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ax_mainSimon and Tamara meet. It couldn't go any worse. In the end, Tamara walks away with a new understanding.
Over the course of the summer, Tamara's back had healed and her wings, while still growing, and mostly found their shape. They were getting bigger, sure, but most of the muscles could at least support them, even if she wasn't very coordinated and still wore out pretty quickly.
But since the freaking riot field trip, they'd been causing her a lot more pain again.
And she was just not in the mood for wing!cramps this morning. So after a shower didn't help, she put on some low-cut sweats and one of her modified tshirts (she'd given up on bras entirely - there had to be some upside to A-cups, right?) and was on her way back down to the infirmary once again.
There wasn't anyone obviously around when she got in, though. "Hello? Anyone here?" Ugh, of course not - there never was, when you were in pain. "Ugh, I just need some pain killers!"
Simon's head came up from his work in the nearby lab at the first call, but the second made him frown. Standing, he stepped out of the lab and into the infirmary from a side hall, noting the young woman with the wings made of webbed cartilage. He'd seen her around, of course, especially in and out of the infirmary at first as she'd had her bandages changed. It wasn't a great surprise that she was still experiencing 'growing pains' of a sort. "Ms. Friedlander is at lunch, but if you like, I can try to help."
Tamara scowled. Like her mood wasn't bad enough. "Are you allowed to hand out meds to students?"
"I know the passcode to the pharmaceutical closet if that's what you're asking," Simon told her, stepping toward a nearby computer terminal. "Ms. Friedlander allows me to help out with minor medical issues when she's out, so long as I log them in the system and text her the request."
That figured. He was allowed to experiment on the students, so why wouldn't he be able to pass out drugs? Tamara rolled her eyes. "Great. Look, I just need some pain meds. Those big ibuprofen ones."
He glanced over at her, sighing inwardly. The huffing and eye-rolling was a good indication that she already didn't like him very much. Even still, he was here to help people, not worry about their opinions. "And I'll get you some. But can I ask you a few questions about your pain first?"
"Fine, but can we make it quick?" It turned out all this pain was terrible for her temperament. "'Cause this sucks."
Simon nodded, then motioned to one of the exam tables. "Would lying down make it easier on you? Or is it not just the weight?"
She looked at the table reluctantly. "...yeah, probably," she muttered, stepping over to it, climbing up, and assuming the now-familiar position of laying on her belly without another look at Simon. Her wings draped on either side of the table, brushing the ground, and she groaned a little at the stretch.
Then she looked over her shoulder at him. "Okay, it hurts. What else do you need to know?"
"Can I...would you be alright if I examined them? The bandages are off now, which means that the cartilage is merging with your musculature, and if we find a way to exercise those muscles, you could experience less pain, day to day," he told her, watching the wings droop.
Tamara narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously. "What do you mean examine?" She wasn't really sure she wanted someone without a medical degree poking at her. "And the pain was getting better, it's just lately, I dunno, stress or something."
"By 'examine', I mean see your back," Simon answered wryly. "And what kind of stress are you talking about? Have you been trying to fly?"
"Look all you want, just don't poke 'em or anything." She was both annoyed and amused by his tone, but tried to stick with annoyed as she settled her head on one arm. "And haven't you seen the news lately? I'm famous. People like you are up in arms over me."
"I assure you, I do not have any firearms on me," Simon rolled his eyes, but stepped close to the table, examining the pink edges of where the wings met the trapezius and latissimus dorsi. "Nor would I want to."
"Yeah, no shit," Tamara replied, watching him peer at her wings. "But you asked about my stress, so there you go." She chewed her lower lip for a moment, then decided what the hell and kept going. "Besides, I'm not sure wanting to dissect us is all that much better."
Simon rolled his eyes. "I don't want to dissect you. But...I would like to touch you if that's alright?"
Tamara wanted to say no, but honestly, any of the other staff probably would have anyway (she always got poked and prodded down here, that's why she had held out so long) - and he was between her and the meds she needed. She huffed a dramatic sigh that puffed her bangs out of her face. "Fine, I guess..."
