|
  |
Another day, another slew of patients. While it's fairly common knowledge that he's always available if he's needed, Able has chosen to close the clinic down a bit early today. Many of the lights have been dimmed, leaving the space more shadowy than lit. Still, it has a currently occupied look rather than a vacant one, partly because of the music.
Past the medical suite is Able's private laboratory. Normally a heavy, floor-to-ceiling stage curtain separates the two, but it's been drawn back to open up the area. The Doctor is seated at a piano that's tucked away beneath the open staircase that leads up to the loft. A metronome is ticking away while he plucks out the opening notes of Beethoven's 'Moonlight Sonata.' After the first few bars, he pauses to stop the metronome, but when he starts playing again he seems lost without the steady beat.
*
Elizabeth had come to visit. She had no excuses, no baked goods to help open the door, no promise of payments to be made. She simply came to see Able. The day was over, for both of them, and now was a time or relaxation. The conversations they had had the night previously were casual; some about his confession, but later, it turned into nothing more than how their meals tasted, the weather, and sports of all things.
Resting on a sofa some feet away from the piano, the brunette watches with rapt attention. Her feet are up and on the furniture, tucked under herself gently, her pumps left on the floor. Her head leans into her palm, as she reclines side-long against the arm rest. Her painted toes, covered in the more opaque hue of her nylons, taps with the constant 'tick-tick-tick' of the metronome as it sways.
Smiling at first, she then notices that shift of musical difficulty once the 'keeper' ceases clicking. Slipping off the sofa, she pads closer to him and reaches over, pulling the metronome's arm to the side, and then allowing it to return back to its natural sway.
*
"See what I mean?" Able says. There's a small sigh before he starts playing again. He only picks out a few notes, again from the beginning, but as soon as the ticker is ticking he doesn't seem to have any trouble. "I'm told that a strict beat sucks the heart and soul out of a piece like this. It doesn't leave room for personal style or interpretation. Too mechanical."
The last bit comes with a small, self-directed smile. And he's not wrong. He's technically proficient, but no more than a player piano. After a few seconds pass he lets his hands drop from the keys, leaving the steady tick-tick-tick of the metronome clicking away in the background. "As soon as the beat is gone, I'm lost."
*
"Can I confess something to you?" She questions, as if she were not going to continue speaking. Giving him a soft 'nudge', she sits on the bench with him and reaches out, causing the ticking to cease. "Remember when you asked for me to teach you? About how to do 'this'." She explains, motioning between the pair and dealing with the basic interactions between people that enjoyed the company of one another. "Truth is? I'm not sure how it all works myself, either. I smile, I charm, I spend time with someone and then it's all gone. Maybe…maybe it's like playing piano. You're worried about striking the wrong notes, or strings going out of tune. Maybe, it's more of a feeling, a vibration, that makes it all link together and becomes something beautiful."
Stalling, she blinks and blushes, her face turning into a beet as she clears her throat and sighs. "Well, I think I've had too much wine already. I don't think you need to be lost when doing something like this. It's all muscle memory to play, but soul to create. The 'beat' is never gone just because you can't hear it. If you need to, sway your head, rock, tap your foot. Here…" She reaches over, showing him her fingers, and creating a steady 'tap-tap-tap' that's like keeping a beat, with no intrusive noise. "See?"
*
One hand reaches out to rest lightly at the small of Elizabeth's back. Her blush and her casual admission seem to relax Able. For something as simple as a bit of music, the finer details had inspired a bit of agitation and uncertainty. "There is something beautiful here," he observes, meeting her eyes briefly.
He takes in a deep breath and holds it while he starts up again. His exhalation is long and slow as he hits the right keys, but with the wrong tempo. "Maybe I need someone like you to be my metronome," he observes without stopping. "I always seem to strike the wrong notes." It's clear that he's speaking of more than just music, though he doesn't elaborate.
