OOC: Log
X-Men MUCK - Wednesday, September 22, 2004, 5:16 PM
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<< XS >> Jean's Room - Lv3
Large and airy this end of the hall room; the door from the hallway bisects one wall. To the right, an office area complete with overstuffed bookshelves and a desk with computer, docking stations for peripherals, and piles of papers both research and student. To the left, privacy screens in black lacquered wood and white rice paper enclose a sleeping area containing a bedside table and lamp, and a double futon with many pillows and an addictively comfortable duvet. The outer wall features two bay windows with cushioned window seats on either side of a small fieldstone fireplace. An oriental rug stands in front of the hearth, with a small cream coloured sofa perfectly placed for a quiet evening in. There are two additional rugs in the sleeping and office areas, otherwise the parquet floor is bare. Walls hung with gray-blue wallpaper and with acccents in black and white, the simple empty space allows for both visual and mental tranquility, aided and abetted by candles scattered about on black worked-metal stands. A door on the left wall leads to a fairly nice bathroom, and a matching one on the right opens into a large walk-in closet.
[Exits : [O]ut]
Jean has a very nice bed. It's comfortable, it has a duvet she can burrow into like a fetchingly redhaired gopher, and it's surrounded by tasteful and classy shoji-style folding screens, but... it -does- get boring after a time. So, Jean has now had herself transferred to her sofa in front of the fireplace, wrapped in her dressing gown, and with the duvet, her attentively-purring cat, and a laptop with a wireless connection for company. With light streaming in through the bay windows, her suite isn't such a bad sickroom to be in.
Forge feels a little ... exposed. Once Logan allows him into the room, with a couple of explicitly worded caveats about not putting Jean's mind in stressful areas. (At least, they seem explicit to Forge. He's sensitive) There's ... no clutter. At least, not to a Forgely extent of clutter. To most people, this is a desirable state of being. To Forge, it's like walking out in this abandoned landscape where the twisted hulks of remains of ... buildings were of adobe and not steel. It's very depressing. ;.; Okay, not that depressing. He stands on the edge of the room and stares at the side of Jean's head. "Hell ....o how are you feeling?"
Aww, and from what Jean can hear on the other side of the door, Logan was being -mild-. She perks up as she identifies the brain in the hallway, and is about to offer a mental greeting out of a sheer imp of mischief and boredom... when her telepathic sensitivity abprupty dips down to nil, and Jean's left muttering to her computer as she waits out this current swing. "Hasn't been this bad since I hit -puberty-." she grumbles, before peeking up at Forge and lifting a hand to wave him over. Curie, her calico cat, promptly leaps after the waving hand. "Ow! -Off-. Kisses! Kisses, not bites!" she greets, to the cat instead of to her colleague. Curie flicks her tail proudly and abandons the couch to go see if she can shed black and orange and white hairs on Forge's pants. "Forge, come in, I'm bored. Horribly. What's going -on-?"
It may be for the best. Forge has gotten a little better about telepaths since he became friends with one, but in his current Jubilee frazzled state (beyond accidentally, totally accidentally causing her a concussion, maybe, she subjected him to hours of bad sci fi. Torture. Torture) he might run back out the door and lock himself in his room, clutching his head and moaning about voices. Well. It's not quite that dramatic. Forge jerks further inside with the Jean-attack of the cat (which makes him want to shoot it. Gently.) and stands a bit rigid in the center of the room. More rigid when kitty comes to shed on him. He looks down at it. Cat. "So, you're horribly bored," he says, finally tearing his eyes off the feline. He smiles, a wry little twitch. "Fancy that. It's terrible, isn't it? Just terrible. But other than some, um, hanging ... out with Jubilee earlier today, things have been quite gentle and dull." Forge, see, doesn't know about Jareth yet. He hasn't checked either his email or his LJ today. For one reason and another. This is also probably for the best.
"Ah yes, I should've know I wouldn't get too much sympathy from you," Jean snorts softly, craning her neck to look at her erstwhile patient before letting herself collapse back amongst her pillows and the duvet. "And... gentle and dull? I was reading Hank's LJ," she waves a hand at the webpage up on her laptop screen, which bears the familiar hallmarks of LiveJournal.com, and then continues "And it seems like Jareth's gotten himself stuck in the intranet and left his body unattended...?" She trails off, looking up at the shop teacher imploringly. Dirt! We needs it, precious!
