Coffin Bed - PG
Title: Coffin Bed
Fandom: Push
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Push is not mine.
Pairings: gen (Cassie's mom)
Word Count: 305
Notes: Set pre-movie
***
They are determined not to let her body waste away. Nurses come in and massage her muscles, though the disconnect between brain and body is so great these days that she can barely sense their touch on her skin. They walk her around the corridors of Division headquarters. Round and round-pointless loops bracketed by an orderly on one side and her IV and its rolling stand on the other. Weekly sessions under a sun lamp to encourage the production of vitamin D since she hasn’t seen daylight in…
…she doesn’t know. Time runs around her like a skein of yarn unspooled. If she concentrates hard enough, she knows she can unravel it. The drugs are supposed to prevent her from holding anything back, but it’s physically impossible to convey to anyone but another Watcher the totality of what she comprehends. Tug on a strand there, and an entire decade’s worth of watching and planning unravels. She has to let every possible permutation of every possible plan slide through her fingers like water through a sieve. Her hands stay wet, but in the end, she’s holding no water.
Those hands never stay still; her fingers are always twitching. At first, she picks at the tape holding the IV lines flush to her skin until the tape has lost its stickiness. Then, she plucks the fuzz from the blanket on her hospital bed until she’s worn away a hole.
It’s one of the younger doctors who gives her the marbles to roll between her fingers. “Little crystal balls for our fortuneteller,” he teases as he places the three clear glass orbs in her palm, and she winces at the tiny, tiny flash the cool glass triggers. The last piece of her favorite scenario clicks into place just like that, the young doctor inadvertently handing her the future.
Fandom: Push
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Push is not mine.
Pairings: gen (Cassie's mom)
Word Count: 305
Notes: Set pre-movie
***
They are determined not to let her body waste away. Nurses come in and massage her muscles, though the disconnect between brain and body is so great these days that she can barely sense their touch on her skin. They walk her around the corridors of Division headquarters. Round and round-pointless loops bracketed by an orderly on one side and her IV and its rolling stand on the other. Weekly sessions under a sun lamp to encourage the production of vitamin D since she hasn’t seen daylight in…
…she doesn’t know. Time runs around her like a skein of yarn unspooled. If she concentrates hard enough, she knows she can unravel it. The drugs are supposed to prevent her from holding anything back, but it’s physically impossible to convey to anyone but another Watcher the totality of what she comprehends. Tug on a strand there, and an entire decade’s worth of watching and planning unravels. She has to let every possible permutation of every possible plan slide through her fingers like water through a sieve. Her hands stay wet, but in the end, she’s holding no water.
Those hands never stay still; her fingers are always twitching. At first, she picks at the tape holding the IV lines flush to her skin until the tape has lost its stickiness. Then, she plucks the fuzz from the blanket on her hospital bed until she’s worn away a hole.
It’s one of the younger doctors who gives her the marbles to roll between her fingers. “Little crystal balls for our fortuneteller,” he teases as he places the three clear glass orbs in her palm, and she winces at the tiny, tiny flash the cool glass triggers. The last piece of her favorite scenario clicks into place just like that, the young doctor inadvertently handing her the future.