(no subject)
The weak winter sun warms into a stronger light, less anemic by the day; noon in New York is almost nice, today, and Bahir takes his sweet time wheeling from the car inward. He wears long, loose pants of black again, but these are different because they are racer-striped in yellow down the side of his legs. Casts beneath bump against the fabric; his shirt is bright blue with a faded print. Shown to the library by a helpful pawn, and then abandoned to navigate his way in on his own, he pushes through with only a slight sigh. His expression is guarded, but not particularly fearful for all the White King's summons. He lifts his gaze, expecting to find Erik.
The library is silent. Empty. No mind peruses the spines of the books. When Valkyrie emerges from between the bookcases, the gleam of metal at her ear marks the silence. Her expression is cool and blank, her eyes pale, as is her hair, which hangs in loose waves to her shoulders. Her clothing is dark, washing her out further: black dress shirt, black slacks, black boots. She is a silent apparition, standing with one long-fingered handed lifted to rest upon a bookshelf.
Only once he sees Ellen and registers the lack of shadow cast by her mind on his telepathy does Bahir allows his shields to drop, briefly probing outwards for others; finding nothing means nothing, and as telepathy folds back under his hand, he frowns. He lifts his chin, moving across the room toward her with tiny noises from his wheelchair. "Dr. Lensherr?" Presumable, he is asking after his location, not having a case of mistaken identity.
Ellen tips her head slightly to one side, her expression unchanging and inscrutable. She still says nothing, but she does let her hand fall from the bookcase to step forward a single pace.
Bahir wheels back a tiny bit: an artifact of his braking, surely, and not a retreat. He lifts his head to Ellen, but his eyes keep slipping toward the dampener.
Ellen steps forward another pace and stops. She watches him with clear blue eyes and folds her hands neatly before her.
"Yes?" Bahir asks, his tone /remarkably/ even -- if high, tense, and a bit dry. But very even!
Tone mild, and low, and cool, Ellen observes, "You are aware of my capabilities."
Bahir opens his hands from their clasp in his lap, as if to confirm Ellen's statement.
Ellen takes another step forward, and then another, and then a third, advancing with quiet precision upon the wheelchair. She holds out her hand in silence.
Bahir does not take it. He watches Ellen uncertainly, spine pressed to the back of his chair.
Ellen remains where she is: hand held out, body held quite still. Her gaze is cold and measuring. She says nothing.
Bahir says nothing! He holds Ellen's gaze steadily, but still does not reach for her hand. Standoff.
Ellen continues to stand where she is, stillness as natural as breathing, her stare uncompromising and continual and reptile-cold. She might as well be sculpted.
Bahir might well be sculpted, but he probably isn't. He moves too much: the shift in his seat awkward, gaze skittering over her features in search of a clue that her words and the inhibitor deny him. His hands, alternately, fold in his lap, rest on his thighs, or grasp the chair's arm. The one thing they do not do: reach for Ellen's hand.
Finally Ellen moves: she straightens and withdraws her hand, to take another step forward and, eyes still trained upon his face, kneel at the side of the wheelchair.
Bahir's hands shift slightly when Ellen moves, on the edge of retreat; he pauses before he can affect such a thing when she kneels. His expression flickers, uncertain, while his gaze remains steady on her eyes.
Valkyrie smiles: the barest shadow of one curling her lips, flitted away near as soon as it appears. If this is meant to be comforting, it probably does not work. "I must assess your current physical situation," she informs him.
Holding himself so very still, shoulders squared, Bahir tracks the fading show of a smile before eyes lift to hers again. He tips his head to the side a marginal degree. "Very well." He turns up his palm, held out for hers. Although not perfectly steady, he is braced for it.
The touch of Ellen's hand to his is light, the brush of skin to skin barely pressure at all. The seconds tick by wherein nothing happens at all. Her eyes are open, though her gaze is distant and abstracted. Her body is quite still, the rhythm of her breathing even.
Bahir looks to the inhibitor with a briefly wistful expression, missing all the fun of Ellen's study, and then down at the join of their hands. Above and beyond the injury(s), his body is primed for a flight he can't make. He sits.
The first of Bahir's injuries to begin to heal itself is the most apparent and visible. From the point of amputation a new pinky finger begins to grow, undifferentiated tissue generated and then shaping itself into the appropriate digit. Ellen is silent and impassive.
Bahir is creeped out and uneasy! When an itch becomes the eruption of a new finger from the stump of his old, he bites his lower lip in his teeth. He starts to draw his hand away from Ellen's before forcibly stilling the motion.
If the slow growth of a new finger is creepy, what is creepier is when it stops partway through so that the originator of said finger can fix you with a stare. Ellen says coolly, "This is not optional, Bahir al-Razi."
Just when Bahir was starting to relax! His littlest little finger twitches slightly with the curl of fingers in both hands, and he flicks a startled glance toward Ellen. "I don't understand."
"It is not required that you understand. It is required that you cooperate." Ellen reaches to take his other hand such that she has him by both. His pinky finishes much faster than it began and she races onward to continue her work elsewhere.
Bahir gives his other hand willingly enough, the press of fingers warm. He watches Ellen with puzzled confusion, but he does not question. He cooperates.
When he cooperates and does not squirm anymore, Ellen closes her eyes and says, gentler than what came before, "You will come to no harm at my hand today." Invisible to his senses, her mind races down his body to his knees.
Bahir nods, his throat working to swallow. Caught somewhere between fear and hope, his heart races distraction. Despite that, he remains still.
Ellen continues her work in silence, holding both his hands. Her breathing quickens or slows dependent on the force of her concentration and her eyes stay tightly shut.
Quiet to avoid jarring her concentration, Bahir's pulse calms, and his mood evens. As Ellen continues, he even dares an expression of cautious optimism, hollows around his eyes lightening.
Ellen mutters, "Casts," in a tone of dire imprecation to herself as she works. "Medical science--"
Bahir's lips curve in a flickering smile. "Imperfect: stumbling and inefficient," he agrees quietly. "A short step from Voodoo."
"/Slow/," Ellen snarls. Her eyes snap open and she rises, swiftly. Standing over him, she looks down. "Get out of that ridiculous contraption."
Bahir hesitates, fingers sliding from Ellen's hands to curl around the arms of his wheelchair. "Are you sure?"
"Your knees are not perfect. It will be some time before they are wholly restored." Ellen offers her hand again, this time in support. "But they will work and there will not be pain unless you overtax them. I do not recommend marathons, strenuous horseback riding or especially athletic sex. I will help you walk to your destination while you get used to them."
His expression slightly taken aback, Bahir says, "--right." He takes Ellen's hand to rise, awkward now due to the bulk of gel casts. Finding his feet, he smiles: a slow, incredulous thing. "You are remarkable."
To this Ellen arches an eyebrow, but what she says is only, "Thank you."
Bahir looks to Ellen and repeats her words, soft and sincere as he lays down his emphasis: "Thank /you/."
Ellen makes a noise of slight exasperation and ducks her head. "Come with me," she says instead of acknowledging thanks. "You have a meeting."
Although not quite /eager/, Bahir is certainly willing: he ducks his head and shuffles after Ellen. "All right." He pushes no further thanks or praise on her modest self.
Ellen leads him quietly out.
Hi, Doctor Ellen!