ArchivedLogs:Paging Doctor Walters

Paging Doctor Walters
Dramatis Personae Jackson, Jennifer	2013-07-29 Jackson gets a particularly loud visitor checking up on him.
Location <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. Mornings in the school are busy times, upstairs. Even in summer with the reduced number of students there's a general bustle of jockeying for shower space, hastening to breakfast, scrambling things together for class. In the basement it's another story. Largely quiet; there's occasionally a student or teacher making their way to or from the gym but by and large this floor does not fully wake up until later. In the medbay, things are quiet, too. Jackson is nestled in bed with his phone in one hand, earbuds in his ear. With sunglasses on its hard to tell what exactly he's paying attention to; he doesn't really seem to be looking at the phone's screen, much. Devoid of his usual touches of illusion he looks kind of washed-out. Pale save for the dark stubble shadowing his face and fuzzing his almost-shaved head. There's a usually-hidden wealth of pitted scars that etch their way up one of his arms, one side of his neck and face, mangling the tattoos that colour his arm. Occasionally his finger taps against his screen but by and large he is quiet, too. The quiet before the storm. Jennifer resoundingly announces her arrival with the door being slammed shut behind her with a single foot, as well as the cheerful exclamation: "Morning!" She appears to be in a jovial mood, one hand holding a sizeable basket of flowers and the other a... basketball? The basket of flowers is a brightly colourful and varied affair - from yellow to red, from hyacinths to chrysanths. The redhead herself is dressed as casually as always - a pair of jeans, sneakers and a plain white T-shirt. It may as well hint at a day free from a busy schedule. Jen strides over to the bed, decidedly placing the basket on Jackson's lap; should the weight prove too great, she will alleviate most of it, but still keep it in plain view. "You are /one/ busy bee," she remarks with a broad grin, lifting the ball in her other hand to her shoulder level. "-- WhathmHi!" It takes Jackson a moment to reroute his mind from email; his smile comes at a delay but is bright and warm when it appears. His legs shift beneath the basket; he sets his phone down to reach out for it, gripping the bastket for a moment before lifting his hand to brush up against the flowers. "Woah -- uh, hi! Thanks," sounds just as warm as his smile is, once he moves on past surprise. "/Man/ I could use some colour in here thanks. -- Uh." His smile skews a little sheepish, head ducking. "I /wish/ I was I feel like a slacker hanging out in bed all day." One hand freed, Jennifer seizes this opportunity to spin the basketball on her index finger. Her grin is still wide when she sees that the colourful amalgamation of flora has been approved. "That's what happens when you don't pace yourself, Jax. It's true to humans, and /especially/ true to mutants like you and me." The ball bounces up as she flicks her wrist upward, momentarily throwing it up a mere inch up before it lands in her palm. Her grin finally suffers a dent, diminishing somewhat. "I'm sorry I didn't come sooner. Are you okay, though? Not just--" Her free hand gestures to Jackson as a whole. "/Overall/, I mean. I've still got no idea what happened, besides what I've seen in the news." "I tried to take it slow," Jackson agrees, "but there were people with assault rifles who had different ideas." Despite this he's still /smiling/, a wry note of amusement in this thought. He keeps the flowers on his lap, for now, gently fingering a bright red flower petal. "S'alright I've pretty much just been asleep. Or /swarmed/ by my kids they like --" He makes a vague gesture towards the bed, "/Pile/. S'like /cats/ I wake up and there is just. Kidpile. Cutting off my /air/." The question, though, earns a slow exhale and a stretch of silence. "Yeah, I'm -- alright. Kiiinda shaken, honestly," he admits, "it was -- what's the news said? I ain't caught too much of it. M'partner and I were in the sewers. Some -- people attacked us." The mental image of a kitten-like pile of children coaxes a soft chortle out of the redhead. Jokingly, she suggests, "Probably just as loud and cute, too." Still, her amusement is somewhat reined it, her smile all but disappearing at the mention of assault rifles. "News say it was a government-run raid, but-- It was neither the police nor the FBI. No one knows /who/ run the raid." Jen sighs, exasperated. "The media says they killed the woman responsible for Whelan's death, too. Sounds to me like the government