the lessons i taught weren't the lessons i learned...

[fear_noevil]

"KIKI!"

"Oi, don't shout! I'm right fuckin' here, what d'you want?"

Cain Callahan glanced up from the kitchen counter, glaring at the athletic brunette with a head full of wild brown curls and bright green eyes that was trudging sleepily out of the living room, a cup of coffee in hand...still dressed in boy short panties and a sweatshirt.

"Could you maybe not wander around the fuckin' house in your goddamn underwear?" Cain groused.

Valkyrie Callahan merely flipped him off with a sleepy smile as she paused for a sip of her coffee. "Make me, big brother."

"Whatever...that shit got sugar in it?"

"Splenda."

"You check your sugar this morning?"

"75, fasting."

Cain raised an eyebrow. "You ok?"

"Had some orange juice before the coffee...stop fussing!" Valkyrie whined, voice still thick with the British accent that only came on hard and fast when she was pissed off or tired. "I feel fine, I'll recheck after I've had something to eat...what the bloody fuck are you doing, hmm? Shouldn't you be in the shower by now?"

Cain glared again, giving his attention back to the hand he had over the kitchen sink. "Splinter in my goddamn hand."

"Were you punching poor, defenseless trees again?"

"I was runnin' late on my jog, did some work while I was out--can you stop mocking my shit and come fucking help me already, you mouthy little bitch?"

Valkyrie just giggled, dancing up to kiss Cain's cheek before she plucked the tweezers out of his free hand. "Promise not to be a wuss?"

"No."

Valkyrie rolled her eyes. "Bloody doctors. Ah, well...here's to our new life in Siren Cove, yeah?"

Cain scowled at Valkyrie, watching her as she bent over his hand to try and pry the splinter from his heavily callused skin. Her hair was pushed aside, and on the back of her neck, peeking above the collar of her sweatshirt, he could see the first of her scars...lashes left on pale, freckled skin, crisscrossing her back and left to heal poorly on the body of an innocent little girl.

If her biological father wasn't already rotting in prison, Cain would have killed the fucker himself.

That was, however, one of the biggest reasons the two of them had moved to Siren Cove: change. Something away from Detroit, something that wasn't the dirty streets and the rank city air and constantly looking over their shoulders. Where Kiki could do some good with the department instead of watching kids end up behind bars because they didn't buy there was a better way. Someplace where he could stop sending those same kids back out to get shot again, or worse...someplace they could both save a few lives.

Maybe even keep Ma's work alive.

He was distracted by his thoughts by a sharp lance of pain, making him flinch and scowl as he yanked his hand away from her. "Fucking Jesus...shit, Keeks, you tryin' to kill me or something? Fucking goddamn cocksucking shit!"

Blandly, Valkyrie held up the tweezers...where a barely visible sliver of wood was clutched between the tips.

"Doctors," she informed him brightly, "make the absolute worst buggering patients."

Narrowing his eyes, Cain's lip curled in a sneer...right as he leaned over to kiss the top of her head in thanks.

"Bitch."

"Arsehole."

"Shaddup and drink your coffee." he groused, running the tap and sticking his hand underneath it to soothe the sting.

* * * * * * * * * *

A couple hours later, Cain was heading for the hospital. Technically, he wasn't on duty for an hour yet, but he wanted to check in on a couple of his patients. The previous day, he'd seen shadows in their auras, and wanted to get a jump on any complications that might be arising, and he damn sure wanted to wipe out any black spots before they could show up.

Black and white were always the most difficult. Black spots were critical issues. White was a danger zone: a last, brilliant ray of light before life ended and the light went out for good. He couldn't see when it went white, couldn't separate the colors into the feelings and ailments he needed to understand to do his fucking job.

It was the reason his whole goddamn room at home was being painted brown. Brown was a good color: earthy, nutty, brown. In the auras he'd seen, it was the color of honesty. He could trust someone with brown in their aura.

Hitting a local coffee shop for his morning fix of caffeine, Cain headed for the floor the same way he headed for everything: with a scowl on his face and a curse never far from his lips...albeit more sedate, and more thoughtful than cross as he started going over patient charts at the nurse's desk.

Just another day in Paradise: where not even superpowers could save enough lives for his taste.

Comments

[doublethepain]

[ooc: I hope it's okay to back-date this! Between this and the morning the cruise took off, if that works for you.]


He doesn't want to be here, but he knows it's in his best interest to do this before he's out to see for the next week. Joel had insisted on coming along, but Spencer had reminded him that someone needs to pack the bags because the decision to go on the cruise had been so last minute. It had been made yesterday, in fact, and Spencer doesn't want to think about yesterday but being at the hospital right now is more than enough of a reminder.

He wrings his hands in front of him in spite of willing himself to stop and heads straight for the nurse's desk to check in. He's lucky, really, to have gotten an appointment on such short notice but someone had canceled and a slot had opened up so it's all the better for him. His head has been pounding since last night, and he can't determine whether it's all just psychosomatic thanks to the panic attack he'd had--he cringes because there's that sound again, the sound of the glass shattering against his head, and he takes a deep breath because he's not even in the library now, he's in the hospital where he's safe--or if there's really something wrong with him.

He hadn't even bothered to stay the full night at the hospital after what Mark had done to him in the lighthouse despite the doctor and nurses' best efforts to keep him there. He wonders now if that had been a mistake; but he remembers the receptionist at the desk to be the one who'd checked him out that night, and she smiles kindly at him before gesturing toward the waiting area with the promise that someone would be with him shortly.

