2007-10-20: Company For Company


Church_icon.gif Felix_icon.gif Mariska_icon.gif

Summary: A wild Church appears! He keeps Mariska company during her drugged-up gimp time.

Date It Happened: October 20th, 2007

Company for Company

Queens, NYC - Felix Ivanov's Apartment

School lets out relatively early, so even if those teachers and staff at Brubaker stick around, they can get most of the afternoon and the entire evening to themselves. It's all about starting early.

Taking advantage of this, Lawrence finds himself on Felix Ivanov's doorstep. He knows the man isn't here- that is not who he came for! If Mariska is indeed going to be a fixture, there is making nice to do. The fact she just got let out of the hospital with a bum arm also has rested on his mind. He lifts his hand to ring the doorbell. And again. Obnoxiously. It is either a delivery man or Church, if one wanted to guess. He also has another gathering of flowers in his hand, though these ones run the color gamut of orange to pink. Reminiscent of sherbet or something that tastes tangy and fruity at the same time(no pun intended). Dingdong. Dingding.

The first day out after the hospital can be the worst. When Felix left for work in the morning, Mariska was still face-down in the pillows from the previous afternoon's nap as the last of the morphine in her system sent her crashing hard into drugged and dreamless sleep. She only regained painful consciousness an hour or so ago and when there's a knock at the door followed by the buzzer, it takes her a few minutes to find her feet and shuffle off to put one bleary eye up to the peephole and have a look-see. Ah, special delivery via Lawrence Church. She very carefully lifts her left hand to unlock the door but doesn't dare pull it open. Instead, she drawls, "Come in." in a voice loud enough to be heard on the other side before shuffling back over to her pillow pile on the couch. Sitting down without using her arms will be only slightly less difficult than getting up.

Church can open any door, though yes- it is easier when it's unlocked. He sticks his head in the door like a curious pooch when the lock clicks and Mariska is already shuffling back to her nest. "Still loopy?" First question. The man lets himself in, habitually ridding himself of his shoes, then juggling that brightly colored bunch to take off his coat. Making himself right at home is neither good nor bad. It's not like Mariska seems like she feels the need to kick him out, anyway.

He does follow her into the den, perching himself on one arm of the sofa as Misha makes herself comfortable again. "You looked… not all there last time, so I brought you another in case you missed the first." The orange and pink flowers stand out against pretty much everything, including the gray outside world visible through the windows. "I find that bright colors help me when I'm healing. Medical pastels drive me crazy."

Aw. Mariska's smile is softened around the edges with the help of Vicodin, the bottle of which is currently keeping her company on the end table next to the couch. "You are very kind," she slurs ever so slightly, propped up at an awkward, wincing lean. It's the closest thing to comfortable as she's going to get while conscious. The television is on — it's Bogart and Bacall again, still in black and white. "You watch to tee-vees with me. Here. Sit." She'd pat the cushion next to her, but…

Aww. Tee-vees. The man at the end of the couch smiles and nods gently. "Let me put these in water first? They look thirsty to me." Lawrence knows where the kitchen is! He'll probably end up finding some poor, hidden glass or vase at the back of a cabinet to fill up. In a minute he does come back, putting up the flowers on a coaster on the endtable. See! It's beautiful. Plus, Church doesn't seem too hesitant about homeying up in someone else's home.

In the end he does find a spot on the sofa, though he does have to move around pillows for it. He ends up with one on his lap, elbows perching on it. "Bogart was forty-five when he met her. I wish I was that lucky."

"Together until he died," Mariska murmurs, almost absently, eyes unable to decide between staring at the television or admiring the flowers. Tough call, really. "You have time," she adds with a sleepy sort of smile, having swung her head over to lend him a little grin. Suddenly, she looks stricken and then muses, "Are you hungry? I'm hungry."

"According to Bogart, I have about thirteen years." The man died early! A shame. When Mariska looks to change train-tracks inside of her head, Church can only watch. He has made himself at home, but it is still a lion's den. "I… think so, yes. Cafeteria food isn't fit for grown men." … "Did all those drugs give you munchies?"

