Disclaimer: All the characters here belong to Marvel, except Kelsey and her brother, so don't sue me, because I am (still) officially broke.
Chapter 2:
Awakening from darkness TO darkness, I decided, was rather traumatizing.
Especially considering how I hoped to awake in heaven and live happily-ever after, waking up to a complete pitch blackness would 1) Cause me a great deal of panic; and 2) Make me think that I was DOWN there.
And that's exactly what happened.
I know I must have screamed. Everything else was really a blur following that, except that there was more pain in my left shoulder, where I knew that I would carry Toothy's trademarks forever more. Liquid oozing down my shoulder. Shoutings. Hands holding me down. I remember thrashing around, trying desperately to escape their administrations. The prick of something long and slender entering my arm. A numbness that began spreading quickly. But panic still reigned, and I felt the same prick once more.
Then, however, SOMETHING cut through the haze of pain and drugs that ran maniacally through my mind. Warmth. A soothing calmness, a feather-light touch upon my consciousness. A sense of peace, KNOWING that it was all okay, that I was safe. Angelic? That was the closest I could get to describing the feeling. It bade me relax, that when I woke up, it'd be there for me. A promise that I wouldn't be alone.
What could I do? Already doped up on drugs and sedated twice (TWICE? What are these people trying to do - KILL me? Oh wait...that IS a possibility...), what say did I have in this?
Nothing. Nada. Zero. Zilch.
So, with darkness calling me, I rolled my eyes and answered its call.
---
I've always wondered about this: if I had a fear of the dark, why wasn't I afraid when it came down to simple things like sleep, closing my eyes, or falling unconscious (which I seem to be doing often)?
I guess it's all in the head. I close my eyes to sleep, to darkness, a certain type of oblivion. But yet even so, I KNOW that when I awake, it'll be to light, to sunshine, to the dawning of a new day.
So it's a messy theory. But hey, I'm still alive, aren't I?
---
The next time I awoke, it was to bright, artificial lights hanging overhead (See? My theory worked). IV tubes hung off the bed I was on, the majority of them inserted into my arms, legs, and various points of my body. I glanced down the length of the bed I was lying on. I looked like a frigging pincushion.
At least I was decently clothed.
Slowly, I tried lifting myself onto my elbows, attempting to take in my surroundings, to hopefully figure out where exactly I was without doing any damage to myself OR cause any tubes/needles (Ick) to fall out (Double Ick). I hated needles. Actually, I hated anything that could be poked inside of me. Period. I wanted to rip it out of my skin. Especially the one that was hooked up to this machine that kept bleeping regularly. I think it measured heart rate or something, since the blips seemed pretty constant.
I must have been weaker than I expected myself to be, for after about a second, I gave up and semi-flopped back down onto the bed. A headache was in the midst of beginning. Nausea decided to settle in. A needle dislodged itself from my arm inexplicably, and hung in the air motionless. My surroundings were -
Wait a minute.
A NEEDLE? HANGING IN THE AIR?
Uh oh.
The machine flat-lined at the precise moment my right hand closed around the loose (and if I may add, FLOATING) needle, and before I could do anything with it, there was a light swishing sound from my left, and I immediately dropped the needle, not before giving it an offended look. I didn't ASK for it to happen...did I? I just...wanted it out of me...
"I see you're awake," A grave voice came from my left, from where the swishing noise had come from, and my head turned slowly in that direction. I guessed that it was the doctor. I was right. A big, bespectacled, blue-furred one. And guess what? He wasn't alone. There were at least 7 other people in the welcoming committee. What was I? A once-in-a-lifetime exhibition? I didn't have trouble picturing that one - the human pincushion. Sheez. Yes, sheez. A cross between Sheesh and Jeez. I do that often. So there.
