ArchivedLogs:No Good Choices

No Good Choices
Dramatis Personae Micah, Jackson, Shane, Sebastian	18 October 2013 Micah takes charge and it's...actually kind of horrible. >_<' (Takes place just after twins' encounter with Malthus.)
Location <NYC> 303 {Lighthaus} - Village Lofts - East Village
This apartment is cheerful, in its way -- bright and airy, its floor plan open and a plethora of windows providing it with an abundance of light. The tiny entrance hall opens into a living room, small, though its sparse furniture and lack of clutter give it a more open feel. The decor is subdued and minimalist; black and white is the dominant theme, with occasional splashes of deep crimson to offset the monochrome, though of late myriad bright-coloured dragonflies swarm across the living room wall. The couch and armchair are upholstered in black corduroy, the low wide coffee table central is black wood and glass-topped, and a few large pillowy beanbags provide additional seating by the large windows that dominate the back wall. The living room and kitchen both hold a rather inordinate number of lamps in addition to the ceiling lights; standing lamps, small lamps on each counter, large sunlights in the corner. More often than not, they're largely all turned on, too. Towards the back, a couple of doors lead off into bedrooms and bathroom, and to the right, the kitchen's tile is separated from the living room's dark hardwood floors by black countertops. Above the bedroom to one side, there is higher space; a ladder climbs up to a lofted area looking down on the living room. Standing in front of the partition between living and cooking area is a large fish tank: one lone Betta, blood-red, swims regally among several species of black and silver fish. A hallway beyond the kitchen leads further into the apartment. Another bathroom stands just into the hall and the farthest door leads to the apartment's final bedroom, the door usually kept shut to hold in the acrid fumes of turpentine and paints from within. It is Friday night and Micah is spending it in the exciting pursuit of dishes! The sink is full, as is the counter next to it. The cabinets may be getting a bit lonely lately, as the dishes don't have much chance to return from the rack, that they are back out and serving food once more. He is dressed in his black Reading Rainbow-dash T-shirt, a pair of multicolour patched jeans, and socks patterned in constellations drawn out in white over deep indigo blue. He is playing in the sink-bubbles as he scrubs at the dishes with a brush. Bubble fluff, rinse, scrub, rinse, rack. More bubbles as a reward! Jackson is beside the sink, dishtowel in hand to help clear space for /more/ dishes. Dry, stack. Dry, stack. He hums to himself as he works, some quiet folksy tune. He's dressed ultra-comfortable today, purple yoga pants, a black t-shirt with a number of cheerful yellow smiley faces dotted over it, very soft rainbowy toe socks. His eyepatch is for once just plain black. Occasionally some of Micah's bubbles change shade, from normal rainbowy-oily soapbubble-translucent to vividly glittery-bright shades. The twins have been out for some while, escorting a small group of rescuees down to the Common Ground clinic to get paperwork done. They return after a few hours, with the same group they left with. Quiet, as they slip through the crowded living room towards the kitchen. Shane heads straight over to Jax, wrapping his arms tightly around his father, burying his face against Jax's back. Squeezing hard. Perhaps painfully so. Sebastian doesn't. He leans against the counter on the living room side, propping elbows on the counter and resting his chin in his hands. For a moment he stares at the two men, wide black eyes and thin-pressed lips. "Why didn't you kill him?" he asks. Oh, colour-bubbles! Micah is distracted for a moment by /popping/ the newly decorated bubbles to see if the colour will splatter onto the rest of the soap mountain. Then taking his dish brush and swirling it through the bubbles like a magic wand to see if it makes a rainbow colour whirl in the soap. He turns at the sound of people approaching, though he seems very blase about this...the apartment has been /crawling/ with so many folks, people-presence is not terribly noteworthy. But twins are! "Hi, Shane, 'Bastian!" he chirps. The bright smile on his face falters at 'Bastian's question. "Wait, honey. Who's killin' who now?" "What?" Jackson blinks, looking up from his task. The popped colour-bubbles /do/ explode into a glittery-bright splatter of colour that flecks over all the