Logs:And let us consider how to provoke one another to love and good deeds

And let us consider how to provoke one another to love and good deeds
cn: references to the aftermaths of mass shootings, lots of injuries, many scenes of war
Dramatis Personae Harm, Joshua, Leo, Mirror, Lily	2024-02-28 "-- we can do more."
Location heal plz
4 february 2023. xavier's school/pop up clinic. "I mean, he is like. Wanted by the government. Maybe something happened and he has to lay low for a while." Harm is lying on their bed with their chin propped up in one hand. They've abandoned inventorying their new first aid kit, leaving its very extensive components spread all around them. "But also, I'm just some random kid he met at the Bazaar and I was kind of starstruck. Maybe he realized after thinking about it for even five seconds he didn't need an awkward teenaged sidekick." They sigh and sort of subside, rolling over onto their back and letting their head hang down backward off the edge of the bed. "Or maybe he just forgot." The rat-tat-tat that interrupts is kind of a formality -- the crisp-sharp knocking is pushing the door from ajar to properly open. Outside, Joshua is frowning in mild puzzlement into the room, glancing from Harm to -- noone? -- and back. He doesn't seem too invested in exploring who on earth Harm is talking to, though, writing it off as Regular Xavier's weirdness as he jerks his chin up in a nod. "Shoes," is his -- greeting? Before he perhaps realizes he should offer something more than this and follows it up helpfully with: "If you're coming." He is slightly fidgety as he waits for Harm to retrieve their shoes, and frowns towards the window and the icy night outside. "... you don't have a curfew, do you?" Maybe he should know this about Xavier's Kids already, but he isn't actually waiting for answer before he offers out his hand and the room vanishes -- -- only to coalesce somewhere else altogether. The shabby apartment is a far cry from the luxurious halls of Xavier's, but at least in this small living room it's clean and tidy. In the next bedroom a child is crying over the deeper sounds of some adult groaning in pain. Slumped back in a chair at a much-scratched kitchen table, Leo is far too hastily downing a bottle of orange juice; some of it dribbles down his chin as he abruptly tries to sit up and greet the others. "Oh, sorry -- sorry. Thank you. I'm glad you -- we really could --" He doesn't finish this fumbling sentence, though, just wiping at his chin and setting the bottle down as the kitchen door opens. The line outside is long and haggard, and the elderly woman being accompanied in now by a skull-vested Mongrel is looking pretty haggard as well. The smile Leo offers the others is quick and small, and he just gestures, inviting, to the other chairs at the table. --- 9 february 2023. pop-up clinic. It's grown very late, and while the number of people lingering here has dwindled, those who are left seem have all had considerably better days -- a young man in the corner shivering so hard it continually dislodges the blankets he's wrapped around himself, and one of their other guests is no a continued violent retching sounding regularly from next door. The man sleeping in the other cot here is middle aged, far too thin, managing to look sallow even through the dark brown of his skin. Leo is starting to look kind of peaked, too, and by the time he pushes his chair back from the bedside and stands he's decidedly unsteady on his feet. He rubs at his eyes with the heel of a hand and then just stops, blinking like he can't quite remember what was coming next. If Harm has a curfew, they don't seem very worried about it at the moment. They've been sitting on the other side of the cot from Leo, one elbow braced on the thin mattress and one hand resting gently on their patient's. They look up at Leo and tip their head in the direction of the table on the other side of the room laden with snacks and beverages. They aren't getting up just yet, though, closing their eyes again to concentrate. It's a while, though not a very long while, before their patient starts to stir. Harm blinks their eyes open, their relief somewhat short lived as their face contorts and their jaw clenches with pain. They don't let go, though. The sounds from next door have quieted a short while ago, and though Joshua returned soon after he's mostly just been slumped against the back table staring blank at the same page on the Kindle app open on his phone. He's getting up now, though, reappearing next to Harm. He nudges at their hand with the heel end of a banana, silent but insistent as he foists the fruit and a small packet of nut butter off on the teenager. Then he's on the other side of the cot, dropping into Leo's vacated seat and dropping his hand to the mattress. He slouches low in the folding chair, and though his attention has immediately reverted back to his phone, Harm can likely feel it when a different set of mechanisms entirely seamlessly picks up the complicated work of repair. --- 12 march 2023. freaktown, wellness space. It's quiet in here, or quiet enough, as these things go. Across the sitting room an earnest-eyed white woman with vivid blue hair is humming a singing bowl for an extremely skeptical teenager who nevertheless