*Beep....beep....beep*

Locke went to hit his alarm clock's snooze button, which was the first odd thing. He had not used the snooze button, not religiously, for years. Mornings usually had a certain level of chaos, and an extra ten minutes of sleep only made things more complicated, no matter how wonderful those ten minutes might be. The Californian groaned at the repetitive beep. The sucky part of his alarm clock was that it was just the right pitch to break through any Beatles song that his laptop. Speaking of which shouldn't it be playing still? Did Kendra shut it down again while he was sleeping? It would not be the first time that had happened. At one point Locke tried to tell her not to, but that was easily one of the most uncomfortable conversations he had ever had with her, which is sad because it probably was the closest he would ever get to sharing his feelings on a topic with her. By Now the beeping had woken him up enough that he was aware his arm had not actually moved. Now that's weird Locke thought. He tried moving his other arm, and was able to do so without any problems. The right arm on the other hand felt too heavy, and slightly disconnected to actually do anything. A weight on his chest kept him from rolling over.

*Beep...beep...beep*

And that was not the normal sound his alarm made. For one thing it was less grating and more high pitched. More of a blip than a beep really. A steady beat too. Not too fast, but not too slow. Regular, consistent, predictable. The mind fog of sleep was closing in around Locke, and he began to doze again. The sheets felt cool and crisp around him, and although he had not opened his eyes, Locke knew the room was dark enough that he could sleep a little longer. Every so often he'd hear a soft ksch noise, like air blowing. It was too much of a struggle to wake up so Locke stopped fighting sleep and gave in.


Later on he started waking again. The beep, or blip noise was still going on, and still there was no Beatles. Something was pricking at his right arm, a small prick, not too painful, but his arm from shoulder to wrist not only felt heavy, but tense as well. Almost constricted. His eyes felt too tired to open, and he felt so thin that he did not bother to open them up. The room was as dark as it had been when he fell back asleep, but that had to have been hours ago. No sounds from Dad and Kendra's room. Shouldn't they be up by now?. Once again Locke tried to roll over and found his chest weighted down. Again, weird, because he could not feel anything actually pushing on him. Come to think of it he couldn't feel the texture of his quilt either. I need to wake up.[/color] he thought, and tried to kick the covers down, since clearly his right arm was bound up too tightly in something to throw his blankets off of him. More weirdness. His leg was too heavy to lift.

Something was definitely wrong here. As he drew closer and closer to consciousness Locke became more aware of the failings of his own body. Something was pinching his pointer finger and if he moved it, another something hit the back of his hand. He could not breath as deeply. There was pressure on his eyelids. The blankest had not warmed up at all. Every thing about him was not wanting to work the way that it should. The only noises were the air thing and that blip, which was picking up speed. "Dehh.. Daa.." he struggled to get his tongue and mouth to form one word he said on a daily basis, to call for the one person that was there all his life. It was a simple word, something even a baby could say, and yet he could not get it out of his mouth.

"Paging Dr. Mayers, Dr. Mayers to room 213."

Wake up Locke, wake up! You're in the hospital again. Wake up, he commanded himself. His free arm, the one that he could move easier went up to his face, feeling bandages that were there, but not the texture. Frantically he started tearing at them.


And Locke opened his eyes, bolting upright into a sitting position in a bed he did not remember, gasping for air. Your Mother Should Know played softly on his laptop and a pale blue glow illuminated the room. His hands were at his face, still trying to pull of bandages that had not been there. Locke made a noise of frustration before letting them slide up and through his tangled hair. To his left was the usual darkness, something he had gotten too familiar with. His right eye just caught the curve of his nose and a bit of the cheek. A map of the United States cycled through a light show, pinpricks of color illuminating small portions of the map, rippling out and transitioning into a new central location. A screensaver of recorded earthquakes, showing the epicenter and how far the shockwaves traveled. Locke turned to watch the only familiar thing in the room, his backpack hidden someplace by shadows. That girl, Henrietta had brought him here. He shivered, realizing that he had sweated through his shirt. The room was mostly dark, no light coming from the window. A quick tap on the laptop's mousepad showed that the time was now three in the morning, Eastern Standard Time. It would be midnight back home, and he'd up anyways.

