"I want to scan her brain."
"Don't speak about her like she's not even here. She can hear you, you know. She understands some of your tone."
"Oh, forgive me doctor...Hey...You. Alien! I...want to scannn...your brain. Alriiiight?"
Dr. Isles frowns at the way Ian draws out each syllable, like he's speaking to a monkey...or a dog.
"She is a human," The doctor says now, and she moves to stand next to Jane, who has been watching the exchange with an expression that flickers a little darker each time Dr. Faulkner speaks.
"She has full spacial ability," she feels the woman's eyes on her and switches the target of her mini speech. "and your motor skills are exceptional, too, Jane."
"Why do you insist on calling her that?"
The doctor frowns a bit. "That's her name."
Ian smirks. "You're just calling her that for Jane Doe, aren't you? Or did her alien psychic powers tell you so?"
Dr. Isles is about to answer, when the brunette sitting beside her lets out a growl, low, and deep and actually rather threatening, her eyes fixed on Ian.
"Stop it," Maura says, meaning it, and Jane stops at once, looking sulky.
"God. It's like an animal,"
"Do not...call her IT!" She bursts out. "Honestly." She turns to Jane who looks up at her, concerned. The doctor tries to make her voice softer, but it is hard with Ian staring at her like she's mad. She takes a breath, watching Jane's eyes search her face.
"I'm going to speak to Dr. Faulkner, Jane, outside. You look around your new room. I'll return shortly, alright?"
The woman watches her move towards the exit with Ian, and Dr. Isles thinks she looks sad, even though she makes no attempt to stop them.
...
She knows that what the doctors and people around her are doing is language, is called speaking. And she can even pick up a few of the words, because she'd asked Him about it when she was younger, but for the most part she guesses what Dr. Isles wants.
When she was eleven or twelve, she'd heard the sound of something drifting up and in through her open window from the street below The memories and emotions that had accompanied the sound were beautiful and sweet. Like nothing she'd ever felt before. He'd found her, sitting dreamily at the window long after whatever it was had passed by below her.
[what was that sound?]
He'd smiled and come to sit next to her, pushing her hair out of her eyes. [that was children. singing.]
The feeling had not found a home inside her mind. [singing] She'd wanted to see it. for Him to spell it out, but she'd known better than to ask.
"Singing" He'd said, for her benefit, and her eyes had gone wide at a voice she so rarely heard. He'd made a gesture, backing it up with something that felt like irritation. [something they do. to pass the time. to communicate.]
[language?]
He'd grunted and she'd felt his impatience like a steadying hand on her shoulder. holding her back [yes. language.]
she'd opened her mouth and called on some long forgotten muscle memory. producing something low and rumbling in her chest, not like singing at all.
And He had smacked her hard across the face with an open palm. [stop that]
it had been years since He'd had to raise a hand to her and she cowered instantly. [I want to sing]
His disapproval and His annoyance and the image of her silhouette, lonely and abandoned. He hadn't needed to form a conclusion for her. She'd drawn her own. Singing was not something she was allowed to do. Not if she wanted to stay with Him.
But she couldn't help herself, and as he'd stood to leave her, she'd sent him the faded memory of a woman. kind eyes like hers. long light hair. she'd wrapped it in a question. [did my mother sing?]
He'd stopped but hadn't turned to her. Their connection went blank, and for a moment she was scared and alone. Lost. She'd hated that feeling more than when He'd hit her. The feeling of reaching and getting dead air.
[yes. she was normal] the idea He gives back is draped in disdain [mediocre, I should say. and so yes. I would assume that she used language, as archaic as it is, to it's fullest extent]
He'd left her then, closing the door on her dark and wild mane of hair and her even wilder thoughts.
The doctor does not deal in the type of communication that Jane understands. She figures out what the doctor wants from her based on what her face is doing. That...and the scraps of emotion that work their way through the dull grey barrier of her language.
The doctor does not daydream. Does not imagine. And when Jane reaches, looking for connection, she is met with resistance. She finds nothing to hold onto.
But she does not give up.
...
...