"WHAT? He has? I didn't know this!" With all the subtlety and polite flare of a stuck boar, Forge all-but shoves past Jean to scan the journal entry in question. "The rest I knew," Forge says in a distracted mutter. "Although I'm a bit miffed I'm on the disabled list. I'm just fine. All I'm saying ... as far as gentle and dull ... all I /was/ saying is that nothing had happened on /my/ end. Except for making Jubilee skates and projects. I could ... tell you about my projects? Or I could make up some gossip."
Jean merely leans back into her pillows and lets Forge have his way with her laptop, looking briefly the weak and tired woman that she is, but refuses to show for as long as she's got the strength to conceal it. By the time Forge is done reading, she's got herself pulled back together again, and is twining a strand of hair around one fingertip. "Yes. Hank is going to smuggle me some reports to read. And... you made Jubilee skates? What kind of skates?"
"Rollar blades. I think. I can't tell one kind from another." Forge finally relinquishes the lap top and pulls back, his brow furrowed. "I was making her replacements for the ones she lost. Is all, really." Don't need to mention the motors. "... So Jareth's in the computers. You know, I built something lock Karla into an internet once. A long time ago. Long story. I might be able to get him out. Or, you know, you really do look all right. /You/ could get him out, even. If you can communicate with hardware to some extent."
Hank has arrived.
"I'll have to take a good look at the CTs and MRIs that Hank is going to send me." Jean theorizes, apparently distracted by the prospect of Something Meaningful To Do and no longer probing after Jubilee's choice of wheeled footwear, beyond a sharp glance up from where she's lying on her couch, wrapped up in her duvet, to wonder "There aren't any -weapons- built into them, are there?" before sinking back and half-closing her eyes. "That... yeah, look into that. I can't interface with hardware, I'm a telepath, not a technopath. But if he's still got a mind, I might well be able to find it on the astral plane..." Her eyes grow distant as she makes an exploratory attempt, before, all at once, she's leaning over the side of the couch and trying not to throw up, shoulders heaving and a hand to her mouth. "Oh God."
"No, no weapons," Forge says, exhaling. Although there's little inflection one way or another in his voice. Eh. He settles himself a bit closer to her bed when she seems to deflate -- although, he figures, it is partly for telepathic purposes. "Not even if the hardward has a mind of /some/ sort? Not that it's important. Well, it /is/ important, but I'll see what I can -- Jean!" Forge lunges forward and tries to steady her in a lop sided semi-embrace. Probably unnecessary and probably not helping. His eyes are trying to take up the upper half of his face. "Oh ... you're really .. Jean?"
And just at the opportune moment, there's a knock on the door, and a pleasant baritone. "Jean? Are you well enough for one more visitor? I've brought the films"
Jean dry heaves a couple more times, water standing in her eyes and her expression rather pitiable. At length, she pats Forge's steadying arm reassuringly, swallows a couple times to rid her mouth of something nasty, and sinks back with a weary sigh, her colour gone wan. "Right. No astral plane today." she murmurs, essaying a weak smile and then nodding once as she hears Hank at the door. "Logan must've gone to get something to eat... could you let him in?" she requests.
"No ... I think you'd ... better not," Forge says, releasing Jean with uncharacteristic reluctance and backing away. Not fear. Unless it's of her vulnerability. She's not /supposed/ to be vulnerable and he's feeling an echo of the panicked protective flare he felt when Sabella mentioned the tapes ... like he should be out defending. Yeah. "I'll go answer the door," he says, quietly, and . . . answers the door. "You're not Logan," Forge says Beast-wise. He almost sounds resentful.
Hank is unperturbed. "No, I'm not." And a good thing too. "Jean showed interest in Jareth's PET, MRI, and CAT scans, so I am bringing them to her, instead of making her go all the way downstairs for them. If, that is, I am allowed in the room." He frowns. "Are you all right, Jean?"
