milliways_bar | (no subject)

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When Beverly went back to work, Price commended her for "getting back on the horse" and every time she thinks about that now she kind of wants to laugh hysterically. It's been -- it's been a weird, weird week.

When the door opens into the bar, she stops short in the doorway, staring. Then, cautiously, she closes and opens it from her side. That works; she steps through and tests it from the Milliways side. Still works, and still opens onto the break room at Quantico. Satisfied that she's not going to be stuck here again, she heads to the counter. As she sits down, Bar delivers a note. And . . . a balloon. The balloon is pretty cute. The note -- not so much.

Beverly reads it twice, then sets it down with a sigh and pinches the bridge of her nose with her good hand. (Her right is still bandaged, though the doctor assures her that her fingers are healing well.)

"Bar, can I have a double Bushmills?"

There are things she can deal with sober, but the combination of dealing with Hannibal Lecter at work, dealing with the situation here, and finding a live bird in a dead woman's chest just. Is not one of those things.

[ooc: Usual warnings about the gruesomeness of Beverly's canon apply, turned up a little because "Su-Zakana" is a hell of an episode. Let me know if you'd rather her work not come up.]

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Ava frowns.

(Her gaze flickers to Beverly's bandaged hand, then back to her face.)

"I'm sorry," she says. It may come out a little stilted. "Um. Well, he called me Margot down there, and when he did it again, I just assumed he was the same guy. But he claims he's not-- that he's from a timeline that forked off from yours."

When you didn't die.

Edited 2014-12-01 21:32 (UTC)

She waves off the apology -- not like it's Ava's fault she got concussed. Margot. Who's Margot? It seems like it ought to ring a bell, but she's not coming up with anything.

"He told me before that he was from farther in the future than I was. Am." She grimaces. "And implied pretty strongly that I was out of the picture."

"He told me that too."

Ava's expression doesn't betray anything in particular, aside from idle interest-- but it's a dim version.

"At first I think he was guessing-- he said your name, Alana Bloom, and Will Graham-- but something I said must have tipped him off that it was you I was helping, because the second time I met him he only talked about you."

"Goddammit," she mutters, putting down her drink with a clack.

"He's very, very smart. And more observant than almost anyone I know. If you try and get something past him, he'll notice. I've tried."

Is trying.

Ava doesn't immediately reply, but she sits a little straighter on her stool. She sips her cocoa.

"He wants something, though."

"Any idea what?"

She nods.

"One specific. Two less specific." Another sip. "My specific idea is, he wants to know what happens if you stay alive."

She frowns. "You're not really in a position to know that."

"And I didn't tell him what I do know-- not in so many words?"

She shrugs.

"Maybe he figures he's smart enough to infer something."

"He probably is."

She rubs her forehead. "What are your other ideas?"

"I heard a rumor he can smell magic, which is sort of its own thing," she says.

"But the last idea is ..."

Ava glances down into her mug.

"So the second time I met him, I tried to figure out what would happen if I held back, like-- approval. Or if I didn't say anything. And every time, he either pushed it, or he asked me to do something for him."

". . . I don't think," she says carefully, "that deliberately fucking with him is a great idea, Ava."

This is what you might call an understatement.

Ava glances to her.

"Yeah. That's what Will Graham said."

"You've talked to him, too?"

She nods.

"He said not to talk to Lecter. That he'd use me as ammunition."

"Yeah. And he's probably right." She shakes her head; her lips are pressed in a thin, crooked line. "He's worth listening to."

Ava sips her cocoa, casting Beverly a small smile.

"I am listening to him." (Not exactly.) "But ... I didn't exactly go looking for Lecter either time. He wants to talk to me, for whatever reason. And this is a small place."

"Listening to him isn't the same as doing what he says."

As she has had occasion to say more than once in the last few months.

Her lips quirk.

"I run into him in the bar, I have three options: retreat, attack ... learn. And I know I can't trust what I learn, but--

Everybody gives away something. He's burned a lot of bridges here."

Beverly looks up at her.

"And you're planning to do what with what you learn?"

"I don't know," she says.

"Whatever I have to. Which could be nothing."

"Ava," she says, turning towards her, "you are playing a dangerous game. You do get that, right? I mean--"

She waves one hand, a little helplessly. "You've seen some of what he's capable of. First-hand."

She nods.

"And I underestimated him before. I know I did."

"So did I. So neither of us should do that again. If retreating is an option, why not take it?"

Ava sips her cocoa.

"One-- I'm not sure it is.

Ad two ... do you really think he won't do anything around here-- nothing that involves you, or me, or Will Graham or Alana Bloom, or some nice person with no clue-- just because we try not to play?"