2007-09-03: So Now You're Back From Outer Space

Starring:

Felix_icon.gif Namir_icon.gif Samantha_icon.gif

Summary:

After meeting Essam, Samantha and Namir go back home to meet with a newly released Felix. There is puzzlement over the marks on Felix's neck and why he can "remember" where he was and what was happening to him during his capture while Namir cannot. Felix also talks about Mariska and Sasha.

Date It Happened: September 3rd, 2007

So Now You're Back From Outer Space


Namir and Samantha's Apartment, Greenwich Village

Dinosaurs were to be had and then Namir took Essam home and returned in time to help with dinner and at least move the laundry from the living room to the bedroom. Not bad for something tossed together for company at the last minute. After taking leftover dirty dishes to the sink and tidying up the living room just a bit, he stands and glances around as though looking for something else to do. "Did he say where he's been?"

"Someplace possibly in Africa or Eurasia." Samantha says. "He sounded exhausted. But I want to speed him up on our findings. He tried to help me look for you." She's keeping an eye on what's cooking, giving the pasta a stir now and again. "So how did I do? Do you think Essam likes me?"

There's the doorbell. Or buzzer. Or kazoo chorus. Whatever lets the residents know someone is waiting to be admitted.

"I think you confused him because you don't have snakes for hair and you don't spit venom," remarks Namir wryly. "But yes, I think he likes you. He'll come around." He moves over to answer the door and pulls it open to admit Felix. "Well, look what the cat dragged in," he greets with a grin. "Pardon the pun."

Samantha leans out of the kitchen doorway. "Hey, Felix. Come on in. When did you fly back from whatever hell-hole you were in?"

Felix looks like hell. He's got the pallor of someone who hasn't seen sunlight in weeks, is thinner than he should be, and has new stitch scars over one eye and at one temple. "I….well, I got back into the states about 48 hours ago," he says. He's in a blue workshirt, over a white t-shirt, and jeans….and is moving like he aches all over.

"You look like hell," offers Namir helpfully. "Have a seat." He indicates the furniture with a wave of his arm as he closes the door behind the other man. "It looks like you swam over and fought sharks the whole way."

"What the hell happened to you?" Sam asks. Almost reflexively, she starts moving into Felix's personal space, examining his face. "Did you get into an argument with a wall?"

That's her privilege, really. The one hetero woman who gets to put her hands all over him whenever she wants, considering. Lucky, lucky Sam. "I got…." he gropes for the word, "Rendered? Renditioned? Kidnapped by the CI-Fucking-A," he says, in all apparent seriousness. The scars weren't there last she saw him, but he's had them long enough they're only new marks.

"You what?" Namir lets Sam take care of the medical stuff. He goes in search of something else: liquid refreshment. And since Sam lives here too, that means there is beer in this apartment, and Felix gets some. "Why would the CIA kidnap you?"

Samantha hears 'kidnapped him' and for whatever reason that prompts her to start tugging on his collar this way and that for some reason. And within seconds, she says in a choked voice, "Namir -" then softly, "I don't think it was the CIA, Felix."

He looks at the beer like it's an alien artifact, and then takes a hearty pull from the bottle. "There's a supposed leak in the Bureau. Some jackass at Langley flagged me as a foreign-born officer with the necessary clearance. That was apparently enough to put me on the ghost plane to Nowheresville." He turns to peer at Sam. "Yeah, it was. They owned up to it. We had some highly placed spooks doing some serious asskissing today down at One Federal. That's why I still have a job there."

Namir frowns at that and moves forward to get a look at the thing that prompted Sam's statement. His brow furrows and he rubs at the spot on his neck self-consciously, as though to make sure it's still there. "If it was the CIA who took you, then they apparently run training camps where you're not allowed to remember what was taught too," he mutters.

Samantha looks back at Namir. "Well, we definitely know it's not about you being Arab now, don't we? You have two things in common - you're both public servants in law enforcement, and you both have abilities." She looks at Felix. "I need you to come look at something in the bathroom."

"What're you saying, Sam?" Felix wonders, craning his neck to look her in the face. And then his attention's back on Namir. "You were gone when I got taken. You got taken, too - you think it was the same guys?" But he pulls himself up to follow Sam, obediently. "We're both also not native born," Felix points out.

He wasn't invited, but Namir follows anyway. "I wouldn't doubt it," he utters. "They left me with paperwork saying that I had completed a special training program, except I remember none of it."

Samantha tugs out the makeup mirror to create a reverse angle for Felix to look at, and tugs down his shirt collar so the marks are exposed. "You see that? Show him yours, Namir."

"I remember way too much," Felix says, wryly. "I have firsthand experience of being waterboarded, now. I was drugged a lot, so much of it is sort of fuzzy, but it's there." He goes still, though, when she exposes the mark, meeting her gaze in the larger mirror. "I….what is that?" he says, wonderingly.

