Freerunning and Freefalling

[Dahlia Michelle]

Dahlia squinted through the darkness as she flew through the streets of Mansion Row. Laughing almost soundlessly to herself, she thought of how convenient this situation was -- at least for her. There was no moon tonight, which made the streets pitch dark, save for one thing: the lamp posts. They lit up certain part of the streets, which Dahlia could easily avoid by ducking behind shadows or flying just around the lit areas. They allowed her to see, and yet not be seen. It was a perfect night for a robbery.

Up ahead, she could see a house that was perfect. With high, shiny bars surrounding the entire house, stopping at the roof, no one would suspect a person to get to the roof. It was too far for a normal person to jump onto from the other house, at least in Dahlia's opinion, and she didn't think anyone else in Jump City could fly. Smiling to herself, she flew into the small alley between the houses, reveling in how her newfound ability made her travel silent. Scanning the house for and kind of alarm senors and finding none directed at her, she zoomed up towards the roof.

[John Alexander]

This was one of his favorite nights of the month. No moon, clouds covering even the dim stars... It was an ideal atmosphere for someone like him, his pale eyes bared for once, rather than covered by those cursed sunglasses he had to wear all of the time. In the pitch dark, his eyesight was at its best, and he could see everything, like a cat, only better. Just as he was at home in the darkness, he was also at home in this urban environment, running and pushing his body to its limits to see what they were, ignoring the fact that he was several stories higher than where humans should feel safe being. Gravity was something to be taken into consideration, but he didn't have to be concerned about falling, not at night.

His foot planted on the edge of the roof before he launched himself off, his running start making the leap simple to accomplish. His increased strength helped, too, and he was aiming for the expensive roofing of the house, confident that he could distribute the landing well enough that he would do no damage. It was something he did all of the time, so there would be no problems. Of course, whenever he thought that, inevitably there would be some unknown factor to cause problems, and thus he nearly collided with some girl in midair. She was floating way higher than any normal human had any right to be floating, so he correctly guessed that she had some sort of powers.

It was lucky for her that he'd only clipped her on the way past. Otherwise, it would've been like getting hit by a car. Either way, he rolled on the landing and headed back, checking to see if she was alright. It was never pleasant to be on the receiving end of his strength, especially when he wasn't practicing restraint, as he hadn't been. Honestly, who would expect to run into someone in mid-air?

"Are you alright?" he asked, his deep voice quiet but concerned.

[Dahlia Michelle]

BAM!

Some force hit her shoulder, sending her flying backwards. There was a loud snap on impact, and she was unable to catch herself as she flew onto a roof. It was like she had run into a brick wall, except the brick wall had been moving as fast as a cheetah. Or, something like that.

Her head was reeling, and she couldn't breathe. Worse than that, her shoulder hurt like hell. The sharp pain made her worry about exactly what had happened to it -- was it broken? But at least the arrows she had landed on were still strapped to her back; she had been lucky. The impact might have been enough to set them all off, if whatever had hit her had came from behind, and the explosion probably would have killed her.

Dahlia didn't move for a moment as she lay on the floor, blinking slowly as black swam across her eyes. She groaned in pain, wondering what the hell could have hit her. Maybe it was some sort of security trap, like a wall that was supposed to come from the house and fly at her. But if that was the case, she had to move, and move quickly, because she had tripped the alarm.

She rolled onto her side -- the side without the injured shoulder, and was about to try to stand when she heard a voice behind her.

"Are you alright?" The voice seemed concerned, but although it seemed like he was speaking quietly it sounded loud to her, making her head ache.

She froze on instinct, but, unfortunately for her freezing meant tensing muscles, and the action sent daggers through her shoulder. She breathed in sharply, trying to look behind her and get up at the same time. It was difficult; her brain didn't seem to want to cooperate with sending signals with the rest of her body, she thought. Either that or for some other reason, but her legs kept slipping out from under her, so she finally settled with sitting, her legs folded under her, her left hand gripping her right shoulder. But even that wouldn't last long, because she swayed, her back -- that had already taken the shock of being hit by a car -- deciding not to hold her up.

"Yes," Dahlia managed to answer through shallow breaths, although the muscles in her back gave out and she had to let go of her shoulder to catch herself as she fell back down. "Was that some kind of trap I tripped?" The alliteration made her confused brain slur the words. She blinked again, taking a few breaths, hoping the shock from the impact on her brain would wear off soon.

