Continued from yesterday:
“Well, *fudge*,” said Sara. She knew this ceiling only too well. And the smell of the mats.
Logan sighed. “C'mon, Tallwater… we both know you’re holding back. Ya gotta learn this stuff and be able to *use* it.”
Sara untangled herself from the mat. “I don’t like hurting my friends… and I’m not that strong, anyway.”
“You remember the lifting tests?” said Callisto.
“Yes?”
“You were hauling up forty pounds with one hand like you did it every day. Ambidextrously. With a little rep-work, we can have you bench-pressing the equivalent of a fully-grown, fit male in about… three months?”
“Probably less,” said Logan, not meeting Callisto’s eyes. “Kid’s got a regenerative factor. Muscles’d respond faster.”
Sara heard her neck crack with the force of the first tic. “I’m–” tic "I’m not–“ tic "I’m not that strong…”
“Mantra, kiddo,” said Callisto. “Take it easy.”
Sara rattled the words through, letting her body do what it wanted while she focussed on the syllables. They worked to release the bad things inside her head. Safely. Without any kind of collateral damage.
“Defensive moves,” noted Logan. “The whole range.”
“You’ve seen her permanent record. You blame her?”
Sara, trapped in the throes of her own defusing, was incapable of telling them she could still hear what was going on. It was so darn frustrating she had to cry.
“Not her. Others that did this to ‘er. Shitheads that probably don't remember an’ don’t care about th’ damage done.”
“Pity the world doesn’t let you shred someone for being a shithead," said Callisto.
”*Yeah*.“
If she even thought of trying to talk, the seizure would get worse. Darn it. Darn it to heck. Only the words were keeping her on her feet. And even then, not steadily. Both Logan and Callisto were keeping close in case she fell. Ignoring their personal business to play guardian for her. She could 'see’ them. Sense them flinching to catch her even as they spoke.
The 'image’ her mind saw from her skin was distorted and blurred, and Sara didn’t have a clue how she *knew* which blur was which… but she did, and that should be enough.
Sara lurched the wrong way, toppled, and was caught by the both of them. _Some unlikely cupid, I… have to throw a fit to get them to touch hands._
Logan was the one with the gentle touch to her eyes, ridding them of the stinging water than now pooled there. Callisto, the deft touch at various pressure points that eased discomfort and lessened the more violent jerkings.
Both hovered like a mother hen.
At last, the seizure dwindled. Sara caught her breath and steadied the last vestiges of nervous tremula. "I can hear every word you say when I’m 'under’, you know.” She opened her eyes. Hello, familiar ceiling. "There simply *has* to be a better way to arrange things.“
~
"You’re right. We need a better tack.”
“Training tree?” suggested Logan. “Gets all the moves drilled an’ no resemblance to a human.”
Sara pulled herself into a sitting position. “That *might* work, except I develop relationships with inanimate objects.”
“True, but inanimate objects don’t feel pain.” Callisto lead her to one of them. “And you could name it after someone you have an intense desire to hit…”
“Piggy Stiye…” murmured Sara. “Oh, yes.”
“Shorthand…” warned Logan.
“Complete and utter creep. James Cameron 'Piggy’ Stiye. Did horrendous things to my psyche in my freshman year at high school. Practically ruined a perfectly nice dress… etcetera. Suffice to say if we met in the street I’d cheerfully kick his gonads up his windpipe.”
“Good,” grinned Callisto. “Now watch how to beat the living snot out of 'Piggy’, here…”
*
“I don’t fucking *BELIEVE* this!”
Mort held ice against his swollen ankle. “Given the way we’ve been goin’? Why not?”
“There *is* more than enough empirical evidence, Mr Summers,” said Sara. She was holding her arm extremely still while Hank delicately plucked sharp shreds of wood out of it.
“You injured yourselves at *exactly*… the same… *TIME*. Under *GUARD*! How is this freaking *POSSIBLE*?”
“In an infinite universe, all things are possible,” quoted Sara. It didn’t help that she quoted from an ancient television adaptation of _Journey to the West[1]_… or in the voice of the narrator. She returned to her normal voice. “I don’t know about Mortimer, but I’m all a-flutter over the upcoming party. The finish line’s in sight on the deal… and apparently I’m stronger than I think I am.”
“They’re gonna have to build those things out of fuckin’ vibranium," said Mort. "Did just the same thing to meself the other day.”
“Yes, but you *are* stronger than you look,” said Sara. “Every time I see you, you’re packing on definition, if not bulk.”
Scott headed off the conversation before it could get derailed. “Back on the *subject*?” he said. “If I didn’t have eye-witnesses, I *swear* you two were pulling this shit on purpose.”
“You know, I *could* plausibly pratfall into something breakable and–”
“Don’t?” Mort begged. “Every time I hear about you comin’ in here, I nearly shit meself sideways. Knowin’ you’re hurt? An’ not bein’ able to see you? It ties me guts up.”
