Waking up was not a pleasant experience.

It never had been, for Allison. She’d read lots of times about poets, or the subjects of poems, or the heroines of far too idealistic books, waking up in comfort, feeling the breeze and warmth of the sun and sighing in utter bliss of crisp silk sheets, listening to bird song.

Allison had not ever experienced that, and in fact, was not sure it existed. Whether she woke up to her mother’s orders, an alarm, or merely her own thoughts, it was a neutral experience at best and often an unhappy one. When she was younger, she’d taken to sleeping with her face covered so she could frown when waking up without her mother noticing. And anyway, she was pretty sure silk couldn’t even be crisp.

Waking up with a recent bullet wound in her leg pretty well won the contest for worst way to wake up, though. That hurt. Weren’t hospitals supposed to have painkillers around? Allison kept her eyes shut, unintentionally holding her breath for a few seconds before shoving the pain aside enough to open her eyes.

So, there was a needle in her arm. That was expected, even if it still made her cringe. And too-bright fluorescent lights, and beeping machines, and a fortunately empty bed on the other side of where two tracks crossed the ceiling ready to hold curtains, and too much white, and… Cafas.

…Who was… praying, or sleeping, or bored, or ignoring a school lecture because a more interesting thought stole all available attention. The last one seemed a little bit unlikely, but really, that was by far the most common reason she ever sat in that particular pose. In any case, he wasn’t particularly focused on her, at least not enough to notice she was awake, and she was beginning to feel like she might be edging toward creepy watching him.

Plus, the looming aura of awkwardness. She wasn’t fond of that, either. Admittedly, talking to anyone while she was in the hospital was awkward--it was one of the reasons she disliked hospitals, and much preferred Sanctuary’s medical… whatever, but this was extra awkward. What was she supposed to say? ‘Thanks for saving my life, why did we not try just running to begin with, sorry I can’t fight and couldn’t help, please don’t worry that I got shot, I was trying to keep him from shooting you’?

Conversations were such a minefield.

They were inevitable, though, and so may as well be gotten over with. Hopefully only the beginning of the conversation would be awkward. “…Hi.”

Cafas was praying.

The ambulance ride had been hectic,
Sirens, beeping machines, frantic instructions.
Someone put his hand against the wound.
He was to put pressure on it.
Even for an X-man,
it didn't feel real.

"I don't know if there's anyone out there..."

Time stretched on forever,
And yet he couldn't keep pace.
The beeping was irregular.
There was a needle.
Bleeding had slowed.
The beep was constant.
The needle went into her chest.


"And I don't think I've done this before..."

The doors burst open;
Light flooded in.
Sunlight.
The gurney was wheeled inside;
He followed.
They held him back.
They needed space.


"Not for anyone..."

The bullet was extracted,
Fragments removed.
Lucky it was her leg.
Blood loss.
Typed.
Drip.


"But if you're out there..."

Stitches.
Intravenous fluids.
Morphine, careful dose.
Nothing to do but sit and wait.
And Hope,
Pray.


"Spare her life... I could not stand the burden of her death."

"...Hi."

Eyes open. Look up. He could feel the knuckle imprint on his forehead. He had his nose straightened and taped. Cuts had butterfly bandages. He looked a mess, but he knew she was worse. "Hi..." Perhaps not terribly eloquent, but... fitting. "They didn't know if you'd make it..." Perhaps an exaggeration, they had been 75% sure she would. "I... I'm sorry.

That's the best you can do?

"They were all arrested." He had nearly been arrested. X-men vigilante privileges kept that at bay. Just. "I came so close to killing him... It... I..." Cafas shut his mouth. He couldn't put words to how disappointed in himself he was. Shame. Horrible shame. He had felt the trigger start to move... Or had he? Had it moved? Or did his finger simply press onto it without moving it?

It was so close...

"How do you feel?" It was pathetic, but it was all he could muster. The answer, of course, was terrible. How else does one feel after being shot?

I don't know...

He didn't even believe in God...

