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Dramatis Personae Lucien, Micah, Matt	20 June 2013 Visiting Matt at the hospital.
Location <NYC> Memorial Sloan-Kettering Cancer Center - Upper East Side
There's a sameness to many hospitals; an institutional impersonal layout, a quiet undercurrent of /bustle/, an antiseptic tinge to the air. These things do, to be sure, spill their way over here and there into Matt's room but much of it is displaced with warm bursts of colour. A large picture hung on the wall of a young man with the deep earthy roots of a large spreading /tree/ growing out of his skull (in whimsical tone in conjures to mind more /daydream/ than horror); a pair of Care Bears (Good Luck Bear and Wish Bear) tucked into a spare chair by his beds an extravagant bouquet of flowers (/glass/ ones, handcrafted in colours and shapes not all found in /real/ flora) on the nightstand. A handmade quilt in rainbow patchwork on his bed, under which Matt is tucked snugly. And Lucien, elegant but drab in neat grey suit tucked by his bedside, with book in hand (/Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell/) that he is currently reading from. "'Such nonsense!' declared Dr Greysteel. 'Whoever heard of cats doing anything useful!' 'Except for staring at one in a supercilious manner,' said Strange. 'That has a sort of moral usefulness, I suppose, in making one feel uncomfortable and encouraging sober reflection upon one's imperfections.'" His quiet accent gives the British characters a distinctly francophone feel to them. They would probably not approve. And yet. Micah wanders down the hall at his typical post-work bounce. He probably had changed into his faded jeans and powder blue Totoro face T-shirt in the van on his way over. A paper bag with its end rolled down is clasped in his left hand. The sound of voices from inside the room leads him to knock on the doorframe, by way of announcing his entrance. An auburn-haired head comes peeking through the doorway shortly after. “Evenin’, fellas. Am I interruptin’ story time?” he asks, voice quieted slightly from its typical volume. Matt might almost be asleep, eyes closed, nestled down below his quilt, but his mouth curls up into a warm smile at the sound of Micah's voice. "Mmhmm," he answers in a hum that is soft but cheerful. "Well, /improving/, maybe." His voice is very soft, a quiet contented murmur almost easy to lose against background hospital white-noise. "Interrupting implies a lack of welcome." Lucien nudges the book closed, though one forefinger between the pages keeps his place. He looks upwards with a certain measure of warmth in his bright green eyes, though he lacks his brother's smile. "Do you want a flower?" Matt actually opens his eyes at this, wriggling his way a little more upright in his bed. "Jax made me --" He stops, suddenly curious: "-- Do you think he can work glass with just his /hands/?" This idea lights his expression for a moment. "Improvin'? Lucien's readin' is /that/ bad, huh?" Micah teases, with an honest-to-goodness /wink/, as he slips into the room. "Ohgosh, no, hon. They look so nice all together the way they are. Don't wanna break up the set. I ain't never /seen/ him do it, but...uh..." He looks down at his hand for a moment. "Certainly don't doubt he could get /hot/ enough for it." The glance to his hand reminds him of the bag therein, which he deposits on a bedside table, not demanding that it be attended to immediately. "Brought some candied ginger. Some of my patients as have been on chemo swear by it. Sweet calories conveniently wrapped around tummy-soothers." A smile plays across his lips. "Hugs," he adds simply. "Unless you /actively/ protest, this means you, too." That last part must be meant for Lucien, because Matt is already getting hugs /now/. "Oh! You should hear him do the voices for /Watership Down/, it's lovely." Matt's smile warms further, though it's /hidden/ pressed against Micah's shoulder as he pulls his arms out from under the blanket to return the hug tightly. He is not very quick to let go. "Mmmnh. Assume /yes/ until proven otherwise? That is," Lucien remarks mildly, eyes turning up to the ceiling, "a somewhat different standard for consent than I tend to rely on." "He wants hugs," Matt confides this in a stage-whisper, still squeezing Micah although he eventually lets go to wrinkle his nose at his brother. "-- You want hugs. /And/ ginger, oh, man! I've developed an addiction to ginger ale. Not the terrible Canada Dry stuff. Luci gets me some fresh with real ginger grated in." "How hot /do/ you need to be to work glass? It seems like there might be some risk in the molten glass /sticking/ to his fingers even after they've cooled --" Lucien's brows furrow, eyes shifting to consider the glass bouquet. Micah will hold Matt-hugs as long as he wishes! "That /does/ sound rather entertainin'," he says through a grin. "An' I really have /no/ clue on the glassworkin'. Really hot?" Because that's a precise measurement. "Prob'ly not a good idea to be workin' barehanded, either way, t'be honest." He arches a brow at Lucien's consent comment. "Tend to. Hm." There is no further elaboration. "I'm tryin' a different tack. 