2009-11-11: Side-By-Side



Date: November 11th, 2009


Safe (for now?), Ivory and Tracy reconvene over what's important.

(Previously on Heroes MUSH … A Terrible Thing To Waste)


Ivory's Apartment

Washington, D.C.

Home. That's the number one place that's on Ivory's mind at this moment. It's probably the safest place, considering the hell that they've just been through. Which, for the record, was probably light considering what could've happened to them. Ivory's managed to get his key in the door and unlock it, pushing it open with his foot, while he works on making sure Tracy is held up and brought into the apartment also. His heel flings backwards to close the door behind them and keys are just dropped to the floor. "Here? Bedroom?" He wants to make sure he takes her to the right place.

At Ivory's side, Tracy is looking back as the door shuts; she was eyeing the length of the hall behind them, wary of anyone who might see them — especially her, as her state of dress is more than a little out of place in the luxury building. The blue pyjama bottoms, the white shirt, the decided lack of shoes. Pale, she's starting to look a slightly ragged around the edges. The painkillers are wearing off. "Bedroom," she answers decisively for some simple reason. "I might've left some clothes here." Unsettled eyes look over at Ivory. "Are you sure we should be here? What if someone's looking for us…"

"Trace. We're dealing with heavily trained and heavily armed government agents here. I'm pretty sure if they wanted us, they'd have us." Ivory remarks, before sliding himself and the Tracy off towards the bedroom where they should belong in the first place. Could have something to do with the fact that every time they go in there, things happen… but this may not be one of those times. Ivory does, however, find the time to kind of semi-joke as he moves to get her to the bed where she can lay down. "Left clothes? We're leaving clothes here now? Someone's trying to mark her territory…"

Tracy sits down on the very edge of the bed softly, looking up at Ivory. Clearly restless, she doesn't want to sit down, let alone lay down, even if her body does. "I take off enough clothes here that I'm bound to leave some behind." The joke is half-hearted (though true). She looks over at the bedroom closet. "I think … one of my black dresses." In other words: go get it. "If they're not after us then… why not? One minute there were men tackling you and the next, they're gone and you're on the floor."

"I don't know. I'm going to see what I can find out. But you… you are going to rest." Ivory is already dismissing her black dress, even though he knows exactly where it is, in favor of heading to one of his dresser drawers and coming out with a huge t-shirt. He's good for things like that. "There's too much going on and too much we don't know for you to be gallivanting around in that sexy dress." Ivory's back over to the bed, holding out the t-shirt. "And yes, I said gallivanting." Maybe these jokes will help keep things light.

Tracy takes the huge t-shirt with a hint of a smile and a weak laugh under her breath. She angles her head down and lets the shirt curl in her lap. It's not exactly her style, but it's clean. "You saved me back there," she says after awhile, gradually looking up to watch Ivory, her gaze always intent on following him wherever he may be. "I am glad to be out in the real world again. If I never see a heat lamp and a pair of military boots again it'll be too soon," she adds with some rather intense bitterness seeping coldly into her words. "I just feel like, being here? We're sitting ducks. Or— I am! You can get out of this."

"No. There is no me. There is no you. There is us. We're together on this. Whatever happens to you, is going to happen to me first." Ivory sounds as sincere and adamant about that as he's ever sounded. It's not just some political tone that he's been taught to use and make the people believe him. He means it. "They know better than to push their hand. I still know things. I still know people. I can fight back if I'm pushed that far." Ivory looks from Tracy to the window and just kind of makes his way over to it, so that he can look out at the night sky. "No. They'd do well to keep their distance. Lest I have to talk to my good friend the President about what they're doing behind his back." Uh oh. The room must be bugged.

Just as adamant, though silent, Tracy follows Ivory as much as she can without getting up: she draws her legs up onto the bed and turns toward him on her side, propped up by the arm that's not in a sling. The man's words bring an acute worry to her features, and her brows grow nearer as she tries to decipher every meaning. "…behind his back…" she repeats with a questioning, guarded tone. Even though she has questions, Tracy ultimately seems to understand. "Then what're you waiting for, go to the President."

