ArchivedLogs:Speculating

Speculating
Dramatis Personae Jackson, Micah
In Absentia	28 March 2014 Checking up after Jax's colourful outburst in Borgland and the dream discussion with Hive and Flicker. (Part of the Future Past TP and the Prometheus TP.)
Location <XS> Pool – B1
Like any indoor pool, the room is lined with tile and smells faintly of chlorine, the rippling water occasionally casting wavy reflections across the walls when the sun shines through the high, narrow windows at just the right angle. Unlike many, the facility is respectably large, of Olympic length and of sufficient breadth for a respectable number of lanes, with an array of retractable diving boards set up at the deep end. It's been some hours since the searing blaze of anger coursed out over the hivemind, and Jackson has been largely quiet mentally since then, save for some comfort-feelings directed towards Flicker's ensuing feelings of sick-horror. Somewhere in the dim recesses of the mental network there are probably the achey-thumping-bloody-/exhilarated/-exuberant feelings of fighting, pained and fierce and angry and /joyous/ by turns, but it's all settled down into a quiet background swirl. In here, it's quiet. The splash of water, the intermittent regular pull in of breath. Jackson has been in the water for /quite/ some while, dressed in a pair of red-and-black swim briefs and black goggles over his eyes. The speed of his butterfly stroke has diminished, slightly, with the /time/ he's been in here, but he's still pulling himself through the water at a steady efficient clip; drawing /near/ makes it easier to feel, through the shared mental connection, the slow-burn ache of muscles and pounding-hammering of his head after very /long/ physical exertion. Micah mostly looks tired by the time he finds his way to the pool. His bag and outerwear were left up in the suite, where Spencer had informed him where to locate Jax (somewhat offhandedly, as he was busy constructing a jigsaw puzzle of a Hubble photo of the Crab Nebula at the time). The odours of metal and petroleum products still cling to him from the shop and he remains dressed in a blue and green flannel button-down over a white T-shirt and bluejeans. He makes his way over to the poolside, kneeling down there, not overly worried about the potential effects of chlorine on his thrift store clothes. Jackson doesn't slow down as Micah enters, making his way down to the far end of the pool and turning back to pull through the water on the return stretch of his lap. It splashes flecks of water up at Micah when he draws near, stopping with a brush of fingertips against the wall. He grips the wall, pulling up in a lean flex of muscle enough to rest his elbows against the pool's edge, holding himself halfway up out of the water. His head (dripping wet and /fiercely/ hot despite being in the cool water) tips forward to rest forehead against Micah's thigh, breaths pulled in in hungry gasps and his body faintly quivering. Reaching a hand out to pet at Jax's bald-wet head, Micah winces a little at the intense heat there. His brows knit at the gasping, quivering, obvious upset. He extricates himself gently, stripping out of his clothing down to a white tank-style sleeveless undershirt and maroon-and-navy plaid boxers. Sitting again, he removes his prosthesis and its liners before sliding forward into the water, clinging with one arm to the edge of the pool as he leans in to hug Jax /under/ the cool water...perhaps the only safe way /to/ hug him tight at this point. "I love you. Are you okay? D'you wanna talk about what happened?" One of Jackson's arms leaves the pool wall to curl snug and tight around Micah, the other staying put against the tiled edge to hold himself up. Hold them both up, perhaps. He gives no initial answer to this question, just rests his forehead against Micah's shoulder while he focuses on breathing. Still gasping, for a time, but his breathing evens out, muscles relaxing as he finishes catching his breath, lets the exercise-tension bleed down into just a slowly wilting post-exercise /exhaustion/. An answer starts to trickle through, then, not in words but in a churning mess of white-ferocious /fury/ and /sick/-twisting upset shared with Micah. Spencer's arms around him; the shuddering-booming bright pain of explosion as their house blew