Thin, arched brows furrow darkly as he searches for a bit of soul. Things are clunky at first, but after a few stutter-steps it starts to sound like Beethoven again, at least a little. It's not until he reaches a midpoint in the piece where the speed picks up dramatically that he starts to settle in. There's too much for his fingers to do for the rest of him to be distracted. Curiously, the portions that would be most difficult for the average person seem the easiest for him to handle. Then he closes his eyes, which seems to be the missing component. With one more distraction removed it finally starts to sound like there's a person playing rather than a machine.
*
Elizabeth stares, that color washing over her cheeks all the more. Then, thankfully, music begins again. "Just remember, you crawl before you can walk. You fall, you get back up." Her fingers tap, allowing him to focus on them as he wishes for a set rhythm. To his comment, she scoffs and sighs. "You're not the only one, honey. Trust me."
Then, he /really/ starts to play. Smiling, she keeps her seat, but pulls her hand away and rests them both in her lap. Watching his fingers move, she blinks and blinks again. It's rapid and presses down the ivories with such force and purpose behind each pass.
*
There it is. The ineffable quality that separates a musician from a skilled child at a recital. But Able's victory is brief. He fumbles as soon as he realizes he's found a bit of the soul he's been searching for. This time it doesn't seem to bother him, though. He pulls his hands back from the keyboard and angles his body to better face Betty. "Do you think wondering if you have a soul means that you must? The spiritual version of 'I think, therefore I am'?"
Though it's kept casual in tone, it's a telling question, especially after the discussions they've had. He shrugs helplessly. "I'm not a spiritual man by nature, but I can't help wondering."
*
Once his eyes are open, he'd notice that Betty's expression is one of wonder, amazement, and appreciation. Giving a low whistle, she chuckles and looks at the keys, and then his hands. "Just making sure you're not smoking." Then the question comes. Shifting a bit, she turns to face him as well and he can see the way her face wrinkles, and her brows slope in consideration.
"If you care enough to wonder if it's there, then I'd think you do. I know some people don't have souls, because of how they act and how they treat others. And then I know creatures that, even if you're taught they have no souls, I know they do. Dogs, for example? Whoever said animals don't have souls is just bullshitting themselves." The steady curse catches her by surprise, her eyes once again rounding out. "Sorry."
*
The heartfelt reply seems comforting to Able, cursing included. He lets out a rich, quiet chuckle and bobs a nod. "Don't be sorry. I like that. I've often wondered, but I've never spoken of it. I'm glad I waited until now."
The casual compliments about the way he was playing bring a tinge of pink to his cheeks and the tips of his ears. "Thank you. Enough about me, though. How is your mother? I thought I might stop by tomorrow to check on her." His attempt to change the subject is a little awkward. It's clear that he's not accustomed to being comfortable speaking about himself. Much like the piano, he stumbles as soon as he realizes he's just letting it happen.
*
"Well, I can't tell you how flattered, honored even, I am that you've decided to talk with me. I've never known anyone like you before." How could she? Keeping her seat, she watches that color shift, somewhat proud that both are stumbling about themselves and going red for their efforts. Chuckling, she nods. "She's fine, doing better already, but she'd /adore/ a visit from you again." Winking, she moves to stand and pad back toward the coffee table and her glass of wine. Refilling it, she reclaims her seat there.
"I understand your name now. When you corrected me the day we met?" Pausing, she focuses up on his visage once more. "How…human are you? I don't understand, I suppose. I mean, you said you were more human than human. What does that mean? Do you bleed or…I've seen you eat and drink, and breathe and blush."
*
They're far past the point where half-measures or mincing about will do. Now Able's prepared to be more direct with his explanations, though he also feels the need for more wine. Lucky for him, his glass was recently refilled before he sat down. He scoops it off the top of the piano and takes a deep, almost medicinal drink.
