Logs:O Brother, Where Art Thou?

O Brother, Where Art Thou?
Dramatis Personae Erik, Heather	2023-07-24 "They really are my Brothers."
Location <XAV> Medical Lab - Xs Basement
Gleaming and sterile, the school's medical facility is all cool science in contrast to the mansion's old-world old-fashion. All stainless steel and antiseptic tinge, the room is filled with the quiet whir-click of the various implements that comprise its medical equipment -- all state-of the art. The hospital beds are curtained off for privacy when they have patients, and in one of the alcoves there is a small operating theatre visible. More heavy-duty equipment is visible in the lab in the back, where the securely locked cabinets keep sensitive equipment out of the reach of teenage fingers. In the quiet of the medbay, the clacking of Heather's fingers against her worn ruggedized laptop is one of the telltale signs of life. Her goggles are resting on the table next to the bed, where she has her legs elevated and her back propped up into the upright position. Her tactical blacks have been exchanged for her more familiar and comfortable tie dye tank top, and her wild hair has been freed from the confinement it suffered during the mission. The screen shows rapidly progressing text processing that she is working on. Somewhere else in the mansion, Erik has Not Been Pleased this whole time -- since Hive was brought to the medbay, even less so. Somewhere else, some X-Men have been shooing him from the sun-basement -- the hanger -- stray students -- with increasing frustration even before the away team returned. He's made his way back to the medbay in spite of these obstacles, now, burgundy suit creased and helmet -- in deference to his hosts, perhaps -- tucked under his arm. In it, a spare voice recorder, that he brings to Heather's side. "I have heard some," Erik says, voice low, concerned, yet dangerous all the same, "from the others." Is that distrust in his tone, or hopeful disbelief? "If you are able, Sister, I would have your report as well." The typing stops when Erik appears, and she watches the last few steps of his approach with her eyes wide. Or, perhaps, it only seems that her eyes are so big considering most of the time they are obscured. She reaches for the voice recorder that is brought to her, examines it quickly in her hands, and fiddles to get the settings correct. "I do not know what you heard. We extracted some of the children. My team was distracting. But I was the only one of us to make it out." The 'us' here is emphasized to indicate that she means a particular subsection. "I was shot and Ion got me out. He tried to get more out." She pauses her voice here, eyes focused on the screen. Her shoulders slump and she closes her eyes. "I do not know if he is even anything more than scattered atoms. Dusk was shot. I saw an image in my mind. I do not think that he is alive." She rubs her eyes with her fingertips once it stops playing. There is something in the set of his shoulders that suggests Erik has heard most of this already, and is displeased to hear it again. His lips press thin, breath short with each name. "They knew the risks," is not a salve when he says it. "As did you. As did I when I sent you all off." The helmet comes to rest in his arms -- Erik traces the edges of it with one finger. "You will mend. This is good." Maybe this is all he is here to say? His eyes flick towards the doors, then up to the mansion above them. Does not leave. Sits, instead, on the edge of a chair at Heather's bedside. Quieter: "How fares your heart? Your mind?" "I do not know where Scramble is. I hope that she is alive." Heather gestures down to her leg, "Dusk has helped me to mend faster. He is helping me even though he is not here." A squeaky sigh and then she flops back against the back of the bed. She is quiet longer than she normally is when replying, but does eventually respond: "I was never in Prometheus. I hoped I would protect them from being hurt again. I would distract." She shakes her head when these words play. "I did not have siblings. Family. I do not show it well. They really are my Brothers." The recording stops playing, and Heather looks to Erik, her eyes wet, expression uncharacteristically strained. She holds her hands up over her heart and makes a twisting motion. Erik is quiet, too, blue eyes trained on Heather's twisting hands. A handkerchief works it way out of some pocket, deep purple and stitched with wire on the edges, and floats to Erik's hand. "You have reunited other families this night. There is much to be proud of, in that." It's a moment longer before he reaches for her hands, pressing the handkerchief into her grip. "But the guilt, of why you lived when your family, when so many others --" His hand squeezes, once, before letting go. "-- I know that is not so easily soothed. If I could but ease that weight for you, I would." He rises, helmet turning over and over in his power until coming to rest over his head. "Rest. That is your part in this, now." Heather takes the handkerchief and dabs it against her eyes once Erik's grip releases. For a moment, those eyes then turn over to her goggles. She relaxes, just slightly, "There is much to be proud of. There will be more to be proud of. More to make them proud." Her fingers press the lid of her computer down the last few inches to clasp. "I will rest for now. But I will not rest for long." Her smile is wan and fleeting as the recording finishes with: "I never do." "We will," Erik agrees, "make them proud yet." Erik takes the laptop and sets it (maybe slightly gingerly) aside. "The work continues. Do not push yourself faster --" the pause here very small, the smile very thin, "--than is your nature. See to your health, Heather." Now he is swooping out the door, and though there is no cape the air of one fluttering dramatically behind him follows. "I will see to our enemies."