Not Your Typical Teenager


brennan2_icon.gif devon2_icon.gif

Scene Title Not Your Typical Teenager
Synopsis When trouble brews in a department well beyond Devon's experience, he escapes to the home of Doctor Brennan for advice.
Date May 22, 2011

Brennan Home

A botched dinner out saw Devon back to Dorchester Towers, though only long enough to make a phone call. Though tension lingered in his voice, frustration and fear tainting a normally calm exterior, he'd called the first person to come to mind. Unsurprising since the teenager knows Doctor Brennan to work with Doctor Blite.

It isn't terribly late when the call comes, a couple of hours and some minutes left before curfew. But it's relayed by Devon's tone that a phone call isn't quite appropriate for the topic at hand. In a few short words he's asked Brennan if he could visit, promising thrice over to keep it brief enough it won't interrupt with his family. Directions were repeated back in murmured tones before the call was ended, the young man's feet already carrying him in that direction.

Of course, it's by cab he eventually arrives. Devon pays the fare without concern for the change and waits for the driver to depart before approaching the house. He hasn't changed clothes since that ill-fated dinner, still dressed in a suit of black though the tie has been undone. His eyes tick toward the street in habit, then his knuckles raise to rap soundly against the door.

The door he knocks on, isn't the one that opens, standing on the wrought Iron gated steps of a respectable and decent sized brownstone in Flat Bush Brooklyn. Inside, through the breaks in frost glass, a hallway, open to a living room, a kitchen through the rear and stairs. But it's the door that's below the landing outside that opens up, an alcove that hold garbage cans and a second entrance to the home. The door to the basement, and directly to Brennan's office. "Down here Devon," he calls out, sticking his head up the steps and peering up, hoping the teenager will look over and down. "This door. Mish is putting the twins to bed"

A cringe, a visible expression that easily translates to oops, responds to the news. But rather than apologize to the door leading to a quiet home interior, Devon looks toward Brennan and nods. With hands retreating into his pockets, Devon steps around to find his way to the alcove and the door where Doctor Brennan waits. "Sorry," he offers, eyes flicking toward the main door. "It's late, I know. It's just… I wasn't sure if I could wait or if I should call you or someone else first…"

"Not too late, but Mish is busy and Marlena won't see the door if she's in her room" the place rigged to help the eldest daughter know when there's people at the door. He retreats once Devon is below, ushering him into the home office with it's books, comfortable chairs, couch and desk, modest flat screen on the wall with it's game console tucked away onto a shelf. Brennan's own moderate mancave. The door leading to the rest of house showing a family room, some toys strewn about, a fake kitchen set and a multitude of Disney movies. Two doctors, both from well to do families, they have done well enough for themselves, despite having spent the start of their careers almost always in the jungles of the world.

"You want something to drink? Before you start telling me what was urgent enough to come out here? If you don't make it out of here by time for curfew, you can stay, couch out there pull out"

A polite look around is afforded for the interior as Devon makes his way inside. The layout is reminiscent of the house from his own childhood home. He pulls a hand free of his pocket to rub the back of his neck, head shaking as his eyes find Brennan again. "Just water, please. I'm really sorry to bother you again. It's …I saw Doctor Blite again. I… Could've called someone else but…" Pressing his hand back into his pocket, the teen shrugs. "I think I screwed up, Doctor Brennan."

“Ahh, teenage impulses, running off half cocked, and then, if it goes wrong, trying to back-peddle" It's a good natured rib at the teenager as Brennan turns, dragging out a bottle of water from the little pile in a small cooler in the office and throws it towards the teenager. "Okay, spill. We'll see if we need to re-arrange the battleships or just batten down the hatches." There's a gesture for the couch, Brennan opting to take one of the armchair and ease himself down into it. “Make yourself comfortable"

Taking the bottle of water, Devon shakes his head again. "More like, I might've seriously screwed any chance of getting a vaccine." Teenaged impulse and haste coupled with trying to handle such a weighty matter. He edges toward the couch and sinks onto the of the cushions. Head hanging forward, he stares at the flooring, hands fidgeting around the bottled water. "I was setting up to tell her I'd get her into the studio, so she can reveal her vaccine. Then she started going about how she was afraid and didn't want to sacrifice herself, which I understand but… Her attitude just didn't… It seemed wrong, the whole… her being afraid. And she had this look when she arrived…"

The teenager sighs, a hand raising to rub against his forehead. "I tried appealing to her, saying it would be fine, she'd get her credit, we could post it on Youtube and get more exposure. And she just insisted more like she wasn't going to even try. So I gave her an ultimatum."

Brennan sucks in his breath through his teeth, a wince at the last words out of Devon’s mouth, shaking his head side to side as he opens his own bottle of water.

“Okay. What was it"

"Told her she can make the vaccine, get all the credit, whatever." Devon hooks his hand over his neck again, eyes closing for a second. "Or that I'd expose her, take the information that I know, and go public with it."

And there's the rub. Brennan nods his head, screwing and unscrewing the cap on the water bottle as he thinks about what Devon just told him. "How'd she react to that?"

The teen's shoulders rise and fall. "She told me she'd discredit me, warned about who I came in contact with because of the new virus." His head lifts slightly, eyes going to Brennan. "In not so many words, further threatened me. She told me to apologize tomorrow and started to walk out of the restaurant." Hand dropping away from his neck, Devon twists off the cap on his water, though he doesn't drink. "…I apologized already, before she had a chance to leave. Told her… told her about Ms. Reynolds and… I'm not concerned with my career. She might've accepted. I don't know, she said she was going home to think and she'd begin working on a vaccine the right way, her way, so her efforts aren't in vain."

