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xp_logs2009-01-09 03:00 am
x-cynosure.livejournal.com) wrote in xp_logs2009-01-09 03:00 am
Morgan and Jean-Paul - Morning of the 9th
Morgan steals space in Jean-Paul's bed and both of them are woken by screams.
There was something pitiful, she thought, about the way a man she'd known for only a handful of weeks had become her safe haven to hide in. Vanessa couldn't even piece together thoughts, nevermind words, about how she felt or what she thought about everything that had happened that day. Adrienne understood, it should have been a relief, a happiness or at least something in her should have relaxed but instead Vanessa couldn't make sense of anything. Everything twisted around and turned inside out on itself. She hadn't bothered to say anything to Laurie. The girl was sleeping when she'd gotten home so her stuff was deposited, her clothes changed and then Vanessa had gone directly to Jean-Paul's suite. He wasn't there so she punched in the key code without a thought. Somehow when she'd crawled into his bed her thoughts had calmed and stilled enough for her to fall asleep there.
The cold and his own metabolism had already worked to clot over the shallower of Jean-Paul's cuts and start them scabbing. This was more than enough of an excuse to remove most of the dressings, or at least the ones on his limbs. They were distracting. They itched. He needed to do something to keep from replaying the fight in his head, trying to figure out how he could have taken down Foxbat more quickly. He finally gave in and headed back into his room via the window. He'd work out, cook, play with the rats, find something to keep his mind occupied.
He noticed that the bedroom door was open first thing and, frowning, headed back to check things out. The nest of sheets and blankets topped by a crown of white hair answered any questions he might have had. Jean-Paul watched the woman sleeping for a few moments, then went to get cleaned up. Sleep wasn't the worst idea in the world either.
--
It was the screaming that woke them both. Jean-Paul was on his feet in an eyeblink and Morgan searched in the dark for a weapon that wasn't there as desperate, despairing cries pierced the walls, words only barely decipherable. The faintest echoes of the wailing damned. The vicious tone was familiar to those who had been in the field earlier.
"Dieu...that's Jay." The cries cut off suddenly, but there was no summons, no alert. After a long moment, Jean-Paul sank back down onto the bed. So much for sleep; that adrenaline spike would probably keep him on his feet until dawn.
Morgan had done a small rant of expletives in her head for not having a weapon handy when the screeching woke her, but she didn't tend to keep weapons in other people's beds like she did her own. The sound grated her nerves and she found herself shuddering at the memory of the sound long after it had faded. It wasn't nearly so disturbing in the field coming from an unknown individual.
"One of four," she whispered and crawled over to wrap her arms around Jean-Paul's waist from behind and rest her chin on his shoulder. "He's the obvious one, but I keep thinking the others aren't really much better. I know what was done to them. Adrienne told me what she saw. You don't go from that to what they are now easily, or at all. They should be dead. Am I the only one thinking that Jay is just the only one with his injuries on the outside?" Her voice never rose above a hushed whisper, but even then there was a dreary sadness in her tone.
"They should be dead," Jean-Paul echoed. "But they are alive. Healing always hurts more than the injury itself, drags on longer, reduces you from what you were, and for a thing like this..." He sighed and leaned back against her, regardless of the pressure on his cuts. "No...I do not think he is the only one, just the only one screaming out loud for the moment."
"Makes me more worried for the others." For Garrison. She wouldn't say it aloud. She could barely say it to Adrienne, even. But it was there, hanging in the silence whether or not he realized it. "The things that hurt you so much you go silent are worse than the ones you can scream about. The ones that steal your voice, your heart, you will...I don't think any of them are okay. I don't even know if they will be. But the question is if they will admit it."
"'Okay' is subjective. I doubt most of us qualify by common definition. You learn to cope or you die." Jean-Paul went quiet a few heartbeats. "I hope they cope. I hope the others here do as well...I do not think the people we brought back with us are ever going to be the people who left, but they may have some things in common."
"I hope everyone else can accept that." Jay, she was sure, would never be the same. If the others went through similar, if less visible, experiences and alterations she doubted they would be either. "I know people around here have seen a lot, dealt with a lot, but I'm not sure they quite grasp the idea of a life-altering experience and what that can really mean, or how to deal with someone who has simply passed the point of being able to go back to what they were. I don't know if they understand that things they would have been a no brainer before might not exist anymore."
Jean-Paul shook his head. "I think it is less that than the divide between head and heart. Even if you know what a terrible thing it is to happen, it's different when it is a friend. You think if you care it enough, if you give enough of yourself, you can make it so that it did not happen, that you can pull them back through the suffering to what they were. That cannot ever happen, but it will not stop the attempt." His heart rate was finally starting to return to normal. "Calisse. I need something to hit now."
"Hmm, I guess that's the normal reaction people have, huh?" She hadn't considered that. Morgan hadn't ever been in a situation where someone had that reaction. The working fix was to patch people up as best you could, accept who they were when they came out the other end and move on because in the end you could never change anything. "The gym's still open. The punching bag's made for that purpose, you know."
Her companion laughed dully. "I shouldn't be making such generalizations, hmm? I'm hardly normal myself." He made no move to stand. "Better go without. I'll just start bleeding again."
Morgan placed a light kiss atop Jean-Paul's shoulder she'd been using as a perch for her chin. "Aye, no bleeding. You can't heal things if you just make them worse. I miss having someone I could copy with a healing factor."
"Should have that embroidered on a pillow." He turned his head to give Morgan a nuzzle. "Want to try getting back to sleep, or should we even bother?"
The nuzzling made her smile, even if it was a small, weak thing compared to the ones that graced her face when she was happy. "Sleep. At least attempt. If I don't sleep I'll start thinking and I know that will end in places I don't want to go. I'm trying to minimize how many times in a month I end up nearly in the fetal position in your lap."
