damned_institute | Day 58: Cafeteria

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Day 58: Cafeteria

Anise woke up feeling lucky to be alive. She still felt a bit waterlogged, even though her skin, hair, and clothes were completely dry. During last night's adventures, she'd swallowed a lot of water, and it still felt heavy and disgusting in her stomach. Her arms and legs were tired from treading water. Lying still in her bed, she still kind of felt like she was floating and bobbing in the water.

But she was alive.

Knowing how close she came to death last night, and remembering the lengths her friends had gone to in order to save her, there was no way Anise could let a little discomfort get her down. She had to be at her best today so she wouldn't seem ungrateful to Guy and Claude. On that note, she had to remember to thank them properly, now that she was better able to express herself.

While getting ready, Anise was surprised to actually run into Claude that morning. He came to her room asking for the notebook he stored there (or maybe it was an excuse to see her cute face again), so Anise happily located it and handed it over. She was pretty tired, but the big smile she gave him was genuine. Who wouldn't be happy to see her savior so soon after a dramatic rescue?

After he left, Anise finished re-tying her pigtails into a low position so the military beret would fit on her head, and then she was ready! Even though her stomach wasn't feeling that great, she figured sitting down to a decent meal would help normalize it. And luckily for her, she was among the few who had the privilege of eating such a meal. Anise filled a plate with french toast topped with syrup and fruit, accompanied by small portions of each of the available side dishes.

It looked like she was early, which meant there weren't a lot of people around. That was okay, though. Anise could get a good head start on her meal before any company came around. She sat down at a table by herself and started on her sausage first.

[for Tolten!]

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He was crying against her.

She could feel the fabric of her uniform dampen, his body shaking against her. Her heart sunk so low into her stomach, she could feel it straight in the pit of her entire existence. She felt awful. She needed to do something. She needed to do something to fix this, to help him, but for now, holding him was the best she could come up with. Jessica wrapped her arms around him tighter, in this unbreakable, unmoving hold that stated so firmly, yes, I am here for you, yes, I will never leave you, yes, I will take care of you.

She didn't care about her surroundings. She didn't care that if she looked up, the figures that had been following her all day would be there. The only thing that mattered was Peter in her arms. Jessica silent for as long as he wanted her to be, resting her forehead against him and rubbing her hand against his back in what she hoped was a soothing gestures.

She needed to know what happened. She wanted to know.

But she knew it was better to just stay silent, let him work things out, and let him bring it up to her when she was ready. It was bad, a horrible feeling. All she knew was that he had killed someone and something like that wouldn't ever go away so easily. So Jessica just held her genetic template and said not a word.

It took some time, but Peter did calm down. Not entirely, but the hysterics had died out and he was just bone-tired of it all. Still shaky, but mellowed. He shifted his head so he could better talk to her but clung on just the same. He wasn't brave enough to let go of her yet.

"I hit him too hard." His voice rasped with the admission. "I didn't mean to. I wanted to get his...We were -"

And suddenly, his throat closed off. He attempted to clear it and tried again. "We-"

Silence. His lips were moving. He was pushing air out just the same as always, but no sound emerged. His brows drew together and he pulled away, hands still on her arms but upright. His head shook again and there was a rough noise from his throat - the second try at opening it up.

"We went-"

Stopped. Right on the button. Pain turned to bafflement as the lines on his face shifted and he clutched at his neck. For the fourth time, he opened his mouth.

This time, nothing came out at all.

She would hold him for as long as he wanted her to. It was possible that she clung even tighter when he held on, shifted so that he could speak. As long as she was helping him, she wouldn't let go. Jessica stayed silent though, waiting for the explanation.

That didn't come.

He was trying to talk, but it was like he was suddenly losing his ability to every time he spoke more than a few words. "Peter...?" Her fingers dug into his back instinctively, subconsciously, as if she was trying to get a grasp of what he was saying somehow. "What did you want to get?" Another pause, and she added, her tone sounding a bit more desperate. "Where did you go?"

She let go of him when he pulled away, watching with worried eyes. "What's -- what's happening? Peter, are you okay? Can you talk? Please, tell me you're okay." Her words were bursting out of her while his were disappearing. Why couldn't he finish what he was saying? Why couldn't he say anything at all? Did it have something to do with where he went? Or did someone inflict something on him?

Either way, that worry was quickly shifting into one of anger. That wasn't a good thing.