is sweeping its problems under the carpet and then hiding the broom." "Just as /loud/," Jax will concede with a crooked smile. It disappears soon after. His hand falls away from the flower petal to rest against the basket, fingers curling in tightly. There's a very long pause of silence before he volunteers, quietly: "They didn't kill her." His fingers clench, and unclench. "I don't know how much you know about -- where my boys an' Kai an' Daiki an' all the others -- came from but." He pushes himself a little more upright, shoving his pillows behind him with an elbow to prop him up. "I don't know who they got to /do/ the raid, that kinda thing ain't their style. But they took her. And /other/ people who was down there, too. Back to -- some of those labs." "Prometheus." The name leaves Jennifer's lips with great reluctance, escaping past the dam of gritted teeth. Another sigh precedes her concerned voice. "They hit the Morlocks, then? I've only heard rumours, I kind of... discarded it as an urban myth, refused to believe prejudice would force men and women to live sheltered lives in the /sewers/." There's rampant disgust in Jennifer's tone, although she tries to drag herself from the mire. "Breathe in, breathe out. Happy thoughts." It's hard to tell whether this is meant for herself, Jackson, or perhaps even both. "Right now, you can't afford to worry about that. You need to focus on /full/ recovery." The ball is lowered on the nearby table if there is enough room for it; if not, well, then the redhead simply wanders over to an empty bed and rolls another table to set the basketball on. "How about we make a little bit of a deal? You don't run out of the medbay on any heroic errand until you're strong enough play a game of basketball with me. Sound fair?" Jackson just nods at this, quiet. "They hit 'em. The kids were down there, they --" His teeth clench and almost like reminding /himself/ he says firmly: "They're /okay/. They're okay, but they got a friend they was visiting. Met in the police cages. He's been around the school a couple times since? /Sweet/ kid. Green. Sorta lizardy. He'll be startin' here in the fall. I can't imagine how rough it is for him, they hit up his /home/. An' Nox -- the shadow-lady, she'd kinda took him in. Like a mom. I -- ain't told him yet," he admits to Jennifer a little guiltily, "that she's actually alive, I don't. If we get his hopes up an' then they kill her in there --" He swallows, nodding again. Breathing in. Breathing out. It's hard to tell if he's also thinking happy thoughts but the breathing at least is slow and deliberate. It takes a moment before he admits a little /sheepishly/: "-- some'a my team's already stopped by here to. Plan. How to get them out. I ain't hardly even up for walking across the room yet, though, I ain't gonna be rescuing nobody no time soon." His head turns, following Jennifer as she moves to set the basketball down. For a moment his smile returns, quick and bright. "I just gotta /play/, right? I don't gotta /win/? Because then I probably ain't be going nowhere just about /ever/." "/Ah/!" A single index finger rises up before it sweeps sideways in front of her. Her grin has returned in earnest as she jestfully announces, "You caught on my nefarious scheme to keep you healthy and safe! Very well, Mister Holland, you only need to /play/. But try to at least score a /couple/ of points, hm?" The ball is adjusted, rotated until Jennifer's handwriting can be seen - the cursive handwriting reads 'Get well soon'. "I think I've seen that kid around, by the way. I also think you've done the right thing, not telling him about-- On the other hand--" Although just moments ago her attention was on tweaking the basketball, her bright green eyes return to Jax, as does the lopsided grin. "I am pretty sure we'll free Nox and anyone they captured." There is a momentary downward curve to her tone of voice, a minuscule lapse in conviction that she tries to brush aside. "When you get /better/. Until then, trust your friends. Trust /me/. I may have avoided the X-Men /because/ I didn't want to fight anyone, but it's starting to seem like an inevitability." A miniature scoff later, she decides to add, "Ivan e-mailed me earlier this morning. He's worried about you and Rasa-- He told me she's depressed. Do you think I could take her somewhere cheerful? Not as a teacher, but as a friend." "I'll do my best," Jackson agrees lightly, a laugh preceding his continuation: "-- comes to basketball though my bests still kinda /shameful/." His smile brightens as she turns the ball around. His arm curls, briefly, around the basket of flowers in his lap, hugging it closer so that for a moment he just inhales the scent of hyacinths, and then he moves it to rest just beside him on the bedside table. "Startin' to seem like it, ain't it? I just," Jax says wryly, "wanted to teach art. But then people --" His smile fades, something troubled crossing his expression. "When we was in the sewers --" He stops, turning to look at the flowers again. After a moment, his smile returns -- smaller, tentative. "Oh -- oh, I think Rasa'd appreciate that a lot. Things -- ain't been easy. 