Just what the doctor ordered [Astaire]

[Emma Frost]

Did working always exclude fun? Surely not. Emma had stopped by in New Orleans to visit an old friend. Joshua had graduated with her, made business with her and happened to be a fellow mutant. It had taken both of them years to figure it out. Well, actually, it had taken him years to figure it out and Emma the will to share her secret with him, because she had read it in his mind way before they had even started to talk. There might or might not have been the slightest of affairs going on between the two of them at some point, but those days had passed, for they were not even living in the same town again. Whenever they met, they were flirtatious as well as good friends. But Josh and Emma were comfortable with the awkward relationship they had.

He had taken her jet-skiing for the afternoon. Emma had done this multiple times, she greatly enjoyed racing over the water with as much speed as possible. Naturally, she was capable of steering the ski just fine. However, another person had not been that skilled. The crash would have been much worse if not for Emma's fast reaction. If only she could turn into her diamond shape in situations like these, but that would have raised too much attention. Turning into a sun-reflecting mass of sparkling gemstones did not work too well in bright daylight.

The result was a nast cut on her upper leg, that she had covered up with a bandage. However, she was fairly sure it'd need stitches. Josh had driven her to the next doctor his smartphone had given him and eventually, she was sitting on a stretcher, waiting for the doctor to arrive. The nurse had changed her bandage once, but assured Emma that the doctor would be here soon. Possibly, Emma might have emphasized that money would not be an issue, but waiting to long would definitely be. A friendly, yet uncomfortable demand indeed.

As Josh had to wait outside, Emma passed the time with checking her emails, one-handedly operating her blackberry, while she was pressing the bandage on the cut on her leg. This took way too long for her taste.

outfit

[Astaire Kingston]

Clinic duty was exactly the last thing Astaire wanted to worry about today. Yet here he was, fulfilling his required hours. There was nothing else for him to do, unless he stared at his computer blankly for a few more hours. His research was getting him nowhere. So, in retrospect, why not busy himself with something that was at least marginally useful?

He was researching an event in his past, trying to figure out just what exactly had led to the deaths of so many people. So many people, especially, that he had cared about. A strange, unexplainable explosion had decimated a good few blocks in Japan, while he had been working there, researching the case of a young woman in poor health.

The case had never been solved. Astaire had not given up on it yet. There had to be some explanation. He knew he was unusual - the term "mutant" had not occurred to him yet - and he knew he had powers beyond that of the average human. But as far as he knew, he was the only one. He had no reason to think there was anyone else out there like him. Until Japan happened.

Now he spent his hours and days trying to find some plausible explanation for the explosion, something that did not sound like it was coming straight out of a movie or comic book. Anyone who said he had no life beyond his work was absolutely right. The man was in a big city, entertainment capital of the country, and never went out, never tried to have any fun. He was at work or at home, sleeping, That was his life these days.

His life at the moment consisted of treating colds and children's cuts and, next on the list as he looked at the hospital's roster, possible stitches. The woman had apparently had a jet-skiing accident. Wasn't that lovely. A nurse had written something on the file about money and time. Astaire glanced at his watch. That had been several minutes ago. Oh well.

A few minutes later, the sharply-dressed blond donned a lab coat and entered the room, where a young man had been sitting outside. Within was a young woman, dressed in white and holding a phone in one hand and her injury in the other. "Good afternoon… Emma," he said, referencing the medical charts for her name. "I'm Dr. Kingston. I understand you've got a nasty cut you'd like us to take a look at."

If he wasn't bouncing off the walls with excitement to see her, it was nothing to do with her personally. Clinic duty bored him. There was never anything groundbreaking about clinic duty. At its best, he might get to talk to some kids and have a little fun. This was a straightforward case of an adult needing some stitches, however, and he would simply patch her up with thread or liquid stitches, depending on her preference, and she would be up and on her merry way.

Of course, he thought to himself, he could also heal her completely if he wanted to, using those abilities of his. But that was something he never did, on principle. He was not interested in being considered a freak or being used for his abilities. He kept his little superhuman powers a well-guarded secret.

Who would ever think the stoic, enigmatic doctor had anything more up his sleeve?

