ArchivedLogs:First Patient

First Patient
And /there's/ some irony.
Dramatis Personae Iolaus, Jackson, Micah
In Absentia	26 September 2013 Micah gets patched up after being shot and carried out of Harlem.
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. Perhaps, all things considered, it is a good thing that the interior design of the clinic is not yet fully complete. It certainly would be more inconvenient to have had to operate on someone if the hallway to one of the exam rooms still didn't have plastic covering over the carpet, and the table still partially shrink-wrapped. Helps with the clean up. The downside is the lack of beds - some of the last things scheduled to be delivered down into the hazardous patient rooms deep in the clinic, the irradiation required means a delay in shipment. That means Micah has - albeit with many blankets underneath for padding - had to lie down and recover after surgery on a couch in one of the waiting rooms. Easy access to the pharmacy, at least, and Iolaus has made sure that Micah was feeling as little pain as possible, even considering the lack of general anesthetic. Pharmaceuticals for fun and profit! Jackson has taken up residence on the floor at the base of Micah's bed-couch, sitting there cross-legged with his laptop and drawing tablet in hand; the large boxy portfolio case beside him is strong evidence that he came here straight from school and hasn't left again since. He's dressed for the cooler fall weather, black and purple jeans liberally adorned with pockets and zippers and straps hung from silver D-rings, red 'All My Heroes Have FBI Files' t-shirt with a sky-blue Care Bears sweatshirt over it; a metallic silvery faux-leather jacket is folded atop his case. Nominally, he's working; at least his laptop is open and he has his stylus in hand, tablet in his lap where he sits on the floor. His eye focuses far more on Micah than on his screen, though. Micah is /confused/ when his eyelids crack open to entirely too much light. Blood loss-confused and disorientation-confused and medication-confused and loss of consciousness-confused all rolled into one. A little discomfort-sound comes from the back of his too-dry throat. He tries to move...something. A louder discomfort-sound answers the attempt. He blinks several times and forces his eyes to stay open to regard the completely unfamiliar surroundings, though one eye has a harder time from the swollen split in his brow where his head had met the corner of a stair a bit too up-close and personal. "Micah!" Jackson sits up straighter at that small noise, stylus and tablet set aside as he gets up onto his knees to reach for Micah's hand. "Oh gosh honey-honey you're awake." He's letting go of Micah's hand again almost as soon as he reached for it, to drag his case closer and take his water bottle out of its side pocket. He uncaps it, moving up towards Micah's head with his kneeling instead. "I have water, honey-honey. Do you want water? Hydration is -- is good." Micah blinks again at the sudden riot of colour that is Jax, though the familiar face finally breaks through his confusion. He tries to smile, lips admittedly dry and a little cracked. “Jax,” is all he manages to say at first, voice raspy. He lifts his head up to facilitate drinking and winces at the increase of the throbbing in it. “Should do.” His eyes finally move to scan himself, but is only able to survey his bruised arms for the blanket covering the rest of him. “What... Did I get kicked by a horse? An' thrown off it?” He thinks on that for a second. “Other way. Thrown, then kicked.” Jax curls his hand gently underneath Micah's head, supporting it as he tips the bottle to Micah's lips, allowing a slow trickle of cool water into Micah's mouth. He watches the other man carefully, lowering the bottle when it seems like Micah has finished sipping from it. "I -- don't think there was no horses, no. You was in Harlem -- Io an' one of his doctors patched you up. Um. I don't think this is quite how Hive wanted t'show you his clinic but I sure am glad this place was done." Micah lets his head rest back into Jax's hand gratefully, trying to swallow the water slowly. “Harlem,” he says thoughtfully. “The church! Jax, they were attackin' an' things were all smoke'n fire an' the people weren't out yet.” He struggles to get up despite the loud protest of his abdominal muscles, managing to prop onto his elbows before the prospect of moving further becomes too overwhelming. “They're gonna...too many people are still there. An' all the ones in the apartments. We couldn't get 'em out because the streets'n the exits were already full of people with guns.” "Shh, Micah-honey, no, lie back down." Jax sets the water bottle down beside himself, his other hand moving very gently to an unbruised portion of shoulder to press softly, urging Micah back down with one hand still tucked behind the other man's head. "Everyone's out. Everyone got out. You helped get everyone out, okay? Dusk an' Isra got the folks in the apartments, too. Just -- just rest, honey-honey, you -- the police -- you got shot, you need to. Rest." The verbal instruction nearly earns a protest, but Micah doesn't have the strength to resist even the gentle push in addition to gravity. He presses his eyes closed as he sinks flat onto the couch-bed again. "Everybody? Everyone is out?" he questions in disbelief, clearly thinking this is the kind of platitude that is told to injured people to make them stop moving. "Dusk'n Isra'n Ion'n everybody?" He runs the tip of his tongue over his lips in attempt to moisten them, his eyes opening again. "Mmn. Shot me. In the back," he adds as the details return to him, albeit fuzzily. His tone is /disapproving/. "Everyone. Dusk an' Isra an' --" Jackson stops with a frown. "Don't nobody know where Ion's got to, but they didn't arrest /or/ kill nobody at the church. So he's got out. Dusk's here, he --" He watches the motion of Micah's tongue, reaching