Attempt to Fight Disease

Wednesday, August 5, 9:45 A.M.

One of Giovanni's scientists slid a needle into Mewtwo's second neck. "Don't move," the man ordered, taping the glass and metal torture device down. He then picked up another, and slid it in, further up the neck. There were five needles in all, all managing to press on a nerve or against a tendon. One grated against cartilage.

It was a dream. Nightmare. Mewtwo knew that, but he couldn't do anything about it. Of course he couldn't. In life, he would have been tied down on a metal table, forced into compliance through suppression of his psychic abilities, and the human's brute strength. He wasn't tied down- he was sitting up- but wasn't it essentially the same thing? He couldn't break free.

"That looks painful," a little girl commented. Mewtwo looked over, careful not to turn his head. From experience, he knew that to move would jostle the needles, scraping their tips against whatever was in their path.

It typically ended in his fainting.

"It is," he said.

The girl nodded, and hopped up onto the examination table next to him. "Why do they do that?" she asked, raising one deathly pale hand to point at the needles. "If it hurts. Don't they care?"

The bruises on her neck were dark, nearly black against the rest of her skin. Her hair was light, fluffing out like bird down around her head and shoulders.

She was dead.

"They don't care," he told her. His spine was starting to tingle, little pin pricks racing up and down his necks and back. "They only care about getting their information."

"Yes," the second girl agreed. Just as pale as the first, neck mottled with bruising. She jumped up onto the table, taking place at Mewtwo's other side. "They don't care about us. No one does."

"Brenda does. She cares."

"She cares about the dead," the first girl said, and shrugged. The second girl echoed the shrug.

"It's nice, having someone looking out for us. But it didn't save us, did it?"

"It won't save any of us," the first girl said. She looked up at Mewtwo, her face grave. "And it won't save you."

"What?" he asked, daring to move, to lean away from the girls. The needles twisted in his neck, dragging along ragged nerve endings. Bursts of light flashed in front of his eyes in reaction, and he could hear a ringing sound. He gasped, and fell back.

Onto the table. The girls were gone. The needles were gone. He was- he was-

He was in the morgue. On the table. His chest was sliced open in a neat Y-cut, and Dr. McClure was carefully removing the two plates of bone that protected his chest.

"You see?" the doctor was saying, turning towards someone Mewtwo couldn't see. "It would have been very painless. In his sleep, no doubt. His heart just couldn't take the stress."

Mewtwo's eyes shot open and he sat bolt upright in bed. With one hand he felt his chest, reassured to find it whole and unblemished. He touched his second neck with the other, barely brushing the fur. Even that simple act made him shiver and wince.

He didn't need a psychology textbook to interpret that dream. Now all he had to do was decide what to do about it.

And, he supposed, make an appointment with Melanie. He doubted he had any genetic disorders, but there was so much about him that was… Well. It couldn't hurt to be certain.

Wednesday, August 5, 10:13 A.M.

She supposed she wasn't happy. Granted, she was going to talk to Hades in his den, without Mewtwo to translate. What, should she be skipping along the sidewalk in anticipation?

Brenda quietly vowed to herself that, if she ever did skip down the sidewalk for any reason, she'd take her gun and blow her own brains out. Islanders, particularly her brand of Islander, didn't skip. Especially not when they were going to talk to the psycho coroner without backup.

Still, she mused. She shouldn't have been sulking just because she wanted to chat with Dr. McClure. Sure, the man was annoying, but if she threatened to punch him, he'd probably shut up. Threaten his movie posters, and he'd probably beg her not to touch them. Geeks were predictable.

She quickened her steps, and growled. Dr. Ben McClure was on the building's steps, clutching a pop can and briefcase like lifelines. A second man, dressed in a cheap suit, holding a notepad and pen, was leaning towards the good Dr. Dead. Figured. Hades himself, out of his lair. And… Well, well, looked like a reporter to her.

This had the potential to be very fun.

Brenda arched her eyebrows, sauntering up to the lab steps. "This guy harassing you?" she asked, nodding to the reporter in question. She kept her eyes on Ben's face. There'd be a proper time to give the media liaison her full attention.

And send him running for the hills.

Ben looked relieved to see the police officer, for the first time since the start of the investigation. "I'm sure he was just about to leave, Detective Johnson. I told him twice that I was unauthorized to speak about the case."