The bed had been warm, much more then he could have asked considering a few hours ago he was thinking of following a homeless guy to a shelter, and he half hated to leave it. That had been too close a call, and the darkness at night had almost caught him, hardly better here in New York than in California. Was that a nightmare he had just had, or a really vivid memory? Back then he had been too jacked up on pain medication to remember anything other then the world demolishing news. He was at least half-blind, there was a chance of becoming totally blind, and the worst of all, Hugo Tori had "not made it". Why did he have to remember these little details years later, like the doctor being paged to a different room. "The first night is always the toughest," he reassured himself. Science had never been his strong point, and if an experiment seemed full-proof, somehow, some way Locke would find a way to screw it up. This one, this experiment he was not going to let fail.

There was nothing much that he could do now that he was awake, except maybe walk a bit until he got tired again, or at least his heart went back to a normal pace. Locke grabbed his jacket and zipped it up, both hiding evidence of his night terror and preserving some body heat. In the dark and in a new environment Locke was unsure of where he was going, and relied heavily upon what the earth was telling him was nearby, earth in this case being the floor. Perhaps it was just dumb luck but the Californian found himself in the kitchen. After some fumbling he found a light switch and hobbled to the sink. Locke turned the water on, cupped his hands, and splashed his face.

((OOC: I'm setting this post-Romania. All that requires is to be past New Years Day. I hope that's okay for you <3))

The weekend. They had planned to visit the Mansion every weekend before their multi-month trek across Europe. That was, of course, before the bombings and the orphanages and the meetings with old friends they'd never met before. So many strange and horrible things had transpired that it seemed all normal things should have ended. Everything should have been chaos.

The mansion at night was as good as the mansion by day for Ghost. She walked and floated through these halls a hundred thousand times. She'd navigated them by feel as often as sight. She'd slept in every public room and hallway as often as she'd slept in her bed. Somehow it was weird to see it whole. Shouldn't this peace have been destroyed too? Shouldn't the terror have touched every part of her life?

She would get back to normal... somehow.

Ghost sat curled into the smallest ball that she could manage despite the fact that the lumpy couch was big enough to fit four. She'd left Sebastian asleep upstairs. He needed the sleep and her tossing and turning wasn't helping him any. He had a clinic to open.

There wasn't anything really wrong with her... well, beyond the fact that she wasn't entirely opaque or solid. But she knew that she would start to fade some day.

A light flicked on somewhere behind her in the kitchen area. At least she was still photosensitive. She would miss colors when they gone.

Geez Louise, she had to snap out of it.

At the sound of water, Ghost shifted in her seat to see the late night (early morning?) water needer. Honey eyes and tufted white hair poked suspiciously over the back of the couch. Surprise, surprise. It was someone she didn't know. She could never keep up with all the transient residents even when she actually lived here. How was she supposed to know them all now when she only stayed in on weekends?

She cleared her throat in an attempt to not scare the pants off of the dark-haired kid. "You new in town?" The tiny voice tickled from somewhere vaguely behind his left ear. She didn't want to wake the whole Mansion just to say hello.

There are very few reasons why someone would be in the kitchen at this unreasonable hour, Locke could only think of two. Either you were worrying over money, or you were hungry. The teenage boy factor would suggest that Locke was doing a late night fridge raid. His stomach would agree with that, but his mind and the rest of his body was too confused to even consider it. On the one hand he was awake, fully awake, but on the other right now he would be going to bed. He had not eaten since he was on the train, but with the lack of full sleep and new surroundings he did not want to eat. So it was more of the finance worry that would place him in the kitchen, even if he did not have to pay taxes quite yet. Such late night worries should be handled with some sort of hot drink, tea or milk preferably, but Locke did not know where anything in the kitchen was and again, there was no urge to put anything into his stomach. It felt too uneasy after that nightmare or vivid memory to do anything. Tomorrow, or rather later today, he was bound to feel the effects of major lack of sleep. Such a pity that the most comfortable place he had to lay his head down had been the one place he had gotten the least sleep. Even on the train he got more then a couple of hours. Right now he should be a total wreck, not even functioning enough to know to shut the sink off. That was the downside of adrenaline. It never turned off when you want it to.

