(no subject)
Ellen ducks into the familiar sterility of the infirmary, light and shadow stark under the flourescent bulbs: the light shines on the pale gold of her loose hair and strips her blank face of color and warmth. There is a water bottle in one of her hands. The other trails along the cabinets, opening them and closing them. Her glance skims over the contents of each cursorily and then moves on.
Mistress of her domain, and Yuriko is a guest in it. Flat on her back on one of the beds, Oyama studies the ceiling from under heavy eyelids, the world blurred and unfocused by the fan of lashes. Long-fingered hands curl in repose across covers, while that indomitable healing factor continues its stubborn work. Scars draw ugly red lines across bared skin, but it is an improvement: only one open wound remains, its lips gaping and raw over the flat stomach.
Ellen does not turn to examine Yuriko until she has looked at each of the cabinets one by one. When she has finished this surely vitally important task, she strides to the side of Yuriko's bed and cants her head slightly to one side as she proffers the water bottle, letting fridge-cooled plastic brush over the back of one of the woman's hands. "How are you feeling?"
There is a pause while Oyama considers. "Adequate," she says at last, a word that covers a multitude of possibilities. Dark eyes open wider, showing color behind the black; her hand turns and opens to curl around the bottle, fingers smearing condensation along its base. "Thank you. And you?"
"Well enough. I of course am not the patient here." Ellen's mouth turns up slightly at the corners for, for the sake of facetiousness. Having passed the bottle on, she straightens still straighter and lets her hands clasp neatly behind her back. "Is there anything I can get you?"
"I do not wish to inconvenience you," Yuriko says politely, struggling up to an elbow with the slightest of halted breaths for pain. "Might I ask about the disposal of the others? I presume that we were all liberated." The hand holding the water bottle gropes its way to the cap so thumb and forefinger can wrench at its cap.
Ellen actually goes so far as to tut: a little click of the tongue against the roof of her mouth. "It is no bother. I /am/ the medic around here." Then she nods. "The others. Yes. You and Sarah we brought with us. I believe the Xavier's people took charge of the others."
A small furrow creases across Yuriko's brow as she worries the cap off and takes a sip. A small triumph. "Sarah," she says with newly moistened lips, "is the woman with the horns." It is almost a question. "I fought her once. Perhaps twice. My memory is unclear on that point."
Ellen hesitates. The tip of her tongue flickers over her lips before she swallows and inclines her head in another nod. "The woman with horns, yes, you -- did fight her. I am not sure if it was once or twice." She sits down on the edge of the neighboring bunk and puts her hands on her knees, sitting up very straight.
"I did her some injury," Yuriko says, with regret a dull, if insignificant nap on the husky voice. Her gaze drops to the water bottle, frowns, then reclaims ground by focusing mild curiosity on Ellen instead. "Is this freedom? Or a different sort of captivity?"
"Captivity." Ellen looks at her blankly. "No." She shakes her head, her fingertips tightening in her clutch on her knees. "This is not a cage. This is freedom."
"I see." Perhaps she does. Yuriko's forehead remains knitted. "I am with Dr. Lensherr's Brotherhood?"
Ellen blinks. Once. Twice. Again. Then she inclines her head. "Yes."
"And the people who held us?" Yuriko's head moves. Black, unbound hair falls to shelter her shoulders. Perhaps her pulse quickens. "There was a woman."
"There /was/ a woman." Ellen's smile is self-satisfied: there is something, to the way she pulls her legs up to fold beneath her on the bed, of a cat curling its tail around its front paws. "I ripped some very impressive screams from her throat by the time I was through." She pauses, and then says, "I'm not sure if we killed /all/ of them ... the X-Men might have shuffled one or two off to the police."
"Dead, then." An unnecessary question, and yet Yuriko asks it, her voice swift in the hunt for assurance. "You killed her."
"Yes." Ellen's smile is thin, her gaze sharp and dark with recollected triumph. "I killed her."
The other woman does not smile, though tension relaxes in her face and in the long frame, an easing of the set of shoulders and tilted head. "Thank you," Yuriko says at last. "I am grateful."
Ellen's gaze sweeps over Yuriko as she lies on the bed, the healing process still incomplete. Her brows lift slightly. She says, "You're welcome."
The other woman's gaze follows Ellen's, skimming over scars to linger on the wide gash still knitting on her stomach. "I will heal," she says. Bitterness layers deep under the mellow alto. "I always heal. I presume that was part of my attraction to ... her. Among others."
Ellen laces her fingers together in her lap. "Immortality is not all it's cracked up to be," she says mildly, her head tipping slightly to one side as her gaze comes to rest back on Yuriko's face.
"No," Yuriko says. She tips her head back for another long drink of water, then sinks back onto the bed again. Her head settles onto the pillow; fingertips trace delicately along the lips of the glistening injury. "I am uncertain if it is possible for me to die."
"I could probably find a way to kill you," Ellen offers. Helpful.
Yuriko smiles, fleetingly. "I will remember this. Thank you." Polite. "You comfort me."
"Odd," Ellen says. Her smile flickers answer over her lips. "My bedside manner is generally considered atrocious."
"Is it?" Honest surprise. Yuriko frowns lightly. "How curious. Then," she grants, "I am not skilled at human interaction."
"Nor am I." Ellen straightens out of an imaginary slouch, the barest twitch of her spine into a configuration barely different from what it was before. Her chin lifts. "There's nothing I can get you?"
The dark head on the pillow shakes, a smile couched deep in the rich brown of eyes. "Nothing is required," Yuriko says. "Given adequate sustenance and physical resources, my body will repair itself. At some point, I would like to give Dr. Lensherr my gratitude."
The tall blonde draws to her feet, palms sliding over the smooth fabric of her dark slacks. "I am certain that he will want to speak with you shortly," she says.
"Thank you." Lips still curved in a small smile, Yuriko closes her eyes. "I did not believe in the possibility of rescue, while we were captives. I owe you an apology."
Ellen has reached the doorway when she turns to answer, an odd little smile touching her face. "Did you think I was mad?" she asks. "Or a fool?"
"I did not consider either," the throaty voice replies. "It gave the others hope."
"It was almost as though I could feel them latching onto my belief," Ellen muses quietly. She tips her head back to look up at the flourescent lights, her gaze gone quite vague and unfocused. "Drinking from it. But the more they drank the stronger I grew."
Yuriko's smile is gone; her face in repose is a mask, porcelain and unreadable. Serenity. "It served for them," she tells the darkness, mild. "I thought perhaps you intended it to."
"I would never lie about faith," Ellen answers solemnly. She flicks the overhead lights off with her thumb on the switch.
There is silence from Yuriko. On the matter of faith, she has nothing to say.
"I will be back later," Ellen says. She turns for the door again. "Farewell for now."
"Farewell."
Ellen passes the threshhold and leaves the darkened infirmary and its occupant behind, the click of her heels over the floor receding until there is nothing but silence.