ArchivedLogs:So Much It Hurts

So Much It Hurts
Sometimes, quite literally. >_>
Dramatis Personae Micah, Jackson	27 July 2013 Jax wakes up! Well, for a little bit. (Takes place several hours after Sebastian's visit.)
Location <XS> Medical Lab – B1
Gleaming and sterile, the school's medical facility is all cool science in contrast to the mansion's old-world old-fashion. All stainless steel and antiseptic tinge, the room is filled with the quiet whir-click of the various implements that comprise its medical equipment -- all state-of the art. The hospital beds are curtained off for privacy when they have patients, and in one of the alcoves there is a small operating theatre visible. More heavy-duty equipment is visible in the lab in the back, where the securely locked cabinets keep sensitive equipment out of the reach of teenage fingers. Sebastian successfully uprooted Micah from his medlab chair vigil for about an hour. The evidence of which is seen in a fresh set of clothing (black Reading Rainbow-dash T-shirt over another pair of jeans) and hair still half-clinging to scalp, half spiky with shower dampness. But he has since returned Spencer and Obie into the twins' care, settling himself back into the chair at Jax's bedside. Though now, at least, he is not simply watching Jax. He has at least cracked open the copy of “The Kindly Ones” that had been sitting neglected on the bedside table, and seems to be looking at it. Whether he is processing any of the material is another question entirely. There has been little change from Jackson for days, now. Occasional bursts of overheating, when the sunlamps needed to be turned down for fear of catching something around him on fire. But mostly just -- nothing, no flickers of illusion, no stray leaking of glowing light. There's not a whole lot to mark it when he does finally stir. A change in the slow rate of his breathing, a slight shift of his head. His arm twitches, tugging faintly at his IV line. His face turns away from the sunlamps, pressing down against his pillow with a small wince. The combination of several tiny movements catches Micah's attention, drawing it more completely away from his book. He places a bookmark, setting the book aside on the table, before leaning over the side of the bed. “Jax-honey?” his voice comes tentative-soft. It may be that this exact scene has been enacted several times as Jax happened to stir a bit in his sleep. He reaches out for Jax's hand, his own hovering over it palm-up to test for excessive heat, before stroking at it gently. Jackson's hand is actually rather cool, at the moment. For him, at least; more like a normal body temperature for most people. It turns over, at Micah's touch, fingers curling up in a small twitchy motion to curl against Micah's. He opens his mouth, then closes it again. His eye cracks open. Then -- closes again. "-- Oh," sounds very scratchy-hoarse, voice rough with disuse. "Oh. You. Are alive." Micah's hand twitches almost imperceptibly at the curling fingers, faintly painful against his still-healing burns, but he makes no attempt to withdraw. "Hi, hon. Yeah, I'm alive. You been sleepin' for a few days, though." He tries to keep his tone light, blinking back what could be the threat of a few tears. He twists awkwardly, reaching with his free hand to retrieve a pair of sunglasses and slide them onto Jax's face, just in case all of those lights are too bright. "You had us scared there for a while." Leaning forward again, he places a butterfly-light kiss on the other man's forehead. "Is there anythin' I can get you? Y'want some water?" "I didn't think you. There was a grenade I thought. You might have." Jackson swallows, fingers curling obliviously tighter against Micah's hand. He relaxes just slightly when the sunglasses slide on, face turning a little more away from the pillow. "I -- yes," he doesn't really sound entirely certain. "Days? I -- are you. OK? Everything exploded." And then, with a trifle more urgency: "-- The kids --?" “No, honey, I was out ahead of you. An' you blocked the explosion. You shielded everythin' from happenin'.” Micah places several more light, comforting kisses along Jax's forehead. There is a slight tightening in his jaw at Jax's grip, but he still says nothing. “Yes, days. It's Saturday, early evenin' now. The twins are fine. I think they got more bruises from their fight club thing than from that whole...invasion. They brought Anole back with them. Spencer's been fine. Twins brought him an' Obie up to the lake today. Hive visited last night. He said folks at the Lofts are doin' okay, an' we prob'ly took the worst of it of anybody there.” "Oh -- oh. Right. You were -- you were out, you pulled. You got." For the briefest moment, there's a small tug of smile at Jax's lips. "-- You got me." He lapses into quiet, thumb dragging against the backs of Micah's knuckles as he relaxes back into his pillow. "-- But the Morlocks. Those men were. They must've been looking --" He trails off again. "What about you are you. Have you been." These questions don't seem to quite resolve, just a crease of worry furrowing Jax's brow. “I got you,” Micah echoes with a little smile, pressing his forehead softly against Jax's. He finally gives up on the leaning position, crawling up beside Jax on the bed. “It's...I haven't gotten the whole story on what happened there yet. Folks've been evasive an'...I haven't quite had the... I haven't pushed for it yet. Been meanin' t'check up on all kindsa folks. Need t'call Lucien. But...” He looks back down at Jax. “I'm fine. Just some minor injuries, mostly from stumblin' an' climbin' an' bein' out on the asphalt pullin'. Scrapes an' bruises, a couple minor burns. Nothin' as won't heal quick-like. Not t'worry 'bout me.” "-- Lucien? Was he down -- was -- I guess he and Nox might have -- I can't," he admits with a slight flush, "picture Lucien in the sewers." Jackson shifts slightly over, when Micah