**** I'm pretty sure this is what it feels like... I've been hit really hard in the face and sent flying backwards, so I just amplified that a bit.

[John Alexander]

"...No," he said kneeling to help her. "It was me. I'm sorry. I didn't see you."

His hand was gentle as lightly pulled her torso upward and examined the shoulder she was clutching. That snap hadn't been a good sound, but he was fairly certain that it hadn't been bone, though he had no idea what it had been. She might have whiplash, though, or even a concussion. She'd gone down hard. She really needed to go to the hospital, but there was always the problem that making the call or going there himself would put him back on the radar, and then it was running, and more running. Still, this had been his fault, so he really needed to help her. How, though? He didn't carry a phone. Phones were easily tracable, and who would he be calling, anyway?

His eyes seemed to glow, like any animal with tapetum lucidum, or eyeshine as it was called. He could see her far better than she could see him, even without considering the apparent head injury. Now as he examined her shoulder more closely, he could tell that it wasn't broken, but it was definitely dislocated. Yeah, she would need a doctor. Damn. What was he supposed to do here? Perhaps he should leave the decision up to her? After all, if she was flying and she had some arrows on her, she could be one of those vigilante types, or even a criminal with some sort of powers. Neither of them would appreciate having to take a trip to the hospital, since that would definitely attract official attention.

"You need a doctor," he said after a few seconds. "Try not to move that shoulder. You want a hospital or something more discreet?"

There were some doctors that treated their kind specifically, and they would keep the treatment under the radar, usually for the right price. Of course, they were a ways away from any such place, since these ritzy neighborhoods weren't really a place where many such underground people would congregate.

[Dahlia Michelle]

It was him? What did he mean, it was him? She blinked a bit more, looking around to see if she could find some wall or something that he might have hit her with. Accidentally. Still blurry, but she didn't see anything. How strange.

She almost drew back a little as he reached towards her. For one thing, people didn't touch her. For another, she was still a little paranoid. He had hit her with something. What was he doing carrying something that hard around? Was he a guard? A thief like her? He could be dangerous. In fact, he was, considering her partially blind, crippled state. But then again, Dahlia could barely move. And he seemed concerned, so she let go of her shoulder and let him look at it. Had he seen her fly?

Still puzzled, she looked at him and asked, "What did you hit me with?" She looked at him, and his eyes seemed to be shining, which confused her. It's probably the way the lamps are reflecting off his eyes, she thought, because although the light wasn't really reaching them, she couldn't think of anything else.

Dahlia tried to breathe in steadily, but it hurt her shoulder to do so, and she was a little anxious having a person so near her when she was this vulnerable. She wanted to look at her shoulder too, but the movement of turning her head hurt, so all she could discern was that it hurt... a lot.

"I don't need a doctor," she muttered quietly through her shallow breaths. Well, she might, but there was no way she'd be able to change out of these clothes, and there was a lot of money on her head. She had robbed some of the richest in Jump City.

Then the rest of his sentence caught up to her. Discreet? Did he know who she was? Was he a bounty hunter? No, he would have just taken her in if he was. Yes, somewhere discreet would be nice. But she didn't want him to know, on the off chance that he was just offering it because her clothes made it obvious she was hiding who she was, and that he didn't know who she was.

"It's just a little sore," she added, trying to stand again. She scowled when her head spun and her legs refused to cooperate. Resigned, she amended the statement. "I just need a moment to recover from the shock."

[John Alexander]

"I didn't hit you with anything," he refuted softly. "I ran into you. It was an accident."

She was becoming lucid, so that was definitely a good sign. Still, as he watched her try to stand, he shook his head in exasperation. Some people were too stubborn for his own good, and while people had accused him of being that way in the past, it annoyed him to no end that this girl wasn't willing to get a doctor. With her powers and her...costume, he supposed it was supposed to be..., he guessed that whoever this girl was, she didn't want to be discovered. Whether she was a hero or a villain, he didn't particularly care. She was an injured girl whose injury had been his fault, so he would see to it that she got help for it.