"Detective Johnson?" The reporter managed to look curious, worried, and smarmy, all at once. Brenda could only assume that her reputation had spread to whatever rock he'd crawled out from under. "Kevin Novik, of the Viridian Times. What do you have to say about this recent rash of murders?"

"A rash of murders," Ben repeated incredulously. "A rash, Mr. Novik, is usually the sign of a skin irritation."

"Perhaps you'd like to fill Mr. Novik in on the difference between skin irritations and murder," Brenda said, doing her best to make her voice silky smooth. She ended up growling anyways, but she gave herself points for trying.

Ben frowned. "I think he knows the difference between a minor medical issue and a homicide, detective. I can't imagine the Viridian Times sending someone unclear on the concept to find information about a murder."

Novik spoke up, and edged just a little bit closer to the doctor. The cop was looking like a persian with a tasty pidgey in sight. "Detective, what do you have to say about the death of these children, then?"

Brenda favored him with a bland look. "It stinks, and we're going to catch the culprit and put him in jail for the rest of his life. Or hers," she added, considering. "Though typically women go for poison. Dr. McClure, I'd like to talk to you inside."

Of course, at that point, the reporter had edged between the two of them and the door.

"If you would like to join us, Mr. Novik, you will need an identification patch from the police department," Ben said apologetically. "Perhaps you could get authorization from the chief of police? Most people can't get access to the lab unless they're directly related to any of our ongoing cases."

"I think Mr. Novik is interested in some of your procedures, Doctor," Brenda put in, before the hapless reporter could speak. "Like that- zyphy thing, the one that looks like a sword." She smirked at the confused look Novik shot her.

"The xiphoid isn't a process, detective. It's the bone directly inferior to the sternum," Ben said hesitantly. He didn't want to be rude to her with the reporter listening in, but he felt it was important to have facts straightened out quickly.

"Right, the thing that looks like a sword." This was fun. She had to throw Hades at the reporters some more. Maybe they'd run away screaming. The gods only knew she wanted to. "I think you should explain it, in detail, if you don't mind. I'll just be inside, come along when you're done." She sauntered up to the reporter, pushed him aside, and let herself in.

Then she waited.

Ben didn't want to talk to the reporter. He wanted to get back to his lab, where there were no dazed men clutching notepads. "Mr. Novik. I suggest you file information requests through the appropriate channels. Even if I was authorized to speak on any of the cases currently being investigated, I do not believe you would understand the facts that I study." Ben turned on his heel and stepped inside, and waited until the door closed to comment. "I hate being rude," he told Brenda in an undertone, "but he wasn't going to leave, otherwise."

"I could have thrown him down the stairs," she pointed out. "This was just more fun. Thanks for the help, Hades. Now, I think we have a case to talk about?"

He smiled. "We do. I don't know how much farther I can investigate without straying from details pertinent to the case, but I do have quite a bit of information."

Brenda shoved open the stairwell door. "Then let's get started. English, unless you want me to feed your posters to the shredder."

Ben looked pained. "I'm a coroner, detective, I wasn't trained in colloquial names."

"What?"

"The common names for various muscles, bones, and conditions," Ben said. This could be harder than he thought. "The instructors assumed that coroners would have little to no interaction with patients, so we had no special training on explaining our findings in conversational English."

She growled, and glowered in his direction. "Well, I guess you're just going to have to figure it out, won't you? What more do you need- leg, knee, arm, elbow, chest, shoulders, head- all colloquial names!"

"I need to be more specific than that, detective," Ben protested. "Have you ever read a full coroner's report? There is a legal standard to the level of detail necessary for a conviction based on forensic evidence from the autopsy."

"Great. Your reports can be full of all the specifics you want. I, on the other hand, want something I can actually use. Got it?"

"Use for what purpose?"

"Catching the bad guy, Hades. It's what I do." Brenda gestured at the morgue door. "Is it locked?"

"It always is, when I'm not in." He tapped his ID card at the side of the door. After the lock clicked, he pulled the door open. "After you, detective."

She grunted, and strode into the morgue. It was a few degrees cooler then she preferred, but with the dead bodies, what could you do? "Smith says you think the girls are clones." It also happened to have freaked Mewtwo out. At least now she knew why- and if he started whining about being a clone himself, she'd just have to hit him again. Fuckwit.

"I can't think of an alternate explanation, detective. Their DNA sequences are too similar, and their looks are... well, they all look identical in casual examination. It took me some time to be able to find slight individual differences."

"Goodie," she muttered. "Fine. Smith said you can put your college slaves on looking up people and information?"

