ArchivedLogs:Stress Test

Stress Test
Dramatis Personae Iolaus, Hive, Micah, Alec	10 February 2014 Getting Hive to the doctor...and actually /seen/ by the doctor...
Location <NYC> The Mendel Clinic - Lower East Side
With its sharp crystalline edges and sleek lines knifing up into the sky, this building is one of the most /distinctive/ new additions to the neighborhood. An angular structure in glass and steel, the tall tower has a deceptively slender look to it that is belied by the heavy security as soon as you enter the doors. The front doors are frosted with the Clinic's logo -- a rising sun over a rod of Asclepius -- a motif echoed in many places throughout the building. Visitors to the clinic must first pass through a small mantrap, guarded by some of the Clinic's security guards; once they make it through the metal detector and airlock's double doors they emerge into the much more hospitable lobby. With dark wood floors underneath and comfortable black and red couches at its edges, the high windows give the room an airy feel. A bank of elevators to one side carry visitors to the many destination floors, while the wide welcome desk at the other side is manned by a security guard ready to help point visitors in the right direction. Sunday afternoons at the clinic tend to be on the quiet side; technically closed for business, the administrative staff are gone, leaving only a skeleton crew of guards and the occasional researcher tending to their experiments. With the trees and the tropical vines twining over the entrance to the clinic - and, perhaps more importantly, over the rest of the city - even the few researchers have mostly abandoned their posts except for the most minimal amount of tending to go gawk, theorize, or just temporarily turn tourist as they walk around the newly transformed city. Mostly is not completely, however. Inside the quiet building’s center, Iolaus sits in his office going over some paperwork with a frown on his face. Financial statements of all sorts litter the table in front of him, a few with large headers like “Donation Projections”, “Grant Funding”, and “Proposed Expansion.” The doctor leans back in his chair, holding this last in his hand as he taps a pen against his teeth. A glance down to his phone, as if expecting it to ring, and then back to the paper. Hive does not look happy to be here. He has, at some points this weekend, looked borderline /ecstatic/ about the trees. But today he’s moping his way through the tunnel they form, feet scuffing along the sidewalk in a manner that makes it all too clear just how every single pair of his jeans gets so /very/ frayed at their hems, hands shoved in the pockets of his coat, shoulders hunched up, head ducked under the hood of his Grumpy Bear hoodie. He texts Io at the front door. And kiiind of knocks, in that he thuds the toe of his boot against the very solid glass. Then scowls at it as he waits for Alec to let them in. His wordless grunt will have to pass for greeting; he holds the door open for Micah with a heel as they pass inside. Scowls his way through security, too. << Where’s Io? >> This sounds unhappy, too, in its uncomfortable-tense hammer into Alec’s mind, his pockets shifting restlessly as his fingers clench and unclench into fists. The tropical foliage seems no worse for wear with the wintry mix (and promise of worse) weather in the city this weekend. Micah, on the other hand, is well-equipped just to deal with it. He's winter-ready from head to toe: bright orange Jayne hat, candy corn striped scarf, two sets of gloves, olive puffy coat, and Batsignal hoodie worn over his Reading Rainbow-dash T-shirt, pale blue henley, rainbow-patched jeans, and hiking boots. His arms are tucked into a pair of neon orange forearm crutches, which he is using to negotiate the slick sidewalks. His brow is furrowed as he walks alongside Hive, concerned at the other man's mood, no matter how /expected/ the little personal storm cloud is. Reaching aside before they get to the door, he plucks a large, brilliant orange-and-yellow flower from a longer stem. This he tucks into the side of Hive's hood as he passes through the door inside. He pauses first to wrap his crutches into their holster once he is indoors, then to remove his warm wool winter accessories and stuff them in his pockets. “Hi, Alec,” he greets where Hive fails to, sparing a moment to wave between everything else busying his hands. Alec is slow to look up from his book at the soft thud of foot against glass, and just as slow to reach for the buzzer to unlock the door. Delicate fingers turn down the swells of