xp_logs | Doug, Angie, Moira, Nathan, Jamie (Reply)

Doug and Angie, post Skippy Aftermath. Crying, finding out Nathan is -not- dead, icepacks, and hugging Jamie. There is a lot of hugging.

Marie-Ange stood under the pounding hot water for what seemed like -ages-. Even after she couldn't see any further gore, she could feel it. Long after she stopped feeling the slick coating of blood on her arms, just -thinking- about it made her stomach lurch and heave. She rinsed her hair until the water ran clear - and having to wash blood out of her hair -twice- in one year was twice more than she ever wanted to, or ever expected to - and -that- made her swallow hard to prevent from being sick. Again.

She was -really- tired of being sick to her stomach.

She barely recalled having grabbed one of the Dr. Mccoy-sized spare towels, but once she was done, there it was, waiting for her, and she wrapped up in it, using another smaller towel to get the water from her hair.

Doug, for his part, was still standing directly under the hot spray of his own shower, alternately shivering violently and scrubbing his skin enough to do an obsessive-compulsive proud. The gore had all long since been washed down the drain, but Doug could still feel it crawling on him. As well, there were the insane lengths he had gone to in taunting Skippy. A small whimper escaped from his throat as he screwed his eyes shut, trying to hold tears back.

Hair no longer holding more water than some small lakes, Angie dug through a pile of generic-but-clean "Xavier's" t-shirts and sweatpants, modesty forgotten in the search for clothing that wasn't better classified as biological waste. She pulled the pants up over her hips, and let the towel fall, then paused as she heard another whimper behind her. "Doug?" She called, loud enough to carry over the water.

Doug simply lay his hands on either side of the faucet and allowed the water to sluice down over his face, washing the tears with them as he gave in and cried softly. He was just too exhausted to fight the emotional backlash of the afternoon's events.

Shaking her head against the urge to just ignore modesty - Doug's or her own - and join him, Marie-Ange sighed, and pulled another set of pants and shirt off a shelf. She dropped into a folding chair, angled just away from the showers, and curled her feet underneath her, wrapping her arms around her legs. "I got you a clean shirt. and.. sweatpants." she said, hoping he could hear.

Doug shook himself, and managed, after a couple shaky tries, to turn off the faucet. Standing for a moment, he finally found his towel and began to dry off mechanically, still saying nothing.

Options for anything spoken completely exhausted, Marie-Ange simply sat in the chair, looking away from the showers, and hugged her knees. After some time, she let her head sink down, to rest on her knees and watched droplets of water from her hair fall to the ground.

The same mechanical motions managed to clothe Doug in the shirt and sweatpants Marie-Ange had laid out. Hair still ruffled from towel-drying, Doug moved to where Marie-Ange sat with her head down and wrapped his arms around her waist, resting his head against her back.

The contact cracked the last of Marie-Ange's resolve to not have a complete breakdown. Pressing her forehead into her knee, she let out a quiet sob, then another, and then a cascade of near-hysterical crying.

Doug simply clung to Marie-Ange, her racking sobs eliciting answering ones from him. For minutes they simply sat, clinging to each other and crying.

Marie-Ange's sobs softened, and she picked her head up a bit, resting her cheek against one of Doug's arms. She leaned into him silently, wanting to say something and not even sure how to start.

Doug stroked Marie-Ange's hair gently while he gathered himself back together. Finally, he opened his mouth and spoke. "Love you," he whispered huskily.

Far too tired to bother with English, Marie-Ange reverted to her native tongue. "I love you too." she said, barely audible. She looked up at Doug, examining him for signs of bruises, and frowning at the marks on his jaw and cheek.

Doug was far more concerned with Marie-Ange's well-being, and checked her for injuries of her own, since Skippy had essentially thrown her into a wall. A small part of his brain noted that Marie-Ange wasn't wearing a bra as he ran his hands over her back, but he wasn't exactly thinking coherently enough to react to it.

Doug's hands on her left flank and hip elicited a sharp gasp and a wince. Marie-Ange turned her head, and lifted her shirt to reveal a slowly purpling bruise where she had hit the wall. "Ice packs." she said quietly. "Or heat.. I always forget which."

Doug nodded. "How about we find Doc MacTaggart and ask her?" He gently chivvied Marie-Ange to a standing position and directed her slowly toward the door with a soft touch on her back.

"Do you .. think she is okay?" Marie-Ange asked, eyes wide with apprehension. "She was here, what .. if he hurt her?"

Doug shrugged, and it seemed as though it took all of his effort. "I don't know. Why don't we try and find her, though?"

Marie-Ange nodded silently and stood, practically clinging to Doug's arm. She pushed a few locks of still-damp hair from her face, and let him lead her out of the shower area and into the main body of the infirmary.

As Doug steered Marie-Ange into the main area of the infirmary, he called out, hopeful that Doctor MacTaggart would respond. "Doc? You down here?"

"Aye," came the weary reply as Moira stuck her head out. She hadn't taken the time to shower yet, so her clothes were soaked in remains of Skippy and sweat. She paused and took in the two of them. "Ye bot' look like 'ell."

At the sight of the doctor's still gore-covered clothing, Marie-Ange buried her face in Doug's shirt and clutched at him. She mumbled something entirely incoherent, and what could be seen of her face went a greyish color as she tried again to compose herself.

Doug stroked Marie-Ange's back softly and struggled to keep his own stomach under control at the visible reminder of earlier events. "You all right, Doc? We're okay, just a few bruises, but we couldn't remember if you're supposed to use heat or cold with bruises. Plus we were worried about you."