Allison could recognize guilt. She could recognize guilt very well, in fact, and better when she anticipated it. Anticipating it, however, did not mean she thought it was reasonable. Nor, it seemed, did it mean she could react quickly.

Apparently she was on painkillers, after all. Good, then, if this was what she felt like with painkillers, she had no inclination to be without them any time in the next month, at least. And Cafas had better be, too, to guess by the way he looked.

“They’re doctors. They’re never sure.” They got sued if they ever were sure, so she couldn’t blame them, really, but she frowned anyway. She… did have a pretty good idea what Cafas was sorry for, really, but she still didn’t agree with it. White lies might not be the truth, but they could sometimes point to it. “For what?”

Allison did not want to move. She didn’t have to try to know the pain involved in attempting that would make her dizzy at least, from her leg if nowhere else. And she was still attempting to ignore the existence of the needle, and therefore, the arm it was in as well, which meant no moving it either. Still, she hadn’t quite ever managed to kill off that annoying motherly instinct, and whatever (mutated) part of it had survived was demanding that she hug Cafas. And probably pat his back and tell him everything would be okay, too.

Only, she wasn’t a mother and Cafas wasn’t a little kid, and even if she could lie that much he was too old to believe her. A kid wouldn’t have had the experience to only almost kill someone, or the empathy to feel bad about it. So instead of hugging she stayed where she was, and reached for his hand. With the needle-free arm, which was a little awkward, but it worked.

“I’m fine. Well, no, it hurts like h*, and everything’s kinda clouded. But, seriously, doctors are pessimists, I’ll be fine, and in a year I’m probably going to think this was awesome. I mean, we beat a bunch of humans, with a gun, and didn’t get arrested for it. That’s the kind of story your grandkids brag about on the playground.” And she had totally not intended to start talking about kids or grandkids, because that was another source of awkwardness, but whatever. “I’m not five, I’m a big girl, I can make my own decisions. So unless you can see the future or something, you don’t get to feel guilty unless I do, and I don’t.”

…Which wasn’t true, totally. Allison did feel guilty; that she hadn’t been able to help and just end the entire thing before guns got involved, that she hadn’t even considered running instead of fighting, that she couldn’t… couldn’t do anything, really. But all those were old, old feelings, and barely noticeable anymore.

“...Anyway, you were really cool. Flipping over the guy’s head? I wish I could do that.”

Cafas mostly just nodded along. He wasn't supposed to feel guilty. He still kinda did, but he would attempt to not mention that. There was beeping, quite a bit of it. The sounds of hospitals never changed. They waxed and waned but never did they change. Hopefully Allison wouldn't be in for too long. Did she have her own DocProf? He would have taken her to him but they never would have made the mansion in time.

I guess there are just some things you can't fix, even as a mutant.

The topic shift, when it came, was quite the jump. Not completely out of nowhere, but still a shift in topic and tone. "Spend as long learning how your body works as I have and it gets easy. I've spent nearly ten years fighting and training every day. I guess it probably helped a lot on the street. Pretty surprised I've made it this far to be honest. Coming to the states helped. At least the mansion gave me a place to sleep, eat, feel safe. I still wake up every time someone walks near my door."

Fighting for your life will do that to ya.

Cafas tried a smile, it sort of worked, though it hurt his face something awful. "Still, hard to complain about life when you live in a mansion with free food and board." He was certainly pushing to feel happier. He figured he'd be happier once Allison was out of the hospital. "I wonder how the news is going to spin this..." Cafas checked the clock. Wolf news was on. He picked up the remote and flicked the television on. It was already on the right channel.

"Police are asking for anyone with information to call the appropriate authorities. Now to Central Park. Today two young mutants were attacked by a group claiming to be acting on the words of God. This footage is quite graphic, so look away for the next few minutes if you do not want to watch.

