Summary:Jessica Drew visits Kwabena on her own time. They continue connecting over their shared experiences, over Star Trek and dinner. Log Info:Storyteller: {$storyteller} |
Related LogsTheme Song{$themesong} |
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Jessica receives more than a few looks from folk on her way in again with dinner. She has no doubt that they have either heard of the moment she shared with Kwabena the night before, or they watched it play out on the closed circuit monitors that have eyes on most of the holding area.
Scanning herself in, she flushes a little more pink under the scrutinizing gaze of a guard. "Jealous, much?" she mutters under her breath as she let's the door shut behind her.
"It's Jessica," she announces as she approaches, watching for signs of where Kwabena is. And what has transpired over the afternoon…and how it has affected him. Thankfully, Jessica smells of the most fantastic mixture of foods, as she sets bags down on the table.
She is dressed differently, today. Wearing a a yoga top and a thin, fluttery skirt down to her knees, she is a burst of colour. Her hair is smooth and shiny, falling in waves over her shoulders. The cut of her yoga top's black fabric shows a bit of cleavage, a bit of midriff. But she isn't on the clock…so it's not like that matters.
The previous night, Kwabena hadn't gotten much sleep. He'd spent most of that time pacing the room, journaling, working through the desert. As such he woke late today, and following a violently vigorous morning workout routine, the day has been spent between physical activity and, of all things, watching television.
Logs will show that he watched a film called 'Friday' - a classic stoner film starting Ice Cube and Chris Tucker, which, as it turned out, had earned a few honest laughs along side a touch of cultural confusion.
The afternoon had been spent watching old episodes of Star Trek from the 60's. Turnabout Intruder, The Trouble with Tribbles, City on the Edge of Forever. The episode is just ending when Jessica arrives; William Shatner is grief stricken in the arms of DeForest Kelley, while Leonard Nimoy repeats his famous line.
He knows, Doctor. He knows.
Kwabena looks up from the television, or rather, what had been his window to the outside world. His expression is one of contemplation, but at seeing Jessica, he stands upright and his eyes widen. He looks her up and down for a moment, then to the bags of food she's brought with her.
"Hello," he tells her, and walks across the room to meet her. The nanosuit is configured differently, essentially a tank top unitard leaving his arms and feet bare, and the SHIELD sweatpants cover his lower half.
However, he stops when he draws near, looking the woman in the eye with a sense of awkwardness. "Hello," he says again, hiding the grimace that tries to show itself. "You, look, different. I mean, you look - I like it."
Jessica smiles as Kwabena approaches her, and she sets down bags. "I was off work today. I was going to come a little later, but when I finished Yoga, I didn't want to go home…" She sneaks a look up at him and shares a smile, as she slips an arm around his waist and gives a squeeze. "How has today been, anyway?"
At the touch, Kwabena smiles, and his face darkens a touch. "And you came here," he observes, his smile turning somewhat rueful while a hand drops to touch the arm around his waist, for but a brief moment.
Turning to the table, he sits down at a position different than before; next to where Jessica usually sits, as opposed to across from her. "I watched 'Stah Trek'," he tells her. "Fah de first time. I did not know dere have been six… six, uh…" He pauses, motioning as he looks for the word. "Pahts? No, six… versions." He snaps his fingers. "Series! Six of different television series." The man gives Jessica a confused look. "I will say, de story is interesting, but how do peopah watch so much of same thing?"
Jessica half-smiles at his touch, and blushes a little. And she shrugs slightly when he asks how people watch so much of the same thing.
"Well, I don't watch television much, muself, so I couldn't begin to tell you. I /have/ seen some episodes of Star Trek," she adds, "but only the old original." She sets down plates, as before, and she places boneless baked chicken breasts on the plates, along with vegetables and mashed potatoes. Over the potatoes and chicken, she pours a chicken gravy. Anything to stay busy, because when she stops, she is watching him. And Jessica has the worst poker face ever. He'd read her thoughts in a heartbeat, she's afraid.
"De acting is… yes is very strange," Kwabena observes. "Howevah, de stories are very interesting."
Watching her work, Kwabena lifts an eyebrow. He's watching her hands, her nail beds, and then follows the line up her arms, to her chest, and finally to her face. Hands come together so that fingers can fidget under the table and out of sight, and he turns his head just slightly. "Dis is chicken, yes?" he asks. "Is baked and, if I can smell it, with basil and lemon? Is from same place?"
