ArchivedLogs:Time
| Time | |
|---|---|
| Dramatis Personae | 2014-04-18 ' |
| Location
<NYC> Mount Sinai Hospital - Harlem | |
On the cutting edge of many medical technologies, Mount Sinai Hospital is often ranked as one of the nation's best hospitals. The medical school attached is one of the best in the world, meaning that even your med students know what they are doing. Chin up, then -- when you come in here badly mutilated after the latest terrible catastrophe in Times Square, you're in good hands. Mel has has a very uncomfortable day. Contractions woke her early in the morning and kept their slow progression toward constant through out the morning. Sometime around 2pm, however, she decides it's probably time. Sometime under ten minutes apart, she tries to start sending out texts, in between different trips to the bathroom in attempts to alleviate some of the things she is feeling. Some time after that, Micah shows up with his amazing van and whisks her away to the hospital in a chair she doesn't really have to leave. She mostly fidgets in it, scowling when contractions hit her and mostly focusing on her breathing as they get her where she needs to go. At Mount Sinai, Mel is trundled inside and presented with paperwork initially while they are waiting on verification that the room is ready for her. She has a little bit of difficulty focusing on the forms, but does her best to print things in the appropriate blanks anyway. They really don't leave her waiting all that long. The paperwork is just a convenient distraction from the fact that hospitals are busy places. Micah is a rather effective pregnant lady ferrying service. He comes with a crash-tested wheelchair and an accessible van with tie-downs in the back, so Mel only has to stand once to get /into/ the chair. Then he's an effective wheelchair-pushing pregnant lady ferrying service, as well. Micah is dressed in work clothes still, TARDIS-blue polo shirt over a lighter blue long-sleeved tee and khakis. His auburn hair is /quite/ mussed at this point, and his hands are hidden away under a pair of lightweight and breathable fitted charcoal-grey gloves. One such gloved hand rests reassuringly on Mel's shoulder as he steps closer. "Hey, honey. Did y'want me t'try t'get Jim here? I can call Ash. He's pretty likely t'know where he's at or how t'reach 'im." Jax, by afternoon today, isn't all that effective by way of /much/. He's kind of pale, kind of shaky-tired. He's in a silver-bordered black skirt over glittery silver-red-black thigh-high socks, a long very rainbowy sweater coat over silver-pinstriped black buttondown, chunky sneakers. He's just slipping his phone back into his messenger bag, but he pulls it out again, tapping at his screen. "I could," he offers, trailing his other hand against the wall -- almost an absent gesture if not for how he's kind of leaning into it, "call him. Ash. I mean. Um, Flicker's on his way with Hive." "Jax, hun, do you want to sit down?" Melinda eyes him for a moment and purses her lips, eyes a little more narrow than not. Her voice is a little gruff, but her body is also behaving a bit beyond her control and putting her through a pressure ringer when it does, so this is not new for this afternoon. "Um. Jim? He's ... Yeah. um, call him. Text him. Let him know. He should know. I mean, the kid is his, too." Confusion starts to set in but is erased quickly as she inhales sharply with another contraction. "Thanks... guys. I really.... appreciate you coming. And... arranging things." "Yes, he wants t'sit down," Micah answers on Jax's behalf. "S'fastin'. Again. Y'can sit an' call Ash, honey. You're allowed juice, y'said? Can I get y'juice? I'll run t'the vendin' machine. Were they tellin' you y'can only have ice chips at this point, Mel? I'll make sure they bring you some." He gives Mel another gentle shoulder squeeze before moving toward the door. "Oh -- sit, right, I --" Jackson nods, sinking down to pull a chair closer to Melinda's wheelchair and drop himself into it. His thumb moves across the screen of his phone, swiping out a text message there. "Mel-honey, I think the last thing you need right now is no /details/ to have to fuss over." His free hand reaches over to squeeze lightly at Melinda's arm, warm as his hand ever is. "Hive'll be here in jus' a tick. An' I let Ash know. An' -- juice?" Blink, blink. "Right-okay." His phone buzzes, and he glances back down to it with a small dig of teeth into lip. "He'll bring Jim. Anyone else y'wanted me t'reach out to?" "What am I supposed to do with ice chips? Sit on them?" Somewhere between frustrated and confused, Melinda merps out a response, finishing the first form with a flourish of her signature and moving on to the next. "Oh. Shit. Um. Anyone want to help me pick priority life saving for emergencies? There's... like fifteen different scenarios where they want to know if it's me or the kid who gets first priority." She draws in a deep breath and looks up