1963-09-12 - Leave Only Ashes
Summary: Heather tells David about her day. As these things do, it ends with them making plans to incinerate a body.
Related: Old Friends and Cheap Booze, The Den of Sin; Missing Pieces plot
Theme Song: None
maverick heather 


Once Sue parts ways with them, Heather nods toward the stairs. "I should be at work," she admits, heading that way to go up to the apartment. "But…" She exhales sharply. "It's been a busy few days."

She is looking a little drawn around the mouth, a little red around the eyes, and that's probably not just smoke and alcohol. Heather was never really one for drink or cigarettes — it wasn't that she was prudish, though people often took it that way. She just never saw the need most of the time.

*

It isn't until they're safely into the relative privacy of the stairwell that David appears even the slightest bit curious. He takes advantage of his longer stride to come up alongside her, one hand coming to rest feather-lightly against the small of her back as he follows Heather up. "I don't suppose it's anything I can help with?" he asks lightly, the empty briefcase dangling lazily from his other hand's fingertips.

*

"Got a time machine in that briefcase?" Heather casts him a wan smile. "I'd like to go back and do a few things differently."

She doesn't think like that too often. Just sometimes, when it all piles up around her. The only way she can see out is to never have gotten here at all.

*

Well, that's concerning. David adopts a more proper grip on the briefcase and lets his hand rest more fully against her back, lips quirking into a thin, apologetic smile. "Afraid not. If I did, you'd be the first to know," he notes, and he actually does mean that.

*

"I ran into an old friend when I was looking for someone on my interview list." Heather doesn't pull away, at least. "I have to chase people down, you know. They're either afraid or ashamed. Not the mutants — if they don't want to talk, that's up to them, but a lot of them want their family to talk to me." She shakes her head. "I didn't know that part of the job would be so hard. Talking to people. I suppose it's the talking and not fixing it that's hard." Heather doesn't say more until they reach the fourth floor and she lets them into the apartment.

"I don't suppose you remember Logan, do you? I think your paths crossed back in the day." Once the door is closed behind them, she drops her satchel to the floor and then takes a seat on the bench by the door to unlace her boots. "The first dive bar I walk into in New York City and there he is, looking right at home. It wasn't bad. It was just…the past."

*

David just lets her talk as they make their way back up to the apartment. He's good at listening — it's usually more effective than anything else, honestly. Only once they're inside and she's mentioned the name does he actually make a sound: a quiet hum of surprise, his eyebrows quirking as he sets the empty briefcase down next to the door.

"A handful of times. And at Coney Island." David admits the last after a heartbeat's worth of hesitation. "Got to know his boy while I was in there. He's… well. He's Logan's son." With all that goes along with it.

Without asking, David walks briskly towards the kitchen. He knows where all the fixins for coffee are, and she could use some.

*

"Akihiro, yes. Logan mentioned him. And Weapon X. And Laura." Heather tucks her boots under the bench and sits there a moment, head on her knees, eyes closed. Maybe if she just sits here long enough, the world will give up and go away. That lasts thirty seconds before she straightens up. Chin up, Mac. You'd be bored if you stayed there.

"You'd think the world would have found a way to be kinder to him by now, but it seems not." She pushes to her feet, pulls the scarf from her hair and shakes her head. "I just…I remember. Things seemed so terrible at time when it was difficult and now I look back and all I can think…" She has to stop, blink her eyes clear, and swallow. "All I can think is that we were happy. God, we were so naive, all of us. Justice was right there if only we reached for it. I don't believe any of that anymore. I don't think I remember how to be happy anymore."

Heather stands in the middle of her living room that isn't really hers, twisting her scarf in her hands, looking lost.

*

The water has barely had a chance to sit on the burner before David turns it off. Perhaps this isn't an occasion that calls for coffee after all. David studies her quietly from the kitchen, lips pulled back into a thin, worried line.

"Careful. You're beginning to sound like me," David finally says, and his voice is quietly, gently admonishing. He steps away from the stove to approach Heather instead, head canted slightly to one side. He thinks for a moment before he just offers her a hand and nods his head towards the couch, one eyebrow raising in question.

*

"I don't want to sit." Heather takes a ragged breath and shakes her head again. "I want to do something, David. I want to fix something. All that time, it felt like we were making things better and, instead, Weapon X happened. Right under our noses."

"Look at you. Logan. Those children. They're children." Heather's hands are white-knuckled, the fabric of the red scarf cuts into her fingers. "If Mac wasn't dead, he'd…" He'd do something. He'd find a way to fix this.

*

David feels his jaw tightening and swallows down the impulse to get irritated. After all, up until they threw him into a cell, Weapon X was signing his paycheck. For eight years. And he never noticed. He should be angry here, not her. But Heather is not who he should be angry with, so he simply refuses to allow it. That's healthy.

"We are doing something," David says instead, letting his hand fall back to his side. "I've passed the files on so the story can be broken. I'm looking for other facilities, trying to work out where Stryker's run off to. And the kids are…" He rakes his hands back through his hair, looking away. "…Laura's a good kid. She's in a good place now. She'll be okay."

*

"I'm so used to fixing things." Heather does sit down now, as though her legs have decided not to have this argument anymore. "I've been able to make things better for people my whole life. I was still a child myself when I started helping Mac. Is this how it is for other people?" Heather looks up at David. "Is this why they don't pay attention, don't care? Because it wouldn't change anything, it would just hurt?"

Heather thumps her forehead against her clenched fists, elbows on her knees, in frustration. Staring at her jeans means she doesn't have to look at David right now, she's already shifting her irritation to herself.

