Simon and Scott, Post-Thunderdome
Jun. 7th, 2015 12:45 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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om_mainScott finally lets Simon scan him. All he really wanted to know was if his ribs were broken.
Once Noriko had left, Scott had remained in the War Room for several long minutes. He used that time to box up his anger and frustration, and shoved into a dark mental corner. It wouldn't do him or anyone else any good to be emotional or volatile. Once he felt in control of himself, Scott took a deep breath, and winced.
Right. The ribs. He was pretty sure nothing was broken. Still, he could hear Lydia telling him off in his head for being an idiot and not seeking the help of someone who might actually be able to tell him if anything was cracked. He could either suck it up, and drag his own ass down to the infirmary, or he could risk a fight with Lydia that ended with him capitulating and going down to the infirmary (or that ended with him not going to the infirmary, and later fucking himself over with a punctured lung).
He didn't like his options, but Scott knew there was only one reasonable choice. He changed clothes gingerly, and then sent Lydia a quick text. Back. Everyone is fine. Stopping by the infimary, then going to the room. That done, he took a few shallow breaths, and made his way over to the dreaded infirmary.
Simon was bent over a laptop when he came in, studiously intent on the screen, but the movement out of the corner of his eye finally got his attention. When he looked up, however, he looked surprised. Scott didn't come to the infirmary. He hadn't been sure that the other teen had actually known the way up until this point.
Scott nodded his head in greeting. "Hey Tam. Hope I'm not interrupting."
"Not at all," Simon answered. "Were you looking for Jean-Paul? He headed back upstairs."
Scott shook his head 'no.' "Looking for you or MacTaggart," he admitted. Much though he hated himself a little for not taking the out Simon had offered. "Took a fairly hard hit, and want to make sure my ribs aren't cracked."
"I'm pretty sure they aren't," he was sure add.
Simon closed the laptop and raised a brow. "Are you an expert on the subject?"
"If I were, I wouldn't be here," Scott pointed out, shrugging a touch awkwardly in deference to the pain.
Motioning to a nearby exam table, Simon smiled slightly. "Sorry. Thanks for getting a second opinion, by the way. Too many of the kids here tend to think they can handle injuries on their own - even those who don't have a healing factor."
Scott walked over to the exam table, and gingerly hoisted himself onto it. "I figured if I ended up with a punctured lung, everyone would just tell me it was own damn fault otherwise," he said, voice dry. "That sounded objectively worse than just making sure I'm right."
"It does, doesn't it?" Simon smiled dryly, then held up a hand. "Is it alright if I touch you? It's faster and less expensive than a CT scan."
He didn't want to let his nerves show, but Scott swallowed almost against his will. He doubted one would be all that less invasive than the other. The time thing didn't bother him, it was the rest. "What does a CT scan show, exactly?" He asked.
Simon's eyebrows went up. "Ah. That would depend on what kind of CT scan we were looking at. However, if I was to check your ribs, I don't think a contrast agent would need to be used. Objectively, we'd be looking at bone and internal organs. Unless...there's another object inside of you that I should know about?"
"Uh, I don't think so?" It had never occurred to Scott to wonder if there was shrapnel in there from the crash. If there was, though, it probably wasn't going anywhere, since he'd never noticed it. "Shouldn't be."
Simon motioned toward the back. "I can warm it up if you'd rather have the machine. It's not as precise, but I know that there are reasons people relish their privacy."
Scott was silent for a moment, and took a deep breath. Which, of course, was a mistake. Right. The ribs. He could let Simon do this now. Get it over with. Know with absolute certain about his ribs. About some other things he'd been ignoring. Or he could wait until the choice was no longer his, because he was unconscious or dying. He could take control of his own destiny here. Or he could let someone else take it.
"No. Go ahead."
Simon watched him for a moment, then took a deep breath himself, moving to wash his hands. "Anything I say is between you and me, unless Dr. MacTaggart specifically needs to know."
"I trust you, Tam." At least, as far as Scott generally trusted anyone. Besides, Jean-Paul trusted Simon. He figured that was as good a recommendation as someone could get.
