ArchivedLogs:Only More Questions

Only More Questions
Dramatis Personae Dusk, Micah, Jax
In Absentia	1 December 2014 Warning: Discussions of unborn children and handling thereof.
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. Dusk isn't /exactly/ knocking as he heads down the hallway from Geekhaus. He doesn't exactly /ever/ knock, just kind of /wanders/ through, so the lack of knocking isn't unusual. The uncertainty /is/, generally more accustomed to not actually acknowledging the divisions between houses /as/ divisions. But today he's curling a wing around the doorway into the upper hall, poking his head through hesitantly. "-- Guys?" He's more dressed than usual. Corduroys, thick grey socks, a soft grey-blue sweater. Micah is dressed and then some, perhaps overreacting to the warm afternoon nose-diving into frigid evening. He has changed into a navy blue sweatshirt, pajama pants on which tiny TARDISes tumble eternally through space, fuzzy blue Cookie Monster socks, and Wish Bear wrist warmers. In addition, he is under a fair amount of the house's blanket, comforter, and quilt collection. A Thermos of hot lavender-mint tea sits on hand at the nightstand and his laptop is atop the pile of blankets on his legs. The question earns a series of blinks from monitor-strained eyes, a hand idly mussing its way through already-tousled auburn hair as Micah looks to the door. A small smile sneaks its way across his lips when he sees Dusk. "Hey, sugar. What's up?" Jax can't at first be seen when Dusk enters the house, tucked up away into the attic nook with his laptop and tablet. His head pokes down through the hatch, colourful hair hanging like a curtain down towards the floor as he peers at Dusk. "Hmmm?" What can be seen of upside-down-Jax is bright colourblocked sweatshirt, Funshine Bear wristwarmers layered over neon rainbow-striped ones, blue eyepatch with glittery silver dragonfly embroidered into its center; his goatee at the moment has ceased to match his peacock-shaded hair, instead in glittery silver too. "Wait, you lookin' for him?" "Yeah. No. I --" Dusk slips in further, stopping in the bedroom doorway so that he can see both Holland-Zedners. Right-way-up and upside-down alike. "Both of you, I guess. You got a minute?" "Mmn, more'n a minute. I need t'get m'eyeballs out of computer screens for the night, I think." Micah brings the backs of his hands against his eyelids to rub at them, then closes his laptop and shoves it aside. "Could we do a minute down here 'stead of up there, Jax-sugar? 'Less y'all wanna spend some time gettin' me up that ladder first." The attic might not be Micah's favourite place to hang out in the house. "Got a couple." Jax sets his things aside, staying upside down as he drops the rope ladder from its hatch. It looks /more/ than a little precarious as he slides still-upside-down to grab onto one of its rungs, not bothering, really, to /climb/ down and simply toppling himself out of the trapdoor to hang for a second and then drop with a small thump to the floor. His fingers brush lightly against Dusk's wing as he passes the other man by, slipping into his bedroom to drop down backwards onto a desk chair. His arms curl over its back. "What's goin' on, honey-honey?" Dusk's wings shiver at the touch, briefly pressing back into it, just as soon pulling tight against his back. His arms curl against his chest, shoulder propped against the doorframe. "I talked to Isra. She -- I mean, we. We talked. We -- if you guys are serious. About wanting it. The egg. The -- you can. Should. Take it. Once it's. Hatched. I guess." His eyes aren't actually so much focused on either of the other men with this, just vaguely fixed at a nebulous point on the floor. Micah winces a little at Jax's acrobatic descent from the attic but says nothing of it. He simply stretches a hand over to pet at his husband's arm once he's within reach. A little tilt of his head serves to regard that shiver from Dusk and he gives a wave toward them, an invitation to come further into the room if he needs it. "Of course we was serious, sugar. Didn't even come t'you with that offer 'til we'd talked an' thought on it a long time ourselves. Wouldn't...make that kinda offer not meanin' it." Hazel eyes dart over to Jax seeking confirmation on this, as well. "If that is what y'all want, prob'ly we should...all sit an' discuss what's t'be done. Make sure everyone's on the same page 'bout their needs an' wants here." Right now /he/ really wants to pull Dusk into a reassuring hug, but the other man is being so uncertain way over there just now. Itchy-armed, he wriggles up to sit