Starring:
Summary: Erin returns to the Light Present. Ish.
Dark Future Date: August 25, 2009
She Has Amnesia. I Am Not Making This Up.
A hospital near Central Park
It's been a couple hours since the explosion. A whole lot of people were hurt; the worst or the most important were taken to area hospitals for treatment and intensive care. Erin? Happens to fit both categories. She might have died on the scene if not for the help of Peter Petrelli, but while he patched her up, she's still in really horrible shape. Skin blistered, red. Leg bandaged where a shard of metal was pulled out of it, head bandaged from the concussive force of the explosion, she's just starting to stir toward consciousness, though still caught in that blackness that's been her blanket since help arrived. There's light in her eyes, though. Painful, almost, and a grunt announces that she's starting to come to.
Opening her eyes, she pushes herself up on her elbows, and instantly regrets it. Burned skin just doesn't want to move that way, and so Erin abandons that endeavor and lays back down, moaning. Aaaah, pain. Pain and something else, that she can't quite pinpoint. The feeling stirring in the back of her mind that's uncomfortable at best, omnipresent, and nagging. "Go 'way," she mutters, closing her eyes. It feels like there's someone watching her. But that's just crazy.
Right?
Wrong. This time, anyway. Ironic, given that it's Miss 'would you like to try our Black Plague special?' thinking it.
There's a subtle change in the air circulation through the room. And the faint sound of leather on tile. And— a face coming into view? Knowing for sure would require opening eyes once again. Not an attractive proposition.
But then there's the voice. "Jesus. Guess you landed just right, huh? Tenth of a second later, and this--" George pauses, instinctively gesturing at the head bandage, even if there's no one to see it. "—would've hit the cerebellum instead."
Ow, loud voices. Isn't this when she reaches out for a morphine drip or something? It feels like she's on fire. Erin doesn't try to sit up this time, but she does open her eyes, squinting at the severely blurry shape of the guy in the room with her. Blink. No, not any clearer than he was before, so she opts for closing her eyes again.
Something's still bothering her. There's a twitch in the muscles of her face under one eye, a muscle spasm causing a jerk somewhere in the vicinity of her shoulder, and oh, it's painful, but it's not something she can stop. "What happened?" she slurrs, opening on eye again, willing her visitor to come into focus. Are they— this isn't… She didn't drift off at work, did she? This has to be some sort of dream.
No, dreams don't hurt like this.
With another loud squeak, this time involving bare metal, George drags a chair over closer to the bed and sits down. "I wasn't at the rally myself - got stuck in traffic - but I heard there was an explosion. Suicide bomber, if you believe the rumors. Looks like you'll be out of action for a while."
Naturally, he hasn't yet caught on that the damage includes loss of long-term memory as well. What rally? What explosion? What action?
Whoa, slow down. Erin pushes herself up on an elbow again. Dizzy. She can feel the IV in her arm now as she wakes up more. She can see this guy's not a doctor - he'd be wearing a white coat, or at least scrubs, right? And… it's really hard to put together what he's saying here. Okay, a bomb. That makes sense. Scary, but the way she's all burned and in a whole lot of severe pain? Not surprising. It must have just— Well, on One Life, they used to insist that anyone with enough trauma to the head would just forget the event ever happened, and that has to be what happened here. She just doesn't remember the explosion.
Erin says something rather vulgar, forcing herself to sit. "S'not that bad. I-- " Grunt. "Can't just. I can't just…" What was she saying? "Work, I have to — If I miss a day, they'll fire me. I have a-- What is— " Give her a second as she presses her hands to her forehead. They contact a bandage. "Contract!" Yeah. That's it. "Are you-- You must be risk management, it's okay. I just… If I could have a couple days, I can be back on set."
More irony. In a sense, that is George's job. Keeping a lid on the worse knuckle-draggers in Homeland. And dangerous Evolved working against the government. And dangerous Evolved working for the government.
He starts to say something, but blinks. "Back on…" He knows about Erin's past career, of course, having first met her while it was still ongoing. "…oh hell. Lie down and just listen for a minute, okay? I think your head got hit worse than we thought. You… have a new career, now. Have for about a year."
Wait. Wait. She's starting to focus. The voice sounds familiar. She blinks again, but it's still blurry. She can't make out the features of his face. She meets so many people, though…
"Nhhn." The hands pressing against her forehead rub at her temples. This has to be the worst migrane ever, and there's still that nagging, uneasy feeling at the back of her mind. Apparently, you can take the memory of insanity, but you can't quite eliminate it completely. It's so bothersome that it's almost enraging…
But… a year?? That makes her stop, look up at the guy standing next to her, and stare. "How long was I out?" Because it feels like she was just in an explosion. Either her injuries were so bad that they lasted a whole god-damned year, or— well, there's no or. What's… George. George. "What the hell's going on, George?"
Oh, but there is. One other hint that he isn't a doctor? His bedside manner isn't nonexistent, but it sure as hell is amateurish.
"A couple of hours," he says, simply. "I assume you must have lost your memory going back a good bit further…" Oh, c'mon, that's bad enough that even he realizes it. "Look, I don't know anything about conditions like this, maybe in another couple hours you'll get it back. But in case you don't… guess I've got a lot to fill you in on, huh."
That's when she realises that she has no idea what day it is, or even what year. It's like there's a big blank spot in her mind where there should be easy information. She knows how old she is. 28. 28, she was born in — 1978. MATH. Math, she can't do math when she's god a damned vice around her head. She's scared. The last thing she wants to know is what she's been doing for a year that she can't even remember.
