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["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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