regenerated | and then she'd say, 'it's okay, i got lost on the way, but i'm a supergirl and supergirls don't cry'

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and then she'd say, 'it's okay, i got lost on the way, but i'm a supergirl and supergirls don't cry'

Up until now, everything's been easy. As strange as it might be for most people to imagine, Claire Bennet's leap off the Compound has been the best thing that's happened to her yet on Tabula Rasa. Maybe it isn't the healthiest— after all, where the leap from the Compound was supposed to help her shed that mask, come face to face with all that fate's laid on her, now it's only granted a wish that she's held tightly to for months. All of a sudden, it's the lies that have become truth. She no longer has to think about the ideas her mind's brushed over in past months, wondering if invincibility comes with everlasting life, if wrinkles will never make it to her face, caused by smiles or frowns. The prospect itself is still one that chills her to the bone, lingering in the shadows of her thought, Claire realizing better than anyone else that there will come a day when she returns to the United States, when being a cheerleader is no longer an option, when her dad will come and take her into his arms, family man that he is. She'll have to search for Peter, for Nathan, for anything remaining of the two of them. But for now, one choice has been switched for another, and it feels pretty good.

She's probably driven the people at the clinic mad. Claire keeps on trying to pull off her bandages, keeps on running gentle hands over her injuries, relishing the way that the pain is different each time. This process is healing. Not reversing, not erasing all trace of what's happened, but instead an imperfect process that leaves her slightly fractured, slightly weak, all of the things that a girl her age is supposed to be. The bruises that she sees all over her skin might be about the most beautiful thing she's seen and felt in a long time, her eyes wide with amazement at the human body, that imperfect state of being and how it adapts. It's almost hard to keep the lie in place, with the way her lips spread into a smile at the slightest provocation, how laughs catch in her throat now because her lung hasn't healed enough to be used at full force.

But she can't hide on her own forever. Can't use fatigue as an excuse when all the doctors can see that her eyes are practically dancing. It's time for visiting hours. This is what she's been dreading.

Because somehow, she doesn't think that most people will believe her if she tells them this is the happiest she's been in almost a year. And honestly, she's not even sure if she should.

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It's not like she's never been in a hospital. The Penderghast children have had their share of breaks and sprains, of childhood complaints, and Olive's as guilty as Kale of getting into scrapes, though she's escaped the stitches he's brought on himself on more than one occasion. All of that, though, is nothing to this, and when she enters the clinic, it's with an unusual degree of trepidation. Claire's hurt, badly hurt, and though she doesn't look as upset or worn down as Olive might have expected, she's still bandaged and bruised, lying in that bed, and it's terrifying. They say the Compound isn't high enough that the fall could kill someone, but that isn't true. Height has a lot to do with it, but it's the impact that counts, and she's reasonably sure the right — the wrong — angle could have been the end of her friend.

Edging around the bed, she pulls the seat closer as she eases into it. "Claire, my God," she says, "what happened? Is there anything I can do or, or get for you or — ?" She shakes her head, abrupt, not sure what she's supposed to do here.

Claire hates thinking about things like normalcy. Hates having to label things as regular or irregular, hates the fact that for all of the wonderful, horrific, miraculous, and impossibly strange things that have happened to the people on the island, that it still casts everyone onto some sort of scale, like there's now an ability to compare the weight of what one's experienced. Claire hates it. Doesn't want to think of her life as any more or less burdening than anyone else's, because in the end, what matters are the emotions, and less the events. But make no mistake, she considers that scale as much as anyone else.

Olive is, perhaps, the best proof of that. A girl who, as far as Claire can tell, has led a normal high school life. It isn't that Claire respects or expects less out of the other girl for it— she doesn't, and she still thinks Olive is one of the most remarkable people she's ever met. But how do you tell someone like that? How can Claire justify pushing something so huge onto Olive?

Then again, Zach managed, Claire reminds herself.

The expression on her face is one that carries a level of apprehension in it. Claire takes a deep breath, tries to keep herself from crying, but a tear rolls down from the corner of her eye anyway. "No, no, it's okay. I'm okay," Claire insists, shaking her head. "I just... y'know, I slipped."