It's then that he nods, rubbing at his temple with a furrowed brow even though he tries to return the smile, and turns only to run into someone hard enough that it knocks something out of the other person's hands. It's a doctor, it turns out, and Spencer groans with embarrassment as he bends down to pick up the chart that has fallen to the floor.

"God, I should really learn to look where I'm going," he offers as an apology, holding the chart out to the doctor. "Are you all right?"

[fear_noevil]

Cain was going over one of his problem charts when he damn near knocked over a twig of a guy that plowed into him like he was getting paid.

"Son of a fuckin'..." he rumbled, making a face as he curbed his mouth. His expression was par for the course: dour at best, a hard scowl on his features as he accepted the clipboard from the man with a terse nod of thanks.

"Yeah, I'm cool." he replied gruffly. Despite his hard expression, his eyes were a little softer as he gave the guy a more assessing look. He didn't know everyone yet, but the man had more the look of a patient than staff.

Cautiously, Cain turned his eyes back on.

It was the psychic switch he used for his power, one he'd been developing since he'd started learning to control his gift. By mentally disconnecting and reconnecting his own optic nerves, he was able to control when he saw beyond the norm and when he didn't. It was a solid way to manipulate his power, and rooted in the function of his own body, it had yet to fail him.

The second he "reconnected" his eyes, he was nearly blinded by white.

It wasn't the blinding white of death, but shards of it slicing through that nebula of color, blotting out crucial shades, while everything else was varying shades of tomato red and sickly green...fear, anxiety, and that sterile white hiding deeper things from even Cain's vision.

It was enough to make Cain visibly wince and shake his head, taking a renewed interest in the anxious young man in front of him. Reaching out, he gently caught his elbow to keep him from moving away too quickly.

"Hold up...I'm cool, you ain't." he replied flatly, jerking his chin towards the other man. "'Sup? You here for an exam or something?"

[doublethepain]

The doctor takes his elbow and Spencer tenses up immediately. He hates being touched by strangers, has only adjusted to Raleigh's tendency to hug him recently and she's been living with him for over a month. He tries not to react to the words, especially not when he has no idea what the other man might mean by them because it could easily just be a guess. He's at the hospital, certainly he's something less than cool, but the way the doctor had winced once he'd taken a better look at Spencer...

Well, it's enough to make him even more nervous than he'd started out as when he'd walked in here. Maybe having Joel come along would have been a good idea; it's never been a bad one before, after all.

It's far too late now, though, so he takes a breath and gently pulls his elbow from the doctor's grip as he steps back just slightly. "I-- Yes, I'm-- For my head, I've been having headaches, that's all," he stammers, and the pain in his temple seems to grow with every passing second. "I'm leaving town tomorrow, I just-- I thought I ought to get checked out." He pauses, chewing on his bottom lip. "What do you mean I'm not... cool?"

[fear_noevil]

"Your shoes are outta style." Cain deadpanned, rolling his eyes. "C'mere, will you?"

As Cain asked, beckoning the other man forward, he pulled a penlight out of the pocket on his lab coat. He didn't actively reach for him again, noting another sliver of white entering his aura around the head, obscuring Cain's ability to discern the colors.

He had, however, seen the blotch of pain: red so vivid and thick he couldn't see through it. The shards of white were the same translucency as the rest of his aura, but the one that had entered over his headache was still damn near opaque in his line of sight.

The guy was a problem. Cain solved problems.

"C'mere." he grunted again when the guy didn't move fast enough for him, his tone firm but lacking aggression. "I'm a doctor, I just wanna have a quick look for any signs of trauma, ai'ight? If you're not critical, I'll have a look at you myself. If you are, we'll get you over for an MRI and I'll refer your case to a head guy."

And if he could at least get a second to lay hands on the son of a bitch, maybe he could take enough pain to let him relax, flush out his aura, and let Cain get a fucking look to figure out what the fuck was wrong.

[doublethepain]

Spencer nearly protests that Chuck Taylors could never possibly go out of style before he realizes the doctor is being more than slightly facetious, and he frowns at the penlight for a moment before giving a conceding nod. He shoots a glance at the receptionist, who appears to be doing her best to look like she hasn't been watching the scene unfold and shuffles a stack of papers when she accidentally catches Spencer's eye. He sees a hint of amusement in her expression, in the way the corners of her lips are turned up just so, and he can only assume that means this is the way the doctor works on a regular basis.

"I don't like to be touched by-- Well, I don't often like to be touched," he says by way of explanation that hadn't been asked of him. He bounces on his heels for a moment before letting out a deep exhale and stepping closer to the doctor, rolling his shoulders back in an effort to relax. The man is gruff, to be sure, but Spencer manages to convince himself that he means no harm. He's a doctor, after all, and regardless of why he seems to be taking a peculiar interest in Spencer's case, doctors are meant to help people and that's what Spencer is here for--help.

He lifts a hand to rub at the back of his neck, still a little jittery but calmer than he'd been a moment ago. "I-- I suffered a concussion a little over a month ago. Thirteenth of June," he offers, unsure of whether that information will be useful but he figures that without his chart in hand, the doctor might get something out of it. "I was struck in the head with a glass, I was unconscious for... well, to be entirely honest, I'm still not sure how long. Close to an hour, I suspect."

He leaves out the part about the torture--the black eye, the broken fingers, the finger-shaped bruises that littered his neck--because talking about it will only make him play it out beat-for-beat in his mind, the curse of an eidetic memory. "I've had migraines on and off since then, sometimes random and sometimes triggered by-- by something that reminds me of that time. I just thought I'd get a medical opinion on whether the headaches and the concussion are directly related."