Cecilia Reyes (mutanteboricua) wrote in artofwar_rpg, @ 2011-05-06 00:03:00 |
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Entry tags: | {backstory}, †dr. cecilia reyes, †harry vincent; mesmero |
What: Vincent (as Roy "Vin" Tam) and Cecilia Reyes meet during the last morning of her surgical residency
When: December 20, 1962 (important backstory!)
Where: Our Mother of Mercy Hospital, N.Y.C.
Rating/Warnings: None
Status: Closed, complete. Apologies for length?
Vin waited patiently for Dr. Reyes to appear. She would by now have exhausted all her means to stay on the ward. She had finished her last surgery, and was scheduled for no more. She had performed her rounds, had had her two exit interviews. And her curiosity had been tweaked. Who was the mystery man, Vin Tam, who had supported her through her last two years of medical school, and given her those gifts at strategic moments of her surgical residency.
He grinned. Only the Shadow knows.
Sometimes he felt really good about the series of characters on both sides who he had used names of, from the pulp adventure and radio serials. Sometimes he felt like it was the calling card that would suck the global police forces onto him, and end his career, or his life. But... what was life without some risk?
That she belong to Charles' group did not influence his decision overmuch. Not once he had discovered certain things about Erik, all those years ago.
He had foreseen the day when he would need to recruit medical professionals for various of his projects. And that had come, but now was becoming acute. Paradise was full of the needy. And his first check had been accompanied by that document she had signed, providing up to a year of her life in medical service, if her patron ever so chose to ask.
The day of asking had come.
So, he waited, reaching out for other minds his cells lived in, within a mile radius. Seventytwo... seventyfive...eighty, eighty-one. There were 81 of them, but Cecilia was not his yet. He respected medical professionals too much for force them into helping needy mutants. But Cecilia was different. She was a mutant with an MD. He did not want to force her, but he did want her for Paradise. Sooner or later. RIght now, they needed one more doctor, but he had another on tap who would probably come aboard. Cecilia was just... a good idea.
He admired his look in the mirror. With the feds closing in on his money operations, this might be the last week for poor Vin Tam. Harry Vincent would be his next incarnation, a bit of an easier makeup job.
A knock on the office door, and in walked Dr. Reyes. Gorgeous woman. Even if that was irrelevant for his purposes, he still noticed. He stood. "Ah, Dr. Reyes! So glad you could meet with me! I am Vin Tam. However, you will know me as Roy Tam, from the paperwork."
It hadn't been an easy surgery--a car crash on the West Side Highway had left a pregnant woman pretty battered--but Cecilia would not have wanted her last day to be a simple one.
It's not like the rest of her residency had been simple. Or easy. Even calling it an uphill battle seemed to be an exaggeration. She had met Anita Figueredo once at a conference, and she often recalled the woman's sly smile when she found out Cecilia, then a second-year medical student, had intended to go the surgical path. It had puzzled Cecilia then, but she certainly understood it now.
Still, Dr. Reyes knew she was blessed in many regards--and that's the thought that occurred to her when she fixed her makeup prior to entering the attending surgeon's office. She had never, in fact, met Roy Tam, but his aims (if the paperwork was to be trusted) were in line with her own: to see more minority doctors in a profession established as the domain of stodgy, white men. His munificence--two years of medical school, supplemented by unexpected benevolence throughout her residency, all in exchange for just one year of medical service?--had stunned her to the point of not asking too many questions other than "Where do I sign?" (The lawyer seemed equally perplexed, but perhaps she had just been displacing her own confusion onto him at the time; they'd gone on a date or two after the signing, but she'd never been able to work up the nerve to ask).
She extended her hand to Vin, flashing a warm smile. "A pleasure, Mr. Tam," and she meant it. "Can I get you anything? A drink or an ashtray, perhaps?" Not that anything in this office was hers to offer.
"A drink, yes. Your Attending has a fine well aged bottle of scotch opened. Believe me, he shall not miss it. If you smoke, I should prefer you not do so around me, however, Dr. Reyes. It degrades brain function slightly." He wanted to see her reaction to the second part of that, something he recognized from years of control of others' brain paths, and he wanted to see her move. Like some surgeons, she moved with great grace, and he was if nothing else, an admirer of grace. "Then drink with me, as I tell you a story that will touch your heart or freeze your soul, or both." Being an inscrutable Asian had been a lot of fun. He would miss it.
