regenerated | have I been saved, or do I still need saving?

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have I been saved, or do I still need saving?

Night had fallen when Claire Bennet took a seat outside the Compound, the elastic of the trampoline stretching under her, her shoes carefully lined up on the grass below— a pair of yellow flip-flops with orange jelly blossoms. Where the air had been humid all day, now it was cooler, helped along by a steady breeze that blew Claire's hair to the side, blonde strands uncharacteristically limp. She hadn't bothered to curl them that day. Had anyone come across her at that point, they would have seen her fumbling with the settings of her camcorder, making sure that the battery was fully charged, finding a setting that would record even in the dark of night. Off and to the side, there was a blank tape, and on its label words written carefully with purple ink:

ISLAND: ATTEMPT #1

With her legs crossed, she slipped the blank tape in, turned the camcorder until she could look directly into the lens. Her thumb pressed the record button. Claire took a deep breath; it wavered, slightly, before she began to speak.

"This is Claire Bennet. I've been on this island for over three-quarters of a year. They call it Tabula Rasa, because everyone comes here and gets a blank slate. I guess I've taken advantage of that. I've... made friends, I've kind of got a family, I walk around here like I'm normal, and for a few months, I thought it was totally working. And then people started finding out, one by one, and no one's thrown me into a room, or tested on me, or all of those things that dad had to protect me from back home, so I thought that it was okay. That I could just be like anyone else on this island."

Her gaze dropped, her hold on the camera faltering, angle tilting.

"But I don't know anymore. Maybe I'm still a freak. Maybe I shouldn't... be afraid of being one. I can feel you rolling your eyes at me right now, Zach. It's just— I feel so empty these days, like I'm just pretending, or going through the motions. I need to remember who I really am. And if that means that I'm going to spend the rest of my days on this island fighting, I'll deal. So."

Claire slid off the side of the trampoline, placing the camcorder carefully until it was pointed at a spot on the roof, and stepped back a few paces until she was in its view again.

"This is Claire Bennet, and this is going to be attempt number one."

Her heart thudded. Pulse raced. Claire immediately turned and ran, feeling the earth under her feet as she tugged open the door, raced up the steps in her bare feet, eyes afraid and darting around, making sure no one was watching. She'd carefully picked out this time, after weeks of just loitering around. When the halls of the Compound were quiet, silent save for the occasional squeaky door or flushing toilet, when anyone found wandering had eyes heavy and lidded with sleep. Deserted, but safer than the deep island forests that shuddered at night with murmurs and the quiet chirp of crickets.

She burst onto the roof with a sharp intake of air, arms held wide, a shiver running down her spine. Carefully, she walked to its edge, until toes hung over the side of the roof and her balance began to falter. A hesitant smile was already teasing at her lips, breath stilled, skirt billowing with a gust of wind. Closing her eyes, with her arms held out she leaned forward, and for one second felt time suspended with her weightlessness, before gravity took hold and sent her hurtling down.

The scream didn't even last half a second before Claire felt herself colliding with the ground, a crack sounding before she rolled onto her back. This was normal. It always hurt at first. Blood pooled in the back of her throat, coppery to taste, bubbling from her lips as Claire coughed, trying to clear her airway for a much needed breath. One second. Two seconds. It shouldn't have taken long to heal.

Instead, the pain remained, stars shooting behind her eyes as Claire wheezed. Her lungs weren't filling. Shaking, Claire swallowed thickly, looking to the side and managing to curl the fingers of her hand into a fist.

Help, she tried to say, but all that escaped was a soft whine.

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Edmund shouldn't have been there. He should have been at home, in bed, with his boyfriend, fast asleep or on his way there. But nothing had been as it should have been for the past three weeks. With Susan gone (and Rickon and Helen and the wolves and all their things), Edmund felt cut loose without a compass to guide him. He knew he had Charlie there, Robb too, Arya even if she wouldn't say as much, but his mind had a hard time remembering that in those moments when he felt so alone he could cry. He never did cry though, just carried on blindly, doing what he should do without notice.

