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It's a perfectly mundane way to spend a Friday afternoon: stopping at a diner for lunch while out running errands. Of course, the actual errands that David has been running are far less mundane, but noone else needs to know that.
Whatever else he's been doing today, David is currently hitched up on a stool at the counter, a heavy backpack on the floor next to his feet that doesn't really match the black and white suit he's wearing in the slightest. His plate is just about clean and he has both hands wrapped around a mug of coffee that has been refilled more times than he's tried to keep count of.
*
It's a far less mundane afternoon stalking teachers to try to figure out who used your work for nefarious purposes. While her Fantastic friends think that Sue is out running errands, she's been rather invisible for most of the day. Which is why, when she walks into the diner, she's incredibly identifiable as Sue Storm of the Fantastic Four thanks to her unstable molecule suit.
She shuffles almost immediately to the back with a shopping bag in hand, and disappears for five minutes only to return in slacks and a blouse overtop the uniform. In fact, she's still doing up buttons on her blouse as she steps towards the counter. The price tag still sticks out the top of the blouse, peeking out at the neckline as she rights herself on the stool.
She retrieves a menu from the counter and glances at the offerings before turning her head to catch the waitress's attention, "Coffee. Please."
But as she turns her head, a familiar face is identified to her right, and a nearly feline smile tugs at her already fatigued features. "Mister North," she greets as warmly as she can muster, which, unfortunately isn't as warm as she intends. She slides off her stool, and chooses a spot next to the gentleman before perching herself once more. "A lovely place to lunch," she observes quietly. "Although a bit off the beaten path from Manhattan…"
*
When Sue arrives, David doesn't turn to look back towards the door — his eyes flick up to the metal strip where the waitresses tuck orders for the cooks to check the reflection. Even though it isn't a perfect mirror… a dark haired woman and a whole lot of blue? Yeah, he can tell who that is. He drops his eyes to his plate and smiles to himself, sipping his coffee.
So he doesn't look too surprised when the seat next to his winds up occupied. David finally looks up and offers a warm smile, his eyebrow briefly jumping a bit at the way she's looking at him. That much, it seems, was unexpected.
"Miss Storm. We're both roaming a bit today, I suppose," David muses. After a pause, he gestures towards the tag in her collar. "Would, ah… would you like me to cut that for you?"
*
A self-deprecating chuckle emits from Sue's lips. "New York is big," she observes easily through a fan of fingers. "There's many place to roam," she manages to find that warmth in her tone again — almost like honey sweetening a bitter cup of coffee. Sue is nothing if not amiable.
The gesture at the question cause her eyebrows to lift with surprise and Sue's hand trails to the tag. A faint roll of her eyes and a stitch of a smile follow, "Yes. Please be a dear." And at that her coffee arrives. Her cheeks hue pale pink, "I needed…" Her smile turns strangely distant "…a breather. I was rather.. covert first thing." Hence the new clothes with the tags still on.
*
Without thinking about it, David's free hand goes to the clean knife next to his plate, his other reaching out to carefully seize the tag at the back of Sue's collar. And that's when his brain very abruptly catches up with him. The color drains from his face and he immediately sets the knife back down, forcing himself to take a deep, steadying breath. Easy.
With a very quietly-stammered apology, David reaches over to tug the tag free, instead, being careful not to damage the fabric.
*
Unfortunately (or fortunately?) for David, Sue is incredibly attuned to people. Her eyebrows draw together with concern as she reaches out to squeeze his shoulder. "Mister North," there's a pause, "are you quite alright?" She frowns as the knife is rather immediately pushed away from David.
*
"No. But it isn't your fault," David replies awkwardly, reaching out to wrap both hands around his coffee mug to try and hide the tremble they've picked up. He offers her an unsteady smile. "I'll be fine. Please," he adds, gesturing towards her menu. "Order your lunch."
*
"Not my fault," Sue repeats, "but certainly, in part, my responsibility. That's what community is, Mister North." And then remembering their last encounter, "David." She nods once. "And," she glances back to the menu, "fine hardly qualifies as well." After days of running away from her problems, she has come back with a fresh perspective of sorts. "I should know," she adds blandly as her lips purse.
*
David has far too many women like this in his life. He could argue, insist that he is responsible for remembering his own issues — but he knows better. He just ducks his head in graciously-accepted defeat. "As you like it, Sue." Once she returns to first names, so does he. Only polite. "Rough couple of days, hm?"
*
Sue hums quietly. "As my brother implied, I went walkabout." Her eyebrows lift and the coffee is brought to her lips. Her jaw tightens and she hums again. "Has anyone ever stolen something from you, David?" she chews her bottom lip. She shuffles on the stool and considers the thought further. "And I don't mean just stolen it, but warped it into something it wasn't intended?" Her fingers drum against her cup. "Obsession and…" her head tilts with a quiet admission, "guilt have made the days rougher. Although, I'd rather my chosen family not know." Community and responsibility are, however, two way streets. "They're already concerned enough," she adds easily. "And yourself?"