"My..." Ben shook his head. "I can put the interns to work as soon as I have details. Would you prefer to discuss the case in my office?"

"Is there a chair?" Brenda pressed her thumb against her bad leg. "Otherwise, no."

"Two chairs." Ben flicked on the lights in his office. "The lab supervisor was in just before I went to lunch. She communicates directly with the chief of police."

"Good for her." Brenda sank down into the closest chair, and stretched out her bad leg. Hades could probably tell she had trouble with the knee, but hopefully he'd be smart enough not to mention it. "So. Your college slaves? I have names for them."

"Names for them to research, or new names with which to refer to them?"

"Well, you could always call your slaves 'idiot one' and 'idiot two', if you wanted," Brenda said, as dry as Hoenn's desert. "But I meant research."

"My interns," Ben stressed, "will be happy to have a job. I've kept them busy with the autoclave, so far."

"Dekker, Michael. Taylor, Elizabeth. Mallory, James. Thompson, Gwen," Brenda recited.

Ben pulled a pad of paper from the top drawer of his desk. "Do you might writing them down for me? I'll start them off with the spellings you know, then work in a few alternates."

"Fine." Brenda grabbed a pen off of Hades' desk, and started scribbling down the names. "That's how I saw them written," she grumbled. "Research papers, mostly."

"Perfect," Ben said. "I've been looking for an excuse to get them into old medical journals. I can have the interns look up more than you'd ever want to know about their professional lives. Will the police look into personal details?"

"Probably, but if your interns find out anything interesting, I wouldn't mind getting that as well." Brenda shrugged. "I know either Taylor or Thompson was married to either of the men, I just can't remember who to who."

"They should find the basics," Ben agreed. "Is that all you wanted to discuss today?"

"No, but I've forgotten what I'm here for," she admitted. "The reporter distracted me."

"You can take your time. I don't know what else I can investigate, at the moment, so I would just be finalizing my reports."

After a moment, Brenda spoke up. "What's the possibility of other clones running around?"

"It is pure speculation, but... I think that it is very likely."

She closed her eyes. "You said that our two were already sick. Would the other clones be sick?"

"Unless the scientists found some method of correcting their methods, yes."

She nodded, and opened her eyes again. "I guess I'd better have people checking the parks. I'll get out of your hair. Next time you see a reporter, you have my permission to give them complete and exacting information on how best to compare DNA samples."

"You would like me to use excessively medical language with them, while sharing information that has no real connection to the case," Ben clarified.

"Exactly. I'm sure they'll enjoy the experience. Or leave you alone after a day."

Ben hesitated. "Did I say something to offend your partner, detective? He seemed very upset."

"Smith?" Brenda hesitated. It wasn't her secret to tell, but... "Smith's had a bad childhood. His parents were scientists. They didn't have any morals." She glowered at the Star Wars poster. "Any scientific experimentation makes him twitchy."

"Perhaps he'll like the angle that I have suggested to my supervisor, then," Ben said. "I am confident that the scientists responsible for these girls can be prosecuted for the most severe violations of research ethics. This is punishable by jail time, and a permanent ejection from the research community."

"And if we can hook them on murder, too, they'll be in for life." Brenda smirked, and stood up. "I think I'll go give him the good news."

"If you must throw reporters, could you make sure they land beyond the lab's property?" Ben asked. "The custodians are busy enough inside the building."

"Shouldn't be too hard. Bye, Hades. Have fun with your paperwork."

Wednesday, August 5, 10:25 A.M.

Mewtwo leaned back, away from his computer, and pressed the pads of his fingers against his eyes. This wasn't working. He couldn't concentrate. He kept feeling something prick his second neck, as if someone were about to shove a needle in. As if that wasn't bad enough, he kept expecting to look down at his chest and see a gaping wound, not smooth fur over bone.

He should have gone with Brenda to see Dr. McClure. At least that way he would have something to distract himself with. But after that nightmare, the thought of the doctor set his fur on end.

Unfortunately, there wasn't anything to do, except research. And at this point, all he was doing was cross referencing names and laboratories. The actual details weren't important, unless a connection stood out.

And apart from several names he thought he recognized, there weren't any connections that he could see.

This wasn't working.

He eyed the coffee machine, perched on the other side of the room. He was now well known for not drinking coffee, at all. There were bets on when he'd have a cup, but that day would not be today.

He could always hack into Peterson's computer and look at the current bets and what the money running on each was- but that wouldn't be an effective use of his time.

