2007-03-26: ...Another Week?


Namir_icon.gif Tamara_icon.gif

Summary: On her way out of the hospital, Tamara stops by Namir's room. He makes a correct conclusion and gets a less-than-desirable prediction.

Date It Happened: March 26, 2007

…Another Week?

Mt. Sinai Hospital, NYC

It's been almost a week since Namir was shot outside a convenience store on his way home from Common Grounds. So far, he's been making an excellent recovery and, thanks to having a pair of doctor friends, is quite comfortable. Near his bed is a card signed by members of his family wishing him to get well soon. Next to that is a glass of water half-full with a straw perched in it. The man currently relaxes with a copy of Don Quixote, though by the droop of his eyelids, he's starting to reach a point of dozing.

After her little chat with Mara, a detour is taken. Why? Tamara couldn't say. She just shows up in Namir's doorway - and then moves into the room, not caring to loiter in the hall. Too many other people out there. Better to be in here where they won't see her. "Sleeping already?" the teen observes, her tone light even though, to look at her, she's not particularly comfortable here. Not at all.

A voice from outside of the book causes Namir's eyelids to snap open again, and he glances up. Wow. He didn't even hear or see Tamara come in. Then again, he wasn't at his most attentive. "Hrm. I suppose I was," he responds groggily, closing the book and setting it on the night table with his left hand. He peers back at the girl curiously. "What are you doing here?"

Tamara shrugs one shoulder. "One visit, two visits. There was time." She gives the door a wary glance, stuffing her hands in her pockets. That hint of unease remains in her stance, but it sinks more to a background level. "Did you want to sleep?" In other words, she can leave the way she came and let him get back to it…

"No, not really. It's just— " Namir waves a hand toward the IV next to his bed "— morphine, laying down, and reading. The latter tend to make me drowsy anyway, and the former doesn't help." A cant of his head and a lifted eyebrow accompanied by a slight smirk. "Are you all right? How did you know I was here?" By now, however, he's somewhat certain he knows the answer.

Moving a little further into the room, Tamara smiles at his explanation. She tilts her head in unintentional echo of Namir's pose. "The… shadows will - were familiar. So I… looked." The girl thinks about that for a moment, eyes narrowing slightly; then she nods, as if approving or affirming the answer. "Yes."

Some sort of psychic, this one. Namir has decided. He nods a little, accepting the answer without much hesitation. "You were visiting someone here, then?" he asks next. "Or were you just in the neighborhood?" Just how far /can/ she see?

Tamara considers that one for a moment, as well. "Mm… visiting. Mostly." Her gaze flicks over Namir. "You had a while," she remarks, just speaking conversationally. The teen makes her way over to a chair and pulls it in a bit, perching on its edge. A wry, crooked smile. "You can keep it."

Keep it? Namir's expression becomes bemused, and he continues to smile. "Keep what?" And he had a while to what? Now that he's decided the girl is not crazy but instead has powers, he's more inclined to listen to what she has to say and take it seriously. The problem is: she always speaks in such riddles.

Tamara eyes Namir, then runs a hand through her hair and sighs. "You're not visiting?" It's not a question as such, but carries the tone of 'If I say it this way, will you understand?' After a beat, the girl shrugs, letting her hand fall back to her lap. "Not important." She offers Namir a small smile. "Just be careful."

Unfortunately, Namir still doesn't quite understand, but if it's not important, he won't bother with it. He shrugs and shakes his head. "Even if you are as careful as possible, you might still wind up shot," he chuckles. "Life is just unpredictable that way." He glances toward the door as though to ensure they're alone before he lowers his voice, his tone growing more serious, "You see things, don't you? Things that are going to happen?"

Tamara smiles faintly at Namir, and shakes her head a bit. "Sometimes less predictable than others," she points out, but she doesn't disagree. The teen tips her head to one side as he lowers his voice, lips quirking to one side. "What was certain? The road always changed. Sometimes it spun until even the mirror's dizzy." Her gaze lifts to the ceiling. "But not today."

The shifts between past-, present-, and future-tense are what confuse Namir, but now he's starting to wonder if, perhaps, this is an effect of the girl's suspected ability. "Then you see things that /might/ happen? The future is always changing, yes, but can you predict events that might happen?"

Perhaps. Just perhaps. Tamara opens her mouth. Stops. Gives Namir a faintly sheepish smile. And, rather than offer a verbal (and probably confusing!) reply, the girl just nods. Simple confirmation.

Namir is quite pleased that he's managed to figure out /something/ regarding Tamara and her riddle-like self. He grins in a self-satisfied and amused manner and settles back into his pillows. "That's incredible," he laughs softly. "It explains so much." Then, after a moment's pause, another question: "How does it work? Do they just come to you, or what?"

Tamara grins at Namir's self-congratulation. The grin dims to a smile as he raises another question, and after a moment, that expression pulls to one side, becoming crooked. She stands up again, walking over to the head of Namir's bed, where she can face the same direction as he. The teen gestures towards the room. "What do you see?"

Namir examines the room a moment, taking in just /what/ he sees and processing it into words: "I see white walls and a tile floor, a television, a door. Over there is a backlight for X-rays, a mobile curtain for privacy, a cabinet and sink." It's all very dull, actually. He's glad Samantha brought him a book to look at instead.

Tamara nods to Namir. "You see what doesn't change. What is." The girl tilts her head, gaze distant, pupils dilating to swallow the blue of her eyes. "I can hear you," she says, more a murmur, the emotion fading from her tone. "You sleep. You don't sleep. People come, go, stay. Windows open. Close. Talk, whisper, listen." Her head turns towards the door. "Noise outside. And quiet." Tamara closes her eyes, shakes her head. "Too easy to be lost. Have to watch now, or it sneaks away," she concludes wearily, attention returning to Namir.