Simon returned, trying not to look skeptical about that statement. He wasn't all that sure that Scott did trust him, but he knew not to voice his thoughts on the matter. Instead, he warmed up his hands. "Is it alright if I touch your arm?"
A couple shallow breaths, and Scott nodded and held his arm out a little.
Right away, Simon knew why Scott had hesitated. In fact, there were more than a couple of reasons Simon could see for the teen to refuse to be scanned, and he could see all of them within the first few seconds. Still, he lingered, his eyes closed, scanning deeper.
Past the signs of abuse or the obvious bruising to his ribs and diaphram from the mission, Simon focused on what seemed to be scars from some sort of accident when Scott was young, the worst of which turned his stomach. He almost pulled his hand away when he focused on the other teen's brain and the clear damage to his occipital lobe. His touch fluttered, then clamped, because he was not allowing Scott to pull away before he could fully understand what was going on.
When he finally took his hand away, his eyes were a little haunted. "It's, uh, there's, there are no breaks. Just some cont- some bruised ribs. Painful, but not dangerous. You'll need to rest, take some ibuprofen, and make sure to take deep breaths every so often to keep your lungs healthy. No binding. You can use ice if it helps."
So no worse than Scott had figured, and aside from avoiding an argument with Lydia, all he had to show for this visit was the sinking feeling in his stomach. "You okay, Tam?" He asked. It was the closest he could get to asking what else the other man had seen.
Simon fidgeted with washing his hands again. "Which, uh, why....why didn't you want me to scan you?"
"You want an itemized list?" Scott asked. Sarcasm wasn't going to help here, though, and however invaded Scott felt, he knew that wasn't Simon's fault. Scott had agreed to let Simon scan it. Scott's decision, not Tam's. He sighed, and admitted, "One, to avoid looks like the one you just gave me. Two...I'm not entirely sure if it's better or worse to have confirmation of just how fucked up I am."
Simon sighed and turned back, drying his hands. "Actually, I do want an itemized list. I'd like to know how much you know and how much you don't. 'Fucked up' is relative. The more we know, the more we can work with. That is...assuming you want help."
Scott swallowed, and looked away for a moment. Not just thinking, though he was idly compiling a list of injuries that he could remember, but also warring with himself. He'd said he trusted Simon, and he did. Or, rather, he trusted Simon as much as he trusted anyone that wasn't Lydia or Alex or someone. But what Simon was asking for went substantially past what he'd admitted to even them, though Scott suspected Lydia had worked most of it out.
If it was possible to fix it, though....Scott wasn't going to pin any hopes on it, but if it could be done...
"Fine," he managed to say, though his voice was somewhat tight. "I know about the bruised ribs and shit, obviously. Probably have some old breaks. Maybe they healed right, maybe they didn't. Some scar tissue from then, too, from burns and cuts and stuff. Stuff from middle school and high school. Older scars, maybe breaks, from the accident. Something with..."
He swallowed hard again, trying to force down what felt like a fucking golf ball in his throat. "They said afterwards that they'd had to drill holes in my skull to release pressure. I was unconscious for a year. They guessed, and now I'm guessing too, some kind of brain damage. Somewhere." He still wasn't looking at Simon, focusing instead on the floor. Breathing hurt, but it gave him something to focus on other than what he'd just confessed. In and out.
Simon was quiet for a moment, but at least his awkwardness faded away. Turning to a nearby freezer, he opened it and took out an ice pack, wrapping it in a towel before crossing to Scott to press it gently over the other teen's ribs. "There's brain damage," he agreed, knowing the other man wouldn't want him to dance around it, "in your occipital lobe. It's honestly a miracle that you're capable of seeing at all. Clearly, the lenses help, but...it looks like the reason you can't control your force blasts is because of the damage done to these neural pathways."
Scott was silent for a couple beats. That meant it wasn't his fault he couldn't control it. He wasn't sure if that was a relief or not. It also meant he probably would never be able to control it. That piece definitely fucking sucked. "So they're just stuck on. Forever. I'm guessing that's not exactly the type of thing that can be fixed," Scott commented, trying to sounded unconcerned and probably failing. Even if surgery could fix it, would he want to try? The idea of a knife in his brain didn't exactly sound inviting.
