ArchivedLogs:The Fire's Out Anyway

The Fire's Out Anyway
Another Way
Dramatis Personae Iolaus, Matt	Tuesday, April 21, 2020 “Pray for us all.” (Part of the Future Past TP)
Location <ATL> - Isolation Room 3 - Emory Hospital - Atlanta
The isolation rooms at Emory are not that much different from any of the other rooms - from the inside at least. An adjustable hospital bed, a monitor which occasionally beeps when its occupant shifts in just the wrong way on the bed. A TV mounted behind a pane of glass in the wall, with channels locked away from things which might stress out the patients. A sink for washing, and a bathroom with a shower built into it. The only sign of the difference of /this/ room to any other hospital room, really, is the door. A heavy thing, with a triple-layer plastic window in it, and fitting perfectly snugly in the frame. And this room, unlike even the rest of the doors in the isolation ward, is locked from the outside - and has a rotation of armed guards posted out front. Pale and drawn beneath the hospital blankets, Matt stares at the book in his hands. The vivid green of his eyes seems to be the only bright color remaining about his person, but his gaze is vacant, not quite focusing on the paperback's cover, a lurid CG painting of a muscular man literally ripping his shirt off below the words 'Howl of Justice III: Packing Heat.' His thumb presses down on the black ring on his index finger, and with a firm flick sets it spinning quietly. There’s a knock on the door and, a moment later, a figure steps into the room. A burly looking guard, taking up position next to the door - and a familiar face in a white laboratory coat. “Bonjour, Matthieu.” The years have not been too kind to Iolaus - lines crease beneath his eyes and grey is sprinkled through his hair. The biggest change, though, is in his smile; though it is as bright as before, it no longer sparkles in his eyes. “It has been a long time.” Iolaus waits as the security guard closes the door behind him, fingers laced together and hands resting against his stomach. “How are you feeling? Headache, nausea?” He glances up at the monitor before his eyes return to Matt once again. “How about your vision?” Matt blinks, shifts to sit up straighter, then winces openly. "Io?" There's a quiver in his voice. He turns his staring to Iolaus. "What are you doing here? Do you--are you--" He opens his mouth again, then closes it, and seems to gather himself. "Mostly just sore, in the lower back region. I'm pretty sure I know why, and you had better have..." Trails off, he looks down at the book in his lap. "Also, who /picked/ the reading material?" “It has been a long time.” Iolaus nods to himself, a little bit to the left, a little bit to the right. He glances off into the background, staring off into space for a moment -- before he pulls himself together and fixes Matt with a smile once more. “Probably one of the undergrad students who help out for credit.” The doctor peers at the title for a second and then grimaces. “Oh. Not exactly top-shelf reading, I’m sure. I’ll see what I can do about that.” The doctor takes a couple steps towards the bed, pausing to squirt hand sanitizer from a wall-mounted dispenser and rub it between his hands almost absentmindedly. “Would you mind sitting up? I want to take a look and see how you’re healing.” “I don’t need better books, I need /out/ of here,” Matt whispers when Iolaus gets closer. “I know you’re probably...not at liberty to speak openly, but you have to...gods--” He runs his hand through his short, messy crop of brown hair. “{Please, if nothing else, you must let my brother know where I am.}” But he is sitting up all the same, bracing his palms against the bed’s railing to take some of the weight off his core muscles. “Though if I /must/ stay here,” he mutters, “I guess I’d prefer a book that at least has an identifiable plot.” Iolaus’ smile brightens slightly when Matt mentions Lucien, hands coming out to gently run along the other man’s back. His fingers trace lightly over Matt’s back, carefully pressing along each vertebra from the middle of his back down to where the bandage is. “Mmm. Looks like it’s coming along - no signs of infection. That’s good.” Iolaus says, pulling gloves out of a pocket and slipping them on. “Can you ask the nurse for a sterile four-by-four and an occlusive dressing please?” Iolaus says, not looking back at the guard. The man nods once and opens the door to call down the hallway for a nurse. “You’re healing nicely, Matt.” Iolaus moves to the front of the man, one hand resting on his shoulder to keep him upright. “These days, you are safer here than you are back in New York. The situation is… unstable.” Iolaus’ expression goes serious, and exhaustion shines in his face. “But with a bit of hope, it should be stabilizing soon, and we should be able to get you out of here in the next month or so.” “Please tell me what is going on?” Matt drops his voice even lower while Io is bent over him and can hear him easily. “/Why/ am I here? It’s certainly not for my /safety./ Are they just doing this to make the serum?” He does not raise his voice even when the guard sticks his head outside, although he does eye the doorway briefly, assessing his chances of making it through. HIs assessment probably did not turn up good odds, for he subsides back into the bed with a barely audible groan. “{Please tell me you’re not /with/ them.