(no subject)
No time to rant and rave and rile. No time to fret and fury.
I'll slay the woman in words a thousand times over before my mortal flesh is dead and gone. But once in deed, but once -- oathbreaking wretch -- Jean Grey.
For now, though, there are more pressing concerns.
I have a healer's damage to undo.
For now to wait, and watch, and pray.
Hel take the bitch. Take her!
Loosely-organized chaos and wide-eyed panic; terrorized, the terrorists flee underground and hunker down to hide. Ellen stalks along the cave wall, tracing cold and jagged stone with the palm of one hand; for the sake of movement, she moves. The not-knowing mingles with fear and fury in a cocktail of heady emotion that leaves her primed to bite out the throat of any that cross her path. The slightly deranged stare has warned those uninjured and therefore not in dire need of her services to steer clear in the relatively short time they've been hiding down here. Her clothes are rumpled and stained; her hair is loose and wild.
Into this appears - reappears - the figure of Mystique. She's still wearing Erik's helmet, and she comes at a run, paced and even, but hurried nevertheless. She pauses in the drafty opening of the underground cavern and pulls in a deep breath to request, sharply, "Ellen. I need you."
Ellen whips round. Her eyes flick over Mystique's form. She nods her head in a sharp jerk and crosses the cavern at a hasty stride to join her. "I'm here."
Mystique does not speak again until they're well down the tunnel leading back into the compound. Her pace is brisk, hurried, although not desperate. Not quite. Her words are clipped and short. "Are you aware of Erik's nanites?"
Ellen's step is swift to match Mystique's, her gaze lingering warily on her superior. She echoes, "Nanites?"
"Tiny objects meant to clean up his health. Repair issues as they came up." Mystique pauses to glance sideways at Ellen. "They've been dormant for some time." Her eyes slip forwards again and her jaw tightens. "Jean Grey ripped them out."
"Tiny objects ..." Blue-grey eyes narrow with recollection and then widen. On a sharp inhalation, Ellen quickens her pace.
"Through his flesh," Mystique answers. Her stride lengthens to match. "He also cannot feel his leg."
Ellen looks sharply at Mystique. She asks, "Blood loss?"
A tiny tic appears in the set of Mystique's jaw. "I don't know." She meets Ellen's gaze evenly. "I don't think it's significant." Forward again. "But I don't know."
Ellen nods once. Her gaze slips forward again. "All right," she says. And she walks faster.
"The elevator is out. Are you able to climb through the shaft?"
Ellen smiles: a flash, tight, humorless and brief. "I had better be, hadn't I?"
Mystique hesitates half a moment. "There are alternatives. I'd prefer not to use them."
Ellen shrugs, the gesture cool. "Then I shall climb."
Mystique nods once, and falls into silence as she leads the way through the tunnels and to the compound, to the broken elevator, and up.
Up the elevator shaft: Ellen ascends. She is inexpert. Progress is not as swift as she might prefer. Recrimination later. Climbing now.
Mystique takes somewhat less time. She's done this once, and it presents little problem for her. Once ascended, she moves down the hall, leading the way to Erik's office. "Do you require anything from the infirmary?"
Scratch scratch scratch. Long black claws rake Erik's bedroom door from the interior. A whine trails after Mystique, down near the door's base.
"I don't know for certain. Painkillers, perhaps?" Ellen's chin lifts, breath coming a little short. Her glance barely flickers in the direction of the door. "I have yet to assess the damage -- I might need to replenish."
Mystique nods, sternly ignoring the scratching at the door as she leads Ellen onward. "Tell me, and I'll retrieve them." And then they're in, and Mystique approaches carefully. She doesn't relish the thought of being tossed head-first into a wall again. She's perhaps a bit bruised from the last time. "Erik?"
"Still alive." Erik mutters back at her by way of greeting. He hasn't moved much, if at all, eyes cracking blearily open to slide in the general direction of the door.
Ellen slips inside after, eyes drawn to Erik. She takes her cue from Mystique's cautious approach and splits the difference between it and her first instinct, which is to fly to his side.
An almost-smile appears on Mystique's face, and she moves close, to one side. "Excellent news," she assures him, and falls silent to allow Ellen to fall to her work.
