Participants:
| Scene Title | Within Plans |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | An evening of multitasking when Francois comes by to give Kasha a check up as well as have dinner with Abby, where they discuss Topics! |
| Date | July 3, 2010 |
Le Rivage: Abby's Apartment
An offer of dinner was put on the table, over the phone, if Francois wanted to come over. Robert was busy, Peter was doing messiah stuff that was keeping him out of the apartment and Huruma had already swung by and dropped Kasha off. Would Francois want to come over to her place, come for dinner? She has someone she also wanted him to look at, though that wasn't the reason for the dinner invitation. She just wanted Francois to come over.
Off work and home a little before seven, Dinner already cooking and bubbling merrily away on the stove, wine decanted and waiting for the Frenchman to have a glass of, and puppy gnawing on a rawhide bone in the middle of the livingroom. Little by little the place was looking less like a sparse safehouse and more into a home. The cat sprawled out along the back of the couch and Huruma's orphan swinging quietly back and forth in her swing.
All that was missing was the Frenchman.
In the past, turning down a dinner would have been considered not only impolite, but also drastically unwise. These days, less so — but it is unlikely Francois would come see Abby only for the promise of a meal ticket, economic privilege and Teodoro's (and his own!) cooking talents aside. Outside, a black luxury sedan has pulled up beneath the mildly clear evening sky, the wind still and air cool.
If the traffic masks this particular herald, likely the fact that she will have to let him in via the speaker door downstairs will warn her of the knock knock knock that occurs shortly after.
It's kind of an accident, that he's dressed nicely, as well as a reasonable rarity, but he thinks Abby can forgive him this much. There's no tie involved, anyway, just a crisp white shirt beneath the pale grey dinner jacket, at odds with the reasonably casual backpack he has dangling from a fist. It's the same one he'd bring with him to the Den, capable of magically producing things like disposable thermometers, over-the-counter drugs and more recently thanks to the company he keeps, bandages and plastic-cardboard kept suture kits.
The other hand could stand to have maybe a bottle of wine or similar, but instead only has his cellphone he's awkwardly closing. Though there is still a piece bitten from his ear, still some scarring only just obscured by the white wings of his collar, that hand is whole and unscarred, fingers straight and workable.
"In, in, in, don't let the bought air out! So good to see you!" Regardless that the halls are also kept cool as the inside of the apartment is. Never the less, Francois is ushered in with a kiss to his cheek, a hand to his shoulder and the soft clunk of the door as it's closed and lock turned. A glance to his get up shows the elevation is clothing status that she's wearing. Could be worse, she could be in her uniform, . Besides, Robert comes dressed far more stuffier, so a button down and dinner jacket are hardly strange when you date a guy who's regularly wearing bespoke.
"Come, come, I want you to meet someone" and she doens't mean the rolly polly fattening ball of fur who gives francois a cursory look and with no movement made to confiscate his bone, promptly ignores him for him. As does Scarlett, but that is part for the course. The hand, for now, not quite yet noticed, but likely will at some point as she takes him by the elbow, guiding further into the apartment.
To in front of the baby. "Francois, Meet Kasha, You're okay with babies right? Please tell me you're okay with babies because it's either you or I go find Odessa and for all that I know she's a doctor, I don't know if I'd want her to look her over. Her bedside manner sucks, your's is infinitely better and more gentle. You won't make her cry"
IN the swing, blue eye'd blonde downy curls, drowsily looking at the pair as she swing forward, then retreats with each measured mechanical wind of the swing.
Letting himself be guided through the apartment with a subtle play of a smile, and it thins a little in mirth at unkind talk of Odessa's skills. The backpack comes to rest down upon the ground. "I will try not to make her cry," he qualifies. "I am also not much of a pediatrician— " At least, now that he has a certain amount of knowledge about what qualifies you to be a doctor. He wouldn't have let him in an OR, in retrospect. "— but I can have a look, oui."
And oh she's adorable. There is apparently no babyphobia on this end as Francois moves to crouch down in front of where Kasha is fastened into her swing, offering a hand out to take her's less out of a doctorly inspection and more affection. "You will tell me the story of this one before you do," he adds, glancing back at Abby.