Her lips press together; the statement isn't meant literally.

"Okay," Olive says, nodding quickly, trying not to let that shed tear panic her any. Nothing about this is okay, nothing is fine, not when Claire's in this condition, but it will be. She reaches for her hand before she thinks about whether or not that, too, is hurt, and leans over on an impulse to kiss the other girl's cheek. It just takes time, she reminds herself, and whatever could have happened is less important than where they are now — and bad as that is, it's something Claire can come back from easy, given time. Maybe not as easy as all that, when it looks painful, but it's still only a matter of time.

"You scared the hell out of me," she admits. "God, we need to put, like, some serious railings up there or something, like they had on Mardi Gras, so things like this don't happen." Somehow the idea of it is even worse than the idea of people vanishing. Olive may not be accustomed to the idea, but it's common here, people just up and disappearing, but in a place like that, anything more ordinary is somehow alarming for its mundanity.

The fact that Olive just goes along with the explanation, not pressing, not prodding, just makes Claire feel worse. She tries to go with it for a while. Offers a wan smile to agree with everything that Olive says, that they need better railings up there, so that people don't, god forbid, end up sleepwalking their way off. It only strikes her now that she's sitting in the hospital, how much worse things could have been. A couple of broken ribs and punctured lung aren't really much, in the grand scheme of things. The thought sends a shiver through Claire's body and her eyes shut suddenly, tightly, a hand covering her mouth as she chokes back a sob, shaking her head.

This just isn't fair. To Olive. Because if Claire can't even trust Olive to be able to accept what Claire could once do, maybe that's just doing her a disservice as a friend. Not offering enough trust.

"Olive, I have..." she manages a shaky exhale. "I have something to tell you. But you have to keep it secret, okay? And promise me that you... no, actually, just promise me you won't tell everyone."

It's incredibly ominous, but all Olive can do from where she's sitting is hold Claire's hand when she would rather hug her. She doesn't dare try, not with the injuries Claire has, but it's hard to look at her getting choked up and not reach out to her. They've only known each other a couple of months, give or take, but Olive knows well that time doesn't matter quite as much as people, that clicking with someone happens fast, and it doesn't matter if Claire's a new friend; she's a dear one, one of the best Olive has here, and seeing her this way makes her heart ache. She nods fervently at the request, wide-eyed and about as serious as she ever gets. "Y-yes," she says, "Claire, of course. I won't tell and, and you can tell me anything. It's gonna be fine."

Her heart thuds against her chest. There's a regular cadence to it, one that Claire tries to ignore, because the last thing she needs to hear now is adrenaline rushing through her in the way that it hasn't since... watching her uncle soar up into the air, his skin glowing with radiation. So Claire's hand tightens its grip on Olive's hand, grounding herself, reminding Claire of what her real priority is here, even if it's one that's frightening. She's supposed to trust her friends deeply enough for this to be a cinch, but sometimes it's still hard, remembering the way that Lyle reacted upon finding out. Her own brother, of all people. One can never really predict who'll take well to the fact, she supposes.

"I had, um." She closes her eyes for a second, before opening them, gaze trailing to the ceiling. "God. I had an ability before I got here to the island. I healed. Rapid cellular regeneration, I think that's what it's called. Anything that happened to me, any injury I got, I just had to wait a few seconds, and it'd always get better. I thought that maybe, maybe it still applied here and I was just afraid of everyone being scared of me, or thinking that I was a freak, but then I had to know. So."

There's confusion in Olive's expression for longer than she'd like. She's not proud of that. She's a clever girl and she likes knowing that, so any time it takes a little longer for her to work through something, it's frustrating. It's just a difficult notion to wrap her mind around — not that she doesn't understand the concept, one that belongs more to someone out of a comic book than one of her closest friends, but because her mind is working double-time to apply that to this situation and she doesn't like what she comes up with.