A stray drop is licked away from his upper lip before he responds. "You asked me that once before. I should give you a proper answer. I was engineered and enhanced. Built, like I said. Still, everything about me is organic but this." There's a pause while he reaches up to tap his forehead. "That's a piece of equipment that's been installed and programmed. So yes, I eat and drink, though I require very little in the way of traditional sustenance. It's mostly because I enjoy it. And I breathe, of course. I bleed. I like to think that I 'feel' in much the same way that others do. I don't actually know how human that makes me. Like so many things, that may be in the eye of the beholder."
*
"Why-why did you say you were a failure, then?" Giving him the once over, she sips from her glass and presses her lips together, allowing them to fill out naturally. "You look pretty perfect to me. I wouldn't have guessed in a million years you were more than a man who was damn good at his job." Reaching up, she brushes some strands of hair behind the shell of her ear. Pulling her legs back up, they tuck under herself lazily. "Do you have memories? Were you ever a child?"
*
The comment about his perfection isn't lost on Able. He smiles and reaches up to brush the tips of two fingers along Betty's cheekbone as he explains. "I didn't live up to my creator's expectations. He's… less than human in all the ways that matter most." For all his quirks, Able rarely speaks poorly of anyone, which is a sign he must feel strongly about the subject. He lets his hand drop and toys with the rim of his wine glass. "I carry his memories. I've made some of my own, but the preponderance are his. He wanted a copy of himself, but instead he ended up with me. I was never a child, though. Like Athena, I sprang into life fully-formed."
*
Freezing in place, she feels the warm brush of skin against her face. Her own flesh hot and toasty from the room's heat, her drinking, and the lingering blush from comments made with a loose tongue. "If it helps…I never knew my father." Perhaps there's a link in wayward paternal figures. His comment has her smiling once more, and after swirling the contents of her glass, she takes another gentle sip, and sits up slighty. "Perhaps he will not understand his loss until it is too late. Or, perhaps he's too busy creating all manner of children with a number of women in a number of forms." Smirking, she chuckles. "Hey, you linked him with Zeus, not me."
*
Able laughs as well, but he's shaking his head at the same time. "I imagine he's created a few more of me since we parted ways. No mothers, though. He loves himself far too much to ever love anyone else."
He takes another sip as well, then clears his throat. His eyes are on the piano's keys when he starts talking again. "Your father has definitely missed out. Maybe mine has, too. Only time will tell, I think, and not enough of that has passed for me to be sure."
*
"More of you? That's impossible." She murmurs, sitting up more so again and setting her glass aside. "I mean, not impossible, just…hmm. How to say this. There can be no two of /you/ you, if that makes sense." It both did, and didn't to her, and that mixture of inflection was written all over her face. "My dad?" She questions, allowing the conversation to flow where it may. "He left when my brother and I were very little. I don't remember him at all, and frankly, don't care to. If he's anything like my brother, then he can /stay/ out of my life. Sorry. I know that sounds harsh."
Glancing from the piano, and back to the blonde, she studies him in kind before continuing. "You said you 'felt' things. That you could 'feel'? What do you feel right now? In the morning when you wake up? When you help someone in your clinic?"
*
"In the morning? Eh. I don't much care for mornings. I don't dream in a conventional sense, but I'm capable of replaying events while I'm unconscious. It's a blessing and a curse. I enjoy working in the clinic, though. I find it satisfying, sometimes even gratifying. And I feel I owe it to the world." It's a long, unbroken statement, and Able's eyes take on a thoughtful cast while he tries to sum up what's on his mind.
He's quite tall, but he doesn't actually seem to be a 'large' man by most people's standards. He's slim; rangy to the point of being gaunt. Still, he feels solid enough when he takes Betty's hand and presses it to his chest. The rhythm of his heart is not unlike that of the metronome; it's almost too steady, but it's there. "As for right now… I don't know the word, I think. Excited. Nervous. But there's something peaceful about telling the truth."
