ArchivedLogs:Too Young

Too Young
Dramatis Personae Jax, Steve	2016-01-08 "... oh, gosh, m'kinda a mess."
Location <NYC> Harbor Commons - Guest Room 1 - Lower East Side
Simple but comfortable, this guest room provides a quiet escape from the bustle of the rest of the Common house. In decoration it is spartan; plain pale hardwood floor, plain white walls with only a splash of light blue to break up the monotony on the trim. Large windows let in plentiful light; by one window, the queen-sized bed hangs on a wooden platform from the ceiling by thick sturdy ropes, able to be winched up against the wall if extra floor space is necessary. A small wooden desk with single desk chair and three drawers sits to the left of the bed; above it, several bookshelves have been installed on the wall. Against a different wall, a plain dresser provides storage space. Opposite the bed, a cushioned bench seat has been hung against the wall in similar fashion, sturdy ropes supporting it quite solidly. It's almost midnight and a fine drizzle has been falling outside for some time. On a Friday night, plenty of people are out enjoying the recently revived nightlife, so the Commonhaus is quieter than usual. The light is still on in the guest room, though the door has been closed for a while. Steve sits at the desk, dressed in a white A-shirt and black sweatpants, bent over a piece of paper with a pencil. His desk is relatively neat, if busy with knick-knacks arranged around the lamp and with an ever-rotating cast of library books, joined just recently by ones he actually owns. There are footsteps on the walkway outside, though in the Commonhaus that's not all that unusual. These ones pause for some time outside the door, though. It takes a considerable while before a knock comes, hesitant, at Steve's door. Once, twice. Jax's canvas jacket is still slightly damp, a light sheen of rain fallen on his chunky black boots, his arms crossed tight around his chest. Kind of shivery. Shimmery ice-blue and glittering black makeup still frosted on his face. Steve rises and crosses to the door, his footfalls quick and quiet, the pencil tucked behind one ear. Pulls open the door. "Oh -- {hello.}" He nods a quick greeting. "{Please, come in -- if you want to.}" Steps back to give Jax room to enter. On the desk, the sketch in progress depicts Sera and Spence perched on the top platform of the space station in the playground outside. The girl is up on her toes and pointing off into the distance, her face rapt on whatever she sees, but just beginning to turn back toward her friend, who is operating a control panel and grinning fiercely in the direction she points. Jax is already looking apologetic even as the door is opened, head bowing and his hand scuffing over the top of his head. "{I'm sorry,}" he says quietly, slipping inside and shedding his jacket -- underneath he's in a grey sweatshirt with torn rainbow fabric layered over, black skinny jeans -- "{I know it's late, but I saw your light on and I -- oh. /Oh/.}" Here he's turned, looking for a place to set his jacket down; his eye lights on the sketch. His words stutter to a halt, breath catching, hand flying to his mouth to press fingertips to his lips in time with a sudden flutter of light around him. "... oh." His eye squeezes shut, arm clenching the damp jacket in tightly against his chest as his shoulders curl inward. Steve closes the door behind his guest and follows him into the room. "{It's fine, I don't mind.}" He has just started to reach for Jax's jacket when the sketch brings him up short. "{I'm sorry,}" he says softly, bowing his head. "{I didn't know her that well, but Spence told me...}" The hand that he had stretched out settles on Jax's shoulder in a gentle squeeze. Jax turns in towards Steve at the squeeze. His arm lowers to his side, fingers curled tight into his jacket as he steps closer to the other man. His head thunks down against Steve's chest, shoulders sagging heavily. "{Spence is a wreck. She was -- she was --}" He looks back at the sketch, swallowing. Hard. "{It's rough on -- her family.}" Steve drapes an arm around Jax's shoulders, pulls him close. "{Not just her family. Though...}" He also looks back at the smiling children in the drawing. "{There's more to family than blood.}" He gently steers Jax toward the bench by the window. "{Come, sit.}" "{They've just already been through --}" Jax shakes his head, lets himself be steered easily, settling down heavily onto the bench and setting his jacket aside. He lifts his hand, wiping his palm against his cheek. "{Thank you. I'm -- sorry. I just. Sorry. Been a lot of loss lately. And she was -- young.