*
The answer to Sue's question is a very simple, quietly voiced "Yes." that carries a great deal of weight behind it. David's going to need a moment before he trusts his hands enough to actually lift his coffee. "I'm sorry to hear you're going through something like that. It's a terrible thing." He glances over and manages a weak smile. "I'm… improving," he decides. "I was in a pretty pitiful state not that long ago. Heather's hospitality — and yours — have done wonders. Thank you."
*
Sue's eyebrows draw together and her head shakes slightly, "I've done little. And please, we live in community and we must support one another where we can. Otherwise," her chin lifts defiantly, "why are we doing what we do?" Her lips turn upwards slightly, "It probably seems ludicrous, but my ideals never included notoriety. I'm a visible minority woman in the sciences — I'm lucky I got into a doctoral program at all. No, I was content to be, oddly," her eyebrows lift, "invisible. But my intentions have never changed. We live in community to help each other." She taps her nose with her free hand, "Heather, however, she is an exceptional human being. And I'm sure whatever hospitality you've received is more deserved than you'll ever acknowledge."
And then, almost as an afterthought she adds, "I'm glad you're improving. And I'm sorry that things were rough at all. Truly." Because empathy can extend beyond knowing someone's circumstances. "Is there anything I can do to help?"
*
Normally, David would politely dismiss the offer of help and go back to his drink. Normally, offers of help are not given to him by a member of the Fantastic Four. And so, David actually stops to seriously consider this, his brow furrowing.
After a long moment of silence, David shifts on his seat so that he can face Sue instead. "…possibly. Though it is a topic better suited to a quiet booth than the counter, I think," he admits.
*
After David's words, Sue flags the waitress, "I'll have a Denver sandwich. Please." But she motions that she aims to move locations. The coffee is drawn from the counter then, and Sue gives a small tick of her head to signal he should follow her towards the back of the Diner to a quiet corner. "Well then, shall we?" But even before he can reply, easy steps take the woman to the booth where she slides in and settles back into her seat — setting the coffee down.
Once she's settled, she watches David carefully. "So. How can I help?"
*
With coffee in one hand and his backpack gripped by the other, David follows Sue back to her booth of choice. Once he slides in across from her, he tucks the bag down next to his feet again. Ah. Better.
"I am looking for someone who very much does not want me to find him," David explains, carefully setting his drink down and clasping his hands. "He's hurt a lot of people. And he needs to be made to answer for it. But I can't make that happen until I can find him." He spreads his hands. "It's a long shot, but you probably have access to resources Heather and I don't."
*
Sue leans back in her seat and she tightens her jaw slightly. Her head tilts to the side thoughtfully and she contemplates the resources at her fingertips. "Well, I'm sure you know we're rather…" she considers the best word "…public with our identities." Which in many respects can be useful. "That said, I'm happy to do what I can to help you find this man. I have some people I can contact if needed." She frowns slightly, "Who is he? What did he do?"
*
David fishes a pen out of his jacket before grabbing a napkin to begin writing, his jaw tight. "William Stryker. He works for… I hope to god they're a rogue government agency," he explains, the latter observation coming in a very quiet, dark mutter. "They're responsible for hundreds of kidnappings. Experimentation." He glances up to offer her a tight smile. "I was a guest of his for a few weeks. That's… I'm not fit to be alone right now, so Heather…"
*
The name doesn't have much effect on Sue. The description, however, sees Sue's eyes darkening. Her face pales. Her jaw tightens. Sue Storm turns deathly serious in ten seconds flat. Her fingers curl around her cup, ever tightening until psionic energy crumbles the ceramic in her hands. Coffee spills everywhere, and still she stares forward. "William Stryker," she repeats quietly. She'd read the data, but she didn't have a name. "Experiments on…" her jaw tightens further if at all possible. "…mutants?"
*
David pauses to eye what used to be Sue's coffee mug. One can practically see the gears working behind his eyes and, as he reflects on the beginning of their conversation… his expression darkens to match hers. Ah. Without a word about the spill, he just reaches over to grab a fistfull of fresh napkins and starts dropping them onto the coffee to begin soaking it up…
…and continues talking. "Yes. Humans were also taken, but I don't know what's being done to them," David says quietly. "He's in the wind and I need to find him. Find out where he's getting his money. Find any other facilities and get people out. Stop all of this."
*
For a woman ever in control, the coffee on the table doesn't garner Sue's attention. Instead, William Stryker, a man she's never met receives her mental ire. The dead serious expression remains. "He stole my work. And used it to hurt people." She levels a stare at David. "I didn't have a name." But with a name things can be done. "I will see what I can find," she whispers.
*
"Anything you can find… bring it to Heather," David replies quietly, meeting her stare with a very even one of his own. "I know your nom de guerre is well-deserved, but — let us help you fix this." He extends the one dry napkin of the bunch across the table, complete with notes in brief. Very softly, he adds, "Your family took her in when she needed help. I owe you. Please. I will fix this."
