xp_logs | Marie-Ange, Doug, Manuel. Wendsday evening.

After finding emails, sent by Kwannon* automatically, Marie-Ange panics. Doug finds her, and goes to get Manuel. That goes badly - very, very badly. Marie-Ange has precognitive visions, Manuel tries to stop them, and accidentally links to her empathically. Doug grows a spine, Manuel runs off, Angie breaks down, and Doug picks up the pieces.

The windowseat was too far away, once Marie-Ange got to the sunroom. Her joints felt too loose, and she sat down heavily on the floor, wrapping her arms under her legs. Something was wrong with Ms. Braddock, and she didn't want to think about what happened, and her own part in causing it, and Manuel.. and Remy. The flood of memories, tainted by what she knew to be the truth was too much, and Marie-Ange curled up, trying to keep from crying.

Doug, for his part, had just barely read his email. The harsh words he saw on his screen barely made sense, though they explained more than he wanted to understand. He swallowed back a dry heave, nearly gagging on the acidic taste in his mouth, but couldn’t stop reading. As soon as he saw Marie-Ange's name, he was out his door without consciously remembering having gotten up from his desk. He had to find her.

Marie-Ange prayed that the throbbing in her head was just a inconviently placed stress headache, and not what she feared. She squeezed her eyes, closed, and whimpered. The dull ache behind her eye grew sharper, twanging against her nerves, and breaking her ability to hold back the tears.

Doug figured he'd check the place he knew Marie-Ange was most likely to frequent: the sunroom. As he dashed up to the door and saw the huddled French girl, he knew he'd guessed right. "Angie?" he asked softly.

Marie-Ange was leaning against a tableleg, head resting on her knees, arms half wrapped over her head, whispering to herself in French. A few words leaked out, a prayer, Doug's name, Manuel's. If she curled up enough, the images creeping into the edges of her vision might go away - might be held back by sheer will. If she could will the precognition into working, perhaps she could will it away as well.

Doug squatted down in front of her field of vision, trying to draw her eyes.

Marie-Ange didn't even see him, too lost in trying to fight back the growing headache, and trying to deny what she -knew- it meant. She continued to talk to herself, not fully aware she was speaking aloud. ".. Manuel.. that.. not."

Doug unconsciously switched to French. "Angie? Angie? What's wrong? Do you need Manuel? Did Manuel hurt you? Please tell me what's going on so I can help?"

".. 's just.. " She curled her arms around her ears, and continued to whimper, repeating the same handful of phrases, over and over.

Doug looked at Marie-Ange helplessly. Either Manuel had done something, or he could help. Either one was good enough for him, and he sprinted out the door.

He winced as he arrived at Manuel's door. This was someplace he had hoped he'd never have to be again. Manuel's words to him during the potion incident echoed in his brain. Manuel had told Doug then that if he needed something, he had better be prepared to offer something in kind. And Doug didn't want to think about what Manuel might want from him. Still, this was for Angie. For Angie's sake he could do this. Gritting his teeth, he lifted his hand and knocked sharply. "Manuel?"

Manuel was, as always in his room, listening to his music, and only half-paying attention to the door. So the knock came as something of a surprise to him. Thumbing the volume down to low, he called out "Si?"

Doug opened the door. "It's Marie-Ange, Manuel. She's curled up in the sunroom, and she keeps repeating your name. I don't know if it was something you did, or she just needs your help. Either way, you need to come. Now." Doug radiated determination and concern for Marie-Ange's well-being.

Manuel quirked both his eyebrows into his hairline. "How very interesting. What did she do this time?" The determination and concern were sensed, easily, and for the moment ignored.

"That's the whole point, Manuel, I don't _know_. I can't get her to snap out of it enough to even tell me what's _wrong_." Doug gritted his teeth in frustration.

"Have you considered getting a professional to look into the problem? I could do much more harm than good." Manuel offered. "For all I know, she could be in one of those fortunetelling fits."

"Manuel, all I have to go on is the fact that she keeps muttering your name over and over. I figure having you there probably can't hurt. It's apparently what she needs or wants. Even if you just get down there and can't do anything for her, that's something I've figured out so that maybe I can figure out what _will_ help her."

