One Square At A Time
He's right - and what if she is doing this to me? What if this is /her/ - and if it is, what then? I doubt she'd see it as war, but then she relies upon her powers... but can I tolerate that?
I need some distance, or at least some sleep.
A diner, tucked inside a corner of an older high-rise - the floor scuffed tile in chessboard black and white, with cracked red naugahyde cushions on the booths and overpolished tabletops. Shaw - looking the don in a sweatsuit - sits at one, an ever-full cup of coffee at his right hand as he peeks through a menu, plastic laminate crackling off the corners of the pages.
Slapping a newspaper against his side, Bahir pushes through the doors to enter and take a seat next to Shaw. Paper placed to the side with his bag, he turns attention to the man opposite him. "How's the coffee?"
"Exactly as you would expect," Shaw replies, his mind a roiling mass of confusion behind a pleasant enough experience. "It reminds me of my youth, though, before Denny's gobbled up every diner in town."
"Some of these places have good coffee," Bahir says, a gesture given to tile and naugahyde and all. "Their one redeeming factor. Some of these places have really shitty coffee and ought to be bought out to put a Starbucks in." No Denny's in Bahir's youth, so he gives the reminiscence a blank sort of look.
"Mmm," Shaw says. "Starbucks." It's a beat, and then, "Emma came to see me."
"You should've bought them out when they were still small." Waving over a waitress, Bahir gets a coffee for himself and lets silence fall between him and his King while the woman puts down the mug and fills it. Once she has left, and only then, does he ask a mild, "Why?"
"There was a memo from the Seattle office to just that effect," Shaw says mournfully. "Opportunities lost." He's fidgeting - if not physically, then certainly mentally - in a sudden desire to not answer Bahir's question.
With only the mildest awareness of Shaw's mental state, Bahir continues to regard Shaw steadily as he takes a sip of unsweetened, black coffee.
"She came to gloat, I suppose," Shaw says carefully - his sip is far more like a gulp, and he distracts himself with a, "Sausage or bacon, do you think? Or both?"
"Neither. Unhealthy," Bahir says dryly. "You should get the vegetarian strips. They are vaguely baconish, I understand. Gloat about what?"
"Both," Shaw says with a smug note of pride. "What's a few months off an old age I won't see?" This isn't strictly accurate, but there is a mental dismissal. "She came to gloat," he says reluctantly, "about her present illusion of ascendance."
Bahir arches dark eyebrows over his coffee. "Well, that was stupid of her. And?"
"Gloating is part and parcel," Shaw replies. As the waitress returns, he orders - bacon, sausage, four eggs (over-medium), waffles, white bread toast and home fries with gravy. "I can't blame her for gloating."
"It's still stupid." Bahir takes another sip of coffee, pausing only to order toast. "If it is an illusion of ascendance as you say, than it warns you of her plans; if it is true ascendance, than it fosters resentment. It's stupid."
Shaw shrugs. "It's traditional," he says, and there are no words on the question of ascendance illusionality. "Resentment, too - our mistakes, Bahir, are as codified and steeped in lore as our triumphs."
"Stupid." Bahir has a word. He is sticking to it. "So? And? Therefore? Is she? What makes her think so? What can we do to take that away from her?"
"I imagine she takes her cue from winning Percy," the Black King replies. As the waitress passes, he snags her with a look: "Orange juice, too. Tall glass." A shake of his head, and then he looks back at Bahir. "She took steps forward at the Circle meeting as well." Brief accusation flares in his mind, dismissed with some sort of mental shrug.
"From winning Percy? He was a trade, freely offered, and you rid yourself a piece you never trusted." Sitting back, Bahir arches a look at Shaw. "What Percy is symptomatic of, however, could be a problem for you: you are losing your grip on important pieces. You ignored my advice, you ignored Sal, and you did both at the meeting. Sal is slipping your grip. Percy is out of your grip. Emma's pieces are still quite loyal."