The press of her fingers tugged at his bandages. An unholy sting, coupled with the strain it had caused him to lean over in the first place made Peter gasp and twitch. There were a few stitches where the bullets had grazed him. Nothing so bad as some of his previous injuries, but definitely among the worst he'd accrued here. At least now he didn't have to contend with the burn on his back, too.

The distraction pain caused was brief - Peter was too used to carrying on with fights long after he'd had half his health bar obliterated. Not to mention the problem at hand was just plain weird.

He touched a hand to his forehead, baffled. His lips were freshly wet and his eyes set on the table as he tried to work it out, coercing the words into reality. "I was trying to get at his bullets. This - I-" I had to fight him or they would kill Scott and Harvey. "I-" I had to make him fight me. Peter's eyes clenched shut and he gave his biggest cough yet. Something told him that would be as useful as the rest. "We - augh, weee..."

Oh god, what was this? What the hell was going on? It wasn't just his throat, was it? Peter groaned with frustration and suddenly attacked Jessica's tray, snatching a napkin and her spoon and dipping it in the gruel. Once he'd gotten a big enough glob to work with, he touched it to the paper. Letters appeared there.

W. E.

Then his hand stopped short. Peter could feel his muscles flexing, feel the strain in his hand as he tried to force out the words. Quite suddenly, he let go of the spoon and his hand dropped uselessly, rapping his bandaged knuckles on the table. Peter hissed and clutched them close to his chest, staring wide eyed at the unfinished transcription.

This was the final insult. He could see that now. They had been led down to the basement on false hopes and clues. They held their friends hostage and forced them to fight. And when all was said and done and Indiana Jones had bled out on the coliseum floor, they weren't allowed to warn a single soul about it.

Mortified, he turned to his clone, voice cracking anew. "Jess...I don't think I'm allowed to say..."

Edited 2011-08-22 19:59 (UTC)

He was hurt. She hadn't even realized, too distressed by his emotional condition. She didn't know how badly, and she couldn't even ask, instead, just watching his attempt at explanation play out. He was still trying to talk, but something was preventing him. She wasn't quite sure what, since his words would immediately stop as he was about to say something important, she would imagine.

And then he tried to write it out.

She jerked back a little as he grabbed her spoon, but just like his words, he could only get out one thing, which wasn't very useful at all. "We." We what? Trying to get whose bullets? She had no idea where he went or what even happened, only knowing that someone had died. But she did know that it couldn't be Peter's fault. Still silent, she just watched him struggle with this helplessly, unsure whether she should pull him into another hug or let him figure this out himself. She was just as in the dark as he was, or rather, more so.

"I --" She was biting back whatever words she wanted to say and then just nodded after a moment. "It's okay. I guess, maybe it's better that you don't." She didn't believe a word that she was uttering. She wanted to know, but if he couldn't tell her, then there was no helping it. Jessica's gaze moved to his hand and after a pause, she added, "Are you -- are you okay, at least? You're.... you're..."

The clone's gaze moved upwards, past his shoulders. There was a figure standing there, like all the others, but there was no doubting who it was. Those broad shoulders, long white hair pulled back, the warm smile. Her eyes widened and she found that everything was freezing up. Her body, her mind, she could barely think past the bleary realization of who was smiling at her, holding his hand out. Jessica finished what she was saying, trailing off into a slight sound as she moved to get out of her seat.

"...hurt..."

Uncle Ben, Uncle Ben, Uncle Ben. These were the only words she could possibly think. Her heart was breaking.

"...Yeah. Maybe," he conceded, drawing his hand back off the table with his eyes fixed on the failed napkin attempt. Except that it wasn't for the best, because how the frick was he supposed to warn anyone about what was down there? What if Jessica ever got it in her head that it was a good idea to check things out? Or Brainy, or Claire? All three of them would jump at a chance to play hero and put together the puzzle. Just like he had. Just like Indy.

His stomach rolled at the thought. He never wanted any of them in the arena. He would die if it happened. He wished he had died. That was what was supposed to happen, with Jessica here to replace him and Indy in the lead of figuring out the real deal behind Landel's. He would know what to do. He knew so much more than Peter did. Was better at it too: people looked up to him for a good reason. Trading a teenager raised on Disney justice with a seasoned veteran of the hard knock life was not a fair deal by any stretch of the imagination. What am I they supposed to do now?