Jessica shakes her head quickly. "You're good. It's baked…basil, lemon, and butter. Different place, though. This one is a lovely Brazilian…." She trails off and looks back to Kwabena. "Someday we 'll be able to go there and you won't have to have it here. You'd love the place. It's beautiful, and the smells are divine…" She suppresses a smile, trying not to think of anything besides the subject at hand. And…failing pretty miserably.
Having been trained not only as a soldier, but also as a spy, yes… Kwabena can read everything. Those skills don't dissolve simply because his mind is a jumbled mess.
"You should smile," he tells her, refusing to break his attention from her face. "Because you want to smile. I can see dis. Is okay." He gestures toward the door. "One of de guards had a look. Was trying to hide it, but I saw through it. Is not his problem, though. Is ours." His eyebrows rise, and he finally breaks away to look for a fork and a knife. "Is much bettah problem dan any oddahs I am with."
He cuts into the chicken, and when he does, the smells intensify as its juices seep out. "Is good enough, de company alone. More dan enough, but, if we can go dere some day, would that be what is called, a date?"
Oh, he's nervous too. Only his way of handling it is, apparently, to talk. To draw it out, naked in the open.
"I think…I think that is exactly what it would be called, yes," Jessica replies, finally allowing her smile to break through. "And no, it isn't their problem. But it also isn't our problem. It would be our problem if I were assigned to you in some way. I came because I knew your history. Because I thought maybe I could help. I didn't expect…well, I didn't expect anything more than that." Jessica seats herself at her own plate and shuffles around her vegetables before spearing a few for a bite. "If they feel the need to involve themselves, I suppose I can't help that." She also can't help it that she lost the guy five bucks.
Kwabena eats as she talks; a bit ravenously at that. The food she's been bringing is so much better than whatever SHIELD has decided he should be eating; likely from some cafeteria or worse, freeze dried and rehydrated.
"I could make dere lives less boring," he muses, "but dat would be…" He pauses, looking for the word. "Counterproductive."
Another piece of chicken is stabbed with his fork, but he waits with it, considering something. "I… was thinking of it, today. Many times." He turns the chicken over, studying it for a moment, before lifting his eyes up toward Jessica. "It makes sense. No one else could undahstand what I… what you, and I, have seen." He nods his head. "And it does help."
He finds now that he's looking at her, rather than eating. The fork is held there, hovering, slowly being forgotten. The smell of basil and lemon and delicious, real butter is powerful, yes, but he can smell something else; something he's wanted to smell again since their last encounter.
The fork eventually drops to the plate. Startled, he looks down at it, and lifts it quickly to eat.
Stifling a nervous laugh, Jessica finally returns to her food, having been caught up in that moment, as well. "I'm glad it helps. It feels like it helps us to connect on…a different level, maybe?" She nods slightly, and takes a bite before cutting into her chicken. "I have never spoken with anyone else who has been through what I have." She looks back up to him, again. "You know, I was in your place, a few years ago. Held here, while they tried to reprogram my brain and get rid of what I had been brainwashed to believe. The sweats…the horrible food. All of it."
A couple scoops of potato are devoured, but when she speaks of connecting on a different level, Kwabena seems skeptical. He's not sure that has anything to do with it at all. He doesn't speak of it yet though, instead leaving Jessica room to talk about how she's never spoken with someone about her experience on this level. To that, he nods his head, and refrains from eating again.
"Pahhaps tell dem dat Astronaut Ice Cream is not best option," he jokes, and allows a nervous laugh.
Kwabena looks down to his food again, then back up to Jessica. This time, his words come quietly, as if he doesn't want the microphones to capture it, even though he knows they will. "I could not stop from thinking about you," he admits. "I do not think, is only because of shared experience." He doesn't notice that his fingers are now gripping the fork tightly, but he is aware that his heart is beating faster again. Maybe if he excused himself and started doing push-ups, it would go away. His eyes even dart down at the idea, but then back up to her. "Maybe I have just lost my mind?" he asks.