looks too tired to move. Harmonizing with this from outside there are sounds of intense raised voices, and it's hard to distinguish whether or not it's a friendly argument or a genuine fight but either way it might possibly result in more patients here soon. If it does that might be Some Other Medics' Problem; Joshua has cast the window only a cursory glance as he finishes the neat packing of his large clinic bag, unbothered by the conflict as he continues: "After I drop Harm off --" There's a deep furrow of his brow and thin press of his lips as he examines Leo, and then himself. A long scrutiny, a grimmer expression. All the frowning finishes only in a bland: "I can grab some other clothes." Harm looks up from their phone what Joshua speaks, then kind of mirrors his expression though not in Leo's direction. "You don't have to drop me off. I didn't have any plans anyway, I could go with you." They reach under their chair and pull out the very extensive medic kit that they almost never actually need here but always bring anyway. "I know I still have a lot to learn, but…" They bite their lower lip. "Ok, saying 'I'm not a kid' is so stereotypically teenaged, but I know what I'm doing. I won't get in your way, promise." They look to Leo imploringly for backup. "I just want to help." "You -- would -- have been very --" Leo's eyes have gone wide when Harm turns to him, and he looks to Joshua at first like maybe he can get a rescue, here? But then he's looking back to Harm, brows pinching and his arms crossing slow and tight over his chest and then releasing. "With healing -- you could be a big help," he agrees, softly. His fingers squeeze at the crook of his arm and then slowly ease their grip. "But what we do. If we were caught." His eyes have lowered to the floor, and he just gives one small shake of his head. "Some things I hope you never have to learn." --- 25 march 2023. the ark youth shelter. jersey city. It's yet to hit the news -- or maybe this kind of thing has just become so commonplace the news is no longer bothering. Maybe that's better, really, because the only people who witnessed their appearance in the bloodied halls of this rundown homeless shelter are too desperate or too far gone to care. Though the shooter is among the bodies littering the dining room the official paramedics have yet to enter, and maybe that's because of the powers fritzing out of control from several of the mutant children who stay here -- but then, the most dangerous of the children is doing nothing more harmful than occasionally fluttering the lights and maybe it's just an excuse. Leo, powerful though he might be, can do very little against bullet holes, and his expression has been steeled against the cries in the building. He's just making his way back from a more in depth survey of the building to stop nearby where the more useful healers are at the epicenter of the carnage. "Two more," he's updating Joshua quietly, nodding towards a door in the back. "I don't know if they --" But here he just stops, shakes his head. "You should look." Joshua's phone is on the floor beside him; the lit screen says speakerphone is on but the 911 operator has had him on hold since he gave the address. He's just given quick-and-dirty wound care instructions to the ambulatory teenagers and what's left of the skeleton overnight staff and has moved on to splitting the worst off of the injured between him and Harm. When Leo returns, he allows himself one slow breath before he heads to the back. He emerges again shortly, a little paler but otherwise just as expressionless. His eyes flick to Harm -- to the phone, still on hold -- to the bloody fur of one of the youths nearest them. He crouches, fingers resting light against the back of the boy's hand, and his jaw tightens in a brief flinch at whatever he finds there. His knuckles press hard to his eye when he lifts his hand again, and it's only a few seconds -- but a very long few seconds -- until he speaks. "Okay. Leave him. We'll have enough juice for --" He bites at his upper lip, and looks up at Harm before venturing: "If you spread it around --" Harm has been pale since the moment they arrived, and isn't looking much improved now. Their thoughtfully stocked medic pack hasn't seen any use beyond a single tourniquet and...all of the gauze for applying pressure. There is a good deal of blood splashed on their clothes, and their hands -- gloveless, in defiance of every modern emergency medical protocol -- are covered in it and they don't seem to know what to do about, swaying on their feet a little as they're looking for their next patient. Their eyes snap to Joshua. "Leave him, but --" The argument dies on their lips, and it's hard to say whether that's remembering what they've learned about triaging, freezing in horror at said remembering, or if they were simply derailed by what Joshua says next. "Oh no no no I can't control that what if it --" Maybe they're not sure exactly how any 'what if' is going to make this scene worse, but they shake their head firmly even if their voice is high and wavering with panic. "I don't need to do that I can -- it's ok I can take it who's next?" --- 23 april 2023. freaktown. wellness space. It's luckily a pretty slow afternoon at the clinic, but Harm looks far more exhausted