Normally, Simon wouldn't do this. He'd restricted himself to touching other mutants with the smallest of gestures - short handshakes and the like. But getting the chance to understand exactly how the webbed cartilage attached itself and integrated with her physiology was more than his curiosity could bear. With a light, careful caress, he moved his fingers along the musculature, testing for soreness while at the same time soaking in what knowledge he could.
His touch was actually gentler than she was used to. The other staff had been treating her all summer and had a more rigid, familiar approach, compared to this softer touch. ...okay, yeah, it felt kind of nice, but she wasn't going to tell him that, obviously. And wasn't he supposed to be asking her questions or something? She winced a little as he found one of the really sore spots near a joint. "Um, ow?"
"Hold on just a moment," he murmured, following the lines of muscle, cartilage and leathery skin that molded together like bat wings. He could pinpoint the sore points, where tension was causing her to pull the muscles tight and stress their growth. With both hands, he reached out, gently rubbing his thumbs along the muscles to ease the tension and help relax the wings into a wider flex.
Tamara couldn't help it, she relaxed into the touch. How did he know how to do that so well...? She let her eyes close for a moment. No one had touched her wings like this before, just trying to make them feel better. She hummed a soft sound as his hands eased a knotted muscle she'd just assumed was always like that...
--wait, what the hell was he doing?! This wasn't an exam, what the hell? Without another thought, she let her electricity surge, spinning through her body and out into his, strong enough to really bite. "What do you think you're doing?!"
Simon jerked back with a sharp inhale of pain, both in his hands and his head, where for the first time in months, a spike of pain pierced through his left eye, forcing him to turn away from her, squeezing it closed and pulling his hands closer to him. Quickly, he jerked to the sink to shove them under cold water, still trying to get the pain in his head to ease. Yes. He'd overdone it - both with himself, and with her. "I'm sorry if I was trying to help," he gritted out in frustration.
"I didn't ask you for help, I asked you for Advil," Tamara shot back at him, pushing herself off the table and onto her feet, wings flaring for a moment before tucking to her back. She didn't exactly have height on him, but it was in no way a retreat. "What kind of creep are you anyway -- you just like feeling up mutants or something??"
"I wasn't feeling up anything," he snapped back. "I knew how to ease your pain - without the aid of popping pills every four hours!"
"What, you know so much better than the actual doctor? Where's your medical degree, huh?" I mean, that was exactly what some kinda perv would say, I was helping. No way he was getting away with this, Tamara was having none of it and pointed an accusing finger at him. "Listen, weirdo, maybe they let you in here to experiment on us or whatever, but that doesn't mean you can just cop a feel of whatever you want--"
"I'm not human!" He hissed. And of all people he never thought it would be Tamara that he outed himself to. He regretted it the minute he said it, but the idea of being thought of as some kind of pervert was so much worse... "I mean, I am. But. I'm like you," he gritted out. "I'm not a creep. I can feel where you're in pain. What's causing it."
"You-- what?" Not that she hadn't heard or understood, just that it completely didn't compute. One perfect eyebrow arched upward as she tried to understand just what that did make him. She wanted to tell him to prove it, but if you believed him, then he'd kinda just done exactly that. Still glaring warily and shuffling her wings, she finally settled on, "But why would you lie about that? I mean, why here?"
He hung his head, still keeping his back to her, his chest tightening with each shortened breath. The sign of an oncoming panic attack. Fuck, she knew. She knew.
He shut off the water, his fingers still pink and tender from the electrical burns and tried to breathe. "Because no one can know. No one. Not even my family. Especially not my family."
He turned around, but found himself sliding down the counter to sit on his ass, knees pulled up, and again tried to stabilize his breathing.
"Whoa, hey!" Tamara hadn't expected that, and stepped towards him before recognizing what was happening - some kinda panic attack. A girl at her school used to have those, and Tamara'd read about them online (Tumblr had a lot of pro-mental health stuff, obvs), so she squashed the urge to touch him or get panicked in response. She did take a moment to wonder how everything had managed to turn so completely on its head in a matter of seconds... She crouched in front of him, close but not crowding, one elbow on her knee and chin resting on her hand. "Shit, they really did a number on your head, didn't they?"
