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CHARACTERS: Alex Summers & Josias
LOCATION: Oxygen Gardens
WARNINGS: R probably? Might have some cussing. Will update if necessary.
SUMMARY: Alex has had it with Josias hiding from him.

[Alex is desperately trying not to feel like a stalker. Like some weird ex who can't just let someone go--because he isn't. They--him and Josias--they aren't really labeled anything, and this entire situation is stupid. It isn't that Josias told him to leave him alone, really, it is just that Josias isn't telling him anything at all.

It was stupid of him, and Alex is tired of it.

So Alex takes the information that Thranduil provided him, and heads out to the Oxygen Gardens, towards the place the elf told him he'd find Josias. For once he left his pets behind; he doesn't want distractions, he just wants to have an honest talk--or as much as he can have, if Josias is still fucked up in the head.

Even if it's just Alex monologuing, and Josias staring and leaving, he's going to at least make him listen.

This damn place could take either of them at any moment, and Alex isn't interested in waiting for something to happen. As he does in most crises, he's taking matters into his own hands.]

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[Josias knew that it was inevitable that his pattern of avoidance and self-isolation would fail at some point. He knew it, but he didn't like to think on it. Small breaches happened, broken points where he found himself confronted by someone and unable to retreat, but he took them as simple mistakes, blips in the landscape, and just continued as he had been. Really, to make the whole thing impenetrable, he should stop his shifts at the gardens entirely. Stop his 'check-ups' with Cambridge. But he had no choice on the latter (some small hope that one day there would be some actual news), and the former felt like one of the only solaces he still had.

He'd initially signed up to work in the gardens out of curiosity, but now the work was soothing. Reliable. His productivity not compromised by the corruption of his implant. He can sink into it and have the tangled knot of his thoughts ease and quiet, fall into orderly lines again. The plants cared not a bit if he couldn't talk with them. It was peaceful.

It's enough that he doesn't immediately move elsewhere when he hears someone approaching. The gardens were large, but with the passenger numbers increasing each jump, they were becoming more and more frequented. He's been keeping to the more overgrown parts of the jungle, weeding and pruning, tidying things up, but that didn't mean it was untravelled. Whoever it was would likely just pass right by him, so he just keeps his head down, carries on with his work.]

Hey Josias.

[Alex came up behind him quietly, his voice low and tight. He really hates the tension in it...but he couldn't deny just finally seeing Josias, in person, hit something in him. He had missed him. And it made him feel, weak, and stupid, but he couldn't deny the truth of it, either.

Alex had always tried to be honest with himself, even if he wasn't so good at expressing that to others.

His hands are shoved into his pockets, but he is watching Josias's face, even as it isn't looking at him, yet, prepared to try and stop any tries to bolt.]

[He tenses immediately, goes still in his work, fingers still buried in soil, wrapped around a particularly elusive bindweed root stem. Of all the people he's been avoiding, Alex has been the worst. The most complicated. Alex was not a client, was not a simple acquaintance - the divisive line on why Josias was avoiding him was so much more muddled, because what Alex commonly came to him for, expected from him, he couldn't say so certainly that the corruption of his implant had it gone.

But it still felt absolutely dreadful for Alex to find him like this. Like a cold knot had suddenly formed in the bottom of his stomach, all of the warmth and calm in his body sinking down to meet it, leaving the rest of him cold and oddly detached. But if there's any shock (wariness, fear at Alex's reaction) on his face, it's carefully smoothed away only a split-second later. He keeps himself impassive, instead - neither welcoming nor particularly cold - as he slowly pulls his hands free, standing and turning to look at Alex.

There's maybe something a little challenging in it, because that was an easy defence, particularly with Alex's manner. And Josias knows what he looks like, the signs this whole ordeal has had on him showing more on the outside than he should have perhaps let them - the more haphazard state of his clothes, the fading of his tan, and, the most noticeable, the length of his hair completely shorn off.]

[Alex watches carefully, each movement, each flicker and change in the face noted. He never would claim to be a genius or completely adept at some things--but he had stayed alive for two years reading body language. To try and know what people said with their bodies, while they lied with their mouths.

And what he sees in Josias...he might not get, completely, but it lets him hope that he isn't completely lost.

That he isn't going to be told to fuck off, that whatever they had (whatever it was, the complicated mess it was) was done, and he could just leave Josias alone, for good.

Which Alex would have done, probably. He isn't a stalker, and while he doesn't give up...he also knows that sometimes wars are lost. He wants to help, wants to be there for him, but he can't force that.