others. He freezes with plate in one hand and dishtowel in the other, leaning back into Shane's sudden hug with a sharp catch of breath. "Honey, my ribs --" /He/ actually has some. Made out of bone and not rubber. "... Kill who what?" Shane doesn't say anything, still. His arms stay around Jackson, though his hold eases. His face stays mooshed up into Jax's back. Sebastian is quiet for a while, his gills fluttering rapidly. "The man who shot you in the face. Kidnapped Nox. Wants to /kill you/. Why didn't you kill him. You hurt him, he was burned." Micah's dish brush falls into the sink with a splash and a clatter. Several of the people scattered about the living room jump at the sound, others just looking up to regard its source. Micah's shirt is flecked a bit more rainbowy in the process, too. "Almost killed Jax /twice/. Did kill Nox," he corrects the list of Malthus's deeds quietly, hands shaking slightly. "You saw him again? You shouldn't see him. Not /ever/. If he approaches you, y'need t'get away an' call Jax immediately." "Was burned?" Jax echoes this sharply. "I never said -- where did you see him?" His voice has dropped very quiet, his fingers tightening in his dishtowel. The air around his arms starts to glow, not soft-warm but fiercely hot and bright. The remainder of water left on the plate he is drying begins to /sizzle/ off, dishtowel singeing in his hand. "Is he here? Did he hurt you?" Still nothing from Shane. Tight hug. His claws prickle lightly at Jax's shirt, gills whispering underneath his shirt. "If he approaches me," Sebastian says, matching Jax for quiet, "/I/ will kill him." Micah's own distress is pushed down as he notices Jax turning glowy-hot, the towel on the verge of burning. "Jax-honey, cool down," he instructs. Micah's still-wet hand tugs at the end of Jax's dishtowel, intending to drown it in the sink if he frees it from Jax's grip, to prevent actual fires from happening. "We can't be settin' off the fire alarm with all these people here, much less /actually/ settin' the buildin' on fire." He looks between the boys and Jax, teeth digging deeply into his bottom lip. "We should go...sit. Talk." His head tilts toward the hall to indicate the bedrooms, away from the apartmentful of ex-lab rats. "Oh --" Jackson's eye falls slowly to the dishtowel, fingers loosening to let the smouldering towel into Micah's grip. "Ohgosh -- I -- sorry I --" He starts to shift his hand to put it around Shane instead, but hesitates instead when he looks to the bright glow around his arm. "Yes can we -- yes." He sets the plate down atop the stack of plates. His hip nudges gently at Shane, and he tips his head towards the bedroom, slowly extricating himself from Shane's grip to start towards his room instead. Shane only lets go once Jax starts trying to move. He skirts around the counter, hooking his arm through Sebastian's to drag his brother off towards Jax and Micah's room. Sebastian comes, tense, lips thinner, brow furrowed. He waits till they're all in the room to close the door behind them, though he doesn't sit. "He's going to kill you. He's not going to /stop/ until he /kills you/." "Bastian would've killed him today," Shane finally speaks up. He releases Sebastian's arm, his own tightening against his chest. "And I don't think he'd've been wrong. Just in public that'd -- end. Messy." Sploosh. The towel is deposited into the soapy water in the sink. Hopefully there is another dry one about for future dish-drying needs. Micah abandons this task, wiping his soapy-wet hands on the front of his thighs as he moves away into the bedroom with the group. He does sit when he arrives, perching on the edge of the bed, the attempt at a more relaxed posture intending to facilitate calm conversation. "Where were you? Did he come after you? What did he say?" So Micah is not that calm himself. His lips press thin at the boys' reports. "No. No, I think it'd be above an' beyond justified as defense at this point. Just...boys. If you /did/. They wouldn't see that. They would come after you like they did Nox when she killed that policeman." "No, no you --" Jackson doesn't /sit/ but sinks down beside the bed to kneel by Micah, head tipping back against the other man's legs. He holds his arms up off his legs, drawing in a deep breath that entirely fails to calm the heat around them. "They'd kill you. Or take you an' lock you up forever, wouldn't nobody care about what he's done first." "He didn't come after us. He was down at the clinic when we went. He was hurt bad we could've --" Shane presses his lips thin, his arms