[Claire] Day 17: Hopes and fears

[sophiedb.livejournal.com]

Claire couldn't remember waking up this slowly, not ever. It wasn't like any hangover she remembered.. and.. and.. there was a reason why she couldn't be hung over.. What? Sooo confuuuused.. The air smelt funny. She wasn't sure whether it was the same waking up stretch either.. everything was fuzzy as hell. Really. Fuzzy..

Her eyelids flickered again. Was this still the now from before, or something that came next? Did that even make sense? Why was it so hard to think? So.. so tired..

She heard voices murmuring, just out of reach. Beeps. Noisy. Need to sleep. No! Not sleep. Too much sleep..

The beeps increased in frequency as Claire tried her best to move, to groan, anything, but her body just wasn't willing. A blurry figure appeared. Help! But no sound came out, just a huff of fog. Mask? Hospital? The figure patted her hand lightly, murmured soothingly, straightened her arm gently, applied slight pressure.. Ow! Sharp! Nothing.. sleep.. A nudge from.. somewhere below ..(wherewhowhat?).. whatever it was, it gave Claire a short dose of adrenaline. No! No sleep! Wake! Wake?.. Not enough, clearly.

When Claire stirred again there were several figures around her bed, but her eyes were blurry and unfocused.. ears uncooperative. She felt something cold on her belly, cold and gooey, familiar but in a guilty pleasure kind of way. Cotton wool for brains.. Something was spreading the goo around now, and the figures - people - were talking.

Doctors? Ultrasound! Saved!

But something told her that couldn't be right. Saved from what? Claire's brain simply wasn't working. Why? Cotton.. wool..

That strange pressure on her arm came again, and with it a sense of fear, but Claire's eyes slid closed before she could act on it - if that were even possible - her hazy consciousness barely registering the hand that smoothed her hair.

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[Ami] Alone in Despair

[island-muses.livejournal.com]

[OOC: Posting this here so we don't have a bajillion threads.]

It was the vomiting that woke her, and a rude awakening it was. Rolled over onto her side, her head dangling down while she brought up the contents of her breakfast and lunch was among the less pleasant and more humiliating ways of waking. The acrid sourness in Ami's mouth told her that this wasn't the first bout she'd had with the heaving, and the tired ache in her chest drove that point home.

She took a deep breath, hoping to stave off another wave when the smells washed over – sterile and antiseptic and a bit stale and recycled as well. Medicinal and yet not; smells triggered memories and the memories were not pleasant. Her body reacted and the retching began again, bringing with it sweats and quivering muscles. The light hurt her eyes and exacerbated the pain in her head as pain shot out from behind her eyes.

The last time Ami felt like this, she had wanted to die. Or at least to lose consciousness for a good long while.

She reached out for Scott, needing his mental comfort and support. /Scott?/

Something was wrong. She couldn't feel Scott. She couldn't feel Megabyte. Her mind reached further, and the stabbing pain in her head intensified. She flinched, her stomach rolled and she heaved up nothing more than a mouthful of stomach acid.

She couldn't feel anyone.

Panic forced Ami to open her eyes, despite the brightness of the light, despite the inherent pain. The uniform institutional white room spun and the hospital bed tilted sharply on its axis. More heaves followed, and Ami rode them out with lessening patience and rising fear.

"You're recovering from the majority of the drugs. You'll feel better in a while," said a female voice with the perfect balance between caring and detatchment. "Unfortunately, it may take several more hours for your body to adapt to the inhibitor. That will leave you a bit nauseuous."

"Where –" Ami stopped, her eyes slowly moving and focusing around the room. Four walls, a door, no windows. A hospital bed, the hospital smell that wasn't quite a hospital –

Memories rushed her: Rose going down, Claire's yelp, the sting in her shoulder – and losing contact with everything.

(Not again. Not again. Not again.) She prayed a silent mantra.

"Who are you?" Ami managed weakly, forcing herself to choke back sobs and focus on the woman in the crisp blue hospital scrubs. "Where am I? What do you want?"

The woman eased Ami back down against the bed. "Your vitals are good. No ill effects or negative reactions to the sedatives or the inhibitor. Let's keep her on a low level of the inhibitor. This room has been specially designed for her species. She won't be getting out and she won't be talking."

