This is a secret santa gift for my pal Kolas/Lobotish/Butterscotch Fox! I love this prompt so much that I wrote 2 of them and there is still more to come! Thank you!
"I shouldn't be gone for more than a day."
Sasha was not sure why Milla kept repeating that assurance, as he had not made any vocal inquiry regarding the length of her absence from Whispering Rock Psychic Summer Camp. He hadn't been thinking the question either, at least not in any way that one could easily pick up with telepathy. Perhaps she had noticed some unconscious anxiety simmering just beneath the surface of his psyche that he was not aware of- sometimes it seemed that she knew his own emotions better than he did.
They were both in her quarters near Lake Oblongata, him sitting on the bed watching her as she packed her things in the most aggravating manner possible. She kept taking garments out of the dresser drawer, holding them up in front of her and scrutinizing them before shoving them into her already-stuffed overnight bag. Not a second later she would remove that very same article of clothing and exchange it for something else, which would then be quickly replaced by yet another brightly-colored article of clothing. If Sasha had been the one being sent on an urgent mission to meet a mercenary of dubious moral character he would have had a single outfit neatly folded and ready the previous night.
Sasha was not overly-concerned about Milla's well-being, as this particular mercenary, who claimed to have 'super important information like you wouldn't believe', was very obviously harboring a serious crush on her and he suspected that this 'information' was merely pretense to meet with her alone (Milla, for her part, could never remember this person's name or face with any consistency). He was also not too worried about having to supervise the campers without her assistance. He did, however, feel the need to point out that a one-day trip likely did not require six dresses.
"Oh, darling," she said, putting aside a pair of garishly-striped shorts and coming over to him. "You know that I like to have more than one outfit on hand, in case I change my mind." She put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed, her warm skin penetrating the leather of his jacket. "I'll be back by tomorrow afternoon at the latest."
Sasha frowned and said nothing, silently watching her pack, silently getting up when she had finished, and then following her as she walked out of her quarters and headed to the jet (silently, of course). When they arrived he allowed her to throw her arms around his neck (and he only returned the embrace because she seemed to be losing her balance. Yes.). "I won't be gone long," she said, the words spoken against his ear in a way that made him want to tighten his hold on her, though he didn't. She untangled herself from him and rushed up the ramp, turning back to give a quick wave before disappearing inside the jet. Within seconds the plane was aloft and flying off towards the established meeting place.
For a moment, Sasha stood there, watching the jet as it diminished in the distance. Then he realized that what he was doing was foolish and set off back to his lab.
He told himself he could handle a day (or two or more) without her as he walked, the mud from yesterday's rain squelching unpleasantly under the nice, Italian leather loafers she had bought him for his birthday. Did he want to? No, not particularly, but that was only because he enjoyed her company and not because he had any doubt in his abilities to manage twenty psychic children of varying levels of stability and sanity. It wasn't like he was on his own, as both Morry and Ford were still present. The temporary absence of one person was neither a reason to alter his routine or feel unnecessary stress.
"Agent Nein!" called a high-pitched, somewhat nervous sounding voice. "Hey! Agent Nein!"
Sasha paused, listening as the child ran over to him, only turning around once the cadet had caught up to him. Quentin Hedgemouse stood before him, not appearing all that winded from the quick dash from the Cabin area. This camper looks unwell, Sasha thought, noting the dark circles under the boy's eyes and the quick, anxious way he played with the edges of his scarf. The scarf itself was not properly wrapped at all, hanging loosely around Quentin's neck. This irritated Sasha and he resisted the urge to fix it (with telekinesis, of course- psychically touching the children was something he did only as a last resort). "You're up early," Sasha observed, as it was just a little bit past dawn.
"Ah, yeah." Quentin trailed off in a forced laugh, seemingly embarrassed at being awake at this hour. Sasha guessed that this meant that Quentin had simply not slept at all. He could not help but be curious about this, as Quentin was one of the more well-adjusted campers. "Was that, uh…?" He pointed upwards at nothing in particular. "Was that Milla? Leaving just now?"
"Milla has been called away on an emergency mission that I am not allowed to elaborate on," Sasha replied. His response must have sounded terse, for he saw Quentin flinch a bit; probably assuming that Sasha's annoyance had been directed at him. "She should be back soon," he continued, making an effort to keep his tone neutral.
