Sometimes We Can't


doyle2_icon.gif odessa_icon.gif

Scene Title Sometimes We Can't
Synopsis Doyle and Odessa commiserate about the things they cannot change.
Date June 9, 2010

Gun Hill - Doctor Price's Clinic

The basement of Gun Hill is really coming along. It's beginning to resemble more of a semi-serviceable clinic, rather than a glorified boiler room. Several empty cardboard boxes are stacked up near the stairwell, their contents emptied and put away into cupboards and cabinets. Gauze, some surgical supplies, and some small quantities of medications all neatly sorted and stowed.

The doctor herself is in at the moment, seated on a padded exam table that's isn't an antique, but is definitely not from this decade, or the one before it. The seafoam cover is faded - maybe it used to be more of a teal once - but not cracked, at least. It will serve it's purpose well. For now, it serves as a place to take a break and sip an iced coffee, which is what Doctor Price is doing.

"— mmit, Chandra!" A thump-thump-scuttle of feline feet is audible along with the swear as the door to the 'clinic' is pulled open from above. There's a heavy sigh from Eric Doyle, and then he pushes the door closed and makes his way down, feet thumping on the stairs until he's down in the clinic.

There's something wrong; it's clear that he's upset, although it could just be all the sorting of all the kids that's been going on. The stress shows in lines around his eyes and a generally harried expression, a haunted look behind his eyes even as he manages to force a wan smile over. "Hey. Odessa." He stops not far within, gaze lingering on her, "Getting unpacked alright?"

Odessa's eyes are trained at the top of the stairwell (or what she can see from her angle) even before Doyle descends. She offers a smile around her straw before carefully setting her plastic cup of coffee down next to her. "Yeah. It's starting to come together." A glance is sent ceiling-ward briefly before returning to Doyle, "Cat get under your feet?"

"Huh? Oh…. yeah," Doyle manages a sheepish smile, one hand rubbing at the back of his head as he looks over his shoulder, then back to her, "Animals're freaking out with the new place and all, they were used to the Lighthouse…" He steps over slowly, pausing not far from the table and looking around over the clinic-in-formation.

"You didn't come down here to check up on me," Odessa observes in a soft tone. She assumes, at least, that he trusts her to be able to put things together down her on her own, or that she would ask for help if she needed it. "What's on your mind, Eric?"

"What makes you think I didn't?" A bit defensive there, Eric? He lets his hand drop, stepping over to the table and shifting to sit on the edge near her, though not too close, a heavy sigh spilling from his lips, "Well. Maybe." He braces his hands on his knees, looking over to the stairs and saying quietly, "I don't know— I mean— I don't know what I'm gonna tell those kids if something, if something happened to Gillian. They've been through so much…"

"It won't be the first time they've heard bad news," Odessa agrees quietly, reaching over to rest one of her hands over Doyle's. "They're already way tougher than they should have to be. And they won't like it if you lie to them. They're smart kids," from what she's seen of them since they arrived. "They already know to expect the worst."

"Yeah, well…" As her hand rests over his, Doyle turns it over, thick fingers loosely curling with her own — ironic, as mere weeks before he'd destroyed her fingers in a fit of pique. Their relationship's an odd one. A weak smile, "I don't— I don't /want/ to have bad news for them."

"I know." Odessa's fingers lace with Doyle's, squeezing reassuringly. The irony isn't lost on her either, but they have some odd sort of camaraderie. A fondness for each other. It just also results in explosive bouts of anger and violence sometimes. "Maybe you won't have to. But that's not something either of us can control." And both Doyle and Odessa are used to having more control over situations than most.

"They've— they've lost enough, haven't they?" A helpless, frustrated look's slanted back to her, Doyle's brow furrowed sharply, "They lost their parents— they lost, lost Denisa to the god-damn dogs, they've, they've lost everything. They shouldn't have to lose Gillian too!"

Odessa patiently listens and lets Doyle vent, her expression passive. Finally, after giving him a moment to breathe, she speaks. "All is not lost," she assures him. "They still have a roof over their head. They have each other. They have food and clothing. They have a whole network of people who care about them." Odessa smiles and squeezes Doyle's hand again. "And they have you."

Doyle grimaces at that, glancing back away from her — although he does squeeze her hand briefly, firmly, in response. "Yeah," he says quietly, "It's just… not fair. There isn't even anyone I can make pay for it."

"That is the worst bit, isn't it?" Odessa scoots closer and rests her head on his shoulder. "I finally found out who I am. And I don't even know who I have to kill in retribution. It sucks. You and I, we're a little too big on lashing out for our own good, I think."

"You found out who you are?" The introspection evaded as Eric looks down to her with a bemused expression, "What do you mean by that…?"

Dark blue eyes flit upward briefly. "I know who my parents are… Were. I know how I came to be raised by the Company." Odessa suppresses a sigh, but snuggles up a little closer.

A brief raise of Eric's brows… and then they fall as 'were' sinks in, and he exhales a sigh, leaning in suddenly to press a kiss against her temple. "I'm sorry," he murmurs quietly, "Nobody should lose their parents as a kid."

"My father was murdered," Odessa explains quietly. "My mother witnessed it. It sent her into labor… She died giving birth to me." Her brows furrow like she might want to cry. She probably does. "He was a telekinetic, my father."

"I'm sorry," echoes Doyle; shifting a bit awkwardly, he raises an arm to curl about her shoulders, murmuring, "My parents… well. You know. I've seen my file." She wrote part of it, probably!

It takes a moment of recall, but she does. "If you could change it," Odessa murmurs, "would you rather you'd never known them?" She's asked a similar question of Sylar once, but what she's read of Doyle's file suggests his answer might be very different.

"What? No… no." A tight shake of Doyle's head, his lips pursing in a grimace as he looks off across the room, although his gaze is really looking through the years instead. His voice softens as he says, "She gave me my first puppets, you know. Little…" A break, his gaze dropping to his hand, fingers wriggling a bit in the air, "Little finger puppets. Cheap things. She made them herself in an afternoon."

Odessa smiles as she watches Doyle's fingers wiggle, picturing them covered with little puppets. "What about your dad? What was he like?" She brings her feet up to rest on the little step that slides out of the table, resting one arm across her knees. She feels much smaller in this moment.

Doyle's hand drops down, and he admits, "I don't really remember him as well." A sideways glance, a fragile smile, "I remember him watching my mother play with me, just standing in the doorway, smiling at us…"

The blonde curls up tightly against the larger man, her shoulders shaking as the first wave of sobs washes over her. "I'm sorry," Odessa whispers meekly. "I don't mean to…" Cry? Share all this?

A twitch of surprise as her shoulders shake in a sob beneath his other arm, and then Doyle reaches out to pull her in against him; whispering a soft sound of reassurance, or soothing, wordlessly pulling her against his side.

The fingers of Odessa's free hand reach out and take a handful of Doyle's shirt as she sobs in his embrace. "There's nothing I can do to make it okay," she laments, her whine muffled against his arm.

"I know," Eric murmurs quietly into her hair, his own eyes closing, "I know, 'Dessa… I know. Sometimes… we can't."

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