[ It's eerie seeing his number changed, in response. But he doesn't mention it; he's sure he's got it figured out, having gone through his communications history and seeing Nathan and Peter and Jax's different as well. ]
[ It goes noticed, but he also doesn't mention it, having mustered up slightly too much of what could pass as courage if this were about fear to distract from his goal. ]
[ Charles is not busy lately. Quelle surprise. The echo of Apparating is slightly deadened to the proofing of the holodeck, but not quite.
He can be found, dressed properly as opposed to rolled out of bed hungover chic. Long haired, still, shadow eyed, but keenly sober when he glances over towards the other man. The other difference would be the wheelchair he's ferreted from medical bay, a lighter apparatus than the heavier motorised ones he'd needed at home. Infrequent use, lean-boned, metal spokes.
That Charles has one leg kicked over the other is perhaps indicative that it doesn't have to be as serious as it looks.
Around them, a frozen lake stretches beyond the dimensions of the deck. The banks are snow and pine trees are tall, dusted white over black, and the sky is a marbled gunmetal grey. The air tastes crisp and organic, but dissonantly, the air is of a comfortable temperature. ]
Thanks, [ he says, a hand splaying over the data pad in his lap, likely what he's using to programme the setting. Winter is a nice enough retreat. Icy neutrality, suspension. ] For coming.
[ He could cast a charm to send a chill through the room. He might, if he still thought of Charles as someone he knew. But he doesn't. Severus stands just inside the door after it closes behind him, expression unreadable. He's had very few experiences on the holodecks, and honestly doesn't find them very engaging. ]
[ He couldn't help it, before. When this technology had seemed new to him, wonderful in a way, despite the context of horrors that are dark beneath the surface. While the holodecks had remained somewhat unconvincing, they'd still remained a wonder, a beautiful artwork.
Now, it's a distraction. An idle something to do.
Hands wrench wheels around to turn, silent tread against smooth floor. ]
What happened to your designation?
[ That certainly isn't what he asked Snape here for, but now that Snape is here-- ]
My best guess is that it stands for Chief Xenobiology and Genetics Officer. If anyone knows why it's changed, they haven't shared.
[ Charles's department belongs to Severus now, which has to sting. (Severus hopes it does. He hopes it feels like something sharp and angry, because that would be a goddamn sign of life.)
He raises his left arm halfway, right palm pressing over where his ID tattoo is (and where the unnerving skull-and-snake is). ]
The change was startling. [ He doesn't sound startled. ] This isn't why you contacted me.
[ It would be stupid, to feel in any way poorly for not having his numbers messed with by unknown forces of probable galactic darkness just because a department that did not even exist before they'd started pretending it did is being overseen by someone he'd call a friend. After he'd said I can't.
And yet. His gaze drops to the display, discomfort palpable down the hard angle of his jaw, the tightening of fingers curled into palm. His arm still has SCI marked behind numbers.
There is a silence. It is a silence manufactured by the holodeck, the silence of still ice and an absence of wind. Snow. ]
No, I didn't. [ Focus shifts from Severus' arm to some point on false horizon, hands knitting together. ] You gave me some potions, last month. I've gone through the ones for pain.
[ Severus is not happy about the numbers changing. Not after the nightmare of the previous jump, not after the genetics labs have vanished, not while the ghost of dead space pirate is baiting them on the network about running out of time, not while Charlotte's resurfaced.
Far from anti-authoritarian, Severus appreciates a solid chain of command and clarity and order. This will help that. But this isn't a job, this isn't school. He knows this means he's deeper woven into the ship. He doesn't like it.
At all.
And yet, indeed. Not what Charles asked him here for. ]
Were you taking the dosage recommended, and how effective was it?
[ Severus remembers. He didn't give Xavier anything that would be given to someone with a grievous injury - but he knows how good his products are. Working nearly instantly, long-lasting, free of side-effects, functioning exactly as they're supposed to. Muggle medication does not so much pale in comparison as die screaming. ]
[ He beats the stiltedness out of his tone, even if this is altogether more difficult than he wants it to be, compounding combinations of a subject he doesn't like to talk about with someone who has given up on him. His focus set away from Severus is not stalwart -- at the necessary, conversational beats, he looks back -- but certainly diminished.
