Felix Ivanov is in St. Luke's Again


felix_icon.gif leland_icon.gif

Scene Title Felix Ivanov is in St. Luke's again
Synopsis See log title!
Date March 18, 2009

St. Luke's Hospital

Honestly, at the rate he's been going since he came back to New York, Fel should have a room of his own reserved. He all but does. AT the moment, he's lying in his hospital bed as the last rays of a spring evening slant in through his window. He's asleep, and it's peaceful, by the expression on his face. Of course, the IV of drugs isn't exactly detracting from this.

"The fuck, Ivanov."

Leland's in the threshold of the door to the hospital room. He's in off-duty clothes, with a scruff of five o'clock shadow on his face. "What happened this time?" This is his way of showing concern - not by what he says, but by the fact he's here.

HE doesn't move. But one eye cracks, rolls to focus blearily on Lee. It's followed by a smile that's surprisingly tender, if inward-turned and amused. "We got Sylar," he says, a little coal of satisfaction aglow in face and voice, as he opens both eyes, turns his head. "It was pretty fucked up - Homeland had to come in and get him. God help me if I'm ever their target," he says, in a dry murmur. "We had this speedster kid who knew where he was, helped us track him. Boy deserves a medal more'n I ever have."

Leland clenches his jaw and then steps into the room. He slaps a pair of gloves into the palm of his hand, then looks down, and up at Felix. "So. You got Sylar. Coupla freaks and Homeland took down another freak, huh?" A grunt. "Sorry I missed the party. What'd he do to you before you got him?"

"Laser beams, can you fucking believe it. And….he has this life drain power that Volken did. I can't explain it, other than it hurts like all hell," He shifts uneasily, under the white cotton of the hospital blanket. "He was pulling his punches, or you'd be at my funeral."

"Now why the fuck would Sylar be pulling his punches, uh?" Leland drops his jacket and gloves down on a nearby chair. He paces around to the foot of his bed and looks at Felix's chart. Not that he has any idea what any of it means. He replaces the clipboard. "So. How long are they keeping you locked up here? You're not missing any parts, are ya? Lasers? Fuck me."

"Apparently it's about as bad as a couple of minor GSWs, and it won't be long. Also, I've a favor to ask that might shorten it. There's a bar called Old Lucy's. There's a barmaid there named Abby, Abigail. Drop by, tell her that Felix Ivanov is in St. Luke's again." A shrug that rustles the stiff and sterile sheets. "I don't know. Maybe that leopard really has changed his spots."

Leland arches a brow. "Why would a bartender care if you're in the hospital, uh?" Sometimes he's not the fastest on the uptake. "I'd make some crack about you'n her if, well, y'know." At least he doesn't say it out loud. "Well. Guess it doesn't matter why the hell Sylar didn't wipe you all the hell out, uh? He's in custody now. Funny. I didn't know there was a takedown planned."

"I've had a few rounds with women, too, Leland," he says, with a Cheshire smile. "But no, Abby's a friend, not an ex. She…she's a healer. She's helped me out before. I have no hold on her and she doesn't work for money, so it's up to her if she'll come. There wasn't. We had a lead we had to act on. This kid…..Sylar'd killed his sister, so he's spent the last six months tracking him down. He found him, and then came to us."

Leland chuckles humourlessly and presses his fingers to the bridge of his nose. "You need this girl sweet-talked and you're sending me? Did Sylar laser out part of your goddamn brain, there, Ivanov?" He makes a gun shape against his forehead and moves his thumb.

Fel eyes him. "Oh, c'mon, women love you when you're not being a bear. Go there, get yourself a beer, just pass on the message. You don't have to get down on your knees and propose."

Leland looks thoughtful for a moment. Which means his brows are knit together and one eye is squinted. He looks at Felix for a long moment, then says, "All right. F'it'll get you off your ass and back to work faster."

'I'll even pay for the beer, you chiseller," Felix says, mock-scolding. He grins despite himself, though, lopsidedly.

"You're paying for the beer, and you're doing my market run for me if I manage to get her to come. Which is a long shot if you're relyin' on my charms." Lee steps over to his jacket and pulls out a magazine. He drops it on top of Felix's chest. It's an issue of Ellery Queen. "Thought you could use some reading."

Fel just laughs at that. "Bostonians are legendarily cheap, but man, you take the cake," he says, wheezing. He picks up the magazine and eyes it. "Thanks, I can. I hate romance novels and people magazine, and that's all they seem to have here."

"I know," says Lee. Whether that's a comment about Felix's personal tastes or about the quality of magazines in hospitals is up to Felix to noodle over. "I'll go see if I can go track down this girl." He steps over to the chair where he recently dropped his jacket and coat and scoops them up again. "Don't get too comfy there, uh? It's your turn to do the laundry."

"Thanks, Lee," he says, simply, putting a hand over his magazine. "And I know. I'll try not to ruin your silk boxers, this time."

The only response Lee gives to that is a snort and an eyeroll. Then the detective makes for the door and pulls it open. "See if I can't get the department to spring for a fuckin' TV in here." And then he's out, into the hallway. That's about as much warmth as even an old friend will get.

March 18th: Look Who's Coming To Dinner
March 18th: You Do This Often?
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