at the edge of the bed, a touch closer to everyone else for the shift. "We was serious," Jax confirms; he's been slouching forward to rest chin on his arms but he sits up straighter with this subject matter. "We wouldn't said so without a whole lotta thought on it. Serious an' gonna stay serious, honey-honey, we want t'be here for you in whatever we --" His teeth press down against his lip, eye drifting up to Dusk's face. "But /you/ don't look hardly sure, sugar. If this is the right move for you. Are -- /is/ this what you want?" "Okay." Dusk's chest expands on a deep pull of breath. His eyes drag upwards, not towards Jax or Micah but over towards the window, locking there as his thumb-claws twitch. "There's no right move for me." He pulls up away from the doorframe, wings hung low against his back. "I'll check in with Isra. See about -- scheduling a time. To sit down. And talk." A time Not Now, clearly, because he's already turning away from the doorway and back towards the hall. "Honey, wait. Please don't just...go. We're here for /you/, too. If y'wanna talk. 'Bout this. Or not this. Or just...sit. Hugs. Anythin'." Micah's eyebrows have knit rather firmly, deep concern writ clear on his features. "We love you, honey. Y'don't gotta do any of this alone." Jax's lips press together, his head bowing again. "Guess sometimes there ain't. But if I'm bein' honest, Dusk, honey-honey, I ain't a whole lot fussed here about right an' wrong so much as what's gonna get you through this the best. Just --" He shakes his head. "Do what /you/ need to do, okay?" "Of /course/ I'm fucking alone." The guttural-low growl layered underneath Dusk's words turns his voice into more of a snarl than anything else as he turns. Hard and sharp, wings flaring outward in the hall; one fist raised; it's probably a good thing for Jax and Micah's doorframe that he checks himself /before/ thumping fist back down against wood or they may have needed to replace that. He lowers his hand slowly, shaking, still-fisted, to his side. The growl still rumbles in his chest. His other hand lifts as though he's going to say something more -- but he doesn't. Just turns, wings snapping back in with a /whoosh/ of air, and stalks back out. Micah startles, just a slight jump of muscles, at the growling and the sharp movements. His expression stays set firmly in /fret/, however. Once Dusk has left, he slides forward in his seat enough to lean his forehead against Jax's shoulder. "I'm so afraid we're losin' 'im in this. An' I don't know what t'do about it." A faint shimmer-glow blossoms in the air in front of the bed, but it fades near as soon as it has grown. Jax lifts his hand, fingers curling through his husband's hair. "Think we may be," he agrees, soft and uncertain. "An' it ain't /worth/. I mean, /he's/ --" His teeth click together as he tightens his jaw. His fingers knead at the back of Micah's head. "... an' that ain't even startin' to think on what the pups are gonna think." "I know they ain't gonna be happy. They weren't happy 'bout Tola, but they're fine with her now. It ain't their... It's Isra an' Dusk's decision. I just wanted t'make sure that they had any choice t'/make/, I'm not..." Micah's head presses harder against Jax's shoulder, nuzzling there. "I wasn't tryin' t'make this decision /for/ them. I just. Didn't want 'em t'think that keepin' the kid themselves or destroyin' the egg were the only things they /could/ do. Did I make this worse? I couldn't...I couldn't've thought havin' more options'd make this worse on 'em or I'd never have even put /you/ through havin' t'come up with a decision on any of it." "Yes, but /we/ didn't adopt Tola. /That/ part's /our/ decision. S'a different question /entirely/ bringing this into our family." Jax's eye closes, his breath coming out in a hard push. "I don't know if we done helped or made it worse. I think this was gonna be ugly no matter what. The place Dusk is in right now -- I can't even imagine." “I don't understand how they could object t'that part. They're...after we adopted /them/, it's... Not very dif'rent. It's a child as needs a place ain't nobody else likely t'/give/. Shouldn't it have the same chance they got if we're willin' an' able t'give it?” Micah's head shakes slowly, overwhelmed by the utter lack of good answers in everything lately. “I mean, they're always sharin' us out with all the kids at the school. They've gotta understand what...this could mean. For another kid like them. Havin' support right from the start.” The unhappy sound in his throat might approach a whimper. “I just wanted t'help. It seemed like the only way, with them