ArchivedLogs:Remember

Remember
Dramatis Personae Hive, Flicker, Micah	28 January 2015 '
Location <NYC> Harbor Commons - Treehaus - Lower East Side
A spiral of sturdy slatted wooden stairs winds up the trunk of an enormous oak, leading the way up to this treehouse positioned between a pair of trees at one side of the Commons yard, abutting the river. It's clear enough upon ascending that this is no ordinary treehouse, built sturdy-strong and with a polished finish that would rival most /regular/ residences. Spanning the distance between the pair of oaks, the treehouse is a long one-story building, equipped with both plumbing and electricity. The stairs lead up onto a wraparound balcony that projects out at one side to overlook the East River rushing by below. The doorway inside leads to a furnished sitting room, long low futon-couches on the pale wood floors, walls painted in leafy shades of green, exposed-beam ceilings that seem to have worked some of the actual branches of the tree into the curvature of the roof. The front room is bright and airy, large windows looking out on the Commons grounds and the river outside. Recessed lanterns in the wall give the room a warm glow, come nighttimes, and in the center of the room amid a stone-tiled patch of flooring there is a squat glass-encased gas fireplace providing warmth in winter. Off to one side of the room there is an elevated loft up nearer the ceiling, accessible by ladder and furnished with pillows and plush futon mattress and lots of blankets. The adjoining room is decorated in watery river-blues instead of leaf-greens; in here there's a small kitchenette to one side with sink and stove and toaster oven and counter space, cabinets on the walls. A long dining table in this room seats eight; by the windows, plenty of cushioning sits in the wide window-seats. Off in the very back, a tiny half-bathroom holds a sink and toilet. No stove in here; the wintertime tends to find this room much chillier, but there's generally plenty of warm blankets lying around the house. The Treehaus is warm, tonight. Cosy and warm, it's clear from the outside that it's occupied -- late enough, right now, that much of the Commons is sleepy-dark, but the flickering firelight of the stove can be seen through the windows. Giving some life to the tree-space-nest. Inside it, Hive -- might be sleeping, almost. Lying on the futon, at least, under a blanket. Eyes open, though. So maybe not asleep. Flicker is decidedly awake. Seated on the futon with Hive's head pillowed in his lap and a laptop balanced further out on his knees, his eyes are fixed on his screen and his lips pressed firm together. His hand rests on Hive's head. Petting absently. Small stiff motions. It's grown rote, by now, mechanical. The words on his screen have long since stopped sinking in, but he's -- making a pretense of studying, regardless. After returning Obie home from a bound out in the snow and getting him towelled off, Micah heads back out to investigate the light in Treehaus. Even if Treehaus is warm, the outdoors are /not/. He is bundled in Jayne hat, burnt orange ear wrap, Fourth Doctor scarf, candy corn striped mittens, olive puffy coat, and snow boots. Buried beneath is a pair of lined jeans and Batsignal hoodie over olive henley and green tee (on which a T-rex with an adaptive reaching aid in each hand leaps under the heading 'UNSTOPPABLE!'). Though the staircase has been cleared, Micah still makes his way up a little slowly-cautiously and knocks before peeking his head (/quickly/ followed by the rest of him) in the door. Trying to keep the frigid wind outside, he shoves the door to with a hip as soon as he is in. The brief ripple that shivers up against Micah's mind as he approaches feels -- barely like anything, really. That nagging feeling of being watched. A faint suggestion that perhaps someone is thinking of you. In Flicker's mind it is more pronounced, a sharper /pang/-swell of -- something. Almost. And then gone. Flicker's breath catches. Lip catches, between his teeth, hand stroking down over Hive's hair. He taps lightly at the other man's forehead. Looks towards the door, a quick smile on his face. "Hey. Micah. S'late, come on, you look. -- Cold." It takes a little /work/ to make room on the futon; he has to physically move Hive, scrunch the other man up into a smaller-curler ball. "I think I still have cocoa left." He gestures to a thermos resting on the table. "Probably still hot." Micah's sense of Hive's presence in his mind isn't really conscious, neither is the soft nudge-back that is the sum of his response. "Mmn. I dunno if I'll ever stop bein' surprised that it's /warm/ in here. S'a pleasant kinda surprised, at least." His smile only broadens at the offer of cocoa. "Ohgosh, I