(no subject)

[x-sanfuaiyaa.livejournal.com]

Since he should have done this an awfully long time ago, Shiro finally goes to see Doc Samson. He explains his story and asks the big question that's bothering him: What now? Samson gives his opinion, and Shiro agrees to think about it. Much thanks to Ande for socking the good doc.


Talking had never been one of Shiro's strong points. Opening up to Alex and Paul was easy enough since he'd known them for a while before considering them confidantes, but he'd never spoken to, much less seen, this Doctor Samson. But he knew that it was something he had to do, and rather than allow himself to be forced into it, he decided to finally show some initiative. Still dressed in clothing that covered him nearly head-to-toe, he went to the therapist's office and knocked on the door.

Leonard was flipping through some papers and when the knock came, he got up to answer the door. "Come on in," he said. "I'm Doctor Samson."

"I'm Yo . . ." Shiro stopped himself. Introducing oneself family name first was a Japanese thing, and he was trying to get over that. "I'm Shiro Yoshida. Do you, uh, do you have a few minutes?"

"Nice to meet you, Shiro." Oh, this was a good sign. Leonard was genuinely pleased to see the young man. "I do have time, yes. It's a slow day, not many takers right now. Why don't you make yourself comfortable and then you can tell me what I can do for you." He closed the door behind Shiro and took a seat behind his desk.

Shiro nodded and slowly made his way to the big comfy chair across of Samson's desk. He was obviously reluctant to be there, but he kept on reminding himself that is was something he needed to do. "I . . ." He bit his lip and looked around at all the books and degree certificates hanging up. "Well, I don't know."

"Do you mind if I take some notes for reference?" Samson pulled out a blank pad of paper and a pen. "And if you don't know, then why don't you tell me why you're here and then we'll see where we end up."

Shiro shrugged, suddenly finding a stray thread on the cuff of his sleeve to be of great interest. "Professor Xavier has probably given you all of my files, so you should know why." He sighed again. "Life sucks, so I did what any teenager with superhuman powers would do: try to get rid of all of the pain."

"That makes perfect sense. But it didn't go very well, did it?" Samson looked genuinely sympathetic, chin in his hand, listening.

"What gave you that idea?" Shiro asked bitterly. "Actually, it went all according to plan. I did not want to be a mutant anymore, and now, black skin aside, I have no powers. I cannot fly or manipulate plasma. I can't even see infrared light and heat signatures. I am no more a mutant than you are."

"So, what's the problem then?" Samson frowned, tapping his pen on the paper.

"The question that I have been thinking about for the past week is 'What now?'" Shiro ran a hand through his hair and shook his head. "I guess I should start at the beginning, ne? This might make more sense to you, then."

"It does help." Samson nodded seriously. "So, please, tell me so maybe I can be of use to you."

Shiro nodded and took a breath before staring. "My father was a diplomat when I was young, so he was often working late or on business trips. So my mother and her brother, Tomo, raised me. My mother died when I was 8, after my sister Leyu was born, so then my father cut back time at work to help Tomo take care of us. But when I got my powers when I was 11, Tomo thought that I could be used as a weapon. He despised America and the Western World. His family nearly died in Hiroshima, and he wanted revenge. When my father found out, Tomo shot him. I saw it." Shiro gulped and looked down. It was always hard remembering his parents, and he could never control the rage he always felt whenever he thought of Saburo lying dead on the floor.

Samson took notes as Shiro spoke and only paused to watch his reaction. "I see," he said quietly. "I'm sorry for your losses, Shiro." His voice was very deep and mellow and he was sincere in his regret.

Shiro acknowledged Samson with a brief nod before continuing. "Tomo was the first person I ever killed. When I was through with him, there wasn't anything left besides a charred corpse." If his skin had been its normal color, Samson would have seen him turn red in shame.

Samson watched the boy's posture change as he spoke, filing away the fact that the boy had killed a family member at eleven as a core piece of information. "Understandable," he said simply. "Then what happened?"

"My sister and I were given over to my father's cousins, Keniuchio Harada and Mariko Yashida, since they are - or were, I guess - our only living relatives. They took care of us until recently." Now that Shiro was talking, he felt the words come to him easily, and while he still couldn't bring himself to actually look up, he wasn't hiding anything. "Harada is active with the Yakuza, and had me do things on his behalf every so often. Mostly delivering messages, either written or oral. In October, Mariko convinced him to send me here so I could further develop my powers. She'd been tutoring me since I was 12, but I had gotten to the point where I was beyond her."

Samson nodded, taking notes. "And you came here for teaching and training, and then... Harada decided he had other plans for you?"

"Professor Xavier filled you in, I take it." Shiro said, contemplating his fingernails. "Earlier this year, he had me organize a meeting between his men and Piotr Rasputin, one of the X-Men here, if you haven't met him. That was my only part, and I insisted that he be the only person involved and that there be no violence of any kind. The men, of course, promptly violated the agreement and threatened Piotr's sister Illyana. But we fought them before Illyana could be hurt and sent Harada's men away."

