ArchivedLogs:Right Choices

Right Choices
Dramatis Personae Doug, Hive, Iolaus, Jane, Flicker	2014-03-08 '
Location <NYC> Home - Greenwich Village
Nestled into the heart of the Village, Home is an unobtrusive place, with an unobtrusive name to match. A nondescript storefront opens up into an equally nondescript cafe, plain tiled floors, an assortment of veneered tables with plain wooden chairs or booths with cracking vinyl benches. What it /does/ have to recommend it is the food, hearty solid breakfast and brunch served twenty-four hours a day, with a wide variety of menu to cater to specialized diets as well. Well-known to locals and little frequented by tourists, its friendly serving staff tend to remember their regulars, giving the place a warm feel that lives up to its name. As evening sets over the City, Home begins to gain a little bit of its regular crowd coming by for dinner. Or, as frequently happens at Home, for breakfast despite the late hour. It is not the most fashionable restaurant in this, one of the flashiest cities in the world - but it is hearty, good food, and loved by the locals for it. Perhaps that is why Iolaus has chosen to have a quiet dinner, off in a corner of the room with Jane sitting across from him. Menus are on the table in front of them, though neither of the two are looking at it, in a quiet conversation. "I just don't know what we're supposed to do, Jane. It's not a hospital, despite being pressed into service as one. We just don't have the staff for doing this kind of thing regularly. No surgeons, no anesthesiologists. Certainly not 24/7 nursing coverage, nevertheless medical coverage." Jane grunts, unsympathetic, as her arms cross over her chest. "Doesn't matter. What's the alternative? You find a way to make it work, or people die. They'll die anyway, so anything is better than nothing." Home is just getting two more in, for the dinnertime meal. Hive and Flicker make an /exhausted/ looking pair, today; Hive's as rail-thin as he has been, lately, unsteady on his feet and leaning on Flicker for support as they enter the cafe. Dressed shabbily in worn old canvas jacket, Cornell hoodie, frayed faded jeans, sneakers duct-taped together, he fits right in in Unfashionable places. Flicker, today, isn't looking much /better/. Exhausted and pale, eyes shadowed, but he's steady enough, hand on Hive's elbow as they are led to a table -- just by Iolaus and Jane's booth. He's dressed a little better, button-down, khakis, sweater vest under his black jacket. "You could," Hive's never had a problem with just /barging in/ to conversations, a habitual eavesdropper both aloud and mentally, "just turn people the fuck away like hospitals do. /That'll/ fix things, right?" Saturdays are nice, because they are a Day Off for Doug. Which means that he is actually taking some good advice and getting out of the damned apartment. Dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved shirt with the Tri-Force symbol on the chest under a grey hoodie, the blonde is remarkably tech-free as he comes through the door. Except for his phone, of course, which he's looking at with a grim sort of expression. The YouTube video he's watching of earlier events might be the cause of that, though, and he closes the app with a disgusted swipe of his thumb and retunring to the present. The teenager glances around as he waits for the hostess, spying Flicker and Hive almost immediately, followed by Iolaus and Jane. He lifts a hand as he approaches the table as well, worry flickering over his mind as he takes in the exhausted appearance of his neighbors. "Hey, guys," he says, offering a smile as he gets close. Iolaus and Jane get a nod. "Doc..." he narrows one eye at Jane, and wrinkles his nose. "I know we've met, but I'm afraid I don't recall your name." Jane's eyes flick up as the door does, positioned so that Iolaus' face is away from the door and hers towards. Hive and Flicker get a bland, disinterested look - not a threat - and Doug gets a few moments careful examination before she turns to pick up her menu. Iolaus, on the other hand, is much more interested, turning and waving the men over. "Hi, Hive. Hi, Flicker." He pauses for a second, examining the two. "You both look like shit." His voice is cheerful, at least, contradicting the concern that flits through his mind as he takes in Hive's skeletal appearance. << Rasheed better hurry up that surgery appointment. It doesn't take an oncologist to make a prognosis here. >> "Thanks