insects



	Insects

		how jaded we became every city felt the same and you came to hate your face for every place it took you from and gave you to Somehow you lost all your friends you never had many, how could you know what they meant how you wish this would end so let it all go and let the flies fight for whatever is left of them like you care -Kent


Don't talk to me about Xavier. I don't know what to think about the man. I first met Xavier just after the voices started becoming cruel and harsh, around the time I turned twelve. My parents had found my notebook in which I had scribbled down everything they had told me, from all the secrets about my family to how I was better than everyone. They read about how the voices had started turning on me. I was stupid. I didn't know when to be quiet. I was messy and loud. Someone was coming to kill me. My parents had heard about Xavier and the mutant phenomenon. They were frantic to send me to him so that I could become his study, so that I could control the voices. We were not rich so I was sent to him by myself with a one way ticket. When it was discovered that I was not a mutant, I had to wait with Xavier in the States for several months before my family could afford to buy a ticket for me to return home. Meeting him had terrified me. He wasn't just another voice in my head. He was louder than the rest and I was scared that he would want to hurt me or would want me to hurt someone else like the others did. It took me days before I was comfortable enough to be in the same room as him. By that time, he had probed my mind carefully from a distance and had found no X- gene. I was no telepath like my parents had hoped and thought. I was just a broken, lost little schizophrenic girl. Xavier didn't tell me that. Not at first. Instead, he took me into his study, his helmet-like Cerebro attached to his head and he announced he was going to heal me. I lost consciousness, but I was aware of him in my head, fixing synapses and adjusting hormones. Hours later, I went back to my assigned room. That was just under twenty years ago. I haven't heard any voices since. I became a psychologist because I knew that not everyone could have a telepath peek around in their head and reconnect their brain. It was never even really about 'fixing' anyone either. That was one of the things I aimed to do, but more than anything, I longed to understand. Sometimes, I feel cheated. Sometimes I wish I had been able to deal with the voices on my own, to know it was my own triumph. Sometimes I wonder if maybe the voices would have told me beautiful things again one day. So I worked for years unraveling the minds of criminals when I could never even unravel my own. Therapy is wasted on me; there's nothing to say. Physically, genetically, I have been fixed. But emotionally, the disease is still there and I am empty. The killers I have come to understand have provided me a service that I can never repay them for. They have helped me define my life. I was a vital link in helping to catch criminals who were evil, therefore I was good. I didn't feel good. I felt like a traitor. I felt like some of these people, the ones with real mental problems, looked at me and saw one of their own who had deserted them. I felt that their voices were filling them in on my forsaken brain, that their voices were whispering urgently, lonely to me, only to end up with unending silence. I was plagued with that survivor guilt for the majority of my career as a forensic physiologist. I felt that with leaving forensics behind and choosing to join the British MI-X, I would leave the guilt behind as well. And yet here I am, waiting for X-Rays to develop, terrified that they will prove that what I am beginning to fear is true. I have been unsure of my position since I got here. Was I supposed to be a counselor for the others, or aid them in tracking down criminals? So far, I have done more forensics than any counseling, and it isn't as painful as my past work. These criminals are mutants, and part of me envies them for that, so the guilt is less. But things started to go bad a few weeks ago. Kali had tumbled into my office, gripping a ripped envelope. The woman was out of breath, and frantically tried to communicate with me despite this. It's a fascinating sight to see, a hurried goddess gasping at you, waving four arms around animatedly. Finally, she had dumped the envelope onto my desk and stood there, breathing hard. I picked it up delicately, turning it over. It was addressed to Wisdom and I was about to question her why she had opened his mail when I saw the return address. Salem Place, New York. The Xavier Institute. My blood froze. After I left Xavier when I was twelve, we had not communicated again, though supposedly he had contacted my parents several times to see how I was. And Xavier's response to MI-X had been a chilly silence. I opened the card inside quickly and stopped. This was the last thing I was expecting. Inside laid a picture of a young man and woman- quick, who were they?