Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. Original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.
A/N Hey, guys, sorry this is so late, have been rather preoccupied with some thing, anyway, I'd appreciate it if the small number of readers I have would review, your feedback would really help, thanks..
Normal's The Watchword. Or Is It?
The ink flowed seamlessly across paper, from the tip of her pen onto the notebook, the dark image in black emerged behind the intricate lines, Brooke was hardly listening to what Storm was talking about, and by the sound of it, no one else was either, there was a slight babble that went on, a small buzz of conversation, except there was no sound, everybody's eyes were fixated on her as she spoke, though none was actually listening.
"Remind me again why we've to listen to wind patterns?" came a voice from beside her, "Cause Storm's teaching it?" she offered to the dark blonde headed boy next to her.
"What?" Bobby asked turning to look at her.
"You said 'Remind again why we've to listen to wind patterns?' right?" she asked, tearing her eyes away from the book.
"Did I say that out loud?" he pondered.
"Well, I heard it, so.. Yeah, I guess you did," she nodded.
"Huh,"
"Maybe you were too busy writing those little notes to your girlfriend to notice," she stated with a cheeky smile.
"Shut up," he said with a half smile, embarrassed as he folded another small leaf of paper passing it to the brunette with a white streak in her hair again
"Oh, and she's talking about solar wind by the way," Brooke added and he chuckled slightly, as she went back to doodling on her notebook.
"Gosh, why won't she stop already?"
Her head snapped up as the voices grew louder, looking around to find that no one was actually talking but the voices insisted as she shook her head trying to clear the voices within her mind. 'Damn you Telepathy,' she inwardly cursed.
"Hmm.. Pork Roast.. Or sloppy Joe?"
"These gusts of solar wind, caused by solar flares.." Storm continued saying while scribbling something onto the black board.
"…solar flares? What happened to charged subatomic particles…?"
"1.50.. Great, last time I checked it was 1.47.."
"Oh, maybe I'll just go with pasta today,"
"..magnetic fields and charged particles.." the white haired woman's voice fought to be heard by Brooke's mind as the other voices continued it's constant muttering which was phasing in and out louder and louder each time it phased in that her head was starting to hurt.
"1.51…. 1.51… 1.52…! Gosh finally!"
"Huh.. That's some kinda cool, so basical.."
"Why do we need to know this anyway, this is so ridiculous,"
"Now these interferences..."
Dropping her pen, she clutched her head with one hand with her eyes closed and her pen rolled of the table falling onto the floor with a soft clack.
"What's gotten into.."
"…maybe the roast?"
"If I could just…"
"Hey Brooke, you okay?" came a familiar concerned voice from next to her.
"..this is stupid.."
"…maybe I sho…" Brooke squeezed her eyes tight and gripped her head. She felt like her head was about to explode.
"...the Sun…"
"Damn it! Enough already!" she cried as her head pounded and throbbed so hard that she could almost hear all her blood gushing in and out of her brain at a phenomenal rate. All heads turned to her as her voice pierced through the lesson and Storm stopped in mid-sentence, one hand on a book, the other a chalk on the board, her head turned to look at her too.
And then there was silence. Pin prick silence. The kind of silence that if someone literally dropped a pin you would accurately hear it strike the ground. No voices, no one spoke, nothing. Finally. That coveted silence.
"Uhm.." she started saying uncertainly, "Headache," she explained somewhat unconvincingly as everyone stared at the blonde with a streak of purple in her hair, "I'm gonna go.. get some aspirin. Sorry," she said shakily, standing up collecting her things before scurrying out of the room as quickly as she could.
She hurriedly made her way to the sick wing, far east, out back of the building. Once there, Brooke rummaged through one the limited supply of medication to find no aspirin or painkillers whatsoever waiting for her.
'The sublevel basement,' she thought remembering waking up in the white room on a metal slab, there were shelves, and there was definitely medication. Remembering the route well, she made her way down and groped around in the shelves for aspirin to find none there. Moving through bottles and bottles of medication, Brooke just couldn't find the only thing she needed and her head felt like it was going to explode at that point when she gave up cried "Damn it!" tossing the bottle in her hand back onto the shelf and several other bottles from another shelf jumped out and crashed onto the floor, making her jump and turn around to see the broken bottles laying on the floor with the little pills scattered around.
She bent over to scoop it up, learning that they were bottles of, nothing other that aspirin, super-strength. She picked 2 up and popped them into her mouth. Reaching up for her back pack for her bottle of water, receiving another shock.
"Storm told me about your little outburst in class," said the man who resembled nothing of Charles Xavier but sounded in every sense like him.
Sipping the water and swallowing the pills, she replied, "It's just.. My.. uhm.. Telepathy, that's what you call it right? It's just.. It's just a little off, and I'm hearing everyone and it won't go away, and I can't control it," she gave a sigh, "And my head just.. hurts.. And the voices just won't leave me alone and.." she continued letting her sentence trail off before sitting herself down.
It was a week after she initially wandered into Xavier High and passed out. That was just days, 2 days to be exact before the Alcatraz war, and things have settled back nicely for Xavier Institute for gifted youngsters, especially since the return of Professor Xavier whom he had later explained to have transferred his own consciousness to a comatose patient of his friend's.
"Control cannot be accomplished over night, Brooklyn, we've been through this, it takes hard work, the mind is a complex organ," he explained calmly as he always did.
"It's just so…. Much. And I can't control it, which is frustrating because.." she began but was stopped by the professor.
"Stop,"
"I know, and I don't want to be complaining but.." the professor cut her off.
"No, we have a visitor," he explained, turning around.
"What?" she asked, following him out of the treatment room, entering the elevator that headed to the ground level of the building.
"We have a visitor,"
"Okay," she said uncertainly, with the short time she had spent there, she had learnt that the professor had an inclination for being cryptic at times.
The elevator reached its destination and they walked silently down the hallway, headed toward the front door, and reaching just in time to see a figure burst through it, pushing it open weakly, holding on to it for support as though his feet were incapable of taking all of his weight.
Brooke stared at the familiar looking blonde haired boy who had entered the place. His clothes were scuffed and torn at places, and absolutely filthy, his shoes looked completely depleted and ready to retire forever and his used to be honey hued blonde hair looked soiled and mangled, as though they weren't combed or washed for ages.
"John.?" came a voice from behind and she turned around to see that it was Strom. She walked out of the capacious living area, with a book in her had and her eyes wide with astonishment. Brooke turned around just in time to see him fall forward, passing out and moved forward just in time to grasp his shoulders, keeping him form hitting the floor.
Strom rushed forward as well and checked his pulse as Brooke stood there in shock trying to take in what had just happened as she held the unconscious boy in her arms, staring incredulously at his passed out form.
A voice told her to do something, but it didn't register the first time.
"Brooklyn," the voice probed and she snapped out of her daze, "Do you know him?" the professor asked.
"No.. uhm.. Treatment room, right? Got it," she said and she along with Storm carried the unconscious young lad to the sublevel basement.