than they usually do by this point in a shift. They're slumped at the refreshments table, working their slow determined way through a pupusa one of the aunties pressed on them. "I can handle the extra work," they insist despite their pallor and drooping posture. "I'm just worried. He doesn't talk much, but I never heard him say anything about a sabbatical." They lift slightly bleary eyes to Leo. "What if he's like, burned out or something? Do you think he's okay?" Leo is downing a coffee, perched on the edge of a chair near Harm. He stops drinking at Harm's question, though. His eyes meet Harm's, a slowly growing frown pulling his brows together. He rotates the coffee cup slowly between his hands, fingers flicking at a corner of the paper sleeve. Eventually he just exhales, head shaking in uncertainty. "I think he's doing what he has to do." --- 11 june. freaktown. wellness space. It's slow today, too. At the moment, the clinic is empty except for one lean and well-dressed plague doctor slouched in a chair. He's flipping through a comic book, excellently drawn but amateur in its printing. On the current page, Jax (considerably more muscular than he is in life) is holding off an entire squadron of menacing looking mercs while behind him desperate scrub-clad labrats are following Ryan's piper call to freedom. Leo's eyes are kind of wide -- horror, amusement, it's hard to say. His eyes are still wide when he looks up at the opening door -- the man trailing in is still in grubby construction-tough clothes, holding a very bloody rag against his forearm. He stops when he sees only Leo there, starting to back up with a gruff: "Oh, sorry, I -- do you know when --" "No, it's okay." Leo hastily puts the comic book aside. His cheeks have flushed, and he's gesturing the man to sit down as he goes over to the large stock of medical supplies. "I know I'm not -- I can --" The smile he offers is a little apologetic. "I still know how to do this the ordinary way." --- 13 august 2023. freaktown, clinic space. The Purifiers are gone but their carnage remains. This is not the regular clinic space, but supplies have been hauled over to accommodate this living-room-turned-triage-zone where the victims were dragged out of the line of fire. Joshua has clearly been pulled here in a hurry, jeans thrown on together with the undershirt he'd presumably been sleeping in judging by his rumpled hair and the pillow-marks still on his cheek, but for all that he seems plenty alert. His knuckles are digging into his eyes as he makes his rounds of the victims. The grim set of his expression as he gets to the farthest gone of them probably tells clearly enough of his decision even before he voices it; there's a heavier set to his shoulders as he turns deliberately away from the young woman (looking half a corpse already) to face Harm. Harm has stuck close to Joshua since their arrival, but though they are obviously frightened, the pallor of their face is just ("just") the result of a summer without sunlight. They shake their head before Joshua even speaks. "No, you don't have to --" They glance at the young woman, then back at Joshua. "I can do more, now." They bite their lip, hard, but there's no panic in their wide earnest eyes. "Like, a lot more, if I have help. It'll hurt really bad, and I don't know if it'll be enough but --" They look imploringly at Leo, as if he might back them up.. "-- we can do more." Leo's pallor probably has plenty to do with the bloodied wound in his arm, but he's in little enough danger from that -- he's just finishing up tying a somewhat messy bandage over it himself, a problem for Future Leo after the more critical patients are seen to. There's a strained fear in his expression that is aimed more at the other mutants spread around the room, and it's starting to ease as Harm speaks. His eyes flick down to where he's tying off the end of his own bandage, oddly deft even single-handed. Then away; it isn't Harm he is looking at now but a scrap of quilt square fallen to the ground, its marker-drawn writing ('Every tear shed is a drop of immortality') now splattered in blood, and his eyes stay fixed there as his hand turns up and out in offering. "Pain is always how we heal." --- 24 september 2023. freaktown, grounds. It's not the clinic space they show up to, once Xavier's disappears, bright and sunshiney on the other side of the brief blip. Behind one of the mansions this little garden has been set up with food, with drink, even with presents (one wrapped impeccably neat with an aesthetic floral sprig tucked in the ribbon, one in a considerably more low-effort gift bag.) All Joshua is saying about this diversion from the normal routine is a bland: "Nobody's dying. Work can wait." Leo is still fussily rearranging the table when the others arrive, making sure the presents are fronted just so, that the dishes of homemade siiopao and lumpia and pancit and ramikens of gingery taho are all in convenient and aesthetic situating. "Oh!" He brightens when the others arrive -- starts to reach for the table settings again and then clasps his hands behind his back like a physical reminder to stop obsessing. "Happy birthday! We thought -- we wanted -- I know we are late, but." He unclasps his hands only to fold them again in front of