ArchivedLogs:Plan Of Care

Plan Of Care
Dramatis Personae Hive, Micah, Jax, Flicker	27 July 2014 What to do now that the raids are over...
Location <NYC> The Unicomplex - Harbor Commons - Lower East Side
Flicker and Hive split the basement in this apartment; coming down the stairs emerges into an open expanse of shared space, with a pair of desks on opposite walls and large cabinets holding an enormous library of board and card games. The bookshelves here are packed predominantly with sci-fi and fantasy as well as a mass of roleplaying sourcebooks. The walls are eclectically decorated. A replica of Arya Stark's Needle, a few bright-colored but anachronistically somewhat morbid paintings of Jax's, a Mega Man X poster, a stained-glass suncatcher hung in the window and a collage of feathers framed on one wall. Up near the ceiling there's a large square hanging frame strung with netting -- a nearly ceiling-wide sort of hammock though it's hard to immediately discern how to access it. A side door leads to the bathroom, small but neat in pale stone tile. Towards the back there are walls dividing off the actual sleeping areas, tiny-cosy rooms mostly only large enough for the bed-dresser-closet combinations they contain. It's generally easy to figure out which one of the bedrooms is Hive's from the large amount of /clutter/ contrasting Flicker's perpetually tidy space. Flicker's full bed can be folded up into a recess in the wall, while Hive's larger queen hangs from the ceiling by sturdy black chains. The team has had any number of ways to cope, in the wake of the recent massacre in Vermont. An enormous overload of work on B’s part, too many drugs on Dusk’s, Jax secluding himself in his home… In the basement of Geekhaus there has been kind of an inordinate amount of gaming. Flicker has managed to stay away from his WoW addiction for some /while/ prior to this but, well, if there is ever a time to fall off the wagon -- There are, therefore, sounds of battle filling the basement. A losing battle, at the moment. Gaming one-handed is kind of an /adjustment/ and even with a whole new set of shortcuts mapped out on his keyboard he is still only /slowly/ working his way back into things. It may not be the best of choices by way of Escapism, the difficulty only serving to highlight and reinforce the pains Prometheus has brought. And yet. To the noise from the speakers, Hive is not adding very much by way of Presence in the basement. He’s actually left bed, for once, though only to move so far as a huge squishy pillow-chair nearby Flicker’s desk, curled into it in black pajama pants and no shirt, with a pair of blankets draped over him. His eyes are closed, at the moment, but the twitch of his lips listening to Flicker’s disgruntled muttering suggests he’s not actually /asleep/. Hopefully the sound of knocking on the door between the houses can be heard over the /battle/ going on in the basement. Or maybe Hive can pick up on Micah's thoughts through the door. He is dressed weekend casual in faded bluejeans, his Reading Rainbow-dash T-shirt, bare feet, and auburn hair that looks messy enough that he /might/ have just gotten up from a nap. He comes peeking through the door even before there is an answer, slender form slipping into the room shortly thereafter. “Hey guys. Am I interruptin'?” “Embleer /Frith/,” is Flicker’s answer to this, sharp and disgusted though it is directed at his screen and not at Micah. His hand lifts from the keyboard, running through his hair. “... nothing that can’t stand to be interrupted.” His eyes are narrowed on his screen but only for a moment longer; he swivels his chair away from his desk to look towards Micah. He’s weekend-casual as well, jeans and a plain green v-neck tee, one foot tucked up with his knee bent up against his chest. “Wasn’t really doing anything but --” He frowns, briefly, back at his computer. “Sucking.” Hive’s eyes open. Slow. A heavy mental weight settles in against Micah’s mind, lingering there a few beats longer than a simple brush of greeting. “Ugh. Sounds like stuff that /needs/ t'be interrupted. Just wanted t'check in, see how things're goin'.” Micah settles into the pillow next to Hive, please and thank you for sharing the seat. “We should maybe look into a one-handed keyboard an'...just the whole computer set-up for