There was something pitiful, she thought, about the way a man she'd known for only a handful of weeks had become her safe haven to hide in. Vanessa couldn't even piece together thoughts, nevermind words, about how she felt or what she thought about everything that had happened that day. Adrienne understood, it should have been a relief, a happiness or at least something in her should have relaxed but instead Vanessa couldn't make sense of anything. Everything twisted around and turned inside out on itself. She hadn't bothered to say anything to Laurie. The girl was sleeping when she'd gotten home so her stuff was deposited, her clothes changed and then Vanessa had gone directly to Jean-Paul's suite. He wasn't there so she punched in the key code without a thought. Somehow when she'd crawled into his bed her thoughts had calmed and stilled enough for her to fall asleep there.
The cold and his own metabolism had already worked to clot over the shallower of Jean-Paul's cuts and start them scabbing. This was more than enough of an excuse to remove most of the dressings, or at least the ones on his limbs. They were distracting. They itched. He needed to do something to keep from replaying the fight in his head, trying to figure out how he could have taken down Foxbat more quickly. He finally gave in and headed back into his room via the window. He'd work out, cook, play with the rats, find something to keep his mind occupied.
He noticed that the bedroom door was open first thing and, frowning, headed back to check things out. The nest of sheets and blankets topped by a crown of white hair answered any questions he might have had. Jean-Paul watched the woman sleeping for a few moments, then went to get cleaned up. Sleep wasn't the worst idea in the world either.
--
It was the screaming that woke them both. Jean-Paul was on his feet in an eyeblink and Morgan searched in the dark for a weapon that wasn't there as desperate, despairing cries pierced the walls, words only barely decipherable. The faintest echoes of the wailing damned. The vicious tone was familiar to those who had been in the field earlier.
"Dieu...that's Jay." The cries cut off suddenly, but there was no summons, no alert. After a long moment, Jean-Paul sank back down onto the bed. So much for sleep; that adrenaline spike would probably keep him on his feet until dawn.
Morgan had done a small rant of expletives in her head for not having a weapon handy when the screeching woke her, but she didn't tend to keep weapons in other people's beds like she did her own. The sound grated her nerves and she found herself shuddering at the memory of the sound long after it had faded. It wasn't nearly so disturbing in the field coming from an unknown individual.
"One of four," she whispered and crawled over to wrap her arms around Jean-Paul's waist from behind and rest her chin on his shoulder. "He's the obvious one, but I keep thinking the others aren't really much better. I know what was done to them. Adrienne told me what she saw. You don't go from that to what they are now easily, or at all. They should be dead. Am I the only one thinking that Jay is just the only one with his injuries on the outside?" Her voice never rose above a hushed whisper, but even then there was a dreary sadness in her tone.
"They should be dead," Jean-Paul echoed. "But they are alive. Healing always hurts more than the injury itself, drags on longer, reduces you from what you were, and for a thing like this..." He sighed and leaned back against her, regardless of the pressure on his cuts. "No...I do not think he is the only one, just the only one screaming out loud for the moment."
"Makes me more worried for the others." For Garrison. She wouldn't say it aloud. She could barely say it to Adrienne, even. But it was there, hanging in the silence whether or not he realized it. "The things that hurt you so much you go silent are worse than the ones you can scream about. The ones that steal your voice, your heart, you will...I don't think any of them are okay. I don't even know if they will be. But the question is if they will admit it."
"'Okay' is subjective. I doubt most of us qualify by common definition. You learn to cope or you die." Jean-Paul went quiet a few heartbeats. "I hope they cope. I hope the others here do as well...I do not think the people we brought back with us are ever going to be the people who left, but they may have some things in common."
"I hope everyone else can accept that." Jay, she was sure, would never be the same. If the others went through similar, if less visible, experiences and alterations she doubted they would be either. "I know people around here have seen a lot, dealt with a lot, but I'm not sure they quite grasp the idea of a life-altering experience and what that can really mean, or how to deal with someone who has simply passed the point of being able to go back to what they were. I don't know if they understand that things they would have been a no brainer before might not exist anymore."
Jean-Paul shook his head. "I think it is less that than the divide between head and heart. Even if you know what a terrible thing it is to happen, it's different when it is a friend. You think if you care it enough, if you give enough of yourself, you can make it so that it did not happen, that you can pull them back through the suffering to what they were. That cannot ever happen, but it will not stop the attempt." His heart rate was finally starting to return to normal. "Calisse. I need something to hit now."
"Hmm, I guess that's the normal reaction people have, huh?" She hadn't considered that. Morgan hadn't ever been in a situation where someone had that reaction. The working fix was to patch people up as best you could, accept who they were when they came out the other end and move on because in the end you could never change anything. "The gym's still open. The punching bag's made for that purpose, you know."
Her companion laughed dully. "I shouldn't be making such generalizations, hmm? I'm hardly normal myself." He made no move to stand. "Better go without. I'll just start bleeding again."
Morgan placed a light kiss atop Jean-Paul's shoulder she'd been using as a perch for her chin. "Aye, no bleeding. You can't heal things if you just make them worse. I miss having someone I could copy with a healing factor."
"Should have that embroidered on a pillow." He turned his head to give Morgan a nuzzle. "Want to try getting back to sleep, or should we even bother?"
The nuzzling made her smile, even if it was a small, weak thing compared to the ones that graced her face when she was happy. "Sleep. At least attempt. If I don't sleep I'll start thinking and I know that will end in places I don't want to go. I'm trying to minimize how many times in a month I end up nearly in the fetal position in your lap."