himself, this time. "We have many patients. Just one of you." Harm is dressed plainly as they would for any clinic shift, blinking in the light with both hands still clasped on the strap of their medic kit. They look from Joshua to Leo to the table and back to Leo, a smile blooming slow but bright on their face. "Oh, wow! You didn't have to go through all this trouble. I would have been happy just to hang out with you guys. But this looks so delicious!" They're blushing too, now, as they set their kit down in the grass. "Anyway, it's not that late. I was born on the 24th, in Eastern Time." --- 8 october 2023. freaktown, clinic. Normally Joshua is very on the ball with cleanup, meticulous in taking stock of supplies before they check out for the day. Today he's been extremely distractable in between patients, even quieter than usual and largely glued to his phone. It's only after leaving the bulk of the tidying to the others that he drags his eyes up again (the bags under them suggest he has not slept for a while) from scrolling through more news, more emails, more frantic group chats. His shoulders are tight, but his voice the same dull monotone as usual when he finally offers more than the acknowledging grunts he's been communicating with all afternoon: "... might be gone a while." Harm is sitting on the edge of the now cleared-off table, their feet swinging restlessly and their shoulders hunched, at least until Joshua actually speaks. Maybe it's some trick of the angle or lighting, but when they sit up they suddenly look taller and broader. "Your people need you, but you should still have a team." Their eyes are a little wide, though they're otherwise doing a good job not looking too scared. "You could still have a team. I know it's dangerous, but..." They look over to Leo for support. "...I know it's dangerous. And I could miss the whole rest of the term and they still wouldn't kick me out of school." Leo's brows have been slowly knitting as he watches Joshua work his way up to speaking, a frown cemented on his face by the time the other man does. His "no," is oddly firm, for him, his eyes fixed straight on Joshua. They lower a moment later as if in apology, but his voice does not waver. "I will not spending the next months worrying if you are alive. Again." When Harm speaks his frown starts to ease, then returns, deeper. "Oh." This has returned to his typical soft cadence, a tired weight in his acknowledgment. "You do know." He looks up at Harm, and there's something resigned now in the small shake of his head before he collects himself to acquiesce -- sternly -- "But he will get you to your classes on time." --- 13 october 2023. gaza city, gaza. There is not a whole lot Leo's power can do for trauma victims but he doesn't need it to lend an extra pair of hands. While the actual healer tends to some of the more dire wounded he's carefully splinting a possibly-broken ankle. He's just sending the older woman on her hobbly way, offering a small nod at the grateful Arabic whose intention he can understand even if the words are not yet clear to him; it's after this that he looks up with a sharp frown. It mellows out to a look of -- worry? Mild reproach? it's probably both; his tone is certainly softly chiding. "You said you would rest." Harm's triaging has made the most of their power's not-always-intuitive strengths and limits, and if they don't look quite as unflappable going about it as the man they learned it from -- well, they're still young. But no matter how strategically they've lined up their patients, they're pale and shaking and probably won't be able to do very much more for their current patient than make sure she doesn't bleed out before the ambulance gets through the rubble that used to be a street. They look up slowly at the sound of Leo's voice, and their expression cycles from exhaustion to relief to worry when they spot the subject of his chiding. "It's okay, we've got this." They glance down at the young woman whose hand they're holding and who looks perilously close to regaining consciousness. "If you don't get more than like, two minutes sleep this time, we're going to end up with another patient." Joshua only grunts in response to this, eyes flicking around the chaos in a brief assessing. He's looking up and down Harm's line of patients with a deep frown, tongue poking up under his upper lip as he considers. "S'what I told that fucker." He's shifting, through this sentence, shrinking down and warping and by the end it's Harm, now, Joshua's clothes hanging baggy on their slighter form and Joshua's words oddly crass in their mouth. They're crouching by the next patient in line, eyes tightening up just slightly as they offer out a hand. "He'd work himself to death if I let him." --- 16 october 2023. gaza city, gaza strip. This isn't actually a hospital, but the closest one nearby is under fire and inaccessible to patients. This school building will have to do, pressed into service to shelter and manage the wounded as best they can with limited staff and more limited supplies. Amid the bustle and chaos and cries and the unfortunately not-so-distant explosive rumblings beyond it's almost not noteworthy when Joshua -- okay, as second Joshua -- appears. The very large bin of supplies he's brought with him