Of course Church is hungry. Mariska's seen the man eat… and eat… and eat. When isn't he hungry? She makes a gesture to the coffee table, upon which there's a black flip-phone… as well as various magazines and assorted other bric-a-brac meant to keep her downtime spent preoccupied. "We order pizza. There is menu on freezer." Naturally, she isn't really comfortably able to bend over and pick up the device so it's up to Church to make the call.

And eat. Don't forget dessert. If it weren't Mariska in all her cute immigrant grammar and arm lameness, Church might say something otherwise; but as long as she is telling him to, he does listen. It is a surprise that he is able to say 'No' even outside. Can you say doormat? He reaches over to pick up the flip-phone. These days, the phone is like a purse. Ladies are very protective of both, so Lawrence even /looks/ careful, though also smiley. "Pizza, huh? Weren't you a vegetarian? Or did you luck out and find a 'place'?"

"They make the vegetarian," she groans, desperately trying to find a new position to lounge in that doesn't exert any more pressure than necessary on her stitched shoulders. While her right arm was lucky to take only a relatively superficial slice, it still required more stitches to close than all her prior surgeries combined. Her left shoulder blade, however, endured more than a glancing blow - she's lucky that bastard didn't cut through an artery - and thus, it's this wound which pains her the most. The compression mesh shirt she's wearing beneath one of Felix's t-shirts is helping to keep the wound closed but it doesn't do much for the pain; that's what the pills are for. And the pizza. "It is good. You will like. Get the family size." Or two. Or five.

"Tell you what. I'll buy the pizza, and you can just find yourself a spot where you don't need to fidget." Church grins and stands up, opening up the phone on his way to find the pizza menu. He even takes a few more glances around the apartment, at least where the doors are not closed. The man hovers between the hall and the living room as he goes over an order. If he's buying, then he gets as much as he can fit into his bottomless pit of a stomach. Snippets do float around. "Yes." "No, just the pizza." "I'm a big eater." "…why does it matter to you what my cholesterol is?"

Church's request is initially a difficult one for Mariska to manage, as it seems no matter how she adjusts herself amoungst the pillows, she's always at least a little bit uncomfortable. Oh well. She'll cope. This is what good company is for, right? Making you forget that you're a gimp suffering from a severe case of arm fail? She leans her dark-haired head all the way back in her search for Church, pale eyes combing slowly over the corners and angles of the hallway until she spies the man's shadow lurking just around the corner. What's there to be so secretive about ordering pizza, anyways? She quirks a brow but doesn't bother to voice her contrived intrigue.

It isn't secretive! There was a movie on. How was he to know she wasn't really watching it. "I'll have you know I do not have lovehandles, miss. Do your managers know you talk like this? Oh. Last day. I see." Lawrence stands in the doorway to the living room, with the phone on his ear. "Well, send me the food and we'll leave it at that." Click. He just peers over at Mariska after the call is over. "Since when was ordering pizza so personal?" Fft.

"You did not make friend?" Mariska feigns a pout, making sure to really overdo the puffed out lower lip. "Oh well. You will just have to make do with me." Wait. Does that mean— did she— are they… friends??!

"No, I didn-" Hey, I saw that. Lawrence gives her a cautious squint. "Sure thing." As he sits back down, he doesn't take his eyes off of her. Last time she played nice with him, he ended up being teleported around like a carry-on.

Luckily, that doesn't appear to be her modus operandi this time around. In fact, it's pretty safe to say that she's probably not going to be whip-cracking her way around the world any time soon in her condition. When he rejoins her on the couch, he earns himself another blurry smile. "So… how are you?" Yes. Let's engage in pointless small talk. That seems safe.

Church smiles back, slowly coming to the realization that yes- he is safe. "I'm good." He doesn't return the question, for possibly obvious reasons. "I'm not looking forward to winter here, but that's something that can't be helped. How is everything not directly related to 'work'?" See, there, he cut out the ugly part. Maybe.

Instead of opting for something similarly insincere along the lines of 'what are the winters like here?', Mariska's medicated mind wonders aloud, "Why you laugh at me the other day?" You know… when Felix actually referred to her as his wife. Hey, guess what? She hasn't forgotten.

Church grimaces a little. "I don't know Felix as well as his other friends, so hearing him say 'wife' out of nowhere sort of caught me off guard. I forgot you two actually… did that." The man lifts a hand to motion restlessly at her ring. "I'm not by nature that serious, so I'm sorry if I offended you." Not saying sorry because he got in trouble; hindsight is 20/20, and he should have bit his tongue.