"You jumped?" she asks, voice lowered to a hiss, less out of anger than to keep this secret between them. "Claire." It wasn't like she meant to hurt herself, but it's still a crazy thing to do. Granted, if she were like a tiny, adorable Wolverine, she'd probably go running wild and get herself into all kinds of trouble, too, but Olive still can't take the idea of Claire choosing to jump off a building, ability or no, and not feel a little dizzy from the mental image. She knows this makes at least the second of her friends who were special in this way before (first Billy, now Claire) and she's willing to accept the existence of such things, if only because the people here mean she has to take it as fact, but it's still a little overwhelming. They exist, but applying it to someone she loves, that's strange, though she supposes she should just be grateful Claire didn't go full Bella Swan and dive off a cliff. "I could — God, I could never be scared of you, okay? And you are not a freak, except that, you know, jumping off things is — God, you couldn't just cut yourself to check?"

It's the relief washing over her that sends everything over Claire's limit. An overdrive of emotion, and she's not sure how to deal with all of it, simply staring there and blinking blankly for the first several moments. There's shame, of course. There's always been shame whenever she feels like she has to lie, and that's been highlighted ever since she found out what her dad was really doing, that he didn't actually work at a paper factory. Because Claire knows that if there's anyone she doesn't want herself to turn into, it's her dad. It's not even like he isn't a good dad— he is, and Claire's still convinced that he's the best— but being to lie that easily, even if Claire realizes that it could be something that ends up saving her someday, it's just not something that she wants to be able to do. The relief almost washes all of that out, gratitude that Claire feels, glad that she chose to do this. To open up.

And through all of that, still yet another layer of panic. So she stares, missing Zach and suddenly wishing (for what must be the umpteenth time) that he could just appear and explain away all of the issues, explain the camcorder that Claire's had to get a nurse to fetch for her.

"I could've. I mean, I should have," Claire manages to reply at last, her voice wavering even in spite of the fact that it's barely above a whisper right now. "But it was just... I don't know, it was the sort of thing I did back home, when I first found out what I was. I tried everything— everything— to get an injury to stick, and eventually I just started throwing myself off from high up. Zach, my best friend, saw it twice, I. It was how I really got him to realize what I was, and what made him decide to be there for me."

She sighs, rubbing at her eye with the heel of her hand. "Honestly, I don't know why I did it. Maybe I was hoping that he'd show up. I wasn't really in my right mind."

"Clearly," Olive says, although it's the kind of adolescent disdain that comes from genuinely caring about someone. "Claire, you could have been hurt so bad and what if it had stuck at home?" For all that she tends to be pretty good at understanding people, this one is beyond her. It's one thing to accept the existence of such abilities, if only in some other time and space, not least because shit around here is bananas; pushing it that extra step to understand what would drive someone to behave the way Claire has is beyond her, at least in such a brief time. A little while longer and maybe she'll get it, but she's not sure she will without being told or that Claire is up for telling her.

She does her best to keep her voice down, though, because it isn't, of course, her secret to tell and this place is far too public (and quiet — there aren't much in the way of patients) even to speak at a normal volume and be sure no one will hear her. "You aren't going to make people show up just by flinging yourself off something," she says, a note of pleading sliding into her voice. "Otherwise, Jesus, we'd all be throwing ourselves off shit like lemmings."

"Hey," Claire protests lightly, shaking her head with mock gravity. "That game is a classic. Don't knock."

Maybe she's doing it to hide the greater turmoil underneath. The scariest thing about this all is the fact that now, now that she's suddenly found herself in a bed, barely on the mend, she's not entirely sure what brought her to that point in the first place. Of course Claire can point out any number of reasons why she wasn't feeling well, and why she couldn't turn to anyone for it, but the fact of the matter is that she's still turned to extremes. Knows, somewhere deep down, that it wouldn't feel right if she didn't give it her all— and what does that really say about her? The questions never really stop, she supposes.

All she really feels like doing is hoping.

"But I know, Olive, I do," she says more gravely, brow furrowing and eyes sliding to a close as she turns to face the other way, because being unable to just pick herself up and return to how things were before, it leaves her restless. Leaves her facing the full brunt of all the weight that others are putting on her now, pressuring her for the 'why,' pressuring her to know what any of them can do to keep it from happening again. "I can't even fully explain it, okay? It's not like the first time I realized what was happening to my body back home, that I just... threw myself off a cliff or something. I worked my way up, and that, suspecting that you just can't die no matter what you do, it's terrifying, okay? And maybe I didn't know how to work myself down from all of that."

