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When David had left the apartment that morning, it had been to run 'errands.' Such a nice, mundane word for it. He has very much not told the young lady that steps off of the elevator with him what is actually in the heavy backpack he has slung over his shoulders. Even with their conversation at lunch, he's not sure Sue would approve.
Although David digs a key to the apartment from his pocket on the way down the hall, he still lightly raps a fist against the door to announce himself and gives a silent three count before he uses it, gesturing for Sue to preceed him inside. "Heather?" he calls. "Company."
*
Sue isn't entirely certain that she qualifies as proper company. But here she is. Her hands clasp lightly in front of her as she's beckoned inside and an appreciative nod indicates some thanks at being announced. "Not company in the upper case sense. Lower case 'c'. Little company," or as Sue would suggest, unimportant company.
She treads into the space she'd just visited a day earlier and manages a nearly apologetic smile, "I'm sorry to be invading your space so soon after our last visit. And, as usual, unannounced."
*
"I just put the coffee on. David." Heather is in the kitchen, but not cooking. She's perched on the edge of the counter, reading a file, while she waits for the coffee. There is a plate of iced cupcakes on the kitchen table, though. She is still in her work clothes, a closely tailored navy skirt suit cut just above the knee, red heels. Her hair is still up and, for once, she's wearing cosmetics — even red lipstick. For all that, she looks decidedly moody. "That's all right, Sue. There's plenty in the pot. Is anything wrong?"
*
Another day, another suit for David. He follows Sue through and closes the door behind them, but doesn't really come inside — he hangs back near the door, quietly shrugging out of the backpack and setting it down.
There is a certain amount of trepidation on his face when he looks towards Heather, and it makes it into David's voice. "The files," he says, his voice a little more hoarse than he'd been hoping for. "I offered her copies."
*
Sue's eyes lid and her arms draw around herself as memories from the last few days roll over her thoughts. Her chin lifts to watch the ceiling rather than the floor. She needs to find ways to look ahead rather than behind once more, and she shuffles towards the counter for a cup of coffee. Coffee will make things less wrong. Somehow. And then, as if the whole offered files needs more explanation, she states, "For science." Because that makes sense.
*
Heather's expression clears the moment she gauges David's mood. Work irritations take a back seat to her concern for him, every time. "Whatever you think is best," she says gently. Abandoning her reading, she hops down off the counter to approach David. "No matter the reason," she says to Sue. "No explanation needed, really."
"Come sit down. You, too, Sue. Couch or table, your choice." Heather extends a hand to David, trying to coax him in. She isn't sure she likes that pallor in his face. "Let me get your coffee. You can distract me from wanting to strangle my manager," she offers with a small smile. "If you'd like, I'll let you do it. Sue can be your alibi."
*
To his credit, David does not hesitate before reaching out to take Heather's hand to let her coax him properly inside. The "Yes ma'am," sounds a touch exasperated, but affectionately so. Kitchen table, he thinks. That will be better for dealing with the maps than the couch will. "Thank you."
*
If Sue has the files then there's no worry about Heather getting her work out or leaving it out when Sue is around. There's a relief. Heather gives David's hand a squeeze — she worries when he looks and sounds like that. All this work getting him recovered and it can go backward so quickly. Therefore, she'll do whatever it takes to crush Stryker like a bug and then everyone can move on.
"Let's get sorted, then," she says. Once David and Sue are at the table, she puts out the coffee and cups and fixings. "Shall I get the maps out? Any files?" She's ready to get this done.
*
"All of them." David settles into a chair at the table, his eyes flicking towards Sue before, hesitantly, he adds "…and something so that Sue can take down some notes." His eyes drop to the tabletop as he absently reaches up to undo his collar and loosen his tie. "Anything you want to know. If I know it, it's yours."
*
Sue leans forward in her seat and her hands clasp lightly in front of her. The humour that had reflected so easily a day before has drained from her eyes, and one thing and one thing only rolls over her thoughts. Well, one thing in repeat and many consequences that follow. "Thank you," she replies too-politely. "They were attempting to engineer people," she observes flatly, "Did they succeed?"
*
Heather unlocks the filing cabinets with a key on a small ring with a maple leaf charm. From the flat files, she retrieve maps. From another, a stack of folders and a tidy, typed report. "That's my summary on top, Sue," she says, delivering the maps to David and the files to Sue. "I have another copy of it if it's useful to you."
*
David slides the maps towards Sue before clasping his hands tightly in front of himself, not looking up for the question. "I believe so," he says tightly, keeping his eyes fixed on his hands. "Yes. There were some girls there who grew up inside the program." He nods slightly to one side. "They're out now."