What followed was a full recording of the fight, including Allison's shooting and Cafas trying to get to the shooter. A bit of clever cutting after the scuffle and Cafas had melted the gun as police rushed past the camera man. No pointing it into the mans head, no little speech. Just a pair of mutants attacked, fighting back, a shooting and then the police saving the day. Then a plug for the movie being made. How much the studio had payed for that Cafas hated to think. "Well that certainly could've been worse I suppose..."

“I used to do that. Mostly because my cousins liked waking me up, though. I started wearing headphones to sleep so I couldn’t hear.” Allison had read, once, that women approached conversation as a form of sharing, to form bonds with each other, while men treated conversations as a kind of competition, trying to ‘win’ by outdoing each other. And somehow bonding through that attempt, apparently. She wasn’t sure she believed the article--she’d seen plenty of competitive conversations between girls, at least--but she thought she’d probably covered both areas with that comment anyway. Similar habit, so sharing, but far less extreme, so Cafas won. Convenient when things worked out that way.

And, anyway. She wasn’t asking about the street comment. Cafas didn’t look, to her, like anyone who’d spent much time homeless, but then she wasn’t too likely to be able to recognize that, anyway. At least, he wasn’t now; anything else could be left for later conversations. Or for never. At the moment, Allison would be just as happy with that option.

The news… was not something Allison had thought of yet. More proof she was drugged at the moment, she supposed. It was definitely worth thinking about, though. The news had always been a fearful thing, to her; her family had been just highly placed enough to fear a scandal reaching the media, but not enough to be noteworthy for anything good. Even when, as a child, she’d been on the news for innocuous things--school plays that the local news covered, or kids’ sports games--it had still been a demand to be self conscious, self aware, and utterly controlled without appearing to be, so that her perfect composure, dignity and success would look natural. It was, really, very much for the best that Allison hadn’t made it into many of those obligatory, short broadcasts, or very prominently when she did.

Despite Allison’s history, though, the story was… not bad at all, really. Well, it was bad that it had happened, and bad that the news was sensationalizing it--already!--for the sake of views, views, views, and not for meaning or effect. But for the purpose of getting sympathy for mutants… it would be wonderful. Allison eyed the TV somewhere between blankly and analytically, before finally bursting into giggles. “I make a pretty little martyr, don’t I? Should have cameras following me around all the time….” That… meant something. Something that tiny bit off that told Allison she wouldn’t be figuring it out now, but should note it for later. She tilted her head as the news went back to the anchor, who made a few moral-laden comments over a background of the most dramatic images they could find before switching to another story. “I did not know that much blood was in anyone. I guess I do know it spreads a lot, but that just seems ridiculous. Did they edit that or something?”

Hm. Editing. That slightly off feeling was back. What about when someone got the unedited version? Allison couldn’t think what then, but it seemed to be where her mind was headed. Or would be headed, if she weren’t drugged. She was drugged, though.

“Everything in here is shiny….”

There was not a single day this week that Noah had not been convinced to stay late by some coworker or another.

This time it was one of the doctors in one of the general wings, whose wife went into labor a week early. He'd stopped Noah at the door, begging him to take the last half of his shift, just general rounds with patients in for non life threatening injuries and illnesses. Normal stuff, he promised. Noah couldn't say no; the poor guy would miss his daughter's birth.

And so now there was a nurse shoving a stack of files at him, speaking at a rapid pace.

"You have a recovering hernia in 203, she'll need a full evaluation before you head home. Stab wound in 210, he's combative, don't go in without a sedative handy. Lady with a broken hip in 214, she's going home tomorrow if we can keep her from falling again. Oh, and a weirdo in 215, gunshot wound to the leg," she rattled off, pointing to each file. "I've got a date tonight. Leslie's somewhere around here to help you. Probably making out with Manuel in the storage closet. Have fun!"

With that, the rotund woman was waddling off down the hallway, and Noah sighed, having a look at the files. If he could quietly heal a couple of these people, get them out early, the night might go smoother. He was closest to room 215, may as well start there.

