ArchivedLogs:Not My Day

Not My Day
Dramatis Personae Hive, Jackson, Micah, Flicker
In Absentia	2014-04-18 Immediately following/partially during Mel-labor
Location <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. There's a sudden thud of mental /pain/ slamming up against Jax's mind, sledgehammer-heavy and pounding. It doesn't come with words, at the moment, just a wrenching-sick sense of panic. And -- loss? It claws in against him like it is struggling desperately to hold /on/. Jackson is, at the moment, losing a game of zombie dice. He loses /most/ games against the Geek Squad so this is unsurprising. Maybe the sudden /pain/ gives him luck, though, because his next roll comes up solid brains. Mmm. He's been in rotation with the others in the bevy of Melinda-visiting but is right now curled into a chair across from Flicker, rubbing at his temple. << Hive? Honey-honey? >> His mental presence is as jarring as it ever is, too-bright and too-loud in painful compliment to Hive's sledgehammering. << Sugar, what's goin' on is everything okay? >> His mind is abruptly running through horrified thoughts of miscarriages and terrible birth complications. Across from him Flicker's abrupt wince is evidence enough that he's getting a similer sledgehammering. It withdraws at Jax's panicked images, returning shortly with a /modicum/ less panic. << Mel's fine, >> he reassures immediately. << Kid's fine. >> And then, with that same sick-sinking feeling, << Jim's here. >> << ... 'course Jim's here. >> Jax is puzzled. << I texted him. Well, Ash. To bring him. Half-hour back. Glad he showed. >> Even if /this/ thought is underlaid with his own heaping-helping of guilt keeping him out in the hall and out of Jim's /way/. << Honey, are /you/ okay, then? What -- what's goin' /on/. >> << Oh. >> Just that, then, for a moment. Silence. A clenching squeeze that fixes in around their minds and presses tight. << I didn't know -- he never /bothered/ before with -- I just thought. >> Sick-tight-grip, it comes with /feeling/ here more than thought. Bony arm around Mel's shoulder, the feel of a growing mind that he's been /tracking/ over months, watching as it finally is /developed/ enough to feel, listening to it every day at lunch in Montagues, keeping up a steady idle stream of mental chatter about the progress of the Commons while some incipient thoughtform squirms and vaguely half-formed responds. Talking with Mel about the future, about being there, her leaning into him in the clean sun-drenched expanse of his office. << -- I just thought. >> Flicker's eyes are scrunching tight. Jax sweeps his dice to one side. Rattles out three new ones. Feet, brains, brains. << Oh. >> He draws in a slow breath. << But you don't -- I mean, you can still. Ain't like. You can /still/ be there, yeah? How many parents do Spencer got? Like seven /million/ right? >> He tucks the feet back into his palm, shaking up the canister to dig out two more. << What do this change? >> << ... everything. >> There's a clenching, a hard ugly knot coiled up in Hive's words. << It was different. When he just didn't. Give a fuck. She needed -- >> Hive quiets again. << She needed -- I wanted to help, I thought -- >> The knot is unravelling, tightening, unravelling once more. << I'm fucking dying, man. How the hell is it fair to -- I can't /be/ support if I'm just going to yank that the fuck away. If he took nine months to man the fuck /up/, fine. But at least he'll be /around/ for the next eighteen years. Better that than being here the first nine months and /not/ the rest. >> Rattle-thunk. Jax's dice clatter out against the table again, where he sits in the waiting room at small side-table, tucked with both legs folded up beneath him and his skirt pooled around him. Flicker sits across from him -- both wearing the slightly /pained/ expressions that suggest SOMEONE is sledgehammering their brains. One of Jax's hands -- the one /not/ rolling his dice -- is pressed up to his temple, the long sleeve of his sweater coat flopped over his palm. << You're /going/ to be here the rest, >> he insists fiercely. << We know people. Good doctors an' good /healers/ an' we're gonna find -- Hive, you're here because she /wants/ you here. /She/ wanted that. >> Hive is still none too steady on his feet as he makes his way out of Mel's room and towards the waiting room. Leaning heavily against the wall, shaky enough it looks like he might do well with one of the wheelchairs, himself. << Wanted that while he wasn't in the -- in the. In the. >> Flicker hastens out of his seat and over to Hive's side, looping an arm around the other man to help him over to the chair that Flicker just vacated. Hive sinks down into it, crumpling downward with shoulders curled inward and a tired-heavy slump to his expression. There's a distinctly bright shine to his eyes, glistening-wet that he blinks back determinedly. Glares down at the dice. "Who's winning." Micah is just returning to the waiting area from a trip to