Coffee. "And?" Shaw inquires with a measure of fatalism.
"You're resigned to this?" Bahir asks irritably. "Where's all the bombast that you were flaunting at our little meeting, Shaw? If you take this position than you simply grant White ascendance. You let it slip from you. You don't deserve it."
"I can barely think, Bahir," Shaw replies. "I can't focus in meetings, I'm constantly on edge - I've taken to keeping a bit of power in my system all the time, just to keep from drifting entirely." He pauses. "And what are my options? Strike at Emma directly? With our pieces in disarray..."
"Tell me what Emma said," sighs Bahir, gesturing for Shaw to lay it out between them. "Then I can better tell you your options. Why can't you think? What's wrong? Too much stress or-- I thought you thrived on that sort of thing?"
More coffee, as Shaw drinks thirstily, and then a snapped word at the waitress to refil. "She demanded the Circle," he says - sex looms briefly large in the Black King's mind. "I..." A pause. "I didn't say no."
Disgust curls Bahir's lips, fingers tightening on the handle of his mug. "Didn't you. And why not? Too dazzled by the perfect geometry of her breasts? For fuck's sake, Shaw. Stay away from her, call her, do your business over the phone if you need to -- if you're that /weak/ to her physical charms, not to say the possibility of mental ones. Why didn't you say no? Perhaps because she coerced you?"
Irony in Shaw's mind. "She showed up in my room," he says. "That free passage is something - again, tradition - we have always had." Eyes close, and as the coffee is refilled he drinks again. "Fuck, Bahir, it took time to distinguish dreams for reality."
"Fuck tradition, Shaw," Bahir snaps. "You've other apartments, other places no doubt: use those. Somewhere that she can't waltz in and catch you when you are weak. What price for the Circle? What do you get out of her? Noting? A blow job?"
"Complacency does seem - perennially - to bring me low, doesn't it?" the Black King remarks. Food arrives, and the fork and knife are seized upon as welcome distractions, plopping sausage into his mouth with masochistic joy. "Steps."
"And?" Bahir asks, jaw tight. "You will be complacent about this?"
Frustration rises, and the bacon is nearly torn in two as Shaw bites down on it. "No," he says, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows. "I'm asking what /steps/ /we/ /should/ /take/." A beat, and an exhalation. "I've been on edge," he says in oblique apology.
"No you aren't. You aren't asking. You're whining, you're moping -- you're resigning yourself to your fate before it has even been dealt," Bahir says sharply. "What makes Emma think she has control? Percy? Ridiculous. A foolish win and one that you shouldn't let her hold over you."
Some small steel returns to Shaw's spine, and he nods. "Fine - fair." A beat. "What steps, Bahir? Where do we go from here?"
"Remove yourself from Emma's sphere if you find yourself so weakened by her. /Stop/ having sex with her," Bahir adds, annoyed. "The mind is weakest during and after orgasm, in sleep -- such like that. The defenses are down. Shore up your pieces, weaken hers: I've been working that he is missed into every conversation that I've had with Percy. Have you been working how Sal is valued into your conversations with her? What about Linden? Is he over his little crisis of faith?"
"Only the once," Shaw says a little defensively. "Last night - and if I can't control Emma through sex, Bahir..." He pauses. "She was like a rabbit, a frightened rabbit when she came to me. I have dinner arranged with Harper soon - we'll discuss her value, make it clear she's important, and Linden..." A shrug. "I am not concerned about /Emma/ seducing him away. The Queen he was weak for is gone."