An idle fidget with data pad screen adjusts the brightness of the room. It dims, then readjusts, diminishing glare. A subtle cool starts to come up from the ground. He forces himself to stop. ]
And it worked. I wasn't entirely sure if I was meant to be using it back to back, so I didn't.
Extended use can cause issues with the appendix, in some people, as most potions are made from plants that would be nearly impossible to digest in their original state. You can build up a tolerance, too.
[ But that's about it. ]
Long term it wouldn't be the most effective choice for a chronic condition, but it won't have hurt you.
[ He hasn't left yet, hasn't snapped that he'll send him more. Charles has to know that Severus will help him more or less no matter what; he even wanted to ensure Edgeworth of all people got help. ]
There aren't generally a lot of choices for a chronic condition.
[ In his world, anyway, says a tip of his head, a look aside. That he knows Snape will help him because Snape will help almost anyone doesn't feel any better. But there are worse things. Like categorical refusal.
Still. He can recognise it, the remove in Snape's consideration. He'd seen it happen. ]
I can't sleep unless I take something -- from the pain itself, and its presence interferes with my ability, at any hour.
[ A hand up, gesture the space next to his temple. The illusion of the landscape around them is a good sort of trick, pressing away the distant voices of the residents slowly migrating to the floors beneath their feet. ]
I'll go through periods of time where it's hardly there, unless I've been active, then it'll settle in and take over and.
[ He stops himself. That's enough. He adds, instead; ]
I've not handled it before while being able to walk.
What's different now? Why are you having this pain now and not last jump, did you injure yourself further?
[ Severus is not a mediwizard, he can't decide whether or not it's safe to shove Skele-Gro and a sleeping tonic at Xavier and see where they are in the morning. He can get by, though, and he can probably even get to the bottom of this if Charles is forthcoming enough. ]
[ Well. Severus may be a wizard and not a scientist or even a mediwizard, but he's a smart lad and Charles gives it a go anyway, touching fingertips to brow in fidgety grind to relieve tension. ]
One assumes something to do with inhibitory mechanisms through nerve receptors aren't being activated as they should. Resultant of lasting damage, neuropathic pain from the trauma itself, the surgeries--
I'd been out of the hospital for only a month when I first arrived here.
[ Severus is of the opinion that people should be grateful they have him to do this sort of thing, and for the most part, his high regard for himself is well-earned. It's not like he's going to fuck this up by accident.
Charles looks a bit like he might shimmy off into a corner like a scared rabbit. He listens, and meanwhile conjures a chair (from a kitchen somewhere) with a graceful movement, shoves it closer to the other man with his foot, then sits down about a meter away, facing him. ]
So it was serviceable, but by now it's degraded.
[ Elbows on his knees. Expression closed-off, but as usual, attentive. ]
[ Obligatory glance after magically appearing chairs comes and goes. A new question alights as a flicker behind his eyes, but he keeps on topic. Because he might never get back to it if he doesn't.
He watches, instead, Severus settle. ]
Yeah.
[ For a moment, he looks like he might say something else. Probably something out of bounds of professionalism. He holds onto it instead, and continues with this line of discussion, as necessary. ]
There's something physiological or-- biochemical about the way it affects my power. Even when I was using your potions, even when it was all gone, it's difficult to control.
[ That flighty, rabbity fear remains. Likely rooted in pride, what he has left of it, being gambled with. ]
How long has your telepathy been difficult to control? [ And, more precisely-- ] Did your control wane in exact tandem with the increase in pain, or was it a back and forth decline that fed off each issue?
[ Severus has seen people give up on using magic while struggling deeply with illness, but he's also seen people lose themselves in it completely, refusing to so much as take a step or lift a spoon under their own physical power. The mind is a vast sea of unknown reactions.
[ There is a shake of his head at that next question. He doesn't know. It all blurs into own homogeneous grey zone of bullshit, really. Maybe he's run out of five dollar words to throw in. ]
Do you want me to look? [ Hard-edged, suddenly. This isn't a joke and Charles isn't a child - a shrug and 'I don't know, it hurts' isn't acceptable. ] You're perfectly capable of talking about it.