I already had a sneaking suspicion as to where I was currently, upon seeing the blue-furred doctor. I mean, how often DO you hear about doctors having blue fur? My guess was right when the doctor began talking, introducing himself to be Dr. Hank McCoy, and confirming all of my suspicions in one go. Yes, I was alive (and far from dead), yes, I was still in New York (where I was born and lived...no, STILL live...uh...), yes, I was safe, among the X-Men, and yes, I was a mutant. Powers? Unconfirmed, aside from telekinesis, the culprit that yanked the needle (which was now lying on the ground on the other side of the bed) out of my arm. You know, moving objects with the mind without touching it, yada yada yada (Like I didn't already know what it meant). Something to do with being naturally shielded as well, and thus immune to telepathy and the such. He started explaining how he was sure that I had more than just TK, and that because of the laceration I had sustained when Sabretooth wounded me (more like skewered, in my opinion), it appeared to have done something which affected me in some way and was now lying quiescent.
HUH?
The moment he started using big words, an alarm sounded in my head and my brain went on an automatic lock-down. Everyone uses big words from time to time - me, for one - but this was ridiculous. It seemed like his ENTIRE vocabulary composed purely of bigger-than-big words. He even made the word "the" sound like it was important!
Panic must have shown on my face (either that, or uninterest - I sincerely hope not, but I swear, I FELT as my eyes glazed over slowly), because one of the seven other present chuckled. My gaze swept to him, and I gave a little start. It was the exact same guy who I had crashed into that fateful day when I had gotten those gorgeous (*cough cough*) scars. Brown hair that was swept back from his face. Chestnut-coloured eyes that were by far the best feature on his young, boyish face. Tall. Lanky. He was the one Toothy had called Ice-block. AND the one who had "innocently" asked Toothy if he had a falling out with me.
I had a score to settle with that one. Once I could actually move, that is. I was going to kill him, regardless of whether he was part of the people who had saved me or NOT.
"I think she lost you the moment you opened your mouth, Hank," He said, and smiled at me. I began playing whack-a-butterfly with those critters that had popped up in my chest, but they were elusive. He had a NICE smile, I admitted inwardly. And he was pretty cute.
That still wouldn't be enough to save him from my revenge, however.
Dr. McCoy glared at him, but I suspected that he was used to having that guy poke fun at him, for the corner of his mouth twitched in amusement. Apparently this wasn't the first time it had happened either, I found out later, that the doctor tended to go overboard with his words. Somehow I wasn't surprised. He WAS a doctor, after all. A good one.
He must have noticed me glancing at the rest of the group, and so began the introductions (Oh yay...names and faces to remember. Have I mentioned how I have a lousy memory?). Even though I had researched up on mutants, all I had really known was that there were these bunch of people known as the X-Men. Me and a friend of mine, a guy my age named Chase Harper, had gone to the library constantly after school each day to read up on mutants, but we never really could find much. His interest in mutants rivaled mine, and like me, one of his life-long dreams was to meet the X-Men. In fact, we had actually bet that if whoever met the X-Men first would be owed five bucks.
I can't WAIT to see the look on his face when I tell him that I had won the bet. Met them first before he did. And that he owed me money. That is, if I ever see him again.
My mind attempted to keep up with him as he sped through the introductions. Ice-block was actually Bobby Drake, codenamed Iceman (why wasn't I surprised?). The woman with a streak of white amidst her auburn hair and bright emerald green eyes was known as Rogue. The tall guy with funky reddish-black eyes and a strong frame was Remy LeBeau, aka Gambit. He was drool-worthy. VERY drool-worthy. Then there was Ororo Munroe, or Storm, with her exotic coffee-coloured skin; Jean Grey, the only red-head of the group; Scott Summers, or Cyclops, the leader with the ruby-quartz visor; and the wheelchair-bound and bald Professor Charles Xavier, founder of the X-Men. He reeked with authority.
My head was whirling with all this processed information that I hadn't realized someone had asked me a question until that Drake guy snorted.
"She's not one for paying attention, is she?" I glared at him, though the rush of heat in my face told me unnecessarily that I was flushing. Darn him. And to make things worse, THEY laughed as well.
Double DARN him.
Instead, I entertained various thoughts about murdering him, while the Professor repeated his question.
"And what's your name, child?"
CHILD? Now THAT was insulting. Nonetheless, I replied. "Kelsey," Hesitation. "Rias."
