revivalproject | affliction

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affliction

WHO: Tony, Billy, and anyone that wants to deal with the fallout from the first bug bites
WHERE: L'hopital
WHAT: Come visit Tony as he recovers and try to figure out what's going on with this infestation!
WHEN: Backdate a bit. Shortly after the rage incident with the Young Avengers (Tommy's included? Unsure.)
WARNINGS: Everyone got a little hurt, some injuries might be gross? Depends on if anyone is here to do actual hospital stuff.

The recovery was definitely going much faster than it would have without Extremis' accelerated healing, but that didn't make Tony any more patient with it. They had worked fast, he had only been out for a few minutes, he knew that much-- he had been completely brain dead for half an hour the last time he had a very similar heart attack, and Nick Fury couldn't keep him lying around in bed for more than a day. He could at least get some sleep that time, though. The shock hadn't burst straight through his chest, leaving him feeling mummified under the dressing that only irritated the raw depression over his heart and the lightning burst that shredded across his back, impossible still to put any weight on. And he had been revived by a team of very professional EMTs, not one frenetic teenager stabbing him with a needle that left his whole chest cavity feeling bruised and swollen and impossible to breath in any other position. If he deigned to stay in bed, he was sitting up, cross-legged, bent over the D.A.T.A. sphere recovered from where he had abandoned it in the diner, excruciatingly trying to coax Extremis from focusing on the physical to let him do some programming, at least, barely mustering a small, golden nanoweb over his fingertips to create a contact point with the sphere.

More likely, though, he was draped in a sweater that made him stiff and uncomfortable, too aware of every stitch of yarn in it, but not feel quite as vulnerable as he lurked around the front desk or break room behind it to try to fill in the gaps of his still unreliable short term memory. He still didn't exactly understand why he was here, what could have possibly gone so wrong after several months of solidly risky behaviour in an alien environment on a morning that, Tony was pretty sure, he only had plans to behave himself with a cup of coffee for once. And he was still owed that cup; he definitely didn't remember enjoying it.

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Tony's brief laugh at rapscallion made his lungs hurt, like pressing a thumb into a bruise, but he grinned regardless and let his head fall back, shoulders back to stretch his chest open for the discomfort, happy enough to be reminded that he had been rounded in that position for far too long. His voice strained in that position, he warned, "Good, if you tried to do your magic on me I'd've made the doc kick you out," before he slouched forward over his ankles again, still managing some glitter in his tired gaze for it. He didn't quite reach for whatever Reeve was offering, stopping with one hand curled in the sheets in front of his crossed legs like he just meant to tug at them and pouting, definitely not too interested in what Reeve might have for him. "It's not that bad," he insisted.

Interesting, that he would be so dismissive of it. But he supposed everyone dealt with mortality in their own ways. Who was he to judge.

"We all come to know pain in our own ways. An old friend that visits from time to time. A constant companion that ever whispers in your ear. Or just a meddling voice so easily ignored as a breeze. I hope it is easy for you. In the mean time..."

From his bag he produces one of the sketch pads he acquired on Risa.

"I know you aren't a fan of doing things the old fashioned way when it comes to design, but I thought I might show you what I was working on, the night of the blackout. Thought if nothing else it would help your ego recover, looking over far less graceful robotics designs than you would no doubt create. Not bad enough to inspire laughter. But if it's not interesting..."

Well, he could make his exit. He doesn't wish to overstay his welcome, or put a strain on his friend.

The strange poetry that Reeve responded with somehow had the effect of making Tony feel self-conscious about his guarded relationship with his own pain, like he wasn't a supportive enough partner in this experience and was left wondering at that as Reeve easily continued like he hadn't just said some wild shit. He was slow to realize and be slightly disappointed that Reeve's offer had come from his bag, making him tuck his hands away under his calves and cock his head, not sure what to expect if it wasn't a kiss. No one had brought him any thing for his own comfort...potentially ever, he thought, knowing it hadn't happened since the Agrii displaced him, but not sure how bad his memory was from the brief fling with death right now.

