From X-Men: rEvolution
Dramatis Personae

Jax, Micah, Joshua

11 December 2014



<NYC> Mount Sinai Hospital – Harlem

On the cutting edge of many medical technologies, Mount Sinai Hospital is often ranked as one of the nation's best hospitals. The medical school attached is one of the best in the world, meaning that even your med students know what they are doing. Chin up, then -- when you come in here badly mutilated after the latest terrible catastrophe in Times Square, you're in good hands.

Jax's room has been quiet, mostly, for the past day or so. Surgery lasted -- quite a /while/; evidently when he was brought in not all of his insides were still /on/ the inside of him and some of the ones that were had holes they really shouldn't. Little wonder, then, that even once he was more or less back in one piece he was not awake for quite some while and even after /that/, exhaustion and painkillers and tubes shoved through mouth and nose made him /not/ the most communicative.

Most of the noise that has come through here hasn't been his own. Visiting friends, visiting children, bustling nurses, police with reports to file (though this seems more rote than anything else; with no other witnesses and an as-yet-unhelpful Jax and no weapon and the staggeringly large volume of unsolved crimes in New York each year it's -- likely not the /highest/ on their priority list.)

Not yet out of critical care, there's still a plethora of /machine/ hooked up to him. Giving him drugs, helping him eat, helping him breathe. He seems /excessively/ displeased about this, when he wakes up, now, one hand lifting to rub irritably against his mouth and the surplus of tubing there crankily. Around the room, lights flicker restlessly as his eye shifts, too, in quick uncertain scan.

Micah has been camped out in the hospital room, largely, since locating it early Wednesday morning. He has left a few times, briefly, to get Spencer to school and back or obtain food or fetch the kids to the hospital to visit. Having taken over the bedside hospital chair, he is wrapped in his Exploding TARDIS throw from home, laptop open on a rolling table pulled up close to him casting an odd light over his face. The mess of his hair is pretty impressive, even just the bits sticking out from under his zipped-up Firefly hoodie (hood up, as well, because it is a little chilly in the room). His fingers continue clacking away across his keyboard until Jax's hand lifts, the motion catching his eye. Quickly, he closes the laptop and pushes the rolling table aside, scooting himself in closer to the bed where he's easier to see. "Hey, there, sugar. You with us?"

"Nnngh," is all Jax replies to this, muffled around the tube. His eye closes again, then opens to fix on Micah. His cheek scrunches upward, too-pale and wincing in definite pain. His head gives a small shake, then, reluctantly, he nods. His fingers close around the tube, but then drop. He pushes his hand under the thin hospital blanket, repressing a shiver. Slowly, a layer of /frost/ forms over his bed as his expression rearranges into a scowl.

Micah lifts the blanket off of his legs, standing to spread it atop Jax's on the bed. "Good," he says softly in answer to the actual /presence/ and /response/ to the question this time. As he settles back into his chair, he takes Jax's hand to press a kiss to it. "Love you, honey. Y'gave us a pretty good scare this time." His lips scrunch over to one side. "Must be y'got a little energy back t'you if you're makin' pictures, though. S'there anythin' else I can do for you? Could page the nurse for a blanket outta the warmer. Those're nice."

Jax dips his head slightly at the mention of a good scare. His hand slowly works its way back out from the blanket again so that he can circle his fist slowly against his heart. His eye closes again; for a long moment it seems like he might just drift back off again like he has so many times the past day. But he turns his hand up, stretching it back out towards Micah as though seeking his husband's grip. Across his upturned palm words print themselves, black and clear in the same neat spiky-slanted letters as his actual written handwriting: 'Everyone's okay, though?'

“Shh, don't apologise, honey. They're sayin' somebody stabbed you. S'/their/ fault, not yours.” Micah takes the hand again, reading the words before kissing it there, too. “Everyone? /We're/ fine, sugar. Just worried. Was there someone else there when this happened?” He pulls back from the hand enough for Jax to use it as a writing space again.

Jax's brows crease deeply at the mention of stabbing, his head shaking. His eye cracks back open blearily, an uncertain expression etched into his face. He shakes his head once more. 'I was watching Io,' prints across his palm, though his expression here is still just uncertain. 'I think they were mad at me.' He shivers again, his fingers curling loosely around Micah's after these words are done and his expression screwing up a little bit further.

"Io an' Jane're fine," Micah explains after reading this additional information. "I called Nightmare when y'didn't come home. He said that there'd been an attack, but it was resolved an' nothin' came of it. Said you'd sent Io home with Jane an' were on /your/ way home...then didn't nobody hear from you again." He chews at his lower lip thoughtfully. "Was it the people who tried t'attack Io? Came back after you when y'were alone? Did y'see 'em?"