Eating had been the hardest thing to manage for a while, but sleep was difficult, too. Some days he could sleep for hours, from evening straight through to half the next day. And sometimes he couldn't sleep at all, left starring at the ceiling or the wall, or watching the rise and fall of Charlie's chest, not caring enough to move. Tonight he cared. He didn't care about moving so much as cared if Charlie woke up, stirred by some psychic boyfriend sense, and asked him what was wrong. Edmund did not know how to answer that question and so fear of it drove him out into the late evening.

He didn't see her fall, not exactly. He heard the scream and lifted his head and saw -- maybe in that split second before her body hit the ground -- something about the way her body hung to know she had fallen. But his mind wouldn't process this, only the very real, unmoving body on the ground. For the space of a breath, drawn in surprise and prayer, he waited for her to move.

She didn't. He ran.

He was at her side in two seconds more, kneeling beside the body of a girl he'd come to call friend, heart hammering in his chest as it hadn't for ages. "Claire?" he said, gently touching her cheek. "Claire, what happened? Can you hear me?"

In a way, the pain had already started to fade. It made room for the rest of the sensations, most of which Claire had never felt before. Warm blood trickling down her cheeks, slow, until she felt it brushing past her ear (she'd never bled long enough to track its progress like the slow crawl of ants, her body usually patching all over as soon as it'd started). The sharp sensation in her side was easily recognized as the piercing of ribs through skin, Claire's eyes roving around as though she could capture it by sight. That moment. That realization. As much as she was wary of it, Claire thought that right then, she was happier than she'd been in months. She wasn't walking through fire. She didn't have to watch her best friend dying in a pool of drying blood on the ground. She had a life, and it was a life kept through choice, making it all that much more powerful. If she wanted, she could leap off the tallest cliff on the island, have it end in a second.

But as her eyes gradually came to rest again, finding another pair in the darkness, Claire found that she didn't want that. She just wanted to be. To live. Opening her lips to speak, Claire managed a soft cough, eyes shutting again as she tried to swallow the blood down and make room for words. Edmund's hand felt strangely warm against her cheek; of all the people who could have come across her first, she was glad that it was him.

"F-fell," she explained in a whisper, swallowing again, before opening her eyes and staring at the Compound roof for emphasis. "I just fell." Her hands moved to rest on her chest, feeling, patting, as though she could still just find her ribs and shove them back in.

"Don't, don't," Edmund ordered, worry and adrenaline making his voice breathy and shaky. He wasn't a king at that moment giving orders, just a boy scared to death for his friend.

Gently taking hold of Claire's hands, he set them by her sides in the dirt. "Don't touch. Don't move. You shouldn't move." He wished desperately for Lucy's cordial, for the power to make that magic work here, but instead had to do with the next best thing.

"Honour!" he shouted and the massive wolf came bounding out from the shadows in which he had hidden. Moving silently on large paws, he took up a protective stance near Claire's head, seeming to know what Edmund wanted without his asking.

"I'm going to get help," he told her. "Please, please, just hold tight, Claire."

She'd had trouble with it before, on multiple occasions. Breathing. The air thick and smoky around her, heat flaying against her skin, the sound of fire sirens in the distance and quiet calls from inside a burning train. Air had been scarce, then. She knew how it worked in theory, that fire needed oxygen in order to burn, and what Claire wonders now is how it all worked. How she was able to walk through it, in spite of having nothing to run on. Maybe it was adrenaline. Just like it had been months later, with a man sparking the air right around him from the space of her kitchen, his body flung by the energy. Then, every single sense of hers had slowed down to a complete still, her vision gone white, her ears ringing, even the smell of burning, melting, escaping her as she couldn't breath.

But this was different. There was no way to ford through it. And that left Claire terrified, wanting to do anything to keep Edmund by her side, her arm still sliding along the dirt and toward him, eyes only briefly skimming over the wolf who had come bounding out.

"I'm 'kay," she tried to insist, her voice cracking. "Don'— I'm okay."

Hurriedly, not wanting to waste any more time than truly necessary, Edmund cupped her cheek again. Blood smeared, hot and sticky, over his fingertips now, but he caught Claire's gaze in his and held it. "I'll be right back," he promised her, not even blinking. "I need to get you help, Claire."