"That's not your full name, is it, Kelsey?" The Professor mused.
Give HIM a million dollars for that observation. "No. It's not."
"I see." With those two VERY ominous words, he lapsed into a silence, one which definitely unnerved me. There was something akin to an itch in the back of my head, and I irritatedly willed it away.
"So, uh," Wasn't I the mistress of continuing conversations. "What's going to happen to me now?"
"Well, once you've recovered from your minor injuries," Minor injuries? MINOR? WHAT WAS WRONG WITH MR. SUMMERS? These had been BLOODY (haha...not) LIFE-THREATENING wounds! Not that I actually told him that, of course. I valued my life a lot, thank you very much. "You will be brought back home to gather whatever you need, and then brought back here to learn how to control your mutant powers." Okay, I guess that sounded good. Seems like I don't have a choice anyways. Except - "As well, I think it's best that we informed your parents about your -,"
"Oh please no," I blurted out before I could help it, and groaned inwardly as I mentally kicked myself hard in the behind. They were all staring at me, especially Mr. Summers, who looked like he didn't take interruptions lightly. I wish I could have curled up and died right there and then, under the scrutiny of eight pairs of eyes.
"Why not, sugah?" Those mild words that came from the lady called Rogue conveyed tones of curiosity, and I shivered as I thought of the answer. My brother would most likely take out a gun and start shooting if they ever came to his door. I bet he had already disowned me - or better yet, spread the word that I was dead. And claimed insurance for my death. What a nice guy.
"Just - just because I don't have anything worth salvaging," I muttered. I had NOTHING. Hayden had burnt all of my stuff, except the several belongings I had in my backpack which I...HAD... been...carrying..."Where's my stuff?" Panic decided to pay homage to me again. At this rate, I was eventually going to die of heart failure from the constant panic attacks I was having. Next year.
The red-head standing beside Mr. Interrupted-Summers (who, incidentally, had his hand in hers...married? Engaged? Something like that?) went to the end of the room (after letting go of him reluctantly, I noticed...I hope I never end up like that), and brought my beloved (torn, dirty, and ragged) bag to me, placing it beside my left hand. Feeling decisively relieved, the panic I had seeped away slowly, as my fingers closed tightly around the strap.
"That's all I need," I announced. "And about telling the rest of my family," I hesitated slightly. "Don't bother. I don't have a family." Not anymore, I silently added. As far as I was concerned, it was better off if Hayden suspected me dead. I didn't need him to complicate more things in my life.
To my surprise, they seemed to accept this (if somewhat suspiciously), and after a few more questions, like did I know I was a mutant (Why do you think I was on the run from Toothy? Of course, they wouldn't know he was sic on me - they probably thought I was merely in the wrong place at the wrong time), how old I was (halfway to thirty, plus one), gender (AS IF they couldn't tell by themselves), date-of-birth (yesteday, seeing as I was out for one FULL day, sixteen years ago)...things like that.
When they finally did take their leave, only Mr. Dr. McCoy remained behind to check on me. By this time, the nausea had long since receded, but the headache had developed, and was tripling in size and action (I sounded like a darn advertisement). Come on, PLEASE bring on the sedatives before I get a migraine. Give me a double dose. A triple dose. Kill me. SOMETHING. And a painkiller would be nice too. Toothy's marks were starting to really hurt now.
Thankfully, the blur-furred doctor seemed to have sensed my mental whinings and gave me both Tylenol AND a sedative (God bless his soul). I was drifting off to happy-sleepy-land when I heard him exclaim.
"Oh my stars and garters!" He started, and I squinched an eye open...to see him staring at the machine that HAD been hooked up to me and the flat line that was on the screen.
"Right," I sleepily murmured. "That fell out. Sorry to disappoint you, but I'm still alive."
Before I fell asleep, I swear I saw the corners of his mouth turn up.
"You're just like Drake," I also heard him mumble.
...
DRAKE?
You mean, as in BOBBY Drake, right?
The guy I was GOING to slaughter slowly?
