2009-11-25: Turnarounds



Date: November 25th, 2009


Tracy tries to bring Ivory out of his depressed state and gives him a confession (no she's not pregnant); plans are made, broken and changed. Also, soup.


New York City

The hotel room Tracy has been keeping is meant for one but not completely crowded for two; it's a nice hotel, after all, if not over-the-top. And for the moment, it should only be inhabited by one person: Ivory. As much as Tracy was reluctant to leave him for even a second, she insisted it was important to pick up a few things after the Senator's not-quite-rescue.

When she opens the door barely fifteen minutes later, she almost expects him to be gone again — hence the hasty, apprehensive glance that the now familiar room gets before she even steps inside and the nearly shaky manner in which the normally confident lobbyist closes the door behind her. She's carrying a few bags; a white shopping bag and a clear plastic bag holding some manner of takeout.

Where In The World Is Senator Ivory Wynn? Nowhere. Okay, that's a bit of a lie. He's in the hotel room, very likely in the same place that Tracy left him. He is, after all, in a completely depressed and devastated state. He's perched on the edge of the sofa, remote control in hand and staring at the television. Occasionally, he looks like he's paying attention to whatever manner of stupidity is crawling across the screen through visual imagery, but most of the time he just seems to be zoned all the way out and then some. Nothing's is going to shake him out of this crazy funk he's in, if he can help it. At least he seems a bit more sober than he was earlier. Hooray.

Hooray. Tracy can't help but be both relieved and disheartened on seeing Ivory exactly where she left him; these sentiments play out on her features in the form of a faint frown while she pauses for an instant by the door, but of course he can't see. "I got you some soup," Tracy she quietly, the well-meaning tone in her voice not quite full of enough life. She moves to the sofa, turning on a lamp as she sits down to banish some of the dreary dimness from the room. "And .. some clothes. I had to get them from a street vendor, but they're better than what you're wearing." That bag is laid over the arm of the chair. From the other, she retrieves a small styrofoam bowl with a lid and tries to hand it, with a spoon, to the sobering Senator. She takes a bottle of water out, too. "You look like you could use this. Hey. Talk to me, Ivory."

Ivory's attention continues to pretend to watch the television. He even brings the remote control up and presses the channel button to make it change. That should help trick the Tracester, shouldn't it? "Nothin' to say." Ivory remarks, not even looking to see what's being handed to him. He's so not a happy camper and thus the soup and the water are not things he's wishing to partake in right now. He's more worried about accepting his fate and being taken away from this Earth far before he thought he would go. "You wanted to prolong my inevitable demise. We're prolonging it. Case closed."

Tracy only frowns at first, more concerned than disapproving; she puts the food and water away, back in the bag, and sets it aside for now without a word. For a moment, she simply sits back in silence and thought, touching her right arm lightly with the faintest hint of a wince, reserved; there's a vague shape under the white fabric of her sweater that indicates she's wearing a brace under there.

Eventually — inevitably — she can't take it anymore and slides closer, shoulder-to-shoulder on Ivory's left and puts the hand of her better arm tightly on his knee. Glancing at the remote, she has half a mind to take it, but not yet. "Why can't we prolong it indefinitely?" she challenges. "You can't just give up. If you're being set up as the one to fall, then— it's giving them what they want. I'm not willing to accept that. You find a way to make this better, let me do my job and help you, or… fine. Say you don't. Say that you run. I'm going with you."

"I was thinking less running and more hiding." Ivory remarks, just shrugging at the possible trying to talk him out of this funk. It's not going to be easy, it seems. Not while he's looking at the television and not even beginning to let the woman in that he should be letting in. Of all people. "Listen. This is not your fight. Maybe you should just play Dumb Blonde and get out of this while you still can. You don't have a drop of blood on your hands. Mine are drenched." Ivory finally puts the remote control down on the table in front of him and just kind of looks in the direction of where Tracy's sitting. "I don't need anybody else getting hurt because I can't deliver on what I promised I could. Especially someone I really care about."

The woman's eyes are fixed on Ivory whether he'll look her in the eye or not. His words only serve to elicit a tightened jaw and sigh. "Play Dumb Blonde. Are you kidding me? There's no getting out of this for me, not unless the whole Protocol is put out of order, don't you get that? I'm covered in blood, just… not for the same reasons." She looks away, as though at a loss, but swiftly fixes on Ivory once more, more resolute. "I'm not leaving you in this thing alone. I'll just find you again if I have to. I— " Tracy cuts herself off for an instant, troubled by her own thoughts; she shakes her head, leaning in closer. "I'll be honest. If you were anybody else, I'd be leaving you high and dry right about now, but I can't." There is something very literal about the way she says those words: I can't. Decisively, she grabs his hand. Less decisively, she says quietly: "…I wanna tell you something."

Ivory blinks. He's not really sure he's ready to be hit with anymore bombshells. But then, he doesn't really have a choice. He's stuck in this hotel room. He's not even going to try and escape, because that would just be pointless. Especially when she's threatening to find him again. It would all just be too pointless. "Tell me?" Ivory looks down at the hand that has his and he just kind of fights at a small smirk. He's trying not to do that thing where he makes a joke. But even if he's all mopey and depressed, he cannot fight his personality instincts for long. "You're not pregnant, are you?" Ha. See? A joke. Kind of.