So then it's like watching a video at high-speed, Namir concludes, nodding in understanding as he peers around the room again, half-expecting to see all the things Tamara mentioned. Of course, it's just the same old drab hospital room. "I see," he utters thoughtfully. "That's quite a gift you have, though I can imagine it's not always easy to control." He pauses, then glances to Tamara again. "Have you read the book 'Activating Evolution' by Doctor Chandra Suresh?"

Tamara watches Namir look around with mild curiosity; after all, she can't see what he sees. Or perceive anything he doesn't say. She shakes her head at the comment about it being 'easy', but the subsequent question elicits another crooked smile, this one more melancholy. "It has no meaning," the teen says softly.

No, the book probably wouldn't be able to help her as far as control and mastery are concerned, but the author — specifically his son — might. Namir smiles again, shaking his head. "Perhaps not. However, his son, from what I understand, is continuing the research outlined in the book. Perhaps he can find a way to help you in controlling it."

Tamara looks sidelong at Namir, studying him with narrowed eyes, in total silence. She doesn't seem very well sold on that proposition. The girl pulls her lower lip between her teeth. "Most help… wasn't," she finally states. Her gaze flicks over the hospital room, and Tamara draws her shoulders in a bit, having been reminded of where she is. "I don't like it here. It echoes."

"I can imagine," intones Namir again, nodding. "There is lots of activity in a hospital — not much of it pleasant, either." What with all the sick and dying people. He frowns. "I wish there was some way I could offer to help you." Mohinder Suresh was his main card.

Tamara blinks at Namir, then glances out the door, and shrugs. "Most of them are quiet. It's okay." Blue eyes flick to the walls. "I don't like white," she states. Returning to her seat on the chair, the girl smiles. "You did. You know that. Your shadows do. The mirror can find them." Should she ever need his help.

More with the mirror. Namir doesn't totally understand the mirror, but at least he has a better understanding of what shadows are and so forth. He's learning, albeit slowly. The Muslim nods again, smirking. "Well, then, if there's anything more I can do …" He trails off, leaving the end of the sentence to finish itself.

Tamara nods to Namir's statement, considering him curiously. "You can ask, if you want." The girl sits back in the chair, yet another crooked smile pulling at her lips. "Maybe I can answer?" Okay, so she could answer anyway - but it doesn't mean the same if it's not actually spoken.

A soft chuckle from Namir and a small shake of his head. "Ask about my future?" He can't say the offer isn't tempting — but at the same time, it's frightening. "I would not want to know, really. Though I wouldn't mind knowing when I get out of here exactly." That sort of future isn't so frightening.

Tamara shrugs. "There are many questions in the wings. Easier for you to pick out one." She doesn't care which he chooses to ask. Although the girl does wrinkle her nose at his choice, so that isn't entirely true. "/Count/ing." The word is spoken with a mild distaste, after which Tamara draws in a breath. She looks past Namir, gaze unfocusing, dark eyes flicking erratically to either side. Her lips move occasionally, but no sound emerges.

Namir can't help but grin a bit at the distaste. Counting, he imagines, refers to the days that pass when she looks forward into the future. "I'm sorry," he laughs, but he goes silent again when it becomes apparent that she's moving past the present.

Indeed, the apology receives no response. Instead, there is silence. But it doesn't stretch on too long, as the question was a simple one; easier to sift for than most of the stuff she looks for on a regular basis, if perhaps a bit further ahead. After a bit, Tamara's eyes come back into focus, her gaze falling to settle on her hands. She holds up seven fingers for Namir to see, though her head remains bowed for the moment.

"Another week?" Namir is a patient man, but he's already been stuck in this bed for a week, and he'd love to get out of it a lot sooner. Ah well. He'll survive. He smirks and shakes his head. "It's fortunate that I have friends here, then. Are you all right?"

Tamara leans back against the back of the chair as Namir speaks, turning her gaze to him again. "Shifts. Pieces shift. Because they can; the thread is clear. Close enough. Only echoes, and the echoes are quiet if I don't look… close…" The girl lets her voice trail off in a sigh. Closing her eyes, she lifts a hand. "I know." A pause. Let's try for the simple answer. "It was fine," Tamara states - and she smiles at Namir. That's better. "Just…" She makes a vague waving motion, as if to indicate 'a little later'.

Namir nods again, making a mental note not to ask about such things unless it's really needed. Obviously, it takes a bit out of Tamara to go trawling into the future. Then, he glances at a clock near his bedside. "I probably ought to get some sleep," he sighs a bit disappointedly. Then, as an afterthought, he squints at the girl. "I don't think you ever told me your name."

Tamara stands up as Namir makes his mental note, nodding to his statement as if she knew it was coming. Go figure. But she pauses as she makes her way towards the door, stopped by his question. Looking back at him, the girl smiles again, the expression small and rueful. "Ghosts are hard to catch. They're not like shadows; not many. Not loud. Hide in the river; hidden by. Glass is water, unless it cuts. Even close enough isn't always enough," she concludes, wistful, apologetic.

And now it's back to Riddle-Speak. Namir cocks an eyebrow, unsure. "Are you a ghost, then?" Perhaps she doesn't trust him completely to give him her name; that's what he concludes from her last statement anyway, and he nods a little at that. He /thinks/ he understands.

Tamara eyes Namir. It's the sort of look that suggests he's way off course. Which the girl's headshake only affirms. "No. You are. It all is. …You're a ghost and I'm a shadow," she says, borrowing his way of phrasing things, although her expression suggests she's not very happy with that analogy. Then the girl smiles, faint and rueful. "They didn't overlap much. Doesn't help. Sorry." She shakes her head again, just a little, then slips out the door.

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