Did what? Mariska's pale eyes tumble down to the tri-band wedding ring that has once again found its way back onto her right hand ringfinger. Oh that. For a second there, maybe she'd forgotten about it, too. All she could readily recall was the laughing and not so much what might have prompted it. Hearing Church's explanation almost (almost) makes her feel… sad. "Oh," she utters, rolling her neck in order to rest her head against the back of the couch while still sweeping her gaze over to Church. Bogie and Bacall are all but ignored as they strut across the small screen.

Yeah, nice going, you old coot. Now she looks bored with you already. Should have lied and said Felix had something in his teeth. But then Church remembers a conversation had with Felix back when he was injured. "Speaking of which, I still think you two should have a real wedding." Keyword, 'real'. "I asked him about it, but he seemed kind of confused, as I recall. May have been the morphine. He hasn't said anything about one, has he?"

Somewhere in the world there is a six-year-old girl who has more than once worn the exact same expression now gracing Mariska's face — she looks simultaneously studious and dubious, caught somewhere between confusion and doubt. "Perhaps, one day, we will." And that appears to be all the opinion she cares to express on the matter. "How long until pizza get here?" In other words, ask me about something else.

Fine! We won't be girlfriends. "Half an hour or so. Maybe more. Do you have any board games? I can move pieces for you. Unless it's cards or Scrabble, because that is called cheating."

Oh, uh, huh. Board games. You know, Mariska… doesn't actually have any idea. That's a good one. "He play chess," she says. It's the only real certainty she's capable of banking on. If there's a Boggle box stuffed down in the back of his closet, she doesn't have a clue. Man, can you imagine Church and Misha engaged in an intense game of… chess?

There's the sound of the key in the lock. Honey, I'm home. Fel's in his black overcoat over gray suit, blue shirt. Not exactly Mr. Festive - he looks rather weary and tight lipped, in fact.

"He's awfully boring sometimes, isn't he?" Chess is a stuffy game, says Lawrence. Then he hears the sound of the key in the lock, and sinks further down into the makeshift pillow-nest on the couch. I'm a secret agent, remember? What he might notice different first is actually that bundle of obnoxiously bright flowers on the endtable. Then of course the weirdo on the couch sitting with his wife. "He even looks boring. No sense of color at all."

In contrast to the slightly condescending stomach housed in skin seated at the far end of the couch, Mariska lounges on a plethora of pillows, clad in her compression shirt which peeks out beneath the short sleeves of a t-shirt that Felix would recognize as one of his (as opposed to one of hers) and a pair of pajama pants. "Look who came by to keep company," she says in welcome to her countryman, lips pasted with a little wincing grin. Church's teasing is chided with a little bit of, "Maybe I like him when he looks boring." Yeah. So there. Her pale eyes go all squinty and her cheeks round with a nearly mischievous smile as she tacks on, "…he look less boring without his clothes." Yeah. So there.

"Church," Fel is trying to be gracious, but his expression is almost pained. "I'm FBI. We're legendary for being conservative in dre-" And then he breaks off, and reddens. "Misha. Not helping," he scolds. "And….you're wearing my cosmonaut pinup shirt. How're you feeling?" Maybe this will divert attention from his blush. He hangs his overcoat on the back of the door, unbuttons his suit jacket as if he intended to prove Misha's assertion. Nothing so scandalous, alas…it also gets hung on the back of the door, and he starts to unbuckle the shoulder holster. It gets tiring, wearing that all day.

Lawrence sputters in his head at first. Oh, yeah, meds. "Wha- oh look, I think you have a silver tongue." He smiles over at Mariska. "But if boring makes you happy, so be it." That's actually not a jab at something; if she likes Felix's considerably more aligned world, and he likes her for putting up with it, then okay. "We ordered pizza. Do you have any not-chess board games?" That is what they were talking about, after all. "You look tired."

Er, cosmonaut pin-up shirt? Mariska bounces her gaze down to her own chest and, hey, sure enough. She is. The fingers of her right hand limply pluck at the fabric for a thoughtful moment before she lifts her chin in a gesture meant to indicated Felix and says, barely missing a beat: "You can ask him what my tongue is like." Yeah! Or… Church can just muster up a little recollection of that night in the bar… you know the one… tastes like strawberries, indeed.