}" "No need to apologize. There's no shame in grief." Steve picks up a box of tissues from the desk offers it to Jax as he sits down beside him on the bench. "{/You've/ been through a lot, too -- /going/ through a lot.}" Jax plucks a tissue from the box, dabbing it briefly at an eye that still looks dry before dropping his hands back to his lap. "{I know. I just. Still feel. Guilty. Like I go over to make sure the Tessiers are okay but all I can think of is Spence.}" His fingers pluck at the tissue, tearing off tiny pieces of its edges. Steve folds one of his legs up onto the bench and leans back. "Not a lot of other people would take /his/ grief seriously," he says this softly, shaking his head. "{But anyway, you /did/ go over to support them.}" "{He's lost a lot of family, too.}" The tiny shreds of tissue are starting to accumulate like little white bits of confetti on Jax's lap. "{And he's also -- also --}" He trails off, swallowing. Quiets, for a long time. "... young." This is softer, nearly a whisper. "Too young. Too young. S'too young." The light around him is growing unsteady again. Steve's brows knit faintly. "{He is adopted, no? Before...was he orphaned?}" He shakes his head as soon as he's asked, though. "{And your husband...}" Trailing off, he touches Jax's shoulder gently. "{Sorry, we don't need to talk about this. Or anything you don't want to.} I'm don't want to distress you /more./" Jax nods, tipping his head to the side to press his cheek to the back of Steve's hand. "Yeah. He was. {His mom -- died before Prometheus took him. I -- kind of ended up with him when we got out.}" His brows furrow, eye closing. Even softer: "{A lot of mutant kids die young. Most -- most mutant kids.}" His eye opens again, fixing somewhat blankly across the room towards Steve's sketch. "{Die young.}" Abruptly he looks down at the pile of tiny white shreds in his lap. He brushes at them with shaking fingers, sweeping most of the tissue into his palm and some off to the floor. "{Sorry, it's -- late, I didn't mean to come in here and -- and.}" His cheeks burn, dark red. "{... I don't know what I. Meant. I. Just.}" Steve's eyes widen. "Wh-what? /Most/?" He frowns /deeply/ now. Doesn't reply for several long seconds. Blinks, shakes his head rapidly. "{Please don't -- I...}" He turns his hand to cup Jax's cheek, tips his face up toward him. "{I don't care what time it is. I /do/ care about you. A lot. If it'd help you to talk...I'll listen.}" Then, quieter. "Is Spence sick...like Sera was?" "Most." Jax's fingers curl in tightly around the shreds of tissue in his hand. He turns his head, tears not visible on his pale cheek but his skin damp under Steve's hand. His breathing is shaky, the kiss he dots to Steve's palm light and tentative. "His powers ain't never been real under control." His voice is shaky, too. "{He /learns/ more the older he gets but -- it's getting stronger, too. Makes it worse. Sick -- I --}" His head shakes. "{Hard to find the right words for. He's /healthy/. Just got a power that's as like to kill him as not. A lot of kids do. The ones that manifest so young -- tend to have. Strong abilities. Too strong. Don't know if people were really built for that much --}" He pulls in a breath, jaw tightening against Steve's hand. "... they're just so young." Steve looks down at Jax's hand, clenched around the shredded tissues, then back up at his face. He brushes one calloused thumb over the streaks of tears he cannot see, his lips pressing into a thin line. "I'd put together his power /could/ be dangerous, and that his control wasn't perfect, but I had no idea..." Falls silent for a moment. "{There's no way to...help? With medicines?}" But he's already beginning to shake his head, his fingers curling in fractionally. Jax falls silent again, here, for a very long time. "{There's... been a medicine. In development. That --}" There's another clench of muscles through his face. Twitch. A tense spasm that is echoed in the darkening shiver of shadow curling around his arms and then fading. "{Suppresses powers. Dr. Toure was working on for Sera. Didn't get worked out in time for her. /Those/ are dangerous, too, though. The serum itself -- pretty rough on kids. Pretty rough on all of us.}" His nose wrinkles, expression briefly twisting into a scowl. "{Wasn't exactly made with /helping us in mind. A lot of kinks to work out before it starts /being/ really medicine instead of just a -- weapon.}" He presses his cheek up against Steve's fingers again. The noise that Steve makes might have been a choked laugh, though the tightness in his jaw and shoulders doesn't indicate any kind of actual amusement. "{I had just started to think: such a medicine would be forced on people, turned into a weapon.