don't think I've told you enough lately how much I love you." He strips off his mittens, stuffing them into his pockets, for the express purpose of making grabby-hands toward the cocoa. He does at least remove the remainder of his /cold/ outerwear and hang it appropriately before approaching. Hive is easy to move, kind of pliable to Flicker's shifting. His eyes stay blankly unfocused; the next flutter of mind-to-mind carries an uncomfortably... wet feeling. Dank. Sewer-ish. Then passes, as well. "I think it's one of my favorite places," Flicker admits softly. "He knows how to make places -- home." Despite the warm, though, he's shivering after this. Clenching his teeth against the odd mental ripple. << Hive. >> Quiet, but firm. << /Hive/. >> "-- What, just over cocoa?" Outwardly, a smile, a quick lift of brows. "I should make it more often." "Not /just/ over cocoa. But the offer of warm sure made a good reminder." Micah nestles himself into the futon along with the others. His brow furrows, head tilting as he regards Hive. "He's...not sleepin'. I thought he was asleep when I came in." He shudders at the sewer impression. Too many bad memories past and future...tracking Nox, grenades, Jax almost dying, catching rats, B... The shudder turns into more of a shiver and Micah claims the thermos for some of that hot cocoa. Flicker settles himself a little to the side, leaning into Micah once the other man is nestled. "Not sleeping," he agrees quietly. "He's just." He looks down. Brushes fingers against Hive's forehead. "Somewhere else. Not here. I don't -- actually know if he can sleep, like this? I don't think he did. All day. Night. It's been a while." Micah's eyes close happily at the snuggling and the cocoa-deliciousness. “Mmn. Also, y'should make cocoa more often. Yes.” His cocoa-free hand absently pets at Hive's arm. “Y'all went t'the school. T'talk with Xavier 'bout the Cerebro thing, right? Is there...is this? What happened with that?” A helpless shrug betrays about how lost Micah is in all of this. There's a small flutter from Hive's mind. Dank and wet again. Shivery. "This is what happened, yes." There's a small shiver to Flicker's voice here, too. Tremble. Uncertain, as he leans in a little closer to Micah. His fingers curl down, rubbing slowly at Hive's temple. Brushing through his hair. "We were out there for -- all day and he. He was just -- he was." In /his/ mind the dank-wet grows into a dark sewer tunnel. Slimy walls, damp crate to sit on, cold tentacle-arm draped across Hive's bony shoulders. In /this/ world, though, he's shaking his head, lifting his hands to press knuckles suddenly against his eyes with a small hitch of breath. "I don't know what's going to happen. To him." His voice is definitely unsteady, now. Hitch-cracking. “But I don't understand. What /is/ it? What did it do to 'im? How?” Micah leans back against Flicker, accepting his weight and sharing a little pressure and presence in attempt to reassure. “Maybe it's temporary?” Unfortunately, he has only questions to offer. "It's sort of like a telepathic amplifier. It -- it made him stronger." Flicker's hand shifts, wiping the back of his wrist against his eyes and then dropping. "A lot stronger. Strong enough to eat -- too many people. And it's always temporary, isn't it?" His lips curl up. Crooked. Thin. "Until we can't get him back again." “I can't imagine. He had half the East Coast in 'is head b'fore. What...is he doin'? Just takin' in /ev'ryone/? Why?” Micah sets down the thermos to circle an arm around Flicker's shoulders, instead, squeezing him tight. “We've always gotten 'im back. He's always come back.” "This is -- more than that. A lot more than that. It's more like half the --" Flicker stops. Swallows. His fingers knead down against the top of Hive's head. Eyes dropping to fix on Hive's blank ones. "Barely, that last time. And that was an order of magnitude -- a couple orders. Less. Than this." He slumps in against Micah. Squeezes his eyes shut. "I told him I'd bring him back. I just don't know if I can." “I just...don't understand how this is s'posed t'help anythin'?” Micah's brows knit deeply in concern. “He's stronger this time. Healthier. S'more in his favour, at least.” He projects less confidence than he'd like. “How d'you do that? Can I help?” "No." Flicker's fingers are tracing down against the side of Hive's head, running along the scar there. "No. He /was/ healthy. The borging made him sick. So it's not. In his favor." His voice has calmed. Quieter, steadier, though there's a glisten of tears on his cheeks. "Remember him. Ground him. Call him back. I don't know. If you can help. Just as likely to get lost along with him. I guess we all are." “I just meant. The last time. He's better now than the last