Participants:
| Scene Title | Team Players |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Devon finds himself at the safehouse with news about those who aren't team players, for those he knows are team players. |
| Date | May 25, 2011 |
It's a bit after noon in the Endgame Safehouse, or as Jaiden likes to call it, the home away from home, and nothing much is going on. Morning has come and gone with only the simple excursion to get a paper and some bagels for breakfast - sustenance and information, in that order - before going about the day's events. Elisabeth and Ygraine were off scouting a safehouse somewhere - at least that's what Jaiden thinks they said when they left at the crack of dawn - so that leaves the Australian alone in the place. he's taken a few quiet moments to work out with the scavenged bits that he has and run a few laps around the block in deserted alleys to get the blood pumping, and now he's in the middle of drying off after a Jaiden-powered shower. One of the advantages of being able to control water means neverending showers. Pretty cool.
He's dressed in a pair of sweat pants, his feet bare, a blue towel slung around his shoulders as he shaves his face with slow, even motions in the mirror above a bucket that doubles as a sink.
Graeme looks down at the floor rather immediately after making his way inside. There's this awkward silence for a moment, as clearly he chose the wrong time to deliver the bag of groceries and other supplies to the safehouse. And then he announces himself, rather than risk surprising Jaiden by simply being there, since his entrance was rather quiet.
"Hey." A pause, before the slow drawl continues. "Brought some stuff I heard you were running low on." Then Graeme looks away again, trying to decide if he's just going to leave as soon as he'd arrived, because this is more awkward than he actually wants to deal with.
Jaiden looks over, his face half-shaved, still covered in the cream. "hey there, Graeme." He lifts a hand with a vintage single-blade razor, turning to look back at the mirror to shave the remainder of his face, being careful to not cut himself. "We're always running low, but we're not doing too terribly bad. You can just put it in the kitchen if you want."
"Alright, yeah." There's a pause, for the few minutes that it takes Graeme to carry the four bags of groceries that he'd deposited near the door to the kitchen-area, and there's the distinct sound of rummaging about as Graeme puts some things out of the bags and where they belong. "Still, I figured I'd bring what I could." When he returns, he folds himself down to sitting, cross-legged, back against the wall and trying not to stare at Jaiden for more than a brief moment. Not that there's particularly anything, but the Australian is currently shirtless and there's only so much not-staring that Graeme can do.
In the time it's taken Graeme to put the groceries away, Jaiden has finished shaving and has put on some shorts and getting a t-shirt, giving the chance successfully hide his body from Graeme's roving eyes once he's finished. Of course, Jaiden doesn't really know he's doing anything to provoke the man - it's just that he was out of the shower and needed to finish getting ready. After all, cleanliness is next to godliness.
Wiping his face with his towel, he stretches and bounces on his toes, pulling on the shirt and turning to grin at Graeme. "So…how've you been, mate?"
There had been no actual plan on coming back to the safehouse so soon, there was no intention of making a habit of calling several days in a row. But trouble seems to travel hand in hand with change and news. So after swallowing the less than pleasant encounter with one contact and sending a text to another, Devon had taken three busses and a train to finally end up just a couple of blocks from the safehouse.
At least the weather is decent enough outside for the walk, and even the commute wasn't bad. The teenager's route, once he realized where he was headed, became even more indirect until coming upon the same door he'd left by just the day before. There's hesitation, second thoughts about entering versus knocking first, versus turning and going the other direction as though he'd never shown. In the end, Devon chooses to let himself in after a quick survey of his surroundings.
Going no further than necessary to get inside and push the door closed behind him, Devon lets his eyes wander over the immediate entry area. When the sounds of conversation wend their way to his hearing, his eyes tick toward the source. "…Hello," he calls, not exactly hesitant. He edges back a step, back coming to press against the door.
"Alright, pretty much. The usual," Graeme says in response. There's a very, very faint sigh of relief, and then Graeme's distracted from the wandering of his mind in typical male patterns by the sound of the door opening. It takes him a moment before the voice is recognised, and there's a faint show of surprise on his face. Predominantly because he didn't know that Devon knew about the safehouse more than in passing. "In here, Devon," he calls out, not loudly, but enough for the teenager to be able to determine where they are.
