Jason
=NYC= Lab - Shaw Research Center
While security is not oppressively emphasized, there are all the little, quiet touches you would expect in a lab more or less funded by a major defense contractor. There are big machines and small, and all the computers and screens and gizmos one could want, as well as the simpler luxury of plenty of space. It is a lab space well-stocked, with the big-money machines just down the hall.
Jason came, got his pills, took his pills, but strayed back invisibly around noon. He is slid up invisibly behind a counter, one knuckle in his mouth, which he is less-than-absently gnawing. And he is watching the doors, waiting through the anxiety-laden side-effects of the drug. Waiting to test. He needs either a Natalie or a Bahir. Come, come.
There's a Natalie, anyway, looking harried and hurried and generally overwhelmed, as is her usual these days. She's just now arriving at Emerson, post lunch, with her laptop in the bag slung over her shoulder and her scarf tucked tight and warm around her neck. She gives a nod to the girl behind the counter in reception and then bustles her way back to the lab proper with a relieved sigh.
Natalie. All the better. As Natalie bustles in, a Bahir come in the doors some yards behind. Trailing her in that unintentional way colleagues do. Just /happens/ to be going in the same direction at the same time.
Indeed. It's no real surprise when Natalie turns from depositing her things on the desk to catch Bahir with a sideways glance, although his sudden presence startles her a touch. She snorts a quick laugh and notes, "Man, Bahir, are you trying to give me a heart attack?"
Yes. Bahir looks mild. Languid more than apologetic. It wasn't /intentional/. "No. You walk too slow."
"Oh, well, terribly sorry," Natalie replies with a roll of her eyes, and then her attention moves back to the task of setting up her laptop into usual form. "Just back from lunch?"
"Yep." Bahir has papers of his own, which he deposits not-quite-where Natalie's are. "You, too?"
"Grabbed something on the way over," Natalie confirms in distraction. Her laptop hums to life, and she straightens while it boots.
"Eating takes far too much time. To think. I could have spent my lunch hour asking nurses about my subjects." Scoff. As if Bahir talks to just anyone. He has no laptop, though, just the papers, which he is making swift notations on. "How's your project coming?" Whatever it is.
"Asking-- what?" Natalie turns to squint at Bahir, brows furrowing in faint confusion before his question earns a sudden dark scowl. "Don't ask."
"They pick up a new batch of pills today." Bahir makes a dismissive gesture over his shoulder-- and pauses, returning scowl with bemusement. "/What/? Now I'm curious."
"About what?" Natalie returns with a mild irritation. "Whether it sucks more or less than yesterday?"
"It's just--" Natalie raises a hand, a wiggle expressing frustration that mellows inexplicably into acceptance. She sighs and she smiles, a faint expression. "It'll be okay, you know. I mean, I /like/ working the numbers. Just some time."
This is so. Fan. Tastic. Bahir nods with /great/ understanding. "Of course. You could do nothing but work numbers for the next week and you'd be /thrilled/."
"Well. Maybe not /thrilled/," Natalie answers, but she smiles anyway, an expression that lights her features into warmth.
Jason has slipped, invisibly invisibly, around the counter to keep a better eye on how Natalie's expression is presenting itself. "So not thrilled. Hey," Bahir segues. "How about you take an early night?"
The look Natalie gives Bahir is an odd one, and she turns to bend back to her laptop with a dry, "Very funny, Bahir."
"No. Seriously." Oddness is unacceptable. Jason /pushes/ something else. Loneliness/want. It is kind of like a child's scrawl attempt at it, but /emphatic/ for all that. "The numbers will still be there tomorrow. No matter what you do."
There is hesitation. It is patently clear, and the expression in Natalie's eyes turns briefly to longing before she shakes her head. Loneliness/want are not unknown, and neither is the need for firm discipline. "I'm behind enough as it is."
"And I'll bet anything that after a week of being behind, you're not thinking clearly anyway," Bahir muses without much inflection. Jason keeps /pushing/ the want.
"Bahir--" Natalie's protest is weaker this time, and she straightens away from her laptop with a quiet exhalation before she fixes her eyes on him. "Did you want to do something or something?"
"Maybe." Bahir's a bit more subdued there. And then he undercuts himself with a snort. "If you /want/."
Natalie looks instantly baffled and then slightly irritated, and she turns away again. "What is /with/ you today? "
Jason mutters in a soundless his to himself. It is hard to achieve /precision/ when one wants to break little harmless bits of the lab instead of-- "It's been a long week for me, too. All those-- pills," he finishes lamely. Not achieving precision, Jason /pushes/ again. Let's see how /you/ like being restless.