[Emma Frost]

Emma was about to call for the nurse again, when someone entered the room. A blonde man, wearing a lab coat. Now, Emma did not have to be a mind reader in order to know that this probably was the doctor.
"Oh, I did not realize we were on first-name basis," she said, looking at the tag on hid coat, "Alastair."
Emma did not sound particularly unfriendly or bitchy, actually, she sounded quite friendly. In her world however, people did not go by first name basis instantly. She'd prefer to be called Miss Frost, but she would not throw a tantrum about it. However, if he called her Emma, she'd call him Alastair.
"I would not call it particularly nasty, I would rather say it's annoying.", she added with a slight smile. At all costs, Emma wanted to avoid scarring on her luxurious body. That was exactly the reason why she was going to do what she was about to do. She did not always read other's minds, that'd be annoying. She did so when she was curious or when there was a reason to invade someone's privacy like that. His degree, career, expertise and experiences with cuts like this was what she was looking for.

And boy, what she found!

Emma's mien did not give away her delight. He was a mutant, like her. Conveniently, his powers included healing. And even better, he had no idea about mutants. Moreover, he was scared being put into a tiny cage and experimented on. That was definitely a plus. Emma did not fancy trusting most people with her mutation. If he was scared, he was most likely prone to keep it secret. She could always erase his memory, but that was ultima ratio. Just because she could do something, it did not mean she would or liked to do it.

"I am more than interested in not having a scar once it is healed," she said, waiting for Alastair to examine the cut.

[Astaire Kingston]

The use of his first name made Astaire raise his eyebrows a bit. He had always been taught to refer to each patient by their first names, because that was more comforting, or something. Apparently that was not the case with this particular woman. Nevertheless, the use of his name did not bother him. If she had known and used his real first name, that would have been a different matter.

He only gave a faint half-smile at the comment, and returned to looking over her charts as she explained her thoughts on the injury. Well, whatever had cut her had gotten pretty deep. He would have considered that more than an annoyance. Perhaps she was accustomed to putting on a brave face in the company of others. He made no comment on that either, however, and set the clipboard aside so he could take a look at the cut itself.

Pulling on a fresh pair of gloves, he leaned in and inspected the cut. It was as bad as the notes had described it. A good stitching would fix it right up, though. One eyebrow raised, he glanced at her as she mentioned her preference regarding scarring. His first thought was that his healing powers would be just perfect for that - the cut would heal itself and scar for a couple of seconds before it disappeared. He never used his powers in public, though. And especially not on patients.

"Then I would recommend liquid stitches," he said, standing fully, as he had been bent over looking at her leg before. "There should be less of a scar. Fortunately your injury is an excellent candidate for it." He made a note on the clipboard. "Do you have any other complaints?"

[Emma Frost]

Emma knew better. She had not dug deep enough to know his history, she just went with the obvious. Learning how to conceal information that no human should possibly posses had been part of dealing with her powers to her advantage. His name was Alastair, the rest was his business, was it not?

Emma did not flinch at all when he inspected her wound. She was quite a hard bitch when it came to pain. However, she did not fancy what he was explaining then.
Less of a scar.

She certainly was not going to have that. Emma chuckled kind of smugly. "No," she said, shaking her hand, cellphone still in it, "I am not talking about less of a scar. I am talking about no scar at all.", she said.

And I know you can do it, she told Alastair, telepathically, while her mouth remained shut. She'd take the risk. She might indeed go and alter his memory later, who knew. But she was not going to have someone stitch her up, leave a scar, when in fact, he had the ability to heal her. Her luxurious body was a goddamn piece of art. And no scar was going to ruin that.
Unless you want to claim you don't, which would be a pity., she added telepathically yet again.
Well, if he refused, she'd have to take measures. Contrast to popular belief, she was not an entirely ruthless bitch. Mind - manipulation and altering was a severe invasion into people's privacies and ultima ratio to Emma. If Alastair refused, well, he'd have it coming.

[Astaire Kingston]

Unfortunately it seemed Miss Frost was not happy with the solution Astaire suggested. A shame, because her choices were limited to stitches: liquid or suture, that was what she would be getting. He was not going to risk his livelihood over making her leg look pretty. And surely that was what he was risking, his whole life and everything he had made for himself. If anyone found out what he could do, he would become a lab rat in someone's dank basement. And he was a researcher; he knew how lab rats were treated.

Then a thought occurred in his head, not in his voice, but in hers. Was she…? He glanced at her. She was not speaking, not moving her lips, but she certainly looked as though she were addressing him. She was projecting words into his mind!

