2007-10-28: A Nightmare Recollected

Starring:

Felix_icon.gif Mariska_icon.gif

Summary: Some men beat their wives, others cuddle them and ply them with good wine and then interrogate them to the verge of tears. It's pretty much a typical night with the Ivanov(a)s.

Date It Happened: October 28th, 2007

A Nightmare Recollected


Queens, NYC - Felix's Apartment

The story he gave the Company when he was in custody about needing his medication….well, not complete hogwash. And while he's been vigilant about it since he was released, winter's always an extra burden for Felix. Might be the cold, might be the lack of light….but he's been looking even thinner and more pinched since they passed the equinox and settled into the long slow lengthening of nights until the solstice. At the moment, however, he's wandering around the apartment with an after-dinner glass of that velvety red wine in hand. It seems to have made him thoughtful more than cuddly, at the moment, but it has also blunted the edge on that melancholy. «How… you knew Peter Petrelli previously?» he wonders, looking over his shoulder at her. It's not the machine-gun cadence of an interrogator, at least. Just a genuine question.

So, get this. Despite the fact that Felix's apartment didn't come with a dishwasher when he moved in, he's got one now. Mariska's just finishing up the last utensil from dinner when the first more-than-casual part of the evening's conversation sets in. She was wondering when this might get brought up. «Was that the healer's name? Peter Petrelli?» It's mostly a rhetorical response. She already knows the answer. Coming out of the kitchen, she lingers in the archway, resting her only slightly sullied shoulder against the arch before adding, «Remember that day I came home and told you about how I'd seen Sasha and that cop friend of yours had pulled a gun on me…» No, she still isn't going to let that one go just yet. She's like a pit bull when it comes to the persnickety issue of weapons drawn.

Fel turns to face her, and ambles back in her direction. «Yes,» he says, prompting. AS well as offering the glass of wine for a sip. «I mean, yes, that's his name. His elder brother is some sort of local politician,» he explains, before adding, «And yes, I do remember that. That whole thing sounded like a clusterfuck.»

Mariska's definitely going to need a sip (or six) before embarking on what's sure to be a less than pleasant rehashing of that hellish day. «He was there,» she says after a moment of pause in order to allow the wine a little bit of time to linger on her tongue. «And he was in the dream… the nightmare… we all saw… terrible things.»

«A waking dream? A hallucination?» Fel wonders, eyeing her worriedly, and making no attempt to get the wine back. He can wait. Or, if he's wise, go get more for himself. «What was it like?»

«I don't know,» she sighs, averting her eyes to the floor like she's apt to do when she isn't much in the mood to face the terrible truth. After another sweet sip of wine, her gaze slowly climbs until she's eye to eye with Felix's baby blues. «Awful. It was awful. We watched people die.»

He simply blinks at her, that owlish expression….now you know where Sasha got it from. Really, it's weird, now that they've been around each other for this length of time….how many of the little one's mannerisms come straight from that absent father. «…..anyone we knew? How did they die?» Fel's tone is calm, even as he moves to take her hand in his.

They're treading on dangerous ground now. Mariska's memory in between now and then might be fuzzed up in the middle thanks to few days of morphine haze but some images are impossible to burn from the brain so easily. Like the echoes of her little girl shining through in Felix's eyes… or watching a woman get her tongue cut out via her throat. Instead of answering the question directly, Misha turns and heads back into the kitchen. She needs more wine… and so will Felix. She quietly fetches another glass from the cabinet before reaching for the bottle of genuine French bourdeaux (Chateau Latour). Her silence may just as well serve as confirmation, but he's likely going to ask her to name names, and so she's steeling herself.

Oh, hell. Really, he should've kept his mouth shut. But….when did he ever leave well enough alone? He swallows once, throat working, but lets her pour. «That bad,» he murmurs, not really seeking confirmation.

