ArchivedLogs:Hitchhiker

Hitchhiker
Dramatis Personae Bruce, Lucien, Sergio	2015-12-26 "I /am/ cooperating. You're just not listening." (Part of Flu Season TP.)
Location <NYC> Mount Sinai Hospital - Harlem
On the cutting edge of many medical technologies, Mount Sinai Hospital is often ranked as one of the nation's best hospitals. The medical school attached is one of the best in the world, meaning that even your med students know what they are doing. Chin up, then -- when you come in here badly mutilated after the latest terrible catastrophe in Times Square, you're in good hands. To the untrained eye, Tiffany is no different from any other young woman ...who miraculously awoke from a seemingly permanent vegetative state with the urge to devour human flesh, an entirely new set of skills, and no memory of her previous life. Having only recently returned from a physical therapy appointment, she appears to have perched herself on the windowsill. The private hospital room has been flooded with baskets of flowers and other mementos meant to stir the teen's memory: stuffed animals, rhinestone tiaras, a Miss Teen Something-or-Other sash, glittery two-tiered trophies, a flute, etc. Inside his human shell, Sergio looks out gloomily into the city beyond, his new long legs hang down, crossing at the ankles. In the glass's reflection, he can see the open door and his host's mother asleep in the uncomfortable plastic chair that one of the nurse's provided them. He's been as kind to her as he can be, without making the knot in his stomach grow any tighter. After some quiet small talk out in the hallway with the patient's guardian, Bruce enters the hospital room with a somewhat perfunctory knock on the open door. He wears a neatly ironed purple button-down shirt and charcoal plain-front trousers, a brown corduroy jacket over one arm and an attache case slung over the opposite shoulder. His wavy black hair, perennially messy, looks at least like it has weathered some attempt at combing, and he has a pair of black-framed glasses perched on his nose. "Hello, Tiffany." He dips his head, a kind of small bow. "We're colleagues of Doctor Toure. May we have a word with you?" Then he adds, hasily, "My name is Bruce Banner." Lucien looks rather put-together, crisp and nearly ironed grey slacks and a pale green dress shirt, grey vest, his hair in a very careful state of tousled that probably took some time to achieve. He trails in after Bruce but slips forward in front of him, approaching Tiffio with a small tilt of head. "Hello." His hand extends for a handshake. "I am Lucien Tessier. Doctor Toure asked us to help him -- help you." His voice is quiet, a distinct trace of Quebecois accent tinging his words. Sergio watches from the reflection in the window as the men speak to Mrs. Newetner and then enter. He doesn't so much as blink at Tiffany's name being spoken, but does turn to look when it appears he can no longer refuse to acknowledge the newcomers. Mirroring Bruce's bow with the tiniest dip of the chin, the fledgeling telepath takes in the two men from Dr. Toure's foretold team. "Aloha," he says in an unsure, girlish voice -- before immediately clenching both eyes shut, "Sorry. That was ...stupid." Lush, hay-colored locks fall out of place, obscuring the girl's face as she extends one of her dainty hands to take Lucien's. Though not necessarily confident, the handshake is firm and possibly masculine, "Hi." Bruce looks only too relieved to let Lucien take the lead here. But when Tiffany apologizes, he shakes his head. "Quite all right, nothing foolish about it." He smiles--friendly, if a little shy. One might get the impression he does not get out much. "How are you feeling?" Lucien's head tips slightly to the side at the greeting, a very faint upward tick lifting his brows. His handshake lingers with the slight shift in expression, his eyes searching Tiffany's face for a moment before his head inclines. "No. Under the circumstances, I think you can be forgiven some moments of confusion. There is no need to apologize." His own smile is almost direct counterpoint to Bruce's -- it comes easily, confident, but with a distinct reserve to it. Polite, but a touch /careful/. His handshake is confident, too; he releases Tiffany's hand a moment later to take a half-step back from the window. "We have had a chance to go over your records in some detail, now. I'm afraid while it answered some questions, it raised a few more that may not be altogether easy to discuss. You are certainly welcome to bring your mother in with you if her support would be more comfortable for you." "I'm fine. How are you?" The reflexive response gives the girl pause and she cringes. It's another one of those character traits she didn't have before: speaking before thinking. Although trying his darndest to be pleasant, Sergio can't bring himself to smile. "I think that would just end in me supporting her," comes the unfamiliar, breathy voice once more. Tiredly, he shifts to fully face Bruce Banner and Lucien Tessier. The fabric of the pale pink hospital gown makes that irksome, dry swishing sound as he does so, "Are you not doctors? Don't doctors usually like, uh, love to tell you that they're doctors?" Even as he attempts to make things light, there's a subtle tremble in the girl's voice now that Sergio doesn't quite know how to conceal. Bruce looks at the girl with a very slight but puzzled frown. "Oh! I ah...I am, but--not a /medical/ doctor, so it didn't seem relevant. Under the circumstances." To her second question he chuckles, a little self-consciously. "That's not an uncommon trait among either M.D.s or Ph.D.s, though. I guess you've probably been talking to a /lot/ of doctors lately." There is a very small twitch at the corner