The Clown Will Eat Me

Brief Title:
The Clown Will Eat Me

Ms. Marvel, American Dream

Scene Runner/Watcher:

IC Date:
06/22/12 21:30

Medbay beneath Avengers' Mansion

Carol checks on Shannon after the crisis has past. Sleepless in medbay.

Social or Plot:


Here's the good news. Nothing was broken. Nothing was punctured. No internal bleeding. Here's the bad news. Shannon Carter received multiple lacarations, many of them quite deep. That lead to quite a bit of blood loss. On top of that, she got rammed into a wall by one of the most powerful beings in existence. Sure, she tucked and rolled but she still ended up with a concusion. Add to that her going three days with barely three hours of sleep and, well, one can see why the doctors the Avengers have on call have ordered bed rest in the infirmary. Which is where she is now, refusing to sleep and, instead, reading the Art of War.

Which is when we find the Chairwoman of the Avengers marching through the doors that hiss out of her way, taking in the sight of Shannon on the bed reading that book. Carol barks out, "Shannon Carter. I am quite sure as scrambled as your brains may be, the report I read said you still understand the English language clearly enough. 'Bed rest' means you 'rest' in the 'bed'. Not that you lay there and read Tsung Tsu." Yes. Carol recognized the book. "Do I need to go upstairs and get your stuffed animal collection or something, to convince you to actually /sleep/?" Of course, Carol is still on her feet, and she has been up as long, working as hard - in her own way - as Shannon was. Only part she missed out on, really, was being backhanded by a God. And everyone can rest assured it is a good job Carol wasn't there, or there would have been even /more/ of a mess. Carol isn't the sort that would allow /anyone/ or /anything/ to abuse one of her Avengers and not take them to task or go down trying.

"Can't sleep. Clown will eat me." Shannon mutters. She turns a page and just... ignores Carol for the most part. Focuses on the next paragraph. The next sentence. The next word.

"The clown will eat you?" Carol inquires, coming closer to the bed, reaching out to touch Shannon on the shoulder. "Hey. Talk to me. Please? What's going on?" Seriously? A clown is going to eat her? Why does that seem familiar somehow?

"Simpsons reference." Shannon says as she turns a page. "Don't want to talk right now. Don't want to do anything right now. Not tired." A lie, obviously, from the bags under her eyes. "I'll sleep later. Reading right now."

"No." Carol answers. "I can tell you don't want to talk right now. But you're lying if you say you're not tired. I can accept that you don't want to talk to me. I don't like it, but I can accept it. But you don't get to lie to me, Shannon. Your health is at stake, and if I have to, I'll have you sedated. But I would rather you tell me /why/ you are lying to me and trying to force yourself to stay awake. Because I think it's important."

Shannon closes her eyes. Which feels good, honestly. Her eyes are burning. "Fine. Sedate me." She mutters. She closes the book and lets it drop on her lap. "Just leave me alone."

"Alright. If that's what you want, I will respect your choice." Carol answers. "I just hope you know that I will /make/ myself available to listen, any time you choose to talk, if you'll let me. And I hope you know I care." That said, Carol won't belabor the point. Instead, she'll let go of Shannon's shoulder and walk over to speak with the medical staff.

And it will take sedation. Because when Shannon closes her eyes she sees faces. Lost faces of men and women who trusted her and put their lives on the line. Her eyes spring open again. And stare into nothing until the shot is administered and the medicine pushes her into a dreamless sleep.

Carol stays with the medical staff, rather than hovering over Shannon, but she never takes her eyes off the other woman. She waits until Shannon has finally passed out from the drugs. Then she walks over, and lays a hand on her shoulder. "Take care of yourself." To the staff she merely mentions, "I want a notation on her file for counseling with Doc Samson. She can choose not to tell me what is wrong. But she cannot choose not to take care of herself. If she is unable to sleep on her own, we are not making her a drug addict to solve it. Am I clear?" Once her order is acknowledged, Carol nods and lowers her gaze, watching that face. Eventually, she turns and walks away. She'll find her own quiet spot, probably her room, to let her guard down.

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