classical music - Rachmaninoff’s No. 2 - and puts the book down. His expression is even to match Hive’s, though when the other man’s words rip through his mind, those fingers splay out to rub at his temple. “Hello. Iolaus is expecting you. I’ll call him and let him know that you’re here; go on and go right in to the second floor waiting room.” The guard’s hand reaches to pick up the phone, dialing the number even as his mind begins to wander back to the strains of music, fingers resting on the keyboard in his mind, stroking the keys delicately. Hive just grunts at Alex’s response, slouching down further and turning aside to start towards the stairs, initially. He reconsiders halfway there, redirecting to head instead to the elevators. Which he scowls at, as well. “-- How’d this morning go.” He rolls his eyes upwards, slowly extracting a hand from a pocket to lift it towards the flower in his hood. He doesn’t remove it. Just brushing fingertips against the petals with a sharp snort, and then leaves it where Micah tucked it. He crams his hand back into his pocket as the elevator arrives, waiting for the other man to join him before jabbing the button for the second floor and slumping against the side railing as though even this much walking has been an effort. In his pockets, his fingers still clench and unclench. “Thanks, hon,” Micah offers to the guard before following Hive off. Once in the elevator, he wraps an arm around the other man's shoulders. “It's gonna be okay. I'm gonna be right here the whole time, alright?” He just nods at Hive's other question at first. “The guy got a hit on all of 'em from the objects we brought. It looks like they /are/ all alive. Anole...was just sleepin'. Won't know more 'til he gets his full drawin' done. Horus...prob'ly someone has 'im. He's in some kinda cage. Matt...looked like what we expected. Prob'ly the labs.” His teeth dig hard into his lower lip for a moment. “But /alive/. All of 'em looked /alive/. An' we'll have a bigger picture quite /literally/ for all of 'em in a few days' time.” The arm around Hive's shoulders tightens in a reassuring squeeze. “It's just Io, hon. Y'know 'im. An' I'll be right here.” Hive leans into Micah’s touch at the arm around his shoulders, bony weight shifting up into Micah’s gratefully. “Fuck. All alive?” He sounds more startled by this, initially, than even relieved, eyes widening and his head lifting slightly out of its droop. The further clarifications, though, earn a sharp /prickle/ of mental energy. Sharpest and angriest at the mention of Horus, needling painfully up against Micah’s mind as the elevator doors slide back open. Hive ignores them, hand leaving his pocket only to drop back against the railing and clench against it. << -- Going to kill some motherfucker. >> At least this sudden burst of /anger/ seems enough to propel him more or less upright, pushing away from the elevator wall. But not enough to propel him actively out the door. He glares out into the empty waiting room with narrowed eyes. “Not just Io s’a fucking --” His mind finishes this for him, not in words but mental imagery; bright examination-room lights, segmented tables to sit on that would look pretty standard-typical if not for the very heavy-duty restraints at their sides. Micah curls his arm more firmly around Hive, taking what weight the other man shifts onto him. “Yes. They sure...all looked alive. The guy didn't even think his power would /work/ on someone who wasn't. No...energy t'sense, or whatever.” At the sharp push into his mind, his fingers tighten a bit more than he intends around Hive's arm. “I know. I know. That anyone is hurtin' any of 'em. Likely /all/ of 'em. S'been makin' me feel a little sick. But /alive/. An' we might be able t'do somethin' about it soon enough.” Micah leans in to rest his forehead against the top of Hive's head. << It ain't like that out here, hon, there's... >> He includes an image of a paediatrician's office. Colourfully decorated with an underwater theme, tropical fish painted all over the walls. A nurse in Minnie Mouse scrubs, smiling. Lights bright but not glaring. No evidence of restraints. << I know it's hard t'get...anythin' even resemblin' past the other thing. But this isn't like that. An' it's /Io/... >> “An' I'm here, okay? Y'wanna ride the elevator for awhile, or are y'ready t'try the waitin' room for a little bit?” Hive’s breathing quickens slightly at the tightening of Micah’s fingers, mental prickling sharpening, too. “-- do something about it.” His tone is a little bit hollow, mouth briefly pulling up into the ghost of a smile. His