"Oh." The single syllable was heavy with disappointment. Quentin looked up at the sky, then back at Sasha's impassive expression. They stared at one another, neither of them certain of whether they should continue the conversation or just go their separate ways. It was obvious enough that Quentin was having some sort of trouble that he had wanted to speak with someone about, and that someone had been Milla. Sasha did not need to read Quentin's mind to know that he was having a mental debate regarding his next course of action. He read it anyway, finding that the boy's thoughts matched up with the movement of his eyes. When his eyes shifted to the right, he was considering taking his chances with Sasha, and when he looked down at his shoes, he was thinking no, maybe I can just wait…
Sasha did not care to be anybody's second choice, but it was clear enough that Quentin's problem was causing him a significant amount of emotional distress, and it was would have been irresponsible on his part to send Quentin back to bed in the state that he was in. The nature of this problem could not have been that complex, as Quentin Hedgemouse was a generally competent young man who had no conflict with his peers and a stable home life. Chances were good that this problem was merely a molehill being made into a mountain, as was typically the case with children Quentin's age. "Is something the matter?" Sasha asked, getting straight to the point. "I understand that you would have preferred to speak with Agent Vodello-"
"Oh, no!" Quentin interrupted, holding his hands out in a placating manner in front of him. He appeared to be under the impression that Sasha had taken offense at him wanting to talk to Milla and not him. "You're a good dude, uh, I like…talking to you too?"
Sasha waited for Quentin to stop stammering idiotically before continuing. "I am only offering to lend an ear for your benefit, not my own. If you would rather wait for Agent Vodello's return, I will not hold it against you."
Quentin looked away, bit his lip, wrung his hands, and then finally nodded. "Yeah, okay. If it's not like, too much trouble." He breathed out, the very act of getting someone to listen to him alleviating some of his anxiety. "Thanks, bro, I appreciate it."
Sasha inclined his head, not really sure of why he was being thanked when he had not yet done anything, and certainly not sure why he was being referred to as a 'bro' . The day had just barely begun and already the sky was overcast with dark gray clouds. "Let's proceed to my lab and we can discuss whatever it is that's bothering you there."
"Your lab?" Quentin rubbed the back of his neck nervously. "How 'bout we go to the Main Lodge? It's closer!" He smiled weakly up at Sasha. "Also, there's like hot chocolate and stuff."
That was a good point, though Sasha was not sure why Quentin was so averse to going to his lab. But there was little reason to argue about it, and a cup of black coffee sounded pretty appealing at this point in time. "Fine, then," he agreed, walking off towards the lodge, Quentin trailing only slightly behind him.
It took maybe five minutes to arrive at the Main Lodge and then another ten before they actually sat down and started talking, as Quentin had insisted upon fixing Sasha a cup of coffee as a show of gratitude ("You sure you don't want a cup of this killer hot chocolate?" "Quite"). Five more minutes had passed since then, making it twenty total since Quentin had first approached Sasha.
He still had no idea what Quentin's problem actually was. It was not from any reluctance to speak on the boy's part- even now he was chattering on in that slang-filled, approachable manner that he had, his sentences peppered with extraneous 'likes' and 'mans'. He spoke mostly about how 'bummed out' his problem was making him, and how he had been trying to find somebody to talk to about it.
"Phoebe, yeah, she would have been the best, you know?" He paused, trying to confirm whether or not Sasha did, in fact, know. "She and I have been tight since, jeez, I don't know man, feels like forever. But I was like, 'oh man, what if she gets super worried about me and gets all worked up?' She already tries to take care of everybody else. You know she wants to be a Psycho-therapist, yeah? So thought maybe I oughta go to Chops, he's pretty cool…"
On it went like that. Sasha allowed it, because oftentimes a person revealed more through the way they said something than through the words themselves. Here, Quentin spoke rapidly, when normally the tempo of his speech was more relaxed. His hands seemed to move about as though they did not know what to do with themselves, the fingers of one hand tracing patterns onto the scratched wooden surface of the table while the other made vague, random gestures as he talked. He was smiling, yes, but it wasn't the natural, friendly smile that usually graced his features, one more strained and uncertain that seemed to only be there out of habit.
Sasha also noticed that while Quentin had put a great deal of thought into the reasons why he couldn't talk to his peers about his problem, he hadn't made any mention of turning to his family members. Sasha had met both of Quentin's parents during Parent's Day and remembered them as being kind and supportive in the way that wealthy, liberal couples with one child often were. Contacting them would not have been difficult for Quentin; Morry let the campers use his phone so long as they came during the appropriate hours. This led Sasha to conclude that Quentin's problem involved his family and was not the petty camp drama that Sasha had initially suspected that it was.
Interesting.
When Sasha had collected all the data that Quentin's indirect rambling could offer him, he held up a hand. "You've already mentioned how 'chill' Dogen Boole is," he said as Quentin's cheeks flushed in embarrassment. "I think it's time you told me what specifically is causing you so much anxiety."
"I wouldn't say that I'm anxious," Quentin replied, wrapping one hand around the handle of his mug. "I'm just, you know, going through a rough patch, I guess. Kinda freaked out." He let go of the mug and lifted it up with shaky telekinesis, bringing the mug to his lips and taking a sip. A drop of liquid spilled out of the mug, splattering onto the table.