"Of course he's not Logan, he's Hank." Jean states, as if her somewhat-tangled request was the most logical fact in the world. It seems her earlier clarity is fraying a bit at the edges, a fact not going wholly unnoticed by Dr. Grey, who falls into silence for a few moments to try and gather herself. Telepathy beyond her latent sensitivities is a no-go, but meditative techniques are useful to anyone. After the two men have conversed a bit, she gets around to taking direct questions. "Come in, Hank. Please. And... I'm good enough to look over some scans?"
"I know, I know," Forge says, one "I know" for each clarification of Hank's identity. He stops aside, spreading one arm out as if he were escorting Storm in. Not sure why. "And, if you wouldn't mind, I'd like to look, too. I won't know what I'm seeing, but that part of my brain will. Uh, Jean, you're not low on medication or anything?" The last is a wee tangental, Forge fumbling blind in his pocket. Determined to be useful.
Hank comes into the room pointedly acting as though nothing was wrong. He has a number of films, and he sorts them out into six separate piles. "These," he indicates to Forge and Jean, "are Jareth's most recent scans, taken when there was nothing wrong with him as the adult technopath his is now. And these," he says, sighing, indicating the other piles, "are his scans now. Granted, the CAT scan isn't very useful in this case, but I've brought it anyway. I would direct your attention to the MRI in particular, as this," he taps one particular part of the brain, what would be Jareth's telepathy center "has been damaged." Then, once he finishes the statement, he takes a good look at Jean. "Have you been getting enough fluids?"
Jareth has arrived.
Jean shifts on her couch, making to relocate her laptop to her coffee table with her telekinesis, before remembering that a) the telepathy of a few moments ago nearly made her vomit from vertigo and b) that's a darn expensive laptop. Prudently, she moves it the old fashioned way, pulling herself upright and settling her duvet around her and across her lap, chilled thanks to the low grade fever her over-revving metabolism is causing her. "As much as I can hold. Electrolytes, Dramamine and bed rest too... and let's see?" Pulling out a pair of reading glasses, she settles them on her nose and pores over the MRI. "Now, the challenge here is that there seems to be some trauma to the psi center. Do you have him on blood thinners and anti-inflammatories?" she wonders, medical jargon belieing the sheen of sweat on her forehead. "His brain will be able to concentrate, but it probably won't welcome his consciousness back until its' in a state to recieve it safely."
Forge hangs back a bit, his eyes mostly coasting over the image and storing it away in his imperfect mental short hand. Psi centers are greek to him -- he wasn't aware there /was/ such a thing and he leaves a note for himself to go research that later. He does, thankfully, stop fiddling with the machines in his pocket and fold his arms.
Hank nods. "Yes, of course. A body lying prone for some time will need both, to prevent clots." He peers at the films. "It is my hypothesis that the link between his psionic self and his physical body has been severed, physically, given the damage we see here to his physical brain and the fact that Jareth told me last night he felt a pain, probably a sharp one, in his head just before all the trouble started. Now, since psionics are not my speciality, I must ask you whether or not my hypothesis has any legs to stand on, and if it does, what steps can be taken to either re-establish that link, or somehow allow his body to retain his psionic self."
Jean closes her eyes, filtering out one sense to let her brain have a little more processing power, as it were. "Forge, would you mind running down and getting me a refil of the drugs I've been taking later?" she offers, trying to give the man something to do while she and Hank get all medical. She opens her eyes to focus on the MRI image again, tapping her finger against a pattern of colour that looks, to a layman, just like any other pattern of colour. "Not... severed." she corrects. "There's still too much activity there, even in his comatose state. But I think that there's swelling if there's been injury, and his psyche might be keeping itself safe until that subsides and it can return 'home' more easily. In that case, we want to get that swelling down even more than usual... any other steps will need a trained telepath of mid-order or higher."
It's probably coincidental that a certain technopath is wandering in this direction during this conversation. After all, at the moment, he doesn't have any ears to be burning. Jareth drifts through the structure of the network and into Jean's room, coming to rest in the desktop sitting nearby. There comes the muffled pop of powering speakers, more a means of announcing himself than typical hardware function. A moment after that comes Jareth's voice through the speakers, slightly perturbed in its electronic recreation. "Jean?"
