How glad he was when the façade melted away and the real Govannon began to peek out.  Not that he thought the man was suddenly bared before him, because of course he would keep secrets and be deceptive where needed to get what he wanted.  It was the nature of the beast.  Being completely upfront about<i>everything</i>was not what complete strangers did, especially in such high stakes situations.  The point really was that the former doctor now could come at him direct instead of pussyfooting around the real meat of the matter.  Yes, Govannon was loose, but not unmonitored.  No, he couldn’t use his money to help himself continue his goals.  Aedan wasn’t so sure that it was as difficult as the man insisted.  To his knowledge, no one was stopping him from fleeing the country, and it might’ve been easier for the man to operate on foreign soil anyway, in a country with a lax view on what wealthy men did with their exuberant fortunes.  Aedan was familiar with several places in Mexico where the officials were more than happy to take bribes.  Russia was another great place for an experimenting professional to set up shop.  Aedan wasn’t going to point out their benefits, though.  He had his own secrets that he was unwilling to share, which included his reach into the surreptitious closets of several pharmaceutical companies and their highly questionable practices.<br/><br/>There was another need which Govannon spoke about that the Irishman could understand, though.  All test subjects were not created equal.  Quality over quantity was a rule easy to apply there, which Aedan had seen time and time again in his own research.  What caused one heart attack of equal ferocity to take one man of similar age, health, and lineage to another who could go on to live a reasonable life for decades longer?  What contributed to one cancer patient to grow weak and frail and ultimately succumb under antagonistic treatment and another to carry on to see the relentless disease into remission?  The one thing that couldn’t be broken down into a formula or measured in any scientific equation.<i>Drive</i>was the thing, the willingness to fight back against death with every last breath and not take the easy out in hope of peace.  Suffering was everywhere in the world, and some were more resilient than others because they knew how to beat it down and shove its fucking face in the mud.<br/><br/>He studied the mad doctor as he continued to explain his true case.  The sudden distance there worried him.  It hadn’t escaped him that he could’ve very well been dealing with a psychopath.  If that was the case, he couldn’t figure out if that was more a danger or a benefit.  He wouldn’t have to worry about unwanted connections of the friendly sort and Cherish’s attention would be on getting results rather than if Aedan was going to be comfortable with potential treatments.  The downfall was he would be less likely to worry about causing death, unless it was true that he believed Aedan was that crucial to his work and not the next throwaway lab rat.  Still, there were ways of convincing him that Aedan’s continuation was also in his best interest.  It could work.  Even if he was a fucking nutter, his research might’ve redeemed him enough to gain at least a trial position in Aedan’s lab.  After that… well, they’d have to figure out what to do with him afterward.  Failure or success wasn’t necessarily a contributing factor in that decision, which would also remain unspoken.<br/><br/>The smile annoyed him.  How dare the crazy fucker assume he had him…  Then the questions came.  Whether they were meant to be rhetorical or not, Aedan didn’t seem inclined to comment in the moment.  He’d preached about life not being fair before and was a little sick of it.  Raff was the biggest receiver of his rants, given he was the one most in contact with him, pretty much the only one when it didn’t come down to business… or pleasures of the flesh, which he paid handsomely for.  His idiot Italian friend always spoke of hope and angels and other such nonsense.  Aedan considered himself a realist, though.  Those things were wastes of energy.  Concepts of hard work and determination were more his thing, and even then they didn’t guarantee success.  Failure was always an option, and not only because of lack of knowledge or will, but sometimes because that’s the way it went.  Everything was a gamble, all the time, and so was this.  Govannon Cherish.  The doctor turned mad scientist.  Genius without a heart.<br/><br/>As the man spoke, Aedan was filled with the desire to punch him to shut him up.  And maybe just a little to see what he would do in response.  As it was, he didn’t quite feel up to it.  Instead, the redhead regarded the other in silence for a while, his jaw resting into his hand.  Since the crumbling of that false front, Aedan had moved from disinterest to intense curiosity and consideration, and that showed in the intense way he stared at Cherish.  He wanted to dissect everything about the man and find the root of it all.  If he would’ve been prepared for their meeting, he might’ve been able to do some digging to be informed on a broader front than what the news felt like covering.  He could believe that they’d overlooked some details and intensified others for the sake of telling a good story.  