![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
xp_phoenix posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
xp_logsJean gets what she wanted. She's not sure she wants it anymore.
Someone shut him up! Mom. I can’t feel my arm, fuck. Move. Could’ve been worse. Move. Move.
The X-Jet was set far enough up the mountain that even when the facility came tumbling down beneath it, they still had room to evacuate the people they’d pulled from the labs.
Jean, Nica, and Clarice had barely made it back when the mountain answered with a deep metallic groan, twisted steel and collapsing concrete echoing through the cold air below them.
The noise didn’t stop when the fighting did. If anything, the silence made it worse.
Going to get that fish. Come 'ere, fish... God, I’m tired. I fear thy nature; It is too full of the milk of human kindness. Does she know?... smell like rotten— Fishie. It’s over. Never been to Scotland. So fucking loud. Flight check. Fishie fish.
The thoughts crashed together before Jean could sort them into people. Exhaustion. Static. Half-finished observations. Someone thinking about blood on their boots while somebody else wondered if there was coffee left on the jet.
Wetness slid past Jean’s upper lip. She wiped at it absently, smearing red across the back of her hand without really processing it.
Stephen was preparing Muir. The facility was gone. The survivors were safe. Now came the hard part.
What is that--Ugh...SO good... Everyone's clear...Starving. At least we got them out...
Fragments brushed against her in uneven waves. Gunfire. Smoke in lungs that weren’t hers. Somebody replaying the fight over and over already.
She tried to shut it out as she headed back toward the Blackbird, her pulse pounding hard enough to stab behind her eyes. She drew in a breath as the Blackbird came into sight.
Wish I could blow things up. Not long now...Ocean wash this blood...I didn't. I don't think so? A rotting tree flashed across her mind.
She drew another breath, trying to shake the thought away.
"Hey Red, you're looking a little shaky. You ok?" Kane said, trotting up to meet her.
Jean wasn't quite paying attention, and didn't notice Garrison until she spotted him out of the corner of her eye. She jumped.
"Sorry, what?" she said, rubbing her temple, as if that would help any.
Kane dug out a cloth and passed it to her wordlessly. He'd gotten used to carrying one because while his healing factor allowed him to survive all kinds of injury, it didn't do anything about the blood in your eyes.
"You ok? That's a decent amount of blood you've added to your look."
Was that a—Ow, fuck. Hurry up, I want to go home. —Or did he move?
Jean blinked at him before finally noticing the blood smeared across her hands.
“Crap,” she muttered. She took the cloth, wiping at her face a little clumsily.
“Thanks.”
Her eyes fluttered briefly. The pounding behind them was starting to turn her stomach.
Too much blood. Should be cleared for takeoff. Out out damned spot...
Jean swallowed hard. “My telepathy’s back," she said, her voice thinner than she intended.
Her eyes drifted past him for a moment before refocusing.
"Kind of."
"Oh? Oh! That's good, right?" Kane said, holding her by one arm to help steady her. "Or is there a problem?"
Leaning against Garrison slightly, Jean closed her eyes for a moment.
"Yeah," she said quietly.
Run run run. What's that look? All this standing around...Hate the smell of antiseptic. Is this a dagger which I see before me? I'm thirsty. No, he's still out. So much blood.
Now that the adrenaline was starting to wear off, it was now all about trying to keep back a tsunami.
"I got it back when Fourteen attacked me. It was like a..." she shook her head. "Protective reflex. But my mental walls are weak. It's...really hard to keep people out," Jean said.
"It's ok. We can rebuild those walls. I mean, if it helps, focus on me. I can at least try and keep you grounded."
Drawing in a breath, Jean pressed her forehead to his temple. Her head continued to pound steadily with her heartbeat.
"Are you sure? I'll probably pick up your thoughts," she said.
"Yeah? And what am I thinking?" Kane said with a smile.
Jean furrowed her eyebrows, then laughed. "I can't say that out loud in public," she said.
Seatbelts. Forgot my gloves. I should call my dad. God, my shoulder hurts. Gotcha. —move the crates— no, the blue folder—
The thoughts slid over each other without shape or volume control, mundane nonsense colliding with tactical checklists and lingering adrenaline.
Jean squeezed her eyes shut for a second.