Cecilia desperately hoped to pause and study him for a moment. Especially after he promised to "freeze her soul," a choice of words which she found particularly intriguing. Instead, she shook her head slightly. "I don't smoke," she told him, turning her back to her and moving to the bottle of scotch on top of the filing cabinet. She pulled a glass from the bookshelf (was it her imagination, or did she feel a set of eyes intently staring at her backside?) and placed it on the desk. "But you'll have to point me to a study that shows that link," she murmured, gesturing to the leather chair on one side of the office as she poured the bottle of scotch into the glass.
For her part, the doctor pulled a wooden chair out from behind the desk, sitting across from Vin and handing him the drink. "Don't want to drink until I'm officially off the clock," she offered sheepishly. Not only had Cecilia never been particularly fond of scotch and always preferred rum (perhaps it was her Caribbean blood), but she sensed it would be important to keep her wits about her around Roy--no, Vin--Tam.
"You are off the clock. If you leave this office, people will congratulate you for finishing your residency, and then begin your party. It has been arranged. So, perhaps you will pour yourself some rum?" She was hard to read, and he would have to insert some gateway cells into her to really do it well. His probes were actually causing her to lose some focus, possibly a reaction due to her mutation. "I would not interrupt you during your actual work. However, I have ended your residency several hours early. Consider it another gift to a women who has met every expectation and exceeded most."
He did not drink, but nodded her back to the bar.
She wasn't sure how to react to that--it was as if he was inside her head, and it wasn't a feeling she liked. But she owed the man something for financing her education (besides, guessing that a Puerto Rican liked rum was hardly telepathy), and so she humored him, moving back to the bar. Cecilia ran her fingers over several bottles before settling on one and unscrewing the cap. She sniffed it briefly before pouring a splash into the glass, unsure of whether or not she'd actually take a sip.
"And sit near me. I do not like this distance. I shall not eat you, Dr. Reyes. I am not a tiger." He let her sense that he might be that, however. (*Tyger, Tyger, burning bright*).
Cecilia blushed as she turned around, glass in hand. He clearly had her number, which she probably should have expected. So she approached him again, moving closer and smiling before she sat down. "It's hard not to be a little guarded," she told him, "in this environment." She did not elaborate further, feeling she needed to.
"Yes, I understand. I am the mysterious stranger, the man who sought you out, hidden behind lawyers, and wooed you to my service with finances and small gifts. It is hard not to suspect ulterior motives. Then, motivation is a secret of success in life and in business." Now that she was sitting, he took a bit of a sip. "Ah, good. Now, you can tell me how it feels to be fully qualified to practice medicine, knowing I am not myself an adept, or you can tell me I should tell you that story. Nobody will need this office for quite some time. I shall warn you, you appear in this story, and possibly as a leading character." He'd been a ringmaster twice, and he knew how to draw them in. He met her eyes, and wondered when she would realize that his face was pained on, and he wore whole eye contact lenses. It would not be long, not for a talented observer of the human form, in close quarters, under good light. And then, she would look more closely, He needed to read her, to know what she observed, how she reacted. How she would respond when he touched her hand.
"I didn't mean you," she stammered--and it was the truth. "I meant--you know, in my boss' office. In the hospital." Her face felt hot now, and she decided to take a sip of her rum. She closed her eyes and, against her better judgment, let the liquid linger in her mouth for a moment before swallowing. "Isn't it odd"--she wasn't sure whether she was wondering aloud or actually asking him--"that I don't fully feel safe in hospitals?" She opened her eyes again to find his meeting hers. "Everything is so clean, so sterile, so..." she trailed off, realizing she was on the edge of a precipice that she wasn't quite sure if she was willing to cross with a complete stranger. She didn't want to sound like an indignant black woman.
"The people trained here to save lives," she offered. "Yet for some reason, I don't quite feel like I can ever be myself. Maybe it's the knowledge that you will have lives in people's hands soon. That I'll have to teach others how to do that." She paused for a second, letting her words hang in the air and glancing at her glass. Cecilia knew she was making the wrong impression. She was rarely this apologetic or demure--and it was stupid to be now. After all, she had already signed a deal with this man, and they were likely going to be in each other's lives for a year or so. So she decided to try a different approach.
She looked up, meeting his gaze again. "What is this story?" She asked him, perhaps brashly. She scanned his face as she waited for his answer. Her brow furrowed--something, though she was still trying to pinpoint it, was off. "Or maybe a better question would have been 'What is your story?'"
Cecilia met his gaze again, hoping she projected additional confidence. The fact he seemed almost pleased at the extra scrutiny had thrown her somewhat.