[ Stop hiding is in his slightly accusatory look. Charles has come this far. Cough it up. ]
[ --fails to match sharpness for sharpness, but his tone does fill out, which might be a better thing than prior drifty meekness, even if the answer fails to satisfy.
But he stops. Thinks. ]
The pain was always bad, but I was-- alright, for a while. Those first couple of years. I could put it to one side when I had to, and my power was my own. But then things got difficult, didn't they. And they hurt.
[ He breaks a look away, settling it between them. ]
I expect it built with the pain, but it was just as much of a mess when I was cycling through morphine, methadone, up until Hank made the serum. They probably fed off one another.
[ That's still unhelpfully unspecific, but at least it's something. Severus knows it's been years, but Charles isn't stupid, Severus knows that. The intellect to unravel this is in there, he's just ground himself down under his own heel. ]
Did losing control of your ability contribute to the physical pain you were feeling?
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
[ It's eerie seeing his number changed, in response. But he doesn't mention it; he's sure he's got it figured out, having gone through his communications history and seeing Nathan and Peter and Jax's different as well. ]
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can we talk in person?
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[ That's a yes. ]
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[ Someone's skipped the migration, apparently. ]
Holodeck. or can meet elsewhere.
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All right.
[ He's busy lately and doesn't have time to reschedule. He arrives at the holodeck very promptly. ]
action.
He can be found, dressed properly as opposed to rolled out of bed hungover chic. Long haired, still, shadow eyed, but keenly sober when he glances over towards the other man. The other difference would be the wheelchair he's ferreted from medical bay, a lighter apparatus than the heavier motorised ones he'd needed at home. Infrequent use, lean-boned, metal spokes.
That Charles has one leg kicked over the other is perhaps indicative that it doesn't have to be as serious as it looks.
Around them, a frozen lake stretches beyond the dimensions of the deck. The banks are snow and pine trees are tall, dusted white over black, and the sky is a marbled gunmetal grey. The air tastes crisp and organic, but dissonantly, the air is of a comfortable temperature. ]
Thanks, [ he says, a hand splaying over the data pad in his lap, likely what he's using to programme the setting. Winter is a nice enough retreat. Icy neutrality, suspension. ] For coming.
no subject
What is it?
[ Repeated. Not unkind, but distant. ]
no subject
Now, it's a distraction. An idle something to do.
Hands wrench wheels around to turn, silent tread against smooth floor. ]
What happened to your designation?
[ That certainly isn't what he asked Snape here for, but now that Snape is here-- ]
no subject
[ Charles's department belongs to Severus now, which has to sting. (Severus hopes it does. He hopes it feels like something sharp and angry, because that would be a goddamn sign of life.)
He raises his left arm halfway, right palm pressing over where his ID tattoo is (and where the unnerving skull-and-snake is). ]
The change was startling. [ He doesn't sound startled. ] This isn't why you contacted me.
no subject
And yet. His gaze drops to the display, discomfort palpable down the hard angle of his jaw, the tightening of fingers curled into palm. His arm still has SCI marked behind numbers.
There is a silence. It is a silence manufactured by the holodeck, the silence of still ice and an absence of wind. Snow. ]
No, I didn't. [ Focus shifts from Severus' arm to some point on false horizon, hands knitting together. ] You gave me some potions, last month. I've gone through the ones for pain.
no subject
Far from anti-authoritarian, Severus appreciates a solid chain of command and clarity and order. This will help that. But this isn't a job, this isn't school. He knows this means he's deeper woven into the ship. He doesn't like it.
At all.
And yet, indeed. Not what Charles asked him here for. ]
Were you taking the dosage recommended, and how effective was it?
[ Severus remembers. He didn't give Xavier anything that would be given to someone with a grievous injury - but he knows how good his products are. Working nearly instantly, long-lasting, free of side-effects, functioning exactly as they're supposed to. Muggle medication does not so much pale in comparison as die screaming. ]
no subject
[ He beats the stiltedness out of his tone, even if this is altogether more difficult than he wants it to be, compounding combinations of a subject he doesn't like to talk about with someone who has given up on him. His focus set away from Severus is not stalwart -- at the necessary, conversational beats, he looks back -- but certainly diminished.
