Do I Know You? — Limbic Resonance

[xp-erverse.livejournal.com]

More terror on the Astral Plane, and this time, Quentin is unprepared to survive the assault, and takes three other victims with him.


"This is to help you calm down, dear." The nurse's voice was pleasant, even soothing. But it did nothing to relax Daniella Gauthier. This procedure would cure her, the doctors insisted. Make life easy for her again. She wanted that more than anything, but was the cost worth it?

The needle slid easily into her arm, and she let out a whimper as she felt the sedatives being pumped into her veins. No, this wasn't right. She couldn't do this. She had to get out, go home, beg her parents for an alternative, anything but go under the knife. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't lift a hand, could barely even move. All she could do as she felt the nurse secure the restraints to the bed was cry and silently plead to be saved.

Half a world away, a niggling sensation in the back of Quentin Quire's head stole his attention from the book he'd been reading. He felt it growing, like the few seconds of warning before a charley horse strikes. For barely a second, he was there at the clinic, tied down to a bed, trying to call for help as the drugs dragged him into a deep dark sleep from which he did not know if he would ever wake.

A more experienced psi would have withdrawn behind their shields to avoid the rip current of the Astral Plane. Quentin did not. As the mysterious link threatened to pull him out to sea, he instead reached back, trying to find purchase with the three minds that he sensed were closest to him and could anchor him to reality.

Gabriel drummed his fingers against the wooden railing on the smoker's porch as he leaned against it. It had been a long run, and it had been an unpleasant one. He wasn't entirely sure why he'd gone so hard, but he was paying for it. Not only was he sweating buckets, but he was pretty sure he was dehydrated and starting to cramp.

That's why a sudden lightheaded feeling didn't surprise him. It came and went, but it wasn't totally unexpected. Taking it as a sign, he pulled his headphones out of his ears and turned toward the house, heading for the kitchen. Through the window, he spied Quentin, a strange expression on his face. Not that there was much new about that.

Jean-Paul had just removed the pot of chicken from the stove in the main kitchen when he felt a wave of dizziness wash over him. It was followed a moment later by a tugging sensation, only the tugging pulled from the base of his skull and, when he raised his hand to touch that spot, there was nothing there.

Wanda was standing in the doorway to her home office, holding a cup of coffee between her hands, and had just been gearing up to catch up on her long neglected personal e-mails. A few steps forward was as far as she got before something went very wrong. She stumbled forward and caught herself on the edge of the desk. She was too disoriented to notice where the coffee cup went, didn't even feel the splash of coffee against her leg because her attention was completely focused on the sudden searing pain across her back.

#HELP!# Quentin's cry for help echoed in their minds as psychic links flared into existence between them. He was suddenly in five places at once, lungs burning from exertion, surrounded by the sweet spicy aroma of the freshly cooked dish, thighs aching from the searing hot liquid. And then just as suddenly, those sensations disappeared and he was strapped to a hospital gurney.

Something digging into his wrists. Gabriel just felt something digging into his wrists, and he closed his eyes, willing whatever it was to go away. The discomfort morphed into pain as he jerked his right hand up, stopped by the restraints wrapped around it. And then his hand flopped back down, a sudden exhaustion overtaking him. He fought it, clenching his left fist and trying to free that arm, but to no avail. His strength was gone. The muscles weren't there. He opened his mouth to speak, but unsure what to say, nothing came out.

Dark, dark, dark - Jean-Paul didn't know why everything was suddenly dark or why his face was cold - wet. Tears. Why was he crying? There was a bizarre sensation, like someone else was clenching his eyes shut and his wrists hurt, his tendons strained and his nails digging into his palms with the force of it but he wasn't doing that either. Prying his eyes open, he took in the blinding sterility of fluorescent lights, a bed, antiseptic and monitors.

Disorientation followed, intense and so jarring that Jean-Paul attempted to jerk away from everything, from this strange place that might or might not actually be reality. His vision tunneled, going slightly dark at the edges as he continued his attempt at retreat.

The lights in the room started flickering as Wanda 'woke' up to find herself staring up at those unfamiliar lights in an unfamiliar setting. The knowledge that she was physically trapped caused her to try to yank herself free but the restraints were tight against pale flesh. There was still a dull pain in her back but it felt more like phantom pain than real.

A few words managed to escape the body she was in but they were in Bulgarian as Wanda's mind reeled within the trap. She was as calm as she could be but the desire to fight or flight was strong.

