Participants:
| Scene Title | That Thing That He's… |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | …doing. Which is making Graeme uncomfortable. |
| Date | March 5, 2011 |
A coffeeshop
The flight back from France was frankly, terrible.
Delayed, delayed, delayed, stuck on the runway for well over an hour before up in the air, and in the air, well. Henri cried, half the time, the twins were terrors and Marlena was in a snit because Brennan forgot to charge the e-reader and she couldn't read.
Which meant that by the time they had landed, taking into account jet-lag, got their bag - one of them had been lost, another ripped open and taped shut - Brennan was in a foul mood. But they were all home and he had dug out the car, deciding that he, Harve Patrick Brennan the third, deserved to have a coffee. Away from the kids.
Unfortunately, the tiredness that made him rub at his eyes and pinch the bridge of his nose made him a little dense and negation was on. Full blown, if he looked anywhere, negation hit the first person. Some never noticed, others did, and those who weren't evolved, they could have cared less if they knew. But there's four more people in line and his patience is thin, looking around while he waits, dropping his arms to cross them and lean back a bit.
Coffee's one of those things that Graeme tends to live on, especially when he's allowing the stamina granted to him by his ability to be something he can shove his emotions away behind. He'll still have to deal with them later, but at the very least, for the moment, there will be a later. He finishes ordering his coffee, paying for it, stepping aside, and straight into Brennan's line of sight.
It takes a minute as Graeme even processes what's going on. He usually makes a distinct point of avoiding places that are of the sort to have negators around, having found out, in the hospital after a nasty fall off of his skateboard once, that their power doesn't particularly agree with him. But he does sort of edge himself to standing with his back to a section of empty counter, trying to figure out where it's coming from. Or who.
It could be a great many people, a total of fifteen in here in the dying light of day, getting their fix before they tarry on with the rest of their lives. Two people are served, two more step up, Brennan looks away from Graeme's general direction, studying a bag of coffee on an adjacent stand, already having decided what he wants. Thus, negation is gone, off of Graeme.
The sense of being in touch with himself again is nearly as disconcerting, for Graeme, as being out of touch with it happened to be. But it's not enough to quell the little nagging curiosity that has Graeme continuing to look, slowly putting together the lack of negation with the man who turned away, blinking away the odd, nearly foreign desire to yawn.
"Graeme," is called out from the counter, and when he has his drink in hand, coffee brought to his lips, Graeme ends up watching Brennan, careful, cautious. And perhaps, a bit masochistic in his desire to know more rather than just get the hell out of there.
Graeme's name is called out, the next two are served and Brennan steps forward to give his order, a glance over to the man to see what he's picking up then back away. There it is again, the negation washing over him then disappearing again. A brief exchange with the barista, money handed over, Brennan turns away to go wait for his drink to be served, putting bill back into his wallet, tucking it into a back pocket of his jeans and settle in with an arm crossed leans against a window. looking around. It's definitely him. No real rhyme or reason to why or who.
The second time, when looked at, Graeme's brows furrow a little. He chuckles, though, a small part of him comparing it to a rollercoaster ride, and then chuckles a little more when he's figured out the one thing that his ability doesn't do him any good in dealing with: negation. At the very least, though, he watches Brennan, not quite sure if he actually wants to greet the man, or say hello, or anything. No, for now, he'll just watch.
"Harve" His name called out, Brennan's moving forward, looking at Graeme when he notices that Graeme has pretty much been focusing on him. Which puzzles the physician. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad except that after his month in the dome and everywhere else, it's disconcerting. Striding forward, picking up his drink, he lifts it in a salute to the barista, slipping over a tip before turning to leave, one last look to Graeme before he goes out the door, turning left and heading out of sight.
Supposedly.
There's a quick glance at the ceiling, Graeme contemplating whether he's seriously about to actually follow this guy out. But he does so, coffee in hand, messenger bag slung over his shoulder, making his way for the door after throwing a napkin into an available trashcan. Once outside, there's a glance about for the man, as Graeme sips the coffee in his hands.
Down the street, turning the corner in his black jacket and jeans, boots, disappearing from sight once again, seemingly oblivious to Graeme following him, sipping on his coffee in it's tall cup.
"Good god I must be a masochist." That might be audible to the man that Graeme is following, depending upon. He keeps pace behind Brennan until they're down the block a bit, at which point, he speaks up, a little louder. "Um … hey." He feels like an idiot, a little, but there's a part of him that wants to get the man's attention again, try and absolutely verify that the other man was the source of the negation.
