12 Years
Title: 12 Years Chapter: [1][2][3][4][5][6][x] Chapter Title: A Civil Discussion POV: Limited 3rd (Flick, Wolfram) im probably using wrong terminology Disclaimer: I have no experience with stuff half of the medical stuff is guesswork whee I don’t have a medical degree. A/N: This one is short but it should sort of explain some things I guess????? and i had to do a lot of research is why it took so long, i apologize
Flick was sure that at one time, Wolfram's office must have been clean. But if that was true, it had been before Flick had dumped several files' worth of papers on the older man's desk.
Some of the documents were pictures. Most of those were different phases of a brunette girl's life. Some were close-ups of wings, teeth, scars, wounds. Several were MRI scans of the brain; X-Ray photos of wings, of arms, of broken bones.
The rest of the scattered documents were expense reports, order forms, written permission for certain actions, more field reports. All part of a paper trail leading... somewhere.
But where? And to what end?
That's one of the things the green-eyed, grizzled, young man had come to find out.
Flick just watched Wolfram methodically saify through the information - first flipping through a stack of photos, then reading through report after report after report.
The fox-like boy thought he would die of boredom. Ever one for action - usually impulsive action - Flick had a hard time standing still. Even after two nights without sleep, he couldn't stop moving. Unbidden, his eyes wandered to the door, to the basement window, to the scattered files...
He was sure Wolfram could hear his heartbeat. He'd only been there 7 minutes and 38 seconds - another recent habit of his included counting the seconds - and already his palms felt sweaty, his fingers twitched, and his nose throbbed in sync with his thready pulse.
In the quiet office, Wolfram finally looked up, drawn out of his silent reverie by Flick's quiet groan of pain as he absently touched the bridge of his nose.
"Flick..." His voice might as well have been the crack of a whip, given Flick's startled reaction. "Why don't you... take a seat," the spectacle-adorned man intoned, gesturing to the brass-studded leather chair across from his desk.
Giving him a level glare - most likely not intended for Wolfram - Flick sat. He still fidgeted and, after the space of two full minutes, he leapt up again and began pacing the room again, the visage of a caged lion.
With a single precise motion, Wolfram adjusted his glasses and swept the file back together in a collected, deliberate movement.
"I heard from a trusted source of a... situation... in eastern Canada. I presume that was you?" The silence could have been split with a meat cleaver.
Flick only nodded, an uncharacteristic grim look to his face. "It was."
"And the flight decoy in Tibet?"
A pair of narrow shoulders lifted in a slight shrug. "I never set foot out of the country... But you knew that." Wolfram took note of the edge in Flick's voice and filed it away mentally for later reference.
Losing interest in the direction of the conversation, Flick yawned and shifted his glare elsewhere.
Meanwhile, the pony-tailed man lifted a single sheet from the stack to examine. "Hmm..."
Flick's laser-like gaze flipped back to the man behind the desk. Once more, Wolfram mused near-silently: "Well... That's interesting…”
If it had been his aim to capture the attention of the green-eyed man beside him, he’d accomplished it. “What is it?” The response was practically a hiss.
“The frequency of MRI scans increased between the ages of 7 and 13…” Wolfram flipped forward several pages, raising an eyebrow as he scanned the next page.
To the casual observer, Flick looked like he could’ve easily spontaneously combusted. “What does that mean, Wolfram?”
With the slightest of glances, Wolfram turned his back to the young man and strode over to a file cabinet across the room. “I don’t suppose you recovered Mr. Herric’s files as well?”
Clenching and unclenching his fists, Flick dug through the pile of folders he’d dumped on the elder man’s desk. Finding the one he was looking for, he slid it across the desk with barely concealed agitation. Wolfram didn’t respond as he silently ran his fingers along the edges of labelled file folders in the cabinet.
Finding the one he was searching for, he turned back around, brow furrowed. At Flick’s curious gesture, he tapped the manila folder. “All the information Mr. Herric and Mr. Dare were able to provide of their family when they first arrived.”