- above an invitation to their wedding. Katherine Pryde and Piotr Rasputin. Shadowcat and Colossus, I thought, remembering the files that had been mandatory reading. Underneath the invitation was a message hand written in thick black pen. Pete, No hard feelings, eh? Piotr I looked up at Kali with raised eyebrows. "So?" "So?" she stammered. "So? So that girl there is the reason Pete has been a mess for the past weeks." "I thought Wisdom was always like that." "Kitty and Pete dated for a while, back when they were with Excalibur." Excalibur- right, the European group of mutants. "She's head of the X-Men now. They were here weeks ago and Kitty and Pete had a reunion of sorts. He's been out of his head because he keeps trying to work up the nerve to contact her, to be with her." I looked down at the invitation in my hand, feeling the plastic texture of the card. "This will not go over well, then." She snorted, two of her arms disappearing. "No shit." "Why have you come to me with this?" I looked away. "It is rather obvious that I am not the most liked here, and Wisdom and I are not particularly close." Kali slid into the seat facing me, her face serious. "No, but you're the physiologist here. You know what's best for everyone's mental health and all." She shook her head. "And to be honest, I trust you the most." I was surprised. "Me? Why?" She shrugged. "Red can be manipulative without meaning to. Hugh is a horrible gossip. Kent can be too simple. And Will has this habit of letting things slip." I nodded. "I'm guessing you want to keep this," I waved the invitation, "away from Pete." She nodded eagerly and then paused, thinking as she fell back into the chair with a scowl across her face. "Rasputin is a complete bastard. He wrote that just because he thinks he's won." She growled deep in her throat. "You do know that Pete will eventually find out, yes?" She sighed. "I guess. But just not like this." I nodded slowly. "I agree. We should give him time. He doesn't seem to be in the best place right now." Kali smiled and moved to leave. Just before leaving, she turned to me. "Thank you, Cloe." In retrospect, I should have locked my office door. But I was hungry and a bit giddy from my exchange with Kali. And of course, I never would have guessed that Red would have snuck into my office, searched and found the wedding invitation to take it out and give it to Pete. But when I came back later, the atmosphere had obviously changed, had become pregnant and tense. Will, Kent and Hugh had gathered themselves in the main room, all of them drinking, Kent a coffee and the other two various different types of alcohol. Kali was pacing around, a slim cigarette held between her elegant fingers, flicking off the ashes every few seconds. The sound of the door closing behind me was jarring in the quiet room. Kali's head flew up, and I watched her black hair flying around her face. "Oh thank Shiva you're back," Kali said, rushing over to me and hooking her arm in mine. She began to drag me away from the main room, away from the watching boys to a secluded corner. "Red got the invitation. She gave it to Pete." "Red did what?" I was surprised that she had done so, but I was even more surprised that this was the reason for the grim faces. Kali sighed and shook her head. "Red made sure that Pete saw the wedding invitation about forty-five minutes ago. Half an hour ago, we heard this," she shuddered, "howl. From Pete's room." She clung to herself. Her face was close to mine. "It was heart-wrenching." "Has anyone gone in there? Has anyone tried to talk to him?" I moved away from her, heading towards Pete's room. "We didn't think it was the best idea," she said urgently. "We were waiting for you, Cloe." I marched to Pete's room, tilting my head towards the door and listening. Nothing. I knocked slightly. "Peter? It's Dr. Olivia. Cloe. I am going to come in. Okay?" Again, nothing. So I swung the door open. Red was squatting in the corner, her legs pulled tightly against her chest. Strands of hair were hanging free from what used to be a tight bun and her eyes were small in a squint. There were vague traces something, either a smile or a grimace, on her face. Her hands were burnt. Pete was on the other side of the room, slumped on the ground, leaning against the foot of his bed. His shirt and his tie were loose and disshelved. In one outstretched hand he held the still smoldering remains of a paper, probably the wedding invitation. "Jesus Christ, Pete." I ran across the room, grabbed an old jacket of