The Um hey is spoken to the man who, when Graeme comes around the corner, is standing there, with his wallet out and a badge and unhappy. DoEA it says, Dr. Brennan. "Hey. Hey is for horses, and I'm not a horse, I'm just a guy trying to figure out why you are following me and you better have a really good reason before I call the cops." Negation, full on, poor Graeme.
"Tsch," comes the sound in response, but unfortunately for Brennan, there's an immediate wince of discomfort, moreso as Graeme's concentration is disrupted, and his coffee drops, spilling out behind him. He moves to lean on a newspaper dispenser, looking very suddenly tired, more so than should change from one step to another.
"'Least I know I was right," he says, under his breath. The sight of the badge gets a breath in, and a grimace. "Please tell me you can turn that off?" The question isn't rude, isn't disrespectful, just there.
"Turn what off." He's got no music on, can't think - at the moment - what could possibly be needing to be turned off. "Listen, you were looking at me funny in the shop. I'm not in the mood to deal with any assholes. I just want my coffee and I want to go home. So tell me what you were right about, and do whatever it is that you're going to do because I have been on a god awful flight for the last day and my internal clock thinks it's probably sitting about midnight right now."
Graeme looks at Brennan. "Whatever you call it," he says. With the slight being tired comes less ability to be erudite about his expressions than he usually is, and he shifts, uncomfortable, pinching the skin between thumb and forefinger and wincing. "That you're doing." He's not being very helpful about things. "Not trying to be an …" Graeme pauses, the slight southwestern accent drawing out his words, and he skips the curseword that Brennan used, "a-hole or anything. Sorry." There's a pause. "I was jus' curious."
That thing that he's.
Oh.
Immediately, it's gone. Negation shut off. Things within Graeme returning back to normal even as he's sliding his wallet closed, the badge being put away and guilt washing over Brennan's face. "I'm sorry man, I didn't realize it was turned on, are you okay?" Because now the change in stance and look make a lot of sense.
It takes a moment, and though Graeme's still leaning on the newspaper dispenser a little, but there's colour in his face, and he doesn't look tired anymore. There's a blink, and he screws his eyes shut a moment, before standing up all the way straight. Movement, just little fidgeting movement, as he does so, as Graeme begins to feel more in touch with the world and less … distant. "Yeah. Like I said, I'm pretty sure I'm a masochist or something, but curiosity gets the best of me at times." And his sentences are complete this time, too.
"Shit man, really, I'm sorry. It doesn't happen often, sometimes it just turns on, once in a blue moon when I'm stressed and.. I just forget to turn it off" He offers his hand out to Graeme, a glance to the spilled coffee and a grimace. "Let me pay for a new coffee, since it's my fault really. Negation can be a bitch sometimes, or handy. Depending on the situation"
Graeme nods. "Thanks." The handshake he offers Brennan is slightly weaker than the usual, and then Graeme's slowly bouncing on his heels. Motion, trying to shake off the residual psychological discomfort from it. "It happens, it does," he says. "I understand. It was odd enough to pique my curiosity, even as uncomfortable for me as the sensation can be. My ability's … endurance, and it felt very much like being out of myself, almost. I suppose I ought to apologise too. I did follow you, after all."
"Hey man, I don't blame you. Well no, I mean, well unless we were going the same direction and all but really" Firm handshake offered, no limp wrist. "Really, let me pay for your coffee" He bends down to pick up the empty cup, tossing it into a trash can, getting out his wallet so that he can grab a five dollar bill and offer it. "It's my fault, let me make it up to you"
There's a grateful nod, and for once, Graeme's pride doesn't surface, and he accepts the bill. "I appreciate your consideration," he says, "and thanks." There are more little fidgety motions, Graeme trying to reassure himself more likely than not. A moment later, there's a slight grin making its way back onto the man's face, still slightly sheepish overall.
"Thank you for, you know, not decking me" That's happened before. "Enjoy it man, thanks for letting me know. Better you than my wife" Spared him a night on the couch, that's for sure. All seems well, Graeme's endurance picking back up and with a nod, Brennan turns, heading off towards some unknown destination - to Graeme - not turning around to try and make more conversation.
Graeme turns back, towards the direction of getting another cup of coffee. With a final nod, there's a bit of a smile on Graeme's face. "Yeah, no problem." Not that Graeme is terribly sure he'd have been very effective at decking the negator had he tried. Still, curiosity satisfied, even if at the brief cost of a little personal comfort, is a good feeling, and he walks towards the coffeeshop again. The next cup of coffee won't get spilled.