It doesn't occur to me until she says it, the idea she'd never die with a power like that. The thought is kind of terrifying, actually, now that she mentions it. I don't know, it's something you always think of as a positive, the kind of thing people say they want, but I don't think they're thinking it through. I barely have, I just know I wouldn't want it.

Olive doesn't know what she can do to help, and she has this unshakeable need to help, to try and make Claire feel better about this or anything else. For now, she focuses instead on the conversation at hand, hoping fervently that just talking about it will be of some use. After all, it sounds to her as if Claire's been keeping this pretty well under wraps, and sometimes that's the worst, keeping everything buried. "Well, you know now," she says, more hopeful than chastising. "It doesn't need to happen again. Because you, you can, you can die here, and I'm sure that, at home, it was... God, just bizarre and terrifying and, and all of that, but it's different now."

"It's just..."

There are a lot of Claire's sentences that start out with those words. Times when she's making excuses, or trying to fit all of her problems into a neatly-packaged box, something that others can swallow, something that helps her get away. They feel strange, this time, resting on the tip of her tongue. Like she can't do this situation that kind of injustice. There's nothing simple about it, nothing small, nothing light. Bizarre and terrifying seem to only scratch the surface. So Claire looks down at her hands again and lets those thoughts simmer, before she shakes her head.

"You know, honestly, I feel like I could probably learn how to deal with the whole healing thing, if it was just that. For a few months, I let that consume me, you know? Felt like a freak, a monster, like I was just this... non-human creature. My brother Lyle even accused me of being an alien," she sighs, her lips quirking slightly. "But then all this other stuff started happening, people coming after me for my power, my family getting hurt in the process. Coming here was just a big shock, and it felt wrong, and there's so much unfinished business back home. I don't know why exactly I jumped, but I can think of so many things that could have added to it. Being afraid that I was still a freak, that people would leave me if they knew. Wanting to know if my family back home's still okay, and sometimes... just sometimes, thinking that maybe this is all a dream and all I need to do is get myself practically killed, then I'll wake up in my bed. I got some of the answers. Enough that I know it won't happen again."

"Okay," Olive says. It's an answer only to the last part, because the rest deserves more consideration, because she trusts that, when Claire says that, she means it. There's no need to worry here that this will repeat itself or that Claire's going to try to kill herself or anything of that nature; she'll be fine in that regard. The rest of it is almost too big even for Olive's imagination to encompass. It isn't like the thought hasn't crossed her mind that this could all be in her head. She doesn't think her imagination deserves this kind of credit, but the mind's a bizarre and tricky thing, difficult to understand and she can't honestly say it isn't possible either. It feels too real, though, and she hasn't seen the point in denial, choosing instead to try and live out her sentence or whatever this is and hoping, in spite of everything, she's not kept here too long. "I'm sorry. About all the rest of it. That sounds... God, Claire, I'm sorry, that's awful."

While Claire knows that it's not precisely pity that's being handed to her, nonetheless she looks up, shaking her head and waving a hand. "It's not like it's all been bad," she insists, because maybe that's what she needs right now. To be reminded of the good, not only on Tabula Rasa, but back home as well. That all of the adversity has, in its own way, brought her closer to the memories of her family, made them a more cohesive whole. That she's actually met her biological family, something that she'd never been that crazy to learn before learning about her abilities, but still a question that probably would have come up sooner or later. And more than anything else, in spite of the fact that she's just taken a dive off the Compound roof not twenty-four hours ago, it's worth noting too: that she has that kind of identity to question at all.

"Some of it is kind of amazing, really, and there are so many people who have it a lot worse," Claire says quietly, her eyes darting back to her sheets. "I guess it's just the fact that it's all on hold that sucks more than anything else. Yeah, we get to live lives here, but they don't always feel real."

