2022-07-30 - Not As Unlucky As It Could Be

(TXT to Jules) Mikaere : Picture of a beach, early in the morning.

It's been a few days of silence, since Tui's text. But now, early in the morning New Zealand time, and early afternoon in Washington State... a text.

Jules hasn’t been anxiously hanging onto her phone in the intervening time, but that doesn’t mean her response doesn’t come quickly.

(TXT to Mikaere) Jules : Hey! Where is this? How ar étoiles doing?

(TXT to Jules) Mikaere : Is your autocorrect speaking French at me? My stars are aligned nicely, thank you. 😆

(TXT to Jules) Mikaere : This is Wharariki. It's a beautiful spot. And I'm... well, I'm here. We're finished. It's been an experience.

(TXT to Mikaere) Jules : Apparently it is. Just testing to make sure your brains didn’t get scrambled.

(TXT to Mikaere) Jules : Tell me more?

(TXT to Jules) Mikaere : Umm, hang on. Can I call you?

(TXT to Mikaere) Jules : Sure!

A moment later, Jules' phone rings, and there's Mikaere: it looks like he's laying down on his stomach, on a towel or a blanket, his phone propped up on something in front of him. His smile is a little crooked, but he seems genuinely pleased to actually properly see Jules, though having done so, he doesn't seem to be in any huge rush to speak.

"Hey," he says.

When the phone buzzes, Jules is in the middle of moving through the house, headed for the library of all places. “Hey,” she answers, lighting up with her own smile. “You caught me at a good time. Heat wave here, and the tour this afternoon got cancelled. Apparently the family that booked it doesn’t want their kids to get heatstroke. Can’t imagine why that would be.”

She settles in a chair by the big windows, kicking her feet over one arm to get comfortable. “What time is it there?”

"Poor babies, can't cope with a little— actually, how hot is it? It's probably not a completely stupid thing to do, come to think of it." Mikaere's grin broadens, clearly genuinely pleased to be able to see Jules properly. "I hope you're managing to stay reasonably cool, too. Bet it's significantly warmer than it is here... about 12 degrees, so that's, what, fifty?"

Naturally, Mikaere is in a t-shirt and his usual sleeveless fleece, because it's definitely not actually coat weather. "It's seven-thirty or so, I think. Sun only just came up. Sunset's the best time to be here, really, given the orientation, but sunrise is good too."

“You’re up early.” Or early-ish. Early to be up and about, she means. Jules’ own smile stays put; she’s just as happy to see Mikaere through the screen for an actual conversation.

“High nineties,” she replies. “It’s okay—no A/C, but we set up a couple fans. If it gets too hot here, I’ll just go jump in the bay. It’s actually a nice day to be out on the water because it’ll feel cooler, but I think one of the kids already wasn’t feeling great or something. Anyway,” she says, stopping herself there. “You didn’t call to talk about the weather. Fill me in!”

"Can't sleep on my back at the moment," Mikaere explains, and maybe that's explanation enough: he always sleeps on his back. "Besides, there's nothing like a sunrise. Sounds like it'd be a great day to be out sailing— or kayaking, yes."

He's slower to answer the rest, his expression briefly turning faraway as, perhaps, he works through what he wants to say. "I don't know how much I can explain. It was— a spiritual experience? I feel like I missed half of it, retreating into te pohewa. I don't know what getting a normal tattoo feels like, but— those chisels aren't fucking around. I haven't seen it, properly. The end result, I mean. It's healing, and everyone says it'll look awful until it does. My whole body feels— it's like I'm alive all over again."

“Ah,” Jules says, and that’s all she says for a time as she listens to what Mikaere has to say. Her smile mellows, becoming more thoughtful.

“So no regrets?” she hazards. “Or is normal tattooing suddenly a lot more appealing? How long do you expect it’ll take to heal?”

Mikaere makes a face. "The worst part is, there's more to be done. Not now, but— eventually. Can't say I'm looking forward to that, but it wouldn't work, going to normal tattooing for the rest of it. Ma could heal it all, of course, but she won't: she says that's now how it works."

Just look at him roll his eyes. Just look.

"So it'll be a few days before I can properly sit down, at least. I'd show you, but— you probably want to see the non-icky version."

Jules bites back her sudden grin when Mikaere rolls his eyes. Spoiler alert: she agrees with Tui.