"Manner of speaking," Simon breathed. It took him a couple of minutes, but he finally stabilized enough to look up at her. "Please. Don't tell anyone."
Tamara frowned. "Why? I mean, I won't, I guess, but..." She shifted her weight a little, letting her wings steady her balance - her knees. "I mean, if anyone's gonna understand, it's literally all of us here, right?"
"You might understand," Simon agreed, staring at his still stinging fingers, "but you could never understand." Warren, maybe. And maybe it was time he confided in the other teen. But the others? They would never get it.
Tamara's gave him a look best described as 'intensely skeptical', not entirely sure she'd heard that right. "Do you even know anything about me?"
"Not enough," Simon conceded, finally pulling himself up off of the floor. He was still scared as hell that she would say something, but he'd have to deal with it as it came. He dried his hands - carefully (and those were going to be a pain to type with for the next day or two) - then turned to the pharmaceutical closet, gingerly entering the code to retrieve her ibuprofen. "But you don't know anything about me, either."
"More than most, apparently," she returned. Tamara stood too, still watching him closely, arms crossed over her chest. "Dude, my parents threw me out when my wings came in, and after the riot? My stepdad called me, drunk off his ass, to tell me to stay away from his precious boys." She raised an eyebrow at him. "But what would I know about family stuff?"
Simon turned and handed her the bottle, his features stoic. "I'm sorry for your troubles. You don't deserve such treatment. However, if it got out that I had the gene...it would ruin my family - my father, my mother - my sister especially. I would never be allowed in medical school, much less have any of my research taken seriously - which in turn would only mean greater strife for mutants. It would...there would be political and corporate fall-out amongst my father's clients. It's not. It's not just about me."
Tamara took the bottle, disbelief all over her face. "Right, and then the Earth stops spinning, the stars go out, all that jazz. Do you even hear yourself?" Just when she'd been reconsidering her opinions of him, too... Since he'd handed her the whole bottle, she shook enough of the oversized Advil into her hand to last her a couple days. "I mean seriously, you must be bigger than Jesus" - a phrase that had gotten her detention before - "with all that 'greater strife for mutants' shit."
Of course she wouldn't understand. He knew she wouldn't. She wasn't brought up in the world - in the family that he had been. But he had to avert his gaze, because her accusations were doing no one any good, and if he wanted her to keep his secret, he couldn't possibly upset her any more than he already had.
Ohmygod, was he doing that rich white boy thing, politely distance and avoid or whatever? She'd had more than enough of that from Warren, tyvm, and was sick of being condescended to, no matter how politely. "Hello? I'm talking to you, y'know. I may not be a rich white genius or whatever, but I'm still a person."
He looked up finally, a flash of sharp defiance in his gaze before he got himself under control again. "You're right. You aren't me, and you don't know the consequences if my secret were to get out. So please. For the love of God and Buddha and all the heavenly bodies - please don't tell anyone."
Tamara stared for a moment - wow, just blow right past the 'I'm a person too' bit and back to my not understanding - how could someone so smart be so dumb? Still, for a second there'd been something real in his eyes. Maybe he wasn't a complete write-off.
"And what happens when your wings come in?" She could keep his secret, sure. Didn't mean his mutation would play along (hers certainly hadn't).
"I don't know," he admitted, reaching back to rub at the back of his neck. "I don't... I don't know. They're going to find out eventually, but...I'm not. I can't-"
Tamara waved him off. "Right, doom, gloom, and mutant strife, I get it." She had her own issues, so really, who was she to judge his? ...okay, she was totally judging, but that wasn't the point right now. "But you are one of us. And apparently not a creep with a mutant fetish," she added, as deadpan as she could manage, "though I guess we can't rule that out entirely. Point is, you've already got friends and allies here, no matter what bullshit's waiting out there." She waved vaguely in a random direction with one hand, the corresponding wing mimicking unconsciously. "Why would you turn that down by keeping your mutation secret?"