“We’ll kiss and make it better on my birthday,” Sara’s fingers clutched at air. An abortive attempt to hold his hand. “And I’ll be sitting quietly, tomorrow. Just to make sure I don’t do anything to myself.”
“Long as you’re safe,” said Mort. All the tension drained out of him nonetheless.
[1] English title, _Monkey!_ now availlable on DVD. Look it up. Much fun.
~
“Betsy’s volunteered to be my intermediary in the kitchens… which is going to prove interesting on the remote how-to’s. Everybody has the recipes, the ingredients, the Professor’s delineated the party borders…”
“Luv?”
“Hmn?”
“You’re babbling.”
“I’m nervous,” Sara smiled. Then winced as another fragment of wood came from her hand. “Our whole future’s up in the air…” tic tic tic "Oh *fudge*… Doctor?“
"Finishing up,” Hank wound gauze over the pad over her wound. “Beware swelling, irritation and pain when moving.”
“Ashair elam ithenne onu…” Sara whispered, staring with ferocity at Hank’s winding. She nodded, but all her effort was going towards keeping one hand still.
Scott, hovering in the background, wanted to look away. This was his fault, in a way. Therefore, he had to observe.
Mort twitched to hold Sara, then made himself cling to the table. His skin grew slick with healing goo and his face twisted in sympathy to her pain.
Twenty-four more hours of this?
_Fuck that,_ Scott thought. “Okay. *Fine*. You win.”
Sara, freed from her obligations to her doctor, was deep into degaussing.
“You *woh*?” said Mort.
“You *WIN*. The only time you two aren’t in some kind of trouble is when you’re together to look out for each other. Between the seizures, the accidents, the *pranks*… There was less chaos when I was just worried about you getting into Cerebro!”
“An’ you were wrong on that one, weren’t ya?” Mort grinned.
“Don’t rub it in,” said Scott.
“So what now? I go back into that little cell?”
“H'naurgh…” said Sara, flailing vaguely towards him.
Hank caught her before she could fall. “Focus on the words,” he advised.
“No, you stay. You’ve proven yourself… she’s proven - in need of a keeper. And I *know* I made a monumental mistake with this deal. You win. You can be together. With a chaperone.”
“Thankyou, Mister Summers,” tic “but so close to the finish line?” tic "We could have made it one more day. Easy.“
"Sara?”
“*I* want to prove this. I want to… complete the deal. Paid for in full as it were.”
Mort looked askance at her. “The doc give you any new pain meds, darlin’?”
“I’m quite sure I’m sane, darling. I just– I want to finish this.”
“*Why*?” chorused all the men present.
Tic. “I’ve been removed from every educational facility I’ve ever walked into…” tic “In the process, many things were left undone. Just let me finish this one, very personal challenge? I want to do this. Please?”
“One more day without ya?”
“That which does not kill us, darling. I… I need to prove this to myself.”
Mort stared at her. “I love ya to bits but… yer fuckin’ *nuts*, luv.”
“I know. I’m working on getting better.”
“One last hug?” pleaded Mort.
~
Sara, when deep in thought, looked to be more than slightly idiotic. Her tongue pushed out between her teeth, lying lax on the verge of dominating her lower lip. Her brows drew down and her eyes unfocussed. The occasional tic made it through the extreme relaxation that overtook her body, but they were tired things. Made dull from the exertion of making an impact on her, they came out in almost lazy bursts.
“No,” said Sara, surfacing back into herself. The tics gave up and went away. “No last hugs. No farewell kisses.”
“But–”
“Mortimer… if we need each other so desperately as to not be able to *survive*… perhaps we should examine our relationship. Intensely. If we can’t be apart - how is being together going to work?”
Mort was stricken. “I… I don’t get it.”
“Every being needs time alone. Personal space. Even symbiotes do their own thing[1] sometimes. If we can’t cope with being apart for a little while - how can we expect to take on life challenges where we’ll *have* to be apart? How can we divide and conquer?”
Mort looked at his hands. They ached to hold her, yes, but– was he looking at things logically? *Could* he look at things logically? He wanted to be with her, to soak in every atom of the Sara experience, to love her and… and then what? Be hand in hand with her forever? *Everywhere*? Even when one of them had to shit? Or when their needs took them - however briefly - on separate paths? Or when they needed to perform separate tasks in order to achieve a common goal?
Mort blinked. He’d never thought more than a few days in advance on his own. He never planned any future for himself, since whatever he wanted in the world got taken away. He just did what he was told and remained a good toad.
Sara contemplated her entire life as easily as she contemplated a new book - but with less saliva[2]. Any new change in the Now spun possibilities and changed long-term plans with nary a shrug… but she *saw* it.
It was dizzying to view that focus for the first time.
“Awrigh’,” he said. “One more day. I don’t like it, but… it’s gotta be done, yeh?”
“Precisely,” Sara smiled. “And if you’d just agreed without any kind of battle… that would have been an entirely different danger sign.”