Moira shrugged and waved them in. "I'm as fine as ye can be when ye've crawled through an air vent. 'eat'll 'elp wit' a bruise." She peered closer. "An' fer yer jaw, Doug, a cold pack."

Doug blinked, thought processes struggling to keep up. "Air vent? ...oh. He locked you in, didn't he." Doug grimaced as he followed along behind Moira.

"Aye, tha' 'e did. Dinnae go verra well." She grimaced at the memory of Skippy covered in acid. "For 'im. Let's see wha' we 'ave, I know Nathan'll be usin' some o' them..."

Marie-Ange uncovered half of her face from Doug's side, and started openly. "Nathan?" she whispered, half in shock.

Doug looked almost disbelieving, like he was going to wake up. "Nathan? He's...where is he?" he asked tentatively.

Moira blinked at them and nodded. "Follow me, 'e's in th' next room. 'opefully won't be a lon' stay." Her voice was tight as she struggled to hold herself together."

"He .. is not hurt badly then?" Marie-Ange said, still avoiding looking directly at the doctor. "Not.. worse than before, that is?"

"Poisoned, but apparently they wanted 'im alive. As a gift ta me, from th' bloody sounds o' it." She nudged the door open and headed towards where Nathan was.

Doug hesitated at the threshold of the room Moira entered, peering in. He grimaced at how pale Nathan looked, an oxygen mask over his face. He stepped over the threshold softly. "Nathan?" he inquired quietly.

Someone was calling his name, and Nathan opened his eyes, not recognizing the voice for a moment. He tried to lift his head, to focus on the figures standing over by the door, but he couldn't, quite. And that damned oxygen mask was back on.

"Easy," Moira murmured, removing the oxygen mask for a moment.

Marie-Ange wasn't half as hesitant. She simply waited for Nathan to respond at all, then unlatched herself from Doug's side, walked next to Nathan and hugged him as carefully as she could, avoiding the wires, bandages and other medical-type things she couldn't identify.

"Hey..." Nathan murmured. Angie. Upset Angie. "You okay...?"

Doug, seeing Nathan react and hearing him speak, moved quickly to Nathan's other side and hugged him just as carefully.

Moira really couldn't help but smile at all of this.

Nathan wished rather blearily for two good arms. Kids needing hugging, and here he was falling short.

Marie-Ange sniffled a little. "He said you were 'taken care of.'. We thought you were dead."

Doug shivered. "The way he talked...we weren't sure." He swallowed, not mentioning the vengeful fury that had come over him when he thought Nathan and Alison were dead.

Oh, there were issues here. Nathan filed them away on the ever-growing list of Reasons To Get Back On His Feet Right The Hell Now. "Takes more than... some poison to do me in," he murmured, the words coming out slurred. "Don't worry..."

"Thankfully," Moira agreed, smoothing down his hair. With all the emotion in the room, her emotional walls were threatening to tumble down.

Doug didn't trust his own voice, and the tears lingering just behind his eyes, so he settled for simply resting his head gently against Nathan's shoulder and squeezing his hand.

Marie-Ange just clung for a few more minutes, sniffling quietly, entirely relieved that Nathan was most definitely Not Dead.

"All right ye two," Moira said kindly. "Nathan needs ta rest. An' from th' looks o' it, so do ye bot'. Come on, I'll get stuff ta take th' pain away an' ye can come back ta 'ug 'im in th' mornin'."

Doug nodded and gave Nathan's hand one last squeeze before trailing along behind Moira, gathering Marie-Ange in one arm. After getting hot and cold packs for their bruises and promising to use them, Doug steered Marie-Ange slowly upstairs and towards his room.

The stairs - and hallways, and doorway were more or less a complete blur, though the lack of Rahne or Clarice or Monet finally made Marie-Ange register that they were in the doorway of Doug's room and not her own. She blinked up at Doug, shrugged a bit, and then waited for him to react to the person curled into Jamie's bed. If it was Jamie, Doug would know. She hoped.

The Jamie in the bed didn't move--curled up around Kitty, tension in every line of his body, he had his face buried in her hair. Another one walked out of the bathroom with a glass of water, though, looking utterly drained and exhausted. He nodded toward the bed, then put a finger to his lips.

Doug's eyes widened at the sight of his roommate and he left Marie-Ange's side to hug Jamie, nearly tackling him to the floor. He wiped a few tears away and spoke softly. "Don't take this the wrong way, but you know I love you, right?"

Jamie managed a shaky smile and patted Doug on the back. "Your girlfriend's _right there,_ bro. Cool it or she'll catch on."

Doug shrugged, slightly embarrassed. "You know what I mean."

Marie-Ange smiled -very- faintly, and shook her head. "His girlfriend knows, is just glad you are okay." She waited until Doug stepped away, and moved forward to give Jamie a tight hug. "You .. are going to be okay?" she asked, very tentatively.

"Remains to be seen. I think so, though. Eventually. Maybe. I haven't actually gotten to sleep yet." He shrugged. "You guys?"

Marie-Ange let go of Jamie, and wandered back to cling to Doug's arm tiredly. "Tired. Not .. sure about the rest." she said.

Doug nodded at Marie-Ange's statement. "What she said." Keeping Marie-Ange's hand in his, he reached out to snag his laptop from his desk. Moving towards his bed, he pulled Marie-Ange up to curl up next to him, wrapping his arm around her. With the other hand, he cracked his laptop open to check the journal system. He didn't plan on letting either Angie or his laptop out of arm's length, and he didn't plan on letting Jamie out of his sight for a while, either