2012-09-02 Lollipops Make...

Even at Sam's speed, the distance between Queens and Westchester is way too long. By the time he sets down in the back yard, he's diagnosed himself. Broken arm--thank goodness it's the left--and a lot of monstrous bruises, twisted knee, and a hell of a... feels like a sunburn. That's what he gets for a massive harmonic backwash of all his power -and- Klaw's being channelled right back into his system. Possibly a concussion but with him, he thinks, who's gonna notice if he's a little addled?
Kids are... not in the kitchen. He hears shouting from the basketball court. Awesome. He can bleed on himself in peace on his way into the elevator to get down to the lab.
Pot lid to the forehead. Casserole dish to the arm. All cast iron and ceramic. He picks a fight with some kind of supervillan and gets his ass kicked by kitchware. Way to go, Guthrie. He leans on the rail and wills the elevator to speed up.
Jean Grey gets the alert in the med lab from the moment Sam steps into the elevator. The biometric scanner indicates injury and a telepathic scan from afar tells the rest of the story. She is waiting outside the elevator when it opens, wearing her lab coat with her hair pulled back in a bun.
A wash of gentle telekinetic power stretches out from the woman to stabilize the broken arm immediately, so it doesn't get jostled when he moves. "Samuel. What on earth did you do to yourself?" she asks with a mild chiding tone as she offers an arm for him to lean on en route to the med lab.
"I was going to see a baseball game with Spider-Girl," Sam explains wearily. He accepts her help quite gratefully. He's not going to say no. "I think we should stay away from the same neighborhoods, though, because I didn't just pull up but some goons in yellow hazmat suits started raiding a Shaw warehouse and shooting at the police. Anyway." He looks sheepish. "Mistakes were made. No one did this to me but a rack of that really good cookware, after I ended up in a kitchen supply warehouse without my shields."
"How did you wind up without your shields?" Jean asks, arching a brow. Her tone is gentle though as she leads him into the lab and eases him down onto an exam table. "And why didn't you bring some of the fabulous cookware back with you?" she teases.
"No. Because it wasn't mine." Sam answers her quite seriously. He's not thinking right. He doesn't whimper about lying down but he does make a face.
"The guy had some kind of sonic thing going," he says. "I caught him in a shield when he headed for the baseball park but he built up this crazy wave interference inside it--like it made him stronger--and when he overrode it, I didn't just lose the shield. Everything came right back up the channel. Blew me across a hundred yards of asphalt and concrete, through a warehouse full of those yellow guys, out the other side. Took out two of their vehicles, someone else's transport truck, and burnt out in the warehouse... and then the shelf of that cookware went over on me."
The odd response, not recognizing humor, cements for Jean that he's concussed at least. "Well, I'll get you fixed up right as rain, so don't you worry," she murmurs. She pulls over a machine arm to X-ray and grimaces at the break. However, the major benefit to having a telepath as your doctor? She blocks out his pain receptors as she carefully resets the arm telekinetically. She couldn't have done it like this before she merged with the Phoenix Force but now it's easy as pie for her.
Once the break is reset, Jean begins putting a cast on the arm. As she works with her hands, she levitates a penlight over to flash into his eyes and check for sensitivity. "How many pens do you see?" Double or blurred vision will also indicate a concussion. "And do you feel nauseous at all? Any numbness in your legs or your right arm?"
"Ow." Sam squints into the light. "I feel weird but not sick. My ears are still ringing. The guy was firing a sonic gun... it was his right arm, the whole gun. Not numb. Feel like I got punched in the jaw. Eyes are a little blurry," he admits, once he's done fussing about having a light shone into them. Broken arm, whatever. Bright light in his eyes, oh no!
"I'm just mad. And I feel like I got hung in a smoker overnight. Burnt." Sam grumps as he goes back over the whole thing in his head. "But I actually shot the guy. Like. With." He waves his right hand around. "Not a shield. Not me running him over. Like I put my hands out and 'pew pew'. Surprised the pants off me, just about."
Jean floats an ice pack and a towel over and places them on Sam's head to reduce any brain swelling and it should help relieve some of that pain. "You definitely have a concussion and some deep tissue bruises," she explains. "I can give you Tylenol but that's it. I can't risk that you might have internal bleeding somewhere. And I'm going to have to keep waking you up tonight and asking you questions. You're going to hate me, but it's necessary."
She finishes with the cast, strips off nitrile gloves and puts them in a waste bin, and fishes out some Tylenol. She hands them to him with a paper cup of water to wash them down with. "You're on bed rest for a few days, Sam. Absolutely no alcohol, no physical exertion, no driving. Icepacks for your head tonight and for the next few days, ice your bruises tonight, heat for them after that to soothe the muscles."
She begins bandaging any cuts, then puts some aloe vera gel on his skin to ease what looks like a sunburn. "As for the change in your powers, maybe the Professor or Scott can help you with that?"
"I should have seen it coming. I mean the power thing. I was getting good at moving the shields around." Sam takes his medicine obediently. "I can't wait to get into the Danger Room and try it out." Bed rest? What bed rest? He must have missed that part.
"I need to go get my truck. Or have it towed. That--" The curse doesn't come out his mouth, but it echoes in his head. Sorry, Ma, he thinks reflexively. Ma Guthrie does train them well. "Anyway, his s
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