Manuel heaved up a sigh. "And I suppose you will continue to darken my door until I go attend to whatever little errand you think will make everything all better?"

Doug frowned. He'd always been able to _interpret_ body language, but every other language he understood, he could also _speak_. What if he could use that to... He narrowed his eyes and focused all of his energy on projecting outward with his body language. He pushed every ounce of his being towards authority and command. "Manuel," he said. "You need to come look at Marie-Ange _now_." His tone brooked no argument.

Manuel smirked at Doug for a few seconds, then half-stood out of his chair and shook his head. "I do not know what you are trying to do, but it won't work." he said, before sitting back down. "I'm an empath, I know from emotional manipulation. You'll have to do better than _that_."

Doug blinked. Of course. Using body language to project like that was very akin to Manuel's emotional manipulation. Of course he would recognize it. Still, it had almost worked. Definitely something to consider. "Sorry, Manuel. I didn't mean to try and manipulate you like that. I just...your name is the only thing she's saying, and I can't shake the feeling that you can help her somehow. Please come with me?" If Manuel wanted him to beg, he would. If he had to do something distasteful for Angie's sake, he would. He wouldn't like it, but he would do it.

Manuel quirked his head to one side, studying Doug. "Shinobi is a bad influence on me. I will _try_. I cannot promise you anything. And if my brains leak out my ears and ruin my nice new shirt, I will hold you personally responsible."

"Fair enough. Thank you, Manuel," Doug added, relieved. "This way." He quickly ushered Manuel out and down the steps, toward the sunroom where Marie-Ange still lay in a ball.

Manuel followed the mutant linguist, closing the door to his room after him. "I want you to remember this the next time someone accuses Empath of being heartless." he mutters at Doug's back.

Marie-Ange, for her part, was curled into a ball, resting her cheek on the cushion of an armchair. The cushion was soft, and more importantly, not likely to try to ask her any questions, or poke its nasty little fingers into her brain.

Doug hurried quickly to Marie-Ange's side. "Angie? Angie, are you doing any better? I brought Manuel, I don't know if he can help, maybe?"

Manuel stayed behind Doug, only a little off to one side so he could still see Marie-Ange. He risked a quick scan of her empathic patterns, and what he saw there stunned him.

Marie-Ange made a low whimper, hearing Manuel's name. She picked up her head, to look at Doug, and as she did, caught a glimpse of the one person she absolutly didn't want to see. She shook herself, hoping it was just another vision, then decided that it wasn't, and that it would be a really good idea to run, really fast.

Unfortunatly, her feet didn't cooperate, and the lunge Marie-Ange half-started turned into a collapse. She hit the side of the armchair, and went boneless, sobbing in defeat. "Don't .. he can't .. Manuel. Not -him-," she struggled to get to her feet, desperatly needing to get -away- from the spanish empath.

"~Shit,~" Doug cursed feelingly in Nathan's mystery language. He'd made the wrong guess, and Manuel's presence was actually making things worse. "Manuel, I seem to have made a mistake. It might be better if you weren't here. She seems to be reacting badly to you."

Manuel shrugged at that. "Would not be the first time, or the last. You should really get her some help - she's in some serious distress over there."

Marie-Ange rose into a half-crouch, glaring at Manuel. "You, are the most disgusting person on the planet. I can't believe I actually considered you decent enough to get near me," she sneered. Anger was -far- easier to deal with than terror. Maybe, if she swore at him enough, he would get the clue and go away. A sharp jab of pain snapped behind her eyes, and the world, and Manuel, and Doug blurred for a moment, both men appearing far older, and more worn. "AIE. God, just make it -Stop-."

Maybe it was his experimentation with a new aspect of his power, maybe it was his close friendship with Marie-Ange, but Doug felt hyper-aware of her body language. "She's having a precognitive flare, Manuel," Doug said. "I don't know what it's about, but it looks bad."

Manuel looked at Marie-Ange, then at Doug. "If you think I'm just going to reach in there and _fix it_, you are both more insane than I thought."

"Not. Insane." Marie-Ange pressed the heel of her hand into her eye, and groaned. "Go 'way, Manny, and take whoever the girl is with you."

Doug blinked. "Girl? There's no...oh. More precog. Whee. Manuel, if you don't plan on helping, you might think about going. You really seem to be setting her off."

