Logs:High Ground

High Ground
CN physical and gun violence, references to sibling murder and abuse, sanist language, racist language, allusion to lynching, gaslighting
Dramatis Personae Fury, Matt, Elie
In Absentia Lucien, Sera	2024-07-21 "Ah! Director Fury, what an unexpected--"
Location <PRV> Tessier Residence - Greenwich Village
Understated opulence claims this spacious and well-kept townhome, the decor throughout the whole of it of the highest quality and carefully chosen. The front door opens onto the entrance hall, a closet close at hand to receive coats and shoes -- the pale hardwood floors gleam underfoot, unsullied by tracked-in mess from outside. The living room beyond the entrance is all dark woods and pale earth tones, comfortable couches and armchairs and a thick soft rug laid down beneath. Two large and painstakingly aquascaped aquariums flank the entrance to the dining room, with several brightly coloured species of fish within. Most of the rest of the wall space, notably, is taken up with shelves -- shelves crammed with books of every subject and genre. A study branching off of the main hall is cozy, small, done in pale blues and lined with books as well around the large computer desk and smaller futon, though these rarer books are cased behind glass. Another securely locked door leads to the basement, and another to the full bathroom downstairs. The kitchen connects to the living room; in contrast, it is sleek and modern and well-appointed, stocked by someone who takes their cooking seriously. And takes their alcohol equally seriously -- to one side of the kitchen there is a fully-stocked bar. The back door to the kitchen looks out on a small well-kept garden. It's just before suppertime that a knock comes. Matt rouses himself from the corner of the couch where he's ensconced himself with a well-loved hardbound copy of The Wee Free Men, his laptop open on the tea table beside a mostly empty cup of tea. He's wearing a green tee shirt with a cheerful cartoon tea set on it captioned "This is my Tea Shirt", and ancient, disintegrating blue jeans. He pulls open the door and breaks into an easy smile. "Ah! Director Fury," he chirps brightly as he steps back to wave Fury in, then closes the door behind him. "What an unexpected--" Fury's resting scowl and wonted black-on-black attire give away nothing of the cause for his visit, but as Matt is turning back from the door he swings on him. The devastating right hook catches the smaller man squarely on the cheek and slams him unceremoniously to the floor. He curves the follow-through neatly and in more or less the same motion draws a large pistol from beneath the flap of his duster, squeezing off three rounds in rapid succession at his downed opponent. The sharp pops of the specialized ammunition are probably familiar enough to Matt, punctuating the sharper pain of the suppression darts that have stitched their way up from his abdomen to his chest. "Stay down," he growls as he exchanges the gun for an even bigger one from under the other flap of his duster. "Next time it's real bullets. Now, where the hell is he?" Perhaps it's a lucky thing Matt is still stunned by the blow to his head and doesn't really have time to register the gun being levelled at him until Fury has already fired. He has only just started to cry out when the darts hit him, the gasp of pain truncating the exclamation that was probably going to be "ostie" but comes out more like a breathy "oh!". He rolls onto his side and has to concentrate for a moment before he's able to draw enough breath for speech. "What the fuck are you talking about?" Fury's jaw works. "Your brother. Lucien." The name sounds strange and a little choked -- whether by emotion or by the effort of not appending "Tessier", it's hard to say. "You're a piece of work. I had a bad feeling about you right from the start and I should've trusted that." He shuffles a couple of steps aside, keeping the gun trained on Matt but his finger off the trigger. "You tell me what you done with him now? I'll let the NYPD have you. Otherwise, you're coming with me until he turns up safe. And if he don't, I can make you disappear." His grip tightens on the gun. "You mighta fooled everyone else, but you don't fool me. See a lot of motherfuckers like you in my line of work." Matt stares up at Fury, his eyes wide. "You love him," is probably not the answer Fury was looking for. "Good. Making me disappear, less good." He grimaces, pulling out one of the spent suppression darts and holding it up. "I don't suppose you're aware of the irony in this. I have no earthly clue where he is, but it's actually somewhat reassuring if he's missing, also." This last sounds more like he's talking to himself than the man holding him at gunpoint. "I'm quite sure you