Get Over It


abby_icon.gif deckard_icon.gif

Scene Title Get Over It
Synopsis Fourteen and a half hours into the drive to Milwaukee, Abigail attempts to take Cardinal's advice.
Date August 14, 2009


One night stay at a hotel 6 - She was getting tired and wasn't about to let Flint drive while he'd been drinking beside her - they had gotten on the road again. Destination seems to be… Milwaukee. Because, you know, Milwaukee solves everyones problems. In beer. Windows down, the A/C pretty much off unless they needed it, Abigail's hands were on the steering wheel near the bottom, car set to cruise control on the interstates. The music was off unless Flint turned it on, though she occasionally hummed to something in her head or would look over at him, the beer, then back to the road. No cops pulling them over, no swerving into other cars. Abigail was not kidding when she said that she was getting in a car and just driving.

"Stopping in Milwaukee. We'll be there soon" They'd already gone through Chicago and the huge pit that was there you drove over.

Seat cranked back as far as it'll go to make room for his legs and window open, Deckard's screening out the blurred passage of golden street lamps with a pair of dark sunglasses. At night. Almost like old times. With a beer bottle held against one leg and his head tipped back to intercept the rush of interstate polluted air that kicks up as they pull alongside a semi, his hair's been buzzed too short to ruffle when he angles his long face back in to the sound of Abby's voice next to him. He's mellow. The empty beer bottles clanking around the floorboard behind him have probably helped.

"S'there something Milwaukee or do you just like the way the name sounds?"

"Because it has beer and you like Beer. because it's the last place that people will look for me" Abigail answers back. The anger has long since gone, just.. something else. Probably the little white pills that she takes at the minimum alloted time with the bottles of water. Her hair long since pulled back into a braid to keep it from flying everywhere and a "ohio is great" t-shirt picked up from a rest stop to replace her dirty worn one.

Deckard assimilates this information with a hint of bafflement levering down at one brow, but. He doesn't argue. He's stiff and uncomfortable — brain dead from so many hours spent watching the back ends of other vehicles moving by in between beers. And she's in the driver's seat. Not the most ideal of times to point out that there's beer everywhere and she's been buying gas with a credit card.

"Is there…someone after you?"

Maybe she's been using the credit card for a purpose. So that Teo has a trail via Wireless and won't freak out. "Serial killer. He has a thing for blonde" Delivered so seriously that… there's no possible way it could be a joke. "Hiding from the rest of the world too. Why did you come along?" Not like they're talked much. Closest really was her asking him if she could sleep on the side of the bed in the wee hours of the morning after a nightmare.

"…Another one?" A serial killer wants to kill Abby: take a drink! Deckard does, lukewarm beer sloshed back for one last swallow on its way to being dropped awkwardly around back of his chair with the rest. Clink. He has vestigal manners enough to muffle the belch that follows, filtering it out through his sinuses while he settles his bristled head back against the rest again and attempts to force his back to relax. "Wanted to make sure you weren't going to go all Thelma and Louise. Or…just Thelma. Or Louise. I dunno, I've never seen it."

"I have no clue who Thelma or Louise are" There's a mental note to mark down the name and ask Xiulan about it. "Suicide is a unforgivable sin" She can follow his trail of thought though. "I just need to.. drive, and get away from things. Get away from others and .. just stuff" The turn signal is flicked with her pinkie finger and she pulls over to pass when the vehicle is in danger of being kicked off cruise control thanks to a slower vehicle in front of her. "Thank you, for letting me sleep beside you"

"They rob a bank. Or something." Fourteen and a half hours in and Deckard hasn't had a cigarette, though he occasionally lets his right hand fall out into the air rushing cool around the car's carapace, as he is now. Doesn't say anything to her thanks where it's easier to just loll his attention back out onto the street.

Is that a half aborted laugh from Abigail?

