Gravity pt. 1
Henry McCoy nudged his suitcase with one mammoth foot, sliding it farther under the table and out of sight. The bad part of town and the mucky weather, he imagined, would not do any favors for the moods of the bar patrons, who already regarded him with hostility. He was too well dressed and too recognizable to be here, and they might…. He checked himself. Was he, Beast of the X-Men, actually worrying about getting robbed? He convinced himself that he wasn’t, that it was just nerves. He never liked standing out, not since college-the last time he didn’t inspire a little fear in people, the last time his strength and stature really made him feel at home in his own body. He refused to let himself imagine how the other people there saw him, this blue, twice-mutated cat thing…. He shook his head. Getting carried away again. He quietly tapped out a rhythm on the bare table with a claw, keeping the door in the periphery of his vision even as he refined the beat. He wouldn’t be seeing his drum set for a couple weeks, at least. It did little to distract him from a growing concern as to the whereabouts of the person he was supposed to be traveling with. She was late.
Just as he grew anxious enough to get up from his chair to check outside-for what, he didn’t know, maybe the evidence of some areal firefight that kept her busy and him waiting-the door swung open and he let out the breath he didn’t remember holding. The woman in the entrance was bedraggled, but her presence meant he wasn’t the only weird one in the room. As much as he disliked her, he was thankful for the small favor. She shook the rain off her jacket (black with green seams-everything else she wore was just black. At least she was in civvies this time) and strode in with just enough arrogance to make Henry only the second least liked person there. Spotting him somewhere behind her green lenses, she made her way over to his table and stood there, crossing her arms. She was only a little taller than him when he was sitting down.
“You’re early,” she said. Henry found himself surprised by the terseness in her voice. He had expected her to be a little less businesslike now that the Breakworld ordeal was over.
Henry didn’t need to check his watch; he had been counting the minutes to her arrival since he sat down. “I’m not early-you’re late.” There was a hostility in his voice he hadn’t intended. He spotted the arch of an eyebrow rise just above her frames. The mirrored sunglasses kept her expression unreadable, a barrier between any understandings they might reach otherwise. Sliding his gaze from the tiny green reflections of himself to one side, he thought he caught some discoloration around her cheekbone and eyebrow, but it was faint enough that it could be a trick of the light. His tone of voice changed, doctor’s instincts taking over. “Are you hurt?” Maybe there had been a firefight after all.
“What, you mean this?” She slipped the glasses down her nose just long enough to give him a look at a black eye that perfectly matched the shape her glasses would make if they were pressed hard enough into her socket. “Oh, nothing like the inconvenience I’ve caused you. Mild concussions and damage to a jet ten times as expensive as your X-Mansion are small potatoes compared to your delicate feelings.” In the instant where he could see her eyes, she didn’t blink once, her unwavering gaze challenging him to find something else to dog her about. Henry was taken aback by how venomous her reply was. Had he offended her-assuming she had enough emotion in her to feel offense?
He grimaced. He was supposed to be the more cordial of the two, at least in theory. He needed to backpedal. “Let me see,” he offered, half-standing and holding out a hand to remove her glasses. She slipped around his grasp, sitting in the chair across from him with glasses still firmly attached.
He could feel her acid green eyes on him, tired but unblinking, even as she snapped her fingers and called “Barmaid.” For one incredulous second Henry wondered if she was addressing him. A nervous girl with a few too many piercings appeared at her side, offering stuttering assistance before Brand could cut her off. “Pitcher of beer,” she said, “something local. Two mugs.”
The girl turned to register the order, but Henry stopped her. “Make that no mugs. Just water, for the both of us. And two menus, if you please.” This time, a twitch of emotion registered on Brand’s face. It was mutinous. “Alcohol is a vasodialator,” Henry explained, saying it as fast as he could before she had the chance to put a word in edgewise. “You drink now and you won’t be doing that black eye any favors.” Turning back to the barmaid, he made a gesture for her to hurry along before Brand could protest.