For years, he had thought himself the only one capable of doing extraordinary things. He had his suspicions about a few other people, but this… the surprise on his face would be obvious, but not in a pleasant way. His passive expression simply contorted to show a mild annoyance at her words.

Right, then, he thought, assuming she could hear him within the confines of his mind, which in a way was creepy. He had some secrets buried there that he really did not want anyone to see. For now, though, she seemed concerned only with the healing ability.

Right, and when you walk out of here with that wound perfectly healed, they'll cheer me on and put a crown of thorns around my head and nail me to a billboard. Fat chance of that. Sorry, lady, but I'm not risking my neck so you can have your pretty leg back. He shrugged slightly and spoke out loud. "Would you rather us administer the stitches, or do them at home? Liquid stitches can be bought over-the-counter now, but since you've got an open wound, I'd recommend having us close it before you leave."

[Emma Frost]

"Alright then," Emma said, glancing at her nails for a moment. She looked up at Alastair, eyes blue and huge. But she did not talk to him. Instead, she communicated in his mind.
"I know where you are coming from, Alastair. Been there myself, as you might be able to imagine. You have nothing to fear from me and as for my friend out there, he's a mutant himself. I do not plan on telling the world about that doctor who magically heals wounds. In fact, knowing your struggle with your mutation, I'd gladly offer my support. I run a school for people like us. You're not alone. At least, you don't have to be."

Emma meant it. However, she would not refrain from invading his mind a bit more in order to make him do as she pleased. Which was getting rid of that wound without leaving a scar. He could do it, she needed it, so she'd get it. It was as simple as that.

You did not become one of the world's most infamout billionaires if you were too gentle. Especially not when you were female.

[Astaire Kingston]

Mutant? So there was a name for it? How had Astaire missed this all this time? The more he thought about it, the more questions popped up in his mind, so many that he could hardly keep them all straight. His mind was pretty much blown. Yet, why did this have to happen now? At work? He should have made this discovery on his own time, or through his own research. Now he probably looked like a lost child in front of a patient. Great going there, Astaire.

He "listened" as she explained her work. A school for mutants sounded dubious to Astaire, but that was because up until a few seconds ago, he had not thought there was anyone like him out there. Maybe it made sense that they should have a school. A shame they hadn't had one when he was growing up. Maybe he would not have made that stupid mistake in Japan….

He reached for a cart on which various medical supplies had been placed, and began to clean the cut himself. He was experiencing her power at work, so the idea that she was like him was easy to believe. He just did not have enough faith in humanity to think she really wanted to look out for him. More likely, she was just out to get what she wanted from him.

Half looking at her and half paying attention to his work, he thought, Even if I choose to trust you and your friend, what am I going to do about the others? You came in here with a pretty serious injury. It's even documented on paper. What do you expect me to do about that? Healing you is one thing, but lies and cover-ups? That's out of my field.

Though he did not express it, he was now fairly convinced that she was in fact going to leave the room fully healed, by him. But if he was going to take that risk - something he had never done before - then she damn well better know how much he really was doing for her.

[Emma Frost]

"If you are into research, she should definitely talk. Oh, and it is not dubious at all. It offers those confused teenagers we have once been to learn about themselves and be confident among their own kind.", Emma answered in her mind.
Yes, she was listenign in and he should better know that she'd be able to. Was she making a point? Kind of. There was no messing with Emma Grace Frost. She was polite for now, of course, and she was genuinely polite. However, she'd have a point where her patience would snap.
Emma threw a lazy gaze on that cart, not bothering to keep on requesting to be healed instead of stitched up for now. It seemed like they were on a good way. "Don't worry, Alastair. You heal the wound, put a nice bandage on it and that is it. Honestly, the public does not really get to see my thigh that often. Besides, I'll be out of New Orleans in two days anyway. You're paranoid, but I know where you are coming from. Trust me, I've been in this business for a while."
And with that said, Emma winked at him and gave him a smile. Nobody would care that much about her wound anyway, people were oblivious and they did not care. And if someone did, well, Emma had the one or other tool at hand to make them ignorant.

[Astaire Kingston]

The fact that she could read his thoughts so easily was a little irritating. Astaire had not meant to insult her school; well, actually, he kinda had in an oblique way, but he had not intended for her to "hear" it. She had, of course. She was probably still listening, in fact. Well, she was probably used to hearing that her abilities could be off-putting. He did not mean to offend.

