Synopsis:

Another BigCloset TopShelf story.

This chapters subtitle pretty much tells it all, Fashion and the Lab Rat. Our heroine gives an accidental fashion show and gets poked, prodded, pricked and dunked, all in the name of science.

Andy Warhol said,"In the future, everyone will be famous for 15 minutes." What if your 15 minutes came late in life, and fame decided to never let you go? Could you survive the circus your life would become?

Story:

Timeout-Stop/Playback/Rewind: A Whateley Academy Fanfiction

This is fan fiction for the Whateley Academy series. It may or may not match the timeline, characters, and continuity, but since it's fan fiction, who cares? To see the canon Whateley Stories, check out either Sapphire's Place,

(http://www.sapphireplace.com/stories/whateley.html) or the Big Closet (http://bigclosetr.us/topshelf/taxonomy/term/117)."

This was my first attempt at writing a TG/sci-fi piece. I’m confident it’s derivative, unimaginative, dull, unitentionally plageristic, ungramatical, and possibly hazardous to ones health. I ask you be gentle and constructive in your criticism. I’ve been a good boy, scouts honor. I did this for fun and in my appreciation of the wonderful Whateley Universe. Take it in that spirit and enjoy. Remember this is non-canon not cannon fodder. All rights reserved in perpetuity, John from Wauwatosa WI, 2005 yada, yada, yada. See my agent at the Sirius Cybernetics Corp. for further details. Please don’t hit me!

Timeout

By John from Wauwatosa

Chapter 4-Fashion and the Lab Rat
University Hospital and environs, Madison WI, July 8th to 18th, 2006

The first couple of weeks after I recovered from my transformation were arguably the most exhilarating and boring, enjoyable yet frightening time of my life. Nothing I had done before came close except, well nada, no exceptions. The newness of sensations, the subtle and not so subtle differences in how I moved, how I sounded, the absolute absurdity of the whole situation were constant sources of wonder and surprise. My as yet undefined mutant power, or powers, worried me greatly; just who and for that matter what was I?

The doctors, nurses, researchers and staff were for the most part friendly and professional, though I thought one or two seemed at best uneasy in my presence or at worst insulted by it. Fear of the unknown can cause resentment, envy or outright hatred in certain individuals or groups. Racial, ethnic, or national “purity” have been rallying calls for the worst kinds of racism, or even genocide. Mutants sadly weren’t exempt from the list of possible targets. The hospital wisely kept the mutant wing well under wraps, limiting the number of staff and visitors to help maintain a low profile. By my appearance I had little to fear. I looked very normal albeit attractive. I stood out but no more so than any other good looking young person. With the hospitals location on a Big Tenâ„¢ campus in a state capital, I was just one among a crowd of young people, so here I was relatively anonymous. How I got to look this way was unusual, but not the end product.

This would take some adjustment on my part, but I did not fear it -- well not too much. What worried me big-time was the type and extent of my power or powers, and the risks they might pose to my health, life, liberty, and to that of the people around me. Even before I started my evaluations, I knew I must be very careful as to how, when, and where I used my power(s). Anything to do with seeing into the past, let alone altering it, was potentially very dangerous stuff. Knowledge is power is a shopworn maxim, but a true one. My power, if I could learn to control it offered near endless opportunity for misuse and abuse.

-- Note to readers: A thunderclap followed by diabolical laughter may be indulged in at this point. Enjoy. --

It was precisely due to these fears that the Wisconsin State Paranormal and Mutant Unit — the WSPMU for you acronym lovers — had a strict policy of no visitors for new transformies, until both their doctor and they felt confident. There were exceptions in extraordinary situations, a dying patient, or where family members were also mutants, but these were rare. I was initially shocked, but soon agreed with the reasoning. It was late on the day I woke that she told me of the policy.

“Sara, when can I see my family? I’m nearly recovered now; they must be worried,” I asked.

“Joanie, your sister, her husband, and your dad came the first night, but I sent them home. You were unconscious, and burning up: we packed you in a bathtub full of ice, and chilled your IVs and oxygen to get your temperature down to 106 degrees Fahrenheit.” Sara replied.

“106 degrees?” I asked.

I was shocked; fevers that high were very dangerous, 108 or higher were fatal.

“106 in an ice bath, Sara?” I asked again.

“When I said burnout, I wasn’t kidding, Joanie. I’ve seen several individuals who cooked themselves without treatment; it’s a terrible way to die. There was nothing your family could do to help; we were too busy treating you to let them see you, and your appearance mid transformation might have upset them. The treatment kept the fever from spiking any higher, and after 48 hours it came down to normal. You remained unconscious another 24. That’s not to say we didn’t keep your family well-informed,” Carrie took over.

“Dr Sara,“ she giggled slightly as if she was hiding something, “or I called your family several times a day. They know you’re conscious and nearly recovered but that they still can’t visit. We sort of lied, and said you don’t want to see them until you’re further through therapy. We implied you’re uncomfortable with how you might appear to them.” Carrie looked sheepish.

“You sort of lied?” I retorted.