Ivory shrugs just a bit. He honestly doesn't know if this place has been gotten to or not. But he's not taking any chances. "Oh, I will. I've got a meeting with him first thing in the morning. That should put these people back into their place." Ivory turns back to look at Tracy, offering a bit of a shrug, just in case she's wondering if he's doing this on purpose or whatever. "After that, I'll be heading back to the office to see just what in the hell is going on with this operation. My operation. The operation I worked my ass of to head up and hand picked every single person on the roster for." Guilt trip, much?

After today — after the past ten days — waiting until the morning seems like far too long. An eternity. So much can go wrong in a minute, let alone a whole night— but, while these concerns are written all over her face, she trusts Ivory and eventually nods, stoic. There are so many things she could say on his last words. An overwhelming number, truly, and none of them good. Instead, her expression grows cold, evasive, and she looks away. Guilt trip? … Well, Tracy is certainly harbouring something. It doesn't look like guilt. "I know you. I know the operation. I know you can fix this. All of this."

"I'm going to fix it. I'm gonna' fix everything. But I'm gonna' take care of the people close to me first." Ivory sighs and rephrases that in the next moment. "Well, the person close to me." Ivory always makes it sound like he's so alone. Which is probably kind of true, once it's thought about for a little while. Sighing, he brings himself back over to the bed, dropping down on it and turning to kind of face the Trace. "I can get you a doctor in here by the morning. Maybe something can be done about your arm, rather than that whole sling thing." He frowns. He doesn't trust the patch up job.

Tracy pushes up to sit a bit more properly. She pushes woefully unbrushed hair behind one ear and presses her forehead tiredly into her forearm for a moment before her reply, which comes with a smile. It starts out decidedly jaded, but brightens genuinely as she studies Ivory again. "I just need some painkillers. But I wouldn't say no to a doctor."

She reaches out and up with her free hand to touch Ivory's shoulder. "And I know. I'm … honestly … astounded, that you still want anything to do with me, after everything I've done," Tracy begins … matter-of-fact, faintly incredulous. "But … you took me. From— that hell. And. Look, wherever you wind up tomorrow or the day after, I belong there with you." Pause. "Thank you, Ivory."

Ivory blinks just a little bit. He looks down at the hand on his shoulder and leans over to plant a kiss against those fingers. Soft. Like he hasn't felt her touch in too long. "Damn right, thank you, Ivory. I've got a headache this big." And he's sitting up further to use both of his hands and create a giant space. "I swear I feel like I just walked up to Mike Tyson and called him a sissy." Oh, Poor Ivory. If only there was something that somebody could do to try and make him feel all the betters.

"As long as you're with me? Nobody can touch you." Does that mean— yes, someone's getting a awfully used to the lethal ability that got her thrown in an oven. Hmm. New confidence? Acceptance? … or bad omen? A turnaround from the recent past, that's for certain. Tracy slides closer and links an arm with Ivory's, leaning into him just to be near. "Mnnh," she groans after a moment, reluctant to move but reluctant to not to use all the things she's missed lately, like running water and clothes. "I need to use your shower."

"… You do." Ivory says with a sly smile on his lips, before he rolls backwards and off the bed. Immediately, his hand goes out so that he can assist with her getting up from the bed of doom. After all, he's just trying to hurry along this process, for he has some plans for later. "You can thank me afterwards. I'm patient. Kind of." Oh dear. Once Ivory gets started, things don't tend to stop until he gets what he deserves.

The Senator's advisor is all about giving him what he deserves, even after suffering from imprisonment, heat exhaustion and a broken bone. That said, it's with a wince that Tracy crawls to the edge of the bed to take Ivory's offered hand and hop onto the floor. She continues to hang on to his hand once she's on her feet. She says nothing, though, just looks up on him with a fond sort of respect before whisking the t-shirt from the bed and heading for the bathroom. Where there's water. Heaven. Almost. It's minus Ivory.

"Don't be in there all night. I wouldn't want to have to… interrupt." Ivory says, watching her go off towards the bathroom. Of course, in the next moment, he's snatching up his cell phone and flipping it open to scan through whatever's been on the screen for the past couple of hours. There are probably some calls he should be making while she's getting all cleaned up, but he may be a little too mentally preoccupied with thoughts of the showering Tracy and Blackberry E-Mail Spam.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License