for your help, today, Flicker. Speed was definitely important in making sure that we were able to take care of both of them. And it's always hit or miss whether ambulances will take mutants. More hit than miss, at least, for all the good it does when the hospitals won't take them." Iolaus lips thin and he nods at Hive, then at Jane. "Perhaps you're both right." The smile is back on his face a moment later as he turns to smile as Doug approaches. "Hello. It's good to see you again." Hive doesn't actually look up at Doug when he arrives, but familiar /minds/ tend to be easily recognizable; even as the other man is approaching he is nudging a spare seat out at their table with a foot. "Yo. Dude. Want to sit? I think they might have just started accumulating a /wait/." He's not actually looking at his menu; his trembling fingers fidget with one corner of it slowly. "Rasheed's tried, dude," he answers Iolaus evenly as well. "I told him not yet." Flicker tenses slightly at this, but he gives a warm smile to Iolaus and Doug and Jane all. "Hi, Doug. Hi, sir. -- I mean. Could you /change/ some of your facilities? You won't have a hospital license but what are they going to do? Tell you to let people die on the streets when the other hospitals won't /take/ them, either? You may as well have some proper place to treat them." His cheeks color faintly at the thanks. "It's what I do." "Oh, hey, yeah," Doug says at the offer to sit, sliding into the chair and shrugging off his hoodie. Iolaus and Flicker get a smile, too, although the teenager is frettingly considering Hive's appearance and trying to piece together what few clues he has about his condition. Outwardly, he reaches for a menu as he listens, frowning slightly. "Are you guys talking about the clinic?" he verifies, his concern branching to this new concern. "Is Jax going to be all right?" His gaze flicks between the other four, lingering on Hive. << Are /you/? >> "Yeah. If I had the money, I'd be happy to have the construction done, hire the staff, and pay the lawyers to defend us against the inevitable investigation. Because I'm sure the health department doesn't give much of a damn what they're taking hold of if they can use it to beat us." Iolaus shakes his head. "It would be very convenient for me to win the Powerball, is what I'm saying." There's a low laugh in his voice and a flash of a smile. "But, trust me, I know those odds better than most people, and they aren't very good." Iolaus scoots further into the booth to make room, pressing against the wall. "But, I am ever hopeful. I'm sure we'll think up something. Worst comes to worst, we have been managing as we are. People will come, and we'll take care of them the best we can. Needs must, as they say." << Instead of turning people away from the hospitals, I take you to one tonight? You shouldn't delay, Hive. Rasheed is right. >> "Well. If you do need any new construction handled," Hive offers with a small twitch of smile, "just so happens I have a /fuckton/ of medical bills I'm going to need to pay somehow. I am always taking clients." "Speaking of which," Flicker adds thoughtfully, looking over at Jane, "what does it take to work for you?" "Insanity," Hive answers immediately. He drops his hands into his lap, slouching down lower in his seat. "Jax is going to be fine. I'm sure he's hurting like fuck but he'll recover." His teeth grind slowly at Doug's unspoken other question, and he exhales sharply. "No. Maybe. I don't fucking know. And yeah, the Clinic. Flicker took Jax there today but. It's shitty to keep dropping people on them who need /surgery/. -- And I don't have a whole lot of," he adds through his grinding teeth to Iolaus, "choice there's /shit/ I need to do that I can't do with fucking. Brain damage." "I don't know that it's insane to want to help people doing good work," Doug offers helpfully, sitting up in his chair. "It might be risky, but what isn't, these days?" That's a somber sort of thought that silences him, and he gazes down at the formica top of the table with a bit of discomfort. He brightens a bit at the assurance that Jax will be fine, exhaling as if he'd been holding his breath. Which he might have been. "That's good," he says lifting the menu and scanning it briefly. "About Jax. Maybe not so much about you." He frowns over at Hive, and concern flares again, this time solely for the telepath. The curiosity about the shit he has to do is just under the surface of that, though. "Hive, if