Starring:
Date: October 7th, 2009
Summary:
Elena comes home! Desiree, Elena and Portia catch up all over the board.
"Home Anchors"
Gomez Home
Upstate NY
Roles today are reversed.
Her transition with the New York satellite office of the Post is going slowly, and for once Elena is home, still, despite it being past seven in the morning. No drivers necessary, despite the Gomez country home being a few miles up north from New York City, considering the young woman has managed to secure her license to drive in DC. So at the present moment, she is making a quick breakfast for her stepmother - scrambled eggs with cheese and chives, toast with a variety of preserves and butter on the table, some sliced fruit, and a few pieces of bacon. There is also, of course, cereal, situated on the table.
She even packed Dezi lunch, a brown paper bag situated on the side for her to carry to work.
Elena's own belongings, whenever she decides to move back to the city, are in the living room - and not much of it. As always, the young woman packs light… there are only three boxes, and two suitcases, one open so she could get a few clothes out. These will be put away in short order, but not at the moment, considering she has just arrived back in the city two days prior.
Desiree Gomez, formerly Desiree Russo, middle name Ginger — a little known but likely unsurprising fact — has a good life. It's hard, sometimes, when the husband she loves very much is faraway and can't visit as much as he'd like, but you have to do what you have to do. The mother of two and stepmother of a gaggle of Gomezes is passed out on her side sleeping, her mess of dark, wild curls acting as a pillow. She got up earlier with the intent to make breakfast and then … then there was the couch! She sleeps well, but— it's early!
Dezi works hard, probably too hard even on her part-time shifts, to keep busy and focus her famously scattered mind — and to keep helping people in the way that she can. She can never stop.
A heavyweight cat tiptoes around her sprawled out body on the couch, head-butting against the arm that she lays on, which is flung over the edge of the couch in the large but homey living room. Dezi is clad in a purple tank top, a red satin robe, and a pair of white flannel pyjama bottoms sporting nonsensical pink giraffes; childlike, but woman-sized, although the legs are too short for her tall and currently ungainly frame. "Mmnh, stop it, Bulldog," she shoves softly at the insistent cat. "What're you so worked up about, is somethin' on fire again…" Stirring, she rolls into a sitting up position, hair every which way. That's not fire, it's scrambled eggs, and that's— "'Lena!"
These are good smells, coming from the kitchen. True to the young woman's rabidly independent nature, she's only gotten better at cooking. Poking her head out from the kitchen, she beams at Desiree in what feels to be the first, truly wide smile she's felt her face take upon since getting back to New York. She sets the plate of eggs on the table, and moves over. The young woman is in nowhere near close to dressed for the day - in a pair of girl's boxers and a purple NYU t-shirt that fits snugly over her shoulders and the trim line of her waist. Older now, girlish features have shifted into something more mature… it has been a long year. Her hair is pulled upwards in a messy topknot, held back by a claw clip.
"Good morning," she says, leaning forward and planting a fond kiss on her stepmama's head. "How did you sleep? Good, I hope, because you did not move at all when I came in late last night. I didn't want to wake you, so I just crashed in one of the guest rooms and….I couldn't sleep anymore, really, so I got up. I even made you lunch. How's things in the hospital?"
Beaming as bright as can be with her wide smile, Desiree is over the moon. "I feel like I ain't seen you in a dog's age!" You can take the South out of the woman, but… "Get over here, miss!" Even more over here, that is. She swings off the couch, standing to her considerable height to squeeeeeeeeeeze the daylights out of Elena with a warm, motherly hug, fussing at the girl's hair after the fact. "I slept like a log, but you always had quiet toes. Hospital's good, runnin' around in the ambulance mostly," she says. The heavy cat, who has grown into his name despite his feline genes, rubs against the back of Desiree's legs and then hops down to wind around Elena's. Prrrrrrrt. "I didn't even see you whenever it was I crashed out here— how long you back for?"
