With You I Will Leave - Part II


brian_icon.gif brennan_icon.gif dante_icon.gif kristen_icon.gif nick_icon.gif nicole2_icon.gif russo_icon.gif



Scene Title With You I Will Leave - Part II
Synopsis Away from the dream, two members of the Institute beseech the dreamer's brother for her body.
Date January 2, 2011

The Russo House in New Jersey

Quando sono solo

sogno all'orizzonte

e mancan le parole

The quiet street of the large nearly foreboding house is dead, even for a Sunday afternoon, but with the sunlight flooding into the living room through the front sitting room window the drapes are drawn as its pseudo owner watches the street with a vague curiosity all his own, mostly because he doesn't particularly feel like chatting with present company.

The room itself is cream with white paneling, complete with a slightly richer cream (and very plush) carpet. Russo's grandmother had spent a small fortune decorating it to her whims, and much to his grandfather's chagrin, his grandmother's whims included rich red drapes, gold coloured furniture— antique, and freakishly uncomfortable. Namely a large, very uncomfortable couch, several matching armchairs, a chaise, and a dark wood coffee table that Russo has covered with a towel after making some vague comment about scratching its surface (a comment he'd heard often growing up when he brought the Hot Wheels cars into this room).

Brad twists around and a glance over his shoulder is given to the bottle of scotch resting on the coffee table. With a heavy sigh, he turns to face his guests while a hand rubs at the back of his neck. There's a near apologetic air to his smile, the chattiness has all been drained from him the last few days as well as that bright yet nearly always present sparkle of hope generally reflected in his pale blue eyes.

Nick had gotten up and left hours before. And while Brad knew he should be getting back to work today or in the next couple of days, he hadn't the heart to leave the house, nor had he the heart to permit a number of others to leave, including his very public fiance and the Producer of his show who he'd dragged back here after causing a very noisy scene at a New Year's Eve party.

He whistles sharply as there's another vague tick of his smile, "He'll be back right? He said he'd be back people come back when they say they'll be back don't they?" his eyebrows draw together involuntarily. "I mean, it's not like when men say they'll call— when you tell someone's brother you'll be back, you come back, don't you?" His brows arch expectantly.

Day two of hangover recovery, Kristen is sitting in the same room as Russo, on the opposite end from he and his fiance. She's been eying the scotch but every time she catches a whiff of its strong odor, she turns a little bit green around the gills and so she's stuck to coffee… with a little bit of Irish cream. When Russo gave her his entire stash, he'd forgotten to clear out this house. Apparently his grandparents had a fondness for collecting bottles because there's an entire store of them in the cellar.

"Well…" she begins with a certain bit of sarcasm in her voice, "you'd think so, unless he was lying." The possibility hasn't escaped the producer who is feeling more like a prisoner in a situation she doesn't understand and can't control. It's something she abhorrs, the lack of control. "It's Sunday night, I should be in the studio getting ready for another episode…" It's a hint to her host, they're busy people. Too busy to be lounging around waiting for some— guy— to arrive.

In for a penny, in for a pound. Bradley Russo's Very Public Fiancee doesn't miss the look the man in question gives to the bottle of scotch on the table. If only because she's been giving the same look most of the afternoon. Enough is enough. She pushes up from the sofa, and snatches the offending bottle up. "I'm just going to go put this in the kitchen," Nicole informs the room quietly.

She said they were in this together, and Nicole meant it. "Can I get anything for anyone?" she asks, playing the gracious hostess, even if this isn't her home. It isn't his, either, even if he has more claim to it. She'll be supportive if she pleases. And right now, being supportive is keeping her from worrying. And drinking. "He'll be here," she insists on her way toward the kitchen. She doesn't know the man in question, so her comments on his integrity are grasping at straws, at best. But it's what needs to be said right now.

Folding his arms over his chest, he looks from Brad then to Kristen then to Brad again. "He'll be back." Brian cements, shrugging lightly. "And if he doesn't come back." The next part of this little argument isn't the most well constructed. "Then he won't be back." Despite this amazingly articulate sentence, Brian seems to be somewhat distracted with someone else in the room. His eyes keep popping back to Kristen. Brows furrowing some when he, at points, stares. "So you make tv." He finally says bluntly, staring at her. "So you guys are all like rich… Hm."

Tucking his chin down to his chest, Brian glances at the floor then back up at Kristen then Russo. "I was on TV a couple times. A few years ago, I was on the news a couple days in a row." Winters points out, trying to hide the pride he has in that. "So… yeah~"

Doorbells are wonderful things, they announce to people inside a home or business that there's someone who wants in. That there are visitors at the door. People who don't have key's or a crowbar to smash windows.

Brennan is neither houseguest, privileged with a key or the kind of person who would come wielding wrought iron and shattering some glass. He's also not in the mood for a doorbell. Which would be why the front door has a bit of a brisk and heavy rapping of ones knuckles on the door. Then the doorbell. Twice. Three times, then a forth as the physician is bundled up against the cold, torn from his home by a message from Gautlin.

A message delivered to Brennan by a particularly dour agent. There are few things to get Dante out in the cold, and a mission is one of them. Standing beside the physician, Dante tugs off his leather gloves one at a time, his lined face fixed squarely on front door and his eyes narrowed in preparation. This may not be a very pretty meeting… Only time will tell.

si lo so che non c'e luce

in una stanza quando manca il sole

"You can't lie to a liar," Russo virtually hisses to Kristen, but his eyes soften— rife with silent apology she can easily catch— the instant the words are out as he turns back to the window. The window is is his solace, his grace, his anchor, and the only thing keeping him remotely occupied. "He'll be back," he assures himself more than anyone else although Brian's comment brings a small frown.