in. Liam's warm-smiling face, lighting Shabbat candles with Spencer. Flicker burned and bandaged in his bed, Shane's gills charred and raw. Doug's teary face in the aisles of a supermarket. His fingers press slow and kneading against Micah's back. "I -- saw Doug. Today," he finally manages. Micah clings /tight/ to Jax as the other man returns the hug, not loosening his grip through the tension and exhaustion and fury and sickness and all of those memories. He presses his lips against Jax's damp cheek, coming away with chemical taste lingering on them. "I saw Flicker. He's still not doin' well. Still got 'is eyes bandaged over. I was thinkin'...maybe now as most of the in-danger-of-dyin' folks are out of the woods, I'd ask Corey's friend that healed you if maybe she could help him, too." Pulling closer again, his lips find Jax's other cheek. "Ohgosh, honey, is he...okay? Last I heard was Sage askin' how t'stop 'im bleedin' out in the field. But Shane an' B weren't /breathin'/ an' I was too busy t'even...go look at 'im. There's so many people I ain't checked on even yet..." Twinges of sadness and guilt and worry vie for dominance in his mind. "He could use it. The doctors done told him he's gonna need mad surgery if he wants even a /hope/ of seein' again only but I don't think his doctors have been countin' on /mutant/ help, they might be a little -- flummoxed by his regeneration. Dusk's been sneakin' him --" Jackson breathes out slowly, burying his face against Micah's neck. Pressing one kiss there, light, and then a fiercer one. He quiets again at the question of Doug; it flickers another bright-flare of anger in his mind before it dies away. "I don't think Doug knows," he answers Micah soft and /carefully/ steady, "how close I done came to killing him today." "I'll make a point of lettin' 'em know that it's a matter of 'im losin' or keepin' 'is eyesight. He /needs/ t'be able t'see. Not just for him, of course for him, but for...he's Hive's /eyes/ on the missions. We need those two t'be able t'work as a team." There is a wave of sick-panic-fear that washes over Micah's mind concurrent with mentioning /needing/ Hive and Flicker. His hands stroke over Jax's back as the other man pushes up against him and delivers kisses. He pulls back, however, to regard Jax's face with some significant confusion at this last. "What? Why? Is he...so injured that he's fragile...I don't. Why...how?" "We need them," Jackson agrees, mind weary-guilty over this admission but grimly accepting of its truth. /He/ regards Micah with a flutter of concern for that feeling of sick-panic-fear. "Honey-honey, what's wrong?" His teeth clench hard together on the subject of Doug, and he pulls slightly away to hoist himself up to sit on the edge of the pool legs dangling down into the water. He offers his hand down to help pull Micah up, next. "I was /home/, Micah. That bomb was set right outside our door. An' I was /home/. An' Liam was /home/. An' if either one of us had gotten pinged on strangers lurkin' about like we was supposed to -- like we was /countin'/ on for everyone's safety --" He shakes his head, breathing in deep. "And Doug took it on himself to take down our security. For /Lord/ only knows what reason. An' Liam died and R.T. died an' /Spence died/ an' a dozen an' a half other people on top. I can't even imagine why he'd think that was a good idea." Micah shakes his head at the question. "I just...had a bad dream. I'll tell you 'bout it later. One...crisis at a time." He swallows hard, pushing that particular worry down like a solid lump in his throat. Taking Jax's hand in one hand and shoving himself up from the edge of the pool with the other, he clambers to the side a little less-than-gracefully before turning to sit next to his husband. One arm wraps around Jax's shoulders, wet skin draped over wet skin. He nods along with Jax's observations, a small, strangled sound coming at the mention of Doug taking down the cameras and the question of /why/. "Oh. Ohgosh. I didn't even stop t'think of. This is my fault, I'm sorry." The last sentence spills out all in one breath, half-whispered. The concern doesn't leave Jax's expression, but he bites his lip, swallowing further questions as Micah shakes his head. His skin is still uncomfortably-warm but the intensity of the heat has dialed back to non-painful