greyate | ic inbox ► savrou (ARCHIVE)

[He spends that entire first day and the subsequent evening, after the long and tedious talk with Kurt and Laura, back at the Ingress Complex. The mansion itself is both too big and far too small for the worry he's trying desperately to bottle up. Kurt will be, he assumes, fine, properly chastized for the time being to be too much trouble (and back home, he's much easier to keep mental track of.

But if he were to be honest--in that open, hurtful way in which most people never are--Jean is at the forefront of his mind, and negligent or no, he would be making this trip regardless.

He isn't sure what he expects to see as he enters the room, as every heartbeat seems liable to break through his ribcage in its deafening ferocity. What he sees is worse than he imagines. A little hurt, an injury, a scar would be preferable to how broken the girl before him is now, and for a short moment, the pitch of the equipment in the room sounds too shrill, and he can't breathe.

That worry working its insidious way into despair has nothing on the sheer terror in that single moment where the whole world seems to fall away.]

Jean.

[It's said breathless and desperately, an invocation more than it has ever been her name. With it, the world rights itself, and that silent--oh, too silent--hospital room rights itself and his lungs with it. One breath, then another, and soon, his own heaving falls into the pace of Jean's regulated breathing.

God, this is so much worse. Worse than he could have imagined, and everything he's been told. The manifesto on responsibility and critical thinking feels so far away, useless now in the face of everything breaking those guidelines as wrought.

The motorized chair's soft whir is drowned out by the steady hum and beep of the heart-monitor (and additional equipment he doesn't recognize enough to discern their use) as he moves from that place in the middle of the room to her bedside. Charles chokes back a sob that settles awkwardly in his throat, uncomfortable and still forgotten as he reaches to brush a lock of hair from her face. The pain runs deep, moreso than even the bruises and exhaustion he can still see underneath her skin, and he's not sure he's ever hated anything more than this feeling.

Failure. Hopelessness. Such despair he doesn't have the right words in an entire library for.

His fingers linger at her temple, the thought contemplated only for a moment before he decides he has to try. The other hand joins in, placed gently at the other side of her head, careful enough to not disturb her enough to find a nurse trying to interrupt.

Charles closes his eyes. His body seems to lift, giving the sense of weightlessness for a moment before he's met by a formless dark in that space unseen between them, an unoccupied psychic plane not unlike a pathway. He reaches, reaches for that feeling of light that he recognizes as Jean, and in a moment...

He's met with water. The currents rage and swirl, too violent to traverse. He stands on a shore--here, he always can--peering down into the deep. At first, it reveals nothing but endless angry waves. But after a moment of time stretching into an abyss that makes it all but meaningless, the color of the waves change. Under them, a flash of bright copper.

Jean.

He plunges a hand into the rapids without a second care, reaching down and down and down until he topples right in himself. Underneath the surface is calmer, but darker, and easier to get lost. And as his fingers seem to almost brush her own, she's pulled down deeper. Above the waves, through an unreal, crystaline clarity, he sees the world awash in its own sea: of flame. At that the center of it, such heat it's almost too bright to look at, and the image of a bird.

Jean. Jean!

He pushes for the surface--

And finds himself back in that cold, clinical little hospital room, Jean still...still and unresponsive. He moves his hands away with a small, tired sigh, and instead sets the braking lock on his chair. He's going to be here when she wakes up.

However long that takes.]

[Thoughout the week, he moves back and forth from the medical bay to the mansion in a frantic wash and repeat that leaves little time or care for much anything else. After a few days, Charles looks as haggard as the schedule feels, his hair mussed and unkempt, and even sporting the slight beard he's kept at bay for near a decade now. Days are spent at home--if he can spare the thought--running minor upkeep at the mansion and the burgeoning school he's still trying to find time to properly settle. Most nights, if he hasn't already, he sneaks away, opting to spend the time at Jean's unresponsive bedside.

He keeps his TAB on him, but thus far--perhaps a little too fortuitously--there's been little response or beckoning him back home.

This morning, almost too late to still be called as much, finds him still at her bedside. His head is settled in one hand, temple to his forefingers and chin settled precariously atop his thumb. The other is curled around Jean's slight hand underneath. This morning, it would seem, that schedule has caught up with him, and his ~~daughter~~ ward isn't the only one asleep.]

[ Jean remembers, briefly, seeing Kurt and Logan through the Phoenix's eyes. Remembers hearing them and feeling their fear, their pain. Her own fear had amused this... thing in her. She had grabbed it - as much as one can grab a being in their mind - and pulled it down with her. Down and down, until there was nothing but darkness.

Her mindscape has changed since she left Earth. There's an ocean now. Blue and vast. Islands of green sprinkled here and there. A sky just as blue with violets streaked in it with stars and several moons. It's what she's known for over a year now. And it's where she took refuge from the other being in her mind.

What she thought was her power.

She stays under than ocean, sleeping in the dark silence. There's nothing there to hurt her. Though she thinks she heard Charles. Logan. Other voices she didn't recognize. They were all muffled and she couldn't make herself reach out. Or even open her eyes. Not until she felt her body finally move out of the water.