you're sick enough that two doctors are recommending that you not put it off...." He frowns. "I don't know if anything else could be more important than your life, dude." "There's a difference between being in a country at war and being on the front lines." Jane's voice is as sharp as ever as she looks up from her menu to give Flicker another once over. "It takes the courage to run forward when everyone else is running away, and the skill to defend yourselves and others when all the odds are against you." Her chin raises slightly, proudly. "And a bit of insanity certainly doesn't hurt." Iolaus murmurs, causing Jane to give him a firey glare. "I have the specifications drawn up on my computer at work, but I haven't sent them along to you yet because /you have more important things on your plate./" The doctor fixes Hive with his eyes, fingers drumming on the table as he abruptly stops talking. Out loud, at least. << I've seen your chart, Hive. Brain damage is the least of your problems if you keep delaying. You should have been in surgery already, nevertheless weeks from now. I don't know what you need to do, but you /do/ have a choice. >> "Fuck you woman," Hive answers with an amused /snort/, "you've goddamn /been/ in the fucking trenches with this man, don't you dare fucking sit there and look at his scars and feed him that line with that smug-ass look. You know /goddamn fucking well/ what kind of courage he's --" "Hive." Flicker cuts in here with a faint flush in his cheeks, one scarred hand lifting to touch the pitted side of his face. "I mean more in terms of, like, a job application. Process." Hive doesn't look very mollified; his eyes sweep over Flicker's face at that small touch, and then look back to his menu. "A whole /crapton/ of other people's lives." He gives Doug this answer with another slow grind of teeth. "And when they're seen to, I'll get my fucking brain cut open. But not before then. -- Still could use the work, though." He lifts his hand, skimming it over the fleecy-soft hat that is pulled down over his ears. "It's insane," he tells Doug with a sharp grin, "to run into the fire when everyone else is running away. But none of us have ever been blessed with an abundance of /sanity/." Doug frowns over at Jane when she responds to Flicker, and he pokes his tongue into the corner of his mouth as he fights the urge to say...what Hive is saying, more or less. He offers the woman a hard look, and turns back down to his menu only to look back up at Hive's explanation. His mouth works silently for a long moment, his brain unable to actually reconcile his concern with his friend with the logic of what his friend is saying. Finally, he exhales, and shakes his head as he returns to studying his menu. "Well, I hope you're making the right choice," he says. "I know it's kind of selfish, but I'd rather have you healthy than heroic." Hive's annoyance doesn't seem to phase Jane at all. A brief look of puzzlement and then her face returns back to its neutral, bored expression. "It's different when it's work." She gives a little shrug and looks at Flicker as she extends the card. "If you're interested, just send me an email." Reaching into her pocket for a wallet, she pulls a business card out. "There's paperwork and everything, but Hive's right. I've already seen the only interview that matters." "You can't save anyone if you don't save yourself," Iolaus says, eyeing Hive evenly. "And you'll have the work, after your surgery is done. I'm not about to trust it to anyone else, am I? Your architecture did play a role in saving the entire world; with my luck, it'll be declared a historic property and then it'll be even /more/ money to do the construction on it." His voice is light and teasing. "And I also can't save anyone if I'm drooling on the floor becuase I just had my fucking /brain/ cut open. I've talked to Toure a /long/-ass fucking time, I know /really/ fucking well what recovery time is going to look like -- in the /best/-case scenario where nothing goes wrong. And there's a million and two things that could go wrong and then it's even fucking longer and in all that time people are going to be godamn dying." Hive's mouth clamps shut tight as a waitress comes over to take their order; she clearly knows them well, greeting Hive with a familiar squeeze on the shoulder and a warm smile that is undimmed by his return scowl. << -- And my fucking team would be /slaughtered/, >> thuds into the others' minds, continuing