Pete's lying on the floor and I threw it over the fire in his hands. The smell of him was noxious and over-powering and, as I moved closer, I realized that he was covered in alcohol. The jacket having dosed the fire, I tossed it aside and looked into Pete's flat eyes. "Red," I growled, never once taking my eyes off of Pete, "get the hell out of here." I heard her clamor to her feet and stumble out. The door closed slowly. As soon as she was gone, I reached back and slapped him. Pete stared back at me, his eye balls lolling around drunkenly. My eyes bore into his, demanding his attention. I doubt he saw me that night. But I was there, for what seemed like hours, staring at him and talking to him, willing him to use me as an anchor back to reality. Instead, after leaving him later, he used Red and her body as an anchor. Kali was livid. Red had committed a cardinal sin in her eyes. I understood her point. Red, being shrewd, had known that the invitation would have destroyed Pete, leaving him open to her. But I understood Red too, on a level. She wanted Pete, and she wanted him to want her. She did what she thought was necessary. It doesn't make it right, but it makes it understandable. But Kali, who had been close to Red initially, now vehemently resented the younger girl. Kali had been Red's only link with the rest of the group and now without her, she had begun to fade away, just as Pete had faded. He had since returned again, but he was not the same man. Defense mechanism. I understood. And then, weeks later, right after the wedding, Rachel had come. Kali had skirted around me for a while, saying happily that Kent had foreseen it. But eventually, she lost interest with the red haired girl who stayed to her room. Pete avoided her like the plague. She was a living reminder of that night months ago. I tried all sorts of approaches with Rachel. None worked. She was uncommunicative, and around her I felt as if there was a whirlpool in my brain, sucking my thoughts and words down as well. After days of trying to reach her, I began to wonder if she had some sort of head trauma. Will and I set up a CT scan for her, Will only grimacing slightly at the immense cost of it. Her scans had come back irregular. In occasional areas and layers in her brain were dark cloudy blocks that cut off different nerve endings and synapses. Will shook his head and scratched his scalp in the way he did when he was confused. "I don't know, Cloe," he said. "My specialty has never been the brain, but I remember enough from medical school to know that what we are seeing is nothing that's ever been documented before." I sighed, tapping my pen against the desk. "Is it some sort of bruised tissue? Could it have been caused by an injury?" He shook his head and opened a book that lay before him. "Look, no head wounds of any kind appear like this. And if it was in fact caused by some trauma, some external stimulus, the blocks would appear on all layers or at least the layers closest to the skull, the tissues that would have been bruised first. But they're just random here." I squinted, moving closer to the X-rays. "What sections of the brain are these? Aren't these the ones that control memories? And these here, aren't they the ones that control emotions?" He nodded. "It appears like it. You would think that would explain her current condition, this damage, but its not concentrated enough to be responsible for her catatonic state." He shook his head again and sighed heavily, deeply. "In fact, I'm not even sure if these blocks are actual damage. They're too neat, too well contained." He looked at me and shrugged. "It seems almost purposefully created. Isn't she from the future? Perhaps this is a result of a futuristic disease, or a scientific advancement." Now it was my turn to shake my head. "Some of these are fresh. See these here?" I pointed to a scan. "They're dimmer, not as controlled and neat. The brain has been trying to eradicate them, to remove them. These here are much stronger. New." And then it came to me. It was slowly and discreetly at first, but eventually loud and unsettling enough to make me feel physically ill. "Will? Could you do a CT scan on me?" I was nervously pacing as Will prepares the scan. He glanced at me intermediately, confused and a bit annoyed, hesitant to spend thousands of dollars because of some hunch I can't explain. I hoped to God that it is just a waste. I prayed with all my heart. And then he was walking across the room, maybe saying something, but I couldn't hear and he placed the X-Rays on the board so that they show. Next to them were Rachel's, no longer lonely. No longer lonely, never will be again, because there I was, right next to her and I felt like being sick. My brain lied next to hers, all sliced up and as pale