“Only with the best of intentions. Look at it this way, Joanie: We don’t have a clear idea what your powers are; they could be potentially dangerous. Once you’ve had your powers exam and have some time to get used to your new body and powers, then a visit is safe. You’ll be more comfortable and less likely to hurt yourself or them; I’ve seen it happen, dear,” Sara said in a motherly tone.

“Can I at least call them?”

“Your voice is very different; you’ve said so yourself. Even if you convince them You are who you are, you’ll just cause them distress. Better they get the whole package all at once with a visit. It could be days or weeks until you’re ready, I can’t say. Carrie will loan you a secure laptop so you can email them all you want. It’s untraceable, and you can get them used to the idea of your changes without frightening them. You can call them if you like, or even leave after tomorrow. You’re not a prisoner, but I don’t advise it.”

I spent the rest of that first evening considering what I would tell them. I decided to tell my sister I was a mutant, but not go into any details other than I was healthy, and undergoing therapy to get used to my new body. I didn’t mention the possible powers, or the, um teenage girl thing. That little omission would prove embarrassing later. I’d tell my dad I was getting better and I hoped he’d be able to visit soon, but to wait until I said okay -- in other words, vague but hopeful. I spent a lot of time those first few weeks thinking about what happened, and if there was a way back to manhood. It all came down to the warper time powers they said I must have, but it confused the hell out of me at first. Five months later, I’m only now beginning to understand the implications of my gifts.

It’s one thing to know the past, it’s orders of magnitude different to know it with utmost precision, and to manipulate to that end. Yah, I know it’s ”impossible”, or “even if you could” ... “time paradox” ... “yada, yada, yada,” I’m here to tell you time travel is possible, but definitely NOT for the squeamish. Writing down over five months later “real time,” nearly half a year “my time,” I still don’t have all the kinks out of it. The ONE biggie no-no nearly all the sci-fi writers agree upon, the “don’t cross your own timeline” admonition, boy-o-boy, now girl-o-girl were they spot-on. I’ve only myself and my emerging untrained powers to blame for my extreme makeover, and I’m damned if I can find a way out of it. The old time travel paradox traps rear their elegantly ugly heads here in all their labyrinthine glory, but I’m getting ahead of myself here, or is it behind? With all that’s gone on the last five “real” months, it’s hard to tell sometimes.

The day after I woke up, the ever helpful Carrie took my measurements, and that same day walked in with bags of clothes, shoes, and basic accessories for me to try on. She bought enough to last me at least a week, and showed considerable restraint in her taste. This was not the easiest of tasks given that I now apparently was 6 feet  ½ inches tall, a perky 40D-24-35 and 145lbs dripping wet, with strawberry blond hair hanging down to my rear, fair skin, and copper eyes set in a pleasant—looking face. Oh dear, I think I’m getting off on myself.

Note to self: Calm down Joanie. I known I’m my own dream-girl but still, yet another reason to get myself to Whateley ASAP. I still wonder how 40D’s can be perky.

For the most part the clothes were tasteful, fit reasonably well, and showed some sense of style. Admittedly there were the two pairs of 4 and 5 inch high heels.

“High heels with me a mere 6ft  ½ inch?” I asked.

“They’re a necessary evil for more formal occasions.” Carrie insisted. Even the few skirts weren’t too bad as long as I thought of them as,

“A variation on shorts, and you do have the legs for them,” Carrie pointed out. ”A purse and clutch -- well you do have to carry ID and money. Many women’s outfits don’t accommodate a wallet. A women’s watch will fit better, is practical, and you don’t want to be late for your appointments.”

She gave similar rationales for makeup, pierced ears - I had them done that same day in the hospital salon - jewelry and hair doodads.

“All necessary to fit in public, and for practical reasons too; you don’t want your long hair blowing in your face after all,” Carrie thoughtfully added.

As to the tiny, fluorescent pink, thong-style string bikini however, on trying this on I decided it was time to fight back.

“You’ll want to get a tan,” she began.

I might as well been naked -- it covered so little.

“Too much sun is bad for your skin,” I countered.

~ Nordic goddesses do not tan. ~

“What about swimming, or the beach?” she replied.

I felt lucky to breathe without falling out of it.

“A one-piece is more practical and far less likely to pop off unexpectedly,“ I said.

I parried her argument and counterattacked. I thought I had her at my mercy, but she sprang her secret weapon.

“But it looks sooo good on you. Don’t you want to look your best, just like any other young woman?” Carrie cooed at me.

This I was not prepared for, a blatant appeal to vanity followed up with a strong appeal to the logic of looking my apparent age. She had me; I was defeated. She was the master. I was about to hand her my verbal sword when she made a fatal error.

“You’re gong to want to start dating; this will help attract the boys.” The tables turned.

“WHAT!” I was outraged. “So this is your game? Have a boy in mind for me already, little Miss Matchmaker! A bit shy but with a great personality?”

I was red in the face and shaking with fury. Carrie’s expression went from shock, to fear, and then suddenly she began to laugh uncontrollably. I stared in disbelief, and then the light came on. I broke up. We must have been like that for some time, for when we finally got control of ourselves, we had collected a fair crowd of her fellow nurses. They stared though the now open door at the two of us lying exhausted on my bed. I stood up; my 40D’s straining to get free, then smiled.