“I’ll wait,” she determines. “Not that I’m worried about being grossed out. But it seems like I should see it how it’s meant to be seen, since I’m not there for the process. So what did you have done, and what’s reserved for the future? Do you know when you’ll get the rest done?”

If we're being honest, Mikaere probably mostly agrees with Tui, but— but. But.

"Wise," he says, with a grin of his own. "It's— I haven't seen it, of course, but based on my impressions, my bum will never be the same. Lower back, too. I expect that means the legs come next, but that'll come sometime in the future, not immediately. At this point it's more... hm, ceremonial? Rather than a ritual of power. If that makes sense. I expect my manaia features. It's— I have this vague memory of interacting with a taniwha in the midst of it all. I just don't remember the details, which is frustrating."

“This brings a whole new meaning to the phrase ‘butt hurt’,” Jules declares, letting that grin loose. “Remind me, what’s a taniwha? I feel like I’ve heard you say that word before, but maybe only once or twice.”

And if her question spurs a flash of memory, all the better.

Whatever pain Mikaere is currently in, it's not enough that he can't smirk— and even laugh— in response to that.

"A taniwha is— mmm, in the form of a whale or a shark? A mythological creature, though. A kind of protective guardian. I thought I saw one in the bay, just outside of Gray Harbor, once. This one... I do remember it commented on my being a manaia. Delivering a message to a messenger, I think. But— I don't remember what the message was."

“It’ll come back to you eventually.” Jules says it with certainty. “When the time’s right.”

The camera shifts as she rolls to her feet. “We found something the other day. Want to see?” She must assume the answer is yes, because Jules is already flipping the camera to capture what she’s come to stand in front of: a folding table loaded with indigenous items, some whose function is more recognizable than others. She’s written numbers on paper and taped them down next to each thing in an amateur attempt to begin cataloguing.

“Sorry,” Jules adds, “to go changing the subject. But I wanted to show you.”

When the time's right. Mikaere can't argue this, and nor does he try.

Instead, he's leaning forward (as best as he can, given his current position) to properly see what she's trying to show him. "Holy shit," he says. "No, change the subject, absolutely do. Fuck me. Tell me what happened? This is the stuff you were looking for, right? Your housemate's asshole ancestor's stuff?"

Jules pans over the items slowly and in close-up before she turns the camera back around to face her.

“Yeah. It turned out the asshole ancestor is actually the grown-up version of the little girl who came through the Door, and not an asshole all. We were looking to see if we could find out more about her, and then we got grown-up Millie with another Door, and then the ghost showed up and pointed us in the right direction. So now we’re working to figure out what’s what so we can rehome them.”

Mikaere's breath whistles through his teeth. "Fuck," he says. "That's— unexpected. But... you found it. That's amazing. It's got to be a relief, yeah?"

He pauses for a moment, watching Jules' expression. "How does it feel really, though?"

“We did,” Jules affirms. Her expression has grown more serious, particularly given the latter question. “It feels like a big responsibility.”

She lingers at the table long enough to touch one of the items (not that Mikaere can see it) before heading back to her chair. “Everyone keeps apologizing to me, and I wish they’d stop. Una’s not responsible for her great-great grandfather. It doesn’t help anything to carry all that guilt.”

Slowly: "Guilt's a tricky thing. It's hard, I think, recognising the things your ancestors did that you don't agree with. My dad's side of the family— you know he was Pākehā, yeah? I don't feel guilty for what his ancestors did, first coming to New Zealand. But I'm aware of it. I still find myself... rejecting, it, if that makes sense."

He makes a face, then adds, "But that's still awkward for you, and that sucks. What's the next step? Figuring out where to give them?"

A quick nod serves as confirmation; Jules knows enough about Mikaere’s family by now to recognize this fact. “I don’t know how you wouldn’t reject it,” she responds. “Given the other side of your family.”

She glanced away, back towards the table. “Yeah. We think they come from all over, not just the Chehalis. I read about it some, in his memoirs. So Della’s touching stuff to try to pick up what she can, before we go to the professionals. We know there’s at least one thing that has some kind of power, and I don’t want that ending up in the wrong hands. I called my grandma to see if she can help track down other people like us from some of the different tribes. It’s too bad we don’t have a database.”

"Right," agrees Mikaere. "I guess the point is that I still find myself having to reject it. That's still part of my history. It's still something I have to grapple with."