«Your friend,» she says, glass once again in hand. «Namir.» There's one name. It's honestly the only casualty she can but a name to. «A woman… I didn't know her. She couldn't even scream.» More wine, Misha. Drink more wine. «A woman I met in a bookstore. She knew you. She had blonde hair and a boy…» A little mocha-skinned lad with dark, curly hair. «There was another child… a boy. I… saw him there. At the park. I tried to keep him out of harm's way…» But, judging by her tone, she doesn't seem to believe she was very successful.

Now you see why he tries to drown his ghosts in vodka, when he can. Sort of a cop's custom. He shifts his wineglass to his other hand, and steps up enough to put his other arm around her, standing next to her, as if to share warmth. «What killed them?» he murmurs.

Following the instinctual protocol, Mariska leans her head over to rest on Felix's shoulder, clutching her wine glass like a security blanket. The last thing she needs is incentive to step into her mother's shoes and be an alcoholic and yet New York seems hellbent on pushing her into the bottle. She's barely putting up a fight. «Villains. The ones that escaped.» The ones that were reclaimed… except for one…

«But we got them back. They're in custody now, right? And Namir's alive and well.» And bitchy. «So, maybe it wasn't truly prophetic,» he offers, nuzzling her hair, before guiding her towards the couch. Better to sit, than try and pace in tandem like horses in harness.

«Maybe,» she echoes meekly, cleverly not convinced. It's gut-wrenching on all accounts for Mariska to engage in this sort of recollection knowing that in was last in the clutches of some shared hallucination that she held her daughter in her arms. It makes her sniffle. And suck down more wine.

Oh, she's crying. Crap. Well, will plying with wine help? Or make things worse? Fel settles beside her, and goes for the former course. They can be sloppy drunks together. «Hey. No need to cry. It'll be okay,» he assures, albeit a bit lamely.

For a minute to two, the only noise Mariska makes is to settle into a mild 'Mmhmm', sniffling, and sipping. It's only when she's emptied her glass and set it aside that she finds the strength to speak again, cradling in against Felix's side. «I don't… want anything to happen to you,» she says. Aw. She has a care for his person. How sweet. But, wait. Does that mean maybe she saw something terrible involving him in the nightmare, too?

«Nothing's gonna happen to me. Assuming Stan doesn't fuck me over, we'll be fine,» Felix says, quietly, twining his fingers in her hair. «You know how tough I am.» Is he joking, or what?

Mariska seems to think he is, but unfortunately it's not enough to provoke a snicker. She just exhales heavy and snakes an arm beneath his back while the other clings to the front of his shirt.

Apparently he was, but the smile he offers flickers and dies. «Did you see me in that dream?» he asks, finally. «Or yourself, or Aleksandra?» It all but tumbles out of him, almost as if he were ashamed of the question.

«…I don't want to talk about it any more,» she says, ducking her chin and closing her eyes in an attempt to pull the ostrich tactic while sitting down and snuggling up. That may as well be a 'yes' even though it's really a 'no, but…'

His inner cop wants nothing more than to shake further answers out of her. But it is happily shouted down by that little assemblage of concern, common sense, and slowly growing love that answers to 'husband'. So no more questions. He just puts his arms around her. No interrogating the wife. "Okay," he says, expelling a long, canine sigh.

While Felix may not have featured in the original shared nightmare she experienced that day on the lower east side, he and Aleksandra both have frequently guest starred in multiple remakes that Mariska endures on a not-quite-nightly basis. And now he's got a little more insight into what she means when she explains away the occasional fitful sleep with the 'bad dream' excuse. In an attempt to jump onto a different train of thought, Mariska mentions, «I saw that man from the hospital today…»

Now she's really initiated into the joy of being a cop's spouse. «Wait, which one?» Fel says, clearly somewhat derailed in his train of thought by that comment. «I mean, who? Where?»

«The one who came to visit me,» she says, lifting her head and turning her face away from Felix for a moment so that she might be able to dab at the corners of her eyes without feeling too obviously soppy. «He said his name was… Brian.»

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