when the nurse comes for them. Her hands curl around the clip board to indicate she is not done, but looks expectantly at the other woman. "We have your room ready, if you'd like to follow me?" The sweet faced nurse may seem polite, but there's an iron core under all that politeness that lets them know that they are expected to follow because it is time. No arguments brooked. "I don't know, Jax. Maybe text Hanna and Jayna. Most people, I think I'm just going to tell afterward." Melinda tucks all of her limbs in on her wheelchair and looks over her shoulder at Micah. "Shall we?" "Y'use 'em t'feel like you're drinkin' somethin' when they won't let you. Keep your mouth moist an' cool while limitin' the amount of water you're actually gettin'." Micah stops in his very-brief almost-trek for juice when the nurse arrives. "Okay, room first. Juice second. I'll fetch it once folks are settled." He returns to push Mel's chair for her. "I dunno, honey. Those kindsa questions is real...personal. It depends what /you/ wanna do, sugar." Jackson gets out of his chair to follow along, fingers trailing once more against the wall as he heads after them -- sending another text as he goes. Multiple more texts as he goes. "Oh, gosh. I feel like -- yeah, that's. Kinda a decision that's -- real up to you. /Oh/. Oh Flicker an' Hive are -- /Possibly/ lost those boys couldn't find their way outta a --" Jax's nose crinkles up, though there's something slightly awkward in his, "-- I don't know if -- your room's gonna be like a /clown/ car if we all -- pack in there I don't want to make you feel. Crowded. Might maybe send Hive in an' wait with Flicker if --" He trails off, looking down at his phone again as he hangs back, now.
"I have no clue," Melinda sighs, her attention almost entirely on the clip board. She starts making decisions quietly. "Apologies. Don't mean to make things uncomfortable. I just..." She drops the subject and keeps moving on through the sheet. "Jax, hon, this could take hours. I ... don't really want to kick anyone out prematurely. I'm pretty sure they're just going to keep checking in from time to time and then it'll get hectic and ... we'll worry about stuff like that then." She then grips her pen and holds it tightly as she pulls the clipboard toward her chest, her other hand moving to rest on her belly. "Contraction?" The nurse glances at her watch. "Okay, I need you to tell me when it's over." Mel nods and keeps breathing. "S'not uncomfortable, sugar. Just not sure I can /help/ y'decide on things like that. Certainly wouldn't feel right just /tellin'/ y'what t'do." Micah follows the nurse dutifully and stops when she stops. "Yeah, Jax, honey. S'gonna be a lot of waitin' an' timin' contractions. Then they'll whisk Mel off t'the delivery room an'...only one or two folks can even go with her there. An' the rest of us'll get t'wait." His gloved hand pets softly over Mel's hair, just reminding her that there are people here for her. "M'kay." Though Jax is eying the hospital room as though he's trying to count fitting six (or eight?) people into it for hours, glancing back down to his phone when Flicker texts again. "M'gonna round up the nerds. Love you, honey-honey." He gives Melinda a quick smile, slipping quietly off down the hall. Mel only nods as Jax takes off as she's a bit distracted with her own mental count to start. Soon enough, the contraction lets up and she breathes a little more easily. "Okay, good." The nurse continues to lead the way into the room, opening it and making sure the light is on the bed is ready. "We have a gown for you to wear. It'll probably be easier to put it on sooner rather than later, but it's also probably not going to be that comfortable to hang out in. It's kind of something we leave up to each patient, but strongly encourage you don't wait too long. Now. Are you the father?" The nurse looks expectantly at Micah, her smile very pleasant. Mel finishes up her paperwork before lifting the clipboard to hand to the nurse. "Micah?" Her eyebrows climb high as she gives a little giggle and turns to peek at him. "Oh no. He's not. The, uh, dad is on his way." She glances back to the nurse. "And I'm single. No official partner, if that makes any difference on the forms." "Okay, honey. I don't wanna leave Mel alone. So make sure y'get some sugar in you? Juice or somethin'. So y'don't pass out." Micah wheels Mel on into the room, making note of the room number as they pass through the doorway. The question, though it shouldn't be /unexpected/ given the fact that he's the guy hanging around and pushing the pregnant lady in a wheelchair, earns a bright blush. "Just a friend," he replies before giving Mel a playful mock-offended look. Which is somehow coupled with a bit of grin. "Man, y'didn't have t'/giggle/ at that. Just wound m'pride all over." His head shakes, grin going broader and more lopsided. "Lemme know if y'want privacy for a second, honey, an' I'll step t'the