"You have not lost your mind, Kwabena," Jessica says softly. "I could think of little else, myself," she admits, looking up at him, but there is now a mark of concern that creases her brow. "There's something about me that seems…it seems to attract some men. More than some. But not all. I have my suspicions, but no one is certain at this point what it is. People tell me I'm crazy, or just bragging, if I try to talk about it." She sighs, putting down her fork. If she tells him her own observations, it might change everything. If she does not, and she's right, she is being deceptive, and incredibly unfair to him.
"Do you think maybe it /is/ something else?"
Brow creasing is shared. Kwabena considers what she says, and sets his fork down now as well. Anything that keeps his mind off the deafening silence is helpful, and the wheels are clearly spinning.
"I have seen many things," he tells her, "In Prevoshkhodstvo. Telepathy, is what one thing is called. Reading minds, speaking without speaking. Very, very strange." A darkness catches him. "Silvahlock, de one who died? He could…" Hands rise to help demonstrate, by shrinking closer together. "Slow time. To a crawl. To a stop." He shakes his head. "We are strange people, with strange things. What I do, it makes no sense, but it works."
He now fixes himself upon her, even turning in his chair so that he is facing her, hands clasped together, body leaning a bit closer. The look in his silver eyes is intense and unwavering. "Maybe you ah just pleasing to de eye," he tells her. "You ah pleasing to my eyes." A grin forms. "And I think I have good taste."
His grin fades though, and the intensity returns. "What really matters, I think, is, what you want. What you feel."
Jessica searches his face as his intense gaze falls on her. "I feel a connection unlike any I've known. I feel like I understand you like many don't. And I feel like there's…" A nervous laugh breaks through, at hearing herself even say it aloud. "I feel like there is something…almost explosive between us. It's strong. At least…what I feel."
Kwabena can feel the hairs on the back of his head standing up, the nervous tension, the heat rising into his face. He reaches out with both hands, trying to find Jessica's without looking. Once he finds them, he'll grab hold tightly, but his eyes are locked on hers.
"Strong, yes," he agrees. "Explosive…" His eyes are fiery. And yet, though this place has given him a touch of freedom, he now feels more trapped than ever.
He nods slowly, feeling his hands trembling slightly. "Yes." His eyes close and a breath of irritation escapes. "I want to be out of dis place, with you, but I cannot leave." The pent up agitation comes through his voice with vivid color.
"That /will/ happen, Kwabena. You won't be here forever. And I will be here anytime you need me. I know that you have to be here for your safety for now," she laments. "I need…to be near you. I will be. Visits, as often as possible. And when this is resolved, you'll be free of here. But I am not going anywhere. I promise you that." The intensity in her gaze now matches his own.
Kwabena nods his head, and he smiles, but a sadness creeps into that smile. "So much hope," he observes, aloud. He looks down to their hands and draws his thumbs over her skin in a comforting motion while looking back up to her.
"You need to be ready if dey cannot break de code," he tells her. "Or if Prevoshkhodstvo breaks through dis." He taps the WiFi repeater clamped around his ankle against the leg of his chair, the only thing jamming the enemy's signal. "If you ah going to let yourself feel dese things, you have to be ready." He shakes his head, and a touch of anger flickers into the sadness and the smile. "I have no choice. You do. I hope you undahstand what is I am saying."
"I understand," Jessica replies simply. "I'm not powerless, though. I won't sit by and let it happen." She remains quiet for a moment, then speaks, having organized her thoughts. "What if I could help disable them from the inside? I have abilities, I have contacts…and I have backup."
There's that fighting spirit. It makes her even more attractive to him, and Kwabena's anger and sadness dilutes. "Dat is above my current pay grade," he jokes, though truthfully, it's not his call. At the idea though, he tilts his head slightly, eyes narrowed. "Dat would make dis 'our problem'."
They're already involved. One kiss, but it was one hell of a kiss, and now, the pent up, explosive feelings that they cannot entertain. That would make her a part of his case, and that would become… complicated.
"YOU…" She points a finger at his nose, wiggling it in a circle, "are splitting hairs." But he isn't, and Jessica knows that. And then, she relents. "Well, they can't tell me what to do on my days off," she mutters.
Then, reorienting on Kwabena again, "I think I'm going to kiss you again."
"I don't have any hair," Kwabena retorts with laughter in his eyes and a clever tone in his voice.
He's about to say something else, when he goes quiet and nervous all at once. He's been thinking about it ever since the night before, and his heart begins pounding again. "If you don't," he answers hoarsely, "I am definitely to explode."