She hugs Dezi back tightly, burying her face in the mass of dark hair and relaxing, taking a deep breath and closing her eyes. Elena's arms squeeze her stepmother in warmly, and she pulls away so she could give her a grin, the earnest dimple appearing on her right cheek. "That's because it has been a dog's age since I've seen you," she tells her with a laugh. "Come on, have breakfast with me. You need food, a paramedic's hours aren't kind and all of that….and I already packed your lunch so you don't have to worry about anything but get ready and go to work when the time comes." She'll gently usher her stepmother in the kitchen, glancing down at Bulldog. "….what have you been feeding the cat? He's ginormous!"
Walking in further, upon letting go of Mendez with Cereal, she pulls the chair out and gestures for Desiree to sit. "Oh, I put in for a transfer at the office," she tells her with a smile. "Papa gets worried about you and I think he might be ready to kill a few politicians back in DC… you know how it goes, so he asked if I was willing to come back, help out a bit. I told him sure, I was thinking of moving back to New York anyway, so save for family jaunts back to Washington, it looks like I'll be here a while. How's everything? Portia? I haven't seen her, and I think she's still sleeping."
Desiree shuffles after Elena on bare feet. She slides in next to the offered seat, but before sitting down to what smells like a delicious breakfast, she unleashes a tiny, shrill squeal, smiling goofily all the while. She gives Elena's cheeks a light, affectionate slap and peers at her, pleased as pie. "Well, WELcome back, sugar. I've missed havin' you around! Now don't get to thinkin' you'll be workin' yourself overtime takin' care of us. Portia's good. Most've the time," she says, sitting down and leaning onto the table with her elbows that poke out of the half-length, billowing sleeves of her robe. "She wants to go to Julliard." As Bulldog ambles over again, Desiree remembers Elena's question and waves a hand. She dips a spoon into the cereal. "Oh, ignore him, he takes after Ramon. He'll eat anythin' you put in front of him and most everythin' else, too."
"Julliard? She aims high," Elena replies, her smile unabated when she hears of her stepsister's ambitions. "The programs there aren't easy to get into, but I think that'll only make her determined to get in even more. I can have Papa call in too, see if he can pull a few strings…but I'd like to see her try on her own accord, it'll be good for her, I think." She digs into her eggs… as always, the young woman eats like a horse. "Still, Julliard's a fantastic school, I'm pretty psyched for her." And Portia hasn't even been accepted yet, but Elena seems to have no doubt that she will… if not Portia, the family will make it happen. "But yeah…I'm glad to be back too. I can't wait to see everybody. I haven't even made any rounds yet, just…" There is a pause. Peter, Noah, Benjamin, Kitty - all Company. She sighs, mildly exasperated with herself. "…a few people I ran into, and Kitty, who had me picked up from the airport. I stayed with her a couple of days. So how's…uh…. it going? Do you still get headaches?" The last is gentler, concern touching upon the dulcet tones of her voice.
Desiree dives heartily into spooning in her breakfast. Her appetite matches the family she married into. "Mm?" She considers Elena's expression a moment, mindful of the young woman's little changes in sentiment. She noticed that exasperated sigh, miss. "Nah. Well, hardly ever," she says, taking a break from her food to whip an elastic from her robe pocket, stretch her arms back and tie her curls into a makeshift twist/nest. "It's been different, past while," she explains, conversational. Calm about it all. "Long while, really. It just keeps gettin' more … focused, ya know. Small scale but jus' as … important, where it matters. Jus' no more sky is fallin' crap."
That bodes good and ill. No advanced warnings about giant catastrophes, but good on the psychic's sanity. "Well…that's a good thing, right?" Elena asks slowly, sounding a little more concerned when Desiree tells her that it has been 'different' in the past while. "Could you explain what you mean? More focused?" She wonders if she could control it, now, but she waits for Desiree's own assessment. She can't help it, though her concern now is making sure that her stepmother is okay. Seeing bad things happen to good people before they happen, while useful, took a toll - she knows it because she's seen Dezi after each of those visions. She also nudges the plate of eggs towards Dezi as well as the basket of fruit. Protein, it's better fuel for a long day.