"Yeah, like hell you don't need a doctor," he grumbled. "Look, your shoulder's dislocated. We'll just have to go to an underground, unless you'd rather that the world at large discovered your 'secret identity'. I don't really care if you're a hero, a villain, or dressed up for halloween. You need a doctor."

His words might've been humorous, if it wasn't for the deep deadpan of his voice. He was completely serious, and his tone left no room for argument. He'd run with freerunners long enough to know that a dislocation could cause permanent damage if it wasn't treated properly, so toughing it out was a really bad idea, no matter the reason.

[Dahlia Michelle]

"Oh," she muttered. The brick wall had been him. Had she been able to think a little clearer, she might have realized that no normal person was as hard as a brick wall, even if they were running or strong. But, she didn't, so she just nodded, although she only moved her head a few centimeters; any further and it'd hurt.

Not to say that everything didn't already hurt. At least, her shoulder felt like knives and fire and her spinning, aching head was making everything else feel like it hurt. With her headache and the sleeping rich people below them, she appreciated that he was speaking quietly. It hurt her head much less.

Then he seemed upset. Why was he upset? She wasn't really sure, but then she heard him say something about her shoulder being dislocated (at least, she thought that was what he said; her currently limited mind was busy wondering why he sounded upset). Dislocated was bad. There was someone she knew that would be able to set it back into place, but he was far away, and if she couldn't sit up she couldn't walk over there.

She tried to sit up, leaning on the arm that wasn't hurt. To her relief, she managed to do so, but only after experiencing excruciating pain as her shoulder's muscle tensed, trying to help her get up. She bit her lip, closing her eyes for a second. When she opened them again she looked closely at the man standing before her. She could tell that he was very tall, even though he was kneeling, and his dark clothes told her that he probably made a habit out of staying out at night... and not wanting to be seen. His eyes caught her attention again, those glowing eyes that reminded her of a wolf's. Strange. "Who are you?" she asked, her words still slurring a little. At least her mind had cleared up.

"And what's this underground place you're talking about?"

[John Alexander]

"My name is John," he replied, watching her as she tried to sit up. "The underground doctors are the ones you want to go to when you don't want anyone official finding you. For some cash, they'll fix you up and the police will be none the wiser. In cities like Jump, most of them are really experienced in dealing with meta's, and all sorts of strange people."

He didn't really like doctors, but inevitably if he was active in the daytime, socializing with normal people, he would eventually need one as all normal people did. When night fell, his body would heal within the hour, but if something like a dislocation happened and his joint wasn't back in place correctly, it would heal all wrong. So, he'd made a point to find such doctors in any city in which he stayed, just in case. Now, it seemed, that extra step would come in handy, as there was one not too far away, maybe a half a mile down the road, away from moneybag central. Not that she should really be walking anywhere in the state she was in. Lucid though she was becoming, walking would undoubtably be painful and maybe impossible with her dizziness.

"Don't worry; I've seen these kinds of injuries a hundred times. Freerunning can be a bit dangerous when you're still learning." he asked, seeing the wavering focus of her pupils and guessing at the state of her consciousness from that. "How does your head feel?"

He wouldn't ask who she was. She obviously didn't want to compromise her identity, and she clearly didn't trust him, so if he asked, she probably wouldn't answer anyway. Besides, it didn't really matter who she was. She could've been the president's daughter and he wouldn't have treated her any different, excepting the possibility that it would lead to his arrest. Only the fact that she seemed as wary of that route as he was kept him from succumbing to the urge to just take his leave and trust that she would get help eventually. The last thing he wanted was to be arrested.

[Dahlia Michelle]

"I'm Dolly," Dahlia told him. Well, it could be a nickname for Dahlia, although no one called her that. She had been planning on keeping her name a secret, but his answer changed that. For one thing, he had given her a real name, whether it was his or not. Giving him a name like Skari would make her feel a little embarrassed. He must have guessed that she was some kind of criminal, and although her getup could be mistaken as a kind of gothic doll-type thing, not a disguise, it wasn't exactly normal attire, either. And it seemed like he was actually going to help her get to a doctor. She thought. Maybe. So she felt obligated to give him at least part of her name.

But then her mind, running the words back through its fog, picked up on that word she didn't understand: metas. "Meta?" she repeated, confused and a little wary. Whatever it was, he seemed to think she was one. Did he mean people with abilities?

