(2019-02-01) Ultimatums
Calvin is being a stubborn, well, Calvin. Vic is brought in to give him the hard truths.
Players:
calvin..vic..

To be fair to the scheming manager-client team of Grant and Calvin, setting up Calvin's home so he could stay there to rehabilitate was successful. His family worked hard to install ramps, widen some doorways, completely remodel his Master bath and make adjustments to the basement and ground floor bathrooms. The kitchen was the only thing mostly untouched. Someone never cooks. The jewel of the home is the elevator, which was still under construction when he came home but it is working today. Which places Calvin in the basement, which is where the hard work takes place.

Half the basement has always been a gym and Calvin /did/ visit it for a minimum amount of time per day, only ramping up recently with the talk of tours. Old equipment is being replaced with anything needed to get Calvin back on his feet. But, problems have arisen. The snitch is Iris, his backup singer. Iris is /still/ a registered nurse and has been a part of his medical team as well as backup since they began performing together. Calvin trusts her to assist and she gives Vic full and detailed reports of his behavior, for better, or worse.

After coming home on day one, he was fine until guests left, then his mood began to sour. He's cooperating with the physical therapy, no problem. Occupational is another story. Calvin wants to do nothing for himself, if you hear Iris tell it. And the OT quit on day 2, recommending someone tougher, who is enroute from Austin. Otherwise, Calvin is kind of pretending nothing happened and is counting the days until he's back in the studio.

So the basement is where Calvin can be found, he's in the studio but seems to be only working with Creedence on one track or another. He won't be singing for a while longer. He sits on one of the plush couches, guitar in his lap and notebook by his side. His wheelchair is parked nearby and Cal has literally thrown a big blanket over it. Iris did say he was being childish.

*

God bless Iris. Vic has been staying with her parents since she stalked out of the hospital the other day. Her mother has been fussing over her like one would expect, but in between all that she's been getting updates. Finally, the quitting of the OT has her coming to the ranch. She stopped by to check in with Donna first, but now she comes down the stairs to the studio level, refusing to use the elevator. "Creedence, scram," is her only warning to the producer. She's in jeans and a tee under a loose, knit sweater that ties in front. Because it's effing cold as hell out still. She looks displeased.

*

Creedence, along with all the members of the band, kniw give Vic full reign. Only Grant will argue that that is a strong word for weak refusals and token rebuttals. Grant isn't here today, oddly enough. Only Creedence's vehicle was in the driveway, among the workers still finishing up and his new personal chef. Fancy title for a sweet, plump Shay cousin named Carly who learned to cook on the Food Network and usually stays home with the kids. She is just entering the studio with a plate of food. Creedence stop her, spins her and mutters. "Vic's here."—"Oh no." is her reply and the both vanish.

Calvin looks up to Vic, shifting a bit. He winces in pain. Iris was glad to report responsible use of medication. Even if any pill that passes his lips requires two other support be notified. Grant isn't on that list. Vic is, though she hasn't been called yet. Donna's been handling it. Calvin grumbles and plucks the guitar's strings. "You heard the OT quit, huh? Luka Bethel was a bad fit and a bad hire and yeah, we fought." He grunts. "I have a leak."

*

Vic leans in the doorway, arms crossing over her chest defiantly. "Yes, he was clearly a bad fit after two days here. Clearly. Because you gave him a real shot, and listened to everything he said and did as you were told, right?" she says, with the sarcasm dripping off every syllable. "Here's the deal, Calvin. Either you are going to do your PT and OT as directed by the professionals you insisted were better for you here at home than at a much better suited facility in Austin, or you won't see me until you do. I'll be staying with my parents in the meantime. They are more than happy to experience all the firsts of my pregnancy with me, even if you aren't."

*

Oh, that was a shot to the heart. Calvin looks aghast as he puts down his guitar and shifts to sit up straighter. Under his usual layers of gray and plaid is one monster of a back brace that he's still fighting with. "Vic, come on. It's…there is no need for fucking ultimatums. I'm doing my PT. I'm busting my ass and I haven't complained once!" He pleads, pushing some loose hair out of his face. "The OT wants to teach me shit that isn't going to even matter soon so…yeah, it was whole fucking thing. Vic, please…" He pats the seat beside him. "Come 'ere. Please? Sit."

*

"From what I hear, you're doing lots of PT, and refusing to do a goddamned thing for yourself, which is what Occupational Therapy is all about. Teaching you to take care of your own damn self, so everyone around you doesn't have to do it for you. I'm gonna have two babies to do everything for, Calvin. I sure as shit am not going to have a third who is a grown ass man, acting like a goddamned toddler. You got hurt, bad, yes. But you have the ability to learn to help yourself, and you're throwing a tantrum over it, like the rest of us are obligated to wait on your hand and foot because you got shot. Well I got shot too. I'm pregnant to boot, at the age of 45. Every day is a fucking risk for me, and do you see me making my mom cook for me, clean for me? I'm back at work because I won't make Willow run my place of business when she isn't old enough to drink." She doesn't move to sit. "What the OT is teaching you is shit you need to do for yourself now. It doesn't matter that you won't need it later. We aren't your servants."