head leans back up against Micah’s. “People in cages again means all of us suiting up to break them /out/. And that means --” There’s a squeeze of mental pressure in at Micah’s mind, Hive’s very familiar mental grip pressing in. Digging gripping claws that start to sink into a harder clamp, Hive’s (anxiouspanickyworriedsick) feelings faintly pressing in along with it. << -- soon enough. >> His slouch deepens, and he slumps right /back/ against the wall, slowly starting to lower in a sink down to the floor as the elevator doors slide back closed. The elevator doesn’t /go/ anywhere, just yet, not exactly in high demand today. “-- I don’t think I’m going to have a long wait. We’re the only people here.” As soon as Micah realises what he's doing, his fingers relax again. << Sorry. >> He bites his lip against the brain-stabbing instead. “We don't even know...if /anyone/ has Anole. An' Horus's cage didn't...it didn't look like the ones folks described at the labs. An' Shane said Prometheus was...done with 'im before. I don't think it's them. It might just be...I dunno. Some guy. I...I actually don't wanna speculate; I can think of too many awful things. But...prob'ly not as big a deal as the labs. But /Matt/. Yeah, that's likely t'be a /thing/ again. All the more reason t'get you /better/, yeah?” Micah supports Hive firmly as he slides to the floor, moving down with the telepath to sit next to him. His mind doesn't resist Hive's intrusions until they reach that familiar feeling of trying to /connect/. Then he nudges back, gently. Matter-of-fact. Like redirecting a puppy that tries to move into a room where it shouldn't be. “That was how we planned it, yeah. If we need t'wait here, that's fine. Io's...fully aware that this isn't easy for you. Alec let 'im know we were here, so he'll know it's just takin' some time t'get ready t'be there, I'm sure.” “... Who’d want Horus?” Hive frowns, slumping down onto the floor and letting his head thud back against the wall. “I mean seriously he makes an ugly-ass bird the fuck would you do with him.” His mental claws tighten for a moment almost petulantly against that nudging, and then withdraw, rather easy to redirect without the force of other minds bolstering them. He lifts his hand instead, scrubbing fingers through his hair, tracing a familiar path along the side of his head. His head tips to the side, resting up against Micah’s shoulder. For a while -- a very long while, really -- he is silent, just sitting in the quiet elevator as it decides to return to its home floor. His eyes close, weight shifting to curl in slowly against the other man. “... so what if it is something?” “Are you kiddin'? Horus is adorable...an' impressive. I dunno. An exotic bird collector? Don't get more exotic than a bird /person/. I've...prob'ly read too many sci-fi novels, though, it just...takes a body that direction. A batty old wildlife rehabber who thinks they're actually helpin'? Could be...any number of things. I really...don't wanna think about it too much. Don't help nothin'. We got somebody as can give us better answers now.” Micah sighs, pulling Hive over to him. He plucks the flower from the hood to tuck it behind the other man's ear instead. Then takes over running fingers through his hair, massaging gently at his scalp. “Y'mean with you? Then...we have somethin' t'work with. But just like the thing with Horus. Don't do no good t'sit an' fret an' speculate when we got somebody as can give us better answers waitin' on us. Can sit an' work out things that'll help y'to go in there. But speculatin'...prob'ly only'll make things worse.” The arm around Hive's shoulders squeezes in a half-hug as the other hand continues its steady rubbing at Hive's head. “I'm gonna be here the whole time. If there's somethin' y'need t'talk about now, I'm listenin'. Okay? Whatever helps.” Hive just scowls at the thought of collecting Horus, shoulders tensing uncomfortably and an acknowledging grunt uncomfortably just accepting these potential answers. His teeth clench, breaths more strained now as they come faintly whistling through them. There’s another uncomfortably rippling prickle of mental energy, sharp-tense and angry, but it soon subsides. He relaxes -- /somewhat/, at least, tipping his head up into the touch though his shoulders are still clenched tight. And after this there is just silence; Hive’s eyes stay closed a good few minutes longer, just accepting the massaging with strained breathing slowly evening out into slower steadier ones as his jaw unclenches. Eventually, reluctantly, he stands. “Guess there’s nothing,” he mutters, hands