of Lucien's mouth at Tiffio's question, a quiet breath of laughter in answer to the jest. "Many doctors, yes. And while Dr. Banner can claim that title, I cannot. I am just a researcher who has been working on Dr. Toure's team." The smile fades from his face, and he pulls a chair closer to the window to settle into it, hands folding upright. "I suspect you are not wrong. Things like this can be -- difficult on parents. I imagine she doesn't quite know what you need even if she /were/ in a position to --" His head shakes, once, quickly. "It's an unusual situation. I believe you have already been told that your previous condition was likely the result of telepathic interference, but," his voice is quiet, steady, "an in-depth examination of your scans has determined that that telepathic presence is still with you." As Lucien speaks, Sergio can't help but be drawn to look out towards the hallway where Tiffany's mother must be. Unable to see her, he imagines her out there, wringing her hands with worry and his eyes begin to water. He is only half listening... Until he is violently yanked back from his self-indulgent, woeful thoughts. The girl's reaction is almost immediate and can likely be interpreted a myriad of ways, but it is true panic. Her pale complexion lights up and her eyes clench shut as she begins gasping for breath. One small hand reaches to steady herself on the windowsill as the other clutches the fabric of her hospital gown. Moving to rise, she sways as if she may faint. "I can't-" She tries to explain but she's too worked up to catch her breath. From outside, Mrs. Newetner rushes in. A doughy German-looking woman, she pushes past anything that might be in her way in order to make a beeline for her daughter. Bruce's mouth falls open. Dark brown eyes dart from Lucien to the young woman and back. He looks like he is about to say something, but breaks off and offers a hand to steady Tiffany instead. When Mrs. Newetner rushes in, he steps aside to let her go to her daughter's side. Standing to the side, he snatches his glasses from his face and rubs the bridge of his nose. "I'm sorry. That's...a very distressing revelation, I'm sure." This last with a look at Lucien again--not accusatory, but searching. Lucien is half-rising from his chair, his hand also lifting as if to steady Tiffany, but when her mother rushes in he settles back in his chair. "Forgive me," he says quietly, hands folding in his lap again, "I know that it is a lot to process. Please, take a minute." His eyes search Tiffany's face, and then her mother's. Then Tiffany's again, with a very small questioning lift of brows as her mother beelines to her side. The girl tenses at her mother's unfamiliar touch. She attempts to lean away but the bout of dizziness leaves her rather powerless against the woman's insistence. Face pressed into Mrs. Newetner's ample bosom, Sergio's own chest heaves with a sigh. "I just want to go home," the teen musters up pathetically, producing a fat tear. Despite the woman's actions having done the trick, Tiffany crawls out from her mother's grasp and rubs her tears away with a hand. Her large, wet eyes find Lucien's. With a pleading expression that has her bottom lip quivering, Tiffany motions with her eyes between her mother and the door. She shakes her head just fractionally. Bruce looks--kind of helpless. "Unfortunately I ah...don't think that's going to help." He puts his glasses back on and chews on the inside of his cheek. "I would advise remaining where your condition can be monitored, and further that we locate an expert with psionic abilities who might be able to tell us more, if not remedy the condition outright." Lucien exhales slowly at Bruce's answer, but tips his head in acknowledgment of it. "I am afraid I must agree with my colleague. Until we have a chance to learn more about this -- there is every chance it still poses a risk to you. We do not want to take chances with further endangering your health." His eyes lock on Tiffany's, a small concerned furrow pinching between his brows. Whether Sergio wants it or not, Tiffany's mother helps him over to the hospital bed. "You have uhm, Psionic ...Expert?" There is an audibly gulp as he settles. "/Mom/," he has the girl slap her leg, "I'm hungry. Can you run and-?" "Oh! Sure, honey! I'll go run to the machine!" It's the first time she's been called 'mom' since her daughter woke up. It's a big deal. "Do you want-" "/Jesus/. Just like, chips or something," the blonde turns to the side in an attempt not to look at her mother. Once she's gone, Tiffany's shoulders relax. Turning her attention to Bruce, she chews her bottom lip, "You have an expert? Or you're just /looking/ for one? I don't understand why I'm here. I'm awake. I'm cured." Bruce looks slightly less concerned once the girl's mother helps her to the bed, at least. Though some of his anxiety returns when the mother departs. Even so, he seems to gather himself when Tiffany asks a question he at lease knows how to answer. "We have experts we can bring in. You're awake and cured, yes, but with the telepathic presence still in your mind--presumably the source of your infection--there is no telling when you might sicken again, and how quickly the sickness might progress." Lucien is quiet until Mrs. Newetner has left. He rises from his chair, turning to lean against its back so that he can face Tiffany's bed, now, rather than the window. "A telepathic assault put you in this hospital. You are cured -- of your infection, yes, but with a psionic presence still lingering in your mind there is any number of risks." His hand drops to rest on the back of the chair, a greater solemnity in his expression, now. There is a softening to his voice, low but still steady when he continues: "-- To you and to others. If you truly have no recollection whatsoever of the person who is affecting your mind -- all the tests conclude that your infection occurred through one-way contact. If that is the case, it changes everything we know about the transmission of this illness. They may yet be able to infect others." "What if-" Sergio starts, pausing to collect his thoughts. He stops looking at either of the men, opting instead to stare dreamily over at the adjacent all, "What if when you do all that, I go back to sleep... What's that word where like, two animals-" He brings up Tiffany's hand to palm her face, trying not to get flustered, "Like those stupid fish that attach themselves to sharks? That. But what's that word?" Bruce nods at Lucien's--considerably more detailed--explanation of the risks. Then frowns at Tiffany's question. "Remora," he replies, almost reflexively, "but I'm not sure what that has to do with..." A frown draws this thick black brows closer together. "If you mean whether this presence is keeping you conscious, I really think we have any means of knowing without having a telepath examine you." Lucien's fingers drum lightly against the chair that he leans against. "What if this telepath was the cause of the awakening? Not inconceivable. There were few enough other explanations for your sudden recovery." His other hand turns upwards, fingers spreading slightly in midair. "But without some kind of contact with them we won't have any way of knowing. The risk to your health is --" His hand drops back to his side. "Not to mention the safety of the city. If unilateral psionic contact is spreading the infection now -- well. It is rather vital that we learn what we can before it spreads any further." He straightens, lips pursing just slightly as he looks Tiffany over. "We will do the best we can to take care of you. Whatever that entails. But it will be harder to do that without some cooperation." Mouth hanging open for a moment, Sergio looks down at his hands --err, Tiffany's hands. "I /am/ cooperating. You're just not listening," he mumbles, rolling his eyes as they begin to water again. Tiffany wets her lips, shifting further onto her bed. She crosses her arms over her chest and looking pointedly away. "I'm in- I'm in contact." Sergio's heart spikes with the impulsive lie before he calms himself and speaks the truth, "Unilateral. You keep saying that word and I still don't know what you're saying. I'm not the big threat that you think I am. I'm just a kid." His eyes shift to the door, fearful of that woman's return. "We're listening, we just don't understand." Bruce runs a hand through his hair and tugs his glasses off again. "Unilateral means one-sided. If the illness can transmit unilaterally, that means it doesn't require one party to speak and the other to understand. One side could just say it--or think it, if we're talking about telepathic transmission. That would make the disease even more dangerous than we already know it to be." He stops, looks at Tiffany, perplexed. "Wait, you're in contact--with the telepath?" There is a very faint twitch at the corner of Lucien's mouth. "Mmm. I am listening." His fingers have stilled in their drumming against the chair. "It would mean our strategies for disease control have been very inadequate, especially with regards to how we deal with the psionically capable." His eyes lower to the ground, a slow breath pushed out through his nose before he looks at Tiffany again. "If you are in contact, what can you tell us about this individual? And how they came to be -- with you?" "They-" Tiffany looks over at the door, tears trickling down her chin. She brings up a hand to rub them away, sucking in an unladylike sniffle. "/I/- died from the virus," Sergio pulls the flat hospital pillow to hug it, the chirpy female voice somehow growing tinier as he draws up the memory, "But didn't. I couldn't watch, so I ran." He takes in a deep breath through his nose and let's it out through his mouth, "The nurse in the room, here. She spoke English. This would never have happened if she just- It makes you angry. And you lose control of everything." "I never meant for anything like this to happen," rubbing the heels of her hands into her eye sockets, Tiffany's breathing is ragged. "It wasn't unilateral because .../because/ there were never two parties." She let's out an audible groan of relief at having the truth out and done with, runs forearm under her snotty nose, "Whoever was here before me made sure of that." Lucien's head inclines, very slight, when Sergio is done speaking. "Thank you." His voice is level, neutral again. "I apologize for bringing all that up -- I cannot imagine what it was like to go through. I appreciate your honesty. /You/ were, then, infected when you arrived." Subtle but noticeable, a tension eases through his shoulders, just a faint lessening of something that had been clenching the muscles there. "And now you are cured." His hand lifts, rubbing briefly at the bridge of his nose between forefinger and thumb. "That is quite helpful to know. If you did not intend for this --" He straightens up away from his chair, folding his hands behind his back. "We /do/ know people with experience in the field of psionics. Your situation is not -- usual, certainly, but you are still our patient." His brow furrows. "Both of you. I should be glad to find you assistance if we can help -- figure out," he says carefully, "how to ensure both of your well-being, whenever you are looking to -- move on." Sergio hugs into the pillow further, curling around it. "I'd like to be alone," he whispers hoarsely, unable to make eye contact. "Please," he adds even more quietly as he brings up a hand to scritch nervously behind his ear.