might be a relief; the passenger he's brought, might be more complicated than that. Nevertheless, he's nudging -- not the supplies but Lily forward with a tipped-up chin and a gruff, "Thought you could use this." "Thank fuck." Joshua has said this before he's even looked up from the child whose remaining arm he is currently working on. One glove on and one glove off and it's very much not proper ppe protocol but when bandaging is this sparse he's making do, pale and shaky already though he is. He still doesn't look up a half-second later, but he's clearly registered the other presence all the same, eyes going wider and his breath hitching. The "-- no," that comes out is just a quiet breath, but when his eyes snap up to Lily, "What the fuck," comes sharper with dread. "Why." There's a small wrapped box in Lily's hands, but she's putting it away into her bag after Mirror nudges her, taking in the makeshift hospital with widening eyes. "Someone has to tell people about your badass bullshit, this time," Lily says, trying doggedly for some lightness in her tone and failing, "Mirror's terrible at it." Her face — still slightly vacation-tanned — is going pale, but her hands are steady when she gloves up. Her power is steady, too, when it presses light against Joshua's and effortlessly shifts her genes to match. She comes to work beside him, taking over from his shaking hands, bolstering his stretch of healing magic. Softer, once this is done, she adds — "You shouldn't have to face this shit alone." --- 4 november, 2023. big deck energy. somewhere in the ocean. Above deck, deliveries are being made — where there was once just the gentle rock of the Mediterranean Sea now there is the definite sway of someone working their way across the deck. "— is there any room," Lily is asking as she enters the sloop's cabin, looking down at the insulated tote bag already slipping off her shoulder, "in the fridge for insulin, I don't know where —" It's here she looks up and abruptly turns pale as she sees an unexpected face. "...and if you pull this yarn a little tighter than the rest before you tie it off, it makes the whole strip all wavy." Harm is perched on the bench and leaning toward Leo to better demonstrate the trick to make the oral arms on their crocheted moon jelly more ripply and lifelike. They look up as Lily comes into view, their expression momentarily confused before it goes blank. Their fingers scrunch into the squishy, glittery-lavender bell of their project. "Doctor -- what --" They glance back at Leo, dark eyes very wide and their voice low as if Lily wouldn't hear them, as small as the cabin is. "-- why is she here?" Leo has been taking in Harm's instructions with rapt attention, nodding slow as he makes very careful effort to replicate their far more skilled yarnwork in the considerably clumsier attempt he's been crafting. He's looking up with just a small polite nod when Lily enters, beginning to gesture toward the fridge in invitation before he takes in Harm's sudden change. His brows crease, his fingers squeezing tight against his hooks. "She has been helping," he explains with a cautious sort of apology in his tone, and then, as if this is not explanation enough and further will help he adds: "Us." His head bows, and he's studying Harm kind of sidelong as he fiddles with the yarn. His voice is quiet and sympathetic when he speaks again. "Those labs made horrors of many of us. I like to think it is not all that we are." --- 24 november 2023. rafah¸ gaza. There is plenty of bustle to be found today -- desperate people gathering their things in attempt to flee to safety, the everpresent wails of ambulances, the everpresent wails of grief, the clamor and hollers of people attempting to get supplies here or get victims there. Yet, after such prolonged and intense horror the gunfire and explosions have become almost a background fact of life; it makes it, by contrast, almost unsettlingly quiet today, the pops and booms and rumbles for the moment halted. Leo has just slipped out of a still-intact home with a good deal of exchanged thanks on both sides, his hosts for the care and him for the gracious food and hospitality in the middle of such deprivation. By the time his companions join him though, he's got company of entirely another sort. There's a trio of IDF soldiers, all bearing the pins that mark them from the specialized mutant corps; they look by turns horrified and excited at this opportunity for -- what, they're still perhaps deciding. The rapid exchange in Hebrew clearly suggests at least one of them thinks capturing this notorious terrorist would be an opportunity for promotion. Leo's expression, agitated and pained, says a lot in itself, but the flex of psionic restraint that is delaying him is tangible to other senses. It's not too long after that Joshua is exiting the same house, laden down with a small box of leftovers pressed upon them by their hosts. His eyes have gone a little wider before he actually sees Leo and his current Problems; he's over by Leo in an instant, appearing just a bit in front of the other man and between the soldiers. His eyes have skipped between all three of them, but it's the ranking officer that he's grimacing at with a familiar annoyance that does not mitigate his wary tension. "Uri --" comes in warning as he's feeling out the boundaries of the invisible net currently leashing Leo. The other two soldiers have trained their guns reflexively on the Surprise Teleporter, but lower them at an irritable gesture from the officer. "{He's fine. I think. -- You keeping company with terrorists, now? When are you going to --}" The officer's words truncate very abruptly. Where he's been standing there's a second Joshua, the trio of soldiers dispatched -- don't worry, just down the street looking very confused -- with a casual touch. Other!Joshua is just as casually reaching to blip Leo and Joshua away. As the familiar peace of the boat reappears around them he's swiping the gift of leftovers (probably not kosher, is that Joshua going to eat them anyway?) from his friend's hand, form melting back into Mirror's shape. "Pff, now, your cousin's out of the loop. -- Or, maybe you haven't told the family group chat you've been a terrorist for years." --- 2 december 2023. gaza city. The IDF presence here is an expected routine by now, all of a piece with Israel's claim that militants are hiding weapons, hostages, or themselves in tunnels beneath Al-Shifa Hospital. But this particular patrol is suddenly bearing down on Harm and their team with keen and specific interest. The soldiers haven't yet raised their weapons, but they look very much ready to do so as they move to flank the group of civilians. It's hard to tell now whether Harm is freezing out of fear, in obedience of the shouted orders, or because they're being held telekinetically in place. "We're medics," they're trying to explain, not very much as though they think this will help. Behind Harm, Lily is quietly swearing through gritted teeth as she finishes bandaging her patient's head. "--get over here," she hisses to their third healer, though she's not looking at him when she stands up. As she does so those guns are drawn, pointed not at the wounded but squarely at the healers. More urgently, now, Lily stretches one arm out behind her. "Leo--" But there's a barked order in Hebrew, and as the soldiers right in front of them press on their triggers Lily slaps her free hand to the teenager's shoulder and they both disappear – -- leaving behind one pale and wide-eyed plaguebearer. Leo looks more exhausted than scared, at least until he reaches for -- something invisible that will not currently come to him. There's a dread growing slow, brows slowly knitting as he fights somewhat futilely against the psionic constraint that has held him. When the leader of the soldiers steps forward from beyond the pointed guns his demeanour shifts sharp. His eyes narrow -- first on the mutant corps pin but then up to the face of Joshua's cousin, an uncharacteristically harsh anger tightening his expression. His snort is disgusted, and as the soldiers close in to wrangle him none too gently into restraints he's spitting a sharp, "Ya Ibn el Sharmouta." --- 2 december 2023. gaza city, a few kilometres away. Where there was one healer among the chaotic cluster of the injured and maimed, now there are three. "--shit, are you, did they--" Lily's checking over Harm with wide eyes and a quick pass with her borrowed power. Only when she's reassured herself that they aren't bleeding out does Lily start telling Joshua, hurried and panicked, "-- IDF was shooting at us, had to leave Leo, he didn't grab me, I don't know why, he was right there." Joshua is dragging tired eyes up from his patient with a flicker of relief that soon disippates when he clocks Lily's current state of panic. His brows furrow through her hurried spill of words, his echo slow and uncertain like he's still processing. "-- had to --" But then he's sitting up straighter, eyes widening and color draining from his face. His teeth clench through a very slight twitch that perhaps the others can clock by now as a barely restrained impulse to jump. "-- leave Leo." Through the chaos and the bustle, there's a familiar signature drawing closer, now. Leo's steps are dragging but he's very much unharmed, coming over to deliver some juice and dried fruit to Joshua. It's unlikely he's had time to change in the five seconds since Lily saw him last and yet, perhaps his vanity made space to spruce up as well because his outfit is new. He's looking puzzled at the concern, tapping the small packet of dates against Joshua's shoulder insistently as he turns a quizzical look on Lily. "I'm right here." --- 3 december 2023. petah tikva detention center, israel. They haven't been prepared for the prisoner they've just taken on, that much has been clear from the frantic scramble still ongoing this deep into the night -- attempts to shuffle other prisoners, extra extra soldiers posted, the atmosphere extremely tense while the next steps here are being sorted. From inside a cage it's probably hard to tell very much, but it's clear when the scramble turns quite abruptly into a panic instead, terrified and confused. There are several shots -- there are several screams. And then, abruptly, the invisible restraint that has been holding this cell in a tight grip goes slack. The cell gets two new arrivals just a moment later. Leo is, again, looking apologetic -- maybe this time for some amount of cause as he looks over the current occupant with