Finally someone who doesn't look horrified or flee at the sight of a tiny human!
Abigail bends at knee's coming to a crouch beside Francois but no move made to touch Kasha or take her out yet. Back and forth, the muted click as the swing carries on with it's duty. "Huruma found her. Huruma is one of the bouncers at the bar. Tall black woman, white eye's. She's an empath. Apparently her mother overdosed, died, and left behind Kasha. That's what Huruma calls her at least. Someone pointed out that might not be her real name."
Abigail crosses her arms across her knee's, resting chin on forearms. "If you knew Huruma, you'd know how surprising it is that she even went out of her way to even rescue her. She's going to go to the light house when they're back at the Light House. She's tested positive for the gene. For now… Huruma, she's asked for my help in taking care of her at nights. But peter made a point, that she needed to be looked at and not just by me and my very limited skills" She's a medic, not a doctor or even a nurse.
She reachs over, settling a hand on Francois's shoulder and squeezing gently. "She's pretty fussy. She's kept me up a few nights. But nothing that really made me think that I needed to cart her to a hospital, but if you find anything, think I should, I will."
"You've gone pink again," is said apropos of nothing, and also very late — she's been pink a while, but if he's actually seen it before now, it never registered, but it's been a little while. Francois' smile is a little crooked in amusement and wandering observation as he scopes out the colour, reminiscent of when they'd met the first time around. She can probably only trust that he was listening, which, by the way he easily diverts his attention from her to the infant, he was.
Moving forward with a knee touching down on carpet, his hands reach out to properly lift the girl out from the swing, easy and carefully, with soft, reassuring mutterings of French endearments that would turn awkward if translated. "I will take a look at her — it should not take long, there is a not a lot of her to look at. I will let you know if I find anything wrong."
"Peter healed me, my ankle, back, all that. I took the mark on the back of my head, so I had to do something or I'd be blonde, with a skunky white at the back. Xiu turned it pink for me. I forgot how much I like it pink" Ask her, years ago, if she'd imagine if she'd ever have pink hair, she'd laugh it off and think you were pulling her leg, but the cotton candy shade that it is, doesn't look half bad on her.
"I pin it back, for work. It makes the little kids we sometimes get in the rig smile or laugh, distracts them from their hurts when I tell them to start thinking of pink stuff like my hair" Abigail unfolds beside him, letting Francois take the baby. "I'll go, pour the wine, if you need anything that you don't have, check the duffel bag. Take whatever you need from there as well, I can stock it back up at the bay" She offers, knowing about his stash back at his place. Another kiss to his cheek, a wriggle of fingers and grin for the newborn, She turns on her heel softly, heading in kitchen and give the two of them privacy.
As promised, it doesn't take long — but not short enough to seem careless or quick, either, and there's no squalling infant cry ringing through the apartment, either. There's strength in the instinctive grips in her tiny hands, a brightness to blinking eyes and the right amount of warmth within flailing limbs and short torso.
By the time she's back in her swing and Francois is flopping his abandoned dinner jacket over the back of some convenient piece of furniture, his sleeves rolled near his elbows, the work portion of the evening is taken care of without drama. "She has been a little underfed, I think," he's saying, and a shrug to communicate that this should surprise no one, in an abandoned baby. "But no need to rush her to the hospital — she can get love and care here with you, I suspect. The Light House is an orphanage, oui?"
"An orphanage. Brian runs it, Gillian as well. It's protected and funded by the Linderman Group and the government. She'll end up registered, but at least there, she can grow up with others who are gifted and they can watch out for her and she won't be shuffled about the social services system" She comes to the archway, leaning against it to look over at the baby, satisfied with what he's relayed. She's gained some weight, more to come for sure.
"I think Robert done about had a heart attack when I called him and told him that I had a baby in the place and did he know of any other places like the light house, but that's the only one. I think I heard his voice warble and break. Or squeak. Something." A shake of her head and smile. Anyone who read the PAUSE magazine knows why possibly, that happened.