"Oh," Tony said first, feeling incredibly slow now, stumbling twice over what Reeve was trying to tell him in quick succession and not used to being so off balance. That had to be the brain death, that couldn't mean anything else. To make up for it, he quickly gathered D.A.T.A. to shove down to the foot of the bed, out of the way, and scooted back toward the pillows to make room for Reeve and his sketches, leaving him braced up on one hand again in the end with the other curled around his ribs and hoping it wasn't too obvious that he was sweating. "Is it for Mini?" he guessed, trying to gallop ahead before he could fall behind again.

It's a very good question, and Tony's completely right in what he theorizes the purposes of Reeve's sketches happen to be. But Reeve loses all interest in them at the sweat on Tony's brow. Yes, it is obvious. Or obvious enough. And the concern is... it's deep in that moment.

"Tony... should I..."

No, Reeve doesn't finish that thought, he doesn't know anyone for certain who has the medical skills this place provided. So, well, there is only one better offer he supposes. He reaches out, his fingers brushing briefly and lightly through Tony's hair, to make sure it isn't in his face.

"If you need it, I can go get whoever is acting as your physician. Or failing that, I could get the data point."

Even to this moment he hasn't taken one yet, too leery of something being in his head that he didn't learn for himself. And his interests had been skewing toward the communication, but for this... For Tony he'd do it.

"My plans for Mini aren't important right now. I was foolish to bring them. I thought... I suppose I thought you would be as stir-crazy tied to a bed to heal as I get. I thought a distraction would be valuable but if there is something I can do to make you more comfortable..."

The concern was obviously frustrating to him, but Tony managed a deep breath in a few careful steps to smile and shake his head dismissively, passing his own hand through his hair where Reeve had to show that he had this under control. "Got it in one," he insisted, and patted the mattress he had cleared for Reeve to sit down already and not fret. "If you're going to tell Jon you don't think he's done his job right, at least do it in front of me so I can watch him bite your head off. It'll be the most exciting thing that's happened around here. I'm just tired. It needs time. I'm bored." And if they even had painkillers, Tony was going to have a hard time turning them down at this point, so if Reeve had something to occupy his mind from fixating any more on it, he would be incredibly grateful.

Well, with the continued prompting Reeve shoos Mini out of the way and joins Tony on the bed. He's perched on it very daintily, nervous that he'll hurt Tony.

"Jon? The man with the glasses that seems vaguely... unnerving?"

Which isn't a judgement call, that much is clear on Reeve's face. He's just curious. And hasn't met the man very much.

"I think I will avoid critiquing physicians. They tend to have rather creative repercussions for that. But I shall stay here and entertain you to the best of my ability. Would you like to hear about a city built on stilts? Or perhaps about the most poorly conceived amusement park ever?"

That was an apt enough description that Tony concluded, "You've met." He wasn't sure if Jon would appreciate the descriptor, and he would probably be much more kind about Reeve; Reeve did have that excellent beard to help describe him. When it was clear the entertainment wasn't going to be the sketch pad and a thorough critique of Reeve's technique, Tony pouted but leaned his forehead against Reeve's shoulder, welcoming with this thanks whatever he had for Tony that wasn't the gaping void of his own restless pain. Except maybe the amusement park thing, and Tony grimaced there, sure he'd had enough of carnivals gone wrong lately.

"First, what could possibly have landed you in the hospital," he started, assuming that was all Reeve could have meant before because if he took to a flu like Tony did, he definitely wasn't tied to a bed without extreme intervention, "and second, I'm realizing as I'm saying this that it's a stupid question, but did you really want to talk about architecture while you were there? I'm not stopping you, but I've got a whole different dimension with a stilt-city to compare notes, you're just a nerd."