He was delighted. Most would never challenge a benefactor, not at this stage in life, right after the lash of medical school and specialist training. "Ah, my story..." He took another sip of his drink, and put it down. He had not considered doing this in that particular fashion. "I was not what you see now. Once upon a time, I was as other people. And then, when my voice changed, I changed dramatically. My father saw this and treated me terribly, because I was not becoming the son he wanted. And because I defended my mother and sisters from him. But mostly... what do you see, Dr. Reyes? I believe you begin to notice. Examine me for a moment, as you would a patient. Please."
She did not quite understand at first, but she did have one thought, which was that she had signed a contract agreeing to a year of being a personal physician. Still, his words touched something inside of her--the talk of his father, and the knowledge that many of her biggest changes involved her own struck a chord. And so she moved closer, to him, continuing to scan his face. The pigmentation seemed off--leprosy, perhaps?
But he had asked her to examine him as a patient, and so Cecilia placed her glass on the floor and moved her hand to his neck to at least try and get a pulse. Abnormal heart rates, after all, would indicate something deeper. But no sooner had she touched him than she pulled her hand away. She looked at him quizzically, slightly perturbed at his apparent mirth. She knew that feeling. That was--she glanced at her hands to confirm--makeup.
She glanced back at his neck to find some kind of smudged foundation on his neck--but underneath, what? Was that... was it green?
Good, she touched him, and he felt the cells transferring to her. Now he could transfer signals better. Her hidden field would not stop them when she too was an antenna. "Yes, Dr. Reyes. I am a man of color, you might say." He grinned at her. "My mother taught me how to apply makeup, and my sisters helped. We learned to laugh again, as a family. Of course, this was after my father went away, and their bruises faded. What do you think I am, Dr. Reyes?" He spoke softly, reading her, not trying to affect her. Response, reaction, reality. What he was looking for must be real, not a product of his will.
Cecilia was silent. She picked up her glass, afraid to answer, and took another sip before replacing it. Her hand moved back to his neck, and she began to almost massage his neck to remove some of the makeup. "You're..." she raised her face to meet his gaze. "You're one of us." She was astonished (and unaware that her mouth was unflatteringly agape), unable to bring herself to say the word. Her mind was racing now, trying to put together the pieces of something--of whatever had led to this meeting, to those contracts.
While she spoke, he took a handkerchief and wiped away a lot of the makeup on the front of his face, and then carefully removed his contact lenses. With a flourish he let her see his face again. "Presto! Behold a man. A mutant. Something we share in common, and hide inside us from most others."
Well, that certainly wasn't something one saw every day. And as Vin Tam revealed himself, her eyes almost instinctively fluttered to the door where, of course, nobody was walking by. Cecilia had the fleeting sensation that she was on Candid Camera, and that any minute now, she'd be handed a bill for two years of medical school after being told this was all an elaborate ruse. In spite of herself, she smiled at the thought.
She was certainly aware that he wanted her to speak, but she was unsure what she was expected to say. "So that," she finally managed to utter, "is why you--" she knew she sounded ungrateful, so she paused. "You understand." She said quietly. "You understand what it's like not to feel like part of this." Cecilia wasn't sure to what exactly she was referring (the hospital? society at large?), but she knew he'd understand.
"I understand, Cecilia. Not precisely as you do, but better than most. By the way, you have a great smile. And an amusing fish face. Sorry, I have a bit of a low sense of humor." He lapsed back to pure Vincent now. even the slightly rough New York accent. And laughed. Tam was as good as dead. He would change clothing and makeup and leave here as Harry Vincent.
"My name, the one I use in normal company, such as I have, is Vincent. I assure you that you are NOT on Candid Camera. And I am not precisely reading your mind. I am reading your neural signals, and I am keeping others away so this can be a private meeting. Many of us have gifts. Mine are mostly about understanding bioelectricity and nerve signal conduction, translating the signals, and I have the capacity to manipulate them in myself and in others. I also have a copper based blood and tissue metabolism, since I went through puberty. It made for a difficult family adjustment. My father started beating my little sisters to keep me 'in line', and I had to eventually... send him away." He did not hide his derision for the man in his voice. Now that he could follow her thoughts in earnest, he was comfortable with her. He was close to believing she was a good candidate. Now that he had dispelled the illusion, it was time to speak in truths. If he was wrong about her, he could now ease her memories down another pathway.
Cecilia decided not to press further on how Vincent had sent his father away. She couldn't imagine a childhood like that--one that had been so drastically different from her own, at least as far as fathers were concerned. But perhaps they shared the bond of father-related trauma, however different. "So you can--what, affect the way my neurons transmit?" Maybe mutations came from the brain, then. Damn, maybe she should have studied neurology.