'specially with Ivan gone I -- m'sure that'd be -- not just aright. But. Really nice for hir." For a brief moment, curiosity seems to overwhelm Jennifer. The hint at the raid hooks her thoughts and reels them in, but ultimately it looks like the redhead similarly decides against succumbing to discussing it further. "I /promise/ not to have her shot at - in the Danger Room /or/ on the streets. She--" The realisation comes a touch late, but she clears her throat and corrects herself promptly. "Ah, ze... thinks the world is not a safe place. I /think/ I have an idea of how to help hir see it in a better light. It's not fair when children get to see the ugly side of life so early on." A sympathetic, warm smile lingers. Jennifer silently observes Jackson a while longer, before finally suggesting in an exceptionally soft tone of voice, "You can still teach art, Jax. Those people-- They do not change who we are. They /must not/ change who we are." Biting on her lower lip, Jennifer seems a touch hesitant on her next step. Ultimately, she inquires gently, "Anything you'd like, Jax? I can't imagine how boring being bed-ridden must be for someone like you. I could bring a canvas and some paint down here, maybe?" Jax exhales another laugh, though there's a slight wince to accompany it. "-- S'gettin' a harder an' harder promise t'keep. I wouldn't'a thought I'd be shot at deliverin' bread an' veggies to the sewers. Shane got shot earlier this summer gettin' /cupcakes/. Of all the highly dangerous activities. But --" He has a smile, though it's a little tired. A little strained. "-- but yeah. I think ze could sure do with seein' a nicer side'a the world." He's quiet, for a moment, before continuing softer: "-- though I do wish. That the world /was/ a safe place. For them. I ain't sure ze's wrong about that." His smile eases a touch, warms a touch, at Jennifer's soft words. "No. No, they don't. -- Oh gosh." He sits up a little straighter, brightening. "Oh, gosh, even just a sketchbook an' some drawing pencils, I ain't been /awake/ all that much but it's kinda terrible when I am. I have played. /So much/. Angry Birds, you got no idea. You'd be a lifesaver." "Shot for... supplying food?" This level of absurdity is far past expectations, and so it leads to a nervous chuckle. "You should /sue/ them," she suggests jokingly. Or... perhaps seriously, considering her profession. It's hard to tell. "Although I'm sure they'd claim you're supplying terrorists or some such." The soft laughter that arrives next is far more genuine. "Angry Birds? You /poor soul/," she exclaims through slowly diminishing laughter, grinning widely. "Right, okay. Sketchbook and some pencils. I'll let Ivan know you're on the mend. Is Hank the one taking care of you? You should ask him when you can take a stroll outside, breathe in some much needed fresh air. This place has that oppressive hospital smell." Her eyes quickly jump to the flowers, as if reminding them of their duty. "It was /illegally grown/ food, t'be fair," Jackson will allow, as though this is more than enough justification for being shot at, "we been cleaning up abandoned lots an' turnin' 'em into gardens. S'like /terrorist/ gardening, right there." The humour fades from his tone as he admits -- just a little /shakily/: "-- they was there for Nox but they. When they saw me. They recognized me. Had a -- /code name/. And. Standing orders. To -- kill me." His fingers scrunch down against his sheets, tight. Another slow breath in. Another slow breath out. His smile returns, soon. "Hank and Io both been lookin' after me. Don't think I should be stuck here /too/ much longer, anyway. I --" He glances over to the flowers, too. "Thanks, Jennifer." There's another miniature scoff, although the grin stays. Gallows humour seems to both amuse and tense Jennifer. "Anyone who wants to kill you won't be able to tell their face apart from their feet," she firmly notes. But with that out of the way, the redhead immediately eases up, like a sun suddenly peeking through grey clouds. "And don't mention it. I think we get off on the wrong foot at the start. Give me ten, and I'll come back with your instruments, /maestro/."