have 'a bad feeling' about everyone from the start." He dislodges another dart, bloodier than the last, sucking in a sharp breath. "Which doesn't necessarily mean you were wrong in this case. Tell me, if you please, what kind of motherfucker am I?" Fury's eye narrows at the empty dart, his expression giving away only the barest hint of his perplexity. "Of course you'd think it's reassuring." His jaw works. His index finger twitches. "You're a goddamn psychopath." "It's reassuring because that means Sera is probably with him. And, excuse you, that's 'ASPD with psychopathic features', these days." Matt's voice is still tight with pain, but he's smiling--in a way that probably shouldn't be unnerving at all. "I'm sure handing out armchair diagnoses makes you feel more secure in your moral high ground. But what do you suppose staying in your line of work says about you, a presumptive non-psychopath?" He works the last dart out of his flesh, then looks past it at Fury, his brows hiking up. "Oh, and weren't you career military before? Got really attached to that license to kill, no?" "Wait, what's your sister got to do with this?" The confusion does not (figuratively) disarm Fury for long. His face contorts with disgust at the question. "We are not the same, you sick fuck. All the work I ever done was to protect people, and if I got to hurt someone I don't get off on it. I know what you done, to your own blood, and --" He's literally at a loss for words for a moment, and the shift of his weight suggests he might give Matt a swift kick in their place. "I woulda brought you in soon as I found out, but he wanted to protect you." His lips compress and his breathing remains excessively even. "Well, he ain't here to do that now, so don't try me. I know where your goddamn phone is, if you reach for it I will break your hand." The threat sounds tired and rote. "Fucking amateur. And for the last time, where is he?" Matt sighs theatrically. "Again, I really don't think being a professional at this--" The gesture is just a tight turn of bloodied fingers, but clearly encompasses Fury and himself. "--is the kind of flex you think it is. Especially since you don't actually seem very good at it." He gingerly props himself up on one elbow. "For the last time, I don't know. I haven't talked to him in weeks. Sera didn't come home from church, and if he's fallen off the radar too, it's a good bet they're off on some bespoke Carmen Sandiego-type adventure." He stills, coming suddenly alert, then winces, a split second before the audible sound of jingling keys reach them. "{Don't come in!}" he cries out, not quite panicking though there is real fear in his voice. "{Call Ja--}" Fury's hearing is not what it once was, and he's slower to clock the incoming . Fortunately, his startle reflex does not involve firing his gun. Still, it probably isn't any great comfort to Matt that he thoughtfully turns the muzzle aside before kicking him in the solar plexus, just a little too late to stifle the warning. Said warning goes unheeded, in any event, and after a more frantic jingling of keys, the Tessier matriarch sweeps in, dressed more for an evening ball than afternoon tea -- a long trumpet dress with a ruffled cascading hem in ruby china silk and matching slingback stilettos. She gives a sharp gasp when she sees Fury, then her son, then Fury's gun, which is at least no longer pointed at her son. "What," she demands icily, "is going on?" Fury opens his mouth and only barely stops himself stammering -- for the second time in as many minutes, which might be some kind of record. Then he suddenly seems to recollect himself and steps around Elie to close the door. "I'm sorry you had to see this, ma'am, but I'm going to need Mister Tessier to come with me." His brows furrow and he looks back down at Matt, then at his own gun, which he makes a show of turning even farther away, though this might just as well have been calculated to hide the subtle movement of his thumb re-engaging the safety. "I can explain --" This time it's Fury who gets cut off when Elie slaps him soundly across the cheek. "How dare you! Is this defending the planet? For shame!" Her uncanny eyes are dark with rage. "You may be above the law, but I will see you hanged for this." She holds out an impeccably manicured hand. "In the meantime I will certainly not have some savage waving a gun about in my house." Fury does not flinch from the blow, but does lower his head, chastened. When Elie demands his sidearm, however, he draws himself back up. "Now, wait just a minute here. I understand you're upset, but this is an active investigation, and I'm well within my..." Just like that, the bluster is gone again, and he hands over the gun with only a meek, "I'm sorry, ma'am. I don't know what got