ArchivedLogs:Out Of the Cold

Out Of the Cold
Dramatis Personae Dusk, Steve
In Absentia	2016-01-24 (Immediately follows (talking with Peggy.)
Location <NYC> Harbor Commons - Courtyard - Lower East Side
This courtyard is the lush central hub of the surrounding Harbor Commons, bound in on three sides by rows of duplexes and triplexes, cutting upward at the sky with the sharp thrift of a minimalist's style, neat lines and bountiful windows, boldened with accents in wood towards the upper stories, stone towards the base, the whole of the compound sealed in by a low stoneworked wall that opens entrance gates to the streets beyond at its two far corners, smaller gates at building back doors. The fourth side of the courtyard is open to the East River, the ground forming a slight decline, controlled on one side by micro-retaining walls to form wide steps where picnic tables sit beneath the nominative shelter of a trio of dogwood trees, accessible by ramp. The other side is allowed to slope at its natural angle, a wide open yard space, until its cut off at the river's edge, where a massive pair of oak trees stand, a staircase leading away up one of their thick trunks. The yard itself is carpeted in an organic flow of emerald grass swirled through with wending channels of smooth-paved cement walkways, flowing naturally away from the building's front entrances, where some are arced by trellis, some flanked by hosta plants, fern and lilies, a few laid in gentle switch-backing ramps for wheelchair access, before forking off at matching angles to sites of small garden installments. Bird feeders and baths suspended from the necks of small lamp posts, a rock-lined koi pond, a sleek gazebo tucked to one side in simplistic varnished wood, its southern side overgrown with a mass of thriving grapevine and a caged-in barbecue pit under its sheltering roof. A play area and proper garden are within sight off another branch, until finally all paths spiral in like wheel spokes to a shared common house at the center of all traffic flow. Though the sun is blazing down from a fierce blue cloudless sky, the air is still quite cold and the two feet of snow on the ground showing little inclination to melt. A trail of footprints -- large, bare, with an impressive stride length -- crosses the courtyard to the riverbank where Steve still sits with his knees pulled up to his chest. He wears no hat, coat, gloves, or shoes, just a red t-shirt with a yellow star on the chest over a long-sleeve thermal shirt dyed in sunset ombre, and crisp blue jeans crusted with snow. He is only shivering a little, at and the moment has both hands wrapped around a shimmery iridescent pink phone, laboriously tapping out a text message in Spanish. (Steve --> Dusk): {Sorry to disturb you. I need to talk to you, if you aren't busy. I am by the river. Please.} - Steve (Dusk --> Steve): {Yeah text messages don't really disturb anyone.} (Dusk --> Steve): {Asynchronous communication, I mean, if I didn't give a fuck I just wouldn't answer, you know?} (Dusk --> Steve): {I ignore my texts when they're a bother.} (Dusk --> Steve): {Answer them when I'm ready.} (Dusk --> Steve): {Actually calling on the phone, now, that's a hella bother.} (Steve --> Dusk): {I know. But you always answer.} - Steve (Dusk --> Steve): {I always answer *you*.} Steve sucks in a sharp breath when his phone vibrates (he hasn't actually turned off his screen, just continuing to stare at the text conversation in progress). He puts his head down on his knees. It's a while before he replies. (Steve --> Dusk): {I don't think I can do this. In text. Or Spanish. But I don't want people right now and I'm not sure know where to go.} - Steve (Steve --> Dusk): {I didn't meant that you are not a person. Sorry.} - Steve (Dusk --> Steve): {You know you don't need to sign text messages, right?} (Dusk --> Steve): {Your name comes up in my phone when you text.} (Dusk --> Steve): Heads up. (Steve -- Dusk): Oh. {I thought so, but it's a habit.} Even as he presses 'send', Steve looks up, squinting against the sunlight -- from the sun, from the water, from the snow. He has kind of melted his way into the snowbank now, and looks half-buried from a distance, oddly small considering his impressive stature. Up above, fiery-bright wings are casting a shadow against the brilliant snow. The reflected glare of sunlight illuminates the flicker of colours on Dusk's wings as he swoops downward; when he lands it is with a skitterspray of snow cast up to scatter -- over the ice, over the water, over /Steve/. His boots thud down heavily as he drops into a crouch, sinking into a sudden new hole carved deep into a high snowdrift. It takes a moment for him to properly /extricate/ himself from the pile, shaking snow out of his wings as he pulls back. He's got a heavy cloak draped over one arm, dressed otherwise in heavy boots, brown corduroys, a denim jacket, dark glasses. "-- Jesus /Christ/." Once he's managed to right himself from the snow, dusting it out of his clothing, he's staring down at Steve. "Dude, I know you're a badass but, like. Shoes?" Steve tucks his phone away as Dusk lands. Runs his hand through his hair to clear the snow out of it. "My guest. {I was very rude. Ran out on her.