Brand scowled and hiked up her shirt for a glimpse just as brief as the sight of her eyes, displaying for a moment the place she took a blast for him. Except for being a little pink, there were no marks. “I heal fast, stupid-another hour and you won’t even know it was there.” She waved her hand in the barmaid’s direction without turning her face away from Henry. If this was a staring contest, he would lose. “Barmaid!”
Henry took the offending hand in his own and placed it flat against the table. Her entire hand fit into the crevice of his palm, and he kept it there. “You can debrief me here, without alcohol, and we can both enjoy a nice lunch, or we can go straight to your jet and leave,” he offered. “I’d imagine that on a space station, you only get standards, am I right? Freeze-dried or the like. Visiting an on-world establishment like this one must be a treat, to get food freshly cooked and not ready to float off your plate at a moment’s notice. But,” he said, “if you’re so hell-bent on hurting yourself, then I’m willing to forgo my last earthly meal and leave straight away. Which sounds better to you?”
He couldn’t tell if her hint of a smile was fake or not. “How sweet, it almost sounds like you care.” The rapid pulse of her trapped hand gave away the earnesty of her remark.
Henry felt a wash of guilt and released her. It was a long time since he had induced that kind of reaction in anyone. He couldn’t remember the last time a woman chased him instead of the other way around. He wouldn’t play mind games with her, make her think his interest was in anything more than business. He didn’t even like her as a person. He folded his hands, growing painfully aware that she was staring at him. “So,” he managed, using the menu as an excuse to avoid her gaze, “lunch?”
Brand’s attitude towards eating closely resembled her attitude towards anything else-she was economical, to the point, and ruthless (or, Henry amended, as ruthless as one could be towards a steak dinner. As it turned out, that was pretty ruthless). Despite appearances, her manners were infinitely less refined than his. Which in a way was the whole point of his being there.
Licking the corner of her lip free of steak sauce as she spread the dossiers in front of him, Brand went through a long roster of alien diplomats, emissaries, and persons of interest with him, making sure to point out anything she thought important to the process of keeping them happy. In discussing the dossiers, her entire demeanor changed, dropping the stoicism in favor of real passion and enthusiasm. Whatever negative things he might think about her, Henry could never say she wasn’t dedicated to her work.
He thumbed through one of the many manila folders, regarding its contents with something less than the excitement they held for Brand. “Enlighten me, is your file on me as large as some of the ones I’m seeing here?”
Brand smirked. “Larger. You’re a public figure, easy to track. I know you down to your preferred brand of underwear.”
“Wonderful,” he sighed. He anticipated this, but didn’t have to like it. He was an open book to her, but he would only be aided by his exceptional powers of deduction when it came to her and everyone else in the organization. He was at a disadvantage.
“Don’t worry, though,” Brand said in an attempt at being reassuring. “Your file’s locked to anyone below my level of clearance-which is everyone.” Henry did not feel comforted. She looked away before lowering her voice. “Shitty article, though.”
“Article?” he echoed. Some deeper instinct recognized what she meant before he could consciously recognize it, and he felt a sting in his chest. He shouldn’t have asked her to clarify. He didn’t want to know.
“Yeah, the one about you and what’s her face. Tina? Tammy? Something. Nasty thing to do. You’re still human, looks are-“
He silenced her with a sudden, angry gesture that made his arms fly wider than the table. “Enough,” he snapped. “That is none of your damned business!” His fangs were showing but he didn’t care. “Honestly, what do you gain from even mentioning her?! On what planet is it acceptable to invade a person’s privacy to attempt to manipulate them into-into-I don’t even want to imagine the scenario you’ve conjured for yourself!” As he got louder, the rest of the bar got quieter. “What, you thought saying, ‘oh, let me remind you how sorry I am that you got dumped in the most degrading way possible’ would send me into some sort of fit? That I’d come looking for comfort? That you could save me?!” He stood at full height now, raised hackles straining the seams of his suit. “Look at you!” he roared. “You have no idea what it’s like to be singled out and repeatedly humiliated because of something you can’t control! To have people treat your difference like a disability, to know that every relationship you ever have will be in spite of this difference, never because of it-“ Brand opened her mouth to reply but he cut her off. “No! I don’t want to hear it! You can very kindly shut up for once!” He stopped and realized he was out of breath. He surveyed the bar until he caught the sight of his terrified waitress. “And I would like the check!”