So far the new year was not much better then any of the last five.. Why should it be? People always look towards New Years as if the ball that dropped actually shined with hope for the coming year. In reality it was just the need to buy a new calendar. What made things better was what you did in it. Given that he had gotten out of the silence and enclosing darkness in San Francisco, Locke did not feel that all that big of a change had happened. Truth be told he was a little shell-shocked at his behavior. Again he had to ask what the hell he was thinking in coming here, and what’s more, had he made a mistake in choosing to stay. Locke could not process the logic that had lead him here, so for now he was just going to ignore it, or label it as a vacation. With all that he did back home he surely deserved one. Of course he would have to let Kendra know where he was, if for no other reason then for making sure she did not have the cops looking for him. Locke pulled his t-shirt up to dry his face and pondered over what he would email her, and yes, he was going to send an email rather then call. Kendra because Locke could not bring himself to call her dear, even in an email. What to say next? Sorry I ditched you? As much as he did not care for her that felt like too much of a lie. Call off the man-hunt? Maybe, though he did not use such cheekiness with her.

While he was trying to decide the best way to explain the situation to someone he could never explain his feelings to, someone tried sneaking up on him. The operative word being try. As of late Locke had been hard to surprise by approaching. To his knowledge his mutation only helped fill in the blanks for him. He had no clue that someday that earth sense of his was going to help him "see" where his creatures were headed and what was by them. Not that he was going to complain about what it did. Keeping up with two five year olds can be hard enough, but when you not only can’t see behind you, but on one side of your body what was hard before becomes near impossible. So when Ghost cleared her throat, he was not so much frightened, more of surprised. Somehow he didn’t think anyone would be awake. He had not noticed her on the couch, because as far as his earth sense was concerned, Ghost had been a part of the furniture.

The second she spoke the Californian’s head snapped downwards and he brushed his dampened hair into place, meaning of course over his left eye. Like a safety blanket, the curtain of hair comforted him. With his dead eye hidden away he looked normalish. The tips of his ears began to blush, and his only thought was that his friend should have been the one to come up here. He liked talking to girls. ”Uh.. new to the state…”

"Did you run away?" Again the voice was small and originated from somewhere close by his head. It was habit to use her gift now even in the smallest ways. A welcome change to the years of squashing that were now gone. Maybe revisited a bit in the camps, but things were normal again. Safe again.

Under normal circumstances Ghost had a bit more tact or decorum about her. With the knowledge that she was, indeed, fading away into nothingness sooner than any of the predicted, there were some things that needed to take less time. Not that she should have been cutting corners when getting to know someone new. But he had that look about him.

He looked like... well, the phrase "train wreck" came to mind, paranoid also. Not that people weren't often unnerved around her. She might be nice, but there was something very otherworldly about Ghost. Starting with her complexion and overall lack of coloring and ending with her gangly proportions and the way she moved. More floating than walking. More dancing than running.

At least he hadn't found her entirely in her incorporeal state. An enemy once had told her she was the scariest thing he had seen since one of the big, red brothers. The scruff of her neck had been stuck in a vent at the time giving the illusion that she was the spirit of a hanged girl. As if people ever died of hanging in the Mansion. They were far more likely to get murdered or buried alive...

So much for staying positive.

Ghost stood, always light on her feet. "Need help finding something?" Slowly she was letting go of the power and her voice was shifting back to its point of origin. He was young. And maybe not afraid, but he wasn't at ease. Maybe it was a teenage thing, that hair trick. "I'm Gh-- I'm Maya. Maya Csendes. My husband is upstairs. I'm a X-man and I used to live here all the time so I know where they hide the good stuff." The good stuff being the cups, tea, cookies, and most food stuffs they didn't want the primary schoolers to get their mitts ons.

