2008-09-12: Two To Tango

Starring:

Jack_icon.gif Peter_icon.gif

Summary: It also takes two to recover, in this case.

Date It Happened: September 12, 2008

Two To Tango


A House on Brighton Beach

Jack's large, humble house in Brighton Beach has changed a great deal in a short amount of time. Though the outside still appears run down and used up, the interior has has been well refurbished. Warped floorboards and rotting stairs have been replaced, peeling wallpaper has been stripped and covered with a new coat of paint, and the sagging ceiling has been repaired and properly shored. Here and there, a forgotten handful of nails or a bit of unswept sawdust tells the tale of a great deal of work done by many hands in short order.

The man himself is perched in the center of the parlor with one hand squeezed tightly around the arm of his wheelchair. His other hand cups a small, empty glass vial. He strokes it very gently with his thumb, caressing it as one might stroke the skin of a lover.

The note he left for Peter was a simple one, heartfelt one. A brief apology for being so busy and a polite request that that Peter come to the house at his convenience to see what's been keeping the Irishman so busy.

In all honesty, Peter's been busy himself. Getting himself healthy came as a priority for a change, so when he knocks on the door he's on his own feet, looking much as he had before he met up with his father in a rather nasty situation. There's no sign of scarring visible, but that doesn't mean it's not there. Dark clothes, a carrier bag, his hair is cropped, face well-shaven. A big change from the burnt and bandaged man laying in a hospital bug shot up with morphine and other medications.

And the fact that he's actually knocking before reaching to step inside gives an idea that he's returned to his politeness again. Doesn't mean he waits for the door to open for him. There's so many ways he can get from one side to the other— it may not matter which one he used.

"I got your note," he says once he's inside the parlor, glancing at the empty vial for a moment, before looking back up. Jack wouldn't have been the only one to leave a note and run off. He'd left his bed in the apartment much the same way.

The arrival of a close friend is a welcome distraction. Jack has spent too long in the company of carpenters and contractors. With a subtle twitch of his fingers, the vial vanishes and a small smile stretches across his face. "You look better," he says, his good eye roaming along Peter's figure, measuring how much he's healed and how much strength he's regained. "I'm glad to see it, and glad to see you." He offers his hand for shaking, a proposition made slightly awkward by his seated posture.

"I got regeneration back, so unless I lose my abilities again, I shouldn't end up like that again," Peter explains quietly, moving closer as his eyes glance around the house. "This is pretty nice," he says, casting eyes along the edge of the building and walls, before settling back on the man. "I went looking for my dad and Nathan— wanted to make sure dad really… that it wasn't just assumed. I didn't find him, but I still can't find Nathan, either. I still have a few countries I haven't checked out, but…" he trails off, glancing down at the floor and shifting his weight a bit. Not finding his father might be, in a way, both a relief and a regret, but not finding Nathan certainly is a regret. "I've been getting stronger. Healing people takes a lot out of me, but I— I think I could handle trying now. And not pass out on you." He hopes.

Immediately, a stricken look crosses Jack's face. A large part of him wants to throw himself headlong into the notion. The barest thought of being free from his chair is seductive. At the same time, the thought of drawing on Peter's strength as he's done so many times before makes him feel weak. Helpless. Forlorn. Even in his anxiety and grief over his own family, Peter displays a selfless attitude that the dried up magician might never match.

A long, silent moment passes. Jack fixes his eyes on the floor and bows his head slightly. In the end, even the faintest possibility that he might walk again is too great a temptation for him to resist. He would never ask it, but he doesn't have the will to refuse the offer. Unwillingly, he whispers, "I… Yes. Please."

"I'm sorry I didn't try earlier," Peter says, moving to kneel down in front of the wheel chair, looking up at the empty vial and the hand that'd been stroking it when he entered. "What's that?" he asks, as he holds his hands out so he can have the man's. It's not going to be instant, they both probably know that, so while he makes the valant attempt, they have time to talk.

"You've been busy for a while now, like me, but I don't know what you've been working on. If it's something you'd rather not tell, I understand, though." As soon as he has the man's hand, he starts to focus on one ability. It will take time, but something changes about his face, indented scars becoming visible, like a mask falling away. None are as deep or as long as the scars he'd worn in the future, but they're there.

Jack chooses not to comment on the vial, instead glancing away in a poor attempt to hide his discomfort. Content to shift the topic to his absence, he glances around the room as he reaches out to take Peter's hands in his. "I've been here, supervising the crew that refinished the house for me," he says, his voice still small and quiet. "Trina deserves better than a cot in the back room of a dusty pub, and my apartment… It holds memories that are better left forgotten. This is my gift to her."

"Yeah. Holds a handful of memories for me too," Peter admits, while he closes his eyes a bit to focus on that. There's a warmth that begins to form, starting where the contact is made and moving up arms to try and fix old damages done to the taller man's body. "But it all turned out fine in the end— this is a good home, though. A good place for Trina to have when the two of you finally get married. You are getting married, right?" With that he looks back up. The warmth is already to shoulders and neck, starting down the spine, toward the leg.