But whatever. Instead of saying anything, he just moves to hug Josias, if he is allowed.

He's pretty sure anything he'd say would be stupid, anyways.]

[Josias stops him. It's an immediate reaction, something not even thought about. He sees Alex approaching, moving to embrace him, and he catches his wrists, holds the other man back from him.

It's too sudden, he thinks. It's not what he was expecting from Alex, not after a month of silence, but it's also just too bloody sudden. He can't figure out how he feels just seeing Alex, how he should react to that - letting him touch him was too far. Yet he is, now, hands wrapped around Alex's wrists, soil still clinging to his fingers and smearing on Alex's skin.

He frowns, sharply, at his own hands, at Alex, expression turning to something more accusatory as he pulls his gaze up, like what the hell do you think you're doing?]

[Sudden or not, it's Alex through and through. He either hesitates, or moves in full drastic motions.

There is no inbetween, for him. But still, when Josias stops him, he frowns slightly, but doesn't fight against the hold.

He just watches Josias's face, one that he has to read, instead of waiting for words, since he isn't sure that they even exist, right now. He shrugs, slightly, still not pulling away from the hold; he'll take what he can get.]

...thought I'd screw it up with talking.

Can't deny that I'm good at that, sometimes.

[It's an answer to the question Josias's face. He even manages a small, self deprecating smile.]

[Josias wouldn't define it like that. He would agree that talking wasn't something Alex found easy, that sometimes he didn't quite manage to express what he truly wanted, that sometimes he deliberately sabotaged himself in that respect - though whether that was conscious or borne on underlying issues was another matter. But Josias wouldn't say he was good at screwing things up with talking.

But he can't say any of that. Can't say anything at all, and the idea that Alex would willingly forgo speech as if it would make this smoother - this deliberate confrontation on a system of avoidance that Josias had adopted, some aggression already there simply in the act of seeking him out when he clearly didn't want it - it stirs his temper. Not that was difficult, these days, endless cycles of frustration only interrupted by periods of despondency or apathy, or the solace he managed to find in the gardens. At a better time it might simply pinch at him and then get brushed aside, or result in one sharp comment followed by something softer and more reserved. Now, though, it bites right into him like barbs, aggravating and tenacious, almost impossible to shake loose.

And it's far easier to deal with - to sink into - than the rest of the emotions Alex invokes in him.

His grip tightens on Alex's arms for a moment before he lets go, expression turning far more accusatory. The series of hand motions that follow are not practised - he hasn't taken the time to truly adopt any kind of sign language for communication - but their meaning is reasonably clear enough. A finger pointed at his own chest, a line drawn across the front of his throat, a sharp shaking motion in the air, a gesture at Alex. It's me that can't talk, not you.]

[Alex watches for a moment, making sure he understands the statement, snorting in frustration when he gets the jist of what Josias is trying to say to him.]

Yeah? Well considering how many times I've tried to talk to you, or actually talked to your door makes me think maybe I'm the mute one too.

[Or Joasis is deaf, too.

Running a hand through his hair, he tries to maintain some sense of calm, knowing that the other man probably wants the confrontation, to have some excuse to end whatever 'this' was, or to just shove Alex out of his life, entirely.]

Look--I just came to say--

[He breathes out, shaking his head, before catching Josias's eye again.]

If you need more space, fine, I get that, I guess. Even if I think you holing yourself up and trying to ignore the world is a bad idea. Take it from someone who tried to do that for two years, because their body revolted on them.

[And it hadn't helped anything, in the end, had it?]

I just--I want to help. And if I can't, fine, but I think you should at least give me the chance to be there for you.

[If his anger is contradictory, doesn't have a leg to stand on against his recent actions, Josias doesn't much care. There wasn't much use in maintaining rationality when he couldn't express it properly, after all. Alex's argument does nothing to soothe it, but it does succeed in turning it back on Josias, directing it inwards - which was the most comfortable place for it at the moment, with the hours he grappled with frustration at himself and this stupid, ridiculous situation he'd landed himself in.

The anger doesn't face out of his eyes, but it dulls down, the fatigue he's regularly suffering from biting at the edges of his expression. He shakes his head, touches his chest, same hand moving out into a dismissive sweep - then turns away, moving to collect his tools together. It could easily be taken as directed at Alex, but it isn't. It's that there's no point giving Alex a chance to be there for him, when there isn't anything worth being there for.]

