Participants:
| Scene Title | Shouldn't You Have a Partner? |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Leland is pissed off at Felix for almost dying again. Ultimatums are delivered. |
| Date | April 23, 2009 |
Leland and Felix's Apartment
Fel didn't come home last night. And in the wee hours of the morning, there's a call from the hospital. Lucky you, Leland, you're listed as an emergency contact, now. Fel got shot and beat up, apparently, with blood loss out of all proportion to the actual gunshot wound. At least as far as the docs can tell. But….then there's Abby the faithful, and Fel's released, later in the day, to come home by cab, albeit in a t-shirt that isn't actually his.
The apartment is almost deathly still when Felix enters. Lee's been busy. The apartment's spotless and all the clutter has been set away. Seems for once, he didn't hit something as an outlet for his rage.
Funny how all that cleaning has made the apartment feel almost sterile. There's no warm, homey scent of food cooking, no babble of the TV. Just Lee sitting there in a chair, reading a book.
The sound of the key in the lock, followed by Fel himself, in his own slacks and that oversized t-shirt, tottering in wearily. "Hey, Lee," he says, quietly, already bracing for the coming squall.
Leland had rehearsed what he was going to say, but all of it he's said before. He thought he got through to Felix last time, but clearly he hasn't. So the cop's had to rethink his strategy. He sets the book down, face-first on the arm of the chair. He doesn't stand, and his voice is disturbingly flat. "You all right?"
"I got healed, so yes, I am. But it takes a lot out of me as well as the healer," Fel's just sort of standing there. It might be easier if Lee just hit him.
Leland sits there, stock still. His shoulders roll forward and his jaw clenches. There's the sound of knuckles cracking. Then, "I'm going to Boston." A slight pause. "A week, maybe longer."
And Fel can't help himself - there's that fractional flinch, as if Felix expected a blow. "….okay," the Fed says, before finally heading for the kitchen.
"Fucking tired of getting those calls from the hospital. You promised me you'd stop doing this shit. I'm not going to sit here and wait for the fucking phone to ring to tell me you're dead." Lee remains seated in the chair and he doesn't speak especially loud. But the apartment is dead quiet and his is a voice that carries.
And Fel turns in the doorway, hand on the frame, to eye him. "I didn't go looking, Lee. I didn't go out to Staten. I went to meet a contact on the edge of the Midtown blast zone that'd nothingto do with the Vanguard or Gray - who is free, by the way. Apparently when I thought I helped capture him…..Homeland either didn't keep him, or what we got wasn't Sylar. Anyhow, when I was done, I tried to take a shortcut through one of the corners of the uninhabited area, and an enemy of mine came for me. She got some new power, which included the ability to open old wounds, and that is what she did."
"Shouldn't you have a fucking partner?" Leland's voice is tight, angry, despite the fact that he tries to hold it back. "Four times, Felix, four times you've been seriously hurt or near dead since you moved in here. You'd be dead if it wasn't for that healer, or spending months recovering. That is fucking sloppy police work. Or a goddamn death wish."
"I should, if I could get a steady one," Felix says, quietly. "This was routine, Lee. And bad luck. I've honestly given up the cowboy thing. Not to mention that some of the people who want to kill me are very, very good at such things. Sylar, Lee. The Vanguard…."
"Put yourself in my goddamn place, Felix. What if it was you who kept getting the calls that I was nearly dead on a weekly fucking basis? I'm tired of explanations. You know you've got bad trouble on your back, you don't take fucking shortcuts, and you don't go anywhere without a partner. I can't take this shit anymore. I'm like your professional goddamn mourner." Leland's voice hasn't actually raised that much. That's the scary part. His nails grip into the arm of the chair.
"What am I supposed to do, Leland? Put a non-Evolved cop at risk?" Fel says, quietly. "Find an evolved cop who's willing to work with me who can keep up? So I can stand there at their funeral? I don't get to demand special treatment."
"You don't, you're gonna make me stand at your funeral. And Liz. And whoever else you haven't pissed the fuck off. You wanna go it solo, then I'm not gonna sit here and watch you go down." Leland leans forward in the chair, but still remains seated.
Felix suggests, quietly, ""Then you be my partner again. Are you volunteering?"
Leland grits his teeth and scowls at Felix. Nnnrgh. "You'll still run off on your own if it's me."
"My hand to god, I won't," Felix insists. And does not note that he is going to protect Lee. Because making Lee feel inadequate will get him punched.
"Why'm I any better than other 'non-Evolved' cops who would be at risk?" says Lee. There's that old sore spot that Felix thumped quite soundly.
Fel is trying not to wheedle. "You're used to dealing with me," he says, coaxingly.
"Yeah, which gives me a fucklot of reasons not to. You didn't used to be this careless, Felix. I didn't used to get this many calls saying you'd been shot or maimed, or are fucking dead." Leland stands and moves briskly towards the kitchen to pull out a beer. He breezes past the other cop.
There's no good riposte for that one. Felix just nods once, conceding the point. "Well, we didn't usually have to deal with cadres of Evolved terrorists out to destroy the world."
"That's no excuse. The other cops on the Force aren't getting into nearly the trouble you are." Leland pops the top off the beer and takes a long pull from it. "Don't want to be your goddamn babysitter or constantly telling you you're being an idiot. M'getting tired of that just being your roommate."
Well, he can have a beer, too. Fel roots through the fridge, comes up with one of those sweet Belgian beers he can barely admit to liking, they're sufficiently girly. "I know," he says, quietly.
"You keep saying you know, that you admit you're being a careless idiot. Yet you keep doing it and saying there's no choice. I'm sick of it." Leland grunts and swallows another long pull of beer. "Maybe you should see a shrink. See if you really do have a death wish."
He sort of knows he does. He just….wasn't aware it was that obvious. Felix works the cork out of his own bottle, takes a swallow. "If you think that'd help."
"Do you?" says Leland. He gives Felix a long look, bottle poised halfway to his mouth. "Cause if you want to fucking get yourself killed, then I'm going back to Boston. Won't watch you do that." A beat, "Once was bad enough." He looks away, pointedly.
"It's been a long time since I saw anyone other than for prescription renewals," The Fed seats himself carefully at the dinner table. "I will. I mean, see a doc. Not get killed."
"Put yourself on leave, see a doc. Prove to me that you can be something other than a complete fucking idiot and I'll consider being your partner again." Leland says all this in one flat, even tone despite the curse words.
It might be worth it. And hell, Lee is likely right. "Done," says Felix.
"This is your last chance, Felix. If I get one more call from the hospital and you got hurt while you were investigating something alone? At the very least, you're going to have to find another place to live." Why does Lee feel like a parent with a rebellious teen?
Fel just doesn't argue it. Lee's right. He takes a mute pull on the beer, and nods.
Leland moves back to his chair and scoops up his book. Then, with one further glance at Felix, he heads towards his bedroom. The tie is finally loosened and he flops down on his bed. Book plus beer plus bedroom equals Lee not in the mood to be social.