He stepped over to the door and knocked softly before entering. "Hi, Allison? I'm Dr. Carter, I'm standing in for Dr. Ferguson tonight. How are you feeling?" he said with practiced ease, nodding at the girl's friend and stepping over to check her chart at the foot of the bed. Normally they didn't have teenage girls coming in with gunshot wounds. Odd.

Cafas let Allison talk herself out. It was around the end of it that he sort of figured out that the painkillers were properly setting in. He was smiling, and about to respond, when the doctor came in to do his checks. Cafas had planned to stay, but decided that, right now, what he needed was something to eat, and drink. Now might be the best time, while the doc was in the room with her. He seemed legit, Cafas had a feeling he was probably fine. "Hey, I'll be back in a sec Allison." Cafas smiled and nodded to the doctor, stood, and walked out.

Hope they have something decent to eat.

It took some wandering down beeping corridors, past rushing doctors and nurses, and more than one dead end, but Cafas finally lucked his way into the cafeteria. He was suddenly acutely aware of the pit in his stomach. He approached the counter, which seemed to not have a line at this point. That was nice. He got himself a burger, a coke, and sat down to eat it.

It's been a long day...

[ooc: I don't predict myself moving this along for a little while so I'll jump in in 3 or so posts ]

That… was an abrupt departure. Allison blinked after Cafas for a few moments, almost frowning in confusion. She didn’t think she’d said anything to scare him off. Was he afraid of doctors? She didn’t know anyone who was afraid of doctors, but she didn’t see much sense in people being afraid of clowns either, and plenty of people were afraid of them. Maybe Cafas just really hated needles or something, and hated doctors because they tended to be associated with needles?

Allison shook her head before looking at the doctor. “...I got shot. And I’m assuming I’m on some kind of painkiller. I think I feel about like I’d expect from that.” Allison tilted her head, considering before adding to her answer. “And, I don’t like needles. So I’m ignoring that arm.”

Noah gave her a smirk. "You and me both. Needles aren't pleasant," he said, stepping to the side of the bed and setting the chart aside. It was the truth- despite using them multiple times every day for years of his life, it was a completely different story when they had to be used on him. Still hated it. "Going to have a look at it, change the bandages, I'm sure you know the routine by now."

He began carefully removing the bandages from the wound, working slowly but with a certainty that came from years upon years of practice in doing this. He was curious, though, and the history section on her chart hadn't been very enlightening, so he gave her a curious look as he worked. "How'd you end up getting shot, anyway? Just curious, you don't have to indulge me," he pointed out, uncovering the wound and having a look. The flesh around the ragged hole was angry and red, but looking about normal for the situation and time that had passed.

He could heal this up. No sense in a young girl being stuck in the hospital for days.

"Also, how do you feel about going home tonight? I know it sounds a bit odd, but I think I can make it happen, if you don't mind keeping quiet about it. Your leg will be good as new," he said- most patients were curious enough to take him up on the offer and get discharged, happy enough with the healing that they agree not to tell everyone about the crazy doctor in the ward who can heal people.

The doctor’s comment drew another confused frown from Allison. Just how often did he think she got shot? She’d just woken up five minutes ago, she certainly didn’t know any routine….

“Uh. I. Don’t know? We were at a park and bigots showed up. And… it was on the news?” Allison would have squirmed, except she was probably supposed to stay still because of the now exposed wound--which she was not looking at, ever again, if she could help it--and anyway she was still trying to ignore the needle arm by not moving it. “I don’t know where the gun came from.”

Or why, exactly, she’d decided to attack the guy with it. Trying to protect someone from being shot normally? Stupid idea, but at least noble. Trying to protect a mutant who controlled metal from being shot? Just stupid. Clearly she needed to learn to think better.

And then Allison was confused again. “I… can keep my mouth shut. But… wouldn’t it be obvious?”

As far as Allison knew, bullet wounds weren't exactly known for miraculous instant healing.