other side of the curtain. Or /help/. I can do that, too." Hive doesn't make much of an entrace, when he comes in. Just slouches his way into the room, leaning heavily against a wall. Kind of /topples/ into a chair. He's /actually/ put on clean clothes, Mel! Fresh carpenter jeans and a black denim shirt over clean white undershirt. Heavy black canvas jacket. He doesn't say anything when he enters. Just slumps into chair, pale, boney, shaky, slouching down like even /sitting/ is an effort now. Glares at Melinda's belly as though /willing/ the child out of it. And, finally, "-- Sprog's louder today." Melinda is having the opposite difficulty with getting out of the wheelchair she is in. She immediately moves to gripping the foot of the bed as she gets her land legs underneath her again. Her head swings around to peek at hive around her arm and smiles something soft and peaceful at him, before moving causes her to grumble again. "I'm sorry, Micah. It's just a silly thought. You've got boys are in high school! Your youngest is what, seven now? Or is he almost eight?" She shakes her head and starts tugging off her shirt. "Um, if no one wants to see my scary belly, pull the curtain, otherwise, close the door. I'm getting ready to have a team of perfect strangers stare up my privates. I don't think a boob and belly shot is going to do any harm." Micah moves in to offer what support he's able to get Mel into the bed safely. "Eight. Nine in the fall," he corrects as to Spencer's age. "Also, I'm only twenty-seven, still. An' your belly ain't scary. Jus' let me know if y'need help with somethin'." Meanwhile, Micah will just turn his back to give Mel what privacy she can get while she can get it. Hive just closes his eyes, hands dropping into his lap as he slumps further in his chair. "/Little/ scary," he corrects Micah, "there's a whole creature growing in it. I've /heard/ 'em. Likes Guster. And Simon & Garfunkel." "Simon & Garfunkel, eh? Should have known." Melinda finishes changing and crawls into bed, starting to get settled. She sticks a hand out expectantly at Hive, reaching for his hand. Time passes both quickly and slowly for a while. Small conversation topics come up from time to time, interrupted by nurses coming in to offer Melinda exciting painkillers for later, advising her on what she can and can't do, while timing her contractions and having someone actually measure how much she is dilated. Mel refuses the epidural, despite prompting, before looking to Hive to silently ask him if it's going to bother him that she's in pain. For the most part, there's just a lot of waiting. There's probably a lot of waiting involved in the journey Jim takes to get here as well. Waiting for the cab. Waiting for the cab to reach the /hospital/. Waiting at the desk downstairs in his beater corduroy jacket and hat pulled down low to try and mask a lingering proliferation of rough bark-patches on his face, the leaves amongst his hair. Waiting on the elevator. Promptly getting lost. Asking directions, getting back on track. And then he's simply /striding/ into the hospital room. His familiar rough-hewn mind is not up to full speed yet - but god help him if he's letting that stop him, sailing on the wings of some cocktail of adrenaline and oh-god-panic and << (is this exciting should this even be exciting are we all going to /die/.) >> He entirely fails to notice much at first because he's not really planned how to Hospital Birth yet. Just marches straight to Melinda's bed and thrusts out a -- COUPLE OF FLOWERS. They aren't wrapped, nor are they really arranged. Nor are they cut off evenly at the bottom, just kind of torn raggedly or possibly /bitten/. But they are HEALTHY, brimming with that green-flower smell of spring. Just a stupid trio of orange mums bobbling on the end of their stems. If ever plants could be /bewildered/ how they got here, these mums would be. "Will these hurt you," Jim -- BLURTS out. Sternly. His other hand FIXING ITSELF around the rail of her bed. Once Hive is also in the room for awhile, Micah is in and out of it. Finally going of to /make sure/ that Jax is drinking things with sugar in them. Greeting Flicker and Hanna. Back to see if Mel needs anything. How Hive is doing. Settling in a chair in the room and chatting with Hive and Mel. He smiles and waves at Jim as he arrives. "Jim...s'good t'/see/ you. I'd only heard from some of the kids that y'were back around," he offers in greeting before settling back into the background, letting the soon-to-be parents speak to one another in peace. Hive's hand takes a while to find Melinda's, lifting only sluggishly and even once it does kind of badly /aimed/ at first; at length he just kind of flops his hand down on the mattress to let Melinda do the job of putting her hand in his, fingers loosely curling around hers once this is presumably accomplished. << Pff /I'll/ be alright you do what you gotta do. >> Says Hive as he -- sledgehammer-thuds