affliction

[in_extremis]

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.

Comments

[plate_builder]

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.”

[in_extremis]

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.

[beholding_archivist]

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."

[plate_builder]

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.

[in_extremis]

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.

[beholding_archivist]

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.

[plate_builder]

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."

[in_extremis]

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.

[plate_builder]

Oh Tony, how could you not see it? Reeve watches him for a long moment, his eyes searching. Like he couldn't begin to fathom that Tony could not see how... polarizing he was. Yes, Reeve had not personally been in a position to dislike Tony, quite the opposite, but he understood it. Men like Tony Stark inspired strong reactions. The sort that Jon had felt was obvious to him. Which was a bit of a shame.

"Perhaps to you it is. But it is not to him. That may be something you should address in the future, when you are in better shape. As for myself..."

He looks toward the door again, pensive. Was leaving the best choice? Something told him not.

"I will leave if that is what you wish of me. Otherwise, I will remain. I leave my presence to your discretion, my friend."

My friend, not Tony. A step back, and one he understood now was potentially required. One necessary until Tony was fully himself again to put his personal matters into shape. Which Reeve did not assume would happen at this moment. The man is still injured.

"And if you wish me to leave, I could still leave my sketchbook with you. I still want you input on my designs for a structure for Mini. Especially if you can help me determine a better way to power the body, he'll need that to make movement easier with a heavier infrastructure. But there is no rush upon that."

[in_extremis]

Of course it wasn't what Tony wished. He didn't hear the step back, he only heard 'my friend' as a gentle reassurance that he wasn't sure he deserved then, making him drop his head apologetically for the benevolence. He kept on being so abnormally kind to Tony that he could feel the ache of his heart through the battered warzone of his chest, knowing he hadn't earned it but yearning for Reeve to keep saying sweet things to him that he made sound so natural and easy, making him feel warm instead of panic.

And of course Tony didn't actually think what had just pushed Jon out the door was nothing, but he had been lying around in this bed too long making Jon take care of him when he knew this was the last place Jon wanted to be anymore, slowly draining whatever that something was until Jon couldn't trust him to be able to fix the problem. He couldn't stand to let Reeve see him like that, too, and gave a jerky nod, patting the mattress where he held himself up for the sketchbook before he lifted his head with a plastic smile. "Of course, leave it to me. Don't worry, we'll work out a payment plan, it'll be worth it."

[plate_builder]

"Alright then."

Reeve opened the sketchbook to his designs. They were far simpler than anything Tony could make, but simpler was all one needed when you were starting from scratch and didn't need to put in a lot of space for processors and smaller redundant AI cores and any other things. After that he produced some pencils, colored, to allow Tony to make any notes and changes he thought were fitting. Once that was all laid out he put his hand on Tony's shoulder, feather light.

"If you want someone to talk to, company of any kind at all, you know you need only ask. My room has dreadful lighting for doing my other work. And please, Tony, don't hesitate to ask. I don't like my friends pushing me away when they're suffering, just because they don't want to admit that they aren't always strong."

With a sigh he moved Mini-C to the floor so the stuffed animal could walk for itself. If he could, he'd leave it with Tony for company but... Well, that wasn't an option. The migraines would be rather problematic.

"If I see another medical specialist, I will send them on, tell them that your back needs tended."

[in_extremis]

Simple meant that Tony could quickly see what Reeve was trying to do, what he was comfortable with and what he was lacking, the suggestion of this inspiration as soon as the page was in sight already hungrily eating up Tony's attention where it had been starved, latching frantically where it had tried to find purchase on far too few pills or a fight that Jon refused to give him without better work for his hands. He could have jumped at the touch to his shoulder, and started to shake his head, he was fine, there was nothing to talk about, only to freeze up at the accusation that he wasn't strong. He didn't say anything more, urging Reeve toward the door with a tense tick of his jaw and picking up a pencil like Reeve was already intruding on his work, thank you. He only started to nod again at the assurance that Reeve thought he could find anyone else to rely on around here now that Jon was gone, waving him off for good luck.

With Reeve out the door, Tony threw a glance over his shoulder to confirm that of course Jon had taken the bottle of painkillers before pushing the sketchbook and pencils in a mess up to the foot of the bed as he bowed forward over his knee with a groan, letting his back stretch uncomfortably. He had to work his arm roughly between his knee and chest to claw at the bandages there, dropping what he could grab in ragged strips to the floor until he was gritting his teeth and his hands were too clumsy to work anymore, leaving him bowed at the edge of the bed with his brow pressed into the protective bend of his arm, the other hand curled over the scar of his heart.