It doesn't take much of a push. Natalie's already twitchy, and the push highlights it and underscores it. She straightens once more and rocks back on her heels, glancing at Bahir. "I thought things were going okay?"
"They are, it's just--" Bahir makes an /eh/ expression. "I'm sick of the lab. It's Friday. Let's go."
"It's barely past lunch," Natalie answers with surprise, although she looks more than a little tempted even as she adds, "I just got here-- where do you want to go?"
"Anywhere-- /bowling/," Bahir suddenly draws out as if in self-exasperation. "One round of bowling and we'll come back. There. Time limit and everything."
"Bowling?"
"Yes. When was the last time you went bowling?"
"I--" Natalie has to pause at that, blinking bafflement. "No idea," she finally admits, and then a small smile warms to the idea. "Okay. All right. Bowling. Why not. "
"I don't think I've ever been bowling. I'm excited." Bahir manages to say this a bit grumpily as he gathers up his papers again. "I think there's some lanes just off campus. Very convenient for us!"
"Really? Why on earth did you think of bowling, then?" Natalie takes just enough time to send her laptop to sleep before she reaches for her coat.
Jason changes his mind and puts his papers back down. Don't need them! "Because I see those lanes every day. /Every/. Let's see what it's about." And he starts a-walking.
"It's about rolling a ball down a floor to try to knock over some pins," Natalie answers with a dry amusement as she trails off after him. "Don't get your hopes up too high."
"I was hoping there'd be at least an animatronic dinosaur or two. Pity," judges Bahir as Jason plays with another push. The contentment again. Look, this is nice. This was a /good/ decision. He maintains this throughout the walk, which does end up being quite brisk, quite short. There are the lanes, which are generic, a bit worn, and staffed by a wan-eyed young woman wearing a red polo and cap for her uniform. "I'm thrilled already," Bahir remarks.
"An animatronic-- /what/?" Natalie's lips curve into an amused smile, and contentment doesn't have terribly far to go, really. "Be nice," she admonishes in response, although her eyes glow with humor as she delivers money and shoe size and all those good things.
Jason does likewise, showing all the enthusiasm of someone who did-- not suggest this course of action. He leans one elbow on the counter as the young lady goes a-fetching. "I'm very nice."
Natalie snorts her disbelievement and turns, leaning back against the counter to study the space at large. "You know. I never would've thought of bowling as a very Manhattan thing," she confides before a quick correction remarks, "Although I guess we're not in Manhattan anymore, are we?"
And there are shoes! Bahir fetches his up disdainfully. "We're in collegetown. Let's get a lane."
"Queens is college town?" Natalie answers with a short shake of her head, laughing, and then she's off to trail after Bahir.
"This few blocks! Sure!" Bahir stomps to about three lanes down and plops down to slide off his shoes. "Why do we need special bowling shoes?"
"It's just a thing," Natalie answers, distracted instead by studying the line-up of balls on a rack behind them. "I don't really know. Just call it part of the kitsch and enjoy it!"
"Not some kind of religious outfit, then. Good. These," Bahir dangles his own shoes, "are meant for pure Muslim feet." And those regular shoes are discarded as he also goes to explore the balls and Jason decides to pushes the child-scrawl /want/ emotion into Natalie's brain again. "What's the difference between one ball and another?"
"They're what?" Natalie's potential answer to the question is distracted by her intense bafflement at the first statement, and she turns to study Bahir over her shoulder in confusion that turns soon enough into an absent, distracted frown.
"They're sacred shoes," Bahir informs Natalie as he picks up a ball at random. Weight is no object! But as he picks it up, he turns his attention back to Natalie, careful. "What?"
Natalie's gaze sweeps back to Bahir and she replaces her frown with a smile, head shaking. "Nothing," she says, and steps forward with a ball in hand to wonder, "Do you know how to keep score or anything, then?"
"No. You'll have to show me. For all I know, this a shot put. With finger holes." Bahir hefts the ball higher, over his shoulder. "We can go back if you want, you know," he adds.
"No, honestly, it'll be fun," Natalie disagrees instantly, and she slides her ball into place before rocking back to watch Bahir's antics with a faint smile. "You're gonna shot-put it?"
"That would probably be a bad idea," Bahir says as he swings the ball back down. Jason, somewhere behind, considers. What do we want here? What do we want? "Where do I put it?" Bahir asks, stepping forward and eyeing the ball dispenser near the lanes with an uncertain dislike. And Jason goes ahead and pushes lust into Natalie's emotions. Okay. Why not. (We're sorry.)