the line of conversation silently now out of respect for the waitress. Unfortunately for his companion's /brains/. Flicker winces, but smiles up at the woman. "Hey, Bria. How're you doing?" His voice is warm; for himself he orders a hot chocolate and an omelette (mushrooms, spinach, gouda, tomatoes, scallion) and a side of grits. And orders eggs Florentine and a large coffee for Hive without consulting the telepath -- at least not consulting him /aloud/. "Sometimes," he adds a little sadly to Doug, "there's not really any right choices." He leans over to take the card from Jane with a nod of thanks. Doug winces at Hive's tone, both verbal and mental, and presses his lips together firmly. He doesn't really agree, but he empathizes enough to keep his opinion (mostly) to himself. Mostly because of the logic, and the way it overrules his own objection. He smiles at the waitress as well, albeit it not as bright as Flicker's, and wait to place his own order for a Denver scramble and a plate of home fries along with a cup of coffee. Flicker's comment gets another, sad, smile. "Yeah, I guess there aren't," he says, returning his menu to the holder. "It'd be nice if choices could be clear, for once." He narrows his eyes. "Although that probably is expecting a bit much from the universe." Iolaus winces, too, and Jane's frown deepens. "Expecting a lot," Iolaus adds, softly. "And even when our choices are clear, it doesn't necessarily make them any easier." He glances over to Doug for a moment before picking up his menu and paging through it. A few moments later, he orders blueberry pancakes, and a frappe. He pauses for a moment, then gives the waitress a grin. "A milkshake, even." Jane gets a black coffee and scrambled eggs. She turns to look at Hive, giving him an implacable look. << Don't forget, I'll be right there to get slaughtered too. >> Hive exhales heavily as Bria takes their orders and heads back off. "I don't know. The choice seems pretty fucking clear to me. My team needs me. It doesn't get a whole lot clearer." His hand lifts, fingertips kneading slowly at the side of his head. "Because nobody's gorram -- getting slaughtered on my watch. Fucking -- tumor can goddamn /wait/." Flicker's jaw tightens, his eyes turning down to the table. His fingers fidget restlessly with his napkin-wrapped bundle of silverware. "It doesn't understand waiting, though, man." But he doesn't sound like he's arguing so much as just tired. "I don't think the universe understands waiting." Doug looks over at Iolaus when he chimes in, and his smile for the older man is brief and wan. "True," he murmurs, and leans back in his chair to watch Hive with a sinking sort of loss beginning to form in his brain in spite of his attempts to quash it. "I don't know that it's fair to apply Star Trek logic in this case," he says slowly. He's treading lightly, or trying to. "I mean, like Flicker says, the tumor doesn't give a shit about what you're needed for. It just cares about eating your brain, dude." He raises an eyebrow. "You didn't stay safe from zombies to have your brain eaten up from the inside." Iolaus' lips press together into a thin line as he gives Hive a patient look. No pun intended. << Alright. I'll talk to Rasheed. Maybe we'll be able to come up with something to help buy you some time before you go under the knife. God knows we owe you one, considering what you are taking a break /for/. >> He looks down at the table for a moment, drumming his fingers along the table. "Well. How about that weather?" he asks, faintly, half to himself. Hive shivers at the mention of zombies, briefly closing his eyes as his thin shoulders tighten in on themselves. "I didn't -- stay safe from --" His brow furrows, face a little paler. His hand drops from his temple to rest shaking on the table. Flicker reaches over to curl his fingers over Hive's, silently. His other hand still fidgets with his napkin twitchily. "I just -- I don't know how to -- we barely fucking pull these off even /when/ --" Hive quiets, his teeth grinding slowly as he just sinks lower down in his chair. "-- heard it might hit sixty by Tuesday." Flicker says this with a very wry smile. "Then snow Thursday," Hive adds with a snort, eyes squeezing shut. Doug frowns at Hive's response, but it fades as the subject changes. His smile looks a lot like Flicker's as he eases back in his chair. "Snow," he echoes with a small pull of his mouth. "Well, /that/ will be a refreshing change of pace."