His hands are shoved in the pockets of his dress pants— he's dressed to film. "Just play a rerun," he murmurs. "And tell our guest I'm dying of— " he smirks "— Polydactlysm. Chances are they won't even look it up. The show isn't exactly hard-hitting news tonight." At least not as hard hitting as his dying sister in several rooms adjacent.

The knock and ringing of the doorbell actually perks up the host, "Thank God! He's finally— " and then he peeks through the peephole and his steely eyes narrow while they tick over to his guests. The smile and good humour momentarily drain from his face, but, like the liar he is, he fakes it, taking a deep breath, putting on an easy smile, and even forcing it in the crow's feet along his eyes.

The deadbolt unlatches and the doorknob turns. "Hello? Can I help you, Doctor?" he actually forces a dimple.

Brian receives a bleary eyed glance from the producer as he poses his questions about their livelihood. "They're rich, I'm… comfortable." She doesn't know the duplicator either, a room full of strangers and she's at her worst. This is why she needs Dirk, when all else fails, he makes her look good. "You were on television? What for?" She doesn't want to say it but it's on the tip of her tongue. He's probably been in a Calvin Klein underwear ad.

Bradley's the one that gets the look. "Sure you can… You do it all the time." The snide remark from Kristen is emitted just as she gets up for a refill of coffee and cream, of the Irish variety. Following Nicole into the kitchen, she all but ignores the other woman and her ring in favor of the hot liquid that she's come to rely on over the past couple of days.

"I didn't even know he had a sister," she mutters, not to Miss Nichols but more of an external monologue. "I knew everyone in his family… and I didn't know he had a sister."

The ring-bedecked woman in the kitchen doesn't look over to Kristen as she puts the scotch up in one of the cupboards. "I… think it's complicated," Nicole offers quietly, leaning her hip against the counter and turning the diamond bracelet around her wrist, rather than the unfamiliar weight of the engagement ring. "Look. I'm sorry abo-" The sound of the knocking and the doorbell grab her attention, derail train of thought.

"Brad…?" Nicole returns from the kitchen, just in time to catch the look on his face when he spies whoever's on the other side of the door. Not who they expected. She retreats out of sight, into the kitchen again. She pulls open drawers until she finds the silverware and procures a long-tined fork and makes a bee line for the nearest outlet, unplugging the coffee maker unceremoniously to stick the utensil into the socket.

Moments later, the lights on the electronics all over the house - numbers on digital clocks, nightlights in darkened hallways, and the like - all dim at once like from a power surge in a storm. Nothing reboots, thankfully. Resetting a VCR is a bitch.

"Shootout at Saint John's Cathedral." Brian states blankly, matching Kristen's gaze with a soft smile. "You might also have seen me on America's Most Wanted." The smile increases a little more. It might be a joke. But it might not. "How comfortable are you?" Brian asks, mildly interested. His eyes dart after Nicole when—

His lips shut, shoving his way from the wall, he reaches back to adjust something behind him. He then stands there with his arms folded over his chest. "Some weather huh…" He gives a bright smile to the others. Yee.

"Mr Russo. I'm sorry to bother you at this time, could I come in? It's fairly cold out here, and I'd like to talk with you. The sooner the better and we can be out of your hair." Brennan doesn't introduce Dante, that can be done inside when every word doesn't curl out on a steamy breath and eventually dissipate off into the air. He'd rather be at home with wife and kids, but instead he's here and he knows that going home won't be something he can do for the rest of the day if he's successful in his goal.

Dante is happy enough to be part of the background. As the door opens, his chin tilts down, steam puffing out of his nostrils, and his chin tucked in under the high collar of his coat. His eyes trail past Russo to the warm interior of the house enviously…but he blinks and frowns at the bare dimming of the lights within. That's…odd. One hand slips out of his pocket, and he loosens the buttons on his coat.

se non ci sei tu con me

Su le finestre

mostra a tutti il mio cuore

che hai acceso

While he may have plenty of guests to divert his attention, the television host's vision remains on the door although he frowns considerably as the lights go out and then flick back on somewhat dimmer than before. Russo's blue grey eyes tick inside at the random darkness that ensued. But it's not like him to not permit entrance into the house, particularly in the cold outside. His weight shifts from one foot to another momentarily considering whether or not he should admit these folks entrance.

Eventually, however, he backs up, opening the door a little further and enabling both Brennan and his colleague to come into the house. "Sorry, storm," he murmurs as he points to the lights overhead with a shrug.

"Gidget— " he calls as his head turns and there's something nearly steely in the tone "— Honey— we have more visitors. Can you get them some coffee if K hasn't drained the pot?" His teeth graze his bottom lip as his head tilts forward slightly.

While the pair of men are permitted entrance and nearly offered coffee, their slightly confused host doesn't see them to the sitting room exactly although it's well within sight. "Why are you here?"

As Nicole rushes for the electrical socket, Kristen's brown eyes fly wide open with panic. "Oh shit… No! Don't you know that there's a rule about things like this?!" The producer drops her cup of coffee sending it splattering across the clean kitchen floor in a cafe au lait splash of color in contrast to the bleach white of the rest of the room.

Grabbing the 'crazy woman' by the arm, she tries to wrench her from the socket, knowing that it'll probably kill her too. Funny.. the last fiance died too.. maybe third time's the charm? "The news… had a special… on plug covers…" She tugs on the equally thin woman, trying to get her away but stops and straightens as she realizes that she's not getting electrocuted.

