Logs:Under My Umbrella

Under My Umbrella
Dramatis Personae Ryan, Steve
In Absentia	2022-03-31 "I just figured you might do with bit of a pick-me-up."
Location <NYC> HAMMER Field Office - Federal Plaza
The DHS building in Federal Plaza is what you'd expect; an austere-looking office-building with multiple floors and offices to handle the many bureaucratic issues and legal proceedings surrounding a federal agency dedicated to matters of 'terrorism'. HAMMER's offices are a notably recent addition, and include their own small parking garage for dedicated vehicles, a data-center, and even a small holding pen. Among these amenities (notably much more stark and straightforward than the rest of DHS) is a small room with ugly florescent lighting and several recently trimmed electrical wires (neatly capped and twisted off) dangling from the walls. The demonstrations in Federal Plaza are still going -- not quite strong, today, the rain driving all but the most dedicated supporters indoors until it wanes. Ryan is among those, though he's got no signs, no megaphone, has stayed far from the center of the group where the current speaker is passionately criticizing HAMMER's personnel choices. Some ways back, Ryan is leaning up against a newspaper box, determinedly ignoring the occasional picture-takers and stares from passersby. He's slightly less flamboyant today than usual in a light thigh-length jacket in (subtly, by his standards) glittery black open over a sharp red vest with no shirt evident beneath it, black jeans slim but not skintight and glittery red zippered boots with heel tabs that read "VEGETARIAN SHOES". The most eye-catching part of his ensemble today might be the iridescent mesh sling cradling his left arm, matching the clear iridescent umbrella that is resting furled and useless against the newsstand beside him. He's been looking down at his phone, frowning when he tries to swipe a message on its rain-flecked screen. Steve is off-duty from the Care Bears today, the shield slung over his shoulder returned to its classical paint scheme, a silver star in a blue field ringed with red and white bands. He wears a tight black t-shirt with a bold red star on the chest, faded blue jeans, and scuffed-up black combat boots, carrying a Chimaera Art Space canvas tote and a cardboard drink holder with two tall paper cups. Coasting to a stop beside Ryan, he sets the drinks holder down on the news stand. "Hey." He glances from the phone screen to his friend's face. Back down. "Might be a bit easier if ah..." He picks the umbrella up and opens it over them both." Fishes around in the tote and comes back out with a foil-wrapped burrito marked with a green "V" sticker. "These are freshly delivered. Got some hot sauce, too." Ryan's shoulders get slightly tenser as Steve approaches, but relax again when he actually looks up. A warm smile lights up his face when Steve opens up the umbrella. He wipes the screen mostly ineffectually against his leg before finishing his text and tucking the phone back into his pocket. "Hey, thanks. Hard to hold that and swipe at the same time, anyway." He plucks one of the drinks from the drinks holder. Takes the burrito and tucks it into the cup where the drink just was. "Didn't think you were Care Bearing today." Though already under the umbrella's protection, he shifts a half-step closer to Steve as he sips at his drink. "Do you like brownies?" "You're welcome." Steve's eyes search the street endlessly, but he takes a break from that long enough to flash Ryan a smile. "Oh! I'm not, I just figured you might do with bit of a pick-me-up." He takes a sip of his own coffee and goes back to his vigilant watch. "Been a bit of a week, hasn't it?" He blinks down at Ryan, momentarily thrown by the question. It takes him longer than really seems sensible to answer, "Yeah, I do. Not sure I've ever had a brownie I disliked. Maybe I'm just indiscriminate, or maybe it's a difficult dessert to mess up." He gives a small shrug. "I could probably manage." "Oh, I could definitely use a pick-me-up." Ryan isn't drinking any more of his coffee, though. His eyes follow Steve's in their restless vigilance. "That was way more thought than brownies need. I'mm'a send them to you. Hope you like your brownies luxe, they're covered in gold." He tips his head up, searching Steve's face now rather than the street. "Could teach you to make some if you want. Not gold-dusted. Won't be as good as Jax's, but..." This trails off as his eyes turn back outward. Steve has