2007-09-04: I Love the Smell of Babymama Drama in the Morning


Aileen_icon.gif Felix_icon.gif Mariska_icon.gif

Summary: Aileen stops by to check on Felix and inadvertently interrupts the morning after. Babymama drama ensues.

Date It Happened: September 4th, 2007

I Love the Smell of Babymama Drama in the Morning

Queens, NYC - Felix's Apartment

The city is never really quiet. Not even in the gray watches before true dawn. But this is as silent as it gets, the shadowless light in the east lightening the windows - there's the sound of sirens in the distance, cars passing in the street below. Luckily, he does not snore, not now more than he did then. Really, it's weirdly like that night seven years or so ago, though it's only the cool of a New York fall and not the biting chill of a Saint Petersburg winter. Time's been fairly kind to him, really - he's still whippet thin, and there's the old sabre scar over one hip. He's got fading bruises from Church's little explosion, and there are the star-shaped marks of the bullet wounds on chest and shoulder. He relaxes utterly in sleep, sprawled on his back.

After years of sleeping alone, the sensation of slowly lifting into consciousness with someone else sharing the bed earns an unusually abrupt reaction from the drifted and dozing Mariska as she rolls from her side onto her back and — HOLY HELL! There's somebody — er, oh. Oh, right. Felix. Ye-ah. Ow. She drank a lot of 'little water' last night and this morning her brain is punishing her for it by making her pale eyes just that much more sensitive to the first rays of light unapologetically playing over the pillow. With a little groan she buries her face against Felix's scarred shoulder. It's safe to say that bullet wounds are not the sort of 'stars on his shoulders' that Mariska might otherwise expect or be used to and when her fingers fall over them, she traces their edges with eyes closed; seeing him as if blind.

Her startlement wakes him, and he grunts in surprise. And then….there's someone touching him? He cracks an eye, and rolls it to peer at her. It's before his alarm goes off, happily. His other hand goes out to snag a glass of water he was wise enough to have on the bed's headboard.

Extremely reluctant though she is to rouse and rise, Mariska cannot deny that she is, for the most part, conscious. Damn. She so doesn't want to be awake right now, let alone conversing, and yet… she makes the first forays, anyway. «What time is it?» she asks, throat dry like a desert, parched voice clawing it's way past her lips.

Fel offers her the glass of water. «It's five thirty,» he murmurs, sitting up very carefully. «Let me get us some aspirin, that'll help,» he adds, somewhat the worse off for the booze, as well.

She accepts the water gratefully but only takes a small sip in order to groan out her objection to the offer of aspirin. «No,» she says, water glass still clutched in her right hand and yet rested on the man's chest. «Just… don't get up…» Huh. She doesn't want him to leave. Go figure.

She gets peered at, rather blearily. «Why not?» he wonders, settling back, obediently.

Because she wants to cuddle, you moron, that's why. Or, at the very least, she's worked herself into a comfortable position and isn't terribly inclined to sacrifice it so quickly for the sake of a pair of pills that'll probably get stuck in the back of her throat anyway. She takes another small sip from the glass of water before extending an arm to see if she might be able to put it back on the side table without moving any more than that.

Gay FBI agents do not cuddle! See 'Boondock Saints' for proof of this. There's not so much a sidetable as the headboard is also broad enough to function as a sidetable in its own right, so it's in easy reach. Aw, she….this is weird. But Fel does relax, and settles himself back comfortably.

Okay, good. Their early morning after routine isn't going to kick off with a struggle and culminate in bloodshed. This bodes well. The headache she can cope with so long as history doesn't beg to repeat itself with an abrupt departure the moment she slips into the bathroom or consents to finally release him to find pain reliever only to hear frantic bare feet scampering for the front door. Mariska lays her cheek against his chest and curls her shoulders in order to sink a bit more beneath the covers. One hand hangs on to a hip while the other remains thrust behind her back in a position that doesn't look all that comfortable, really.

Departure? Bareass naked from his own house? Not likely. He shifts to try and ease what can't be all that comfy, and just eyes her. She's not hitting him. This is good.

