2021-01-28 - Friendpocalypse

The ICU of Addington Memorial usually doesn't let any non-family members in, but this is Gray Harbor, and Alexander is a Mentalist. If he wants to appear to be on the 'cleared' list for people to visit the gunshot victim, then he can make it so in the minds of the nurses guarding Victoria Grey's interests. The enforcer gave way better than she got in the battle versus Reyes' forces, she fired three bullets, and killed three men. OK Ruiz helped a little with the sniper. But for her troubles, the surgeon had to dig four slugs out of her chest cavity. Both lungs went down, she almost drowned in her own blood, and if not for the metal replacement parts in her ribs from her last visit to the hospital, it would have been much worse. The plated parts managed to deflect or slow three of those four bullets, so they did far less damage than the one that sneaked past.

The blonde is awake, albeit groggy, her eyes glazed and her demeanor very, very angry. If anyone with Mental ability is listening, there is so much cursing being broadcast from her, because she is on a respirator with a breathing tube down her throat. She can't talk out loud, so telepathy is it. She isn't strong enough in the art to shout at non-mentalists though. She looks very pale, and is hooked up to more tubes and wires than can be remotely comfortable, forced to be on her back as a side sleeper is only making her that much crankier. Her hair is a tangled mess, someone was kind enough to scoop up and somewhat contain with a scrunchie. Beeps and bloops sound from the machinery hooked up to her.

For a crime fighter, Alexander doesn't pay a lot of attention to most statutes regarding trespassing and illegal entry. So he wanders through the doors into Vic's room without a care in the world, and the nurse that passes by doesn't blink an eye. Someone with Glimmer can feel the slow, steady pulse of his mind, whispering to everyone in the vicinity that it's fine, this is the way that things are supposed to be. And for Vic herself, after he sees what shape she's in, there's the mental sensation of knocking at the edges of her mind, a silent request to allow him to communicate with her. One hand has a small vase of flowers from the gift shop. The other hand is reaching for her nurse update charts at the foot of the bed, in violation of several HIPAA regulations.

This is fine. Information wants to be free.

Vic's mind growls at the knock. There is the sensation there, of a creature, a hunter, with sleek muscles coiled up and ready to pounce. But Alexander is recognized, and slowly, the beast inside of her mind backs off to let him in. It is dark, and feline, a great cat of some sort, hard to discern in the fog her brain is struggling with due to being very heavily medicated. At least they didn't strap her to the bed. That would have been disastrous for everyone involved. <<Clayton?>> comes the thought, curious, pained, surprised to see him.

Alexander's mind is nothing like either beast or bird, he has no avatar of 'self', just a voice, clearer and stronger than his voice in the real world, and the suggestion of a vast void, broken by glass stars with sharp edges, which reflect the shine of some unseen, burning sun. <<Miss Grey. I won't ask how you're feeling. I can see the chart.>> He waggles it with the briefest of smiles before putting it down, then moves to put the small vase next to the bed and take a seat.

The beast prowls forward into closer proximity of the focus of Vic's mind. It looks like a black panther, no, a jaguar. A melanistic jaguar. The spots can still be very very faintly discerned, lighter against the ink of the coat, shades of grey instead of the gold normally associated with the animal. It's like a reflection of the dark and light that fights inside of the woman in the hospital bed. Her eyes follow Alexander. <<Seth. They arrested him. Did they charge him?>> she asks, concern flooding through the connection. He shot Reyes, it was necessary. They all knew the man was able to twist minds with his power. He couldn't be transported safely if conscious. <<Reyes' room has to be nulled. He has Reader power. Lots of it.>>

Glints off of the stars are like search lights, falling on the black cat with a dispassionate yet penetrating curiosity. <<I don't have any record of anyone being charged in regards to last night's events,>> Alexander says. <<Doesn't mean he might not have been held while people sort things out, but I gather there's a lot of evidence about Reyes' actions out there, now. I don't forsee any need for well-paid lawyers.>> He meets the concern with a soothing warmth. There's no judgement regarding Reyes' being shot. Just a sensation of watching, waiting, gathering data. <<I can do that. Don't want his mind wandering off. So, he does stand out.>> A flash of satisfaction there - a deduction validated. Then, <<What happened, Miss Grey? The list of wounded is rather peculiar.>>

<<We had a meeting at the Dance Studio, Kelly is part owner, and Reyes' squad came in at us like a fucking SWAT team. They turned one of Greg's old guys, he had dropped off a phone to listen to us, and then bolted. There were three SUVs and another car of bad people. And a sniper on a roof. Some civvies got tangled up in it when one of the cops there for the plant thing got taken hostage.>> She shifts uncomfortably in the bed, every ounce of hurt radiating from her. She has been putting on a brave face, but she is badly, badly injured, even worse than she was at the church. <<De la Vega and some others got there in time to help us, and then Reyes himself showed up and tried to broker a deal. No one was having any of that shit.>>

