ArchivedLogs:Something Right

Something Right
Dramatis Personae Jackson, Lucien
In Absentia	2013-11-16 (Part of Infected TP.)
Location <NYC> The Mendel Clinic - Lower East Side
With its sharp crystalline edges and sleek lines knifing up into the sky, this building is one of the most /distinctive/ new additions to the neighborhood. An angular structure in glass and steel, the tall tower has a deceptively slender look to it that is belied by the heavy security as soon as you enter the doors. The front doors are frosted with the Clinic's logo -- a rising sun over a rod of Asclepius -- a motif echoed in many places throughout the building. Visitors to the clinic must first pass through a small mantrap, guarded by some of the Clinic's security guards; once they make it through the metal detector and airlock's double doors they emerge into the much more hospitable lobby. With dark wood floors underneath and comfortable black and red couches at its edges, the high windows give the room an airy feel. A bank of elevators to one side carry visitors to the many destination floors, while the wide welcome desk at the other side is manned by a security guard ready to help point visitors in the right direction. It's quiet, in this room. A hospital room would have more to it. More monitors beeping, more machinery. But here today it's just Jackson, and the quiet scritch of his drawing pencil against his paper as he waits. Lucien suffices for a world of equipment, when the monitoring in question is neurological. He enters the room quietly, moving slow. A little shakily. He sinks down heavily beside Jackson's bed, saying nothing. Just reaching a hand for Jackson's, his other hand opening up his tablet to start recording his findings. His touch comes with a wash of unpleasantness, as it generally does. Nausea, headache, an uncomfortable disorientation that takes a while to even out. He says nothing, just closes his eyes and explores. Jackson turns his hand up and over, fingers squeezing in around Lucien's hand. He sets down his pencil, lifting his eye to study Lucien's face. His thumb traces slowly against the back of Lucien's knuckles. Lucien exhales, hard and heavy through his nose. But he squeezes Jax's hand back, meeting his gaze for a moment and then looking down to his tablet. His finger moves against its screen slowly. And stops, just staring down at the screen. Then looking at Jackson with a deepening frown. Jackson glances down at Lucien's tablet, too. Up at his face. "-- Somethin' wrong, honey-honey?" In answer to this there is quiet, for a long stretch. Lucien presses his fingers more firmly against Jackson's hand. His breathing has slowed somewhat, and after some moments longer of silence he shakes his head. Taps some more at his tablet and then sends a quick message to Rasheed and Regan. "No." He doesn't quite smile, but briefly, something small tugs at the corners of his mouth and then fades back away into continued exhaustion. The exhaustion leaks through, together with another heavy dose of nausea and pain. "No, something is right." He rests the tablet on Jackson's lap, leaning down himself to rest his head on the mattress, eyes closing. His notes have a progression of readings, over the course of all the medicating. Positive results and adverse ones, times when the ugly knot inside Jackson's brain was growing and times when it shrunk. And times like now, where there was no more trace of it to be found. "Oh my god." Jackson whispers this quietly, scrolling back up, and then back down, reading this over once and then again and then again. He clenches up at the feelings leaking from Lucien, but his attention is captured by the notes on the tablet. "Luci is this -- does this mean -- is this -- I mean you'll have to do more tests I'm sure but oh -- my god, did you guys --" There's no response from Lucien. Eyes still closed, head still resting alongside where Jackson lies. His hand goes limp in the other man's, fingers sliding loosely to the mattress as the room returns to quiet.