Third Strike


abby4_icon.gif hana_icon.gif

Scene Title Third Strike
Synopsis The third time Hana is contacted, there's still no good news to be brought to table.
Date June 23, 2010

An Apartment in Brooklyn

The sky has long since darkened, becoming a faintly orange-lit dome over the city. The address Hana sent in reply to Abby's query proves to match a five-story apartment building in Brooklyn, old in architectural style, moderately well-kept. The kind of place you might find humble middle-class families, it isn't posh enough to rate a doorkeeper, but the front entrance unlocks promptly when the pink-haired medic buzzes in. Two floors up is apartment 307, the door cracked just a hair ajar. Despite this, no sounds filter out from within.

The apartment itself is spare — one bedroom, combined sitting room / kitchen, and one small bathroom, it's furnished with the bare minimum of cheap furniture, the kind of stuff that would probably start wearing out and cracking from stress within a couple years of regular use. Obviously, this isn't an actually lived-in space, but there are less comfortable places to be.

A safe house of a sort is her guess, a personal one for the technopath, or a front. Jessica had one, it wouldn't be beyond Hana — in Abigail's mind — to have one herself. But never one to just barge into an apartment and the revelations of the evening having not left her, she knocks three times on the door with one hand curled into a fist, the other on the doorknob, easing it open enough to just barely enter and glance about in hopes of seeing Hana somewhere.


"Come on in."

Hana steps out of the bedroom, half-closing the door behind her. "Close the door behind you," she directs Abby, although it's probably an unnecessary instruction. The technopath is dressed fairly typically in black jeans and an off-white shirt; the jeans in spite of the weather. Her jacket is draped over the back of a nearby chair, one of two in the room. "Mind if I look at your phone?" she asks, as she unclips the two holsters from her belt and sets them on a small table with a lamp. This casual question is followed shortly by another: "Have you had a chance to eat?"

It does go without saying, and it's closed firmly behind her pink-haired self, even the locks turned just in case. It's not like she poses a threat to Hana in the least. "I had some Burger King not long ago, but thank you." From the depths of her purse, the black phone is dug up, offered up to Hana on the flat of her palm when she nears the other woman. She still intimidates Abigail, very much so, and it's easily seen.

"One of Cat's extra's, mine burned in the fire. Far as I know it was already fixed for Ferry use. I haven't replaced it with something else yet. Seems easier just to stick to this one. How are you, Hana?"

Hana takes the little black box from Abby, simply holding it for a moment before she returns it to the younger woman, nodding briefly as if satisfied by something. She doesn't explain the why of her interest. "I'm fine," the Israeli replies, in a tone of voice that simultaneously conveys both because I insist I am and don't ask. 'Fine' is the wrong word, but they're not here for Hana's concerns or problems. She waves Abby to the chair adorned with a jacket, sitting herself down in the other. "What do you need to talk about?"

Fine, equates with 'I'm okay' or 'It's all good'. But much like Flint, Hana's not likely to tell Abby if there's anything wrong or if thing aren't fine. Actually, scratch that. Abby'd be more likely to get an answer from Flint. One seat taken, other open, she takes up the one with the jacket with little fanfare. Swift, to the point, she expects no less from Hana and can respect that. "Is there a Gutierrez or a Weaver in the network? Ones associated with Kilpatricks?"

Dark eyes narrow as Abby poses her question, Hana leaning back slightly in her chair and folding her hands in her lap. "Why do you ask?" she prompts the medic to continue.

"Delilah and I were at Kilpatricks, sorting donations. The window was open, we didn't mean to eavesdrop but it happened and Susan, along with Clark and Damon, were talking out in the alley. It might have been just that we weren't privy to the whole conversation Hana, but… something's wrong. They were worried about Kaylee being near them and hearing their minds, much less any psychometer or a post-cog, Susan said not to worry about it, that she'd talk with her, deal with it."

Her little black phone is held in her hands tightly, thumb tapping atop the surface. "They don't want Kaylee, or any of the people that I just said, to trace something that the three of them did. That it would be better for the future of the network. Damon told her it wasn't going to be easy, that…" She's pulling up the conversation from not long ago but she's not Cat of the perfect memory. "That he had been in Moab but that didn't make him 'you know'." Her fingers are held up in quotations that frame either side of her face.

"Hana, they're planning something. Something to do with the people who were or are being nominated to the council seats. Joseph. Myself, Eileen just told me the other day but Susan and the two don't know. They wanted McCrae and they're unhappy he hasn't been chosen yet. Is Susan a persuasionist?"

Hana rises from her chair as Abby gets through her explanation, striding over to the window. The curtains are drawn, a barrier blocking the nighttime cityscape from sight, but she doesn't move to open them; just looks at the ivory-and-green draperies. She's quiet for a long moment after Abby concludes, then pivots around to face her. "I'll look into it, Abby. Thank you for telling me." Hana steps forward, setting something on the dining table that clatters faintly metallic: a ring with a single key on it. "I want you to stay here. As long as you like — tonight, at the least."

"There's more Hana." She's gone all meerkat like, face following the woman as she swishes curtains, deposits a key on the table. "Something in Central Park. They said it would be as good a place as any and then Susan said she'd deal with the clean up. Something was given to Clark. Something wrapped in white. He didn't want to take it, but he did. When they came inside and up the stairs, Hana, they talked about how Susan could make them do what she wanted them to, even if they didn't want to, because of her silver tongue. They smiled at us, but… it's not the kind of smile that I ever saw anywhere that had anything nice behind it." Phone plopped onto the table, Abby's hands sink into the pockets of her jeans. "Damon told Clark to not.. get sentimental, that there's no trading a real heart for a baby deer's. Whatever that would end up meaning. That this wasn't a fairytale."

Did Hana know something and was just wanting to keep things quiet? The key's taken up, looked at. "Peter's going to worry where I am Hana and I don't have… some medication that I need." But… it would be a sight more comfortable than sleeping in her SUV all night. "I'll stay though. Tonight at least."

The expression on the Israeli's face is ominous in its disapproval; however, her words to Abby are coolly level. "Snow White," Hana remarks obliquely. "In some versions, the man told to kill her brought back a deer's heart to fool the stepmother." The technopath walks back into the other room; there's the brief sound of fabric rustling, and then she returns with a bag slung over one shoulder. A capped syringe is placed without ceremony on the table beside Abby. "That'll cover two days, if you're worried. If you don't use it, I'd appreciate its return. Peter can come here if you want," she continues, turning to retrieve her handguns from the lamp table. "Unless you decide to stay long-term, I'll submit notice releasing the apartment at the beginning of the week."

Oh Lord above. "Keep an eye on Delilah's phone? I don't… want anything to happen to her." The syringe tucked beside the phone, to be put up later. So there was a liquid negation drug. How Hana'd got her hands on it, Abby didn't know, would likely never know, and probably didn't want to know.

"I'll let you know," she offers quietly. "Thank you Hana. For everything."

"I will," Hana assures Abby. Clipping the holsters back into place, she heads for the door — leaving her jacket still on Abby's chair.

"You're welcome, Abigail."

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