Mariska's limp gestures continue as she very gingerly lifts an arm and gives Felix the 'come here, you' hand signal before dropping it back down into her lap after a wince and a shudder.

"What, me? In ….what way do you mean that?" Fel looks very wary. He unbuckles the shoulder holster and lets it fall gently to the coffee table, lest the Sig riding in it dent the wood. "I do. I have, uh….something called Blokus that's very simple. And something called Dread Pirate. They're in the hall closet - I'll get 'em in a second. And I have no comment on your tongue," he deadpans.

"I'm fine with my own version of it, babe." Misha-tongue stays in Church's head unmolested. So to speak. "Not sure. You're either tired, or disappointed to see me. …Blokus? Is that the one that looks like tetris? Well, Mariska, Doubloons or Colored Squares?" His purpose here /is/ purely for her entertainment. Her pick.

Oh, fine. Ruin her drug-addled fun that she'll probably only have vague recollection of later after her next day-long nap. "What is this pirates?" she asks hopefully, lifting her head up from its recline on the back of the couch. "Do you need arm to play?" Perhaps a hook for a hand? A peg leg? Is there dress-up involved that borders dangerously close on being a drag queen?

Because what the world needs is Felix Ivanov dressed like an Algerian dancing boy, AKA Jack Sparrow - complete with eyeliner. Greenwich Village Halloween parade, here we come. "Yes. Blokus looks like Tetris," Fel affirms, before going to get it out of his closet and setting it down before the Morphine Queen. And there's also Dread Pirate, with a gameboard that's actually a cloth treasure map.

Church in a hat and cape, slinging a sword around? Daring Dragoon, of course. "If you're still nursing that arm this much next week, maybe I'll buy you a hook. Scourge of the seven streets. Arr." Yes, he makes the pirate face at her. "If Trick or Treaters take more than one candy you could poke them in the eyes and take their spoils."

Trick-or-treaters? Whu…? The vast cultural gulf between a born and bred Soviet citizen like Mariska as opposed to a transplanted Russian immigrant like Felix continues to grow everwide. She just looks boggled by Church's pronouncement. Sure, she gets the whole pirate thing but, not so much the whole candy plus eye-poking bit. Looking up at Felix from her sprawl, she blathers something in their native tongue that goes a little something like this: «Are you afraid to say hello because you think you might break me… or because he's here??» She must be asking for an explanation in terms that she might actually be able to grasp.

Felix leans down to kiss Mariska gently on the lips, by way of answer. "There will be kids dressed in costume coming by for candy, the last day of the month. That's why I have that pack of miniature chocolate bars in the pantry," he explains. "And we'll get you healed up before then."

Russian by itself is weird. Russian on drugs is weirder, and Church makes no attempt at understanding it. For now, he sets up the Pirate shindig on the coffee table. As for the semi-public affection, Lawrence pays it no mind, even waiting until Felix is done talking to chirp up again. "Halloween is one of my favorites, but I'm too old to go knocking on doors anymore. It comes off as creepy, apparently." That sounds as if he found out the hard way.

That's better. Mariska feels like slightly less of a plague-carrying cripple for a second or two there before being forced to sink back in to her pile of pillows and once again fidget herself into comfortable readjustment. Stupid shoulder. Stupid psychic slasher. "I don't heal as fast as you," she says to Felix in retort, edging forward toward the edge of the couch cushions and cradling her gimp arm in her lamp gently. In an attempt to assuage Church's festive pride, she offers with a sharpened grin, "If you come to my door, I give you candy." Man, is this about to become the night where every other word out of Misha's mouth gets twisted into some sort of innuendo? Because… that might be fun!

Felix gives Misha a -look-. "What drug is this you're on?" he wonders. "I want some. You're usually not so…talkative," he says, before giving Church a warning look. Not that kind of candy, you randy bastard.

When Felix looks over at him, Church is biting on his bottom lip and looking at Mariska hesitantly. That glare fixes it into just confusion. "My guess is Vicodin. The most common one I can think of. And I like this drugged-up Mariska. She doesn't pretend to love me and teleport me off of a building." Exaggeration, but hey. Fairly accurate.