Tracy looks at Ivory as though he's grown two heads and tried to eat her soul. "I— uh, wooow." Her eyes, widened comically, go back to normal as she actually smiles a Ivory finding some of his usual ways again. "No. God no. That's all we need." It takes a moment to get back on track after being quite so derailed. She looks down, straight blonde hair spilling forward.

"No, it's just… you know— the night… when… I told you that I was the reason Malden's accountant was missing because I'd killed him?" The words are not taken lightly, forced out in a measured fashion so as not to shake; her gaze, turned up once more to Ivory, hardens so that she can go on with her reluctant (but determined) confession. "Before you called me, I was on my way to the Key Bridge," Tracy says bleakly. She'll let Ivory decipher just what that means. "I suppose that means you saved me. So. I guess I owe you. Just let me return the favour. Get you out've whatever it is you're in."

Ivory kind of listens and realizes that she may be saying something that's very important. And it turns out to be something that he doesn't think he'd have ever heard. Saved her? From? Well. It could only be that. Something like that. Something like he's sure he would've been thinking up sooner or later. Even though he squeezes at Tracy's hand to show that he understands what she's telling him, he figures that he may need to keep deflecting things with his charmingly comedic side, if only to make sure that this conversation doesn't go into morbid territory. "You know, we could just have mindless sex for the next twenty four to forty eight hours. I'd accept that as payment." Wink?

It's true. This conversation is thoroughly depressing — until Ivory chimes in. "Half 'n hour ago, you looked like you were dying," Tracy reminds Ivory with a chastising tone even though she's now smiling. "I'm serious Ivory." Which isn't to say she will — or can — say no to the plans for the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours. She reaches down to the bag of takeout resting on the floor in front of the sofa. "Are you sure you don't want some soup? It's from the place across the street, I hear they're famous for their minestrone."

Ivory can't really stop himself. Tracy's just so fine and he's so… well. "Tell you what. I'll eat the soup. Drink the water. I'll even shower and get changed. Hell, I'll even cheer up and stop being a Gloomy Gus." Ivory flashes a bit of a grin, before he looks off to the side and then back at Tracy. And even though his tone is still nasal-y, he's not about to let his eyes not see her with that hungry glare that he tends to have when he's looking at her. "But I'm gonna' need someone to play nurse." Ivory pauses and looks innocent. "Any suggestions?"

Now that's more like it. Tracy starts to smile like the Cheshire Cat as Ivory starts to seem to fall back into more normal habits. "You're astonishing, Senator," she chastises again — it is, however, spoken through an amused laugh, a glimmer in her neatly mascara'd eyes. "Well." She disentangles her hand from Ivory's and glides to her feet, only to situate herself easily back down on the Senator instead of the sofa. "I'm no nurse but I'll see what I can do," she answers with a smirk while offering the container of soup again.

"You know. I'm finding it hard to use my arm. I think I hurt it while I was drinking." Ivory says, falling back into his old ways, even though he's got something of a smile on his lips. He still looks and sounds like liquid death, thanks to him being sick. But he's figuring she's not worried too much about that. "Maybe you can make sure I get this soup in me. So I'll be all big and strong for the endless fight we've got ahead of us." Ivory may be pushing it, but considering that he's got a lap full of Tracy, he's doubting she'll have a problem with the feeding.

"Your arm," Tracy repeats incredulously. Who's the one who has a broken arm? If she knew just how strongly she's affected by Ivory, she'd blame the enthrallment, but as it is, she doesn't truly even think before gladly going along with his little game. Carefully, she tugs the lid off the soup, spoon in hand. "You know I could still call Erin. Her power, she can reverse it. Then— " Smiling slyly, she lifts the little plastic spoon up as though Ivory is a two year old. Except not. Because it's sexy. We'll go with that. "You'd be even better prepared."

Frown. Even though he's slurping the soup. But he's still frowning. "She's the one that did this to me. She'd probably jump at the chance to make it worse." Ivory's a little adamant about this but maybe not. He's kind of in the position to be convinced, considering that he's got a hot blonde on his lap feeding him soup. "Wait. She doesn't know I'm here, does she?" He's a little worried when he says that last bit, even taking a glance at the door. "I can't believe I used to watch her crap show either."

"She was…" Tracy's smile falters into something slightly darker and more tense, quite out of place given her current nurse duty, spoon poised in the air. She sets it down in the famous soup. "She was angry, and— she was vengeful. What she did wasn't right, but I understand." More than she can even explain to Ivory. "But she's my friend, and she knows you mean a lot to me." She glances to the door as well, a hint of suspicion flashing in her eyes, though not over Erin. "Erin doesn't know I'm here, but if your plan is to hide, then we can't stay here for long. I'm being watched." Not by Erin, obviously. Tracy is being watched everywhere. It probably would be safer for them to separate, but the thought is repeatedly dismissed every time it crossed her mind.