I sincerely hope that man - er, doctor - was kidding.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Thanks to ExternalTwin for the review!
Chapter 2:
Awakening from darkness TO darkness, I decided, was rather traumatizing.
Especially considering how I hoped to awake in heaven and live happily-ever after, waking up to a complete pitch blackness would 1) Cause me a great deal of panic; and 2) Make me think that I was DOWN there.
And that's exactly what happened.
I know I must have screamed. Everything else was really a blur following that, except that there was more pain in my left shoulder, where I knew that I would carry Toothy's trademarks forever more. Liquid oozing down my shoulder. Shoutings. Hands holding me down. I remember thrashing around, trying desperately to escape their administrations. The prick of something long and slender entering my arm. A numbness that began spreading quickly. But panic still reigned, and I felt the same prick once more.
Then, however, SOMETHING cut through the haze of pain and drugs that ran maniacally through my mind. Warmth. A soothing calmness, a feather-light touch upon my consciousness. A sense of peace, KNOWING that it was all okay, that I was safe. Angelic? That was the closest I could get to describing the feeling. It bade me relax, that when I woke up, it'd be there for me. A promise that I wouldn't be alone.
What could I do? Already doped up on drugs and sedated twice (TWICE? What are these people trying to do - KILL me? Oh wait...that IS a possibility...), what say did I have in this?
Nothing. Nada. Zero. Zilch.
So, with darkness calling me, I rolled my eyes and answered its call.
---
I've always wondered about this: if I had a fear of the dark, why wasn't I afraid when it came down to simple things like sleep, closing my eyes, or falling unconscious (which I seem to be doing often)?
I guess it's all in the head. I close my eyes to sleep, to darkness, a certain type of oblivion. But yet even so, I KNOW that when I awake, it'll be to light, to sunshine, to the dawning of a new day.
So it's a messy theory. But hey, I'm still alive, aren't I?
---
The next time I awoke, it was to bright, artificial lights hanging overhead (See? My theory worked). IV tubes hung off the bed I was on, the majority of them inserted into my arms, legs, and various points of my body. I glanced down the length of the bed I was lying on. I looked like a frigging pincushion.
At least I was decently clothed.
Slowly, I tried lifting myself onto my elbows, attempting to take in my surroundings, to hopefully figure out where exactly I was without doing any damage to myself OR cause any tubes/needles (Ick) to fall out (Double Ick). I hated needles. Actually, I hated anything that could be poked inside of me. Period. I wanted to rip it out of my skin. Especially the one that was hooked up to this machine that kept bleeping regularly. I think it measured heart rate or something, since the blips seemed pretty constant.
I must have been weaker than I expected myself to be, for after about a second, I gave up and semi-flopped back down onto the bed. A headache was in the midst of beginning. Nausea decided to settle in. A needle dislodged itself from my arm inexplicably, and hung in the air motionless. My surroundings were -
Wait a minute.
A NEEDLE? HANGING IN THE AIR?
Uh oh.
The machine flat-lined at the precise moment my right hand closed around the loose (and if I may add, FLOATING) needle, and before I could do anything with it, there was a light swishing sound from my left, and I immediately dropped the needle, not before giving it an offended look. I didn't ASK for it to happen...did I? I just...wanted it out of me...
"I see you're awake," A grave voice came from my left, from where the swishing noise had come from, and my head turned slowly in that direction. I guessed that it was the doctor. I was right. A big, bespectacled, blue-furred one. And guess what? He wasn't alone. There were at least 7 other people in the welcoming committee. What was I? A once-in-a-lifetime exhibition? I didn't have trouble picturing that one - the human pincushion. Sheez. Yes, sheez. A cross between Sheesh and Jeez. I do that often. So there.
