2007-10-11: Fixing Felix


Bekah_icon.gif Felix_icon.gif Mariska_icon.gif

Summary: Felix rats out a friend for the sake of the future and Mariska brings Bekah by to do what she does best.

Date It Happened: October 11th, 2007

Fixing Felix

Midtown, NYC - Kirby Plaza Building - Hospital Facilities

It's…depressing, really. Because honestly, it's almost enough to set up the morphine habit again. Fel looks like roadkill - he's limp on his back in bed, eyes sunken, flickering in drugged dreams behind the lids.

Meanwhile, off to the side sits a frustrated Misha, ears once again afflicted with the agonizing noise of a precognitive prophet who cannot seem to deliver his prophecies in a normal speaking voice but instead fluctuates between unintelligible muttering and crazed screaming. This has only been the hundredth time or so that she's taken a listen but it's all begun to bleed together. Pieces are still missing. Important words, clips and phrases. Irritated, she yanks the earbuds free of her aching lobes and tosses them onto the little table next to her chair with a clatter. Oops. Yeah, um, that was probably louder than she meant it to be.

It's enough to startle Fel awake - the blue eyes are blank, for the first few moments, almost panicked, before he realizes it's the little wife, and offers her a sheepish, curling smile. «Hello,» he says, shifting a bit in the bed.

Dammit, Misha, now look. You woke the invalid. Good job! The Russian woman puts on an apologetic smile and says, «I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you.» You who sleep like the nightmarish dead while hooked up to that insidious morphine drip. Maybe it's a good thing he's taking a break from those bad dreams, eh?

«It's okay,» he says, rather blearily, blinking at her. «What're you doing?» He's almost cadaverous - he's never had that much flesh to spare, and being tired and in pain just makes him seem that much more drawn.

After rubbing mercilessly at one of her tired eyes, she explains, «Trying to see if I could hear anything else on those recordings… that man you met in the hospital at Hartsdale. It's only partially in Russian. The rest is…» Really fucking frustrating. «…I don't know.»

He licks dry lips. «The prophet. Not all of it in Russian. Do we know what other language?….» He trails off, as if even following the thread of thought that far was too much work.

«I can't tell,» she confesses with no shortage of frustration. She leans her dark head forward and rests her elbows on her knees before telling the floor beneath her feet, «I don't know what it is.»

There's a slow sigh from Felix, even as he lets his eyes close again. «The spetznaz is a polylinguist,» he murmurs. «Not only has he studied languages, it's his power.»

Hm, what? Mariska turns her head to face Felix, cheek cradled in the palm of one hand as she asks, «Good with his tongue, you say?» What? She can't help it. That was either a slightly insulting insinuation or a bad joke. «You think I should talk to him?»

See Felix. See Felix blush like a schoolboy. «That's not fair. I have no idea how good he is with his tongue,» he replies, mustering as much dignity as he can. «I….he doesn't know about the Company. Nor've I told the Company about him. I suppose I should have before,» he says, almost mournfully.

«Why?» she wonders in a very soft voice, sliding out of her chair and moving over to hover at the man's bedside and take his hand in hers. «So they can do to him what they've done to us?» 'Us.' Not 'you and me.' The grouped unit. That ring on her finger must be slowly rewiring her brain.

Fel twines his fingers in hers, carefully. Must be working on him, too. «I….I don't want to. But if they catch him, and figure out I knew and didn't say…..I don't want one more thing we can be punished for, you know,» He looks away, even as he keeps a grip on her hand. «I'm ashamed that I'd think of throwing a friend to the wolves,» he murmurs.

Mariska's eyes deflect down to the floor again and she wonders while eyeing the polished tile, «You think they'd come for him just because he knows you?» She must have missed that whole 'it's his power' part earlier.

«He's one of us. His power isn't particularly dramatic, but it's there,» Fel says, looking back to her, worrying his lip.

He's so going to regret this later, isn't it? Mariska blinks once or twice before asking, «What is…?»

«Will speaks….or at least, understands…any language spoken to him,» Fel explains, in a patient rasp. «Beyond what any human can do.»

Dark eyebrows arch with interest as Mariska asks, «Any language?» Let's just be clear here. Are there exceptions to the rule? And, wait… how does…? «How do you know this?»