Quentin could do neither, though. They were going to cut him open and excise a part of his brain like he was some lab mouse to be sacrificed. Steal his telepathy, his great gift, and leave him a mindless, incompetent drone for whatever days remained.

No, he would never let that happen. If anyone tried to pilfer what made him special, then he would take them down to Hell with him. He stopped physically struggling and instead retreated into his mind. He had learned a lot in the months since the incident at District X. Even if he failed this time, it would not be for lack of trying.

The great wellspring of power that Xavier was teaching him to tap into was nowhere to be found, though. All he found were four threads that tethered him to other minds, one of which was much fainter than the other three and almost impossible to trace back. But the other three were strong, and Quentin let out a surprised gasp when he pulled on them. "Gabriel?"

"Q," Gabriel murmured, turning his head to see a monitor at his left where he'd expected Quentin to be. The faint, occasional beeps were driving him crazy, and they were grounding him here, in this reality, instead of wherever he needed to be right now. "The fuck is going on?" He began to try and wrangle his wrists out of the restraints. "Trapped." His distaste for that situation was obvious. "I don't..."

Jean-Paul had tried to make himself as small as possible, but that didn't stop him from hearing other people talking. It wasn't just the - wait. "Sh," he whispered, ears sharpening as he heard footsteps approaching. "Sh..." They were speaking quickly, whoever they were, and speaking French.

"The OR's ready. Her BP's still high but I put in a one-time order for IV Dilaudid and another for IV Versed as-needed. Claudette's given her the first dose of versed, should be kicking in. We can roll once she's under general anesthesia..."

He'd stopped paying attention to the voices in the hallway. Jean-Paul had heard enough. Maybe. He thought. Muttering softly, he said, "No, no." If he stayed until whoever came to give more sedatives... he could not stay that long.

It was as if she was drowning in people instead of water. Was this possession? What was this? Still, Wanda was sadly used to being thrown into the deep end and being forced to figure out what was happening later. Once they were safe and it was clear they were not. It took effort but she shoved forward until the feeling returned to her and told her she may have been in control.

She took a deep breath and relaxed, forcing the unfamiliar and, god so small, limbs to go limp. They had tightened the restraints when the body had been fighting them and, so, the bindings were suddenly just loose enough when Wanda stopped the wrists from tensing. Muscle memory wasn't everything and she forced the hand to twist and turn, moving against the cuffs until one hand was freed.

Rolling it and grimacing, Wanda turned and started to work on the other one.

Though Quentin's vision blurred and his head swam, he found himself mimicking Wanda's actions with exact precision. He raised his now free hands so he could see them and gasped. These were the hands of a girl, barely older than a child if he had to guess. He slowly sat up and ran a hand through his hair . . . his long, curly brown hair. Or what was left of it, at least. The left side of his head had been shaved clean to prepare for brain surgery.

Brain surgery? How did he know that? Didn't matter. It was clearer than day that this could kill him. That he didn't want this, no matter what his parents or doctors said. They had to leave. He leaned over, fighting the wave of nausea to fumble with the straps around his ankles.

Gabriel's hands were shaky as he tried to loosen the straps. He took a deep breath to steady them, clenching and loosening two small fists before resuming. Escape. Escape, escape, escape. It was a goal and a directive, and it was one he was familiar with. His left ankle was free, and he stared at a thin, frail foot. "The fuck?" He murmured as he traced a circle with the foreign foot, a smaller, daintier one than he recognized.

From the hall, a burst of a language he didn't recognize (French, he assumed from the inflection). Instinctively, he went back to a resting position, closing his eyes and focusing on his breaths. The voices grew fainter, again, and after a few more seconds of silent waiting, he went back to the last restraint.

For his part, Jean-Paul made sure they were breathing because he knew nothing about getting out of restraints. He also paid attention to the chatting outside even while noting all the things the others were seeing and hearing. Conversations came and went, came and went. This seemed like a very busy place considering that whatever they were doing seemed very, very illegal. "Hurry," he murmured. "The ones who just passed, they are returning in minutes to transport us."

When all the restraints were free, Wanda directed and pushed until the body was stumbling off the bed. Had the doctors used drugs? The limbs seemed sluggish but she couldn't tell if they were liked that because of drugs or because of the situation they were in. She managed to make it to the window and a quick look told her everything she needed to know. The room was on the first floor and a thick ring of bushes ran along the entire side of the hospital. Beyond that was a parking lot which led to a main road.