"She'd succeed, likely. She's an adult, you're a teenager. She'd spin it as you were infatuated with her, those teenage hormones. That she rebuffed your advances and now you're lashing out in anger" He toys with the neck of his waterbottle. "You didn't by chance happen ot be secretly recording the conversation with her? "

"I wish I had been." Devon grins, briefly, then winces. He should start recording all conversations with those he isn't sure of, it seems. "I have the technology to do it, but…" There's no good reason why he hadn't been, he could have been acclimating himself to carrying a wire for other reasons.

Brennan's interaction with Yana, have frankly been limited to whatever capacity he needs to converse with her as her immediate boss. But he's seen the people who the institute hired, the scientific ones, and heard some of the horror stories from the Ferry. But he's interacted with her. The behavior too. Take into account embellishment, if there is any.

“What do you feel like doing. Take your time, think about it, but. What do you feel, would be the next best step from here"

Sighing, Devon finally lifts the water to drink, to fill the time meant for thinking with physical action as well as mental. Once the bottle is lowered, deliberate care is given to twisting the cap back on, his brows knitting together while his mind draws over the implications of the evening. "I don't regret laying it out for her," he begins slowly, choosing his words carefully. "I've been warned by several people to be wary of the Institute, not everyone who works there but some."

Lifting his head, Devon's eyes seek out Brennan, as though a look could convey that it's not so simple as good versus bad, and that there's good even within the bad. "I've been so focused on trying to get this vaccine. Seeing Ms. Reynolds like she was… it was on par with being around some of the chaos in the Dome. I should apologize for my lack of tact, and I'll still get her into the studio or whatever publicity she wants, but… I don't think I can continue this charade. She's… poisonous."

Nothing is ever so simple as good versus bad. White versus black, spy versus spy. "Much like with everything else, there is the good and the bad. The institute has it's positives, and it's negatives. You can't know what she's playing at, unless you're a telepath. Her interest in a teenager is baffling, to say the least, and to have you court her to ward off someone else, when there's a multitude of perfectly fine young bucks out there who are closer in her age. I think it did have something to do with your job"

Brennan shifts, to drop his bottle on the corner of the desk near him then steeples his hand, elbows on the arms of the chair. "I haven't talked with her yet. But this could change how I talk with her. Whether she's actually working on the vaccine, I don't know, to the best of my knowledge our labs aren't up and running yet, so it means it's a private facility she's working at, if she really does. Has it occurred to you that she might not actually have the means to make a vaccine and is just playing with you?"

"Thinking back to this evening," Devon says wryly. "She seemed far too certain of her abilities, then to come back with this being afraid side." Devon rakes his fingers over his head, curling through his hair. "Like she was trying to play to my sentiments, drawing on the hope that I'll feel sorry for her, or worry. Or something, I'm… it's all conspiracy theory though. I don't know her motives and it seems like, despite being two so-called dates in, I'm no closer to understanding anything."

"I don't think that any of us are any closer. What do you want me to do? You want me to not meet with her an ask her? Confront her? Part of me wants to grab her by her ear and drag her to the CDC and tell them that she has a vaccine and is refusing to share it for whatever personal reason." Brennan frowns into his fingers, right forefinger tapping his lower lip. “If you meet with her again, record it." Brennan's moving out of his chair, opening a desk drawer and taking out a slim digital recorder, easy enough to slip into a pocket. "Record everything."

"I don't know," Devon breathes out, pinching the bridge of his nose between a thumb and forefinger. "I'm not sure confronting is a good idea, I don't even want to know how she'd react if she knew I've told others. But that's assuming she doesn't think I've consulted with adults. She knows my history in school, part of me wants to believe she knows I'd go to someone with concerns."

Devon's eyes flick to the digital recorder and his head tips slightly into a nod. "That's what I'm planning to get. Tomorrow morning, I'll go shopping. If I meet with her again…" He should, at least one last time if for nothing more than to apologize for his haste. "I just… I'm afraid. I'm afraid of getting in to a point where I can't get back out again, or giving away too much and still learning nothing."

"And this is why teenagers are supposed to just skateboard and smoke pot and cause trouble instead of dealing with issues like this or dressing up in a suit and having internships that people use to pressure them to do what they want them to do. Take this" He holds the recorder out to Devon. "One less thing you'll have to do. If at any point, when you talk with her, you're uncomfortable, leave Devon. Don't hesitate, leave. Walk away, get a cab, get away from her and go find Graeme, or come here, do you understand?"

"I've never exactly your typical teenager," Devon points out with a half grin, expression tarnished by the weight of the situation. "I haven't smoked pot since December, and my internship… I don't regret taking it, even if it has developed unfortunate side effects." Being used amongst them. "Thank you, Doctor Brennan," he continues as he leans forward, countenance sobering, a hand extending to take the recorder. "Yes, sir. I'll leave, first sign of trouble."

"Good. Now, You can stay, if you like. Mish is having a late dinner, you're welcome to join us, or.." Or he can take off and likely make it back to Russo's in time before the heavy hand of the curfew slams on down at 9 pm. "You are welcome to stay. See the rest of the place and not just my man cave"

After a short look over the buttons on the recorder, Devon pushes the small device into his pocket. He pushes back the sleeve of his coat, mind working over the time before nodding. "If you've room for another, that'd be awesome. I think… I'd rather not go back to Dorchester tonight." He has other fallback points, but with curfew looming, there's a chance he wouldn't make it.

“Come on up then, leave your jacket here. I got some clothes you can use to sleep in, you can head back to your place in the morning to change. Michelle never minds another mouth at the table." Brennan closes the drawer to the desk, heading for the doorway that leads to the rest of the home, waiting for Devon to shed what he needs to. It'll at least be an enjoyable night for everyone, and good food and a good nights sleep.


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