shoved into his pockets once more. He punches the button for the second floor with a tap of his elbow, teeth grinding slow for the short ride up to the second floor. This time, he actually gets out into the waiting room. With a kind of /impatient/-abrasive: << YO. >> given to Iolaus in his office, prickling hard and sharp and rough across the surface of the doctor’s mind like the world’s most /jarring/ doorbell. Micah stays right where he is, maintaining his hold on Hive and the gentle touch at the other man's scalp. “Okay, honey. This is why I didn't wanna speculate. Let's...think about it later. When we've got our picture t'work with. In the meantime, this is about helpin' /you/. One thing at a time. Just...breathe deep an' slow.” He works himself up to stand as Hive does, keeping his arm around the telepath but dropping the hand from his head. << It's okay, hon. I'm here. Io's a friend. Just keep breathin' deep an' slow. We'll take it as slow as y'need. >> In his office, Iolaus has already got the phone call from the front desk and is pulling his paperwork into some kind of shape even as he stands up to get ready. “Hive, Hive, Hive,” he mutters to himself, drumming his fingers on the surface of the table as he stacks the papers into neat piles. They become not so neat as Hive announces his presence in his own way, jumping with surprise and spilling some of the papers on top of each other. << Has anyone told you about this wonderful invention of the phone? >> Iolaus replies, mind-voice both dry and amused. << I’ll be right out. >> Sure enough, he is stepping out into the waiting room a few moments later, raising a hand in a gesture of hello. “Hiya, Hive. Hiya, Micah.” The latter man gets a little look of surprise and a warm smile. << An escort? >> The doctor doesn’t look much like a professional today; he looks a bit more ready for the bar than for the hospital in a pair of black jeans that hug to him, and a v-neck grey-black shirt with sleeves cut just dirtily enough to look expensive. Or shabby, depending on your view. “How are you guys doing?” << The fuck is a phone. >> This reply goes to both Iolaus and Micah, even if Micah could not hear Iolaus’s half of the mental conversation. << S’what I use to read news and keep up with my webcomics, right? >> Hive’s hands stay in his pockets as Iolaus emerges, shoulders tightening further within his heavy coat and posture leaning just a little closer to Micah. “He’s staying.” It sounds a little bit defensive. His pockets bulge out a little as his fingers curl back into fists. He shrugs, quick and a little twitchy. “Guess if I was doing anything but shitty I wouldn’t be here.” His muscles don’t really have much tenser they’re able to /get/, as wired as he already is, but there’s a small prickle of mental energy that ripples uncomfortably against Micah and Iolaus’s minds. “We doing this, then?” "Hello, Iolaus," Micah greets brightly before adopting a look of confusion. "Do...you need a phone...what?" He shakes his head, letting the topic just slide as the others move on. His arm holds onto Hive a little tighter with that lean. "Moral support," he explains lightly. "Considerin', y'know?" Hopefully that conveys enough the care that needs to be taken without further elaboration. His hand squeezes gently against Hive's shoulder. "Take it as slow as y'need, hon." “Why don’t we start here?” Iolaus says, gesturing for the couches. “It’s a bit more… comfortable,” he says, watching Hive’s posture. << And looks a bit less like a doctor’s office. >> The doctor steps over to sink down on one of the chairs, thoughts briefly turning to a bar later before his attention refocuses on Hive. “I’m assuming you’re not exactly here for a check-up, so, why don’t you tell me what’s going on, Hive? I’ll skip the background questions for now and give them to you on paper that you can fill out and send back to me.” Iolaus laces his hands in his lap, drumming his fingers on each hands. << That way, maybe you won’t rip my head off. >> Hive exhales heavy and noticeably relieved at the invitation to the couches rather than back into the exam rooms, heading back to sit on a couch with one leg curled up beneath himself and the other pulled up onto the couch, knee crooked towards his chest. He shrugs out of his coat, finally -- beneath, his sweatshirt sits far too baggy on a frame grown near-skeletal. He drops the coat onto the back of the couch and curls one hand down around his knee, fingers curling hard against his jeans. “I’m here because Jax said I had to be here.” He sounds /thrilled/ about it, really. His other hand starts