levels; he curls his arm around Micah's waist, legs oddly distorted beneath the water as he kicks them slowly back and forth. "-- What?" He just sounds /baffled/ at Micah's apology. "Micah -- what? How is this /possibly/ your fault?" "Oh..." Micah's eyes scrunch closed, his teeth digging into his lower lip before he answers. "I knew. That Doug had taken the cameras down. It was just...two days 'fore the bomb. I went t'Dusk 'bout it right after but I asked 'im t'give Doug a little time an'...t'try an' be gentle talkin' to 'im 'bout it 'cause Doug was in kinda a sensitive place. That /that/ was why he took the cameras down t'begin with. If I /hadn't/ asked Dusk t'do that, he might've gone an' demanded he put 'em back up /right away/ an'... I think he was goin' t'talk to 'im 'bout it the day the bomb happened but he must not've gotten the chance yet. I didn't think. I didn't think that just a day would be... I'm sorry, I should've /known/ better." Micah's head shakes, a shaky breath drawn in before he continues. "It was my fault he took 'em down t'begin with, too. I... I didn't know he'd added an algorithm t'detect aggressive actions an' set off alarms. He said the algorithm wasn't workin' an' it was just alertin' 'im every time anybody in the common areas...was close up on each other. I mean, even if I didn't know /that/, I shouldn't've been /actin'/ like that in public anyhow, I know how t'behave better, I just... It was Sunday when he was takin' the cameras down. Right after that Wednesday, a week from Lent startin'?" Micah's cheeks have shifted through several shades of pink and straight into reds by this point, his shoulders hunched and posture generally curled in /small/ on himself. "-- You /knew/?" spills out of Jackson immediately, sudden and sharper, but he quiets after this. Breathing slow. Listening to Micah with his hand slowly dropping lower to curl fingers against the other man's hipbone and clench in tight. Through Micah's explanation there's confusion in his mind, non-comprehension taking a /while/ to sort through these fragments of information and put them together with his earlier conversation with Doug. The moment when these bits of explanation all finally /click/ in his mind comes first with shared sense-memory (the cold brick of the building against his back, Micah's lips at his neck, the warm-rich sound of Dusk's laughter) and then with an almost tangible flood of rage. He drops his hand very /abruptly/ from Micah, not because he /wants/ to sever the contact but because of the suddenly spiking heat in his body, no longer painfully but /dangerously/ hot; it can still be felt even at small distance, like hovering a hand above a stove. The droplets of water remaining on his skin are starting to steam off. He lifts his hands to quickly peel the goggles off his face and set them down on the tile beside him. << -- should have killed him, >> is a very clear first thought that he has to consciously decide to shove back down. In front of them the water of the pool is turning thick and crimson-red, glistening dark and bloody where it laps around their legs, the colour spreading soon to overtake the rest of the water. "/You/ didn't do /nothin'/ wrong, Micah. Kissing? Who /cares/. You wasn't the first and you sure wasn't the /last/ to /kiss nobody/ in that lobby and /who cares/. You can't /help/ it that --" << stupid fucking /brat/ >> echoes in his mind as, "-- Doug couldn't get /over/ himself enough to care about /other people's lives/. He knew. /He knew/ that we was gettin' death threats he /knew/ how likely folks around there was to get /shot/ and /he didn't care/. Because his /cock/ was more important to him. Than /our lives/." The clenching fingers against Micah's hip make him wince, but he doesn't protest, just nodding at Jax's justifiable anger at him knowing the cameras were down and not making them get back up /immediately/. "I'm sorry. It was stupid. It was /stupid/. I was tryin' t'spare 'is feelin's 'cause he was all...depressed an' lonely an' I've just always...felt guilty how he got so /attached/ t'me. I don't even know. How it all got so.../messy/. But /he's/ just a kid so I should've. /Somethin'/ better. Somethin'. Kept it from gettin' like it did." Micah draws a deep-if-trembly breath. "Jax, honey, you're steamin'. Y'might wanna get back in the water 'fore y'catch fire. I don't even got m'leg on so runnin' t'get an extinguisher's gonna be hard." His tone is a muddle of concern and guilt and apology...partly at telling Jax to get into that water that he's accidentally blood-illusioning. "He's just a kid. I don't think he thought...I don't think he thought about what he was doin'. 