capeandcowllogs | (no subject)

(no subject)

Who:

objectiondenied
When: TONIGHT! 15 May
Where: Casa de Blue Beetle
Summary: After Jaime doesn't check his messages, Phoenix decides to investigate and make sure the kid's okay. By ringing his doorbell after midnight.
Warnings: MANLY HUGS. Of the not-dad and not-son variety?
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It had only been a few hours, but considering the message his communicator had been sent so many days before, it wasn't completely illogical to be concerned. A quick review of the network hadn't helped much either. Which led him here, three bus transfers later, ringing the doorbell a few too many times of the place Jaime had last called home.

It may have been after midnight, but he didn't really feel like breaking in. Considering Scarab's weapon systems, he'd likely have found himself right back outside anyway. Ring ring ring, someone open the door before Phoenix gives up and burns down the door. Or just finds the hide-a-key.

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Jaime was worn out. He'd warned himself multiple times, gotten the same from friends periodically thoughout the week, but he'd still kept going. Night after night, patrol after patrol, fight after fight...He was certain that if gang violence didn't drop in this City by at least 2%, some jerk was rigging the stats behind the scenes. That's what he'd been thinking about before his mind went fuzzy and he finally drifted off to a heavy, dreamless sleep...

...That started ringing. He fidgeted, grunting a little at the sound but not coherently regarding it until the Scarab chirped to wake him. "Muh...?" Door? Why didn't somebody else get it...?

He mumbled to nobody as he sluggishly made his way down the stairs, sporting a lazy, slightly bewildered, slightly annoyed look as he opened the door and stared. For a minute there, he wasn't sure who or what he was looking at and frowned, squinting, and looking up at the face. Long seconds passed without so much as a blink as he stared, his tired brain fitting the pieces together with a little help from the AI beeping alongside.

When it did click...it was a sledgehammer to the face and gut and spine and everywhere else. The second his mind went Oh, Jaime's throat was instantly tightened, only prolonging the silence. His gut knotted just as tightly at the same time, leaving him feeling altogether...knotted.

The man in front of him was starting to look blurry again; he had to blink it back, keep it down. There was a funny sound before he could manage to croak out just a word.

"Hey."

Phoenix was not so worn out. In fact, he'd only been in the city since six and it had only been early morning as far as his body was concerned, having just finished a conversation with Lamiroir, promising to take care of Trucy. Obviously, that wasn't going to happen here, but he trusted Apollo could manage the five minutes that would probably pass in his world until he went back.

The kid had obviously been sleeping and Phoenix felt sorry for waking him, the briefest change in his expression while he waited for Jaime to collect himself. Then he took a single hand from the pocket of his sweater and pulled his hat off, raking his fingers through his hair to fix it.

"Going to let me in or do I get to stand out here all night?" he asked and then he shrugged, looking up at the frame of the door thoughtfully. "I'd understand why you wouldn't though; pretty sure I missed your big day."

That, and everything else, an angry, childish part of him thought. You weren't there when I needed you, when everyone started leaving and now the whole city's going to hell and you weren't there. You and Brenda and Ms. A and...

The doorframe and knob Jaime's hands each had grip on were really the only things he had for support; he was certain that if he let them go, his bones would liquify and he'd make an even more pathetic sight. His head dropped when he sighed, blinking over and over down at the ground. Right then and there, he wanted to be angry with him. And then relieved. And then angry again, but not as bad as before. He wanted him to be able to promise things that were impossible to promise, fix everything...Stupid, childish thoughts. Jaime knew better.

"Yeah, sure," he heard himself say, sucking up a ragged breath and looking up. The bridge of his nose glinted moist near an eye, but if he was aware of it, Jaime didn't do anything about it. He pushed himself away by the frame, the door swinging open further with the motion as he stepped aside to let him in.

Phoenix didn't need to be psychic to know that Jaime was upset. At him and maybe some other people to, but he was willing to take the blame for being Ported out, figuring the Porter had her reasons. Something he'd done to make her want to play with him and the people he cared about.

Jaime's movements were deliberate, as if each one took some sort of force to make and he had only taken one step when he noticed the moisture. Something in his gut twisted. He'd missed some important things and it was his job to fix it now. Even if he probably didn't desire to.

"Hey," his voice lost its indifference, becoming warm and concerned as he grabbed Jaime by the shoulder and dragging him into a tight hug. "Sorry."

He'd get it if Jaime pushed him away, but he needed to confirm the kid was actually there and so was he.

He would've never asked for something like that point blank, not from Nick or...really, any other dude. Maybe Dad. But it didn't seem to matter how much he needed it, Jaime wouldn't say so. He was supposed to be mature by now. Supposed to, but apparently that didn't mean too much when someone had to go and tug him into a hug like that. All the supposed-tos amounted to very little then.

Men don't cry, Dad said. After Typhoon. A hundred, million billion years ago, it seemed. Jaime couldn't even remember how big his dad's hands were anymore, or the smell of his Sunday Best aftershave. So now he smelled like the slightly-musty coat Jaime's face was currently smeared against, and the hands were just as big as the ones holding him. When he eventually had to breathe, everything broke and Phoenix's cloak suffered under the clutches of smaller hands while shoulders shrugged up high because men don't cry and everything was just so heavy and--

I want to go home.

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