Was he paranoid? Probably. Better to be safe than sorry, though; wasn't that what people always said? He set the supplies on the cart and pushed it away, then returned to her side, studying her for a moment before returning his attention to her leg. No, the reason he was helping her did not have anything to do with her beauty. He was not that much of a typical man. He hoped.

As he focused on the wound, the torn skin and muscle began to mend, healing itself as normal, but in a greatly accelerated amount of time. A scar formed over the cut, but when he brushed his hand over her leg, it fell apart and dusted away. Underneath was perfectly smooth skin, correctly colored and unblemished, just as though there had never been a cut there.

"All right," he said, stepping away and picking up the clipboard again, his tone completely neutral. "You're free to go."

[Emma Frost]

Emma watched how he used his powers to heal her with great curiosity. She was always very attentive, very eager to learn about other mutations. She believed, this might keep her alive. Besides, it was not as though Emma Grace Frost, billionaire, would not have a research lab on her own.

The wound healed as it should, only countless times faster than it usually would. It was quite interesting to watch, muscles melting, skin closing. Alastair seemed to be wiping the wound away as if it were nothing, until flawless skin was left. Emma raised her brows, smiled at him. "Now, that was impressive, Alastair. Thank you," she said. He'd put a bandage on it and nobody would realize that she had not been stitched up, but healed by some 'magical' force.

"Do you see how much good our extrordinary skills can do?", she asked, sounding particularly honest. But then again, even if she was faking it, she sounded genuine. "I'll be in town for another two days. You're most welcome to share dinner with me. Privacy assured."
No, she was not inviting him on a date. He was lost, alone with his mind and mutation. And she could fix that.

[Astaire Kingston]

Admittedly, the opportunity to use his abilities, especially to help someone, was a nice change. Astaire had become accustomed to keeping them to himself, sometimes using them at home where no one else was around to see, but never in public, Never with strangers. He just did not have the capacity to trust them.

At least she seemed grateful. Astaire gave only an absent nod as she chided him lightly. After finding a bandage of the right size, he placed it where the cut had been to hide what he had done. A shame he had to do that, but he really did not want to be chased down by other scientists and studied for his genes. He knew the scientific community well enough to realize that this was exactly what would happen if anyone got word of this.

He glanced up when Emma offered to meet him for dinner. His first instinct was to say no. He had not confused it for a date - the way she made the suggestion made it clear, the tone she used was more businesslike and not very flirtatious. It was simply that he did not usually spend time with others. Astaire was not a people person. He hated having to make conversation and pretend to be entertained.

This, however, seemed as good an opportunity as any to get to know a fellow… mutant. One who seemed to have a good deal of experience in the world of abilities. Perhaps she would tell him something that would help him. At the very least, he would not have to fake his interest.

"Do you have a card?" he asked, which was his way of saying "yes, I would like that, please give me a way of contacting you." There must have been a time when he had been sociable. If so, it had passed and he had forgotten that skill. At least he had the grace to offer his hand and help her up from her seat.

[Emma Frost]

Emma slid off the stretcher after Alastair was done, arranged her clothes and smiled. She was good as new. No, in fact, she was new! There wasn't even a little itch left to the ugly cut that had been on her thigh moments before. How very convenient skills like his were! No one knew how deep they'd run. Maybe, Alastair himself did, but Emma doubted it, judging from his desire to hide who he was. Or he had secretly researched. What about cancer? What about AIDS? What about torn limbs? Accidents? He might be able to save the world. Then again, if every illness was subject toh is powers - maybe they were more like him? -, and he healed the world, the earth would become a crowded place. There weren't only scientific questions related to mutations. Politics, ecomomy, morals....they all were part of the game, part of the danger. Of course, Emma did not want to hide that badly, she considered herself superior. For now, however, it was a necessity.

"Of course," she said, getting a business card out of her purse. It said "Emma G. Frost - Chief Executive Officer - Frost Int." and some contact details. She took the liberty of pulling a pen out of Alastair's front pocket, adding another number to the list. "This is my private cellphone. Give me a shout out whenever you want to meet, I will arrange it." Emma did not even mean to boast with a busy schedule, even though she knew it might seem that way. She'd make it happen, even if she had to cancel another date or appointment for Alastair's sake. "You can call me anytime, though, I will just be back in New York from Monday on."
Taking a plane to New Orleans on short notice would not be a problem, either. But Alastair did not need to know that just now.