Olive nods, gaze dropping briefly, if only because that idea hits a little too close to home. She knows, she has felt, that this is real, that it's happening to her, and she has no reason to question that, but she was just as sure they really went back to Harvard and she thought she could handle the consequences of playing pretend at school, and the plain fact is, she's sure of a lot of things that aren't true. She has so, so much to go back to, and so much she doesn't want to leave behind, and it's really hard to pit home against the first time in her life she's had a wide circle of friends and a boyfriend who adores her. In the end, she knows what she has to pick every single time, but that doesn't make her feel much better about it. Claire's right, though — there are so many people who have it worse.

"God, I know," she says, shaking her head. "I mean, I am this close to finishing my junior year. Or I, I was. I should be on summer vacation. I should be looking at brochures and websites and trying to decide once and for all where to apply. I should be turning eighteen and, and helping my brother with his homework and... I mean, it's not as exciting or dangerous as what's on hold for you, yeah, but you know what I mean. All the stupid little things. I want to finish high school and go to college, not wait here for years to go back to being seventeen. You know? Some days I love it here, I love you guys, I love the people and just the weird shit that's out there and all of that, but sometimes I, I stop and all I can think is... 'What the hell am I doing? I have to go home.'"

It's never really occurred much to Claire before, to talk to Olive about this in particular, though she's glad for it now. As much as she's been able to finally see the island in a more positive light, the fact still is that she wants to return home. That isn't something she can talk to Eden about at great length, and even with Mary Jane, Claire's a bit hesitant. After all, Mary Jane has found herself an almost idyllic life on the island, has gotten married, and so much more; to try and find solace in the fact that all of this is just temporary seems to be the most tactless thing she could say. But with Olive, who's still new to it all, maybe it's more acceptable. Maybe the two of them can, together, try and figure out how they feel about the island in its entirety, how much they're willing to adapt and become part of it and its populace.

"Yeah, that's... exactly what I mean," Claire sighs with some amount of relief, the heel of her hand rubbing against her eye, her expression one slightly fatigued. "Well, though I guess I've been feeling like that a while before I even came to Tabula Rasa, you know? All the crazy stuff I could do, that I saw, sometimes that didn't feel all that real either, until people I cared for were in danger. It's just weird. Not even a year ago, I was in that exact spot, starting junior year, thinking about SATs and Homecoming, spending my afternoons annoyed by my lazy little brother. Now none of that old life's even here anymore."

"It starts kind of... floating away," Olive says. "Everything that was normal." To a lesser extent, normalcy seemed to be drifting away for her before she even got here, too, but that would have blown over. Bad as it was, she knows, she would have put it to rights eventually and learned to cope with the fallout; it's not even close to the same as having an ability that puts her family in danger. She sighs and shakes her head, free hand tugging idly at the bedsheets. "The way I figure it, it has to end eventually, right? No one's actually stuck here forever. I mean, from what I've heard, there are, like, a few people who've been here from day one, but almost no one's actually been here that long, out of... hundreds of people, so odds are, we get to go home before another year is out. And that's... a long time, but if we enjoy what we've got and make the most of it and keep busy, it's gonna fly right by. And then we'll be home."

She bites her tongue when she finishes, eyes gone wider. While Olive's always been the kind to speak her mind, it's not something she's expressed much, not aloud, and the only person on the island closer to her than Claire is Eduardo. They might both know this is temporary, might even both know it's what she wants most, to go home, but there's no way she can actually say it to him. Speaking the words comes as both a relief and a reason to hold her breath.

"I... well, so I've been thinking about this on and off, obviously," Claire murmurs, her hands toying with her sheets again, gaze darting from place to place before they settle on her hands, the way that they can't seem to stop fussing or moving. "Most people seem pretty convinced that all of us will disappear in a few years. Some people say that you can't be sure, because there was a Day One and everything, so we could end up just living here until our time's up or whatever. Especially since people with abilities, with magic, all of that is suddenly gone, so obviously whatever brought us here is pretty powerful. But statistically— not that I'm any good with statistics, but this seems like a good 'eyeball it' kind of example— most people don't really stay here much longer than two, maybe three years."