tightening harder against his chest. "He said he was going to kill you." His eyes lower. "And that there was a man here who could --" But he just frowns now, shaking his head and repeating: "He said he was going to /kill you/." "And it's better if he kills /you/?" Sebastian spits back angrily, his claws lengthening. "You had him. You had him and you /left him alive/ and do you think I give /any fucks/ about going to /jail/? We've been in cages our /whole fucking life/ we've only had /you/ for --" His words cut off, mostly because his gills are fluttering again rapidly. Micah rests a hand on Jax's head in attempt to be soothing, fortunately well-used to the heat of the other man's touch. It is difficult to be soothing when things are also upsetting to Micah, however. “He was /at/ the clinic? Is he still /there/? Are any of our people still there? Are they in danger? Why would he be at /that/ clinic?” He finally stops, sucks in a deep breath, blows it out slowly through pursed lips. “Honey. Honey, I know. It's...he's an evil man. An' he wants nothin' more than t'hurt /our family/. I... Prob'ly I would want t'kill 'im if I ran into 'im, too,” he admits softly. “But it would be different. What happened after would be different. If I did. You wouldn't go to jail, 'Bastian. You would be dead. It might happen any number of different ways, but they would /not/ let you live.” "M'sorry," Jackson mumbles, as Micah's hand moves to his head. Another deep breath and then another, and slowly the light starts to fade from around him. He lets Micah ask his questions, quiet through this. "You'd be /dead/." His tone is quiet and hollow. Another deep breath. "I'm sorry," he says again more clearly this time. "I'm sorry. I -- couldn't." He swallows, shaking his head. "I -- wasn't strong enough to -- I don't kill people." "Strong? Fuck that," now Shane sounds angry, "you're the strongest fucking person I know. It doesn't take /strong/ to kill people it just --" "-- but he /will/ kill you," Sebastian cuts in sharply. His eyes shift to Micah, still narrowed. "I'd /be/ dead. If that's what it takes, he can't. /Die/. And this man isn't going to /stop/, if you won't kill him I will. You're --" Another moment of quiet, gills fluttering again. "-- more important anyway." Micah's eyes scrunch closed at all the talk of killing and dying and not having a good answer for it. “Honey, you're strong. You're so strong, it's just. Hard. Knowin' how bad this is likely t'end. I don't know. How t'make it any better.” He blinks several times at this admission, then looks over to 'Bastian, voice firm and quiet with an edge of possessiveness when he speaks again. “You're important. You're important an' he can't have /you/, either.” "I don't know if there's always a way to make it better." With the last vestiges of burning fading from around his arms, Jax drops one hand to rest on his knee. His other loops around behind Micah's legs, wrapping there to rest his fingers on Micah's shins and his cheek against his knee. "Bastian, don't /say/ that. Y'all are so important. I ain't got no plans of him killin' /any/ of us. I just --" He trails off with a hard swallow. "You don't /have/ any plans." Shane shakes his head, moving over to drop down to sit on the bed beside Micah. "You don't have any plans and /he does/. And yeah OK we're important to /you/ guys but --" "-- You're important to the /world/. Why do you think he comes after you so hard?" Sebastian stays leaning against the door, his voice still hard-edged with anger. "He shot you in the /face/. It's just flat luck you made it. /This/ time." "You know, he told us before to just -- leave. Take you guys, move --" Shane is leaning slowly to the side, resting his head against Micah's shoulder. "-- away. And he'd let you go. But I guess --" Sebastian's claws have extended, sharp and long. "-- in some ways maybe that's as good as dying." Micah keeps one hand on Jax's head, the other reaching around Shane's shoulders to hold him closer when he leans in. His head shakes, just a slow little movement, denying everything about this conversation. He finally focuses in on one of Shane's statements. “You're right. We need a plan. We keep reactin' t'what /he's/ doin'. An' what he's doin' is gettin' closer an' closer t'killin' you. We need our own plan.” Jax's fingers clench down against his knee. His other arm tightens against Micah's legs. "He's got the whole government behind him." It sounds a little empty, a little heavy. "We could --" But he falters without actually hitting on any kind of answer, here. "If we went public about