Why Can't We All Just Get Along? (Sean)

Sean had also chosen to stop off at the bookstore after work, although he wasn’t there to purchase a young adult novel. Instead, he wanted to pick up another travel guide before his vacation with Josh and Greg next month. He’d given Greg a few books, and he and Josh had bought a couple for their own reference, but he wanted one on traveling at “a certain age.” While they weren’t senior citizens according to anyone but the AARP (and possibly Denny’s), Sean preferred to be cautious and wanted to have knowledge of any services for which they might qualify.

However, in trying to help someone outside with the door, he managed to stumble into another person. He was immediately apologetic, and in response to the other man’s polite apology, he said, “I’m quite sorry.” He was sincere in that.

The psychiatrist tucked his package under his arm and then bent down to try to help the other man pick up what he had dropped. However, it appeared that the other man had control of both book and briefcase.

The other man was unfamiliar by face and voice, although apparently Sean’s reputation had preceded him. That wasn’t uncommon in this town, given its small size and the decades that the telepath had been at his position. Sean found nothing unsettling in the thought, although admittedly the telepathy did quite a bit to mitigate any potential discomfort; he was often in a position of greater knowledge and security due to his powers.

“I am, but please, call me Sean.” The psychiatrist offered his hand to the other man for a friendly handshake. “And who might you be?”

Since the briefcase and the books had been picked up by the other man before Sean could grab any, he leaned back on his heels before slowly rising to his feet. Unfortunately, he had to take care with that, given his knees.

It was difficult not to notice the other man’s stiff mannerisms. Between fifty-plus years of life, forty-plus years of telepathy, and thirty-plus years of psychology, he found it fairly easy to read people. The other man was obviously uncomfortable and possibly hiding something, given his demeanor. However, Sean wasn’t in the habit of probing unless it was part of his job or the situation otherwise called for that level of detail.

As such, he let it go for the moment, instead simply focusing on the handshake. Nicholas’s grip was quite firm, and Sean matched it. “It’s a pleasure to meet you too, Nicholas.” He then offered the younger man a smile. “So my reputation precedes me. Do you work with someone who went to Hammel?”

He obviously didn’t work for Hammel; if he did, Sean would recognize him. Likewise, he didn’t have an accent, and it was unlikely that he worked for Kocher; there would be no reason for him to be in the United States if he did, unless he had transferred. But perhaps he had a relative or a friend or a colleague. Given his apparent age, that seemed a likely explanation.

In Sean’s experience, most people without direct experience with telepathy tended to misjudge how his powers worked, as well as their nature, range, and scope. That was a hazard of being a telepath in a society of non-psychics. It also occasionally gave him the upper-hand when it came to learning of other people’s intentions.

For instance, while he didn’t feel the glee that Nick felt the same way that an empath would, he still heard the gleeful thought, coupled with the word freaks.

That was enough to set the telepath on edge. It wasn’t as though he was unaware of meta-phobic behavior, but it was always unpleasant to encounter. Doubly so when coupled with someone who obviously had experience covering up these feelings. He had a polite way about him, and it was distressing to see that it was an act.

More distressing was the knowledge that this man worked for Operation Patriot, and thus that he had any interactions with Hammel and the vulnerable student population there. This was something to watch.

Sean, however, kept the same friendly expression on his face, which was another benefit of the telepathy. His thoughts and his facial expressions were rarely linked. “And what do you do with them? I met your Director last winter, and he seemed a jovial fellow.”

The telepath then shrugged slightly and adopted a self-deprecating smile. “My coworkers and students have gotten used to me, which is all I can ask.”

Sean was long-used to conversations in which both he and another person were both playing pretend. They weren’t his favorite form of communication, but he tolerated them as a necessity in some circumstances. As unfortunate as those were.

“Did you serve in the military?” The telepath inquired curiously. After his interactions with Gerard, he knew that the leader of the organization had been a marine. However, he also knew that not every job position required military service, although a military liaison with no military experience was a tad peculiar; the same way that it would be peculiar if the liaison to Hammel wasn’t meta, although Lenore and Moira fit the bill there. Of course, Sean had opinions about meta-humans and military service, spawned entirely by his association with metas who came from other nations and compulsory military service.

Frankly, he would be happy with complete disarmament, but no politicians were interested in catering to that aspect of his vote. Such was the problem with living in a country with the biggest military budget on the face of the planet.

Whether or not the other man realized, he had just given himself away with that remark. The telepath filed it away with the observations of Nick’s thoughts. However, Sean offered him a smile for the sake of the conversation. “I didn’t mention powers, Mister Kells. We all have personalities that can take some getting used to. After all, no identity, meta or not, is a monolith.”

While Sean could think of a few metas who might stick out more in society, he wasn’t one of them. It was his reputation that alerted people to his powers, not the nature of telepathy itself. But it was disconcerting that someone working this close to Hammel, and thus with access to his students, had such thoughts.

It was something to mull over before bringing the matter up with Yvette. She wasn’t Claude, and thus his opinion was less important to her than his was to Claude.

