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[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? ]

No.

[If she has, it's not something anyone has said. And even through all of the upset lecturing and guilt from the others who came out of it with her, he trusts Logan to not obscure a detail so large.

But even if that's a grand exaggeration of what had actually happened on the Outpost, the question itself is a gut punch neither of them needed. He doesn't require a connection with her mind right now to know exactly where her memories have dragged her. He may not regret having taken Jean in--not even for a day--but there will never be any way to find comfort in the circumstances that led to it.

He shakes his head, and lets out a stuttered breath.]

Jean, no. You overextended yourself and collapsed.

[To put it lightly, more so than Charles even knows right now.]

[ She brings her hand up to her face, covering her eyes as the tears leak out the corners. ]

Then why can't I remember?! I can't even use my powers!

[ This is normal for her. This shouldn't be happening. ]

Jean.

[The admonishment is soft, toothless. He knows, on some level, how terrifying this is, though in his instance, he'd walked into that loss with a degree of agency that she lacks in this. He's not unsympathetic in the least, but where she's just woken up, this added stress can't be helping anything.]

It's not for lack of trying. I know. I've been here since they brought you in, and it's not much less disconcerting that I can't-- [connect] Your mind needs time to heal as much as the rest of you. I know that it's hard, how it hurts. But this isn't going to help.

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