*
A diplomatic, too-sweet smile edges Sue's lips and her chin drops. "Of course," but hell hath no fury. Her fingers clasp the napkin and she finally mops up the mess that has spilled on her. But the smile fails at Heather's need for help. "You owe us nothing," she offers in return. "We simply do things because they happen to be what need to be done."
*
<Please. I need to fix this.> The steadiness that had been present in David's expression is beginning to show some cracks, but it's his voice where it's most apparent, even speaking as softly as he is. <It's my fault. I should have seen what they really were sooner. I could have stopped it years ago if I'd just been paying enough attention.>
*
Sue is incensed — it's easy to see, but it's not from present company. Knowing who deserves her retaliation ignites new fire underneath her. <It's not your fault. Unless you imprisoned those people. Unless you stole scientific ideas before they were published. No, it's not your fault.> There's a long pause. <But it is our responsibility to fix it. Collectively.>
*
All the reassurances that it isn't his fault just make David's expression grow pained. But the note on collective responsibility has him closing his eyes and letting out a quiet, relieved sigh. <And we will. I… we have some files, Heather and I,> he says slowly, reaching up to rub his forehead. <They came from a facility in New Orleans. I gave the originals to a journalist, but if copies would be of use to you…>
*
<Aish! New Orleans?! We received files from one in Coney Island! How big is this operation?!> As the angry Korean demonstrates Sue's feelings on the matter, her sandwich arrives, and the waitress retreats as quickly as possible. No one wants to deal with the very angry asian woman. <I could use copies. I will review them and…> her jaw tightens. <Reed has contacts that may be able to flag this Stryker…>
*
<I don't know. I was recruited by Canadian intelligence for this project nearly ten years ago, but it was…> David looks down at his hands, and his voice is very small. <…I volunteered. I didn't know. I didn't think about — I didn't think.> He should have. <I'll make copies of everything we have. I'll have them to you by dinner.>
*
Sue glowers. <Evidently their mandate expanded.> She's no longer hungry and has no desire to eat the sandwich, but she reaches into her pocket to draw out several bills — for the coffee, the sandwich, and the mess. Force-fields breaking dishes is something she hadn't accounted for when she set out to do this. <Thank you, David.> Her head cants as she watches him a moment longer. <We will do what needs to be done. But,> she lets that word dangle momentarily, <if it's gotten that big without anyone noticing for a long while, we need to be smart and ensure it's rooted out completely.> Not just what's on the surface.
*
Even though his side of the table is still covered in napkins to sop up the spilled coffee, David rests his elbows there all the same, one hand coming up to rest across his mouth as he forces his eyes back up to Sue's face. He nods weakly. <I agree. And if you have any questions… please. I will answer as many as I can.> He swallows hard. <I was at Coney Island for three weeks. Anything I can tell you is yours for the asking.>
*
Sue works her jaw as she tries to consider what exactly she should be asking. And finally she lands on the one that begs to be asked, <Does it hurt? The chemical process involved in — > her eyes turn down. <It was supposed to reverse… > her and Reed were determined to find a solution when everything started. But then the road to hell is paved with good intentions. <That's why I started down this path… using it to…> she frowns and her eyebrows draw together sharply. <It's bad enough they aim to generate weapons, but it can't be a painless process.> She frowns. <It wasn't just my work they used,> they borrowed from other scholars <it's that they stole it. It's not published. It's not defended. It's not available. How they got it…> she shakes her head. Following her committee has thus far turned up empty. But now she knows a link; she needs to watch for Stryker.
<What were they doing, exactly? And why? Obviously trying to weaponize people, but the files look… more complicated than that.>
*
<Whatever your research was, I'm… I don't know that they used it on me,> David admits, his tone apologetic. The fact that it's a question he can't answer bothers him almost more than actually having an answer would. <I'm sorry.>
He straightens in his seat and runs his hand over his jaw, as if thoughtfully stroking the beard that is no longer there. <I don't know what their actual goals are. Honestly, it's probably a twisted arms escalation with the communists,> he says with a dismissive wave of his hand and a roll of his eyes. <But I can tell you what they did to me. To one of the people who was with me.>
He considers it a moment before he, too, lays a few bills on the table and shifts to rise. <…but at home. Maybe… maybe with Heather,> David adds, suddenly looking uncertain. <I haven't told her. I know I should.>
*
A nod of ascent follows the thoughts as well as a lot of silence. She discontent not knowing. Her fingers drum against the table as she slides back to her feet. <I think…> her lips press together tightly. <What I've seen suggests that we aren't people. Not metas, not mutants, not anyone with altered DNA. And those responsible for this project are aiming to exploit the fact that we are different. Because they can operate in a grey zone to charge some with servitude. And others with a more…> she hesitates <…exacting solution.> Her face blanches at the thought and nausea enters the pit of her stomach.
<But yes. At home.> She chews her bottom lip. <I'm following those that had access to my work. Without them knowing.>