She's washed up onto the shore, the sand solid and sinking under her. Jean opens her eyes and hears the waves. She can see the sky above her, stars twinkling as the sun is setting and tries to take in a deep breath. It's difficult at first. She starts coughing until she can feel air start to move past her lips. Her actual eyes open then, the world too bright and blurry. She squeezes them shut, trying to block it out. ]

Edited (keep forgetting words) 2017-05-24 05:40 (UTC)

[When he first feels her stir, his mind writes it off as part of a dream. It's a strange and vivid sort, the kind that feels real when they're so close to the waking world and the easiest forgotten in the sudden haze of consciousness, where walking around the house set to the tune of confused Iron Maiden from god-only-knows-where seems perfectly reasonable. But even in this setting that's already off from the world he otherwise knows, something shifts. A creaking door in the distance opening of its own accord, light growing brighter, all sound cutting off with an abrupt stop. It's enough to pull him out of this aimless vision with a start to the much more realistic tune of Jean's coughing.

He's immediately alert then, metaphorically (but not quite mentally) kicking himself for having fallen asleep at all. The hand around hers tightens a fraction, squeezing.]

Jean?

[It's soft, extremely tired, and desperate for confirmation to an almost-frightening degree. If there is a god, this won't be a hallucination.]

Edited (ugh icons why) 2017-05-25 00:03 (UTC)

[ Her eyes are watering from the lights and she can't really keep them open. Her mouth and tongue feel so dry, her throat sore. All she can do is make a weak noise in response to the voice she knows so well.

She tries to reach out to him mentally but it... hurts. Makes her temples throb painfully, causing her whole body to jerk. ]

[Initially, the response doesn't quite worry him as much as it does simply pile onto that innate sense of sadness that seems to invade far too much in all of their lives. It's heartening that he's getting one at all, and that she seems to recognize him is even better.

It's when she starts straining that even the barest hint of optimism sinks into his stomach right along with the heart that's been there for days now. He reaches out, pulling her to face him, fingers carding through her hair in some measly effort to calm her down. At first, he tries to push back mentally, but that Jean, stop is met with walled resistance, thrown up haphazardly, it seems, upon her waking, when he's seen nothing of the sort to now.]

Jean--stop pushing it. [He can't know what this looks like from the other side; he can only see now what it does to her on the outside, and it's not any more reassuring. He's half expecting the walls to start smoldering again.]

It's alright. It's alright. [Even if he knows it damn well isn't.] I'm not going anywhere, just stop pushing. Let go.

Edited 2017-05-25 00:59 (UTC)

[ She coughs more, a strained whimper leaving her as the pain seems to throb through her head. She can feel his hands and tears are dripping past her cheeks for more than one reason. She can barely open her eyes and her voice is rough when she finally pushes the words out: ]

Wha-at... hap-pened? Why...?

[ It cracks painfully from disuse and she's trying to reach blindly for him with one hand. ]

[It hurts just to hear her like this, and he can only imagine--literally, there is no getting into her head like this--how everything else feels. The indignation attached to his fear for her safety all but dies in the face of his heart breaking.

He's responsible for this. For her, particularly. If he'd been paying attention, if he'd acted quicker, if--this shouldn't have happened. God, this never should have happened.

His breath gets stuck in his throat for a moment in the dawning of that realization, of how much he should have been able to prevent all of this pain, and his reply takes a long moment to follow. It's only with a shuddered breath, clearly is nothing at all akin to a sob, that he's finally able to answer.]

Jean, it's alright [~~it isn't~~], you're in the medical bay. You've...been asleep for some time, your body is just trying to adjust.

[He finds her reaching out and takes her hand in his own. This is the least he can do, and it's nowhere near enough. He'd promised he wouldn't go anywhere, and this is where that promise ends up?]

[ She grips his hand as tightly as she can manage and tries to calm down, letting the tears come along with the tremors. None of this makes any sense and she wants answers. But first things first: she needs to get this pain to stop so she can concentrate. ]

My head hurts.

[ Along with her throat and face and body. ]

[Oh Jean, what were you thinking? The silent, unspoken, saddened admonishment isn't projected, and it wouldn't do any good even if doing do would actually have an effect. But he can't hold that worry in any more than he can connect with her in a way that either of them are used to, and so it just sits in his head, accompanied with all of that sorrow that verges on pity.]

I know. But you're only going to make it worse if you keep forcing it. Breathe.

[Buuut he's going to subtly use his free hand to call for a nurse anyway. Even with all of the monitors and equipment, painkillers can't hurt anything. ~~He hopes.~~]

[ She doesn't even know now. She can't remember anything beyond what she saw on the Network; trying to look any further is met with blank space in her mind. And walls. Walls too high and solid for her to move. ]

The lights are too bright. I can't see.

