Cecilia, Laurie, Doug, & Namor | Re-Reawakening

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Laurie uses her powers to awaken Namor from a two week long coma after his aggression in Alaska. Cecilia is there to provide medical backup and a comforting hand.

The cheerful ping juxtaposed with the colorful alerts the medlab's EEG was throwing up was incongruous with the tone of the situation.

The patient had been moved to a medlab bay after being unceremoniously dumped in the staff's laps after the incident in Alaska. He had been out for a couple weeks now — his injuries and arrow wounds had begun to close, but he remained unconscious and unresponsive even after Clint Barton's sedative cocktail had moved through the his system.

That is, until now. The EEG was lit up like a Christmas tree.

Laurie brushed her fingers gently down the patient's face, dolling out only the most gentle trickle of adrenalin in order to bring him to awareness. It had been decided that her abilities would be better utilised then the more aggressive medications that could be used in modern medicine.

"It's time to wake up, whoever you are. You've slept for quite enough time." Laurie said, modulating her tone to be calming.

Cecilia watched this while she loosened one of his restraints. An aggressive stranger had been brought to their midst, and after what Clarice and Barton had told them, they'd been cautious and wary. It hadn't much mattered, since he had yet to come out of his comatose state.

But in Cecilia's experience, patients who awoke strapped to a bed surrounded by unfamiliar people flew right back into rages. And so she had decided to make things more comfortable despite the risk of being on the receiving end of an unknown fury.

(Maybe not so unknown. Days earlier, Cecilia had removed what looked like roman sandals from his feet to see small wings on his ankles. She'd only seen one set of rather ridiculous-looking foot wings before. The body they'd been on had looked nothing like this. But still, she wondered.)

"When he wakes," she said quietly, looking at Laurie with her features slightly tense, "you may want to stand back. Maybe close to me, so I can..." She drew her hands into a circle to replicate her forcefield.

"Of course, but I'll start calming pheromones once he's awake so you may feel slightly odd as your body relaxes as well."

Laurie increased her output, narrowing it to the fingertips of the hand currently stroking across his forehead. It had taken her a long time to master her power but practice and time had lent her skill she could have only dreamed off as a teenager.

"Any moment now."

True to her word, the man strapped to the gurney began to stir quietly; his muscles flexing and relaxing as Laurie's power did their work. The illusion of calm was shattered soon enough, however, as the man's eyes opened wide in a surge of awareness and he arched his back against the restraints. The straps on the bed strained against his strength even as the power dampener around his wrist jangled against the metal bedframe.

Cecilia inhaled sharply as the man jerked forward. Her force field appeared unsolicited, but after a few seconds, she managed to will it away. "Hey – hey, it's okay." Her voice went a little soft as she tried to placate him. "I know you're scared, but I promise, we're here to help."

Laurie reached out to place her hand against one of his heaving shoulders, changing her pheromones from energizing to calming.

"You must be calm, nobody here means to harm you."

His nostrils flared in protest at the touch, and the man's eyes moved accusingly toward the woman's hand. He jerked away from this, but calming effect of Laurie's powers kicked in quickly. The stranger was still wild-eyed, however, as he took in the room and drew himself together by fractions and panted breaths.

It was shocking how sure and authoritative his voice sounded when he spoke after a minute's rest. "To ðam het ealle."

His accent was as cold and strange as the rest of him, a mix of Greek or Italian mixed with something much, much older. The look in his eyes spoke much more, however: explain this now.

Cecilia sat up a little straighter to try and match his formidable presence, which was no easy feat.. "I'm not sure I - we don't know what you're saying." She spoke slowly, keeping her voice even. "But I'm a doctor — we're here to help you." She raised her hands in deference, on the odds that the sign crossed cultures.

His eyes tightened, skeptical, and he experimentally moved his arms against the restraints on the bed. His words was slower this time; drawn out experimentally: "Ludith hyne," and then, with a sharp emphasis on the consonants, "Bensaylum."

"Let me get that for you," Laurie said, her demeanor still calm and gentle. She reached forward slowly and removed the restraints. It was taking a chance, but she hoped he would understand they meant him no harm. "Do you speak English at all?"