"I can't trust that any one of the impetuous teens here might post something on Twitter, or blurt out secret without realizing," Simon told her - and he was trying to be sincere, and not an asshole. "Very few people are capable of keeping a secret like that. Even...myself, it seems."
Tamara's head actually tilted to the side as she stared up at him. "...you don't meet many people our age, do you?"
He sighed, then turned to go looking for some bandages for his hands. They would need to be protected for the next day or two anyway. "No, not really."
"We're not so bad," she informed him flatly. "And when you secret does get out, we're the ones who'll have your back." And, more to the point, "Sounds like your family can't make you that promise."
"My father would disown me, the same as yours," Simon agreed, wrapping up his hands. "And that - that I could live with. But it would mean not being able to see my sister again. It would likely mean no medical school. All the world-ending consequences aside - that would kill me. For as long as I can remember, I've wanted to be a doctor. I've wanted to help people."
Tamara rested her hip on the exam table, putting down the bottle of pills. "That's really cool. The doctor stuff, I mean." She'd never felt an impulse even close to that herself, but that didn't mean she couldn't be impressed by it. "But what makes you think mutants can't go to med school?"
Simon gave her a look. "You saw what happened in the park. How many people do you think are going to want to be treated by a mutant. Besides, my father would cut off my trust fund - and scholarships are dicey these days, depending on your specialty and background."
"...oh for fuck's sake," Tamara swore at him, electricity curling through her again, though she didn't let it show. Aside from the hard look on her face, anyway. "First, do me a favor and never talk to me about your trust fund ever again. Second, you got a problem being treated by a black doctor? Or a gay one? What about Jewish?" She narrowed her eyes. "Why not just become a doctor for mutants?"
Simon nevertheless took a step back. Though he might not be able to sense the electricity in her, he knew what she'd done to him the first time. "Please don't shock me again."
Tamara rolled her eyes. "I'm not gonna shock you again." Not unless he got handsy without permission, anyway, but based on the way he was looking at her right now she didn't have anything to worry about. "Answer the question."
"No," Simon told her firmly. "Because for one thing, it's something I need to think about. And wrap my head around. And you, standing there, putting me on the headsman's block isn't helping. You have your ibuprofen. I just. I just outed myself to you when I never meant to do it in the first place. Give me some time."
Tamara blinked, looking at him suspiciously for a moment, but... well, that was fair. Mostly.
"See, that? That actually makes some sense." Relaxing some, she gave him a half smile. "Maybe you're smart after all." And, since she hadn't said it yet, "I'm not gonna tell anyone, alright? Cross my heart."
He released some breath he must have been holding all that time and nodded slightly. "Thank you."
She huffed a little sigh, but wasn't going to poke him anymore. He was right, at the end of the day, he needed to figure things out himself. Just... hopefully he'd get past some of the particularly stupid pieces before they talked again.
"So... if I keep your secret, can I come back for wing massages?" She was probably pushing her luck, since she'd tazed him for it earlier, but... "I mean, since it turns out you weren't being creepy...?"
He glanced down at his bandaged hands. "Are you going to burn me again?"
She bit her lip, wincing a little as she looked at his hands too. "Nope. Wouldn't have this time, if you'd given me a heads-up. I mean, pretty sure even doctors are supposed to get permission before getting that touchy-feely, right?" Nevermind male students she barely knew...
"I was distracted by my own ability," Simon told her, but frowned. "That's no excuse. I apologize for touching you in an unwarranted way without your permission."
That earned him a real smile from her. "Sorry for tazing you and thinking you were a creep. But yeah, you might wanna watch out for that in the future."
"I would be happy to ease the muscle cramps," Simon told her sincerely. "It would mean having to rely on the ibuprofen less."
"Okay, cool. Thanks." Actually, now that she wasn't looking at him like 'that flatscan experimenting on us', he was kinda cute. Really cute, actually. Maybe this could be fun.
But not today, since she'd already coerced a confession out of him, possibly caused a panic attack, and given him electrical burns. Yeah. Time for an exit.
