2007-08-29: You Got The Furies On Your Side


Felix_icon.gif Mariska_icon.gif

Summary: Conversation hearts wish they could be this sweet.

Date It Happened: August 29th, 2007

You Got the Furies On Your Side

Hartsdale, NY - Primatech - Cells

Oh, well, this is a new development. Fel is diverted from Neil Gaiman and Alexandre Dumas by the sight of unconscious Misha being summarily dumped into the cell across from him. He waits patiently for her to wake. He's not going anywhere, he's got all the time in the world, right? So when Misha swims back to consciousness, there's useless biological father eyeing her patiently.

Ugh. Black Marias, indeed. Those tranquilizer darts aren't anything to fuck with, as Mariska has come to discovery first-hand, head still swimming even as she lays prostrate on the bunk in her new and improved holding tank. NOW WITH MORE STERILITY! Slowly… very slowly… she struggles to become upright, one hand holding her head. It's the classic 'ow, my brain' pose if ever there was one.

«You were in the nicer rooms. What did you do to get thrown down here?» wonders Nikolaievich, conversationally, resting his palm against the glass.

It's really all she can do to keep her head steady between her palms; the vertigo that comes with consciousness is powerful stuff. «I left,» she confesses, voice froggy.

Fel still doesn't know what Mariska's little monkey trick is. No one's ever told him. «Left how?» he says, tugging the little sad folding chair over so he can sit and still see her.

This is what it must be like to see her hungover. Take the comedy where you can find it. With a little grunt, Mariska finally lifts her face from her hands and turns her head to more directly address her across-the-hall-cell(-)mate. «…what?» She must not understand the question. Or maybe she just didn't hear it.

It's the morning after they never had, because Felix is the kind of callous bastard who doesn't stick around for breakfast. «What do you mean, you left?» he says, gently, slouching forward a little, resting his elbows on his knees. «I don't understand.»

«I /left/.» What the hell is this, the third degree? «I was in the room… and then I wasn't in the room…» Wait. She's doing this on purpose. Right? «It's what I do.»

«That's your trick? What has them so interested in you? You jump?» He's slowly starting to piece it together.

Mariska bobs her head gingerly, up and down, in a weak nod. «Something like that. I can… go anywhere I've ever been before…» Is someone recording this because, seriously, this might somehow be filling in some blanks on somebody's paperwork somewhere… or something.

Felix cant his head at her. «You can jump away. But how are you still here, then?»

«You mean… /why/ am I still here,» she slowly corrects, lifting her head enough to hazard a look that might pass for pointed if they weren't ten feet away from each other and separated my dual layers of unbreakable glass.
«Yes» he says, simply, meeting her gaze. «Good behavior? You should have gone. You know where she is, now. You could have jumped back and gotten her, any time you chose.»

Mariska's retort is only timidly terse, as she can't really gather up enough bile to be bitchy while her brain is still spinning in her skull. «Gone where? What good would that have done… the condition she's in…» Or the condition /she's/ in; mother and daughter made interchangeable for the sake of a phrase. «…anyhow, it doesn't really work like that.»

Felix points out, quietly, «You'd be free. Out of their hands. She's something valuable to them. You might've been able to deal….» He trails off, props his forehead on one hand, for a moment. He still can't believe it's come to this. It just gets more surreal as time goes on.

«She's a child, not a bargaining chip!» Though, all things considered, Mariska's the only one who seems to think so. Even the slightest raising of her voice causes her ears to ring, however, and so she pares down her righteous indignation into a quieter shade of mild annoyance when she says, «I don't expect you to understand that.»

«She's your daughter. To everyone else here, she's a pawn on the board,» He says, lifting one hand to mime moving a chesspiece. His voice is calm, distant.

Mariska's inclined to agree with the cold-hearted spook, if it leaves a bad taste in her mouth. Or maybe that's from the tranquilizer. She expresses her frustration with the situation by pinching the bridge of her nose and then sweeping her fingers up over both brows before letting her hand fall away from her face. «She's your daughter, too.» Alright. Raise your hand if you saw that one coming.

«Everyone keeps saying that like they can make that matter,» Felix replies, very quietly. «What have I done for her? Nothing. Mariska. I never even knew your name. They have your daughter. I'm sorry for it. I'll do what is in my power to have her reunited with you. But you have to realize - you're chasing a ghost. The child you knew is dead. The one upstairs, or where-ever it is she sleeps at night? Doesn't know you. No more than she knows me. I'm not married. I have no children. There's a good reason for that.»

That's a hard load of half-truths to hear but Mariska bears it with the fortitude of a woman who's shaking off the last vestiges of a coma cocktail and, thus, she doesn't have a whole hell of a lot to retort. And that probably makes it a little bit worse for the asshole in the other cell because it means that his words are now hung in the air like the echo of a false note. She's not got the strength to chew them up and spit them out right now… she's just going to choke on them for a bit.

Felix simply sits, and waits. He's got plenty of time, and nowhere to be. Not to mention nothing left.

After what must feel like forever, Mariska finally finds her feet and slowly she stands and approaches the big picture window with the panoramic view of the sterile hall and the other cell that mirrors her own, occupant and all. Two sides of the same coin. Two halves of the same whole. Similar and different simultaneously. With her forehead leaned up against the glass, she says, «I want you to do something for me…»

Amazing, isn't it? An evening's pleasure, seven years, and heartbreak. All because of this jerk. «What?» he says, looking at her, calmly.

Mariska suddenly slams the palm of her hand against the glass, repercussions to her sensitive eardrums be damned. «Stop. Apologizing.» Her gaze tilts down, so that she's looking at him directly and not the back wall of his cell. «I'm so sick of hearing about how sorry you are.»

«I am sorry.» he says, but he does stand up to face her. «I mean, fuck. A one night stand comes back to bite me in the ass, destroy everything I ever worked for? Lady, you got the Furies on your side, alright. I don't have any way of making it better. I used to have this fantasy that I was a decent guy. That I wasn't an asshole. That the people I fucked and walked away from didn't care, because we both knew what we were getting into, no strings attached. I don't know what you want from me, Mariska. I don't.»

The truth of the matter is… neither does she. They never really had a plan but, to be sure, this — getting kidnapped and thrown together and torn apart — certainly wouldn't ever have been part of it if they'd bothered to concoct one. Mariska draws herself away from the window and returns to the edge of the cot to sit down again. It was too soon to make a stand, anyways.

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