"You can't. You can't control her through sex, Shaw, and you should fucking well know this. You taught Emma to use sex as a weapon, and she is very good at it. Like a rabbit? I'll fucking /bet/. She's a consummate actress." Bahir's lips curl, near a sneer. "Watch how you handle your dinner with Harper: stop treating her like a woman and treat her like a valued bodyguard and Rook. Ignore the fact that she has breasts and a cunt and respect the work she does. I asked Percy about this," he admits, "and his advice is what I repeat to you: respect for her, for her talents, for her judgment. Do not dismiss her and what she says. If you have dinner with her, remove all hints of the sexual from it. Don't fuck her. Don't make her think you want to fuck her. Acknowledge her attractiveness, but put your dick away. You control no one through sex: not Emma, not Sal."
"I've been sleeping with Sal since I met her," Shaw counters. "Only since I've stopped has she begun to become... difficult."
"Not going to help you," Bahir maintains. "Don't try."
The waffles are drenched in syrup and butter - two, three cubes of the latter before the former is just ladled on. "I don't understand," Shaw admits. Cut, eaten, and then - muffled - "Explain?"
"You need to show Sal that it is her abilities and talents as a /bodyguard/ and as your /Rook/ that you respect, Shaw," Bahir explains. "Not her abilities and talents in bed. Leash your misogyny long enough for her to feel appreciated -- and don't buy her flowers. She is weak because you don't listen to her and because there is no mutual respect. Respect her, her talents, her judgments."
"'m not a misogynist," Shaw comments through his waffles.
"Yes you are. So am I," Bahir says serenely. "But sometimes, we have to pretend we aren't."
Shaw just grins at Bahir collegially for a moment, and then nods. "I'll extend an act of faith," he says, "if you think that's what is required for Harper - though..." Potatoes, dripping in gravy. "She has a tight little ass."
"I don't need to know, and I don't want to know," Bahir says, turning hands up and outward. "I don't like her, myself. She's all brawn, no brain. But useful as a bodyguard, fine, I'll grant you -- and that's what you need to grant her. For your pawns, reward those who have been helpful: monetarily, jobs, scholarships, whatever. The small pieces can be as important as the large. You have a Rook, a Knight, and a Bishop. Emma has Adel -- her Knight is of the itinerant sort, here and there and gone again. No Rook. So she has Percy? So what. Half of being in power is believing you are in power, Shaw. Don't let her take that just because she fucked you."
"I rather," Shaw replies quietly, "think she fucked me because she took that."
"You know what you should've done?" Bahir says, smile cold. "Thrown her into the hall half-dressed. Instead, you let her. You were weak."
"I did that two weeks ago," the Black King muses fondly, and then his brow furrows and he looks up. Concern - curiosity - crosses his mind, and he begins to match timelines.
Bahir takes another sip of his coffee: a long pull, and then waves the waitress over to refill it. His toast goes untouched. Once the woman is gone again, he says, "And you let her last night, and suddenly you're fallen. God, Shaw. What on Earth makes you think that sex is how you win? That's how women win."
"I was exhausted," Shaw says grimly. "When I woke up, it was from a dream - a dream of Emma, Bahir, like the dreams I've been having for weeks." A pause. "Those weeks since I threw her out of my room."
"You've always had an unnatural fixation on her," Bahir says with dismissive scorn. "You don't dream of her all the time? I'm astonished."
"I don't remember my dreams," Shaw says. "Not usually."
Bahir arches an eyebrow at Shaw. "Are these dreams different than those you do remember?"
"My fixation on Emma isn't unnatural," Shaw says, stepping back a moment - potatoes, gravy. "Yes."
"Yes it is. It reeks of obsession, Shaw. It is a weakness, possibly a fatal one: a flaw you would never allow in your pieces," Bahir says, sweetening his cup of coffee this time. "How are they different?"
"They disturb my sleep, for one thing," Shaw says with a bite of eggs. "I keep waking from them - not nightmares, exactly, but..." He chews. "Something like. Bringing me out of sleep in fits and sweaty starts, all the time."
"Change your environment, take sleeping pills: move out of the Clubhouse until you've determined what the problem is, and take your sleep somewhere where there is no trace of Emma's influence," Bahir prescribes, all knowledgeable. "Do you suspect her?"