'Cause you need hugs. But I /did/ wanna give you an out." Once he is extricated from Matt, he approaches Lucien and, true to his word, supplies hugs unless directed otherwise. "But fingers are way more precise than a lot of shop tools, you could get so many interesting patterns," Matt turns his head to look at the flowers, too, a bright appreciation in his eyes. "I guess they're pretty intricate /already/." His attention turns back to Micah, as he settles back against his pillows. "How's your day been? Days. I saw you --" He frowns. "-- Three days?" Lucien's eyes just lift back to the ceiling. "I need hugs. I think," he supplies mildly, "you two might be projecting." Though he doesn't pull away; just continues to regard the ceiling steadily. Until the hug -- which he doesn't /return/ though his head tilts down, cheek brushing against the side of Micah's face. The contact comes with a sudden powerful /surge/ of feeling, a heady intoxicating rush of euphoria that flares high and then ebbs back into just steady warmth. Matt’s glasswork musings spark a little chuckle from Micah. “I dunno. I thought it was mostly…blown kinda? Now I’m gonna have t’look it up when I get home.” Another chuckle. “Oh, just two days. Tuesday. It’s Thursday now. Been good! Pretty typical workday stuff.” He snorts, gently derisive, at Lucien’s accusations of /projecting/. Though hugs seem to be allowed, so Lucien’s shoulders get a tight-wrapping squeeze. It might tighten a shade more at the unexpected emotional flood from the other man, accompanied by a few seconds of slightly-dazed blinking. He should be getting used to this by now, but it always seems to be a bit /different/ from one instance to the next. So it takes a little bit longer for him to let go and return to standing, and his cheeks are faintly flushed when he does so. "Thursday? Where did Wednesday go?" Matt laments, hands folding on his quilt. His brows furrow at Matt's blushing, and then he gives his brother an /accusing/ look. "/Luci/." There's another /strong/ surge of happy-warm-pleasure before Micah makes it back to standing. Lucien turns his hand upwards, expression one of surprised innocence. "We're assuming consent," he tells his brother, like a /reminder/. Matt scrubs his knuckles against his eyes. "My brother," he laments to Micah, "is incorrigible. -- Do you like storytime? It's a good book. Chock-full of magic." Micah /giggles/ at that. "You said /three/ days when it had only been two, so at least Thursday is still here? All days kinda look the same from the inside of one of these rooms," asserts a voice of experience. He flashes Lucien an odd sort of smile. "It's okay, Matt, I should be about used to it by now," he echoes his own previous thought. Micah settles himself at the foot of the bed, where there is a stretch of empty space, and twists to an angle where he can see both Lucien and Matt easily. "Mmhm. I wouldn't presume upon Lucien's readings, however." He drums his fingers thoughtfully on a bedrail. "You thought at all about meetin' that friend I mentioned? With the healin'? I know he ain't like to...fix...anythin', far as I could tell. But might could be an energy boost. Help to not lose days so easy." "Thursday's here," Matt agrees lightly, closing his eyes and tightening his arms in a little closer to his stomach. "I'm not good with time lately." Lucien's gaze drops at the mention of the friend. He slips a bookmark back into the book, setting it aside on the bedside table. "If I had hurt you," he wonders in quiet curiosity, "would you still be smiling?" Matt's brows pull into a frown. "-- It's /Micah/, why would you --" His fingers scrunch at his quilt. "It might be nice to meet him," he agrees, quieter, "take some of the pressure off --" His eyes shift up to Lucien. "My doctors have been great, though." Micah nods to Matt. "It's okay, hon. That's what you keep us around for." He stretches