[Alex makes a slight sound of frustration as he scrubs a hand over his face, just again reminding himself to stay calm--that becoming a dick because he's feeling unable to get Josias to understand (or that the guy just doesn't want to, right now, much more willing to slide up monumental walls like Alex used to)--would be a shit idea.

So instead, he stands still, and doesn't move closer, but doesn't move to walk away, either.]

You're still--

[Alex wished he was better with words, that he knew how to deal in situations like this. But he didn't. At all.]

--you're important to me. And even with...with this going on, I'd rather spend a few hours with you then a whole day with most of the shit heads here.

[Wow, way to sound pathetic, Alex.]

[It isn't like it's something Josias is surprised to hear. Or something he'll judge Alex for. Their relationship wasn't something he'd attempted to put into words even when he still could. Somehow containing parts of the interactions Josias was used to, and yet standing as something completely new, unique and maybe even frightening in that aspect. But Josias had that terrible habit of running full tilt at experiences that were supposed to be frightening.

The fact that Alex is trying to articulate it means something, and he knows it. That he's trying to reach out past his usual manner, bridge some of the gap that has half been intentionally built and half fallen away. But at the surface, all Josias can do is catch hold of that this going on, and even if he knows it's just a matter of Alex choosing the wrong words, it just makes him want to lash out again. This going on, like it was a minor inconvenience, construction work being done on someone's favourite restaurant, an outdoor event being run at a preferred park.

It implied there was an end in sight.

He turns back, but can't even manage any stunted attempt at communication with his hands - and it's evident, frustration practically shaking through him as he tries to think of a way to say: there is no me anymore. I am not myself. This happened and it broke everything I considered important, and now I am gone.

In the end all he can find is to pat his chest again, to clench a fist there, and to mimic throwing something on the ground.

It's completely and utterly inadequate.]

That isn't true!

[Alex took a step forward then, his jaw set, the words coming out stronger than he meant it to.]

I know this might never be better, I know this might be how things are from now on. And I don't care--I know you do, and I wish you could be better, but if that isn't an option, fine. I still care about you, and just because you can't talk, or communicate, doesn't mean you aren't still Josias.

[His hands go into his hair again, tugging this time, just struggling to find a way to communicate, and knowing he's failing. He's losing his temper, he's fucking up on words, he's doing all the things he promised himself he wouldn't do.]

[It isn't enough. He can't talk, he can't communicate, and without that what was left? Endless days trapped in his own head, thoughts circling constantly with no outlet - frustration, apathy, anger, and back around again. Insomnia was already common, as was fatigue and lethargy, falling asleep randomly for far too long and never feeling rested for it. Alex says he's still Josias, but he feels like a ghost, a hollowed out shell that only manages a mockery of walking around - but can't talk, so, in some circular sense, at least making that effort isn't a problem.

But he can't pull it together in the moment. Can't recognise that Alex doesn't have the answers and has only now become a target for him to lash out at - all the more reason he should have stayed away. Josias should turn again and just leave. Instead he holds his hands up, spread, almost like he's pleading. The same small cutting motion across the front of his throat, and then pleading again. What else is there? If I can't talk, can't communicate, what's exactly is left?]

[Alex is trying, as much as he can, with all he really has. He isn't Charles, he isn't ever been known for saying the right thing. He doesn't have charisma like Erik, or that empathy that Raven has. But he tries and he cares and he's starting to worry that isn't enough.]

Look--

--Nill can't talk, and she does just fine communicating with her hands. Like you're doing.

[He quickly continues, to keep Josias from protesting]

I know it's not the same, and I'm not trying to say that you're like her, or could be like her, or any of that shit. But you have hands and your body and expressions and damn it, Josias...

...you have people that care about you. There is that.

It should count for something, even if it's tiny.

[Nill wasn't the same. As far as Josias could tell, she'd never been able to talk. Never had that ability to communicate, never relied on it so completely, never had it torn away.

She was also a far sweeter soul than him.

Even if there was a part of him that agreed with Alex, that people who cared for him should count, he still can't get it to marry up with everything else he was feeling. Couldn't understand how it was meant to make a difference. The only way people had ever cared for him, his entire life, had been about what he could do for them. What he was worth to them. The St. John heir or the prostitute; power or pleasure, money or worth. There was no money here, his worth was stripped away, and St. John and the Tiger had both been gone for months. He'd become something else, and now even that was out of his grasp.

He shakes his head, goes back to picking up his tools.]

...so you really just want me to go, then.

[Alex stands there, just watching Josias. He doesn't really have anything else he can say.

