Blueshift

Blueshift Chapter Twenty Four (NC-17)
Disclaimers Apply

A/N Goddess Foxfeather, Queen of Mad Plotbunnies, BUSIEST WOMAN ALIVE ™, Prophetic Muse, Hamster Witch and Uberbeta… *chews nails nervously* NOW I’m twitchy about the trip… InterNutter, TC, Maxwell Pink and Dracena are loverly and wondermous for archiving/hosting. :) ProPhile: Don’t freak out on me… Morgan: *hugGLOMP * Readers/Reviewers: News coming soon… until then, mille grazie for reading/reviewing! :) Oh, and Happy Mardi Gras!


Beast was glad Cecilia needed a break. She had gone upstairs to get a quick bite to eat and some coffee and to call Tabby, telling her to stop by the office and take care of some paperwork that she could not get to for the time being. He did not want to hear the other doctor’s commentary as he prepared the hypodermic needles for Emma and now, Jean. Scott stood over his wife on the exam table across the room, holding her hand ineffectually, murmuring nonsense. Jean was sweating profusely but Beast did not know if it was from pain or some new aspect of the problems that seemed to be settling in with the stronger telepaths. So far, in his surreptitious questioning, the younger students who showed signs of the ability, the worst complaint was a simple headache or nightmares. _Whatever it is, it seems to be focused on just a few, the ones who are the strongest and could deal with a great influx of information… _ He winced as Emma hissed in pain, the drugs in the syringe flowing through her veins. “Sorry,” he muttered so only she could hear. “I know I didn’t ask you first, which is terrible of me, but this will help with the pain, mental and physical.”
Scott narrowed his eyes, watching the doctor. “Don’t you even think of drugging Jean,” he said roughly. “I don’t want her to be all doped up and drooling!” He did not notice Emma’s very vague flicker of panic at the idea she would end up drooling. Squeezing Jean’s hand more tightly, he added, “You know she doesn’t like that sort of thing.”
Beast glanced at Jean as he neared the bed. “She’s conscious and capable of deciding for herself, unlike Emma.” In truth, Emma had not trusted herself to speak. She knew words that were not hers would come from her lips and the panic they induced would cause her to weep and sob. “Jean,” Beast said softly, ignoring Scott’s menacing stance, “I have some medications here which will help you relax.”
“What are they?” she asked so quietly she was almost inaudible. She tried to follow as Beast told her the names of the drugs in the cocktail he had cradled in his massive hand. “Those are for dementia,” she said finally. “Anti psychotic, anti dementia…” She winced as the pain in her head made her eyes water, sending ratcheting pangs down her neck and back. “Okay,” she finally breathed. “Just do it and get it over with.” She was mentally reeling off the side effects and counter indications, damning and blessing her pharmacy classes she had to take as part of her pre med requirements. She felt the cool needle press against her inner arm then the bite of the injection. Her mouth flooded with a bitter, metallic taste as the drugs began their work. She could feel Scott’s fingers tight around her own and felt his anger and sadness. She did not try to dissect which emotion was directed at her. Instead, she focused on the feelings the drugs were producing. She felt nauseated, Scott and Beast speaking over her body seeming as bees, buzzing and humming and distracting her, making her flinch with every word. She did not like not being in control of her body, her mind, but she waited for the blessed relief the drugs promised.
_*Jean? *_
Emma sounded so faint and small in her head. _*Yes? *_
_*I’m scared. *_
Jean could feel the medications tugging on her consciousness. They were not sedatives but the relief from the voices they were providing, albeit temporary, was letting her body relax. _*Me too.. Are we sick? *_
_*No… someone is doing this to us. It’s outside of us, not part of our minds or powers… *_
Emma’s voice trailed off to nothing more than a psychic whisper. Jean swallowed and nearly gagged at the thick, cupric taste in her mouth and throat. _*Emma? Emma? *_
_*Shhhhh… I’m listening. The drugs do nothing but make us prisoners in our heads. They’re not working because we’re not demented or psychotic. We’re vessels, conduits for these…these…things…. *_
Jean felt Emma drift away from her on a current of pain and confusion, glimmers of certainty sparking between them. She could feel it, too, this otherness, the voices from outside. She knew she was not crazy and not sick. She wondered how the Professor could stand it, how Jono could, despite his best efforts to ignore his telepathy. _Maybe they just like women, _ she thought idly. The drugs were now fully in effect. She felt thick and muddled, her impulses restrained. Her breath came in shallow draughts and she tried to appear asleep as Scott and Beast hissed at each other, invectives from one side and logic from the other. The voices were not quiet, just waiting. They could feel the change in them, their conduits as Emma put it. It was as if they were circling mentally, looking for the break in the morass of pain and muddled thoughts. She felt it when they seized the spark of clarity and slipped inside again.
_Painpainpainpainpainpainpainpainpain _
“Stop it,” Jean hissed, hearing Emma mirror her words across the room. She could not move but her voice was strong. “Go away.”
_Fearfearfearfearfearfearfearfear… _
She flexed her fingers and licked her lips, her tongue threatening to cleave to the roof of her suddenly dry mouth. Distantly, she heard Emma fall from the exam table. Scott and Beast bolted to help her. _OUT! _
There was a very long silence, not an empty one though, before the impressions came again. Falling, fear, panic, pain at being removed from the familiar and safe, help me, near here, you know who we are… Jean squeezed her eyes shut and the images came, the ones from her dreams, of vast expanses of metal that seemed to be alive, elongated shapes, pale and silent, moving through this living machine… They came fast, images and impressions one on top of the other, her stomach curdling in nausea, then it stopped as if someone had flipped a switch. Everything fell together, all of the images and words and feelings, and it all seemed to clear and perfect that Jean felt stupid for not having seen it all sooner. She tried to sit up but could not. “Call the Professor,” she murmured against the nausea. “Now.”