Sasha watched as Quentin sipped and then swallowed, his mouth set into a neutral line. When Quentin set the mug down, he spoke. "I cannot help you with your problem if you do not tell me what it is," he said, his tone neither soft nor impatient. He glanced over at the window, noticing a few drops of water on the glass plane. "Perhaps we should suspend this conversation for now and return to it when you're feeling more emotionally prepared to address it."
"No!" Quentin shot to his feet, his arms outstretched as though to keep Sasha from leaving, despite him not actually having made any move to rise. "Don't- no, no man." He lowered himself back down into his seat, placing his head in his hands. "I can talk now, I just…" He sighed and looked up at Sasha, his eyes holding a sort of nervous bafflement in them. "I don't even know if there even is a problem. Maybe I'm just getting all freaked out over nothing."
It was clear that Quentin had never experienced any sort of real difficulty in his life up until this point, and he came off as more confused by his distress than depressed or angry. It was likely that Quentin's inability to broach the topic in a direct manner was result of him not knowing how to put what was bothering him into words. "This has something to do with your family," Sasha said, hoping that a plain statement of fact would help Quentin get started.
Quentin's eyes widened in surprise. "Yeah," he said, voice tinged with awe at Sasha's accurate guess. "How'd you know- oh wait." He slapped himself on the head. "Duh, mind-reading."
"Well no, I did not have to use telepathy to come to that conclusion. But we don't need to dwell on that right now," Sasha said, waving his hand to move the conversation along. "You are having some sort of issue at home, but you aren't sure what the exact nature of this issue is and it's causing you a significant amount of stress."
"Wow. That about sums it up," Quentin said, sitting up a little more. His shoulders visibly sagged with relief at Sasha's assessment. "I just got the feeling that something like, really major happened and nobody wants to tell me about it cuz they don't want to ruin my good time."
Sasha tapped his chin contemplatively. "And what about their behavior makes you think that?"
"That's the thing! I don't know why I'm thinking this!" He rubbed his temples, squeezing his eyes shut. "I'll talk to my mom or my dad and I'll be all like 'hey what's the happy-haps?' and they'll start telling me a bunch of mundane stuff." He opened his eyes, casting a wearing gaze at Sasha. "But they'd get like, super detailed about all this boring stuff, and I don't remember them ever doing that before?" His eyes fell to the table, remaining fixed on the drops of cocoa drying on the table. "And then they'll ask me about my day, which, yeah, they always do, but it all sounds so…forced. Like they're trying to make themselves be happy or something." Furrowing his brows, he began scratching his thumbnail into the table, leaving a thin, curving line in the wood. "I don't know. Maybe it's just me. Maybe this weird feeling I get in my stomach when I talk to them is just indigestion or something."
"If what you're reporting is an accurate account of your parent's behavior, I believe that you have some cause for concern." Sasha took a sip of his coffee (not badly prepared considering its maker was a ten year old boy) and added "of course, there is a possibility that that you may be picking up on some lingering anxiety left behind by one of your peers. Let's assume, however, that that's not the case," Sasha said, pushing aside his mug and leaning forward. "Have you made any attempt at bringing this up with your parents?"
"Um." Quentin looked away guiltily. "I mean, I tried. Sort of."
"Define try for me."
"The other night I was talking to my mom and I asked if there was, you know, anything that I should know and she just got all quiet and stuff for a sec. And then she started talking about adding banana peels to the compost heap. Which is great and all, but totally not what I meant." He scratched his head, looking perplexed. "She's never kept secrets from me before. Except for the whole Santa Claus and Tooth Fairy thing, but she was a lot more chill about that."
"Hm." Sasha was, by this point, genuinely interested in Quentin's situation, if only because he wanted to see how this relatively sheltered child dealt with emotional difficulty and not because he had any empathy for him. "What would be the worst case scenario for you?" he asked, resting his chin on his steepled fingers.
Quentin blinked, apparently never having actually thought of the question. "Um, I guess…my parents getting divorced?" He frowned, scrunching his nose up. "But that doesn't seem right, because they don't really fight or yell at each other or anything."
"What else, then?"
It took Quentin a solid minute to think of a catastrophe that had a reasonable chance of befalling his family, a difficult task given how unfamiliar with strife he was. But it did eventually occur to him, and Sasha observed how the blood drained instantly from the boy's face, how his eyes filled with panic, and his mouth dropped open in shock. "Oh my God," he said, his voice low with despair. "Dude. It's my grandma." The stress the statement had caused him was so strong that even Sasha, with his limited emphatic abilities, was able to register it. "Something happened to her." He shot up from his seat, his panic urging him into action of some sort, and then just stood there, clueless as to what that action should be. "I haven't like, talked to her since…I dunno!" he shouted, his voice echoing throughout the empty lodge.