"I'm spoiled," she mutters. "I didn't realize how good it was. There were no days off, no vacations, no normalcy, but…it was worth it. I just want that back. I want things to be okay."

*

"I can't remember the last time I made things better for people. Maybe never." David certainly isn't feeling like he's made things better for Heather right about now. He stays standing, anxiously flexing his hands and turning in place before he decides the thing to do is loosen his collar and tie. "Even during the war, nothing we did ever seemed to matter. Not really." There's a period he's never spoken a lot about.

His back to Heather, he looks down at the floor between his shoes before bringing a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose, his other hand resting against his hip. "…I'm sorry. Can I. Do you want coffee?" he asks awkwardly. "Tea? Something?"

*

Heather just pats the couch beside her wordlessly.

*

It takes a moment for David to recognize the gesture, having to look back over his shoulder to see it. Oh. He hesitates a moment before, with a resigned twitch of his lips, he obediently crosses over and lowers himself down to sit next to her.

*

Heather shifts to put her head on David's shoulder, curling up on the couch against his side. She really is very small when she tucks herself up like that. She takes a deep breath, then exhales.

"There," she says with her no-argument tone creeping back in. "You made things better for someone. Me. So you can't say you didn't."

*

David blinks a few times before letting out an amused breath, looking down and bringing his hand back up to his face. He does not try to dislodge her. "…right. Yes. You're very welcome, Heather," he says patiently.

*

"Winning always makes me feel better," Heather says, with a certain amount of insight and not much shame at all. "This is why I should never drink," she says with a little laugh. "Not even a little. It makes me frustrated with life." She hugs David's arm and presses her cheek against his shoulder. "You said you dropped the files off, I'm glad. Are you okay?"

*

Without lifting his face from his hand, David nods. "I did. I am. As long as he keeps his word and leaves the names out of the reports, that's entirely out of my hands no, so I can… I can focus on what matters." Finding Stryker. Facilities would be good, people are certain to be in need of rescuing, but… deep down, he just wants Stryker's neck.

*

"Stryker." Heather is right there with him. "He's hurt so many people. A machine has a lot of moving parts but it usually only has one source of power. He needs to be removed." She pauses, then shakes her head a little. "No. Eliminated." She always was more ruthless than Mac, than most of the people she worked with. Patient almost to a fault until the line was crossed and then…no quarter given. There's a reason her suits were codenamed Vindicator.

"It'll happen," she says, sounding like she's reassuring herself as much as David. "People need to be safe from him."

*

"Katherine wants him tried," David notes in a quiet voice, and it's his turn to give a very small shake of his head, finally lifting his face from his hand. "She doesn't understand. Courts, prisons — they don't work on people like this. It wouldn't stop any of this." He draws in a slow breath, holds it, then exhales. Calm. "We need him. And we need the source of his funding."

*

"You're right. She's young. I remember when I thought that way, too. This is not the time for her to find out the hard way." Heather understands but she's not about to make that mistake. "I agree. This has to end." She gives David's arm another squeeze. "Pragmatically speaking. I know you have your own very good reasons for wanting this ended with certainty. How it happens, well, if that brings some comfort…"

*

"She may not forgive me, but. If that's what's necessary to make this stop." David gives a careful shrug, not wanting to jostle her too badly with the gesture, and tightly clasps his hands in his lap, staring down at the floor beyond his knuckles. Katherine would probably be better off without him, anyway.

He flicks his eyes over to Heather for a moment before returning his gaze to the floor. "Do you still have friends back home?" he asks slowly. "Anyone you trust who might be able to help us track the money?"

*

Heather thinks a moment, then nods. "You'd be surprised at how many rebels there are in finance. I can find someone." She sighs deeply, eyes closed. It's good to have something to focus on, a problem she can solve. Now that she has that to hold onto, that she might be edging toward fixing this for people, she can relax a little. "I'm glad you're here, David."

*

David can't do anything to stop the short laugh that bubbles free at that. He leans back into the couch and lolls his head back to stare up at the ceiling with an odd, humorless smile on his face. "Thank you. I think." He leaves his hands clasped tightly where they are, works his jaw for a moment. "I'm sorry to have brought this to you, but not sorry that you can help. Or for the company."

*

"I feel like this is one of those times that feels like hell and, then, years from now I'll look back on it and wish I could be here again." Heather lifts her head to look up at David, resting her chin on him. "Maybe because by then I'll know how we fixed this and it'll seem so simple in retrospect. Not because I've lost you as well. I really am glad you're here. I wanted to say it so…I don't know. Superstition. So I'm not taking it for granted. Friends who 'knew us when' are getting thinner on the ground every day."

*

That makes David's expression soften, head still tipped back to study her ceiling. "…mmh. That's true," he admits quietly. After a moment's thought, he finally shifts enough to jostle Heather, but only so he can loosely wrap his arm around her shoulders instead of leaving it pinned between them. Then, hesitantly: "Danke schoen."

*

The German only gives Heather a moment's pause. "You're welcome. But you don't have to thank me for the truth." Heather huffs softly, like an angry little red bull. "I'll mean it even more when we mount that bastard's head on the wall." She narrows her eyes at David, looking determined. "I've had men taxidermied for less."

*

"He's not pretty enough to stuff," David replies dismissively, finally lifting his head. "I don't want to leave enough of him lying around for these people to take a sample from. They'd just grow a new one," he mutters darkly, his free hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose one more time.

*

"Point taken." Heather grimaces at the idea of a Stryker clone. She has a better idea, one that cheers her up a little more. "We'll just burn it all down. They can't work with ashes."

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