*
"Successfully out?" Sue asks towards David. The question merits consideration. As does the stack of files. It's considered for a moment as Sue shakes her head lightly. "I think…" she starts and then stops. Chewing her bottom lip she slides away from the table and takes the files. "I think I need to read this in seclusion and reach some of my own conclusions. And then, perhaps, we can compare notes?" her eyebrows lift. "And I will use the resources at my disposal to…" her lips twist to the side "…track down this Stryker."
She treads to the door. "Thank you for the offer and the hospitality, but — I think I need a bit of time." She manages a tight smile. "I can see myself out." In moments she's out the door from whence she came.
*
"Well, that was brief." Heather exhales sharply. "This is hard on everyone." She locks the door behind Sue out of an abundance of caution. When she returns, crosses her arms under her breasts and eyes David, hips canted, expression thoughtful.
"Harder on some of us more than others. David…" Heather searches for the right words, then plunges on without them. "I don't want to push. But I feel I should. We have to go into the field on this and — " How do you tell someone they're not fit for the work. " — you're not fit right now." There's really no good way.
*
David doesn't even argue the point. He just keeps his eyes fixed on his hands and gives a short nod in response. He knows. "They stole her research," he says tightly, tapping his thumbs together. "It isn't even published yet. How the hell did…" He closes his eyes. Getting ahead of yourself. "But now she has Stryker's name, and she's going to help us find him. And deal with the Project, thoroughly."
David finally pries his gaze off of his own hands in order to look up at Heather, and his expression is oddly apologetic. "So. No field work yet. But the time will come, and I will be ready for it. I can't not be. It's not an option."
*
"Sometimes the field comes to us. But we compensate for each other's weak places, David. That's why there's more than one of us. That's why we work in teams." Heather comes over to lean against the table next to David, eyes on his face. "I can hold up my end of things, David. Don't be afraid to lean on me."
*
"I'm not," David insists, reaching up to lightly lay a hand on Heather's arm. "I'm not. I know you can. I'll be fine once we're actually doing something," he says confidently, giving a dismissive wave of his other hand. "It's the waiting, the lack of a clear target. The lack of direction. Once I have a course of action, I'm fine, it's always worked like that."
*
"Same here. But that doesn't mean you're actually all right. Just means you're good at overriding things. I speak from experience." Heather exhales slowly, then retreats to one of the chairs by the sofa, where she sits to slip off her shoes. "I miss my husband. I miss my team. If I'm busy, I can forget. If I'm angry, it's easier. But some things, you can't keep buried. Like the knife." She looks over at David with her shoes in her hands. "And it's not just the knife, is it? I won't ask again, David. And I can't keep you from doing what you need to do if I think you're not fit, the way I used to be able to. But I would, if I could. For both our sakes."
*
David's expression falls when she mentions the knife. With a guilty twist of his lips, he looks down at his hands, staying seated where he is. "It's… the knife is complicated. And… and specific," he says quietly, his jaw tight. It is painfully clear that this is a conversation he desperately does not want to have — but he's also trying to push that aside in order to have it. In a very quiet, tight voice, he says "If the knife is in my hand in another context, as long as I'm not holding it to a woman's throat, it will be fine."
*
Heather waits without comment. She takes her shoes to the bench by the front door, leaves them there. They need to be re-soled, she's worn them too many times. Maybe she needs another pair of shoes that aren't as conservative as the rest, just to give the red ones a break. At the mirror by the door, she watches herself take the pins out of her hair. She glances over at David once between pins but doesn't look again.
*
Goddamnit. It takes a few tries before David finally manages to get the words to come out, but he doesn't stop them once they do. "Before the war ended I fell in love with a girl," he says quickly, his eyes very much fixed on his hands. "A nurse. We were engaged, we were starting a family, and I -" He blinks hard to try and clear his vision. Blurry. Irritating. "…she was a spy. I caught her in a lie and she tried to…" He flexes his fingers, jaw tightening. "…I defended myself. She was due in a few weeks."
David keeps his eyes on his hands, forcing himself to breathe slow and even, and ignore the way his eyes are stinging. "The blonde girls are telepaths," he says quietly. "They had orders."
*
Heather takes this in, watching herself in the mirror while David speaks. "I'm so sorry, David. That's absolutely horrific. I know there's nothing I can say that will make you feel less guilty but I know you did the best you could in an impossible situation. You always do." Her voice is calm but her expression is tight. "The blonde girls. From the protest, the ones with Kitty and Laura. What did they do?" She comes back to the kitchen, sits down opposite him, hands folded around the hair pins.
*
"Just… dug it back up," David replies quietly, not looking up when Heather joins him at the table. Looking at his hands is safer than risking whatever he's afraid of seeing on her face. Still quiet, his voice takes on a very slight sing-song cadence, as if reciting for the hundredth time something he was forced to memorize by rote: "I destroy everything I touch, even that which I create. It's what I always do, and I'll do it again."