Forge nods and almost sighs with relief. Research it later. He will. Really. But all this makes him twitch and wish he could understand this kind of stuff more than intuitively, with his hands. He takes a couple of steps toward the door -- then whirls toward the voice, gaping. "Jar -- getting a refill." And he somehow makes it to the door and out.
Hank smoothes down the fur at the back of his neck. "Ah, Jareth, we were just talking about you," the good doctor says, in a voice remarkably calm for the fact that the hair on his arms is standing up too. It's a good thing he hasn't got a tail. . . "I have the results of your scans, if you're interested. Jean and I are just discussing how to fix this situation."
"Hi Jareth," Jean waves weakly, lifting one hand in the direction of her desk and where her webcam sits, assuming that Jareth has probably flipped it and her microphone on along with the speakers. "Later, Forge." Somewhat bemused by the comings and going, perhaps, but gracious enough, is Jean. She sighs, closes her eyes, and slumps a little sideways, fussing with her duvet and alternately shoving it away or drawing it close to her. "I think we need time. Time for Jareth's brain to heal, and time for my brain to stop weaving around like an emo kiddy on acid."
"Speak of the devil, Hank. Hi, Jean." The little light on the webcam has indeed turned on, and if the microphone and speakers try to wage feedback war on nearby ears, Jareth has it squashed too quickly to notice. "I don't know how much of it I'll understand without explanation or looking up an AMA website, but I'm sure you can tell me about it."
Hank nods. "Most of it is fairly easy to understand, Jareth, don't worry. Basically --" he goes and holds up a film to the webcam so Jareth can 'see' it, pointing to the livid bits of Jareth's brain, "we think you have sustained an injury to that part of your brain that conducts and regulates your psionic abilities. You can see it here, compared to what you normally look like in *this* film," he says, picking up the normal film of Jareth's brain. "It's Jean's theory, and I agree with her, that due to the swelling and injury your psyche is, well, blocking *you* from returning home until the brain 'tells' it it's safe to do so. Anti-inflammatory steps have already been taken for your body, but if the swelling goes down and you do not return, other steps will have to be taken."
Forge has left.
"And hopefully, E.T. will be able to go home on his own," Jean supplies a bit of pop culture with a tired smile. "If not, either I'll have to head to the Astral Plane and hunt down your consciousness there to guide you, or, if we haven't figured out why Cerebro seems to have done such a number on me by then, we'll call the Professor home from D.C., or find another trained telepath. Although I think Betsy is still over in London. One of my former students would do, but she's a mother now and has been neglecting her exercises. I -suppose- there's Emma Frost, but she's self-taught and also... she's Emma Frost." There's a sniff, proving that even severe vertigo and medications can't stop Jean from sniping gently about a certain White Queen.
"That would make sense. If I was right about feeling a pain near my head, that was probably the result. It may also be that the damage knocked the door off the hinges and it won't open, so to speak." The disembodied voice becomes deadpan at Jean's comment. "If not, then I suppose you'll give me a bike ride back to the mothership, Elliott. Oh, and I found Circe, Hank. It's... very nice not to be sitting in a sensory deprivation tank squared."
Hank's fur bristles again at the mention of Emma, and his eyes darken. "That woman does not set foot in this house while I'm in it," he snaps. "Talk about a security risk, among other issues. For shame, Jean. You're not yourself, otherwise you would not have made such a suggestion." Then, attention is drawn to Jean's astounding statement that Cerebro did this. "Why are you so sure Cerebro is behind this illness? I would have said it was a simple strain of influenza, myself." His tone softens as he nods at Jareth. "Good. She can be a substitute for you until we get this all sorted out and squared away."
