Doing Okay


brennan2_icon.gif devon2_icon.gif michelle_icon.gif

Scene Title Doing Okay
Synopsis Supposedly.
Date August 29, 2011

The Brennan Home

The brownstone belonging to the doctors Brennan seems to be a little different this afternoon. For one, there's an older woman with greying hair and a black dress sitting on the steps up to the door who is neither Michelle nor Harve, but looks a little like the former, and with her is the Brennan's baby sleeping quietly in his grandmother's arms. And despite it being the afternoon and a fairly nice day out, there are no sounds of the other children playing or running around or even fighting. The house is, for all that the windows are open and people are home, most definitely quiet.

The grandmother was spied from down the street, as Devon made his way on foot toward the house. Though he's already wary, had already been watching for things not normal during the journey across town, the stranger nor absence of noise doesn't cause him to move on. The teenager, in hoodie and jeans and still bearing the healing marks of an incident he's not quick to speak about, turns off the sidewalk and onto the pathway leading to the house, approaching with an amiable grin for the older woman. "Afternoon," he calls as soon as he turns toward the house. "Is Doctor Brennan home?"

The woman looks up, rising to her feet as she notices there's a visitor meant for the house. But she brings a finger to her lips and then points to the young bundle in her arms. "Both are, yes," the woman says, her French accent thick, but not so thick she can't be understood. "If you are a patient," she starts, an odd look coming to her face, "this is not the best time." She knows her daughter and son in law have strange habits when it comes to their medical practice. And with Devon being so young…

Coming to a stop half way to the house, Devon's eyes move from the grandmother to the house, then back again. A quick flick of his eyes and nothing more. He won't try and rush past the woman to get inside, and his posture implies preference to not bother the family if they'd prefer it. "No. I'm a …My name's Devon. Doctor B is… Kind've a friend. But I can come back another time. If now's a bad time."

"Devon. I am Genevieve Demscarier. Michelle's mother," she explains before she motions him forward with a crook of her finger. "I would not turn away their friends. Come along." Somewhat abrupt, but not unfriendly as she turns to lead him into the house. Not just into the house but into the living room where the family generally receives guests. Today Michelle is sitting on the couch, the coffee table littered with brochures and booklets and a few folders here and there. It looks almost like party planning, as she seems to be looking over flower arrangements at the moment, but a keen eye can pick out a picture of a cemetery in the assortment.

"Devon," she greets, although she doesn't stand up, "I'm sorry, did we have something planned today?" She seems… sad. Tired. Even a little confused, like she's genuinely worried they forgot something. And she's also in a black dress.

Her mother passes by, giving her shoulder a squeeze before she moves on to climb the stairs with Henri.

Brennan isn't far, getting off the phone with a press of his thumb, ending a call when Devon is escorted in by the namesake of one of the twins. A starbucks cup in hand, steaming from the lip as he looks over to the cusp of adulthood teen and surprised to see him. If they had something planned, he's forgotten and opens his own mouth to apologize when Michelle does it for them.

He's in black as well, slacks, button down, grey tie that moves for lack of a tie tack when he starts across the room towards the teen. "Devon. Are you okay?" A glance outside shows the weather has stopped with it's torrential downpour and has remained just cloudy. Not of Michelle's making, not even the heavy storms that passed. It was as if, to them, mother nature knew and mourned. "I'm sorry, if we forgot a dinner or something we'd planned. How are you?" A gesture to where he knew the teenager was last hurt and sewed up.

"Nice to meet you, Miss Demscarier," the teen replies as he steps forward to follow. He's otherwise silent as he's led into the house and eventually into the living room. His eyes follow the grandmother as she leaves then turn toward the two doctors. One in black can be overlooked, even both parents being home. But Devon's brow creases slightly, eyes moving over Harve and Michelle, the choice of reading material. "No, we didn't forget anything." His head lifts slightly, addressing the Brennan's directly. "I'm sorry, I should've called before coming over."

"No no, it's alright," Michelle says, setting down her brochure and standing to her feet. "Come have a seat in the dining room," where there's less clutter, "Have something to drink. Are you hungry?" There's food. Casseroles and such from peers and friends as word has slowly spread.