He's slower to respond to the rest, his slow nod thoughtful. "Good for you," he says. "Doing it properly. Making sure... well, those things have been away from their proper homes for a long time, yeah? And now you're going to make sure they get home. Not into a museum somewhere, unless it's what the people they belong to want. A database, though— that'd be good. It'd help. I bet there's more caches like this out there. Pity more people don't want to just return things, rather than sell them to the highest bidder."

“Someone said once that anything we do that might involve trying to make something organized is bound to fail, when it has to do with the spirit world and how we interact with it,” Jules says wryly. “So maybe it will never make it past word of mouth. It’d certainly be useful, though.”

She adjusts into a more comfortable position, and with it the camera shakes for a few seconds. “I wouldn’t mind museums so much if they were easy access for people like me,” Jules reflects. “Ideally, we’ll be able to house stuff like this ourselves, in our own cultural centers. I’d rather have that than ship stuff off to the museum at the university. We’ll see what happens.”

Jules falls silent briefly, but silence on a video call isn’t quite as easy for her as it is in person. “So do you know when you’ll be heading back?” Coming home. But she doesn’t say that.

"Maybe if you simply label it as contacts from the other tribes, rather than specifically about it being people like us?" Mikaere ventures this, but doesn't seem wholly convinced that it is likely to succeed.

Jules' brief silence doesn't give him time to jump in and respond, and so it is that her question is what he addresses, and not the subject of museums and collections. "As soon as I think I can sit down long enough to make the trip, we'll head back to Auckland," not 'home', though he could so easily say that, "and from there... I'll probably stay a few days more. See my sibs, and the niblings. Make sure I can cope with the long flight too."

His expression is difficult to read, though it might well be possible to to determine that he's got mixed and confused feelings, about this.

A brief nod meets Mikaere’s suggestion, and then the conversation turns. Jules can’t help but smirk at the mention of difficulties sitting down.

“You should definitely spend time with family,” she encourages. “Your mom said your sister lived to the south? Is that the South Island, or just south of Auckland? Have you seen them yet? It was just your mom who went with you, right? She didn’t mention anyone else.” A pause. “She texted me a couple days ago.”

Jules is attending to Mikaere’s expression as best she can, but screens don’t help.

Mikaere caught that smirk, and he wrinkles his nose by way of return, though he's otherwise distracted by Jules' words, and by answering her questions.

"South Auckland," he explains. "Pukekohe, not that that'll mean anything to you, I guess. I haven't seen any of them yet— there wasn't much time, before we came down here. Just ma and me, yeah. How... was it, talking to ma?"

This he's definitely interested in.

“It was fine,” Jules replies with a small smile; she’s caught that interest. “She texted to let me know you were getting your moko and would be incommunicado for awhile. And then we talked about other stuff, like what’s been going on here.”

She pauses, remembering and deciding what else to share. “She also said some kind of Māori proverb, and I had some fun with Google Translate, which failed miserably. Something about mountains.”

Mikaere's pleased by this report, and perhaps a little surprised: certainly, there's no indication that he's heard another side of this conversation already.

It's his turn to smirk, however, at that last comment, and to suggest, "Whāia te iti kahurangi ki te tūohu koe me he maunga teitei, I imagine. The direct translation is something like... 'Seek the treasure you value most dearly: if you bow your head, let it be to a lofty mountain.' Basically: aim high, and go after what you want. Ma always loved that one. She's hopeless, though, telling you proverbs you have no way to understa—"

He breaks off, frowning at his phone.

“She did translate it for me when I asked,” Jules replies, and she’s smiling now, even almost smirking, because on this second go-round the context is becoming quite clear.

It fades with Mikaere’s frown. She lifts a quizzical eyebrow. “What’s wrong?”

The smile is good. Whether Mikaere has come to the same conclusion Jules has, however, will have to wait: he's clearly, visibly, distracted.

His finger comes towards the phone camera, probably swiping something away. He makes a face. "It's— no, it's not nothing. It's just also not something, either. Someone told my ex-wife that I was in town, that's all. Good thing I'm not actually in town, eh?"

“Oh.” Mild surprise enters Jules’ tone and expression, but she’s predominantly focused on Mikaere’s reaction. “Guessing you weren’t planning to tell her, then.”

She tilts her head to the side just a little, like she does when she’s considering something. “So now that she knows, you think you’ll see her?”