So saying, he released her and ran, shouting for help, for the Compound. He took the stairs in a giant leap and pushed through the door, heading straight for the clinic though his voice no doubt carried down the whole hall, panic-tinged and desperate.

"SOMEBODY HELP! COME QUICKLY!"

Meredith glanced up from her papers, tearing herself from her thoughts as the boy dashed into the room, and before she could process what was happening, she was on her feet. "What's happened?" she asked, finding a kit and checking the interior to be sure the supplies were all there. Whatever was going on, it was clearly urgent. The drowsiness of a few minutes past was long gone, but in spite of the sudden spike in energy and adrenaline, she reached over to rest a hand on his shoulder, comforting or trying to. "Talk me through it and lead the way, alright?"

"She said she fell," Edmund explained hurriedly. The hand on his shoulder did little to comfort him, and he clasped it only so he could lead her faster down the hall. She was a doctor; Edmund knew that for a fact. He had seen her in the clinic before and so he automatically trusted her to know what to do.

"Must have been the roof. I didn't see. Her ribs-- She's bleeding badly," he continued, words bubbling out of him as he shouldered open the front door.

Crap. Meredith managed not to say anything of the sort, but she hurried along behind him. "Okay," she said, "I've got this, we'll take care of her." With a bad fall like that — and from the roof, though it was comparatively low, was far enough — she didn't want to try and lift the girl or even move her alone.

Catching sight of the blonde was confirmation enough, and as she knelt down beside the girl, she glanced back up. "There's a stretcher in the clinic," she said, calm and clear. "I need you to go and get that for me and send someone for Peter Parker, to tell him we're gonna need the O.R." She turned her attention back to the girl on the ground, taking in the injuries she could see, going through a mental checklist of ones it was possible she couldn't. "Stay focused on me, alright? I'm Dr. Grey. Can you hear me alright?"

By the time Edmund returned with a doctor in tow, Claire's mind had already started clouding over, her attention divided by the new sensations all around. She felt cold, shivering in spite of the humidity, feeling a prickling sensation crawl over her skin. The initial desperate grab for air had subsided, until the ground under Claire seemed to move, a comforting back and forth like the a train along its tracks, coaxing her toward sleep. That probably wasn't how most people would have felt in that situation, Claire thought numbly to herself. Most people would have been crying, screaming, but as far as pain went, this wasn't too big of a deal.

She blinked her eyes back into focus when the doctor knelt down by her side. "Peter?" Claire asked, keeping her voice to a whisper. "Peter's here? Is he oka— I'm fine, really. It's not as bad as it looks."

Meredith bent closer to get a good look at the girl's eyes, trying to determine if the pupils had blown, relieved to see her focus. She remembered clearly how badly something like this hurt, broken ribs and, judging by how bad the break seemed to be and the way her voice sounded, a punctured lung, and her heart went out to the girl. "Well, I don't want to scare you," she said, gentle, "but it looks pretty bad. Peter's not here yet, but we'll get him. He'll take care of the anesthesia." Carefully, she traced her hand along the girl's abdomen, trying to judge the damage without hurting her further. She could talk, but that wasn't really a clear sign; shock, adrenaline, they could carry a person through some terrible things and people who seemed fine at first could prove fatally wounded. There was a great deal of blood here, but if they were quick, she was fairly certain they could take care of it.

She reached down for the blonde's hand, still watching her closely. "I'm going to have to take you into the O.R., alright?" she said. "We'll get you taken care of. Can you squeeze my fingers?"

Brow knitting in confusion, Claire tried to shake her head, only found her body too stiff, aching, to manage more than a slight shift. "Peter'll take care of wh— no, no you don't understand, I just need to see him, okay? He's my uncle, I thought— I need to know if he's okay," Claire went on, her mind caught on the idea of seeing him again, of that familiar hair flopping in front of his eyes (she'd always wondered if that bothered him at all, or what he'd look like with a closer crop). Occasionally, she moved as though to sit up, although the pain brought her down again, as well as the continued dizziness resulting from her inability to get a full breath of air. Laying back against the ground, she tried for more shallow breaths, the back of her throat tasting like copper.