the labs and what they're doin' --" More hesitation, here; he sounds a little defeated when he just finishes: "... they'd probably kill all the people they've still got locked up, disappear s'much evidence as they can." "So what. You just pick off labs one by one until they kill your whole team?" The tension hasn't left Sebastian's form. "Maybe they will but it'll /end/ this at least, those people are all going to die /any--" "/Bastian/." Shane's eyes have opened wider, kind of horrified. "We don't even know how many of these fucking places are out there. How many people'd be at risk." "We're /all/ at risk," Sebastian snaps back. "And all we're doing right now is standing around waiting to get picked off." “That's a bigger plan,” Micah replies simply. “The labs. An' it's a plan that needs t'be made, too. Eventually. /This/ is one man. Smaller plans first.” His eyes are looking somewhere through the wall of the room, not actually engaging with any of the people in it. Jax's fingers knead, slow and mindless against Micah's shin, elbow crooked around the harder length of the prosthetic leg. "Exposin' what he /really/ does, maybe -- after the mess he made'a Harlem." His brows knit together. "Don't imagine he's got a lot of leeway left for lookin' bad publicly." His teeth scrape against his lip, his eyes lifting towards the ceiling. "There's other ways. To stop someone. Just--" Sebastian's eyes shift to Micah, holding there for a long while. The anger deflates from him all at once. He moves forward to drop down onto the bed on Micah's other side, wrapping his arms around Micah and resting his chin on his dad's shoulder. "Hive can't --" Shane is tracking that look up to the ceiling. "... we could kill him quietly. Is that a plan?" Micah nods, his eyes still fixed on the middle distance. “We'll need t'consider all the options.” Whether that was intended for Jax or Shane or both is unclear. 'Bastian's hug finally drags him back into the room. With one arm already around Shane, he has to give up petting at Jax's hair to snake the other around the other boy. “/Except/ you two goin' after 'im. You /don't/. Is that clear?” For all the soft hugs, his tone is another sort of paternal entirely, sharp and inviting no argument. "Ain't a plan we're goin' through with," Jackson answers this last question with a frown, dropping his arm from around Micah's legs and turning around to face up towards the bed. "An' if you see him again at all you tell us straightaway, alright? If he comes lookin' for you --" For a moment light flickers around him, briefly brighter. "You jus' get out of there." Sebastian's gills flutter at the side of his neck. He /hisses/, quietly. Shane leans in closer to Micah. Grudgingly: "It's clear." "If he comes looking for us --" Sebastian starts to protest, but Shane cuts him off, more firmly: "It's /clear/." Sebastian fidgets, uncomfortable, at Micah's side. "Options that end with you dead aren't /options/, though." This doesn't sound like an argument so much as an unhappy worry. "Maybe /you/ need a bodyguard," Shane suggests. “Good.” Micah nods again when Shane affirms the message got through. “An' no. /Any/ of you endin' up dead over this ain't options, either,” he concedes to the boys. Whatever it is that is continuing to run through his mind, he doesn't share, though it has his jaw clenching with a prominence of the muscles along its sides. Jackson closes his eyes for a moment, the flickering continuing around him. "Okay." He is slow and stiff as he pushes himself to his feet, reaching to squeeze both twins on a shoulder and then kiss Micah, along the side of his jaw where those muscles clench. His touch is fiercely hot, light climbing further up his arm. "Okay." He turns, somewhat hasty in his exit out of the bedroom, through the crowded living room and towards the fire escape. Shane starts to pull away, but then looks at the light blossoming around Jax and just settles back down again. His arm loops around Micah, squeezing tight just above where Sebastian's arm does the same. "I don't think you're exactly /safe/ yourself," Sebastian points out, just as unhappily. "He nearly killed /you/ before." Shane squeezes tighter at this. Arms occupied with a twin in each, Micah nuzzles his forehead into Jax's shoulder after the kiss. He nods as the man leaves, noting the heat and the light and his clear need to be /not inside/. Once alone with the boys in the room, his arms both squeeze down tighter, possessive and protective and yet just /loving/ in their grip. “Ain't none of us safe,” he answers 'Bastian's comment. His