"Anyways, good. No, I'll fatten her up, Huruma will as well. Huruma's been spectacular with her. I've enjoyed having her, though not as many friends come over. They turn right around and leave as if I'd ask them to change a diaper. Come on. I got wine for you in a glass, and… and.. Presents!" There's a goofy silly grin on her face. Presents.
There is an iota of pride spared for not being, apparently, freaked out by infants — a rare commodity that could translate over to when Teo will require the same kind of iron will, but for some reason, this doesn't get spoken when it might have been. Besides. Presents. An eyebrow goes up, reluctant amusement, and his hands do a vague kind of wave as if to banish the notion of gift giving entirely. "And why would there be presents?" he says, though her smile is reasonably infectious by its own right.
Following, too, a glance towards the resident dog of the house with a lot less warmth and interest than he had for his new patient of the day, canine more or less ignored as he goes to collect up his wine. "I already got a gift from Melissa, on your recommendaton. I should thank you also."
"Because you will kiss my feet, then tell me to please, never give up my boyfriend when you see what I have for you and you, are very much welcome. I'd have given you mine, but I need it for work. I'm glad you like it though. She told me what she'd had done with it" She's got half a glass of wine set aside for herself so that he is at least not drinking alone.
The sweep of hand in it's vauge waves draws her attention, a flicker of a glance down then towards where the boxes gifts wait. She stops though, frozen for a moment as if trying to comprehend what she saw and hoping against hope that it wasn't just some cruel trick perpetrated by her mind. Her own hand comes down on his, turning it over with the same care likely shown to the infant so she can run a finger over where there should be knuckles and joints knocked askew by a bullet.
"How on earth did you manage to do this Francois Allegre"
Presents can wait as he patiently undergoes that inspection, his hand loose in her's and malleable to turning around and closer looks, fingers splaying after a moment as if to display their strength and dexterity, better shown in the final clasp he gives her hands when she asks her question. Pained weakness as disappeared as the scars. "It is not what you know, but who you know," he says, as he leans a hip against table edge, bringing his wine up to sip, momentarily distracting from an unconscious smile. "Eileen introduced me to a friend of her's. Not a healer, but I think he turned back time for my hand and restored it the way it was before Kozlow's healing. Even before it got shot. A doctor, also."
"Would he be able to do such for Teo's mouth?" It's of course the next plausible question that would come from her, one last sweep of her own blue eye's across the expanse of flesh no longer deformed by Russian exploits. She happy, glad, delighted, thrilled that it's fixed, that he has full use and apparent range of the appendage that since that day. "If it's possible, it should be told to him. Cost, cost doesn't matter" Not to her it doesn't.
She lets go, left she rock him and his glass of wine too much, skirting around the island that is the counter and plucks a box from the side where not long ago, it's brethren all sat waiting. It's top flipped, he can glance inside at the azithromax packs, with their little sealed bubbles and drugs inside, penicillin, as well as a few others in varying strengths and the generic brand. "For your stash, my dear doctor. I had a lot for the Ferry that I got my hands on, but I save a small box for you, just in case, you know"
Oh these are the kinds of gifts Francois can get behind, some amount of relief to see that it's not nearly so frivolous and dangerous as his prior exploits. Setting aside his glass, he gently draws the open box closer, fingers dipping inside to read brand names, chemicals, antiobiotics. "Thank you," he breathes out, with a little relief. "I have friends, now, who get hurt so easily. Or at least so often, as you know, I think. Merci beaucoup. I am in danger," and he leans in, now, to kiss her cheek, "of becoming easy to gift-give for."
The lid is closed, and he hesitates, visibly, before saying, "I told Teo, that he is free to receive the same treatment. He, ah. Said he would think about it. I suspect he has his own plans, however."