Of course it is that very moment that the vaguely unnerving man with the glasses pushes the door to the room open and steps in, his attention on the clipboard in his hand while announcing a bit absent-mindedly “I got you some more painkillers, but we may have to-“ That’s when Jon looks up, and simply freezes on the spot.

Right. That just... Happened. Jon’s reflex is to take a step back, sputtering for a few moments “Oh, I- I didn’t.... I mean...S-sorry....”

He should have known, shouldn’t he? Now he can’t help but feel foolish.

"We've met," Reeve agrees, resisting the urge to reach up to the on his shoulder and smooth his hair back. "And if you must really know, it was appendicitis, and yes, they did have to practically tie me to my bed. My secretary came to keep me company and allow me to process emails, reports, and the like."

Reeve had nearly gone mad over not being allowed to work with designs during that time. But it was when he'd come up with a structure for Cait Sith. The little robot cat had been created thanks to that need to be restrained.

"And I'm an architect just as much as I'm an engineer, of course I'd talk about it. Especially since I designed said stilt-city. Something no one has done before on that sort of scale, seeing as it was hundreds of meters up from the ground."

But whatever, he doesn't need to talk about that, because he can see Tony doesn't want that, so he starts flipping to the schematics for Mini-C instead. Go figure that would entertain the man better.

And then... They aren't alone. The physician in question.

"I assure you that there is nothing going on but entertaining his far too busy mind, Jon," Reeve notes to the vaguely unnerving man with the glasses. Pain killers are far more important than this. "Would this be where I'm dismissed by the physician? I wouldn't want to impede your ability to tend to Tony."

Professional, completely professional. Reeve doesn't know how he keeps from blushing at being caught sitting in Tony's bed, Mini-C sitting by Tony's leg as if he was nothing more than a stuffed animal, and not another person there to comfort a friend.

Tony already couldn't have missed Pepper more in this situation, he thought, but she would have been the exact salve Reeve's secretary had provided, making Tony mutter with jealousy. She would have got all of her fussing out at once, ideally at Rhodey instead of Tony himself, then made sure he was strictly aware of all of the meetings that had been rescheduled and development calendars that had to be changed because of this irritating interruption, and what fight he had to look forward to the moment he was out of this bed.

This loss would have kept Tony pitifully wallowing if Reeve hadn't quickly dazzled him with the concept of a stilt city in the sky, then the promise of the sketches, making him push closer to try to take the book for himself before Jon interrupted with the one thing that could have earned Tony's full attention then. He pushed himself up with the hold that hand landed on Reeve's arm, fixated on Jon as he froze and very quick to discourage, "What? No," as he and whatever he was carrying took that step back. Then with the same irritation as Reeve's concern had engendered argued, "You just got here," because Tony didn't need to be tended to, he just needed those painkillers, hand squeezed around Reeve's arm but focus still on Jon.

It’s hard not to focus on that hold. On the way Tony’s hand is holding onto Reeve’s arm. The way they looked... Perfectly comfortable with one another and perfectly well suited for one another.

It makes Jon’s stomach twist and he takes a slow inhale, followed by an equally slow exhale. Just trying to steady himself.

“...right” He says. Barely audible and more to himself as he tears his eyes away, fingers drumming against the clipboard in his hands “Right.” Another sharp exhale as he pressed his eyes shut, calculating in his mind how to best leave without appearing to be fleeing.

Again: “Right. He... Just got here.” He works slowly, but there is another step backwards, not daring to breathe now. Not with his chest tightening up the way it does now.

“He just got here.... And obviously shouldn’t leave.” Another slow admission. He is almost by the door now. Jon swallows, then reaches for the door behind him before giving a tight nod once he feels it under his fingers “Looking good together.” These words are tight, bitter. But he can pull the door open now, planning to spin around and leave.

As Tony uses him for leverage Reeve drops his sketchpad into his lap, putting his hand over Tony's. It's meant as much to help support him as to offer him some comfort through any pain that might come from sitting up more.