That was unfortunate. Sean viewed war as a travesty and all combat service as nothing less than unfortunate. By the time he had reached the age where he had to register for the draft, the Vietnam War had ended and the draft had been discontinued. He was quite removed from the notion, beyond wanting to bring everyone home and have an immediate cessation to all armed hostilities.

However, he had the self-control not to respond with any of those opinions; instead, he nodded his understanding and acknowledgment of the other man’s explanation.

But the conversation was turning towards the intolerable. “You work with meta-humans,” he remarked; it was as much a reminder as it was a point. He knew that Lenore and Moira worked with Operation Patriot, and he had seen flyers advertising Tarak’s services; he remembered Tarak from the younger man’s time at Hammel. That was aside from the fact that Operation Patriot’s declared mission statement was job placement for meta-humans. “I’m sure you don’t think that all people of color have a monolithic identity, and it’s the same thing. There isn’t special language for talking around oppressed people.”

There was, but that was in the realm of identity politics and discussion of specific powers. Not applying a monolithic identity to an oppressed group, or to any group, was common sense and applied across the board.

His tone remained even, but the other man’s thoughts combined with his thinly-veiled language was alarming, given his position. “It is to be expected at any school. Puberty and adolescence are difficult stages of life, but one way or another, everyone gets through it. I like helping the students.”

He liked it enough to have remained at his job for over two decades.

Sean had experienced enough bigotry, either with himself as a target or merely hearing it in another person’s mind, to know that few bigots ever considered themselves to be bigoted. There was always a reason for why whatever oppressed group didn’t count as human, and thus why such a person couldn’t possibly be bigoted. He’d heard every argument against meta-human rights before, and so none of Nick’s thoughts were surprising, even if they remained distressing.

Distressing because he worked with meta-humans. Distressing because his organization recruited meta-humans of vulnerable age.

“I should hope so,” the telepath replied; he kept his tone pleasant for the sake of the conversation. They should be on the same side, but what he sensed from Nick led to doubts.

The telepath let his arms dangle at his side, in a relaxed pose. Despite the unpleasantness that he sensed, he didn’t consider the area outside of a bookstore to be dangerous. Thus, there was no reason to be anything but relaxed at the moment. Sean then nodded in agreement with the sentiment. He was quite fortunate to enjoy his work, and he never forgot his privilege in that. Far too many of the students faced more uncertain futures than he had.

“It is heartbreaking,” the telepath agreed with a nod. That was a topic of discussion at the Neville-Bernstein home quite often. “That’s why I keep supporting tax initiatives to raise the tax rates back to the way they were under the Johnson administration, for what little that does. We need to take far better care of our citizenry than we do. They need education, healthcare, a living wage, and the security to know that they can pursue their dreams without ending up in the streets with nothing.”

Sean had engaged in the tax debate more times than he could count; coming from a conservative family, discussions about government-mandated social services and tax policies had been common during family events. While he’d tried not to argue with his family, if avoidable, they also hadn’t been cruel in their assessments. They had been wrong, and Kathleen and Colin held some odious opinions, but there had never been the same degree of delight in poverty. That separated Nick’s opinions from theirs.

His family had never compared impoverished people to animals, and the thought caused the telepath’s stomach to turn. This man worked for the government, which was charged with caring for people. He worked with students in vulnerable social situations.

Sean would find a way to lodge a formal complaint at a later time.

“I find it telling that someone who belongs to the largest and most time-honored socialist institution in the United States is against a progressive tax code and comprehensive social safety,” the telepath replied calmly, although the smile was no longer on his lips. He couldn’t smile at someone who would make such a vile comparison.

“I also find it curious that someone who works for the government, and whose salary comes directly from public funds considers taxation to be a punishment.” Sean folded his arms behind his back in a facsimile of the parade rest position. “But I gather you’ve been fortunate enough to never have had to look into a child’s eyes and explain that there isn’t enough food for that day. So have I, but I know people who haven’t been that fortunate. No one deserves condemnation for the crime of not having enough to eat.”

The telepath had heard all of the talking points, and he was firm in this belief. He and Josh both had come from wealth – not obscene wealth, but Sean’s family had always been upper middle class. He was a white man with a steady job with pension and benefits, a medical degree, two cars, a boat, a partner who was an attorney with his own practice, investments, and a house with over a dozen rooms on a cul-de-sac. Homophobia and metaphobia aside, society didn’t treat him poorly. Charity was good, but there had to be more for people so they needn’t rely on the whims of a few good Samaritans. He also had no illusions that he had achieved all of that with no societal help; lower tuitions, loan programs, public roads, Hammel’s funding...his financial success, as his father’s before him, was inextricably entwined with society’s blessings. He hadn’t pulled himself up by his own bootstraps.

And he wouldn’t condemn others for failing to do that which was impossible in a collective society.

“I’ve also never found myself comparing laws affecting wild animals to those affecting human beings as justification for social policy.” He shrugged, otherwise remaining in the same position as before: hands clasped behind his back, posture otherwise rigid and raised to his full height, expression serious and eerily calm. “But I do like being able to properly read people, so I thank you for that."