Participants:
| Scene Title | Sounds A Bit Sappy |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Valentine's Day, a favor, and plans are shared. |
| Date | February 14, 2011 |
On the Phone
Evening of the fourteenth, Valentine's Day, it's not the most perfect time to try to get a hold of Nick. Or maybe it is. Sitting on the edge of her bed, she dials the number and hangs up. It's possible that there's a chirp on the other end to signal a call was incoming, but it's gone now.
She's never been quite this nervous about trying to contact him, normally she wouldn't be at all, but her living arrangements are less than optimal for a few of her friends and family. It's a shaking hand that lifts the receiver to try again, this time staying on the line with the handset pressed against her ear with both hands and her eyes closed.
It might be that he has some noisy English band as a ringtone, from her end it's just a normal ring— ring—.
The phone simply gives a buzz in his pocket and he pulls it out, glancing at the screen and its display while walking through the cold night on an empty street — once upon a time, this street would have been busy with happy couples on Valentine's Day, heading to the bars and restaurants and clubs that are now closed up at 9:30 p.m.
He stares at the phone for a moment, deciding whether or not to answer it, before finally pushing the talk button and holding it to his ear. "Hey," he says quietly. No terse York this time.
"Hey," Delia replies, almost as quietly but it could have something to do with the relieved sigh at the answer. "Happy Valentine's Day." Not the reason she called but it's a nice way to start a conversation. "How are you?"
Now that he's answered, her eyes open and she slides back into the bed to rest against the pillows. Her long legs stretch out in front of her, not as skinny as they once were, definitely a lot stronger. There's a pause as she waits for him to answer, enough of one that she actually considers filling it with her own babble.
Nick moves off the sidewalk to cross across a snowy park's white lawns. "I'm all right," he says quietly, not bothering to address the Valentine's Day part of the greeting. To him, February 14th is simply a day like any other — the fact it is Valentine's Day is not a surprise, because that would require any sort of interest in the matter. But he doesn't go places where red hearts and pink teddy bears are part of the decor, as a rule, even in February.
"Somethin' wrong?" he asks, a beat later. His voice isn't sharp or curt on the short syllables, at least.
"No, not with me at least," she's a little hesitant, her fingers winding through the coil of the receiver line before she takes a small breath inward and chews on her bottom lip. "I wanted to ask if I could borrow some money. There's a flu scare back— back home. I wanted to get masks and gloves and soap." Another small pause before she speaks up too quickly, trying to cover herself. From his end he can't see the tight squeeze of her eyes or the fact that she's sat up.
Drawing her knees up to her chest, she huddles into a small ball and grinds her back teeth just a little. "I'm going to try to go back at the end of the week, to help. They're going to need someone there if it breaks out— It'll be— uhm… It'll be bad."
"No."
Nick rarely speaks so strongly, at least to her. And rarely so decisively. Instantly, he's backing up, backpedaling vocally.
"I mean, yes," he says, running a hand through his hair and glancing around to see if his loud voice stirred any thugs or vagrants from their hiding places in the park. "Yes, you can borrow money, or tell me what you need and I'll get it. You don't gotta borrow, I'll pay for it, all right? But no, you can't go back there. You can't go take care of sick people, Delia. You're too weak. You're barely getting back on your feet, and you can come down with it more easily because of that, right? I ain't no doctor, but I think… I think you need to strenthen up some first."
The long speech stops abruptly; she might wonder if he's hung up but then there's the scratch of a lighter to assure her of his presence. On his end, he cups his hand around the cigarette, taking a long breath of the cigarette before exhaling the gray smoke into the black sky.
The first sharp word has Delia's eyebrows tugging low over her eyes and her lips part to take a breath inward, perhaps even readying herself to launch back with a better plea. Then he qualifies his short burst and a huff is all that intake of air is allowed to sound out. "I'll pay you back, Nick, I promise." How or when is left in the air but it's another debt to enter into a notepad.
"I'm already stronger, I can walk all the way down the hall." Not back. "I can swim for miles…" She sounds quite proud of the fact, even smiling into the phone as she relates her good news. "You should see it." But he won't, he probably won't even offer.