into me." Matt has not quite returned to the fetal position, but does curl up again, clamping a hand over his mouth until his breathing slows, and even then it's a groan that comes up before proper words. "He's not defending the planet. He might have exercised a modicum of common sense if he were." After another measured breath, he pushes himself upright. "Luci's gone missing and he thinks I'm responsible. For what it's worth, he wasn't going to shoot me." His mouth pulls to one side and he looks down at the spent darts still cupped in his hand, then up at the gun in his mother's hand. "Not with that." He considers his qualification, then amends it to, "Well, not here, anyway. Probably." Elie turns the weapon over in her hands meditatively. "I'm sure Lucien has filled your head with all manner of lies. You ought to know, considering what you pay him to do." She goes to Matt's side, dropping one hand to smooth his hair, tender and possessive. "That man has kidnapped my daughter, and what do you do? Barge into my house without a shred of evidence and assault my son!" Her chest heaves, her blood red lips curling into a snarl. "You are an animal." Her breath is shaky but her hands steady when she raises the gun toward Fury and thumbs the safety off. "And you ought to be put down like an animal." Fury's gaze cuts aside to Matt, the twist of his scowl half-way between exasperation and horror. "Of course I wasn't gon' to shoot you for real." He also re-evaluates this. "Not fatally, anyhow. Please, ma'am, I had no idea about your youngest, but I can't imagine he would ever hurt her." He raises both his hands when Elie takes aim at him. "No matter what I thought, going about it like this was highly inappropriate, and I take full responsibility." His eye widens, as if he's only just noticed he's staring down the barrel of his own gun. "Ma'am, please put down the gun," he says, very evenly. He reaches one hand palm-out in an appeasing gesture, though he will probably try to disarm her if he gets close enough. And then he just subsides back, unprompted. "I recognize you have to defend your boy here, but I can help you find the missing ones. Be a lot harder if I'm dead." He sounds kind of miffed at the prospect of his imminent death, as if it were just an embarrassing inconvenience. Matt presses into Elie's hand and rests his head against her thigh. "'Kidnapping' seems a bit dramatic. She probably just hared off to have an emotional crisis and he thought it was best if she didn't do that alone. He would never hurt her." There's a note of finality in this. "Wouldn't kill him to send a text, though. Maybe she chucked both their phones into the East River before she r-u-n-n-o-f-t." He fixes Fury with a keen, unblinking stare. Then he's struggling to his feet--maybe it's happenstance that he loses his balance and grasps Elie's arm for support, or maybe it was just an excuse to get her to lower the gun. "Please, Mother, I'm fine. And he's right -- he can find them without making a huge fuss about it. Besides..." He gently tugs the pistol from her grasp once it's pointed at the floor. "...I like it when he grovels. He can't grovel if he's dead." Fury opens his mouth to object, but closes it again without a word when Matt takes the gun. "Again, I'm terribly sorry for the misunderstanding. He's just had a difficult time since..." He starts to gesture in Matt's direction but perhaps thinks better of further antagonizing him at this exact moment. "I've just been worried about him. I'd hate to tarnish his reputation more if it gets out he's kidnapped his sister, whatever the circumstances." Despite the disorienting fluctuation of normalcy he's been contending with, he seems to have found at least some of his wonted canniness, having picked up the sense that Elie might not be excessively concerned for her secondborn's reputation. "That would reflect badly on you, too, and I sure don't like the idea of putting the spotlight on a child without preparing her for it, especially if she's been going through it already." Elie evidently doesn't feel particularly committed to this particular murder -- or maybe she just doesn't feel like dealing with the paperwork right now -- and surrenders the gun with a fond 'oh, you' smile. "I suppose there's no harm waiting until we've found them to make a fuss. These things must be done properly, and Lucien can be ever so uncooperative." She looks Fury over again with a disapproving tsk. "I see that you care for him, but he's quite disturbed and no less persuasive for it. Feeding his delusions helps no one, least of all him. Come." She steps out of her heels and kisses Matt on the cheek. "Be a dear and put the tea on. We need to set the record straight for Director Fury so he can go bring our poor lost lambs home."