Still, his eyes fall to Jon and he watches the other man. That's... a very strange reaction from a physician, from a man like Jon. What was happening here? But then he gets it. The words, that bitter edge. Well, there isn't much he can do about that.

But there is still a need here.

"Didn't you mention something about painkillers?" Reeve asks, and with that he lets go of Tony's hand and removes himself from the bed. "Perhaps I won't leave just yet, but I can step out for a minute or two for medical steps. I'm only here to keep him from going out of his mind, after all. There is nothing worse than keeping an engineer bound to a bed. I'm surprised he hasn't tried to escape yet. I would have in his position."

What was happening? Jon was having some kind of stroke and was still retreating, making Tony lean forward hungrily until Jon absolutely didn't explain 'looking good together'. That finally got Tony to drag his stare off of Jon to look questioningly to Reeve, sure he had missed something between them now, and then he was leaving, too. Tony could feel the tear of delicate work down his back as he slowly pitched forward, reaching blindly for Mini, at least, to not leave him like this, forehead to the mattress and arms spread pathetically across the bed. Reeve was right, he was about to escape to jump off of a bridge if something didn't start giving him any relief soon. That they had both come in here teasing him with it made the ache so much worse.

It’s Reeve’s voice that makes Jon stop short from actually leaving, hand on the door and expression frozen. There’s a part of him that wants to hurt Reeve right there and then. A hungry part. The one that wants to cause the man harm. Make him suffer and drink in his agony.

But it’s an already present agony that draws his thoughts away from those thoughts. One he has gotten quite attuned to over these past few days and just can’t find any satisfaction in.

A crackling flicker runs through the lights over their head when Jon looks back towards the bed and the miserable form on it. And he hates that he just can’t be properly angry despite how much it stings.

Muttering a curse, Jon stalks over to the bed, opting to ignore Reeve and instead wrapping his arms around Tony’s torso to pull him back into a lying position, admitting begrudgingly as he starts dishing out the painkillers “....and I can’t even be mad at you.”

The lights flickering earns a very dark curse from Reeve, who glares up at them as if technology has betrayed him. Real life engineer thoughts. Then his attention turns to Jon and Tony, watching them quietly. Thoughtfully.

Has he stepped into something here? How was he even supposed to find out without making it... more awkward?

Mini-C, however, absolutely lets Tony grab him. In fact, once Jon approached the stuffed animal finally moved. It shied away from Jon, climbing over Tony's legs to keep Tony between him and the man. But after that the little doll moved up to Tony and put a fuzzy paw on Tony's chest to gently push him back too. There's no REAL force behind it. Just the emotional insistence.

"I'm not going any further than this, Tony. I promise. If you want to mock my designs to help you through this, then I'm happy to provide."

This was probably not the appropriate time to challenge, "Since when?," but just because everyone else was being so weird didn't mean Tony had to ignore it. He had settled back without a complaint, propping himself up on one elbow to keep his back up off of the bed and first hold Jon's arm before it was retreating, then give Mini an absently thankful pat for sticking by him, so maybe he was sparking a little from Jon looking so much like he wanted to leave if he could have been snapping at Tony instead. The only real risk was to those pills, the sight of which making Tony soften quickly, instantly apologetic in case goading Jon into his normal squirming grumbling meant he would take them away. It took most of the bite out of his insistent, "You don't have to help me through this, I'm not-- I just-- Can we all go back to the two of you falling apart? This is exhausting, I don't know how you do it."

Jon won|t even question the animatronic. It might just take as badly to being around him using his powers as any other piece of technology. Though he isn't about to compel anyone right this moment, much rather presenting two little containers to Tony, regarding the man with a scowl that pointedly ignores his questions.

"You get one of these pills." He shakes one of the containers to indicate its contents, then taps the other with one finger "-then roll onto your side so I can put this on your back. They treated my hand with it when Jude Perry burned it. Took me a bit to remember, but--" Jon trails off and opens the container with the pills to hand Tony exactly one of them along with a glass of water. He can play the nurse and then be gone, alright.