you, Flicker. They've gotten really good at those, so there's all kindsa choices. I'll forward you some catalogues.” A faint tightness sets in at the corner of Flicker’s eyes, a small twitch at his right side as though /trying/ to move the limb that is no longer there. “Oh -- yeah.” It’s a moment longer before a smile appears to push away his frown, eyes dipping down to look at his hand where it’s dropped now to rest against his knee. “Right, yeah. That would be. Good.” Hive’s eyes close again when Micah settles in beside him. He shifts a little closer to the other man, head butting up against Micah’s hip. It comes with another mental press, inquisitive in feel this time, prodding at Micah’s mind in nosy search for what brought him over just now. “You'd be amazed how fast folks get with some of these set-ups. I've seen folks use 'em as are still workin' with two factory-issue hands just t'free the other one up an' they can fly along, really.” Micah shifts to allow Hive to settle his head in his lap. His mind is full of vague overlapping concerns for all of the team that had been on the raid. Even some who hadn't, especially B. More concerns focused on Hive and Flicker and their health...even more for Hive. Thoughts of when he is planning on seeking treatment, /if/ he is planning on it, how his health is presently... Out loud he just says a simple, “How're y'all holdin' up?” as his fingers pet along the back of Hive's neck. Hive tucks in closer, nestling his head comfortably to rest against Micah’s thigh. The mental pressure withdraws, slipping off into silence; the question comes, though, with a /physical/ tension stiff and tight through Hive’s neck and shoulders. “Yeah.” Flicker’s smile strengthens, if only slightly. “Yeah, that sounds good, I -- haven’t really. Looked a whole lot at -- what’s even out there to help. With.” He shakes his head, wrapping his arm in around his shin. His eyes move to Hive, and back to Micah. “Better than some of the others.” “That good, huh?” One corner of Micah's lips pulls askew, not quite picking smiling or frowning, just...off. Leaning in, he presses his lips softly to Hive's forehead, his fingers still stroking gently at the telepath's neck. “Is there anythin' y'all need? Anythin' I can do? Help makin' or gettin' to appointments? Bringin' food over from the kitchens? Anythin'.” Hive's mind prickles uncomfortably up against Micah's, here, a shiver of discomfort that brings with it the sickly antiseptic smell of hospitals, cold rooms, bright lights, washing in for a second before it is all shoved aside in favor of the warm comforting feel of Micah's fingers against his neck. Flicker presses his lips together, frowning. "Yeah," is soft, "but you can't keep putting it off." Hive exhales sharp and turns his face in against Micah's leg. “It's still a Sunday. Ain't like I'm gonna drag you in this second,” Micah replies of the juxtaposed sensations. “D'you have an appointment or y'still need t'make one? I can ask for their first available.” His fingers continue their stroking along the long ribbons of thin muscle paralleling his spine from skull to shoulders. “Love you, hon. We do gotta...try.” There is no knock, here, to signal Jax’s arrival. Mostly because his arrival is not very /arrivey/ -- what there is, in lieu of knock or even entrance is the uncertain vacillation of mental presence outside Geekhaus’s door. Hesitating uncertainly, /debating/ knocking, not actually doing so. Fret. Fret /fret/. There is a distinct /desire/ to knock -- a desire to slink in, curl up, get /cuddles/, that is warring with a desire /not/ to be quite so needy as he has been lately with his husband’s time. The ultimate end result is lingering outside the door between their basements with one hand lifted. Not knocking. Hive shakes his head at the question of whether he has an appointment, brows creasing deeper. His neck presses up into the touch, a slow breath shivering out of him. He tenses more, though, teeth grinding at Flicker and Micah’s words. He is perhaps /grateful/ for the waffling mind outside his door, latching onto this as a distraction from the topic of his badly failing health. Instead of addressing /that/ question, he pulls in the mental /feel/ of Jax’s indecision and rebroadcasts it in a heavy push to the other two. It comes with a mental image of a (very /colorful/) puppy, tail hopefully wagging, nosing and pawing at the door before flopping over for belly rubs. Micah, naturally, is unaware of Jax's silent other-side-of-the-door fretting prior to Hive's announcement. He cringes a little at the tooth grinding (the oh-so-frequent tooth grinding), bringing his other hand to join the first in rubbing at Hive's shoulders. “Ohgosh, can we get one of those?” is said first of the rainbow puppy, then, “Jax, come in, hon.” His voice is raised, hopefully, enough to carry. Sometimes it just takes some being told what to do… The indecision does in fact clear up at the sound of Micah’s voice, uncertainty slipping into a more comfortable acceptance as Jax pushes the door open to slip inside. Save for his tattoos he is considerably less colourful than his mental-puppy-counterpart, grey hiking pants and a blue tee. He stops first by Flicker’s chair, kissing the other man on the top of the head, before /joining/ the pile in the pillow-chair, curling up at Micah’s other side. It’s only after he has tucked himself into a comfortable ball against his husband that he actually addresses anyone: “Y’all holdin’ up?” “As well as can --” Flicker starts to answer, lifting his hand to curl around the back of Jax’s head in a kind of hug, squeezing in briefly and then dropping his hand back to his knee. He breaks off, though, frowning slightly before admitting more quietly: “No.” Hive turns over a little more onto his belly, head still tucked in Micah’s lap and his back bared more to the rubbing. He huffs out a quiet laugh at the question of getting a rainbow puppy; his next mental image is just /Jax/, a leash attached to his collar and a wagging rainbow tail and floppy puppy ears. A flush of red darkens Flicker’s cheeks, but it pulls his mouth up into a small smile. “Yeah,” he agrees, “pretty sure you already have one.” It likely isn't the first time that Micah has wanted more /hands/. One keeps working at Hive's neck and shoulders while the other drifts to rub at Jax's curled-up tummy. His own frown echoes Flicker's at the other man's answer, chin gesturing to the puppy pile on the pillow chair. “S'room,” he offers Hive's seat up so graciously for even more guests. And it's true so long as no one minds squishing close. The redhead's sudden rosy blush would likely have summoned itself without Flicker's assistance. The earlier frown proves short-lived, replaced by a little curl of a smile as Micah's hand moves from tummy to collar, hooking two fingers under to pull Jax in for a kiss. A quiet thrum of purr hums in Jax’s throat. He uncurls /just/ slightly to allow better tummy-access, pressing gently into the touch. /His/ cheeks flush, too, at the mental image. “... like gettin’ pets,” he answers it. Not really defensively so much as with a small flutter of amusement that /would/ in other circumstances probably surface as a laugh -- it doesn’t quite make it that far. He has not been laughing very /much/ lately. He presses gladly back into the kiss, though when it breaks off his head turns over towards Flicker, teeth pressing down against his lower lip. “... can we help?” “I don’t know.” A ripple of motion twitches at Flicker’s right side, his frown deepening at the emptiness that no longer responds to these impulses. The blush deepens, too, eyes dropping away as the other men kiss. “Hive really needs to see Dr. Toure. I’m getting --” His chin lowers onto his knees. “Really scared.” Hive curls in a little bit closer, another uncomfortable /prickle/ rippling up against the other men’s minds. It presses there, /pushes/ like he is just trying to /shove/ this suggestion away. There is a rather significant amount of fear, too, shot through the feel of his mind. His eyes scrunch up tight, teeth grinding again as he attempts to dredge up something a little more concrete, finally summoning up a heavy pull of /longing/: << (just want) >> It shifts into a feel of warmth, muggy-hot air and streets baking under summer sun, the smell of frying fish and a bustle of color and people-noises clamoring together. << (home.) >> Flicker closes his eyes here, shoulders tightening hard. “But you still need --” He shakes his head, fingers digging in against his shin. There’s a little bit more lightness to his tone with the follow-up: “Haven’t /only/ had bad news. His