Whisperings of Ghosts.

[ororo_munroe]

There is fluorescent light.  Light and-

Cold.  I... feel cold?

Muscles sluggishly shift against buckles.  Not registering for several seconds.

Push.

Too bright.  Cannot-

Beep.  Silence.

Beep.

White-knuckled fists tremble frantically now, pathetically jerking against whatever's holding her down.

Why... why can't I close my eyes?  Dilated pupils nearly

Comments

[thomas_small]

He stares at her with a mix of sympathy and irritability and morbid fascination, as if he's wondering if that's how he moved when he dreamt of such things, jerking and rolling and twisting. "Now you know why you shouldn't have those memories. It's not doing you any good."

He kneels down next to her.

[ororo_munroe]

She jerks as he comes closer, but makes no other movements. Not yet.

"You're dead. You left us behind and Cain cried, so you must be dead?" Oddly phrased as a question, because she has to be right. She's dreamed of him before, but he never spoke to her then. Only watched.

[thomas_small]

"Years with the bloody X-Men and you're none the wiser." The corner of his lip twitches upwards for a second, for a brief smirk, but her condition bothers him too much. "You're not still dreaming, are you?" He reaches out to touch her.

[ororo_munroe]

She warily watches him, flinching as a he reaches out, but in a contradicting move she snatches at his hand as if expecting it to disappear from contact.

If it doesn't and he's warm- real and in this room- she's not dreaming and perhaps she's mad like they say.

'They'?

"Heaven revolves for X-Men, maybe. Odds were greater you might've been headed elsewhere."

[thomas_small]

(( Sorry, pinging from class. I'll be on tonight! ))

That confuses him, a bit. It's not words he's heard from her before, but she's carrying Theresa's tone. "Alright. What story would you like me to tell?" He glances to the storm outside.

[ororo_munroe]

She shakes her head trying to order the jumbled thoughts and the feeling of someone else invading them even now. Reasserting any focus she can gather, she asks more in her own distinctive tone, fingers twitching haphazardly against the floor.

"An honest one. Like Cain. Do you regret leaving behind the man you love?"

Panicky memories aren't the only ones she's waken up from.

[thomas_small]

He stares at her for a second, but of course she'd know, she has his memories. He covers for the hesitation by bringing a hand to cover her twitching one and try to still it, comfort it.

"Would you rather here my answer or a story?" Even if she knows. He's reluctant. "It was a stupid mistake, but I never meant to leave him behind. I wouldn't have done that to him. You know that."

[ororo_munroe]

At first she thinks he'll deny it as he always done before when it comes to private subjects like this. But he touches her instead.

Goddess, he's warm. She's just registering now that his touch is warm and for some reason that undoes her as he's speaking. Her fingers lace and fist between his, as the storm clouds break outside.

"Tell me... tell me of firelight and the Keep, Theresa singing with you, the time you stole all the watches from the church patrons, tell me..." She squeezes her eyes shut as the flutterings inside her chest accelerate and the smell... that odd smell. Latex and metal glinting in the light, invisibly assaulting her senses.

"Tell me, Thomas. How to stop this when you could not? These memories are yours, but the shame mine and I fail. Every time."

"Give me faith. Please?"

[thomas_small]

"I don't think your relationship with Emma and mine with Sean are exactly the same." He says quietly. "And anyway, I did. When I was turning into a tree for the first time. It wasn't an easy decision, but it was for the best, at the time."

[ororo_munroe]

"Not the same, but not exactly an improvement," she mumbles. "I did not know you had finally asked for his help though."

Ororo suddenly hates being on the floor. Makes her feel helpless so she carefully moves Dee to the floor as stiff legs shift and unfold to stand a bit unsteadily. Then she walks the room, fingers trailing across the walls, the dresser, curtain, anything that assures her that images are where they're supposed to be. She can hear the titterings behind the walls, but maybe they'll leave her alone as she looks to Tom for silent reassurance.

[thomas_small]

"I'd argue with that." But he won't unless she wants to. He's not up to picking at her wounds any more than need be now. "Desperation can push someone to do a good many things they'd rather not be forced to do."

He stands up too, keeping his eyes on her, to make sure she's not shaking anymore and not about to fall. It's more protective than anything else, for that brief moment. "It's easier to keep talking, you know. Drowns out the noise they make."

[ororo_munroe]

"Desperation spurred by the need to survive. Kill. Die. Rise to live again. No matter the cost." She intones softly, "'Step, into the light o' Lazarus...'" What was it Phoenix had said once? Burn away what doesn't work.

Something in her head niggles with interest over the thought of fire. Memory of a warm heat beneath her skin and a sense of security.

"Rain dampens the noise too. There has been too much rain lately. It's scaring the animals away. It doesn't scare you, does it?"