eyes track to the door, his voice lowering slightly though it is clear that Jax is already well-gone. “But I'm workin' on it.” "Working on it. Do /you/ have a plan?" Shane rests his head against Micah's shoulder, fingers pressing down against the older man's side. "Because I don't think Pa has a plan." Sebastian looks towards the door where Jax left. "But someone kind of needs to. I don't want any of you to --" Shane exhales sharp. "He needs to die." Bastian just sounds simple and certain of this. “No, he doesn't. Because he can't,” Micah agrees simply. “So it needs t'be out of his hands.” He nods firmly in answer to Shane's question. “I got a way t'get one, which is about the same thing.” His hands on each boy's shoulders squeeze gently, fond and reassuring. “But y'don't need t'know any more than that.” Shane is quiet. His fingers press at Micah's side in faintly prickly kneading, claws poking lightly through his shirt. His chin presses down harder against Micah's shoulder. Sebastian slumps further, at first leaning against Micah's side but then curling up tighter onto the bed, head resting in the older man's lap and his knees tucking up against his chest. "That man says he wants to kill Pa because he's a good person. Maybe Pa killing him would be --" He stops, frowning. His gills quiver restlessly. "Will Pa know any more than that?" Shane drops a hand to brush down against the side of Bastian's neck for a moment, stroking down against those gills. His hand rests on Micah's knee afterwards, and though he doesn't mirror Sebastian's balled-up posture he does shrink in, curling tighter against Micah's side. "It shouldn't have to be in your hands, either." Sebastian's gills lie flat, but only for the brief moment that Shane's hand is on them. "They're good hands." “They are,” Micah concurs with 'Bastian's assessment. “An' that's why this needs t'be out of 'em.” His head shakes in answer to Shane, though the boy can't /see/ the movement from his position he can likely feel it. “An' no, he shouldn't know...even that. He needs t'stay out of it this time.” Micah's eyes fall closed for a moment. “He can't do this, but I can. He does more than his share of everythin'. We can take this one thing for him.” He chews at his lip, a little uncomfortable with the next thing he asks. “Could you two not...bring this conversation up with 'im? He won't be able t'let it go.” "I was talking about /your/ hands, Ba," Sebastian corrects Micah quietly. "They /are/ good hands," Shane agrees, tipping his head up to kiss Micah on the temple. Both boys fall silent, though, at the request not to tell Jax. Sebastian's gills flare again. Shane's chin falls back to Micah's shoulder. "S'a lot to ask." “Oh.” The clarification, and 'Bastian's choice of /words/, bring a small smile to Micah's lips, though it is somehow also sad. “Don't...lie. Just don't bring it up with 'im. Please? I /need/...t'do this. An' I might not be able to if he knows.” Sebastian nuzzles his cheek down against Micah's lap. His gills continue to flutter. Shane reaches down, though this time for one of Micah's hands instead of for Bastian's gills. "You're not --" "-- going to do something," Sebastian continues, "-- dangerous --" "-- /stupid/," Shane's choice of words exactly overlaps Sebastian's. "Because if you think losing /you/ would be any /easier/ on any of us --" Sebastian's arm curls around Micah's knees, hugging himself down close to them. "You'd be kind of a fucking moron." Shane's hand tightens around Micah's. “No, no...honey. I know...where my capabilities are an'. No, I'm not gonna go chargin' after this guy by m'self or anythin' like... No,” Micah concludes finally, simply. “It's not that I'm puttin' m'self in danger that I need y'not t'tell 'im for. It's that he'd try t'stop me doin' anythin' an' there's a chance I might let 'im. Okay? I know I'm not... I'm not the action hero, here. But I know people.” A heavy sigh breathes out through his lips. “Look, I just can't tell you two any more 'cause that would be that much more y'can't tell 'im. Y'gotta trust that I'll find a way t'take care of it an' it doesn't involve me runnin' off half-cocked, okay?” Shane's expression can't be seen, with his head resting against Micah's shoulder. But as his silence wears on after this, there's a faint damp brush of moisture with his next blink against Micah's neck. "Will you tell us when it's done?" Sebastian asks. "Will you tell him?" Shane's fingers still squeeze at Micah's. "It's not that we don't trust you. It's just -- we've /never/ --" Sebastian's arm squeezes tighter against