I already had a sneaking suspicion as to where I was currently, upon seeing the blue-furred doctor. I mean, how often DO you hear about doctors having blue fur? My guess was right when the doctor began talking, introducing himself to be Dr. Hank McCoy, and confirming all of my suspicions in one go. Yes, I was alive (and far from dead), yes, I was still in New York (where I was born and lived...no, STILL live...uh...), yes, I was safe, among the X-Men, and yes, I was a mutant. Powers? Unconfirmed, aside from telekinesis, the culprit that yanked the needle (which was now lying on the ground on the other side of the bed) out of my arm. You know, moving objects with the mind without touching it, yada yada yada (Like I didn't already know what it meant). Something to do with being naturally shielded as well, and thus immune to telepathy and the such. He started explaining how he was sure that I had more than just TK, and that because of the laceration I had sustained when Sabretooth wounded me (more like skewered, in my opinion), it appeared to have done something which affected me in some way and was now lying quiescent.
HUH?
The moment he started using big words, an alarm sounded in my head and my brain went on an automatic lock-down. Everyone uses big words from time to time - me, for one - but this was ridiculous. It seemed like his ENTIRE vocabulary composed purely of bigger-than-big words. He even made the word "the" sound like it was important!
Panic must have shown on my face (either that, or uninterest - I sincerely hope not, but I swear, I FELT as my eyes glazed over slowly), because one of the seven other present chuckled. My gaze swept to him, and I gave a little start. It was the exact same guy who I had crashed into that fateful day when I had gotten those gorgeous (*cough cough*) scars. Brown hair that was swept back from his face. Chestnut-coloured eyes that were by far the best feature on his young, boyish face. Tall. Lanky. He was the one Toothy had called Ice-block. AND the one who had "innocently" asked Toothy if he had a falling out with me.
I had a score to settle with that one. Once I could actually move, that is. I was going to kill him, regardless of whether he was part of the people who had saved me or NOT.
"I think she lost you the moment you opened your mouth, Hank," He said, and smiled at me. I began playing whack-a-butterfly with those critters that had popped up in my chest, but they were elusive. He had a NICE smile, I admitted inwardly. And he was pretty cute.
That still wouldn't be enough to save him from my revenge, however.
Dr. McCoy glared at him, but I suspected that he was used to having that guy poke fun at him, for the corner of his mouth twitched in amusement. Apparently this wasn't the first time it had happened either, I found out later, that the doctor tended to go overboard with his words. Somehow I wasn't surprised. He WAS a doctor, after all. A good one.
He must have noticed me glancing at the rest of the group, and so began the introductions (Oh yay...names and faces to remember. Have I mentioned how I have a lousy memory?). Even though I had researched up on mutants, all I had really known was that there were these bunch of people known as the X-Men. Me and a friend of mine, a guy my age named Chase Harper, had gone to the library constantly after school each day to read up on mutants, but we never really could find much. His interest in mutants rivaled mine, and like me, one of his life-long dreams was to meet the X-Men. In fact, we had actually bet that if whoever met the X-Men first would be owed five bucks.
I can't WAIT to see the look on his face when I tell him that I had won the bet. Met them first before he did. And that he owed me money. That is, if I ever see him again.
My mind attempted to keep up with him as he sped through the introductions. Ice-block was actually Bobby Drake, codenamed Iceman (why wasn't I surprised?). The woman with a streak of white amidst her auburn hair and bright emerald green eyes was known as Rogue. The tall guy with funky reddish-black eyes and a strong frame was Remy LeBeau, aka Gambit. He was drool-worthy. VERY drool-worthy. Then there was Ororo Munroe, or Storm, with her exotic coffee-coloured skin; Jean Grey, the only red-head of the group; Scott Summers, or Cyclops, the leader with the ruby-quartz visor; and the wheelchair-bound and bald Professor Charles Xavier, founder of the X-Men. He reeked with authority.
My head was whirling with all this processed information that I hadn't realized someone had asked me a question until that Drake guy snorted.
"She's not one for paying attention, is she?" I glared at him, though the rush of heat in my face told me unnecessarily that I was flushing. Darn him. And to make things worse, THEY laughed as well.
Double DARN him.
Instead, I entertained various thoughts about murdering him, while the Professor repeated his question.
"And what's your name, child?"
CHILD? Now THAT was insulting. Nonetheless, I replied. "Kelsey," Hesitation. "Rias."