"Yes, within certain limits. For serious, complex re-patterning, I'd have to really work at it, and might need augmentation."
Suddenly Cecilia was struck by a thought. "How do I know--I mean, I don't mean to sound ungrateful or untrusting, but how do I know you aren't going to do that to me?" She gave him an apologetic glance for asking, but she needed to know. It wasn't that she felt unsafe around him, but this man had already affected, or maybe controlled, a large portion of her life without his unique gifts.
"That comes up a lot when I'm being honest about it." He considered a 'washed' answer, then shrugged that off. "You either believe me, when I say I would really rather not have to do that to you, or you don't. I've been in the middle of some serious stuff for over a decade, so I can't afford to make promises. Sometimes I wipe people, if they see something that will get a mutant, or mutant group in trouble. Refactor their memories lightly, exchange them for new ones, or just have them blank out over a block of their memory time. I don't do it lightly. I filter a lot of others' experience for what suits my goals. Like your compatriots out there. Your boss thinks I may grease his wheels for something, and I just may. The rest just feel compelled not even to knock on the door. I can also make people do things, on patterned behavior, that they ordinarily would not do, and influence their social behaviors. Turn a mob into witnesses, and an army into MY army. That requires a LOT of augmentation."
He stood up finally. "About you. I won't do it to you unless I think it to be needful. So far, it isn't. Your answers to my requests for your service aren't the determiner. I'm testing your character and morale courage, and capacity to be honest with me. In a way, I'm testing your faith. I'm not here to force your will, because it's too strong for me to keep channeled to what I want you to do. I'm here to convince through conversation, to do some things as a physician, that are sorely needed. If you say no, I move to other candidates, and you won't remember much except I helped you to choose among some career choices, and told you I'm proud of your achievements. Since that meets with your normal expectations, it can't hurt you and it won't change you. You understand, I can't practice YOUR mores. They don't work for me. I'm the Wizard behind the Curtain. For reasons I don't usually get into. If I told you to kill somebody, you might, but your mind would rebel. Despite the inhuman treatment the medical community puts you through, almost all of you believe in your Oath more than in agreeing to do heinous things. And I don't want the ones who don't believe in that oath." He'd lightly controlled her response so he could finish what he was saying, and now let her go.
"You just experienced me controlling your response, sitting through all that exposition. You aren't normally that patient unless it's something you want. But curiosity is one of the most easily neurologically manipulated behaviors. I suspect you are self-aware enough to feel the difference? This is your normal 'setting' for curiosity, not what I just did to you."
Cecilia remained quiet after he spoke. He was a powerful man, and something about him seemed dangerous. Perhaps it was the threat--however light--that he would wipe mind, or the idea that he had just controlled her. It hadn't ever occurred to her to try and use her powers to persuade. But now she know what it felt like to be subject to that, and she wondered if her own skills might be able to help her. It would depend on how he manipulated her neurons, and she wasn't quite sure about that.
"Before I hear you out, which," she quickly pointed out, "I obviously intend to do regardless of how you answer this question," she paused. "How did you know? About me." She hadn't met Xavier when she'd signed his contract, and even now, she thought she had been quite discreet about being a mutant.
"NOW we are at story time! Settle in for a moment, and I shall tell you about some of the history of mutants." He settled back, clearly happy that she was staying.
She downed the rest of her drink (hoping she was being charming instead of looking like a boozehound--Cecilia had always thought there were few things more alluring to men than a woman who could comfortably hold their liquor) and placed the glass on her attending's desk. No coaster, it looked like, which was fine by her--the stain the glass left on the wood would be payback for him checking out his indiscreet looks at her backside.
"Back around 1949, a guy named Charles finished his grand tour of the world, and came back to the US, complete with PhD and a head full of ideas. He was a mutant, and he had met more of us all over the world. One was a friend of his, named Erik, and the two had very interesting ideas, very different, about the future of mutants. If you like, I can show you their faces, in your own mind, as I first met them, six years later." He waited for her answer, betting himself that curiosity would win.
He smiled, and let the signals pass. "Erik, handsome, severe, white hair and deep eyes, with a hint of the abyss. Charles, handsome and balding, with smile lines and worry lines, and eyes that could transfix you. In his image, they stared at each other. "Charles had been to war as a young man, and Erik had been in a Nazi death camp, where his family died. Charles was a medic, Erik a survivor. And where Charles was curious, like you, Erik was angry, which sad to say, is more like me. But he put anger aside to marry a beautiful Gypsy woman he had met in the last four months of the war, before they were both released, without family, but with each other."