There wasn’t anything animatronic about Mini-C, so he would hopefully be fine. No, he was merely plush and stuffing and a soul given by magic, complete with his own fears and concerns. Right now, though, the doll’a only concern was squirming just enough out of the way to make sure Jon could take care of his friend.

“As much as you choose to call me old, Tony, I am perfectly healthy and intact. And is it so surprising that people care about you and are concerned when you’re hurt?”

With that his attention turned to Jon.

“Is there a way I can help you? I could fetch water or something if Tony wants to pretend at modesty and send me away long enough for the ointment. So he can pretend he didn’t get hurt.”

It took a flickering glance Reeve's way to make it suddenly not seem as funny to tease Jon right now about making him roll over, and realize that Reeve was correct again and Tony really didn't want him around to witness what was under the bandages so at least one of them could maintain the fantasy of Tony's fleeting perfection, and only then thinking that all of this awkward tension could have been in his own head. Reeve was being unflappably civil, as usual, and Jon was being unreasonably rude, as usual, it was Tony that was bugging out and upsetting the balance. That was what Jon wasn't mad at him for, right? That question was in his eye as he held Jon's gaze through obediently taking his single pill, like that was going to do anything, and handing the glass back, only looking away when he waved dismissively at the other container, for now. They could do that after Reeve had gone, surely, they could all be normal for five minutes. Without bothering to recall the context for them, Tony shifted into what space Mini-C had made, leaving a barren spot on the bed near his hand that he wasn't pointedly drawing attention to, and asked, "Did you kill him?" Struck through the heart was one thing, Tony had been surviving that one for a decade, but doing any lasting damage to his hands would have been a unique cruelty that he was willing to be twice as spiteful about for Jon's sake, and he was sure Reeve understood the sentiment.

Just don't tell Jon about the lacking robotic parts inside or he will call it a Fursona. He may not be the most adept if it comes to technology, but researching statements regarding people getting married to giant bugs can lead you to the most unexpected corners of the internet.

He is casting a bit of a glare in Reeve's direction while Tony takes his pill, but of course notices his unease regarding the treatment of that Lichtenberg figure he will have to live with from now on. But that unease comes with that slight underlying fear Jon is more familiar with than any other, being its avatar and everything. It's not as strong as Tommy when the boy has been terrified of being found out, but it's still a simmering dread of what that terrible knowledge might result in if acquired by the wrong person.

And something tells Jon that Tony doesn't wish for Reeve to see.

He exhales and crouches down next to the bed for a moment, briefly taking that moment to rest his forehead against the mattress that really is only acceptable due to the bedsheets Jon has managed to lure out of the replicator. He's being dismissed now, isn't he.

Tony's question is an unexpected one, and one Jon has trouble placing at first "W-what? Kill whom?" He looks up and confused, briefly looking back and forth between Tony and Reeve before managing to place the question where it belongs, a look of dread crossing his own face in response.

"Jude Perry? Christ, no! She's an avatar of the Desolation, burns everything she touches and mold her skin like liquid wax... Grabbed my tongue when I tried to ask her a question." Not a pleasant memory. He looks down at his scarred hand "All she did was shake my hand. Got away easy from her... Even if I had wanted to I couldn't have harmed her. The Desolation... It's one of the most destructive and ruthless powers."

Standing up with a sigh, Jon buries his hands in his pockets as if to hide the evidence of his uselessness from view while offering his retreat rather than outright trying to flee this time "I..... Can return later."

That would be a great way to offend both Reeve and Mini-C. They were, after all, separate individuals. As it was he moves to the bed and scoops the doll up. And his fallen sketch pad.

"No. Medication is very important right now. I'll step out and be back in, what, would fifteen minutes be enough?"