“Well now that everyone is here, what do you think? Is it me?” I did a quick turn, trying not to giggle or jiggle too much.

“Damn, I gotta get me one like that; my husband will go crazy,” said a fit 30-something brunette.

“I wish I had the figure to pull that off,” a pretty but skinny gal in her 20’s said longingly.

“I wouldn’t be caught dead in that; it’s so tiny,” a voluptuous blonde of about 40 said.

“You’re gonna need a really big stick to beat the boys off, girl,” said a very tall, redheaded younger version of Lucy Lawless, and so it went.

“Oh well, if you got it, I suppose,” I admitted.

I got this wicked thought and gave into the "Dark Side".

“Before you ladies leave, just one question: Is my butt too big?”

“Oh you!” they said in unison.

They left, shaking their heads, the tall redhead looking back towards me several times until she was out of sight.

Now that I had some normal clothes, my powers evaluation could commence. Dr. Sara gave me one of those ubiquitous clip-on photo name badges. It identified me as a researcher in her department.

“This will let you move ‘round the hospital and not gather unwanted attention. This badge is also a smartcard, with it and your PIN you can go to and from the mutant wing at will, and through most other secured doors in the hospital,” Dr. Sara explained.

“Won’t there be questions asked? I look awful young for a grad student or a college freshman for that matter.” I asked.

“I’ve had some experience with the need to conceal an identity,” Sara spoke in a soft almost conspiratorial tone.

Her smile suggested she was having a bit of fun at my expense. Something about Sara’s and Carrie’s interactions and their appearance bothered me from early on, and then it dawned on me.

“Carrie’s a mutant isn’t she, and though it’s just a guess, is she a close relative, a niece? You look so much alike.

Then it hit me, “Your daughter.”

Sara’s eyes flashed at me; I must be treading on dangerous ground. She looked around then leaned in close.

“Don’t repeat what I’m about to say to anyone, ever,” she said in a flat, serious tone. “Your intuition is correct, but I don’t hide the fact she’s my daughter. I do conceal her mutant abilities, so she can have as much of a normal life as possible. Her empathic and telepathic abilities are part of why she’s employed in this department but no one here knows about them. Please be careful, I don’t want her hurt,” she said, struggling to hold back her emotions.

“The last thing I would do is hurt either of you. I know it’s your job and all, but without you two I would ...”

I had to stop, the words wouldn’t come. I don’t know if was my words, or the little lost child look in my eyes, whatever the reason, Sara swept me up in her arms and held me there. We held each other for some time, and when we broke apart, I knew I’d found my new Mom. She could never replace my dear biological mother, but somehow it felt right. In the short time I’d known her, I’d concluded she was what my mother could have been, if she’d come of age in more recent times. Social and intuitional pressures kept my mother from a career in math or science, despite a partial college scholarship. She ended up an executive secretary and stay-at-home mom, not that she ever complained. Sara was definitely a kindred spirit, bright and adventurous in spite of her fears. I would not let her be hurt, not if I had any say in things.

Note to Diary, I wish “Mom” could be with me at Whateley.

* * * *

December13, 2006 leaving Chicago on the Amtrak Lake Shore Limited, 10:30am CST

Dear diary/journal/whatever, I made my connection just in time, and am on my way to Boston, the next major stop in my journey to Whateley. I must have made an impression riding through the streets of Chicago between train stations on my ancient Harley. Thank goodness it’s an unusually mild day; I wouldn’t want to do that in the snow. I hope no one recognized me, though I did get a few odd looks here and there. Now where did I leave off? Oh yah, my first “official” day as a lab rat.

I left my hospital room carrying a gym bag filled with clothes, shoes, a swimsuit, and towels. I dressed simply in walking shorts, a sleeveless “A” sport top, sport bra, ankle socks, and women’s walkers. No jewelry or makeup except for my new ladies triathlete watch, and ear studs to keep my piercings open. They already looked healed when I showed Dr. Sara last night, which surprised her as they should take days, or even weeks, to do that. As a test she took one out, and it started to close up in seconds; she barely put it back in time. She made some notes about that, and told me not to take them out for now.

I was led to my first powers evaluation by that same tall, redheaded nurse. I’d been warned that part of the powers testing was quite physical, so I dressed for battle. With my ID badge clipped high on my top and my long flaming hair scrunchied into a ponytail, I marched bravely into the lab. The physiological tests came first. I stripped, and that redheaded nurse fitted me with a smart, stylish web of medical sensors she glued to my skin. They connected to a small transmitter held over my backside with a belt. I carefully pulled my red one-piece swimsuit over it. It’s amazing how electrical wiring just goes with any fashion ... Not. Carrie chose red because it went well with my eye and hair color -- so she said. I knew this wasn’t going to be easy or pleasant, but it took a while to get comfortable wearing this, um ... network.

“Ah, Ms Joan,” said a powerfully built man. “What I’d like to do first is get baseline measures of your fitness. If you would climb onto the seat suspended above the tank over there, we can begin.”

The 30ish man in his lab coat - how original - gestured at a water tank with large windows on three sides. Water tank ... wires ... electricity?

