Log [Charles, Alison]

[x-dazzler.livejournal.com]

Charles attempts to give Alison a safe haven to retreat to, while the rest of her world is drowned in light.



The room was containing her. Somehow. The feral hiss from a stray trail of light eating across metal was far too frequent to everyone's taste still and the medlab was lit up brighter than it had ever been before despite the polarization treatment they'd applied to the viewing window. The only thing they could see in the room was light, the form within barely discernable through the radiance, and even so - only when the flares seemed to dim somewhat, before starting up again.

Charles turned away from the window, his chair whirring in mild protest. He had almost certainly strained the motor on his way down, when the team had called from the Blackbird with the news, but that was of no importance.  It was crystal clear that unless they found a way to stop, or alter, her light projection, not only would they be unable to shield Alison from sound well enough to break the feedback loop, but she would quickly begin destroying the medlab itself. Alison herself was best suited to the task . . . if they, if he, could reach her.

The familiar meditative patterns formed and shifted in Charles' mind's eye as with practiced ease he took himself down into trance, slowing his heartbeat and breathing, preparing his body to sustain what might well be an extended telepathic effort.  At last, he slipped free of his body.

Distances were largely meaningless on the astral, and Alison's presence was as unmistakable here as it was in the physical world, her mind burning almost as brightly as her body with the force of her pain.  A rope of fire trailed off from her psyche--the link to Elisabeth, wide open and surging-- and Charles addressed that first, closing mental hands on it, unflinching despite the clamoring echoes and blinding pain that reached for him as he did so, and crimping it almost shut, a careful hairsbreadth short of breaking it altogether. Dimly, for his focus remained wholly on Alison, he felt Elisabeth relax as the strain eased.

Without further delay, he entered Alison's mind completely, not certain what he would find there but determined to give her the rest she needed.

Light surrounded him - eddies of low-level radiance to near unbearable brightness, lasers lashing crazily about the mindscape. In every shape and form possible there was light. Pain curled about within as well, dancing along every nuance and shade of color within, edged with fear and protectiveness. Everything that was Alison seemed to be lost somehow, diffused throughout everything surrounding him as opposed to streamlined in focused thought and knowledge, her sense of self apparently consumed by her power as it went wild.

Charles frowned, scanning the chaos; obviously this state of affairs could not be allowed to continue, but the disintegration was at too advanced a state, and Alison's psyche too delicate, to simply impose some form of external order.

What he needed to do was create a haven--an island of calm in the storm, some place that would draw Alison out of her pain, allow her to feel safe, and calm her long enough that she could stop fighting.  He dropped below the roiling surface of her consciousness, sifting through her memory, letting Alison's unconscious yearning for safety guide him.

Ah.  He smiled as he found one particular set of memories, old but cherished, with the soft patina of a well-loved antique.  He brought it with him, drifting back up to the stage of her conscious mind, and cast it forth into the chaos, vivid to the last detail, his power locking it into place and holding it against everything the storm could do.

Entering the memory, Charles found himself standing in a lovely, warm room, sunlight streaming through tall windows, caressing the polished ebony of a grand piano.  A slight breeze brought the scent of flowers wafting through the room, and an open door led out onto a patio overlooking the gardens, a delicate wicker table holding a pitcher of lemonade and two glasses.  The sun was perhaps a little too bright, the shadows a trifle too sharply-edged, but that was only to be expected, and would rectify itself should Alison grow calmer.  He traced the smooth wood of the piano with an appreciative hand, and sat down in one of the comfortable old chairs to wait.

It took a while, the sunlight flaring up briefly now and again, the only sign of the situation outside the memory, which was wrapped in a roiling mass of light. Bees drones on lazily in the garden, one of them flying slowly through a window to inspect the flowers in the vase by the patio door before wandering off again, returning to the more familiar roses outside. Eventually though, the sound of bare feet padding on the hardwood floors caught his attention, although apparently his visitor was hiding from him still.

"I'm scared."

The little girl's voice sounded lost and forlorn, and the light streaming within from the windows and patio door wavered for a moment, one of the rays briefly flickering more brightly than the others before the effect faded slowly.

"It's all right to be scared," Charles said, his voice pitched low and reassuring.

"But nothing that frightens you can reach you here.  This is a safe place--you know that, don't you?  This is your place, and nothing here will hurt you."

"It was only my place when grandmamma was there." The tremble in the voice was unmistakably fear. "She made them stay away. She made everything right, all the time." A small face peeked at him from behind one of the older looking chairs, all satin and brocade supported by a dark wooden frame. Blue eyes dark with fatigue stared at him, shadows lining the fair skin underneath. "I can't find her. And there's something bad outside. It's waiting for me."

"I may not be your grandmamma, but I still won't let the bad things have you." Charles smiled at the little girl, reaching out a hand.  "Perhaps we might find her if we both look?"

"She's dead."

The words fell into the silence, leaden and emotionless, light flickering under the little girl's skin for an instant in jagged lines, the present blurring into the memory through her. She stayed where she was however, the light slowly fading, eyes fixed on Charles. "But I know you." Looking at him searchingly, she took a slow step forward, stepping out from behind the couch nearly entirely. "I know you."

"Yes, you do," Charles replied, all too familiar with the way dreams--for so this effectively was--could change temporal consistency on a moment's notice.  "You were lost, and I hoped, if I showed you how to find your way back here, you could rest.  Would you like that?"