"She is quite extraordinary isn't she?" Doctor Isles stands with Dr. Faulkner outside of the new observation room, watching Jane acquaint herself with her new surroundings. The woman moves around the room, looking at everything, before settling herself in one of the chairs.
The doctor feels a drag at the back of her skull, and watches as the dark head turns towards the one way glass at once.
At first Dr. Isles had been uneasy with the way her patient always seemed to be able to just sense when she was in the vicinity, but now, she finds it almost...comforting. She shakes her head, trying to stay on topic. "I honestly think that she does not possess language...although she seems , sometimes, to understand the general idea of what I need for her to do. Especially if I put a strong emotion behind it." The doctor turns to take in her colleague. He is watching Jane with a sort of predatory glint in his eye. She frowns.
"Dr. Faulkner?"
"It's been three days and it hasn't moved anything. It hasn't made anything fly."
"Maybe she does not actually have that ability, Dr. Faulker."
The doctor does not like his tone, or the way he refers to Jane as an inanimate object. Ian spares her one glance of deepest disdain. They are standing outside of Jane's new observation room, outfitted like a little studio apartment, looking in at the woman as she examines her surroundings.
"You told her not to," Ian mutters. "And since she only listens to you…"
The doctor makes an irritated motion with her shoulders. This is true. She had told Jane that she was not to lose control again, that no one was going to hurt her. And even though she had not answered, she had come to stand close to her, and had followed her to a new room without so much as making a paper flutter. And the doctor had known that she understood what was expected of her.
"It's possible that she was exposed to something at the compound. Something that gave her, well a type of...a sort of charge that-"
"What, made it possible for her to flip a five hundred pound hospital bed?" Ian turns to her. "Maura, that thing in there is the greatest scientific find we've had since-"
"That scientific find is a person, Ian." If he can interrupt her, she can do the same.
But he scoffs, dismissive. "Since when have you been concerned with the welfare of humans?" His tone aims to wound, and for a moment, he succeeds. She feels the cutting remark like the blade of an actual knife. Behind the two way mirror, Jane stands up, looking.
"I always put the welfare of my patient before everything else."
Ian laughs, and it is a cruel sound. "Yes, you do, Dr. Isles," he says coldly, "Above bedside manner and common courtesy. Above social graces and pleasantries. The welfare of your patient. Stop at nothing. Oh, that we could all be so virtuous and steadfast as you."
She steps back from him, shocked, but he follows her, pointing. "Well, what's best for your patient, in this moment, Dr. Isles, is that she prove that she can move something. That she prove that we did not waste our energy and time calling in favors and setting up meetings."
Her eyes widen. "What have you done?"
He glares, "What is it to you?"
"As her Attending, and lead on her case I have a right to know-"
"As Chief of staff, I'm telling you what you need to know. You need to get her to show her worth. I don't really care if you have to train her like a circus pony. You do not have a choice," he says, holding up his hand to forestall her argument. "You have to, or the consequences for all of us will be dire."
And with that, he turns on his heel, leaving her to stare after his retreating form.
...
Dr. Isles sits down across from Jane, looking up into her puzzled face.
"Hello again, Jane." there is something about saying the woman's name that makes her feel warm.
Her patient smiles, a cheeky, brilliant gesture that catches the doctor off guard. At first she is confused as to what she's done to earn this expression, but then she realizes.
"Ah," she smiles herself, "you like that I have learned your name."
There's the familiar tug. The shakes her head, like she's resisting, and the smile drops off Jane's face. For a moment, Maura allows herself to wonder where it went, before putting on a professional smile and focusing on the task at hand.
Jane's expression gets a little more confused.
"Listen," Maura sets the chart down on the table between them, all business right away. "I need you to make something move."
Jane tilts her head to the side, looking at her. She seems mildly interested. Maura bites her lip, she is still not sure that the woman in front of her can understand English. "I need you to move something without touching it. Can you do that? Like before?"
Jane crinkles her brow, looking pleasantly baffled. She has the cutest dimples.