}" Then, after a pause. "I didn't want her to follow me. So I didn't stop to. Anything." His head drops down onto his knees again. "{Sorry to drag you out here, too. It's kind of cold...and bright.}" "{/Kind of/ cold.}" Dusk winces, wings pulling in against his back, tightly. "Why don't we get you inside before your toes freeze off, huh? /Then/ we talk." Very tentatively, one hand reaches out to rest -- light and hesitant -- on Steve's bowed head, fingers tracing gently through the other man's hair. "I got through the winter of '42 with my toes in tact." But Steve is stirring from his burrow in the snow all the same, leaning back hard into Dusk's hand. He rises unsteadily, leaning on Dusk. "{Thank you.}" Dusk shakes his cloak out, wrapping it around Steve's shoulders once the man has stood. "{You probably had shoes through most of the war.}" His wings spread outward; in one smooth motion he simply scoops Steve up into his arms. For all the taller man's bulk, even as he lifts off the ground it seems rather effortless, swooping upward toward the Commonhaus toward Steve's third-floor window. His enormous wings curl inward once he arrives, latching on to the side of the building as he tugs the window open, letting Steve in before he climbs in himself. Steve drops to the floor easily and moves out of the way to let Dusk enter more easily. The room has gotten somewhat more homey as the winter wears on. The collection of trinkets gifted by Horus now occupy an entire corner of the desk, though the addition of a extra bookshelf (the folding kind meant for college dorm rooms) has cleared some space, as well. A hook has been installed beside the bed for Steve's shield, and another one opposite it for the (decorative!) glass Rose Quartz shield. He sinks down to the bed, Dusk's cloak still wrapped tight around him. "Wow. It's warm in here." He sounds kind of amazed, and slightly embarrassed. Dusk shuts the window tightly once he's inside, shakes snow out of his wings, crouches down to shed his boots as well. He drifts further in to begin the process of shedding more clothing, then, reaching up behind his back to unstay the back flaps on his jacket and sweater and henley so that he can pull his wings free. He drapes his damp clothes on the back of Steve's desk chair, glancing over towards the bed once he has shed them. "What happened?" Steve has folded his legs up onto the bed and is gathering the blanket around him, nest-like. "She -- Peggy came over and...I don't know. We were talking about --" He shakes his head suddenly. "She saw a sketch of Jax and... I think she already knew. About me and him. Tried to talk me out of it -- he's dangerous, he's trouble, all that." He bites his lower lip, his pulse racing suddenly. "Then she said he could...could destroy a city. I have no idea if that's even true, but -- but of course I /know/ there are people in the world who can do that much damage -- or more! With powers or without." His shoulders hunch in even tighter. "He's still /Jax,/" this softly. "Peggy?" Dusk's brows quirk upward. He settles his sunglasses back into place, slightly dislodged in the removal of all his layers, and takes up a seat in a crouch on the bench, wings tucking back in behind him. "Already knew? That's, uh, creepy and fucked up." There's a small twitch of his claws, flicking briefly atop his wings. His jaw tightens, arms folding in around his shins. For a long stretch he is quiet. "Yeah, he's Jax," he eventually replies. "/And/ he could destroy New York." "Ok. Could. Alright." Steve nods, slowly. "But he would never. /Never/." He hasn't actually stopped shivering since coming inside. "He would sooner die than --" Actually seems to be shivering /worse/ now, than before. A rough harsh snarl tears up from Dusk's chest right about the time Steve cuts himself off, talons clenching down against the bench as his teeth bare. His fingers have curled in, gripping hard against his shins. Deep and guttural, his growl does not fade, rumbling gravelly underneath his words: "How did she /know/?" Steve's pulse kicks