ArchivedLogs:Checking Up, Checking Out
|Checking Up, Checking Out|
Soon after teenage-chaos, Jackson checks in on his advisee.
<XS> Medical Lab - B1
Gleaming and sterile, the school's medical facility is all cool science in contrast to the mansion's old-world old-fashion. All stainless steel and antiseptic tinge, the room is filled with the quiet whir-click of the various implements that comprise its medical equipment -- all state-of the art. The hospital beds are curtained off for privacy when they have patients, and in one of the alcoves there is a small operating theatre visible. More heavy-duty equipment is visible in the lab in the back, where the securely locked cabinets keep sensitive equipment out of the reach of teenage fingers.
It has been an interesting day, to put things very, very mildly for some students at Xavier's. And a teacher, too. Ivan was walked to the medbay with Peter's help, and has not said a word, since. His heart, however, has not stopped racing. As such he was told to go lie down after a number of scratch and bitemarks on his shoulder and side had been treated and bandaged up. So there he lies, obscured by curtains, folded, bloodied clothes next to the bed. In a gown, and... apparently holding a pillow squarely on top of his face. Arms on top of that, pressing down and into it. Not nearly hard enough to keep him from breathing through it, but he doesn't look like he'll be wanting to let it go any time soon.
Jackson is quiet as he slips into the medbay, though certainly not silent. His mutation affords him no greater audible stealth than anyone else. The doors whoosh open, whoosh closed again, too. He has a glance to spare for /other/ medbay patients, but his steps carry him towards Ivan's bed. His hand is far warmer than normal human temperature, though normal enough for /him/, as he gently tugs at one of Ivan's wrists. Up, pillow. Up.
It takes a few seconds, but the pillow does move eventually- lifted just enough for Ivan to peek out from under it, eyes tired and red and squinting at the light. And Jackson beyond it. His mouth opens to say something, but it is something he has already said so often today, and so the action is deemed useless and stopped midway. He still /looks/ sorry, though. That much should be very, very clear even as the eye contact breaks off.
"Hi, Ivan." Jackson's voice, at least, is gentle. He pulls a chair over, taking a seat beside Ivan's bed. "How're you feelin', honey-honey?" He is examining Ivan's face carefully. Then bandages. Then face.
A look of mild confusion crosses Ivan's face, a twitch of his eyebrows lowering. "I am fine." The words are muttered into the pillow, before it is dragged ever so slightly lower and over his neck, instead. Freeing up his mouth to be completely silent again, apparently.
"Mkay." That's all, for a moment. Jackson still studies Ivan's face, and then looks away, up towards the ceiling. The rough-sharp scuff of his fingers through his hair is tired, as is the quick sigh he exhales. "I talked with the Professor." Sure, there's many. Including him! But. /The/ Professor. "You're gettin' a week of detention, startin' this Thursday through next Thursday."
Those eyes snap back to Jackson's face at the words 'The Professor', making it all too clear that he's entirely expecting the worst. So when the verdict comes-- he almost looks disappointed, hands tightening on the pillow near his face. His head dips in what is either a nod that fails to come back up, or a silent wish to make his face disappear into that pillow again. Either way, that's all the response Jackson gets for now, beyond a look of pure, unadulterated guilt. With just a pinch of anger hidden away. Hhfh.
The next question takes a long while in coming. Jax is looking at the ceiling rather steadily. And when he speaks, it's calm, still, but -- edged. Tense. Like it's a force of effort /keeping/ it calm. "What happened there, Ivan?"
That tenseness translates over to Ivan, who looks to be exerting some extra effort himself, to bring up the willpower to keep that pillow away from his face. No hiding. "I tried too hard." He answers almost immediately, but quietly, as if it the question had been going around in his mind before it had even been spoken aloud. "I wanted to... practise, then I wanted to /show/, then I-- was there and Rasa was in panic, and I wanted to help but I did not. I tried too hard." To do /what/ remains unsaid. He swallows, dryly, before adding somewhat less meekly, "It was my fault. I began it. Please do not punish others."
Jackson draws in a breath. Lets it out slowly. "OK." Again there is quiet. It takes a while before Jax looks back at Ivan. "What happens to --" His words pause a moment, too long to be a /hitch/ too short to be deliberate, "-- other people ain't my call. But you are my responsibility." His fingers scrub through his hair again. "Ivan, s'always important to practice, get better at what you do. But s'important to know when and how, too. What you do is awesome, and you can be pretty awesome /at/ it. But you gotta be aware of -- /yourself/, first, an' when you're pushing too far. An' aware of everyone else, too. And when and where they're okay with -- I mean, the /rec room/ ain't the place for a swarm of bees."
"I know." Ivan is quick to admit, even if it comes in a mutter, looking anywhere but at Jackson. "Too many at one time. I was confused. I will /listen/." He looks to want to curl up for a second, but a wince cuts that plan short. Painkillers or not, he's still minus a few chunks of flesh that he had a few hours ago. Aaand up goes the pillow again, loosely, over his face. From below it, he continues. "Please pass on the message?" A true plea, not a request. "That it was my fault. It is maybe not your call, but I wish for them to know."
"I'll pass it on," Jackson promises. He swallows as the pillow goes back over Ivan's face, and reaches out to lightly rest his hand on unbitten shoulder. Then stands. "Take a bit. Rest up. Your detention's with me. Just take it easy till then, yeah? You can do a lot, but you can't do it all at /once/. Cuz these things we do, they /are/ dangerous. An' that means you gotta tread careful, so don't nobody get hurt." He looks at the ceiling again, then at Ivan. "I'll see you Thursday, lunch."
"Thank you." Comes muffled from beneath that pillow, before the arms /press down again, this time on both sides of his head to cover his ears, as well. Eventually, he'll calm down. But now is not that time.
Jackson offers nothing further. Just a long look at pillowface, and then he turns to go.