Participants:
| Scene Title | 9mm Binky |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Leland and Felix adjust to being roommates. There's talk of Sylar, the problem with Staten, the dangers of getting into the head of killers - and Hawaiian shirts. |
| Date | March 3, 2009 |
Leland's Apartment
Leland is not the type who takes sitting and doing nothing very well. So what does the cop on three days' bedrest do? He's dragged out a small armoury worth of guns and has spread them all out on the coffee table. Jazz music pipes from the stereo, punctuated by the sound of guns being cocked or metal pieces being assembled and reassembled. It's a strange sight.
Not as strange it would be to someone not a cop. Fel doesn't even doubletake as he lets himself in, clad in overcoat and suit. He goes through his little Well-Armed-Mr.-Rogers routine - off comes the overcoat, off comes the suitjacket, off comes the shoulder holster. "I'd no idea you had such a collection," he notes, mildly, interest clearly caught by the toys on display. "How're you feeling?"
"You really surprised?" says Leland as he snaps the clip into a handgun and cocks it. "Mmgh. Fine. My side's turned a whole bunch've rainbow colours. Guess that means it's starting to heal. Anything interesting happen today?" He sets the handgun down at picks up a rifle.
Felix resists any temptation to ask to see. "No. I'm just sort of chief catherder, trying to keep the Feds and the cops from each others' throats. Still no chance to get that girl I am just fucking certain is out on STaten, nor any move to get at Sylar." Sylar, Felix's own personal psychic white whale.
"We don't have the manpower to get at Sylar on fucking Staten, you know that, Felix." Leland drops one of the guns down on the table, then stands, with some effort and shuffles towards the kitchen. The mark on his head is mostly gone, at least. He claps the Fed on the shoulder as he passes. "Y'want some tea?"
"That'd be great," Felix says. He wobbles off to stash his gun in his new nightstand where it belongs. Felix and his 9mm binky. "I know. I know. But he tried to kill me, and I take that fucking personally. I had this awesome place out in Queens until he wrecked it."
"Jesus, Felix. You shouldn't feel special that he tried to kill you. That's a long goddamn list." Leland snatches up the kettle and fills it with water, then tugs down a teapot and a few bags of orange pekoe. "It's gotta be more than that. Why's it really personal?"
That has Fel pausing, and dropping into a seat at the kitchen counter. "I…..I honestly don't know," he confesses, rubbing at his scalp, and leaving his short hair in disarray. "I mean, hell, I'm not really the main agent on the case. But he's supposedly the one responsible for the destruction of New York. He's just this ravening force that no one seems able to stop."
"And why would you take that as some personal crusade, uh? Especially a guy who'd need a whole batallion to even stand a chance against? I think you're aiming too high there, pup. Set your sights on a street level thug there, Ishmael." Leland snorts, then tugs down a box of cookies. He drops it on the counter in front of Felix. Chocolate chunk. "Goin' after Sylar's like trying to take down Jesus."
"No, Sylar bleeds. He's a human, despite all the crazy shit he can do," But Fel still looks thoughtful, hesitant. "I….shit. YOu know how it is. Some case sinks its claws into you, and the next thing you know you're Inspector Javert." Cookies. Fel's into the box with nearly unseemly haste - only his metabolism can explain how he eats the way he does and doesn't gain weight.
"I know. And I know that you gotta watch for that happening. Then you get stupid. Lose your objectivity." You'd think Lee was an old warhorse instead of only two years older than Felix himself. He sure is moving like one. A hand goes to his side and he winces as he turns to grab hold of the kettle. The hot water's poured into the teapot, then he sets it and two mugs down on the counter. "Milk?"
Fel rubs at his brows, tiredly. "You're absolutely right. No, just sugar, thanks," he says, after hastily swallowing the cookie he was chewing. "As if I weren't OCD enough already."
"Just as long as you don't sneak into my sock drawer and rearrange everything by colour," says Leland with a little hint of a smile. He's not grumpy all the time. "Y'can use it as a tool of the job, Felix. Just don't let him get inside your head. Don't they teach you that in Fed school? Y'let the serial killers crawl inside your brain and it's all over. And Sylar's the worst of the lot."