Micah's legs. "Hidden something from him. Not like -- this, it's." Shane swallows hard. "Probably the right thing to do." Sebastian doesn't sound terribly /comfortable/ about this conclusion. "At least I mean he /would/ probably try and stop you." "But should he? He might try and stop him because it should be stopped. /You're/ a good person, you --" "-- Good people just get killed in this fight," Sebastian says sharply. "There's nothing /wrong/ with wanting your family to live." “Sometimes all y'got are bad answers. We seem t'get served a lot of that,” Micah pats at both of the boys' arms. “But. I look at it this way, maybe it'll help. If you've got nothin' but bad choices, the good choice is the one that's the least bad. An' I look at what we have here. We got the choice of...doin' nothin' an' Jax dies...maybe more'n just him. Or doin' nothin' until one of /you two/ finally snaps an' tries t'do somethin' about it an' one or both of you dies as a result. Or I can do somethin' an' /Malthus/ maybe dies, as a last resort. T'me, that reads as the least bad choice. I think it would be more wrong of me t'let any of you three die through my own inaction than t'play a hand in /him/ dyin'.” He chews at his lower lip at the twins' reservations. “Like I said, I'm not askin' you t'lie. Just don't /go/ t'him with it. 'Cause I need the strength in my convictions here, an' those convictions are only givin' me /less bad/ as the way t'go. So he'll talk me out of 'em. I know he can.” He nods at the second question. “I'll tell 'im, after. We don't hide things, either. It'll be hard. But...I can do it t'keep 'im alive. An' when it's no longer a matter of keepin' 'im alive, I'll tell 'im. Okay?” He sighs out one more shuddery breath. “I just hope he'll be able t'forgive me.” Shane lifts Micah's hand to his lips, turning his hand over so he can kiss Micah's knuckles. He presses Micah's hand to his cheek, eyes closing tight. Another wet tear drops, against Micah's knuckles, this time. "Sometimes there's no right choices." Sebastian turns over onto his back, though his head stays in Micah's lap; from here he can look up, now, to study Micah's face. "{I love you,}" Shane says. And in English, "/We/ love you. I don't know if you've /met/ Pa but --" "When it comes to forgiving his heart's pretty much too big for its own good." Sebastian's brows have pulled together, eyes locked up on Micah's face. "And /he/ loves you. More than most anything." Moisture finally wells up in Micah's eyes when Shane's tears drop on his hand, but he manages to keep it checked. “I know. I know he'd forgive me as a person, but as...” He just shakes his head, leaving the particulars of this concern out considering his audience. “If I still lost 'im after all of this, I don't think I could take it.” Shane doesn't have any reassurance to give, here. Just a continued small nuzzle against Micah's knuckles. "You'll definitely lose him if he's dead," Sebastian answers. He slowly uncurls himself, sitting back up and giving Micah another squeeze. "... s'probably about time to cook again." "It's always time to cook again people here never stop eating." Shane doesn't move, though; if anything, he just presses closer, hand clenching tighter around Micah's. Micah nods at 'Bastian again. “No good choices,” he repeats flatly. He slowly extricates himself from the boys' holds, transferring Shane's hand over to 'Bastian's. He stands, moving for the door, presumably to start more food preparation for the building full of refugees and their caretakers. “But things still gotta be done.” Shane is reluctant to let go, but his hand curls through Sebastian's once Micah gets up. He shifts to lie down on the bed, too, tucking himself in now against his brother's side. "Yeah." He doesn't look particularly inclined to Do Things, though. "Things still gotta --" Sebastian wraps his arm around Shane, squeezing tight. "-- be done." He holds his brother a few breaths longer, then shakes him gently by the shoulder, sliding off the bed. "C'mon. Let's go help." Shane blinks, one set of eyelids and then the other, and wipes his cheeks off against the sheets. "Yeah." Reluctantly, he stands. "Whatever you need help with," he tells Micah. "We're good at --" "-- Doing things." Sebastian doesn't let go of Shane's hand as he follows Micah towards the door. Micah's head shakes once more, firmly, though he doesn't look back at the boys. “No, not this time. S'gotta be just me.” He cuts off any further argument by pushing the door open and moving into what is assured to be non-private space. No more discussion.