Just as he grew anxious enough to get up from his chair to check outside-for what, he didn’t know, maybe the evidence of some areal firefight that kept her busy and him waiting-the door swung open and he let out the breath he didn’t remember holding. The woman in the entrance was bedraggled, but her presence meant he wasn’t the only weird one in the room. As much as he disliked her, he was thankful for the small favor. She shook the rain off her jacket (black with green seams-everything else she wore was just black. At least she was in civvies this time) and strode in with just enough arrogance to make Henry only the second least liked person there. Spotting him somewhere behind her green lenses, she made her way over to his table and stood there, crossing her arms. She was only a little taller than him when he was sitting down.
“You’re early,” she said. Henry found himself surprised by the terseness in her voice. He had expected her to be a little less businesslike now that the Breakworld ordeal was over.
Henry didn’t need to check his watch; he had been counting the minutes to her arrival since he sat down. “I’m not early-you’re late.” There was a hostility in his voice he hadn’t intended. He spotted the arch of an eyebrow rise just above her frames. The mirrored sunglasses kept her expression unreadable, a barrier between any understandings they might reach otherwise. Sliding his gaze from the tiny green reflections of himself to one side, he thought he caught some discoloration around her cheekbone and eyebrow, but it was faint enough that it could be a trick of the light. His tone of voice changed, doctor’s instincts taking over. “Are you hurt?” Maybe there had been a firefight after all.
“What, you mean this?” She slipped the glasses down her nose just long enough to give him a look at a black eye that perfectly matched the shape her glasses would make if they were pressed hard enough into her socket. “Oh, nothing like the inconvenience I’ve caused you. Mild concussions and damage to a jet ten times as expensive as your X-Mansion are small potatoes compared to your delicate feelings.” In the instant where he could see her eyes, she didn’t blink once, her unwavering gaze challenging him to find something else to dog her about. Henry was taken aback by how venomous her reply was. Had he offended her-assuming she had enough emotion in her to feel offense?
He grimaced. He was supposed to be the more cordial of the two, at least in theory. He needed to backpedal. “Let me see,” he offered, half-standing and holding out a hand to remove her glasses. She slipped around his grasp, sitting in the chair across from him with glasses still firmly attached.
He could feel her acid green eyes on him, tired but unblinking, even as she snapped her fingers and called “Barmaid.” For one incredulous second Henry wondered if she was addressing him. A nervous girl with a few too many piercings appeared at her side, offering stuttering assistance before Brand could cut her off. “Pitcher of beer,” she said, “something local. Two mugs.”
The girl turned to register the order, but Henry stopped her. “Make that no mugs. Just water, for the both of us. And two menus, if you please.” This time, a twitch of emotion registered on Brand’s face. It was mutinous. “Alcohol is a vasodialator,” Henry explained, saying it as fast as he could before she had the chance to put a word in edgewise. “You drink now and you won’t be doing that black eye any favors.” Turning back to the barmaid, he made a gesture for her to hurry along before Brand could protest.
Brand scowled and hiked up her shirt for a glimpse just as brief as the sight of her eyes, displaying for a moment the place she took a blast for him. Except for being a little pink, there were no marks. “I heal fast, stupid-another hour and you won’t even know it was there.” She waved her hand in the barmaid’s direction without turning her face away from Henry. If this was a staring contest, he would lose. “Barmaid!”