Ami realized that the woman was not speaking to her. She turned her head too quickly, and pain exploded again. Ami clamped her eyes shut but not before seeing the younger man standing a short distance away, making notes on a clipboard.

"Why the inhibitor?"

"Failsafe." The tone of the woman's voice changed, "Ami, there is ice water and cups beside your bed. Please make use of them."

"Where are my friends? What did you do to them? What did you do to me?"

There was no answer forthcoming as the two crossed the room and exited. Ami tried in vain to hold the door telekinetically, but she was cut off from her powers. After several more tries, and feeling a trickle of warm down her face, Ami slumped back against the pillow in despair.

[Ami] Second Awakening

[island-muses.livejournal.com]

Despair soon gave way to exhaustion and Ami fell into a fitful sleep. When she awoke later, the headache was a dull muted throb, but her mouth felt like it was filled with cotton. The bitter aftertaste of old bile made her frown distastefully and she instinctively reached her hand toward the cup of water on the bedside table.

The stabbing pain in her head that made her wince was enough to remind her of her incapacitation. The panic returned full-force and Ami forced it back down. Panicking wasn't going to solve anything and it wasn't going to help her. She had to think.

But first she had to clear her head.

Rolling to her side, Ami manually grabbed up the cup, and that was when she noticed the needle taped to the inside of her arm. As she slowly drank the cool, surprisingly clean and clear water, her eyes followed the intravenous line to the pump and the bag. Squinting, and pushing herself a bit further toward the headache she was trying to recover from, Ami made out that the fluid was nothing more than a simple intravenous drip. The small yellow vial that dripped into the stream however was unlabeled. It didn't need to be; Ami had a good idea of what it was.

That small bit of activity exhausted her and Ami collapsed against the pillow again. She let her eyes flutter close until she felt focused again and then gave her "room" a cursory examination. Windowless, with a door that opened outward and painted in that institutional white. There were two surveillance cameras; easy enough to disable if trying to use her abilities wasn't akin to clawing at a slick, glass wall. Behind her a wall of hospital monitors, but the only one engaged was monitoring the IV drip.

The faint flutterings of panic returned and Ami had to take deep, steadying breaths to push them back. (I will not panic. I will not panic.)

She couldn't afford to panic.

Ami continued to scan the room. What else? Hospital gown, but no dresser, no closet and no wash closet or lavatory.

A plan formed, a weak one but at best it would let her know if her friends were here as well; at worst it would simply fail and she'd be no worse off than she was now.

A rising wave of nausea crept up on her and Ami closed her eyes until her stomach settled, relieved when the water actually stayed down. It would be a bit before she could enact her plan – she wasn't even sure she could walk yet. Her passing comfort was knowing that if her captors wanted her dead, she would be dead. They wanted her alive, and that gave her hope – if she didn't find a way out of this herself, she knew that Scott would come for her eventually.

Nothing in the world would keep them apart.

[Ami] Right Questions, Wrong Answers

[fikgirl.livejournal.com]

It was the ricochet of gun shots that shocked Ami from sleep. She jerked upright, her body reacting instinctively, eyes tracking in all directions. Mental awareness reached out and slammed into the wall so hard that she psychically recoiled. The recoil echoed through her skull, making her wince and cry out in sharp pain but even that was secondary to the screams.

Panicked, desperate female screams. Ami didn't need to rely on her empathy to know that something horrible was happening. Something horrible was happening to one of her friends. She didn't need to be able to access her powers to know that; all she needed was basic human intuition.

Another gun shot sounded, and Ami reached down and yanked the IV from her arm. The panel behind her bed, that she hadn't noticed previously beeped in alarm, but Ami didn't care. She didn't have a plan, she just knew that she couldn't lie idly by while … whatever was happening continued to happen.

Her legs were weak and jellied, and the pale, cold floor slanted downward as she stepped towards the door.

Ami made it three timid steps before the door swung open and her captors – a man and a woman – stepped inside. Behind them she could see two "orderlies" and hear dying hysterical sobs.

"Miss Jackson," the woman stepped forward, her voice cold and hard, "You're out of bed."

"What's going on? What happened?"

"Nothing you need to concern yourself with," the man stated.

"On the contrary," the woman gave a smile, but it was an empty smile that chilled Ami to the bone. "One of your friends attempted something stupid. Another one of your friends paid the price. Let that be a lesson to you. Now return to bed."

