damned_institute | Night 53: Disciplinary Therapy Room 2 [M-U for Elle Bishop]

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elle,
m-u

Night 53: Disciplinary Therapy Room 2 [M-U for Elle Bishop]

Unlike most patients, this set-up would likely be familiar to Elle Bishop. Or so the doctor had assumed, at least. Even when she was only a child, she'd been examined and tested for her ability. Taking her back to those days probably wasn't the nicest of things to do be doing, but the doctor also didn't get paid to be nice.

Fully outfitted in a suit that would guarantee that her electricity would do him no damage, the doctor watched the girl's sleeping face pensively. They didn't usually allow patients to use their abilities during sleep studies, but Elle could be called a special case. Something had gone wrong with her ability -- something that the institute itself wasn't responsible for. If they corrected it, she wouldn't necessarily be back to her full power, but she would have that control.

If they could alter that, she would become far more useful in the long run.

While the walls of the room looked normal enough, they would also be able to withstand whatever wattage she released. With any luck, she would fall back into the patterns of forcing her own power to the brink, but if not? Then there were ways to persuade her to do so.

The doctor reached out and ran a gloved hand through the girl's hair. "Come on now, Elle," he said, sounding almost fatherly. "It's time to wake up."

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Elle awoke to someone … touching her face? That was weird. And definitely not the nurse protocol she'd become accustomed to in the last few days. Actually, what was even weirder was someone presumably on the staff calling her Elle. Wasn't she supposed to be Sarah now? She was about to mumble a response, but then she opened her eyes.

No. No no no.

She knew what they were going to do. She knew what this set up meant. And even if there was a tiny chance that she was wrong, she wasn't going to be talked out of her original assumption. The memories were all too clear. Even if it was years ago, it might as well have been yesterday. Test after test after test. She'd cried to stop, but they wouldn't let her. He wouldn't let her. She'd almost forgotten-- the Haitian made her forget most of it-- but Noah had reminded her, and parts of it came back, enough shattered fragments to--

The spike of adrenaline that came with remembering how Bob treated her triggered her power again. She shocked herself-- and the doctor, too, if he hadn't been wearing the right equipment. Instead of crying out in pain, her breath first caught in her chest and then turned into hyperventilating.

"No. I don't want to do this. I want to go home."

What did home even mean? Back to Hartsdale? Her room at the institute with her psychopath roommate? Was she already that brainwashed?

Well, where ever home was, she was damn sure it wasn't here.

The signs of what could only be called post traumatic stress disorder were clear in the girl's eyes the moment that she opened them, and the doctor watched as that progressed: her panicked body language, her labored breathing. Most would think it was cruel to make someone relive the lowest point in her life, but...

This was the only way to achieve results.

And said results came immediately, a small spark of lightning illuminating the girl's frightened features. The doctor, meanwhile, was easily hidden behind a mask. When his voice came out, it was also somewhat muffled.

"Home? Isn't this home?" he asked with a tilt of his head. "After all, this is where you were for most of your childhood, isn't it?" Not that exact room, of course, but he was sure that Elle would know what he meant. "And at least I'm here with you, rather than standing behind some glass." How detached. No, he wanted to watch all of this up close.

"No!" She cried out again, this time more angry than frightened. Home. There was a flashbulb in her mind, another disjointed fragment of what home was supposed to have been. Could have been if she hadn't fucked everything up.

Home with her mother. In her mother's house, before all the testing. She was always in trouble -- sometimes for her power, sometimes not -- and her mother was always frustrated. Exasperated. She thought she was going to kill her when she caused an electrical fire in her grandmother's house. And then when she was playing the video game and caused the black out in four counties …

That was the end. There was a phone call with her mother yelling so loud she could hear it from her room and then home was gone. It was a Company life after that.

She triggered a wave of voltage again, bringing her out of her head and back to reality. Where all the pain and horror was waiting for her.

"No." She tried again. "This isn't where I spent most of my childhood, and I don't want you here. I want to go back to my room. You can do that, can't you?"

Daddy used to come out from behind the glass for her. Until she shocked him and made him angry. She didn't mean to. It wasn't her fault.