}” “Relax, Matt.” Iolaus squeezes the other man’s shoulder once, reassuringly. “Lucien knows where you are; I told him myself when we met a couple of weeks ago.” The man’s name is savored, briefly. “Come on - sit back up. Need to get the new bandage on you before you get CSF all over the sheets.” The doctor tugs gently at Matt’s shoulder. “Serum.” Iolaus scoffs, shaking his head. “Doctor Toure may have been quite the physician, but his research has been misused, terribly. No, no. We’ve put a stop to that whole mess.” Iolaus turns as the guard returns with a short woman carrying the requested supplies. “Ah, thank you.” Matt relaxes visibly at Io’s first reassurance, but with the second one, a suspicious shadow flits through his eyes. “Then what /am/ I doing here?” He pushes back against the doctor’s hand. “If everything’s so dandy, why won’t you tell me?” But he sits back up all the same. hugging his knees. “What was the tap for?” he asks, barely audible. “This might hurt for a moment,” Iolaus says, tearing open the wrapper for the gauze. He works quickly, covering the tap site with the gauze and sealing it down with the bandage. “There you go - good as new.” There is no smile to accompany the pleasantry. “It took some time to develop an alternate approach. Years, actually. But we finally have a solution to stop the fighting.” Iolaus pauses for a second, and he turns to the guard. “Can you bring them in, please?” The guard turns and steps through the door and, a moment later, returns with three teenagers in tow. Iolaus glances over them for a second, and then turns to Matt. “These are some children of my co-workers who are helping me with an experiment. Can you tell me if any of these children are mutants?” Matt grimaces quietly while Iolaus changes the bandage. “You know what would stop the fighting?” he mumbles. “Is if the government stopped killing us and putting us in camps and let us alone.” He slumps back into the bed again and looks up at his friend uncomprehendingly, then at the three newcomers. “No. Hey there.” The latter is addressed at the teenagers, with a thin but warm smile. “Are you ‘helping’ voluntarily?” “Yes, well. Unfortunately, I didn’t study miracles in grad school, so I have to help with other means.” Iolaus says, dryly, a faint bit of his old mischievous sparkle flashing in his eyes before it dims as quickly as it came. “Not really, no. Michael and Steven are grounded for breaking a window at their house, so they have to help. Luke is tagging along for the ride.” Iolaus looks back at the teenagers, fixing his attention on one of them in particular. “Thanks for your help, boys. Give your parents my best.” Matt rubs his temples in slow circles. “Io. {What are you playing at?}” He sounds weary and frightened and small. “Did you come here just to /taunt/ me? I just don’t understand…” His hands drop into his lap. “{I just don’t understand what’s happened to you.} Did they put you in a camp, too? Torture you. For having helped us.” “Taunt you? No, Matt, no.” Iolaus turns to look at him as the teenagers are led out of the room by the guard, and he gives the younger man a sad look, shaking his head. “I have not lied to you, Matt. I’ve been to the camps, though I’ve not stayed in them.” A shiver runs up the doctor’s spine, and his lips press into a thin line. “This country -- this world -- is tearing itself apart at the seams. Each side meets violence with more violence, one death with tens, hundreds.” Iolaus’ voice is ragged, shaking his head harder once. “No. It has to /end/, Matt. Millions are dead. Friends, colleagues. The world will not survive this war. We will not survive this war, if it is not stopped.” Iolaus’ face hardens and he removes his hand from the other man. “So, I will stop it. We will stop it.” Iolaus straightens up, looking down at Matt. “The serum is too slow and horrible. It kills those that it’s trying to protect. So many of our friends would die if given it. I won’t have it. I /will/ stop it.” Iolaus’ voice rises, the sound of steel ringing in his words. Matt just stares at Iolaus again. “The serum didn’t just kill people; even when it worked ‘as intended’, it took away some part of what people were. You can’t stop a genocide with genocide.” He pulls the blankets up tighter around him. “So what’s your alternative? /How/ are you going to stop it?” The fire that burned in Iolaus’ words and his posture flames out as quickly as it has come. His eyes stare off into the distance, glistening slightly with unshed tears. “{Forgive me, sunshine,}” Iolaus murmurs quietly in Greek. He blinks, rapidly, before turning to give Matt a light smile. “I’m sorry; if I think too much about what’s happened, I lose track of the now.” He sniffs, once. “I will see if I can get you in touch with Lucien to see when he is coming back down. And I will ask for some better reading for you. Excuse me.” “Look at me.” Matt’s voice is quiet, not in the least threatening. “/This/ is the now. This is me, praying you’re not just another Nox.” His eyes drop to the book again, and he lays a hand on it, perhaps the only solid thing in his world now, for all its flaws as literature. The ring on his other hand spins quietly. Iolaus steps over to the door, opening it and glancing at the guard on the other side of it. He turns around to Matt, a tired expression on his face. “Pray for us all.” With that, the doctor turns and leaves. The door closes firmly behind him.