Participants:
| Scene Title | A Study in Contrasts |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Temporarily partnered agents Sawyer and Webb size one another up prior to heading out on an investigation. |
| Date | February 17, 2010 |
Fort Hero Cafeteria
For you! A brand, shiny new partner, at least for the interim. Please do not break him.
What this amounts to…..Vero's been warned/informed of her new partner. Ex-Marine named Henry Webb, by all acounts and some of his record, nominal dumb muscle. Eventually they'll have him a full-fledged freak wrangler with a mutant of his own. For now, since he still sort of has the training wheels on, just two non-Evos together. He's in the cafeteria, drinking execrable coffee with every sign of enjoyment, and looking over the day's New York Times.
Veronica is getting whip lash from the partner changes. Brian Winters, brand new and wet behind the ears. Curt Lu, pretty much the antithesis — old enough to be her father. Brief partnerships with the likes of Lawrence — OCD clean freak with a good sniper eye — and lately Ryans, one of the old guard called in for a consult. And that's just the last year — never mind the four years she worked in California. Her list of partners is as long and storied as some of the files on their more dangerous targets. What this says about Veronica, the agent isn't sure, though she's certain that this is just going to be another failure, and not because of her inadequacies as a partner.
The brunette agent strides into the cafeteria with paces that suggest she is taller and longer-legged than she is, mincing no steps nor words as she finds her way to Henry's table and sitting without so much as a "May I?"
"Webb," she says, dark eyes narrowing as she looks into his open face. "I'm Sawyer." She offers her hand — apparently not unfriendly, though perhaps a little less than amiable this morning. "We're on the Chesterfield thing?"
He takes it, shakes it firmly, expression an easy mingling of cheerful and curious. The blue eyes search her face, as if for any sign of something unusual. "So I am told. Yeah, Henry Webb, pleasedtameetcha," he adds, affably.
Her brows quirk up at his searching look. "Enchante," she says, with a bit of a smirk. "Pretty impressive, getting Chesterfield's murder first thing. They must think you're pretty hot stuff to put you on something so high profile and important right away. I mean, there's pretty classified information that's possible involved. Not the kind of thing they usually give to the new kid on the block. Color me impressed."
Her eyes grow more serious. "Chesterfield — Catherine, that is — might not talk to you, though. She hates our organization, for the record. What do you know, going in?"
"That she knows of us, and is pretty cogent. No reason to try and bullshit with the old Homeland Security shuck and jive," he says, dumping more sugar into his coffee, discarding the little white packet with a flick of his hand. "Supposed to be associated with Phoenix, which is neither here nor there, at this point…."
"True enough. Cat and I have a decent rapport — a mutual respect, if you will, so don't eff it up with any spin because she won't buy it. She's more cynical than I am, and that's saying something." Veronica leans back, picking up the little paper packet and crumpling it in her hand, to deposit in the trash can on the way out. "What of the suspect?" She wants to know if she has to hide the Apollo mission information from him or if he's in the know. Her memo wasn't exactly verbose.
"Healer, Vanguard, Russian. Kozlow," says Henry. That amiable facade is dissolving slowly into a more purely businesslike manner. "Apparently he's got some sort of vengeance thing going on."
The fact that Vanguard is trying to get vengeance doesn't sit well with Veronica, of course, but it's not like expected less. How lucky for her to be both Apollo personnel and the one to investigate Chesterfield's murder, making her perhaps doubly a target. At least she wasn't in Russia, but that probably doesn't matter too much.
"Good. Now that means that Cat's probably a possible target too — she won't show that she's afraid, but you should be sensitive to the possibility that she is. Let's head to Greenwich and interview her, then we can see what the local PD has that's not in the files — there's always something."
Henry sucks down the last of his coffee with the air of a man dosing himself with some nasty but necessary medication. And then he dispatches the crappy styrofoam cup to its doom. "Sure," he eays, heaving himself up. "I'm to let you do the talking, do some grunting and scratching and staring, I think," he adds.
That actually gets a chuckle from the brunette as she stands and tosses the sugar packet into the waste basket on the way out. "Cheer up, Webb. I'll let you drive."
"My little feet can even reach the pedals," replies Henry, with childish enthusiasm. He's either a hundred percent goddamn serious, or he's got a deadpan worthy of Alan Rickman.