Jean and North: Friday Afternoon (Backdated)

[x-jeangrey.livejournal.com]

North wakes up after his overdose. Jean attends to him.



Jean wrote a few things in David's chart as she slipped into the room. She glanced him over, holding back a sigh. It was hardest thing to do, to force someone to do something they didn't want to do for the betterment of themselves. But the reward was to see them live to bitch another day. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn't. But that was the past, the future, this was now. And all she was doing now was checking his chart.

Awareness came to him gradually, and for the longest time, regaining consciousness was like swimming through a pull of mud. Lashes fluttered against his cheek as he pulled through, senses groggy and limbs unresponsive. Lidded eyes peered at the unfamiliar surroundings, which seemed bleary in his unfocused vision as his brain struggled to catch up with time and reality.

The first thing he registered was pain, discomfort next, and last of all, the presence of another person in the room.

Jean glanced up as she heard a groan, followed by a disoriented string of curse words. She slipped his chart back into its convenient holder (they had digital records that were also kept but paper and pen were generally the most reliable when it came to a patient's health).

"Welcome back to the land of the living," she said as she took a seat in a chair next to him.

"You had a lot of people worried about you.”

“Was?” David croaked, voice hoarse and cracking as he tried to sit up. But his body was heavy and unresponsive, and he futilely fought back a shiver as he peered at Jean through bleary eyes. His head throbbed from the base of his neck all the way up to his temples, as though it was mocking him for his weakness, and his stomach ached something fierce. “Was ist passiert?”

Completely unaware that he had slipped into German, the man unsuccessfully fought down the rising panic, dilated eyes darting almost unseeingly around the room as he turned his head to look from side to side, unable to dredge up enough energy to even thrash around. A white film began to creep into his eyes, obscuring blue irises from view.

Jean rose from her chair, shaking her head. "I'm sorry...I don't speak German..." she said. She knew a few words, courtesy of Kurt, but not nearly enough to be conversational.

"North..." Jean said. She didn't try to touch him, both mentally or physically. With the current state of her psionic abilities she wasn't sure how it'd go mentally, and physically had very poor results the last time she was around someone who woke up in from a coma.

"You're okay. You're safe."

But he was not listening, the panic having completely overtaking all rational thought. There were visions flashing past his eyes as he strained to find the right action to make next. Nothing. His powers were telling him nothing. There was nothing he could do. And they all ended the same way.

He heaved and he shook, the frustration mounting as he tried to cope with the futility and helplessness. Perspiration beaded his forehead, as he fought back wordless cries, a string of babbled German spilling past lips instead.

A long minute passed before he finally gave in. Gave up.

Almost immediately, the vision in his head settled. A slender redhead standing to the side of him, speaking to him in a foreign tongue. Reassurances. Gentle, genuine ones. Slowly, the white bled away and he choked out a whispered: “Grey?”

Helplessness was a feeling Jean didn't like. She had saved his life and got him to this point, but past that...when the mind took hold and threatened to not let go...when intruding could further damage the person she had just saved...

The idea of it left her gun shy, to be put in nearly the same scenario as nearly a year before. When she had tried to be strong but got so burned for it. God, she used to be able to take this.

"Yes," she said, plucking the pen from behind her ear to play with the tip.

“What—” His voice cracked and he had to clear his throat before trying again, only succeeding in croaking out a painfully feeble: “What’s going on?”

Jean fell silent for a moment or two, the only sound to mark the time a click of the pen.

"You overdosed on amphetamines in your apartment. Kurt and Adrienne found you and Kurt teleported you to the medlab. I administered medical attention. You were in a coma for awhile...I had to force you to drink charcoal so...you may feel some nausea and vomiting but there's a bucket close by," she said, somewhat formal but with gentle undertones.

David closed his eyes for a long moment, mentally taking stock of his body even as he assimilated and came to terms with the information and his new (and utterly deplorable) state of helplessness. There was a definite ache in his belly, and the constant pounding of his head. He still could not dredge up enough energy to move muscles, but he managed to twitch his fingers and toes, at least. The spy swore again under his breath, vowing never to touch alcohol again and knowing that he would break it the moment he could.

His eyes opened and a dull blue gaze sought Jean’s as he concentrated on breathing. “So… what now?”

"Now, you rest," Jean said, adjusting her stethoscope as she stood up. "I also had to pump your stomach so you'll also be sore for a little while. Until your body has time to recover I'd like you to stay in the Medlab for the time being so I can monitor your condition in case of any complications with flood of amphetamines in your system."

"If you don't mind I need to check your vital signs."

“I dare say you could—” Another round of coughing was followed by David’s awareness that he was feeling cold. “—do anything you want with me right now.” Without him being able to even offer up a token of resistance. The German man closed his eyes, feeling old and discomfited and trying his very best to remember that Jean Grey was not a hostile in order to keep the panic at bay. Something told him that it was going to be a very trying day.