For a few minutes there, she actually seems to fall back to sleep; eyes closed and breathing slowed. Even if they are no longer bathed in almost dark and almost silence, they still have almost stillness to cling to and that brings a brief measure of solace that accommodates half-sleep. Besides, it's obscenely early in the morning. «…what?» she murmurs, lids still pulled down, feigning.

«Nothing,» he says, but he lifts a hand to rest it very lightly on her hair. Where does it go from here? He gazes off into the dimness, listening to the sounds of the city waking slowly.

That's a good question. And one that Mariska's actually afraid to ask. And so she doesn't (yet) but rather lets the ghost of the unspoken hang between them and haunt the man's bedroom even while they still share the same bed. The hand laid lightly on her head prompts her to turn her face up toward him and she decides to inch up a little closer, face to face, possibly to compare morning breath.

He kisses her, but it's gentle, rather than passionate. At least for now. So much history to be gone over, yet.

Oh, hey, lookit that. He likes her even when (s)he's sober. That whole getting naked and bouncing on each other thing might not be a seven year fluke after all. Although, maybe he's running a little low on his heterosexuality quota for the decade and making a quick stop in an old, reliable port to — you know, on second thought, let's not cheapen this whole thing (more than it already is). They're kissing one another as if they were both made out of glass. It's sweet. Go with that.

Well, after all his protests about being as blue as his eyes, he's working on giving the lie to that. Hey, she should be flattered. She's turned him back from the cerulean side of the Force, or whatever. The gentleness lasts about a minute or two, because well. It's not every day he has beautiful women dragging him into bed.

Or, you know, just one beautiful woman. He's not that lucky. (And he's not that straight.) Mariska never really did believe any of that bullshit nonsense about being 'blue', anyways, which somehow manages to make this moment all the more sweet and the one had previously at the hospital all the more bitter. It's a cruel joke to play on the mother of your child - by the way, I'm totally gay - seriously. Cue the completely not gay remounting.

Later that morning…

It's morning at Fel's apartment. Aileen has gotten a message that he's back, and more or less well, and has a story for her. Boy, does he ever. But at the moment, he's in the bathroom, patiently getting ready to go in - they may not actually let him work, but he can at least show up in his usual suit for whatever debriefing they put him through. He still looks pale, after too many days with too little sun, and there are new scars at his temple and one brow. At the moment, he's running an electric razor over his chin.

Okay. Aileen's a workaholic, really. The little social life she does have, however, is pretty darn important to her. Important enough that she'll risk going to work late to instead drop by Felix's apartment. It's unannounced, and he probably wouldn't expect her to come by 'til much later. She stands outside, doctor's jacket over one arm as she figures once she finds out he's alright she'll head in to work. Aileen knocks loudly, a frown on her features, mostly born out of worry.

After spending how many days confined to sleeping on a floor and then an uncomfortable cot, Mariska is notably reluctant to leave the behind an actual bed… even if it isn't her own. With Felix no longer taking up space by her side, she reaches an arm out to quietly contemplate with her fingertips the wrinkled impression left in the sheets in his wake. The knock on the door grabs her attention, jerking her out of her razor-sung reverie and snapping her upright as if her spine were on a spring.

The door? What? Fel snaps off the razor, more or less done, and wanders out to his front door. He gives Misha a little wave, as if suggesting she remain where she is. He's shrugging on a blue oxford shirt, already in suit pants and socks, still buttoning it as he opens the door. "Aileen," he says, smiling at her. "Hey."

Right then. Felix is quite alright and Aileen is rather relieved. Enough to move forward and hug him. "You have no idea how good it is to see you! I thought that you could have been /dead/ with how long you were away and when your partner came and asked me about you and then this Russian woman was asking questions and stuff.. I.. I really didn't know what was going on. But you're alive.. and you're okay?"

Mariska stays perched on the bed for, oh, about three and a half seconds after Felix has left the room and then, there she is, lingering in the doorframe in a dark tank top and a pair of panties, just out of sight from where they are now, hanging on every word and she might able to overhear.