"That's not your full name, is it, Kelsey?" The Professor mused.
Give HIM a million dollars for that observation. "No. It's not."
"I see." With those two VERY ominous words, he lapsed into a silence, one which definitely unnerved me. There was something akin to an itch in the back of my head, and I irritatedly willed it away.
"So, uh," Wasn't I the mistress of continuing conversations. "What's going to happen to me now?"
"Well, once you've recovered from your minor injuries," Minor injuries? MINOR? WHAT WAS WRONG WITH MR. SUMMERS? These had been BLOODY (haha...not) LIFE-THREATENING wounds! Not that I actually told him that, of course. I valued my life a lot, thank you very much. "You will be brought back home to gather whatever you need, and then brought back here to learn how to control your mutant powers." Okay, I guess that sounded good. Seems like I don't have a choice anyways. Except - "As well, I think it's best that we informed your parents about your -,"
"Oh please no," I blurted out before I could help it, and groaned inwardly as I mentally kicked myself hard in the behind. They were all staring at me, especially Mr. Summers, who looked like he didn't take interruptions lightly. I wish I could have curled up and died right there and then, under the scrutiny of eight pairs of eyes.
"Why not, sugah?" Those mild words that came from the lady called Rogue conveyed tones of curiosity, and I shivered as I thought of the answer. My brother would most likely take out a gun and start shooting if they ever came to his door. I bet he had already disowned me - or better yet, spread the word that I was dead. And claimed insurance for my death. What a nice guy.
"Just - just because I don't have anything worth salvaging," I muttered. I had NOTHING. Hayden had burnt all of my stuff, except the several belongings I had in my backpack which I...HAD... been...carrying..."Where's my stuff?" Panic decided to pay homage to me again. At this rate, I was eventually going to die of heart failure from the constant panic attacks I was having. Next year.
The red-head standing beside Mr. Interrupted-Summers (who, incidentally, had his hand in hers...married? Engaged? Something like that?) went to the end of the room (after letting go of him reluctantly, I noticed...I hope I never end up like that), and brought my beloved (torn, dirty, and ragged) bag to me, placing it beside my left hand. Feeling decisively relieved, the panic I had seeped away slowly, as my fingers closed tightly around the strap.
"That's all I need," I announced. "And about telling the rest of my family," I hesitated slightly. "Don't bother. I don't have a family." Not anymore, I silently added. As far as I was concerned, it was better off if Hayden suspected me dead. I didn't need him to complicate more things in my life.
To my surprise, they seemed to accept this (if somewhat suspiciously), and after a few more questions, like did I know I was a mutant (Why do you think I was on the run from Toothy? Of course, they wouldn't know he was sic on me - they probably thought I was merely in the wrong place at the wrong time), how old I was (halfway to thirty, plus one), gender (AS IF they couldn't tell by themselves), date-of-birth (yesteday, seeing as I was out for one FULL day, sixteen years ago)...things like that.
When they finally did take their leave, only Mr. Dr. McCoy remained behind to check on me. By this time, the nausea had long since receded, but the headache had developed, and was tripling in size and action (I sounded like a darn advertisement). Come on, PLEASE bring on the sedatives before I get a migraine. Give me a double dose. A triple dose. Kill me. SOMETHING. And a painkiller would be nice too. Toothy's marks were starting to really hurt now.
Thankfully, the blur-furred doctor seemed to have sensed my mental whinings and gave me both Tylenol AND a sedative (God bless his soul). I was drifting off to happy-sleepy-land when I heard him exclaim.
"Oh my stars and garters!" He started, and I squinched an eye open...to see him staring at the machine that HAD been hooked up to me and the flat line that was on the screen.
"Right," I sleepily murmured. "That fell out. Sorry to disappoint you, but I'm still alive."
Before I fell asleep, I swear I saw the corners of his mouth turn up.
"You're just like Drake," I also heard him mumble.
...
DRAKE?
You mean, as in BOBBY Drake, right?
The guy I was GOING to slaughter slowly?
I sincerely hope that man - er, doctor - was kidding.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Thanks to ExternalTwin for the review!