Logs:Good Use of Time

Good Use of Time
Dramatis Personae Hive, Jax, Steve
In Absentia	2020-10-24 << Your worth does not depend on what you do for other people. >>
Location <NYC> Bellevue Hospital - Kips Bay
Sandwiched between NYU Medical Center and the VA, the venerable Bellevue is the best known safety net hospitals in Manhattan and the oldest public hospital in the entire country. Pledged to accept patients regardless of their insurance status or ability to pay, it hosts several free clinics open to the public daily. Despite a persisting reputation related to the bygone horrors of its psychiatric hospital wing, this is a fully modernized, full-service medical center with solidly rated service. The hospital room is small and all its fixtures aging, though it's clean and well-kept. The monitors est up around the single bed are arcane and intimidating to the uninitiated, blinking and chirping softly at irregular intervals. The curtains have been drawn wide open to let in as much of the waning autumn daylight as possible, and the bedside table plays host to a small forest of cards from well-wishers. Steve has been sitting at the bedside for a while now, dressed in a yellow t-shirt with a skeletal t-rex dancing above the word 'FOSSIL' spelled out of bones, blue jeans, and black combat boots, a tan canvas jacket draped over the back of his seat. He has a hardback copy of Song of Achilles by Madeline Miller open in his lap, though he hasn't gotten far into it just yet, his eyes lifting to the door every time footfalls sound outside in the hallway. Jax doesn't make much noise when he's stirring, at first. Fingers slowly curling against the sheets, his eye cracking open, the labored-slow pace of his breathing shifting. The shifting imagery of his dreams has faded some time past to an amorphous flicker of shadows, blossoming and fading at erratic intervals around the room, but now even this is melting away. His head turns slow, eye fixing on Steve steadily. "You're not Ryan." Muzzy and a little slurred, it's hard to read much actual judgment into this statement one way or other. Steve sits up straighter, setting his book down in his lap. "Hey." His smile comes slow but warm as he slips a hand beneath Jax's. Squeezes so gently, as if afraid the other man might break. "Sorry." He bows his head slightly. "I offered to take his place. He badly needed rest, though I'm a little skeptical how much he'll actually get." A slightly reluctant pause, a slightly wider smile. "He also needed a shower, pretty badly. How's the ah..." He glances down at Jax's torso, where the sheets conceal his bandages. "Are you in much pain?" "Oh --" Jax's eye closes again, his hand curling back against Steve's. "S'good of you, you're..." He swallows, head shaking against the pillow. "Pretty." If this is connected to the other thoughts it's hard to say. "Should be in pain. I think I got -- drugs instead." Steve's expression is hard to pin down -- a touch of worry, a touch of relief. "I'm glad the medication is doing what it's supposed to, I ah..." He shakes his head. "Figure unusual metabolisms can tend to make dosages rough to pin down." He glances at the glass on the bedside table. "Do you need some water -- or something else?" "S'rough," Jax agrees, opening his eye again only to wince as he shifts and settles a little higher up on the pillow. "Need..." His jaw tightens for a moment, fingers going slack again around Steve's. "A lot of things. Ain't sure any of 'em are in reach, though." His voice is quiet, very rough, still a little strained the longer he speaks. "I'll be fine, though. You don't gotta spend your -- what day is it? -- don't gotta spend it sittin' in a hospital room." Steve swallows. Looks down. "I'm sorry. I wish..." His head shakes. "Wish I could help." His right hand, neatly bandaged, lifts to cradle Jax's where it's gone slack, still so careful. "It's Saturday. I know I don't have to." He tries to smile again. Doesn't quite succeed. "I want to, though. Even if it's just for a bit of quiet reading while you sleep." "Oh no -- oh no." Jax's eye opens wider this time, a more frantic edge in his voice. "Oh no, what time is it? I'm supposed to -- oh no." His breathing is speeding, though this puts another grimace on his face soon enough. When he looks back at Steve his brow has creased in evident confusion. "Want to? Why?" "It's half past eleven." Steve's brows furrow in confusion. "What did you -- I can text someone if there's something needs done..." His left hand squeezes Jax's tighter even as he reaches for his phone. Stops mid-motion. Blinks at the other man, startled. "Because --" Blushes faintly. "I like you." "It's nothing, I'm sorry, I just. I had somewhere to be, and now --" Jax exhales slow. His confusion doesn't, apparently, let up at Steve's answer. He studies the other man's face a long moment, brows still scrunched. He looks away abruptly, shakes his head hard. His frown stays in place when he asks, "What are you reading?" Steve also does not look much less confused, here, but he nods all the same. "I'm sorry. If you need to make arrangements, have someone go in your stead..." He waggles the phone he'd just pulled from his pocket before slipping it back. Looks down at the book. Back up. "The Song of Achilles. It's a modern telling of the ah -- well, what it says on the cover, I guess. I just started, but I like it so far." Hesitantly. "I can read it to you, if you like." "No." Just that, quiet. Jax slips his hand out of Steve's, resting it across his chest