A deep flush of red darkens Jax's cheeks. His gaze drops to the sheets, fixing solidly there. "You can stay. I don't -- I weren't exactly. Doing much anyway." Steve nods and sips from the cup, setting the thermos down on the nightstand. He does not speak for several long moments. "I love you. And I know I cannot truly understand what you're going through, but -- if you need to talk..." He shakes his head sharply. "If you need /anything/." "Gracias." Jax's voice is low and heavy. "I --" He darts a quick glance back up to Steve -- brief, looking away again just as sharply. "... don't. Need -- anything. {But thank you.}" Steve frowns. "I...forgive me if I have a hard time believing that." He rotates the cup in his hands slowly. "What you need is out of here." His voice drops to the barest whisper. "If you gave the word..." This startles a laugh out of Jax -- sudden, sharp, ragged. His head tips back against the pillows, eye squeezing tightly shut. "Ohhhh." Also ragged, also quiet. "Ion come in here every single week t'offer me. Zap on outta here, jus' say the word. But what -- kinda life would I --" There's an uneasy tremor of light around him, pale and tinged blue. He rolls his head to the side, looking over at Steve. "You're right. I need a lot of things. But I can't -- can't..." Steve ducks his head slightly, looking down into the cocoa. "I know I'm not the best candidate for actually busting you out, but...there's other arrangements I can make." He looks up, his pale blue eyes steady and determined. "We've got a war to fight, and there's more than one way to fight it. It'd be a better life than this, if shorter." He peels one hand away from the cup and reaches out to straighten an errant lock of Jax's blue hair. "You can ask." Jax's breath catches, his head turning to press his cheek into Steve's touch. The quavering light around him grows more noticeable, a rough flicker that is very slow to steady back out. He doesn't answer at first -- just stays, skin oddly cool against Steve's, breathing starting slow and cautious again some moments later. "I wish I could." Steve rests the weight of his hand on Jax's cheek, his fingers curling gently around the other man's jaw. His eyes slide shut, and a breath shivers out from him, though his hand remains steady. "So do I." Once more Jax's eye squeezes shut, though this time only briefly. He pulls back momentarily, slumping once more against the pillows. The tinged light around him fades away. "You should go." Steve withdraws his hand reluctantly. "I'll keep you in my prayers -- as always." He’s still for a moment. Drains the cocoa and screws the cap back onto the thermos. "Maybe," he adds quietly as he rises, "I don't need you to ask." When he turns to go, the green and red bands and the Star of Bethlehem on his shield shimmer in the afternoon light as though rimed with frost.