Logs:Care

Care
cn: sibling abuse
Dramatis Personae Lucien, Matt, Steve
In Absentia Elie, Mirror	2024-02-03 "{I could have helped you.}" (a while after charles' v successful intervention & a minor crisis.)
Location <PRV> Tessier Residence - Greenwich Village
Understated opulence claims this spacious and well-kept townhome, the decor throughout the whole of it of the highest quality and carefully chosen. The front door opens onto the entrance hall, a closet close at hand to receive coats and shoes -- the pale hardwood floors gleam underfoot, unsullied by tracked-in mess from outside. The living room beyond the entrance is all dark woods and pale earth tones, comfortable couches and armchairs and a thick soft rug laid down beneath. Two large and painstakingly aquascaped aquariums flank the entrance to the dining room, with several brightly coloured species of fish within. Most of the rest of the wall space, notably, is taken up with shelves -- shelves crammed with books of every subject and genre. A study branching off of the main hall is cozy, small, done in pale blues and lined with books as well around the large computer desk and smaller futon, though these rarer books are cased behind glass. Another securely locked door leads to the basement, and another to the full bathroom downstairs. The kitchen connects to the living room; in contrast, it is sleek and modern and well-appointed, stocked by someone who takes their cooking seriously. And takes their alcohol equally seriously -- to one side of the kitchen there is a fully-stocked bar. The back door to the kitchen looks out on a small well-kept garden. If Matt's keen mutant-spotting senses did not tell of Lucien's quite recent arrival, certainly the exuberant dancing Flèche is doing in the front hallway is signal enough. Lucien has had no time at all to settle himself in and -- seems, in fact, like he is not planning to; one look at the dog's antsy-whining prance and he's harnessed her up. He has not gotten farther than this, though -- at the moment he has been dispossessed of the pup's leash and is holding on to her treat pouch with a look of very mild affront. "{I am quite capable of a walk,}" he is doggedly lying to Steve as if this entire afternoon had not just happened and his usual poise will be as convincing as he is used to. "{She oughtn't be off her routine just because I am having -- a bit of a day.}" "{She won't be off her routine if I take her.}" As often when he is trying to sound particularly reasonable in French, Steve has slipped back into the Provençal accent he picked up during the his time with the Resistance. It generally doesn't help his case. "{She will be off her routine if you pass out and she noses you too hard. I know your routes, and if you really want her worn out I'll literally run her uptown to play with Zen, then run back.}" Flèche seems very enthusiastic about this suggestion, her pointy muzzle tipped up towards Steve now, her tongue lolling out one side of her mouth. Possibly, she is just looking at whoever happens to be making the mouth noises at the moment. She has faith she will get a walk one way or another -- the harness never lies. "{Look, you were just praising my very useful muscles a while ago. Let me use them, I pray you.}" He looks as almost as painfully earnest as the dog slowly losing her mind between them as he tug-tug-tugs the treat pouch from Lucien's hands. "We'll be back soon -- but not too soon." He doesn't fully turn away as he slips out the door, as though worried Lucien might try to fight him for the leash after all. Matt's power precedes him, pressing wispy, soft, and solicitous around Lucien's. His footfalls on the stairs are louder than his wont in his haste, or perhaps he's distracted by the phone pressed to his ear. "{--no, no, he's here–yes, he's alive!}" There is an eye-roll in his tone but the smile he flashes Steve as he departs is bright and adoring. He's wearing a pale pink tee with a black (roughly anatomical) heart sliced open to bleed in rainbow, and soft-worn blue jeans. "{--I'll do no such thing, Mother, but I will see you tomorrow.}" He hangs up summarily and rushes to Lucien, his power, too, finally threading its way in fully. His mind is an absolute chaos of terror and relief, love and anger. "{Oh my sweet darling!}" He throws his arms around his brother. "{Gods, I was going out of my mind!}" He pulls back and studies Lucien with a sudden still intensity. "What happened? You did not OD." Lucien has relinquished the treats, though he looks a little reluctant yet about it. Flèche evinces no such reluctance in her bounding eagerness, and if Lucien had any further protests to make about this helpful dognapping he is distracted by the faint touch that heralds his brother's arrival. His eyes go wide at the hug and the mild reflexive tension that has threaded through him at the sudden squeeze only lingers when Matt pulls back. He's only now bracing a hand against the wall, slowly working one shoe off and then the other. Where his power twines through Matt's, now, it is bleeding a quiet comfort, its gentle care somewhat at odds with the fraying strain and exhaustion that lies beneath. "What? Of course I did not. You really ought not believe those ludicrous myths." Matt's eyes narrow minutely, frustration bubbling up through the emotional tumult that had just started to subside. "I didn't ask if you gave Steve contact overdose, though you most certainly could, myth aside. That was, I assume, just some quick thinking on his part. Or maybe Mirror's. Hell, that could have been Mirror, for all I know." He draws a deep breath and slouches against the wall, watching Lucien remove his shoes. His power shifts where it augments his brother's, easing the effort of constant biochemical adjustments needed to keep his atypical nervous system functioning. When he speaks again his voice is gentler even if the storm in his mind is not, "What happened? You are clearly not well." Lucien shakes his head, resting against the wall a moment longer than necessary for shoe removal but then straightening. "{He touched me and passed out -- very briefly -- and some bystander made assumptions. He quite rightly thought running with those seemed a better course of action than the alternative.}" He is starting towards his room -- kind of slow, clearly presuming Matt will come along rather than trying to exit the conversation. "I just had not eaten enough. It is not -- serious. {I am very sorry I worried you.