ArchivedLogs:Victory Garden

Victory Garden
Dramatis Personae Jax, Steve
In Absentia	2016-03-04 "In uniform?"
Location <NYC> Guerrilla Garden - Lower East Side
Situated on the lot directly adjacent to the distinctive sleek form of the Mendel Clinic, this space was once abandoned. The chainlink fence around it is still rusty, dilapidated, and the signs affixed to it still unwelcoming -- rusty as well, reading KEEP OUT, and PRIVATE PROPERTY. For those who venture into the slitted gap cut out of the fence, though, the yard within tells a different story. Neat and cleaned of any garbage and weeds, the once-abandoned lot has been rebuilt. Packing crates have been broken down for their wood to create raised beds full of rich soil, each bed neatly tilled and tended. Stakes label the different plants growing -- a wealth of vegetables growing three seasons of the year in the carefully tended soil. Around the edges of the lot, smaller beds have had brightly coloured flowers planted, lending even more cheer to the little hidden garden. Very eclectically mismatched seating has been brought in; old packing crates, chairs scavenged from curbs, though it's all been brightly painted. It's chilly today, but the warmth of the sunlight lingers even into the evening hours now, the promise of spring not too far away now. Quitting time has come and gone, and while one shift is leaving Manhattan another is pouring in for an early start on the nightlife. In the garden, about a third of the beds have been turned and readied for the early plantings. Steve is working on the rest of them. Hoe in hand, he's making quick progress breaking up soil packed tight by the weight of so much snow. He wears a brown leather jacket over a green and blue plaid flannel shirt, chewed up blue jeans, and scuffed-up combat boots, his shield slung from a harness across his back. He pauses for a moment, rolling his shoulders in a slow stretch, and looks up at the darkening sky. Jax's progress has not been quite as quick as Steve's, so far. Perhaps this is why he's taken a break, leaving the heavy work to Steve's muscles for now while he heads out -- though now he's returning, slipping through the cut-open fence with a bag of Vietnamese takeout in hand. "Y'hungry?" His boots are kind of dirt-crusted, as are his pale jeans, though his canvas jacket is pretty clean, still. Steve turns to Jax, his smile quick and bright. "Famished." He casually sinks the hoe into the yet-unturned dirt ahead of him and strips off his bright red gardening gloves before hopping over the bed. Meeting Jax half-way, he stretches out an arm and -- just lays it on the other man's shoulder briefly before dropping it again. "What'd you get?" Though the eager way in which he is /eyeing/ the bag suggests he's not /overly/ concerned about what's inside, so long as it is food. "Gardening's a good look on you." Jax sets the bag down on an overturned crate, setting /himself/ down on another as he starts to unpack the food. "Banh mi. Ain't /the/ best tofu banh mi in the city but it's the /second/ best, 'least as we've found so far." There's strips of tofu fries, as well, and fat summer rolls wrapped in translucent rice paper. A glass of lychee juice, and one of coconut. "Dessert'll hafta wait 'til we're back home again." "Thank you. Never did much of it before, you know." Steve drags over a third crate and seats himself upon it gingerly. "But I enjoy it a lot. Feels good to use this strength on something constructive. So...directly." This last with a glance back at the soil he had churned up already, smiling. "Your dessert is always worth the wait." Once Jax has finished unloading the food, Steve crosses himself, clasps his hands, and bows his head. "Bless us, O Lord, and these, Thy gifts, which we are about to receive from Thy bounty. Through Christ, our Lord. Amen." Jax folds his hands, head bowing through the prayer. He crosses himself afterwards, reaching for the box of tofu fries to open it and dip one into peanut sauce. There's a thick fog misting up around the garden -- heavy, dark, kind of walling off their little segment of plot. Not that it stops a faint illumination from keeping their little picnic table lit all the same. "There's somethin' special about helping things /grow/, ain't there? Feels so much better than --" Jax shakes his head, taking a bite of his fry. "Was there much green space in the city, back then?" Steve picks up a summer roll and dips it into /its/ tub of sauce. He watches the mists roll in, untroubled, as he devours his roll with startling speed. Washes it down with some coconut water. Nods. "Ma always had window boxes. One for flowers and one for herbs, such as we could get to grow, anyway. The light was terrible." He considers the food before them. Reaches for a banh mi and starts to unwrap it, slowly. "Oh, yes. My neighborhood didn't have that many parks, but folks grew things in empty lots, then as now. Ours weren't as fancy as the ones uptown -- no one hung up patriotic streamers and called them 'victory gardens' or anything. And I'm sure they couldn't hold a candle to what /you're/ used to." "Victory gardens. /That's/ what we're missing, here. Need more propaganda. I'll hafta paint the crates up red white an' blue. I mean, we /are/ fighting the War On Hunger." Jax picks up a second