Flick had to bite back the words: “And us too.” A cold feeling in his chest reminded him that the anniversary had been yesterday. Absently, he sat down, feeling the weight of his actions bombard him for the 73rd time in 24 hours.
Flick jerked awake unwittingly to the sound of shuffling pages. Nearly sliding right out of the chair, he sat upright once again, causing the stack of books at his feet to topple over. He inwardly cringed at Wolfram’s inscrutable gaze. Straightening, he bit his lip so hard it bled just to keep awake.
Wolfram turned back towards him, holding out three separate sheets of paper. Taking them with bleary eyes, Flick skimmed them before looking to the elder man for explanation: “What are these?”
“Blood screens, surgery reports, and X-Rays,” he replied, pointing to each in turn. “The blood reports imply there was a drastic change in Galen’s biological functions around her twelfth year--”
Flick interrupted in time to pick up his train of thought: “Which was when Shift donated blood. Is that when her head scans started increasing?”
“Indeed,” was the only reply Wolfram graced him with, producing another stapled-together selection of papers. “As well as many other tests. PT scans, X-Rays, CAT scans, MRIs… The sheer amount of scans involving radiation increases more than tenfold..."
Curiosity piqued, Flick learned in. Watching a man read files he'd already committed to memory was one thing; watching a man discover something he'd missed was another.
"It never stated clearly the exact amount of radiation used - not definitively, though there are certainly clues here..." The bespectacled man ran his fingers down the page, eyes searching for something. Entire paragraphs were sometimes redacted. Mostly just small sentence fragments. "Nor does it state the final count of radiation tests."
"Come on, Wolfram, what does that mean?" The green-eyes boy watched the elder man as if he were his last meal ticket, and he were a starving man.
This could be it - the piece of information that would change everything he needed it to. Everything that would make his absence okay.
Wolfram silently regarded Flick, then ran his hand through his graying ponytail. Removing his glasses, he sighed heavily. The aging man sank into his chair, the file again splayed on the mahogany desk and took a cautionary stance: "It means… that all this will take me time to go through these, my boy."
Though he didn't say anything, Wolfram saw the spark of defiance light up the young man's lackluster eyes. Wolfram continued: "I suggest you clean up and return in the morning."
"Just like that?" Flick asked, his voice rising in pitch. His eyes were wild from lack of sleep, a suspicious glimmer deep within them that might have hinted he was bordering on madness.
Wolfram regarded him silently, unruffled by the unspoken accusation. He didn’t answer right away, first pulling out a what looked like a cell phone. While he examined the screen, he answered in clipped tones: "Just like that. I need to run some tests. Consult some colleagues."
Flick sighed forcefully, nostrils flaring. “Galen could be dying, and it’s going to take you time?!”
“Landing on the moon did not take a day, Mr. Jones. Please go and clean up. Rest, recuperate, and we’ll continue this discussion in the morning.”
As Flick watched incredulously, Wolfram stood and headed for the door. As he cracked it open, he strode forward, grabbing a handful of the older man’s white lab jacket. “What are you doing? We’ aren’t done here!”
When Wolfram turned around, his eyes were narrowed fractionally, a warning gleam prominent in his gaze. When he spoke, however, his voice was unbothered and collected: “Be patient, Flick. We will resolve this, but something else has been called to my attention this evening. Shall we continue this conversation in the morning?”
Bristling, Flick’s grizzled jaw clenched, flinty green slits focused on the ponytailed man. He growled audibly, fists clenched into tight balls at his side. Wolfram, as if to attempt to bridge the ever-widening gap between them, rested a hand on the younger man’s shoulder.
Flick jerked away visibly, glaring daggers. “Don’t touch me,” he uttered, rolling his shoulders as if to get the nonexistent stain of Wolfram off of his clothes. He strode to the desk, picked up one of the folders he’d brought with him, and spun on his heel towards the door.
Without a single backwards glance, he slammed the door open. Examining the wrathful Flick, Wolfram observed him throw the folder into his satchel with a rage rivaling the full force of Galen herself. He followed a pace behind.