'Cause the outside cameras was still up. An' he's had kinda a sheltered life, so I don't think he /appreciated/ how serious it was. I just...he was just a kid in a bad place mentally. An' I feel like if it weren't for me /none/ of this would've happened, so I'm sorry." He smooshes his face down into his hands. "It is /not/," Jackson says, firm through his teeth, "your /fault/, Micah. This ain't even in any /slight/ way your fault. But please, God, don't make /excuses/ for him. /Spencer died/. Liam's /dead/. They wouldn't be if he had bothered for /one second/ to think of /anybody/ except himself. But he don't. He don't never and now people are dead of it. He /ain't/ just a kid. Spencer is just a kid. Doug is /nineteen/. Do you know what /we/ was doin' when we was nineteen? I wouldn't tolerate that crap from the /pups/ an' they're younger. But they're old enough to know that people's /lives/ come before their /hormones/. He /ain't/ just a kid he's a /grown-ass man/ an' he needs to act like it." His arms are trembling, after this, palms pressed hard against the tile. He looks down at the blood-red water around them and swallows hard, looking -- feeling -- more than a little nauseated as he slides himself slowly off the wall and down into it with a soft sizzle. For a moment he sinks beneath the surface of the water, vanishing neatly into the pool of blood, but then pulls himself back up a little bit less sizzly-steamy than before. His fingers grip the edge of the pool. "-- But it /weren't your fault/, Micah." This is softer than before. "You was clear with him as you could be, you didn't /owe/ him nothin' after that. He don't got a right to dictate who you're with jus' cuz he /wants/ you. This is on him. Not you." "Okay," Micah answers with a noticeable lack of conviction behind the word. "I don't...mean t'make excuses. I just... Yeah. I don't think it was malicious or anythin'. I think it's more that he just...didn't /think/." He shakes his head again, water droplets flinging from the tips of his spiking-up hair with the motion. "An' he just /seems/ younger. That's been the problem more'n his actual age the entire time. He seems younger so I feel like I gotta /treat/ 'im younger. There's just...ain't nothin' /right/ about any of this. It's all just messed up an' horrible." He looks down to Jax as he emerges in the midst of the bloody-looking pool water and whimpers slightly at that image stacking on top of everything else. "Are you gonna be okay?" Jackson curls his arms against the edge of the pool, lowering his head to rest against his forearms. Vanishing beneath the water again, for a moment. Returning shortly to pull himself back out, internal temperature settled back down again to just normal Hot. "Yeah. I'll be -- yeah." Tentatively, his hand creeps back out around Micah's waist. "Are /you/ gonna be okay, sweetie? I just -- this really /ain't/ your -- this ain't a weight /you/ need to be carryin'." Micah wraps his arms fiercely-tight around Jax when he exits the pool. "Good. Good. I'll try not to. It's just...I guess I've got an /overactive/ conscience or somethin'. Maybe it's what happens t'all the extra for folks as don't have /enough/. But I'll try not to. Guilt don't do nobody any good." He relaxes a little, then gives Jax a gentle squeeze. "Are you ready t'get cleaned up? I gotta discuss another one of those...weird shared dreams that weren't a Maya-dream, but lined up with other people's dream-plots...with you. Once we get settled. Had a troublin' common thread I wanna know how t'handle." Jax breathes out quickly as Micah's arms wrap around him, some inner tension released with the sudden exhalation. He turns his head, nuzzling at his husband's neck with a light-brief kiss. "S'worse things than an over-abundance of conscience, honey-honey. It's one of the things I love about you. I just -- also kinda need to remind you when things /ain't/ on you." He nods, after this, pulling his legs out of the water. Slowly, the red starts to fade and leave