sayin' they couldn't take care of it. An' I just...can't... What it would /take/ outta somebody t'just... Outright kill their own kid. I mean, abortion's hard enough when it's...not wantin' t'force a mother through that when it's her body, but. I can't imagine doin' that with a child already survivin' as a separate entity. Not knowin' how much...how far along. Goodness, that thing could hatch any day for all we know.” "It's an entire whole /world/ of different. It /ain't/ a kid, Micah, it ain't a /child/ it's --" Jax sits up straighter, arms starting to lift as though thrown /up/ but in the end just scruffing through his colourful hair. They return to the back of the chair after, one slung across it and the other elbow propped up to scrub palm against his face. "... a conversation I been tryin' /real/ damn hard to bite my /tongue/ on all this while an' I ain't lookin' to start no ethics debate now," he amends, slower and almost contrite. "This decision I made, I made on account I love Dusk an' I care about Isra an' I want to support /them/. Full stop." “But the whether...the whether there gets t'/be/ a child part. That's Dusk an' Isra's decision. All we're sayin' is /if/ they decide that. We'll give that child a place t'be cared for, should they b'lieve they can't do that themselves. That's /it/. We ain't the ones...made a kid. Or the ones decidin' whether the kid should live. We're just the ones who'll take care of it once it's here. Seems a whole lot more similar t'me.” Micah lets out a slow breath through his teeth, which have clamped down hard on his much-abused lower lip. “I'm not sayin' whether or not they should let that child live. I know what /I/ would do, but I'm not them. I just didn't want t'force 'em t'say no. An' t'have to /do/ that. If they didn't have to. If they /wanted/ a way out of it.” His head tilts at that last statement. “Are you sure y'wanna do this? Really?” "Ain't things /never/ so black an' white as all that, though, honey-honey. I mean, yeah, it's their decision, but if we /hadn't/ stepped in s'most likely there /wouldn't/ of been a child, never, cuz maybe that option wouldn't'a been on the table. An' you can slice that any-which-way you like it but in the end still means /our/ decisions is sure enough also leadin' to this kid existin' where it didn't have to." Jax slumps back against the desk, cheeks puffing out. Tiny puffball-fuzzy bats are starting to appear up by the ceiling, wings tucked around themselves, upside-down and roosting. "All I meant by that was, this weren't no decision I made for the kid's sake. Cuz it /ain't a kid/. Yet. I made it for the sake of the people who's actually people already." "Or it means that Isra an' Dusk don't have t'be miserable tryin' t'raise a kid they don't wanna raise but couldn't... I don't know. They're both real strong people, but d'you think they could bring themselves to? What would it be /like/ livin' with that after? I'm not sure they /would've/ even if we didn't say. An' I didn't want 'em t'have t'do /that/ either." Micah sighs heavily just to interrupt his own nonstop flow of words. "Honey, what I was worried 'bout was that y'said you're doin' this for Dusk an' Isra. An' I get that. But it also needs t'be...if y'don't really want this kid /t'have this kid/ and t'have it be a part of the family. That's a whole dif'rent question. 'Cause I been sayin' from square one that I wasn't gonna force /you/ into that, neither. An' now, somehow... I'm startin' t'feel like... Everyone feels like I'm forcin' 'em. Isra an' Dusk t'let the child live an' give 'im up. An' you t'take it. That's the opposite of what I wanted t'do. I only wanted...t'present an option. I didn't wanna force everyone's hands. Not on somethin' this important an' this personal and this...not /my/ decision." "Maybe! Maybe it do. But we ain't /not/ part of it now so I don't know as the /maybe/ matters so much." Jax drops his hand away from his face, crossing arms over the back of his chair. He sways from side to side, spinning slowly in the desk chair as his chin falls to rest on his arms. "You ain't forcin' nothin'. An' I ain't /sayin'/ I ain't gonna -- love this kid an' care about this kid once it's /here/. /I'm/ fine, Micah. I'm just -- I'm just -- that's not." His lips thin, jaw tightening. "S'been so much talk every time about what kinda life this /kid/ deserves an' how /it/ needs a place an' should have a chance an' I just. Don't. Actually care. About this hypothetical not-a-person. Not when I got real living-breathin'-feelin' people /right here/ with /actual/ lives an' /actual/ hurts, I /hate/ how this conversation