for the water again to offer it up to the other man. "That's -- that's pretty low. Dusk brung you here. To the clinic. You're," he informs Micah rather solemnly, "probably gonna need to take the day off tomorrow." “You sure they didn't /take/ 'im? They had...those military guys. Oh, is anyone else missin'? They might've taken...” Micah forces himself to stop repeating the concern. He takes the water again when it is offered, drinking what he can all at once. “Mmn. At least.” He winces, though this time not in pain. “Gotta call Janine. The hell am I gonna tell her?” His hands tug at the blankets wrapped tight around him, trying to pull them off, set on surveying his injuries. "Don't know if you've never seen what he can do, but he's a hard man t'take if he don't want to be took. Teleports, kinda. I think he got out fine, most like. News reports're already lambasting the cops. All the expense of pullin' in people an' equipment for this raid an' no arrests at all to show for it. An' they trashed that old church but good." Jackson speaks quietly, as he holds the bottle to Micah's lips, lowering it when Micah starts speaking again. He tucks the water bottle between his knees, reaching to work at the blankets and loosen them to fold them down. "It's late, love. Might could worry 'bout that in the mornin'. An' if there's any phone calls I can make or -- anything that'd help, I'll be glad to -- I know days off ain't real great for your schedule." “So's Nox. An' Jim...” Micah's brow furrows, but he stops himself again when Jax reports Ion's teleportation capability. “Did ours kill anyone? The cops?” Apparently he's dead set on worrying about every aspect of this thing. “Could just tell her I'm sick. For this week...” Blanket out of the way, he now has a hospital gown to tug at before he can see his side. There is a line of angry bruises showing along his shin. “Mmn. Stairs,” he mutters as he recalls that detail. When finally exposed, there is a large swath of bandaging visible over his abdomen. His fingers trace to his back, where a matching bandage can be felt. Most of the right side of his torso, from hip to ribcage, is discoloured with deep bruising. His nose crinkles as he lets the fabric of the gown fall again. “It's gonna be awhile before I can walk, hon. Maybe...a week? If there's no internal injuries on top of this.” Jackson slips his hand back into Micah's, once Micah has had a chance to take stock of injuries. "No. No cops dead neither," he assures Micah quietly. His head dips, to press a soft kiss to Micah's knuckles at the unveiling of the bruising. "We can talk to Joshua, if y'like. Help you -- get better faster. Or Dusk, if you -- he heals fast. He can help y'heal fast. But /either/ way I'll be right there with you." His lips press to Micah's knuckles again. "I'll borrow so many board games from Flicker. You don't need t'walk for those." Micah's hand squeezes at Jax's. “That's good, at least. Nobody died over that...stupid.../nothin'/.” He shakes his head--a very small shake, but adamant. “Not Dusk. He don't got enough blood ever as it is. He don't need t'be sharin'. Maybe Joshua.” He fusses his fingers through his hair, which is /impressively/ mussed by this point. “I got a chair. In the company's storage unit. Been awhile since I needed it last, but should still be pretty much the right size.” "I can pick it up for you." Jax laces his fingers through Micah's, cheek resting lightly against the other man's knuckles. "S'good /you/ didn't die over --" His voice wavers, here, words quieting into a deep breath. His smile curls, suddenly, bright and wide. "You know," he says with no small amusement, "/you/ was the first patient the clinic had." “Wasn't gonna die,” Micah replies quickly, his lips pressing thin a moment at the quaver to Jax's voice. He forces a grin, and a joke. “Stupid cops shoot like storm troopers. One as hit me prob'ly was aimin' at somethin' else entirely.” His hand squeezes the other man's again. He looks up at the room again, really registering it for the first time, and gives a little snort of breath through his nose. Laughing...laughing would be bad. “All that time'n effort tryin' t'put together a clinic for mutants an' they get stuck havin' t'take care of me.” "Yeah. Yeah, no, you wasn't, they got you here quick an' -- an' the clinic took care'a you good." Jackson says this firmly, more perhaps to himself than to Micah. "Shh sorry," he says at the laughter, though there's a quiet note of laughter in his own tone. "S'okay, their /second/ patient was a mutant. An' I don't think it was /stuck/ nothin', from what I heard you -- you did so much today to --" He kisses Micah's knuckles again, then leans in to find an unhurt spot on Micah's brow to touch an even lighter kiss to. "You /knew/ this was comin', Micah, an' you still --" His tone isn't one of censure, just soft and a little shaky still. "You're really amazing, you know that?" Micah's lips and nose both scrunch at Jax's amusement, trying hard to keep laughing from happening and...probably looking more like he has a terrible nose itch that he can't scratch. "Hmph. Knew this all was comin' an' still put my stupid behind in the line of fire t'need t'get hauled out of there an' become the amazin' bruiseperson," he half-jokes, bringing Jax's hand over to kiss gently, as it's the only part he can /reach/ for kissing. "I think I'd prob'ly do better most of the time on drivin' an' patchin' up detail." "Still evacuated half the church near yourself, how Dusk tells it," Jackson answers, "and didn't lose nobody. An' -- an' still got back to me, after." His fingers tighten in Micah's, eyes a little watery as he dips his head to rest briefly, very lightly, against Micah's shoulder. "Though I sure won't complain if your next helpin'-out don't end in you gettin' shot." He lifts himself up higher on his knees, brushing a light kiss to Micah's lips and then settling back down. "Bruiseperson or not, you're still amazin'."