Jax shakes his head again, squeezing harder at Micah's hand but quickly releasing with a small rough almost-whimper of sound. 'Not Io,' prints haltingly. 'Said I should have died,' muddles together half over top of 'Said we all' in a messier blurring of words. Jax's eye screws up tighter, glaring glowing red pulsing cartoon-like at his temples. Then his throat. Then his chest and stomach and side and arm. Then he gives up on trying to point out individual pains; a fluttering aura of red just glows around him.

"Oh. Oh, that's not what he made it sound like." Micah's features crumple briefly at the whimper, the red pulses. He sucks a deep breath in and out through his clenched teeth, steeling his expression...somewhat. It certainly doesn't make it to hard, but does come back from about-to-lose-it. "Shh, honey, I'm...ohgosh, I'm so sorry. I could ask for more pain meds. along with that blanket, it y'want 'em. But they might make y'sleepier again." Another long breath, this time, pushes out through his nose. "Joshua's been on shift, ever. Or prob'ly we would've sneaked 'im in by now. I can text 'im again t'come by soon as he's off. This...seems like the kinda thing maybe...should hurry over."

'No, they' is all that Jax manages this time before his fingers fold inward, obscuring whatever the rest of the message was. The red glow fades from around him; in contrast, afterwards, it makes his face look even more exceptionally pale. He doesn't bother to unfurl his fingers again. This time messages go on the /back/ of his hand, below scuffed knuckles. 'I'm fine don't need to pester.' His fingers stretch out, palm down this time to press his hand flat against the blanket. 'Still cold though,' and then, 'You okay?'

Micah's brow furrows at the unfinished statement. His head shakes firmly at the declaration of 'fine'. "Honey, not t'be negative? But you're not /fine/. If Joshua can be 'round for y'all t'punch each other in the face on Fridays, /this/ shouldn't be pesterin'. An' if it /is/ then /he/ can say so. Unless there's somethin' else goin' on?" Jax repeating that he's cold does get him to press the nurse call bell. "Mmn, hi," he answers the voice that finally picks up on the other side. "Could we get a heated blanket or two in here, please? Room's kinda chilly. Thanks, hon." His head tilts slightly at that question. "I'm fine, honey. Ain't nobody stabbed at me."

There's another half-choked off noise that tries to surface. Jax shakes his head at the mention of Fight Club, frowning again. 'Different...' prints itself on the back of his hand, though it fades soon to be replaced with: 'Maybe not with arrows. Can still hurt.'

“Sugar, 'less y'got a really good reason for me not t'ask again, I'm gonna. This's kinda bad, honey.” Micah's lips press thin, the pressure perhaps substituting for a number of other things he tries to hold back from being too obvious on his face. “Was...real scared. Didn't hear from you. Found your phone an' your bag an' blood an'...a police report. Took some time t'find /you/. But you're gonna be okay. 'Specially if we get Joshua t'come, right?”

'Always kinda bad,' prints across Jax's hand, his frown not leaving. His fingers scrunch into the blanket, clenching and releasing and clenching and releasing. 'There's always a good reason.' This flickers across his pale skin and fades away. 'Sorry. I should have called.' Possibly the unconsciousness interfered with this.

“Just 'cause this's happened b'fore don't mean people don't still wanna /help/ you, honey. After all the help y'give everyone else?” Micah's hand finds one of the spots on Jax's arm that isn't covered in leads and didn't light up red with his pain report. “What reason's that, honey? If I understand, maybe'd have t'be a /real/ good reason not t'call. Shouldn't hafta go through...” His head shakes, not finishing this sentence. “Hard t'call when you're bein' attacked, sugar. Weren't blamin' you. Y'just...asked. An' it was scary. That's all.”

Jax's other hand fists up, this time, slowly circling over his heart. His head shakes again slow, his fingers still clenching at the blanket. 'Doesn't feel good. He's not. For. This.' His fist is still rubbing lightly against his chest. 'Didn't mean to scare you didn't mean for any of this'. Once more his eye closes. 'The kids okay?'

"Honey, please, y'don't..." Micah's shoulders sink as he leans in closer, a little deflated. "Y'don't hafta apologise. Y'certainly don't hafta /keep/ apologisin'. I know Joshua ain't just there t'fix folks when they're broken, but you're /pretty/ broken right now, sugar. This ain't a skinned knee. If we could just get you...not. With all the leads an' tubes an' pain. He don't gotta make you all better, but if we could take you home, it'd be...better." His eyes glaze over, gaze skating up to the ceiling for a moment. "Ain't none of this your /fault/, honey. I know y'didn't mean it. Please. I'm not blamin' you. I just love you an' I wanna help you." He looks back to catch this last question. "They're fine. Shaken up. Scared. Want you home. But everyone's gonna be fine."