Manuel ignored Doug in favor of stepping towards Marie-Ange, not stopping until his loafers were practically in her nostrils. "What. Girl?" he asked the distressed precog urgently. "Tell me what you see! Now!"

"There's a girl, and she's like Manuel, and they both need to go away." Marie-Ange gestured towards the place where Manuel had been standing with her free hand. "Doug, please, make them go away."

"Manuel!" Doug barked. "Back off! Can't you see that you're hurting her?" He moved forward, getting Manuel away from Marie-Ange his only thought.

Manuel turned to Doug, his eyes glowing scarlet. "Go away, little boy." he projected at the other boy before turning back to Marie-Ange. "Now, you! You're going to tell me exactly everything that you see that concerns me. You want this very, very badly. If you do not do this, I will become angry."

Doug gritted his teeth and focused everything he had on resisting as soon as he saw the red of Manuel's eyes. His knuckles went white with the force of clentching his fists, and sweat beaded on his brow as he fought the emotional urge to leave. "Fuck. Off. Manny," he gritted out.

Marie-Ange clutched at her face, digging her nails into her temple. "There is a girl, and she is like you, and like Carmelita, and I don't even know who that is, and she is not yours, but is. There was a boy, but ... no, there isn't a boy. I don't know." She closed her eyes, trying to push the hot needles in her head out and away. "Either make this stop, or go away, Manuel, do you understand? -Go Away.-"

Doug was barely clinging to his determination to stay there for Marie-Ange's sake. The emotional urge to flee was very strong. He took a half step towards the door, then stopped, knees nearly buckling. "You're hurting her, Manuel. Get the _hell_ away from her."

Manuel kicked his go-away up a notch towards Doug, hardly even noticing the usual strain of manipulating two targets with different emotions. The bulk of his attentions were on Marie-Ange - Manuel's face dropped into a scowl as he put long-unused mindbreaking techniques to force her to be his friend, to make her want to tell him every secret she ever thought about possessing.

Marie-Ange wrapped her arms around her head, trying in vain to protect herself from the empathic claws ripping at her admittedly-very-limited shields. The stabbing pain behind her eye surged, exploding into white-hot pain that felt as if it would burn straight through her head. "I have nothing more to tell you, Manuel. I cannot see any more!" she whispered through wracking sobs. The compulsion to look further - to push the precognition beyond its already stretched limits was too strong to hold back, and she pushed out, trying to gain a stronger visual grip on the visions before they slipped away. Instead of clearing, or fading, the image of the dark-haired little girl shifted, a spectrum of colors washing over her, painting her skin, face, clothes in unnatural ways.

Manuel staggered back a few steps and dropped to one knee, clawing at his eyes. He turned around, shoved Doug away as he nearly knocked into him, and ran from the room, choking out obscenities in gutteral Spanish.

The urge to flee suddenly lifted, Doug lunged, nearly collapsing across the room to cradle Marie-Ange's prone form in his lap. "Angie? Angie, can you hear me?"

Marie-Ange whimpered, and looked up. "Doug? Ow. My head. Why are you all maroon?" She still clutched at her face, though not half as tightly.

"Maroon?" Doug looked briefly at his arms. "I don't see any maroon on me, Angie. What're you talking about?"

"You're all maroon and gold, and white, and... " That was, very odd actually. Doug had never been any funny colors before, except when he was icky from the pond scum, and that was grey, not any nice colors. "and brown, a little.."

"Colors? Angie, can you tell me what the colors mean?" he asked confusedly.

Marie-Ange shrugged. "No. They are pretty though. I like the red one that's all wrapped around your head, and my hands, and there's a really dark red all where your neck is sensitive.." Wait. She probably shouldn't have brought that back up. ~Too late now~, she thought.

"Angie, I think something might have gone wrong when Manuel tried to force you to tell him what you were seeing. Should I page Doctor Mactaggart?" He was very worried at the colors Marie-Ange seemed to be seeing.

"I don't think they're the wrong colors. They're just odd and confusing." Marie-Ange tilted her head. The ribbon of red wrapped around Doug’s arm was shifting gold, almost like burnished copper. "Maybe Dr. MacTaggart has some too. That'd be nice.'