A sudden frown creases her forehead and she chances a look into the livingroom before focusing on Nicole again. "You— did— what now?" Surprise, her generic television accent has been replaced by a country Tennessee twang.

A warning look is shot to Kristen, but Nicole doesn't raise a commotion any further than the dropped coffee mug when she's reached for. "Whoops~" she sing-songs loud enough for the benefit of the men in the other room. "Butterfingers! I'll just get that cleaned up."

The fork is left by the sink, and the coffee maker's plug replaced in the outlet. "Electrokinetic," Nicole hisses under her breath to the other woman. Her eyes, dark blue moments ago, are now glowing a much brighter shade. She then scrambles to where her purse sits on the other side of the room, and rummages through it for a chunky black case, pulling it open to reveal her dark, navy-tinted mirrored sunglasses. She puts them on and turns back to Kristen again to whisper, "It's a hangover, if anyone asks you."

Then Kristen is nudged toward the door. "Go out there and do what you do best," Nicole tells her. "Go be Brad's anchor. He needs you." She lifts her voice again to ask sweetly, "Do your friends take cream or sugar, darling?"

Standing by the wall, Brian glances to the door. His eyes follow Kristen and Nicole only momentarily before he's looking back at the TV show host. "Brad." The first time he calls out is softly. Maybe even too quiet to here. So taking a few steps away from the wall, he watches Russo interact with the men at the door.

"Brad. I need to tell you something."

There's more people in the house it seems. There's some trepidation in the physicians self no move to take off his jacket but manners enough to stomps his feet at the threshold and keep from tracking snow further in. "Coffee is appreciated but, I don't think we'll be here long enough to enjoy it Mr. Russo." He takes his gloves off at least, shoving them in a pocket.

"I have four hours to get Delia Ryans' body to the Suresh Center. I don't know if you're aware of the predicament and circumstances unfortunate, that are surrounding one of your houseguests right now but I've done research, I've spent the last month and then some since she first visited me in a dream and asked for my help, trying to find a way to connect her back to her body after she somehow disconnected herself"

Brennan regards Russo, seriousness and concern on his face, weariness too. "She's been disconnected from it to long, I don't have much time, but she's managed to park herself in a co-worker and is waiting. I don't have very much of a window to do this, I won't have access to my capabilities before too many people notice that I have been doing a side pet project and all my research has shown that if I don't do this, and within the next four hours Mr. Russo, then there's nothing anyone is going to be able to do. Period. Oniermancers don't stay alive from their bodies too long, not fledgeling ones who don't have the training and she doesn't have the training and we are coming up to a very hard deadline."

Brennan glances towards Brian then to the part of the house where Nicole speaks up, inquiring as to the preferred state of coffee beans. "She conveyed where she was, and I have another dreamwalker with her, and access to a telepath to pour her into her body. But I can't move my half of the people who can return her back to a functioning state, but it is safe to move her."

"I need you help Mr. Russo. So I can save her, fix her, lecture her about the stupid thing she did and then get her back to you. Safe. alive"

Dante could do with a coffee to warm himself up, actually, but as he's about to say something, the clatter and cry from the kitchen stops the words on his tongue. He glances that way, leaning over and peering curiously in the direction of Nicole's sweet, sing-song cooing.

As Brennan lays down the what-for, the Agent's eyes slide over Russo's residence as he pulls his coat open, smoothing down his tie and slipping his hand just barely inside his coat.

"Urgency is top priority at the moment, sir," Dante adds, a few helpful words thrown to the news anchor.

chiudi dentro me

la luce che

hai incontrato per strada

Brad inspects his two new guests and then just shakes his head at Nicole's question, "Just black." They're not really friends and now they seem to be here for a very particular purpose for a very sensitive reason.

The host's arms cross over his chest and his lips part to speak only to close again as his eyes narrow at all of the words he's being fed. His arms pull tighter to him as he glances to Brian, the only occupant in the room to witness all of this.

He leans against the wall and clamps his eyes shut. All he wants is his sister to be alright. "If you get her, will she be okay? No one has " The question nearly gets stuck in his throat, not that he has said no, and not that he has said yes.

Kristen is just about to snap back at the lovely hostess about knowing where she needs to be when a scowl makes its way across her elfin features and she ducks backward to take a look out into the receiving area. When she pulls back from the doorway, she fixes Nicole with a squinty glare and shakes a fist. "This isn't over yet…" Ah the jealousy of the jilted woman.

Closing her eyes, the brunette takes a deep breath and shakes out her arms before letting out in a whoosh from her puckered lips. Then, pasting on a rather phony smile, not that anyone but Brad can tell it's a phony, she glides out into the little entranceway. This woman is not Gidget or Honey. "Doctor Brennan! So good to see you again.." she's about to make idle small talk but promptly clamps her jaw shut when Russo speaks up.

The door knob turns and the door swings open, a gust of blustery wind accompanying Nick into the house. His eyes downcast for a moment as he enters the house, juggling keys and tugging at the scarf around his neck. It's a delayed reaction when he notices the stranger — who is not a stranger — in the house. Bloodshot blue eyes, dark circles beneath them showing the lack of sleep, focus on Brennan.

"You," he breathes out, striding forward as his eyes slit. "Where the hell did you put her? Where did you take her?"

His head jerks, searching Russo's gaze, and he jerks his head toward Brennan. "This is the guy in the dream — the one who took her away," he says, voice dangerously low.