"Is that an unusual occurrence?" Sasha asked, cool in the face of Quentin's alarmed state.
"Uh…" Quentin rocked back and forth a little on his feet as he thought, swaying almost like he would on a levitation ball. Perhaps such motions are calming for him, Sasha theorized, mimicking the physical feel of being on a ball could be an unconscious attempt to induce the mental state one must be in to maintain it.
"I guess it's not that weird," Quentin eventually concluded. "My Grandma likes to travel. Last summer she went hiking in the Andes." He breathed out a sigh of relief. Unfortunately, his relief was short lived, as a new despairing thought crept into his mind. "But why wouldn't my parents just tell me that?" Quentin asked, not at all comforted by Sasha's shrugged response. "Usually they'll be like, 'oh, Gram's chillin' in the Sahara,' and I'll be like 'cool' but they haven't said anything about her leaving." The swaying began again, though it seemed to do little to abate Quentin's rising panic. "And if she's home, why isn't she talking to me? Maybe she's busy?" Again, he looked to Sasha for an answer and received only a shrug in reply. "But even then my parents would be like 'oh Gram says hi.' So what gives? Is she okay? Did she get sick? Did she get hurt? What if-"
"Enough." Sasha cut off Quentin's increasingly rapid rambling with a single stern word. He motioned for the camper to sit back down, which Quentin obeyed. "This sort of speculation will only exacerbate your anxiety. You need to take steps to actually address the problem."
Quentin nodded numbly, though he missed what Sasha had meant. "You think I should try asking about Grandma directly?"
"No. If there is something wrong with her your parents are just going to continue lying about it." Sasha leveled a hard stare right at Quentin, who shrank back nervously. "You need to figure out a way to find out what's happening that doesn't involve speaking to your parents."
"Um, how do I do that?" Quentin asked, blinking up as Sasha as he tried to comprehend his meaning. "I'm not sure I'm catching your drift, Agent Nein."
"You have to use your psychic powers." Sasha mentally assessed what he knew of Quentin's skills. "You have achieved the highest rank available at this camp. I see no reason why you couldn't use telepathy over the phone to read one of your parent's minds."
"I dunno, dude," Quentin said uneasily. "My telepathy is only, like, okay. I don't know if I could do something like that."
To Sasha that sounded like an excuse not to try, and he told Quentin as much. "You've never had a reason to push the limits of your telepathy," he pointed out, "so this could be an opportunity to test the skills you will need in the future."
Quentin still wasn't convinced, despite the clear logic of Sasha's reasoning. "That…doesn't that kind of stuff have consequences?"
"If by consequences you mean that you discover the truth, then yes," Sasha replied, irritated by Quentin's hesitation. "Isn't that what you want?"
"I mean, I guess," Quentin conceded reluctantly. "So you've never read someone's mind and had it backfire on you?"
There was a brief pause on Sasha's part. "No, never."
"Really?" Quentin raised his eyebrows. "You've never accidentally gone too far and found out something you didn't want to know?"
"We are not talking about me," Sasha said, an edge of frustration in his tone. "We are talking about you and your problem." He flicked his bangs off of his forehead. "If you are so averse to using telepathy, how about trying Clairvoyane? Do you have an item that you can use to establish a mental connection with your Grandmother?"
Immediately Quentin's hands flew to the scarf around his neck. "I…have a few things, I think."
"Good. Use them to find out your Grandmother's condition." Quentin opened his mouth to speak but Sasha interrupted him. "Or don't, and continue to remain in the dark. It is your choice."
"This will make me feel better?" Quentin said, looking at Sasha with desperation. "Even if it's a super bad thing?"
"It is always better to know the full scope of a situation," Sasha said before finishing off the last of his coffee. "Once you know what you're up against, you can take steps to address it in a logical, efficient way."
Quentin sighed, absently rubbing the material of his scarf between his fingers. "Yeah, I guess you're right. But I still gotta like, sort myself out before I do anything."
"If you feel the need to emotionally prepare yourself, that's understandable. But if you wait too long you will talk yourself out of doing it," Sasha warned. "But it's your decision to make."
"Um, yeah, I'll keep that in mind." Quentin rose, taking his mug with him. "Thanks Agent Nein. Really appreciate the help." He thumbed towards the rec room. "I'm gonna go watch some infomercials and try to think things over."
Sasha nodded and watched Quentin as he departed; confident that the boy would see the value of the advice he had been given. He was not particularly invested in Quentin Hedgemouse- he was more Milla's student- but he decided that he'd keep an eye on him for the next few days, as an ordeal like this was the sort that would show the true potential of a cadet. He got up, used telekinesis to place the mug in the kitchen's sink, and then headed towards the exit, feeling pretty satisfied with himself for setting Quentin on a path that would no doubt lead to positive growth. He opened the door and found that it had not yet begun to rain, which only improved his good mood.