(No! No! Who? No …) Ami tried to organize her thoughts and stay calm, but the drugs continued to fog her brain and her responses. "Who? Why?"

"Miss Jackson, my patience is wearing. You will return to the bed or we'll return you."

"I just want to know what's going on!" Ami tried to back away from the goons who proceeded into the room at the woman's nod, but her feet did not cooperate with her. A step backwards and she lost her balance. She was halfway to the floor when the goons descended on her, grabbing her by the arms and easily lifting her despite her struggles.

"Talk to me!" Ami screamed. She twisted and struggled futilely in the grip of the goons. "Tell me what's going on! You sodding wankers, tell me what the bleeding hell you want! Why are we here? What are you doing to us!?!"

The prick of a needle in her arm temporarily distracted her.

(They're drugging me again. I just woke up. I *need* to be awake.)

"Tell me what's going on." Her voice was a little less strong, a little less demanding and the room tilted sharply on its axis.

"You're going back to sleep, and that's all you need to know."

"No, no . . ."

Darkness claimed her.

[Ami] Determination

[fikgirl.livejournal.com]

In this instance, the fourth time was the charm. Ami still felt like utter crap when she broke the surface of the sea of unconsciousness, but it was not the same utter crap feeling as the first two times she awoke. She lie awake for a few moments simply staring at the pale white ceiling, wondering how long she'd been there. There were no windows, no clocks, nothing to tell the time of day or night. There was only the ever watchful cameras and the beeping of the medical monitors behind her.

Rolling over onto her side, Ami spotted the small pitcher of water. Seeing it drove home that she was thirsty and that her mouth once again felt stuffed with cotton. Her hand reached out, instinctively calling it telekinetically before she felt the slick glass wall. Except that it wasn't as slick this time; there was some give in the wall and the pitcher wobbled just a bit.

The sight of that gave her a surge of hope. Ami lifted up, focusing on the pitcher which again wobbled as though it were attempting to obey her commands. Unfortunately, the give in the wall fought back against her and Ami was forced to stop as she felt the tiny faint pin pricks in the back of her mind.

With a sigh, she reached for the pitcher and with a trembling hand, poured herself a cup of water. Once she downed that, she sat back and tried to wrap her mind around doing something other than simply sitting and waiting for rescue.

(But I'm useless. If I can't use my abilities, I can't do a bloody thing.)

The thought was depressing. Ami rode the depression for a bit, then shook it off.

(I've overcome drugs before. I can do it again.)

With renewed determination, Ami focused her attention on the cup instead of the pitcher. She was a prisoner. What else did she have to do but try?

[Claire] Trying to understand

[sophiedb.livejournal.com]

"Claire? Claire, you can open your eyes now."

No Mum, I don't want too. Head hurts. Feel sick. Bed better. Sleep.

"I know you're awake Claire, there's no point in pretending otherwise. How are you going to find the bucket if you don't open your eyes?"

Bucket? The mere thought set her body off: a rush of saliva, the clenching of stomach muscles, god the vomit! All over her pillow! Morning sickness passed months ago, hadn't it? Ohmygodmybaby! Fear brought on further retching and the bitter taste of bile. The combined stench made Claire gag as she tried to shift away from the wet patch from hell, fearful that it would trickle after her, one hand reaching down to curve around her abdomen in an attempt convince herself and the baby that everything was ok.. which it wasn't. It so wasn't.

"Told you so," the voice commented bluntly. Definitely not Mum. The sounds didn't fit either, though her sense of smell was overrun with.. ugh..

Claire's mouth tasted like shit. She needed somewhere to spit or she was going to throw up again, and what good would that do? Water would be good too, and a new pillow. What kind of place was this, where the nurse taunted the patient? Surely not a hospital?

Her voice came out quiet and small, barely recognisable. She coughed a little to clear the fuzziness, grimacing at the pieces that flew into her mouth from.. oh god.. "Water?"

Claire's tormentor wasn't done yet. "Say the magic word."

"Did," she whispered tiredly, willing her eyelids to open so she could identify the cow.