*
Elizabeth chuckles. "Oddly enough? I don't care for mornings, either, but…I get up everyday, bright and early and high-tail it to work. Stuffing a bagel in my face the whole way." Grinning, her expression softens as he continues to speak, nodding now and then. Once her hand rests on his chest, she nibbles, nervously, to the corner of her lower lip. She feels, and presses her palm all the more 'flat' to allow the beat to vibrate against her touch. "Lucky." She mutters, taking his hand and resting it to the side of her throat where he could feel her pulse that throbs at a much faster rate. "You have one hell of a poker, um…heart rate? Bah, that just sounds silly."
*
"Yours feels more real," Able acknowledges. He lets his touch linger at Betty's pulse point for a few seconds. "I think that makes you the lucky one. Is all of that…" There's a pause while he presses gently to indicate her heartbeat. At the same time he looks up and meets her gaze curiously. "…for me?"
*
Canting her head to the side, allowing him more access to that spot just a bit away from the curve of her jaw, Betty keeps visual contact with him. Her own hand remains to his chest, feeling that unnatural ease of his own 'pulse' as it continues on like clockwork. The question causes a small 'burst' of activity through her veins, one that could be felt as a fluctuation, a flutter almost. "I think so. Handsome man is touching me, I've had a bit to drink, and I'm curious to learn something I know nothing about. Honestly…my dates usually don't go like this. It's rather step-by-step. This is different." She explains before capping off with a gentle. "I'm nervous."
*
His first instinct is to misinterpret her words. His mind tries to delete the word 'nervous' and replace it with something like 'afraid' or 'uncomfortable.' Though only a few seconds pass while Able studies Betty and measures her heart rate, to him it feels like longer. Then, apparently, he's satisfied enough to shelve his reaction. "Me too," he confirms. "You're the first person I've ever been on a date with. That inspires some uncertainty. I like it, though."
Finally, he lets his hand fall back into his lap. The word 'handsome' is another one that hasn't gone unnoticed. "You're very pretty," he says, his voice a bit quieter now. "I'm pleased that we met."
*
Another shift in pulse, she may be holding her breath for some reason. Then his hand falls, and so, too, does her own. Flustered, cherry cheeked, she nods in agreement, and reclaims her more relaxed position on the sofa. "Me, too." Then she remembers that she was complimented. "Thank you." Resting her hands against the flat of her chest as she tries to calm her self. Glass up, she offers it toward him in an air salute before drinking from it, deeply.
*
Able offers a similar salute, then drains his glass to the dregs. "You're welcome. And thank you."
He eyes the nearly empty wine bottle, but he doesn't pour himself a refill. Not yet. Still, he picks it up and crosses over to the sofa. "Would you like another?" The offer is a light counterpoint to their previously heavy conversation. A try at pulling them from a subject deep enough to inspire a bit of nervousness in them both. Despite the attempt, when he sits it's more of a perching than a comfortable slouch.
*
"No, no thank you. I should stop." She explains, even if she rests her glass a bit closer for a top off regardless. "Your first date, huh?" She then smiles. "Another honor I'll gladly claim. Once you get out there, you'll send all the ladies into a tizzy over you. I mean, look what you did to my ma." Now, she keeps her eyes away from his face, more so intent on watching her glass, and waiting for it to fill back up.
*
Now Able seems to relax a bit. "Methinks the lady doth protest too much," he quips, smiling as he tips another healthy splash into Elizabeth's glass. The last pour goes into his own glass and the empty bottle set on a nearby end table.
T"This is," he elaborates in response to her question. "My first date, I mean. I imagine your mother wouldn't be so impressed if she knew that. I'm glad you don't mind."
*
"You're a looker and a doctor. You'd have to be a serial killer to have her even /start/ to consider not being impressed with you." Looking down into her glass, she sips librally and exhales smoothly. "Why would I mind? I don't understand you completely, and I hope I will in time. I'm not sure what to say or ask sometimes because I don't want to upset you or…dig too deep." Glancing to the side, she smiles again, finally allowing herself to see his face more clearly. "I feel like I want to kiss you, then I'm trying to figure out if I'm going back to my step-by-step method of dating, or if I just want to because I want to."