up another notch at the snarl, but he doesn't flinch. Just frowns, his eyes lifting from the floor between them to Dusk. "At first, I just thought it was another one of the million things that everyone else already knows, but..." He shakes his head. "That would have gotten dragged all over the news after our arrest. But /SSR/ knows." Then, after a pause. "They -- monitor mutants who are existential threats. Maybe they've been watching /him/ since long before I came to live here." "About the war, about the bomb, nobody knows except --" Dusk pales, jaw clenching tighter. "/Existential/ threats." A slow swallow rolls down his throat, his growling growing softer. "... monitor them -- to what end? Who else here are they --" His lips press tighter together. "What war? Bomb? What are you talking about?" Steve's brows furrow deeper, pale blue eyes fixing steadily on Dusk. "They only told me in the broadest strokes that they had a mission to monitor mutants who posed a threat to society. But I /quit/, so I -- I don't know." Then, slowly. "They /wanted/ me here. From the very first mission they sent me on -- they picked that shelter because they knew Jax would be there." His voice is tight with anger. Dusk shakes his head, standing abruptly from the bench. His wings shake out restlessly, arms wrapping tightly around his chest as he paces down one length of the room and back. "No, no, that hasn't happened yet, we /changed/ that future. That's not --" He wraps his wings back in around himself, curling tight and then relaxing them as he looks back at Steve. His mouth hooks upward at one side, a little wry. "Unless their intelligence is /way/ fucking creepier than it already sounds, I don't imagine they exactly were banking on you falling for the guy." "Change the future? How do you even know --" Steve stops right there. Groans softly. "Let me guess, there's someone who can /see the future/, too?" He runs his fingers through his hair. "No, but they profile people in /great/ detail, so I'm sure they knew I would be sympathetic to mutants, and possibly even that I'd get along with Jax in particular." His eyes follow Dusk, kind of vacant. "Nick Fury isn't stupid. I'm sure he's trying to use me against you, but I can't figure know what his angle is." He curls up tighter under Dusk's cloak. "I just never counted on Peggy playing me /for/ him." "Most likely there are many people who can see the future. But that wasn't -- exactly -- no." Dusk's claws curl inward, talons scruffing through his hair. He stops his pacing, wings shifting back as he drops down to sit on the bed beside Steve. "There was a -- thing. With dreams and. Time travel and we kind of. Went to the future to stop --" His jaw tightens again as he pulls his sunglasses off, rubbing at his eyes. "Nick /Fury/. For real?" This, at least, is a little bit more amused, but only for a very brief moment. His head turns, dark eyes fixing on Steve with a small furrow of brow. "You and she were close." Not really a question, exactly. Steve watches Dusk, eyes growing wider and wider as he struggles through his explanation. "Time travel? How do you --" He presses the heels of his hands into his eyes. "Ok, doesn't matter /how/, does it? So in this future...that you /went/ to, Jax..." Leaning against Dusk now, his trembling is quite apparent through the thick cloak. "/Colonel/ Nick Fury, no less." Steve's trembling eases a little, though his shoulders tense. "Yeah, we were close. Peggy was...one of my handlers, during the war." He stares at the floor again. "I loved her -- /still/ love her, but she's...well, it's been seventy years." "Complicated. A lot of really powerful people working together. The world we were heading towards..." Dusk frowns at the trembling, plucking the cloak from Steve's shoulders and instead curling his wing snug around the other man, holding him close against his side. "There was an explosion. They said it was a bomb, said the Brotherhood detonated it. It started a -- started a /war/." His wing rubs slowly against Steve's back. "... world got all kinds of fucked up in seventy years. {I'm sorry, man.