At the sound of the door opening, Jaiden immediately went for a small holstered gun - a matte black .45, but at the sound of the voice, Jaiden put it back on it's table and straightened, his mouth in a slim line. "We're up here, Devon. come up and have a seat." Jaiden drops his towel over the pistol and sits on the edge of a scavenged spool of wire that doubles as a table. "Don't worry." He says to Graeme. "He's good people."
There's a flinch for Graeme's voice, followed by a sigh and Devon further hesitates keeping his presence in the safehouse. When Jaiden's voice follows, he raises a hand to rub over his head, making his way toward the source of conversation. "Sorry," the teen begins immediately, once he's come into view of both older men. His eyes tick between Jaiden and Graeme, then slant toward the floor with a roll of one shoulder. "Wasn't followed or anything."
Graeme nods. "I knew that much," he responds to Jaiden's comment about Devon being good people, shifting so that his knees are up against his chest from where he sits against one of the walls of the room, quite possibly having actually gotten comfortable. Glance goes up to Devon, with raised eyebrows in an unspoken question, since the last time that the teenager and teacher were in the same room was on rather uncertain terms.
"Hey there, Devon." Jaiden says nonchalantly, his hair still damp from the shower. "Wasn't expecting to see you so soon. Decide to come visit, or was there something else?"
"Yeah," Devon answers with that shrug again. "Or no. I don't know." He gives a shake of his head, cheeks puffing out as he lets out a breath. "I guess…" Eyes lifting, a look is slanted toward Graeme and then Jaiden. "Something's happened, with the Doctor Blite thing. And I owe Graeme an apology."
Once more, Graeme's eyebrows go up in an unspoken question, as if the fact that Devon owes him an apology is news to him. At the very least, he certainly hadn't been expecting one to come, let alone so soon afterward. He looks down at the floor for a moment, uncertain, then looks up at Devon. "What happened?" Let that come first.
Jaiden grabs an empty bottle from the table next to him, the bottle filling with water thanks to his power, and takes a drink. "Sounds like a start. What's going on, Devon." He takes a drink, swallowing, the bottle refilling after a moment.
"She doesn't require my acting anymore. And she's working with Odessa Price." Both are offered without preamble, Devon still feeling the sting of the encounter. "I recorded the whole conversation like Doctor Brennan advised. Something is happening, and she's not playing for our team."
The expression on Graeme's face, brows furrowed into an unpleasant sort of frown, makes it clear that he's not pleased with what he's hearing. "Make sure that Doctor Brennan gets a copy of the recording," he says. "And if you can get me a copy too, that would be good." So that he knows what he's dealing with, or something along those lines, though Graeme's not entirely sure what good it does. Then he looks at Devon, for a moment. "Sit, would you?" There are various things around the room that can act as seats, really, which Graeme gestures to.
"I hate to be the one who needs things explained, but this is something that Elisabeth has been playing quite close to the vest. I'm only familiar with the name, and not much past that. Could someone explain why this is such a bad thing? I mean…." Jaiden shrugs. "I haven't needed to know until now, but it seems I do."
With a look of uncertainty, Devon glances to Graeme then back to Jaiden. "Doctor Blite is… supposed to be making a vaccine for the new H5N10, the one that's effecting the non-evolved. And the keyword is supposed. I've been… part of what I've been doing is playing at… It was supposed to look like I was dating her. She's found someone else, who's better fitted for the role."
After starting toward an open seat, Devon stops and shakes his head. "She claims she's still working on a vaccine, but she's working with Doctor Price. Doctor Price was working with Mister Valentin inside the Dome."
Once again, Graeme's brows furrow more. "Definitely not playing for our team," he mutters, that bitter and cold edge that occasionally shows in the teacher's voice showing now. He glances up at Devon. "Get Doctor Brennan a copy of the recording of your meeting with her sooner than later," he says. "Brennan is on our side, and so he needs to know what he's dealing with as soon as possible." He sighs, trying to figure out something else to say, and failing that, falls silent for the moment.