"I'll just wait it out." is the verdict on the situation involving getting more sicked by the Erin. With her evil ass. He's looking back at Tracy in the next moment. He frowns. "What do you mean you're being watched? I thought I cleared all of that up?" Ivory's a little worried now. More worried than he originally was. "Did something change? Something happened didn't it? Marilyn?"

Annoyance flickers across Tracy's features, causing them to be tense for an instant, but she doesn't push it. She just wants Ivory to get better. "No," she says, shaking her head. "No. Or maybe it has, that's not exactly knowledge I'm privy to," she replies, faintly bitter. "You've just been gone. An agent came here… threatening me. Danko? He had no qualms about telling me what he thought about me," she says, coldness in here eyes but thankfully, for Ivory's health and well-being, nowhere else. "He's handling my 'probation' since you've been MIA. But listen— " Up comes the spoon again. "We were careful coming in. If someone comes, then, I'll cover for you until we can go somewhere else. Right now, you just have to feel focus on feeling better." So eat your soup.

"Danko?" It's hard to tell if Ivory recognizes the name or not. Whatever the case may be, he's just going to let it roll off his tongue for the moment. "We're going back to D.C. Tonight. Somebody has to let these idiots know that Daddy's Home. And he's not about to let some…" Ivory trails off, letting his thoughts about anybody messing with his Tracy's probation fall by the wayside. "You drive. I'll eat." Somebody's ready to get back to work. Kind of.

Surprised, but not disagreeably so in the least, Tracy gives Ivory a decisive nod. She sits up straighter on Ivory's lap and leans toward the hotel's small end table to set the soup aside. "If by drive you mean hail a taxi. There's just one problem," she says as she gets to her feet, turning to offer her left hand down to Ivory.

"I was supposed to get tested. I have … some sources, including someone in the Protocol, who suspects there's someone there using… I don't know, some kind of mind control. I don't know what to believe, Ivory, I have these… gaps in my memory— " A fact that has been weighing on her for some weeks; she seems more troubled by it the more time passes, a reality that's easy to see here and now, given the woman's unnerved and angry twist of features. "I know someone here in the city with a lab who can run a test. Gene said I could go there."

"And I'm saying you can't go there. We have work to do. You owe me, remember? You don't need to be tested for nothing. You need to be with me. And we need to bring this government nonsense down to its knees before we strike a final blow and ruin our political careers forever." Ivory sighs a little bit, knowing that's what the future holds. But he's still willing to fight for that. Anyway. Regardless. And a bunch of other synonyms. "The only memory we need is what we're trying to do. Right?"

Besides the fact that it's Ivory saying them, none of those words instil particular confidence in Tracy. She trusts him. She owes him. But the look she gives him is nothing short of unsure; a dangerous creature in this climate. "I think it might benefit us to know if there's someone messing with our minds," she points out diplomatically as possible. "I've been… going crazy trying to remember…" Frustrated by those very things she can't remember, those blank spaces, she trails off only to pick up at a later point of contest. "I can spin anything. We don't have to ruin ourselves doing it." Tracy brings her hand to her forehead tiredly and slowly pushes her hair behind her ear. "But fine, you're right. Of course. We need to get back to Washington."

"Look. We'll get back to D.C. and get ourselves back in business." Ivory can tell that poor Tracy is at a bit of a loss. So he's going to keep offering some more advice. And helpful words. "And I'll set you up with someone to test you for that memory loss stuff. We've got resources too, y'know. And I'd rather have someone I can trust poking around in that head of yours than somebody who could be working for that Geekshow that found me at Nipsy's."

"No offense but it doesn't sound like you know who to trust anymore." Tracy moves away from Ivory and the sofa to start throwing things together around the hotel room, starting with a laptop on a dresser going into a case. "It's a lab test, not brain surgery. Y'now, I was thinking the other day that I don't even remember where I was when I was taken in by Max's team?" What else could be missing? She looks over her shoulder as she zips the laptop case, but shakes her head dismissively; Ivory seems to have made up his mind and she'll follow him wherever he goes.

"I made some mistakes. You cleared my mind. I'll fix them. And I'll find a way to get your memories back, if that's what you want. But I just want to find a way to fix all of this before it really becomes too late. I have bad luck, lately and if I don't do something about it soon, it's going to spread and everyone I know is going to get caught up in it. And I don't think I have a strong enough conscience for that." Ivory's not about to let this woman out of his sight, it sounds like.

Tracy, on her way from whisking to the dresser to the bed to lay the laptop case down, halts and looks at Ivory for a good, long moment. She says nothing; she simply slides the case off her good arm and walks to him, perching next to him on the sofa once more to kiss him (sickness be damned). "You have a good conscience." Perhaps better than she thinks hers is at the moment. As such, her voice is respectful, almost in awe of Ivory's principles. "Let's get out've here."

"… Right behind you." Ivory pauses though, before he gets up. Making sure to reach for one of Tracy's hands. "Wait. Want to go a quick round before we skidaddle? It's such a nice room. It shouldn't go to waste." Oy. Californication!

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