"No, not easy, books are not so easy to pick out and these, you don't just pick up off the street, not and get what it says on the box label. But I know about Melissa and how she has come to you, and so, I figured, it was a small gift that I could give that would go a long way and you wouldn't just pass them out like candy. If you ever need more Francois, let me know, I'll see what I can do, or if you have alist of things. I'll see what I can do"
Teo knows and he said he's think about it. Her nose wrinkles at the words, non-comittal and brushed off as she imagines he speaks them and levels a gaze at Francois. "Or he doesn't care and doesn't want to hurt your feelings by saying no" She counters quietly, fingertips resting on the counter before unable to resist, poking her head out just enough to check on the little human across the way. She's still in her seat. All is well.
"He has plans. Within plans. Within even more plans. Teodoro is a riddle at times, wrapped by a mystery and shrouded in enigma. He knows then, and he'll go, if he wants to"
Abigail tilts her head, dropping eye's to the counter before up again. "Do you want him to?"
Tapping fingernails against the curved side of his glass, Francois shakes his head in dismissal. "Non, it's not like that. I want him to— je— well. When my hand was healed, it was not only because I could move it properly now, apply for the kind of career I want, that pleased me. The look of it too. It's not necessarily vain, to want to look normal. If he is the same way, then oui, I want him to. But it doesn't bother me," is added with pressure certainty, of someone if not actually asked about such topics, has thought about them a whole lot.
"But I do wish he would care to. He— " And the sentence stalls out into uncertainty, mouth forming a line briefly broken to take a deeper sip of wine. By the time it's down, he has the courage to say, "He has been acting a little strange. And careless. Plans within plans, oui. Has he talked to you yet? I mean— since you two stopped."
'Teo is vain. He just hides it well"
She shakes her head, curls settling this way, that, some freeing from her ponytail. "No" quietly offered up across the counter on a platter. Teo hasn't. "Deckard.. He sent me a letter, he mentioned Teo in it. Said that, I shouldn't trust him. Something was wrong. He wrote it before he took off, or went off or went something." Whether she gives any credence to the words that Flint wrote, there's a lift and fall of her shoulders, taking up her own glass of wine.
"Last time, he acted strange, it was ghost who was holding the reigns, who is… him, ten years from now in a timeline where the drug that turned me into miss Hottie mc hotster. He piggy backed on someone, and made his way to teodoro. He hurt Sonny something fierce, physically, emotionally" Does that help any, her glance asks silently. "Last I knew, the two were smushed together in his head and he was having a hard time dealing with it. But he never mentioned anything again"
It's not the same as when Teo gets anxious over Francois looking in a different direction— or maybe having dinner with Abigail and dressed nicely while doing it— but it's cut from the same cloth of jealousy or more self-contained worry. People knowing the man better than he does if only for virtue of knowing him for longer, during a period he didn't exist. His hands, healthy and whole, clutch his glass with a neurotic's fidget, and his mouth pulls into a frown at news of Deckard's cautioning.
"He views himself as, ah. Separate than the two that made him. And he feels as if he cheated them out of something. He thinks I am the only one who sees Teo as— just who he is. I think by virtue of never knowing or seeing what the other two were like separately. Do you miss him? Either of them. Or just the one that came before."
"He's Teo Francois. He's not like Niki who has MPD. Niki who has Jessica, and Gina and I don't know if there any more of them in there, but she has MPD, Teo's, he just teo and always has been Teo. I didn't know there was something off about him till someone told me and even then… He was still Teo. He still sat at my counter, grimaced when I made baloney cake and helped me with my groceries, well, no, he made reference to something about he didn't get me something pink, and he talked about a future that I could have had. But.. I mean.. they're one and the same, He's just.."
Teo. Her Teo. His Teo. Frinkle, ghost and normal all in one.
"How can I miss something Teo, that I don't know exists? Or that I don't.. think exists? He's.. Teodoro Laudani"
His smile is kind and fleeting. She doesn't need to convince him, but— "And yet, he thinks they are different, and I am inclined to believe him that much. And I can believe that he changed, as we all change. Your friends— Flint Deckard seems to think differently to you. Maybe Alexander. And I cannot tell if you are blind to the difference in your optimism or if you are right. I'd like to think you are right. But denying it— doesn't seem to help him. But perhaps if he knows someone else thinks of him the way that I do, it might help."
