@ofthexdream gets a Muir Island starter for Rahne.
He hates it here. He has hated it here ever since he first woke up in this sterile, suffocating place. The Muir Island facility has never been home, and David is sure it never will be. Even when he believed Moira and her staff wanted to help him David hated it. The things in his brain hated it. He pleaded with them to be calm, to not fight and just let the healing happen, but they never did, and then David began to understand why.
This isn’t a place of healing. It’s a nightmare. It’s Hell.
David wants out and he has a plan. He’s smart, smarter than these doctors think he his. They say he’s autistic and insane and assume he can’t think for himself. They assume he doesn’t feel. They’re wrong and today he’s going to make them all feel like idiots. But there is one wrinkle in his carefully constructed plan. Rahne Sinclair.
She’s his friend. At least she’s as close to a friend as he’s ever had. The only other kid in this place. The only other person here that’s his age. Part of him is aware she isn’t like him. She’s not insane. She’s not broken, but she’s here all the same. Except, she seems happy. She’s definitely got more freedom than him. She doesn’t have a doctor or orderly watching her every move. She’s not always wearing the same tracksuit as him, with these stupid slippers. When he’s given time to play in the common room, he sees her come skipping in all by herself, beaming at him and chatting in the same accent as everyone else here.
An accent David finds himself starting to mimic. He’s not sure if that’s a good thing. Sure, the English makes it easier to communicate but he feels like he’s losing a part of himself. He wants to cling to the French in his accent, to the Israeli in his voice.
Today, as David flips through a comic book he’s read a hundred times already, Rahne comes into the room, happy as ever. He glances at her, chewing his lip. Does he tell her his plan? Does he bring her into it? Would she even want to come with him?
“B-Bonjour, Rahne,” he murmurs, forcing a smile. He needs to look meek, needs to seem nonthreatening to lull today’s orderly.













