A Night Without Worries


dema_icon.gif jet_icon.gif

Scene Title A Night Without Worries
Synopsis Such nights are hard to come by for employees of the Institute.
Date June 13, 2010

Staten Island Hospital

Facility cafeteria.

One thing can be said for Jet and Dema's new job - which is very much like the old job, in that it involves sticking needles into unwilling subjects - at least they have more room. Their quarters are more spacious, the work environment isn't cramped and pre-constructed, and there's an actual cafeteria. All in all, quite the upgrade.

Then again, the actual work is maybe just a little… grimmer. When before they administered doses of a drug to addicts, miserable but desperately needy in their dependence, this time they are pumping some murky drug into irate Evolved, and then getting clear as they rage and use enhanced power through the nausea and fever the drug induces. Not pretty. Dema does his work with a steady hand, unblinking, but Jet can tell it's starting to get to him. What could possibly have changed to make a former mob enforcer lose his stomach? He hasn't said. Kind and loving though he may be, Dema has never been very talkative.

It's during one of their lunch breaks together, that finds Jet and Dema in the caferteria. With a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, complete with a side of vegetables, she watches Dema across the table, almost in a calculating way. A carrot stick is picked up, bitten, then chewed slowly as she continues to watch him. Watch watch watch. Then, suddenly, "Perhaps we can ask the Director to assign you to something else. Something, less hands on."

Dema knows something is up. He's taciturn, but not exactly without observance. He was just waiting for Jet to say something or other, but of course wasn't going to rush her. Rushing her is something he's determined never, ever to do. But her suggestion catches him a little off guard. And, actually, raises a smile to his lips. "I forget you are not so young as you look," he says, "And are wiser, I think, even than your hidden years." He lifts a hand, waving it slightly, "No. It is nothing. It is no more than I have done before. Less, maybe, then when I was with bratva. I do not want her to think I am…" he searches for the idiom, "Becoming soft."

One of her hands moves upon Dema's own, letting it rest there as she gives him the most loving, and softest smile. "Dema," she breathes out softly, "There is no shame in becomming soft. WE're not as young as we used to be. If you don't want to do this anymore, we'll find something else, together. Hell. I'm sure I can get trained to pump people full of this stuff. People with diabetes give themselves shots all the time. We came back here for us to be happy. Content. You matter to me."

Dema frowns - her love and her comfort are, as it happens, tied up with his darker feelings. Just as every cloud has a silver lining, so do bright lights lengthen our shadows. "It is not-" he starts, then stops, "I do not-" he begins, and then halts again. Why is this so hard? Maybe because he still speaks of himself to himself in Russian. English is a clumsy tool when dealing with the delicacies of his heart. "It is you," he finally settles on, "It is, at times, you I see beneath my needle. As you once were."

"I do not understand," comes Jet's soft words as she gives Dema's hand a gentle squeeze. "Tell me what you want Dema. And we'll work for it." Another squeeze to his hand as her fingers lace with those of his own. Her food is abandoned for the time being, her thumb stroking over one of his own.

Of course she doesn't understand, he can't express himself well enough! Dema hates himself a little. And that little is added to a greater mass of self-doubt that has only just started to really matter to him. Again, because of her. "I found you when I was doing this, using the needles. You are… you could have been anyone. Not anyone, I know, but… do you understand? Doing this to anyone, it makes me afraid - it could have been you. You see? Because it was."

Silence from Jet for a long time as her fingers squeeze about his own. "I understand." His fingers are lifting to her lips as she gives kisses to each of his knuckles before it presses to her cheek. "I will speak to the Madam about this. I'll get you reassigned my love. And don't argue with me. I love you Dema. I want you happy. I'll speak to her. Right now. Your distress, your pain, it hurts both of us." She stands from the bench of the table now, moving around to his side as her arms wrap around his shoulders as she leans in to give a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

Dema's great arms encircle Jet and draw her to him. "Thank you," he says. For everything, really. This is just one instance in a long line of kindnesses, joys and blessings. Each thanks he gives draws on all of them, lest each one be inadequate to the task. "Doing this… it also makes it harder to know you will be below the needle," a sore topic, but he doesn't retreat. If she is willing to be brave, so must he. "You will still do it? What you said before? To be below the needle?" He's adopted this term almost idiomatically. It helps give him distance from the actual reality.

Arms wrap a bit tighter around Dema's shoulders now, her cheek to his cheek as she just sits there with him before her face turns and she kisses his neck in several spots before offering a small nip. "Only if you are the one there with me," come her whispers as she just nuzzles Dema, not caring if anyone is seeing them. "I will meet you back home after I speak with her my love. Anything you want to say before I go?"

People mind their own business. People tend to when your lover is a gigantic Russian. He frowns deeply. With her? Of course, he'd have to be. He'd want to see that she was safe. And then… an idea occurs to him. One as convincing as it is troubling. "Maybe, if it was my needle again. Then I would be able not to. To stop. And I would know. I could tell. Your body, I can read it." This last statement might be romantic, even erotic, in any other circumstance.

Jet flexes her arms around Dema's shoulders and neck a bit more as her lips trail random kisses over him here and there. "So do you want me to tell the Director to no longer have you do that. Or do you want to do it to me, and see what happens?" Soft words from her now, letting Dema work it out on his own time, Jet not rushing him in this matter.

"You want it," Dema asserts, saying nothing on his own feelings - those are clear enough. "I will not stop you. But I want to be beside you. So that I know you are safe."

"Yes. I know I want to do it Dema. But I am asking you, is if you want to stop doing what you're doing. If you want to stop, I'll go speak with the Director. If you think it would help doing it to me, then we'll do that. I know what I want. Now I want to know what you want."

A fair question. Dema takes a long moment before answering. "I want you to be safe," he states, "I want to be with you. I can do anything else, if I have this," he shakes his head, "I will keep using the needles. Let the Madame know only that I want to be part of your procedure."

A kiss to his cheek, "She has already agreed to that my love. When we first met her that snowy night. You will be there. You'll be the one doing it. I won't have it any other way." A hand caresses down his side now before she takes a seat next to him, one hand resting on his thigh as she gives it a squeeze.

This is true. It was promised. But Dema has only so much faith in the word of a woman like Dr. Sheridan. Not that she is treacherous on principle, just that 'situations change' and 'priorities shift' and all sorts of other sterile phrases that mean you can go screw yourself. But Jet is here, and he feels her. His own great hand lifts up against her ribcage, squeezing lightly. "It is so. And you will remind her, yes? But… maybe you do not need to remind her so soon?" Dema is smiling at the end of this. Some certain thought is certainly cheering him.

A smirk to his words, but there is warmth with it. "I think it can wait until tomorrow morning," come her murmured words. Slipping her hand into his own now, she tugs Dema from the table, "Come on my big Russian. I would much rather continue this discussion in the bedroom. Hmm?" A chuckle from her as well as a squeeze to his hand. "Come my love. Let us enjoy a night without worries. Tomorrow we'll speak with her. You will be there with me when I am treated."

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