"Hank," Jean's voice is only a bit above a stage whisper, sinking back deeper into her couch at the snapping, and letting her eyes ghost all the way shut. But her tone is firm. "I'm the one who locked Scott out of half the system after he began associating with her. I already trust her about as far as I can throw her, sans teke. But if it came down to having to rename Jareth to 'Hal', then I will do what I have to do for my people, and take what precautions are needed. Calm down, please, my barriers are down." Which is as close as Jean will get to telling her old friend that he's hurting her. There's silence from the woman again as she works at smoothing out her respiration rate, and then, eyes still closed, she offers absently that "Influenza doesn't do this to me. It started right after I used Cerebro to contact Logan, and I was throwing my thoughts to the other side of the world. I have power, Hank, but I haven't the Professor's training. I can hurt myself."
Hank sighs. "Lack of sleep has made me not only irritable, but jumping at shadows. My apologies, Jean." He rubs his eyes, still sans glasses, and changes the subject. "I know you can," he says gently. "Isn't that why Charles used to warn you against that very thing? But I don't think this is soley Cerebro, Jean, perhaps it might have something to do, but not all. My instincts tell me otherwise, though before you ask, no, I don't have any other theories. I just know that Cerebro as described to me cannot do. . . this." A gesture at her, all covered up and sick with something physical. "Where is Logan? Are you able for food? Do you want something to drink?" He gathers up his films of Jareth's head. "Perhaps I ought to bend myself to helping my patients, instead of cauing further injury," he says, wryly.
"Or an incubating strain that happened to go to work while Jean was knocked flat from Cerebro. You might check for influenza bugs to be sure." There's a pause while Jareth ponders a moment or two. "Do you two want me to look through Cerebro and see if anything is off? I've got plenty of free time, since I doubt I'll be going to the Red Sox game later this week."
Hank nods. "That is a wise idea, Jareth. But again, not my specialty. Jean? And while you're down for the count, so to speak, I think I should get a blood sample, just to be sure that it *isn't* some influenza."
"It's -not- influenza." Jean grumbles, apparently proving the dictum that doctors make terrible patients quite, quite true. "There's no respiratory infection, no muscle aches, no joint pain. Just vertigo and a rev'd metabolism, the vertigo of which is consistant with artifically-induced epileptic vertigo, which, in layman's terms for you, Jareth, is what happens when your brain's electrical activity goes a bit haywire. Which Cerebro can do." A snort, and then Jean eases back again, having gone and sat up to defend her theory, and then having found that to be a bad idea. She grumbles some more, but offers an arm. "Go ahead, oh medical vampire. And I suppose I should probably get an MRI at some point. But wait 'til the infirmary's a little more empty? For my brain's sake?"
Hank smiles. "Nevertheless, leave no stone unturned, or in this case, a platelet. Come now, Jean, if it isn't Cerebro, don't you want to know *what* it is? And I'm only asking for a tiny sample of blood. It oculd be worse. I could ask for a spinal tap, to get samples of the other fluids in your body!" He grins, clearly joking. "I do not have the equipment with me, your arm is safe for the moment. But I will capture you soon for a sample, count on that."
"Yes, I remember what epileptic activity does to a brain. I'm just glad *my* brain didn't have any epilectic attack, or we might start getting HBO through the gate cameras." What was the association of jokes and stressful situations? Seems to be Jareth's tactic here. "Like he said, it might be something else, and better to find out. Incidentally, is anyone scheduled to use the Danger Room? There are some things I want to try to keep myself occupied."
Hank hrms. "Perhaps we should start you on an anti-convulsant. . . " And he's off. Chasing scientific theories and forgetting that there's an actual person somewhere in there. "Or perhaps combining an anti-spasmodic with a corticosteriod for your brain. . . " Hank ponders, almost forgetting where he is in the pondering.
"Beat you to it, Dr. McCoy." Jean manages a weak smile that still contains the sort of impish twinkling quality common to younger sisters who've beaten their brother at some small point. "I've had Logan dose me with a carbamazepine derivative last night, and I took some oral meds this morning. Empirical treatment!" she proclaims in a quiet voice, borrowing the inflections of an old med school professor of hers. "But corticosteroids might be worth a try. And certainly, go ahead and screen me for whatever. I've certainly been exposed to enough evil geniuses in my time that something latent might've popped up... and go ahead, Jareth." And then she's quiet again.