She wasn't worried. She probably should have been, but for the moment all she felt was pain and the overriding need to make sure that no one official, like John had described, found out who she was, where she was, and that she was vulnerable. And since he knew about these underground doctors, and he seemed to be out at night so much, maybe he avoided them, too.

Freerunning? She'd lived in Jump all her life, and until a few years ago, only in some of the poorest neighborhoods. She didn't have a computer or cable to watch people freerun. She didn't know what it was, but apparently he assumed that she did, and since she had already asked what one thing he had said meant, she didn't ask for another definition.

And her head. Well, it hurt. She could still feel herself swaying slightly, still feel the pulse inside her head. She was dizzy, and her vision still didn't seem exactly right, but maybe everything was so blurry because it was dark. Being dizzy was also making her tired. She frowned. "It'll be okay," she mumbled. After all, the only thing she needed this underground doctor to fix was her shoulder, not a head bruise or even a concussion. She'd probably barely be able to scrape up enough money for a setting of her shoulder; she knew the doctors probably charged a lot, and she gave all her money to other people. Anyway, she needed to be out of here as soon as possible.

She needed to stand now. She knew she did, but she was a little afraid to. What if she fell? Her legs still felt a little wobbly, and she was still dizzy. But she had to be able to stand to go anywhere. The longer they were on this roof, the more likely people were to find them.

But how am I going to do this? she wondered. After a moment, she used her uninjured arm to try to push herself up, this time trying to make her shoulder completely limp, to avoid making the muscles tense around the dislocated shoulder. She succeeded... mostly. The back of her shoulder stabbed like knives, but she continued to push herself up, using her arm and her knees.

Finally, she had herself kneeling.

Perfect. Now on to the hard part. Dahlia thought about it for a moment. Her legs felt weak, very weak. She hoped she'd be able to use them to stand. Slowly, putting all her strength into her legs, she pushed herself up, until she rose, and then stood.

Oh, how her head spun. It throbbed even more painfully and she breathed in sharply, both in pain and surprise. Her vision went almost black, and she blinked rapidly, as if she could blink away the shadows. It was the change in elevation, the blood rushing from her head and her body trying to pump it back in, but she didn't know that. She stumbled, biting her lip and trying to hold herself up by pressing her leg straight. "Damn," she muttered.

[John Alexander]

"It's what they call people with special abilities," he explained. "Seeing most normal people can't fly, you qualify."

He didn't comment on her name. John was a generic enough name that even if she proved unworthy of his trust, it would do little to harm him. The name she had given was an odd one, possibly fake, but if she wass giving him a fake name, it would've made sense that she chose a more normal name. Maybe it really was her name after all. If it was, that was still unusual. It sounded like a name from an early decade, maybe from the fifties or earlier.

Watching her as she tried to stand, he gaged whether or not she really could walk, as she was insisting. It seemed like all she could manage to stay on her feet. He couldn't really let her go walking there like this. For one thing, it would be painful to walk, as each step would jostle her dislocated shoulder. The other problem with her stubbornness was that if she fell, it would caused far more pain than it was worth. Plus, it might damage her shoulder further. His expression was flat as he watched her, showing neither concern nor contempt, in fact quite emotionless.

"Eventually, yes," John replied to her assertion. "But right now, I don't think you should be walking around. As far as I can tell, you're going to collapse any second."

He looked away, off in the distance as he contemplated what to do. He really didn't want to go with her, and he especially didn't want to get involved any more than he already was, but the injuries were his fault, and there was no way that she could get all the way there on her own, not with her being so dizzy. He suppressed a sigh and turned back to look at her as he stood, revealing his towering height. Coupled with his thick musculature, he cut a quite intimidating figure, even without considering his powers. His silvery eyes gleamed dully in the pale light, but for all that, he looked vaguely embarrassed.

"Look, I'll get you there, but I don't want to stay," he said. "Since I don't think you can handle walking there, and you're a bit too dizzy to fly, I'll have to carry you. I don't drive."

[Dahlia Michelle]

Meta. Dahlia frowned. That sounded... cruel, almost. Like they weren't real people, or if they were, they were some sort of mutant. Like a creature, some sort of strange breed. The word felt strange on her lips and strange in her head. Meta. She repeated the word soundlessly, still frowning. She hated the way that sounded. It sounded like she was a freak, and she hated it. She'd had enough of people who thought they were better than others, giving poor people or sick people or disabled people -- anyone different, really -- names that left a bad taste in your mouth when you spoke them and a dark feeling in your chest.