"Certainly not yet," Simon agreed, "but I wouldn't say 'forever.' We don't know much about how your power interacts with your sight and how your brain interprets that knowledge, but, if you're willing, we can get the ball rolling on some research into how it works. That may mean that when we have the base for that kind of surgery in the mutant community, we'll know exactly what we need to do."
"What do you mean, get the ball rolling on research?" Scott asked, sounding uncertain.
"In layman's terms, allowing me to scan you while you are exercising that area of your brain and recording the results," Simon smiled slightly. "Which, by the way, we can do privately if you don't want anyone else to know. I promised that you could trust me. No one, not even the doctor or Jean-Paul will hear of this from me. This is your secret to tell."
"Right." Scott looked up and, though Simon likely couldn't tell due to the opacity of his glasses, looked Tam in the eye. "There's no point in me trying to hide it from Lydia. She'd find out anyway, and she already....well, if she doesn't know for sure, I know she suspects." The one minor downside to dating someone even smarter than he was.
"But yeah. Don't tell Jean-Paul. Please." He didn't want anyone to look at him differently.
"You have my word," Simon agreed honestly, then sat back on a nearby stool. "And if you don't want to do anything about it, or if you want to wait and sleep on it for a few days, a few months...even years, that's alright too."
"Yeah," Scott muttered softly. He set down the ice pack, and carefully stood up. "Yeah. I'll think about it."
"You're welcome to refuse, but may I ask how it happened?" Simon inquired carefully.
Scott froze for a second, but eventually admitted, "plane crash." It could be found out with enough effort anyway, though Tam didn't seem the type to pry. Hell, Salvatore had found out and thrown it in his face once.
Simon looked surprised, since he'd thought it would be something along the lines of a car crash, or something having to do with his abuse. Still, he nodded. "Thank you. Just...remember that it's not forever. This may not be able to be fixed right now, but they are making advancements in medicine every day."
He managed an anemic version of a smirk. "I'd rather be pleasantly surprised than disappointed," he said. Still, Simon had given him more than he'd asked for, if perhaps a touch more than he'd wanted. "But...thanks, Tam."
Simon nodded. "Make sure to stay out of the gym and lay off the chores for awhile."
The smirk grew a bit. "I'll see what I can do."
Once Noriko had left, Scott had remained in the War Room for several long minutes. He used that time to box up his anger and frustration, and shoved into a dark mental corner. It wouldn't do him or anyone else any good to be emotional or volatile. Once he felt in control of himself, Scott took a deep breath, and winced.
Right. The ribs. He was pretty sure nothing was broken. Still, he could hear Lydia telling him off in his head for being an idiot and not seeking the help of someone who might actually be able to tell him if anything was cracked. He could either suck it up, and drag his own ass down to the infirmary, or he could risk a fight with Lydia that ended with him capitulating and going down to the infirmary (or that ended with him not going to the infirmary, and later fucking himself over with a punctured lung).
He didn't like his options, but Scott knew there was only one reasonable choice. He changed clothes gingerly, and then sent Lydia a quick text. Back. Everyone is fine. Stopping by the infimary, then going to the room. That done, he took a few shallow breaths, and made his way over to the dreaded infirmary.
Simon was bent over a laptop when he came in, studiously intent on the screen, but the movement out of the corner of his eye finally got his attention. When he looked up, however, he looked surprised. Scott didn't come to the infirmary. He hadn't been sure that the other teen had actually known the way up until this point.
Scott nodded his head in greeting. "Hey Tam. Hope I'm not interrupting."
"Not at all," Simon answered. "Were you looking for Jean-Paul? He headed back upstairs."
Scott shook his head 'no.' "Looking for you or MacTaggart," he admitted. Much though he hated himself a little for not taking the out Simon had offered. "Took a fairly hard hit, and want to make sure my ribs aren't cracked."
"I'm pretty sure they aren't," he was sure add.
Simon closed the laptop and raised a brow. "Are you an expert on the subject?"
"If I were, I wouldn't be here," Scott pointed out, shrugging a touch awkwardly in deference to the pain.
Motioning to a nearby exam table, Simon smiled slightly. "Sorry. Thanks for getting a second opinion, by the way. Too many of the kids here tend to think they can handle injuries on their own - even those who don't have a healing factor."