She nods in that direction before heading into the dining area herself. She only pauses to straighten Harve's tie, just for a moment.

Out of the dining room window, the twins are visible outside, also in black (but not matching) dresses, taking advantage of the clearer weather to get some fresh air.

"Never be sorry. It's not like we would have said anything over the phone" Brennan doesn't fidget under the touch of his wife, letting her straighten his tie even if it doesn't really need it. But little things one can take comfort from when inside, things are breaking. "How is everyone?" No names to be named, just a general inquiry. A gesture for him to follow Michelle even as Brennan himself does too into the white dining room. Bowls of fruit, white flowers with little cards that speak of sympathy, a basket of muffins and the kitchen beyond with food laid out that was indeed brought by others. "What did you need?"

"I should've called," Devon repeats, turning to follow the two into the dining room. His hands go into his pockets as he follows, eyes trailing over the gifts and well wishes laid out. "I'm technically grounded, but we're all fine." He pauses, tongue dabbing at his split lower lip. "I hadn't stopped by in a while. Since I asked Doctor Price to…" He pauses again, frowning. "There anything you two need?" The boy's eyes move to Harve first, then Michelle.

"Out breaking the rules," Michelle says, shaking a finger as she goes to pull out a drink for him. It's playful, but subdued. "You're sweet to ask, Devon, but I think we…" are okay and can handle it might be total lies at the moment, so she pauses to edit herself, "…have what we need. More than. I hope you can eat some of this food."

It helps, having something to focus on besides the dreadful task of planning your daughter's funeral.

Michelle once again, says it all. Is the stronger of the two of them, funnily and oddly enough, in the situation. Brennan opts to haunt near the big french doors that lead out to the backyard of the brownstone and make sure the two girls are alright. That they don't injure themselves. Too young to comprehend really about the situation. "Time to go back to weeks ago" That's what they need. So they could put Marlena in a bubble, spare everyone the grief that's hanging about the house like an unwanted visitor.

But they won't be getting that. "You didn't call, you're here. Dr. Price was unable to do more than other doctors were able to. In the end, she just wasn't strong enough." He swings an arm out, squeezing Michelle's shoulder. "Did they need something?" They. "Or did you just come to visit? Michelle can patch up the lip for you"

"Yeah, I think it's a broken rule that'll be forgiven though." Devon stuck to the punishment out of respect, but a week of staying in his room had the outdoors calling. Though at the moment, part of him wishes he'd stayed there, delayed any bad news. Lips thin over the news that Odessa hadn't been able to help, a sigh following. "No, we're good. Some bruises, I got b.. jumped. It's fine. Just decided to visit. —We should play ball again soon. Everyone." A glance to Michelle and then to the twins through the window defines everyone.

Michelle comes over to hand him a glass, and Harve's words prompt her to look at Devon a little more closely. She's really out of it, as it took her husband pointing it out to notice the split lip. "At least let me clean it out, yes?" Infection is a bad thing, after all. "Did getting jumped have something to do with getting grounded?" She asks with a lift of an eyebrow.

However, there's no answer on the suggestion of playing ball, the woman just turns back to pull out a dish, because Devon is going to eat, apparently.

"We should. Or maybe you and the girls can" It would help, the girls like Devon as evidenced by Gene turning, recognizing him beyond the glass and giving him a wave before she goes back to her game of whatever it is that she and Dessandra are doing that involves the pebbles in the yard.

"I'm presuming that it did. Devon here has a penchant for… getting jumped" And getting attacked, or otherwise getting into trouble. But when you hang out with the people that Devon has been seen by the masculine of the Drs. Brennan, it's little surprise.

The wave is returned, and Gene is even treated to a small grin. "Uh… Yeah. Something like that," Devon replies as he looks back at Michelle. Harve's words are answered with a small shake of the boy's head, furrowing of his brow returning. Oddly enough, his 'being jumped' was in response to the event that found him grounded. "It's nothing. Probably looks worse than it is. —I can take the girls to play ball. Or… whatever they'd enjoy doing."