"Do you think you need her, Angie? Is your head feeling any better?" Doug was loathe to move from where he sat cradling Marie-Ange's head in his lap. But if she said she needed Doctor Mactaggart, then he'd page her.

"My head is .. ow, but I don't want you to go away again. Manuel might come back." Marie-Ange tried to pick her head up, and look at the room, but fell back tiredly. "Where'd the little girl go?"

"I...maybe she went away with Manuel." Doug was definitely concerned at how loopy Marie-Ange sounded, and stroked her hair gently to try and give her something to focus on.

"Good. I don't like her either. She can poke in people's heads, and make them do things too." Marie-Ange scowled, and looked around. There was still a faint lingering trace of something.. black, shot with a sick yellow and red, like fire. "Are you sure they're gone? I can’t see them, but maybe they’re still here. I think .. it feels like Manuel is still here. I can.. I can't see him, but.. "

"Still here? You...oh crap." Doug's eyes narrowed as he had a very bad feeling. "Angie? Do the colors you see around me mean anything?" he asked softly.

"I don't know.. " She half-shrugged, frowning. "Though.. they look like that drawing I did.. " Marie-Ange blinked slowly, trying to order her thoughts. Her head hurt too much to make sense of what she was seeing, though she could have sworn it was familiar. A wash of grey, like her watercolors, passed over Doug’s face, as he frowned worriedly at her. "Oh. In my sketchpad, of Ms. Frost.. but not quite the same. Different colors."

"It's okay, Angie. Just relax. We'll figure out what's going on. Just concentrate on the moment."

"Hrm?" Marie-Ange rubbed her eyes, trying to remember.. something. Doug's words were oddly distressing. "The moment.. No! Nonono. NO." She scrambled to sit up. "No, I don't want to concentrate on it."

"Okay. Okay, shh, shh. It's okay, Angie." Doug hugged Marie-Ange close. "Just concentrate on me, then. I'm right here, I'm not going anywhere."

Marie-Ange shook her head frantically. "No, I'll just get you hurt, or she'll come back, or Manuel will make me do things again." There were those washes of grey again, over Doug’s face and chest, shot with ribbons of pale red.

"Shhhhhh." Doug tried very hard to calm her down. What if...it hadn't worked on Manuel, but...he concentrated on radiating calm and safety with his body language. "It's okay, Angie. I trust you. And I won't let Manuel make you do things. I promise."

"But.. " Marie-Ange practically collapsed in on herself. "But its my fault, Doug."

Doug continued to concentrate on projecting calm to Marie-Ange. "What's your fault, Angie?"

"Ms. Braddock being ill. I helped get her to Doctor Essex, remember?" She tried to inch away, hanging her head. The threads of black tangled in her fingers were starting to wrap themselves around Doug’s arms. That was definitely something to -not- think about, because the more she did, the thicker the strands got.

Doug held Marie-Ange close, refusing to let her move away. "Uh-uh, Angie, stay right here. You can't be blamed for what Doctor Essex conned you into. He was the adult. He was supposed to be the responsible one. And he talked you and Sarah and Jamie and Kitty into breaking about twenty different laws and school rules just for his own purposes."

"It was still part my fault, that you got hurt, and that she did things to Sarah, and .. " Marie-Ange curled up, and whimpered.

"No. Nonono...Oh, Angie. You didn't blame me for the potion, I don't blame you for what happened to Ms. Braddock." Doug cradled Marie-Ange's head against his chest and hummed in the back of his throat, trying to keep her calm.

"But.. " This was just too much to deal with for the girl, and she leaned into Doug's chest, sobbing. "How can you -not- blame me. Because of her, I slept with Remy, and I would have slept with you, and I got Manuel to look in your head, and if she wasn’t sick, then the potion wouldn't have gotten out, and none of this would have happened."

Doug stilled for a moment as the enormity of some of the things Marie-Ange was admitting to washed over him in a wave of shimmering blacks, golds, and reds. "Angie," he whispered quietly. "I couldn't understand how you could not blame me for the potion, but you had so much faith in me. Let me have faith in you now, okay? Just trust me. I don't blame you." As he spoke, gentle waves of a golden red spilled forth from his chest and his head to smother Marie-Ange in a protective blanket of concern and need.