Perfect. The window slid open easily but instead of jumping through it, Wanda staggered over to the bathroom door and hid herself between the door and the wall. She rested her head against the wall and fought to control her breathing.

"We wait," she said softly. "They will check, assume the girl has fled and then we escape in their wake as they give chase."

"Daniella Gauthier," Quentin informed them. "We're in Saguenay, in Quebec. She . . ." He slapped a hand over his mouth (did he do it or did someone else shut him up? he couldn't tell) when he heard the sound of footsteps approaching. There was a gasp and metal tray carrying some things crashed to the ground. He could not understand what was said, but the terrified urgency in the voices was clear. The footsteps rapidly retreated down the hall, and Quentin let out a breath that he did not know he was holding.

"Daniella who?" Gabriel looked around, in search of another face to go with the other voice he heard. Well, not heard, exactly. He wasn't totally sure what was going on; in his mind, he swore Quentin was with him, but he was alone in the bathroom, in a body he didn't recognize.

Another loud clamor from the hall, accompanied by shouts in French. The door to the room swung open again.

"Gauthier. He said her name was Daniella Gauthier," Jean-Paul answered. "Saguenay. I have been here. Not recently, but." Loud footsteps echoed behind them after the bang of the door hitting the wall. "Leaving is good. Now."

Leaving was good but Wanda made them wait another five or so minutes. They would check the bushes outside the window, find no hiding girl and spread out. They wouldn't keep an eye on the window because why would they when this Daniella had obviously fled? It was the longest five minutes she'd endured in some time but eventually she felt it was safe enough to try to do their actual escape.

Once Wanda was sure the coast was clear, Quentin quietly slipped out of the room and padded down the hall. Daniella wore only a hospital gown, much too light to keep them warm in the November air, so he grabbed a hoodie and a pair of slippers from a cart outside another exam room and put them all on without breaking their stride. Fortunately for them, there was enough activity at the front desk of the wing that he could unobtrusively slip into the stairwell.

"This is my fault," he muttered, taking the stairs two at a time. "She's so scared. They were going to scoop out her brain. She came begging for help. I couldn't stop it . . ."

"Q," Gabriel pulled forcefully on the strings of the hoodie, trying to seize control of the body. The hoodie tightened around their head. "Shut the hell up," he said as commandingly as one could when they were murmuring. "Later. We freak the fuck out later."

Despite his admonition, Gabriel was starting to get a little antsy himself. Because Quentin had messed up. The window. It was so obvious that they should have gone out the window. That Quentin hadn't thought of that was mindboggling. He'd thought Wanda had made it clear, and he felt like he could almost hear her screaming at them about this.

No going back now; he didn't want to chance returning to that hospital room. At this point, it was best to improvise. So he continued strolling down the stairs, taking a deep breath before he pushed open the door.

"Yes, thank you," Jean-Paul muttered. This was bizarre and frightening but the part of his mind that kept trying to point out how awful this was and how very unprepared for it they were... well. That part of his mind got shunted to the back and locked in a box. He could deal with it once he wasn't stuck in a tiny girl's body in what was most definitely an illegal medical facility facing the prospect of a procedure that no one should have to endure.

He cooperated with Gabriel, moving the body a little faster, not running because that would draw more attention but that was stupid, there was no one whose attention could be drawn. A steady stream of Quebecois invectives floated through his mind as they reached the bottom and he pushed open a door there, peering carefully into a hallway. "The signs, we follow them to the exit and then we run," he muttered.

As they moved, he could feel the others with him, their curiosity occasionally turning their shared head in directions he hadn't intended. They turned the next corner, and he spotted an emergency exit door that led toward the parking lot. Some 10 yards ahead of it, a red panel on the wall. "Oh," he said, an unsuitable note of pleasant surprise in his voice. "That'll work." As they strode by, he reached out to the fire alarm, grabbing the handle and pulling it down.

A bell and a buzzer began to sound, but it was hard for Gabriel to notice as the strobe light on the nearest alarm started to spark, and the fluorescent lights above them flickered before fading out completely. He didn't stop to ask why, instead spinning on his heel in the other direction and following the signs toward the main exit. In the rush to evacuate, they were able to slip out the front door.