2007-08-04: Want, Get


DFLogan_icon.gif DFAileen_icon.gif

Summary: Well no one ever said he was patient. Aileen is summoned to tend to Logan's shoulder. That doesn't really happen.

Dark Future Date: August 4th, 2009

Want, Get

Marriott Marquis

The Marriott Marquis is a nice hotel, it really is, and Logan has been afforded the best room possible. Had there been an even nicer room, the manager may have offered that one by way of apology, but either way. He's been looking at the interior of the suite for the past 24 hours, but he's not even starting to go stir-crazy. A different kind of crazy, but medication keeps the restlessness at bay. He's had meetings with surgeons, physiotherapists, a sleuth of professionals who all promise they can make his arm workable as soon as possible, but he really only requested one name: Aileen Kincade. No one's really sure why the President wants to see a woman who specialises in neurology, but what the President wants… he tends to get. It's late afternoon and he stares blankly out the curtained window, expecting his guest to arrive any minute, the guards outside notified and prepared to allow her.

The President got what the President wanted. Indeed, it was ironic timing that Aileen found the President summoning her when it was barely a day after she had gotten out of captivity, thanks to George. Still, if Nathan Petrelli had requested her by name, that meant something. Approaching the suite, Aileen is let in by the guards. She's no worse for wear, physically, having managed to avoid them breaking her fingers one by one. For someone in her field, losing that precision would be devestating. "Mr. President." She murmurs, London accent coming smoothly.

Logan gestures with a hand, silently instructing the agents to leave them be, and a moment later, they're alone in the room. With a grunt, he sits further up in bed, his arm in a sling and his shoulder well-bandaged, though some blood has stained the white from recent agitation. He's mostly wearing a shirt, or at least, one side is. On the other, the shirt drapes over his useless arm, and hangs open. "Tell me, doctor," he says, voice edged with weariness. "Am I ever gonna play the violin again?" He points a finger at a bedside chair, indicating that she can sit if she wants.

The woman isn't well-versed in the private dealings of the President, so she doesn't quite know what happened with the arm, nor why he doesn't have someone just heal it. Still, Aileen, despite her curiousity, says nothing on this. Still, it's good to hear a little humor, even if it is weary, and Aileen smiles as she moves to sit down in the offered chair. "I'm sure you'll play just as beautifully as you played before." From what she can see, she doubts it'll have too much lasting damage on the President.

"Hm," is his response, reasonably humourless despite the nature of the exchange. A glass of water sits on the bedside table, likely for the purpose of downing painkillers previously if one were to think about it for a second, and he reaches to take a sip. No tablets to down - he's done that already. "Seems like we have terrorists in common, Dr. Kincade. That must have been incredibly traumatic for you." There's a certain, dry flatness to his tone, but he looks at her with interest.

"It was… unexpected to say the least." Aileen admits. "I always figured there was danger, given the war and the terrorist attacks and everything that's happened, but out of everything, I never expected them to target me." She shakes her head. "But traumatized? It takes a lot more than that to get to me. Shaken, perhaps."

"Shaken," Logan repeats, with a hint of a smile, watching her all the while. "Yeah." This trails off into uncomfortable silence - well, possibly uncomfortable for Aileen, but Logan seems content with it, thoughtfully glancing towards the curtained windows before he speaks up again. "Was it a surprise to you because you're an innocent bystander, or because you have the status of a human?" His gaze falls back onto her, that same distant, curious neutrality.

The silence, while a little uncomfortable, is taken with a grain of salt. He was the one that wanted her here, and if he wanted to ask her about, well, anything, she would answer. Well… mostly anything. Pursing her lips, Aileen sits back in the chair. "A little of both. I've never done anything as I thought to really capture the attention of the terrorists, and it is not as if I have an ability. It.. well, it entirely baffled me once they started asking questions. It makes me wonder if they're just getting desperate enough to pick on anyone and everyone now."

That draws a rough, kind of guttural chuckle from Logan, though he tries to keep himself as still as possible when it does. "They are desperate," he agrees, in a slightly winsome tone of voice. "But there's a reason. There's always a reason. Too many people out there, doctor, that are known targets." Himself included. "I want you to tell me why they took you."

There's a glance to the President as he chuckles, mostly to check and make sure he's alright. She didn't want the injury being agitated any more on her watch. Another breath, and she proceeds to answer the President as best as she can. "In my free time I started work on a research project. Building off of the work of others, I'm trying to see if there's a way to cause humans to evolve artificially." The doctor takes a moment to rub the back of her neck. She was still a little stiff from the countless hours of being in that chair. "Terrorists got wind of that. Asked me all sorts of questions. Didn't take it too seriously simply because I was doing it on my own and without the aid of any sort of organization or extra funding."