*
"I see." Heather is calm, thinking on the problem. "Only time will prove that wrong. You know that, right? Time, and distance." She leans back in her chair. "I will tell you it's wrong or not, whatever helps. If you'll tell me when it comes back to you, David. Don't be alone with it. You were alone, and alone…we are so much weaker than we know. No matter how strong we are. The last year has shown me that. Please." She doesn't reach across the table, even though she wants to. "Just say it out loud. Or hold my hand. So I know it's happening."
*
"It's always happening, Heather. It's been happening since 1944," David replies with a tight, humorless laugh. The motion is enough to finally jostle the tears free, but he doesn't even seem to realize they're there. "It doesn't — I can't turn it off. It doesn't turn off."
*
"Okay." Heather gets up and comes around the table to sit next to him, reaches out to take his hand. "It'll fade if it's not echoing around in there, David, locked in your head. And even if it doesn't, you're not alone with it. I'm so sorry that happened, David."
*
Maverick's hands are still clasped tightly in front of him, tight enough that his knuckles have gone white. He doesn't flinch at the touch and, slowly, forces his hands to relax enough for Heather to take one. "You don't deserve any of this," he says hoarsely, and although he still won't look up at her, he does let himself lean to the side to rest his head against her shoulder.
*
"It's not about what I deserve. It's about what I can take." Heather rests her cheek on David's hair, squeezes his hand. "I can take this, David. I asked for it. Volunteered. It's a drop in the ocean." Heather exhales slowly.
"And it's not entirely altruistic," she warns. "Don't mistake what I am, David. I can't stop being this, thinking like it. I've been this person for years. I want you fit for this thing we have to do. For the other things that are going to fall in our path going forward. We're not going to stop being what we are — useful. We need to be fit or we'll get ourselves killed or, worse, someone who doesn't really deserve it."
*
"If it was altruism, I'd feel worse," David admits with a tired laugh, letting his eyes drift closed. "No, it's… really, once we have direction. Targets. I'll be fine. It's how I got through it the first time, it'll work again." He squeezes her hand, brings his other one up to finally wipe at his face. Ugh. "If anyone can find him, Sue can. She's connected enough." His lips form a thin line. "Motivated enough."
*
"I miss being connected." Heather leans into him. "It's hard to get used to it being someone else's show. But what matters is that the people who were hurt get some relief. Including you. I'm so sorry about your fiancee, David. I had no idea. I mean, of course I had no idea, but…I feel like I should have known somehow."
*
"No, it isn't something I talk about," David says wryly, tipping his head back enough to peek up at her face with mild trepidation. He doesn't expect to find pity in her eyes, but that doesn't make him any less afraid that he will. "This is the first time. Lucky you."
*
No pity. Sympathy and a little amusement at herself and at his words. "You can tell me anything. I mean, I'm here. I'm not going to judge you or tell anyone. You might as well take advantage of me." Heather shrugs and gives him a hopeful little smile.
*
"I'm still not used to seeing you smile. That's… kind of depressing, isn't it?" David blinks a little at this realization and laughs quietly, leaning into her a moment longer before he finally lifts his head. "As long as you accept it's a two-way street. I know I don't look very steady right now, but I can be together for you a lot more easily than I can be for myself. If you're not going to kick me out, you should get something out of me."
*
"You can change the lightbulb in the walk-in." Heather elbows David gently. "I haven't got a footstool. How's that for starters?"
*
"That's not… quite…" David just hangs his head, running a hand over his face and teetering in place when she elbows him. "…sure. For starters."
*
"Hey. I'm just being pragmatic. I didn't keep the team rolling all those years by letting the little things slide." Heather gives David a peck on the cheek and then gets up. "Eat a cupcake, David. And tell me they're good. If you want me to take that two-way street, well — leave some time for me on the twenty-third."
*
David leaves his hand over his mouth and seems to pause at the peck on the cheek, his eyes flicking up to follow her as she gets up. He's quiet for a long moment, his brow furrowing slightly. That's… specific. "The twenty-third," he echoes, nodding once as he rises to his feet to obediently fetch himself a cupcake. "I can do that."
*
"I plan to be very sad that day." Heather pours a little more coffee into her mug to warm it up. She leans against the counter, hands wrapped around the mug, looking a little distant. "And probably drink a lot, so you'll have to mind me since we all know I can't hold my liquor. And then I plan to get up the next morning, take my aspirin, and start over. For real. Whatever that looks like."
*
That makes David stop with the cupcake halfway to his mouth. It does not require a very impressive leap of logic to put this story together. Oh.
After a moment of quiet is allowed to hang in the air, David moves up behind her to carefully drop a wadded-up, empty cupcake wrapper into the trash. "It was delicious. Thank you."
*
"That's what I want to hear." Heather gives him a wan smile. "I like feedback. Don't forget it."