The man moved slowly, but he must have been shaking off the stupor of his coma to show because when he did move it was lithe and powerful. Still, injuries were injuries: when he pulled himself up the only thing keeping him stable was the wall. He did not speak as he cupped one hand into a circle and lifted it to his mouth and back down again.

Cecilia stood from her stool. Still wary of a potential outburst, she kept her eyes fixed firmly on him as she moved toward a pitcher placed on a tray near the bed. "Hey, Laurie," she looked away from the patient and to the younger woman, her features softening. "Any chance Doug is around?" She began to pour water into a plastic cup.

"I think he's at work, but I might be able to reach him."

Laurie flipped her phone open and pressed #1 on her speed dial, it took only moments for Doug to answer and she gave Cecilia a thumbs up.

"Doug! Honey, we've got a bit of a translation issue here, would you mind translating if I keep you on the phone?"

Laurie nodded a moment later as she listened to his answer and then gestured for Cecilia to speak to their patient.

"He's ready, I'll have to translate between the four of us, but I think I can get the wording right with Doug's help."

"Assuming we even know what language he's speaking," Cecilia pointed out. She strode back toward the man's bed with the water and handed it to him. "Here," her voice softened as she handed it to him. "I promise — you're safe here." She sat back on the stool so that her eye level was closer to his.

His eyes stayed locked on the Doctor's as he handled the cup — which he almost broke before he realized how flimsy the plastic was — like it was poison. This attitude changed quickly, however, the closer he got it to him. Yet instead of drinking, the man paused, steel gaze still on Cece, and ripped the bandages from his chest before quickly emptying the cup's contents on the still healing arrow wounds.

Cecilia started to reach out to try and stop him, but instead, she watched as the mystery guest gave himself a bath. "Well," she said after a second, glancing at Laurie and giving her a half-shrug. "That's certainly new."

"Hm." The doctor closed her eyes for a second, trying to reconcile what had just happened with what she knew about him. Then, she reached behind her and grabbed the pitcher. "Here," she said wearily as she handed it to him.

As the water hit the man's skin, his fragile wounds began to knit themselves together until what remained was much pinker, and far healthier than what had been there only seconds before.

He drank from the pitcher in large gulps until he finished.

Laurie watched him as he drank, waiting till he was finished before she spoke again. She gestured to herself with the phone she was holding.

"Laurie."

Then, Cece.

"Cecilia."

She finished by gesturing to him with a questioning look. It was crude, but she was hoping getting him to speak would give Doug's power enough reference to translate.

The patient seemed to understand, gesturing to his own chest with a strong hand. He spoke slowly, flattening his accent as if trying to be as clear as possible. "Namor," and then after a beat, "Makit tem Atlantis."

"Aw, hell," Doug muttered, still clearly audible over the speakerphone. "Let's hear it for the frankenberrycat." He shifted audibly in his office chair, taking on a more formal air as he changed to Namor's tongue. "~Namor. My name is Douglas Ramsey. I am speaking to you through the device Laurie holds. I will be there to meet you in person and assist you with translation later this evening.~"

The man on the bed, Namor, stared at the phone with a sort of disbelieving incredulity that was hard to place. He barked a rely in that strange tongue at the phone, and it was beginning to be very clear that this was the kind of man who expected his orders to be followed.

The sound of his voice brought Cecilia out of her head, where she'd been feeling both satisfied about being right and annoyed that this sort of thing had become so predictable in her life. She followed Namor's gaze and sighed.

"Right. Okay." As Cecilia stood, the resignation on her face was gone, replaced by an expression that exuded authority and control. "Doug, I'm assuming you can find Emma - or Laurie," she turned to look at the younger woman, "maybe you can find Charles or somebody who can help with whatever gap we have going on here."

"As for you..." A smile appeared on her face as she turned to Namor. "You are going to need to calm down." Her voice was softer now, softer than she'd ever expected her voice would be when talking to Namor, even if he was this Namor and not that Namor. She reached toward one of his hands hand, not bothering to wait for a translation as she took it in her own. "You're going to be okay," she added gently. "Just hang tight."