visa is finally -- all sorted. So he /could/ go home without --” But his frown won’t go away. “I mean, they’d let him back /in/ to the country at least. If he left. But.” He cracks an eye open, looking back at Hive’s bony form against Micah’s lap. It is a quick-light kiss, at least, given the company. Micah's fingers scritch in more firmly once there is more exposed belly to access. "I can call in the mornin' an' see what 'is first available is. Might have t'wait for a quick minute anyhow." He has that concerned and sympathetic look when he looks down at Hive, likely one the telepath has seen more than enough of lately. "Might give y'some time for a visit. Trouble's that it's so far away...long trip. Y'all know any distance teleporters as might assist on cuttin' down the travel time, considerin'?" While he's saying this he is trying rather hard, simultaneously, not to think of more plans involving Mihail and the ability he had used on Matt. It's about as effective as trying not to think about polar bears when someone tells you not to. "Joshua can reach most anywhere when he's cloning Spence's ability." Jax is relaxing happily into the rubbing, a faint shimmer of glow briefly growing around him and then fading away to leave behind only the intense heat he has been carrying all the past week. "Can be a bit stomach-turnin' of of a ride, but it's probably better'n bein' on a plane an' in airports for a day." /He/ has his own dose of worrying to add to the mix that, rather unreassuringly, is largely contemplating whether Hive would be happier dying surrounded by his biological family or his chosen one. "It might be good," Flicker acknowledges, but it's with a sharp twinge of pain in his features. "Getting to go home, see your family again before -- before." He pulls in a slow breath, shaking his head sharply. "Before surgery," he finishes /firmly/. Hive just /laughs/; it's a short rough bark of a sound, shaky and hitched. He turns over slowly, head tipped /back/ on Micah's lap now rather than lying face-down. The next thudding mental touch from him comes with assent -- though it's hard to tell exactly /which/ part of all the others' thoughts he is agreeing to. Making an appointment? Teleporting back to Thailand? Dying there? Maybe he is acceding to all of it. After this there's a questioning feel tap-tap-tapping in at Micah; it comes with a mental image of Mihal. And Matt. And slowly, a growing frown as the connection here -- /connects/. "S'better'n losin' a day there an' a day back in travel time. 'specially since airports an' planes can make y'sick, too, anyhow." Micah interprets the assent for appointment and travel plans. "I'll call in the mornin'. When we figure out how much time, we can poke at Joshua." He manages to keep both tone and expression light until that mental questioning cracks the shell. "Apologies, honey. I just ain't been able t'let go completely that there might be a way of workin' with his ability as /don't/ kill nobody else, neither. Some combination of healin' abilities or somethin'." A faint blush rises to his cheeks with his growing fluster. "S'a reason I ain't actually brought it up out loud so much." "Huh?" Jax looks up at the others in confusion, missing some of the mental chatter. The image of Mihail, though, shifts -- /some/ of his confusion into an uncertain frown. His shoulders tighten, slightly, but he says nothing. Hive says nothing, too. His expression pulls into a deeper frown. From him there is radio silence, mental transmissions pulling back and his teeth grinding as his eyes close. He relaxes again slowly, curling his hand up against Micah's leg but still saying nothing. Flicker studies the others, his arm curling across his chest in a half-hug. "An appointment. We'll start there." Micah's hand lifts from Jax's bellyrub just long enough to form a fist and circle over his heart. “I...didn't mean. I know. It ain't a thing that y'wanna... I wasn't gonna bring it up.” The blush rapidly seeks out redder hues as it ascends to his ears. “Appointment, right.” Jax shakes his head, lifting his hand to rest briefly over Micah's, not really halting the apology but certainly implying it is unnecessary. "Think we all kinda -- want to do whatever we /can/." When his hand falls again, it falls to settle over Hive's. "Yeah. We'll -- start there."