picking with jittery-quick motions at the frayed hem of his jeans. “Because my head’s been kind of fucked up ever since --” He trails off, eyes narrowing down onto the floor. “Dude, I don’t -- rip off fucking heads, man, that’s not --” His foot slides down to thump heavily onto the floor with a sharp hiss, hand lifting from his knee to rub hard at his temple. “Ngh. I shouldn’t fucking be here. S’even more of a turn-off to hear what your doctor is thinking than what your lover is.” "Thanks, that'd...prob'ly be better," Micah replies of starting in the waiting area. He stays quiet to let Hive answer questions, face betraying some disappointment in Hive's answers and some confusion over the whole ripping off heads thing. "Y'should be here, hon. He needs t'know 'bout the hardware in your head. An' the headaches an' the hands shakin' an' the trouble thinkin' or completin' sentences." This is all spoken softly to Hive, waiting on the other man to provide his own answers--real ones--to the doctor. << Both would be worse. Or maybe better. Could find out. >> Iolaus’ smile looks affectionate even as he looks a little bit embarrassed and he shakes his head. “Remind me to give him a raise, because you look like shit.” << Not been eating, looks like, as well. Neurological, clearly, but that’s to be expected, almost. >> Iolaus glances to Micah and then back to Hive. “The hardware in your head?” A pause and the doctor tilts his head to one side. “One of those Prometheus chips that Rasheed - Doctor Toure - was removing from people after one of the last raids?” << God knows what that would do if it was going haywire. >> “Have you been having seizures? Losing time, or finding yourself suddenly on the floor when you weren’t before?” Hive exhales sharply, his eyes scrunching up as he draws his knee back up towards his chest again. His knuckles dig in towards his temple. His other hand plucks at the frayed edges of his jeans, head thunking down against his knee with a sharp disgruntled noise. His expression stays hidden behind his thighs, but it’s easy to hear his teeth grinding. “Yeah. Same chips. Well, mine’s older than most of the ones Toure’s been dealing with. One of the earliest models. Like a test run I guess.” He shrugs a shoulder in a quick jerk. His teeth grind again in a hard crrrrrk of sound. “Okay. I’m here -- I’ve been having -- having -- having --” His shoulders tighten again, and for a moment he struggles, eventually giving up on words and just pushing /information/ into Iolaus and Micah’s minds. It’s uncomfortable, a heavy mental pressure that crushes in in a sudden glut of infodump. The constant agonizing stab of headaches that never seem to let up. The steadily increasing difficulty he’s been having in controlling his muscles -- how much harder simple tasks like using his mouse or lighting a cigarette or walking up stairs have gotten with how badly his hands tremble or shaky his legs feel. How reliant he’s been getting on communicating like this! When words keep escaping him. It’s when he realizes this last one that he snorts, and slowly tries to speak again. “-- time’s fucked up,” he agrees, slowly. “Think I just --” His teeth grind again. “Just.” Crrrrk. “Just space out a lot.” He flicks strands of denim onto the floor that he’s plucked from his jeans, dropping his hand to rest, shaky, against the couch cushion. “And my memory lately’s been for -- shit too.” Micah holds Hive a little tighter, again just letting him talk once he gets started. He cringes at the mental pressure, perhaps even more so at the fact that Hive is deliberately resorting to the mental speech again. "Needin' t'sleep a lot, too, but not bein' rested after. An' never seems t'finish food anymore." One hand rubs gently at Hive's back. When the other man’s mind slams into him, Iolaus’ hands grip tight into the slick pleather of the chair. His eyes close as images not his own flit through his mind, experiencing them even as he tries to catalogue and sort them. When the images flicker to a stop, Iolaus lets out a long, unsteady breath and he blinks several times as he turns to look at Hive. << Ow. >> “Well, that’s certainly a lot more effective way to gather a patient history than normal,” Iolaus says, giving Hive a smile with just a trace of wryness. << If a bit more painful than the usual. >> His fingers tap at the chair, working out the marks from his nails. “Certainly sounds neurological, clearly. And you have a chip inside your head, right? No MRI then. I’d like to get a CT scan, then, and maybe a PET scan as well. And some blood work.” A pause, and Iolaus drums his