That has Felix cocking a wry eye at Lee. "Yeah. Remember, though, I've always been Organized Crime, a bit of counterterrorism. Not homicide - I didn't last long there when I was NYPD, and I sure as fuck didn't go in for that when I was at Quantico," He shudders. "Still get nightmares about cases I didn't close when I was in Homicide. And I have no interest in your sock drawer, my hand to god."
"Last I checked, you didn't go to fuckin' church, so I don't think that swear means anything. Swear on your glock, maybe." Lee chews on a cookie, then picks up the teapot and pours them both a cup. "I got real obsessed with this rapist. Broke in to college dorms. I let the fucker get inside my head. Started missing things that were right in front of my nose. Took two more girls getting raped before we caught 'im. If I hadn't had my head so far up my ass, I mighta gotten him sooner." His eyes go distant for a moment, even as his hands reflexively add a tiny little dash of sugar to his tea. So tiny, in fact, that one wonders why he even bothered.
"Well, you remember me getting all Ahab about those girls in that cargo container," Felix says, quietly. "I'm about ninety nine percent sure that the guy who did that to them is himself dead, and lying in the potters' field 'cause they cut his fucking head and hands off. But you know how it is. And you're right, there are cases I can actually do something about productively, and at the moment, Gray isn't one of them. But frankly, it pisses me off that he's still out there, using up perfectly good air intended for actual citizens."
"You're right. And Sylar'll get it sooner or later. Just don't let it drive you crazy. Put that wolfhound energy to more immediate use, uh? We've got enough problems to deal with. Pick one that's manageable." Lee lifts his cup of tea. Odd. Seems a few days away from work and its stresses have improved his mood. Leland Daubrey runs hot and cold. He's either a pot ready to boil over, or a soft-spoken, reasonable man.
Which is why Fel likes him. "Yeah," he agrees, stirring more sugar into his cup of tea. "Don't fucking mind me. It's still winter, I'm only sane in summer. I shoulda been a cop in Miami," he says, mournfully.
"I thought you Russians were built for the cold?" The side of Lee's lip curls up as he rings a spoon around in his cup. Gotta make sure those two grains of sugar dissolved properly. "Miami?" A beat as he considers Felix. "Nah. You couldn't wear those loud-print shirts." He seems to think he's made some great joke.
"If I'd actually grown up in Russia, I'm sure the state'd've had me drowned as a bad investment. If they hadn't used me as a lab rat," Fel notes, with a smirk. "You laugh, but I have one. Complete with hula girls. What else are Feds allowed to wear in Hawaii?"
Leland snorts a mouthful of tea. Ow, ow ow. He laughs. It's a burbled, throaty sound. "Jesus. You'll have to show me that. Cause I've got the most…colourful mental picture in my head. Ahhg…" he pinches the bridge of his nose and sniffs, then reaches for a tissue. His eyes are still laughing.
The smirk is abruptly a huge grin. Fel lifts a finger, delicately sets down his teacup, and dashes into the spare bedroom. Cue the noises of someone rummaging in his newly packed closet, the rustle of a shirt being shed, and Felix returns. He…..wasn't kidding.
Leland nearly spits out another mouthful of tea when Felix emerges. Unfortunately, laughing with bruised ribs kind of hurts like fuck, even through the good painkillers. So he tries to contain it and ends up with a silent, shaking laugh while he clutches his side. "…it's…" wheeze. "…it's not even in storage. You carry it around with you?"
"I own so few clothes that aren't suits, there's no reason to," Felix says, all earnestness. "And I was working on a case out on Hawaii, when I was at the San Francisco office. The Russians come in that way, too." This is likely the only piece of clothing Felix owns that isn't in some shade of white, black, gray, or blue.
Leland holds his hand over his mouth to try and stop from laughing. Then he waves the other one. "Okay, okay, I can't take it anymore. Go change, please." He wipes a tear away from his eye. Classic.