Obligingly, Namir pulls aside the collar of his shirt to expose the similar marks on his neck. His are a little more healed, but still prominent. "It's a mark from a hypogun," he responds. "A little going-away present from whoever."

"They were used in Africa." Samantha tells Felix. "It injects a stable isotope that allowed doctors to track viral strains in the human population. I've done Namir's bloodwork and he's healthy as a horse, so the only other answer is that it's for tracking purposes."

"I was drugged," Fel admits, easily. "That's completely bizarre. You think the government has some bizarre black ops program to track people like us?"

Namir releases his collar and adjusts the shirt back in place. "It would seem so. Whatever it is, whoever it is, it is definitely not legal." Not by any stretch of the law.

"Since when does the CIA worry about legality?" Sam's seen the Bourne movies! "But why mindwipe Namir and not you? And let me tell you, whatever they did to him, it's amazingly precise. He's missing just the exact time he was gone."

Because Felix totally sat her down and made her watch 'em. "The CIA does not, is the short answer. Especially post 9-11. Maybe I didn't see anything sufficiently compromising."

Touche. "It still doesn't make sense. They know I was taken. They must have known we would have found the marks and put it together. So why wouldn't they wipe you too?" It really makes no sense to Namir. Were he a more paranoid sort, he'd wonder if Felix was in on it.

Samantha studies Felix. "Would you be willing to let me do a scan on you?" she asks. "I'm trying to see if I can figure out the nature of the isotope being used." Because if she can, she might be able to do something about it. Still, it's not adding up in her head, and she doesn't like it. "Could be fake memories." she says suddenly. "If they learned from their mistakes."

"Not necessarily," Felix says, quietly. "What I was given fit a story. And has been backed up. I have names, I have files, I have people I can point at who did this to me. Rendition is an open secret. Or people I can at least officially blame. You think I have hypnotic implants, or something? What sort of scan?"

"That still makes no sense. Why say I was in a special training camp and then wipe the memory of it if they would let you remember that you were taken by the CIA?" Honestly, they have to be smarter than that. Namir could have come up with better ways to kidnap and then replant someone.

Samantha offers Felix a description of the radiological scan she intends to work up on Namir, including how he gets to drink gross chalky stuff in order for it to be managed. "I'd like to see if the signatures match. If they do, then it's beyond coincidence…not that it isn't already."

"Once is chance, twice is coincidence, three times is enemy action," Felix quotes, blithely, "Or so the honorable Mr. Fleming said. Perhaps you saw something you couldn't be allowed to recall. Specific names, locations, faces. I didn't. I don't know who actually tortured me, or where I actually went. I know where I was -told- I was taken, and who the Agency has chosen to throw to the lions." Felix adds, "It might have been two for the price of one, in all honesty."

"How do you know that everything else isn't an elaborate cover-up?" They could have made a mistake with Namir. Someone got sloppy and didn't follow up. "Everyone who corroborates your story could be lying."

Samantha has lapsed silent and thoughtful. She watches the two men converse, leaving the espionage theories - for the moment - to them.

"It's possible," Fel acknowledges, with no sign of dismay, as he resettles his shirt. "One could be a blind for the other. I don't know why they didn't wipe me totally. Maybe those memories are implanted, but they have people willing to stand up and corroborate them. So, they're powerful enough to lean on the CIA itself. Which takes it to Kafkaish levels of conspiracy."

They sound like a bunch of conspiracy theorists. It's almost crazy. Namir goes silent as well and rubs the back of his head and neck with one hand. After a quiet sigh, he shakes his head. "I don't know what to think," he states. It's once again frustrating that he can't remember even a moment of his own abduction. With a shrug, he adds, "Maybe they were aliens." Uh oh, attempts at humor.

"I'm just amazed I'm still alive, frankly," Fel says, returning to finish off that beer. "I thought I was gonna be taken out behind the chemical sheds and shot,"

"Well, it's good they didn't," Namir responds. It's good neither of them were taken out behind the chemical sheds and shot. He attempts a smile, then turns and waves an arm. "I think we left some food out there."

Felix limps back towards the kitchen. "Good. I don't know where to begin with this, other than with Sam's testing. If these assholes are clever and powerful enough to snow both the FBI and the CI-Fucking-A, we've gone right past the X-files into the full on Twilight Zone."

"We'll just see what Sam's testing brings up," utters Namir, apparently at least on a similar train of thought, "and go from there." Yeah, no pressure, Sam. "Neutralizing the tracker, if there is one, is the main thing I'm worried about right now."

IT hurts to lie to them - to enjoy the hospitality of real friends wearing a very false face. Welcome to your first day as a real spook, Mr. Ivanov. Everything up until now has been training wheels on. "Yeah," he says, simply, glancing out at the street beyond the window.

Samantha looks back to Namir. "Well, one thing will be whether or not it works. Because if you suddenly drop off the radar and then re-appear…they might come looking. It's up to you, provided I can get something to work, if it's worth the risk."