as gossamer and Will didn't have to say anything because I could already see, I already knew. In my brain, in slightly different places, there were also the gray blocks. What did I expect? I knew Xavier had been inside my head and had cured me; I shouldn't be surprised to see these remnants. But I had thought that he had simply placed together nerve endings that had been severed during a difficult delivery, healed bruised tissue. Instead, he had cut my nerve endings and bruised my tissue. I wasn't meant to be sane. I was born with this disease and would have had it my whole life if he hadn't done that, if he hadn't jumped into my head and changed my brain waves around to fit what he thought it should be. He had seen what God had wrought and found it wrong. And he had changed me. How many things had he cut off from me? How many memories or thoughts or opinions had been siphoned off, had been suppressed? I suddenly missed the voices vehemently and I felt, more than ever, a sham, a psychologist who was born to be on the other side but a bald handicapped man had gone into my head and messed things around. And then there was Rachel. I had pored over her file; she was not born with the same mental defects as me. And I realized, as I stared more and more at the two brain scans, that she was now diseased where I had originally been. Where my synapses had been connected, hers had been severed. Someone was trying to make her schizophrenic, or at least appear that way to a psychologist like me. I have never been a paranoid person, even when I was still under the control of the schizophrenia. There were no flights of extreme delusion where I felt that I was a key figure in some sort of mass conspiracy. But right now, God help me, I couldn't help but feel that way. The evidence was there before me, jarring and unsettling, all roads seemingly leading to the conclusion that Xavier had entered this girl's brain and had tried to destroy her, just as he had done the opposite with me. Finally, Will's voice broke through my reverie. "Cloe, what is this?" My eyes never left the scans. "I started hearing voices when I was a little girl. My parents thought I was telepathic so they sent me to Xavier for help. He realized I wasn't a mutant; instead, it was schizophrenia. Those blocks in my brain were put there by him to 'heal' me." "So let me guess," he said, frowning. "You're thinking that Xavier created this damage in her." I sighed deeply and crossed my arms. "I don't know. Rachel could have suffered from some sort of mental disease and these blocks were the result of the cure, like mine. After all, the girl was sent back and forth in time. And if it wasn't to combat some disease, perhaps she requested it. They could be blocking some horrible memories she's had from her past.." Will interpreted me, scowling and pointing at the scans. "Yes, but, like you said, these blocks are all new. They're all placed upon new memories. And you see these blocks here? They're located in the personality section of the brain. How do you explain that away?" "I'm not trying to explain anything away, Will, I'm just-" "Scared about what this might mean? Of all people, Dr. Olivia, I thought you would be the last to shrink away from something like this." I sighed, looking down at the ground. "I'm not shrinking away. I just don't want to jump to conclusions." Yeah, like the conclusion that Xavier had purposefully destroyed this girl's mind, that he had done things in my mind that he shouldn't have. Will said nothing. He walked over to Rachel's side, looking down at the still unconscious girl. Her face was twisted in a grimace now, the muscles along the side of her face twitched as he leaned over her, moping off the sweat on her brow. "Red is read only, so she won't be able to fix this, but maybe she can look into it more. She and I will be able to help her, hopefully, bring her back to consciousness, though I doubt that she will ever be able to confront the nature of these blocks." "Will, I-" He turned on me, glaring. "Don't give me any excuses. You know as much as I do, if not more, that this is Xavier's fault. You're the shrink here, Cloe; you have a responsibility to help her." I sat down heavily, with my head buried deep in my hands. I knew he was right. But how could I help her? How could I help her when I was suffering from the same thing, when I had no way of knowing what Xavier may have tampered with? I thought of Rachel's files, of the pictures of her. She was so young, so beautiful, so full of life. It was hard to reconcile those images and the image of the girl laid out before me, pale as death and shaking. And yet, it was also very familiar. We were stuck, her and I. And with only death to get us out.

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