Magneto eyes Ellen with a hint of unease and apprehension that looks a little unnatural in the blue-grey of his eyes, which flick quickly enough back to the more familiar form of Mystique. "Achilles?"
"Is fine," Mystique lies blandly.
Ellen is quiet and quick, on her knees at his side and seeking the skin of his hand to meet it with her own and assess the damage.
Brows slightly knit at Mystique's answer, Erik looks back in the direction of the door. Ellen is avoided. Physically, as well as visually - his hand pulling slightly away from hers at contact.
"Erik." His name is sharp and short on Mystique's tongue before she smooths it away into something more comforting. Slightly. "You'll be ok." Her eyes fix on Ellen for confirmation. They are absolutely not desperate in the least.
Ellen retains the brush of skin against skin, her touch held light, held tentative, as uninvasive -- on the surface -- as possible. Her expression schooled to blandness as she plunges her consciousness into his cellular structure. Her eyes have closed; she is too focused to offer much in the way of reassurance.
Magneto does not say what he is thinking, which is perhaps for the best, but he does look at Mystique at his name.
Mystique's hand flutters briefly over Erik's brow, a light touch that's barely there before she steps back and looks to Ellen. "I'll be back shortly." She turns on her heel to move for the door, out toward the infirmary.
Ellen's lids barely flutter to acknowledge Mystique's departure. She explores, noting the damage, cataloguing it in her mind; it is widespread and all very, very small. Her breathing is a little ragged as she does so; her face grows paler, more drawn.
"Ellen." Having managed a very small smile for Mystique, Erik finally looks over at Ellen, brows lifted. "I cannot feel my right leg. I need to know why. That is the most important thing."
Eyes still closed, Ellen nods once and redirects her attention from myriad torn capillaries to assess his right leg -- to find the clot there. She breathes out. "Blood clot. I have to clear the blood clot," she says. "Repair the blood vessels and stimulate area cells to release plasmin--" She loses the thread of speech somewhere, words trailing off as she begins the long work of setting them to action.
Magneto swallows and nods, eyes rolling shut in time for him to release a mild sigh of relief. Repairable. Of course reparable. "However messy things are, I want you to take your time with things that are not vital. I'm reasonably certain there are others that have been injured."
Mystique returns in short order, with a bag full of medical goodies: painkillers, sedatives, restorative snacks for Ellen. And at her side, having finally been freed from the prison of Magneto's room, pads Achilles. Her eyes sweep first over Erik and then to Ellen, silently questioning.
"Sir." Ellen breathes in. Ellen breathes out. "There are going to be more of these. Strokes. Your system is full of -- dead, I can't /do/ anything with dead cells -- it will be some time before I can give you a clean bill of, we will have to monitor your health extremely carefully, sir. Mystique," she opens her eyes wide and flicks them to the blue woman, "can you check the medical catalogue and find what we have in the way of anticoagulants?"
Not good news. Erik's brows fall again - his jaw working even as the familiar scrap of pads and claws over smooth stone indicates Achilles' approach and promts him to open his eyes. His left hand is lifted in dull anticipation, to cup over the brute's blunt snout and then back around a loose ear. The action, from the strain around his neck, is not comfortable for him. He sighs. What else is there to do, really? "It could be worse."
Mystique's breath stills for a moment as she listens to Ellen's speech. A single nod gives affirmation as supplies are left on a chair. Her hand skims lightly over Achilles' great head as the dog moves for Erik, and then drops to her side, clenching. She turns to leave again without word.
Ellen nods. "Yes," she says, solemn and simple. "I'll start repairing these blood vessels."
"Very well." Erik mutters, as if he has any real say in the matter - head tilting slightly aside, so that he can watch Mystique's legs retreating through Achilles'. "How soon before I can be sedated?"
Ellen hesitates. "I ... don't /think/ there's any reason not to sedate you now, sir." She releases his hand as she pulls to her feet, heading to the chair on which Mystique deposited the requested medical supplies.
Magneto's head rests back against the rock. Quite possibly in relief. Even so, his weak scritching of Achilles continues until the mastiff settles down against his side. "I really am sorry about this. Nearly dying all the time. It must be terribly trying for everyone."