Claire's success was limited to the sight of a blue-clad body being pulled through the doorway and scolded by someone on the outside, at least that's what it sounded like. The words were muffled. Meanwhile an efficient-looking nurse bustled to the side of her bed, gently pulling her forward so the soiled pillow could be replaced.

Claire looked up at her imploringly, still squinting under the lights. "Water?"

"Ice chips to your right."

Oh. Ok. She began to curl her left hand downwards so she could reassure the baby while reaching for the bedside table, her fingers jerking in shock when they encountered something taped to her skin. That set off a sharp wince as the movement tugged the IV tube inserted into the crook of her arm. This has to be a hospital, but where? How?

"Careful with that, Claire. It's keeping you hydrated after all that vomiting."

"I don't remember," she mumbled, fighting the fog in her memory. "Have we been rescued?"

Ice cold water trickled down Claire's throat, washing away some of that bloody awful taste and reminding her of the mud she'd fallen into when - "Oh my god, Ami! Rose! Dai-"

"Be quiet, you silly girl," the nurse talked right over her panic attack, damn near pushing her back against the new pillows. "We can always sedate you again, but I'd rather not - for your baby's sake, if nothing else."

Claire shook her head rapidly, lips clamped shut. Not that. Never that. She'd gotten pretty attached to the little fella recently, and ohmygod she was so close to due it wasn't funny. She had to know that he was ok though, she had to, even if these women weren't willing to talk about her friends.

"Is.." The nurse looked at her sharply. No nametag, Claire realised belatedly. "Is my baby ok?"

A crisp nod followed, along with a tap to the beeping monitor nearby on the nurse's way out. "He's fine."

Oh. So he really is a he, Claire thought morosely, wondering what the hell she was supposed to do now. She never expected to reach a hospital and start longing for the bloody beach! And her head hurt like buggery. Crap.

[Claire] Yeah but no but

[sophiedb.livejournal.com]

"You're kidding, right?"

"No."

The doctor responded with so little emotion that Claire wondered whether he was human. He probably wasn't even a doctor. She didn't exactly feel herself either, too lightheaded for starters. It felt like she wasn't allowed to have any background thoughts any more, but Nameless Wanker here assured her that dizziness was a normal side effect. "Side effect of what" hadn't gotten her a straight answer though.

"But you're asking me to hand over my baby to a bunch of strangers!"

"That was your original plan, was it not? I assure you that the child would be well cared for."

Claire chewed her bottom lip, her nails digging into sweaty palms as she tried to focus. First the guy irritated the crap out of her with his barrage of psycho-crappy questions - most of which only succeeded in making her feel sub-standard. Ok, so he hadn't expressed any opinions of his own. He hadn't even blinked! But the way he just plodded on through this questionnaire like some kind of call-centre operator was driving her batty. Being assessed made her bloody batty too, even at school, and the idea of her personality being picked apart was just creepy.

..and now he was trying to convince her that her little boy should stay here, of all places.

Yes, she had boarded the plane to give the baby up for adoption in LA, but.. this wasn't how it was supposed to work!

"You show me who's going to care for my baby, where he'd live, all that kind of stuff, and I'll consider it." Because you've got me trapped in a bloody box, all groggy thanks to whatever's in that drip.. "Maybe."

The man scribbled on his clipboard, flicked to the next page and produced a set of cards bearing those silly ink-smudge pictures Claire'd only ever seen on TV. "Look at the image and tell me what you see."

"Butterfly." Another. "Uh, two trains?" Another. "What's the point of all this?" Silence. "Hello?"

"What do you see?" he repeated, not even sounding bored.

Claire tried to cross her arms and failed, thanks to the IV, but her inner monologue didn't care. "I'm tired, I'm close to my due date, and you're wasting your time if you think I'm going to answer any more of these questions."

"What. Do. You. See?"

"You taking a running jump?" she suggested sweetly.

Finally the man set his clipboard on the table and approached her bedside, though his face was as blank as ever.

"All right, Miss Littleton, I will accept that you are tired. You may have your rest. But please bear in mind that, as you say, your baby is very nearly due. In fact he could arrive any day now and will most likely be delivered in this facility. Goodbye."

That was it. No actual threats, no growling, not even a bloody huff, but the calmness with which he'd reminded Claire of how vulnerable she was here was terrifying. She didn't have much choice, that's what he wasn't saying, and suddenly Claire wanted nothing more than a giant hug from Damon.