That's probably news to Brennan.

"What the fuck do you want with her?"

When Nicole makes her return from the kitchen, it's with a mug of coffee in each hand. One for Dante, who didn't vocalise a refusal, and one for Russo. "Here you are, darling," she chimes, seemingly perfectly oblivious to the conflict thick in the air. Russo also receives a peck on the cheek before she slips her hand into his, with a murmur of "stupid headache" to explain the appearance of her sunglasses in the house. Her skin feels warm, almost hot, against his palm.

"What's all the fuss?" Nicole asks almost cheerily. She squeezes Brad's hand gently, the only physical sign of her own tension. But her head tips to one side to regard Nick, and when she poses her next question, there's more of an edge to her voice. "Is something wrong?" Behind the reflective lenses, her eyes can't be seen flicking between Doctor Brennan and Agent Lupinetti.

"Brad." Brian calls again, watching Brennan skeptically. "I don't know who this guy is. But I'm with her now." Don't ask him to explain. "Kind of. I'm asleep now and we're going to get her. With the boyfriend.. and a lady. And Japanese ladies. And another lady." Very descriptive. Taking a step forward, his eyes widen and he smiles slightly at Nick's appearance.

He never thought he would be excited to see that little fella. Smiling brightly, Brian approaches Nick and Brad before looking to Brennan. "I don't know who this guy is." His chin jerking at Brennan. "So I don't know if he's telling the truth. But I'll do my best to let you know what's happening… In there."

"If she's been unconscious as long as I think she has and hasn't had the proper medical care, then the only thing she's going to need when she comes out of it, besides a tongue lashing is likely some physical therapy to help her regain strength that she will have lost in her body. But I predict that she will come out of it fine with no harm that can't be fixed by a few weeks and friends. I can recommend the therapist that my wife went to after her leg cast was removed. She was very good" Kristen appears and Brennan nod his head to acknowledge the other woman who's entered. There's at least three others then, the man, Kristen, and gidget. Delia elsewhere.

"It's going to take an hour and a half, at the least, to get her to the center. You can come with us if it will make you feel better about it Mr. Russo, Brad, but I really don't have an abundance of time and I will never forgive myself if my lack of action means that she's nothing but a vegetable, in a bed somewhere and I didn't do everything in my power and resource to save her. The moment she is back, and I feel that she's not going to go on a mental walkabout again, she can go home with you. I will even go so far as to check her into the suresh center under another name even, or one of your choo-"

-sing if it would make them feel safer about this all.

It goes unsaid as the door opens and Brennan turns his face towards it, much likely like everyone else. Nick is indeed a stranger, but the familiarity with which he's talking to Brennan leaves the physician confused and a slight shake of his head to indicate such, a look back to Russo as he plays eyeball tennis. "I'm Sorry? I don't think we've met before"

And then Brian is stepping forward, quiet protest. "He's right" A polite gesture to Brian a glance to nicole and her sunglasses then back to Russo. "He doesn't know me, but you do. We're flying by the seat of our pants the last month, me and whomever else she enlisted in her cause, but I have a solid plan, she's with someone right now, and if I can get her to the oniermancer within the next four hours, you will have her back or I will die trying myself, to get her back to you Brad. I swear on my newborn son"

Dante glances over, angular brows flicking upwards to see a coffee extended towards him. "Much obliged," he murmurs in a rumbling undertone, not wanting to interrupt Brennan's reassurances, and he brings the coffee cup up to his nose, giving it a few good sniffs before taking a drink…

That he never gets to, before Nick steps in the door, and Dante adds to the myriad number of eyes turning his way. His eyes narrow again, and he sweeps his gaze over the newcomer's outfit, searching for any bulges in his clothing.

"Her safety and health are our first priority, Mister Russo," Dante says, while taking a sip. Wait, didn't he say urgency was their first priority a moment ago?

Con te partiro

paesi che non ho mai

veduto e vissuto con te

adesso si li vivro

Russo's eyes tick between Kristen, Nick, Nicole, Brian, Brennan, and Dante only to return to Nick. While he may not know the man well, he did return when he said he would and he's been the Delia's holy vessel (or in Nick's case the not-so-holy-vessel). This is not the kind of situation he was prepared to cope with when he found more family— or the kind of situation he could even contend with. Nicole's squeeze to his hand is acknowledged with one in return, but the glances continue even through the motion.

Nick is regarded with the most weight, a long stare that ends with a simple nod, following up the other man's suspicion, "Delia was in his head until apparently you as a bird came and took her away— I believe you want to help, Doctor, but Delia — " The thought is broken. Not uttered to protect the innocent.

His eyes narrow a little as he turns back to Brian, "What are these people doing? How— how can they get her back to her body? She's been near to her body for awhile with no avail— "

He runs his tongue over his lips as his hands move to his hips in a near Superman stance as he turns back to face Brennan, "Who is she with? Look Doctor, I think we all have the same goal here." Finally, the admission of his lineage touches his lips, "She's my half-sister and I've been doing everything in my power to help her. I want her to make it through this— that's all I've ever wanted. And believe me, Carrots has been seeking help from a lot of people." His hand runs through his hair as his gaze ticks to a picture on the wall. "If we move her— can I come?"

Folding her arms over her chest, Kristen glances between all of them before settling on Brian. "You said you were there with her? And… here.." She's not all that educated when it comes to the evolved, using them mostly to get ratings or whatnot, she hasn't done as much research into the field as one might have hoped. It's on the docket for tomorrow, always tomorrow.