Jax's fingers only unclench at the assurance that the children are fine, his muscles relaxing once more. His eye opens, fixing up on the ceiling. 'Home, right.' He /seizes/ upon this thought like it is suddenly the only one his head has room for, lifting his hand once more to grasp with a firmer purpose at the tube down his throat. He probably regrets this a moment later, judging by the contortion of his expression and the unhappy koff-choke noise that surfaces. /Frown/. Not that he's letting go, the 'home' reduplicating itself all up long both his arms, now.

Micah nods at the reiteration of 'home'. "Only if we can get y'better enough t'/go/ home. That's why I wanna call Joshua. Please?" His eyes shoot open wide when Jax reaches for the tube, his hand resting over his husband's. "Jax, /don't/. Y'can't do that just now. If we get you /better/ then it can come out. But not now. Leave it. Please. I'll tell Joshua t'come." Not that he's reaching for his phone just yet, more worried about preventing Jax from removing the tube.

Jax's hand stills when Micah's rests atop his. The words -- word, really -- are climbing off his skin, filling the air around them. Printing itself spiky and black over Micah's hand. Over the blanket. Over the lights above them. Over the tubes running into his mouth and nose. Home-home-home-home-home-home-home. He drops his hand back to his chest with a thud, heavier than it probably should be given the stitches /there/. 'I'm better,' prints so very reassuringly through all the 'home's as his eye closes again. The riot of words slowly begins to fade.

"Shh. Shh, honey, /please/. Stop. Calm down. I'll bring Joshua as soon as he can come. I love you an' I've got you an' it's gonna be okay." Micah finds his way through the maze of leads and tubes to climb into the bed beside Jax, gentle and easy so as not to disturb him. He wraps an arm over him, avoiding the worst recently-repaired areas. "I've got you, okay?" Of course this is when the nurse arrives with a pair of blankets from the warmer. Her eyes widen and she sets the blankets down on a table before scooting right back out the door. Micah takes Jax's hand to kiss it once more, his other reaching for his phone to send another text to Joshua.

  • (Micah-->Joshua): Please, as soon as you're able to get here. It isn't good for him here. He's in a lot of pain and he just needs to go home.

Instinctively, Jax nestles in as best he can against Micah, though his eye doesn't open again and he stays quiet. A little shivery (or maybe just trembling), perhaps asleep or perhaps not, but no more words are forthcoming.

No text is forthcoming from Joshua, either. But it's only a few minutes before there's answer all the same, not in text-message form but just in the form of one somewhat raccoon-eyed paramedic, still in uniform pants but only an undershirt, simply /appearing/ in the room. Kind of blinking around at the room. Kind of blinking down at Jax and Micah before he drags a chair over to the bedside, wordlessly, to slump down into it.

“M'sorry,” serves as Micah's greeting to Joshua over Jax's shoulder. “I know you're busy an' I know... He's been tryin' t'pull his tube out an' I'm worried he's gonna hurt 'imself an' he was just printin' words all over everythin' an' I didn't know what else t'...” His jaw quivers a little until he clenches it. “M'sorry.”

These apologies just make Joshua's lips twitch, almost like a smile though it never quite resolves. He scoots a little closer, eyes flicking up for a brief moment to settle on Micah with a slow breath pushed out through his nose. He stretches a hand out, fingertips resting against the back of Jax's hand. "You ever notice you repeat a word too many times it starts to sound meaningless?"

"Only said it twice," comes out as a petulant mumble-grumble, Micah's mouth filter working even less than usual just now. He curls in as close up against Jax as he dares given the other man's fragile state.

"Don't actually know what you're apologizing /for/." Joshua's eyes are sliding half-closed, voice a little distracted as his mental energy focuses inward.

“Draggin' you around for this kinda thing all the time,” Micah explains without really looking up from Jax's shoulder. “Not...bein' more of a help. I dunno. Maybe it's contagious. Jax wouldn't stop apologisin' when he woke up. Like he stabbed /himself/ or somethin'. I dunno.”

"Did he?" Joshua's tone is somewhat dispassionate. Collating data. Like maybe he wouldn't be surprised either way. And, with only the tiniest hint more curiosity: "Are you sorry?"

"/No/, he was attacked by crazy people with...arrows, if that wasn't just all the meds. talkin'." Micah's voice cracks a little on the denial, more than a shade incredulous at the question. "That it's takin' up your time an' effort t'do this all the time, yes. That there's a cause for you t'be doin' this all the time, yes. That I asked you, not really. He needs this."