crawls in beside him. "Does anyone -- /know/? Those people didn't. Seem like. They were going to sit. And tell us." His brows crease at the word burns. "-- Oh. Oh, I -- oh." For a moment his shoulders tense up, his: "-- sorry," very quiet. Less quiet: "I always worry about you. Micah, I -- I'm sorry. You shouldn't have -- had to -- I --" The breath he draws in is shaky. “No, no, not that I know of. Just...all the things goin' on with his family. I think that's enough t'worry about for now.” Micah snuggles against Jax, touches still light, gentle, deferent to his recuperating status. “I think...Hive might be the only one who knows most of what happened? He didn't seem quite okay. But I didn't ask about anybody outside the Lofts,” he clarifies, hiding a guilty look by ducking his face against Jax's shoulder. “I couldn't. Worry about more than you an' them. I couldn't yet. I'll get an' update later.” Jax's tension and apologies and shaky breaths draw Micah's arm across Jax's shoulders, a series of susurrous soothing-shushing sounds from his lips. “No, honey. Y'did so much. Y'almost /killed yourself/ y'did so much. I'm fine. I'm gonna /be/ fine.” "Hive? Was Hive, why would Hive -- oh. Jim. Jim is Jim --" Jackson turns his head, pressing his cheek to the top of Micah's head when Micah's face turns against his shoulder. The slow shift of his arm to -- not so much curl around as /drape/ against Micah is a slow one, a little awkward with his IV still attached. "-- this time fine," he allows, "but this. They were going to /shoot you/. Just because of. Being -- with me Micah that's not. This isn't -- I don't even know what fine is. Anymore. But nothing here is fine." Micah shakes his head in response to the question about Jim. “I don't know. He didn't say...I didn't ask.” He still sounds guilty about not knowing. “I promise I'll check in on /everyone/ later, but, honey, ain't nobody /shot/ me. You kept any shootin' from happenin'. I /am/ fine,” he protests. “You gotta...don't work yourself up. You just woke up, honey.” Micah frees up a hand to run the back of it along Jax's scalp, still trying to soothe him out of excessive fretting. "Oh --" Jackson quiets, just nodding his -- now kind of /fuzzy/ from a few days of no shaving -- head up against Micah's hand. "Okay." This is softer, a little tired. "Okay. I just. Okay. I'm -- I still don't feel so --" This lapses back into quiet again. He turns, slightly, to burrow closer to Micah. "-- I want to go home." “I wouldn't expect you t'feel too great right now. You spent yourself out so much you were unconscious for /days/, hon,” Micah reminds gently, snuggling Jax closer. “I should let Io know you're up, either way. S'gonna be his call when you're well enough t'go. You ain't even regular-sick, honey. It's best for us t'stay where you got doctor-types as will /help/ you 'til we're sure you're stable.” He continues his idle petting of Jax's head. “Should text the boys that you're up, too. An' anybody else...once you're up for visitors. Prob'ly shouldn't let /everybody/ know 'til you can handle a steady parade of people comin' t'check on you.” "... can't see real good," Jackson admits, small and almost guiltily. "I think I broke my -- self." He turns just slightly more into Micah, relaxing into the other man's side. "... want to see the boys," he agrees, somewhat resigned at Micah's /sense/-making about staying where he is. "-- And Ryan. And Hive and --" He blushes. "... maybe want to eat, first." “I think that's a pretty good summary, actually,” Micah answers with just a hint of laughter. “What d'you want t'eat, hon? All I got in here right now is water an' a half cup of really cold coffee. I'll text Io an' the boys an' run t'get whatever y'want when they get here.” Keeping one arm around Jax, he slides his phone out of a pocket with his other hand, sending off the quick 'Jax is awake!' text. “I'm given t'understand the kitchens are fairly impressive here.” "Food," Jackson answers with unhelpful sleepiness. "-- the kitchens are great here /um/ you don't -- know? Have you," sleepiness is giving way for a moment to suspicion, "-- not been eating proper?" There's a slight shift of his weight away from Micah. Like possibly he might get up /right now/ and feed him. “I haven't /been/ to them. Folks have brought up things a few times. An' Hive brought half an Indian restaurant back with him, so I been good.” Micah presses a hand into Jax's shoulder, as if to restrain him, but with virtually no force. “You are /not/ gettin' out of this bed right now, Sir. Y'sound like y'might be fallin' asleep again even now. If you don't behave it'll be longer 'til you're well enough t'go home.” His tone is light and playful, yet somehow seems /entirely/ serious in its statements. "Oh -- okay. Okay I just -- okay. Yessir." Jackson settles back down, almost immediately curling himself in against Micah once more. "... am kinda fallin' asleep. Is -- is that okay? If I just. Stay. Here." After a moment, he clarifies, as though this is unclear: "-- with you." “That's more than okay. You go ahead an' sleep. I'll get you food when you're awake again t'be able t'eat it. No sleep eatin'. S'just a recipe for unpleasantness.” Micah releases Jax's shoulder to wrap his arms around the other man, holding him close. He presses another gentle kiss to the top of his head. “Not t'worry. You just sleep.” Jackson nods. Slow and kind of stiff, tucking his arm around Micah as best he can with its trailing tubing. "Okay. I --" Then quiet, as he nestles in more comfortably. "Okay. I love you," is softer -- and a little choked, abruptly. "-- I love you. Kind of a lot." Micah delivers another series of light kisses, shushing softly between them. “I love you, too, honey. So much. It's okay, shh, sleep. I'm not goin' anywhere.” "Okay. -- Don't," is Jax's last entreaty, before he relaxes into sleep, "/die/." “Yessir,” Micah agrees...apparently, to continue /living/.