Hank smiles. "Well, you have gotten me. I admit it. Continune on your course and then I'll check back in with you in 48 hours. If it is to help, we'll know yea or nay by then. And I should have the results of your blood tests too." He is most definately planning on testing her for everything under the sun and then some. "Evil geniuses? An extremely remote possibility, to be sure, but we'll track it down, never fear."
Not that it would be all that visible even were he still in possession of some physical form, but Jareth's mental gears turn at computer speed once Jean supplies a green light. The more he can think about something else, the more he can keep from thinking about his current state of being. In response to Hank's medical pondering, blink goes a browser that suddenly pops up on screen and searches Google for a picture of another doctor. The name of this particular doctor starts with F and ends with 'rankenstein.' As the picture pops up, Jareth's voice sounds again. "Hank, don't make us change your last name."
Forge bursts in with the Meds. Which must be capitalized because they are so very sacred. You can tell the degree of the sacredness by the way Forge cups them to his chest as if terrified of dropping them. Not that Forge is prone to dropping things. "Ah, Jean," he blurts, "these are the ones they handed me -- ah, hello, everyone." Forge subsides and stands by the door, well apart from everyone else, and trying not to look at the computer screen. Another heartbeat and he starts shuffling toward Jean, his movements growing more careful by proximity to the invalid. Because, you know, if he fatefully dropped the medication /now/ it might explode and cause some kind of pre-mature seizure in the biologically sensitive. Or whatever these things do.
Jean remains smiling, but lets herself slide back down so that she's lying on the couch amongst her pillows, rather than sitting up. It's done gracefully, as just a natural movement, camouflaging the fact that if she'd waited a few more minutes, she'd be doing it with no choice in the matter. "Oh, Essex, Sabella... although she's about as much a -scientist- as Mengele was... certainly waking up strapped to the exam tables of two evil geniuses at various times is enough, right?" Dark humour is definitely a way of getting through a crisis, and Jean will contribute too. "In the meantime, Jareth, could you check my email for me, and Hank, do you think I could trouble you to put my kettle on? It's in the cupboard under the left-hand window seat--" And here Jean trails off in a wince, as the twitchy Forge returns and twitches his way across to her with the meds, making her brain itchy. "Thank you, Forge." she offers, more quietly.
Hank nods at Jean. Fluids are good. Hot steamy ones with vitamins and minerals and things, are better. He conceals a smile at Forge's tenativeness. Then, he goes and rummages through Jean's cupboard, as ordered, finally finding the required instruments. He disappears briefly into the bathroom to fill the kettle.
"You're . . . welcome!" Forge says, depositing the refills with obvious relief. At least, his twitching subdues to his usual mildly spiky, but undirected mental static. But sensing noting the wince and being sensitive, Forge withdraws at that point and out, with only a single wary glance at the screen and then at Beast, before he clears out into the hall.
Jareth's current sense of humour is about as black as coffee fresh from the pot. This is why, when next the discorporate voice speaks, it is at first in a rather good rendition of HAL. "Good evening, Forge." This little crack accomplished, Jareth's regular voice returns as the screen flicks to Jean's e-mail. "Get dozens of free software titles... Lower your mortgage... Someone in Nigeria wants money which of course he'll pay back... Apparently, you've won a Caribbean cruise vacation. Oh, and would you like to increase a cup size for just $19.99?" One by one, delete, delete, delete.
"You're . . . welcome!" Forge says, depositing the refills with obvious relief. At least, his twitching subdues to his usual mildly spiky, but undirected mental static. But sensing noting the wince and being sensitive, Forge withdraws at that point, although Jareth's HAL rendition prompts a half foot jump, up and backwards. "You," Forge says, pointing at the computer screen. "Need to talk to me later. I'll be hooked up, you know where to find me, but any more imitations of HAL and I will be no help at all." With a smile to show he /is/ being facetious (if nervous), Forge clears out with all due speed.
Hank pours a cup of the hot water and frowns. Without looking, he asks, "Mint, raspberry sage, orange citrus, or chamomile?"