keeps /centerin'/ around this /egg/ an' what chance /it/ deserves instead of around /them/ an' the life they already done /got/. I could care less if Dusk decides he wants to go play football with it. /Or/ if he wants us to raise it an' he never wants nothin' to do with it or if he wants to be a part of its life but don't think he's ready for the responsibility so we take that on. I just. Wish there was more /actually/ thinkin' 'bout what's best for him an' Isra an' not -- centerin' needs on some thing don't even exist yet. I jus'. Ain't sure there's no way that's even gonna happen. It's all just messy." "I haven't meant t'sound that way. I been...since the option I was presentin' was only /relevant/ if they didn't wanna terminate... That's the only reason I hadn't been talkin' 'bout that more." Micah frowns deeply enough to line his brow. "But I been /sayin'/ the whole time that it's their choice. Whether they could live with raisin' the kid or live with killin' it or live with givin' it up. What they wanted an' what they could /handle/. I know ain't none of it an option they'll /like/ t'have t'choose an' t'have t'live with. I just. Wanted t'let 'em pick the one that they /could/. Live with. The most. I was only sayin' that we'd be /willin'/ t'give the kid a life an' a family /if that was what they want/. Because that /is/ what the kid deserves, if an' when it gets here. I ain't never /not/ framed this as just...an option. If they didn't wanna keep it or decide t'terminate. That's it." His posture deflates significantly. "That ain't the way nobody's been takin' it. Is it." It's more statement than question. Jax's chair keeps rocking. Side to side. Slow. "No good choices." Tired, heavy, it's become almost a refrain. His eye closes. The puffball bats on the ceiling darken, fur shrinking down, withering into just cracking scabby leather skin pulled taut over skeletal-gaunt bodies. His rocking stops, chair oriented to face Micah squarely. "You been sayin'..." He hesitates, voice slipping quiet. "That it's their choice an' jus' an option an' -- when y'say it back to back with already callin' it the 'little one' an' the 'baby' an' how it ain't like a typical fetus on account of it's already a separate bein' all its own an' -- an' sometimes your feelings is already writ pretty clear on your face, it --" His teeth drag against his lip, wiggle at a lip ring. "You been sayin' a lot, honey-honey." "That's just...how /I/ feel about it. It's not important." Micah shakes his head slowly, also looking tired. "I know what /I/ would do. But this ain't...mine." He curls up a little on himself. "I ain't never been /good/ at hidin' what I'm thinkin'. An' I'm pretty...clear. On what I think in this case. But it /don't matter what I think/ 'cause it ain't /my/ choice. They should do what's best for them." A wet heat fills the backs of his eyes. "It just /hurts/ t'hear all of you talkin' like...like the people tryin' t'kill you. Like life ain't worth livin' for people with abilities. Like nothin's never /gonna/ get better. Like y'should all be euthanised. Starts t'sound like buyin' into eugenics. An' I love all of you, an'...it just hurts. How many of you...want t'die an' think there ain't no good t'come of livin'. An' that's. Prob'ly what you're seein'. More'n anythin'." "May not matter on it not bein' your choice but it /do/ matter what you think on account of you're family an' Dusk loves you. You think that ain't got no weight? Who else he /got/ to think on, times like these? Family's who you /turn/ to for -- for their opinions, their advice, their -- feelings. When your own's just all stormy." Jax leans back against his desk once more; this time he /does/ throw his hands up, head tossed back, a brief flicker of light around him. "That ain't hardly even fair, Micah. You can't -- /project/ no views about how I feel about /my/ life on me -- how we feel about /our/ lives on us -- on account of not wanting to /force/ this kinda life on someone as don't /have a choice/. /I/ can be perfectly well glad of livin' an' still say I /damn/ well think shouldn't nobody never have to go through this." "I don't know what t'do then. If he /wants/ t'know what I think 'bout it...that's it. But I don't want him t'do things just 'cause I'm thinkin' 'em, it's..." Micah's hands tangle into his hair, tugging at it in frustration. "I weren't. I was talkin' 'bout too many things at the same time. Was talkin' 'bout the number of times you've told me you didn't want t'live an' how I almost /lost/ you 'cause of it. 'Bout the number of times B's said much the same. 