}" Matt tsks softly. "{Pity. I did so enjoy my mental image of Steve overacting a swoon for you.}" He does follow, watching Lucien closely for signs he might collapse again at any moment, nevermind that those signs would be easier to spot via biokinesis. He is, in fairness, also watching that closely. "{But you've been eating plenty,}" he protests, a new queasy fear with old, old roots growing and spreading through the unsettled morass of his neurochemical landscape, "{unless you've only been eating at home, and even that shouldn't put you in the hospital.}" He lays one hand delicately on his brother's arm, hesitant as though even that light touch might topple him. "I ought've been more attentive. I was sure you meant to lose the weight you'd gained for the role, but it has happened dreadfully fast. Are you quite certain it is not serious?" "{Mmm. You ought to have seen him flexing when he was dissuading some nurses from their intended fussing.}" The light touch does not quite topple Lucien, but he is collapsing heavily down onto the edge of his futon once he is in his room, and then grimacing from the shoes he is still carrying over to his closet door. "{It is not serious,}" he insists. And then, somewhat hedging as he pushes himself back to his feet: "{I can adjust so it does not happen again.}" "{I'm sure he'll be good enough to re-enact it if I ask very nicely. Alas for you, he is not here to dissuade me now.}" Matt was probably about to do more fussing about Lucien standing back up, but his expression freezes at the explanation half-way between the door and the futon. His queasy fear has receded only to be immediately replaced by a subtler--also rather old--worry. "{Sit,}" he says, his tone equable and light, as though issuing an invitation. It is not an invitation. "{You did this to yourself.}" He's fighting down anger again, and where his power had only passively bolstered his brother's before it now clamps down tight. "{To hell with worrying me. You could have hurt someone, destroyed your career -- my gods, you could have died.}" Lucien freezes at Matt's not-a-request -- maybe at the tone, maybe at the clamp of power that runs a brief tense shiver through him. He's looking down at his shoes and then over at the closet door like he is not entirely sure what happens next. He is sitting, though -- in his desk chair, now, it's closer -- and his eyes lower at his brother's reprimand. The shiver is echoed along the tightly spinning lines of neuroelectric activity; Matt can feel the upset he is pushing back down. "{I was only trying --}" he begins, but then rubs slowly at his eye with one knuckle. "{I could have. I did not. I will be more careful.}" Matt's jaw tightens, his teeth grinding faint but audible. He turns the borrowed power onto his own nervous system, dampening by main force the anger trying to claw its way through to the surface. "{I know. But I could have helped you.}" His grip on Lucien's biokinesis relaxes again, and his voice is soft and conciliatory as he drifts over to the desk. "{Or least kept an eye on it. You are so very capable in so many ways that I thought--}" He squeezes his brother's shoulder hard. "{--I should let you decide when and where you need me. I know you don't want to trouble me, I just didn't realize how how far you would take that.}" He tugs the shoes gently from his brother's grasp and goes to the closet, gesturing between the two empty shoe cubbies as he glances back at Lucien. Lucien's shoulders have tightened, some kind of futile physical flinch that helps little against the commandeering of his brain, but this relaxes cautiously when Matt's grip does. "{I did not want to trouble you,}" he agrees, "{and you can hardly be there around the clock to bolster me. I suppose this was just -- a bit more extensive than the tinkering I usually do.} I usually countenance physical stressors more adroitly." He relinquishes the shoes reluctantly, gesturing towards the correct of the many cubbies in his deep and meticulously organized closet. "{I have a better idea, now, what to attend to.}" There's a carefully experimental rebalancing happening within him -- it does not actually mitigate the intensity of his currently well-overclocked metabolism, instead delicately starting to shift what energy is being used elsewhere along more conservative lines. "{It will not happen again.}" Matt scrubs one hand over his face. He's keeping his frustration down and his voice even, but his worry has grown almost physically painful. "{More than a bit, I should say, and please do not patronize me. You know perfectly well I needn't bolster you constantly to ease the burden on your mind and body.}" He returns to Lucien's side, leaning back against the desk, reluctant to stray far even if he does not need touch to observe the latest metabolic adjustments. "{What are you sacrificing to ensure you stay conscious next time?}" he asks abstractedly. His focus on the work is so keen that the ghosting touch of his power is almost sensible tracing the relevant pathways. "{No,}" he agrees at length, mildly, "{it will not happen again.}" The tendrils of his power still twined in Lucien's bear down now, impossible to resist when he takes control of those overclocked metabolic processes, twisting them with more determination than skill into a less frenetic shape. "{Because I will not allow it.}" Lucien's eyes open wider, but apart from this small change there is no flinch. No physical reaction at all, really, but to Matt's perception the response is stark all the same -- an immediate inward surrender. It's a release not just of those particular finicky processes but all the meticulous manual work thrumming in habitual busy hum within him, tumbling these with a shudder into Matt's grip as Lucien's eyes lower. His breathing is slow and steady as if this will somehow make the indelicate remolding less jarring. There's a very faint shiver that quests along the threads he usually uses to pull words from his deeply nonverbal mind. The impulse doesn't go further than that, doesn't make any attempt at re-asserting control, and though he opens his mouth brief he closes it again in silence. Matt's expression relaxes at this yielding, and he gives a quiet hum of approval. The worry that had been twisting inside him slowly unwinds, the pressure around it easing like a careful breath out. He tips Lucien's chin up so he can look into his eyes, gaze piercing and expression impassive. "{I promised to take care of you, and come what may, I shall.}"