an uneasy frown. Lily is following behind Leo, large gun (that is definitely not hers) in hand, looking just a touch worse for wear with multiple bullet holes torn through her bloodied shirt and jacket, though the skin underneath is unblemished. Lily looks from Leo to Leo, before asking the one in the cell with a critical tone: "— you leaving looking like that?" This is not stopping her from holding out an expectant hand. "There's a bit of a mess, out front." In the cell, the second Leo has been looking expectantly at the door and the noises coming from behind it. "I can imagine." He's risen swiftly when the others appear, looking squarely at Leo at the mention of mess. There's a faint reproach growing in his mild voice that doesn't stop him from promptly taking Lily's hand, even though his form is already melting this body off. "You could have had the consideration to bring me a change of clothes." --- 17 december 2023. jabalia refugee camp, gaza. The bombs have stopped falling, for now, and this building is -- partially still standing. How long will this respite be is anyone's guess, and the scramble to relocate people to somewhere less in imminent danger of dropping its ceiling onto their heads is somewhat hindered by how many of the survivors are in no shape yet to be moved. Joshua's triaging has been, somewhat of necessity, keeping a good deal of the constantly-evolving circumstance in mind together with the patients' actual conditions. As another shiver of grit dusts down on them from the uneasily unsteady ceiling he's giving up on further real patient assessment and, instead, holding an offering hand out toward Lily. "Faster your way." Lily's gaze drops to the offered hand. "No," she snaps, quick and angry and afraid. "Can use yours, or I'll --" take the pain, she doesn't quite finish saying. Her eyes cast over the injured and maimed, then up to the slow-crumbling ceiling above them. She's not looking at either of her teammates now, even as she reaches her hand to meet Joshua's, as she slowly, finally addresses Harm. "Talk me through this." Dr. Allred has said this exact phrase to Harm before, half a year and half a world away. There, it was a dispassionate command – here, it's a plea. At Joshua's pronouncement Harm is already going to him, but at "I'll take the pain" their eyes snap back to Lily. "There's no time, but I can show you. We will be stronger together." They glance at Joshua, their face not quite blank but determinedly calm. "It will hurt him a lot more but we've done this, with Mirror." Despite the confidence in their words, they look just a little paler as they take Joshua's other hand. Lily's borrowed power hums in sudden indescribable synergy through Joshua with the mutation she is mimicking, as though his body is somehow completing a circuit. "Pain is how we heal," they say quietly as they draw their teammates over to their first patient, and the glance they dart at Lily this time is gentler, "but you already know that." --- 29 december. big deck energy. somewhere in the ocean. The sun is just setting, glorious and rich to cast its glowing color over the glittering expanse of water. Joshua is hardly fashionable in his grungy tac pants and boots, ancient sweatshirt, but he is late. Or, okay, let's not besmirch Joshua's good name that way -- this Joshua is melting like wax, reshaping himself into Mirror's form, and though they're heading straight for the food (to grab dessert first, sticking a piece of cake onto their plate), once they have claimed a beer they are lifting it in a casual toast. There's a feast set out on the table, but the cake is taking pride of place, the Very Neat slices still leaving most of the Very Neat piped flowers and lettering prettily on display. Leo is glancing up as Joshua-no-Mirror arrives. The brief mild judgment in his hitch of brows softens readily into a very small smile, a very small nod. He's leaning up against against the handrail, sipping slow at his own cider, and though he's mostly looking inward at his companions and not out at the sunset splendor, the view seems to relax him. There's no drinking age in international waters, and Harm has a cider of their own that they've just set aside in favor of rooting around in the largest of their medic packs (which have evolved and budded off in the course of the last few months). Their hair has dried spiky from some earlier dampness, and they're dressed in a too-large black-and-orange block shirt and a bright orange sarong. When they find what they're looking for, it seems faintly surreal that such a thing might have fit in the pack at all, much less taken any of searching to locate: a broad flat recycled cardboard box cinched with a red-and-white twist of yarn. They push aside the (somewhat saggier, now) medic bag of holding and present the box with a shy smile to the person whose name is written and illustrated on the cake. Joshua's brows hike, dutifully impressed at Harm's bag-of-holding pack. He's slouched in a bench seat, just cracking his latest beer because Why Not, it's shabbat and they're going nowhere, for now. He's mostly watching the sunset, but as Harm holds out the present he's flicking a sidelong glance to Lily. At Joshua's side, Lily is slow to react, hands hesitant to take and open the offered