«To the best of my knowledge, yes. And he's said as much. Samantha and Namir and Will and I were discussing it, one evening. Before I got taken by the Company. I've not tested him, though,» Felix says. «He already spoke Russian anyway.»

Ah, yes. Samantha, Namir, Felix, and Will — the fabulous foursome that Mariska destroyed by becoming the flaming fifth wheel. Their dinner parties were probably a lot more insightful and a lot less hostile before she stumbled onto the scene. «Can I trust him?» she asks, though it's likely she already knows the answer he's apt to give.

Just consider her lucky that Fel wasn't already with Will, in more ways than one. «I….think so. He seems like a decent person, and his background argues so. I don't know him well enough to say definitively.»

Whatever it is that's been ringing in her ears for the last week or so is obviously of enough important that she's clearly willing to take the risk on a strong maybe. However, before she absconds to scare the shit out of the unsuspecting spetznaz by suddenly showing up on his doorstep, there's something else she has to do. She gives his hand a little squeeze. «I'm going to go get the doctor for you,» she says. «I'll be back in just a few minutes, alright?»

He offers her one of those bizarre, oddly innocent smiles. «Sure.»

There's a moment of hesitation there wherein Mariska actually has to consciously consider whether or not this would be an appropriate juncture at which to kiss Felix. Not on the forehead, mind you, but on the lips. She's so strange about semi-public displays of affection. She actually gives a look over her shoulder to the window by the door, just to make sure than no one's in the hall before she bows her head and places a peck at the corner of his mouth. Off-centered. Just like everything else in their lives.

Hartsdale, NY - St. Vincent's Hospital

The trip to St. Vincent's had been uneventful. Of course, there's very little apt to happen in the half-second it takes for Mariska to hop from one spot to the next. She'd been to the Company's private hospital before — in fact, ironically, it'd been for Felix's sake the first time. And now it's for the sake of the same man again that she makes a second call, although this time things are a bit more complicated than before. She inquires at a nurses station about the whereabouts of one very specific doctor. "Excuse me, can you tell me where is Doctor Morgan?"

Bekah was on her way to the nurse's station as Mariska pops in. Coincidence is a wonderful thing. Her head goes up as she hears her name. "Doctor Morgan would be right here." Bekah states. Somewhere she's gotten a hold of a pair of scrubs. Her eyes narrow at Mariska. "Ready for more Star Trek hijinks?"

Well, that makes Nurse Nancy's job easier, as the woman who Mariska had picked out for inquiry decides to be really obvious and points out the arriving Bekah before saying, "There she is." Gosh. Thanks. Her secret mutant power must be preternaturally sarcastic observational skills. To the Russian woman's credit, she doesn't seem to notice the sardonic tone in the nurse's voice and instead directs her gaze onto Bekah proper and replies, "Maybe later." Like in a hot minute, maybe. "There is patient for you to see. I take you."

Bekah blinks over to Mariska. "Um, alright. Where's the patient?" She asks before she adds. "Are we doing this 'beam me up Scotty' style or is the person here?"

Mariska only has a vague grasp of Star Trek references and clearly they seem to be serving more to confuse her than anything else. "No. No Scotty. Felix. He is at other location," she says, gesturing for the woman to follow her down the hallway. Not everyone here is hip to her particular stupid human trick. In fact, not a soul likely knows, and so it's for the parking garage they're headed in order to make a quasi-believable exit.

Bekah blinks over to Mariska. "No, Scotty, like in Star Trek?" She tries to get the joke out again as she follows along behind Mariska. After a moment she adds. "Felix? Felix Ivanov?" Because there have to be other Felix's in New York, right?

"Yes." No. Apparently not. Of course, Mariska's already aware that Bekah is a part of the great 'Everyone in New York Knows Felix Ivanov' conspiracy. When they'd me before in the bookstore, Bekah had recollection of the man — her previous encounter with Mariska, however, was clearly not so memorable. "Good. You get his file already," the Russian woman assumes, holding open the door for the doctor as they step into the elevator alcove and then off to the side. "This make you dizzy," Mariska begins to explain. "But, don't worry. It pass quick." She then opens her arms and makes a 'it can bes hugz tiem nao' gesture.

Bekah looks over to Mariska. "His file? No." The Russian is confusing her, it seems. She reaches out for the other woman's arms. It's not quite a hug, but maybe close enough? "Alright. Just tell me when it's over." Bekah states closing her eyes.