A soft gasp comes unbidden to Jack's lips as the warmth reaches his spine. Here is where the damage lies, not just in bone pushed into unbecoming configurations, but in a nervous system that's become twisted beyond the healing that time and rest would provide.

Not so with Peter's help, though. There's an unfurling of the knot that's laid partway down Jack's back ever since he was crushed under the weight of a car door. He imagines that he can actually hear it, a popping and snapping protestation as the injury starts to straighten out and knit itself back together.

"M-Married," he stutters belated. "Yes. Married. Soon, I hope."

There's some tension beginning to show up along Peter's forehead, a palor that starts to show up, but in comparison to the month in a coma, he looks positively strong and healthy. Only sign of strain besides that is a change in his breath and heart beat. "I'm glad. I've been hoping you'd get your act together on that soon," he says with a lopsided smile as the warmth continues to slowly move. There actually is an audible pop and he says, "Sorry, this probably feels… really awkward. But it's working." Which would be much better than many of the times before. Jaw sets for a moment after the words are said. He doesn't want to do this half-way.

There's a brief, uncomfortable moment and spine and nerves grind together as they rearrange themselves. In response to the sensation, his right leg quivers and twitches spastically.

Though the motion seems as much like a seizure as anything else, Jack can't look away from it. It's the first time he's seen signs of life from his legs in longer than he cares to remember. Desperately, he clings to Peter's hands, willing strength into his friend and praying that the healing process can be completed.

Deep breaths, the warmth continues, but more signs of tension show up. Even sweat. As it reaches feet and toes and finally finds a confluence, it goes warm all over, and then stops. The pain of the shifting will follow, leaving only the mild pin-prick of nerves that hadn't been used for a very long time. Peter closes his eyes, groping around to make sure there's nothing else. Even if surgery could heal a broken spine, it doesn't do so without months of physical therapy, but as seen with his sister-in-law and her healing out of a wheelchair, it doesn't work that way when abilities are thrown into the mix. Muscles may not be as strong as before, but there's enough strength to move, to wiggle toes, and even to stand.

And stand he does, though Jack is still gasping at the pain and unfamiliar sensations that flood his body. Slowly, moving like an old man, he folds in the foot rests to his chair and sets his soles on the floor. He's as unsteady on his legs as a newborn horse, but he's standing. With his knees still knocking together uncertainly, he reaches down to gather Peter into a warm, brotherly embrace. "Thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you. God, Peter. Thank you so much."

It does seem like he judged poorly on things. Peter's able to stand up into the hug without falling over and laying on the floor, though he does lean into it a bit more than he might have without the strain of healing. "It's the least I could do— you helped get me out of that hospital and back to the city— you also woke me up." No matter what he'd used, it really is the least he could do. It isn't so much that he expected to be charged in a favor, he just doesn't seem to want to make a big deal about his own contributions. "You're welcome, though. Try to stay out of those from now on, okay?"

In contrast, Jack is all smiles and glee. Giddy as a young boy after his first kiss, he clasps one of Peter's hands in his own and lays the other on the young man's hip. A moment later the Irishman has spun them into a fast, impromptu tango. He's wobbly, it's true, but what he lacks in strength he more than makes up for in sheer energy. It's as if all of the frustration and pent-up need he accumulated while he was stuck in his chair is boiling off, leaving a clean, pure remainder. Shamelessly, he waggles his own hips and gives a fierce grin. "You want to lead, or shall I?"

There's a laugh from Peter, surprised at the words and the grin, and perhaps at his own translation of the words, "You dork," he says with a mild slap on the back of the other man, before trying to pull back. "Actually you could totally get back in that and then when you unveil the house for Trina you can stand up and surprise her. She deserves a good smile. She's a wonderful woman."

Jack pouts prettily as he dance partner pulls away, but he can't maintain the facade for long. There's a mischevious expression on his face that's been absent for far, far too long. "Now that's canny," he mumurs approvingly. "I like it."

Though he still appears more roguish than anything else, he nods seriously at Peter's appraisal. "She is that," he agrees. "She's been patient with me, and loving. I'm a lucky bastard, make no mistake. This is the best present that either of us could've asked for, I think. Can't wait to see the look on her face."

"I would love to be there, but I imagine the second act would be more than I should see," Peter says, grinning and laughing a bit, even if it's weaker than it should be. He sounds winded, but that's better than the alternative. "You'll probably want to do some exersizes. Stretches, walk around as much as you can. Make sure your lower body is in shape before you try to surprise her."

Thick, dark brows waggle suggestively as Jack ponders Peter's implications. "Aye," he agrees, his tone heavy and ponderous. "I imagine things will happen that I dare not expose you to, my tender little princeling."

With a blink and a grin, he dispells any slight from his words, reverting again to his irreverent attitude. "You're right, though. I should limber up a bit before I try and play pin the tail on the missus."

And so it passes. No longer crippled, Jack bounces back as a bough laden with snow springs up when its burden is relieved by the sun. Free to dance and cavort and romp, he does exactly that until well after Peter has departed.

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