Participants:
| Scene Title | Stay With Me |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | They both have such a simple thing to ask. After the apologies are over, Delia's turns out to be the tougher one. |
| Date | January 2, 2011 |
In The Mind Of Nick Ruskin
The gray mist that covers the wintry landscape is too thick to see more than a step or two ahead. Freezing, Nick shivers and huddles against himself as he drives on. His bare and bleeding feet crunching through the hard packed snow, leaving a small trail. Toward one point. Off in the distance a beacon shines, much like a lighthouse promising safety to sailors. The yellow light is faint at first, growing stronger as the man nears it. It's rectangular in shape, broken by a shadow.
"Nick…" the familiar voice calls out to him from the yellow light and a pair of white hands stretches through the darkness to take hold of him and pull him closer. Only closer, not in.
Delia stands in the doorway, behind her a sunny green meadow that's the mirror opposite of Nick's mind. Perhaps the summer to his winter. "I'm so sorry, I promised myself that I would never hurt you again." Here, she looks much healthier than he's seen her in a very long time. Perhaps since she was split in half.
The man moves toward the light, reaching for the hands that stretch out to him. His dark brows dip into a scowl and he shakes his head. "You didn't hurt me… I thought I lost you," he corrects her. "I thought it was something I said or … something you saw."
One hand gestures to the dark, somber landscape that spreads out behind and around them. Her beacon is the only warmth — the golden light — her red hair. Without her in his dream world, the only colors that exist is the blackish-red of the blood, the pale cold icy blue of eyes and sky, and the black and white of smoke and snow.
"What I did, was wrong. I r— " she can't even bring herself to say the word, simply lowering her head and leaning forward into his domain in order to pull him into a hug. Curling her head toward his ear she whispers her soft apology, "I forced you to do something that you didn't want, I'm sorry."
Pulling back but not away, the young woman looks slightly upward to find his eyes and purses her lips in a somewhat serious expression. "I wouldn't be here now, but it's important. I need your help again. I need you to wake up for me… the sirens are getting closer and I can't go with them."
Nick lets go of her hands when she apologizes, turning away from her, face contorted. "Don't apologize to me. I'm the one who screwed everything up, Czerwony."
A siren sounds in his landscape, a hint that he is not so deep in this sudden slumber. A hand comes up to swipe at his brow, though nothing is visible there — his near-to-waking body feels the trickle of warm blood from the reopened cut on his temple.
"Stay with me here," he says, turning back. "Until you can find yourself. Don't trust anyone else, all right? Don't listen to that doctor or that bird." His world starts to darken around him, consciousness pulling him down.
"Nick— " There's a small smile on Delia's face, it doesn't quite reach her eyes but she averts her gaze from him to turn toward the green meadow. "I would stay with you, but I'm home. I'm here. I just came to ask you to wake up, I need to leave the car before the sirens get here."
Her hand is warm as she brushes the backs of her fingers over his temple and then down his cheek. The smile falters a little and she closes her eyes, wincing. When she opens them again, she widens it but it's one of those brave smiles that is clearly only there to save face. "I'll talk to you more later, alright?"
The sirens are sounding from both dreams now. Delia leans against the door and she begins to close it with one hand while reluctant to let loose the touch on Nick's cheek with the other. "Wake up Nick, everything is alright now."
Mustang Sally
In the SUV, Nick's eyes open, stinging from the blood that drips into one from the injury — Brennan lies unconscious as well and Nick has to pull himself out from under the doctor who took the brunt of the crash. His priority is Delia, though he glances up toward the front of the car to take in the injuries of the others, before peering down at the redhead, hands already moving to wrap her in the blankets that have gotten tangled.
There's a grimace of pain on the redhead's face when she opens her eyes. Seeing Nick, she immediately tries to hide it with a small smile, her face flushing a little. Her lips part to speak but the only sound that comes out is a garbled set of vowels that ends with her eyebrows furrowed in frustration. Closing her eyes again, though the scowl remains on her face, she leans into the dark haired young man.
"Shh. Don't try'n talk," Nick tells her, bloody fingers moving to find the latch that will pop up the back door of the SUV. People are already pulling over to help, and the sirens are drawing closer. The door sticks for a moment, due to the crunched metal of the frame, but Nick gives it a kick and it finally gives. He scrambles out first, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his wallet to flash a badge to an elderly man who's pulled over behind them to help and is running toward them.
"Stay away!" he calls, loudly. "I need to get her away from here. She's Evolved and having seizures, she can't control her ability, and the more stress and pain she's in the worse it is. Stay back, and let me get her out of here — I can help her, but it's easier without anyone near!"
It's not the most original of lies, nor the best delivery, but it's the best he can do.
The people back away, some ducking back into their cars. Nick hoists Delia into his arms, a little bit of a grunt as his bruised and battered bodies complains this time.
"Hold on," he whispers, and he moves toward the exit, climbing over the guard rail on the right to traipse across snow and landscaping, glancing back to make sure he isn't followed.
Lie or not, the threat works wonders proved by the simple fact that there are only stares after Nick and the out of control evolved in his arms. The witnesses are calmed by the fact that the footprints in the snow will make it easier for DHS to find the evolved redhead once the danger's out of the way.
Delia's breathing turns ragged in interrupted white clouds with the amount of jostling she receives from Nick running with her. That defiant scowl is still on her face as she stares up at him, not much shorter but definitely a lot leaner now. But she's awake, that's good news. The fingers of one of her hands curl around one of his lapels to cling weakly to him. She doesn't make a sound, likely due to the shame of not being able to control her body too much yet.
It's hard to traipse through snow carrying a body, but Nick manages, stumbling once or twice but keeping his feet. He glances back behind him more than once, then when he gets to the street on the other side of the freeway, moves to where the snow plow has gone through to help keep those footprints to a minimum. Watchful eyes look for a place to take shelter where he can keep an eye out for police or worse. He finds it in the form of an elementary school, abandoned for the winter break.
Once there, he finds a small nook, where a brick wall houses a bike rack. Groaning slightly, he lowers Delia to the ground and reaches into his pocket for his cell phone. Kristen and Nicole will be being watched by Dante; Russo and Brian are in the vehicle, hopefully regaining consciousness. Choices are limited — but there is more than one Brian, and more than one has a cell number.
The white hand pulls easily from Nick's lapel to drop against Delia's blanketed frame. Her head lolls to the side, too weak and weary to actually lift to look up at him. Her lips move silently for a few seconds, the soft breath slipping out of them with a semblance of a sounds, "Uhmmm ssssaahhh.." It's interrupted by a small cough and a little whimper. "Nnnn…"
The difficulty of such a simple task takes its toll on the redhead whose scowl only deepens. She's angry and stubborn, "Mmm ssahhrrr.. Nnniii…" Clamping her mouth shut, she looks away from him, discouraged.
Nick drops to his knee, taking off his peacoat to tuck under her head, brushing her red curls away from her face. "Shhh. Your body doesn't know what to do with you in it anymore, Red. Just rest. You been sleepin' a long time, but you're still weak and need to rest, yeah?" The American accent is dropped, his East-End accent not as thick as it is in his dreams, but still present.
"Don't be sorry. You didn't do nothin' wrong. Nothin' to apologize for, least of all to me."
At that moment, the voicemail on the other end picks up, and Nick heaves a sigh. "We're at La Guardia Elementary. Hurry." The American accent is back for a short moment before the end button is pushed and the phone slipped back in his pocket.
Pale eyes seek the same, and Nick's lips quirk into a slight smile. "Good to see your eyes open, sleepin' beauty. Didn't expect to get you out without a few scratches, after all."