Mewtwo looked around the room, and took a deep breath. He was close to panic- not panic, he corrected himself, but extreme unease- and he wasn't getting anywhere in the investigation. Perhaps an hour or so away from the case would help.

Or perhaps he would be able to shake the remnants of the nightmare from his mind. That could only be to the good, in the end. He shut down his computer, and headed for the elevators.

"Where're you going?" Carmichael asked, looking up from his desk.

"Out," he said, and hesitated. "It's personal- related to the case, but not solid. Would you let the Detective know?"

"Your funeral," Carmichael said. "But sure. Good luck."

"Thank you."

The elevator was empty. Mewtwo didn't waste any time, just teleported to an alley near the hospital. Melanie was probably working. If not, he could check her apartment.

He entered through the clinic, and nearly staggered. Entering the building was almost physically painful, the clamor of distressed minds overriding his shields. He built them up, almost three times their normal thickness, and relaxed in the safety of his own mind.

Or- not safety. The ghosts of Rocket scientists whispered over his second neck and shoulders, and he almost flinched. At least his mind was private.

Melanie was working, he noted, seeing a patient into one of the clinic examination rooms. She glanced around the room, and he allowed her to see him without his illusion, for no more then a second.

It was enough. She shot him a startled glance, frowned, and shook her head. He took a seat in one of the uncomfortable chairs, and waited.

Not ten minutes later, she was back. She spoke with the receptionist, who looked up.

"Officer Smith?" she called.

"Yes?" he asked, and stood up. The few scattered people in the waiting room looked mildly resentful, though one or two managed to look guilty at the same time.

"Dr. Copeland can see you now," the receptionist said.

"Thank you." He walked towards the examination room Melanie had disappeared into. Behind him, the clinic continued on; another doctor came out, ready to take another patient.

"Dr. Copeland? Thank you for seeing me." Mewtwo shut the door behind him, and let his illusion fall, completely. "Especially on such short notice."

Melanie tried to not look too worried. "I tend to see you and Brenda when someone is badly injured. Are you alright?" His illusion had been perfect, and she hadn't seen any signs of injury as they entered

"I have been thinking. I am well enough now," he assured, "but that may not always be the case. The Detective is a human and you know what is normal for a human. For me... That would be a difficult matter. I hope I'm not presuming, but you already know about me."

"I don't know much at all," Melanie admitted. "Would you like to sit down?" She gestured to the chair usually reserved for the doctor, a backless chair on wheels. "I'd be closer to your eye level if I hopped up on the table for this one."

He nodded, and perched awkwardly on the seat. "I am not well with doctors," he admitted. "And... Please. Do not touch my second neck."

Melanie nodded. "Done. Your second neck is... extra blood supply to the brain, I would guess? I can get a pulse from other points, very easily."

"That is correct," he said, and tried to relax. She had said she wouldn't touch his neck. "Ah, I think you should also take blood samples, and have it tested. My... unique... origin might adversely effect my health." He wrapped his tail around his feet, and clenched his fists. Unique. That was one word for it.

"You seem very healthy to me, but I think you could use a full physical," Melanie said slowly. "If it is convenient for you, I would like to make a few house calls as well. You'd probably be more comfortable away from the hospital, and I don't need any equipment besides a blood pressure cuff and stethoscope. I would like to get an idea about your usual blood pressure, pulse, and temperature ranges."

He nodded, and ducked his head. "Perhaps at the Detective's house. My apartment is in- well, Brenda calls it 'the Shades'."

"Not my kind of neighborhood," Melanie agreed. "Maybe I could have a shot at giving Brenda half a physical, if we met at her place."

"Or she could try to have Rhonwen eat you."

"I can be sneaky. If I do it right, she won't know that I'm giving her a physical. Some of the points doctors check are simple," Melanie said. "I'm not sure what to do for your physical, to be honest. I know that your bones are much stronger than mine are, but the basic structure and composition is conserved. A good portion of a physical exam checks the cranial nerves--nerves connected directly to the brain."

He flinched back. "I- sorry."

Melanie closed her eyes for a second, and tried to curse at herself very quietly. With that accomplished, she met his eyes. "No, I am sorry. I should have phrased that more carefully. I am not entirely sure that I can do this well, because doctors are pretty narrow-minded." This would just take a little more effort, then. "I should be able to muddle through an examination fairly well."

He shook his head. "Do what you need to do," he said. "I'll be alright."