"2007," she says. Took her awhile to do the math. That's the year it should be. But she lost a year, so, "2008?" she questions helplessly, feeling ill at the prospect of the lack of a good chunk of her life. As she stares at George, her head slowly starts to shake, there's another twitch under her eyes before the gesture is a definitive no. "I don't want to be filled in on anything. I -- Can get my old job back on the set. There's gotta be room still. Just — Call…" Who. "Taine Whitaker. He was one of the cast. And my brother, Caleb. I need to get out of here A-S-A-P."
George sighs, leaning heavily against the hospital's excuse for a side table. "2009," he replies. "And…" Is the show still on the air, even? "No, we need you here, Erin. You— wait a minute. Do you remember your ability? I mean besides looking good on camera?" If not, then that changes things considerably, one way or another.
She throws her legs over the side of the bed. She's getting the hell out of here. What does it matter what she can't remember, seriously? The only thing she can logically do is pick up where she left off and keep going, because there's no gap between what she remembers as 'yesterday' and now. She feels no loss, all she has is the knowledge that-- "2009??" Irate look directed at George, eyes briefly flaring. "That's two years!" This… doesn't change things much. She still has no gap that she recalls. Sliding foward on the bed, she tests her weight, then realises that putting any weight on the one leg is excruciating. This is way, way too familiar to the plotline she's been working on with Taine. Mention of the ability, at least, takes her mind off standing. "You— No one was supposed to know about that." Someone told. Probably -- "Dammit, Taine," she says, then remembers, there's two years she can't recall. Somewhere in that time, she must have revealed it somehow. "Yes, of course I do. I nearly… Killed my roommate because of it." She tries the weight on her other leg. That one holds, so she reaches for the IVs in her arm. "Ali. Can I call her? Did she move?"
George bites his lip. "Erin, you're badly injured," he explains. He shouldn't have to, not after that one leg, but the woman is Just That Stubborn. "She's still somewhere in town, last I heard. But-- look, it hasn't just been two years, it's been a big two years. Abilities like ours?" (Not 'yours'. What a difference one letter makes.) "The public knows about them now. And… it's been a huge mess. We've been in a state of national emergency for about a year now— you were hired by the President to help deal with that."
"I told you, I don't want to hear it," she snaps, manages to get to her feet for all of two seconds, then kind of slowly lowers herself to the floor. Oh. God. That was a mistake. In the meantime - lalalala, she's not listening! Except that she has been, because she can't now, and when he mentions the president? "WHAT?" Too loud. "What? Are you insane? I'm an actor, George. I act. I paint sometimes, I throw orders around -- the— " Trailing off, she hisses through her teeth, and leans up against the bed. The floor is cold… Erin could stay here for awhile, easily.
What do they say? Whatever it is, it's true. The more she listens to this guy, the more she wants to figure out how to bring herself back from this. Key word being herself. She can't handle this pressure right now - telling her she was hired by the president— "President of what?" she snaps. President of ABC? Who the hell cares? She worked for ABC already, anyway. The difference between 'your' and 'our' finally hits her, and she asks, "What do you mean, 'our?'"
George takes a deep breath. "President of the United States." Oh, you wanted pressure, huh? There you go. "I don't know what's going to happen to you now - if your memory stays like this - but. Seriously. You need to know what the world's like before you go back out into it." Reaching for his cell phone, he selects a direct-connect address. "Jim? We need a TV in McCarty's hospital room. Can't find a TV, get a radio."
"What I can do," he continues, not waiting for Jim's response, "is… a lot more subtle. Basically make unlikely things more likely to happen. If I'd been there…" He reaches over and rests a hand on Erin's shoulder. "…if I could have stopped this from happening, believe me, I would have." And he would. Maybe she's ultimately better off this way than how she was, but in the heat of the moment, the simple instinct would have ruled.
A TV. Right. President of the United States. Something… happened to the country in the span of the two years she can't remember, and the only reason she'd cry is because she's so damn frustrated. Loss? She didn't lose a damn thing. She can't remember anything. When she looks at George, though, there's a clarity in her eyes that hasn't been there since she and Ali were roommates. Even if she's not all there, at least there's a good deal more sanity in that brain of hers now. Having a TV is an excellent idea. Getting back into the bed would be good, too. She's getting cold.
The frustration isn't gone, but she's so hurt and tired that she can't continue this conversation right now. "…George." Her eyes squeeze shut again. "I need you to— Help me back into bed, then I need you to go. Please." Because she can't figure things out while he's here. "If you want to help me, find one of my friends. Ali - you know Ali. Or Taine, or my family. Please." She reaches up for his hand. At least it's good to know that there's more freaks in the world, but her reaction is a bit sub-par at the moment. Her energy was all used up when she tried to get out of bed.
George nods, getting up and walking around, working out the best way to give a lift without, y'know, jamming into the bandages or the IV needles or something. "I'll see what I can do," he murmurs, non-committally. Ali, complicated. Taine, no clue. Family… probably best not to say anything, for now. "I'll leave my number here. When you get caught up…" And get over the unavoidable shock of doing so. "…call me, okay?"
She's getting what she wants, at least. Space. The worst part is, she's going to have to find out about all these horrible things she did, and it's going to make her incredibly sick to learn that she's not only killed out of necessity, but murdered people without even a second thought. Gave her roommate a horrible disease. While Erin's aware of her power, she's not back to square one when using it - which essentially means she can heal things. Or cause accidental illness that clears up over time. That's all she's ever known. God, she's going to pull a Laura Spencer from General Hospital - the more she learns about herself, the closer she's going to slip back into insanity before there's just nothing left! "…I will. Thanks, George."