"Do you really see me robbing a bank?" her hands regrip the steering wheel as she pulls back into the right lane. "Do you want to go to Milwaukee? We can drive somewhere else. I don't care where we drive really, just.. just so long that we drive." She should have rented a convertible. She still could. Just a matter of stopping in at the next city and seeing what they had. "I'm not going crazy. Crazy people, don't say that, right? I'm just.. I'm just broken and I need to fix myself. I need to.. do to myself, what I did for others. Fix it"

"No." He doesn't see her robbing a bank. Driving off a cliff, on the other hand…

"I don't care where we go as long as they have a hotel." Earnest as ever in his bland delivery, he scratches and scuffs at the stubble bristled in at the base of his neck instead of looking back at her. A hotel. Food. A comfortable bed not to have sex in.

Pessimism is cut off short when he realizes she's still talking, and now he does look at her sideways, brows faintly knit over the ridge of his glasses when he stills out of a second attempt at resettling.

"I'm not crazy" She's only taking pills to keep her from going crazy. "I'll get a better hotel. I'll try and find a best western. Maybe a Comfort Inn" She should have brought a tent. Maybe if she'd had time to plan this, as opposed to just bolting out of the apartment in the middle of mak… wow. "Fuck"

You've been crazy from the beginning is probably not the right thing to say, here. Sunglasses a blank screen against whatever real reaction might be hiding in his eyes, Deckard manages distant worry and unease enough in the knit of his brows while he looks her over. And fails to say anything helpful.

And it's that he's saying nothing that's making her one more time under her breath.

It's five minutes later that she does however pull over, turn signal to warn the people behind her and then onto the side of the road where she applied her foot to the brakes, hit the warning lights and kills the engine before turning towards him.

Clank, clank. Clink. The bottles in the back seat are the last things to stop moving. Outside of Flint's open window, the hum and rush and asphalt crunch of passing cars ruffles past a little too fast for comfort. Now his brows are really knit. What is happening? Does she need to pee? This is not a hotel. Is she about to snap and kill him? The possibilities are not creative or endless, but there are possibilities for him to dither around with while headlights roll too quick across the ceiling, pulling shadows after them in a pattern that's already been repeated several times over.

All of this and he hardly moves. There's a rustle around his collar when he turns his head a little further to see what she's doing or — if she's holding a knife.

"You're part of why I'm out here. Do you know that? Did he tell you that?" No knife. No gun either. Cardinal had been at the door and she couldn't grab it. Damn him. She doesn't have any weapons. Maybe the cross around her neck. She COULD choke him with it…

"He said boo hoo, so I'm lusting after you. Get over it."

Flint's default silence in answer to this is somewhat broken up by he steady flow of traffic outside his window. The regular trip of light through the car's interior very nearly lends him a dynamic air, even, for all that he's just sitting there looking blankly dumbfounded. "…He didn't. Mention."

Dialogue even more fragmented than usual, he can't — he can't not try to clarify after a long moment, brows tipped up and forehead lined with apologetic confusion.

"Ss…mnnh." Okay, so. No telling what word that was supposed to be.

Fortunately the ones that follow are clearer. "…Did you just say lust?"

Abby's lips purse as the blonde looks over at him. There's no hair growing out of his ears yet, so obviously, he's being a jerk and wanting her to repeat it. But he's not going to get that satisfaction as her hand is still planted on the steering wheel and she's looking back at him through the passing car lights.

Awkward. She's not saying anything and he's run out of things to say that sound even remotely normal. More cars pass; more time is spent sitting with his hands laced slack between the wide angle of his knees as he turns his head to measure the distance from here to the nearest lane at a loss. When he looks back her way and his mouth slacks open beneath an uncertain twitch of his brows, the best he can manage is a failed attempt at casual indifference and a mild, "You want to go in the car, or…?"

"Cars suck for a womans first time Flint." But she's loosing time before they can make it to a hotel so she turns the car back on, key turning on the ignition and turn signals marking that they're ready to get back on the road. They're really not that far actually. "Not that you're interested. You've made that clear."

An automatic and slightly defensive How would you know? for her first statement dies before it makes it out into spoken existence, which is probably for the best even if the sentiment's ghost lines it's way in fuzzily around the flat of Flint's mouth. Bars of shadow and light play stark across the quarter of his profile he's showing her, alternately highlighting and underlining incredulity while he settles back into his seat in anticipation of resumed driving. "I didn't know you wanted me to be interested."