He looked down at her hands,those lovely surgeon's hands. "Yet, love was never enough for those two. Erik protected her, and their two newborn children, and lost her in that same instant by an act she could never accept." She left him, claiming the children had died, and she was done with their wandering. A pair of gypsies took them in, and she gathered them up and went to the end of the earth with them, kept them safe from the madness she saw in Erik. Erik wandered, and had dark thoughts, and met Charles. And a few years later, in 1952, when Charles inherited riches and a grand estate, he invited Erik to join him, to come together to make a place where a generation of young mutants might come together to practice inventing the ideas behind a new world. A better world."
"Wait a moment," Cecilia raised a hand to stop him. This was something she had not been expecting. "So you know Dr. Xavier." She was thinking out loud now, not expecting a response. Once more she felt slightly like a pawn in these great men's games, and though by this point, it was a feeling she'd grown accustomed to. She'd have to sit down with Dr. Xavier again, but for now, she'd concentrate on the story at hand. She met Vincent's gaze again. "I'm sorry. Continue, please."
He raised a brow. "Of course. Strong men, who work with the same population. The two have a certain symmetry, in fact, work well together, most of the time. When I was there, briefly, I worked well with them too. But now, let me go on with my story."
He cleared his throat, enjoying this. His mother said he should throw the rest of it and just build a life talking to people. "I fell into this place for less then two years, between 1956 and 1958. I had been bitter myself, but trying to do my best. I drew together mutants in a circus, and given my art and my proclivities, soon owned the circus and charmed the lot of them. I conned and stole hearts through Europe and South America, and even a few shows in Mexico and the US of A. But my heart lay with my mother and my sisters in New York, and I often visited. I was born here, and I grew to know the minds of people here. It is my home, and it will always be my home. And one day, I saw but could not prevent an act of violence in a grocery store. A lovely teenaged girl. In the seconds when I did not know what was happening, she was attacked and saved herself, an awakening of power that blinded me to the rest of the violence. Her father lay dying, and his murderer slipped on the pavement, crashing into a wall. Dead, but not from the blow to his head." He stared at her, letting her feel his anger. "I do not stand for those who damage children. I may be a 'bad' person, but I have my own beliefs."
"I had a different set of makeup back then, and I stood with you, my arm around your shoulder, not touching your mind. I believe the young need to build themselves up when they experience tragedy. But I kept you from faltering, and handed you to the others who came to help you. But not before I sampled your mutant power in my mind, and not before I sensed your good heart. You touched me, and so I kept in contact, in my own way.
"I had joined the Mutant Underground that Charles and Erik had helped to form, and I moved into a role of influence and power, despite the terrible things people sometimes say of me." He smiled, and it implied that some of those terrible things had been true. "So, I had people there watch you, and when I found out that you were interested in medicine, I led a man to offer you a summer internship. When you applied, I ensured you were considered for the few minority slots in medical schools that were available. I did not influence the choice of you -- that you did with your own actions and record. And you were not alone."
The room was quiet, and Cecilia was glancing intently at the floor. She could not recall him being there when her--when it happened. A flash of anger momentarily ran through her--she knew Vincent's capabilities, and perhaps he could have saved her. But the anger passed, and the guilt that usually overcame her when she thought of her father's final moments hit her once more. He could not have saved him. Had Cecilia moved quicker--had she known about her powers--she could have saved him.
Cecilia knew she had to shake it off, and so she reached for his glass of scotch, giving him a half-weary smile as she took a sip. It was a lot to take in. "You didn't convince me to become a doctor," she finally said, more for her own benefit. "You didn't get me into medical school." She continued. Today was a pivotal day--the completion of her medical education, believe it or not--and she needed to reassure herself that she passed through it all on her own intelligence and abilities.
"Thank you," Cecilia finally addressed him. "For everything, really. I think you know why--it's not hard to guess why I chose this path after what you saw." (She was dying to know what he had been doing in the Bronx, and she wished that she could remember him having been there, but that would be an issue to sort through for another day. Perhaps when she met a mutant who could time travel). "But why me?" She asked, genuinely curious.. "I--what is my role in this? What part am I to play in your story?" And what part, she now wondered, did she play in Charles Xavier's?