Blinking rapidly as she looked upward, Claire felt a tear or two trailing down to her ears. She managed to close her hand around the doctor's hand easily enough, although the grip felt weak even to her. "Sorry," she said, "It's a little hard to... I feel like my hand doesn't have any strength left."

"Don't apologize," Meredith said, "that's good. That's really, really good." At least they would be spared the difficulty — and for the girl, the pain — of a spinal injury and paralysis, things that, even with the O.R., Meredith wasn't sure they'd really be able to cope with properly at all. "You're doing really well. Just try and lie still for me, alright? Don't try to get up, you're just going to do more damage to your side here. What's your name? Can you tell me your name?" Her mind seemed clear enough, at least, but it would help to keep her focused, even if Meredith hated seeing her in pain like this. She was so young and an injury like this was incredibly painful. She just had to hope that Peter got here sooner rather than later; maybe that would help.

Claire had watched a few medical dramas in her time. Less so, after she'd found out about her own abilities, but E.R. had been on air as long as she could remember, and sometimes one just couldn't help watching all of the blood and gore that was playing on screen. Perhaps the memories were faint, relegated to the back of her mind, but on some level, Claire was aware that the doctor was testing for serious injury, and the sudden, striking realization that those could hold had Claire calming down just a touch. Even though every last fiber in her wanted to search for Peter and apologize to Edmund.

Wincing, Claire shook her head. "I'm fine, I swear. I'm Claire Bennet. I'm seventeen. Was co-captain of the cheerleading squad at Union Wells High School in Odessa, Texas. My dad... works at a paper factory. And here, I live with Eden, Eden McCain." Turning her eyes to the doctor again, Claire tried for a few more breaths, still feeling the air pass through her, voice hardly catching at all. "Just fix things before Eden sees? I've gotten into scrapes before, I don't mind, but she—"

"This is a little more than a scrape," Meredith told her. "Once we've got you in the O.R., we'll get you patched up, alright? And we'll send for Eden." The name was one she recognized, the way she remembered a lot of names of people who'd been around a while, and if she could remember it, surely someone would know where to find her. For now, though, Claire was her first concern. "How are your legs? Can you flex your feet for me a little?" There didn't seem to be any problems with her upper extremities, no sign of concussion, and she suspected her legs were fine, too, but then, the broken ribs were problematic enough all on their own, guaranteed to leave Claire in pain for weeks.

Lasting pain was definitely another devil entirely, Claire thought to herself, as she did her best to flex her feet, wiggling her toes, almost dragging her right foot up altogether. Her jaw was locked, the tears at her eyes holding still as Claire held her breath, just trying to get through as many of the checks as possible so that she'd get to stop thinking, stop moving, not jarring herself to the point where everything would hurt again.

"When I say scrapes, I mean..." Claire inhaled softly, still feeling the air catch somewhere, not filling her lungs completely. "This isn't the first time I've broken bones. Or my ribs, actually."

The harder it got to speak, the quieter Claire became, looking up at the doctor with watchful eyes, hoping that she'd get to the O.R. soon. Wondering what being put to sleep was like, in spite of everything else that swirled around her just then.

"Shh, it's okay," Meredith said. If that was the case, then Claire would know how hard this would be, that the recovery would be painful and seem to take forever, and she didn't envy the girl, knowing what lay ahead. "You are doing very well, Claire. We'll have you back on your feet in no time, alright?" She worked as she spoke, doing her best to staunch the bleeding without hurting her any further than was necessary. "I'm going to be right here until they get here and I'll be right in the O.R. with you. Until then, it'd be a good idea not to talk too much, okay? We don't want to put extra stress on your lungs. I know it hurts, but you're gonna be fine."

There was pressure being applied to her side, and slowly she could feel that spot growing wet, damp with warmth, that which Claire could only assume was her blood seeping into some sort of cloth, or maybe pressed there by the doctor's hands. Every tiny movement made her gasp, or made her body attempt to catching air, the ragged state of her lungs making it difficult. So she simply nodded, letting her head fall back as her skin started to feel as though it were tingling all over, cold, her hair standing on end.

"Okay," she whispered. "Okay. Gonna be fine."

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have I been saved, or do I still need saving?

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