She didn't quite catch on that he was talking about her head injury, saying that she would only eventually be okay. She honestly didn't think the fact would be disputed. But he was right, she was finding it difficult to stand. Dahlia took a few deep breaths, looking down at her legs. They were shaking precariously, and she frowned, trying to somehow will more strength into them. But the effort made her head ache more, and she wished her powers could be a little more useful.

She could regenerate, but not instantly, and only under certain circumstances. Slash her with a knife, in a matter of seconds, she would be fine. Burning was the same. Crack her skull, it took about a half-hour. A concussion would probably take a while. But anything alive, like a virus, she couldn't beat. Her regeneration ability couldn't keep up. A dislocated shoulder? Well, now that she thought of it, that was probably really dangerous. If it healed without being set, then it'd be stuck that way. She might have to break it out of place to fix it. In fact, maybe that's why it was hurting so much. Why couldn't he have just stabbed her? It would have made it a lot easier.

Damn, why hadn't she thought of this earlier? She was stupid and her brain was messed up, that was why.

Then his other words finally sunk in. Oh, that's right, she could fly. In retrospect, she probably could have gotten up by flying. The power was so knew to her and her mind had been so foggy that she'd completely forgotten.

But carry her? She winced, but the movement hurt her shoulder. She didn't really want him to carry her, and by the looks of it, neither did he. Taking another deep breath, she raised herself to fly.

Ah, he was right. Without her feet on the ground her entire body seemed to spin, and she was forced to land again. She frowned, and was silent for a long while. Directing her attention to her shoulder, she tried to sense how it was healing. To her dismay, the pain seemed to be fading. That was not good. It meant that it was healing in place.

Resigned and a little panicked, she nodded with only the slightest move of the head again. "Fine," she murmured. And then, after a moment, she added, "Thank you."

[John Alexander]

He picked her up as gently as he could, trying not to move her shoulder. To him, she weighed virtually nothing, and it would be a very easy matter to transport her the half-mile to the nearest underground doctor that he was aware of. He compensated for each step to move her as little as possible, but he walked fairly quickly. She probably wanted it taken care of sooner, rather than later, and her weight was nothing. He might as well have been carrying a basket of feathers for how much it slowed him down. He didn't look at her as they walked, rather examining the streets to make sure that no one saw or was following. These underground guys operated in secrecy, so having a tail would be problematic.

He was carrying her in what would probably be the most comfortable way for her, with one arm a few inches lower than her shoulder blades and her knees bent over the other arm. It was the easiest way to avoid moving her shoulder, and he was strong enough that the extra effort that usually accompanied carrying a person that way wasn't even worth considering. He took the shortest route, but his route also was determined by how many light poles there were along the road. They were bright enough to give him a headache, and his head was tilted slightly to lessen the exposure to his eyes.

Soon, the fancy houses and the lightposts every twenty yards ended, and they came to a more dingy neighborhood. They rounded a corner to come to an apparently abandoned office building, and John spotted the call box at the front door. He pushed the small silver button below the speaker to alert the people inside that he was coming and waited for a response.

"Doctor Kavanagh is an old friend of mine," he said quietly. "He's the best there is."

The box crackled to life and there was a voice on the other side which sounded like an elderly woman, her tone suspicious and cautious.

"Who is this?" the voice inquired.

"It's John, Hilda," he replied. "I have someone I need the doctor to take a look at."

"A patient?"

"Yeah."

"Hold on," she replied after a moment's pause. "I'll buzz you in."

A mechanical buzz came from the boarded up door, and John pushed the door open with his shoulder, contrary to the fact that the door had appeared as if it was meant to be pulled open. It was just another line of defense against anyone who might come snooping around. The room they entered looked like any abandoned office, but John headed down the hallway and took a turn to come to Hilda's office, which looked like any other secretary's room. The old woman looked to be in her sixties, and she looked up at John as he walked in, pushing the button for the speaker.

"They're here, Doctor," she said.

"Alright, send them on in," a younger masculine voice replied. "I'm all done in here."