His fingers fumbled and he spilled some of the documents over the side. Hissing under his breath, jerking hands gathered the papers. A flash drive could be seen stuffed between the sheets. Silently, Wolfram mused over the possible contents.
Taking a breath, Wolfram posed a question: “What do you intend to do?”
Flushed with anger, Flick whipped around to face him. The words that left his mouth were biting and daggerlike: “To tell Galen what I found! Where else? It’s bad enough she hates me, but if I didn’t tell her--”
Wolfram interrupted him immediately, waving a hand to cut him off. Flick shot him a very confused look when the scientist shot his reclining chair an almost nervous look. "Flick, please calm down. It doesn't help to rage about this. She will know in time - it won't hurt any more to wait until I double check your findings. Then we can both tell her-"
When Flick opened his mouth again, Wolfram’s eyebrows rose in accordance with his words. "I will tell her, alright? I've almost been killed, Wolfram! Just getting this stupid file!" Apparently, Flick’s wrath knew no bounds.
Without warning, Flick squared his shoulders up to Wolfram, the veins in his neck standing out visibly against his flushed skin. A single finger stabbed into Wolfram’s chest, causing the elder man to take a step back with the strength behind the simple motion.
"So, if I want to tell the only person I would do this for the cure that could save her, then you will allow me to tell her..." Flick continued, cold and unforgiving as he turned his back, as if Wolfram’s very presence disgusted him.
As if spent, Flick took a shuddering breath, his narrow shoulders shaking subtly. He kneaded his forehead, eyes closing like it pained him to exist. When he opened them again, Wolfram saw a thin film of moisture clouding them.
When he spoke, his tone was calmer and much quieter. “And now, so help me, I am going to go shave and shower."
Wolfram said nothing when Flick turned, striding to the stairs and taking them two at the time back to the upper ground level. Before he could completely escape, the scientist called to him again: “And after that?” His tone was challenging, one might think, the way his cocked his head, eyebrow raised quizzically.
Looking at nothing but Flick’s back, he heard the subtle pop-pop-pop! of knuckles cracking. “Then… I’m going to try not to do anything I’ll regret.” Green eyes flashed dangerously before they disappeared behind a mask of hair and anger.
With a flash of movement, the younger man was gone, leaving Wolfram standing in the doorway to his study. He groaned softly, removing his glasses to massage his temples much as Flick had done earlier.
Everything could come crumbling down if Flick refused to relent from his streak of brash behavior. The radiation is key, he reminded himself, glancing back at his now-covered desk. The X-Rays, the redacted files… They all pointed to one thing. One common denominator that was constantly thrown back in his face:
Radiation. So much radiation.
Enough that should’ve killed a grown man. It could’ve killed him, had he been the test subject, he mused silently, stroking his chin, deep in thought. With careful calculations and the help of one or two of his older contacts, he could be able to determine how much.
But if Flick had known the details of his train of thought, the brash man would have taken off immediately, chasing the lead like a bloodhound chasing a scent.
In a way, it was refreshing to see any member of the human race so passionate about something, but Wolfram took a fraction of a moment to remind himself - someone had risked death for this.
It wasn’t until his eyes began to swim behind slitted eyelids that he realized that even if he stayed in his current position for weeks on end, it would bring him no closer to resolving the final issue. His mind was spent. He needed to rest before he overthought the matter.
Replacing his wire-rimmed glasses upon the bridge of his nose, he turned towards his reading chair in one fluid motion that belied his age. “You can come out now.”
It took to a count of six until the hidden person slowly edged past the recliner. First, golden-brown hair, then puzzled blue eyes. Galen stared in utter confusion, and possibly a good amount of pain. Her eyes were unreadable, they switched emotions so quickly.
“I… don’t understand.” All preamble was omitted, leaving blunt, dumbfounded dialogue.
“The human mind is something that is… simply unreadable. And yet the heart is far more deceitful. It is impossible to understand it,” responded the worn man, spreading his hands as if to comfort her from afar.