*
Able's breath catches briefly. "You're welcome to dig as deep as you like," he offers. "I promise the worst I'll do is not answer, but I won't be offended or put out."
Now he clears his throat and scoots closer. "I don't know what the steps are, but a kiss seems like the right one for this particular moment." He bites at his lower lip, then takes the plunge and leans in to make good on his words.
*
"I'll remember that." She nods, watching him cautiously before taking another drink. "That's the thing, I don't…I don't know. I'm your first date, and I don't know what 'memories' you have. So, I don't want to overstep my bounds or seem too pu-" The word, and thought, cuts off before completion. Feeling the press of his lips, she embraces him in return. The movements are slow, simple, caste, but genuine. One free hand reaches up, tenderly cupping his jaw before pulling away and lightly licking her lips. "You ok?" She worries aloud, her hand still keeping contact, the pad of her thumb brushing over his cheek.
*
Eyes closed. Breath held. Whether it's memory or instinct, now Able seems to know at least a bit of what he's supposed to be doing. He smiles as he opens his eyes and his head tilts to better appreciate Betty's touch. As heavy as he is for his size, he keeps his hands planted on either side of her to support his weight, which sinks them both a bit deeper into the couch.
Some of his nerves seem to have been settled by the kiss. "Yes," he murmurs. "I'm very okay. And you?"
*
"I cannot complain." Another pass of her thumb, she pulls away just long enough to set her glass aside and leave it be for the time being. Now, both hands cradle his face, caressing tenderly across pale skin and stubble alike. "How long have you lived your life as you do now? When did you leave 'Olympus'?"
*
Able shifts until he's partly curled up next to Betty. His kicks his shoes off with a distinct lack of ceremony and tucks his feet beneath himself. His eyes flutter their way shut in response to her affection. "When I was classified as defective, I was placed in a coma and set aside," he starts, prefacing his response with a bit of context. "There was an accident. The lab lost power, including the equipment that was keeping me unconscious. I escaped. That was about two years ago, give or take. But I've only been in the city for a few months."
*
Elizabeth shifts, wiggling a bit to allow both herself, and Able, more comfort on the sofa. It's not long before she's resting back against the arm of the couch. She allows him to follow, even so much as to twist and lay beside/behind him. Her touch leaves his face only for her arms to timidly snake around him and provide a steady hold around his torso. "Were you scared? Lost? Why did you want to escape at all?"
*
At this range, Able definitely feels more solid than he looks. He's careful not to throw his weight around too much as he leans against Betty. At the same time, he's considering his answer to her question. "I was terrified." Despite his words, he sounds calm as he explains the situation. "And I think I'm still lost. I left because I wanted to choose who and what I would become. Before, I was only what I'd been created to be. You don't put a person in a coma because they won't do what you tell them to. You do that to a thing. A piece of equipment."
It's clear that he's spent a lot of time thinking about the subject. "I'm sorry. I remember the way my creator felt when I wouldn't perform as desired. It's still confusing sometimes. We can talk about something else if you like."
*
"Hey, don't be sorry. I'm not judging you, and I asked. I appreciate your honesty." Her finger brush soothingly through his hair, and giving him another squeeze, she rests her lips against his crown, closing her eyes as she hugs him close, his back pressing against her chest. "We can talk about something else if /you/ want to." A pause, "I'm sorry you were afraid, and I won't pretend to understand completely where you're coming from. Best I can do is try." She murmurs against his scalp, apologetically.
*
"The more you know, the more inclined you might be to judge. I promise I won't even judge you for judging." Able's smile and tone turn the statement into a half-joke. Still, he's relaxing more and more under Betty's attentions. He even lets out a small, content sigh as he reaches behind himself to locate her free hand and take it in his. "The fact that you're trying and that you aren't frightened is very comforting. Thank you."
*