his cup halfway to his lips again but stops. Turns a startled glance down at Ryan. "Gold?" He seems relieved at the clarification that it's gold dust, but still look just a bit dubious. "Thanks, I'll let you know what I think. Why do you have gold-coated brownies, though?" Puts his coffee back down and drapes am arm over Ryan's shoulders, careful of the injured one. "I would love to learn how to make them." This is gentle, too. "I'm sure it'll be delicious. No shame on either of us, not clearing that bar." He swallows, the tensing and relaxing of his muscles suggesting he's just conquered the urge to pull Ryan tighter against his side. "S'fucking -- awards shows send you home with suitcases full of unnecessary junk. You want a goddamn -- spa weekend? I got like twenty grand worth of beauty treatments. A resort vacation. Lipo..." Ryan stops here, considering: "You probably don't need the liposuction." Steve may resist the urge to pull Ryan tighter but Ryan is leaning in closer to the bigger man's side all the same, his head dropping against Steve's shoulder. One of the reporters, bored perhaps with the speeches, trains his camera immediately on the two of them at the affection; Ryan tenses and starts to pull back before just turning his back slightly more toward the camera. "I just --" His voice has gotten much softer, now, but the anguish in his words comes across in a palpable wave. "Don't know what we're doing out here. They're never gonna let him go." "I suppose they felt the award should come with more rewards than a statuette. No golden brownies for Tony winners, though." Steve relaxes a little more when Ryan leans against him. Tenses again when the reporter looks at them, aiming a sharp look at the man before firmly ignoring him. He shifts his hand to Ryan's back so he can hold his friend closer without putting pressure on his injury. His breath catches at the flood of Ryan's pain, and it takes him a moment to collect himself. "It's -- we're here to keep them from making him disappear. God only knows if they'd even let Tian-shin and Ms. Salinas see him if we weren't keeping this in the news." As determined as he wants to sound -- as determined as he is -- he cannot hide his own fury and despair from the empath. "I wish there were more we could. More I could do. What's the point of this fucking shield if I can't even --" He trembles, his jaw clenched hard when he presses his cheek against Ryan's hair. He does not cry. "-- protect the people I love." "Oh, this isn't for the winners, it's for the nominees. Call it the Everybody Wins pack. Luci won't likely eat any of the food but the Grammys got their own swag. Less ostentatious. Probably will have some gold plated food, though." There's a light amusement in Ryan's tone that is not at all echoed in the empathic flush it carries, strained and heavy and spiked with a sharp needy longing as Steve holds him closer. "Fuck," is just a small whisper. "I can't -- can we get --" His eyes squeeze shut as he swallows back the rest of this request. Takes a slow and careful breath instead. "Every day I run through all the things we could be doing and -- just end up at probably it'll make everything worse." "That's a lot of twenty grand beauty treatments and so on and so forth." Steve's eyebrows hike up and he shakes his head slow and incredulous. "Well, I'm sure Luci's siblings can take care of the weird luxe food, but if they're not up to the task, I'll be there for him." Steve is also not feeling as light as he sounds, but he's holding himself steady and strong physically, at least. "And...I don't mean the brownies, but you know I have your back, too, come what may." This is very quiet. "Whether that's handing out food and water here for however long it's needed or -- if there comes a day the other things we could do won't make things worse. God willing that won't be because everything else is...worse." His eyes had returned to scanning the street, but now he looks down at Ryan again, brows furrowing. "Or getting you out of here so you can dry off and rest and eat something other than caffeine. Maybe teach me how to bake?" He glances at the stage, the current speaker, and the damp protesters. "It's quiet today, your comrades can hold down the fort." Ryan straightens, pulling away from Steve -- though not far. "Please." There's a wash of relief at the suggestion to Get Out Of Here. He picks up the drink tray with Steve's coffee and the still-wrapped burrito. "Gonna learn you the fuck outta some brownies."