"I don't watch the news much, I'm afraid. Hold still for a second," Noah said, pulling his stethoscope off his neck and moving up to take her vitals to add to the chart. "Wrong place, wrong time, huh? Nice tattoos, by the way," he said, eying the ink up and down her arms.

"Listen, I can heal this up for you and get you out of here. Just tell them it was a glancing blow, nothing serious. Fake a limp for a few days," he advised, speaking softly in case a nurse was walking by. This wasn't his usual ward; the nurses didn't know about the miraculous recoveries that tended to happen around him. "No sense in laying here and running up an exorbitant bill, right?" he added with a smile, checking her medication drip.

“I guess….” The off feeling was back. Allison still wasn’t sure why, though. Which was the most annoying part of the off feeling. “Thanks.”

“Um.” Allison could fake a limp. She’d gotten enough blisters and shin splints and other ultimately harmless but painful injuries from running, she knew limps quite well. She did not think that would convince Cafas, though. Or, for that matter, anyone else who’d seen the news… and knew anything about bullet wounds, anyway, which she supposed was a fairly short list.

She did not want to stay in the hospital, though. And, well, the doctor could probably figure out for himself that whatever records the hospital had on her visit would indicate something was off; if he wasn’t concerned about that, then perfect secrecy probably wasn’t needed. Perfect secrecy was difficult; discretion Allison was much better at. She shrugged. “Okay.”

"Alright. Just stay still, breathe deep, and you shouldn't feel a thing," Noah said, moving back down to her leg and placing the palm of one hand gently over the wound. He braced himself, knowing that this was about to get very, very painful- despite never being shot himself, thanks to his so called gift, he'd felt the pain of it probably a dozen times by now.

He began to concentrate, closing his eyes and taking in a deep breath, and he flinched and his legs nearly buckled when the pain hit him. He focused on his breathing, kept his concentration on the healing, shaking from the effort.

Slowly, he felt it working. The pain in his own leg was diminishing, recreating the pain she'd felt from the moment of impact until now, and lessening with every bit of healing poured into her. He swallowed hard, making sure that he was ready for the dizziness before he moved his hand.

He pulled away and stepped back to the wall, leaning against it through the dizzy spell, the pain in his own leg matching the dull ache in hers- but all that was left of the wound was a scar and some light bruising. He sighed with relief and gave her a weak smile.

"There," he said, reaching for her chart again. "I'll fudge up some numbers and have you discharged in an hour or two, okay?" He marked something off, then stepped over and took the medication drip out of her arm- some aspirin would easily cover up the little pain that was left.

‘You shouldn’t feel a thing’ sounded suspiciously like ‘this won’t hurt a bit’ to Allison. Regardless, it wasn’t like she expected it could hurt (much) more than her leg already did, and if he really could get her out of the hospital… Allison was pretty willing to deal with some pain to achieve that.

It took a lot of willpower not to twitch when his hand touched the wound. It would have been easier if it actually had hurt, instead of only anticipating pain.

It didn’t hurt, though, and after a moment Allison realized it wasn’t going to. She blinked, then focused on the doctor. He… seemed to be in more pain than she was, actually.

Well. Maybe she didn’t necessarily want a more useful power than hers, if it came with conditions like that.

“Uh. Yeah. Okay.” Allison hesitated a moment longer before blurting out, “are you okay?”

She was pretty sure that leaning against walls was generally a sign of not being okay. She was also pretty sure that doctors were supposed to know what they were doing. And that her body was full of some sort of drug that was no longer needed.

Well, it wasn’t like plenty of people didn’t already think she was weird….

"Yeah, I'm fine," Noah said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Just stay here and relax while all those drugs work their way out of your system. Don't want you stumbling around the hallways looking drunk," he joked, marking a few more things on her chart.

"And, ah...if any of the nurses ask and I'm not around, tell them to talk to Lucy in the ER. She'll explain," he said with a soft smile. "Just don't let this get around, alright? Could complicate things a bit."

The last thing he wanted was any kind of attention. He was happy being a recluse in his apartment all day when he wasn't working, thanks.