2007-08-18: Morning, Sunshine


Church_icon.gif Felix_icon.gif

Summary: Felix's first brush with Company hospitality doesn't go well.

Date It Happened: August 18, 2007

Morning, Sunshine

Cells, Primatech labs

Welcome to morning in your own personal patch of Hell. Because not only is Felix suffering from Vasili's beating, and the effects of being tazed and half-blinded - there's withdrawal on top of all of it. When his blood is tested, the lab techs will find evidence of opioid addiction. Not heroin precisely, but some odd analogue. As well as Clonidine, a drug often used in lessening the side effects of withdrawal. And lithium, which speaks for itself.

A whole chemical cocktail - one that sends him scrambling for the cell's toilet as his first conscious act in Primatech's tender care. At least his eyes have mostly recovered, enough so that he can peer around to figure out where he might be, from his seat on the tile floor.

There is someone waiting for Felix to wake, and soon after the man sits down to get his bearings and likewise, there comes the clicking of the lock on the heavy door. It opens enough for a stranger to slip inside and shut the steel behind him. There are no dark glasses on Lawrence's face this time, the man's sharp brown eyes aimed down at a clipboard in his hand. His blazer is gone, and the blue shirt he wears has both sleeves rolled up and the topmost buttons undone. "Mornin' sunshine." Is it morning? Maybe. Maybe not. "How're you feeling, hm?"

Felix is instantly up on his feet, albeit unsteadily. "Who are you, and what is this place?" he demands, squinting at Church. No glasses, no contacts, and he's a bit nearsighted. Without any healer, his face is covered in purpling bruises, complete with split lip and one eye nearly swollen closed.

Church clears his throat, taking a pen out of the clipboard and scribbling something into a margin. "My name is Lawrence Church, annnd this-" A look around. "-is your cell." One hand fishes into his front pocket to remove Felix's glasses and toss them carefully onto the bed nearby. The clipboard goes down and the agent finally looks Felix in the eye. A serious moment passes, and then Lawrence has on that dazzling smile, head cocked slightly. "That's some eye you've got there."

Felix picks up the glasses and settles them comfortably. His expression is nearly nonexistent - Church is getting the full benefit of Felix's ten or so years of practice at cop's pokerface. He looks over the Company's man, and then turns to peer around him at the cell. He's pale and sweating, despite the coolness of the concrete. "Why am I being held?" he asks, voice with at least a semblance of calm.

Church motions at the other man casually, making sure to get in some quality observation time before looking back at the clipboard. "You're a person of interest to us, mister Ivanov." Which is the truth, but a vague truth. "How're you feeling?"

"Who is 'us'?" Felix says, muscles in his jaw tightening. "Where is this cell? And I feel like hell, as you can no doubt guess. What happened?" His hands have begun to curl into fists. Visibly dizzy, he sits down on the edge of the bed, but his gaze doesn't waver from Church's face.

"Nobody you need to know today. What happened. Mhm. First you shot a man, then you got blinded and tasered." Church looks at Felix again, looking to be in the middle of a thought that gets derailed for another one. "As for where we are, that's not as important as why you're here in the first place."

Felix lets his eyes half-lid in annoyance, and eyes Church over the rim of his glasses. "Babenkov. Where's he?" he asks, as memory comes creeping back. Ideally, the answer will be, "In the morgue." "And I want a phone call."

Church chuckles spryly. "Babenkov is being patched up. Or was. The last I heard he was raring to go out of the medical ward and down here. He must hate you an awful lot, pal." Phone call? "Seeing as how we are unconventional, I'm going to have to say 'No' to the phone call." The man gives Felix an apologetic face now. "Nothing personal, just that nobody gets one. Ever." Lawrence smiles, but less widely this time.

This is one of those places, isn't it? One of the little shadow prisons the CIA can't admit exists. There's not a twitch of a muscle, but a certain light dies out of his face at that. "We've been at daggers drawn for years," he says, tone conversational. "He's scum. I tried for ages to put him away when I was a cop, never managed it. Does he work for you?"

