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

[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.