And time for Simon to search for some Xanax. Because he was definitely going to need it.
Over the course of the summer, Tamara's back had healed and her wings, while still growing, and mostly found their shape. They were getting bigger, sure, but most of the muscles could at least support them, even if she wasn't very coordinated and still wore out pretty quickly.
But since the freaking riot field trip, they'd been causing her a lot more pain again.
And she was just not in the mood for wing!cramps this morning. So after a shower didn't help, she put on some low-cut sweats and one of her modified tshirts (she'd given up on bras entirely - there had to be some upside to A-cups, right?) and was on her way back down to the infirmary once again.
There wasn't anyone obviously around when she got in, though. "Hello? Anyone here?" Ugh, of course not - there never was, when you were in pain. "Ugh, I just need some pain killers!"
Simon's head came up from his work in the nearby lab at the first call, but the second made him frown. Standing, he stepped out of the lab and into the infirmary from a side hall, noting the young woman with the wings made of webbed cartilage. He'd seen her around, of course, especially in and out of the infirmary at first as she'd had her bandages changed. It wasn't a great surprise that she was still experiencing 'growing pains' of a sort. "Ms. Friedlander is at lunch, but if you like, I can try to help."
Tamara scowled. Like her mood wasn't bad enough. "Are you allowed to hand out meds to students?"
"I know the passcode to the pharmaceutical closet if that's what you're asking," Simon told her, stepping toward a nearby computer terminal. "Ms. Friedlander allows me to help out with minor medical issues when she's out, so long as I log them in the system and text her the request."
That figured. He was allowed to experiment on the students, so why wouldn't he be able to pass out drugs? Tamara rolled her eyes. "Great. Look, I just need some pain meds. Those big ibuprofen ones."
He glanced over at her, sighing inwardly. The huffing and eye-rolling was a good indication that she already didn't like him very much. Even still, he was here to help people, not worry about their opinions. "And I'll get you some. But can I ask you a few questions about your pain first?"
"Fine, but can we make it quick?" It turned out all this pain was terrible for her temperament. "'Cause this sucks."
Simon nodded, then motioned to one of the exam tables. "Would lying down make it easier on you? Or is it not just the weight?"
She looked at the table reluctantly. "...yeah, probably," she muttered, stepping over to it, climbing up, and assuming the now-familiar position of laying on her belly without another look at Simon. Her wings draped on either side of the table, brushing the ground, and she groaned a little at the stretch.
Then she looked over her shoulder at him. "Okay, it hurts. What else do you need to know?"
"Can I...would you be alright if I examined them? The bandages are off now, which means that the cartilage is merging with your musculature, and if we find a way to exercise those muscles, you could experience less pain, day to day," he told her, watching the wings droop.
Tamara narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously. "What do you mean examine?" She wasn't really sure she wanted someone without a medical degree poking at her. "And the pain was getting better, it's just lately, I dunno, stress or something."
"By 'examine', I mean see your back," Simon answered wryly. "And what kind of stress are you talking about? Have you been trying to fly?"
"Look all you want, just don't poke 'em or anything." She was both annoyed and amused by his tone, but tried to stick with annoyed as she settled her head on one arm. "And haven't you seen the news lately? I'm famous. People like you are up in arms over me."
"I assure you, I do not have any firearms on me," Simon rolled his eyes, but stepped close to the table, examining the pink edges of where the wings met the trapezius and latissimus dorsi. "Nor would I want to."
"Yeah, no shit," Tamara replied, watching him peer at her wings. "But you asked about my stress, so there you go." She chewed her lower lip for a moment, then decided what the hell and kept going. "Besides, I'm not sure wanting to dissect us is all that much better."
Simon rolled his eyes. "I don't want to dissect you. But...I would like to touch you if that's alright?"
Tamara wanted to say no, but honestly, any of the other staff probably would have anyway (she always got poked and prodded down here, that's why she had held out so long) - and he was between her and the meds she needed. She huffed a dramatic sigh that puffed her bangs out of her face. "Fine, I guess..."