Yes, he's willing to walk away. But before he does so, he leans in and kisses Tony's forehead.

"You're supposed to outlive the old-timer. Please remember that. We'll talk robotics when I return."

But he doesn't immediately walk away. He wants to know if fifteen minutes was sufficient.

Complete disaster, they were both trying to leave again. To be fair, Tony didn't want to talk much more about Desolation, either, that had been a poor choice of topic that left him staring, bewildered, at Jon, going through several stages of grief at the idea of having both his tongue and his hands ruined and feeling a bubble of panic ready to pop in his chest until it suddenly deflated instead, cycle interrupted, at Reeve's kiss. Feeling sluggish, he wrinkled his nose with the same irritation from Reeve's concern, then shook his head with a shiver of the same anxiety that had him constantly batting Jon's hands away in public. "Do you want me to leave so you two can stay?" he eventually grumbled, a hollow threat as he made no move to try to drag himself out of the bed.

Jon is well aware that the Entities aren't a topic Tony feels very comfortable with and he is about to apologize when Reeve sweeps in to- Kiss Tony. That shameless display of affection makes it perfectly clear just how sure and comfortable this man is with his position. That this is where he belongs. That it's his rightful place. And it confirms a fear Jon has been harboring, yet tried to deny: That he is little more than a toy to Tony. Something to play with and disregard once the mood has passed.

He has to look away, biting his lip hard enough to draw blood - But a sudden pang that he could have sworn was his heart shattering, yet isn't, interrupts him in putting further pressure on it, drawing Jon's attention to his own hand as he pulls it out of his pocket again, shattered jar of that ointment between his fingers and shards of glass pressed into his hand. Right. So that was that.

Letting out a shaky breath and ignoring the trickle of blood Jon turns his eyes on Tony and just slowly, sadly shakes his head, muttering as he backs away "...I can't do this, Tony. I'm not... Ah- I-- sorry. I can't... Goodbye."

And he turns. To leave the room. Leave the hospital. But he will let Billy know to take over Tony's treatment.

Well, that was all very dramatic. Reeve watches the man flee at speed, but at least he confirmed something for himself. Perhaps not in the right manner, but he was known to be affectionate with friends, so he didn't feel an apology was needed. Instead once Jon was out of the room, Reeve turned his attention to Tony, a concerned look making his face just a touch softer.

"He's not merely your physician, is he?"

No, he doesn't wait for a response to that. Just takes a deep breath and shakes his head. "More the fool me, for causing him such distress. I will have to apologize. I didn't... I didn't mean to step in the way of something."

Tony was way too slow trying to push himself up as his gaze landed with Jon's at the mess of his hand, not quite processing what he was looking at until the first dark bead of blood seeped through Jon's knuckles and by then Jon was already moving away. "Hey," he had managed to breathe by the time Jon got to the door, pushed up on his hands and trying to roll over onto his knees. That was too many things at once, and Jon was gone while Tony panted, wavering at the edge of the bed with one foot on the floor, looking to Reeve to confirm what he should be doing, that glass looked bad, this was really bad, right? But Reeve wasn't moving, and clearly Tony had caused this problem. The question didn't help. Tony let out a strangled, "What?," and had to sink forward onto his hands under the weight of it again, barely listening and searching the sheets between his knuckles for the sequence of events that had led him to sitting here like this, feeling crushed and miserable. He was supposed to be careful.

"You didn't do anything," he managed to mutter eventually, because Reeve had just been there and Tony should have been the one to realize there was something for anyone to be in the way of. Still, he added defensively, "It's nothing," head still bowed as his gaze darted searchingly to the door, not sure if he wanted more for Jon to be gone then or for him to come back, and really not wanting to look up to see anything like Jon's expression on Reeve's face, too. "You should probably go," he suggested, shoulders hitching up with the ache of it but sure he had done enough damage already, if Jon saw it and Reeve saw it and Tony wasn't treating either of them properly.

affliction

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