Did you run away? Just a few hours ago Locke had both been asked, and asked that question. That fact made him wonder just how many mutants felt compelled to run away, and how many more had been sent off. Being a mutant now seemed to be the equivalent of being an unwed teen mother in the 50's. "Sort of. I just needed some space," Locke answered, ”You ever feel like something big was trying to close in on you?” How exactly was everyone able to tell he wasn’t from around here? Was it the tan he had in a city of winter paled people? He had not spoken all that much, though it was in leaps and bounds more then he had back home. Something positive stirred inside Locke, brought upon by himself, not by his little siblings. Maybe it was that this place did not hold anything negative, maybe it was that nobody here was trying to tiptoe around a subject, but his voice definitely was more willing to be used.

Locke plodded his way around the counter, pulling the hood of his jacket up onto his head and tucking his hands into his armpits. He should have grabbed a pair of socks or at least his sneakers before wandering about the building. The curse of the non-carpeted floor causes all toes to feel like they had been coated with ice. Partially to get off the cold linoleum and partially to get a better view of the person who was talking to him, Locke edged himself into the room. For some reason he felt compelled to apologize, as if he had woken her up, even if she had been in there before he stumbled his way into the kitchen. There were times when he had caught his step-mother sleeping on the couch. When he was first released from the hospital he slept in the living room, his busted up leg making the climb upstairs too difficult. "Sorry if I disturbed you. I'm Locke," it was easier to talk to someone who claimed that they were married then a teenager dancing down the street. Locke half expected a comment about his name, usually people thinking he was named after the philosopher, when the truth was he was named for a video game character. Yes, his father was that much of a geek. "Thanks for the offer, but I don't think I could stomach anything right now. It's weird, by all rights I should be sleeping like a log. But it's just about the time I usually go to sleep so..."

The teen kept his distance, pulling more and more into himself to both keep warm and as a defense mechanism. Not that he felt any malice from or towards Maya. In general Locke was a private person, and he wanted neither Maya or the darkness getting close to him then. Maybe he should change up the song cycle on his laptop. If it got to be too much of a pattern then he'd get use to it and the silence would invite that crushing dark into him.

Another runaway. Maybe it was a phase all kids had. There was something developmentally healthy about stepping out from the shadow of your parental unit. She'd read it in a magazine or something. So it had to be true.

”You ever feel like something big was trying to close in on you?”[/color]

Yes. Yes she did. And her face frowned enough that there was no point in ever attempting to deny it. "Like impending doom? Heh. Yeah. definitely." Maya ran her hands through her hair and hugged herself. Approximately 50% of her sleepless nights could be attributed to Impending Doom, the other half would have to be attributed to Doom Nearly Escaped.

There really was no reason to go down that road right now. Compulsively her hand went through her hair again.

And the boy, Locke, was so polite that a little moisture did spring unbidden to her eyes. Why weren't people nice in the world anymore? Why were they all angry and hateful and why did they all do hurtful things to each other?

Maya coughed to loosen her tightening throat. "You're no bother. A relief, actually. You're much more pleasant company than... no one. Well, it's not unusual to see someone else up, but tonight was really quiet and peaceful and it was sort of getting on my nerves..." And she was now babbling.

Her hands didn't know what to do either. In her loose pajama pants no smoothing was necessary, the Locke boy hadn't needed anything so she didn't need to make pancakes or serve juice or.. anything. So after a moment of severe awkwardness Maya sat again and firmly folded her hands together in her lap.

"So where are you from, Mister Locke?" Small talk was nice, right? Her legs pulled up in front of her and those folded hands looped around her knees. She had enough gangly arm left over that her elbows drooped almost all the way back down to the couch cushion.

"Yeah, sort of like impending doom," Locke mumbled"It's way to quiet here.". Obviously Mrs. Csendes knew sort of what he faced at night once it got dark and quiet. She also had the same sort of restlessness that he was suffering from. Locke was willing to bet that all Mrs. Csendes would like right about then was the ability to go back to sleep. One of the worst feelings to have was that you had to do something when all you wanted was sleep. It was enough to drive somebody insane. As if impending doom was not troubling enough, why not toss in insomnia for kicks and giggles. For the first time in a long time Locke felt as if there was someone who actually got it. If Mrs. Csendes really did get it, Locke was not going to pester her with questions about why she was awake. He wouldn't want it. Then again Locke knew that it wasn't good to keep things like this to himself. That's what every therapist had said to him for years now. Whether or not the lady who was curled up on the couch had what could be called "healthy emotional responses" was an unknown factor, but she had not offered him anything other then the possibility of food, which he was going to take as a sign that her business was to stay that way.