Trying to be a voice of reason along with Brad, she nods in agreement with him and then glances at Brian again. "If you're there, would you go with Brad too? To tell him what's happening while they're taking her?" They said it's a long trip, from New Jersey to the Suresh Center is quite a jaunt by her estimation. Then an eye is turned to Dante and she raises a single eyebrow, "And… as sort of an insurance policy… would you stay here to make sure they get back?"

Nick's pale eyes dart from face to face as they speak, returning back to Brennan's. "Y'got a badge, there, doc?" he demands, not offering his own name as he juts a chin toward Brennan, then glances at Dante as well, holding out a hand for identification.

His brows knit and forehead furrowed, he glances over at Russo, nodding back toward him, then Brian. "Family should be allowed to go with her," he adds. "You agree to their terms or I'll make this a helluva lot more complicated for you." It's not an empty threat — but they probably don't know that.

Nicole's lips actually curve upward in the ghost of an appreciative smirk when Kristen requests that they keep Dante as collateral. And this is why she likes her so much, even if the feeling of kinship is not exactly mutual at the moment, thanks to the rock on her left hand.

"Yeah I know I'm right." Brian snaps at Brennan. "Why would I say I don't know him when I know him. Of course I'm right, I don't need your aff-" Calm down. Deep breaths. Watching Brad, his eyes go to Nick then back to Russo. Glancing over at Kristen briefly, he gives a short nod. "Yeah. I'm there. I'm here. I'm also in your apartment. Right now." He looks back back to Nick and nods.

"Brad's coming. Nick's coming, I'm coming." It's not a request. It's a command, his eyes go to take Brennan's gaze, delivering the firm and oh so manly stare down.

"Brad, I'm not an oniermancer. I didn't take her at all. I'm a negator. Wouldn't matter if you had someone beside her body, you need someone with an ability capable of forcibly putting her into her body, of making the connection that she needs to climb back in. We have an oniermancer who to the best of my knowledge, persuaded her to come with him and is currently playing host to her. If we can get her body, to him, then with his help, we can manage to get her back. If that doesn't work, I have access to a telepath of considerable strength who can do the same thing. I have a plan A, a plan B, and she only has a four hour window to get back into her body before, like I said, no one will be able to help."

Brennan focuses on Russo. "You can come, but the more people who come, the more harder it will be for me to get you in and the more attention it will draw. I know, that it's hard, to place blind trust in someone, but I'm standing here, spending precious minutes, and asking you, asking the others here with their hands in that pot, to work with me, and to get her back before we hit the line of no return. Before none of us, get to see Delia to wake up and give her a good shake for scaring the shit out of us."

Brennan shakes his head, one hand coming out to settle on Russo's shoulder a nod to Kristen. "Lupinetti can stay here, as collateral of sorts. I don't need him to do this. He just drove me and was going to be my extra pair of hands to get her in the car and drive while I kept an eye on her"

"Brad, She came to me when she manifested. She was scared, and she was afraid of what being evolved would mean, what it made her. I promised to help her, I swore to help her. My oath as a doctor, is to help her and if I could go into a dream and drag her out and shove her in her body myself, I would. But I can't. But I found a way, a surefire way, to do it, but I can't, without her body. So I need you and your friends, to bring me to whatever room she's in in here, like she asked me to do, and we - you, me, anyone else who wants to be there because they don't trust me - see her the rest of the way so that all our dreams can be our own again."

Nicks asking for ID, and Brennan tilts his head to the side as he pushes his coat to the side, going for the rear pocket of his pants so that he can start pulling out his ID, offer it up to Nick. One Harve Patrick Brennan III MD. But then Kristen and Russo could have told him that. The registration stating him as a negator, tier - 0. And then there's the Suresh Center ID. There's also Brian getting huffy which Brennan's quite clearly not appreciating. "Not three. I can't get three in. Mr. Russo, and this gentleman here" A gesture to Nick. "Since she's apparently been parked in his mind and Brad is family. If you want to come, then you need to bring your own car and you'll be relegated to sitting outside and if I can smuggle you in, then I'll smuggle you in but I won't have room for you and I can only get away with these two. Now choose. Quickly. We need to and right damn soon"

Dante makes a low noise into his coffee cup at the remarks coming fast and furious from around him, keeping mum for the moment as he just drinks his coffee. Nick's request gets a flash of a badge his way, though her definitely not handing it to the man. DHS, by the looks of it, and legit, if Nick is any judge, before Dante tucks it away again.

Kristen's request has Dante raising an eyebrow at her, and he just rolls his eyes when Brennan goes along with it. "Honestly, Brennan? I just had it fixed up. You're trying my patience," he says in a none-too-frustrated tone as he pulls his hand out of his suit jacket, digging into his coat pocket for his car keys. Silver, with a big purple W lined in gold attached to the chain.

When those are passed off, Dante takes one last sip of coffee. "If I might interrupt for a moment," he says, raising his voice for the first time, "You can argue and bicker while en route. Miss Ryans' mental health is hanging in the balance, at the moment and…" Eyes settling on Russo's, his voice quiets again. "None of us want anything to happen to her. If you'd like to help me transfer her to the car?"

Con te partiro

su navei per mari

che io lo so

no no non esistono piu

con te io li vivro

Even with all of the input, all of the suggestions, and all of the stipulations, Russo shakes his head, he's resourceful in his own right. With a twist of his body, he seeks Kristen's gaze, "K— can we use Mustang Sally," which he'd lovingly named her SUV awhile back, even though it's neither red nor a mustang, "to move Delia? That way the three of us can fit. I'll drive, there will be room for Delia in the trunk, and I can know what's going on inside that dream?" Brad's eyebrows tick upwards as an odd, very fleeting glance is cast to Dante.