gift. When it's open, she lifts up one of the handmade socks, rubbing the earth-gradient yarn between her fingertips. Her eyes are bright at the lids where tears threaten to spill over for a second time this evening, awed at the care in the tiny stitches. Lily hugs the soft, small thing to her chest — maybe this is reassurance enough to the teen who made them that the present is well received. With her free hand, Lily raises her bottle up to Harm, to Mirror, to Leo, the setting sun glinting along the glass. Doesn't raise it to Joshua — here, she just taps the neck of her bottle to the neck of his with a quiet clink. --- 15 january 2024. rafah¸ gaza. There are several families crammed into this apartment, or at least more extended family than should reasonably be living here, the original residents having taken in refugees from the north. Even in these crowded conditions, they've set aside the smallest bedroom so the injured child can have some relative peace and quiet. The little boy is no longer injured, but Harm can't fix the exhaustion and the malnutrition. "I think he should be ready for some broth when he wakes up," they say quietly -- not a whisper, he's sleeping too soundly to wake so easily -- as they're getting up from his bedside. Then they frown, looking back down at the boy and then up at Joshua. "He looks kind of like you. I mean -- you, when you're. Not doing the thing." Their eyes track to the other Joshua for a second opinion. Joshua (really) is leaning against the wall beside the bed, and at this implicit question he looks down. Studies the boy's sleeping face a long while. Then studies other Joshua as if he could see their real form beneath the mirror-image of his own jowly face. Squinting back down. After an extensive consideration, he's lifting his eyebrows in mild surprise and giving a small nod of acknowledgment. Joshua (not really) has just recently returned with a refreshed bottle of (precious, in all-too-short-supply) drinking water to leave by the boy's bedside. He's looking down, too. His form melts and runs and shifts until it's Mirror's actual face, studying the child and then looking back up at the others. "You all just think all Arabs look --" they're starting to say, but get interrupted by the door opening, the boy's mother peeking inside to anxiously check on the progress. "{Is he --}" she starts in still somewhat fretful Arabic, but then her eyes go wide. She steps in, stares at Mirror with a sudden pallor like she's seeing a ghost. "Layla?" sounds hopeful and incredulous at once, but then it's rapidly shifting suspicious: "{Why are you wearing my sister's face?}" --- 9 february 2024. binondo district, manila, philippines. In the Chinatown around them it's bright, it's festive, a riot of glittering lights and glowing lanters, joyfully clashing music and rich spiced smells of street food. At the moment, though, Leo is not enjoying the food, not watching the flashily arrayed lion dancers who are passing by. He's stopped outside the brightly lit window of an electronics store, a dozen televisions tuned to a dozen different channels in the window. There are several soap operas playing, two different newscasters covering the New Year celebration right around them, a bright and cheerful children's cartoon, one screen playing an ancient episode of House, M.D.; Leo is ignoring all these, though, and focusing on a small set in the corner. Through the glass the speaker is not particularly audible, but the images of wrecked boats, Sentinels, demolished cabins, are easy enough to see. The subtitles are helpfully filling in the rest. He's been very quiet as he watches, very pale, and only looks away when his grip on his plastic cup tightens too far and spills fresh sugar cane juice down over his fingers. "-- oh," he's blinking almost apologetically at his companions, looking down with a disproportionate distress at his wet and sticky fingers. "I think -- I might -- be needed. Elsewhere. For -- a while." Harm had started to drift ahead of Leo, watching the street performers and picking at what's left of their egg waffles, but they backtrack now at his stillness. "What's --" Their eyes go wide as they put together what the new report is saying, or at least enough of it to guess. Then, very slowly, they look over at Leo's reaction. Their "oh no" is swallowed by the festive noise all around. "But the government will be hunting for --" When that sentence started they were looking at the screen, but by the time it cuts off they're looking at Leo again. "Please. You can't go off looking for them alone, but..." They bite their lower lip, then look to Joshua helplessly. "...how can we help?" Joshua has been wandering along beside Harm, transfixed by the dancers as they pass by, but he circles back too when he notices they have left Leo behind. He frowns through the window, and his jaw is slowly tightening as he takes in the subtitles, their clinical discussions of the slaughter and triumphant declarations of victory over terror. His eyes skim aside to Leo, then, more slowly, to Harm. His head is shaking even before their question finishes. "Can help you find your people, man, but -- we do life." His eyes drop -- not back to the screen but Leo's clenched fist. "You going after something else, we can't follow."