revivalproject | affliction

Entry tags:

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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The light was already enough for Tony to squint in irritation and turn half of his face protectively into the sheets, leaving him watching Jon through one narrow eye as he approached. With a groan, muffled by the bed, he muttered, "Jeez, I didn't think I looked that bad, thanks for that. Do you want to relax? We can try asking the doc for the good shit." Dragging himself up onto his elbow, braced on the other hand in front of him, Tony insisted, "I'm fine," not sure what to do yet with that apology and keeping his focus off of Jon and down at his hand instead so he could redirect, knowing the irritation wasn't going to help convince Jon that he didn't have to be taking care of Tony anymore. He came back, try not to ruin it again by being so useless.

Oh, he’s mad. He’s definitely mad - Or in pain. Or both. Jon can’t exactly decide which it might be as he remains crouched next to the bed, one hand on one of his knees and the other touching just barely against the side of the mattress. But a small bit of Tony’s words catch his attention.

“The good shit?” He inquires, a frown crossing his face. “Tony, I.... Im not sure if you’re aware of it, but... But I make.... The good shit.” He pauses there to let that info sink in while giving Tony an imploring look “What did. Billy give you?” Or has he given Tony anything at all for his pain. Dealing with those questions clearly comes before Jon’s other reasons to return.

Tony was very aware, thank you, but the reminder made him roll forward to press his face back into the mattress and mutter, "Forget it," regretting giving Jon any more reason to think Tony depended on him to be functional. This was falling apart already, the question immediately sparking Tony's annoyance again to make him complain, "How should I know? Neither of you even trust me enough to tell me, it's like you think I'll melt and I'm fine, it's under control, you don't have to fucking--" Now he was mad, and that was frustrating, making Tony curl a hand over his head, knotted in his hair, and try to measure his breathing before he could feel the burns crackling any more in his lungs. Calmer, he peaked over his arm to try to catch Jon's eye, imploring, "You don't have to worry about me, you don't have to go."

Jon’s initial reaction to Tony’s understandable anger is a small, pained and not exactly voluntary noise as he draws his hand back to himself and into his lap as if that would make him even smaller than he already is. This I already going badly. Worse even than he would have anticipated.

“Tony, I....” He begins, faltering for a moment “I..... I want to talk to you. But I.... I- I also do net want you to be in pain. I don’t want to... I- I...” He can already feel the ground drop away from under his feet, dropping along with his stomach. How could he have messed this up in barely a handful of moments. Looking down at his own hands, says “...why are you making it so hard to love you...”

Because he didn't deserve it, but obviously Jon didn't need Tony to tell him that now. But he wanted it, every aching part of him wanted it, a yearning that Tony couldn't distinguish from the pain bleeding out of his chest or the itching hunger burrowing into his brain, overwhelmingly unbearable as Jon held himself and that love just out of reach and so terribly far away that Tony didn't know how to tell him any part of that, or how much he hated how small Jon looked and that he adored the way he kept challenging Tony anyway. Tony waited, holding his breath, devastatingly sure it would have come out in a sob if Jon walked away again and terrified, but he wasn't moving, just letting Tony watch him with the calculating chill of his grey eyes barely visible around the steady, black stare. He was given a window to earn at least part of that love if he could drag himself up, and Tony slid out of the bed, fixed, fine, to kneel on the floor with Jon, sliding close enough to brace him between his knees but keeping his hands carefully up, one tangled in the sheets still and the other knotted in the front of his sweater, leaving him looking hopefully at Jon while he tried to take short, even breaths. "I'm trying, I'm sorry," he mumbled hoarsely. "I can take care of you."

That moment when those words that Jon had hoped to deliver more adequately, more deliberately, more confidently... The moment he dropped those words clumsily between them, Jon has frozen. His mind has gone entirely blank, unwilling to picture how Tony might react. Unwilling to accept this has just happened.

But it has. In what may be the worst possible way at the worst possible moment. Tony is suffering and he is angry and Jon is just.... Why can’t he do this right?