Scott walked over to the exam table, and gingerly hoisted himself onto it. "I figured if I ended up with a punctured lung, everyone would just tell me it was own damn fault otherwise," he said, voice dry. "That sounded objectively worse than just making sure I'm right."
"It does, doesn't it?" Simon smiled dryly, then held up a hand. "Is it alright if I touch you? It's faster and less expensive than a CT scan."
He didn't want to let his nerves show, but Scott swallowed almost against his will. He doubted one would be all that less invasive than the other. The time thing didn't bother him, it was the rest. "What does a CT scan show, exactly?" He asked.
Simon's eyebrows went up. "Ah. That would depend on what kind of CT scan we were looking at. However, if I was to check your ribs, I don't think a contrast agent would need to be used. Objectively, we'd be looking at bone and internal organs. Unless...there's another object inside of you that I should know about?"
"Uh, I don't think so?" It had never occurred to Scott to wonder if there was shrapnel in there from the crash. If there was, though, it probably wasn't going anywhere, since he'd never noticed it. "Shouldn't be."
Simon motioned toward the back. "I can warm it up if you'd rather have the machine. It's not as precise, but I know that there are reasons people relish their privacy."
Scott was silent for a moment, and took a deep breath. Which, of course, was a mistake. Right. The ribs. He could let Simon do this now. Get it over with. Know with absolute certain about his ribs. About some other things he'd been ignoring. Or he could wait until the choice was no longer his, because he was unconscious or dying. He could take control of his own destiny here. Or he could let someone else take it.
"No. Go ahead."
Simon watched him for a moment, then took a deep breath himself, moving to wash his hands. "Anything I say is between you and me, unless Dr. MacTaggart specifically needs to know."
"I trust you, Tam." At least, as far as Scott generally trusted anyone. Besides, Jean-Paul trusted Simon. He figured that was as good a recommendation as someone could get.
Simon returned, trying not to look skeptical about that statement. He wasn't all that sure that Scott did trust him, but he knew not to voice his thoughts on the matter. Instead, he warmed up his hands. "Is it alright if I touch your arm?"
A couple shallow breaths, and Scott nodded and held his arm out a little.
Right away, Simon knew why Scott had hesitated. In fact, there were more than a couple of reasons Simon could see for the teen to refuse to be scanned, and he could see all of them within the first few seconds. Still, he lingered, his eyes closed, scanning deeper.
Past the signs of abuse or the obvious bruising to his ribs and diaphram from the mission, Simon focused on what seemed to be scars from some sort of accident when Scott was young, the worst of which turned his stomach. He almost pulled his hand away when he focused on the other teen's brain and the clear damage to his occipital lobe. His touch fluttered, then clamped, because he was not allowing Scott to pull away before he could fully understand what was going on.
When he finally took his hand away, his eyes were a little haunted. "It's, uh, there's, there are no breaks. Just some cont- some bruised ribs. Painful, but not dangerous. You'll need to rest, take some ibuprofen, and make sure to take deep breaths every so often to keep your lungs healthy. No binding. You can use ice if it helps."
So no worse than Scott had figured, and aside from avoiding an argument with Lydia, all he had to show for this visit was the sinking feeling in his stomach. "You okay, Tam?" He asked. It was the closest he could get to asking what else the other man had seen.
Simon fidgeted with washing his hands again. "Which, uh, why....why didn't you want me to scan you?"
"You want an itemized list?" Scott asked. Sarcasm wasn't going to help here, though, and however invaded Scott felt, he knew that wasn't Simon's fault. Scott had agreed to let Simon scan it. Scott's decision, not Tam's. He sighed, and admitted, "One, to avoid looks like the one you just gave me. Two...I'm not entirely sure if it's better or worse to have confirmation of just how fucked up I am."
Simon sighed and turned back, drying his hands. "Actually, I do want an itemized list. I'd like to know how much you know and how much you don't. 'Fucked up' is relative. The more we know, the more we can work with. That is...assuming you want help."