into Mel's brain. His head tips forward, forehead resting against the back of her knuckles. And then just settling into idle conversation as time passes. Idle conversation that -- comes to a sudden halt when Jim arrives. In contrast sharply to Micah he doesn't smile -- he /has/ been smiling previously, easy-warm, at some absent topic-or-other with Mel, and this falls sharply away from his face when Jim enters, something widening his eyes very briefly. His expression for a moment crumples, hand dropping away from Mel's as his breath rushes out of him, and when he pulls it back in his face has settled back into his usual half-asleep semi-scowl. Heavy-lidded, jaw-set, previous traces of smile neatly wiped away. He slumps back in his chair, slowly scooting it further away to make room at the bedside for Jim. Melinda is torn and shocked when Jim comes stumbling in, her eyes wide as well. Part of her is filled with relief to see him upright and standing - Speaking! - and thrusting flowers in her face. The other half of her registers Hive pulling away and worst yet, scooting away. She just blinks, unable to process. Her gaze finally focuses on the flowers, studying them for a moment then reaching up and taking them with her free hand. There's a flood of history that hits her thoughts. Shelby's concert. The bouquet of flowers she hit him over the head with, the way she turned to Hive for his judgment as to Jim's character, the easy way they seemed to deal with each other. The night in the Chinese grocery when she took Hive home to make him hot pot. Coffee with Jim in the morning when he barged in and how she can't even /speak/ around him sometimes for fear of his grouchfests. Making eggs. The funeral. She swallows hard and lets her brows knit up. "No. I don't think these'll hurt me. I'm ... not going to eat them or anything." She glances toward Micah and holds the flowers out to him. "You okay?" This is to Jim. "Mic-." Jim's head turns towards Micah when he speaks - not an /immediate/ turn, but it manages a few spare seconds after the younger man begins talking. And beneath tightly crumbled up brows, his eyes are briefly /wide/. In his mind, it's simply drinking in Micah's every feature; his << (tousled) >> hair and << (??) >> gloves and braces through a relief that is almost painful to see another familiar living face. "See you," he repeats. As in 'good to'..? Presumably..? He almost doesn't seem to be paying attention, to the hand curling around Melinda's when she takes the flowers. The shift where he has to consciously /keep/ human on the surface instead of tougher, harsher plant growth. The feeling of /skin/ on /skin/. To remember pulling in a breath (Melinda's smell; her hair to the sides of her face; flowers wailing about his ears god this woman), to make words- "Yeah uh--." And just as slowly, finally, his head turns, to follow the sound of a chair scraping away. The gradual climb of his eyes from the hand falling from Melinda's. Up the bony wrist (familiar; grappling with it in a fight for minds; slinging it over the back of his neck to help him walk-), to bony shoulder (familiar; it's hard shape braced against his own), to a face that--, "Khh-." Jim makes an exhale that's-- cut off, choked. And still gripping tight to Melinda's hand, pulling it /nearer/ to his body mass, he reaches out to snatch for Hive's chair. To try and drag him /back/ again. Mind filling up with a sudden desperation. Micah frowns at Hive's moving away. He pauses to give his thin shoulder a squeeze on his way to take the flowers from Mel. A plastic pitcher kept in the room for drinking water finds itself in his hand. He briefly disappears to the bathroom to fill it in the sink before returning, flowers placed inside as if it were a vase. His hand brushes against Hive's back again on his way out. << I think I should go now. That everyone is here. I'll be in the waitin' room. Just...holler if y'need me for anythin'. >> He gives another little wave as he heads out the door, on the off chance the others are paying him any mind. << -- Didn't think he'd come, >> Hive's slightly-numb answer eventually thuds back to Mel, half-closed eyes fixing on some indeterminate spot on her bed. << It's -- good, that's good, he's -- >> Snatching Hive abruptly closer, apparently; the sudden movement just triggers a wave of nausea which has Hive's hand clamping to his mouth, his heels digging against the ground before he drops his hand back to his lap with a grumbled, "-- thefuck." << ... kinda already started hollering at your husband, >> he admits wryly. << I holler loud. >> He's slouching down lower in his chair, eyes slipping just a little bit more closed. "Hanna brought, like. Entire fucking /bakery/ worth of food. 