[Astaire Kingston]

After glancing at the card, Astaire tucked it into a pocket. She was the CEO of her own company, then. That was impressive. He had heard of Frost International, of course, but had not made the connection between her name and that particular company. Names were common, after all. He saw hundreds of them a day.

"Will do," he told her, his tone still businesslike, but now with a hint of actual gratitude. He knew what it meant to be a professional, though he was only a researcher, and no CEO. Work made your life busy, and though she had not entirely said so, he could guess that her schedule was quite full. He would call her, though, if only out of curiosity. No one offered the ability to call anytime without meaning it. No one who didn't deserve to be called on that offer, at least.

"I'll contact you before then," he added, since it did not occur to him that she could, or was willing to, catch a flight back down to his city just to meet with him. To ask that of her would be more selfish than even Astaire was willing to be.

"Until then, take care of that leg," he added, a sly joking look in his eyes. He knew from his own experience that she would have no trouble with that former wound at all. No phantom pains, nothing. He had to admit to himself, he'd done pretty damn well.

He opened the door for her and waited for her to step back out into the hall. "Enjoy your stay in New Orleans," he said pleasantly, aware that they were now back in the public eye. They would get to continue their acquaintance later, he was sure.

---

The next day, Astaire gave Emma a call during his lunch break, in order to give both of them time to arrange their schedules for a dinner meeting. Not that Astaire had much to arrange. Once he left work every day, the evening was his. Usually, that meant going home and reading a book or spending time on the computer or doing something equally solitary. Very seldom did he actually go out, and even more rarely did he meet with anyone. He led a fairly bland life, and that worked perfectly fine for him.

Yet he was beginning to get the feeling that that would soon change.

He had let her choose where to meet, after offering a few options, since he knew the city better than she did. He had also suggested meeting at his apartment, since they both knew he was not trying to be any kind of creep, but the subject matter they would discuss had to be between only them, and even the most exclusive restaurants allowed some possibility of being overheard. But in the end, he had left the decision up to her. This was hardly a date, except in the general sense, but it never hurt to be a gentleman.

Dressing himself in a dress shirt and slacks - respectable, but not overly formal - he convinced himself again that this was a good idea and he was not intruding on Emma's vacation. Meeting had been her idea, after all. Or was it the fact that she was about to reveal a new world to him, one he was a part of but had never had any idea about before?

And did he even want to know what she might be about to tell him?

[Emma Frost]

"I will," said Emma, a smile on her face. She gracefully arranged her clothes and walked out of the room. However, she did not fail to add a slight, careful limb to her walk. Better safe than sorry or rather, better making sure Astaire felt comfortable. After all, she had kind of talked him into taking care of that leg in his special way, had she not. Outside, Josh got up, still looking the slightest bit worried. He got a hold of Emma's arm, nodded at Astaire. "Thanks, Doc," the man said.
"I'll see you, Astaire," Emma said and left with Josh.

Emma had delightedly answered Astaire's call. She had told him to meet her at her hotel, at her room to be precise. Of course, she had the money to pay for a private room in the most exclusive restaurant, but she felt safer in what was more or less her own space. She knew this room was safe, so why bother trying to find something else. Moreover, a suite as spacioius as hers wanted to be used, did it not?

As she still considered today vacation, she was dressed rather casually, at least with regard to her usual attire. Of course, even this dress had cost a fortune.
Either way, the salon of her suite was set up nicely, the balcony doors were opened so that a slight breeze could blow through the room. Upon hearing a knock on the door, Emma opened, delighted to find Astaire not being dressed too formally. After all, this was not a business meeting and she needed him to feel relaxed. For his own good, of course. Remarkably, Emma was still wearing a bandaid on her thigh. "Astaire, good to see you,", the woman said, leaning in to give him a slight kiss on his left and right cheek, simultaneously putting her hand on his shoulder. Emma was still tall, even though she was not wearing any shoes in this surroundings.
"Please, come in," she said, letting the door fall shut after him. She lead him into the salon, casually strolling. "Drink?", Emma offered first, positioning herself next to the bar on the left side of the room. She could have hired staff. In fact, if this meeting was not going to be about that one delicate topic, she would have done exactly that.