Re: X-Mansion: A Phoenix, a Soldier, and a Witch
[He didn't know someone was scraping across his brain. How could he have? Feeling as if his thoughts were being rooted through wasn't, after all, an unfamiliar sensation, and compared to the shocks of the machine this was a light, deft touch, sifting carefully.
Even if he had been able to feel the intrusion, he had more than enough to command his attention in the form of the spidery, wet woman who climbed - who floated - from the bath. If this was the Wanda that the Steve knew, she was worse than he'd imagined her to be.
This was just going to be a check in. Someone had locked themselves into a room, and someone had to make sure she was safe. That made sense to him. This, with a greenhouse inside a room, with a sky outside its panes that couldn't be, with a woman who floated as easily as walking, was not what he had planned for. Had anyone known about this?
Her feet attracted his eye, seeping blood. That must be painful.
Who are you was just the question he'd been working on lately, but no one meant it the way he thought about it when they asked it, and now wasn't the time to beat around the bush.]
I'm James. I'm a friend of Steve's. [He didn't approach her, staying at his cautious distance. Whatever she had gathering in her hands, he might be able to dodge clear of it if he kept his eye on her and let her think he was at ease. 'Might' was the operative word, there. He looked back up to her face, meeting her eye. Whatever was going on here, keeping her focused on what he was saying was the best way to keep things calm. It wasn't the energy or magic or whatever she had flowing around her fingers that surprised him so much, really. He did know who stayed in this mansion, after all, what kind of people.
Then the soft fingers sliding through his thoughts and memories hit paydirt, and he winced, then hissed. As the clamp of good, solid, untouched conditioning slammed into Jean's presence in his mind, it was also felt by its intended target.
Of course Hydra had done good work to keep him from thinking very hard about the things he didn't remember. Of course they had built in conditioning around thinking too hard about what had happened back then which, even now, could go off at the drop of a hat, sending pain and flat, animal fear rolling through him like a wave. He tried to draw himself up straight again. Shit, this was not the time for this, he couldn't afford to be pulled under, couldn't afford to stop seeing and be swamped by memory. It had been getting better - no more episodes in the street, no more collapsing almost at random when something triggered a long-dead memory and it washed over him and dragged him down feet first. And now this, at the worst possible moment.]