Research. He knew that much, dismissed it, because what do doctors do when they aren't patching people up? Research. But this. This. Logan, in a sudden jerk, goes to sit up more. "And you think you— " That's the amount of sentence that gets out, because that sudden movement seems to have cost him. He cries out, a startling gasp of pain cutting straight through his words, other hand clutching at his injury, disturbing the bandages. "God damn it!"

In a flash, Aileen is out of the chair and closer to the bed, checking on the injury to see of there's anything else she can do. It's odd, the bedside mannerisms she has comes from pure love of people, regardless of who or what they are. It's entirely visible in the concern she shows as she stands, an entirely selfless concern. It's obvious that there's the desire there to do more. "Sorry, bit of a reflex. I can see about getting you some stronger painkillers, if you want." A pause, then Aileen continues. "I think it's possible. It's difficult, but possible."

"Thank you," Logan murmurs, breathlessly, when she speaks of painkillers. Then, it's like a switch is flicked. That genuine pain written across his features is gone in a flash, his good hand snapping up to curl in the fabric of the front of her shirt. There's nothing there aside from aggression, pulling her in closer but maintaining some distance, angle awkward. Blood blossoms into his bandaging but it's as if the injury doesn't exist. "Possible," he repeats, giving her a hard look, brown eyes flashing with… something. Anger, hatred? It can't be truly directed at her, but there it is. Despite this, his voice is rather quiet, almost reasonable sounding. "You think you can do this kind of thing without authority? It's a wrench in the plan. Who the hell gives you the right?"

Surprise colors Aileen's features as her shirt is grabbed, but there's something in the woman's resolve that keeps her calm. "It's /research/." She murmurs, concern still mixed with that firm resolve. "There's no point in bringing it up and trying to get authority for something that's just theoretical until you have something you can bring forward as a proposal." She lets out a breath, managing to keep her balance. "I had been planning on working up an entire proposal once there were more solid facts. Unless you would rather I not..?"

"It was enough," Logan says, his voice now taking on a rasp - there's only so much time he can ignore a blown out shoulder in favour of seeming authoritive - but his grip steady, "to send terrorists after you. Write your proposal to keep the paper pushers happy, but this is under my control as of now." He lets her go with a shove, mostly so she doesn't fall on top of him rather than actually pushing her over, and slumps back against the bed, looking paler. "There is too much risk involved."

Letting herself be pushed, Aileen half sinks, half falls back into the chair beside the bed. She smoothes her shirt, glancing back at the pale man before she nods. "I apologize, Mr. President." She murmurs for a moment before glancing at him. "I can understand. There'll be a proposal by first thing tomorrow." She can't blame him for reacting the way he does, simply because she understands it.

Get it together. You're better at this than that, Logan! He mutters a 'thank you', and just breathes shakily for a moment, eyes shut. One might think he's passed out, for a moment, but then he turns his head to look at her. "You'll have to forgive me," he says, evenly. "I'm not in the right state of mind." Understatement. Of. The century. "Tell me," he says, now forcing himself to sit up at the headboard again, pulling his shirt back over the bandaging. "How do you force evolution."

"It's understandable." Aileen murmurs, taking a moment to watch the President to make sure he's entirely alright before she continues. ""Most people figure there's a genetic component to the evolution, that much is true. There's enough evidence to back that up. But there's a lot people can do /without/ genetics. We've been creating drugs to counteract genetic diseases for /years/… why wouldn't it be possible to create a drug that mimics the same reactions as an Evolved in a human? Genetics never really was my field, but I've studied enough brains, human and Evolved to get an idea where to start."

Logan snickers softly, a wry smile tugging at his mouth. A lot of that goes over his head. But enough of it does not. "That does sound difficult," he says. "I'm looking forward to reading this all in full tomorrow. After I do, you might have some reading to do of your own." Now, he shuts his eyes, resting his head against the headboard. "Thanks for coming to see about my shoulder, doctor," he adds, dryly, raising an eyebrow even as he doesn't look at her. That should be enough of a hint. "We'll talk later. Say hi to George for me."

A slow nod and Dr. Kincade is on her feet again. "Rest well, Mr. President. I'll see to it that those painkillers get sent to you." She glances at him for another moment before Aileen turns to leave, expression passive. Yet, in spite of it all, there's a part of her that wonders if he already knew everything. Shaking off the feeling, she walks for the door.

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