Natalie's answer is slow in coming. For a moment she finds herself entirely taken aback but a sudden unexplainable rush, manifested in a thousand subtle ways. Her pulse quickens, her breath draws shallow. Her gaze fixes on Bahir with a moment's heady distraction. It's exhilarating and then it's uncomfortable, unallowed. She shakes her head hard and when she speaks it's with a bit of a rush. "Here, let me go first. It's not hard."
Bahir sets the ball down on the dispenser and trails. A Bit Close. "Don't mind me. Just trying to get a good sense of the position." Jason keeps pushing the lust. People are, indeed, far too subtle creatures.
"It's not really that hard," Natalie repeats, swallowing as she finds that her throat has gone suddenly a bit dry. Her step forward and away is a bit too fast, and she swings the ball into a roll without much grace. It manages to make it nearly three quarters of the lane before it rolls into the gutter, and Natalie spins swiftly away to retrieve her returning ball.
"Sooo," Bahir says over her shoulder, "was that a /good/ roll, or a bad roll?" Alas. Feelings persist.
"Shut up," Natalie retorts. She plants her back to him, the better to eye the conveyer that will spit her ball back in return.
"Bad roll. Got it." Bahir plants his hand on the safe edge of the conveyer. Next to her.
The ball returns with a bluster of noise. Natalie is slow to reach for it. Instead, she stands very, very still. She breathes in the nearness of Bahir without movement, the warmth of him without move to touch. Distraction is a heady thing, thick and rich with temptation.
Bahir also stands very still. He talks only after /quite/ a pause. "Natalie?"
Natalie startles guiltily, and the movement sends her rocking sideways into Bahir before she can regain her footing and reach for the ball. "Sorry, I'm fine, sorry," she quickly apologizes. Her ears are tipped pink as heat floods her face and she moves quickly back into place.
Bahir shoulder-touches to steady, if it soon becomes unnecessary. "You sure. Seriously. We can go back?" he asks after her.
"Long week," Natalie lies cheerily. She pauses for a moment, lingering in that touch before pulling steadfastly away and rushing forward again. "Beside, we've already paid."
At that, Jason withdraws the active pushing, feeling oddly, even in his own taut, uncomfortable restlessness, a bit eeeh about pursuing. Well. Damage done! "Yeah, I suppose," Bahir says with a low shrug.
"Hit the pins this time," he says, helpfully.
Damage indeed done. Once the mind has strayed in that direction, it is rather difficult to bring it back, and the absence of pushing makes little difference to the sense of /awareness/ that hangs heavy over Natalie. She remains suspiciously silent in the face of his suggestion. The second roll does, at least, hit some pins - three.
Bahir claps. "How many points is that worth? Fifty, right?" Listen to him try to be cheery.
"Shut up," Natalie says again, grouchily. Her pace back to the seats is nearly a stalk.
"Right," Bahir says, opens his mouth-- and closes it. He is going to fetch his ball now. "So I throw this at the pins."
"Roll it."
"Roll it." Bahir's nod is low-confirmed and he steps forward and forward-- and over the line. The lane bzzzts angrily.
From Natalie's direction, silence. She is not, in fact, even watching Bahir.
Bahir double step backs and rolls. The ball takes a leisurely stroll down the lane and hits the pins directly in the center. They all fall. Bahir looks over his shoulder to look askance-- and pauses.
Natalie looks up at the sound of falling pins, stirred from her distracted thoughts, and she smiles slightly. "Show-off," she accuses.
"I didn't do it on purpose." Bahir waves in the direction of the fallen pins and starts back to the seats.
"Uh huh." Despite the casual tease of her words, Natalie's up like a shot before Bahir has time to settle into the seats, already striding after her ball.
Bahir looks so /puzzled/. "Practicing for the marathon?"
"Yes," Natalie retorts. She takes her time at the lane, concentrating intently.
"Well. Good." Bahir folds his arms.
The ball rolls. Two or three pins fall. Really, who's counting?
Bahir is only counting a /little/. "You are a brilliant teacher."
Natalie spins abruptly to stare at Bahir with clear irritation. "Look, did you want to come out just so you could do the asshole thing at me? Because I'll tell you, Bahir, I'm really not feeling in the mood just now."
Bahir puts his hands out, steps back. "Sorry."
Natalie's expression eases, apparently mollified, and she studies him for a moment longer before she nods. And bowls.
Bahir watches. Quiet.
Natalie does not bother to speak again. There is bowling, after all, to serve as a distraction.
Bahir also quietly, quietly bowls while Jason, gnawing his knuckles now and again, paces and wonders what on earth he /has/ here.
Apparently Bahir is /really hot/.