Normally, Simon wouldn't do this. He'd restricted himself to touching other mutants with the smallest of gestures - short handshakes and the like. But getting the chance to understand exactly how the webbed cartilage attached itself and integrated with her physiology was more than his curiosity could bear. With a light, careful caress, he moved his fingers along the musculature, testing for soreness while at the same time soaking in what knowledge he could.
His touch was actually gentler than she was used to. The other staff had been treating her all summer and had a more rigid, familiar approach, compared to this softer touch. ...okay, yeah, it felt kind of nice, but she wasn't going to tell him that, obviously. And wasn't he supposed to be asking her questions or something? She winced a little as he found one of the really sore spots near a joint. "Um, ow?"
"Hold on just a moment," he murmured, following the lines of muscle, cartilage and leathery skin that molded together like bat wings. He could pinpoint the sore points, where tension was causing her to pull the muscles tight and stress their growth. With both hands, he reached out, gently rubbing his thumbs along the muscles to ease the tension and help relax the wings into a wider flex.
Tamara couldn't help it, she relaxed into the touch. How did he know how to do that so well...? She let her eyes close for a moment. No one had touched her wings like this before, just trying to make them feel better. She hummed a soft sound as his hands eased a knotted muscle she'd just assumed was always like that...
--wait, what the hell was he doing?! This wasn't an exam, what the hell? Without another thought, she let her electricity surge, spinning through her body and out into his, strong enough to really bite. "What do you think you're doing?!"
Simon jerked back with a sharp inhale of pain, both in his hands and his head, where for the first time in months, a spike of pain pierced through his left eye, forcing him to turn away from her, squeezing it closed and pulling his hands closer to him. Quickly, he jerked to the sink to shove them under cold water, still trying to get the pain in his head to ease. Yes. He'd overdone it - both with himself, and with her. "I'm sorry if I was trying to help," he gritted out in frustration.
"I didn't ask you for help, I asked you for Advil," Tamara shot back at him, pushing herself off the table and onto her feet, wings flaring for a moment before tucking to her back. She didn't exactly have height on him, but it was in no way a retreat. "What kind of creep are you anyway -- you just like feeling up mutants or something??"
"I wasn't feeling up anything," he snapped back. "I knew how to ease your pain - without the aid of popping pills every four hours!"
"What, you know so much better than the actual doctor? Where's your medical degree, huh?" I mean, that was exactly what some kinda perv would say, I was helping. No way he was getting away with this, Tamara was having none of it and pointed an accusing finger at him. "Listen, weirdo, maybe they let you in here to experiment on us or whatever, but that doesn't mean you can just cop a feel of whatever you want--"
"I'm not human!" He hissed. And of all people he never thought it would be Tamara that he outed himself to. He regretted it the minute he said it, but the idea of being thought of as some kind of pervert was so much worse... "I mean, I am. But. I'm like you," he gritted out. "I'm not a creep. I can feel where you're in pain. What's causing it."
"You-- what?" Not that she hadn't heard or understood, just that it completely didn't compute. One perfect eyebrow arched upward as she tried to understand just what that did make him. She wanted to tell him to prove it, but if you believed him, then he'd kinda just done exactly that. Still glaring warily and shuffling her wings, she finally settled on, "But why would you lie about that? I mean, why here?"
He hung his head, still keeping his back to her, his chest tightening with each shortened breath. The sign of an oncoming panic attack. Fuck, she knew. She knew.
He shut off the water, his fingers still pink and tender from the electrical burns and tried to breathe. "Because no one can know. No one. Not even my family. Especially not my family."
He turned around, but found himself sliding down the counter to sit on his ass, knees pulled up, and again tried to stabilize his breathing.
"Whoa, hey!" Tamara hadn't expected that, and stepped towards him before recognizing what was happening - some kinda panic attack. A girl at her school used to have those, and Tamara'd read about them online (Tumblr had a lot of pro-mental health stuff, obvs), so she squashed the urge to touch him or get panicked in response. She did take a moment to wonder how everything had managed to turn so completely on its head in a matter of seconds... She crouched in front of him, close but not crowding, one elbow on her knee and chin resting on her hand. "Shit, they really did a number on your head, didn't they?"