Fel is already peeling it off, not even bothering to unbutton it, as he heads back in. Just in case Lee ever actually wondered how many exit wounds Felix had on his back, the number is currently two. Still as skinny as ever - the bones of his spine are painfully apparent.
"You need to fucking eat more, man," a beat. "Or worse crap. I'll make some fried chicken." For a rough kind of guy, Lee's a good cook. Comes from growing up with a chef for a dad. He stuffs another cookie into his mouth.
Fel reappears in a plain gray t-shirt and jeans. It's like he is colorblind and thus dares take no risks at all. "I suppose I do. This stuff I'm on has always been an appetite suppressant."
Leland wrinkles his nose. "That sucks." He, on the other hand, has no problems with appetite. If he didn't go to the gym so much and get a workout as part of his job, he might be in trouble. Part of a chocolate chunk cookie is dunked into his tea.
"Yeah," Fel says, with a shrug, reaching for another cookie. "Well, hell, if you cook, I'll clean," he says. "I can't cook for shit. My palate's pretty much ruined, between the smoking and the medicine."
"Well, then I won't put a lot of effort into it," says Lee, lips curled and mouth half full of cookie. He chews slowly, then swallows. "Or I'll use lots of salt." This seems to amuse him. He amuses himself a lot.
That just gets him a flat look from Felix, but no comment. He suits the action to the word by cleaning up what little's left from the making of tea. "We should go shooting sometime when you're better," he adds. "I need more range time."
It doesn't seem to bother Lee that Felix doesn't think it's funny. He's amused and that's all that matters. He picks a hunk of chocolate out of a cookie and pops it in his mouth. "Yeah, sure. M'down there at least once a week."
"Gun nut," says Felix, but with some real affection in his tone. There's a pointed lack of questions about relationship, about why Lee's spare bedroom isn't already occupied.
That's because Lee puts off a 'stay away from me' vibe when he's on-duty. Only his partners over the years, family and a few friends who met him outside of policing ever see his gentler side. He wears his temper like a carapace. "I'm not startin' with dinner tonight. Side hurts too fucking much. Even more after the fashion show you just gave me." He gives a faint cough. "So. There's a pile of takeout menus the size of a phone book in a basket by the fridge. Paw through til you see something you like, uh?"
"Thai. I'm totally ordering Thai," Felix says, gleefully, already rummaging through said menus. "Listen, your habits. You a light sleeper? And basically, if I'm doing something that pisses you off, just tell me to stop. I like to think I'm a decent room-mate."
Leland barks a bit of laughter. "M'not a light sleeper. Once my head hits the pillow, I'm dead to the world." Unless he's on-call. Then a pin dropping'd wake him up. "And fer god's sake, Felix. D'ya really think I'm the passive-aggressive sort? I'll tell you if you piss me off."
Fel gives him that startled-cat look over the expanse of the counter, then grins sheepishly. "True," he says, before noting, "It's….I don't have all that many friends that I can afford to ruin one of the friendships I do have by being a dick of a room-mate. Paranoid, I guess."
"Tell ya what, Ivanov. If you start being a dick, I'll tell you. And instead of ending the friendship, I'll just kick you out on your arse, how's that?" Lee's brows go up as he sips a cup of tea. As if that was a legitimately reasonable offer.
Apparently it is, because Fel merely nods, and continues to sort through the menu. Weariness aside, he's brimming with that nervous energy. Useful when it gives him that strange sort of tirelessness on a case, not so charming in his down time.
Leland seems to pick up on that nervous energy. "Y'know…" he begins as he refills his cup of tea. "…there's a gym in the basement. Just don't bust the treadmill, m'kay?"
"I'm gonna go swim, in a little," Fel says, casting a glance at the clock. "But there is, huh? Good to know."
"Mmkay. Think I'll go lay down for a bit. If it's dinner by the time you get back, just order something and wake me when it gets here. I like just about all Thai food." Leland lifts himself off the stool with some effort and winces. He pushes a hand back over his hair. "Fuck. I feel old."
"Tell me about it," says Felix, watching him go with the faintest of worried expressions.
 March 3rd: Just A Job |
 March 3rd: Like Moths |