it just -- watery. "You want to head back up? You could," he offers with a small hopefully twitch of smile, "shower with me -- oh gosh I think I don't /have/ no muscles that ain't gonna be achin' real soon." He doesn't stand, yet, just curling his legs in cross-legged to wait for Micah's more involved process of Standing Up. "-- strange dreams? What was in it now? I /liked/ our last strange-dream." "Prob'ly /should/ shower with you. Kinda...went in the water in my underthings an' don't got nothin' t'change into but what I was wearin' on top. I ain't brought m'crutches, though, an' I shouldn't get the leg /that/ wet. So if I'm goin' I'm gonna have t'lean on you at least for the /movin'/ parts." Micah looks a little sheepish over his own lack of planning. "This one was...I mean, the dream itself was kinda nice? Made breakfast for Matt an' Luci. We just got t'talkin' 'bout things. Remember when Shane came into our room all upset from a dream? About the explosive chips bein' used by the labs? That was the big part of the conversation." "Sugar, you /know/ you can lean on me any time you need." Jackson's singsong-light tone might not /only/ be talking about physical support. He is heating back up as he stands, but this time not out of any anger. Just to /deliberately/ steam the water off himself, this time, so that he doesn't /need/ his towel -- moving to a chair by the poolside, /he/ just pulls his track pants back on over his swimsuit, his t-shirt on over his head, picking up his towel to bring it instead to Micah's side. He offers the towel out with one hand, offering Micah a hand /up/ with his other. "Oh, Matt." There's a warm flush through his thoughts at this name, though it's soon followed by a quiet flutter of guilt at all the planning that still needs doing to break Matt out. "You dreamed 'bout explodin' brainchips too? S'kinda a terrifyin' thought. Think maybe Shane's dream suggested it to you?" "That's an extremely handy trick," Micah says with a chuckle as Jax manages to dry himself off in a matter of seconds. He scruffs the towel over his hair before wrapping himself in it, taking Jax's hand to pull to stand. "Guess if we use the locker room shower I can just bring my clothes an' leg in there an' then change. Otherwise I can get the leg back on an' wrap up in your towel 'til we get upstairs. 'Cause what I'm wearin's /soaked/." There's another little laugh at this, before he sobers visibly. "Um. It's just that all the dreams are startin' t'sound the same? Between you an' me an' Luci an' Shane an' Aly an' Dusk. That Luci's been in Pippin across several of 'em. An' Shane buyin' Evolve with Aly. An' 'Bastian goin' off t'school. An'...Flicker an' Hive bein' dead. An'...now. That when the team goes t'Vermont t'get Matt. /All/ of the people you're goin' t'rescue /except/ Matt get their chips detonated at the same time. An'...Hive dies from havin' 'em all /hived/ when it happens. An' Flicker dies from Hive dyin' 'cause he was tethered in, too. An' Matt has t'get his head put back t'gether by Luci. An' Dusk becomes a wanted terrorist or somethin'." Micah looks like he's debating adding a detail. "It sounds stupid, but the shirt Matt was wearin' in m'dream didn't exist for sale until the mornin' /after/ the dream happened. It was on the site Hive uses t'buy 'is shirts. An' Hive bought it /for/ Matt." "I could carry you upstairs," Jackson says with a giggle. "Over the threshhold. Like a /bride/. Sweep you off your. Foot." His arm curls in around Micah, lips brushing a light kiss to his husband's cheek. "Upstairs is better. No risk of my /students/ comin' in. Or my coworkers neither." His arm curls around Micah's back, fingers running against the older man's spine as he holds Micah close against him. His brow creases slowly, teeth seeking out a lipring to wiggle at that is no longer there. They just sink down against his lip instead, digging in there slowly. "-- Might be creepier on account'a it's all so /plausible/. Shane's real set on this Evolve plan. An' B's brilliant enough for MIT an' Tony Stark /went/ there, s'recommendation'll be like t'hold some sway. An' -- Lord knows Luci's voice could make a whole theater /melt/." His forehead tips to rest lightly against Micah's. "An' Dusk --" His lips press together, and he doesn't finish this thought. "An' Aly moved out here /after/ Shane's dream an' -- did you know Dusk dreamed about Lieutenant Carruthers bein' Mayor the day /before/ she announced she was runnin'? I was awake all night," he sounds /kind of/ guilty about this, "I -- heard a bit." "Did y'not just get done sayin' your muscles was all gonna be sore? Now you're talkin' 'bout haulin' me all the way upstairs." Micah just shakes his head at that, tsk-ing as he pulls on liners (a more difficult prospect on freshly pool-chemical-covered skin) and reattaches the socket of his prosthesis. "Yeah, I'm /kinda/ hopin' that any number of those things /are/ predictive? Shane an' Evolve, B an' MIT, Lucien in Pippin, rescuin' Matt, even Elliott bein' mayor. But...that last part, Jax. What if Prometheus thought t'do it? We /can't/ lose an entire facility full of people an' /Flicker/ and /Hive/. I was talkin' it over with Hive an' the best thought we came up with was cuttin' phone lines an' hittin' 'em with EMP before even startin' the raid. Apparently y'all know people with EMP powers?" He collects his clothes in one arm, pulling the towel closed cloak-like around his shoulders with the other hand, ready to follow Jax back to the room. "/So/ could," Jackson answers Micah with a bright grin, "What, you think these muscles are jus' here for /oglin'/?" He waits for Micah to finish attaching his leg, but once clothes are collected and towel is draped, he curls an arm around behind Micah's shoulders, sliding another beneath his knees to /scoop/ his husband off his feet and into his arms. For a kiss, soft and long before he buries his face against Micah's neck. "-- I know folks with electric-powers an' folks with magnetism-powers an' either of those could take out a place's power, I'd guess. Do you think they /are/ predictive? I mean, Maya-dreams /changed/ the world. What if these dreams are /shapin'/ it?" And then, a little bit paler -- "... though shapin' it is kinda changin' it, right? What if her power's just goin' /wrong/?" "Oglin' an' touchin' are most of what /I/ use 'em f--" Micah's words cut off in a rather undignified squeak as he is suddenly lifted off his feet. Though he clearly isn't /complaining/ as he returns the kiss, arms wrapping around Jax's neck. "We'd need more'n just takin' out the power. Gotta make it so mobile devices don't work, neither. Kill /all/ the tech. If someone were t'detonate the chips from off-site, the only way t'prevent it is t'have 'em never /know/ that they need t'do it. But...that would only help for so long. Eventually they'd know we /had/ 'em an' they could just set 'em off then. We'd need someone who can /stop/ the chips /fast/. I don't know...enough about that. I only got so far as the phone lines an' the EMP." He chews his lip at the question of Maya. "It doesn't /seem/ like her. Certainly not /deliberate/ her; ain't /cheerful/ enough. An' nothin's gettin' taken. An' nothin's showin' up. Just...all these dreams takin' place about the same time in the future with about the same base plot. It's like somebody's hoppin' in a time machine an' showin' us stuff." A sigh breathes out between his lips. "I should call Maya. Or have Dusk do it. Or both of us. I dunno what'd be the least /creepy/ way t'pose it." Jackson's arms slide snug-firm around Micah, holding the older man close against his very /warm/ chest as he starts off through the locker room. "I -- yeah. I mean, I know someone what could do that but if we done it the whole -- facility'd be dead of power an' --" His teeth sink down against his lip, his breathing slow. "Might not be /deliberate/ her but --" He draws in another breath. "... I don't know how t'stop a chip in someone's head. Even /if/ we cut off all the power to a a place, they'll know we /took/ the folks soon enough an' if they got a way to detonate them /remotely/ --" Against Micah's, his body shudders. He sets his husband carefully back down on his feet once they've reached the elevators, though his arm stays wrapped around the older man's back while he waits for the elevator to arrive. "...do you think it is? A -- a time machine. I mean, we /know/ people who're clairvoyant. See -- the present. What if someone can see the future? What if this is just -- where things are -- are goin'." "That's all...pretty much exactly what I been thinkin'. What d'we do then? 