“I’m still reservin’ all gropin’ rights once we’re free an’ clear.”
Sara laughed. “My *darling* Mortimer… I wouldn’t have it any other way.” She blew him a kiss. “Look after yourself?”
He threw a Scout’s salute. “Do me best. You do it too.”
“On my honour.”
Scott watched her leave with complete confusion. “What the fuck just happened?” he begged.
Mort laughed at him. “Happens all the time around her,” he breezed. "You get used to it.“
[1] Sara’s talking about macro-symbiotes. Not microscopic ones like mitochondria.
[2] Sara Louise - extreme bibliophile ^_^
~
"You get used to it,” Bobby quoted.
“Yep,” said Mort. He continued finessing the grubby gears and widgets with an air of complete relaxation. He was at home with machines. Machines were good to him. Mostly.
“Are either of y'all clinically *insane*?” said Rogue. “You won. That should be it. Happily ever after an’ all that.”
“Look at it this way, sweet'eart… We got nuthin’ to worry about, now; so it’s all down to proving we can exist as individuals, innit? Life’d be soddin’ awkward if we 'ad t’ be joined at the blimmin’ hip.”
“But–”
“Think about it, ducks. Y’ can’t do *everythin’* hand-in-hand.”
“But what do we do now?” said Bobby. “The whole reason behind the Scooter conspiracy is *over*.”
“Think up yer own diversions, then,” said Mort. “Have some *fun*.”
“Y'all learn t’ dance, yet?” said Rogue.
Mort pulled himself out of the machinery so he could glare at her. “You’ll find out on the twelfth, won’t ya?”
*
Sniff.
Sniff, sniff, snifffffff….
Sara, in a comfortable tangle with a good book, said, “I see the one about the lilac has gone around.”
“Um.”
“Next time, dear, try to be more subtle.” Sara bookmarked her page with her finger to tilt her head in order to face the sniffer. “Or ask. I don’t mind if people ask.”
“Yeah, right,” said Jamie. “Hi, I heard you smell like lilacs, can I have a sniff?” He snorted and rolled his eyes. “There’d either be a bloody pulp or a crowd scene by the time it was over.”
“Possibly with most people, but I’m my own rule book.” Sara held out her free arm. “Go nuts.”
Gingerly, as if afraid she’d explode, he took her hand and a whiff. “*Whoah*… it *is* true. How’d you do it?”
“The complicated explanation is that my bodily secretions are a little more tricky than everyday sweat. There’s a lot more oil, for example, in order to keep the skin supple and flexible. The faint scent of lilac is a serendipitous byproduct. Or so Dr McCoy thinks.”
“That’s weird,” said Jamie.
“Then define 'normal’.”
~
“Is too.”
“Is not.”
“Is too.”
“Is not infinity.”
“Is *so* too,” argued Jamie. “She let me have a sniff.”
“*EEEEUWWW*! You sniffed a *girl*?”
“Well, I kinda *had* to. Think about it, doofus.”
“You’re the doofus, doofus.”
“Well, *you’re* a doofus times infinity.”
“Oh yeah?”
“*Yeah*!”
“*Yeah*?”
Kurt interrupted before the argument between Jamie and Leech could escalate. “Kinder… kinder… indoor voices, ne? What’s going on?”
“Leech says I’m lying 'bout Sara smelling like lilacs just 'cause he doesn’t have a nose and he can’t smell.”
“Can *too*!”
“Nuh-uh.”
“Yah-huh.”
“Nuh-uh.”
“Yah-huh.”
“Nuh-uh.”
“Yah-huh.”
“Nuh-uh.”
“Yah-huh.”
_Ah, such civilized debate…_ Kurt rolled his eyes as he gently discouraged them from shoving. “There’s another way to solve this,” he said. “Leech? Would you believe someone else?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“'Cause how come *I* can’t smell it?”
“You don’t have a nose?” suggested Jamie.
“I do *too*! It’s just… really small.”
_And I volunteered to help here because…?_ “Some people just can’t smell things,” said Kurt. “Others *can*, it doesn’t mean that some people don’t smell *anything*. All right?”
“But what if he *is* lying to me?” said Leech.
“Am *not*…” protested Jamie.
Kurt decided to head that one off at the pass. “Then you have to take it as a matter of faith. Just because *you* cannot sense something, it does not mean that it’s not there.”
Leech pouted. He’d only been recently 'welcomed’ to the Institute - read, dumped on the doorstep by authorities - and was still largely suspicious of anything he couldn’t verify by himself. “…don’ like being fibbed to,” he muttered.
“Well,” said Kurt. “If it helps any… I only have other people’s word about the lilacs, myself. If we’re being lied to, we’re in the same boat, ja?”
“…guess.”
“And since *I* don’t feel bad - why should *you* feel bad?”
The logic evaded him and he shrugged. “Dunno.”
“Sehr gut,” Kurt gave him a brotherly embrace. “Now. Why don’t you two go find something you can both enjoy, ja?”
~