Ellen ghosts a smile as she brings him the sedative. "Highly exasperating, sir."
A thin smile is cast up at her, only to fade in the span of a few seconds as he shifts - spine lifted briefly away from the rock biting into it.
Ellen quietly proffers both the sedative pill and the water bottle from Mystique's bag of goodies.
"I apologize in advance," Erik mutters, lifting his right hand enough to accept the pill, which is gripped loosely between his teeth until he can get a grip on the water as well, and swallow it down, "for snoring, but this really isn't the most comfortable set up imagineable." Erik sets the bottle down at his side and glances to Ellen, then back to the ceiling.
"I would not imagine so, sir." Ellen's hand slips back over his that she might set to the work at hand while he rests, however uncomfortable. "We'll move you to the infirmary when we can."
Magneto nods. He's been doing a lot of this lately. "You weren't harmed?"
"I am all right," Ellen replies, a little distractedly; most of her brain is involved in the practical application of her mutation.
"Good." says Erik, brows lifting as his eyes close. "Good." He's silent for a few minutes. And then, he isn't. "Should Mystique return while I'm asleep, you might remind her that she's still wearing my helmet."
Ellen nods in the midst of her work, eyes firmly shut. "I will, sir."
"It probably isn't doing much for confidence levels." Despite no explanation really being needed, Erik offers one. He's slowing down a little - physically as well as mentally. Really relaxing. "It also looks ridiculous."
"It might be slightly less absurd if she appeared to wear something else with it," Ellen observes mildly.
"You are more than welcome to suggest as much."
Ellen crimps a tiny smile. Her shuttered lids twitch. "Perhaps not," she says delicately.
"Mmm." is Erik's ingenius reply. Under Ellen's hand, tension eases out of his own. "Perhaps not."
Silence answers him, punctuated only by the gust of breath exhaled past Ellen's mouth.
The furrow of his brow eases, as does his breathing. Erik is asleep. Or close enough to it that he will be very, very soon.
Ellen stays at his side, her hand soft over his and her consciousness deep in his cellular structure, still and silent, and wholly absorbed in the delicate precision of her task.
I'll slay the woman in words a thousand times over before my mortal flesh is dead and gone. But once in deed, but once -- oathbreaking wretch -- Jean Grey.
For now, though, there are more pressing concerns.
I have a healer's damage to undo.
For now to wait, and watch, and pray.
Hel take the bitch. Take her!
Loosely-organized chaos and wide-eyed panic; terrorized, the terrorists flee underground and hunker down to hide. Ellen stalks along the cave wall, tracing cold and jagged stone with the palm of one hand; for the sake of movement, she moves. The not-knowing mingles with fear and fury in a cocktail of heady emotion that leaves her primed to bite out the throat of any that cross her path. The slightly deranged stare has warned those uninjured and therefore not in dire need of her services to steer clear in the relatively short time they've been hiding down here. Her clothes are rumpled and stained; her hair is loose and wild.
Into this appears - reappears - the figure of Mystique. She's still wearing Erik's helmet, and she comes at a run, paced and even, but hurried nevertheless. She pauses in the drafty opening of the underground cavern and pulls in a deep breath to request, sharply, "Ellen. I need you."
Ellen whips round. Her eyes flick over Mystique's form. She nods her head in a sharp jerk and crosses the cavern at a hasty stride to join her. "I'm here."
Mystique does not speak again until they're well down the tunnel leading back into the compound. Her pace is brisk, hurried, although not desperate. Not quite. Her words are clipped and short. "Are you aware of Erik's nanites?"
Ellen's step is swift to match Mystique's, her gaze lingering warily on her superior. She echoes, "Nanites?"
"Tiny objects meant to clean up his health. Repair issues as they came up." Mystique pauses to glance sideways at Ellen. "They've been dormant for some time." Her eyes slip forwards again and her jaw tightens. "Jean Grey ripped them out."
"Tiny objects ..." Blue-grey eyes narrow with recollection and then widen. On a sharp inhalation, Ellen quickens her pace.
"Through his flesh," Mystique answers. Her stride lengthens to match. "He also cannot feel his leg."
Ellen looks sharply at Mystique. She asks, "Blood loss?"