“And you are?” I raised my eyebrows and placed my hands on my hips in a defiant pose -- that’s assuming one can look defiant in a swimsuit and bare feet. If Mr. Big, Dark, and Muscle-Bound was going to persuade me to get into a water tank wearing my electric swimwear, I at least wanted to know the name of my executioner.

“Sorry, I’m Dr. Alexander James Torkelson III. Quite a mouthful, I’m afraid, but you can call me Alex. He held out his hand to shake. As I did so, I noticed he wore no wedding ring.

~Um, single maybe, ~ I thought.

I also noticed there was quite a mouthful rising up in his trousers, a big mouthful.

~Ewh, I do not want to go there ... but still it is was rather flattering. ~

He noticed where I was looking. Now I was embarrassed.

“See anything you like, Miss?”

He had a broad grin on his face, his eyes locked on my, um, assets. Even through the suit’s built-in bra he could tell I was responding in kind. I looked away.

“I am sooo embarrassed, Doctor, I ... It’s just that ...,” I hesitated, not sure what to say next.

“Occupational hazard; happens all the time really. If you’re not comfortable with this, we can reschedule or assign a different physiologist. The last thing we want to do is be too hard on you.”

I let out a shriek, then began laughing uncontrollably. I got dizzy, and nearly passed out. Dr. Alex caught me and half dragged me to a nearby bench.

I regained consciousness, took a deep breath, and in as calm and steady a voice as I could manage asked, “Did you have to say ‘hard on’?” then I broke up laughing again.

Sometimes I think my inner child needs a good spanking, naughty, naughty. Once I calmed down, I was shocked, I’d never seen someone that big turn that red, not since my swim instructor accidentally did a total pancake belly flop off the springboard some 35 years ago. I noticed Alex’s new skin tone went well with his steely blue eyes.

~Oh, oh, this body will take some serious getting used to. Damn I need a cold shower. ~

“It’s okay Dr Alex,” I said sheepishly, “let’s get the tests over with. It’s just that I’ve only been like this,” I gestured along my body,”for a few days, and I’m just not used to it.”

Dr Alex got that clinical look on his still flushed face.

“Yes, I read your file. Parts are classified so I don’t have everything your primary physician Sara does, but I understand your physical appearance is significantly different than before your mutation,” he said.

“That is an understatement for the millennium, believe me, Doctor,” I replied resignedly.

“Not to pry, but I take it you weren’t nearly this attractive before? Not that you have to answer; I’m just curious.”

“How can I put it? Let’s just assume I was the same species before, and leave it at that for now.”

I decided to hedge my bets. I’d answered polite but very vague.

“Sorry. Would you get on the scale over the tank, please?” Alex asked.

“Okay, Doctor Alex, let’s have some fun, oh happy happy joy joy.” I climbed up onto the sling attached to the scale.

“Hold very still, please,” he said, then he wrote down a figure. “It’s okay to move, but stay in the sling. In a moment, I want you to lower yourself slowly into the tank, then grab the underwater handholds, and after blowing out as much air as you can, submerge yourself completely under the water. When I bang on the side of the tank, you can come up. It won’t take long, promise. This is the best way to measure your body fat to lean ratio. Ready?”

“I’m ready, Doctor.”

“Anytime, Joan.”

I did my bit, he soon banged on the tank loudly, and I climbed out. I forgot sound travels better underwater. I grabbed a bath towel from him gratefully. He looked at some gauges on the tank and wrote a few more figures.

“Thanks, Doc. That water was cold. What’s next?”

I dried myself off, then quickly wrapped the towel around me to hide my stiff and not so subtle highlights. In the meantime, he called in the nurse.

“We’ll measure your height, then the nurse here will take a few blood samples. Next you get to run on the treadmill and breathe through that wonderful mask and hose.”

“Sounds delightful,” I quipped.

“A stress test is not the most pleasant experience, I don’t enjoy them myself, but between the body sensors, infrared scanner, gas chromatograph, airflow measurements, blood and urine samples, we’ll get a good measure of you overall cardiovascular and aerobic fitness.”

He continued as the nurse did her job and left.

“You’ll need to change into your athletic shoes and socks but keep the swimsuit on. That way you won’t disturb the sensors, and you’ll stay cooler.”

“And I’ll show a lot more skin,” I quipped.

“Yah, well there is that too. Honest, it really will be more comfortable, and save you time.”

~Yah and he’s enjoying the view. ~

“I’m game if you are, let go.”

The nurse confirmed my height at 6ft  ½ inches and weight at 145 pounds.

~Gee I lost less than two inches and over 80 pounds, not bad. ~

“145’s not fashion model thin, but okay I guess with my height.”

As he spoke, she hooked me up to the treadmill.

“It’s towards the very lower end of the recommended weight range for your height, but these charts can be misleading. The body fat and cardio/aerobic measures are more accurate. The water displacement and height to weight measures suggest you’re very healthy, very lean but not underweight. We need to be sure you’re not underweight, as that could cause serious trouble as you get older. Too many girls try to look like fashion models and teen singers, and some end up seriously malnourished. It sets them up for reproductive problems, and osteoporosis, in later life. You’re what, sixteen? Strange they forgot your age on your chart. Sorry, it’s marked as classified, um?”

“I’m of legal age if that helps, Doctor Alex,” I said.