fingers out on the chair once. “And I’d also like your permission to contact Dr. Toure to see if he’d be willing to consult. I think I know what he’d like from the PET scan, but he’d be a great asset on this case; both as a neurologist and someone with some experience with these chips. I’m not sure that they’re causing you any problems, but it’s a good jumping off point.” Hive shifts his weight slightly to the side, leaning into Micah’s hold. “Chip. Yeah.” He lifts his head -- not much, just enough to pull his face away from where it’s hidden against his jeans and rest his chin against his knees insead. “Fuck you,” he says, another uncomfortable ripple of energy prickling against the other men’s minds. “The hell do I want to see /more/ doctor for. This bullshit’s enough for me.” His teeth grind slowly. “Can scan what you want to scan, though,” he agrees, very grudgingly. “/Hive/,” Micah whispers, though firmly, to the other man. “They're physicians, not oracles. They've gotta run tests. An' sometimes y'need a specialist t'know which ones an' how t'interpret 'em. You've got a neurological problem; a neurologist is the best person to answer it. Io's not a neurologist. An' doctors need your permission just t'talk to /each other/ about you, okay?” His arms give another squeeze, hand continuing to trace swirling patterns on Hive's back. “Tests are good. But it'd be better if y'let 'im /talk/ t'Dr. Toure about 'em, too. Make sure they're gettin' the right ones done. Please? At least make the trip worth the stress it's put y'through bein' here by gettin' good information out of it.” Iolaus doesn’t particularly seem to be bothered by the swears - on the contrary, he actually smiles a little bit. “I think I can avoid having Doctor Toure to talk to you directly, if you’d prefer. I can give him a call and relay the details over the phone. He can work with me, and you don’t even have to see his face.” << For his sake more than yours. >> Iolaus probably doesn’t intend for Hive to hear this last bit. “When was the last time you ate? We need to make sure you haven’t eaten for a few hours before the scan.” Iolaus follows up, quickly. “If you have recently, we’ll just draw some blood and I’ll run down to the lab to process it myself while you relax, and then we’ll have time to wait for you to digest.” “Khhh.” Hive’s hiss is sharp and annoyed; his hand lifts to dig knuckles hard against his temple. The abrupt scrubbing motion knocks Micah’s flower out from where it’s been tucked behind his ear. “/Fine/. Talk to him.” His lips curl up into a thin smile. “Oh, don’t worry, it’s. Usually been a long-ass time since I’ve eaten.” His arm drops, curling around his shin tight. The smile fades again. “-- relax.” He echoes this with a snort. “Right. Can we just. Do. Whatever you -- ” His eyes fix off towards the empty receptionist’s desk across the waiting room, hand shaking against his shin. “Thank you.” Micah looks, somehow, both worried and relieved at Hive's mention of not having eaten. At least the tests can be done now without having to convince him through a separate trip? “We'll get you somethin' t'eat after. Whatever...you'll actually eat. Okay?” He keeps up his tight hold for lack of a better idea of what to do. “Alright. Let’s hop in the back for a few minutes so I can give you a quick once over and get some blood, and then we’ll head down to radiology to get the scan done. It’ll take a bit to get the stuff we need for the PET shipped over here anyway.” << If I can badger them to sending it on a Sunday. I’ll just have to… I dunno. Yell. Bribe. Something. >> Iolaus stands up and gestures towards the back, even as he begins to head that way. “Shouldn’t take long. Come on back.” The doctor turns and walks to the doors, holding it open for the two men before leading them to an exam room. “Go ahead and sit down,” Iolaus says, as he steps to the sink to wash his hands and pull on a pair of gloves. “Oddly,” Hive leans back into Micah’s touch, brows furrowing into a deep frown, “not really -- hungry.” He leans down to pick up the fallen flower, tucking it now behind Micah’s ear. His teeth grind again when Iolaus gestures him into the back, tensing all over again. “Right.” He doesn’t move. He leans more heavily into Micah, tensed shoulders trembling and his fingers curling hard against his shin. Eventually his leg slides out from under him, boot thudding down onto the floor. He rises slowly, a little unsteadily, dragging his coat off the back of the couch and balling it up against his chest. His feet scuff heavily against the floor as he follows Iolaus back. Back, but