Genetic Emancipation [Sean]

[Dr. Sean Neville]

She wasn’t required to use the book, but Sean wanted her to have the resource anyway, as it was available to her. And considering her difficulty explaining her dreams to him – given what she had managed to explain and what he had seen in her mind, he couldn’t fault her that – reading a book might work better for her. She could go at her own pace, without having to worry about being judged by another person. Not that Sean would judge her for her nightmares, but he remembered what it was to be a teenager: hypersensitive in every way to the idea of deviating from normal, or worse, being so fundamentally different that one was actually twisted or broken. And dreams were so personal and were treated so mystically that it could be enough to drive one up the wall; Sean remembered that as well from his youth. Books were valuable, because they could be consulted and discarded, with nobody else the wiser.

As a student, much like a member of the faculty, Sean had been rule-abiding. However, he had also been considered a “special case” by several of the other faculty; telepathy was a rarer ability back then, and the memory manipulation had been difficult to control. Suffering fierce migraines and at risk for losing his sense of self, he had missed classes for training sessions or had found himself in the nurse’s office. Robert had taken care of him; and when he as older, he had sometimes gone home with Robert and stayed in his and Beth’s guest room after a particularly bad day. Of course, Robert had been married, and both he and his trainer had been male, so there was less of a stigma. But nothing had come of it, and he had benefited; nobody had given Robert any trouble about it, not to the psychiatrist’s knowledge. He could always cite that as precedent as well, should push come to shove. He didn’t think it would, since he would ask what he was supposed to do when a student didn’t have a bed for a night, and he doubted that anyone would have a better solution, even in retrospect. Besides, this would be temporary. Only until they got her a proper room transfer.

Despite giving the sexual education lecture every year, Sean wasn’t a dirty old man. He’d never been attracted to people appreciatively younger than him, and while it was true that he was single, it was due to bad luck with relationships, not to any swinging lifestyle on his part. He’d always wanted to settle down and start a family, but he’d never been so fortunate. Thus he’d transferred those paternal instincts to his work, and taking in a student who needed him was the inevitable result. And to her credit, L.C. appeared to understand that. “You’re welcome,” he replied.

Sean understood her point, which was why he wouldn’t argue with her. Nightmares under his roof might affect his ability to sleep, but he would deal with it. He was no stranger to insomnia, nightmares, or other aspects of bad nights. “I expect you to be up and dressed in time for classes tomorrow, and in exchange, I won’t wake you in the middle of the night.” That constituted a fair bargain in his mind.

The psychiatrist then nodded when she rose and babbled about getting some clothes. It wouldn’t do for her to wear the same outfit to school tomorrow, as that would only lead to other social problems. And he had no clothing suitable for teenage girls at his house, nor did he have anything in her size to lend her. “Take whatever you need. You can meet me here at six tonight.” He had a later appointment, and so he couldn’t leave when the day ended for most of the other faculty. “You’re welcome to leave now.”

As for whether it had to be approved by the administration, it would eventually, and if he had the opportunity to speak with Claude about it today, he would; he intended to put in her room change request today, to get the ball rolling. But if he couldn’t, there was always tomorrow. “It’s not something I can or would want to hide from the administration, but I also wouldn’t go around announcing anything right now. Just focus on getting through the rest of the day.” He would handle the administrative matters.

“We’ll talk about the nail polish some other time,” the psychiatrist added, since it was something to address but also wasn’t a high priority given everything else at the moment. “I’ll see you at six.”

[L.C. Milliner]

L.C. rolled her eyes at the teacher and shook her head at him. "No, you don't understand." She sighed and looked at the ceiling. "Just... Don't come near me. Don't even get within ten feet of me. That's all I ask." She wasn't going to explain it because it likely wouldn't make sense to him, all she could ask was that he didn't do it and understand the consequences if he did.