"Did you have any plans tonight? I mean, did you have a date or something?" Curiosity compels her to ask, not out of jealousy but genuine interest as indicated by her tone. "I have all the sappy movies bookmarked in my TV Guide and I'm going to marathon them… You know, romantic comedies and stuff."
There's near silence as he walks along, boots crunching in the snow to let her know he's outside. "You don't need to pay me back. You know it's … it's important for me to help, too. And I can buy the shit easier than you can. If I can't get it black market, I can buy it legit. It's no big deal, all right?"
The rest of it is ignored for a moment before he finally says, "No. Just work stuff." Not that he has much of that; he's still playing hurry up and wait on both his real job and the Walsh vendetta.
"Thanks Nick," is whispered into the phone as Delia hugs her knees tighter to her chest. Resting her chin on their knobby peaks, she licks her lips and smiles a little into the receiver. "I know you don't think so, but you're great." She doesn't explain it further or even take in a breath to start.
What she does do is give a little snort of a laugh for his evening plans. "Work stuff? Nick…" It's a soft scolding, tender and affectionate in nature. "You should do things that will make you smile."
"Bit short on hobbies of that sort, Red," he says lightly, though he does smirk a little at the thought. "Not a lot of things in life I'm good at. Most of 'em aren't happy sorts of things."
He strides through the park, pale eyes watching shadows for anything that might pose a threat. "An' if I can finish this case up the way I'd like, I promise you, I'll be smiling."
In other words, if he can put Walsh in a hole in the ground. But that's not polite conversation for proper company.
"So if you go back to the island, you're outta the Corinthian?" he hedges, tone uncertain. Both are dangerous places in his mind. The question is which poses the worse threat?
"Yeah, if I go back home then I won't be leaving until the threat is gone. I don't want to risk being infected and carry it back to the city." Delia's quiet tone suggests that she's done a lot of thinking about it. A lot. She catches her lower lip between her teeth and takes a long breath in, only to let it out in a soft sigh. "I don't know if you'd be able to carry it, but if I go, would you visit me?" She can't visit him the way she'd like, not yet. The promise is there though.
"You don't have to," is added quickly enough to aleviate him from any promise or responsibility. "I mean, it'd be nice but I wouldn't want you to see all.. If they get sick, that is. Not after— " Not after what she saw in his mind.
There's a few beats of silence before he sits down on a bench, taking another drag of the cigarette before throwing it into the snow with irritation that he manages to keep out of his voice. "I donno," he says quietly and honestly. "I don't know if I'm going back. Unless Eileen needs me for somethin', I'm trying to … you know." Not be there.
"If I go that way, I'll say hi," Nick says after a moment. It's hard to say no, directly. "And if I leave town." Apparently that's still in the works.
He sighs, remnants of smoke mixing with the steamed breath. "So what crappy chick flick's first up on the queue?"
"I know," the soft reply ekes from Delia's lips even before she thinks about it. "She'll appreciate the supplies though, I know she will." Uncurling from her current position, the redhead falls back against the pillow and stretches her legs out, trying to touch the end of the bed with her toes. His question has her fumbling around the bed with her free hand, trying to find her iPad.
"Uhmmmm…" There's a long pause as she flips through the screen to get to her lineup. "The first one is City of Angels. If you haven't seen it yet, it's about this angel that falls in love with a girl and stops being an angel so he can be with her."
Nick stands and resumes his walk, angling toward the corner of the park, where he'll be able to cross the street and make his way into his apartment. "Never heard of it, but I never really got to see a lot of movie," he says quietly. It was a rare treat to see anything in the theatre, and at home, Nick and Eileen were usually trying to keep out of their mother's hair and her wrath to watch television.
"Sounds a bit sappy," he says, before jogging across the street before the light changes on him. He stops at the stoop, leaning against the wrought iron railing. "Text me a list of supplies and I'll work on 'em. If I can't find something, I'll let you know. Otherwise…"
He pulls out his keys, jangling in his hand. "Just concentrate on getting well, Czerwony."