Samson nodded. "Yes, I'm familiar with the incident. I also do try and look over the journals once in a while," he said. "Go on?"

"Harada was, as expected, furious with me, so when Alex and I went to Tokyo last month, he told me that I was going to leave this school and join him in the Yakuza." Now he looked up. Thinking about this ultimatum always made him sick, and he could feel his stomach twisting in knots as he spoke. "I-I refused. He was half-an-inch from killing me, but he let me go. He said he was ashamed of me, that I lacked pride and the will to be a samurai. I was disowned, so I left with Alex and my sister. I would not let Leyu-chan stay there for him to use as he pleases. God only knows what would happen if he had her."

"A wise choice." Samson nodded and looked up from his notes. "He was wrong," Samson pointed out, just so that it was clear. "He was wrong both in his demands and his assessment of you."

"Was he?" Shiro rubbed his belly, trying to make the nausea go away. "If I had strength of character and a powerful will, I would not look like this!" He bit his lip. "I would have done the right thing and spoken with Professor Xavier or someone instead of nearly killing myself and Mr. Beaubier."

"If you had none, you would have agreed to his demand," Samson said gently. "And you cannot take actions you have not been taught to take. These things require time and practice to learn, Shiro. What you did was foolish, but also brave, and requiring a great will to do as well."

"I really wish people would stop coddling me," Shiro said quietly. "What I did was cowardly, not brave. It was one of the most foolish, most self-destructive acts I have ever seen anyone do, and that is including everything I have witnessed after nearly ten months here."

"I'm not coddling you, Shiro, I'm simply taking a less punitive approach." Samson's tone was dry and he sat back in his chair, observing the boy. "I won't argue with it being foolish and self-destructive, though. I maintain that I do not believe that you are a coward. And as such, I shall ask you what you intend to do now."

Shiro could not answer that question immediately. Even after speaking with Paul, he still was not sure what future he wanted for himself. "Mr. Beaubier asked me the same question. I don't know. I need to take care of Leyu-chan . . ."

"I'm sure some assistance to that end can be arranged," Samson said slowly, thinking. "There are legal issues involved, perhaps you two should have a guardian named Stateside, for your own protection. Aside from caring for your sister, Shiro, what do you think you will do? I know you may not have one answer for me, but I'm sure you have some small thoughts on it."

"In Japan, college is really the only place to go after completing high school. This will be my last year of high school now, but I don't know if I can go to college. I have no money of my own, nor do I have any idea what I want to do. One can't really make a good living out of drawing, which is where my talents seem to lie."

"Well, one can make a living out of one's art, with training," Samson was looking distant and thoughtful. "I do not think that you are bereft of resources, Shiro. If you wish to go to school, university or a trade school, I am sure it can be arranged. All you have to do is head in that direction and," Samson leaned forward and pointed at Shiro with his pen, "ask for help from those you trust."

It wouldn't have been a talk with Shiro if one did not make that last point. Shiro sighed and nodded. "I know. I did some research on the Internet, not much, about art schools in the area. I don't know how interested I am in it, though. I could probably make a lot more money as a stuntman for cheesy Kung Fu movies than I could as a starving artist . . ."

"Why not do both?" Samson suggested, and he sounded sincere. "You have many options, Shiro. You don't have to pick just one right now. It's good to have a focus for the future, though. And it's good to ask for help. You'd be surprised how much people genuinely enjoy helping someone out."

"Do they even film Kung Fu movies in New York?" Shiro asked thoughtfully before shaking his head. "I'm getting better at it. The fact that I am here testifies to that fact, ne?"

"They do a great deal of filming in New York," Samson said. He'd been poking at a handheld computer that was lying on the desk near his notepad. "And I see from your records that you should be graduating next year, so you'd be free to travel after that as well."

Shiro mulled this over, nodding slowly. It was refreshing getting advice from a neutral third party. Not that he had ever doubted Paul's words (much). But he had some semblance of direction now, and that was good. "I never thought that I would actually get to make my own decisions. If I never came here, then I probably would have ended up applying to Tokyo University and getting my degree in whatever field my cousins fet appropriate."

"Liberation can be unnerving," Samson said, nodding. "But I think you'll also find it very satisfying in the end."

"It can't be much worse than being someone's tool," Shiro said. Taking that as the end of the session, Shiro stood up. "Thank you for listening, Doctor. Between my sister's insistence that I'm mentally retarded, Alex almost crying over me, and Mr. Beaubier wanting to strangle me, I appreciate an unbiased ear."

"Any time, Shiro." Samson stood and offered Shiro a handshake. "I'm not always this available so you can feel free to make an appointment if you'd like to drop by again, even if it's just to go over your schooling plans. I'm certainly willing to discuss you and your future, or your past, any time."

"Yes, sir. Thank you." Shiro took Samson's hand and shook it firmly before heading back to his room to look at that one art school that had struck his fancy.