The hint of an amused snort escapes the Company man. "Not for me, no. I met him only recently. If he's scum, I haven't had the time to tell. Giselle likes him, and we just needed an extra pair of hands. If I'd have known he'd put them into your face, I might have objected." Lawrence creases his eyebrows together, peering at the papers on the clipboard again. "You know, you had some weird blood results…" He leaves it open in case Felix feels the need to share by himself.

"He's a bloodyhanded thug," Felix's tone remains matter of fact. There's another little flicker of something in his eyes. Mentally revising his estimate of the probability of leaving here in something other than a plastic bag. "Muldoon works here as well?" He takes in 'here' with a gesture of one long-fingered hand. "Did I?" he asks, with a complete lack of curiosity in his tone. Nevermind that he's begun to shiver like he's chilled.

"Who do you think put the taser in you? Sure wasn't me." Church leans up against the door, one shoe perching behind the opposite ankle. "Yep. Some weird bits of drugs. Not heroin, but we're not going to rule it out. Now, Felix, I'm not one to peg you for being an addict, but it's pretty bizarre. Care to explain?"

Felix isn't swayed as much as one might expect, but he does yield a little to that formidable charm. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you," he says, voice gone dry. He's begun to fidget, fingers plucking idly at one of the sheets on the bed. "What it boils down to is that someone's been drugging me against my will."

Church grimaces just a little. "What a bummer. And you'd be surprised at what I would believe." An impish laugh comes next, and the sharp-featured agent glances around his shoulder to the hallway window for a moment. "As long as it's not something you're doing yourself, we can help you with that." The pen clicks to life on the paper margins again. "Alright. Enough about that. Nasty stuff to have to bring up. I'm way more interested in what you can pull off, mister Ivanov." That's pretty cryptic, but Lawrence likes it that way.

"You're going to have to be more specific," Felix's tone is as bland as milk, and his face has the pure innocence of a spring dawn. The blue eyes, however, have come alive with fear. His mother is being proven right, and thirty years of paranoia is borne out. "It is not something I had chosen, and I will be glad to be rid of that particular chemical problem," he says, deliberately letting go of the edge of the sheet, lest he start tearing it.

Church now stares down Felix with the approximate threat level of a Labrador. He's not aiming to intimidate, but there is some sort of fear in those blue eyes that caught his attention. "You, Felix, are special. Special on the basis that you can do some things that few other men could ever possibly do." Still cryptic. Lawrence wants to watch him a little bit more first.

Felix just shakes his head, faintly. There's still no panic in his face - he's got firm control of his features, hands still and quiet in his lap. He's slouched a little in his seat on the bed. But there's that manic light dawning in his gaze. "There has to be some mistake," he insists, tone gentle. "I'm perfectly ordinary." His breathing remains even, but he's lost a shade or two of color, and he didn't have that much to begin with. It leaves him approximately the shade of the sheet he's sitting on.

Church sighs loudly. "Right. Right. Sure you are. And I have a tree growing out of my head." FOOM. Suddenly, Lawrence's boardless hand is palm up, emitting what looks like a handful of rocket fire, haze of smoke and all. It remains long enough for Felix to get a very good look before puttering into inexistence. "Now then. Still want to lie to me?" That puppy-gaze is quickly turning into more of a police dog's.

And Felix's face ices over like a winter pond. "I think we're done here," he says, voice flattened out into a near-perfect monotone. For all the world as if -he- were the one in charge of his interrogation. "I don't know what you want from me, but I'm no longer interested."

Church shrugs as he opens the door again. "If you say so. I was hoping you wouldn't be like this. Makes everyone's day suck more. We'll still give you stuff for the withdrawal, cooperation or not. We can't have someone in your line of work addicted. That's a public danger!" A goodbye waggle of the clipboard and a swivel on his heel, and the smiling man is gone. The only thing left is the door clanking locked as he disappears.

Once he's left, Felix expels a slow breath, and then lies down, very slowly, and gingerly, on his side. He's not going anywhere, and this next bit isn't gonna be any better standing up.

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