ArchivedLogs:Too Many

Too Many
Dramatis Personae Jane, Rasheed	2015-03-11 "I am not often surprised, Doctor." (On Prometheus-ties.)
Location <NYC> The Mendel Clinic - Lower East Side
With its sharp crystalline edges and sleek lines knifing up into the sky, this building is one of the most /distinctive/ new additions to the neighborhood. An angular structure in glass and steel, the tall tower has a deceptively slender look to it that is belied by the heavy security as soon as you enter the doors. The front doors are frosted with the Clinic's logo -- a rising sun over a rod of Asclepius -- a motif echoed in many places throughout the building. Visitors to the clinic must first pass through a small mantrap, guarded by some of the Clinic's security guards; once they make it through the metal detector and airlock's double doors they emerge into the much more hospitable lobby. With dark wood floors underneath and comfortable black and red couches at its edges, the high windows give the room an airy feel. A bank of elevators to one side carry visitors to the many destination floors, while the wide welcome desk at the other side is manned by a security guard ready to help point visitors in the right direction. The afternoon is beginning, lunchtime kind of ongoing and many of the Clinic staff down in the cafeteria or ducking out into the city to grab their meals. Rasheed is neither of these things, up on the eighth floor in one of the offices -- not /his/, not technically, as a specialist with limited availability here he isn't here enough to warrant his /own/. But /an/ office, generally his when he is here; the other specialists he shares it with are not in evidence. Just him, in dress shirt and slacks, no tie, jacket hung over the back of his chair. His usual hunch-shouldered terrible posture as he sits at his desk, typing up paperwork. Jane's posture, when she appears silently in the doorway of the office, is the mirror opposite of Rasheed's. Where he is hunched, she is ramrod-straight. Where his shoulders bend inwards, her are straight and wide back. She closes the door behind her in a precise movement, the click of the door closed followed a moment later by a click of a lock echoing in the silence of her movements. Her steps over to sit down in the chair could be used to make a ruler, each perfectly spaced apart and crisply moved. Sitting doesn't remove the steel from her spine, or the cold light in her eyes as she fixes Rasheed's face with her gaze. Her powers, it seems, are not the only things that can be cutting. The soldier says nothing. Rasheed glances up when Jane enters. /Sits/ up, when the lock clicks closed. His hands shift off from the keyboard, fingers lacing together on the desk in front of him. There's still a small hunch to his thin shoulders that sitting up doesn't really remove, even as he tips his head slightly to the side to look back at Jane in equal silence. Jane's nose tips slightly up, hard stare unblinkingly boring into Rasheed's eyes. She is silent for almost a full minute, and when she speaks, there is iron in her tone. "I am not often surprised, Doctor. I don't like surprises, and I don't like people who try to kill my people. Now, I find that you are in both of those categories." Her voice is not loud, but it has the presence to fill the room. One of her eyes twitches, once. "The founder of Prometheus, here, in my building. A surprise indeed." She intones, gravely. "Your people?" Rasheed's brows lift, a slight emphasis given to that first word. His fingers press together harder. "I feel pretty certain that if I'd tried to harm anyone at this Clinic I wouldn't still be sitting here breathing." "/My/ people." Jane says, firmly. "And yet you have. And yet, you are." Her lips press into a firm line, frowning at the other man. She sighs and shakes her head. "It is sometimes difficult for people here to understand what it is like to follow orders. To make decisions that kill people. I am no stranger to it. No stranger to being in a situation that you feel powerless to get out of, watching as things around you get worse and worse and more people die. Or, in my case, as you kill more and more people. So believe me when I say, I /understand/." She pauses for several seconds. "But do not confuse understanding for tolerance, nor acceptance." "And how many people have you killed, for your country?" Rasheed's lips thin, jaw tightening though his eyes don't leave Jane's. "I haven't asked for your acceptance." "Too many." Jane says, voice hard. "And not enough." Her eyes dart back and forth between Rasheed's, searching. "How many people have you killed for yours?" she asks, voice mocking. "Too many." Rasheed's voice isn't mocking. Just quiet, his own gaze steady. "I could ask how many you've saved, but --" His hands spread apart, palms turning up. "I don't actually care. I'm not looking for acceptance. Yours or anybody's. Only to do my job." "Unlike you, my job ended with killing. Though I saved my fair share." There is a twitch at one corner of her lips - a smile? A frown? It is impossible to tell. "Doing your job requires my acceptance. I need to know that your being here is safe for patients and employees alike. And I need to know as much as you remember about Prometheus. Who was running it? Who were the military liaisons? What was the force strength?" "Need to?" Rasheed's brows raise. His head gives a very small shake. "That information is still classified. And has no bearing on the operations of this Clinic, anyway." "My clearance is still in place, if that assuages you. It has several more years before it expires." Jane blinks once, eyebrows raising. "If you cannot see how the operations of the Prometheus project has bearings on the Mendel Clinic, then you are more short-sighted than I thought. Who were the military liaisons? What was the force strength?" Jane repeats. "Interestingly enough, it doesn't." Rasheed turns to his computer, saving the documents he'd been working in and logging off. "We're done here, Jane. Your boss can let me go, if he wants. But I don't answer to you. And I never will." For the first time in the meeting, Jane smiles. "Good. It is good to see you take your oaths and obligations seriously. If you had been a traitor as well as a... surprise, this meeting would have been resolved with a quite different ending." Jane stands up, turning and stepping over to the door. "You may continue, Doctor. Remember that you owe this clinic, its patients, and its staff an obligation as well." She pauses, then nods once. "If you are approached again, let me know, Doctor. Whether you believe it or not, as long as you are staff here, /you/ are my people as well." The twitch of muscle in Rasheed's cheek is small. So is the breath he pushes out, short and sharp. "I'll try not to surprise you again." Jane's smile twitches briefly at the corners of her lips, a dangerous looking thing. She nods again, sharply. "Good." With that, Jane turns on a heel and steps through the door, closing it firmly behind her. It's only after the door has closed behind her that that breath releases all the way, a sudden heavy rush of air as Rasheed's face sinks down to rest in abruptly unsteady hands.