collect /things/. His army green messenger bag now hangs by one hip. He has a...somewhat squashy Bedtime Bear under one arm that complements his TARDIS-blue work shirt and pale blue undershirt surprisingly well. The other arm has half a dozen different bottles that advertise assorted '100% juice!' contents cradled in it. He deposits the juice on the table near Jax (hint, hint) and settles into a chair next to him with Bedtime Bear tucked near his hip. "You okay, hon? You're lookin' headachey." His head tilts, brow furrowing as Hive comes into the waiting room. "/You/ okay, Hive? I didn't...expect t'see you back out here." Micah's tone is mixed concern and confusion, not sure exactly what is okay to say, but then remembering. Oh right, /telepath/. "Oh, I been pretty crazy-headachey all day I'll be fine with some --" Jax reaches for a juice, hands distinctly shaky as he twists the top off and takes a large gulp. He sets the bottle down (in the middle of his diceroll -- one brain, two shotguns, ending /his/ turn) and wrinkles his nose. "Flicker is of /course/. When /ain't/ he." He gets up from his seat, though, sliding over to perch on the arm of Hive's chair, wrapping his arms around the telepath's shoulders. Pressing a kiss to Hive's temple. He just shakes his head when Micah asks if Hive is okay, squeezing tighter. "Fine," Hive says, in sharp denial of Jax's answer. The tears slipping from his eyes might be denial of /this/ answer, though. He leans into Jax's squeeze, pushing out a slow breath as his cheeks puff out. "I do like collecting brains." He reaches out a hand, bony fingers gesturing towards the canister of dice and the ones still scattered on thet table, curling in beckoning. Gimme. "Eh? Whynot?" Frown. "Shit-all to do now but wait. Chuck dice. Drink -- fuck. An asston of juice what the hell did you buy /all/ the juice." "Okay. Just...so much drinkin' juices for you." Micah seems even /less/ reassured by Hive saying he's fine than by Jax saying the same. He immediately moves and settles on the floor next to Hive's feet, leaning lightly against his knees. "Oh, honey. Can I...anythin'?" He manages a little half-smile at the question of juices. "Just got one of each kind. Tryin' t'take care of my people as best I can, even when I can't do much. Y'want one?" "I'm drinkin' the juice! See?" Jax reaches (shaky) hand for the juice again, holding it up demonstratively before taking a sip. Also spilling a small trickle down his chin while he's at it because, well, unsteady hand. He wipes it off against the sleeve of his coat. Leaning forward, he collects the dice into the cup, setting them in Hive's outstretched hand. << I still feel like you -- you're family, Hive. That still means something. >> His cheek tips down, resting against the other man's head. "That's what we're all trying, isn't it?" Flicker eyes Jax's unsteadiness with a grimace. He settles into Jax's vacated seat, head shaking. "People say Mormons are crazy." His tongue clicks lightly against his teeth. He takes an orange juice, shaking it firmly and twisting the cap open. "Can you pause time?" he asks Micah, thoughtfully. Hive chuffs out a quick breath. He shakes the dice once, twice, three times in their canister. "Doesn't mean shit if I'm dead before --" His teeth grind slowly. "It's not," there are still tears slipping thin from the corners of his eyes, though he seems determined to ignore them, "fair to Mel. Or the kid either." Micah /tries/ not to cringe at Jax's shaking, honestly he does. It doesn't work. "Okay," he repeats. "Yeah, I guess it is what most people are doin' most of the time. An' no, I got no time powers. Just no-touchin' powers." He holds up a gloved hand a few inches from where it had been holding Hive's leg, wiggling his fingers a little. When Hive finally says something /out loud/, he squeezes a tighter hug around his calves. "Oh...honey. D'you. I mean. I could schedule you another doctor's appointment. If. Maybe. I mean, it's been so long. Maybe if they worked t'gether with some healers?" "S'on account'a Mormons are crazy, love." Jax keeps an arm slung around Hive's shoulders, steadily draining the juice bottle held in his other hand. "S'a whole lotta not fair in the world, honey-honey. I think you still jus' do aright t'soak up all the /love/ you can get while you can /get/ it. An' I know you got a whole lotta /love/ for them both. /That's/ a solid start. The rest'a it -- well." He tips his head to Micah at the mentio of doctors and healers. "The rest'a it we can still keep workin' on, yeah?" "Maybe you should go back in there," Flicker suggests quietly. Hive just digs a trio of dice out of the canister, turning them over in his hands. "We can work on it," he agrees in an unhappy grumble. "Still got a lot of waiting to do, for now." He slouches forward, tossing the dice at the table. Shotgun, shotgun, shotgun. << /Fuck/, >> thuds into all of their minds. He thumps the canister back down onto the table. "This is just not my day."