"I've slept well when out of the clubhouse," Shaw reluctantly acknowledges. "And the timing is..." A pause. "Suspicious."
"Would you like me to look?" Bahir offers. "We should contact the pawns on your security detail, those around the Clubhouse -- she can easily affect your sleep from her room, mind, but there's the possibility that she moved closer."
Suspicion of a different sort at the thought of Bahir in Shaw's mind - the fear, perhaps not unreasonable, of telepaths rising like bile.
Bahir waits Shaw out, doing and saying nothing.
"Yes." Shaw says the word with trepidation.
"Fine. Not here. We should do it somewhere you are comfortable, as we did before," Bahir says, finally picking up his toast to pull the crusts off and nibble on them. "Avoid Emma until then. When?"
"Tomorrow night," Shaw says, "we'll fly to Pittsburgh. We can do it on Saturday at my place there."
"When I said get away from Emma," Bahir says, tone drawling slowly as he taps crumbs off his fingers, "I didn't mean quite so extreme. But that will work nicely -- and it is about the only way to be certain she can't influence you. Her range is astonishing."
"There are a number of things about Emma that are astonishing," Shaw reflects. "You should..." A smile, a little bit of the old Shaw as some confidence returns with food. "Mention to your brother that I am in debt to him for teaching her new tricks."
Bahir splays his fingers. "I don't want to know. I'll mention it. Sleep somewhere else tonight, Shaw, and don't let Emma take the Circle for your weakness and inaction."
More eggs, and then Shaw pushes away the remnants of his plate, rising. "I imagine I can find a warm enough bed somewhere else," he says. "I'll have someone pick you up tomorrow for the flight." A pause, and then a silent look at Bahir. << Thank you. >>
Bahir doesn't hear the thanks! He is very carefully not listening, after all. He inclines his head, even so. "Fine. Careful with Harper. Remember what I said."
"I'll remember," Shaw says. "Until tomorrow."
With a wiggling salute of his fingers, Bahir sits back to finish his toast.
I need some distance, or at least some sleep.
A diner, tucked inside a corner of an older high-rise - the floor scuffed tile in chessboard black and white, with cracked red naugahyde cushions on the booths and overpolished tabletops. Shaw - looking the don in a sweatsuit - sits at one, an ever-full cup of coffee at his right hand as he peeks through a menu, plastic laminate crackling off the corners of the pages.
Slapping a newspaper against his side, Bahir pushes through the doors to enter and take a seat next to Shaw. Paper placed to the side with his bag, he turns attention to the man opposite him. "How's the coffee?"
"Exactly as you would expect," Shaw replies, his mind a roiling mass of confusion behind a pleasant enough experience. "It reminds me of my youth, though, before Denny's gobbled up every diner in town."
"Some of these places have good coffee," Bahir says, a gesture given to tile and naugahyde and all. "Their one redeeming factor. Some of these places have really shitty coffee and ought to be bought out to put a Starbucks in." No Denny's in Bahir's youth, so he gives the reminiscence a blank sort of look.
"Mmm," Shaw says. "Starbucks." It's a beat, and then, "Emma came to see me."
"You should've bought them out when they were still small." Waving over a waitress, Bahir gets a coffee for himself and lets silence fall between him and his King while the woman puts down the mug and fills it. Once she has left, and only then, does he ask a mild, "Why?"
"There was a memo from the Seattle office to just that effect," Shaw says mournfully. "Opportunities lost." He's fidgeting - if not physically, then certainly mentally - in a sudden desire to not answer Bahir's question.
With only the mildest awareness of Shaw's mental state, Bahir continues to regard Shaw steadily as he takes a sip of unsweetened, black coffee.
"She came to gloat, I suppose," Shaw says carefully - his sip is far more like a gulp, and he distracts himself with a, "Sausage or bacon, do you think? Or both?"