[ She's not even trying to push anymore. She just wants the pain to stop. ]

[He nods quickly, more out of reflex than it is a response, and gives her a soft pat on the hand before he (reluctantly) disengages to move across the room and dim the lights--anyone else who comes in can, frankly, deal with it. It would be difficult to pick up the soft motor of his chair over the other equipment in the room, but sure enough, he comes right back.]

Better?

[ Through her eyelids, she's able to gauge the dimming in the room. Slowly, she opens her eyes -- or at least one of them. One is nearly swollen shut from the kick to the face she had received from one of the slavers. Her other eye was red-rimmed, the blue standing out even more. She blinks slowly a few times before looking over at Charles. ]

What happened?

Unfortunately, I know about as much as you do. [Which isn't exactly a lie. Everyone, despite being able to readily admit they'd "made a mistake," has been thoroughly recalcitrant in providing the details of said mistake.

He inhales softly, and reaches back out for her hand. He grimaces at that expression of pain, but doesn't push it. It's a miracle she's even cognizant right now; the memories they'll figure out in time.]

From what I understand, after you all went to that-- [wretched hive? hellhole?] --outpost, you had to figure your way back out, and you ended up hurt.

[Obviously. But those are the details he has. Even with Logan's warning that he'd been able to drag them all home, everyone has been dancing around a rather large room-elephant, and it's all the more frustrating when he can't get a read on it from anyone.]

Beyond that, I don't know.

[ The shock on her face is genuine, ]

I...I went there?

[ She looks back up at the ceiling, still trying to remember what she could. It certainly made sense but-- "after you all went". ]

Who else went there?

[Believe me, I wish you hadn't.]

Kurt. Laura. [Both names sound a bit strangled, but he's trying his best not to radiate that lingering disappointment.] Logan brought you all back, and we've been here since.

[ The distress in her voice comes back at the thought of her friends, her family, being in a place like that. ]

Are they okay?

["Okay" is a complicated, loaded word that he can't give her in perfect honesty. But they're breathing, and aware, and no one else ended up in this delightful vacation destination. It isn't wrong, either.]

They're fine. [A word even more complicated. But in the most important respect, it's correct enough.] Everyone else is home and accounted for.

[Which is apparently from the negligence apparent in his own appearance. ~~Whoops.~~]

[ Jean nods slowly, relieved by the news. But it doesn't last long when the nurse enters the room and turns the lights back up. Her eyes squeezed shut against them with a groan, pain flaring behind her eyes.

The woman walks over and begins the process of checking her over, commenting that she needs a new IV and it's time for her to be given more pain meds. ]

[There's not a warm reception at the nurse's entrance and apparent lack of awareness, but if she has to change the IV, he can't quite outwardly complain about it either, no matter how much he may empathize with Jean.

And he does. He keeps a hand in her own, out of the nurse's way, a silent sort of support in the middle of that momentary intrusion.

He is not above, however, implanting the suggestion that the woman turn the lights back down on her way out. It's a little pettier than he he'd normally allow himself, but the interruption had been untimely, even if necessary. And he's working on several days of minimum sleep and maximum irritation.

It's only after the nurse leaves again that he ventures a continued conversation.]

You had me worried for a while there, Jean.

[ Her face only eases when the lights are dimmed down again. Slowly she opens her eyes, looking back up at the ceiling again. ]

I wasn't trying to. I don't even know what I did...

[ She turns her head to look back at him. ]

But I'm sorry for worrying you.

I know, it's alright.

[Except it very much isn't. He'd give a good deal to understand what had drawn her to it, or how this had all happened. He's known her enough to think her better than this kind of reckless--there must be a reason, something must have happened. But in their guilt, her friends are quiet and shamed and as willingly recalcitrant as the unwitting blocks in Jean's mind. Charles sighs quietly.]

I'm just glad you're still here.

[Any loss right now would gut him, especially those that he feels directly responsible for. Especially when they'd just come so close to reconciliation over slights he's sure he's never going to be able to make up for, "his" or not. Any loss would gut him. ~~Losing Jean might actually be the death of him.~~

[ Her lips twitch, feeling a small hint of amusement but not really feeling it entirely when she responds with: ]

You're just saying that to make me feel better.

[ Because she knows it isn't "alright". None of it is. That kid on that network post, any of them going to that outpost, Jean waking up in a hospital and unable to connect to her own powers. None of it was alright. ]

[No, none of it is. But he doesn't see much point in lending more worry to something that's already concerning enough. It's a bit of self-determination wrapped up in that attempt at comfort: if they say it enough, it has to be true in some capacity. ~~When the world starts spinning backward.~~]

I'm only conceding to that accusation if it's working.

[ The first sign is the way her lips tremble just before getting the words out, ]

It's not.

[ Her face crumples as she looks away again, sniffing hard and trying to hold back tears. ]

Did I--did I kill someone again?

[ Someone who didn't deserve it. Someone whose head she got into and woke up in a hospital afterward. Like what happened with her mother.

Is that way she can't remember? Did she block it out? Did Charles? ]

ic inbox ► savrou (ARCHIVE)

[action; backdate to mid last week] 1/2

[action; +today!] 2/2

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)