He doesn’t notice Tony moving at first. But suddenly he is next to Jon, on the floor. So Jon dares to cast a glance over to the other man, look at him, his posture. Listen to his words... Not the words Jon has hoped for. And he dares to reach out with one hand, carefully placing it over the one Tony has curled into his sweater while mustering the courage to speak up once more despite the risk of his heart bursting straight from his chest “But can you love me...?”

Of course he could. Jon seared his heart with love every time he reached for Tony's hand like that, and had melted it so completely the moment he spun on Tony with that look of determination on his face under the cherry blossoms that Tony thought if he had asked then, Tony wouldn't have been able to stop saying it. He loved him. He loved every plane and joint of him, and every dent and incomplete clause, and would have loved him even if he had gone on stammering his frustration for Tony's every affectionate gesture. It was cruel of him to have asked.

Closing his eyes against it, Tony bowed his head with an unsteady smile that he sniffed to push away, his hand dropping from the edge of the bed to cover Jon's in a tight coil that he could push up under his ribs, digging into the delicate skin that tore easily at the frayed edge of the burn under his sweater. Jon already knew how weak he was, it would have been easier to hide from anyone else, but Tony admitted, "Unconditionally."

If Jon has been cruel for asking, then Tony has been just as cruel for never telling him. For being dodgy and avoiding and leaving Jon wondering and confused and worried.

And yet Jon remains perfectly willing to forgive him. To forgive the confusion and the pain of not knowing and the- Oh. He can't think about any of that right now. Not with his eyes transfixed on the way Tony's hand has come to take his own. On the heartbeat he can feel so very clearly. A heartbeat he knows his own to be trying to sync up with.

Then Tony speaks. It's but a single word, but it makes Jon's attention jump up to him in an instant "Wha-"

He doesn't manage to finish his own single word. Instead, Jon's expression freezes for a moment into one of disbelief. But that disbelief crumbles away notably as relief takes his place and a still somewhat careful smile begins to emerge.

"Please do." Jon mutters, his mind unable to produce anything more refined to say. So he shifts where he is crouching enough to allow himself to bring his free hand up and to the back of Tony's neck, attempting to gently pull him closer and bring their foreheads together, mimicking the way Tony used to do this so many times by now. There's a part of Jon that wants to laugh, another is scared, the rest isn't even remotely sure if he is doing any of this right as he utters his request that may sound silly to Tony's ears. "Please... Please, Tony. Love me, and- And let me love you."

It didn't take much enticing to gladly draw Tony closer, already leaning in at the gesture but keeping his head bowed to press against Jon's neck instead, too exhausted for the tension that dragged at his shoulders and made his hands flex around Jon's in pain. Jon wasn't going to be asking for that kind of permission later, when he realized what he knew of Tony was all a shallow surface and everything underneath was worthless, Tony would just have to realize for himself that love had been long gone. That didn't make him want it any less now, knowing how much he had to lost never stopped him from wanting a drink, either, and he sighed, resentful of himself and how much he wouldn't change how fucking hard Jon had to make everything. At least he already got Tony to admit he had a problem.

Untangling their hands, Tony braced one on the bed again, curling into the sheets to help drag himself up as he slipped the other hand under Jon's shoulder to pull with him. He wasn't going to get very far without Jon's help, but he didn't want to be kneeling on the cold floor anymore. This was not at all how this was supposed to feel, Jon had way too many horror stories on those tapes and not nearly enough romantic ones.

As long as Tony lets him, Jon will hold him close with his one arm. Not too close to put any actual pressure on Tony or his wounds, but being more than willing to offer what comfort he can give. He may not be receiving any verbal confirmation from Tony, but... The man hasn't been the most vocal before. Responding more through actions than words. And Tony not pulling outright away... Is Jon permitted to take that as a good sign?

The only indication that he isn't being dismissed when Tony starts pulling himself back up is the hand attempting to drag him along, which is enough of a signal for him to help Tony pick himself up instead. It's getting more and more obvious that he is, indeed, in pain. Though Jon makes sure to stick with helping Tony rather than directing where exactly he moves. If he wants to sit at the edge of the bed, that's just as fine as lying down. That's a decision for Tony to make. Neither is he going to force any drugs on the man. Jon has made it apparent enough that he brought along that which he doesn't tend to leave behind at the hospital.

For now at least it feels he has made enough demands.

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