"I trust you." Marie-Ange whispered, still burying her face in Doug's shirt. "Please don't hate me," she whimpered almost inaudibly in French.

"Whyever would I hate you, Angie?" Doug responded in the same tongue, his words causing the air to shimmer with a greenish hue. "I could never hate you. You're one of my very best friends. And asking Manuel to look in my head, I know that was because you were concerned about me. The rest you can't be blamed for."

Marie-Ange simply clutched at Doug's shirt, and broke out in tears. "It hurts too much. I can't not be blamed for it."

Doug ran a hand soothingly over Marie-Ange's back. "I know it hurts, Angie. I know how much it hurts. And you shouldn't be blamed. I don't blame you." He was determined to keep repeating it until it sank into her head. Lord knows _he_ was stubborn when he was locked in a self-pity jag, so the least he could do was be patient with her. Besides, it wasn't like it was that difficult for him to hold her and reassure her. She deserved it.

"You should." she said, though in truth, she hoped he wouldn't go, wouldn't leave her alone to have to deal with all this by herself.

"You know who you sound like, don't you, Angie?" he asked light-heartedly. "And what did you tell me when I was busy having my head up my ass?"

"But you didn't -do- anything. You had something done to you!" Marie-Ange looked up, scowling through tears.

Doug smiled down gently at her. "And you were sweet-talked by a doctor who apparently likes to play with people like chess pieces. You did what you thought was right at the time, Angie. Nobody can fault you for not having all the information."

"I should've known it was wrong." She sighed, stubbornly clinging to the insistance that she should be blamed. Marie-Ange darted her eyes away, unable to look at Doug. Burying her face again in his chest, she whimpered, and wrapped her arms around him. "It hurts. Please don't go."

"You couldn't have known, Angie, any more than I could have known with the potion. You're not God." He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and held her. "And I'm not going anywhere. Promise."

"I don't deserve you." Marie-Ange shook her head sadly. She shifted her weight, and curled up, leaning against Doug's chest. "and I don't know what I'd do if you weren't here.."

"That makes us quite the pair, doesn't it? You feeling like you don't deserve me, me feeling like I don't deserve you." Doug laughed softly. "And let's hope we never have to find out, hm? I'm not going anywhere as long as you need me."

Marie-Ange sniffled, and wiped her eyes. "I know." She rested against his arms, sighing. "It is.. odd."I -know-..

Doug heard the emphasis she put on the statement. "You saw it? You saw us?"

Marie-Ange shook her head. "I am not sure. I just know. "

"I'm not going anywhere." He shifted, to let Marie-Ange rest on him and gently put an arm over her. When her breathing slowed, and the last of the sniffles quieted, Doug took a breath and began to sing softly. "When the day is long, and the night, the night is yours alone / When you're sure you've had enough of this life, well hang on / Don't let yourself go, everybody cries and everybody hurts sometimes..."

Marie-Ange leaned into Doug, and shut her eyes. The dull ache in her head was lessening, though she still felt distinctly odd. Shutting her eyes, at least, blocked the worst of the oddness. The colored auras around Doug were troublesome. She didn't want to think about it, or what it meant. A wave of fatigue passed over her and without realizing it, she had snuggled up to him, listening to his voice.

Doug continued singing, watching Marie-Ange's eyelids droop as she slowly gave in to her fatigue. He finished the last chorus at a whisper. "Everybody hurts...you are not alone..." He smiled down at her. Carefully, he held her upper body so that he could stand up. Hoisting her slender frame in his arms, he managed to get out into the hallway. After a brief mental debate, he decided he probably didn't have the muscle tone to manage the stairs and headed for the elevator, managing to nudge the call button with his elbow.

Exiting on the second floor, he kept pushing one foot ahead of the other, ignoring the burning in his biceps. Finally reaching Marie-Ange's room, he nudged the door partly open door wide with his foot, thankful he didn't have to figure out how to unlock it. Setting Marie-Ange gently on her bed, he slowly pulled her shoes off before pulling back the comforter and helping her sleeping form to roll underneath it. Hooking a chair with a foot, he dragged it over to the bed and sat down, determined to stand guard over Marie-Ange's dreams.

*I have mod approval for this. Thank you, mods.
** The song Doug sings is "Everybody Hurts" by REM.