Already deciding that this is indeed the plan, he tugs on Nicole's hand and reaches for Kristen's wrist. "Excuse us for a minute. I realize I won't be filming tonight and need to make other arrangements." The two ladies are drawn into the kitchen, safely away from the earshot of the others. Russo lowers his voice with quiet instructions unknown to all outside.

Shortly thereafter, the trio emerge from the kitchen. "Alright. It's decided. K's SUV. My mad driving skills. Delia's body in the back along with layers of blankets so we can actually get her on Roosevelt Island. And we get her where she belongs… in her own head."

His head nods slightly towards the dining room— Delia is in a sitting room just off it. "I'd rather not carry her myself so…"

Those that are able and willing to do so are led into a second sitting room, that was likely intentioned as a smoke room when this particular house was built, but never used as such— Russo's grandmother hated the smell of cigars. The walls are particularly dark here, that neutral cream replaced with dark mahogany paneling (deforestation wasn't a concern when it came to the construction and decoration of this room). The floor is hardwood, a lighter maple, but covered in multiple colourful— namely with very warm soothing colours— Persian rugs. Delia has been set up with everything she needs on a makeshift cot where one antique (uncomfortable looking) couch used to be, relegating it to be pushed randomly against a wall. A second cot hangs in the room. "Let's move her," he instructs as he moves forward. "I fireman-style carried her in here, I'd rather do something with a little more grace taking her out— " but he's still willing.

Kristen hangs back, preferring to loiter in the livingroom rather than to the smoking den where Russo is leading the rest of the 'crowd'. Her coffee, having spilled, is quite missed as she glances down the hall to where everyone else disappeared for one brief moment before flitting elsewhere in the house.

Inside the sitting room, Delia's pale body rests on top of the cot, hooked to an IV and a feeding tube. Her features looking shadowy and almost skeletal, which does nothing but to confirm all of Brennan's previous statements in regards to the time she has left. So frail looking, she doesn't move save the soft rise and fall of her sunken chest as her body labors to sustain itself with oxygen. Each breath is shallow and coming further apart.

"I'll get her. It's the least I can do," Nick offers quietly, following Russo into the room he's spent too much time in lately. "If you grab her IV and stuff — I don't wanna mess with unhooking her from all that. I ain't a nurse." He moves closer to Delia, dark brows twitching as he studies her frail body for a moment, before he turns to glance over his shoulder at Russo.

"I'll help get 'er to the car, and I'll watch over this guy with the girls," he says with a nod toward Dante. "If … if I scared her at all, if she left because of me, then it's best I don't go, right?" There's a tentativeness in his voice that doesn't match his sullenness.

Moving closer, he tugs off the blankets from Delia's form, slipping one hand under her knees and the other beneath her shoulders. He's not quite back to his prime weight after the past months' ordeals, but she's thin enough from her own that he lifts her easily enough.

Nicole trails along with Russo and Kristen to the kitchen to discuss details of his absence. It's obvious when she returns to the entry way that she isn't pleased with whatever was said in there. Her arms crossed over her chest convey that much, even with her eyes obscured by her sunglasses. "You're sure you don't want me to ride along, or follow in the Buick?" she asks for probably the third for fourth time, given her insistence and exasperation.

Nodding to Russo's much better plan, and then turning. "I'll help Nick. I've been doing that shit for the last month anyway." Brian goes to follow Nick, before half turning. "It's really fun to turn it off for a minute and watch her eyes go bulgey." A beat. "I'm kidding." Brian then goes to assist Nick in taking Delia and all her annoying equipment to Mustang Sally.

Brennan follows, clearly not going to get things the way he wants, but then he wasn't coming here with the expectation that they would just let him march in and march out with Delia. When Russo marches out to the kitchen with his ladies under the pretext of making adjustments with regards to his show, Brennans digging out his phone, punching in some numbers so that when the line connects, there's a hushed conversation that seems to be directed to the Suresh Center and instructions to someone on the other end, requests for this and that, medical equipment at least.

It's cut off, a polite 'there's an hour' to whomever it was on the end of the line and Brennan punches a button even as Russo is declaring the plans. It'll have to do. He doesn't know how he's going to get all the individuals past the checkpoint onto the island and he'll cross that bridge when he gets there. Pun intended. When he and the others are brought back to Delia, prone body on the cot, he's stunned at the sight that greets him. He should have brought his bag in. The physician's shaking his head, running a hand over his face at the state that Delia's been reduced to. He looks like he might open his mouth, give them a few choice words but shuts it.

"Lupinetti, get my bag, get your light too and put it in their vehicle since they insist on taking someone elses car. Turn it on, it'll buy us time on the road and we can go faster. Someone else get that SUV running, crank the heat. Blankets" He's formulating a plan in his head on how to get her into the trunk back of the vehicle, to Roosevelt.

"Lupinetti" calling to him before he can disappear. "Call ahead. To the checkpoint. Tell them Dr. Brennan has a medical emergency, use your badge, I don't want to wait to get across. Tell them the make and plate. Pull whatever strings you have to" Issuing the orders to the agent even as he's grabbing up the blanket that had been around the woman, removing hi sown jacket to be used in the vehicle, mind running through what he has in his medical bag that will help. "I don't even think we have four hours anymore by the look of it. Christ. This is going to come down to the wire. Why did you not do so-" he cuts himself off, no use berating, it won't get anywhere. Won't help Delia. "Move, fast. I'll get in the back with her" He can do his thing back there.

