xp_logs | Jennie and Scott

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Jennie's not been sleeping due to recent events, and Scott does his best to give her advice.

Comms were quiet yet again. Jennie sat in front of the monitor, absently twisting a strand of hair around her finger as she stared listlessly at a space beyond the monitors. The air of sadness and grief among her friends over Jay's birthday had made the solitary comms shift almost a relief. Her face was scrubbed free of makeup, which made her look even more careworn than usual. The dark circles under her eyes that bespoke a night without enough sleep didn't help.

The Situation Room doors slid open and Scott stepped in, looking around briefly before his attention fixed on Jennie. "You look like you need to make it an early night," he said, coming over and sitting down at the chair next to hers, in front of the console.

"Hmm?" Jennie looked up at her CO. "Nah, I'm cool. Haven't been sleeping well. Crap dreams," she turned back to the monitors and sighed. "All's quiet on the Western Front, in case you were wondering."

"I suspect I would have heard by now if it wasn't," Scott pointed out wryly. "Very loud alarms and the like. Although one of these days, I'll get around to seeing the team pagers fitted out with electric shocks."

"I'm sure that won't be put to nefarious use," Jennie said dryly. She smothered a yawn. "Can I ask you something, boss?"

"Shoot. Not literally."

"You ever have problems with stuff coming back like, years after it's happened and you've pretty much dealt with it? Like, nightmares and stuff?" Jennie said, looking at Scott.

Scott raised an eyebrow. "I think you'd probably be a little disturbed by just how much," he murmured.

"I had a nightmare last night," Jennie confessed, sitting back. "Completely out of the blue. It was about ...the time I spent with Campbell," she said. Unconsciously she rubbed her hands. "In my nightmare I'd dreamed you'd never gotten me back. And I was worse, somehow, like, my fingers were all wrong," she spread them out to look at them. "I don't know why I dreamed about that. I haven't thought about him in a while."

"It can happen. The subconscious is a wacky place," Scott said, and despite the light words, his tone was serious. "You saw the Taygetos operatives that were taken into custody, didn't you? Talked to Marius about what he saw... that could be the connection."

"I didn't see them, not really. Not like him. And not like he's even talked about it with me," Jennie shook her head. "God, even thinking about it now makes me all, ugh--" she rubbed her arms. "It's hard to describe what it's like, you know? Just, you're all wrong, and the worst part is being aware of how wrong you are. In a way the brainwashing's a blessing, because you're just ...not there."

"Yeah, I'd say Wakanda stirred up some bad memories," Scott said, managing a remarkably condescension-free tone of sympathy. "Don't be too worried about the nightmares unless they keep up. In which case, you do need to talk to someone."

"It's not fair," Jennie sighed. "That bastard still has a power over me. To this day," she leaned back and popped her neck. In her dream, far beyond the modifications that Campbell had made to her in the first place with bits of her friend's DNA, her skin had been chalky white and her limbs too long, especially her fingers, which had been tipped in yellow claws. And she had been gone, so gone that there was nothing left of her at all. Nothing to bring back. "Were you there, when they came to get us? I can't read that report. Never have been able to."

Scott thought about his answer for a moment. "I was there after," he said. "And there's no particular reason you should read that report." Although if she did, ever, at least some of the gory details weren't in there.

"Sorry, y'know," Jennie shook her head and pinched the bridge of her nose. "I don't mean to keep talking about it. It just, it never stops, you know? If it's not one thing then it's another. There's always someone else out there who can't see us for what we are."

Scott's smile was a bit tight, and he spread both hands wide. "Welcome to the life. This is what happens when you do what we do. Especially when you do it in semi-public."

"Hurrah," Jennie deadpanned. "I get a badge?"

"I don't hand out badges. It just feeds the Boy Scout image, and I dislike cliches, especially the ones people ride into the ground."

"You're no fun," Jennie sighed. "So what do you do for the nightmares?"

"Hug my wife. Or my cat. Or get up and play solitaire on my laptop. Something that doesn't involve lying in bed and pretending to go back to sleep." Scott shrugged. "Activity helps."

"No offense sir, but I don't think I can go hug your wife when I have a bad dream," Jennie said. Her normal coping mechanism could probably be applied. Alcohol, and lots of it. She could drink until she fell asleep, and that way she wouldn't dream.

"And alcohol doesn't help," Scott said, with uncannily accurate not-telepathy. "Trust me. After what happened with Lyman, I tried for about two months. Then it was painkillers. I'm just lucky I had enough sense not to mix the two at any point."

"If you say so," Jennie said, not sure if she believed him. At least with the drinking, she didn't feel so cut off and isolated, as she especially did when the nightmares came. It was worse in a way, to go through something with others, and having those others refuse to talk about it or even acknowledge it had happened.

Scott managed not to sigh. "You know," he said, tolerantly enough, "if you turn to alcohol to cope, your liver will do you in before anyone else gets the chance."

"I won't, I won't, I promise," Jennie said, shutting away the darker thoughts for now and slipping back to her old flippant tone. "I'll go hug your wife when I have a nightmare, I promise."