}" "But it wasn't a bomb, it was..." Steve continues the line of thought slowly. "No, no, he /wouldn't/. It doesn't matter how things got, how many years in the...future." Tucks himself into Dusk's wing. He doesn't /feel/ very cold, for all his shaking. "But then, I keep thinking I know how bad /this/ world has gotten. And I keep finding out how naive I am." "It wasn't a bomb," Dusk affirms, quietly. "He took out a good chunk of Westchester. Nearly two hundred thousand people -- in the initial blast." His eyes have fixed somewhere on the floor, now, his wing just clamping down tight around Steve. "And /then/ things get really scary. And it's not the distant future. The explosion that starts it all was next year." There's a careful evenness to his voice not reflected in the tension in his muscles, the clench of his fingers against his knees. "And he /doesn't/. Not on purpose. The government sent a raid out -- to the school. He was killed trying to protect the kids as they were evacuating them to get them away from the Sentinels. The explosion..." /Now/ the growl returns to his voice, low. "You're not entirely wrong. He would sooner die than -- if he had that choice." Steve sucks in a sharp breath, clenches his jaw tight. "No." The word is quiet, barely more than a whisper. "/No./ I know about the Sentinels, registration, that law, but...to raid a /school/? Killing --" He turns his face against Dusk's shoulder. "Then they hold that up as proof mutants must be /contained/, right?" "In that future the school was secret. Nobody knew it was a mutant school. Someone in government found out there were a ton of mutant kids there, got it in their head to --" Dusk's growl deepens. "Then when it all went sideways they told people it was a Brotherhood training camp and that the Brotherhood detonated a bomb when they came to shut them down. And, yeah. Used that to --" The steadiness of his voice is slipping; a shudder runs up his spine. "They militarized the Sentinels. Went after all the psi folk first but it wasn't too much longer before -- by three years out from now they're rounding all of us up into detainment. Killing anyone who won't go." Dusk pulls his knees up close to his chest, arm curled tight around his legs. "We --" His chin drops to his knee, eyes closing tight. His wing rubs again, slow, at Steve's back. "It's not /the/ future. It's /a/ future. And we -- we stopped it. Or we tried. I mean, we..." He swallows. "{Sorry.}" Steve goes very still as he listens. Even his trembling stops, eventually. Then, very deliberately, wraps his arms around Dusk. One hand comes to rest between the other man's wings and the other long his side. Just holds him. "I don't understand all this about the future -- or future/s/, but I know the past." He closes his eyes. Opens them again. "When I went under, the world was at war. I wake up, they say we won. They didn't say what we lost." Holds Dusk tighter. "Now I know." "I don't -- really understand it, either. Makes my head hurt trying to get just how it all worked. But Hive..." Dusk trails off here, another shudder rippling up him. He leans into this hold. Slowly turns towards the other man, his other wing curling up around Steve as well. His head bows at those words, forehead tipping in against Steve's shoulder. Pressing there in silence -- a long spell of it. Eventually, though. Very, very softly: "...does it scare you?" Steve rests his cheek on Dusk's head. Though he does not answer the question at once, his fingers curl in briefly, digging into the other man's back and side. "Yes." His voice is surprisingly steady -- /confident/, even. "Which seems like a good place to start." Dusk shakes his head, just slightly, not moving from where it's rested against the other man's shoulder. "I don't mean -- them. The future. War. All that terrible. I mean --" There's a small hitch of pause, his wings trembling around Steve. "Us. /Him/. Everyone who --" One shoulder lifts, briefly. "You're living with people who could end the world, and I /don't/ mean that in any way governments had even fucking -- dreamed of before." Slowly, he pulls back, wings still unsteady even as they loosen, shift to prop against the mattress as he tips his head to look Steve in the eye. "There's a /reason/ those people wanted you here, after all." Steve plants his hands against the mattress to either side of him. He meets Dusk's eyes, but takes even longer to consider this question. "Maybe a little," he admits at last, somewhat less certain, his head shaking. "It's tough to even think about, but there are half a dozen governments out there that can end the world a thousand times over." These words he speaks slowly, as if it physically hurt him. "And I trust you a whole lot more than I trust them. There are a /lot/ of reasons they wanted me here -- as a weapon, asset, source of intelligence -- but you actually...want. /Me./" Dusk pulls in an unsteady breath at this last. There's a faintly keened edge to the soft growl that rises in him, his talons digging down against the bedsheets. They release all at once, unclenching as he leans back in, wings wrapping tight and fierce around Steve. "Guess that's a good place to start, too."