not into the exam room -- in the doorway he just stops frozen, teeth clenching and grinding again heavily. His breathing grows more strained, fingers clenching hard into the jacket. His eyes flick around the room, darting from Iolaus to the rest of the room in rapid motions. Quick and silent, save for the increasingly panicked quality of his too-fast breaths. Micah nods acknowledgement of Io's plan, managing a small smile as Hive repurposes the flower. He assists the telepath with gathering his things, keeping one hand on his back all the while. Feeling the increased tension and quickening breath, he drops his coat on the floor and moves in front of Hive, one hand on each of the other man's shoulders. He tips his head forward against Hive's forehead, then pulls back just enough to let the other man see his eyes. “Hive, hold on for a second. Look at me. I'm gonna be right here the whole time. It's only Io. It's only an office.” His gaze flicks to Hive's tightening fists before looking back to his eyes. “Okay. I want you to tighten your hands and take a deep breath in at the same time. Then when I say, relax your hands and breathe out. An' we're gonna do that five times, okay? Tighten hands. Breathe in. Relax. Breathe out.” “Why don’t you leave the door open?” Iolaus suggests, standing on the other side of the room and watching Hive carefully. “That way you can feel like you’re not trapped. If it makes you feel better, you can just think I’m finally managing to get you naked.” The doctor jokes, with a small smile. << Admittedly, this wasn’t exactly what I had in mind, but. >> “I’ll tell you what I’m going to do at every step, and if you want me to stop, I will, immediately. To start, I just want to do a very simple physical exam. Just feel around your head first and neck, then take a listen to your lungs and heart. Alright?” << Patient is physically uncomfortable and appears distressed… >> A quiet mental monologue begins, as if he was writing out notes on the visit already. Hive’s eyes screw up tight, fingers clenching and unclenching into his coat. His head drops in against Micah’s, eyes opening again when the other man pulls back. His eyes don’t immediately fix on Micah’s, jumping around the room restlessly. Hard mental claws flex outward, sinking in sharply against Iolaus’s mind, against Micah’s, clamping down in a vicelike squeeze as his eyes slowly shift back to Micah. “-- I don’t -- I can’t --” He squeezes his hands into tight fists, drawing in a breath. The clamp of mental energy squeezes in tight, too, bringing with it a distant-quiet echo of his current sick swell of panic. He tightens his hands. Breathes in. Relaxes them. Breathes out. “Hey...hey...” Micah moves one hand to Hive's chin, very gently turning him to face him directly. At the mental clawing, he winces slightly, nudges back at Hive's mind as if it were a cat that needed to be pushed off from getting fur all over one's dress pants. He keeps up the breathing instruction through five repetitions. “Five more. With the last one we're gonna relax and then move into the room. You're /stronger/ than this, Hive. It's just a room. You can do it.” He nudges again at the clamping down, then resumes. “Tighten hands. Breathe in. Relax. Breathe out.” Five times. “Okay, here we go.” Then he gently leads Hive forward, or attempts to do so. Almost more with /intention/ than with any physical pull. Iolaus drags in a sharp breath and freezes as he feels those claws sink down on his mind. His eyes close and he shrinks back against the wall slightly, reflexively, mind and body both stilling for a few moments. << Easy, Hive. Easy. I’m not going to hurt you. You can feel me, hear what I’m thinking, what I’m planning. Nothing bad there. Not going to hurt you in any way, alright? >> Iolaus opens his eyes and looks at the other man. << The worst thing in my mind for you is probably a whole lot of gay porn and thinking you’re kinda hot even for a dick. Go ahead. Look and see that I’m not gonna hurt you. >> Hive’s mental claws sink in deeper, until that nudge comes. His shoulders shudder, his chin turning so his eyes focus more properly on Micah’s face. Breathe in. Out. In. Out. His fingers clench and relax. In. Out. Until -- “ -- Dude, fuck you.” His shoulders give a sudden hard twitch like he’s trying to shake something off, and he exhales once, shaky and sharp. The small smile that he attempts dies in its infancy. He nudges the door -- not /quiiite/ closed with his heel, heading inside and hoisting himself up, now, to take his place on the examination table. “You’re my fucking doctor now, man.”