“So you’re 18 then,” his face took on a curious blend of smiling and frowning, very odd.

“I’m over 18, Doctor. Let’s leave it at that,” I said defensively.

“All the more reason to do these tests, Joan, if you want to avoid trouble later on. I see you’re scheduled for a bone density test tomorrow, and radiology is examining the x-rays they took while you were still unconscious to check the maturity of your growth plates. Good, that means we’ll have news for you soon.”

He was deep into “professor” mode, I knew it well. I’d often been that way in the presence of a girl I was attracted to. I intervened.

“So, Alex, honey, when do we start this stress test?” I said this in the sexiest tone I could manage without breaking up - note the subtle emphasis on honey; I do have my moments.

“Oh, ah,” he said, “Right, on the count of three; one, two, go!”

The machine started, and so did I. After 30 minutes of gradually faster and steeper runs it slowed, and tilted back level to cool me down. We stopped; he looked at the printouts and smiled.

“Joan, you are in great shape; you must be on the university cross-country team, or play tennis or soccer for them because your response to exercise is that of a top endurance athlete.”

I smiled, knowing how far he was from the truth, but I kept quiet for now. He looked puzzled.

“In fact, your results are even better than that. Are you in training for the 2008 Olympic team?” I kept smiling. “Let’s get some more blood samples right away, nurse!

The rest of the morning went the same way. Every test we did, he thought the calibration of the machine was wrong, or set up incorrectly. I was pricked, poked, prodded, and made to pee in so many cups, I felt like a fast-food soda fountain. Alex finally thought I was some up-and-coming star of the Olympic team sent here as a practical joke on him. A med school rival and he interviewed for a job with the center in Colorado, He’d lost out, and thought this was a sick gag. He’s finally had enough.

“That’s it, a joke is a joke, but this is a waste of my time,” he said angrily.

“What do mean, Doctor Alex?” I was confused by all this.

“Don’t Doctor Alex me -- you’re not a mutant patient here; you’re just part of a practical joke that’s gone on too long and ... “

“But, Doctor Alex!” I cried in surprise.

I was hurt and scared; what had I done to anger him?

“If you think you can con me with that ridiculous sexy/innocent act of yours, you’re very much mistaken; you’re no mutant!” he said.

I looked away and started crying.

“And if you think a cheap trick like ... You really are crying aren’t you?”

I nodded my head, still trying and failing to slow my tears.

“You are a new mutant here for testing,” he said very calmly while moving on to the bench next to me and placing an arm around me in comfort.

I nodded yes again and resumed crying worse than before.

“I’m so sorry Joan. Just let it all out, it will be okay girl. Please forgive me, I was wrong to treat you like that,” he said, and my crying slowed to sniffles. “That’s better, Joan. I’m sorry if I was cross; it’s just your tests all came back so damn normal.”

“Normal, what do you mean by normal?” my crying stopped abruptly.

“Most mutants I’ve tested show unusual physiological responses. By that I mean they exhibit super speed, super strength, TK or telekinetic powers, electromagnetic abilities, and the like, but you don’t show anything.”

“I thought this was just the baseline physical testing, not a powers exam, Doctor Alex. What’s going on? I need an explanation.” I looked him in the eyes. “Please!” I pleaded; I was a wreck.

I guess the calm of the last few days was the lull between storms. The stress of this last week must have caught up with me.

“Joan, to be honest we were testing both at the same time.” he admitted.

“But why would you do this to me? I’m not...“ I said very worried.

“No no, it’s nothing to be frightened of, Joan. We just do the first powers tests on the sly, to get a more honest assessment. Not surprisingly, most new mutants try to conceal their powers, or give inaccurate test results because of unfamiliarity with their powers. The stress of the testing regimen is designed to make your powers come out by instinct, and that’s hard to fake or conceal.”

“So you trick us into using our powers?” I said with some anger.

“That’s a rather cynical way to put it, but basically true. It’s not that we’re devious or have sinister motives. Just think for a moment, Joan, I assume your transformation was unexpected, disorienting, and more than a little frightening?” he asked calmly.

“Yes, I’m still not very comfortable with what happened and why.”

“It’s often that way. You can understand how as stressed as most new mutants are, they don’t make for calm, cooperative test subjects. Sort of like walking into class, finding the all-nighter you spent cramming for math is really an essay on Hamlet.”

I smiled and stifled a laugh; Doctor Alex was being very nice. I had to respond but how?

“Thanks, Alex, I do feel better now.”

He smiled back. I noticed the time.

“When do we get a break? It’s nearly two if that wall clock is accurate. I’m getting very hungry. Oh and please call me Joanie.”

“You’re right, Joanie; we’re way overdue for a break. We should have stopped hours ago. Let me make it up to you by taking you to lunch in the Doctor’s Lounge, my treat.” he said; he seemed very sincere in a little-boy-lost sort of way.

“Alex, can I at least get out of these sensors? They’re getting uncomfortable.”

“Sure, we don’t need them anymore today. I’ll have them off in a jiffy. Let me get the nurse and the solvent, and we’ll get you cleaned up.”