time. I never really got t'meet 'im b'fore...all of this.” Micah's head shakes slowly, arm still holding tight to Flicker. “When do we bring 'im back? I still don't know what he's...up to.” Flicker shakes his head, uncertain. "N-- o. It was the last time that made him -- like this. Before last fall he was -- better. Too many people takes its toll." His shoulders slump. He sags further down against the futon. "I don't know," he admits. "Probably not soon. I don't -- even know /how/ I'll know. I --" There's another /fiercer/ scrub of hand against face, a hard /sniff/, and he sits back up straighter. Rubs a fist against his heart. "I didn't mean to. You should just enjoy the cocoa," he says with a small-crooked smile. "And the warm." "He's just been through a lot. Even while he was in real bad shape. An' he comes back. He's strong. That's all." So much for attempts at reassurance. "No, no, honey. I asked. I wanna...know things. It's good for people t'be able t'talk about things. I feel like I have t'yank everythin' outta people most of the time. Please. Don't apologise for tellin' me what's goin' on. How you're feelin'." Micah's other arm adds to the first to lock Flicker into a /fierce/ hug. "I love you. I meant that. You're important. What you're goin' through is important." "He's been through so much." Flicker's fingers drop back to Hive's hair. Curling through it slowly. "I'm just not sure he did come back. Don't know if he will this time." He blinks hard, forces his smile a little firmer. "/I'm/ not going through -- I mean, it's him. All I've got is this paper due tomorrow and not a word written. /I'll/ be fine." "He has. Y'all have. Maybe him more'n most." Micah releases Flicker from the hug enough to reach fingertips up, brushing his cheek where the wetness had shown. "You're goin' through things, too. Watchin' people y'love go through things is goin' through somethin'. It's hard, sugar. It's okay t'admit that it's hard." The next shiver-spike from Hive's mind feels -- almost happy. A flutter of (distant) (echoed) joy. An odd curling-smoke smell like someone has just lit a cigarette. A continued wet-dank drip-drip-drip of a sewer tunnel, somewhere. << '-i'm so sorry, Hivey-' >> it doesn't feel like Hive's voice, though. Rougher, frustrated, clenching. His eyes still just fix blankly upward. "Him /so/ much more than most." For a moment Flicker sounds -- oddly vehement. He bends forward at this series of feelings, lips pressing gently to Hive's forehead. Straightening again. "So -- so much more. And I don't even know how to /begin/ to -- he's carrying so many people's pain. Where do you even start? Fixing that?" “I don't feel qualified t'rank other people's experiences an' feelin's is all. T'be sayin' nothin' definitive like that.” Micah sighs, sinking back into the futon. “Gotta get 'im back t'just 'is own mind again, for starters. Then maybe...see where he is? How he is. What he needs. S'all any of us can really do.” There's a moment. Brief. Where the lock of Flicker's eyes onto Micah looks just as blank-lost as Hive's. He shakes his head quickly. Dislodges whatever thought was surfacing there. "Yeah." It's all he manages. A little choked. Very soft. He closes his laptop, slowly starting to prop Hive /up/. "I should. Get him to bed." Micah chews at his lip, studying Flicker's face. Eventually he pulls him into another hug. “Is there anythin' I can do for /you/? Y'gotta...take care of yourself, too.” His gaze breaks only to glance back at Hive. “Let me know what times're best t'help keep 'im in shape. Think we're all too used to...but we can help with the practical things, at least, too.” "Thanks." Flicker leans into the hug. Pulls back away to slip his laptop into his messenger bag. Shoulder it. "I'm taking care of myself. I think. I don't know. Dusk and Isra and Jim are all -- around." His arm hooks around Hive's shoulders. He glances back to Micah, to the door, to Micah again. "-- /You/ want a ride back?" Probably icy." “If it's not too much trouble, that'd be good. I can get Hive t'bed that way, if y'want. Give y'a minute t'collect yourself an' start your project.” Micah works himself free to gather his winter gear. Whether it goes /on/ him or not, it needs to come /with/ him. "It's a short hop. Just make sure to hold on tight. Kind of -- have my hands full." With a deadweight of telepath, who Flicker is currently bracing squarely against his body. "And thanks. You think you could just -- sit with him a bit? Read or -- hold his hand or --" He bites down on his lip. "I don't want him to forget. Which him is him." “I'll hold on t'you both,” Micah assures, returning to do just that once he's collected his belongings. “Of course, sugar. There's a lot of us. All here t'help 'im remember, too.”