He had told Thranduil he wouldn't give up on Josias--and he wouldn't. But if Josias was giving up on himself...that was a bigger problem, and one that Alex wasn't sure if he could help.

Despite his better judgement, Alex took a few steps forward, closing the distance between them to rest a hand on Josias's shoulder, just squeezing. It would be easy enough for the other boy to throw off, if he didn't want it there--but Alex felt he had to try, at least one more time.]

Come on, Josias.

Edited 2013-06-02 18:20 (UTC)

[Yes, Josias would say. He really just wants Alex to go. Everyone to go, and just to leave him alone until this is either fixed, or maybe indefinitely, if it isn't. No expectations to fail to meet, no effort and frustration to have to deal with in trying to communicate with anyone. It was easier, it was better.

But he can't say it, and he'd thought the message clear enough already to not need to turn around and confirm anyway. Alex knew it, so Alex could just go.

The grip on his shoulder is a surprise, and maybe that's what trips him. Because he should shrug it off, shake it off, step away like he did earlier. But he stills instead, quiets under the touch, feels like all the aching frustration under his skin just vanishes, leaving nothing but the sensation of being scraped raw. Alex's hand is warm and Josias suddenly feels so tired, turning only slightly to look back at him, like that's all the response he can manage.]

Hey.

[He smiles a bit, then; Josias didn't pull away, which was a good sign. He still moved as if the other boy might--that this was precarious (because it was).

Sliding his hand up to the back of Josias's neck, his thumb brushed against the hair at the nape of his neck, while Alex circled around to his side. He didn't pull at Josias, or put himself directly in front of him, not wanting to spark a confrontation; slow steps, just continuing to test the waters.]

[He thinks, quite simply, that he doesn't deserve it. Shutting Alex out for over a month, arguing with him now (if arguing is what it could be described as), and yet the other man was still reaching out to him - quite literally. Even with Alex's insistence that he cared, that people cared and weren't going to go anywhere despite Josias' condition, the actuality of it is something different - and isn't that a weird position to find himself in, where imagination wasn't as strong as it should be. Alex's hand slides up to the back of his neck, and any resistance Josias had left just drains out of him. It's a terrifying sensation, truly. Because without the frustration, the anger and the pure desolate apathy, he has to suddenly experience what's hiding underneath - fear. Desperate, lonely fear.

He turns the rest of the way into Alex, suddenly needing the contact just to feel anchored, like he isn't going to drift away into nothing: silent and forgotten. Curves down until his forehead is pressed into the other man's shoulder, hands twisting in the fabric of his shirt; closing his eyes, holding on.]

[Alex wasn't sure what he expected, when Josias started to move towards him. There had been a time, before all of this, that he really had, that he had started to learn the other man well enough to anticipate (as he tried to anticipate everyone, an instinct pushed into him by his life). But now, it's harder to judge--because he thinks that maybe Josias doesn't know, anymore.

So that when Josias finally leans into him, gripping at him, Alex thanks whatever might exist in the world silently. Alex slides his hand up to rest in Josias's head, fingers brushing over the shorn hair, while his other arm went around his waist, just holding him in close.]

I missed you.

[He hadn't said it outloud. And Josias deserved to hear it. For whatever he was now, whatever damage had been done, Alex still had missed him, missed this. And he wasn't going anywhere.]

Edited 2013-06-08 13:50 (UTC)

[You can use your hands, Alex had said, and Josias had dismissed it in his pique because all the gestures in the world couldn't cover the accuracy and subtlety of language. But here was the real truth, that touch still meant more to him than words had ever managed, gave him connection to others that conversation and writing always fell one step short of. Experience was better when it was felt on your skin, he'd always believed that, even if others would like to argue that the virtual (where tactility took up the most of his time) was only false in that anyway.

Alex holding him, Alex's hand smoothing over the short buzz his hair has grown to in the time since Irene shaved it for him, it says much more to him than all of the repeated insistence that Alex cared, that he wanted to be there, that Josias' current state didn't matter. It wasn't that he believed Alex a liar, only that he'd spent so long learning how words could be lies that believing sincerity always took a little longer. Especially when he'd never felt the need to look for it before.

He can't say he's missed Alex back - can't, literally, and can't because he's been too embroiled in his own mind to know. He just stays exactly where he is, pressed into Alex, the soil still clinging to his fingers smearing into the other man's shirt. Eventually he'll regain the strength to pull back and stand alone, but for now he doesn't even think on that, on any second past the current one; the solidity of Alex, the rhythm of his breathing and the warmth of him.]

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