That tall redhead came back again. Strange, I still don’t know her name. Doesn’t she have a nametag? Thirty minutes later, I was free of those annoying sensors, showered and dressed. Ah heaven, at least compared to the “network” I’d been wearing. I now wore fresh lingerie, a simple blouse, slacks and deck shoes I’d brought in my gym bag, put my hair back in a ponytail clip and was on my way with Doctor Alex to a very late lunch.

“I’m sorry that took so long, Joanie,” he said after a waitress took our orders. “Typically a test session breaks every 2 or 3 hours, we went nearly 5. I guess I got too wrapped up in it ... and you.”

The last bit he said under his breath, obviously not intending to say it out loud. I don’t think he meant for me to hear it, but I did.

“Doctor Alex, um.”

“Yes Joanie, call me Alex.”

“Alex, what did you mean by,” and you”?”

“You heard that?”

“Yah, I most certainly did. Care to elaborate?” I questioned him.

This was dangerous ground for him and me, but I was tired, very hungry, and wanted to be entertained, or maybe it was something else. Was I sizing him up as a sexual partner? This was weird on just so many levels.

~He’s one of my doctors; I’m way older than him chronologically; I’m way younger than him physically; I’m getting hints that I might have the beginnings of something good going on with Nurse Carrie, and I was a man less than a week ago. ~

If this kept up, I was going to make a lot of psychiatrists and lawyers very wealthy, very soon.

“Joanie I, ah, I,” he stammered.

“It’s okay Alex, I’m flattered, really I am, but we’re both under stress here, and I think we forgot ourselves a bit. Let’s not read too much into it; let’s both keep calm, professional but friendly and see how it goes from here, deal? I could sure use some more friends, especially male friends right now, and I hope you might be one for me,” I said to indicate we needed to back off, but that I was not totally unreceptive to his interest.

Note to diary; did I really think that then already? I’m still not sure of my interest in men, and it’s five months later, though I’m definitely warming to it -- as to females, more on that later. Sometime I feel like that old joke about answering a question on a form, “sexual preference; male/female? Yes, please.” I’m still very confused.

After an awkward pause, he spoke.

“I told the lab to rush your blood work and other sample tests. This afternoon,” I glared at him. “Yes, well what remains of it, will be easy, no physical stuff, promise.”

I smiled as he said this. A repeat of the morning marathon was not welcome. After lunch, we returned to his office off the lab.

“Ah good, the results are back. Give me ten or fifteen minutes to review and make some notations, then we can go over them. Where we proceed from here, the test will tell. Feel free to walk around the lab; just don’t touch anything, okay.”

Twenty minutes, and only one smoldering scorch mark on the wall later, he was ready, “That death-ray just went off by itself, Alex: I didn’t touch it, honest.”

I did bump its cart with my butt, purely by accident, but I wasn’t going to admit that to him.

“Joan, so far it all looks very good though a bit puzzling.” He said Joan? Okay.

“What do you mean, Doctor Alex?”

“Please, Joanie, ‘Alex.’ I thought we settled that back at lunch. Doctor Alex comes off so stuffy, okay?” he said and raised his eyebrows very Spock-like.

“Sorry, Alex,” I snickered.

He was getting a bit silly, but he had made me relax, which was his intention, I guess.

“Well, Alex, what are the results?” I asked.

“I’ve got good news and better news. Good news is you’re very healthy, and surprisingly normal as mutants go. If I didn’t know you were a mutant, it would be hard to tell from the tests so far. This should make it easier for you to live a relatively normal life,” he said.

“That sounds great, Alex, but how did I do? The way you were going on and on earlier about me not being a mutant, and being part of a practical joke, had to come from somewhere.”

He still hadn’t said much. I was curious as to why.

“How can I put this best? The tests failed to reveal any obvious mutant powers. You don’t have super speed, super strength, super elasticity, or anything like that. You don’t generate an electric field any different than so called normals, and you don’t project a telekinetic or TK field. Your blood, urine, sweat, infrared heat flow, and gases are all very normal. Your primary doctor says you show no signs of empathic, telepathic, or other so called powers of the mind. “

“Ok I’m Ms. Vanilla Ice-Cream here, Alex. So what is different about me that you don’t seem to want to tell me?”

“It’s not that I don’t want to; it’s that I just don’t know yet, though I have some theories I’m going to test with your help. That’s the better news; we get to spend more time together as you’re still quite a mystery to us.”

He looked very pleased with himself, like he’d won the lottery. Gee maybe I am that good looking. I figured I’d better derail that line of inquiry quickly.

“Can you tell me anything, Alex? Like what’s your best theory so far?”

“They’re all pretty raw mind you, but I’ll try. The big tip-offs to your powers fall in two areas. One, your physical measurements are very human, but near perfect for a normal human,” he said, groping for the right words at times.

“Perfect? How do you mean perfect?” His answer confused me.

“All your physical measures are at or very near that you’d expect of a top athlete or an Olympic champion. That’s why I thought you were an Olympic candidate. Your strength relative to your size, your speed, agility, reflexes, flexibility, well everything, is just so above the norm, but not supernormal. That is a clue in itself. No one normal is all these, not even a decathlon champion, iron man winner, or top woman gymnast. Your results are so good that with sufficient training to get the forms down, you would likely medal in any sport you wished.”