Bad idea.
A flash of fluorescent lights hit her hard enough to make her stomach lurch. Restraint straps. Antiseptic. The sharp crack of gunfire that wasn’t happening anymore.
Her breathing shallowed.
Coffee sounds good. Human kindness. Is he dead? Need to clean the jet.
Stop thinking so loud—
The last thought hit harder than the others for some reason, sharp enough to split straight through the migraine pounding behind her eyes.
Jean pressed the cloth harder against her nose before the nausea rolled over hard and fast.
She pulled away from Garrison, just in time to throw up onto the grass.
"I hope that wasn't from my idea." Kane said as he came over and supported her as she heaved. "Is this Annie all over again?"
Jean stared at the grass growing under her boots, tiny sprays of wildflowers darting up in patches. Her mouth felt dry, the taste of bile against her tongue.
"No, and no, " she mumbled, sitting up straight as she focused on her breathing. "At least I'm not catatonic for this one. Just a migraine. And..." She held up the cloth, splattered with blood.
"I think your handkerchief is a loss."
Did she throw up? Ew. I went to the Danger Zone...gonna take you--Come on, let's go already!
She grimaced, drawing in another breath. "Alright, keep thinking. I need water and the good painkillers."
"You're lucky that your boyfriend is a former Boy Scout." Kane joked as he came up with a bottle of water. "I'll get you the pills in the bird."
Jean grunted in impressed approval. "I'd kiss you but you don't want this right now," she mumbled, taking a long drink of water. She closed her eyes.
"Yeah, Stephen's almost ready at Muir. After we transfer — "
I went TO THE DANGER ZOOOONE... She grimaced. "After we transfer Kyle and the others it shouldn't be that long to get home. Probably going to stay in the Box for a few days."
Kane snort/laughed. "Sorry, I've just been trying to talk them into renaming that for years." He shook his head. "Seriously Red, if you need an isolation buddy, I have a 24 of Moosehead and all three seasons of Slings and Arrows on DVD if you want to hunker down together. I'll send GenX out for takeout."
Jean arched a brow of confusion at his TV choices,then smirked softly. "Love it. Sounds like a plan," she said.
Someone shut him up! Mom. I can’t feel my arm, fuck. Move. Could’ve been worse. Move. Move.
The X-Jet was set far enough up the mountain that even when the facility came tumbling down beneath it, they still had room to evacuate the people they’d pulled from the labs.
Jean, Nica, and Clarice had barely made it back when the mountain answered with a deep metallic groan, twisted steel and collapsing concrete echoing through the cold air below them.
The noise didn’t stop when the fighting did. If anything, the silence made it worse.
Going to get that fish. Come 'ere, fish... God, I’m tired. I fear thy nature; It is too full of the milk of human kindness. Does she know?... smell like rotten— Fishie. It’s over. Never been to Scotland. So fucking loud. Flight check. Fishie fish.
The thoughts crashed together before Jean could sort them into people. Exhaustion. Static. Half-finished observations. Someone thinking about blood on their boots while somebody else wondered if there was coffee left on the jet.
Wetness slid past Jean’s upper lip. She wiped at it absently, smearing red across the back of her hand without really processing it.
Stephen was preparing Muir. The facility was gone. The survivors were safe. Now came the hard part.
What is that--Ugh...SO good... Everyone's clear...Starving. At least we got them out...
Fragments brushed against her in uneven waves. Gunfire. Smoke in lungs that weren’t hers. Somebody replaying the fight over and over already.
She tried to shut it out as she headed back toward the Blackbird, her pulse pounding hard enough to stab behind her eyes. She drew in a breath as the Blackbird came into sight.
Wish I could blow things up. Not long now...Ocean wash this blood...I didn't. I don't think so? A rotting tree flashed across her mind.
She drew another breath, trying to shake the thought away.
"Hey Red, you're looking a little shaky. You ok?" Kane said, trotting up to meet her.
Jean wasn't quite paying attention, and didn't notice Garrison until she spotted him out of the corner of her eye. She jumped.
"Sorry, what?" she said, rubbing her temple, as if that would help any.
Kane dug out a cloth and passed it to her wordlessly. He'd gotten used to carrying one because while his healing factor allowed him to survive all kinds of injury, it didn't do anything about the blood in your eyes.