"Neither. Unhealthy," Bahir says dryly. "You should get the vegetarian strips. They are vaguely baconish, I understand. Gloat about what?"
"Both," Shaw says with a smug note of pride. "What's a few months off an old age I won't see?" This isn't strictly accurate, but there is a mental dismissal. "She came to gloat," he says reluctantly, "about her present illusion of ascendance."
Bahir arches dark eyebrows over his coffee. "Well, that was stupid of her. And?"
"Gloating is part and parcel," Shaw replies. As the waitress returns, he orders - bacon, sausage, four eggs (over-medium), waffles, white bread toast and home fries with gravy. "I can't blame her for gloating."
"It's still stupid." Bahir takes another sip of coffee, pausing only to order toast. "If it is an illusion of ascendance as you say, than it warns you of her plans; if it is true ascendance, than it fosters resentment. It's stupid."
Shaw shrugs. "It's traditional," he says, and there are no words on the question of ascendance illusionality. "Resentment, too - our mistakes, Bahir, are as codified and steeped in lore as our triumphs."
"Stupid." Bahir has a word. He is sticking to it. "So? And? Therefore? Is she? What makes her think so? What can we do to take that away from her?"
"I imagine she takes her cue from winning Percy," the Black King replies. As the waitress passes, he snags her with a look: "Orange juice, too. Tall glass." A shake of his head, and then he looks back at Bahir. "She took steps forward at the Circle meeting as well." Brief accusation flares in his mind, dismissed with some sort of mental shrug.
"From winning Percy? He was a trade, freely offered, and you rid yourself a piece you never trusted." Sitting back, Bahir arches a look at Shaw. "What Percy is symptomatic of, however, could be a problem for you: you are losing your grip on important pieces. You ignored my advice, you ignored Sal, and you did both at the meeting. Sal is slipping your grip. Percy is out of your grip. Emma's pieces are still quite loyal."
Coffee. "And?" Shaw inquires with a measure of fatalism.
"You're resigned to this?" Bahir asks irritably. "Where's all the bombast that you were flaunting at our little meeting, Shaw? If you take this position than you simply grant White ascendance. You let it slip from you. You don't deserve it."
"I can barely think, Bahir," Shaw replies. "I can't focus in meetings, I'm constantly on edge - I've taken to keeping a bit of power in my system all the time, just to keep from drifting entirely." He pauses. "And what are my options? Strike at Emma directly? With our pieces in disarray..."
"Tell me what Emma said," sighs Bahir, gesturing for Shaw to lay it out between them. "Then I can better tell you your options. Why can't you think? What's wrong? Too much stress or-- I thought you thrived on that sort of thing?"
More coffee, as Shaw drinks thirstily, and then a snapped word at the waitress to refil. "She demanded the Circle," he says - sex looms briefly large in the Black King's mind. "I..." A pause. "I didn't say no."
Disgust curls Bahir's lips, fingers tightening on the handle of his mug. "Didn't you. And why not? Too dazzled by the perfect geometry of her breasts? For fuck's sake, Shaw. Stay away from her, call her, do your business over the phone if you need to -- if you're that /weak/ to her physical charms, not to say the possibility of mental ones. Why didn't you say no? Perhaps because she coerced you?"
Irony in Shaw's mind. "She showed up in my room," he says. "That free passage is something - again, tradition - we have always had." Eyes close, and as the coffee is refilled he drinks again. "Fuck, Bahir, it took time to distinguish dreams for reality."
"Fuck tradition, Shaw," Bahir snaps. "You've other apartments, other places no doubt: use those. Somewhere that she can't waltz in and catch you when you are weak. What price for the Circle? What do you get out of her? Noting? A blow job?"
"Complacency does seem - perennially - to bring me low, doesn't it?" the Black King remarks. Food arrives, and the fork and knife are seized upon as welcome distractions, plopping sausage into his mouth with masochistic joy. "Steps."