He's thinner than ever, all sinew and bone in her arms. "I'm alive. I'm okay, for most values of the word," he says, returning the embrace gently, as if she were the invalid. "It's a long story. Basically, I got nabbed by the wrong government agency. Those things you hear about the CIA stealing people for interrogation in other countries? All true." He does not, however, invite her in.

A gentle hug. No invitation in. Odd, but not enough for Aileen to go off of. "You sure you're alright, Felix? I mean… how do you get nabbed by a government agency and have them not inform your partner? Seriously… he's a nice guy, but after the conversation we had, it scared me silly. And it's not like I have a lot of people to worry about." She peers him over cautiously. "Did they even /feed/ you? Have you seen a doctor yet?"

It's hard to hear from down the hall and so ever closer Mariska creeps on cat's feet toward the mouth of the short corridor. She presses her shoulders to the wall and turns her head, nose to edge, longing to catch more than the spare clips and phrases that she was receiving from the doorway of the bedroom.

"The various agencies don't communicate well at the best of times," Fel says, reaching into his pocket to slip out one of those amber cufflinks, fastening it clumsily. "And they thought I was a spy. They didn't dare go through the Bureau itself, lest it be leaked to me, or a source. Yeah. I was in a hospital the first couple days I was back."

"And they let you out like this? And you're going /back to work/? You couldn't rest a few more days and take it easy?" Aileen looks pleadingly at him. "I mean, you're gone for… god, I can't even remember how long… two weeks? And then you come back and are in the hospital and now you're going back to work just like everything's the same?" She doesn't look too happy. "What about the Russian woman?"

You mean the one currently standing about ten feet away? Hot, dynamite in bed, and big in to eavesdropping. Mariska's curiosity is especially piqued now, knowing that Felix must surely be aware of the acoustics afforded in his own apartment… even if she were still in the bedroom… she'd have to be hearing some of this, right?

"I'm not so much going back in to work as I am dealing with the aftermath of what happened," Felix explains, quietly. "Aileen. The woman you met…..it's complicated," His face is …..oddly nervous, really. "I'll be short about this, because there's no good way to put it. We had an affair, some years ago. In Russia. She….she's here looking for her daughter. Whom she claims is my child. I haven't met the girl, I haven't verified that claim. But it is possible."

"Well, dealing with the aftermath isn't so bad as full-on going in to work." Aileen comments before all hell breaks loose. Her first indicator is the odd expression on Felix's face. Then, of course, there's the words. The only thing really visible on Aileen's face is utter shock. It's not really the affair so much as the fact that after all those years, the Russian woman came back. THAT AND HE HAS A KID. Well, potentially. She blinks for a moment, utterly stunned. "… excuse me?" That's about all she can get out.

This is the part where the camera pans out to show all three of them in the same shot — Mariska in the foreground, face struck into a still mask, eyes betraying some small sting from someone's overheard words; Felix and Aileen, oriented just so in order to show his candor and her sour surprise. This is the hard moment where they all take the same breath and exhale together on cue.

"I don't know if the girl is my child," Felix says, with the iron finality of a hanging judge pronouncing sentence. "But I am going to find out. I don't know why she appeared just as I disappeared. Bad luck, bad timing."

Bad timing. Ha! That was a good joke. So she's finally making friends, getting close to people and then babymama comes in and complicates things. Well, things weren't so bad. It might not be his. She could just be after his money. Aileen lets out a long, slow breath. "What are you going to do if she's yours?"

Mariska's heard enough for now. She turns her face away from the corner of the wall and returns to the bedroom, making no attempt to soften the footfalls of her retreat (though, she's not exactly a parade of elephants on any day of the week). The bed is bypassed and it's direct into the bathroom as she snatches up her discarded clothes along the way.

Fel is working on the other cufflink. "First, the child has to be found," he says, quietly, settling into that quiet, clinical tone he uses when explaining a case. "She's apparently traced her here. If she does prove to be mine, when she's found…..it'll be up to her mother. I just feel sorry for anyone unfortunate enough to be born as my kid." His voice is not loud enough to disguise the sound of someone else in the apartment.

Blinkblink. Aileen definitely heard footsteps. She glances into the apartment, blinking a few more times. "You aren't alone in there, are you?" She doesn't really speak about anything else. She's… just a little paranoid right now.

