ArchivedLogs:Boundary Issues

Boundary Issues
Dramatis Personae Iolaus, Lucien
In Absentia	2 March, 2013 '
Location <NYC> Iolaus's Apartment - East Harlem
Down a hallway and overlooking a open air market in El Barrio, Iolaus' apartment is not particularly a large one. It is three rooms - the main room shaped like an L with kitchen at one end, a small bedroom large enough for a full bed and a dresser, and a bathroom barely large enough to fit the bath inside it. The walls are a light yellow in the main room, with a large bookcase sitting against one wall and occupying much of the space, stuffed with books as it is. Two couches sit across from it, pressed up against the corner of the L shaped room. The kitchen is separated only by the transition from wood floor to grey tile and is sparsely filled with food and cookware both, and the bathroom is equally sparse of accouterments. In fact, were it not for the full bookcase and the clothing hanging in the closet, it would look almost as if the occupant had moved out and left some few things behind in a hurry. This time, Iolaus' appointment with Lucien is not out at a fancy restaurant, or at a concert. Perhaps Iolaus has taken Lucien's advice about not having to impress him to heart. Perhaps he has merely run out of money. For whatever reason, though, Iolaus has invited the other man to his apartment on a Saturday afternoon. Wafting under the door is the bright, heavily spiced smell of what must be lunch. The door itself looks slightly newer than the rest of the hall, though not visibly any different from any of the other doors along the corridor. Inside, Iolaus is at the stove, cooking. The sink is piled with a few attempts burned onto the pyrex dishes, partially scraped out. But, despite the failures, there are also two casserole dishes full of food placed carefully to one side. A buzz comes from the intercom downstairs. Buzzzz! Buzz. Well, more like ring, really. Lucien is outside, considerably more casual than at their last meeting, in khakis and a black long-sleeved tee, a green leather jacket worn over top. Iolaus glances at the stove and rushes the door to glance at the video camera. He presses a button and buzzes the other man in, then heads back to the kitchen to turn the tamales on the stovetop. He is dressed casually as well, a black pair of jeans with a white henley shirt, and a black, white and silver tartan apron. When the doorbell rings, Iolaus turns the temperature down on the stove and heads over to check the peephole and open the door. A soft grinding sound of metal can be heard before Iolaus swings the door open and he smiles, warmly, at Lucien. "{Hello, Lucien. How are you?}" he asks, in a slow, gentle, almost Haitian French. Lucien tips his head in quiet acknowledgment, his own smile small. "{I am quite well, thank you,}" his own words come quicker and smoother, a quiet warmth in his tone. "{Busy, as ever. How does the week find you?}" He sheds his shoes by the door, his jacket as well, draping the latter over his arm as he slips inside. "Goodness," he adds, in English, "it smells lovely in here." Iolaus takes several moments to attempt the translation in his head, a look of concentration on his face as he swings the door closed and slips the multitude of locks closed. "Uh... it was busy," he says, in English, with a moment of hesitation. He turns back to head into the kitchen with a smile. "I hope so. Did you have any other allergies besides sesame? I used vegetable oil because I wasn't sure about peanuts, so the frying might be a little bit... odd." he says, apologetically. "I made tamales and arroz con pollo." "Only the sesame," Lucien says, a note of relief edging into his smile for Iolaus remembering this fact. "The sesame is allergy enough for one lifetime. One, ah, perhaps considerably shorter lifetime, if the anaphylaxis ever has its way." He drapes his jacket over an arm of the couch, following Iolaus inside to lean a shoulder against the doorway. "That sounds wonderful. How is work going? I have not read yet about any assassination attempts." "Well, I am happy to report that my kitchen no longer has even a trace of sesame in it. Even my cast iron." Iolaus says, bowing his head once with a warm smile. "I had... one, actually. Sort of." he shakes his head and chuckles. "A mutant broke into the lab at the hospital and threatened me. I guess she thought that I was associated with some secret project to kidnap and torture mutants." Even now, there is a trace of annoyance at the implication. "And yourself?" "An assassination attempt from a mutant?" Lucien's eyebrows raise. "That was unexpected. If I had been part of a betting pool, I would be out some money right now." His head tilts to one side, resting against the wall. "-- Secret project to kidnap and torture mutants." He echoes this in a flat tone, eying Iolaus as if checking for seriousness. "... are you?" "Assassination attempt is too strong of a word. I think she was just trying to scare information out of me." Iolaus gives Lucien an annoyed look. "/No/, I'm not." he says, making a threatening gesture with his spatula. His expression softens a moment later as he looks over Lucien's face, and he puts the spatula down. He draws two plates out of the cabinet and piles them with food out of the caserole dishes and the pan, spooning a brown sauce over the tamales. He passes one of the plates to Lucien and gestures towards the couches as he prepares his own plate. "Is that a legitimate worry?" Lucien