She wasn't sure when the tears started.

It was fascinating, seeing how the repressed memories came out to assault her and make her feel (and act) like a child all over again. The screaming, the demands, even the request to go back to her room; like she was ten rather than twenty-four. But that was what happened when someone was raised the way Elle Bishop had been.

Her mental state was of interest, but what mattered more was her ability. It would always be the most prized thing about her, and the doctor wondered if she realized that by now. Most likely, but...

As the next surge of lightning came out of her, he glanced over to a computer monitor nearby (also proofed against her power) to see how much she was expending. It was impressive, but not anywhere near the numbers he'd heard she was truly capable of.

"You'll get to go back eventually," he said as he turned to look down at her once more. Not home, but at least to that room. "But not until we fix this little problem of yours." His gloved hand reached out to grab her restrained one; he knew the lightning ideally shot from her fingertips.

"You can't control it, can you?"

He knew. They knew.

"I can control it. There's nothing wrong with me."

Elle's jaw was firmly clenched, unwilling to tell him what he already knew. He didn't deserve it. Not after upsetting her like he was now. Those were just little mistakes. Hiccups. If she could keep calm now, she could convince the doctor that he was wrong about her and she'd get to go back to her room and not worry about being tested on again. She could do it. Daddy would be proud of h---

Thinking of Bob made the shocks start again, wracking her body with sharp pain that manifested in convulsions. So much for that.

She stared down at the hand he was grabbing, barely able to keep down the bile rising in the back of her throat. He didn't deserve to touch her. He was just as awful as the researchers at the Company, pushing harder and harder even when they wanted to stop. Even when she cried. Just because Daddy wouldn't let them. They'd stare with sympathetic eyes from behind the glass, but it didn't matter. They kept shocking her, and she kept crying. Their sympathy didn't count for shit.

Fine.

"So maybe I can't. I can't, okay? What're you gonna do? "

Her bold attempt to act like she had everything under control was endearing in its own way, but he knew that it wouldn't last. In fact, she was making this far too easy for him; he didn't even have to force her to admit it, as it was clear that she wasn't in a state where she could use her power the way it was meant to be used.

"Like I said," he replied once she shot a question at him, "I'm going to help you fix this. You're broken now, but we can put it all back together." Or so he hoped. He was only going off of theories, but there was something that had caused her to trip up, to hold back, to lose it.

He bent down slightly so that he could peer into her face, showing no fear even when she was more or less a firecracker that could go off at any second. His face, on the other hand, was completely masked. "Something is causing this. Something in here." He tapped her on the side of the head with one finger.

"Any idea of what that might be?"

This was what she wanted, wasn't it? In a roundabout way. Landel's wasn't Pinehearst-- or what she imagined Pinehearst was going to be like-- by any stretch of the imagination, but it was serving the same purpose. The doctor was still offering to fix her. Elle should have been happy.

The next memory triggered on her flashback reel was of Claude. As soon as she was fired and tried to run away to England. He'd tried to lecture her then. It's okay to be angry at him, Elle. It's also okay to forgive him. You just need to let it out.

But Claude was wrong and it was stupid. She didn't need to let anything out. Letting it out was what she was trying really hard not to do right now.

"No." But she was still quick to deny any kind of problem, even in the face of someone who could probably help her. She didn't want to open herself up to a stranger. She could still work it out on her own. There was still time for it to go away on its own. Maybe.

It was only to be expected that Elle would be difficult, but the doctor wasn't going to resort to torture just yet. Even though he had the buckets of water prepared, he'd give her one more chance before forcing her hand, so to speak.

He pulled away from the table, starting to pace around as he spoke. The girl didn't have much in the way of movement, so she wouldn't be able to watch him or keep track of where he was going; that was enough to put most people on edge, even if he didn't plan to do anything at the moment.

"Something changed, Elle. You used to be so good, so in control. You could fry someone down to the bone, to the point that they weren't even recognizable." He paused for a moment, turning to face her. Letting the silence weigh between them for a moment.

"What happened? Why are you so weak now? You must know why." He shook his head, almost sounding disappointed. "And as long as you hide from the truth, you'll never be that good again."

