2007-09-23: Don't Speak


Felix_icon.gif Mariska_icon.gif

Summary: Felix is haunted by the ghosts of the past and tries to drown them out the only way he knows how.

Date It Happened: September 23rd, 2007

Don't Speak

Queens, NYC - Felix's Apartment

Fel is usually pretty staid. Even the evening drinking bouts don't usually end with him more than pleasantly buzzed. But right now, he's drinking alone, and putting away Stolichnaya like he intends to drown all his inner demons as fast as he can. He's sitting at the little t able in the living room, mostly ignoring Ingram trying to climb into his lap, and staring at the wall like it might give him the answers he needs.

You know, in some countries (like Russia), it's considered rude to leave anything left in a bottle once it's been opened. Felix is obviously just trying to be polite… by himself. That's it. Mariska returns to the apartment in the usual way — via apparition.


She takes pause in the little living room, listening to the sounds to the small apartment carefully instead of calling out to determine if she's strictly in feline company or if Felix might be about. It is a bit late, after all. If he's asleep, she doesn't want to wake him.

« I'm in here,» he states, after jumping at that 'bang' of her coming in. Or rather, slurs. He's far gone, drooping over the table, eyelids heavy as if with sleep.

Oh, hell. Mariska peeks in at the archway and, sure enough, there he is… drunk as a Soviet skunk and looking three inches shy from the side of the road. She approaches slowly, giving the bottle a momentarily tilted inspection before she asks, «Long day?» Maybe it's work-related. Oh, God. Please be work-related. Please don't be the liquid courage that he needs to kick her out of his house…

«Listen,» he says. The way he begins pleas, or orders. He's taken a lot out of that bottle….and between his own lack of mass and the medication it goes a long way. «I don't usually drink like this,» Not quite an excuse. «But right now I'm not much use to man or beast as it is, so…I'm sorry.» He's propped on one elbow like he'd pass out there. «Not much company, I mean.»

Maybe there's enough left in the bottle for Mariska to catch up? Later. Right now, she's eager to stay sober, having already delved into the depths of the bottle far too frequently for her own liking. «That's alright,» she says to him, crouching down slightly in order to try and gather him up onto his feet. «Sometimes I like you better when you don't talk,» she teases, showing him her smile so that he might be able to see that she's kidding. Mostly.

He's already limp, but he goes with her, obligingly. «I understand why,» he says, with mocking solemnity, leaning on her with an arm draped companionably over her shoulder. She gets a gentle and surprisingly unsloppy kiss at the joining of neck and shoulder.

Aw. Mariska makes a murmuring sort of noise in response to the bestowed affection and slowly escorts him through the living room and down the hall into the master bedroom, setting him on the edge of the bed and taking a step back once she's sure he isn't going to topple over in order to inspect him thoughtfully. «What were you drinking to tonight?» she asks, setting about the task of liberating shoes and shoes from their respective feet. Hm. This scene seems somehow familiar… in reflection.

Well, Fel is rather listing to one side, honestly. He puts his hands on the edge of the bed to steady himself. «I was drinking to forget homicide cases I never closed. I have nightmares where we're all at table, like a state dinner. Only, they aren't as they are in life, the victims. They're as they were in death. But somehow, they're looking at me still, waiting. I can't speak, because I have no answers.» He puts a hand gently to her cheek, like a benediction, as she draws off his shoes. But behind the blue eyes, all sorts of unpleasant things are crawling. It's not quite hallucinatory - alcohol doesn't really do that to you. But the rotten holes in your own conscience can.

Small favors being what they are, Mariska may never know what it's like to bear witness to the gruesome and bloody dead. Yes, death happens. Yes, she's borne witness to his second-hand. But, not like Felix. She's never felt responsible or beholden to those she never swore to save. The hand that greets her cheek is momentarily captured and kisses on the palm before she resumes her work, setting the man's discarded shoes aside and standing to steady his head against her torso. «You cannot live for the dead, my love.»

The room is, momentarily, populated with ghosts. He turns his face to rest his cheek against her - his skin is flushed and damp, fever-warm. His eyes are closed, sunken behind the lids. «I know,» he murmurs.

Mariska bows her head in order to bestow a kiss atop Felix's crown before her fingers begin to slowly unbutton his shirt. It's not long before she's moved on to his trousers, shedding them from him leg by leg. He gets to keep his boxers on for the moment, though, she it's not going there (not like it really could in his condition). «Come on,» she says softly, hefting him up again and making the short trek to the bathroom.