'Bout Hive sure's anythin' wantin' t'die enough t'let it happen. In /addition/ t'the fact that folks is sayin' they don't think no mutant kids should never have t'be born. It adds /up/. It gets all tangled up 'cause it's a lot t'hold onto. An' I'm sorry if that...botherin' me is makin' things hard for people but I don't know how not to." "If it helps any," Jax's voice is a little bit wry, "I think it's pretty horrible to bring /any/ kids into the world, mutant or no. But I kinda long since resigned myself t'the fact I ain't gonna convince the world t'stop breedin'. So I'm jus' tryin' to make it a fit place t'live in, instead. Still got a long ways t'go." He is slumping a little further down, stretching out in a long droop where he sits. Shoulders leaned against the desk, the small of his back propped haphazardly against the seat of the desk chair, legs stretching out onto the mattress. "An' Hive's --" He hesitates, eye closing. "... another question entire. Micah, I'm -- sorry. Ain't none'a this /easy/. I don't think you gotta apologize for havin' /feelings/. I jus' ain't sure where to begin sorting through all /everything/ t'make sure Dusk an' Isra's gettin' whatever they need." "It just sounds like everyone else is in agreement with destroyin' this egg bein' the best decision but me. An' it's not even mine. So why's it seemin' like my thoughts on what /I'd/ do if I got a girl pregnant and knew the baby was a mutant... Why's it seem like that's runnin' the show?" Micah presses his elbows into his knees, propping his head up as if it's too heavy to keep there by other means. "If don't nobody else think a mutant baby should be born, then why are we even havin' this discussion still? My opinion ain't stronger'n any one of y'all's, much less /all/ of yours. It ain't like I'm gonna stop 'em if it's what they wanna do. I understand it. It just isn't what /I'd/ do. But I get that other folks ain't me. They think I'm not gonna forgive 'em for doin' somethin' that I understand? I mean...it ain't like I got a track record of really holdin' folks t'the fire for not meetin' with m'every wish." "Everyone else bein' -- me?" Jax's brows lift, and he wriggles himself up higher to prop elbows on the edge of the desk. "I don't /know/ what Dusk's feelin'. I don't know anythin' except that he seems real scared. /My/ opinions ain't no more important than yours. All I'm sayin' is I wish his actual opinions /was/ what was takin' center stage in these conversations cuz I -- /don't/ feel like I got a solid handle on what his opinions even /are/." "You. The twins. Luci. Ev'ryone who got ticked at Mel for keepin' Tola. Seems kinda like the prevailin' opinion. An'...talkin' t'Dusk. Sure sounded like he agreed that shouldn't no mutant kids have t'be forced t'live. Just...weren't exactly sure whether he was willin' t'end it with 'is own hands or not. S'what I gathered. Wish I knew at all what Isra's thinkin'." Micah's fingers rake and tangle in his hair again, no small wonder why it's usually a mess. "We really just all need t'talk about this. I don't want them takin' our offer as more'n what it is. Just that if they think that this kid livin' is the better option than not, that we're willin' t'provide the home for 'em t'do that in. Just that." "Jus' that," Jax agrees. "Soon, hopefully. Can all sit down actually in the same room together an' -- feel this out better." He turns his chair around, sliding his feet to the ground so that he can stand. "You want some tea? I'm kinda feelin' like maybe this was a conversation that needs some tea." Micah just nods at that, somber. “Think we need to. All this speculatin's just gonna make us all crazy.” A crack of smile manages to break through. “Dif'rent kinda crazy, anyhow. I got lavender-mint if y'want. But y'can make somethin' else if you're wantin' it. Or just wantin' t'/make/ it. I know...the process sometimes's soothin'.” He nabs the thermos from the nightstand, handing it over to Jax in case he wants it. Jax takes the thermos, taking only a small sip before handing it back. "Should make more. I don't want to steal your tea. M'goin' back up to --" He gestures out to the hall. The ceiling. The attic. "Work on my commission." He pecks Micah lightly on the cheek, a little tired-wilty as he turns for the door. At the little peck, Micah drags Jax in closer, /hugs/ rather a needed thing just now. Probably even more than tea. "I love you, honey. Apologies things keep gettin'...all complicated. But I love you. An' that's always simple." He releases his husband to his tea-making and artworks, climbing back into bed himself and fortifying his position with mass quantities of blankets.