John entered the room on the right, passing a woman whose skin had to be the palest of purples, or he was seeing things. He set Dahlia on the table and turned away from the light on the ceiling, before pulling his shades out of the inner pocket of his long coat and putting them on. The doctor turned around from his filing cabinet to greet them, a warm smile on his face. He wore a long white doctor's coat over dark green scrubs, and a single circular Celtic stag tattoo was just barely visible under his sleeve on his forearm. On the walls, his certifications hung in their frames.

"Hey, John, how've you been?" he said, his green eyes flashing to the much taller man.

"Well enough," John replied. "Look, I accidentally ran into this girl today. I think her shoulder is dislocated."

The doctor looked at her shoulder, his head tilting slightly as he gently moved her shirt to the side so that he could get a better look at the injury.

"Well, you're right about that. What's your name, sweetheart?" he asked her, his eyes still on her shoulder.

When he said "sweetheart", it didn't sound degrading or sexist, or like a turn-on. It sounded like a term of endearment like one might get from a kindly old man, out of place for someone who looked as young as Dr. Kavanagh, but somehow sounding appropriate for him.

[Dahlia Michelle]

It was sort of... awkward, being picked up and carried. Needless to say it made her feel even more vulnerable than before. Somehow, the fact that she was no longer vertical made it seem that way. For one thing, she wasn't on her feet, and save for jumping up and down things and this past week, being on her feet was something she was used to. She still felt safer on the ground. Freer to run away if she felt she needed to. Now, with him carrying her, she probably wouldn't be able to fly away if she needed to escape.

Not to mention her head was still spinning and her shoulder throbbing. She was struggling to keep her head up now that it was almost like she was lying down, but with air sort of where her head would be. Holding her head up would normally be easy, but her muscles still ached and pulled at her shoulder as she kept it raised as far as she could manage. After all, she wasn't just going to let her head fall. That would expose the throat, jugular, subclavian, carotid... she didn't know all of them, since she didn't make a habit out of killing people, but from what she'd heard there were dozens of places you could kill someone just near and on the neck alone. And although she knew he wasn't going to kill her, it still made her feel uneasy. Talk about vulnerability.

But other than that, she was fairly comfortable. The quiver fell between his arms, so it wasn't in the way. Her shoulder had begun to stop hurting so much, probably because the bruised muscles, skin, and vessles around the shoulder had already patched themselves up. Not good for Dahlia, but it made her shoulder hurt less.

He was balancing her easily on his arms, walking quickly but still managing not to jostle her much. In fact, it seemed so easy that she began to wonder if he had abilities, too. That might explain the whole brick wall thing -- it dawned on her then how little it made sense without that explanation -- and his strength. Then again, she was sort of small and light.

It didn't take long, but it was long enough for her to watch him avoid the light from the lamp posts both as he walked and with his head. As she looked up at his face, she saw that it actually seemed to be causing him pain. How strange. That must have been why he was out at night; he hated light.

They came to a poorer neighborhood, and then to an old abandoned building. This must be where the doctor stays, she thought. He pressed the call box and spoke into it, telling her about some Doctor Kavanagh.

She would have nodded, but her neck was straining enough as it was, so she kept quiet and motionless.

After a moment a voice came from the call box, and as he spoke to a lady on the other end, Dahlia looked around. It was just like many of the neighborhoods in Jump, a little less dingy than the one she had grown up in; poor and dilapidated, a stark and pitiful contrast to the high-end mansions they had just been in. She sighed.

A buzz signaled that some lock had been deactivated, and John pushed open the door with his shoulder, making his way to the back until they reached a nicer part of the building -- a part that actually looked like it wasn't abandoned.

The lady sitting at the secretarial desk didn't look threatening. That was good.

The man that must have been the doctor called back at his secretary's alert, and Dahlia and John watched as a purple skin girl walked past them.

How would she blend in with other people? Dahlia wondered. How horrible must it be to never become invisible.

John carried her into a room, setting her on the table. Instantly she straightened herself up, glad that it didn't hurt her shoulder, but worried because that also meant that the shoulder had probably already healed... in the wrong place. It would have to be basically broken out of its setting now... She quickly pulled the quiver up and over her head and injured shoulder, setting it and the bow she had now detached from her belt onto the table.