Scott swallowed, and looked away for a moment. Not just thinking, though he was idly compiling a list of injuries that he could remember, but also warring with himself. He'd said he trusted Simon, and he did. Or, rather, he trusted Simon as much as he trusted anyone that wasn't Lydia or Alex or someone. But what Simon was asking for went substantially past what he'd admitted to even them, though Scott suspected Lydia had worked most of it out.
If it was possible to fix it, though....Scott wasn't going to pin any hopes on it, but if it could be done...
"Fine," he managed to say, though his voice was somewhat tight. "I know about the bruised ribs and shit, obviously. Probably have some old breaks. Maybe they healed right, maybe they didn't. Some scar tissue from then, too, from burns and cuts and stuff. Stuff from middle school and high school. Older scars, maybe breaks, from the accident. Something with..."
He swallowed hard again, trying to force down what felt like a fucking golf ball in his throat. "They said afterwards that they'd had to drill holes in my skull to release pressure. I was unconscious for a year. They guessed, and now I'm guessing too, some kind of brain damage. Somewhere." He still wasn't looking at Simon, focusing instead on the floor. Breathing hurt, but it gave him something to focus on other than what he'd just confessed. In and out.
Simon was quiet for a moment, but at least his awkwardness faded away. Turning to a nearby freezer, he opened it and took out an ice pack, wrapping it in a towel before crossing to Scott to press it gently over the other teen's ribs. "There's brain damage," he agreed, knowing the other man wouldn't want him to dance around it, "in your occipital lobe. It's honestly a miracle that you're capable of seeing at all. Clearly, the lenses help, but...it looks like the reason you can't control your force blasts is because of the damage done to these neural pathways."
Scott was silent for a couple beats. That meant it wasn't his fault he couldn't control it. He wasn't sure if that was a relief or not. It also meant he probably would never be able to control it. That piece definitely fucking sucked. "So they're just stuck on. Forever. I'm guessing that's not exactly the type of thing that can be fixed," Scott commented, trying to sounded unconcerned and probably failing. Even if surgery could fix it, would he want to try? The idea of a knife in his brain didn't exactly sound inviting.
"Certainly not yet," Simon agreed, "but I wouldn't say 'forever.' We don't know much about how your power interacts with your sight and how your brain interprets that knowledge, but, if you're willing, we can get the ball rolling on some research into how it works. That may mean that when we have the base for that kind of surgery in the mutant community, we'll know exactly what we need to do."
"What do you mean, get the ball rolling on research?" Scott asked, sounding uncertain.
"In layman's terms, allowing me to scan you while you are exercising that area of your brain and recording the results," Simon smiled slightly. "Which, by the way, we can do privately if you don't want anyone else to know. I promised that you could trust me. No one, not even the doctor or Jean-Paul will hear of this from me. This is your secret to tell."
"Right." Scott looked up and, though Simon likely couldn't tell due to the opacity of his glasses, looked Tam in the eye. "There's no point in me trying to hide it from Lydia. She'd find out anyway, and she already....well, if she doesn't know for sure, I know she suspects." The one minor downside to dating someone even smarter than he was.
"But yeah. Don't tell Jean-Paul. Please." He didn't want anyone to look at him differently.
"You have my word," Simon agreed honestly, then sat back on a nearby stool. "And if you don't want to do anything about it, or if you want to wait and sleep on it for a few days, a few months...even years, that's alright too."
"Yeah," Scott muttered softly. He set down the ice pack, and carefully stood up. "Yeah. I'll think about it."
"You're welcome to refuse, but may I ask how it happened?" Simon inquired carefully.
Scott froze for a second, but eventually admitted, "plane crash." It could be found out with enough effort anyway, though Tam didn't seem the type to pry. Hell, Salvatore had found out and thrown it in his face once.
Simon looked surprised, since he'd thought it would be something along the lines of a car crash, or something having to do with his abuse. Still, he nodded. "Thank you. Just...remember that it's not forever. This may not be able to be fixed right now, but they are making advancements in medicine every day."
He managed an anemic version of a smirk. "I'd rather be pleasantly surprised than disappointed," he said. Still, Simon had given him more than he'd asked for, if perhaps a touch more than he'd wanted. "But...thanks, Tam."
Simon nodded. "Make sure to stay out of the gym and lay off the chores for awhile."
The smirk grew a bit. "I'll see what I can do."