"You turned me down at Xiulan's. You took me home." Admittedly, she was drunk, but still. Obviously, she had enough of her faculties around her if she could remember. The car pulls out and she's pressing buttons on the steering wheel with her thumb. "Besides, do I look like fucking Matthew Parkman? I can't read minds either."

"You were drunk. …And you'd just thrown up." Logical in his own defense, Deckard speaks as he might of purchasing a couch, disbelief leaving him at a remove that reeks of faux normalcy, given precisely what they're talking about. "Who's Matthew Parkman?"

"Telepath who works for homeland Security. He was on Staten Island while you were there. He found me and tried to stick his head in and make sure I was going to make it through" He has a point. "You still said 'another night' and another night never came. I figured you were just placating a drunk baptist with blue hair and probably more tattoo's than you."

Abby's friends with HomeSec and Deckard can't make himself look any more surprised about this than he did the idea that someone else wants to grind her bones to make their bread. Maybe a little puzzled along the lines of what else he has no idea about, but there's this other pretty distracting issue at hand —

"I was placating you to avoid rape. If I'd said yes you'd still be hiding in a goddamn ditch somewhere."

"Can't rape the willing Flint." Bluntly spoken by the blond as she watches the road.

A harsh breath rasps through Deckard's teeth — as close to a laugh as he ever gets these days. "You're right. Next time I have a drunk virgin grinding around in my lap I'll just assume she's willing."

"Now you're baiting me." Abigail purses her lips. "You're being a dick now" It's snapped out, there comes that temper again.

Both hands lifted open out of his lap in exasperated concession, Deckard looks helplessly over at her past the letters glowing on the radio between them, currently silent. "You're telling me I should rape people!"

"You're putting words in my mouth" God Damnit. God Damnit it to hell. "I should have kept my mouth shut." Their exit is coming up and she switches Lanes while a blue sign with the logos of a handful of hotels come into view with the car lights. "Pick a hotel. Same offer as last night. You can have your own room. So you don't have to worry about deflowering the drunken virgin"

Deckard has not had nearly enough beer for this. He does not pick a hotel room. Instead, he lets his hands fall back down into his lap and slumps in a vacuum of surly silence. Window still open, air conditioning vents still directed elsewhere.

It is evening air. Nice and cool, filled with bugs that occasionally hit the windshield. Silence will be the name of the game until true to her word, she pulls into a Comfort Inn. The red car eases into a parking spot, engine killed once again.

"I'm sorry Flint. I'm.. being mean. I'm not like this" She wrings her hands around the steering wheel at ten and two, shoulders slumping downwards.

"It's fine." Something Deckard's said before in much the same tone of voice, with the major difference this time around being that he hasn't just had his eye carved out of his head.

Things in the parking lot are more static than they were on the highway. The sound of traffic is muffled and there's slightly less risk of a massive truck careening off the side of the road and crushing them both into oblivion. The air's gone still save for the lift of an occasional breeze; the comfort inn sign glows soft overhead. Now would be the ideal time to say something romantic to save the situation. In theory.


More words are needed. Flint furrows his brow. Resists. "I've wanted to fuck you since that first night in the diner."

You stay classy, Flint Deckard!

"Screw the manual" Abigail mutters as she looks over. Since that first night. "I'm going to need a stupid hot tub after" She mutters, unlocking the door and pushing her door open. "Lets just go get a room and what happens.. happens" one leg swings out as the keys are plucked from the steering column and the button for the trunk pushed. All the bags are back there, what few of them there are.

Wow. Okay. So. Deckard remains seated for longer than he should. Maybe needs just a moment to himself before he levers himself up out of the passenger's side, stoops to drag a revolver from beneath the seat and clomps the door shut behind him. He's lost the sunglasses by the time he's made it around back of the car to heft out his duffel once the gun's safely inside, back to silence again on their way to trudging for the office to check in.

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