“What a shame mutants are banned from the Games. Sounds like I could have some fun,” I said a bit flippantly, but Alex smiled.

“The other clue is your endurance, Joanie. All the tests and samples we took point to the same conclusion. You have an incredible resistance to fatigue --how much so we can’t tell yet.”

“Come to think of it, the tests seemed awful easy. I never did feel tired on that crazy treadmill of yours.”

“That’s the point; you should have been exhausted. The Energizer Bunny couldn’t have done better, and we did check to see if you’re an energizer.”

“An energizer?”

“They can tap into electromagnetic fields or other sources of classical energy to augment theirs, but you showed no unusual energy flows in or out, nor any signs of magical forces at work, I may add.”

“Magic?” This was a surprise to me.

“We had our resident magic expert, or mage, a sorceress technically, check you out while you were being tested earlier. But she found no evidence of ley lines or any other sources of magical energies being disturbed. Before you ask, all objects are linked by ley lines. It’s a bit like gravity that way, but it’s magic, not classical physics,” he said; the light bulb flashed in my mind.

“Ah, the large mirror on the wall.”

“Very perceptive of you, Joanie,” he smiled, and snickered a bit.
.
“About as perceptive as a steamed clam, that window is obvious once you look for it, which, to be honest, I didn’t till now,” he smiled again.

“That what’s so puzzling and interesting, Joanie. You’re burning up all these calories in the tests, yet the blood work, urine, heat flow, and other tests give results as if you’re hardly working at all. You so show some metabolic waste products or fatigue chemicals in your samples, but at far lower levels than we’d expect, and your recovery time is way too fast,” Alex explained.

“So you’re saying I’m doing all this physical work, which should burn up loads of calories, but you can’t account for where it’s coming from or going to, right? Are you saying I’m violating the laws of thermodynamics and the conservation of mass and energy?” I asked quickly; this was getting weird.

“Have you taken a lot of physics, Joanie? That’s exactly the enigma you pose for us dear,” he asked.

~Dear, humm? ~

“Give me your best guess, Alex?” I asked; I was a little worried, and it wasn’t just about my strange metabolism.

“Most likely you’re a warper. Warpers manipulate, or ‘bend’, space-time.”

“Like the warp drive in the old Star Trek series?”

I was shocked; this was weird with a capital W.

“That’s pseudoscience or science fiction. We’re talking real science here, brew ha ha ha ha!”

He faked an evil laugh. I giggled a bit.

~Giggle? Oh oh! ~

“You got me hooked, Alex. Just what does a warper like me do?” I asked.

“In your case, it’s nothing to do with gravity; we measured nothing strange there. We -- being your Doctor Sara and I -- think your powers are liked to the time component of space-time, and possibly cross-linked to dimensions other than the classical x, y, z and time,” he said this with a very serious face.

I asked the obvious, “How does this affect me? What powers do I have?”

“We’re now sure yet, but it’s likely related to time. Some warpers can move themselves or objects through space like a sci-fi teleporter. From the symptoms you had at the start of your mutation, Doctor Sara and I think you’re a time-sensitive at minimum. That means you can definitely see or hear the past, and just possibly see into the future, to a limited extent.”

“But why could I see, smell, hear, and touch things in the past? I must have been there; it was so real,” I said, hungry for an answer.

“Two possibilities are the most probable. Visions of the past can seem very real, and most time-sensitive warpers are that way. They can see the past, but not interact with it. A small subset of time-sensitive warpers can alter the rate time flows relative to themselves and a small subset of those can actually travel from one time to another, but usually it’s very limited as to how far back in time and in duration. We think your powers fall into this last group,” he answered.

“So I travel through time, Alex?” I asked.

“Possibly; we’ll need to do more tests,” he replied.

“What about my appearance. Why am I so young?” I asked, realizing too late I may have said more than I should.

“You’re not barely over 18, Joanie?” Alex seemed surprised; Sara must not have told him everything.

~Oh yah, my charts had no age on them. ~

“Sara said you are a very special case, and I’d have to ask you for any of the restricted information. How old are you, Joanie?” he said, dropping the big one.

I decided he needed to know; I hoped I could trust him.

“Alex, one week before this Christmas I turn 49. I was born December 18, 1957.”

I waited. His jaw slowly dropped. I could see the shock in his eyes.

“That explains why some things you say sound so odd. The way you talk and act makes you seem older than you look. You sure are one for the books, Joanie,” he said, and looked embarrassed.

“Why are you embarrassed, Alex? I can tell.”

I didn’t fully understand him.

“Here I’m worried I have feelings for a patient who says she’s over 18, but all the tests, including her x-rays, suggest is 15 to 16 tops. Then I find out you’re old enough to be my mother. I’m having a hard time wrapping my head around this.”

So, okak; he’s a bit agitated but basically cool with it.

“Think of it from my end, Alex. One day I’m middle-aged, next say I’m ... well ... jailbait. Not that its all bad; I am young again. They’re gonna freak at my 30th high school reunion. That’s for sure.”

“Need a date, Joanie?”