I - we - have to get out of here.

[Claire] No no no no no!

[sophiedb.livejournal.com]

The sound of gunfire chased Claire from her daydream quick smart, and the screams that followed made her quiver in fear. Who was that? It sounded female - was it one of the other girls?

Another shot sounded, echoed by the increasingly rapid beeps from the machines surrounding her bed.

Tears rolled down Claire's cheeks as a man and woman burst into the room, one running straight to her IV while the other tried to ease her back down to the pillows. When had she tried to get up? Claire didn't know, but then that wasn't the issue.

"What happened? Who's screaming? Who got shot?!"

All she got in response was a stern scolding for panicking the baby with all this needless emotion. How could they be so fucking calm? Someone just got shot in a fucking hospital! The words washed over her because they meant nothing. If they wanted her baby they could show a little more emotion themselves, bugger it!

"Tell me!"

But Claire's voice was weaker now. They'd sedated her, the bastards. She wanted to yell that them some more, but all that came out was a plaintive squeak.

"One of your friends tried to escape, and another paid the price. It's as simple as that, Miss Littleton," she was finally informed, just as her eyelids gained the upper hand over conscious thought.

No! I want to stay awake! Need.. to know..

"Sweet dreams."

[Claire] Laying blame (1)

[sophiedb.livejournal.com]

When Claire awoke this time, she had to blink a couple of times before believing her eyes. Where had all these people come from? Two nurses and a doctor by the look of them: the doctor and one male nurse talking by the machine, and the other nurse (female) taking various readings from the machines, all looking scarily efficient. She gulped, blinking away sudden tears - shouldn't they be looking after whoever the hell it was they'd shot?!

"Wha-" she coughed weakly, her mouth dry.

The nurse by the machine's looked up sharply, quickly placing her clipboard on the end of the bed before rushing over to the jug of water. Her expression was all business, but there was an undercurrent of urgency in her eyes as she encouraged Claire to take small sips. After everything else that had happened here, that probably freaked Claire out more than the sudden attention.

By the time Claire was settled back against her pillows, Dr Anonymous was glaring at her sternly from the end of the bed. Cowering despite her best intentions, Claire bit her lip and waited for whatever it was he was about to share. For all she knew he wanted to shoot her too.

"You should learn to control your reactions, Miss Littleton," the man stated, finally. "Sedation at this stage of pregnany should only be used as a last resort, and yet you have forced us to take action several times in one day. If you're not careful -"

Her reaction was immediate and indignant. "Hey! You bastards kidna-"

One of the machines - the foetal monitor, she thought - began to beep rapidly, causing one nurse to roll over an ultrasound kit while the other rolled down the bedsheets to expose Claire's abdomen. Worried about what this might mean, Claire's own pulse rose to the point that the sound of the foetal monitor was joined by her own. Oh shit. She desperately tried to remember those irritating ante-natal classes she'd been assigned (skipped, more than not) and did a bunch of breathing exercises in an attempt to calm down.

Dr Bastard approached, smiling tightly as he pulled an oxygen mask into view and over her mouth and nose. "That's the spirit. No drugs, just good old meditation. Anything else could be.. well.. I don't believe that 'fatal' is too strong a phrase."

She stared into his eyes as she breathed in and out, too terrified to do anything else until he placed a hand on her head and turned her gaze towards the ultrasound.

"See that, Miss Littleton? That is your child. We do not wish to harm either of your, however circumstances have not been kind." He tut-tutted at Claire's whimper of protest, patting her head patronisingly before moving back to the foot of the bed. "I do not need you to like me, Miss Littleton, merely to listen. Your attitude towards this pregnancy has never been wholehearted, something that has not changed despite an intensely traumatic plane crash. Not only that, but your diet over the last two weeks has been poor at best, your medical supervision primitive, your emotional state precarious.. To be frank both you and the child are lucky to be as healthy as you are, although I do use the word 'healthy' loosely."

"Wha-" Claire swallowed when his eyes flicked back to hers, as disapproving as ever. She desperately wanted to hug her middle, reassure the baby the only way she knew how, but all this medical equipment prevented it. "What do you mean? Am.. are.. we're not dying or anything, right?"

He cant his head as if trying to decide. "Not presently, no. However I must inform you that we have detected signs of foetal distress, which does not bode well."

