"I hadn't thought it was so very bad."
NYC - Mount Sinai Hospital
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.
Slowly, the victims of the bombing at Monday night's gala have been recovering, getting discharged. It's been a tumultuous time at the hospital, though, with so many mutants among Ryan Black's injured crew; those with powers hazardous to themselves or others needing extra oversight through their surgeries and convalescense. Some, though, may not require the extra physiological oversight -- but that does not mean that the trauma has been any easier, emotionally. The slender young woman lying in the bed has a wealth of tubing hooked up to her, a slightly orangish cast to her normally vibrant red skin, her hair -- what had remained of it -- currently shaved down. The explosion would have been trauma enough; the hospital stay likely bringing back no pleasant memories after her long stint in Prometheus. Currently, though, she's looking relaxed enough. Almost cheerful, even. "Somehow, /even/ hospital food is appetizing after that." She's pulling the tray that a nurse has just brought her nearer to herself.
Lucien is just getting up from her bedside, with a small chuff of laugh, a gentle pat to her hand. "I have few enough talents. I shall count this niche among them." His head tilts to the young woman; he slips out of the room quietly, though does not have far to go. Only down the hall, stopping to open the door to another room, close it behind him. He leans against the doorframe, shoulders rolling back in a slow stretch. His mind is busy, as ever, its careful and strict regimenting ticking along meticulously.
Ryan has not stirred from his coma, still wreathed in wires, tubes, and machinery as he has been since the last of his surgeries. Matt is ensconced in a chair on the other side of the bed, legs curled up onto the seat. He's wearing a black t-shirt with a blue house on it, a spiral staircase leading nbhgendlessly into the ground below, old blue jeans with tattered cuffs, and mismatched hiking socks--one blue and one gray. His hair is a dull, tousled mess, his face drawn and pale, his eyes hollow and ringed with shadow for lack of sleep. An ancient, well-worn paperback copy of Neil Gaiman's /Neverwhere/ is open in his lap, and he lifts his eyes from it as Lucien enters. His smile is not forced, but tired and faint. "Everyone tucked in?" his voice is quiet, his powers threading into his brother's--far more tenuous and shaky than usual, considering how routine an act this is for him.
Lucien does not immediately answer. Just stretches his shoulders back further, his eyes closing. He pulls himself away from the doorway, moving to the bedside. His hand touches lightly to Ryan's, his own powers flexing out -- gentle, but thorough. He lets out a slow breath as his hand falls away. His eyes slide to the book, lingering there. Eventually he leans down, presses a brief and firm kiss to Matt's temple. It comes with a flutter of soothing calm, gentling the edges of exhaustion. "You are not."
At Lucien's touch, it's the full extent of Matt's weariness is evident--not just sleep deprivation and days of worry and stress, but a particular kind of neurological fraying that hasn't happened often since his return from Prometheus. Matt sighs, his shoulders relaxing, though a distant shiver of fear runs through. His powers are stretch out farther into the ward full of injured mutants, his somewhat tenuous probing sensible to Lucien even if he might be vague on the specifics. "I'm not hurt," he retorts.
"Mmm." Mild, noncommittal. "Not yet." Lucien rests his hand on Matt's shoulder, his own awareness twining through his brother's as it quests outward. Quietly, he bolsters this, tucking the fraying edges back in in Matt's mind, lending a gentle current of energy to offset some of the exhaustion, sharpening his focus as he searches.
Matt huffs softly. "What am I going to do, pick a fight with Nurse Daniels?" His sweep is subtle, mostly checking in on the powers of those injured, here and there quieting the ones that are disturbing their owners' sleep--as he has been doing dozens of times a day. Even with Lucien's bracing, this process feels strained, and relief floods him when he's completed it. Relief, and a cascade of neural signals pulsing in eerie abrupt consonance.
Lucien is quiet through this sweep. His eyes are fixed down on the bed, though his concentration stays with Matt. He does not look up once Matt has finished -- nor does he move, though his fingers press just a tiny bit harder against the side of his brother's neck. The shift in his own mind is swift and sure, clamping down readily where his powers already twine through Matt's. Neatly /flicking/ his brother's mind back into its proper working order before the incipient seizure has a chance to blossom. One of his eyebrows lifts.
By the time Matt notices the aura--a deeply bizarre sense of proprioceptive disconnect from his own power--Lucien has already taken care of the would-be seizure. It's only a split second later that a shudder of alarm runs through Matt, presumably when he put together what just happened. "Oh." He says eloquently, pressing a hand to his mouth, where it is perfectly placed to stifle a yawn. "I hadn't thought it was so very bad," he murmurs, unfolding himself slowly from the chair, twinges of pain shooting through limbs and back. He reaches up, takes his brother's hand--whether for physical assistance, comfort, or just extreme disinterest in courting another seizure--and hauls himself to his feet, hugging his book tight with the other arm.
Lucien's hand grasps Matt's firmly. He quashes the worst of the pain, helps pull Matt to his feet. "Not to worry." His eyes flick to Ryan, brief, and then away. Something ripples -- and just as quickly quiets, in the neat clockwork hum of his mind. "I feel quite certain there will be plenty with which you can exhaust yourself, again. After a nap."