out an arm to give Matt's /foot/ a little squeeze. Because that's what is closest to him. His look to Lucien bears a curiosity to reflect the other man's tone. "Hard t'say. S'a lot of undefined /variables/ to that question." There is another drumming of fingers against bedrail. "Given the trend of past evidence, I'd say...eventually, yes." Matt's foot gets another gentle squeeze at his protestations. "I'll talk to him about it. Pretty sure he'd be up for it, though. Good doctors are always a bonus, but if you got another good card in your hand, might as well play it." "Why?" Lucien presses. Matt's frown deepens. "-- That's dangerous," he says with a trace of worry. The frown is soon to smooth out, though, never long-/lived/ on his face. "It's kind of fascinating, isn't it? You sort of wonder how people /do/ what they do. Though," a soft smile is slipping back across his expression, "I guess it's not all /that/ hard, you give me a pretty nice energy boost with no X-gene to cheat with." Micah shrugs slightly in response. “Just…takes more’n that to stop me smilin’, usually.” /Both/ brows lift this time. “That bother you?” He nods again at Matt’s assertion. “Really, it is. I got no idea how /any/ of this works. An’ you’re a sweetheart.” The blush has been called back again! Micah makes a brief tickling motion at Matt’s foot…hugely ineffective because said foot is under /blankets/. It’s the thought that counts? "It bothers me," Matt says, and even if his smile remains there's also a lingering note of concern in his tone. His foot twitches beneath the blanket, nudging back against Micah's hand. "S'just the truth. A good dose of /happy/ goes farther than any drugs, some days." Though afterwards his smile skews kind of crooked. "Some days. Soooome days I just kind of want the fentanyl." Micah glances back at Lucien for a moment. "Well, fortunately,” he pauses to tickle-poke at Matt's twitchyfoot, "we can keep /both/ around for ya. So y'got options. Also, magic genetic enhancements soon, hopefully! Just gotta make sure he's up for it, then schedule a meet-up." Lucien doesn't look at Micah; he is looking somewhere past the other man, gaze focused off beyond Micah's head. "Options," he echoes, "it's funny but people seem to say that more and more often the fewer of them you really have." Matt's eyes lower. For a moment, he's quiet. "It's alright if he's not," he says eventually, "I think I'd probably get tired of it. If I had a --" He glances at his brother, a spot of colour entering his cheeks, "if I had an ability like that. Something worthwhile. There'd probably be a line of people waiting for --" His lips twitch. "Magic." "That's 'cause when you only gotta few, it's when they're the most important," Micah asserts. "An' you got somethin' worthwhile without magical abilities." He smoothes the blanket beside him with a flat palm. "Cuttin' down on the line by keepin' it a little bit secret? Only asked if he wouldn't mind helpin' folks as couldn't really be helped by hospitals...or that they wouldn't take. He understandably doesn't want /everyone/ knowin' about it. Since he passes. An' things are crazy." He explains mostly as a forewarning /request/ for discretion. "Passes for now," Lucien volunteers, so optimistically. "Soon enough registration will mean that none of us will." Matt grimaces. "If someone's power is subtle enough? They might be able to hide /anyway/." Lucien scuffs the back of his knuckles against his cheek, a slow tightness creeping through his jaw. He reaches for the book again. "Have things been crazy for you? I admit a measure of uncertainty as to just how far all the backlash spilled." “Still don’t know as how /they’ll/ know you didn’t register if they /didn’t/ know about you beforehand an’ it’s not readily apparent,” Micah muses. “Really doesn’t seem terribly /enforceable/.” He bites at his lower lip at Lucien’s question. “Me, personally? Not so much...not directly. Just about everyone around me…a lot more so.” "No. It doesn't seem terribly enforceable, does it." Lucien flips the book back open, sliding the bookmark out of the pages. "/Directly/?" Matt's nose crinkles. "I don't know, sometimes affecting the people around you can be /just/ as --" He glances to Lucien, then back to Micah. "You should stay," he says, quieter. "For. Storytime." Micah simply nods. “If Lucien doesn’t mind…I could stay for a bit.” Lucien's eyes flick up, then back down to the page. He tips his hand in a silent gesture of acceptance. His voice sounds, quiet but clear as he starts to read again.