Maura sighs, running her hand through her hair, trying to ground herself. thinking back to the moment that she's watched Jane stop the darts in midair. If she could just communicate that that was what she needed…
The grunt that Jane makes causes Maura to snap her head up to look. It had sounded almost like a sound of understanding. The doctor looks up into chocolate eyes, eyebrows knit together in a frown. Maura sits back. "What is it? Can you not do it?"
A tilt of the head.
"Can you not do it because you no longer possess the…power?"
Jane tilts her head back the other way, the baffled expression creeping back over her features. The doctor feels a pull, insistent. She resists. She doesn't know why, but it makes her feel uncomfortable...out of control. She is still not sure that the woman in front of her is making it happen, or that she is even completely in control of what she does. Dr. Isles leans forward a little. "Are you hesitant to try again because you think it will be like last time?" Something dawns on the doctor, "Can you control it?"
Another image of the wrecked, dismantled room. Another wave of frustration and need.
Suddenly Jane is standing. The doctor looks up at her, confused as Jane gestures at her, wanting her to stand as well.
As soon as she is, the woman flicks her wrist casually, and at once the doctor feels as though there is a hand pressing against her chest. Hard. She staggers backwards with a little gasp, more of surprise than of pain.
"Ow!" when she rights herself, she sees that Jane is overturning a bowl on the desk, the contents, three apples, two pears and a banana, spilling out onto the desk. She turns back to Dr. Isles, approaching her slowly, empty bowl in hand.
The doctor cannot move. She stands frozen, watching this tall dark woman approach the corner where she has been pushed.
When they are almost toe to toe, Jane looks down into the doctor's eyes, like she's asking for permission.
Dr. Isles holds her breath. She nods.
And Jane leans forward an puts the bowl upside down on her head. She steps back for a moment, as if checking out her handiwork, and then leans forward, stretching out her hand to knock twice on the makeshift helmet. she grins at the blonde, eyebrows up.
The doctor is caught between trepidation and a new, unfelt type of emotion...she cannot quite put her finger on it. It is nice.
Jane turns around, looking at the little room. She focuses on the bed, and suddenly, the doctor knows what's going to happen before it does. She pushes one hand out, like she's pushing someone away from her.
The bed in the corner of the room heaves off the floor to stand straight up, pillows and blankets slide down towards the floor, but with one flick of her free hand they shoot out, away from the bed towards the opposite end of the room, where Maura stands.
"Stop!" The doctor turns her face away from the scene, closing her eyes. She doesn't know why it makes her heart race like that. Doesn't know why she feels terrified.
There is a resounding thunk, and when she turns to look, the bed is back in it's place, and Jane is looking at her, pale and confused and guilty. She looks like a little child, caught in wrongdoing, or a dog that has been hit.
"Oh," the doctor says, hand over her heart, "Oh, Jane...I'm-I...I am sorry. I didn't mean to yell like that." She rubs her hands together. "I tell you to do one thing and then I say another...And you barely understand me in the first place...I-I am. very sorry." Slowly, Jane lifts one finger, still looking wary, and the bowl covering Maura's head rises gently into the air.
Dr. Isles almost smiles. "Thank you. And thank you, for thinking of my protection." The doctor stifles a yawn behind her hand and looks at her watch. She has been in the Hospital for almost seventeen hours, ten of them spent with Jane. She is exhausted.
She thinks briefly of home, and of her bed. How little she's seen of it recently.
Like she's heard a command, Jane turns away from her and heads toward her own bed in the corner. Sitting down on it with a small sigh.
Dr. Isles follows her, curious, sitting down on the edge of it while Jane lies down on her back and looks up at the doctor expectantly. It's like they've had a conversation that Dr. Isles has missed.
Maura studies her. "Why did you do that?" her voice is low, almost scared. She tries to think back to the moments before Jane had moved to the bed. She'd been tired, had thought about lying down in her bed and closing her eyes.
As if she's spoken a command out loud. Jane shuts her eyes, pressing her lips together in a thin line, feigning sleep.
Something clicks inside the doctor's brain. the tugging. the half understanding. She'd thought about Jane's bed flipped over, and Jane had flipped this new one...for her.