She noticed John pull out a pair of dark sunglasses. Yes, she had been right. The sun did seem to hurt him, or at least it was unpleasant.

The doctor walked in then, and she looked at him cautiously as he and John exchanged words. It occurred to her that John definitely had to be his name, if both people knew him by that name.

The doctor looked at he shoulder, pulling her sleeve down a little to look at it. It bothered her slightly, but she ignored it, waiting and wondering what he'd say once he figured out the state of her shoulder. For now he could tell it was dislocated; she could look at it now, and it definitely looked out of place, although the bruised and swollen skin had healed.

What an odd situation. Dahlia was used to helping people, but as a general rule, she helped herself, and if she was somehow unable to, she got her own help.

She found herself suddenly shy, and a little afraid. "Dolly," she mumbled in a reply.

[John Alexander]

"Well, Dolly, it seems like your healing factor is going to make this a little harder than it should've been," Kavanagh said, turning away to dig through the supplies in his drawer.

"I'm not sure I should be here for any more of this," John asserted, remembering how unsettling it was to meet the doctor for the first time. He didn't want to invade Dolly's privacy any further by hanging around.

Doctor Quinn Kavanagh was a specialist for gifted people for several good reasons, not the least of which being that he could sense other people's powers. Since the man didn't exactly scream meta, it was unnerving when he seemed to know as much about his patients' powers as they did, sometimes more, without them saying a word. His practiced eye could see that her shoulder had healed wrong, and even without powers, he would've been able to ascertain the reason. John wouldn't have bothered taking her there unless she had good reason not to go to a hospital for treatment.

"It's up to you," the doctor said. "She's going to be fine, so no worries on that score."

"Thanks, doc," John said with a nod. "You've got my info, so just take the cost out of my account."

"Will do. See you around."

"Sorry for all the trouble," John said to the girl before turning and exiting the room.

He continued down the hall and back out into the street without another glance. He didn't want to waste a night as ideal as this indoors, and besides, the more people hung around the office, the more likely its location would be compromised. Strictly speaking, this office wasn't exactly legal, since the records weren't shared with the government, so they had to keep a low profile.

Back in the room, Dr. Kavanagh pulled out a syringe and spoke as he prepared it, gaging her weight with his powers. His sixth sense told him every detail of life around him, from powers to illnesses, to how much a person weighed, to how much air a person was processing. There was a reason he was considered the best doctor out there, even with the fact that he was practicing under the radar.

"I want to give you a pain-killer so I can put your shoulder back in place," he explained. "It'll just make it go numb for a while. Do you have any allergies, Dolly?"

He spoke with a kindness and calm confidence that was common in most doctors that had been practicing for any length of time, but he seemed so genuine, and he truly cared for his patients. He couldn't help but wonder how this accident had occured. The girl could fly, but John surely couldn't, and the doctor somewhat doubted that John would've run into someone this hard if he was grounded. The man usually had excellent control of himself physically, as was to be expected from someone like him.

[Dahlia Michelle]

"Yeah, it probably needs to be reset," Dahlia murmured, nodding. It'd never actually happened to her before, but she'd thought about it. "After that, it'll take a few minutes to heal."

She glanced at John, who was preparing to leave. It bothered her a little, but that was only because she had been introduced to so many new people as her alternate identity in the course of one night. First John, then the secretary, then the doctor. And now she was being left alone with the last person she had met. Oh, well, it wasn't like she had any particular attachment to any of them. The sooner she was gone from him the better.

But what about the money? When John said he was going to pay for the cost, she called out, "wait!" Then she realized that she probably didn't have the money, anyway. Unless she stole it. But that didn't seem right. She frowned. Well, either way, she'd manage the money. "You can't pay for that. It's my injury, and my fault it's sort of..." She looked at her shoulder. "Complicated." She turned to the doctor. "I'll pay for it."

He pulled out a syringe, which she eyed carefully, listening to his explanation. Slowly, she nodded. She hadn't expected a painkiller; usually when things like this happened (for instance, once her bone broke and burst out of the skin, and she had to push the bone back in for it to heal), she didn't use painkillers. Her and the doctors couldn't afford them.

"Um, I don't know," she replied. Would the painkiller even work for her? She didn't know exactly how her regeneration ability worked, even after all these years.