He smiled at her comments. "You are blessed with a certain thoughtfulness, a discernment that stands when I touch your brain. And you are doubly a minority in this country, so, like me, you have seen the culture from an unusual perspective, and had the same feelings I have experiences, about that. That and your choice of medical training put you on my special list. You see, I had seen a need not being filled."
Cecilia was flattered by his words, to be sure. She wasn't sure that she'd equate being a black Latino to being green--arguably, he had the worst of end of that deal--but his point was a valid one. "A need?" She asked, presuming she was expected to. "For yourself?" She was, after all, a trained surgeon--a trauma specialist, no less--not a personal nurse.
He sat and leaned forward now, very earnest. "Many mutants have special forms," and he waved his hand at his face ", and medical needs for which there are no practitioners. So, over years, I influenced people in this choice, not changing them but leaning toward their own choices, people with the heart and will to potentially care for an uncared for community. I did not do it because I love pain and deformity. I did it because I cannot be treated by medical care practitioners. I may as well be a Martian. But others must not have to fear death from every injury, from each illness. I was and am ANGRY, and I have worked to fill the gap. You are one of the two dozen I reached out for, and to whom I give this choice. Mutant and human to care for mutants who have nobody else. I will not discriminate. I have had ENOUGH of that! If they cannot have that care, they will have the security of not having somebody who has refused bring less caring people to their doorsteps. And that is reason enough to blend your memories, if you say no. You already have qualifications enough to be chosen, above others, for your skills, and you will be a great doctor. But you will not be OUR doctor."
Vincent was upset, and he had not realized how tired he was. How worried he was. He felt the clock to the Erik and Charles' schism, to civil war, was ticking down, and he had so much to do, before the two sides crushed all hope between them. Somebody came to the door, and he moved him away with a harsh thought then a followup to go take an early dinner.
She certainly hadn't expected the anger in his voice, and she glanced at the door, unsurprised someone was coming after the increase in volume. Our doctor, he had said, and that piqued her interest. Our doctor--as in a faction he led? Or mutants in general? And did it matter? She glanced him expectantly, waiting for him to calm down.
"Sorry, I am usually more... mellow. I've been traveling non-stop for weeks, and I'm going to miss my family at Christmas. There's a place that needs me to be there. And my family, well, with who and what I am, they are all I have. I am so sorry about your father. In your brain, I see him as you see him. You were blessed. If I had known what was about to happen... but life is full of missed opportunities, Cecilia."
"I know," she said quietly. And she knew he understood--which maybe it helped. "I have been trying to keep my powers under wraps," Cecilia told him. He had told her his story, so she would tell him part of hers.. "I have tried so hard to live a normal life--to keep things secret." It was why she had been so put off when she first met Charles. "And it was easy, given the demands of medical school and residency. So easy." She sensed (she looked down now, unwilling to complete this thought out loud) that it wouldn't be like that for much longer, especially given his words. Something about the way Vincent spoke of Professor X made her nervous. As did Vincent himself.
"I'd like to help you," she looked up at him, smiling warmly. "But you have to understand something. I worked hard to get out of the ghetto, so to speak, and I had no intention of only treating people of color." She had a momentary feeling that saying that made her sound a touch self-effacing, which was not the case when it came to her race. But she had not come to terms with what she was yet--not even to the extent that he had. Her eyes narrowed as she said this. "I won't be a mutant doctor--not exclusively, anyway. I studied to be a surgeon, and I'm at the top of my game right now. As a powerful man, I'm sure you'll understand it when I say that I need to establish myself in my profession. And that means working as a surgeon in a strong hospital, maybe even as a surgical fellow. At least for now."
"I have worked my whole adult life," she told him, the smile having faded and given way to a steely gaze, "to blend in. And I do not plan to give that up--not entirely, anyway, and certainly not yet." She was quiet, pensive. "But I will help you."
He smiled, not any kind of smile with his usual guile, his calculation, in it. He was just pleased. "Good. For you not to be who you are, not to share your gifts with people of ALL kinds, that would be a mistake. One I am glad you are aware of. I am asking you to build a clinic, or perhaps two. There is another already at work in the one in Brooklyn, and he can guide you. This would be almost exclusively for mutants, the kind who would be turned away from other medical care. There are those in the Mutant Underground who work there, and they will provide the resources for you and others. And in perhaps six months or so, I want to revisit this with you, to sample your experience, and to have you talk to me about what more is needed. You HAVE lived largely as a human, and that is to the good. Because someday, Xavier's Dream, perhaps a more inclusive version of it, will need to be brokered. A professional, willing to be her best in both worlds, would be far better at assessing what is needed, than me, or Erik, or Charles."