wants to know, his brows pulling into a frown as he takes the plate. He does not move, at least not until Iolaus has gotten a plate for himself. "I have heard rumours, I suppose. But there are urban legends about so many things. Mutants kidnapped and forced to fight gladiator-style to the death. Mutants sold as exotic pets to foreign billionaires. Mutants mind-controlled into being weapons for the military." Iolaus is quiet for several moments, but he nods, once. "I believe it is. I have heard the same story from too many people for it to not raise my supicion. I don't know how wide-spread it is, but, yes, I think it does happen." Once his plate is laden with food, he picks up silverware for them both out of a drawer and heads to sit down on one of the couches. He leaves room for Lucien next to him, putting his plate down on the table and placing the silverware next to them. Lucien's lips press together, his jaw tightening. He follows Iolaus to the couch, seating himself beside the other man and resting his own plate on his knees. "Hopefully not particularly widespread. Though the fact that it happens at all is --" He shakes his head. "She did not hurt you, did she?" "No. I think she believed me that I was not involved, so she left. Vanished into darkness, it so happens." Iolaus says, with a little shrug of his shoulder. He glances to one side, then back to the left. "Lucien... I have a confession to make." His lips twitch. "A change in topic, though, I assure you. It is about Matt." he does not look the other man in the eyes, as he says, quietly, "I have been speaking with his physician." "Vanished into darkness?" Lucien's eyebrows raise again, at this. But then flatten for Iolaus's next words. His grip tightens slightly on his fork. Silence stretches between them, for a moment. "-- Have you." It's flat. He slices off a small piece of his tamale, spearing it with his fork but not eating it. Iolaus winces slightly and he nods. "Yes. I've worked with his doctor several times in the past on genetic interventions with her treatments." He looks down at his food, fingers lacing in his lap. "I reached out to her to see if he would be a good candidate. I looked over his scans, and I think I might be able to help. But I wanted to talk to you before I mention that to her." Iolaus nods. "Yes. I've worked with her several times on the past on genetic interventions for her patients." He looks down at his food, fingers lacing in his lap. "I reached out to her to discuss if he would be a good candidate. She believes he might be, and I think that I might be able to help. But, I wanted to talk to you before she talks to Matt. I don't know how our..." His nose crinkles, and his voice flattens at the edges. "Doctors are supposed to maintain a distance." he decides on, eventually. Lucien does not look at Iolaus. His gaze fixes very steadily down on his plate, his grip on his fork still tight. After a stretch of silence he sets the fork down, leaning forward to move the plate, food untouched, to the table. "You reached out to his doctor to discuss his medical history," he says, slowly, still fixing his gaze on the plate and not on Iolaus. His fingers flex, once, and then move to his knees, curling to clamp rather tightly against them. "Doctors are supposed to maintain a distance," he agrees, clipped and short, "and /you/ are supposed to maintain some level of /respect/ for /my/ personal life." Iolaus' voice is quiet and apologetic. "Yes, I did. And while we didn't discuss any specifics, it was a violation still. I'm sorry, Lucien. That why I have not moved forward, and she has not moved forward." His eyes turn to look at Lucien, carefully. "If you want me to have nothing to do with his case, I will give her several recommendations of other geneticists I have confidence will be able to work with him as well as I can." Lucien leans forward, the motion slow and heavy. His hands lift, cradling his forehead in his palms as his eyes close. His shoulders are tense, his jaw clenched, too, as for a long few moments he just focuses on breathing. Deep. In. Out. "Please," he says, in a voice every bit as tense as his posture, "refrain from such intrusions into my private life in future without consulting me first. I have had some rather large problems with --" His lips press together thinly. He lapses back into silence. Iolaus nods. "I'm sorry, Lucien. It... I..." He shakes his head, once, sharply. "I'm sorry. I will tell her to work with one of my collegues." he says, eyes searching Lucien's face. He picks up his plate and forks a piece of the tamale, eating it before he continues, softer, "If you want to leave, I understand, Lucien." Lucien's head tips down further, face pressing against his palms. For a long while he does not answer. And then the first answer is a muttered curse in French, followed by, eventually, quiet: "Do you really think you might help?" "I don't know. I would need more details to be sure. But, she seemed to think so, and I trust her judgment. But I am not the only geneticist in New York, either. Do not think that she will be unable to get help if I am not involved." Iolaus says, taking another bite of his food, blue-grey eyes sweeping over Lucien, watching the tension in him. Lucien's palms scrub against his face, his breath exhaled slowly. "They have not had much hope of late for the success of further treatments. At this point I will take what recommendations you can give." "I'd talk to Doctor Mallory. He's a good doctor, and