"Like most men, no?" Michelle eyes Harve there, since he has a penchant for trouble, too. She goes about reheating a plate of food that looks both homemade and delicious, nodding to the both of them. "They have asked about you, the twins. I'm sure they would love a distraction." Everyone in the house is being strange, after all. "We all could probably use one." Her gaze flicks back to the living room and all the work there. There's a bit of a sigh.

Part of Brennan in truth, doesn't want Devon to take them out to play ball on his own. Look who Devon hangs around with, whats to say that those people - those people - won't show up. Terrorist activities, freedom fighter activities around his last two girls. "I think, that that's a good idea. Maybe some ice cream. I can get you the car keys, after you have something to eat" Eat Devon, Harve's look says. Eat, make Michelle happy, she can do something, provide a distraction for as long as it will take before they have to go back to choosing things one hopes they never have to.

"Thanks, Doctor B. But… we'll have to walk." Devon shrugs slightly, apologetically. "Or just hang out here for a while. I don't have a ball with me, but I can figure something out instead." He steps toward the kitchen, hands coming free of his pockets, to help with serving up some food, though he glances again toward the window and the twins outside. A crease across his forehead deepens briefly, head shaking, attention returning to the Doctors Brennan.
Brennan has partially disconnected.

"We have some things here that will do," Michelle says, as she passes him a plate, "The backyard is roomy enough." She looks over toward Harve, her hand moving to his arm. Better to keep the children close, her current mood doesn't allow for much comfort with distance. "I'm glad you're doing well, Devon. Or well enough, anyway, considering." She ends up pouring herself a glass of wine, something dark red and very French and likely from her parent's winery. Not that you can tell most of that from the glass, but she can and that's what matters.

Plenty of things to do. Video games in the basement, sand box in the backyard, swingset, many things. Brennan looks down to where the slender hand ends up on his arm, grim line to his mouth and a nod. "Sounds good." More to himself than the others before he looks to the teenager. "What were you thinking?" Having seen the shake of head, the creases of forehead that are plaguing both Michelle and he these last few weeks. She lifts his other hand, starbucks put down and settles his hand over that of the woman's to squeeze it.

Devon focuses on the plate in his hands for a moment, lingering there before pushing some piece of it around with a fork. "Just remembering," he says, "it's nothing though. I'm doing okay." The last is repeated for Michelle, the boy looking up from his plate to the female doctor. "Just a little banged up, nothing I can't handle. Haven't jumped in front of any guns lately either." Which is a good thing, for someone with a penchant for trouble.

"He is reminding me of you in Medecins Sans Frontieres," Michelle says to Harve, a slight smile coming to her face. Which makes it hard to comment on the boy's recklessness, or lack of it at the moment, since Harve's reckless bravery is one of the things that she loves about him. Even if it frustrates her. Even if it frustrates her a lot.

"You all say the same thing, whether it's a bruise or a broken rib," she eventually says, looking back to Devon, "I hope if you are ever seriously hurt, you will come and get help." From them, is the implication, since a hospital would be… trouble. For him.

"Good" Good that he hasn't jumped in front of any guns.

Good that he's here, someone to occupy the kids. Brennan turns away from Michelle and Devon, coffee left to cool on the counter that divides kitchen from dining room. His footsteps set to carry him back to the livingroom so that they can go back to what they were doing before.

A glance follows Harve from the kitchen, and then Devon looks to the girls outside again. "I'll take this outside, eat while I play with the twins," he offers. Though without waiting for any response, he sets off to find the door and to let himself outside to greet the girls with a grin and questions about what games they'd want to play.

Michelle watches one and then the other leave the room, and she stands there a moment, running a hand over her face. In a moment, she'll rejoin Harve and get back to planning. But for a little bit, she stands in the kitchen, drinking her wine and staring at one of the empty chairs at the dining room table. She'll be strong for now, for the other children. For the company. For their dignity and face. But there, alone in her kitchen, she'll let a little despair creep in. For a moment.

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