He stood again, and cracked his knuckles. "Needless to say, you are hired, part time, high salary, funds to travel to see how 'people of color', yours and others, but probably not mine, live together and care for each other. A needed part of your education, I should think. You may wish to stay with Charles Xavier and his people for a time, where you can assess him, and Erik. But I guarantee you, one day, there will be blood between them - and that has nothing to do with me. I am the one who will keep the rest of us as secret as I can, until they bring the wrath of the rest of humanity down on us. THEN, those two will be MY enemies." He was not angry now, just sad. "When you are ready, I want you to spend two weeks in service in a place I am building, a refugee for the mutants of great difference, many of whom need the most help. It is called Paradise, and one day, it may actually be that. Examine your memories, and you will find the means to contact those who will value your efforts as a physician and a surgeon. They can reach me in a few days, if there is need."
Cecilia noted that he called it Xavier's dream, and that he mentioned Erik as an afterthought. She made another mental note to sit down with Charles Xavier sometime in the near future. She needed to better understand her place--however miniscule--in this fabric of plans that these men were all laying. If, as Vincent said, the wrath of humanity was imminent, perhaps she would need to make other plans. Plans to go it alone.
For now, though, Cecilia would focus on becoming a doctor. On opening a clinic, maybe two. "Paradise," she murmured. It sounded nice--and it sounded idealistic. But if Vincent had demonstrated anything to her, it was his ability to achieve seemingly unexpected things. After all, he had gotten her this far. And now, she'd apply for a fellowship at a large hospital with his further financial support. "I look forward to hearing from you again soon, Vincent," she said sincerely, lifting her head slightly. "You are, as they would say, a Great Man."
He shrugged out of his nehru jacket and opened his case. "Thank you, dear Cecilia. You have helped me to keep my perspective about humanity, real humanity. The Underground knows me as Vincent, but some will call me Mesmero. I despise that, but perhaps have earned it. Vin Tam is dead, and I will be somebody else as soon as I change and apply new makeup, and until I can color my hair, a wig. Blond, I think, to remind me of my actual hair colors." He deftly laid out more small bottles and vials than almost any woman might carry. "I'd like you to stay while I change, tell me what I need to do to perfect the new disguise."
He took off the shirt, and his vermillion green skin was now displayed, with the traceries of dark blue that constituted his surface blood supply. The remains of his half dozen formerly serious injuries were displayed, too. "Not to worry. 'What does not kill me makes me stronger'", he said, rolling his differently colored eyes.
She stood and glided over to him, her professional curiosity taking over as she scanned his wounds. Running his eyes over his chest to look at the pattern of his scars (from his father, she assumed), she decided to consider herself lucky; her mutation was easy to hide. Naive as it may be, she had never considered it might be this difficult for others. But she had never wanted to stop to consider. Cecilia was also struck by the notion (God, he probably thought she was leering at him) that were it not for his emerald skin--and for the large age difference she presumed existed--he'd have been quite handsome. And she immediately decided never to share that thought.
"No more Vin Tam," she affirmed. "If you aren't set on blond, I'd suggest you go by Miguel Vargas," she grinned, fairly sure he'd catch the reference. She picked up a bottle of his makeup. "You were too perfect," she explained to him. "You needed a pock mark or some freckles or something."
He frowned at the name. "Oh, yes, that film! Hmmm, no. Still, as you pioint out, there is always something," he muttered. "I have managed to keep my face unmarked, and I suppose that I'm vain about it. Really, though, my natural color, hairwise, is a coppery blond with some green highlights. Once I was a towhead. Way too much Italian and Norwegian in me for me to make much of a Hispanic. I always found it better to diverge broadly, so Asian, Native American, or keep to my pre-mutation genotype."
She gestured to the chair he had just left. "Sit. I'll work a makeup miracle and turn you into a blond Scandinavian." She grinned. "Consider it the final operation of my residency." She had always enjoyed plastics.
He smiled. He felt shy when a woman did something like this for him. His sisters had always giggled when his green skin blushed blue. As it did now. "Sounds good. Don't accentuate my cheekbones, that does not look that great on a shorter Scandahoovian. My other half is old Italian. I actually want to look somewhat like me. If you can give me a good look, I want to copy your memory of the work so I can keep using it. If you would not mind." He was enjoying this. She had deft hands, better than either of his sisters, and easily the equal of his mother, and it felt right to have somebody else do this. He pulled out his sketches of what he had been looking for, but encouraged her to be creative.