"Are you..." She shakes her head, hardly daring to consider it. "Are you reading my thoughts?"
She looks around the room, her eyes landing on the fruit. "I want that banana," she says, pointing it out to Jane. She watches the brunette's eyes flick over to the fruit and then back, confused, eager to please.
Dr. Isles takes a breath. "I must be crazy," she mutters, and then closes her eyes, pulling up the image of a banana in her minds eye. I want that, she thinks carefully, and she pictures herself smiling.
A gentle tap on her shoulder makes her open her eyes.
A banana is hovering next to her arm. supported by nothing, and Jane sits, looking at her, all hopeful brown eyes.
...
Jane looks down at her long fingers, like she's concentrating. The doctor waits.
It is the end of their fourth night together, and Dr. Isles is getting ready to leave. They've spent most of the day looking at vocabulary flash cards.
"How is she going to do anything for you if she can't communicate?" Dr. Isles had yelled at Dr. Faulker earlier that day. She'd decided that it was best to play along with whatever he had planned, and in return for her apparent change of heart, he'd taken her off of rotation and assigned her, solely, to Jane's care. She is dreading the revelation of what he has in mind for her patient, but right now she tries to push it from her mind. And she is successful when a dark head lifts to look at her...and speaks.
"Ing-ing." It's guttural and raspy and deep and the doctor looks up, eyes wide, barely daring to hope.
"inging," it comes again, falling from Jane's lips and Maura claps her hands together, rocking back on the bed, laughing, and brown eyes look up quickly, shocked.
"you're speaking!" she cries, "I am not sure what you are saying to me, but it is a phoneme, definitely." She tries to think of something that can convey pride. How she'd felt standing at the podium at her college graduation. Valedictorian. So proud!
The tugging, gentle this time, and then Jane's eyes have come alive, they sparkle back at the doctor, intrigued and happy and full. "inging!" she says a little louder, though her voice stays deep and raspy. "inging, inging."
Maura crinkles her nose, running through vocabulary words in her head. "ing. ing." she repeats quietly, and Jane leans forward expectantly, watching her mouth. She points at Maura's lips, waiting.
"inging." she says again.
"Oh," the doctor leans back. "Oh. Singing." Her green eyes go wide as she understands. "OH! You want me to sing?"
Jane leans back against the pillow (she has yet to use a blanket at all) and closes her eyes. "ing." she whispers.
Dr. Isles takes a deep breath, her brain whirring over years and years of memories, and she opens her mouth to say that there are no melodies inside of her, but what comes out of her mouth is a song.
Someone told me love will all save us.
But how can that be, look what love gave us.
A world full of killing, and blood-spilling
That world never came.
And they say that a hero can save us.
Im not gonna stand here and wait.
I'll hold onto the wings of the eagles.
Watch as we all fly away.
It's an old song. Cheesy. She doesn't even know where it came from. But the doctor watches the brown eyes close and the chest rise and fall evenly, and the pull at the base of her skull lessens and lessens until it is gone.
She misses it immediately, although she will later pass this feeling off as a simple awareness of the absent.
The doctor yawns, exhausted herself, and thinks about going home to catch a couple hours sleep before coming back to the hospital. She moves to get off the bed, and Jane stirs.
She looks down at her, sleeping there, and on impulse, she reaches out and runs one hand through her hair, fingers coming in contact with her scalp.
Immediately, everything around her is extinguished, like she's been plunged into tar.
The lights of the room, the sound of the doctors outside, the sound of Jane's deep breathing. All are gone. Wiped clean. There is nothing but black.
She can't make a noise. Her scream gets caught in her throat. She has the sensation she is falling.
The doctor is tumbling. Dragged down, down, down.
into a nightmare that is vivid and crisp and clear and terrifying...
and definitely not her own.
Ooo barracuda. I'm not gonna lie to you. This story has a bunch of pseudo cliffhangers. I am sorry not sorry.
But I DO LOVE YOU GUYS. thank you so much for giving this a chance. Forward!