As if having some weird doctor knowing intimate details of her life wasn't enough, having him proclaim them to her as a disembodied voice was even more unsettling-- as if things could actually be any more unsettling.

"I can still do that," she was quick to respond, in a tone was was both overly defensive and exasperated. Elle tried to crane her neck to follow the way he was circling her like some kind of vulture, but it was a futile effort. "You're lucky you're wearing that stupid suit, or you'd be one of the fried people."

You'll never be that good again.

That was the part that stuck with her. More than any of the other things the doctor had said, that was the sentence that resounded in her head. So what if Claude was right. Maybe it was some kind of … holding onto her daddy issues and not being able to forgive herself … thing. But she wasn't talking to anyone about it. Not here, and not with the doctor, no matter how much he tried to pry or poke and prod her. Even if he could help, she didn't want to be that vulnerable. Pinehearst would have made it easy. There would have been some drug for her to take, some Haitian pill or something, and that would have magically fixed everything.

"Gee, I wonder what happened. My dad just died, how am I supposed to feel? Like throwing a parade?" Shouldn't he already know? He knew everything else ...

Even if she claimed that she still had the same amount of power, he knew for a fact that that wasn't true. Elle's own problem aside, the institute had dragged her down to a more manageable level, and that wouldn't be changing. But they could at least try to get her to a point where she only released those volts when she chose to, rather than this unrestrained setup she had now.

He only scoffed and shook his head when she tried to threaten him. He was well aware of how she could hurt him, but she was in no position to now -- nor would she ever be. Those people who had tested her as a child had remained untouchable, and he would as well.

But then she said it. Then she touched on the very thing that he'd been waiting for her to bring up. Maybe it wasn't quite time for the physical torture after all. He turned back toward her, pulling close enough again that she'd be able to see him.

"Exactly," he said, his tone more forceful, like a scientist who had just stumbled on some sort of breakthrough. Though in this case, it was completely psychological. "Your father -- the man who caged you up like an animal and prized you for what you could do rather than who you are -- he's finally dead. You're rid of him!" He flung his hands back to make his point.

"And yet instead of feeling free, you're lost... to the point that you can't even keep a hold on the one thing that you've always taken for granted. Explain that to me."

"I'm free." Even through all her fear and pain and uncertainty, she found the strength to flash the doctor a defiant, "fuck you" kind of smile. "I'm more free than I've ever been. This was the best thing that ever happened to me. You know what I did after getting fired? I went to England. And it was awesome."

She was just rambling. Inane rambling meant to build up her defenses, make herself feel better, and distract from the sparks that were threatening to crop up again.

It was exhausting. She couldn't keep doing this like she had been. Not like she could at home. Then she could go on and on with her self-destructive electrical hate spiral and not even break a sweat. But here it was different. She wasn't ready to give out yet, but she was feeling the burn. In more ways than one.

The first thing she wanted to do was argue that she wasn't taking anything for granted, that the doctor was wrong, wrong wrong wrong, Elle decided it was time to show him. Show him before she was rendered completely unable to.

Things were harder when her hands were restrained, but she still managed to emit a reasonably large blast of voltage toward the doctor. She wasn't that optimistic, but there was still a part of her that hoped she'd burn through all his protective gear and fry him.

It was odd to hear anyone say that the death of a parent was the best thing that had ever happened to them, and yet the doctor wouldn't be surprised if there was some truth to it. Before Bob Bishop's death, Elle had been like a caged animal, only let out when she was given a rare chance to "prove herself." And yet he wondered if anyone could eat out of someone else's hand for that many years and not feel something after that person was dead.

And then she started again, sending a blast of lightning that was clearly aimed at him. The doctor was forced to close his eyes against the brightness, and while he could fear the pressure of the volts around him, there was no pain.

He stood there in silence for a moment before glancing to the computer monitor again. That one had been stronger, and she'd controlled it. This was working, at least to some extent.

"So you have no regrets about leaving a life that had been all you'd known for years?" he asked with a tilt of his masked head. "None at all?"

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Night 53: Disciplinary Therapy Room 2 [M-U for Elle Bishop]

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