"Manner of speaking," Simon breathed. It took him a couple of minutes, but he finally stabilized enough to look up at her. "Please. Don't tell anyone."
Tamara frowned. "Why? I mean, I won't, I guess, but..." She shifted her weight a little, letting her wings steady her balance - her knees. "I mean, if anyone's gonna understand, it's literally all of us here, right?"
"You might understand," Simon agreed, staring at his still stinging fingers, "but you could never understand." Warren, maybe. And maybe it was time he confided in the other teen. But the others? They would never get it.
Tamara's gave him a look best described as 'intensely skeptical', not entirely sure she'd heard that right. "Do you even know anything about me?"
"Not enough," Simon conceded, finally pulling himself up off of the floor. He was still scared as hell that she would say something, but he'd have to deal with it as it came. He dried his hands - carefully (and those were going to be a pain to type with for the next day or two) - then turned to the pharmaceutical closet, gingerly entering the code to retrieve her ibuprofen. "But you don't know anything about me, either."
"More than most, apparently," she returned. Tamara stood too, still watching him closely, arms crossed over her chest. "Dude, my parents threw me out when my wings came in, and after the riot? My stepdad called me, drunk off his ass, to tell me to stay away from his precious boys." She raised an eyebrow at him. "But what would I know about family stuff?"
Simon turned and handed her the bottle, his features stoic. "I'm sorry for your troubles. You don't deserve such treatment. However, if it got out that I had the gene...it would ruin my family - my father, my mother - my sister especially. I would never be allowed in medical school, much less have any of my research taken seriously - which in turn would only mean greater strife for mutants. It would...there would be political and corporate fall-out amongst my father's clients. It's not. It's not just about me."
Tamara took the bottle, disbelief all over her face. "Right, and then the Earth stops spinning, the stars go out, all that jazz. Do you even hear yourself?" Just when she'd been reconsidering her opinions of him, too... Since he'd handed her the whole bottle, she shook enough of the oversized Advil into her hand to last her a couple days. "I mean seriously, you must be bigger than Jesus" - a phrase that had gotten her detention before - "with all that 'greater strife for mutants' shit."
Of course she wouldn't understand. He knew she wouldn't. She wasn't brought up in the world - in the family that he had been. But he had to avert his gaze, because her accusations were doing no one any good, and if he wanted her to keep his secret, he couldn't possibly upset her any more than he already had.
Ohmygod, was he doing that rich white boy thing, politely distance and avoid or whatever? She'd had more than enough of that from Warren, tyvm, and was sick of being condescended to, no matter how politely. "Hello? I'm talking to you, y'know. I may not be a rich white genius or whatever, but I'm still a person."
He looked up finally, a flash of sharp defiance in his gaze before he got himself under control again. "You're right. You aren't me, and you don't know the consequences if my secret were to get out. So please. For the love of God and Buddha and all the heavenly bodies - please don't tell anyone."
Tamara stared for a moment - wow, just blow right past the 'I'm a person too' bit and back to my not understanding - how could someone so smart be so dumb? Still, for a second there'd been something real in his eyes. Maybe he wasn't a complete write-off.
"And what happens when your wings come in?" She could keep his secret, sure. Didn't mean his mutation would play along (hers certainly hadn't).
"I don't know," he admitted, reaching back to rub at the back of his neck. "I don't... I don't know. They're going to find out eventually, but...I'm not. I can't-"
Tamara waved him off. "Right, doom, gloom, and mutant strife, I get it." She had her own issues, so really, who was she to judge his? ...okay, she was totally judging, but that wasn't the point right now. "But you are one of us. And apparently not a creep with a mutant fetish," she added, as deadpan as she could manage, "though I guess we can't rule that out entirely. Point is, you've already got friends and allies here, no matter what bullshit's waiting out there." She waved vaguely in a random direction with one hand, the corresponding wing mimicking unconsciously. "Why would you turn that down by keeping your mutation secret?"