Henry took the offending hand in his own and placed it flat against the table. Her entire hand fit into the crevice of his palm, and he kept it there. “You can debrief me here, without alcohol, and we can both enjoy a nice lunch, or we can go straight to your jet and leave,” he offered. “I’d imagine that on a space station, you only get standards, am I right? Freeze-dried or the like. Visiting an on-world establishment like this one must be a treat, to get food freshly cooked and not ready to float off your plate at a moment’s notice. But,” he said, “if you’re so hell-bent on hurting yourself, then I’m willing to forgo my last earthly meal and leave straight away. Which sounds better to you?”
He couldn’t tell if her hint of a smile was fake or not. “How sweet, it almost sounds like you care.” The rapid pulse of her trapped hand gave away the earnesty of her remark.
Henry felt a wash of guilt and released her. It was a long time since he had induced that kind of reaction in anyone. He couldn’t remember the last time a woman chased him instead of the other way around. He wouldn’t play mind games with her, make her think his interest was in anything more than business. He didn’t even like her as a person. He folded his hands, growing painfully aware that she was staring at him. “So,” he managed, using the menu as an excuse to avoid her gaze, “lunch?”
Brand’s attitude towards eating closely resembled her attitude towards anything else-she was economical, to the point, and ruthless (or, Henry amended, as ruthless as one could be towards a steak dinner. As it turned out, that was pretty ruthless). Despite appearances, her manners were infinitely less refined than his. Which in a way was the whole point of his being there.
Licking the corner of her lip free of steak sauce as she spread the dossiers in front of him, Brand went through a long roster of alien diplomats, emissaries, and persons of interest with him, making sure to point out anything she thought important to the process of keeping them happy. In discussing the dossiers, her entire demeanor changed, dropping the stoicism in favor of real passion and enthusiasm. Whatever negative things he might think about her, Henry could never say she wasn’t dedicated to her work.
He thumbed through one of the many manila folders, regarding its contents with something less than the excitement they held for Brand. “Enlighten me, is your file on me as large as some of the ones I’m seeing here?”
Brand smirked. “Larger. You’re a public figure, easy to track. I know you down to your preferred brand of underwear.”
“Wonderful,” he sighed. He anticipated this, but didn’t have to like it. He was an open book to her, but he would only be aided by his exceptional powers of deduction when it came to her and everyone else in the organization. He was at a disadvantage.
“Don’t worry, though,” Brand said in an attempt at being reassuring. “Your file’s locked to anyone below my level of clearance-which is everyone.” Henry did not feel comforted. She looked away before lowering her voice. “Shitty article, though.”
“Article?” he echoed. Some deeper instinct recognized what she meant before he could consciously recognize it, and he felt a sting in his chest. He shouldn’t have asked her to clarify. He didn’t want to know.
“Yeah, the one about you and what’s her face. Tina? Tammy? Something. Nasty thing to do. You’re still human, looks are-“
He silenced her with a sudden, angry gesture that made his arms fly wider than the table. “Enough,” he snapped. “That is none of your damned business!” His fangs were showing but he didn’t care. “Honestly, what do you gain from even mentioning her?! On what planet is it acceptable to invade a person’s privacy to attempt to manipulate them into-into-I don’t even want to imagine the scenario you’ve conjured for yourself!” As he got louder, the rest of the bar got quieter. “What, you thought saying, ‘oh, let me remind you how sorry I am that you got dumped in the most degrading way possible’ would send me into some sort of fit? That I’d come looking for comfort? That you could save me?!” He stood at full height now, raised hackles straining the seams of his suit. “Look at you!” he roared. “You have no idea what it’s like to be singled out and repeatedly humiliated because of something you can’t control! To have people treat your difference like a disability, to know that every relationship you ever have will be in spite of this difference, never because of it-“ Brand opened her mouth to reply but he cut her off. “No! I don’t want to hear it! You can very kindly shut up for once!” He stopped and realized he was out of breath. He surveyed the bar until he caught the sight of his terrified waitress. “And I would like the check!”