"No," could so easily answer either of Jules' comments/questions— or maybe both. Mikaere lets it hang for a moment before he adds, slowly, "She's in the past, for me. Has been for a long time. And that's not going to change. Laura doesn't really want me; she just misses being part of my family."

A slow nod meets Mikaere’s explanation for his decision. “I’m sorry,” Jules says simply.

"Why?" Mikaere wants to know. "It's... it just is what it is."

After a small hesitation, Jules answers with her characteristic bluntness. “Because it sounds like she’s not over you.”

A whole parade of emotions show on Mikaere's face: a wince, a small amount of dismay, some resignation, and a sigh. "Maybe not," he agrees, finally. "But it's been well over a year since the divorce was finalised, and longer since we broke up. And I can't... I can't let myself feel bad for it."

By the end of that, he sounds almost outright annoyed.

“No,” Jules agrees. “You’re not responsible for where she’s at. But it makes it harder for you, and I’m sorry about that.”

She’s quiet again, assessing. “If she’s holding on to who you were,” Jules eventually ventures, “I wonder if it might actually help to see her—if she’d recognize that you’re different now.”

This is not a conversation Mikaere probably intended— or wanted— to be having with Jules, right now, but it's the conversation they've got, and though he makes a face, he's clearly listening and taking in what she has to say.

"Maybe," he agrees. "Does that mean you think I should go and see her, when I'm back in Auckland?"

Jules’ reply is immediate. “I think it’s up to you, and you shouldn’t feel pressured one way or the other. It’s not why you’re there, and it’s okay to just tell her that and stick with your original plan. Sleep on it, maybe. Or talk to your mom about it—you said they still talk.”

She certainly isn’t telling Mikaere what to do, one way or another.

Mikaere's nod is a slow one. "That's a good idea," he says. "Ma'll inevitably have some advice for me." It's fondness and ruefulness, there, all mixed in together.

"Anyway," he adds. "It's fine. I'll work it out. What else is going on?"

“Probably,” Jules all but laughs. She’s grinning again, now to go with her tease: “What, a cache of stolen artifacts discovered with help from a ghost and a visitor from the past isn’t enough?”

That makes Mikaere laugh outright. "Okay, okay," he says. "Maybe that's enough. I take your point."

Jules looks satisfied now. Laughter is good. “It’s never boring here.”

That satisfaction slides into a softer contentment as she adds, “I’m glad you called. It’s good seeing your face.” And because she’s Jules, she twists this into flirtatious humor. “I haven’t gotten tired of it yet.”

Mikaere looks pleased— and then outright smug. "I'd better hurry home and give you more opportunities to get tired of it, then," he teases in reply, and maybe he hasn't even noticed that he used that word— 'home'— there.

More seriously: "I'm glad I did too. I missed talking to you, this week."

Unspoken: I missed you.

“Plus your hot ass,” Jules promptly responds with a grin of her own. She keeps flirting away, now with a playfully arch look. “You got my number.”

This is not to dismiss the more serious turn. Jules just takes a little longer to get there. “Mikaere,” she begins, and then seems to catch herself. A swift current of different emotions crosses her expression: a brief widening of the eyes, then a moderately rueful smile, which finally settles into fondness. “I’ll be here when you get back. I miss you too.”

Were the conversation playing out differently, Mikaere would probably have a lot more to say on the subject of his hot ass, and Jules' number.

But he's perceptive enough to have caught that expression with all its emotions, and that stills him. He's silent for long seconds, watching her with solemn dark eyes.

Finally, "I'll be back soon, I promise. Once this hot ass of mine no longer looks like it was carved open with a chisel." Beat. "I should get back."

It doesn't mean he doesn't sound reluctant to do so.

“Take whatever time you need.” Jules’ expression doesn’t change now. “Seriously. And enjoy your time with your family, okay?”

When she falls silent this time, it’s to put two fingers to her lips, then touch the screen.

Mikaere hesitates, and then echoes the gesture. "I'll do my best," he promises. And, also? "I have something for you."

Beat. Okay, that crooked smile is probably more than a little suggestive.

"Uh— a gift. We'll talk soon, okay? Stay safe."

“Oh really.” If Mikaere’s going to turn to innuendo, well.

Jules grins back. “You too,” she replies. Nice and simple.

(She’s not hanging up first.)

"I didn't actually mean—" but that too. Mikaere grins.

He will hang up first, saying goodbye with his eyes as he does so.