Desiree gladly takes the plate of eggs, pulling it closer to herself. She thinks about how to explain, her ability being what it is, while she downs some of Elena's cooking. "Well," she says after she's swallowed (just barely), "It's like— it's like a train," she decides. "One car's connected to the other. By itself, one piece don't mean nothin' but you put 'em together and you got a train that's goin' somewhere." Hazel eyes squint at her own reasoning and she shakes her head.
Take two. "Okay, crash the train. I don't know how to explain it, is' like it don't come at me random no more. Like, I got one of your Magic Eyes taped inside a ambulance at work, and sometimes, fate seems to know where we're goin' before dispatch does and sometimes I can figure out how to get there faster. 'Cause it's connected to the ambulance, we were gonna do it anyway. Or— take this basket a' fruit." She manhandles an apple and an orange and holds them up in front of her. "I ain't gonna see a car crash in Times Square from lookin' at these on a normal day, but maybe if it was a fruit truck that was crashin'." Dezi's shoulders slump and she hangs her head, fruit still poised, to peer up at Elena with a sideways grin. "Does that make any kinda sense or do I sound as crazy as ever?"
"….well, you want an honest answer?" Elena replies, grinning impishly from across the table at her stepmother when she asks her, rhetorically, if she's as crazy as ever. "Well, you're in luck, Mrs. Gomez, because I…" Pause. Beat. "Am an expert at crazy." Because she is. At least, one of the people in New York City who can legitimately claim to be. She ponders quietly at what Dezi had said, that analytical brain put to work. "It sounds random, still, but different. Now I think…your glimpses of the future are actually anchored into related things in the present. That's actually….pretty cool," she says after a few moments of silence more, thinking about it. "If you're in an ambulance, you see the next job that requires an ambulance and your ambulance specifically… your anchor is the ambulance." She finishes her eggs, and starts on her bacon. "….you taped a Magic Eye in your ambulance? Really?"
There's a dull ache, somewhere inside - but it's a good one.
Despite everything, it feels good to be home.
"I can see why you'd say it'd be more focused, if you need things related or connected to the future in order to see it. Like…anchors. Or gateways. It's a lot better than images popping at you randomly, it can be really dangerous when you're just walking about. Have you told anybody else in our little circle of like minded persons that yours changed…? Mine's still the same but….I've found other uses for it, after I've learned so much about it."
"Yeah." What Elena said. "Sometimes I think it's you reads minds insteada' your daddy." Desiree shovels a few forkfuls of scrambled eggs, then bacon, into her mouth before sort of, kind of … peering evasively over at her stepdaughter with too-wide eyes. Lips spread thinly, pressed together, she smiles an unintentionally silly smile. "Uuhhhhmmm," she murmurs through breakfast, coughing before setting her fork down. She dabs her face with one of the table's folded, fabric napkins and ruffles a long-fingered hand in her mess of bed hair for a moment. "I, uhh, funny thing… 'bout that.. .I sorta work with Peter. Y'knowsometimesinnambulance."
"Papa's more about breaking heads than reading minds these days," Elena says, looking…well, half-amused, half-exasperated when they speak about her father. "DC is driving him insane. All he wants to do every weekend is go home and come see the rest of you. Thankfully Jaden gave him free reign on the Company jet, but every time he comes back to the Capital, he's just so grumpy. If it wasn't for 'Nita, he'd be eating the people who came inside his office needing something. He keeps telling me no one says what they think, so he has to look into people's heads every time just so he knows what to say next. You know Papa, he's not the type to sugarcoat anything, so with everyone doing that around him, it's… well. You know how he gets. He can be a bear." But a lovable one, when it comes to his family. Just not so much everyone else.