fry, nibbling it slowly. "... keep thinking it'd be nice to take you back home." His voice is a little distant, eye fixed somewhere past Steve on the gathering wall of fog curtaining them off from the rest of the world. "I /am/ making it more patriotic with my mere presence." Steve gives a small, crooked smile. "I'd love to see your home, if...if it wouldn't be upsetting to your folks. Or your townsfolk, for that matter." He stretches out a hand and rubs at Jax's shoulder gently. "What's wrong?" "Oh, gosh, the folks back home been emailing me for ages already hoping I could get them autographs or Real Genuine Cap Memoribilia they'd be tickled pink if you patriotified our town." Jax shakes his head, exhaling a small huff of laughter. It fades, though, as he leans into Steve's touch. "Sometimes I just want to go back there. Take the kids an' my friends and go be safe where..." He bites down on his lip, head tipping to the side to touch his cheek against the back of Steve's hand. Quietly: "I been getting my team back into training." "What, by standing in the town square with arms akimbo?" Steve raises one eyebrow, but he's smiling faintly again. "If you /have/ a town square." He turns his hand to stroke Jax's cheek, fingers rubbing at the other man's hairline. "No one could fault you if you wanted to, but..." His eyes raise to the fog gathered around them. "/Your/ team," he echoes, adding his own emphasis. "That means a raid." It's not really a question. He looks down at his sandwich, unwrapped but untouched. "I -- I know I'm not one of you, and there's probably a hundred other reasons you might not want me along, but. I want to help. However you need it." "Preferably in uniform, though I'm sure they'd accept jeans an' flannel in a pinch." There's a faint trace of amusement in Jax's voice, though this fades soon. He nuzzles in against Steve's hand, eye closing as his lips brush against the other man's palm. "My team." He exhales, shoulders slumping heavily. "There's a lotta reasons I don't want /nobody/ along. But I'd -- be grateful for your help. If you wanted to give it." "Maybe if I held a flag pole in one arm," Steve suggests, "shield in the other..." His hand slides down to cup Jax's chin, his thumb brushing over his lips. Closes his eyes. "I want give it," he says very softly. Then, after a delay. "Preferably in uniform." Jax shivers, a ripple of tension through his muscles that is echoed in a faint darkening of the cloudy fog around them. His lips close, briefly, around the tip of Steve's thumb. "In uniform?" His eye opens again, flicking briefly over Steve. "Oh. Oh, gosh. That -- that'd be -- oh gosh. /Something/, anyway." His brows knit together faintly. "... some ways, think it might protect you more'n the shield. Some ways." "My /old/ uniform, if I can get hold of it." Steve sets his sandwich down and slides off his crate to kneel in front of Jax, curling an arm around the other man. "It's armor, yes, but more than that, it's...a symbol. You wear a uniform so people know which side you're on." His arm tightens around Jax. "There's no room for Prometheus in the America I'm fighting for -- /we're/ fighting for." Jax's breath catches, momentarily. He leans forward, lips pressing brief but firm to Steve's. His forehead rests against the other man's after this, a small tremble in his shoulders. "... Luci's gonna flip." He moves his hand to rest on Steve's shoulder, squeezing gently. "S'gonna be training on /top/'a your training. Ain't gonna be a lot of fun." Steve leans into the kiss, brief as it is. His hand rubs in slow circles over Jax's back. "Lucien? Does he have something against the stars and stripes? I guess it is a bit...old-fashioned." He doesn't seem too upset about this, though. His shoulder flexes slightly beneath Jax's hand. "Training at work is beginning to even out, anyway, and I can handle...an awful lot." "Oh, no. He don't have -- it's just -- from a media point of view you in your uniform with us is going to be -- well. Impressive. It'll be a good kinda flip." Jax's fingers slide in, tracing slowly up the side of Steve's neck. "I know you /can/, I just --" But his voice breaks off, his touch a little shaky. His eye closes again, head just staying tipped against the other man's. Steve chuckles softly. "I do have a stellar service record in propaganda -- and to do it on my terms, to fight Prometheus? I can stand proudly behind that. All the better if it makes his day, then." His head leans a bit more heavily against Jax's. "I know my limits, and I'll keep my focus. There's so much at stake..." Jax tips his head forward, lips touching softly to Steve's again. The kiss lingers, this time, his hand sliding around behind the other man's head, fingers kneading at the back of Steve's neck. He straightens eventually, hand dropping back to his lap. "Feel like I should be relieved, but I'm just --" He shakes his head, offering Steve a small smile. "Well. Thank you. C'mon. We should eat." The fog around them starts to dissipate once he has straightened. Steve's hand slides around to cradle Jax's head, tipping his own back into the kiss. He pulls away at last, slower, but smiling, too. "No reason to be relieved just yet, but you know I have your back. All your backs." Resumes his seat and picks up his sandwich again. "Thank /you./"