ArchivedLogs:All That Matters

All That Matters
Dramatis Personae Hive, Melinda, Flicker	2014-05-02 '
Location <NYC> Mel, Hive, and Flicker's place - East Harlem
Clump-thunk, clump-thunk. Flicker's reappearance in the apartment is rarely preceded by the jangling of /keys/; he doesn't often bother with them in places he knows. What it /is/ preceded by is a rolling noise and an uneven set of footsteps, the heavier thump explained as soon as he /appears/ just inside the front door, leaning up against a crutch tucked beneath one arm. There's a swath of bandaging wrapped down one forearm; though whatever leg injury might necessitate the crutch is hidden beneath a bland pair of jeans. Polo shirt. He stops just inside the front door to turn around and /open/ it, flitting back out the door a moment later to push a small black wheelchair through the doorway. Hive is, at least, uninjured. He's a little droopy-tired where he sits, eyes closed -- though not asleep, his mind wide-awake and drinking in the mental sounds around him. A little thinner than when he left, bandaged on hand and forearm and the crook of his elbow where various needles have been poking. Melinda is doing what Melinda does best. She is standing in the kitchen, carefully measuring coffee she ground before while the baby was awake into a filter in the coffee machine. She doesn't really pay all that much attention to the sounds outside the door because she is still not familiar with what the regular noises are. This one is mentally tagged as 'noisey' and 'maybe neighbor' until it stops outside her door. She clicks the filter basket into place and heads to the sink to fill the carafe with water. When she turns around, she sees Flicker open the door from the inside, her brow furrowed with minor confusion. Then there is a Hive. She sets down the full carafe and pads quickly over to his side. Clad in a light blue, cotton bathrobe, a tank top and sleep shorts, she heads over to inspect the pair, her attention first on the man in the wheelchair, but switching rapidly to Flicker when she spots bandages. "Oh good gravy." << Fuck. >> her mind fills in the less baby-friendly term as she inhales sharply and tilts her head. "Welcome back. You okay? Do you need anything?" "Huh? Hi!" Flicker has a smile for Melinda, a little tired, but warm. He leans in around the side of the wheelchair to curl the non-crutch-laden arm aroud Mel's shoulders in a quick squeeze of hug. "Hi. No, I'm -- I'm good, I need -- I need my backpack? I'm going to be late for class if I don't -- /zip/." << Who the fuck goes to class the day after -- >> Hive's mindvoice sounds little like /him/, his own tone buried beneath an echoing chorus of Other Voices. His head rolls back, eyes cracking open to peer up at Melinda. << Hey. >> Melinda returns the hug however brief it is, a small smile pulling at her lips as she watches Flicker get himself ready for class. "Go on, you. Just, take care of yourself." She winces at the end, worried about whatever is making him need crutches. She inhales deeply then kneels down beside Hive's chair, meeting his gaze with warmth in her expression. << Probably people who do this enough to know if they took time off every time that they were injured doing something heroic, they'd never graduate? >> She reaches a hand up and brushes at Hive's hair, studying his features. "Anything I can do for you?" << Look at you being. Fucking. Logical. >> GRUMBLE. At least there is grumble in Hive's mental voice but none in his expression as he tips slightly to the side, bonking his forehead lightly against Mel's. << Got shot, >> this explanation though brief comes with mental connotation that clarifies for him -- Flicker, leg injury. << Didn't hit bone. Just hurts like a motherfucker to put weight on. >> "Someone coming up on finals /next week/," Flicker answers Hive with a sharp quick smile. "Some of us don't /have/ our degrees yet." He claps a hand down onto Hive's shoulder, squeezing tight and then vanishing; it's only a moment before he reappears, still crutch'd but now with backpack slung over one shoulder. He leans down to kiss first Mel and then Hive on the tops of their heads, and then vanishes once more. Teleporting > walking, at the moment. Hive just stays quiet, leaned up against Mel. << We made it, >> first, and then he lapses back into a stretch of silence. << How have things been. Here? >> Melinda watches Flicker as best she can as he zips around. "Well, good luck with those finals." She stays still for the kiss and closes her