Participants:
| Scene Title | Know What's Going On |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Prompted by his own concerns, Devon decides to ask Doctor Brennan about the vaccine's progress. |
| Date | June 4, 2011 |
A Highschool Track in Brooklyn
A couple of different, entirely unrelated talks actually prompted Devon's call to Doctor Brennan. It hasn't been a great while since he'd last seen the doctor, but the kid worries. A lot. Though this morning's call doesn't seem to relay those fears when he asks the older man to meet him at a high school in northern Brooklyn.
The teenager is already there, at the track that encloses a football field and dressed for running in shoes, shorts, and t-shirt. Color suffuses his cheeks in a way that implies he's probably been around the track a few times, though at present he's sitting on a metal bench sipping at a sports drink. Devon's eyes wander toward the school building and the parking lot only just visible from where he sits.
Brennan's soon hoofing it across the ground, letting himself in after parking his car. Jogging shorts, plain t-shirt and sneakers, he's easily seen approaching across the grounds and then bounding up the bleachers so that he can sit beside the teenager. Hairs still short, still scruffy jawed and silver at the temples, the only thing different that Devon hasn't seen before is the that tattoo's the circle his upper arm and disappear beneath the sleeves of his shirt.
'She hasn't show up around you or strange things haven't happened has it? We had a talk, Dr. Blite and I, and she won't be coming near you. In fact she's too busy working on the vaccine to do much of anything" Except recover from a gutshot in truth.
Though fingers are curled around a plastic lid, Devon raises the hand not occupied by the lid's bottle once he spots Brennan. He slides over a small fraction, allowing more space for the doctor to sit, offering him a nod in greeting. A curious, even questioning look delays another draw off the sports drink. "Wh… You… No. No, sir, I haven't seen nor heard from her since that day I left you the recording."
Devon twists the cap back onto his drink and lifts one shoulder in a shrug. "That's good news, that she's working on it. That's…" He ventures to grin, eyes flicking toward Brennan then to the track. "You don't read minds too, do you?"
"Nope, but I have it on somewhat good authority that telepaths have a hard time if not unable to read mine. Why, she still on your mind?" Brennan leans forward beside him, elbows on his knee's looking over at Devon.
"Yeah," Devon admits, though his head gives a shake. "As much as we'd rather I wasn't, I'm involved. I just… I'd like to know what's going on, y'know?" His eyes slant toward Brennan, considering for a moment. "Just had some concerns. Someone wondering if I'd been checked to see if I'm a carrier. And …M— Kincaid asked me to come back to the studio to help out."
"Of the virus? You could be, but there'd be no way to check really. If you were, by now it would have filtered out of your system, since you wouldn't be actively infective. If you were going to pass it on, you would have by now. Who brought this up to you?" As for the topic of Kincaid. "And it sounds good. You going back, Kincaid asking you to. Means that all is forgiven, if there was anything to forgive"
"Just someone I know, concerned since we both know non-evolved people." Devon leans forward, elbows going to rest on his thighs. "Kind of surprised Kincaid asked. I want to, I guess. I don't know if I'll have an actual job after this whole epidemic is over, and the mortality rates… It's going to be pretty dead at Studio K soon. Literally."
"I think that you need to have a little faith, in the tenacity and sheer stubbornness of your dear Kristen, and she'll survive. The medical saff is providing the best medical care that they can for her, treating the symptoms. So long as you wash your hands, wash your clothes, continue with good hygiene and avoid being the direct bridge between an infected indivdual and another individual not possessing the SLc gene, it'll be fine"
"It's not just her, Doctor Brennan." Devon's head tilts a little, looking toward the older man. "The majority of the studio doesn't have the SLC gene." With a sigh, he shakes his head. "So, yeah. Literally and horribly understaffed. —Anyway. How's… how's your family?"
"They're well and fine, no sniffles" Brennan regards Devon, leaning towards him. "It's not your fault, you realize this right?That Kristen got sick, and people in the studio got sick. That if something happens and no vaccine comes of the work being done, that it's not your fault right?" He reaches over, settling a hand on Devon's shoulder squeezing. "That it's nature, the mutation of genes that bumped the virus across the genetic barrier, not anything that you did"
"It is someone's fault," Devon says quietly, though unable to elaborate much. And not for lack of knowledge. "It's… I know it isn't my fault. And I know that people are working to correct it, and… No, I understand all that. Just wish there were more I could be doing. Slap some sense into Blite or something. She's hiding information."
"Blite… has been reported to the DoEA, to individuals that I am in contact with, regarding the validity of her registration and the possibility that it might not be accurate nor true. Dr. Blite will be likely, under thourough scrutiny soon enough"
Devon's brows knit together forming a crease just above the bridge of his nose, worried regardless of the information Brennan has shared. He nods, accepting, unable to do much else in that direction. Still, there's another avenue to the virus. "What…" The teen begins slowly, tongue dabbing at his lips as he collects his thoughts. "What if it were proven that this mutation was… manufactured? And that it was intentionally released? —What then?"
'Then, I am sure, that the government will hunt down whomever is responsible, if they did this, and prosecute them to the full length of the law and with the backing of the people as a whole, for the deaths and damage that the individual or individuals has done and for their callous disregard for life" He answers Devon, taking his hand back, settling elbows on his knees again.
"You have a lot of faith in the government." Devon's tone isn't derisive or even questioning. It lends more toward observant, as though realizing it about the doctor for the first time. "I hope you're right about that. There's plenty of people out there who hate the Evolved just because the lottery changed their genetic make up. But there's plenty of non-evolved out there too, who're just as evil and twisted, and no one looks twice at them."
"I have a lot of faith that the things that need changing, will change, in the government. I have faith that if they don't, that the people will vote in and demand the change that is needed and show that they will not put up with it. That is the faith that I have. THings don't change overnight, not most things, without pressure. I try to be that change and a voice of reason with the DoEA when I am called on and try to live my life by example"
"As do a lot of us." Devon's head lowers for a moment, to hang between his shoulders, then tilts to afford him a look at the track. Worry still has lines etched across his forehead, faint now, but as much a part of him as the scars he carries both visible and not. "You do much running, Doctor Brennan? I know most docs play golf, unless you're an ER doctor on television and then you play basketball."
"I play lacross actually. I run, some basketball. I hit the gym when I can" Which explains the muscles that you can see, that are normally hidden beneath suits and long sleeved button downs. "Golf, when I have to, it's too sedate for me. That's my dad. But me, I like alittle more full contact" He looks out over the school grounds and the running loop there. "We can do a couple laps, or we can take off across the city if you like. Bit more adventerous that way"
"You sound a bit like my dad, he was all football and basketball." The cap to the teen's drink is twisted off and the beverage finished in a couple of gulps. "Let's do a mile and back from the parking lot. It's Saturday so I shouldn't take up all your family time."
"Girls are having spa time with their mom. I've been abandoned for the day. Henri's with them and the nanny. I got more than a few hours to spare." It's tomorrow that's family day. "Lets do that mile and then see where we stand there then, deal?" He holds his hand out to Devon to shake.
He hesitates, but only for a second or two. Then Devon's hand extends to accept and return the handshake. "Deal," he agrees, nodding.
He squeezes the teenagers hand one moment, the other moment, he's tearing off the bleachers, running hell bent for the streets with a grin on his face. "ast one to the sidewalk is a dirty egg"
Devon half chuckles before he jogs after the doctor. His empty bottle is dropped into a can in passing, and after his pace is picked up to catch the older man. He's not concerned too much with winning or losing, but he'll definitely make sure to give Brennan a run for his money.