Where are you from? Yet another inevitable question, one that he was going to have to get use to. This was a pretty big building, big enough that he was going to get lost for a few weeks, and if it was occupied, then there would be more people to run into, eventually, and a portion would probably ask him the same three questions. Did you run away? Where are you from? What do you do? It had not even happened yet and he was already starting to get weary of it. "San Francisco." Locke tilted his head, trying to get a look at Mrs. Csendes. The only light was that coming from the kitchen, but she was pale enough to almost glow. "I'll save you some time Mrs. Csendes. I do stuff with dirt." He stared at his feet, a little surprised to see that his pajama pants weren't sporting a layer of dirt. Usually it was as much a part of his wardrobe as underpants. It was also a little strange to be addressed as Mister Locke. Teachers usually either said Locke, or if they were being formal Mr. Tori. This was an interesting combination of the two that left him feeling a little unbalanced.

Though that unbalanced feeling might be because he was talking to someone who did not have their feet on a solid surface. Not that it was all that much of a problem right now. He was facing her and she wasn't really doing anything. But you could never be sure. For all Locke knew she might poof to a different part of the room and he would have no idea where she poofed to if she wouldn't get her feet off the furniture.

"San Francisco."

Whoa. That was way the heck on the other coast. Ghost had more experience with the rest of the world than with the west coast of America. "That's really far from here." Yes. She was captain obvious. "I don't think I've been further west than Texas... No. Wait. Hawaii." Did Hawaii count? It wasn't contiguous.

"I'll save you some time Mrs. Csendes. I do stuff with dirt."[/color]

The comment caught her a little off guard. She had to think for a moment about what he might mean. And then it settled in all at once. Mutant. She usually didn't ask.

"Not every one who stays at the Mansion is gifted, Mister Tori." But dirt? Did that make him an elemental? She scratched her head. This was a much more interesting avenue of thought than the loneliness that was the empty Mansion at night.

"I do stuff with air." The X-men didn't take humans on the team so it only made sense that she had an ability. Maya moved to fidgeting with her toes.

The ability to make somebody laugh had seemed like something Locke was unable to do for the longest time. Not that he did not know any jokes, or was unable to make one. Just something about his serious face and nature made it hard to sound as if he was joking. So when Mrs. Csendes actually seemed amused with him, Locke was caught off guard. To his knowledge he had done nothing particularly entertaining. If anything he had been more then his usual dull and dreary self. He looked down at himself once more, but there was nothing comical or particularly embarrassing about his appearance other than some bed-head. Yet in spite of his insecurities and poor socializing skills Locke did not mind talking with this lady. Adults were different; they were more mature and easier to understand. He also felt less pressure to look or act cool or anything. Besides which he was more adult than teenager between his responsibilities and his grounded nature. "I didn't know that it wasn't just mutants. Henrietta got me here just a few hours ago and I crashed hard."

Being told that there was a mixture of normal people and mutants was news to Locke. Henrietta had mentioned that the school was filled with people gifted in the way that he was. Did it make a difference to Locke? Not really. He had not run away from home based entirely on the fact that he was a mutant. Yes, it had been one more subject that he could not discuss with his step-mother, but he had somehow managed to live with a lack of communication. ”That’s not a big deal. I have a little brother and sister who aren’t ‘gifted’ like me. Only difference between them and me is a few years..” The Californian stood there for a moment in contemplation over what he had just said, shifting from one foot to the other. Soft carpet. He was about to go into a very hot topic, one up there with abortion and homosexuality. His friends weren’t the type to do these sort of debates, which left his brother and sister or Kendra. ”Say someone had a mutation so small and mild you didn’t notice it, or maybe one that only kicks in if they die. People wouldn’t know, but they still would be both human and mutant. So, I guess…”

She didn't know a Henrietta. Nor did she know what it was really like to have siblings, human or not. "My dad's a human." That sort of made them similar... somehow. "Didn't know you were only hours new to the place, though."