Cue the sound of a closed door answering that question for him followed by the muted sounds of a shower kicking on. Behind closed doors, Mariska could be anyone but… at least it makes her someone. Someone else.

"No. Mariska is staying with me, for the moment, while we sort this out," Felix says, calm still firmly in place. He doesn't blink, doesn't blush, shows no signs of embarrassment.

Oh. So that was how it was. Aileen glances to him, then towards the sound of the shower. "I should probably go then. Enjoy your day at work, okay?" Her face is hard to read.

Well, so much for giving Felix an anonymous out. Maybe it would have been easier for Aileen to chew on a lie than reckon with the truth… but, for how long? Mariska, hung up in her own world where it's easier to shed a few tears in the shower, remains oblivious to the conversation being had half-in, half-out.

That's when his hand darts out to snag her wrist. Not hard, but quickly. "Listen, Aileen. Don't give me that look. I know you. It's not like that. It was one night, seven years ago… and now I have to figure out if there's a person who resulted from that. A little girl who's been taken from her mother, mine or not. I can't walk away from my daughter. I haven't given you reason to think much of me, but this I have to do. Do you understand?"

"Felix, I'm not stupid." Aileen faces him, full on, staring him straight in the eyes. "She comes back. She's looking for her daughter. A daughter that may be yours. It doesn't matter if she is or if she isn't yours, because she's already staying with you." She's definitely not pleased. "If she's your daughter, great, I'm happy for you. If not, it doesn't matter, Felix. I mean, seven years. One night. And she comes right back to you." She laughs, but it's kind of cold. "You know… you were right. I was being too nice to you. But I guess it's what I get for being naive. Let me know when you've figured out when your next kid is on its way." She moves to walk off.

Guess who's still in the shower and totally missing this? Mariska. That's who.

"What did you expect of me, Aileen?" Felix says, patiently. "You know what I am. What do you think I should have done?"

Pausing in the hallway, Aileen glances back. "No, Felix. You're right. You did everything right. I'm just mad because I've got to be the most naive, gullible, loving person in the world and I completely fell for everything." The doctor is most definitely not patient. "Email me and let me know how it all turns out or something, alright?" No, she doesn't ask him to call. That's too personal. She idly ponders chucking her phone into a fountain as she moves to leave. She's at least determined to get a distance down the hallway so he doesn't have time to say something else painful.

The shower shuts off but it's safe to say that the occupant thereof isn't any more the wiser of the words being flung back and forth between the doctor and her object of (unrequited?) affection.

By the puzzled look he's wearing, Fel really isn't sure where he's gone wrong. He glances back over his shoulder as if Mariska might appear and interpret for him.

Give Mariska a few minutes; she's combing her hair and questioning her sanity. Once that's taken care of, however, and her clothes are once again worn, lingers silently in the hall for a moment before judging the 'all quiet' sound enough to make an appearance in the living room, carried by bare feet. «Who was that?» she asks innocently.

Gone. That's what Aileen is. She's taking full opportunity to leave while she has the chance.

"That was a friend," he says, morosely, shoulders drooping. "I hate this already. Too many lies."

«Do you hate yourself…,» Mariska wonders aloud with an ambiguously rhetorical tone. «…or me?»

He gently closes the door, to regard her with that oddly lost stare. «Myself,» he says, gently. «I don't have any excuses.»

That was a trick question, really. Felix might be a bastard but he's not the sort of guy who'd ever pony up the guts to tell Mariska he hated her to her face, even if he did… right? That's the assumption she's going to go on for the moment. It's the one that makes her loathe him a little less. «That's good… because no one wants excuses.» It's only after a minute or two that she dares a closer approach.

Do you hate the person you accidentally ran over with your car? «I sort of do,» he says, wryly. «I'd feel better about it, at least.» She gets a wary, sidelong stare from behind those wire-rimmed glasses.

Maybe if it was brand new and really shiny and the collision ended up totaling it? That's what Mariska is — a totaling impact. Life as Felix knew it? Over. Gone. And they both realize it.

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