She finishes her bacon, and gets on her cereal, just as Desiree starts with her eggs. Though at the last there's a pause, the smile is still there, however faint… but Desiree or her father don't need to be psychics to know how difficult the subject is.
Or how prevalent it is. Every single person she's met so far coming back home has mentioned him.
"He….didn't tell me when he picked me up at the airport but he was wearing his paramedic's uniform," she says slowly, carefully. "I didn't know you guys partner up sometimes. At least…I know you're being looked after, no?"
"I guess so," Desiree answers, having a different view of the other paramedic. She offers a soft smile to her stepdaughter, knowing. "I try to look out for him, too, him and everyone else, but takes on a lotta shifts. I ain't there's much as he is." She reclaims her fork and pokes it around the crumbs of her eggs. "Anyhow, I know all about Ramon goin' crazy in Washington. Believe you me he talks about it on the phone. You probably saw more've it, though, he don't like to get me worried. So how's that fancy new job'a yours goin'?"
Taking on a lot of shifts.
She knew just by looking at him that he was overworking himself, and something sinks at the pit of her stomach at the realization that everyone seems to know, but no one seems to know how to get said paramedic to buckle down and take care of himself better. That isn't my place anymore, decided firmly at the back of her head. He's almost thirty for God's sake, he -knows- he should… Elena digs further into her cereal, shaking her head once. "I'm glad you are. Someone has to. He….tends to push, and keep pushing. That's the problem in being able to have the means of being able to do whatever you want, you start thinking you're invincible. When he gets stubborn like that…." She stabs a little vehemently into her cereal. Don't ask her how she can stab with a spoon. "Nobody can reach him."
That's not true.
Abandoning the topic entirely, thankfully, her gaze lifts, a small smile directed to her stepmom. "It's going good. I got a big break - at the good graces of my supervisor. He yanked me in on the Malden controversy, the one all over the news? I'm just doing periphery work until the trial begins, but… it's something. I'm the youngest one in the department, and the newest, so I have a lot to prove. I'm just hoping I can cut it."
Desiree only smiles to Elena's comments on the certain other paramedic; she doesn't respond, though. No delving. On the topic of the young woman's work, her smile brightens. "I don't watch much news," she admits. In other words, she has no idea what Elena is talking about, but that's alright. The important thing is: "Of course you can cut it! Don't be silly." At some point, she picked up a piece of bacon with her fingers and uses it now to point wildly at Elena. "Ain't nothin' can stop Miss 'Lena Gomez when she sets her mind to somethin', ain't that right?"
Thankfully the topic is shelved for now, and it's something that loosens up the vise-grip in her ribcage every time someone even mentions the name. Elena props her chin up on one hand. "Well, I can't blame you for not watching much news when you've got the power to know what happens before it even becomes news," she teases her stepmom, finishing her cereal and easing it away just so she could start on…pancakes? Good god, how much does she eat these days? She picks up Canadian maple syrup, pouring it over her stack. "But I hope so…" Her grin broadens upwards when Dezi waves a piece of bacon at her. "It's bound to be pretty exciting, especially with what's going on these days…"
Another pause.
She sighs, and rakes her fingers through her hair. "God, I hate myself a little bit…" she mutters under her breath, looking up at her stepmom helplessly. "Dezi there's… I heard something from people Papa's been trying to keep me away from and it's… it's being passed around people like us so I think I better warn my family too."
"Oh yeah?" Most of the worry is kept out of Dezi's voice, but it's there, beyond the casual. She chomps the bacon, wide eyes twinkling with curiosity (and a hint of reluctant apprehension) at Elena. "Not so sure I like the sound of —- ooo, maple syrup! — what's comin', but c'mon, lay it on."