Her next question was such a stupid one he almost walked away then and there. She meant well, he knew she did, but it was so hard to care right now when all he wanted to do was scream. Snap the table in half. "...No," he said instead, plain and low and every bit the end of the discussion as walking away would be. As badly as he had wanted to cling to her before, now he wanted nothing more than to be alone.

But then, finally, he watched her for something more than just outstretched arms. She was staring off into the distance behind him, gobsmacked. Frowning, Peter turned (oh god, move your whole body and not just your torso, Parker, you got shot in the ribs you twat). There was nothing there. Yet she was still getting up out of her seat, as if the Predator was staring her down from over Peter's shoulders. Now it was his turn to be confused. Worried. Shocking, considering how little room there was for empathy when Indy's face kept contorting with agony in his head.

His left hand landed on her wrist, hold light but ready to clamp down if she tried to bolt. "Jess - Jess, what is it?"

Edited 2011-08-26 20:45 (UTC)

She became unaware of everything but who she was staring at.

She knew Peter was having his problems, dealing and coping and managing with his own guilt, she knew that she wasn't the best person to be around right now, but honestly? She had stopped caring. All that mattered was the fact that he was looking at her, gesturing. Smiling. She could imagine what he was saying. "Chin up, kiddo. Your face will get stuck that way." He was warm, but her stomach was just feeling cold.

Jessica had almost forgotten Peter was beside her as she was getting out of her seat, until she was jerked back to the present, his hand moving to her wrist. The first thing she managed to splutter was, of course, "Peter, let go of me!"

And that's when she remembered.

Uncle Ben didn't know who she was. He wasn't smiling at her, he was smiling at Peter. This was all about Peter, it was always about him. She didn't exist to him. He didn't care about her, he couldn't care about her. Just like Aunt May, just like their parents. She stood there, halfway through getting completely out of her seat and walking over, before turning her stare towards Peter.

Her eyes were filled with tears.

"Peter, Peter. Uncle Ben -- Uncle Ben, he's right there. You have to -- you have to go talk to him." Her voice was choking. She couldn't think or wonder about why he was there; anything rational was completely out the window, overwhelmed with just the fact that she was seeing him and he was okay. "You have to tell him how sorry we are. Y-you have to tell him that we tried. That we tried to make him proud, t-that we just --"

Tears were rolling down her face and she was putting both hands on her genetic template, trying to usher him upwards, towards the man that only she could see. "Please -- please go tell him." The words were dying on her tongue before she could even get them out, a turmoil of emotions crushing her. She couldn't breath. Her mind was a blur. She was traveling sluggishly through this fog and ending up nowhere.

"Wha- Wait, what?"

There could not be a more offensive combination of words. Peter's face contorted all over again, the expression a jumble. He was stricken with the pressing urge to slap her because what the fuck, you did not tell somebody their dead uncle was standing behind them.

Yet that was just it. Jessica was him - Ben was her uncle too. She would slap anyone who said the same just as hard as Peter would, and that turned every word from her mouth just now into sobbing gibberish. What was she even talking about? He whipped his head around to be sure (taking more care for his ribs this time), but there was nothing there. He faced her again, mortification dropping his jaw.

She was literally crying out a flood. She was pale and she was pushing at him and he had no idea what she was playing at or what might be playing with her, but it terrified him. The panic on her face was like something he'd see in New York. Innocent people staring down the barrel of a gun, or looking down at someone unfortunate enough to get more than just the barrel. That look on her face (his face), the tears and having Uncle Ben come into this - at exactly the moment when Peter was in no fit state to handle a frigging ounce of it - it was freezing him in his seat. Stabbing ice in his chest.

Frantically, he caught her again by both the wrists and fought valiantly to stop the shoving. "Stop! What are you - there's no one there! What the hell, Jess?!"

She was hysterical.

Or rather, she was near hysterics. Peter wouldn't move. Peter wouldn't get up when he was the one that needed to talk to their -- his uncle. The words wouldn't make a difference from her. She wasn't the one who saw him right before he died. Whose death was her fault. It wasn't her, it was never her.

(She was fake, she was imaginary, every one of her doubts were coming back.)

"What are you talking about!?" She was struggling in his grip now, but weakly and brokenly. "He's right there! Peter, look, he's right the --"

And that's when she looked up again. Looked back over his shoulder to that spot of warmth. And no one was standing there. It was completely empty. She was hallucinating. Seeing things. She was losing her mind and it was taking her down one delusion at a time. Tears rolled down her face and she let out a quivering breath, shaking her entire body.