"You ok? That's a decent amount of blood you've added to your look."
Was that a—Ow, fuck. Hurry up, I want to go home. —Or did he move?
Jean blinked at him before finally noticing the blood smeared across her hands.
“Crap,” she muttered. She took the cloth, wiping at her face a little clumsily.
“Thanks.”
Her eyes fluttered briefly. The pounding behind them was starting to turn her stomach.
Too much blood. Should be cleared for takeoff. Out out damned spot...
Jean swallowed hard. “My telepathy’s back," she said, her voice thinner than she intended.
Her eyes drifted past him for a moment before refocusing.
"Kind of."
"Oh? Oh! That's good, right?" Kane said, holding her by one arm to help steady her. "Or is there a problem?"
Leaning against Garrison slightly, Jean closed her eyes for a moment.
"Yeah," she said quietly.
Run run run. What's that look? All this standing around...Hate the smell of antiseptic. Is this a dagger which I see before me? I'm thirsty. No, he's still out. So much blood.
Now that the adrenaline was starting to wear off, it was now all about trying to keep back a tsunami.
"I got it back when Fourteen attacked me. It was like a..." she shook her head. "Protective reflex. But my mental walls are weak. It's...really hard to keep people out," Jean said.
"It's ok. We can rebuild those walls. I mean, if it helps, focus on me. I can at least try and keep you grounded."
Drawing in a breath, Jean pressed her forehead to his temple. Her head continued to pound steadily with her heartbeat.
"Are you sure? I'll probably pick up your thoughts," she said.
"Yeah? And what am I thinking?" Kane said with a smile.
Jean furrowed her eyebrows, then laughed. "I can't say that out loud in public," she said.
Seatbelts. Forgot my gloves. I should call my dad. God, my shoulder hurts. Gotcha. —move the crates— no, the blue folder—
The thoughts slid over each other without shape or volume control, mundane nonsense colliding with tactical checklists and lingering adrenaline.
Jean squeezed her eyes shut for a second.
Bad idea.
A flash of fluorescent lights hit her hard enough to make her stomach lurch. Restraint straps. Antiseptic. The sharp crack of gunfire that wasn’t happening anymore.
Her breathing shallowed.
Coffee sounds good. Human kindness. Is he dead? Need to clean the jet.
Stop thinking so loud—
The last thought hit harder than the others for some reason, sharp enough to split straight through the migraine pounding behind her eyes.
Jean pressed the cloth harder against her nose before the nausea rolled over hard and fast.
She pulled away from Garrison, just in time to throw up onto the grass.
"I hope that wasn't from my idea." Kane said as he came over and supported her as she heaved. "Is this Annie all over again?"
Jean stared at the grass growing under her boots, tiny sprays of wildflowers darting up in patches. Her mouth felt dry, the taste of bile against her tongue.
"No, and no, " she mumbled, sitting up straight as she focused on her breathing. "At least I'm not catatonic for this one. Just a migraine. And..." She held up the cloth, splattered with blood.
"I think your handkerchief is a loss."
Did she throw up? Ew. I went to the Danger Zone...gonna take you--Come on, let's go already!
She grimaced, drawing in another breath. "Alright, keep thinking. I need water and the good painkillers."
"You're lucky that your boyfriend is a former Boy Scout." Kane joked as he came up with a bottle of water. "I'll get you the pills in the bird."
Jean grunted in impressed approval. "I'd kiss you but you don't want this right now," she mumbled, taking a long drink of water. She closed her eyes.
"Yeah, Stephen's almost ready at Muir. After we transfer — "
I went TO THE DANGER ZOOOONE... She grimaced. "After we transfer Kyle and the others it shouldn't be that long to get home. Probably going to stay in the Box for a few days."
Kane snort/laughed. "Sorry, I've just been trying to talk them into renaming that for years." He shook his head. "Seriously Red, if you need an isolation buddy, I have a 24 of Moosehead and all three seasons of Slings and Arrows on DVD if you want to hunker down together. I'll send GenX out for takeout."
Jean arched a brow of confusion at his TV choices,then smirked softly. "Love it. Sounds like a plan," she said.