*

Calvin crosses his arms and seems to be pouting as she talks, his looking away from her. Hard to tell. "I'll be back on my feet faster than it'll take me to learn like…stuff." Calvin hates medical terms so much that he won't come up with cutesy euphemisms. It's always 'stuff' and 'things' and 'issues' and 'outcomes'. He waves a hand. "A new young woman is coming anyway. Someone left to pick her up from the airport a while ago. She's supposed to be tougher. That was the threat anyway." His lip trembles now and again too but he's holding hard. "He was showing me cribs that are lowered for…parents who need that. And…I kinda lot it because…I don't want /this/ for them. I shouldn't be shopping for special baby supplies. I won't." He sits at an angle, his covered wheelchair behind him. Out of his sight. Always. "If everyday is risky, come here. Come /home/. It kills me that—I can't be with you all the fucking time. You're going to move in soon, right? Just push it up a bit."

*

"I don't have to do anything, Calvin," Vic points out. "Just like you don't have to do anything. And if you're going to be a stubborn ass and not cover every possible outcome like a responsible father, then why would I want to be here? My mother and father are covering all possibilities. I'm dealing with all possibilities. I have been working on a will in case I don't make it through the birth. Or even the pregnancy. I've done my due diligence on every outcome of this pregnancy. You should at least do us the courtesy of doing the same." She pulls the blanket off the wheelchair. "We don't want this to be the outcome. We don't want any of the things I've planned for to happen. But they might, so I plan for them. Ignoring possibilities won't make them go away."

*

The blanket's removal causes a complex reaction from Calvin. He turns away first, placing his gaze on his notebook. But he's /mad/. And Calvin supposedly hasn't done mad in a while. Whining, bitching, bribing, cajoling. Sure. The exit of the last OT wasn't an really an argument. It was a refusal and shut down and they threw up their hands. But Calvin is /mad/. His face gets redder and his hands tighten into fights. "What do you think I'm doing here? My house is being renovated. Not just for me, but for you and our family. The master bath has been expanded for two. Two bedrooms are now one nursery. The wall came down just this morning. My work is all down here and on the ground so you have a whole office being prepped for you. Wren's getting big room with her own bathroom if she ever wants to use it.

"My new will is with my lawyer. A revised version of my old one is active now. Just have to make us legal." He's easing up, untensing but his eyes are still dark. "I'm trying my fucking hardest here. Maybe this is all I got! Maybe this is my fucking limit and we-we're lucky I get out of bed at all. Hope gets me out of bed. You. Wren. The twins. That's out of bed. After that? It's fumes. Fumes for PT. And forget actual work right now. I was just listening to Creedence's work but I have no constructive input."

"Please, put the blanket back over it. I won't ask again." His whining tone is a little hard to read. Will he not ask it be covered again? Or is he asking Vic for the last time?

*

Vic sits in the chair instead and puts the blanket over her lap. "I need you to do your Occupational therapy Calvin. Because if you don't, Luka is only going to be the first person to walk away from you. Everyone cannot exist to your whims and will. We're all human beings, fighting with our own catastrophies. No, they're not a possibility of being wheelchair bound but, they are serious to us, nevertheless. We don't dump them on you, because we take responsibility for them. And I need you to try, Calvin. Try to do what your doctors and aides are asking. You know you're a stubborn ass most of the time, but this isn't about vanity or authority or someone making you be in a wheelchair for the rest of your life. This is being responsible and acknowledging that there is a possibility, and to learn what you can right now to be ready just in case. You're only doing the things you WANT to make happen. You didn't even ask me about the bathroom or the nursery. I had no input. Do you see that? You're ignoring everything but what you want to make real."

*

"It was supposed to be a surprise." Calvin mutters. "Bathroom. Nursery. A big show to welcome you." Beat. "For the record, the nursery decoration was going to be for us. I just asked for the wall to be knocked down. They will share a room until they pitch a fit. Then the wall will go back up." He grumbles, still looking away. "Dex and I shared until summer before junior year." Something…stings there. A little bitterness. "Opposite genders get more say. Puberty's the cutoff though. Trust me on twin shit, please?" He smiles a little. "I played at Twinsburg for charity like…three years in a row. And Dex and I didn't miss a year for a long while. I know a lot of twins." The digression relaxes him further. "I will do what…I'm supposed to do, okay? I…I'm going to do it! It's really fucking hard, Vic. Part of it feels like giving up sometimes but…I have a nice set of wheels being made so. I best know how to use them." He smiles. "We're doing South By Southwest in March. I'm performing…wheelchair or no. And, last thing I need to be rumored to be a helpless cripple off-stage, yeah?"

*

"Part of me suspects I'll be in one of these for the last few months of this pregnancy, so we can have races down the halls," Vic says with a snort. She rolls herself over to him on the couch and takes his hands in hers, setting them in her lap. "Thank you. I needed to hear that. You were scaring me. Your mom is scared too. We all need you to do this. It's not just helping you, it's helping everyone who loves you. Because it shows us you want to be here, with us, no matter what. Ok?" She gives him a small smile, her features softening considerably.

*

Calvin softens too. "I'm scared, Vic. That's all. This is terrifying and I know, sometimes, that I'm still in some denial but…hang on, Vic. Don't give up on me, others have. Others will because I am a pain in the ass but…hang on and…I'll get there. South By Southwest is going to be great and…I just look to that. A month. I have a month to get my shit together and prove that I am not a victim of…domestic violence or guns or whatever political shit they want to attach. I'm Calvin Shay and I love to make music and perform and that ain't changed. Just like loving you." He shifts, scoots and winces until he can lean over to steal a kiss on the cheek. "Now, let me cuddle you and rub your belly. I ain't had the chance."

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