Logan finally comes back in, to check on the doctor. It's a good thing she lay down when she did, otherwise, she'd get another lecture like last night. He walks quietly into the room, giving a nod towards Hank, just as he's about to pour Tea. Shaking his head Logan gives a sigh. "What, did we just, talk about yesterday Hank, and here you are like it's tea time." Sitting down gingerly on Jean's 'fainting' couch, Logan lends a hand to Jeans hip, rubbing lightly. "You can lead a horse to water, but you can't stop him from pouring tea I guess. How are you feeling today?"
Hank gives Logan a completely innocent look. "What? Pouring tea into cups and saucers is a perfectly civilized thing for a perfectly civilized man such as myself. Besides, Jean asked me to make her some because she . . . " Couldn't get up. Let's not tell Logan that. "Because she deserves some coddling while she's ill, having helped me solve the mystery of Jareth."
Jean still has a couple bruises on her arms from trying to fight her way free and over to her dispensary last night. Not that Logan had intended to leave them, but Jean is entirely too determined for her own good, and has fragile skin. So, in hindsight, another lecture, and being carried off, is to be avoided. She gives Logan her best innocent look, and catches his hand in hers, grip lighter today than it was last night. "Hank's right, I did ask him for the tea. And Forge was just getting me some medication. And Jareth's..." She trails off and glances over at her desktop computer. "Pretending to be the ghost in the machine."
It would be so tempting to draw an onscreen representation of a large red lens as Forge walks out, but frightening one of the best potential sources of help is probably not so good an idea, so Jareth doesn't torment the poor engineer any more. "I'll come by later." And then it's back to the remaining crowd. "I think I'd say pretending, my ass, if I still had one, except that I seem to be doing an effective job of it. And yes, if Jean can help find a way to get me out, I'd bring her more tea myself."
Hank arbitrarily decides on the raspberry sage blend. It's calming, and both ingredients have properties, that if they weren't completely processed out, will actually help, and not just taste good. A little bit of sugar for electrolytes balance, and to push her glucose levels, and he sets it aside to steep for a bit. "Don't worry, Jareth, I'm sure it won't be forever. We just have to wait until the swelling goes down, and I'll tell you when I think you can attempt to come back." He looks over at Jean and Logan, arching an amused eyebrow. "Shall I depart and leave you alone?"
Logan glances over at Jean's computer, looking back at Jean as if her problem were getting worse, now that she's speaking to the computer as if Jareth was in it. Of course, as he speaks up through Jean's speakers, Logan looks twice at the computer. "Okay, so Jareth finally lost it, and is stuck in the machine, so to speak." He remembers Forge running off down the hallway, and then chuckles. "He didn't stay long to chat did he? Forge that is." He shakes his head at Hank and grins. "It's not like Jean's in any condition to do anything doc, don't worry, your virgin eyes are safe." He looks back at Jean and holds her hand gently, idly looking down at her fingers, before he frowns a little, then cracks a smirk. "Well, you can't always be super Jean, I told you that before didn't I? It's nice to see that you're not invincible. Too bad Scott's not here to witness it, might change his attitude about you Jean."
Jean peeks up over the edge of her duvet at Hank as he works, sniffing gently and wondering "Raspberry sage?" as the tea steeps and the aroma of it intensifies to levels that her perfectly conventional nose can pick out. Her hand remains in Logan's, and squeezes a little bit as she sees the smirk, her own expression wry. "No, if he'd seen me like this when we were together, he'd have just spent the next week being distant and withdrawn and upset with himself for not somehow protecting me from my own decisions, in between fussing. Of course -you're- fussing." she teases, before the thought drifts away from her, and she lets her body go slack. "Jareth's had an accident to his psi-center and is stuck in the school network until his brain heals a bit. Hank's trying to figure out treatments, and he brought me some scans to look over because I was bored... and Forge is a bit freaked that Jareth's in a computer."
Hank nods, then hands the tea saucer to Jean. "Drink this." Just like in the movies. "I think everyone is suprised and uncomfortable, including Jareth," he points out mildly. "I for one am more than a little taken aback by this whole occurance."
Logan says, "Well, Jean's sick, and Jareth was, what, just attacked somehow? Has no one looked up the schools camera records to see if anyone went near him to cause any injury in the first place? I thought thats what he had the cameras in the school for in the first place?"