eyes, glancing up again afterward. << someone's got to be boringly logical. >> Inwardly, she cringes at the description of his injury, but keeps smiling on the outside. She's also quite content to stay where she is, forehead bonk'd and hunched over the arm and wheel of Hive's chair, but there are probably better positions to be in. "I'm glad. So very glad you made it," she whispers, the twisted up core of worry starting to unwind. There's hesitation when Hive asks about what has been going on around there. She purses her lips. "Jim's having trouble adjusting to life. He's upset he couldn't go on the raid, but believes it was the right call." She's worried about him but has no idea what to do. << A little boring is kind of okay right now. >> Hive's hand moves, slightly, off his lap and up in -- Melinda's general /direction/, but falls back to rest on his leg before making it very far. << Was the right call. Needs time to recover. Life-and-death situations, not a good place for -- >> Hive's lips twitch upwards; there's something very /wry/, self-directed, self-/deprecating/, twisting beneath his words. << Broken brains. >> He pulls in a slow breath, fingers curling against his thigh. << Don't know how you adjust after dying. How you return to the world after -- >> His head gives a very small shake. << S' -- rough. >> Mel slips her hand onto Hive's lap and finds his hand, her fingers working to entwine with his. "I can't imagine. I really... can't wrap my head around it at all." There's a small amount of distress and shame that she didn't take his claims of death seriously enough, but she was far too focused on the accusatory tone of his rants, the way he tried to point out how they had left him behind, left him for dead. If she had only... but it's so hard not to get defensive when situations like that arise. She lifts Hive's hand to her lips, kissing his knuckles before exhaling and promising only to do better next time. She wants to ask how Hive is, but is afraid to. "So. you want to see your room? Flicker has it pretty much set up." Hive turns his hand upwards, ffingers loosely curling back around Melinda's. << Left him behind? >> There's an uncomfortable-unhappy prickle bristling across the surface of his words, here, but it just subsides into tired resignation. << Stayed with him, >> this comes with a slow mental touch, pressing up against Melinda's mind in quiet clarificaiton of what sort of /with/, << right up until /he/ kicked /us/ out. >> His eyes close again, head tipping back as he slouches lower; the motion rocks his chair backwards, slightly, brakes not locked. << Want to see you, >> he answers this last question. << You holding up? >> << He's not doing well, hun. I wouldn't hold him to his words, but more the panic behind them. >> Mel thinks he probably tried to be strong and kicked Hive out only to figure out how much he needed him. It's with the utmost affection that she considers him a stubborn ass. When he slouches and lets his head tilt back, she leans in a little further, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "Well, I'm pretty much everywhere in here, so you're in luck." Her breath is soft upon his skin and hair as she pulls back again. She's trying to figure out where would be most comfortable, considering the couch briefly, in case he still wants to be upright, but eventually decides that when he's ready to move, she'll probably take him to her room, so he can see Tolu, too. The kid is still sleeping, but there's something wonderfully comforting about an infant sleeping on their chest. << Kicked us out For Our Own Good because hiving fucks up our brain, >> Hive explains -- and this is wry, /too/, given the echoing chorus of voices currently comprising his mind. << Maybe he needs time. After all the hell he's -- people don't just get better overnight. >> His fingers curl just a little tighter against Melinda's at this, a fant tremor to his grip. << Am feeling kind of lucky just now. You didn't answer, though. >> A stirring of concern -- for how Mel has been doing, for the kid -- is waking up beneath his words. << Tol -- u? >> Now his eyes open once more, brows lifting in curiosity. << I'm... just trying not to think about myself right now. Feels incredibly self absorbed to be worrying about whiny little feelings when everyone else is brushing up against or recoverying from death. >> Melinda settles a little further down on the ground, shifting until she can rest her cheek against his thigh. "All things considered, I am amazing. I