Melanie crossed her arms. "I'm not doing a thing while you're in the mindset. The only reason I treated a martyr last time was because of the bullet embedded in your shoulder."

He shot her a disgusted look. "The Detective did point out how, ah, 'moronic' I had been," he said. "And I'm fine."

"I don't want to make you feel even more uncomfortable about doctors and hospitals. I'm a bit at a loss because the physical exam has a lot to do with the nervous system, and I can tell with one look that your nervous system is advanced. Increased blood supply, specialized surface anatomy... I'll do my best."

Mewtwo scrubbed his hands over his face, and sighed. "I do trust you," he admitted. "It is only- I will be fine, so long as you do not touch my second neck. It is overly sensitive."

"That would be more cranial nerves," Melanie said, one suspicion confirmed. "Would you say that you're stronger than most people?"

He favored her with a look he'd picked up from Brenda. It was bland, as such looks went, but it still spoke volumes. "Of course."

Melanie grinned, unaffected. "I'm just getting an idea of things, that's all. Mind if I break out the stethoscope? I'm predicting a very impressive blood supply, if you have an extra set of vessels to the brain and increased strength."

"Fine." The fur along his neck and shoulders bristled, but he managed to keep his tail still, instead of it swinging around and knocking a hole in the wall.

Melanie took her time, and kept her touch gentle. "Doctors don't just listen to the heart," she explained as she positioned the stethoscope's end about an inch from the center of his chest. "This position, here, lets me hear one of the four valves. Deep breath, please."

Mewtwo sucked in a breath, and thought of something. "The bones won't get in the way?" he asked.

"I'm putting the end between the first and second ribs, for this valve," she said. "There are four, total, that the heart uses when pumping blood. I could tell you all the details, but we'd be here for ages." She moved the stethoscope to the right. "Another breath, please."

He took another breath, but tapped his chest plate. "I meant the bone up here. It doesn't alter the sound?"

"It's completely solid," Melanie said. "The sound carries through it nicely." She moved the stethoscope down. "From what I've heard, your heart is just what I'd expect. It's louder than mine, but sounds along the lines of an athlete in top condition."

"Because I want to be compared to an idiotic human paid absurd amounts of money."

She moved the stethoscope a last time. "For this? Definitely. I can run a cholesterol test, to be sure, but I don't foresee any heart problems." She set the stethoscope on the counter. "Your heart sounds perfect. Have you ever had issues with your lungs?"

"Outside of being hit in the ribs? No." He'd only ever been hit the once, by those dragons. "And I've never caught a cold or the flu, before you ask."

"I'll take those as signs of excellent respiratory and immune function, then," she said. "Have you always healed rapidly?"

"I couldn't say," he admitted. "I'm rarely injured."

"I'll answer my own question, then. You have very dense muscle tissue, and healed key muscles for upper limb mobility within days. May I check your pulse? I can use your wrist, for that."

"Alright." He held up one hand, and tilted his head. "This is normal? For a physical exam?"

"For a low-technology version, yes," Melanie said. "I've been going in a different order, and omitting most tests of the nervous system."

"You will have to do a complete exam," he pointed out. His fur, which had relaxed, stood on end again.

"In time," Melanie said. "I usually save the sillier tests for the end."

He arched one eyebrow, and moved his tail around to the side. If he didn't manage to relax, and soon, his tail would cramp up. "What sort of tests?"

"Cranial nerves nine and twelve, as well as the Golgi tendon organ reflex of the patellar ligament," she answered promptly.

"The- what?" Mewtwo almost recoiled in confusion. He had read medical textbooks, but obviously none of it had stayed with him. Just what was the Golgi tendon organ reflex of the- he couldn't even remember the whole thing.

Melanie picked up a small object from the counter. It looked like a very small hammer, made out of rubber. "I tap the tendon just below your knee with this hammer, and then watch to see if your leg kicks out. It tests nerve function within your spinal cord."

"You want to see if I can kick?" Mewtwo asked, and then looked down at his legs in something approaching disbelief. "I'm not even sure I can. At least, not as humans do."

"That's part of the reason I'm not giving a full exam," she said. "My knees are backwards, compared to yours. I'm improvising as best I can, but some details just don't translate."

"Shouldn't it be my knees are backwards?" he asked, and then shrugged. His 'knees' were actually his ankles- but that was specifics. Being hit with a hammer anywhere on his legs was hardly a frightening prospect. "Do you have anything more to check?"

