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The sweet faced healer slowly enters the room, amber eyes wide and somewhat lost. She notes the bed, the dresser, the closet and sets her backpack and suitcase on the bed. With a tired and resigned sigh she sits beside it.
Emily sits forward on the edge of the bed and looks down at her trembling hands, hair obscuring her face. A single tear lands on her hand and she quickly scrubs it away on her pants in annoyance.
Em stands quickly, and opening her suitcase takes out a mask. It's white and red, signifying the colours of Alpha Flight. She holds it up to her face and breathes in the musky smell of Weapon Omega/Wildheart/WildChild, remembering his face and eyes as she left. Her homesickness abates somewhat, but the empty space under her ribs tells her that she is already missing the wonderful people who'd saved her life and taken her into their affections and lives as a friend.
For six months now she has lived with barely controlable powers. A mutant now... newly made and truly not used to being one of the persons she'd always advocated decent rights for. The irony is amazing, she thinks, running the mask through her fingers unconsciously. She freezes suddenly. A golden hair is caught in the folds, and gently she removes it and looks at it, eyes sad.
Kyle understood her very well, and despite not being romantically involved with him, she felt that of all her dear and beloved friends, it was Kyle who knew her best.
She holds the mask over her heart and squeezes her eyes shut, fighting tears. HE seemed oblivious to her feelings, and heaven knows she tried to deny them herself. He had far too much to deal with in his life right now to bother with romance.
And... there was always the fear that in an intimate situation, she'd lose control of her powers and kill her lover. As much as she admires the men around her, longs for them as something more than friends, she fears the blue-violet force coiled within her. She turns a shaking hand over to look at her nails... nothing. So far the feral thing inside her is held locked in by the dominance of her healing powers. She prays it will stay that way.
"Stop feeling sorry for yourself, Ferrell." she tells herself sternly, "There's always hope, and besides, out of control or not the world MIGHT need you!"
With great tenderness she slides the mask under the pillow. She closes her suitcase and then slides it under the bed. Her backpack she tosses over one shoulder and heads to the MedLab and the much dreaded tests she knows await her there...
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