There were /voices/ downstairs. While this was not an abnormal occurrence, Portia could never be to sure if there was /actually/ someone down there talking with her mother. You know. Things could be weird. She accepted that. She's more surprised to see that that Elena's actually there than if her mother had simply been talking to herself (or the pancakes). She peers in from the doorway, but doesn't interrupt the flow of conversation—mostly because she'd overheard the tone of Serious Business.
"Yeah, I don't like it either. We've just been moving on and getting our lives in order, and the last year has been so quiet….I don't want to ruin it. Everyone seems so happy." Well, almost everyone - what with Benjamin getting married, Lachlan and Cass getting married and having a baby, Trina and Jack settling in after tumultous months after his addiction and crazy and God-knows-what else… "But a few people have passed on some word to me that— "
She straightens up a little. "Hey, sis, come on in."
Odd, how she knew - Elena's back was to the kitchen doorway, there's no way she could've seen Portia. Maybe she heard her?
She waits for the other girl to sit down, grinning faintly at her. "Dezi told me you wanted to go to Julliard," she says as an aside, flashing her a thumbs up. Julliard gets the big sister stamp of approval, and the worrisome news is delayed for just a little bit.
Desiree isn't talking to the pancakes, but she is eyeing them, despite the important news Elena has to deliver. All the same, she's pretty full — she leans back in her chair and peeks toward the stairs, alerted cheerfully to Portia's presence by Elena. "Mornin' sleepyhead! 'Lena's back and she made pancakes!" Her goofy grin flashes, twinkling. Looming bad news? So what. The more family around her, the happier Dezi is. "Better get your butt down here before she eats 'em all. Girl could eat a truck," she pauses. "Of fruit."
Damn. Her stealthy skills must be wearing off. Maybe they were just better when she was invisible. If Elena could spot her that easily, though, she must need more practice either way. Portia takes the last of the steps down, heading in towards the smell of pancakes. She likes pancakes. She proceeds to help herself to a stack before sitting down. She'll let herself be distracted from the interesting conversation for the moment, mostly cause it's kind of exciting that Elena's back.
"Yeah, there's this program thing I go to on the weekends… get to have all sort of recitals and stuff. And even if I don't go to Julliard for college, I still have good experience and stuff. Jane still thinks I should go to Yale, but she's just biased cause /she/ went to Yale." Omnomnom. There goes a pancake.
"I haven't talked to her in a while, not since my twenty-first birthday." When the woman sent her eight large pizzas and two bottles of champagne. Elena, of course, ate it all - maybe. Chances are Manny and Luis engaged in a great battle with her for all of them. She chews on her pancakes, and she grins when Portia gives more detail. "That sounds fantastic," she tells her stepsister. "Good luck, Julliard's pretty up there as far as music is concerned. I think you should definitely give it a go."
She glances at Desiree eyeing her pancakes, and she sighs.
"Apparently quiet takings-in-the-night are happening again for people like us," she tells them both, stabbing vehemently into her fork and narrowing her gaze on the innocent buttermilk flapjacks. "The people who warned me say they're government, but aside from that I don't know much else but the fact that they're dangerous. They'll attack first, apparently they don't care if they get you intact, so long as they get you. They're working on it." THEY, not HER. She's doing her best to stay out of it while knowing enough to keep her and the people she loves heads above the water. "So…just be careful, and try not to use, unless you have to." This last one, especially, goes to Portia, who has a particularly good talent for evading unnecessary eyes and attention.
Desiree leans in and reaches out to affectionately tag Portia on the arm with her thumb before sitting back in her seat. She's finished with breakfast for now and busies herself idly with a napkin and her hands while she listens to Elena. Her chipper expression begins to fade, the lines in her gradually aging and freckle-spattered face showing more prominently. "Government," she says, questioning and derisive — and with her accent, emerging more along the lines of guvvimint. Dark brows sneak together as she looks up. "And with Ramon still in D.C.?" Her first thought. She tosses her napkin on her plate. "Ain't much to go on."