"It doesn't matter one way or the other, does it? You will be very aware of any difficulties with your nervous system, I believe, so I'll focus on things that aren't so conscious. May I try to get a pulse at your wrist?"

He gestured with his upheld hand, and decided nothing more need be said, save an ironic look. He had been holding it up the entire time, after all.

Melanie blushed, and touched two fingers just beside his hand. She kept her eyes on her watch as she counted the pulse for ten seconds. "An even fifty," she said. "That's a very healthy rate."

"Good to know." He frowned a little, and then smirked. "How are you going to examine the Detective without her noticing? Examinations apparently involve a lot of touching."

"If she happens to roll her eyes at me, I know the oculomotor nerve is working."

"She rolls her eyes a lot."

"The two of you are going to be my most interesting patients, I can see that right now. Did you know that Brenda terrified half the staff here, with her one visit?"

Mewtwo shrugged. "I did notice, yes."

She sat back on the exam table. "I don't think a full physical exam would do either of us much good. Your heart, lungs, and immune system are perfect, you heal well, and you don't have any physical complaints. Perhaps you can clarify why you waned to come see me today." She would like to get a blood sample and a normal temperature, but those could both wait another few minutes.

"How foolish would you think me if I told you I'm here due to a nightmare?" he asked. At least he wasn't speaking with Brenda.

"I thought it would be some specific wake-up call," Melanie said. "I have tried to do my homework, about what treatment you would need, but there isn't much literature. I think that you'll only need me for acute care."

And there went any remaining tension. Obviously, he had been spending far too much time around the extremely volatile Detective. "Quite effective," he agreed. "And I'd much rather not need your aid at all, but I am well aware that I'm not invulnerable." He lifted one hand to his second neck, but didn't touch. His wince, hopefully, said it all.

"I don't have the right equipment this time, but I would like to get a temperature," Melanie said. The room's thermometer took a reading from the ear, which seemed impractical. "Today, I'll be set with a blood sample. I won't submit your name with the sample, and I'll save everything for a senior technician."

"One that you can intimidate, I take it?" He smirked, and held out his hand again. "Help yourself."

She jumped off the exam bed lightly and glanced at his arm. "You have excellent veins," she complimented as she took out a blood draw kit. Melanie took no chances. She disinfected with iodine, used the rubber tourniquet to trap blood in the desired vein, and took her time inserting the needle.

Melanie bit her lip harshly. His entire arm was trembling, and she had just inserted the small needle attached to a short length of tubing. She didn't look away from her work, but imagined that the shaking wasn't just confined to his arm. At least the two small vials would fill themselves, when attached to the tube. She set the vials of blood on the counter, withdrew the needle, and deliberately turned her back to dispose of it in the sharps container. She would give him a moment, after that. She would give all the moments he wanted.

Mewtwo pressed his hand against his elbow, and focused on his breathing. It hadn't been that bad. Nothing had broken, his arm didn't hurt. It had been over quickly. He was fine. Just fine. "I think I have a paranoia," he said. At least a telepathic voice couldn't waver and crack.

"I've had dozens of patients with the same reaction," she said as she untied the tourniquet. "About a third faint the instant they see either the needle or their blood. I don't imagine needing another sample any time soon."

"Good to know." There were, of course, always drugs in case she did need more blood- but he was highly reluctant to go that route. As long as it was infrequent, he would likely have little trouble. "Is there anything else? Or should I let you go back to your other patients?"

"You are one of my patients, Mewtwo," she said firmly. "This is all that I need for today. Do you have any other questions?"

"No, not at the moment. Perhaps at a later date. And I'll see if the Detective will extend an invitation to your house, if you like."

Melanie held out her hand. "If you can convince her to let me check on that leg, you'll be my hero," she wheedled. "I know that I can't do much, but I've looked into a few stretches that might help her."

Mewtwo smirked, and took the doctor's hand. "I make no promises, but I'm sure that if you get in the door, you'll work wonders. Or I could just mention it to her family."

He stood up, and nearly winced as tense muscles stretched and relaxed. Uncomfortable as it was, at least this examination had done one thing. It had sufficiently distracted him.

"Good day, doctor," he said, and then left before he could further embarrass himself.

End Notes

Are your eyes burning yet? Long chapter, huh? (Either twelve or fourteen pages, I lost count and refuse to check.) Major kudos to CalliopeMused, responsible for Ben, Melanie, and editing. And I know, I know, lots of talking- but that changes next chapter. We're back to the murders, darlin', and man are they messy.