Subconsciously, she starts chewing on her lip, until she realizes that doing so might actually leave a mark for once, instead reaching out to grab her cup of water and taking a small sip. "The problem is, if you start thinking about it too much," Claire continues, "then you start wondering how invested you really want to get here. Because people slip from your fingers so easily."

It's strange, that the way Claire's managed to come up with a ballpark figure for their stay makes Olive love her a little more, but it's so much something she would have done eventually herself, if she hadn't first distracted herself with things like dinosaurs. Maybe that makes it a bit narcissistic, but a lot of love is, Olive sometimes thinks; or, at least, it's often a recognition of an overlap. There are things they have in common and she loves Claire for all of them and for the ways in which they're different, too. Two to three years is a terrifying number, in large part because it's so broad. She's never been one of those who wanted to know when she was going to die because she'd rather fling herself at everything and whatever happens, happens, but she thinks, sometimes, it might be easier to know just how long she has here (but what would she do differently if she did?).

"Yeah," she says, "but it's kinda worth it." Maybe it's just she's yet to lose anyone really important, so it's easier to bear the idea (there was Effy, but she barely knew her). Maybe it's just she feels the need to embrace it because she knows herself well enough to be sure she couldn't hold everyone at arms' length even if she wanted to. She's just not made to shut everyone out — to be secretive, private, at times, and she's good at being alone, but if someone's in her life, she's no good at keeping her distance. "I mean, it's going to suck when everyone goes or if I go home and never see you guys again, it's, it's gonna be the worst. But I'd rather know all of you than spend two to three years only going halfway on all my friendships in case I get hurt. And, and, and with Eduardo, with this — I mean, this is my first boyfriend, my first relationship, and he could... he could disappear at any minute, but you know, so what? High school relationships sometimes don't even last two to three months, and I'd take a month of knowing he loves me over nothing. I think it's gonna hurt no matter what we do, so... we might as well embrace it."

In spite of the halting, the occasional stammer, there's so much surety in Olive's voice that Claire can't help but just stare in awe for a few seconds. She's not sure that she can see completely eye-to-eye with what Olive says, even though she knows that falling deep into everything, the friendships and relationships, is probably something that she can't avoid. As nice as it is in theory to keep a distance from people, to make sure that the pang of separation doesn't cut too deep, Claire can't help but find it nearly impossible to actually hold off. Not when superficiality doesn't seem to be nearly as much of an issue anymore, when there's no pressure on her end to be a cheerleader and climb up in some arbitrary social hierarchy.

"You know, every single part of me wants to believe that, it really does," she says with a deep breath, sighing through her teeth, brow furrowed from the effort. "Which doesn't mean that I'm going to discourage you from just going on ahead with life and enjoying it as, like, something different? Than what we had in our worlds, but. I don't know, maybe I'm just too worried, because I lost a lot back home, and when I left, I was just desperately clinging to what I still had. So I'm always so afraid, especially since here, losing people is like the status quo."

Rolling her eyes, she shook her head, a few strands of hair falling loose. "Not that it really makes a huge difference, since I still like getting to know everyone here anyway, and, and obviously I've made friends. Friends who I care just as much about as the people back home."

"Well, maybe that's the difference," Olive says with a shrug. "I've never... really lost much of anything." She feels guilty for that sometimes, the extraordinary luck she's had just by virtue of being normal, and at others she hates it a little, because at least losing something means there was something to lose. She's not really sorry, though. The biggest thing to slip her grasp was her reputation and a handful of goldfish over the years (dogs, it's turned out, are more reliable companions). That she's mostly been on her own isn't something she can pity herself for when most of the few people she has kept at her side have each been better than a dozen or more shallow friends combined. Maybe when she loses someone, really loses them, she'll change her tune, but even then, she knows herself well enough to be sure even that would be superficial; she just doesn't have it in her to shut anyone out for long. "Plus I talk a lot. I mean, it's scary, of course it is. I'm scared, too. Just... being scared doesn't fix anything, so I may as well make the most of what I've got."

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and then she'd say, 'it's okay, i got lost on the way, but i'm a supergirl and supergirls don't cry'

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