We both broke up. Nothing much got done the rest of the day, but we did set a schedule for the next day’s tests. I also got an offer to go to dinner at one of the better restaurants around the Capitol Square, which to my surprise I accepted. Sara said I could leave the hospital for short periods now as long as I kept her informed, longer with a chaperone. Hey, who am I to turn down a free meal?

Anyways this is just a social occasion to help me get at ease with my new self; it’s not like it a date. What kind of a girl do you think I am? I’ve enough complications without adding sorting out my sexuality into the mix. Let’s take things one step at a time, walk before we run, and so on. I told myself this frequently, those first few days after my transformation. I admit that part of me was eyeing Doctor Alex with less than professional interest, as another part of me saw Carrie in a similar light. I decided it was best to just take it slow concerning these issues, back burner them so to speak, and just work on getting myself together. I needed friends now, not lovers.

* * * *

University Hospital, Madison WI, July 9th and 10th, 2006

Alex and I finished our tests early the next afternoon. We weren’t much closer of the answers to who, why, and what I was, but we were closer to having a definite plan to find out.

“We’re finished for now, Joanie. I’ll write up my findings then meet with your Doctor Sara to devise a game plan for you,” Alex said.

“Game plan, Alex. What sort of game plan are we talking about?” I thought I knew but wasn’t certain.

“That’s what Sara and I will discuss. We need a plan to bring out your powers so we can learn their nature and limits, then you can gain control over them. The tests so far revealed only the barest glimpse of your potential. We need a way for you to explore and exercise your powers rather like an athlete in training. The trick is to figure out how to do it safely and discreetly.”

“How soon and what do I do in the meantime?” I asked.

“With luck, by the end of the week at the latest,” he said.

“Today’s Monday, so I only need to wait 4 or 5 days, I hope,” I wished out loud.

“That’s the goal. Sara may have interim results for you before then, so don’t worry too much.”

“I admit to being impatient, but I think I can wait that long Doctor Alex,” I said without thinking much about it.

“Why the ‘Doctor Alex’, I prefer plain Alex. I think of you as a friend, not just a patient Joanie.” He seemed a little hurt.

“Oh sorry, it’s just I need to keep my life simple for now, no complications. I don’t mind us being informal; I’d like to be your friend too. Can we just leave it like this for now? These last seven days have been very confusing, you know?”

“That’s fine with me, Joanie. I was a little worried I was getting too ... friendly with you. It’s always a risk when people work intimately together. It can be a quagmire for physicians, sometimes. I wouldn’t knowingly breach a patient’s trust, and the very nature of your condition makes that critical. I’d rather work with a friend than a patient any day.”

“So you see me as more a friend than a patient?”

“Frankly speaking, I see you, Joanie.” I smiled.

“And,” I prompted. This could be fun.

“Joanie is my very attractive friend, who I intend to do everything in my power to help find herself, as both her friend and doctor.”

“And,” I prompted him again.

“That’s good enough for now,” he finished.

That bomb was defused for now. Time would tell as to what might happen or not.

“Now that that’s settled, Alex, I’d still like to take you up on that dinner offer.”

I threw him a bone; anyway I needed to get out somewhere, anywhere. I was going a bit stir-crazy.

“You still want to go out with me?” I’d surprised him.

“Why not? You’re my friend aren’t you, Alex?”

“Guess I am at that,” he smiled back. “Is this Saturday, six pm too soon?”

“No, that’s fine, I’ll let Sara know. Just one condition, though.”

“Yes?”

“I’d like Carrie along as well. She suggested we go out clubbing sometime soon. She told me,”

“You have to have some fun, let off some steam and get back a bit into the real world,” he stated.

“I can’t think of anything I like more than a night out with you two.” I said this quickly, as I didn’t want Alex to think I was afraid of him.

I was more concerned of what might happen if we had too much to drink and ... oh my! Given the things I’d dreamt of since my change, I didn’t know if I could trust myself around anyone male or female. I hadn’t been this way since puberty.

“Alex, do I need to dress up? This restaurant doesn’t have a dress code, does it?” I asked nervously.

He laughed, then said, “Not much of one, Joanie, business casual is fine.”

“So the Daisy Dukes and braless crop top are out then?” The humor bug bit me again.

“Y ... you have D…daisy Dukes?” He took the bait, and I hadn’t even got to the braless part.

~You’re mine now, sucker. ~

I reeled him in.

“What do you think, Alex, dear?”

I love The Southern Bell. If I laid it on any thicker I’d have to join the Plasters Union. He floundered for an answer. I decided to let him off the hook and throw him back, um ... a fishy motif here. I could barely contain myself.

“The look on your face was priceless, Alex. Just having a bit of fun, Ghod I need to get out. Knee length skirt, sleeveless blouse and pumps okay?” I asked; I’d had my fun for now.

“That will do fine. Hell, you could wear leather and high heeled boots, and they’d let you in. Anything you can wear in some great public building is fine -- just don’t try setting fire to one. I know I have.” Alex replied.

“So you’re a fan of Monty Python too? Great we’ve got two comedians here.”

Note to Diary: little did I know how prophetic Alex’s leather comment would prove.

* * * *

To be continued (revised 07/21/2006)
Special thanks to my evil blonde sister for proofing assistance.

Notes:

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