"Like what?"

"When was the last time you felt the foetus move?"

[Claire] Laying blame (2)

[sophiedb.livejournal.com]

Blinking in fright, Claire panicked. When? She couldn't remember! The drugs didn't help, but still - she couldn't remember! The nurse who'd taken over the oxygen mask replaced it over her face until she calmed down, her expression blank and unsympathetic while the doctor frowned impatiently.

"Miss Littleton, I thought you might realise by now that maternal distress does not ease foetal distress in the slightest. Please, have a care for your child."

Like I can just forget the fact that you just told me my baby might die, you bastard! she raged silently, tears trickling silently. She didn't want to give him the satisfaction of all out hysterics, nor to look like she was out of control. The fact that this played into his hands only hit her when his frown became a smug smile.

"Excellent, Miss Littleton. A good start. Now.."

The doctor rattled off a series of questions regarding her medical history, her parents', Thomas' and his parents', and wasn't at all happy when many of Claire's answers consisted of "I don't know" or "like I'd have a clue?" It was the truth though - she'd never had any operations herself, so how was she to know if she was allergic to penicillin, and it wasn't the sort of thing that cropped up in every day conversation.. not in her family anyway.. and as for Thomas..

Claire's ever more worried mood was shattered by the rattling of a trolley at the door. The male nurse, who'd apparently left at some point, approached the doctor with an array of needles and vials - and a sharp glance from both men was all it took to regulate her breaths into something less emotionally charged.

"As I said, Miss Littleton, we will not sedate you again. Unfortunately that does appear to leave your child in a rather precarious position, as you are rather unstable at present - physiologically speaking, of course."

"Yeah right," Claire muttered under her breath, needing to make a token objection. "C'mon, what's the deal then?"

"The 'deal' is that these injections are protective and necessary in order to protect the foetus from your more extreme mood swings and their resulting effects." He gave each nurse a nod, causing one to clean the remaining gel from her abdomen and the other to prepare a syringe. "A minor local anaesthetic first of all.. Yes, Miss Littleton, remain calm."

"Don't - don't I get any choice?" she stammered, unable to accept that they were simply going to pump her baby full of whatever the fuck that was without a by your leave.

"No," came the cold reply as Claire watched syringe number two sliding into her flesh numbly.

[Claire] Laying blame (3)

[sophiedb.livejournal.com]

The doctor continued his work calmly while the male nurse attached a print-out from the ultrasound to her IV stand, apparently under orders. Claire realised with a shock that neither nurse had spoken since she'd woken up, nor offered any kind of support. Even the abuse she'd gotten from the very first nurse was better than this. This.. this was like some kind of horror movie, with no friends and some crazy scientist with emotionally defunct minions.

The thought of Rose, Ami and Daisy made her squeeze her eyelids shut, frightened of what might have happened to any of them. After those gunshots, Claire's imagination was her worst enemy and it wasn't like these people had done anything to ease her nerves. She trembled, biting her lip against a sob.

"Stop that, you silly child," Dr Bastard ordered. "See what you made me do? Nurse, a clean swab if you please."

Claire reopened her eyes and winced. Her small movements had caused a syringe to scratch across her skin and blood was welling up. The sight made her mouth go dry, so she fumbled for more water, knocking the plastic cup over in the process.

"Shit. Sorry.." she whispered, fighting the urge to weep in case it distressed her baby some more (whatever that meant).

"Of course," the doctor replied wryly, placing what was apparently his last needle back on the tray. "Now, a few more questions."

"More? Like what?"

"Is there a history of paranormal ability in your family?"

What? "No."

"In the father's?"

Claire looked away, hating the fact that this guy could seem so bothered about her child's well-being and so callous towards her at the same time. It wasn't her fault that they'd crashed on a tropical island, let alone been kidnapped. Everything else in between hadn't actually been that bad.. not perfect by any means, but at least she hadn't felt so bloody helpless.

"How's this going to help my baby?"

"Surely you need only know that it will?" the doctor snapped impatiently. "Now, is there a history of paranormal ability in the father's family?"

Shite. "Not that I know of."

"How disappointing," he commented blandly as he flipped to a new page. "Has there been any occasion in which.."

Claire lay back against the pillows and sighed.