That did change things a bit. A few hours in to Ghost first slipping into the mansion? She had an extended visit from a not entirely sane half angel, half demon man who had given her a human tongue as a gift.

He wasn't hurt was he? Maya tried to inspect him on the sly as he talked about a mutant who didn't know he was gifted, but was dead or something like that.

"So I guess the unknowingly gifted are blessed because they reap the benefit of the gift without the burden of knowledge. That ... or they are very unfortunate because they couldn't enjoy that which was given to them.”

My dad's a human

Mine was too[/color] Locke the thought very close on his mind. Not that his father ever had been far, but that nightmare brought everything he had tried getting away from closer to the surface. His throat expanded as it tried to let that thought out. But Locke was use to keeping his mouth shut on things, and his issues weren't the topic right now. Nor was his short time spent at the institute thus far. Ms. Csendes had brought up the interesting concept that being a mutant was occasionally considered a bad thing, which was probably why people like Henrietta had been sent away. The point he had been making however, was that if one was going to divide the world into mutant and human, a very fine line existed, a gray area. Not that gray areas were all that wonderful in Locke's opinion, after all, nothing was definite in a gray area. "It's not about being fortunate Mrs. Csendes. What I meant was that even if there is a biological difference between your dad and you, or my little sibs and me, we still would have to be considered human right?"

As he waited for a response Locke pondered this theory. Ok, so maybe there is a big physical difference between himself and a mutant fish-person, but there was still the human part right? Just how much qualified someone as a human and something else? Even with chimps there were things that made them primates and him a person. Going with the chimp idea, would that mean that there was a separation of mutants. Just that much alone was enough to give Locke a headache. This was starting to go into some science stuff, stuff with species and whatever the terms scientists used to single out everything. Why did ethical stuff have to involve one of his least favorite subjects? Somewhere he'd read that morals should be examined by scientists, that way there could be a logical reason behind them, maybe something to do with how the human had evolved. All that had done was annoy the teen. Yes he wanted things to make sense, but the science vocab was too full of big words that ultimately sound alike.

"Ok, different question then," Locke paused to consider his words. "Darwin had that thing about nature favoring things that have an extra edge or survival skill right? Do you use it if you have it?" Somehow this conversation had steered away from whatever the original topic was, if there ever was one to begin with. To Locke it didn't make a difference if Mrs. Csendes said of course you should use your powers or not, he was still inclined to use at least part of his. More then inclined really, past compelled, but required to do so. Both adult and teen's stance on the issue was more of a conversational distraction from his elephant in the room. Something emotionally challenging had happened to both of them that brought them to a place seperate from what should bring them the most comfort. Mr. Csendes in all probability a million times better then Locke to turn to for stuff like whatever was going on with Maya. For a rare change words blurted out of Locke without his thinking to catch them. "You run out of one more days too?"

Still considered human? Maya was no great theologian. She was already scratching her head and trying to puzzle things out as she spoke. "Are you talking about empathy? I want to be treated humanely. Like a person just like I try to treat others as people. But… I doubt that thinking is very different between mutants and-- no, between gifted and non-gifted." The camps had sort of splintered her thinking about what everyone was.

"No one that I know of was raised as a gifted person. They were all raised normally, as a human. And, when their ability manifested, then they might have splintered into a different frame of thinking. The fact remains that we were all "human" once." Maya made air quotes around the word human. Hopefully this was sort of what he was talking about… since she'd entirely missed the mark last time.

Maya hadn't really thought about it much. Her "human" self and "mutant" self were very different visually, but… inside she was still the same person. Right?

She rubbed her eyes. This was far too deep a subject to broach at this hour.

"Ok, different question then," And this one was much easier. "Why wouldn't you use it? Unless it's hurting you or someone else…" Maya had been called to extraordinary circumstances. Without her extraordinary abilities she would not have persisted in as good a shape as she was in.

…

A frown settled on to Maya's face. And now she was right back where she had started. Was she in the wrong for wanting to help others? Should she stop using her abilities? How long did she have?

"You run out of one more days too?"