though he and I don't always see eye to eye on everything, I think he'd be the best choice." Iolaus says, voice carefully even. "I don't think he's ever worked with Matt's doctor, but I'd trust him more than one of the doctors at Sloan." "Don't see eye to eye on everything?" Lucien's head turns just enough to look at Iolaus, briefly. "The doctors there have been good to us. What would you not trust?" "I don't trust doctors I don't know. I don't think their genetics department is as good as the one we have." Iolaus shrugs his shoulders. "Perhaps it's just professional disagreement, but there must be a reason that Matt's doctor works with me over the others." he says, with a faint, very brief smile. "Mmm. But their cancer work is among the best in the world." Lucien's head tips back forward, hands slowly scrubbing at his cheeks again. "There must be a reason," he agrees quietly, eyes closing once more. And then more silence. "There are few things I would not do to help my brother," he says then, tiredly. "Let me talk to him, first. It is his call in the end, after all." Iolaus blinks, then his eyes widen in surprise. "Lucien, I am not offering this as... anything. You are not obligated to me in any way for my referral, or even if I work with your brother." he says, voice insisting. "Not as a client, or a friend, or... anything. Alright?" Lucien glances up at this, hands dropping to lace together as he looks over at Iolaus. His brow creases deeply. "-- Why." It comes out abrupt and flat. Iolaus remains silent, looking carefully over Lucien's face for several seconds that drag out almost to a minute. "Because... because it is my duty as a doctor." he says. Another pause, and he shakes his head. "Because I want to help you, Lucien. Because he is important to you." Lucien is silent through this, as well, studying Iolaus with a faintly puzzled expression. "Ah --" is the only sound he manages for a short while, a slow frown deepening. The puzzled expression does not leave. "He is important to me," he eventually says, latching on to the part of this that makes the most sense. "But --" Iolaus' eyes search Lucien's face, head tilting to one side, a faint blush showing on his cheeks. "There doesn't have to be a but, Lucien. It can be that very simple." he says, softly, gently. The doctor pulls his dish forward onto his lap, spooning some of the food up into his mouth. "But," Lucien says again. His mouth clamps shut. "But you." His palm rubs at his eyes. "Nothing is ever that simple." He still isn't touching his food. He slumps back against the couch, tipping his head back against its back and scrunching his eyes tight. This causes Iolaus to laugh, and there is a note of something almost sad in his voice. "What about me, Lucien? It is that simple. I care about you, you care about him. Done, and done." he says, watching Lucien. Lucien still doesn't look any more comprehending. He mostly just eyes Iolaus a long while. Eventually he lets out a slow breath. "Mmngh," he answers eloquently. He looks at his plate, a little disgruntled. Another scrub at his eyes returns his expression to default neutral. "We should probably --" he starts, but then just looks up at the ceiling. "Lucien," Iolaus says, and he rests one hand gently on top of one of Lucien's. "Easy. Just eat. Relax, Lucien." he says, softly. There is a trace of fear and concern and sadness in his emotions, but the same kind of warm, bright, passion flows through him. It is, for the moment at least, rather platonic. From Lucien, in response, the touch comes with an initial sharp /jolt/ of pain. It is quickly gone, replaced instead by a rather heavy hammer is soothing, calm, cheer, in reflexive assauging of the initial shock. "I am sorry," he says, frowning, "I am just not used to -- ah. We have been dealing with this," he says carefully, "quite some time now. Relaxing is --" He trails off again, shrugging one shoulder. Iolaus jumps slightly and lets out a soft cry of surprise and pain, one hand steadying the plate as the jolt of pain tears through him. When the other man shrugs, Iolaus picks his hand off of Lucien's and replaces it on his shoulder. His hand rubs gently at the younger man's shoulders, fingers gently digging into his muscles. Lucien closes his eyes, leaning forward slowly. His shoulders are tense, still, muscles tightened up hard. He doesn't move, just sitting there, face resting once again in his hands. Eventually he lifts his head. "We should --" he says again, and then, "-- it will be all too soon that I have to leave here again. I do have to be on time today." He sounds regretful about this. "That's alright, Lucien." Iolaus says, softly, with a small smile on his face. "You can leave when you have to leave." He does not, however, stop massaging the other man's shoulders. In fact, he reaches over further, putting his left hand on Lucien's left shoulder and involves his right hand, squeezing and massaging at his shoulders, at the base of his neck, along his shoulderblades. "Mnngh," is what Lucien says again, slumping a little more, for a moment. He sits up a moment later, leaning forward to claim his plate with a small smile to Iolaus. "Well. We shall, at least, enjoy the time we have left." He sounds pretty /determined/ about this, really. Iolaus smiles and lets go of the other man's shoulders to pick his fork back up. "Yes. I hope we will." He smiles, warmly, and then turns back to his food. Lucien does not escape the apartment without getting a massage.