When she reached his eyes, he closed them, and let himself enjoy the gentle ministrations. This was another gift, one he was writing into his special memories. She was changing him, really, into himself, as he might have been without the X-factor. Vincent wanted that, regardless the outcome of the Big Show that he felt would begin in the upcoming year. Plan D gave him a lot of 'face time', if all else failed. Unless they just killed him outright. He rubbed at the worst injury, the one that itched sometimes, over the remains of his right kidney. Lorna Dane, five years ago. "You've done this for others. Secret yearning to be a cosmetologist, or to work behind the scenes on Broadway?" His native New York accent was coming through now, because he was so relaxed. "You know, you can't pay for this kind of pleasure. I've been all over, so I'd know." He said it gently, admiring, happy. Yes, yes, he was happy. How rare! It wasn't sex, it was just... like with his sisters. Art and faith.
Now she was blushing. "All women," Cecilia said slyly, "have a flair for the theatrical, especially where I come from. And all women all know their way around makeup." She picked up a brush. "You should see what I really look like underneath all of this." It was only a coat of foundation and some eye liner, but it was enough to elevate and accentuate her better features. And though it was counter to her appeal to equality, looking like she did had helped her edge out fellow residents for a surgery every now and then. Well, more often than that, really.
"Besides," she added, stepping back to survey her work, "I spent some time on the burn unit. I've studied many a face." Strange hue aside, Cecilia had noticed he had weary eyes. She decided to leave them that way--it was the kind of imperfection that made him seem more human, and that was, after all, the point.
Vincent opened his eyes, looked at her. "Hmm, admiring your art I see.You should be careful with me, Cecilia. You have just made me think about what you look like... under ALL of that." Even if he was blushing, and he was not, she would not be able to tell under the makeup she had just placed on his face.
"Well," she grinned, "that's part of a woman's power over men. The feminine mystique, if you will." Glancing around for a hand mirror, her eyes came across the clock. Her shift was officially over. "I'm done," she told him, dual meaning lurking under her words. "I'm not sure if there's a mirror in here, but..."
"Not to worry. I use a ladies compact to check out my makeup. Easy to carry and conceal. This is fine." He took the mirror and examined himself. "Very good. Brings out the planes of my cheeks, and does not accentuate the softness of my chin. You've left me looking sad and tired. Maybe Harry Vincent needs to be like that.Thank you. I can work with this." He had not intended to give up his new working name, but there you go. Another gift, even if she did not know it.
Cecilia was pleased that the art of makeup had provided some successful result. "You'll make improvements as needed, I'm sure," she shrugged off the responsibility for his new look. "And it really wasn't a problem," she smiled warmly. Cecilia realized she had spent more time on his makeup than she had recently spent on her own, but she knew that the stakes were higher in his case.
A man approached their door--she assumed he sent him away--and it made her realize how late it was becoming. "If you don't mind--I'd like to say my goodbyes and pack up. Plus I have a set of rounds to do before I can really be finished." Hopefully one that would lead to another surgery before she had to really put down the scalpel for a short period of time.
"Not at all. Thank you. Half of these meetings go the other way. This one has been my pleasure. Dr. Reyes..." He looked into her eyes, and then he ducked his head and put on the brown contacts again. Later, they would be blue ones. "Keep on being who you are. It's just fine."
He stood up and put a different hat on his head, started to pack the old clothing until just a modern double breasted jacket and a shirt and tie, and cufflinks, were waiting for him. "I'll finish up here. Enjoy your party. They're laying out quite a spread for you."
Cecilia nodded. "I look forward to hearing from you soon, Vincent." She paused, watching him prepare for his exit. "I'd tell you where to reach me, but I'm sure you've already got an idea." And she knew that, lawyers aside, their paths would cross again--she was counting on it. But she gave him a final smile before exiting the office and going to meet the nurse that would give her the final rundown of her patients.
Vincent sighed after she was gone. That woman was definitely a keeper. He was going to have a harder time keeping tabs on her at Xaviers, but at least, until the schism, he knew she would be taken care of there. When he finished dressing, he carefully removed all the little compulsions from the people attending Dr. Reyes party. And listened in a bit. It was likely the only Christmas cheer he was going to hear this year, unless they surprised him at Paradisio. As he checked to be sure he was leaving no signs of Vin Tam behind, he decided to flesh out another variant of Plan D, and set the 'memorandum' in his own nervous system.
As he left the hospital, he dropped a $100 bill into Santa's cauldron. Another doctor for the Underground, and a surgeon! For him, the holiday season was at last filled with good cheer.