The pancakes are happily eaten by the teenaged girl, who half-nods at Elena's mention of people-nabbing. They won't get her. Can't catch what they can't see, anyways. Portia hasn't gotten caught using her abilities in a very long time. Practice makes perfect, after all. "No real leads…" She murmurs thoughtfully. Ah, well, good not to dwell too much on it. She's got pancakes!
"I know. I know very little," Elena confesses to her stepmom. "But apparently it's very new, so… just keep your guard up. I don't know how they even know how they can determine whether someone is or isn't. They have to have some kind of mechanism because they were right when they tried to get a guy I know on his honeymoon, no less. Overseas, so whoever's backing this either has money, or pull. He got away, but it's real." She shoves her very empty plate away and reaches out for a piece of fruit. Despite dire news, she can still keep her appetite - in fact it looks like frustration over it all makes her all the more ravenous. "News flash over. I don't want to bog down breakfast with bad breaks, but… I don't want anything to happen to anyone." She glances over at Dezi, nodding, her expression serious. "Yeah, in DC. I have to figure out a way to warn Papa. It'd be easy if I was in the same room as him, I wouldn't have to open my mouth. Maybe I'll go there over the weekend, or have him come up here. It's your birthday." She reminds Dezi, as if she forgot.
It's definitely something to think about — and worry about — but Desiree, never one to get too down, smiles optimistically. Especially for the sake of the two younger ladies. "We'll be alright," she says, her voice warm and sure as it usually is. "We always are eventually. … Birthday, oh pfffshh. I ain't gettin' any older." Boycott! She plucks the bottle of maple syrup from the table. "You want more syrup, Porsh? Is' Canadian. I guess they got better trees or somethin'."
"Well, I'll take your birthday if you don't want it, Mama." Portia grins, leaning against the table a bit. "Yeah. It's funny how their syrup is always better." She pauses. "But people rave about Canadian bacon, and that doesn't even really taste like bacon. At least they get their syrup right." She clears her throat a little. "So, uh, besides trying not to get too much in the way of the government, what is everyone up to?"
"Back in the grind for me, working as usual," Elena replies, happy to leave dire topics behind in favor of something normal and mundane. "Trying to see if there's a condo I can sink my money to in the city, I know real estate is expensive in New York City, but it's a buyer's market thanks to the real estate bubble bursting - everybody's buying and everyone's lowering the price just to get rid of unwanted assets. Trying to play catch up with people I haven't seen in a while…I haven't even seen Cass and Lachlan's baby yet." She glances over at Dezi and smiles. "Also heard that Jack's place is back up and running. This time, I don't need a fake ID." She's so proud. Widdle Elena is all grown up.
"You missed 'Lena's exciting tales've Washington," Desiree answers Portia with a grin and wink at Elena. "Oh hey now, thas' right!" She beams at her stepdaughter, proud of her ability to walk into a bar, it would seem. "Ain't seen Jack for awhile. He's doin' good, though." Two statements that make no sense together, but this is Dezi talking. "I heard Enlightment Book's is gettin' a overhaul, too. Y'know, y'all should go out on the town, girl's day out."
"Yeah, I bet Washington's fun." Portia states, finishing off her plate of pancakes. "That could be fun… last time I did that was with Kitty." She pauses. "Oh! That reminds me.. I'm supposed to have a recital soon, so she helped me find a dress for it. It's kinda a fancy thing."
"Sure, I'm up for it," Elena replies. "It's been a really long time since we went out together. We'll see if I can find something for you to wear. Nadia would always…" There's a pause. "….would always go to this place in Greenwich Village, lots of cute stuff that won't break your wallet. Granted we don't have to worry about it, but that area of town is fun anyway. I hung out there a lot while going to school." Her cherry-red phone blips, ringing into the table. Picking it up, she squints at the caller ID. "…ergh. It's Roger, I have to take this," she tells them. "I'll be back." She hops off her chair, to answer the phone and wander into the living room.