Jean smiled softly. "Okay, I'm going need you to sit up then. You'll probably start coughing again as things start shifting around. I have a bucket if you absolutely cannot make it to the bathroom right beside you should you need to throw up," she said, gently reaching out to put her hand on his arm to help him up if need be.

It was a struggle, and David did end up lunging – although it looked more like a sort of half-hearted collapse toward the side of the bed – for the bucket and dry heaving stomach acid into the receptacle before Jean could manoeuvre him into the position she wanted him in. While she worked, David glared at the IV in his arm, and winced at what could only have been a catheter in his privates.

“...Who found me?” He may not remember much of the previous day, but he did, at least, remember locking himself up in his apartment.

Hovering over him, Jean quickly pressed her stethoscope to his chest. He must've still been hazy, since she'd already told him earlier.

"Adrienne and Kurt. Take a deep breath in and out..." She wanted to check if there was any congestion in his lungs.

Inhale. His stomach hurt. Exhale. David eyed Jean tiredly. “I suppose my colleagues have been informed?”

"Again..." Jean said as she moved the stethoscope down.

"They were told, yes, but not by me."

No, probably not. David breathed, eyes slipping shut against the light once more as his thoughts grew increasingly scattered. Jean would have had her hands full. Adrienne would have told Vanessa. Kurt would have told Amanda. Or Remy, actually. Or probably everybody in Snow Valley. The spy doubted that this was something even he could cover up then.

He was going to kill his dealer if the little toad had given him a heavier dosage than instructed.

And then changing his apartment locks really needed to be done, even if he could not exactly ward against teleportation.

"Breath sounds are good," Jean said, her hand sipping off his back as the stethoscope moved to the front of his chest.

"Front now. Again..."

She studied him, he looked pale, for good reason, but he was slowly starting to get the color back to his cheeks. Once both sides were done she pulled the stethoscope away.

"You can lie back down. I'm going to take your blood pressure," she said, pulling out a cuff so she could wrap around his arm.

"You may still have a hangover from the alcohol. There was quite a bit in your system."

“I’m feeling it,” he acknowledged hoarsely. But unlike the ache in his stomach, the one in his head was something he was more used to. The cuff was slipped on, and the marksman tried to ignore the squeezing sensation around his arm, muscles remaining relaxed against the bed.

“I apologise for disrupting your week,” he murmured as light blue eyes watched her work. Even doctors needed rest, and David could not imagine Genosha being kind to even her. “And I hope blurred vision is another side effect…”

Jean made note of the readings and let the pressure ebb from the cuff before taking it off and writing it down in his chart.

"Rushing down to the Medlab in the middle of the night and being vomited on while trying to save someone's life was not in my dayplanner...no," she said. His stomach was quicker than the bucket once when she was feeding him the charcoal.

"Blurred vision can be a side effect, yes. It'll pass."

She pulled out a flashlight. "I'm going to check your pupils for proper dilation. This is going to be bright," she said. Obviously, but it was nice to prepare them. Reaching out, she tried to open one of his eyes gently to see how quickly his eyes reacted to the light.

"You nearly scared them half to death."

“I’m sure they’ll get their revenge.” As would Jean, even if she were not planning on it.

Blinking against the light despite the warning, David attempted a shrug, quickly abandoned when the effort seemed to cost him more energy than he had at the moment. Temporary was good. He could deal with that as long as it did not involve him needing to get glasses.

“How long… how long before everything passes?” His voice had cracked, and what the man really meant to ask was: how long before I can get out of here? Although, he should perhaps keep the talking to the minimum, even if it provided enough of a distraction to keep the ongoing panic at bay.

Jean didn't say anything about the revenge part, and instead focused on checking both eyes. His pupils were still a bit sluggish. That was a bit worrisome. Hopefully it'd right itself soon enough. He was still dehydrated, his skin clammy and pallid.

She fell silent for a few moments. "A few days, maybe a week depending. I'm sorry. It'll try to make things as comfortable for you as I can. I know it can be hard staying here for a lot of people.”

“No,” David disagreed immediately with all the politeness he had been taught as a child, and the both of them had to wait for the resulting hacking cough to subside. “It is harder for you to put up with people who do not want to be here, I believe. I can handle a few days.” Maybe.

Turning off the flashlight, Jean wrote a few more notes in his chart and put it back in its holder at the foot of his bed.

"Thank you," Jean said with a nod. She slipped her pen behind her ear.

"Is there anything I can get you? Water? Television?"

David licked his lips. "Water, please." Aside from the fact that he never cared for television beyond what he needed to know for some of his covers, there were the tell tale signs of darkness creeping in on him around the edges.

"And Jean?" He spoke up before she could turn fully away, voice no louder than a whisper in the room. "Thanks."

Jean tilted her head, then nodded a little. "You're welcome."

She headed over to the sink and was midway through filling up a paper cup full of water when she felt the tell tale tug of consciousnesses slipping over to into lack there of. She turned, then put the glass down beside him for when he woke up.

Walking out of the room, she paused at the door way, glanced him over, then turned out the light, leaving only the soft glow of the hospital lights above his bed to remain.