"I can't trust that any one of the impetuous teens here might post something on Twitter, or blurt out secret without realizing," Simon told her - and he was trying to be sincere, and not an asshole. "Very few people are capable of keeping a secret like that. Even...myself, it seems."
Tamara's head actually tilted to the side as she stared up at him. "...you don't meet many people our age, do you?"
He sighed, then turned to go looking for some bandages for his hands. They would need to be protected for the next day or two anyway. "No, not really."
"We're not so bad," she informed him flatly. "And when you secret does get out, we're the ones who'll have your back." And, more to the point, "Sounds like your family can't make you that promise."
"My father would disown me, the same as yours," Simon agreed, wrapping up his hands. "And that - that I could live with. But it would mean not being able to see my sister again. It would likely mean no medical school. All the world-ending consequences aside - that would kill me. For as long as I can remember, I've wanted to be a doctor. I've wanted to help people."
Tamara rested her hip on the exam table, putting down the bottle of pills. "That's really cool. The doctor stuff, I mean." She'd never felt an impulse even close to that herself, but that didn't mean she couldn't be impressed by it. "But what makes you think mutants can't go to med school?"
Simon gave her a look. "You saw what happened in the park. How many people do you think are going to want to be treated by a mutant. Besides, my father would cut off my trust fund - and scholarships are dicey these days, depending on your specialty and background."
"...oh for fuck's sake," Tamara swore at him, electricity curling through her again, though she didn't let it show. Aside from the hard look on her face, anyway. "First, do me a favor and never talk to me about your trust fund ever again. Second, you got a problem being treated by a black doctor? Or a gay one? What about Jewish?" She narrowed her eyes. "Why not just become a doctor for mutants?"
Simon nevertheless took a step back. Though he might not be able to sense the electricity in her, he knew what she'd done to him the first time. "Please don't shock me again."
Tamara rolled her eyes. "I'm not gonna shock you again." Not unless he got handsy without permission, anyway, but based on the way he was looking at her right now she didn't have anything to worry about. "Answer the question."
"No," Simon told her firmly. "Because for one thing, it's something I need to think about. And wrap my head around. And you, standing there, putting me on the headsman's block isn't helping. You have your ibuprofen. I just. I just outed myself to you when I never meant to do it in the first place. Give me some time."
Tamara blinked, looking at him suspiciously for a moment, but... well, that was fair. Mostly.
"See, that? That actually makes some sense." Relaxing some, she gave him a half smile. "Maybe you're smart after all." And, since she hadn't said it yet, "I'm not gonna tell anyone, alright? Cross my heart."
He released some breath he must have been holding all that time and nodded slightly. "Thank you."
She huffed a little sigh, but wasn't going to poke him anymore. He was right, at the end of the day, he needed to figure things out himself. Just... hopefully he'd get past some of the particularly stupid pieces before they talked again.
"So... if I keep your secret, can I come back for wing massages?" She was probably pushing her luck, since she'd tazed him for it earlier, but... "I mean, since it turns out you weren't being creepy...?"
He glanced down at his bandaged hands. "Are you going to burn me again?"
She bit her lip, wincing a little as she looked at his hands too. "Nope. Wouldn't have this time, if you'd given me a heads-up. I mean, pretty sure even doctors are supposed to get permission before getting that touchy-feely, right?" Nevermind male students she barely knew...
"I was distracted by my own ability," Simon told her, but frowned. "That's no excuse. I apologize for touching you in an unwarranted way without your permission."
That earned him a real smile from her. "Sorry for tazing you and thinking you were a creep. But yeah, you might wanna watch out for that in the future."
"I would be happy to ease the muscle cramps," Simon told her sincerely. "It would mean having to rely on the ibuprofen less."
"Okay, cool. Thanks." Actually, now that she wasn't looking at him like 'that flatscan experimenting on us', he was kinda cute. Really cute, actually. Maybe this could be fun.
But not today, since she'd already coerced a confession out of him, possibly caused a panic attack, and given him electrical burns. Yeah. Time for an exit.
And time for Simon to search for some Xanax. Because he was definitely going to need it.