Galen rubbed her bare arms, as if cold. Hunkered against the leather reading chair, she seemed much smaller than she was. Childlike, almost.
Wolfram allowed the silence to flow both ways between them until he deemed she had taken enough time to mull it over - and he could reasonably stay focused. “How much did you hear?”
She shrugged, eyes glazed as if she were a thousand miles away. “Not much. The end. Shouting.” Her voice was a whisper.
Wolfram nodded, having expected as much. “May I make a suggestion?”
Dizzy eyes suddenly snapped into focus, pinning the older man in her stare. Her expression seemed to take on an ironic disposition. “Lemme guess - you want me to talk to Flick?”
A negative gesture quelled any thoughts of that. “On the contrary. Give him time.”
Galen chin dipped in a facsimile of a nod. Her eyes had slid away from his again, as if she had a hard time keeping her mind parallel with the matter at hand.
When she spoke, her voice was quiet, confused, and guileless. “But… I need to know.”
Wolfram sighed heavily, striding forward until he was standing close enough to kneel beside her. Absently, he inwardly winced when his knees creaked loud enough to cause Galen to jump. He tried to ignore the signs of aging as he continued: “As does Flick. I doubt he truly realizes the implications of what his departure meant to you.”
He had to raise a hand to silence Galen’s imminent protest, as well as the shimmering of tears in her eyes. “But I also truly believe he was hurt just as much - if not more - than you were, Galen. You must understand that.” To emphasize his words, he rested a cold hand on her shoulder, as if he’d never noticed the hostility Galen had had for him over the course of the years.
“He never had the support network you did. He didn’t have friends, and he didn’t have allies. Even when you were running in your early years, you had your family, and he had Alex, and the others. He’s been running this whole time alone.” Wolfram could see each word struck home by the way drops of liquid grief slipped down her cheeks.
Wolfram, his brief moment of understanding completed, stood, adjusting his spectacles with one finger. With the other hand, he extended it to Galen. Saying nothing, she took it, pulling herself up.
“Now… I suggest you grab something to eat. Perhaps freshen up - I don’t believe you had the chance last night. Perhaps after that, you and Flick will return to your… respective roles in your... “ he paused, searching for a word that wouldn’t feel like a train hitting her.
“Friendship?” Galen suggested weakly, wincing visibly.
Offering a slight sympathetic smile, Wolfram clasped his hands behind him. “Perhaps your ‘affiliation’ would be more adequate?”
Unexpectedly, the small wolvish girl’s despondent face spread into a smile, her voice lifting up into a contagious giggle. Wolfram couldn’t help but allow the corner of his mouth to uptilt. Slightly.
“Did I say something amusing?”
Galen shook her head, snorting with zero elegance, and sighed heavily. “Nothing. I don’t know anymore,” she replied, still smiling. Her eyes, though still tear stricken, were hollow now, as if every iota of energy she once had was disappearing along with the final strains of laughter.
The moment passed, Wolfram nodded decisively and let a small smile replace the smirk he had possessed for mere seconds. The silence stretched out again, leaving the two standing soundlessly in the subbasement.
“I guess I’ll take you up on your advice then, Wolfy,” Galen murmured, her expression once more withdrawn into a stoic expression. Despite the sobriety of her countenance, even a complete imbecile could have seen the fragility of her painted facade.
Wolfram graciously inclined his head, he paced to his office doorway again, giving Galen her opportunity to depart.
He’d done his part , he thought - a part of community life that often didn’t include him in its confines. He knew he had done as well as he could, given the circumstances. He crossed his office in six strides, closing the distance between himself and his desk.
Idly, he picked up a transparency. A ribcage was depicted on it. He could see by looking closely at the sternum that the third and fourth true ribs had completely snapped away from the breastbone. A circular chip disrupted the sternum’s shape. He let his fall to his desk, clenched hands gripping the mahogany of his workplace.
Perhaps he had done something good, he reflected in stillness. Or perhaps he had done something unsavory.
Regardless, the next step had been taken. And that was what mattered most.