An idle fidget with data pad screen adjusts the brightness of the room. It dims, then readjusts, diminishing glare. A subtle cool starts to come up from the ground. He forces himself to stop. ]
And it worked. I wasn't entirely sure if I was meant to be using it back to back, so I didn't.
[ But very frequently, clearly. ]
no subject
[ But that's about it. ]
Long term it wouldn't be the most effective choice for a chronic condition, but it won't have hurt you.
[ He hasn't left yet, hasn't snapped that he'll send him more. Charles has to know that Severus will help him more or less no matter what; he even wanted to ensure Edgeworth of all people got help. ]
no subject
[ In his world, anyway, says a tip of his head, a look aside. That he knows Snape will help him because Snape will help almost anyone doesn't feel any better. But there are worse things. Like categorical refusal.
Still. He can recognise it, the remove in Snape's consideration. He'd seen it happen. ]
It got me through the night.
no subject
[ Isn't a remove better, in this situation? But then, Severus wouldn't look at him with pity or sympathy before, either. It's just not his way. ]
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He charges on, anyway, following cue. ]
I can't sleep unless I take something -- from the pain itself, and its presence interferes with my ability, at any hour.
[ A hand up, gesture the space next to his temple. The illusion of the landscape around them is a good sort of trick, pressing away the distant voices of the residents slowly migrating to the floors beneath their feet. ]
I'll go through periods of time where it's hardly there, unless I've been active, then it'll settle in and take over and.
[ He stops himself. That's enough. He adds, instead; ]
I've not handled it before while being able to walk.
no subject
[ Severus is not a mediwizard, he can't decide whether or not it's safe to shove Skele-Gro and a sleeping tonic at Xavier and see where they are in the morning. He can get by, though, and he can probably even get to the bottom of this if Charles is forthcoming enough. ]
no subject
[ Well. Severus may be a wizard and not a scientist or even a mediwizard, but he's a smart lad and Charles gives it a go anyway, touching fingertips to brow in fidgety grind to relieve tension. ]
One assumes something to do with inhibitory mechanisms through nerve receptors aren't being activated as they should. Resultant of lasting damage, neuropathic pain from the trauma itself, the surgeries--
I'd been out of the hospital for only a month when I first arrived here.
no subject
Charles looks a bit like he might shimmy off into a corner like a scared rabbit. He listens, and meanwhile conjures a chair (from a kitchen somewhere) with a graceful movement, shoves it closer to the other man with his foot, then sits down about a meter away, facing him. ]
So it was serviceable, but by now it's degraded.
[ Elbows on his knees. Expression closed-off, but as usual, attentive. ]
no subject
He watches, instead, Severus settle. ]
Yeah.
[ For a moment, he looks like he might say something else. Probably something out of bounds of professionalism. He holds onto it instead, and continues with this line of discussion, as necessary. ]
There's something physiological or-- biochemical about the way it affects my power. Even when I was using your potions, even when it was all gone, it's difficult to control.
[ That flighty, rabbity fear remains. Likely rooted in pride, what he has left of it, being gambled with. ]
no subject
[ Severus has seen people give up on using magic while struggling deeply with illness, but he's also seen people lose themselves in it completely, refusing to so much as take a step or lift a spoon under their own physical power. The mind is a vast sea of unknown reactions.
Go figure. ]
no subject
[ There is a shake of his head at that next question. He doesn't know. It all blurs into own homogeneous grey zone of bullshit, really. Maybe he's run out of five dollar words to throw in. ]
no subject
[ Stop hiding is in his slightly accusatory look. Charles has come this far. Cough it up. ]
no subject
[ --fails to match sharpness for sharpness, but his tone does fill out, which might be a better thing than prior drifty meekness, even if the answer fails to satisfy.
But he stops. Thinks. ]
The pain was always bad, but I was-- alright, for a while. Those first couple of years. I could put it to one side when I had to, and my power was my own. But then things got difficult, didn't they. And they hurt.
[ He breaks a look away, settling it between them. ]
I expect it built with the pain, but it was just as much of a mess when I was cycling through morphine, methadone, up until Hank made the serum. They probably fed off one another.
no subject
Did losing control of your ability contribute to the physical pain you were feeling?
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