He could also see it that Govannon and his high priced lawyers had done quite a bit to keep some of those details silenced.  There really was no way of knowing the complete truth.  Getting his hands on the research and any notes Cherish had would’ve given him more insight than any article in the paper or sensationalized report by a pretty face on the television, but that wouldn’t happen unless he extended an invitation for cooperation.<br/><br/>Then at once, as if he’d finally decided, Aedan sighed and let his arm fall against the chair.<br/><br/>“Well, that’s terrific.  You’re fucking insane,” he stated, blunt as always.  But he hadn’t dismissed the man.  In fact, Aedan was more curious now that he had a little taste of that crazy.  Chances were he would’ve tossed the man out on his ass if he wasn’t at least a little out of his mind, because how else were they supposed to achieve either one of their goals without some measure of irrationality in the mix?  Both of them were trying to accomplish the unprecedented.  Sensible logic didn’t always have a place there, just like morality and other typical ‘human’ things.  Rules had to be bent, if not completely broken.  How else were they going to attain great things within their own narrow timeframes?  Yeah, he’d take a cold, crazy son of a bitch well before some by the book, bleeding heart moron who would only get in the way and whine.<br/><br/>“At least you’re not completely useless, then.”  Another pause.  His eyes flickered toward the doorway where Raff had disappeared.  His dear old friend didn’t fit under that useless header either, but nor did he understand.  Or perhaps he did, because he’d brought him a man like Cherish on a silver platter.<br/><br/>Gaze sliding back to the handsome psycho, Aedan knew he was going to go through with it.  In for a penny, in for a pound, right?  He pinched the fabric of his rumpled shirt and pulled it back to reveal the scars across his torso.  They’d probably been spotted already since he’d answered the door with little regard to decency, but he wanted to straighten out some details before they really humoured the idea of working together.<br/><br/>“Life is more than unfair.  It’s fucking brutal,” he affirmed.  “I’ve fought for it for as long as I can remember.  Cancer was first.  The doctors had long since given up, but my own father was a medical professional and took matters into his own hands.  Experimental treatment was what got me to my teenage years.  Winning only meant a body ravaged by both cancer and the treatments, so a long path to recovering health after.  Then my parents were murdered and I was left at death’s door.”  The majority of scarring on his body had little to do with medical procedures, but then a trained eye such as Govannon’s would’ve already picked up on that.  His attacker had cut him for fun, then stabbed him at the end of that nightmare.  Realistically it should’ve killed him.  “This…”  He waved his hand, refusing to elaborate on what it was he was ailing from, whether Raff had divulged his medical info or not.  He hated feeling so weak that even breathing could be a struggle.  It was humiliating.  “It’s just what’s next in line.  Or, more accurately, it’s what I had coming for dodging the first bullet, since it’s nothing more than the long-term backlash of the prolonged high doses of cancer drugs and radiation.<br/><br/>“So… do I envy you?  Do I think you’re more fortunate?  I think most people are,” he admitted with a small, dry chuckle.  “And I learned the reality of my situation at a younger age than the vast majority.  I’m twenty-four and have spent most of that struggling to survive while others wallow in what they think is misfortune and suffering.”  Govannon had said that being faced with mortality made one’s truest self surface.  Aedan wondered if he’d ever had something so flimsy covering his own true self as what he saw in others.  “But you’re right in that being faced with death has an effect.  I don’t have time for pandering words.  Doing what needs to be done comes before consideration of other people’s feelings or sensibilities.  I strive for results.  You’ll find my moral compass isn’t any more functional than yours.  I’ve saved lives, despite my lack of compassion for those in question… and I’ve taken life, and not in the name of medical advancement.”<br/><br/>Just then Raff came back with coffee on a tray.  The oval surface in question was slick, made of lacquered wood and silver handles and was plenty broad enough to support the sleek, silver carafe and two black matte cups.  The coffee itself was a strong dark roast, which matched the redhead’s personality a little too easily.  Raff scooped away the dirty mug sitting by his former protégé in order to set the tray down, then poured a fresh cup full and handed it over.  Only then did he give a silent offer to Govannon.  It wasn’t that he was being rude, or that he’d lost all his sense to offer to a guest first, but that he had his priorities.  This wasn’t a social function, and he wasn’t obliged to be overly courteous to a man like Cherish.<br/><br/>The redhead blew across the dark liquid and smiled, though there was a coldness to it.<br/><br/>“If you take anything away from my hungover rambling, remember that part and know,” he warned, calm and sensible.  “If you try to cross me, I’ll kill you.”