"He -- he was right there..." Jessica whimpered, slowly sitting back down in her seat. "I saw him..."

"No he's not!!" Peter snapped back, his expression nearly an exact match to hers. "Stop it! Don't say that, don't-"

It was nothing he did, Peter was sure of it - but whatever spell had taken hold of her vanished. The hysterics and pleading stopped. She went slack jawed and took her seat all over again, leaving Peter clinging weakly to her wrists and gape.

"You saw him?" That much was evident, but the notion struggled to swim through reality. Peter's capacity for rational thinking was shot, yet he had no choice but to drag it through this pile of what-the-frick and come out with some sensible conclusion. He thought back to a night two weeks before. Special Counselling, to be precise. His head hadn't been in the right place there either, but there was extra details that didn't fit the typical formula of the brainwashed-soldier routine. Seeing Harry Osborn flicker in and out of sight.

And then at the end of the night, dying as Harry Osborn. Peter had been flung to the ground, heard Norman's furious bellows. Invisible fists had cracked his head open. He had died. Sure, the next morning he woke up fine and dandy because Landel made every possible effort to ensure they knew who was pulling their strings, but the fact was that Peter had died. Even if for a moment. Brainy and Sangamon had seen it, and the same thing happened to at least half the people here. To his knowledge, that was the only time anyone had talked about hallucinating the dead.

Peter had gone cold all over again. Not Jessica. Not after last night.

"Jess - Jess, how long have you been seeing him?" This was important. Maybe it was a new thing, but he couldn't be sure. Waking up the next day did not nullify what happened at all. "What happened? What did you do last night?"

All she could do was nod. She couldn't find it in herself to respond or shout back angrily or anything, sinking deeper into everything that she was and wasn't. Jessica was trying to fight the tears, and entering a losing battle, just letting them stream down her cheeks, staring blank-faced at the spot where Uncle Ben was. She knew she had seen him. She was sure of it.

And yet, Peter couldn't, and he wasn't there.

She was supposed to be the rational one. The cool head against fire in their situations. And she had been, until about two minutes ago. She hated herself for getting upset over something that she had no right to. The memories, they weren't hers. And yet, she was the one afflicted with the reminder, seeing ghosts and skeletons.

Her attention flicked back to him and she blinked slowly, trying to register his words through the confusion. "I-- j-just now. Just now. That's all." And then she paused when another chord of realization struck. That was why. That had to have been why.

"Bra -- " She hesitated, and then continued. "I went down to the infirmary. They were -- giving away pins and weapons if you took something. I wanted to see what it was. I-I -- I think I'm going crazy." Hallucinations induced by the substance she had taken. It was better to leave Brainiac out of it. Peter already had enough on his hands.

They were a mess and half, weren't they?

Peter ought to have considered rephrasing that because 'half' might have some ugly implications with Jessica (being a clone had to come with some sticky issues), but try telling him anything different. They were both wrecks, tear-stained and deathly pale, stammering lumps in their seats. Anyone passing by might start to weep on impact.

He would much rather be doing this elsewhere. Not where everyone could see. Guilt put every pair of eyes on him when he turned his back, transformed every whisper into poisonous words. Jessica would feel the same way. She was him. If he could drag her off to the bathroom - frick, if they weren't different genders he could have done just that. They could have said all this in peace. Relative peace. Panic was thrumming in his chest all over again.

The ghosts and death combination wasn't completely ruled out with what she said next. Only shuffled alongside a whole new slew of dreadful possibilities. "...You took the drugs?" Blankly, his head shook back and forth. "Jess, why?! Dude, why would you take their drugs? After all that's happened to you?! I thought you said that was the part that scared you!!"

Oh crap, oh god this was bad. Literally anything was possible now. Sure, she was seeing ghosts. But was that the end of the effect, or just the beginning? Peter did not trust Landel - or Aguilar - to keep it simple when it came to patient torture time. Just look at the elaborate set up in the basement. He winced ferociously and cleared his head with another shake, squeezing her wrists anew to let her know he was still holding on. Maybe to prompt her to squeeze back. "Listen - has there been anything else? These things...It's usually not just one thing, Jess. They've done so many crazy things here. You cannot trust anything they give you. Anything they tell you. Nothing."

"I-I know!"