<<Jesus.>> It's a stark word, carrying overtones of surprise, concern, and...underneath it, a sharp, cold anger at the people who hurt quite a few of those Alexander considers friends. He takes a deep breath. <<You all seemed to give a good account of yourselves. A number of bodies, but not many townies.>> Not many isn't none, of course, but still. He lets the hurt wash over him, and pushes back with relaxation and calm, if she'll accept it. <<Do you want me to try and heal you? I won't do much, but it might help a little.>>

<<If it'll get them to take this fucking tube out of my throat faster, you can tap dance naked in a clown mask, Clayton,>> Vic notes sincerely. Yeah, that's the morphine drip talking. <<I need my phone too. Fuckers took it from me because I'm in the ICU. Which is where you are the most fucking bored.>> She looks towards the locked little stand beside her bed. The bottom drawer is where they put her things. <<I can unlock it, I think, or else you are getting your first lesson in picking.>>

Alexander laughs out loud, which would probably look incredibly weird to anyone looking past the curtain, considering that they're just staring at each other otherwise. But no one looks, and while the investigator might pay for that, someday soon, it doesn't stop him. Nor does it stop him from reaching out and placing his hand about a foot above Vic's chest. He frowns, and sketches an intricate sigil in the air above her body, and there's another pulse of his power...this is weaker than his mind, and colder. It's like a cold wind that sinks through her skin, numbing and soothing. He leans back. <<I hope that helped some.>> A glance at her IV, then the side table. His lips quirk. <<You sure you want access to a phone, Grey? They have you on the good drugs.>>

Vic's body arches a bit as the power seeps through her, cold, numbing, and bringing a bit of blessed relief. <<Thanks. And yeah, I have to check in with others. Lot of people got shot. I think Neil is dead. Pretty sure Craig is too.>> One of Joey's couriers and one of Greg's dope sellers. <<Evans and Rosencrantz, Kelly, and I think Ravn and Cavanaugh all got hit. It looked real bad. Can you find out if they're in here too?>>

<<Yes.>> This to the idea of Neil and Craig being dead. In his mental voice, Alexander doesn't lack compassion, but there's a hardness to him - just an uncompromising look at reality, including the corpses. <<Ravn already checked himself out, so I don't think he was badly injured. I plan to track him down. The others were listed in the intake logs,>> don't ask how Alexander got a look a the hospital intake logs. Just don't. <<They might still be here, or might have checked themselves out. I'll try to see, but some of the nurses are more stubborn than others.>>

The situation is a mess, and a bad one. Depending on whether or not Ruiz is on their side in this, all of them could be going down the river. There are bodies. So many bodies. And guns that were on scene. And all of them injured badly enough to have to go to the ER so who knows what the police managed to gather up from the Dance Studio. Vic's worried, and it seeps through the mental connection in a way it never would if she wasn't on heavy duty drugs. <<If something happens to me, make sure my dad is ok, Clayton.>>

Alexander sighs. His own feelings on the matter are...complex. Enough that they come through in flashes and sharp edges around the very ends of his deliberate communication. He likes most of the people who got injured, and doesn't like most of the people who got dead. And yet, the largest part of both of those groups are criminals, and the world arguably better with all of them in the hospital, jail, or the ground. And yet. And yet. He likes some of them. So his voice is gentle when he says, <<I will. I was going to ask if you wanted me to break the news to him, or if you wished to do it.>> He glances towards the side table, reaches out to see if she got the lock open, then draws her phone out and offers it to her.

<<Don't want him to know I'm in here. Reyes was shining like a lighthouse, and the Veil protects itself, so I don't think news will travel too far outside of town. Let him think I'm fine. I'm going to recover from the injuries and if I get arrested, I'll worry about telling him then, ok?>> Vic's request is plaintive, a daughter not wanting her father to worry. <<I can feel the morphine knocking. I'm gonna be asleep again here in a few.>>

Alexander disapproves. He levels a look on her and points out, <<He's got eyes on your house. You're not going to be there for,>> a glance down at her body, <<at least a week, even with a little extra healing help.>> His voice gentles. <<Let me at least tell him that you're in the hospital. He would want to know, and he would want to worry about something he knows about, rather than something he doesn't.>> There's a nod to the mention of the morphine. <<You need your rest. I won't stay. But if you need anything, give me a call. You've got my mind, now.>>

<<I've been staying with Seth a lot anyway, it won't seem any different,>> Vic parries back. Well that's an admission right there. <<Kitchen and Bathroom are being finished so I'm staying there for a bit.>> Uh huh. <<Please, don't tell him.>> It's a plea, from watery blue eyes that are already dropping with forced sleep from medication. Then she's sleeping restlessly.

Alexander sighs. <<Fine,>> he mutters into her sleeping mind, reaching out with his power to soothe her deeper into sleep. "But when your father finds out and punches me for not telling him, I'm gonna say I told you so," he adds, out loud. He stands, and makes his way out, in silence.