} So naive." He lets out a faint sigh. "{Sorry. That is...}not any less awful just becuase it's predictable." His hand caresses Jax's cheek, the pads of his fingers pressing gently into the tense muscles of his temple and jaw. "{But, maybe soon, there will be a treatment? For powers that are...} Though here he frowns again. "{I almost say dangerous. Maybe I do /mean/ dangerous, but.../I/ am dangerous. /You/ are /very/ dangerous.}" He sounds very matter-of-fact about this: no fear or judgement in his tone. "But it's a lot more complicated than that." "{It started out being developed by Prometheus,}" Jax explains quietly. "{Now the Sentinels and cops carry it. They /made/ it to control us and kill us, not to --}" He shivers, sucks in a breath, slowly lets the hard clench of his jaw ease under the knead of Steve's fingertips. "Help us. It's complicated. I just wish it wasn't this constant horrible -- /ngh/. Like Matt jus' trying t'save his sister's /life/ an' wonderin' if anyone's gonna use that t'commit /genocide/ while -- fff. {And this isn't exactly something I can /fight/. Just spend every day praying he makes it through safely --}" Here, Jax manages the tiniest hint of a smile as his eye turns back up towards Steve. "... but then. What parent don't worry 'bout /that/." Steve's hand stops moving momentarily at the word 'genocide'. He gives no voice to the anger in the slight narrowing of pale blue eyes and the quiet grind of his teeth. When his fingers resume they rub just a little harder than they did before. "{No,}" he agrees at last. "{Some things you can't fight.}" Jax's smile coaxs an answering one from him, faint and rueful. "You'd fret about him no matter what, but I imagine knowing that doesn't really make you feel any better." Here his smile twists to one side. "Or him any less likely to hare off and give you more cause for worry." Jax lifts his hands when Steve's teeth grind. One hand curls gently against the other man's where it touches to his jaw; the other rests lightly against the side of /Steve's/ face, pressing warm fingers to the clenched jaw there. "{Sor --}" he starts to say again, but cuts himself off this time with a blush. "... I mean thank you." His head tips forward, forehead resting against Steve's. "{For listening.} ... I fret about a /lot/." Steve leans into Jax's hand, the fine blond stubble along his jaw just long enough to feel prickly to the touch. He relaxes by slow degrees. There's a quick tightening of his muscles when Jax's forehead touches his, but it's gone just as quick with a soft exhale. "{You're welcome.}" His mouth opens, but he hesitates. Then, finally, "You're welcome, any time." Jax's breath catches at that quick tensing -- just slightly, a brief hitch almost (almost) too quick and soft too notice, if not for the close proximity. His cheeks darken further, hands dropping back to his lap and folding there as he pulls back, straightening in his seat an exhaling slowly. For a moment he is quiet -- a little tense, but it passes in a few short breaths as he relaxes again to settle in at Steve's side, shoulder tucking in against the other man's comfortably. "... oh, gosh, m'kinda a mess." His nose crinkles sheepishly as he starts kind of futilely trying to sweep bits of tissue from where they've now gotten scattered -- all over /both/ their laps and the bench as well. "{Were you going to sleep soon? Do you mind if I get my computer and paint in here with you for a bit? I can bring some cocoa up.}" Steve drapes his arm around Jax, a lazy squeeze of a hug. To the mess he shrugs. "{I've seen worse,}" he deadpans, and, picking up a couple of tissue bits, tosses them into the air so they flutter down like snow. "{See?}" He looks at the clock on the wall. Shakes his head. "Couldn't sleep yet even if I wanted to." Though he's a little slow to let Jax go, blushing just a touch. "{I'd love the company, thank you.}" Jax chuckles, quiet, as the bits of tissue flutter down. In midair they transform, expanding outward until there is an /actual/ drift of snowflakes swirling around them, glittering and crystalline where they land. Jax's eyepatch has shifted, a snowflake blossoming on it as well. "Maybe some snacks as well. {Like a thanks for talking your ear off.}" He drops his hand to Steve's knee, squeezing there once before he stands. The intricately patterned snowflakes remain after he's left, improbably frozen and glittering for a few moments where they've landed -- on the bench, on Steve's lap, on Jax's still-damp jacket -- until all at once blinking out of existence.