Unfortunately, Francois owes Teo some silence. Or isn't willing to risk going into much detail about the near future. "Unless there is something wrong, and now you will know. You can't be sure, can you? Especially if he is not."
"Maybe he is Francois. I used to see him every day, we lived together, but this last year, since… January 28th of last year, he just, the bridge and the boat, he took a bullet to the head, he had this plate in his head from something. Sonny had to take it out, I had to heal him, this was after they fished him from out of the water. He was never quite the same after that though. He just.. he was a little more distant, he moved out, he took up with Sonny, they moved in, Sonny was murdered…" A lot that Francois doesn't know about because of a temporal jump.
"Maybe he needs to see a shrink"
Doesn't know, but receives secondhand through friends as well as what pieces and basics Teo has told him already. There is no shock of the unfamiliar on Francois' face, just cautious study that his wine is subjected to a moment later, his other hand wandering out to fidget with the edge of the box of med supplies she's granted him. "Maybe," he concedes, after a moment. He's not that kind of doctor — he wasn't even that kind of healer.
"He says he is going to talk to you, anyway. I suppose I wanted to leave this with you in case he— decided to bring it up, I suppose. I think he only did with me on a whim. But pardon, I didn't mean to hijack the conversation this way."
"I'll make the time, to talk to him, if he comes. Call him even, ask him if he wants to come over for dinner" If that will help put Francois's mind at ease. A palm rises, waving off his apology. "It's not as if you haven't and I haven't already accomplished what it was that we wanted to do. Which was check Kasha, give you the medicines and drink wine, have dinner and-" And there's the start of a wail from the other room. "And Kasha has dictated that we have conversed enough." The corners of her mouth curl upwards into a smile.
"So other than patching up mutual friends, how have you been. You did that thing" There's a tap to his temple before she peels out of the kitchen to go assauge a fretful baby. Likely wants her dinner too. "Or have you not done it yet. Or have you done it and I forgot if you've told me"
Tap to his temple has a glimmer of a smile's return, not getting up from his lean as he watches her go tend to Kasha, finishing off his wine as her queries echo back to him. "I have done it. It's very surreal — a collection of many memories, kind of, ah, stitched together. They work as if they are mine, that kind of recall and instinct, but I know they are not. I will know tomorrow, too, if I am able to put these to use by this week. I had a meeting with the emergency room director at St. Luke's this afternoon." Probably this might explain the get up in place of the usual routine of casual, inspired by his modest savings that get modester by the week.
Moving, as if to make himself useful, the medicines are tucked away in the backpack he brought with him until he diverts for the kitchen to see to food and appropriately hero if anything is burning. Nothing is. His friends are too competent at cooking.
"I could always seek work in a different state, but what would you all do without me?" Good-humoured sarcasm in his voice probably implies: exactly what you were doing prior to late 2009.
"We would perish" Comes her voice from the living room, followed by shush's, clucks of her tongue, a myriad of sounds meant to entertain and sooth the savage newborn. "We would be bereft and adrift in a sea of pain and injuries, and peter would be left to the mercies of the Vegan as I would be out of commission" Around the corner, fist licking baby cradled against shoulder as she let shim check on dinner, confidant that at this point, nothing can screw up spaghetti. "Bottles in the cabinet, grab a set would you?" There's formula to be heated up in the microwave, prepare formula in the fridge.
"In truth, I think, we would hobble along, but I don't want to imagine so Francois, not ever. A world in which we didn't bring you forward and I never learned that I had such a thing in common with another, would be a very cold cold world and I would be a little more heartbroken"
Food is left to do what it may, Francois— foregoing pretending to know anything about feeding children and instead moving towards Abby in offer to burden the load with a slightly helpless shrug of s'il vous plait. Once holding Kasha in the crook of an arm, he moves to lean back against kitchen counter, his turn to shush and placate as Abby sets about getting dinner for everyone involved ready. "You would all be fine without me," he argues, with a deep chested if quiet chuckle. "But I would not be very so without all of you. So no fear."