Midtown, NYC - Kirby Plaza Building - Hospital Facilities

Mercifully, for Felix's sake, Mariska at least has the courteous good sense not to jump directly into the man's recovery room at Kirby. The last thing a psychologically-scarred cop needs is to receive a teleportational gunshot snooze alarm, right? Yeah. So, hi. She wasn't kidding. Those first few steps after playing passenger on the Russian Relocator feel like falling through the ground. Mariska makes sure to keep a steadying grip on the woman at the waist and directs her over to a small string of chairs that line the hallway wall. "We are here." Wherever here is, she doesn't say.

Bekah stumbles. "Shit. Now that is a quick trip but not a fun one." Bekah states as she rubs her eyes. "I'll stop feeling like I’m on a roller coaster in a few seconds, right?"

Mariska nods her head affirmatively before eyeing the door and then stepping to one side to peer in at the little window so she can try to determine if Felix is sleeping or awake.

He's awake, albeit gazing absently out his window, blinking at the clouds mirrored in the surface of the next building over. Oh, the colors.
Bekah looks in to the little window as well to get a first glance at Felix. "What happened that you need me?" Bekah asks, partly to know what she'll see, partly just out of sheer curiosity.

"You see," says Mariska to Bekah before she lightly raps on the door to announce her arrival and then steps into the room. "I have brought doctor to see you," she tells Felix, hoping to woo him away from his reverie by the promise of more poking.

If only it were fun poking. No such luck. Fel looks over, and obligingly tugs down the sheet that's more or less all he's wearing - he's in a standard issue hospital bed. Just to the waist, which is all that's necessary. His torso is covered in bandages, like he got into a razor fight and lost. Badly.

Bekah blinks over to Felix as she steps into the room. "What in the hell happened to you, Felix? Lose a fight with a crazy barber?" Bekah asks as she steps forward. Wanting to see the extent of the injuries, Bekah's first step is to peel back the bandages to find what is underneath.

Though the Russian woman isn't particularly squeamish, per se, there's just something about seeing someone you care about covered in cuts that brings out the teeth-gritting, nose-wrinkling, eye-squinting, brow-mashing reactions. Poker face? Not Mariska. "I should go?" It's more a question than a statement, though as she reaches down to pick up an iPod left on a nearby table, it's apparent she's probably going to clear the room even if the doctor says she can stay.

He's stitched up like Frankenstein's monster. Happily, no one cut was deep enough to take out something vital, or he'd be dead. But there are a zillion slashes, sewed or taped up. No wonder he can't move. "I can't say what did it. Other than that it's still at large and I have to be better enough to pursue it," he says, almost desperately.

Bekah looks over to Misha. "Up to you. The healing will take less than five minutes. Then I'll have to take out all these stitches." Which will take most of the time in this. "Are there tools for that here? If not, can you rustle up some for me?" Bekah asks before she steps forward, laying a light hand on Felix's shoulder as she stops to concentrate. "Just don't rush into being like this again. Blood loss is not your friend." She says before her eyes close. The cuts slowly start to heal.

Wow. That is… wow. Mariska didn't succeed in escape the room fast enough, it seems, and now she's abruptly frozen in place (Felix?) while watching Bekah work. Well, well. Ain't that somethin'?

It doesn't precisely hurt. Not with all the drugs in him. But it does feel damned weird, and Fel makes little strangled noises from time to time, even as the wounds seal up. "Understood," he says, tightly.

It only takes a couple of minutes for the wounds to heal. There are a few scars, but only from the deepest of the cuts. Bekah opens her eyes again to look to Felix as she finishes. "There. Give me a minute to rest, and I'll get those stitches taken out. You don't need them anymore."

Oh, right. Bekah'd asked Mariska to go fetch something to remove stitches with. Scissors and tweezers, presumably. She'll ask the first person in a white coat that she comes across to the appropriate implements… when she can feel her legs again enough to leave the room. She's gone and back in a few moments, handing over the individually-wrapped and sterilized necessities over to Bekah before stealing over to Felix's side and murmuring quietly in their native tongue, «I'm going to go talk to him before it gets too late. Will you be alright?» Dumb question, all things considered, but, hey. It's the thought that counts, right?

"I'll be fine, clearly," Felix says, with a grin that borders on cocky, for once. Poor Misha. She'll be the one who has to see those scars for years.

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