Stepping backward, she tried to remember what clothes she had in her locker. She had a whole set, if she remembered right. Her spikes led to some mighty awkward problems when it came to clothing sometimes, and so the idea of her changing clothes during or after a particularly stressful passing period wasn't unheard of. "Six? Sounds good." She couldn't complain. It wasn't like she had any non-negotiable social plans or anything important she had to do. The idea of her having a social life was almost unheard of. Laughable, even. L.C. didn't do social. She was the girl nobody wanted to get near. She supposed it came with the powers- no one except for an idiot (i.e. Vincent) would get near a girl that could kill them so quickly, so easily.

She was dismissed, but she didn't leave. Instead, her eyes flicked to the prescription on Doctor Neville's desk. She wanted it, but not now. Maybe she'd get it later. She wouldn't be able to try it out until next weekend anyway. She'd endure five days of nightmares. She could do it; she had done it for five years already. It wasn't like they would change anyway, it had been the same way since they started. The only change was that more had been added on, but in the end it was the same sequence and it all ended the same way.

Bloody.

"I'll get the prescription from you later. S’not like I’ll be using it." She muttered, moving backward and turning on her heel. As she stepped across the room, she took in the facts: the meeting had been productive, she didn't yell, she wasn't storming out, she didn’t have to stall the whole time, and she actually seemed satisfied with the result. She actually liked the result, which felt like some sort of blasphemy against herself. She almost wanted to break something, subconsciously. That was why, when she reached the doorknob, one spike instinctively shot out and drilled a neat, dime sized hole into the metal with a ‘CHINK’ noise. She covered it up with talking; she was certain Sean had heard it but determined to act as if it never happened.

“Right. So I won’t barrel out of the office cart wheeling and yelling ‘I get to stay with Doctor Neville, Yippee-kai-yay’” Oh, the sarcasm was so great she didn’t even need to roll her eyes, it would’ve been overkill, “For the world to hear. Got it.”

Turning the knob and stepping out the door, she waved a hand over her shoulder at him, generally unconcerned. She could avoid the nail polish issue all day. It seemed almost trivial to bring it up now. “I’ll pencil you in on my calendar.” She said with a smirk, not like he could see. With that, she closed the door on the way out, without so much as a ‘goodbye’. She wasn’t big on goodbyes. She never was. All that was left in her wake was a prescription, a faint smell of shampoo, and a hole in a doorknob.

She wouldn’t be L.C. Milliner otherwise.

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[Dr. Sean Neville]

in the morning, and if that didn’t work, he was fairly sure that he had a CD with some loud rock music on it, Pink Floyd or the Rolling Stones, that he could play loud enough to wake her up; he was otherwise an impeccable block member, so his neighbors could deal with the hypothetical situation for one morning. If there was a greater problem than that, they would face it as it came.

“Six,” he confirmed with a nod. She could gather everything she needed to meet him at six, and anything that she was lacking, which in his mind was a toothbrush as he could replace that, they would work around. He had towels as well, all of the little things that one kept for guests. And since she had her clothing covered, he would not have to tackle that issue.

He nodded his assent with regard to her prescription. He’d put in his records and give it to her later; then she could get it filled and try them on the monitored basis he had suggested. If they failed to work due to her biochemistry, he could enlist a pharmacologist he kept in his circle of colleagues who might have better suggestions. But that would come this weekend after she had moved to a new room and was comfortable and less stressed. He managed not to sigh when he heard the sound of metal against metal; his doorknob likely had a hole in it now. He’d have to have maintenance look at it later, but he could lecture her about property damage tonight.

The psychiatrist didn’t react to the sarcasm, because it was expected. Since she undercut the typical teenage reaction by acknowledging that she understood, there was no reason to remark about it. She would keep this queit, he would go through proper channels as soon as possible, and they would have a variance pending her new room assignment. “I will see you at six.”

And then she was gone. Alone in his office, Sean made several notes to himself about what he should do for her treatment. He then began filling out the room change request on her behalf and composed his memo about why it was necessary for her to spend the night. It was only one night, and he would make sure that at least Claude was aware, or barring him, Clarisse.