A tiny tic appears in the set of Mystique's jaw. "I don't know." She meets Ellen's gaze evenly. "I don't think it's significant." Forward again. "But I don't know."
Ellen nods once. Her gaze slips forward again. "All right," she says. And she walks faster.
"The elevator is out. Are you able to climb through the shaft?"
Ellen smiles: a flash, tight, humorless and brief. "I had better be, hadn't I?"
Mystique hesitates half a moment. "There are alternatives. I'd prefer not to use them."
Ellen shrugs, the gesture cool. "Then I shall climb."
Mystique nods once, and falls into silence as she leads the way through the tunnels and to the compound, to the broken elevator, and up.
Up the elevator shaft: Ellen ascends. She is inexpert. Progress is not as swift as she might prefer. Recrimination later. Climbing now.
Mystique takes somewhat less time. She's done this once, and it presents little problem for her. Once ascended, she moves down the hall, leading the way to Erik's office. "Do you require anything from the infirmary?"
Scratch scratch scratch. Long black claws rake Erik's bedroom door from the interior. A whine trails after Mystique, down near the door's base.
"I don't know for certain. Painkillers, perhaps?" Ellen's chin lifts, breath coming a little short. Her glance barely flickers in the direction of the door. "I have yet to assess the damage -- I might need to replenish."
Mystique nods, sternly ignoring the scratching at the door as she leads Ellen onward. "Tell me, and I'll retrieve them." And then they're in, and Mystique approaches carefully. She doesn't relish the thought of being tossed head-first into a wall again. She's perhaps a bit bruised from the last time. "Erik?"
"Still alive." Erik mutters back at her by way of greeting. He hasn't moved much, if at all, eyes cracking blearily open to slide in the general direction of the door.
Ellen slips inside after, eyes drawn to Erik. She takes her cue from Mystique's cautious approach and splits the difference between it and her first instinct, which is to fly to his side.
An almost-smile appears on Mystique's face, and she moves close, to one side. "Excellent news," she assures him, and falls silent to allow Ellen to fall to her work.
Magneto eyes Ellen with a hint of unease and apprehension that looks a little unnatural in the blue-grey of his eyes, which flick quickly enough back to the more familiar form of Mystique. "Achilles?"
"Is fine," Mystique lies blandly.
Ellen is quiet and quick, on her knees at his side and seeking the skin of his hand to meet it with her own and assess the damage.
Brows slightly knit at Mystique's answer, Erik looks back in the direction of the door. Ellen is avoided. Physically, as well as visually - his hand pulling slightly away from hers at contact.
"Erik." His name is sharp and short on Mystique's tongue before she smooths it away into something more comforting. Slightly. "You'll be ok." Her eyes fix on Ellen for confirmation. They are absolutely not desperate in the least.
Ellen retains the brush of skin against skin, her touch held light, held tentative, as uninvasive -- on the surface -- as possible. Her expression schooled to blandness as she plunges her consciousness into his cellular structure. Her eyes have closed; she is too focused to offer much in the way of reassurance.
Magneto does not say what he is thinking, which is perhaps for the best, but he does look at Mystique at his name.
Mystique's hand flutters briefly over Erik's brow, a light touch that's barely there before she steps back and looks to Ellen. "I'll be back shortly." She turns on her heel to move for the door, out toward the infirmary.
Ellen's lids barely flutter to acknowledge Mystique's departure. She explores, noting the damage, cataloguing it in her mind; it is widespread and all very, very small. Her breathing is a little ragged as she does so; her face grows paler, more drawn.
"Ellen." Having managed a very small smile for Mystique, Erik finally looks over at Ellen, brows lifted. "I cannot feel my right leg. I need to know why. That is the most important thing."
Eyes still closed, Ellen nods once and redirects her attention from myriad torn capillaries to assess his right leg -- to find the clot there. She breathes out. "Blood clot. I have to clear the blood clot," she says. "Repair the blood vessels and stimulate area cells to release plasmin--" She loses the thread of speech somewhere, words trailing off as she begins the long work of setting them to action.
