Russian Sense of Obligation


audrey_icon.gif ziadie_icon.gif

Scene Title Russian Sense of Obligation
Synopsis Audrey stops by, and ends up checking on Ziadie, and how the older man has been doing by himself.
Date May 29, 2011

Hamilton Heights: Felix's Apartment

Log of RP goeZiadie had answered the door with a gun held ready and at his side, though it was holstered and then put down, on a now-empty bookshelf the moment that he saw and recognised Audrey. Some of the bookshelves still have books on them, but the majority of them have been carefully boxed away and put in Felix's bedroom, the same of the personal belongings that the Russian didn't get to take. Out of respect, generally, more than anything else, and there have been no additional personal touches added to the space. There was even an apology, as the retired police officer invited her inside.

"Would you like tea? Anything to drink? What can I do for you, Ms. Hanson?" The question is asked, genial and friendly, but there is a certain air of suspicion to it as well. She isn't the first federal agent of some variety or another to show up at his door in the past several months, and it's become almost a routine. There's a final glance at her as he makes his way down the short hallway to the living room, leaning more heavily on his cane than she may or may not remember.

"I was in the area, I just got back into town, decided to swing by, see if you had heard from Felix, or if he had stuck his nose in while you were out and anything was different. I'll have some of whatever it is that you are having." Though at the rate that her memory works, it's possible that might be something spiked.

No badge out to be flashed, or gun for that reason - surprised that he had one out - she's following at a respectful distance, jeans and t-shirt, light blazer all in keeping with having been traveling but still working. She had raquetball with Jane later but that didn't mean she ran around in gym clothes.

"I see that he took off with most of his stuff?"

Sooner than later, considering it is not a great distance in the small apartment, Ziadie moves to the small kitchen, pulling down two cups before putting water in the kettle, setting the kettle on the stove up to boil. There's also a second small glass pulled down, a whiskey glass, and a bottle of scotch out on the counter along with a first shot glass, one that already has alcohol in it, with a simple nod of his head to indicate that if she wants scotch as well as tea, she can pour her own. The old man stands on ceremony, a lot.

"He hasn't been here." It's a patient response. "I haven't heard from him, except for a note with a delivery of Chinese food two days afterwards that said that he was alright, and not to worry. And no, I don't know where the delivery was from." The same question that Ziadie's answered several times before, pretty much, and there is, if anything, a tone of worry in the old man's voice. Another nod and a gesture to indicate the second chair at the table, before Ziadie sits himself down, his scotch in front of him. "He took his things, for the most part. What he left is boxed, in his room. But he took the sword, the icon and all that, some of the books."

Stuff that had already been looked through. Like the chinese food. The scotch and whiskey are passed over, only because she's driving. If she wasn't, she's have joined Ziadie in a tipple or two. "Fair enough. I'd like to think that if you knew anything about Harrison, you'd tell me. I was surprised, really, when I heard that Felix had taken off." She fetches her cup, taking it off to the table so that she can sit down.

"How are you doing, Nocturne? I haven't spoken to you since then. I haven't heard from my friend Gaston either. But when I heard that you were still here, I wanted to check in."

There's a slow sip of the scotch taken, and Ziadie fixes Audrey with a long, studying look, his hands wrapping around his own cup of tea when it's been made, string and tag from the teabag hanging over the side of the mug. "Please. The only person who ever called me Nocturne was my mother," he says, with a faint smile. "Ziadie or Zi will do." Then he shrugs.

"I was surprised too. But he's following his conscience, and she's following hers. And I asked them not to tell me anything they didn't want you or anyone else to know," he admits. Ziadie continues, still studying the woman for a moment, the critical eye not at the moment dulled by either age or alcohol. "Because whatever it is they're running from, right now, Ivanov is a good kid. And I don't want to see harm come to him. You know, before he left? He set things up and transferred some of his savings to supplement my pension, set it up that I have groceries and food delivered twice a week." There is a faint wistfulness to the words.

"He have someone come here to clean up? How are you doing on your own here?" This place was fair sized, but she saw the way he was walking and the alcohol, well. Well. Audrey turns her cup, OCDly arranging the cup just so, hands on the table around the cup, using it to keep her hands busy.