"And?" Bahir asks, jaw tight. "You will be complacent about this?"
Frustration rises, and the bacon is nearly torn in two as Shaw bites down on it. "No," he says, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows. "I'm asking what /steps/ /we/ /should/ /take/." A beat, and an exhalation. "I've been on edge," he says in oblique apology.
"No you aren't. You aren't asking. You're whining, you're moping -- you're resigning yourself to your fate before it has even been dealt," Bahir says sharply. "What makes Emma think she has control? Percy? Ridiculous. A foolish win and one that you shouldn't let her hold over you."
Some small steel returns to Shaw's spine, and he nods. "Fine - fair." A beat. "What steps, Bahir? Where do we go from here?"
"Remove yourself from Emma's sphere if you find yourself so weakened by her. /Stop/ having sex with her," Bahir adds, annoyed. "The mind is weakest during and after orgasm, in sleep -- such like that. The defenses are down. Shore up your pieces, weaken hers: I've been working that he is missed into every conversation that I've had with Percy. Have you been working how Sal is valued into your conversations with her? What about Linden? Is he over his little crisis of faith?"
"Only the once," Shaw says a little defensively. "Last night - and if I can't control Emma through sex, Bahir..." He pauses. "She was like a rabbit, a frightened rabbit when she came to me. I have dinner arranged with Harper soon - we'll discuss her value, make it clear she's important, and Linden..." A shrug. "I am not concerned about /Emma/ seducing him away. The Queen he was weak for is gone."
"You can't. You can't control her through sex, Shaw, and you should fucking well know this. You taught Emma to use sex as a weapon, and she is very good at it. Like a rabbit? I'll fucking /bet/. She's a consummate actress." Bahir's lips curl, near a sneer. "Watch how you handle your dinner with Harper: stop treating her like a woman and treat her like a valued bodyguard and Rook. Ignore the fact that she has breasts and a cunt and respect the work she does. I asked Percy about this," he admits, "and his advice is what I repeat to you: respect for her, for her talents, for her judgment. Do not dismiss her and what she says. If you have dinner with her, remove all hints of the sexual from it. Don't fuck her. Don't make her think you want to fuck her. Acknowledge her attractiveness, but put your dick away. You control no one through sex: not Emma, not Sal."
"I've been sleeping with Sal since I met her," Shaw counters. "Only since I've stopped has she begun to become... difficult."
"Not going to help you," Bahir maintains. "Don't try."
The waffles are drenched in syrup and butter - two, three cubes of the latter before the former is just ladled on. "I don't understand," Shaw admits. Cut, eaten, and then - muffled - "Explain?"
"You need to show Sal that it is her abilities and talents as a /bodyguard/ and as your /Rook/ that you respect, Shaw," Bahir explains. "Not her abilities and talents in bed. Leash your misogyny long enough for her to feel appreciated -- and don't buy her flowers. She is weak because you don't listen to her and because there is no mutual respect. Respect her, her talents, her judgments."
"'m not a misogynist," Shaw comments through his waffles.
"Yes you are. So am I," Bahir says serenely. "But sometimes, we have to pretend we aren't."
Shaw just grins at Bahir collegially for a moment, and then nods. "I'll extend an act of faith," he says, "if you think that's what is required for Harper - though..." Potatoes, dripping in gravy. "She has a tight little ass."
"I don't need to know, and I don't want to know," Bahir says, turning hands up and outward. "I don't like her, myself. She's all brawn, no brain. But useful as a bodyguard, fine, I'll grant you -- and that's what you need to grant her. For your pawns, reward those who have been helpful: monetarily, jobs, scholarships, whatever. The small pieces can be as important as the large. You have a Rook, a Knight, and a Bishop. Emma has Adel -- her Knight is of the itinerant sort, here and there and gone again. No Rook. So she has Percy? So what. Half of being in power is believing you are in power, Shaw. Don't let her take that just because she fucked you."