She shook her head furiously, having to bite down on her lip to keep the whimpers from rising in her throat. She felt horrible. And not because of the fact that she was seeing ghosts, but because of the guilt that racked her entire being, the one that Peter was no doubt feeling in turn. (She had to wonder if anyone was even watching them, judging them. She wouldn't be surprised and she wouldn't blame them. They needed to be judged.)

"I-I know, I know, I know." Jessica found was the only thing she managed to get out, continuing to shake her head. She was feeling worse and worse, wanting nothing more than to just burying into herself and ignore everyone and everything around her, just so she could wallow in her own self-pity. She wanted to explain herself, wanting to tell him that Brainy had been there and he had really just egged her on in his subtle, snottish way, but she didn't.

Peter couldn't know.

"I'm sorry. I'm really sorry, Peter." She sounded like she was going to burst into tears again. She was horrible. He had his own crap to deal with, and here he was forced to handle hers because she was too curious, she was too determined to get herself into trouble as a Parker should. There was a squeeze at her wrists and tentatively, she moved her hands to squeeze his back, turning her gaze downwards. "That's - that's it. That's all. I-I've just been seeing h-him."

She was afraid to look up again in case he was standing there.

Okay. So she had gotten the point and was paying dearly for it. Normally Peter would have felt bad for pushing her like this, but he was at the end of his tether in more ways than one. The last thing he needed was to worry about Jessica dying from phantom gunshots to mimic Uncle Ben's fate, or break out into full on schizophrenia or leprosy or what-the-fuck-ever the so-called side effects of the drugs were, because he was damn sure it was nothing good. And he just couldn't deal with that again, not so soon. Not Jessica, not the only person here who knew him so intimately, and knew his world and knew all of his bullshit and accepted it and...

Peter gulped, pushing back new tears. He was a lot more attached to the girl than he'd thought. Not simply because of what she knew about him. Just her. Just knowing who and what she was, and having been actively talking to her made it so much harder. After the clone debacle he'd tried his best not to think about Jessica at all. The implications were too tricky, the idea of seeing her again jarring, the thought of what he'd be doing if he were the copy and he were in an altered body - it scared him. A lot. Yet finding her here and now was showing him tiny differences. They were still so much alike, but there were things she said or ways that she moved that weren't Peter's at all. She was becoming someone else.

It could be that part of the concern was just Peter's own selfishness and unwillingness to let go of anything he was connected with. He wasn't totally altruistic. But he'd...he'd be horrified for Jessica's sake if something happened to her. Not as his clone's sake, or the only-person-he-knows' sake. Jessica's.

When did that happen?

The intercom blared above him. Peter ignored it, wetting his lips with anxiety. Hastily and with zero concern for the stitches on his side, he leaped forward and trapped her in a hug before the soldiers could tug her away. His face was pressed desperately into her hair (he couldn't find her ear under all of that mess), and he whispered to her. "I'm sorry. Just be careful. Please."

A large shadow moved into the edge of his vision. When his eyes rolled up to search it out they found a soldier, tall and grim-faced as he waited for the twins to pull apart. They locked eyes for a moment.

Peter winced and whispered to her one last time. "Keep me posted. Okay? D-don't...don't lock me out of this."

Then he was drawing away, nodding shyly to the soldier and leaving his seat. He'd rather get up on his own than be dragged.

She couldn't think. Everything was a fog, a blur, something that she could barely trudge through, like molasses. She didn't want to think. She couldn't think. And yet, the more she decided that she wouldn't, the more she did. The more memories came flooding back, the more emotions welled up inside of her, and all at once, she was grateful for Peter being here. There were the fights, the awkwardness, but in the end, the reassurance made up for everything.

Just knowing that she had someone here that she had a bond with. She had no one else but him, both here and back home as well.

She jerked her head up at the intercom, but was caught in the middle of the movement by Peter diving for her, wrapping his arms around her. She was surprised. He never hugged her. He was murmuring in her ear, she was frozen stiff, and her eyes were filled with tears. He couldn't go. She wouldn't let him go, but she knew that the guard was standing there, making him go. Even as he was pulling away from the hug, she was grabbing onto his hands, squeezing them tight.

"You need to do the same. I won't, I promise. But you can't lock me out either!"

Before he was shying away, and she was left with another burly guard approaching her. Glaring down at her. And unlike her genetic template, she wasn't going so willingly. When the man grabbed her arm to pull her up, she jerked away with a, "Don't touch me!"

She was trudging through another fog and it hurt. But at least she wasn't alone.

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Day 58: Cafeteria

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