"I can't!" Worry showed through, tired blue eyes gleaming far too brightly in the shadows lingering in that corner of the room. "Something bad will happen if I do!" She peered outside through the open patio doors, straight into the blazing sunlight. "Something bad will happen..." The words faded into a whisper, until eventually she looked at Charles again, features twisting with brief pain and constant misery. "It's not over yet. Is it? I don't know anymore. I did but I don't, not anymore."

"You're safe at home," Charles murmured soothingly.  "It's all right to rest now--nothing bad will happen, and you don't have to go back outside until you are ready.  You can stay here as long as you need to, and I'll stay with you and keep you safe."

She was torn, that much was clear. Home wasn't safe, not like this room in particular was. And grandmamma wasn't there. But. She took a few steps forward, going around the large old-fashioned chair she had been hiding behind slowly, and then climbed up on it, curling up in its depths. She wanted to believe him. "But what about the bad thing outside?"

"It's outside," Charles pointed out logically.  "It can't come in as long as I'm here, and I won't leave until you no longer need me to stay.  You can rest--sleep, if you can--and I will keep watch."

But she was lost in the outside and it might come here and get her any moment too. The protest was stilled however - there was something about the man. Something.

"I know you," she repeated, curling up a bit more tightly on the chair, hunkering down to rest her on her arm. She was scared still, and it hurt to move but something about him made her want to believe. "Promise?"

"Yes," Charles said firmly.  "I promise.  I won't let anything hurt you."  Smiling kindly, he added "Do you think you could sleep a little?  You look very tired, and I think it would do you good."

It was a hard question to answer. It was still outside and she knew Something Bad could happen (had happened?) if she wasn't careful. "I'll try?" She wiped at her cheeks with the back of her hand, pushed blonde locks out of her face and settled down, eyes wide open and staring at him.

She wanted to ask something, had wanted to since here had come into being, but she was still afraid. Only, if she didn't ask now, she'd never know.  "There was a little boy. I think. Is ...he okay?"

Charles nodded.  "It's good that you remember him.  He'll be just fine.  He's frightened, like you, but he's safe--like you.  No one will hurt either of you. I promise."

After a long pause she nodded, finally closing her eyes for a moment. Something was eating away at her and it hurt so very much, but he'd promised. Promised. Maybe if she tried to sleep it would all go away for a while. Just a little while. It was hard though, because usually when she tried to sleep like this it had been when grandmamma played. She cracked her eyes open a touch, looking in the direction of the piano longingly, eyes flickering back to Charles in an unspoken question.

Charles gave the piano a rueful glance.  "I'm afraid I don't have the skill." He thought for a moment, one finger tapping his chin.  ". . . But I know someone who did, and I think she would like to play for you.  Would you like to meet her?"

Someone new. Here of all places. But something reminded her that it wasn't the first time of late and she knew she could trust him. And it was better to be afraid with someone telling you it would be all right (even if you knew otherwise) than being afraid alone. "Yes, please."

Charles nodded again, then closed his eyes, concentrating for a moment.  Weaving foreign memory into an established mindscape was a tricky proposition at the best of times, and he was somewhat stretched, at the moment.  Still, when he opened his eyes again, a woman was standing next to the piano, tall and elegant in old-fashioned clothing; she smiled when she saw him, as she always had.

"Dear Charles."  Her voice was low, musical, and full of love.  "What shall I play for you today?"

"Nothing for me, Mother, thank you," Charles replied with an answering smile.  He nodded in the direction of the other chair.  "But I think Alison would like a lullabye."

The woman turned slightly, enfolding Alison in her warm regard.  "I think I could manage something like that.  Do you have any favorites, dear?"

It was hard to concentrate and pick. No, she realized the moment afterwards - it was hard to remember. "I don't know," she admitted, feeling more than a little lost, the only thing keeping her from crying being that they were in Grandmamma's music room. And the woman's eyes reminded her of Grandmamma. Very much. "His favorite?" she said, sneaking a quick look at Charles.

The woman laughed softly and nodded, eyes twinkling at both of them. "An excellent choice."

She sat down at the piano and began to play, soft and restful notes stealing around the room, and Charles felt himself relax slightly, caught up in old, cherished memories.  He maintained his hold on the mindscape--and would, until Alison no longer needed its aid--but the strain of doing so was easing, and he did not think it was only a matter of his own perceptions.  He looked over toward Alison, wondering what he would see.

The little girl was still there, eyes fixed on the woman playing the piano for a while before they started to close slowly. Light flickered at the edges of her form now and then, a reminder of what really was, but she kept sleeping as the music drifting through the room and outside. Soft and soothing.

Charles nodded to himself; that was good enough for now.  He stood, a soft blanket in his hands, and tucked it gently around the little girl, brushing a few stray hairs away from her face, then settled back into his own chair to wait.  Sleep was what she needed now, most of all, sleep and quiet, and it would be some time still before he would risk maintaining this refuge from the outside.

As the evening progressed, people carefully working around Charles who remained unmoving in the wheelchair, the lasers started to change slowly. The wild lashing about of energy in the isolation room gradually shifted to something less wild as time passed, until the next morning saw the lasers muting into the steady, scorching radiance of a miniature star.