before he remember to tack on, quiet also, "thank you." There's a delay before he continues, a little stilted: "No, you don't gotta..." His shoulders have tensed up; they don't relax again when he closes his eye. "You should go. Hive's around, ain't nobody gonna mess with me in here. But thank you. I appreciate it." Steve raises one eyebrow. Then raises the other. "I know I don't --" He shakes his head again. "I'm sorry if I've upset you. God knows there's enough of that already." His hand curls around the book, grips it hard. "I'm just -- so damned glad you're alive, but --" He doesn't quite meet Jax's eye now as he rises. "Do you really want me to go?" Through Steve and Jax's minds there's a gentle shifting, a soft rustle of leaves parting to let a wan and unsteady sunlight through. The mental barriers between them are lowering, a spill of thoughts and feelings more freely shared. No actual greeting comes with this, though the thick stable trunk of Hive's mental presence is becoming a more concrete thing in their awareness, trailing roots brushing light against the others like a quiet reminder: yes, I'm around. "No, you didn't --" Jax's fingers curl tighter into a fist. "Didn't upset me, I just." Beside the bed, the numbers on his vitals monitor are shifting rapidly, heart rate and blood pressure and respiration all climbing. Instinctively he pulls back away from Hive's solidifying presence, but soon enough leans into it instead, grateful for the quiet stability. His own thoughts are a clearly scattered mess, the drug-induced mental fog accentuating the rising panic. It's a disorganized jumble of painfully technicolor images with no immediately coherent narrative to them -- Tag and Joshua helping organize a cache of medic supplies, a worried-looking Sarah at Geekhaus's door with an armload of Tupperware, Tian-shin sitting with hands clasped and eyes downturned in a plastic bucket chair at Central Booking, Taylor's offhand joking in the dawntime baker's hours at Evolve about the Morlocks' current carb overload, Flicker on hands and knees weeding the garden beds in the once-abandoned lot beside the Mendel Clinic. Beyond this, a strained and ceaseless background current, << shut up shut up shut UP just don't talk you'll ruin it shut up >> that winds over and around and through the flashes of too-bright recollection. "-- just tired, I guess," and though there is some truth to this in the heavy accumulated weight of recent history bearing down on him, there's certainly no actual desire for sleep in his racing thoughts. "Sorry." Steve blanches at the sudden change in Jax's vitals. << Is something wrong is he in pain he's probably just -- said he's not upset (maybe wasn't until now) >> Against this and his painful hyperawareness of the hospital room's glaring tactical shortcomings, his gratitude at Hive's stabilizing presence is wordless and intense and followed fast by embarrassment both at having forgotten the telepath was there -- even after being reminded by Jax -- and, more vaguely, at his own relief. << We're supposed to be steadying him (we are) (we are him) >> He accepts the rapid-fire montage of memories, steadier himself now despite his unquiet thoughts, his breath deliberately speeding to match Jax's. As his eyes drop back down to the man in the hospital bed, a vivid (if less colorful) recollection adds itself to the rest: of Jax's forcefield springing up between a crowd of protesters and the Guardians sent to attack them. The attendant respite -- an instant of safety in a war zone -- of someone else shielding him finally brings real calm. His grip on the book in his hand relaxes. << Want to do that for him, too -- safety and respite. >> "You don't need to be sorry. Don't need to speak, either." << show me >> "Whatever it is --" Hive's physical voice, solid and singular, speaks from Steve's memory: << ...hard to say what safe means, sometimes. S'more than just 'are people physically hurting you', yeah? >> "-- I'll not think less of you." << I promise. >> Another quiet rustle, another careful bolstering press of Hive's mind back up against the others. There is pain in the connection, the continued hollow despair that he's carried all this while, but something relieved, too, about the others' leaning back against him. The sheltering branches of his mental space grow thicker, spreading out over the barrage of memories, less obscuring and more a container for them to whirl without falling into an indefinite expansion. Quiet, he tugs gently up on Steve's memory of protection, drawing it back forefront to offer it wordlessly to Jax. Jax's own thoughts are still spinning -- a slightly more manageable tumult, now, butting up against the (safe) (steady) support Hive offers before they manage to escalate into a full-blown panic attack. Ryan fiercely passionate in front of a crowd downtown; a sketch on Dusk's desk of him with his bright Pride wings; the bustling-busy kitchen at Chimaera working overtime to feed a crowd. His short bark of a laugh is a little ragged, at the snippet of memory from Steve -- it comes largely with a heavy wave of guilt. He rubs at his side, wincing slightly as his fingers run against the bandaging. "It's nothing. It's nothing. I just." He squeezes down against his side, heedless of the spike of pain this brings even through the painkillers. "There's a lot better things you could be doin' than babysitting me, I ain't even -- I'm not helping nobody like this." Steve eases more fully against Hive's presence, though he doesn't shy from