Hank rubs his eyes. "I've been more than a little busy, Logan," he says, tiredly. "I haven't had a chance."
The response to Logan's observation from the computer's direction is a miffed grunt. "There's no 'so to speak' involved. At the moment, I'm the world's one confirmed poltergeist. And yes, it's rather uncomfortable to live with." Jareth is silent a moment while he tamps down the strain of the whole situation, as well as thinks over Logan's question. "My assumption was that it was because I was deeper in the lab computers than usual, and something happened. Maybe a power surge hit. In any case, I didn't look. I'll worry about it when I'm not dead."
Jean rustles around on the couch, growing too hot all of a sudden and throwing back her duvet as she tries to lever herself back up to sitting, so that she can take her cup of tea and sip at it, ankles neatly together and a certain air of poise about her, despite the fact that her skin is pale and clammy, her hair looks about as fetching as anyone's hair after a day lying down, and the dramamine patch stuck to the side of her neck.. Old habits die hard, and the proper way to drink tea is one of them. "Thank you, Hank... and don't worry about it. I want you to focus your attention on the medical side of things." she directs, voice extremely quiet, but with her Deputy Headmistress tone present. "Examine Jareth's body for any signs of foul play. Jareth, since you're in a very good position for it, can you check to make sure that our intranet is still secure? Someone planning a breach might well want to take out the technopath in charge of maintaining it." Tasks parceled out, she turns to Logan with a helpless smile. "I'd tell you to leave me to my own devices and spend all your time investigating, but I know that's not likely to happen. So if you could just do a little, that would be fine. Someone needs to contact the Professor... and I'm going to ask Storm to tend to the kids, if no-one else wants to?"
Hank sighs. "Why not have Jareth check the security systems too? Cameras, infrared, whatever, for signs of tampering. While he's at it, and if he doesn't mind." He nods to Jean. "Storm tending to the students is a fine idea. I personally have no objections." But suddenly, the medical bay's pager goes off, and Hank fishes it out of his bermuda shorts and looks at it in suprise. "Medical assistance is needed with one of the students down by the lake." He turns the pager off and sighs. "No rest for the wicked, I suppose. I'll tend to it, Jean, you rest."
Logan gets up, but not before helping Jean upright, and waiting till she's settled enough to sip her tea properly. "If you your just sick, then I'll believe that enough to let you get some rest, or some work done, aslong as Jareth is the one doing the leg..I mean, finge...I mean, the work." He turns to Jareth or Jean's computer screen anyways and adds. "Lock the door if she tries to leave alright? It's bad enough she has to think to do anything. I don't want her going down to the medbay to try and take care of someone's little booboo in the meantime." Leaning down, he kisses Jean quickly, stroking her red tussled locks back out of her face for her. "No work, you hear me?" Standing back upright, he looks back at Hank. "I'll help you bring whoever it is back to the school, then go downstairs to check on the security, try to see what happened out there." *re*
Hank nods to Logan. "THat sounds like a good plan. Thank you. I believe I will need some help, the code they used was a serious one. I doubt this is just something that can be fixed with a bandage. I will meet you there, I want to go to the medbay first to get some things that may well be necessary."
Hank has left.
"He can't lock my door, we're on the upper levels of the school," Jean points out logically, teacup trembling just slightly until she focuses and steadies her hands. She smiles and leans forward to return the kiss though, adding a promise that "I'll be good, though. And if I get into any trouble, I'll just shout," Lifting her teacup in a toast as Logan and Hank head out, she calls that "You can come talk to me if you need a second opinion, though...!" and then settles back in for tea, solitude, and perhaps a little rest.
It might almost be possible to see the mirthless smirk in Jareth's tone. "If it's not secure now, by the time I'm finished, God won't get in without an appointment. I'll help Logan check the security systems, too. When I'm done with that, I'll be in the Danger Room." Oh, if only he could turn a Look on Logan for that slip. "As for Jean, I can send Circe by to keep her company and keep an eye on her. If Jean goes anywhere, I'll tell her to bite her ankles."