Dante follows the parade into the sitting room…and sucks in a hiss between his teeth at the sight of Delia. He flinches, rubbing reflexively at the inside of his arm. "Yeesh," is his only comment, and he rubs his hand over his face as Nick immediately goes to pick up Delia's body. "How about I help you with her, huh? Easier to be careful with two people." Don't want the frail guy to strain himself, either.

When Brennan gives his orders, the Agent lets out a sigh and he holds up his hands. "Alright alright, I'll be right back." Turning, he picks up his feet, coat trailing behind him as he sweeps out the front door, pulling out his cellphone as he goes.

Quando sei lontana

sogno all'orizzonte

e mancan le parole

With a rather lopsided smirk, there had been a single sentence to counter Nick's thoughts, an ironic expression upon Russo's face given the circumstance, "Please get in the back with Brennan?"

It doesn't take long for the crew to load Delia into the SUV or the proverbial K-Car as it were. Her body remains hooked up to what it needs, receiving the necessary gifts of life that a soul-less body must maintain just to live as an empty vessel. There had been little time to really organize or consider what needed to be done between the movement of the body and the time entering the car.

In fine hostess form, Kristen has skipped out for most of the pleasantries surrounding hurried goodbyes, especially between Russo and Nicole. She's stayed behind to make yet another pot of coffee.

At present the thin woman is drinking Russo's fine scotch straight from the bottle in the kitchen. She doesn't seem to give a fig about who exactly might be watching her, Dante's status as DHS doesn't really phase her and Nicole's status as fiance really just drives her for another few swigs. Letting out a long sigh, she caps the bottle and then stares at it for a second or two before unscrewing it and giving a liberal pour straight into the coffee pot. Who cares if no one else is drinking on duty.

The (non-)smoking room smells faintly of ozone, if one notices such things. The tension of keeping her anger in check draws Nicole's muscles in tight cords. Rather than speak up, she storms out of the room, content to hide away until after Delia's saviours are on the road.

Only after the troupe has left, her goodbyes to Russo said in private, does Nicole emerge from the other room. She stalks her way into the kitchen and swipes the bottle of scotch from Kristen in one smooth motion after she's finished spiking the coffee. She takes a drink directly from the bottle much as her romantic rival had done earlier. Suitably surly.

Dante watches the car take off, looking seriously perturbed at the turn this visit has taken. Dammit, they took his light. Pulling out his cellphone, he taps out a few texts as he makes his way back into the house, lingering on the porch until he's completely done.

When the agent steps into the house again, his "hosts" have already started drinking. "Er…" Rubbing at the back of his neck, Dante looks about the small abode. "Can one of you point me to the bathroom?" he asks, tucking his cellphone into his pocket.

e io si lo so

che sei con me con me

"Bathroom? Uhm…" Kristen's quite familiar with all of them around the house. Hooking a finger at Agent Lupinetti, she begins a short clip down the main hallway and to a door set oddly underneath a set of stairs. Rapping the door twice, it opens to reveal a small half-bath. "This is… a water closet. If you need a shower or bathtub though, you'll have to go upstairs." She's not even going to begin on the strange layout of the house.

Dante is given a short smile before the producer stalks back toward the kitchen and the woman slugging back the scotch she's claimed as her own. "Leave some for the rest of us, will you?" It's not said unkindly, and the look she gives Nicole is anything but unfriendly. Perhaps a kinship will be formed over alcoholism.

"Maybe we should lock him in there," Nicole murmurs sardonically as she passes the scotch back to Kristen, perching her sunglasses atop her head again for the time being, since there's no DHS or DoEA around to catch the way they glow. "If anything happens to Brad or Delia…" Those electric blues dart in the vague direction of the water closet, leaving her implication to hang in the air.

Mustang Sally

20 Minutes Later

tu mia luna tu sei qui con me

mio sole tu sei qui con me

con me con me con me

Russo forgot his gloves much to his chagrin. His fingers curl uncomfortably around the cold leather steering wheel cursing his own absent mindedness. His grey-blue eyes focus plainly on the road, negotiating the chilly storm that's settled in the January air. He reaches forward and turns up the fan, increasing the flow of hot air on his chilled fingertips. There's something oddly reassuring about driving a car so like Stella, although at the same time, somewhat unnerving considering the black SUV's untimely demise.

The hypnotic noise of wipers sweeping across the windshield almost reassures the passengers in its monotony, but nothing about the road itself is monotonous. Crystallic icy remnants of old man winter shimmer along the black top of the pavement. While there may be cause to speed, there's also cause to be cautious. Or at least cause enough. Ending up in the ditch would only serve to prolong the journey.

Nick didn't argue, though he seems a little uncertain about going. In the back with Delia and Brennan, he keeps a wary blue gaze on both. His teeth clenched, muscles twitch along his jaw.

After so many minutes of silence, it seems his patience runs out. "What's this four hour time limit, anyway? She was fine until you guys came for her — yeah, her body isn't in the best of shape, but it don't look any different to me today than it did yesterday or the day before, and we had her being cared for. You help her, and you don't hold her accountable for this — she got lost and she wasn't trying to hurt anyone, wasn't trying to do anything to anyone. You understand?" he mutters, brows knit together as he peers at Brennan fiercely.