the pain, either. The thickening of the canopy in their minds makes it easier for him not to reflexively reach for the bright darting presence that should be weaving among the branches but is not. He slows his breathing gradually. "Didn't think I was babysitting." His mouth twists to one side with a wordless apology to Hive. "I -- wanted to see you safe, it's true, if unnecessary. But I also wanted to see you." Jax's voice now, the memory warm with gratitude, << And you are, more'n worth it to me, honey-honey. >> It's juxtaposed with a flash to Jax's left hand, sure where his own is shaking, patiently guiding his awkward grip on the paintbrush. "I think I have a pretty good idea what's a good use of my time." Hive's presence does not dart, only sifts slowly through the memories that float up. Turning one and then another and then another over in their minds. << Your worth does not depend on what you do for other people. >> When he does, finally, speak, it comes quiet and dredged up from somewhere deep within them -- the thoughts rising almost as if they belonged to the other men. << You don't have to justify your friendships through work. We're not going to stop wanting your company if other people handle the work once in a while, shit, how the fuck boned would I be right now if -- >> This trails off in a shiver that mingles anguish and wry amusement to disorienting affect. The imagery in Jax's mind isn't fading, but it is coming at a less breakneck pace. Lucien sending Spencer home with a Tupperware full of leftovers. Sarah tending a pot of food in Chimaera's protest-bustling industrial kitchen. Steve sitting up by Ryan's hospital bed. There's still a vague panicky anxiety here, nebulous and ill-formed, now, but he latches on to the others' words like a lifeline, and his breathing, at least, is coming more easily. "I just -- I didn't think that if --" He squeezes his eye shut, head shaking. His next words are much softer, carried much more clearly through the mental bond than aloud. "I'm glad you're here." Steve's agreement to Hive's (their?) words is itself wordless, but unreserved and passionate. His next recollection is also of Jax, but at ease this time, tucked beside him on the couch while Steve Universe plays. "Plenty of us to share the work, anyway," he says gently, "enough for us to take the breaks that we need." Though now he's thinking of walking through S.H.I.E.L.D. HQ, unable to feel Hive in the back of his mind in that moment but knowing he was not alone. Something in him is relaxing, too, as Jax's breathing evens out. He tries not to think how experienced he's gotten at sitting with people in the hospital. Cannot find words to reply at all, but only a determined surge of care and warmth and << (We're here.) >> << That what? If you got fucking shot we'd move on to the next best thing? >> Hive's mental voice doesn't stab or pound in its usual way, but it's sharp all the same. << You think any of us are going to replace you, of all people? Who the hell do you think could even start to measure up? >> Despite the rhetorical nature of this question the stab of grief it brings is briefly overpowering; he has to shove hard back down at the flutter-darting thought that starts to surface. << Cookies are fine, but who do people want with them when they need real support? Not some dime-store knockoff trying too hard to be you, that's for sure. >> Something is unclenching, inside Jax's tightly wound thoughts. There's a very small tug at the corner of his mouth, his head turning slowly back in Steve's direction. The churn of anxiety slows its spiraling, the knot of (uncomfortable) (inadequate) fear shrinking. "Sometimes feel like -- if I ain't the things I do what am I? An' when someone else..." He trails off, pushing back thoughts of stress and moving boxes, thoughts of leaving the art collective he founded, thoughts of so many times staring at his phone before deciding against Bothering Anyone with a text. Instead he leans into Steve's memory, holding tight to the feeling of quiet company tucked there beside him. "Thank you --" He manages to check himself from adding << for putting up with me >> aloud, but in the shared mental space that doesn't count for much. Steve's pale blue eyes widen. << Replace? >> The word is echoed in such bewilderment that it barely seems recognizable. It still takes him another moment to connect Hive's words back to Jax's memories, and his eyes go even wider -- this time with understanding. << Is she? Trying to--but either way, she could not. No one could. >> "Oh, Jax...I'm sorry that you've suffered so." He swallows hard. Shakes his head. "You are one of the most extraordinary men I've ever met." << Not a low bar. >> He swallows down the wrenching pain that comes with this thought. Takes Jax's hand in his again and wraps the wounded man in a careful, careful embrace. He's still focused on the last memory, and tries -- in his own clumsy, newly psionic way -- to overlap it with his sense of the present, with the comfort his friend brings him, however bedridden and anxious. "I can still read you << (both) >> that book..." Only a tired uncertainty answers that first question, though until the hug comes, Jax's mind is flitting over similarities both superficial and deeply stressfully not. He closes his eye, leans into it, for once not Uncomfortably Warm where he makes contact with Steve. He settles back stiffly against the pillows, squeezing back at Steve's hand. "Yeah," comes with a very small smile. << We'd like that. >>