Food may be a bit cold, but hey, food. Namir doles out some portions for himself, grabs an IBC cream soda from the fridge, and returns to the living room to sit and eat. "Honestly, I would rather do whatever I can to get it to stop working. It's better than having people who have already kidnapped me once knowing where I am at all times." Besides, it's a violation of himself.

"She has a point. They may just come for you again," Fel says, mildly, getting himself a root beer, now, instead of the real thing.

"I'll be more prepared for them this time," mutters Namir. He's not the paranoid sort usually, really, but after this, who wouldn't turn just a little wary? "Besides, it could compromise my work and my life." In a job that sometimes requires him to be invisible and the element of surprise, knowing that someone out there can pinpoint him whenever they like is extremely unnerving.

Felix snorts, glancing back at Namir. "Tell me about it," he says, sourly. "Honestly, I'll bet the Bureau would be overjoyed to put these damn things in every agent."

Samantha considers a few moments. "If we did it and it worked, we'd know they might be coming. We might be ready for them. Well, you would, anyway. I don't know much about this sort of thing."

Namir nods at Felix, his expression turning wry. "I'm sure some would like to use it for criminals and the like, too, but it's unconstitutional," he grunts. To Sam he smirks and adds, "I can teach you." He's already teaching her a bit of Krav Maga; he can just step that up and add gun-training.

Well, at least he isn't taking little notes. Fel just looks dubious, but says nothing.

Samantha makes a face. "I don't even like that I should need to know this."

That gets a grin from Namir. "Oh come on, Sam, it will be great bonding time. How many other women can say that they get to beat on their boyfriends?" Humor makes it better.

"Do you have any idea how many domestic disputes I've been called in on where…." Felix trails off, with a teasing grin.

Samantha rolls her eyes at them both. "Ironic that you find this so amusing." she tells them. "You both like it when women beat up on you?"

"Oh yeah, baby, hit me hard," Namir responds in a sultry purr, winking. He turns a less-sexy look on Felix and grins again. "Like the one who slammed her boyfriend's penis in the bathroom door?" He's had his share of fun calls too.

And then Felix's expression turns entirely somber, and he looks back between them, "While I was gone - did anyone Russian come looking for me? Specifically a woman named Mariska?" he asks, before making a horrible face at Namir. "God. I remember that. That was awful. I give thanks every day I'm no longer on a foot beat."

Samantha winces and decides to spare mention of some of the cases that have come through the ER doors. "Not that I recall, Felix. Why? Are you carting around old girlfriends?"

Mariska? "Can't say I saw her around, no." Namir casts a glance at Sam, then back to Felix.

He's not so much with the tact, really. "Something like that. I had an affair with her, some years ago. Last time I was in Russia for any length of time," Fel says, bluntly. "She just reappeared. She had a daughter she claims is mine. Who has disappeared - she'd not've contacted me at all, save for that, apparently," He reaches into his shirt, draws out a battered leather wallet, and from that, a well-worn photo - it's Mariska, with a four year old girl in her arms. The child is dark-haired, and blue eyed, and both are laughing at something out of the frame. "This is what she looks like."

Samantha looks over. "So if the child's missing, you can't exactly take a paternity test. Convenient, that."

Namir also examines the photo, but neither one of them look familiar. His gaze lingers on the child a moment, though. "This couldn't be your child, Felix, she's too beautiful," he remarks, smirking. "That's the only reason she contacted you?"

"Supposedly," he says, quietly, before flashing Namir a grin. "Takes after her mother, one would hope." He nods at Sam.

Namir shrugs a little. "She could just be telling you that the girl is yours — knowing your connections and work, it's likely a ploy to get you to help her search. It could be a lie to get something else out of you … or it could be true and she's just worried about her little girl."

"I'd help her anyway, just on the chance she's mine. I don't want any one of mine growing up in Putin's Russia," Felix mutters, running a hand through his hair. "I can't imagine actually being a father. Congratulations - the father of your child is gay, mentally ill, a mutant, and a cop. You sure know how to pick 'em, lady," he says, glancing back at the photo. There's something written on the back in Cyrillic.

Samantha cocks her head. "Mentally ill?" she echoes. "Since when?"

"Felix has always been mentally ill." Namir's gaze goes to the photo again and he notes the writing on the back. Obviously he doesn't read or understand Russian, so he gives a nod toward it. "What's that on the back?"

"All my life. At least, I was diagnosed with manic depression back in my early teens," Felix says, mildly. "It says, 'One day you will know what it's like to care for someone else more than yourself.' There's a very bitter look in his eyes at that.

Samantha scowls. "That's not manipulative at all." she mutters. "So what's been done so far to try and find this girl?"

Namir grimaces a little at that. Ouch, that stings, and it wasn't even directed at him. He says nothing; Sam already asked the pertinent question.

Felix tucks away the photo. "Well, I am an asshole," he says, simply. "I think she's gone to the NYPD. And of course, the Bureau, through me."

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