"I rather," Shaw replies quietly, "think she fucked me because she took that."
"You know what you should've done?" Bahir says, smile cold. "Thrown her into the hall half-dressed. Instead, you let her. You were weak."
"I did that two weeks ago," the Black King muses fondly, and then his brow furrows and he looks up. Concern - curiosity - crosses his mind, and he begins to match timelines.
Bahir takes another sip of his coffee: a long pull, and then waves the waitress over to refill it. His toast goes untouched. Once the woman is gone again, he says, "And you let her last night, and suddenly you're fallen. God, Shaw. What on Earth makes you think that sex is how you win? That's how women win."
"I was exhausted," Shaw says grimly. "When I woke up, it was from a dream - a dream of Emma, Bahir, like the dreams I've been having for weeks." A pause. "Those weeks since I threw her out of my room."
"You've always had an unnatural fixation on her," Bahir says with dismissive scorn. "You don't dream of her all the time? I'm astonished."
"I don't remember my dreams," Shaw says. "Not usually."
Bahir arches an eyebrow at Shaw. "Are these dreams different than those you do remember?"
"My fixation on Emma isn't unnatural," Shaw says, stepping back a moment - potatoes, gravy. "Yes."
"Yes it is. It reeks of obsession, Shaw. It is a weakness, possibly a fatal one: a flaw you would never allow in your pieces," Bahir says, sweetening his cup of coffee this time. "How are they different?"
"They disturb my sleep, for one thing," Shaw says with a bite of eggs. "I keep waking from them - not nightmares, exactly, but..." He chews. "Something like. Bringing me out of sleep in fits and sweaty starts, all the time."
"Change your environment, take sleeping pills: move out of the Clubhouse until you've determined what the problem is, and take your sleep somewhere where there is no trace of Emma's influence," Bahir prescribes, all knowledgeable. "Do you suspect her?"
"I've slept well when out of the clubhouse," Shaw reluctantly acknowledges. "And the timing is..." A pause. "Suspicious."
"Would you like me to look?" Bahir offers. "We should contact the pawns on your security detail, those around the Clubhouse -- she can easily affect your sleep from her room, mind, but there's the possibility that she moved closer."
Suspicion of a different sort at the thought of Bahir in Shaw's mind - the fear, perhaps not unreasonable, of telepaths rising like bile.
Bahir waits Shaw out, doing and saying nothing.
"Yes." Shaw says the word with trepidation.
"Fine. Not here. We should do it somewhere you are comfortable, as we did before," Bahir says, finally picking up his toast to pull the crusts off and nibble on them. "Avoid Emma until then. When?"
"Tomorrow night," Shaw says, "we'll fly to Pittsburgh. We can do it on Saturday at my place there."
"When I said get away from Emma," Bahir says, tone drawling slowly as he taps crumbs off his fingers, "I didn't mean quite so extreme. But that will work nicely -- and it is about the only way to be certain she can't influence you. Her range is astonishing."
"There are a number of things about Emma that are astonishing," Shaw reflects. "You should..." A smile, a little bit of the old Shaw as some confidence returns with food. "Mention to your brother that I am in debt to him for teaching her new tricks."
Bahir splays his fingers. "I don't want to know. I'll mention it. Sleep somewhere else tonight, Shaw, and don't let Emma take the Circle for your weakness and inaction."
More eggs, and then Shaw pushes away the remnants of his plate, rising. "I imagine I can find a warm enough bed somewhere else," he says. "I'll have someone pick you up tomorrow for the flight." A pause, and then a silent look at Bahir. << Thank you. >>
Bahir doesn't hear the thanks! He is very carefully not listening, after all. He inclines his head, even so. "Fine. Careful with Harper. Remember what I said."
"I'll remember," Shaw says. "Until tomorrow."
With a wiggling salute of his fingers, Bahir sits back to finish his toast.