'Cause if they /have/ that capability... Ain't no such thing as a foolproof plan. There's /gotta/ be a way 'round it /somehow/. An' if there's any chance this is what they're doin'? We need t'find that way /first/." Micah takes a second to find his balance once his feet are back on the floor, keeping his hands on Jax's shoulders until he does so. "The one good thing if this /is/ tellin' us the future? It's also tellin' us that the first two raids went /fine/. That there were no explodin' chips 'til the Vermont one. An' that Matt don't have one. The rest... I dunno. I'd be grateful t'know it in advance so we have the chance t'/do/ somethin' about it. T'save all those people an' Hive an' Flicker. If it's not...we can feel silly for worryin' 'bout it. But I'd rather fret about it an' be /wrong/ than assume it's all nonsense when it's /right/." "We used t'have a person --" Jackson grinds the heel of his hand into his eye, stepping into the elevator when it arrives. He presses the button for the second floor, one arm still looped around Micah and the other resting heavily against the railing around the elevator wall. "Well. We don't have him no more that won't help. I -- I think this question may be past my expertise, Micah, I don't know nothin' really /about/ how to deal with strange /technology/ problems, we'd hafta -- talk to. Everyone. People who know this better'n me." His teeth sink down against his lip, brow furrowing deeply. "... but, okay. If /everyone's/ sharin' these creepy dreams about stuff that might happen -- if everyone's dreams is tellin' the same story -- there's /gotta/ be someone behind it, right? Gotta be -- maybe we need to figure /that/ out too. Where this is all /comin'/ from." Micah slips into the elevator behind Jax, leaning on him for the ride though he doesn't really /need/ to anymore. "It'd be nice t'know. But, yeah, I figure we need t'get your whole raid group t'gether t'figure out what we're gonna /do/. 'Stead of runnin' 'round each person gettin' little bits an' pieces. For all we know, there's /more/ dreams out there people just ain't talked about yet. S'definitely time for a team meetin'." "An' we've needed a team meetin' /anyway/ about -- Anole an' who /took/ him an' what to do about --" Jackson draws in a slow breath, holding Micah a little bit closer on the ride up. His face turns in, pressing a kiss to Micah's temple. "Flicker's still barely -- I don't want to put this on him right /now/ -- an' Liam's -- /Lord/ my team's taken a beatin' lately. I'll call 'em together anyhow. Guess we can meet in -- Flicker's room." His weight sinks tiredly against the wall; it seems to take considerable effort for him to pull himself upright when they arrive on the correct floor. The door opens on a pair of students -- Liza and Xerox waiting outside the elevator to take it back /down/. Liza blushes faintly when she sees them, offering Micah a quick smile. "-- Pool empty?" Xerox wants to know; the smell of chlorine is heavy in the elevator and Micah /is/ kind of Undressed. Jax slips out of the elevator, arm still curled around Micah's waist, before gesturing with an arm to let the students /in/. "S'all yours." "Yeah, there's been...nonstop. Stuff." Micah's free hand rakes through his hair, sending a small shower of water droplets down behind him. "I'm gonna get in contact with Kate. The one who healed you. See if she can be spared t'help Flicker out now that the rash of people with /fatal/ injuries has backed down some. Think Flicker could maybe be a priority t'save his /sight/. We'll see how quick they might be able t'come help." Liza's faint blush is put to shame by Micah's /brilliant/ one when the students trade places with them in the elevator. "Um...yep. S'empty. I kinda ended up...unexpectedly. Clothes in the water," he explains hastily before just waving and moving a little faster toward their room. Liza's eyes follow Micah out of the elevator; she's turning to whisper something to Xerox as the doors slide closed behind them. Jax blushes, too, deep red as he hastens after Micah down the hall. "Oh. Oh /good/, he's -- oh gosh I felt him t'day an' I jus' wanted to hug him so bad, Micah. I don't -- you got no idea how bad I jus' want to tell him he can /quit/. Jus' not put himself /through/ -- /all/ of this. Over an' over an' --" He swallows hard, head still bowed as they arrive back at the room. "... only I can't tell him that. 