'f you're hungry." "Don't eat the little chocolate chip ones. They're mine." << Special. >> Melinda is a pregnant woman about to deliver; she is allowed to make whatever demands she wants. << You didn't? He's always around... some how. >> "Jim, dear. You're going to have to... Slow down. Okay? In ... any second I'm going... to," And then there's a grunt and a swell of pressure mounting in her body. She grits her teeth and starts really focusing on her breathing as she thinks unfortunately loud what she wanted to say. << have a contraction that's going to make me feel like I'm going to vomit and shit and piss myself all at once and I can't because there's nothing left - and holy hell, what is that? >> There's a soft popping noise and then Mel feeling the very tell tale signs of liquid slowly leaking down between her legs. She starts taking in deep breaths again and looks around suspiciously. "Fuck. I ... may need a towel." The composite << (want)(crushing relief)(pang)(...-s'thinner..) >> making it's gradual tumbledry rolls - In Jim, slow in momentum, it's a /prolonged/ and /yearnful/ encroachment that wants to envelope, grow towards like a sun, over-simplified and -- << /Stop/, stupid. >> A more human thought, dropped like a weight; where a /human/ brain somewhere inside is /noticing/ the hand Hive presses over his mouth. And the heels, digging into the ground. Noticing the squeeze Micah makes to Hive's shoulder as he passes. And looks down at his own overgrown hand grasping the telepath's chair, gnarled and << -ugly. slow. dammit jimmy what'd you think- >>. Slowly, his fingers loosen and release the chair. And instead - oh god, he turns towards Melinda, eyes widening. He's not gasping or yelling, but he's also not... breathing with lungs right now. This is possibly a /boon/ for the situation, because instead he gives Melinda's hand a FIRM. PAT. And wordlessly is then up and tossing the room for towels, opening a random closet, riffling through its contents, invading the bathroom, while making a... thumb-clicking motion at Melinda. Nurse-- summoning. Button. Maybe?? Towels are raining down at the foot and side of Melinda's bed. HERE HE'S GIVING YOU ALL OF THEM. Micah must have heard some of the last from the hall, as he reports back to Hive, << I let the nurse's station know it's go time. They usually won't let more than one or two people back. Good luck, guys. I love you. And /do/ feel free t'chatter at m'head as much as y'need. I meant it. Love you all. >> Hive presses back into his chair, heel of his hand grinding slow int his eye as Jim scrounges up an avalanche of towels to help with this. "Good. Good -- nurses. Are on their -- way," he relays this message first, "Micah let 'em know." His hand continues to dig against his eye, falling to his lap before he tacks on in absent addenddum, "-- not a lot of people allowed back. I'll let you two --" He pushes himself forward, pressing a kiss to Melinda's forehead, his eyes squeezing, for a moment, closed. << That -- >> There's something quiet-wistful in Hive's mind even through the sledgehammer-thud of it into Melinda's, and beneath /his/ voice he's reflecting -- another one. Less /word/-ful, less developed, one not quite /thinking/ so much as it is just feeling, at the moment, in, currently, also a very strong /yearning/. << -- is /time/. >> Melinda is scared, her hands gripping the railing on her bed hard as Hive leans in and kisses her sweaty, unshowered skin. Her eyes flutter closed as she half-sits there, clinging to his mental presence and that of the other one he shows her. "Don't go far." She speaks roughly, blinking up at him. Her mind sort of skips around to the notion of holding a child at the end of this - the blood they are saving for the future - using to help Hive stick around them for a long time. She lets out a small whimper, anticipating the next swell of pushing. << Thank you. >> Jim is trying to cobble together a question - or /many/ questions; a rising panic-urgency as Hive begins to -- leave? So soon? << --but. >> Deep roots clench internally, confused and /frustrated/ at his slow moving mind. Certain some moment is passing, certain he should be doing something in it, but all simplicity wants is to pull both of them together, to collect << (family) >> and grip them tightly with a tight clench in his chest, when Hive's lips stoop to touch Melinda's brow. Never wanting a camera more. He places a hand over Melinda's foot and holds out a hand. Or an arm. Anything to Hive. << (is this even real)(what's happening)(why...) >> "I'll be right outside when you --" Hive rests his forehead against Melinda's, briefly. "I'll be here." He's slow to straighten -- out of necessity, an unsteady-unstable working of shaky limbs that cling to whatever he can by way of movement. Hand resting against the bedframe, leaning against the chair, propping against Jim's arm in passing, thudding a shoulder against the wall. Ricocheting his way towards the door kind of like a pinball working its inexorable way towards the hole. << Yes, >> comes his answer, finally. << You're having a kid, dude. >> And then, chk -- game over -- he topples out the exit, and is gone. | |
