crossing_lostrp | [Claire] Day 17: Hopes and fears

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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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.

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.

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] Day 17: Hopes and fears

[Ami] Second Awakening

[Ami] Right Questions, Wrong Answers

[Ami] Determination