Joshua's eyes tick up at the mention of arrows, but only briefly. They slide near-shut again soon, head tipping back down over his work. "I just," his voice is quieter, more even but a touch strained as if through some exertion, "don't understand the point of an apology. You're going to ask. Again, and again, and again. And I'm going to come, again, and again, and again. Why bother with the sorry? Apologies are for shit you're trying to change. It's not like I'm going to sit back and let you all die."

"I don't know. S'half a reflex, I guess." Micah peeks up now, over Jax's shoulder, though he doesn't move from his curled-in position. "An'...acknowledgin' that I get it. That I'm not just askin' t'borrow a cup of sugar. All the time. That I get that it's horrible." His eyes fall closed for a moment, just taking the time to breathe. "Thank you. I guess, maybe. S'more appropriate."

Joshua's head tips in a quiet nod of acceptance. "Por nada." His eyes close all the way. "You're welcome to my sugar, too." This, with a very small upward curl of smile. It's soon to fade, though. His hand trembles, briefly, against Jax's. "Do you even --" For a moment his expression looks very exhausted; he swallows, shakes his head quickly, and the moment passes.

There likely would've been more than just an eyebrow-twitch at that offer in other circumstances. “Even what? Ain't nobody finishin' sentences no more. Gonna make me completely crazy one of these days.” Micah chews at his lip, watching Joshua. “Somethin' that helps you at all? Food maybe? S'warm blankets the nurse just brought 'fore we freaked her out.”

Joshua just shakes his head at this, slipping back into quiet as he works. His fingers curl against Jax's wrist, his head sagging lower as he slumps in the chair. The quiet stretches on after this -- perhaps for quite a while; at any rate /he/ loses track of time, focused on the rather /extensive/ damage he's putting back together under all the stitched-together skin. By the time he finally does sit back up his tanned skin has managed a pallor -- not /quite/ as bad as Jax's fair complexion, but it's trying. "Should be better now." He's a little more mumbly than he was before, pushing himself unsteadily to his feet. "S'all, yeah?"

Micah does eventually slip out of the bed while Joshua works, fetching the blankets while there is still /warm/ to be had in them and spreading them gently over Jax. Slowly, he slips back in beside him, curling up again. By the time Joshua finishes his task, Micah seems half asleep, himself. "Thank you," he offers once more, blinking up at the other man. "Unless there's somethin' I can do for you...yeah. S'just patchin' 'im up enough that they can get some of the tubes an' all off. Maybe even send 'im home t'finish mendin' up there."

Joshua shakes his head, hands sliding into his pockets. His mouth twitches over to one side at the mention of something Micah can do for him. "He'll be fine. He can -- go, he's." He shrugs a shoulder, stifles a yawn, and vanishes.

Though a moment later he reappears, leaning heavily against the back of his chair. "Coffee."

Well, the eyebrow does make it all the way up at that mouth twitch, at least. "Guess we can call the nurse an' ask for the doc to assess if he can get the tube pulled, then." Micah's head tilts at the sudden vanishing, a subtle startle-jump coming in time with the other man's return. "I can go grab somethin' from downstairs. Can't guarantee that it'll be any good, but it's...caffeine." He starts to disentangle himself from the bed again.

Joshua lifts a hand, gesturing for Micah to lie back down. "Fft. I'm going straight the fuck to bed, that's where I was when you texted. I don't want coffee now. Do you even know how I take my coffee?" It's probably a rhetorical question; he doesn't actually seem to be looking for answer. Just slouching further against the back of the chair, eyes skating from the tubes and wires still hooked up to Jax, up to Micah's face. "It's just, one of these days, maybe you could send me a text, and instead of saying, someone's dying, come fix it, it'll say, hey, are you free, maybe we could grab some coffee. You know. Or whatever. I eat like a fucking goat, I'm not picky."

Well, Micah's half out of the bed as it is. A few more moments taken to get himself clear and Joshua is getting /hugs/. Look out. Squeezy-wrappy arms. A kiss to the cheek. “I owe you so many dinners. Just...bad. At not havin' crises. You ain't the only one I feel like I'm always callin' 'cause things fall apart.” Another squeeze. “You go ahead an' sleep if that's what's best for you right now. Later, coffee an' food.”

"Yeah." Just that. The hug Micah gets in return is brief, a little stiff; Joshua's voice is kind of gruff. His eyes maybe just a little too bright -- though that can only be seen for a split second, because as soon as he's pulled away he vanishes again. This time for good. Bed is calling.

“G'night sugar,” Micah says, holding onto the hug until Joshua pulls away. Then he's back, crawling into Jax's bed, holding him a little tighter for all the healing. He'll call for the doctors once he's awake again.