"No, there's not that much to pick up after," Ziadie says. It's half protest, half-something else entirely, not easy to identify. "I survive. Retirement's boring." And it is. The old man has been insisting that retirement is boring for a while. "It beats how I was living before." He's being open with her, not just honest. "But …" The words trail off, and once more, Ziadie shrugs, before downing the remainder of the cup of scotch.

"But Felix isn't here." It's the reason she got a pair of dogs. One to keep the other company and them to keep her company. Something to talk to when Jane or other individuals weren't visiting. "You ever given a thought to moving? Down to the Rivage maybe. I know there's plenty of cops and feds and the like down there. Downtown, probably with your pension and what Felix arranged, you could manage it." It's suggestion, made out of concern. He's a veteran, and he's … valuable.

Ziadie nods. "No, he's not," he says. "It's empty, pretty much. Very empty." She filled in the sentence correctly, identifying something that Ziadie tries to ignore. He misses the Russian, a great deal at times. His brows furrow in thought, accentuating the wear and wrinkles that line his face, as he considers what Audrey'd asked.

"I haven't. But it's closer to headquarters, and everywhere, I suppose," he says. "It would save me the bus rides all the way across town, and the taxi." And he could arrange for the food to simply be delivered there, and every so often check in on the empty apartment.

"He was my partner, before he went to FRONTLINE, before he left the NYPD. I'm not the same as him but, if you like, I can help, arrange things." She leans to the side a bit, adjusting her seat. "I don't condone what he did, what Harrison did and for whatever reasons, but… Felix was my partner, and I owe it to speedy, for the times he had my back."

"Thank you," Ziadie says, slow acceptance. "That would help a lot." And it means he can't chicken out of moving, or anything like that, which is, as he sees it, a good thing. There's some reluctance at the thought of moving, because what Felix has done for the old man is in so many ways tied to the physical place. "I don't have too much, as far as belongings." Even with having a place to live, some of the habits of time spent homeless, limiting belongings to what can easily be transported, are harder to shake. "I'm sure he'd appreciate this." Her looking in on and after Ziadie. "I never understood why he did this for me. But he had my back more times than I can count, too."

"Russian sense of obligations to family and to elders. You take care of the older generation, in return for them taking care of you. Add in that you're a cop, and you have your answer." Audrey's getting out her notepad, flipping it open to an empty page, scribbling down her numbers then getting up, getting a magnet from the fridge, pinning them to the front of it. "In case. Since he's not here." Audrey may not be Russian, but she does have some senses of obligation. That and you never know when a lie detector will come in handy.

Ziadie nods. He's heard it before, but there is a part of him that will probably never understand where Felix, Elisabeth, Joanna, Audrey … where they saw something when he had given up and decided to live out his life and possibly drink himself to death. But there is recognition, and a faint smile offered with more warmth than before. "Thank you for coming by," he says, quiet, thoughtful, picking up his tea after the empty glass is pushed out of the way. It's quite possible the former cop doesn't get many visitors, and for the moment, there is no suspicion left, merely enjoying the company.

"I had an excuse." And more of one now. "I'll get someone to print off the listings where I am. See what fits you, you can choose what you want." She won't choose, she'll even have some other places tucked in so he's not feeling railroaded into the Rivage.

The idea of a place to call his own has Ziadie sitting up just a bit straighter than the hunched slouch he usually has. "Sounds good," he says. There's a pause, and Ziadie looks over to Audrey. "Humour an old man wi' your company a little longer an' stay for lunch? I got Chinese food to heat up, and there's plenty of it. I think he forgot that he's just feeding me, and not feeding him, or something. Never too much food, but there's definitely plenty."

"Or maybe he anticipated that you wouldn't be left alone for too long?" Audrey points out. But she's getting her arms out of her blazer, a nod. "Point me to where, and I'll heat it up. You turn on a radio or something, get some noise in this place." An agreement, to stay, be company.

Audrey of all people, knows how much being alone, isn't ideal.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License