His words seemed to surprise him as much as they surprised Maya. She had no way of knowing how he knew or what he knew but her cheeks went pink, the blood rush to her face was so intense that she felt it prickle along her hairline.

"Please tell me you're not…" She was quite close to tears. If he was fading in his own way what hope did she have?

It had not been Locke’s intention to blurt out about “one more days”. Had words not escaped from him, he would have kept on the question he had posed. Of course Mrs. Csendes would comment about not hurting someone with a power. Even a social klutz like himself knew you do not make comments about doing harm to others. People don’t necessarily have to live by the Golden Rule, if they did then there would be no criminals, or even malicious “frenemies”, but to say anything that went against it… You would at least be called cold-hearted, maybe even have a few people put you right up on their list with death row inmates. Was there a single power that gave someone an advantage that did not harm others? Where did he fall with his that just brought him up to par? Science might be the class to give Locke headaches, but he knew that you could not just make something from nothing. Even his little things came from the ground.

But his intentions were abandoned now. Both Mrs. Csendes and Locke looked at each other, shocked and confused. Awkward silence between the two was made all the more obvious from the droning hum of the kitchen light, still the only source of illumination for them. Locke hated the way that shadows played about at night. A couch can take on an entirely different look. Suddenly the soft carpet no longer felt warm beneath his feet, and the Californian shivered, pulling the sides of his jacket, wrapping his arms around himself. Somehow the words that he had never meant to say made things all the more enclosing on them. For a horrible second his throat refused to let him swallow, and he was afraid his body was going to decide not to work just like in that nightmare. Maya spoke, breaking the spell on him and allowing him to swallow his spit. She was asking him if he was doing something, and the part of him that had been frightened melted away. ”I’m?”

Something had gone on with her, something different enough that he could not pick up on whatever it was that had been the issue, but aparently similar enough that his unintentional blurb had stirred something in her. Something painful by the way her eyes were watering up, but he had no clue what it was. Making someone cry, at least someone over the age of five and not having a temper tantrum over ice cream, was as odd a sensation for him as bringing amusement to others. It was startling.

There was too much to not say and here was yet another someone to not say it to. She was already curled up. She just couldn't fold in on herself any more.

Ghost had a secret. One she'd never told anyone here before. It was very tempting to share this secret now, to this person who might be in the very situation her family had tried to pretend didn't happen. Ghost also had a not-so-secret. They were so closely tied that it was easy to funnel the anxiousness of one into the other. Because it was okay to share a not-so-secret.

Pale hands wrung in front of pale knees.

"I am running out of days. One day I won't have even one more." Should she really be sharing this with a stranger? Probably not. All of their future interactions would be tainted by this one teary moment. "I'm not even dying. I-my ability is-I'm-" One thought at a time. One breath in, one breath out.

"I'm fading away. The more I use a certain part of my ability, the more I seem to loose pieces of myself. Please tell me that you don't share my- this problem." Maybe not specifically, maybe not even physically... there had to be somebody who knew what it was like to loose themselves. To be afraid of their potential, or their potential lost.

When you don’t speak much, you get to be pretty damn good at listening, which was about all that Locke could offer the adult. He had little experience with being a mutant. Trying to explain or reassure someone about how their own powers worked would be useless. Even taking out the mutant aspect he was unsure of what to say or do. How do you bring comfort to someone older than you? There is nothing that you can really say that they haven’t heard before, and whatever you say could just sound pretentious. ”Death is worse,” he said after a length. It might not have been the best thing to say, but for the Californian, it was the truth. He could hardly picture a fate worse then death, and he was familiar with death. The dark that threatened to close in on him was not death itself, but was as close as he was going to get while still on this earth.

He thought some more over what Ms. Csendes said, shaking his head no in response to her question about him fading. With his heart settling to a normal pace he felt very much the opposite of what was worrying the adult. He was not without the knowledge of being lost. Locke knew that when he made that thing, he was not entirely himself. The dirt and himself had become one. For some reason though, it did not feel as if he had lost himself. Being that dirt had been the first time in years that he felt something right. ”If it’s part of your mutation, then it’s part of you right? So how is it that you loose yourself when you’re doing what you do?”