"It's not her fault." Brian calls out to the back of the car. Leaning forward some he looks over to Brad. He might be the only one in the car who actually knows how Delia got this way in the first place. "It was.. It was my girlfriend. Or me. Really. I made my girl tired. And used to.. when she got tired. She would.. float away. So.. Delia just happened to be in her dreams and then.. Whoosh." His fingers dance along motioning to the outside world. "Bye bye."

"And I've spent the last month trying to help her too. Doctor… I don't know your name. And I would call you something demeaning because you're an asshole, but Brad is here. And he's on tv." That wasn't demeaning at all.

Glancing over to Russo, Brian gives a light smile. Like one would to the children to make things alright while the grown ups fight. It's gonna be okay little tv guy, it's gonna be okay.

No answer from Brennan on all fronts, his concern first and foremost with the wilting redhead under his ministrations as he's tucked into the back of the SUV, doing the job that he as a physician is supposed to do. There will be time to run through the how's and why's and answer questions when they're at the Suresh Center and not jostled in the streets of new york and running against a clock to save a life.

Con te partiro

paesi che non ho mai

veduto e vissuto con te

adesso si li vivro

A frail hand that lies limp inside of Brennan's twitches once, the fingers dancing lightly across his palm as though the nerves in the young woman's body have a mind all of their own. Quite a normal muscular response in regards to coma patients, muscle spasms happen all too frequently, giving hope to friends and family members who otherwise have none.

It wouldn't be anything to worry about normally… Until Brennan's hand is gripped as tightly as those weak muscles will allow.

The grip itself isn't painful as much as surprising. Almost as surprising as when the young woman's eyes fly open, staring up at Nick in a manner he's all too familiar with from dreams; looking at him but not seeing him. Her mouth opens as her face contorts into an expression of panic, then a small hiss from the back of her throat erupts into a high pitched shriek…

There could be bitter diatribes issued, shared, ensconced about family, leaving no one behind, and notions of betterment or health, but Russo doesn't dare enter into any of these topics. He knows Delia's a good kid. He knows she had governmental trust issues. But he also knows his options are few and far between. His fingers curl tighter to the wheel, whitening underneath the pressure, but the notion of not calling Brennan something demeaning because he's on TV has Brad's eyebrow arch skeptically, his mouth opens and his head turns from the road for may only be a second, "I'm not like— "

The loud high-pitched, unwavering scream emitted from what was believed to be a lifeless body startles him enough that without thinking, his muscle memory merely reacts and his already tight-gripped hands tense around the steering wheel, cutting the large already top-heavy SUV to the left amid the black ice— seen only in the faint glimmer of light— that lines the equally black road.

The back of the vehicle fishtails, complaining against the sudden motion, veering it in the opposite direction, pulling against the will it's driver. Without thinking, he overcompensates, drawing it left again, only this time with the full force of the already-slipping tires that have no traction. The guard rail is imminent.

The first bounce against is merely that, a mere cut against the left side of the vehicle while the front corner of the SUV clips it, pushing it away back into traffic against the sheer amount of inertia from the attempted stop of the moving object.

Again the back fishtails, this time with what would be analogous to larger fins— sweeping movement that could wake the dead.

The SUV cuts into what little traffic exists on a Sunday afternoon, clipping a blue PT Cruiser on its back left side. The force of the moving vehicles causes them to bump together and then move apart. And together again and then apart. There's no time to think. No time to breathe. And barely time to react.

Impulsively, with no thought at all, the television host takes a hard left, aiming the front driver's side towards the guard rail again. Whatever the consequences, he's going to take the impact of this blow.

"Delia!" Nick shouts, staring down at her panicked face and shooting Brennan a look that is — rather than sullen and angry — pleading, frantic in his own right.

"Help her!" he insists, but then the SUV is swerving, and Nick grabs to an edge, fingers grasping at the plastic along the window in order to try to keep his balance and not fall on the suddenly awake red head. His other hand moves to just beside her side, fingers curling in the blanket as he bows his head, hoping to protect her thin frame in the case of crunching metal or shattering glass.

"Shh. Shh. Yes you are. You're precious." Brian insists over to Russo, waving his wrist limply at the other man. "Don't worry-" Just before Delia starts to scream, Brian's jaw sets. His brows furrowing, his eyes concentrating intently on something that isn't in front of him. One hand goes to grip at the dash. "There's.. ff.. Something's happening."

And then the car is going scrr and Brian is having a difficult time concentrating. His eyes flash out the window. "Fuck man. That's a PT cruiser! Be fucking careful! They're made of glass and fragility!" His other hand goes to grasp the Oh shit handle.

"Oh shit!"

"Hit it!"

Objects in motion, stay in motion, when they have no seatbelt to anchor them. Crash test dummies can tell you this. With the open eyes of Delia's, the motion of her hand in his, he's reaching out with a hand to try and draw her face towards his, reach for his little penlight to see if she's there, or if she's become like Kaylee was in the Grand Central Terminal that one time.

The little pen goes flying, jostled to elsewhere in the vehicle as he tries to look up and see what happened, try and cover Nick and Delia with his own body, squeeze his eyes closed and hope for the best in the few seconds that this all ends up occurring. Hope that he's not leaving his wife a widow with four kids.

The impact against the guard rail is immense, the sound akin to fingernails on a chalkboard as metal scrapes concrete, crunching against the solidity of the guard rail. The air bags never deployed, the impact had been all wrong for the introduction of human ingenuity. When everything stops, one sound remains: the consistent reverberation of an unconscious body slumped against the horn of the car.

Con te partiro

lo con te

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