"I already sent him a text," Devon points out, subtly defensively. "I didn't want to go straight there after meeting with Doctor Blite." And he hadn't realized he was headed here until he was on the train, but at least it was far from the other direction. "I've offered to keep my end of the deal, with getting her the publicity she's claimed she wanted. I've let her know I'll be checking in on her. I'm going to ask Doctor Brennan to check in on them, too, and see about making my own calls to their lab. Maybe I can …convince Doctor Price to share some information."
Dragging a hand through his hair, Devon turns to sit again. "She's agreed to …as colleagues, meet for dinner. With her new escort. And suggested I find one of my own." A tone of adolescent bitterness creeps into his tone, though his expression shows nothing of the sort.
Graeme nods, simply listening for the moment. "Sounds good," he eventually says, leaning on his arms. "Thanks for keeping us updated. I appreciate it." There's another pause, and Graeme looks at the teenager. "Are we still on for going to the shooting range on Friday?" The unspoken second half of that lingers in the air, as to whether Devon is still mad at him, or whatever it was.
Pale eyes slant toward the teacher as Graeme voices his question. Devon lowers himself onto the seat, a hand rubbing over his face. "Yeah, we are. You need the practice. Graeme…" He pauses, elbows bracing against his knees, pressing the nail of one thumb against the front of his teeth. "Sorry. Just… Let's leave it at that, and… we're cool?"
There's a lot of tension there; that much Jaiden can see, but as Devon lowers himself to a seat, Jaiden moves to a duffel bag sitting innocently on the ground and crouches down to start rummaging around in it. There's the rattle of plastic against plastic, and after a moment Jaiden pulls a rectangular black case about the size of a hardcover book out of the bag. "Here you go, Graeme." he says, passing the case to the man. Emblazoned in the plastic on the outside in matte black is the logo of Taurus firearms along with two markedly different boxes of ammunition - one .410 shotgun shells, the other .45 hollowpoints. "That should be a good start for you at the range."
Inside the case is a silver snub-nose revolver, but oddly enough, the cylinder is a good two inches long at least. A gun that uses both. "Meet the judge." Jaiden taps the case. "The last one I bought before going on the run."
The Australian's interruption is enough to lessen at least some of the tension in the room, and lets Graeme compose himself from that he'd turned a faint shade of red. After a brief but thorough inspection of what's in the case that is handed him, Graeme ducks his head. "Thanks," comes the words, as he tucks the case into the inside pocket of the leather jacket, after carefully replacing everything in it and closing it.
Then he looks back up at Devon. "Yeah, we're cool." It's easier than talking about what happened. He looks back up at Jaiden. "I haven't used a revolver in forever," Graeme remarks, with half a grin. "Though god knows my mother started making a habit of collecting them, after she moved out to New Mexico." There's a faint hint of sadness in his words, wistfulness.
Devon falls silent, only giving a slight nod to Graeme's acceptance. His eyes flick toward Jaiden, watching the Australian's actions with a polite curiosity, withholding thought or comment. As the weapon is passed off, the younger man's gaze drops away, finding greater interest in scratching at the lightly scarred tissue banding his wrist.
Graeme looks back over at Devon, for a moment. For the most part, it's also as if the teacher doesn't precisely know what to say to break the yet again awkward silence. Because awkward is really the best way to put it, and it's starting to feel as if it's pretty much the entirety of Graeme's day, overall.
"I should go meet with Doctor Brennan," Devon says, just as the silence begins to feel oppressive. He glances at his watch then pulls out his phone to send another text message, more or less speaking in general while appearing to be ignoring the two older men. "I need to speak to Ms. Harrison too," he continues, looking at his watch again. "Maybe in the morning. She needs to hear this recording and know what my next step is." As he stands, the phone is tucked into his pocket again, and he turns to exit the same way he'd come in.