Magneto swallows and nods, eyes rolling shut in time for him to release a mild sigh of relief. Repairable. Of course reparable. "However messy things are, I want you to take your time with things that are not vital. I'm reasonably certain there are others that have been injured."
Mystique returns in short order, with a bag full of medical goodies: painkillers, sedatives, restorative snacks for Ellen. And at her side, having finally been freed from the prison of Magneto's room, pads Achilles. Her eyes sweep first over Erik and then to Ellen, silently questioning.
"Sir." Ellen breathes in. Ellen breathes out. "There are going to be more of these. Strokes. Your system is full of -- dead, I can't /do/ anything with dead cells -- it will be some time before I can give you a clean bill of, we will have to monitor your health extremely carefully, sir. Mystique," she opens her eyes wide and flicks them to the blue woman, "can you check the medical catalogue and find what we have in the way of anticoagulants?"
Not good news. Erik's brows fall again - his jaw working even as the familiar scrap of pads and claws over smooth stone indicates Achilles' approach and promts him to open his eyes. His left hand is lifted in dull anticipation, to cup over the brute's blunt snout and then back around a loose ear. The action, from the strain around his neck, is not comfortable for him. He sighs. What else is there to do, really? "It could be worse."
Mystique's breath stills for a moment as she listens to Ellen's speech. A single nod gives affirmation as supplies are left on a chair. Her hand skims lightly over Achilles' great head as the dog moves for Erik, and then drops to her side, clenching. She turns to leave again without word.
Ellen nods. "Yes," she says, solemn and simple. "I'll start repairing these blood vessels."
"Very well." Erik mutters, as if he has any real say in the matter - head tilting slightly aside, so that he can watch Mystique's legs retreating through Achilles'. "How soon before I can be sedated?"
Ellen hesitates. "I ... don't /think/ there's any reason not to sedate you now, sir." She releases his hand as she pulls to her feet, heading to the chair on which Mystique deposited the requested medical supplies.
Magneto's head rests back against the rock. Quite possibly in relief. Even so, his weak scritching of Achilles continues until the mastiff settles down against his side. "I really am sorry about this. Nearly dying all the time. It must be terribly trying for everyone."
Ellen ghosts a smile as she brings him the sedative. "Highly exasperating, sir."
A thin smile is cast up at her, only to fade in the span of a few seconds as he shifts - spine lifted briefly away from the rock biting into it.
Ellen quietly proffers both the sedative pill and the water bottle from Mystique's bag of goodies.
"I apologize in advance," Erik mutters, lifting his right hand enough to accept the pill, which is gripped loosely between his teeth until he can get a grip on the water as well, and swallow it down, "for snoring, but this really isn't the most comfortable set up imagineable." Erik sets the bottle down at his side and glances to Ellen, then back to the ceiling.
"I would not imagine so, sir." Ellen's hand slips back over his that she might set to the work at hand while he rests, however uncomfortable. "We'll move you to the infirmary when we can."
Magneto nods. He's been doing a lot of this lately. "You weren't harmed?"
"I am all right," Ellen replies, a little distractedly; most of her brain is involved in the practical application of her mutation.
"Good." says Erik, brows lifting as his eyes close. "Good." He's silent for a few minutes. And then, he isn't. "Should Mystique return while I'm asleep, you might remind her that she's still wearing my helmet."
Ellen nods in the midst of her work, eyes firmly shut. "I will, sir."
"It probably isn't doing much for confidence levels." Despite no explanation really being needed, Erik offers one. He's slowing down a little - physically as well as mentally. Really relaxing. "It also looks ridiculous."
"It might be slightly less absurd if she appeared to wear something else with it," Ellen observes mildly.
"You are more than welcome to suggest as much."
Ellen crimps a tiny smile. Her shuttered lids twitch. "Perhaps not," she says delicately.
"Mmm." is Erik's ingenius reply. Under Ellen's hand, tension eases out of his own. "Perhaps not."
Silence answers him, punctuated only by the gust of breath exhaled past Ellen's mouth.
The furrow of his brow eases, as does his breathing. Erik is asleep. Or close enough to it that he will be very, very soon.
Ellen stays at his side, her hand soft over his and her consciousness deep in his cellular structure, still and silent, and wholly absorbed in the delicate precision of her task.