«I'm not gonna be sick,» he protests, but again, she's the one in control. Thank God he's not a combative drunk. So he stumbles along with her, willingly enough.

No, but he is going to be cleaned up a bit. Mariska intends to run him a shallow bath and play nurse maid with a wash cloth for a little while… and that means that she'll probably be stripping down to her skivvies and skin. Score! Then it'll be back to the bedroom and tumbling into bed to pursue some sweet, dreamless sleep. Maybe.

He looks at her askance, blinking owlishly. «I… can we make that a shower? I don't wanna fall asleep in the tub. I mean… it doesn't have to go anywhere,» he makes a vague gesture with one hand. «Not like that.»

Mariska looks up and over her shoulder from the edge of the tub, quietly complying with the man's request and flipping the knob that redirects the water flow up to the showerhead. She sheds the last of her lingerie and likewise helps Felix leave his boxers behind before stepping into the shower. «Do you want me to stay?» she asks, still keeping one arm held around the man's chest lightly while they both stand there beneath the spray.

It is a testament to how completely wasted he is that nothing salacious happens. He's really that far gone. «I'm gonna fall over if you don't,» he says, faintly, turning his face to the water. He's all bone and sinew in her arms, heart pounding.

Alcohol is a disinhibitor, yes, but only if you know when to stop… then it inhibits a whole hell or a lot. Including sexy tiems. But, you know what? That's just fine. Mariska makes sure that Felix survives his shower without, oh, slamming his head into the tiles or slipping and snapping his spine in half or something. She assists with the shampooing and proper washing up without a single salacious stroke. — lather, rinse, repeat. She lets him linger beneath the showerhead for a minute or two before shutting the water off and giving him a brisk toweling. No snaps.

«Thank you,» he murmurs. «You're a hell of a lot nicer than I ever deserved,» He doesn't usually sleep naked, but this time will be an exception, apparently - dried off, he stumbles for the bed.

«I know.» Arrogant, maybe, but coming from Mariska is more a begrudging admission of the truth than anything egotistical. She follows along behind him, mussing her own damp hair with a towel than is soon discarded and slung over the footboard to dry. Helping the right Russian bastard into bed, she sits down on the edge and appears to be quietly contemplating doing something other than joining him.

He looks up at her, gaze clouded, but mostly quiet, hand atop the bedspread. The bedroom's as plain as everything else here - solid dark blue, no pattern on the bedspread, only a few prints on the walls. «It'll be better,» he promises, vaguely.

The only reply she can muster up in response to that is to lean down and lay a little kiss on the corner of Felix's mouth before she whispers, «Get some rest.» In the meantime, she leaves the edge of the bed, fishes out one of Felix's t-shirts and a pair of her own underwear from a little pile of clothes on the chair nearby, and looks to make an exit from the room instead of laying down by his side.

«Stay. Please,» It's almost curt, but he's watching her with something like desperation.

So close to touching freedom… Mariska lingers in the doorway with her back to the man on the bed before turning her head and then the rest of her body in order to return to his side. Literally. Instead of sitting on the edge, she crawls onto the bedspread and then climbs beneath the covers to join him. Compliance complete.
He's not usually cuddly and affectionate, not like that. But he fits himself to her, and relaxes. Another living person to keep the ghosts away, a warm presence in the bed. «Thanks.»

«For what?» she whispers wonderingly against his shoulder.

«For staying. I know you wanted to go,» he murmurs, nuzzling her hair.

With her head on his shoulder and her eyes closed, it might look sweet and serene on the surface but, inside? Mariska's mind is a disaster area. «Since when do you know what I want…,» she wonders rhetorically, drawing a hand up onto his chest.

Oh, woops. He goes still under her hand, but the whole drifting to dreamland thing is now on pause. «I don't,» he says, humbly. «But just now you looked like you wanted to.»

«You are drunk,» Mariska reminds the man beneath her palm. That's right. His perceptions are skewed. He's got no idea what he's talking about.

And when you are drunk, you forget that I am the leader. «Yes, you're right,» he admits, stretching languorously. For once that piano wire tension is absent from his body.

Remember this moment, Mariska. Tonight, you were right. Felix said so. She nuzzles up against the side of his neck and whispers, «Felix? Shut up.» Which is not to be confused with 'go to sleep' or 'pretend I'm not here'. Just… stop talking. And sober up a little.

He mumbles agreement. And it's not long before the cadence of his breathing changes into true sleep.

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