'Cuz I don't honestly know how any of us are ever gonna get to a point we can quit. I'm gonna get him killed some day, Micah. Maybe not by those chips. But I'm /gonna/. He gets it worse'n any of my people." Once Micah has gotten over just /blushing/ as his primary action, he presses his lips together. "There was somethin' else I said in the dream. That somehow the public got footage of all the people bein' killed by those chips at the same time an' finally demanded that Prometheus get shut down. An' it /happened/. They did get shut down. Have you all ever... It sounds terrible, but have you ever considered takin' someone in with a tiny camera on 'em or somethin'? Offer hard proof. There was the beginnin's of an outcry from the testimonies that folks gave while you was in jail. But ain't nothin' the same as pictures. Maybe then...then you can /all/ stop. With the lab raids, at least." Jackson locks the door behind them, stopping to peer curiously at the progress on Spencer's puzzle but then continuing in towards the bathroom. He leans in to start the shower water heating up. "I --" His teeth scrape against his lip, his eye turning to look back at Micah. "... maybe." He sounds uncertain, leaning his palms in against the sink -- but /promptly/ turning his back to it with a rather sickened expression as he catches sight of his own face in the mirror. He crosses his arms over his chest instead, looking down at the floor. "Closin' those places down for good /would/ be -- somethin'. Maybe worth it. I wonder if Mirror'd --" His cheeks puff out, his breath expelled slowly. Micah trails Jax into the bathroom, hanging his wet towel up on a hook once they're inside. He catches Jax's look in the reflection of the mirror, stopping him on his way to sit on the edge of the tub and remove his prosthesis again. "Hey, no... No givin' looks like that t'my husband's face. I love that face." He tugs Jax closer by a fistful of shirt, reaching up to trace a finger along his jaw before turning it to him for a deep kiss. "Y'got any friends who might get y'started on a first few piercin's at a discount? Think it might do you good t'get a couple...anchors put in, so t'speak. At least the ones that y'see all the time." His hand gestures broadly at his face to indicate his meaning. "Can't hurt to ask. Mirror's kinda been /on/ this story. Footage from inside'd be a scoop for hir." Jax blushes, leaning in towards the kiss to return it softly; there's a tentativeness to the touch of his lips, at first, that slowly fades into a deeper press, hand lifting to curl against the back of Micah's head. He breaks off with a slow inhale, hand still resting at Micah's neck and his face tipping down to nestle on the older man's shoulder. He sinks down to his knees on the ground by the tub, arm curled loose around Micah as the other man detaches his leg. "We can ask." His eye closes, thoughts heavy-exhausted. << Can ask -- later. Soon. Later -- too much speculating right now. Gonna drive myself crazy thinkin' all the worst-case scenarios. >> His head bows further, and out loud his voice is just as tired: "-- Oh. Yeah, I -- I mean, at the studio a lotta my colleagues would -- do the work /free/ if I got the jewelry. I jus' -- didn't get started on account of if we're doin' these raids soon -- I tend to come outta them kinda scarred up an' blowed to pieces an' if I'm gonna hafta reconstruct my skin /anyway/ I --" He shrugs a shoulder. "But a few noticeable ones would probably be good. In the interim." Once the socket is detached and all the liners peeled away and stowed inside it, Micah leans the prosthesis in a corner and peels his wet undershirt off, finding another hook to hang it on. They're slowly running out with all the wet-drippy cloth he's brought back with him. “One thing at a time. Team meetin', then figurin' out press. In the meantime, a few piercin's. Just a few. An' right now.../warm/ water. I am /freezin'/ out here!” This statement makes Jax chuckle, wrapping his arms around Micah, his own skin proving a deep radiant warmth even as the shower begins to steam behind them. He releases his hold so that he can stand up to peel out of his own dryer clothes, letting them puddle on the floor for now before he steps into the shower and offers Micah his hand. "I think we could prob'ly fix that."