Misha offers a matter-of-fact sort of head-jerking gesture to the pill bottle on the end table. Survey says… Vicodin! (Church gets a gold star!) Sure, she's in excruciating pain; she just cares about it a whole lot less. Side affects may include: increased and inadvertent sexual innuendo, inability to speak proper English, an accent so heavy you could hammer iron on it, bobblehead doll syndrome, selective forgetfulness, and dry mouth. All she can do is offer both men a feline sort of smile before lolling her head back and emitting an extended sigh. "Thirsty," she utters, as if she'd just collapsed in the midst of a vast desert.

Fel's almost unseemly in his haste to bring her a bottled water, and hold it for her to drink from. "We gotta get that doctor," he says to Church, out of the corner of his mouth. There's a spark of anger in the back of his gaze, though his expression remains pleasant.

"Get them for what? Which? Who?" Lawrence is busy paying attention to Mariska's weirdness. "She's just loopy. She'll be fine once she gets used to the medicine."

Though you might never know it to look at her, Misha's hating just about every moment of this. She isn't really the sort to derive much pleasure from being fussed over or waited on, especially in her invalid condition; it only serves to frustrate her further. Very, very, very slowly, she lifts a hand up to take on the burden of the bottled water herself. If anyone has any objections about Mariska's suddenly defiant demeanor, they'll have to address them after the door is answered…

Knock, knock. Pizza's here!

Which Fel pays for, without protest or question. As well as a generous tip. "Church, move the games for me, would you?" he requests, as he brings the pizza back. "What'd you get?"

Actually it is a few pizzas. "Two vegetarian pizzas, and one cheese." This way nobody is all too offended, and there may be leftovers. Church also had money for that, but okay! If you want to go otherwise, alright. He moves the gaming spot to one side of the coffeetable. "Yeah, see? She looks fine." However, the man is totally ready to reach over and catch the water at just about any moment, should she drop it.

"We order pizza," is Mariska's perked response to Felix's inquiry. He obviously chose 'Statements of the Obvious' for $400, Alex. While her appetite may not be raging, there's something about the smell of food that has clearly piqued her interest and prompted some colour to come into her cheeks. She leans forward just a teeny bit more in order to take deep breaths of the irresistible perfume of melty cheese before she all but topples over onto the coffee table. There's a brief moment of panic where she instinctively flails her arms and, yeah, ow. Lots of ow. The look that tears across her face speaks volumes. Ow ow ow! To her credit, she doesn't cry. Poor thing. She does spit out a few choice words in Russian, however. «FUCK. ME. MY. GOD!» She's the freshly-scarred reminder of why it's all kinds of bad news for Level Five fugitives to be on the loose. (Or… are they?) Just in case either man had forgotten the gravity of the situation.

Felix sucks in his breath in sympathy. "Oh, honey, be still," he says, forcibly holding her still. It looks….weird, her almost stopping in mid-air. Because it's like a game of Simon Says. Oh, stop hurting yourself.

"Whoa, whoa. Careful." For his part, Church does try to help her sit back again. "You'll pop right out of your stitches." So what if they are schmoozing over her like she was a rightful invalid? At least they aren't doing nothing at all!

There's nothing quite like a dose of jarring pain to suck all of the air out of your lungs… and the appetite out of your belly. Mariska's desire to have something other than hospital food has now been trumped by an even more adamant wish to be unconscious (and thusly freed of any further agonizing fiascoes for the evening). "I think I… go lay down," she says, still awkwardly hung in the same position Felix mercifully froze her in. She offers Church a wincing and apologetic look when she adds, "Thank you for keeping company."

This is going to leave Church alone with Felix. Oh, Misha, be glad you will be sleeping. Fel nods, letting go of her, and gently helping her up.

Well, that pizza has to go somewhere. Even if Mariska has to go, these two will probably eat most. "It was my pleasure, Mariska." Aww. He'll probably hang out here for a little bit regardless, to possibly play games with Felix (not those kind, he's just about over those), or at the very least be a chatterbug over the pizza he did order. In any case, the afternoon is still pretty early, and Lawrence is going to have plenty to bother Felix with until it is time to go (or he is possibly kicked out). Sleep tight, Mariska!

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