have a precious child and a supportive family to live with." She just feels exhausted and unfortunately full of hormones and milk. "Tolu." Melinda confirms, but a moment later, she purses her lips, suspicious growing that she might not be remembering everything from that day she gave birth. "Not Tolu?" Hive's lips twitch upwards, very faintly. There's a rippling press up against Melinda's mind, slight and amused. << Tola? >> And, also, << You were /just/ a little out of it that night. >> The chair rocks again as Melinda settles against him, and now he leans down to lock the brakes on the wheelchair. His hand moves to rest on Melinda's head afterwards, fingers brushing against her hair. << You're /allowed/ to think about yourself, though. You just had a kid, your life's been pretty -- >> He stops, thinks about this a moment. Backtracks to say instead: << -- fuck it, you know, you don't actually need a crisis to be allowed to think about yourself anyway. Someone's /always/ having a goddamn crisis. Someone's always /going/ to be having a goddamn crisis. You're still allowed space for you in there. >> << I know. I really do know. It's just crisis after crisis. And I'm taking care of my self. I swear I am. >> Mel closes her eyes and wraps an arm around Hive's leg. She also partially hopes that if she doesn't focus too much on the uncomfortable depressing feelings, they'll start to go away. << Just need more sleep. >> She gnaws on her lip. << Tola, eh? Okay. >> Resignation. << I did like the idea of calling her Lulu... or Lula. With the middle name Solada. >> Silly names sound better when sleep deprived. << But she's two weeks old come tomorrow. We should probably settle on a name soon. >> << Could still call her Lulu. Or whatever. Names are strange anyway, how the fuck do you get /Jim/ from /James/. Or /Jack/ from /John/. You could call her anything. >> Hive's knuckles curl in, fingers running slowly down through Melinda's hair. << Be around more now. >> That has a faintly guilty note behind it. << Could get more sleep, maybe. With more pairs of eyes around to watch her. Flicker's only got a week and a bit of school left, too. >> << It's not just watching her and changing her diapers. >> And that is a process! << it's also the fact that right now, she's eating every two or three hours. All Day. I'm her only food source right now. I... kind of have to be involved. >> Melinda pulls away and shifts so she can look up at him. "Hey, no guilt. We're adjusting, all of us. Little Tolalilu is going to be around for a while. There's plenty of time to be around for her... for us." << They make pumps for -- pumping, >> Hive says, eloquently. << Can put some in the fridge for heating back up if she needs to eat while /you/ need to sleep. Because sleep is. Pretty important too. Should we order one? We can order. A thing. >> For MILKING. His hand lifts when Melinda pulls back, rubbing his palm against his cheek with a heavy tired gesture. << Yeah. >> A very small smile tugs at his lips; it doesn't stop the /heavier/ twist of guilt that wrenches at his mind with the following, << Plenty of -- time. >> Melinda studies Hive quietly. << You're still worried about dying. >> She shifts and rises, staying on her knees, but moving to be a little closer to his eye level. She's got a vice grip on how she feels about this, an emotional knot that's knotted up even tighter to keep from confronting it. << She's here. You're here. That's all that matters. >> << That and breast milk pumps, >> Hive answers, hand pulling down against his face, eyes scrunched tight, and then dropping it to his lap. << Sometimes a good night's sleep can be a fucking miracle. Mood-wise. >> << We can get breast pumps. They'll help later. Right now, it's kind of... >> Well, Mel /likes/ feeding her, << supply and demand. She's pretty much burning through my supply and then waking up to burn through it again as soon as it's replenished. Not much to pump yet. But in a couple more weeks, it will definitely be a thing. >> She watches his hand for a moment, then leans in and kisses his lips lightly. << Come on, let's get you into bed. >> With her. With them both. Hive leans just slightly in, lips touching gently back to Mel's; the press of his mind up against hers is just a faint-brief flutter, warmer and content. << Been missing the little flower, >> he agrees, unlocking the brakes on his chair again once he sits back. And now he opens his eyes to actually /look/ around the apartment for the first time. << ...Seriously. A canoe. >>