ArchivedLogs:Who Deserves It

Who Deserves It
Dramatis Personae Hive, Jackson	2013-02-21 Set immediately after Io and Jane visit Jax.
Location <NYC> 303 {Holland} - 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 bright coloured sealife has made its way into being painted on the 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. 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's not long after Iolaus has left that a familiar voice stabs its way into Jax's mind. << How long d'you have before work? >> Jax has returned to his drawing tablet, curled up in a beanbag by the window, although his attention is rather distracted from it by the envelope beside him. He cringes at Hive's voice but sets his tablet down, feeling vaguely relieved by the interruption. << Little bit. Half hour. Bit more. >> There's no more answer past this, but a few minutes later there's a knock at the door. It's a courtesy, followed immediately by the unlocking of the front door as Hive lets himself in. He locks it again behind himself, and beelines across the living room to pull up another beanbag chair beside Jax's. He's eying the envelope, too, with an intentness that strongly suggests he's been eavesdropping. "Fucking hell of a week." Jax adds a few touches to the cactus-tattoo on his screen. Only a few, though, and then sets the tablet aside, turning to flash a quick-bright smile at Hive. "Nooo kidding," he says, a little wry, a little amused. In tone, anyway. Beneath the smile there's a storm of worry. About what /really/ fighting this ticket would bring, about whether the pay and benefits of this job is worth the danger, about whether the danger's a big enough deterrent to helping out a place that will /really/ benefit mutants. About the ethics of playing superhero -- or even just activist -- with kids depending on him. That's inside. Outside: smile! "S'a pretty good offer and I didn't even apply for it or nothin'. Who knew how far a little civil disobedience could get you." "Jax," Hive says, with the bland-blunt not-really-patience of someone saying this for the /umpteenth/ time, "telepath, remember?" He taps at the side of his head with one forefinger. The smile melts away from Jax's face rapidly. He slowly topples to one side, falling to lie against the beanbags and pillow his cheek against Hive's thigh. << S'habit, >> comes almost in tandem with a soft strangled groan, and a, "Pay's good. Benefits are good. Seems kinda terrible to take a job the whole point's getting shot at." Hive snorts, dropping his hand to rest against Jax's hair, play absently with the colorful strants. "The whole point's avoiding getting shot at, actually. Might free up some of your time, too." "Maybe." Jackson shrugs a shoulder. "Pays better than either of my jobs, for sure. Don't pay better'n both of 'em together. And the kids' tuition ain't getting no /cheaper/." There's still a storm of worry, there, but he battles it back, turning onto his back so he can look up at Hive. "You worried? I mean, this whole thing is kinda your --" Thing. Project. His hand waves vaguely. "-- An' it's likely to get bombed to pieces 'fore you even finish construction." Hive's lips quirk upwards, a little wry. "Oh, I'm worried," he agrees, "but fuck the building, that's hardly weighing on me just now." There's silence, for a time after this. Audibly, at least; mentally it's a slow sick weight settling into Jax's stomach and a tired dull stress that can't even resolve into proper fretting. "This guard of his, she might know a thing or two about --" There's a flicker of memory at Jane's words and he almost manages a smile, "-- leading folks into battle." He looks up at Hive, eye seeking out the other man's. "She trustworthy?" "Don't know." Hive shrugs. "Be a good resource if she is. Only met her in passing talking to Io. Could check it out." The smile spreads, though it's thin and pretty unhumored. "I mean, hey, when building the freak clinic kills my chances of ever getting another gig, I might be hitting her up for a guarding job. I'm good at that." His fingers press a little harder against Jax's hair, less stroke now and more a slight /clench/. There wasn't much colour in Jax's face to begin with, but what was there drains at memories farther back. The last time he ran into Hive in a /guard/ capacity. His hand lifts to pry the other man's off his head but then just hold it, fingers curling around Hive's. "-- Be for a better cause this time," he manages, a bit grimly. Hive snorts. Just snorts. His hand squeezes Jax's back. "-- You should talk to the ACLU," he says suddenly. "I mean, if you want to go through with it. Nobody'd hold it against you if you /didn't/. Flicker's already paid his. It's a giant pile of shit and it'll bring a giant pile of shit down on you. But I bet they'd champ at the bit to take this case." "Yeah, because everybody /loves/ freaks," Jax answers with a touch of amusement. But it's a touch of thoughtfulness, too. He turns back onto his side, cheek resting against Hive's leg and his free arm curling loosely around the other man's knee. "ACLU defended the fucking KKK, man. You're hardly in that field. You were protecting your kid! You were protecting /New York's finest/." That's said, admittedly, with more /disgust/ than respect. "The media'll eat that shit /up/, you spin it right." Hive pokes a finger at Jax's shoulder. "Those pics of you hugging Spence were priceless. I can't believe that asshat went through with it." "Think he had orders," Jackson says, with a reluctant sort of defensiveness. Certainly not /liking/ the guy, but. Feeling they were /all/ kind of in a Terrible Position. Hive grunts, acknowledging this with equal reluctance. "-- I can't believe you saved his sorry ass. Shoulda let him take the dart. Get his ass kicked /out/ of that uniform." Jax squeezes his eye shut tightly, and there's a brief internal /battle/ where, << Yeah, I should've, >> wars with << No, that's not an ok situation for /anyone/. >> It all resolves into a groan and a, "Oh, man. First the mayor, now Eric, I'm like. The most doomed superhero ever. Only save /jerks/ who don't really deserve it." Though this has a quieter undercurrent acknowlegement: << Because it's not my place to decide who deserves it. >> "S'New York. You didn't save the assholes, there'd be noone left to save." Hive is quiet, briefly. Briefly. "Whatever you do, you know you've got a whole bunch of people at your back." Jax doesn't open his eye, but its tight squeeze resolves into a calmer relaxation. "Don't think I could do none of what I do if I didn't know that," he says, softer. He pushes himself upright, leaning in to peck Hive lightly on the tip of the nose and give him a quick, tight squeeze of hug. "I've got to get to work," he says, out loud; this is layered over a fiercer, unvoiced, << Love you. >> "You need a fucking break," Hive grumbles, through his return hug. The hug lingers a moment longer than it probably needs to, and though Hive doesn't say anything in return his forehead leans to rests briefly against Jax's, his eyes closing, too. And then he stands, offering a hand to help Jax get to his feet. "Hey, if you take this bodyguard gig, you'll probably get /so/ much more sleep, all the times it lands you in the hospital." Jax punches Hive lightly in the shoulder. "You can let yourself out," he /huffs/ exaggeratedly, nudging his laptop closed with a toe and heading for the door.