ArchivedLogs:Worries

Worries
Dramatis Personae Iolaus, Rasheed	2014-11-12 '
Location <NYC> 806 {Rasheed} - One Sixty-Seven - Upper West Side
Spacious and elegant and impeccably kept, this apartment is pristine enough that it looks barely lived-in. The living room is just a short hallway down from the entrance, set down a couple stairs in a wide sweep of pale hardwood floors. Dark leather couches and armchairs and pale wooden furniture sits on a plush rug of soft grey. A large balcony runs along the side of the living room, accessible through wide French doors and shaded by an overhang; below, there is a clear view of Central Park. The kitchen adjacent sits a little bit higher, a few stairs leading up to its dark tiled floor. It is roomy as well, granite countertops and sleek new appliances and a wealth of elegant dinnerware. There are two bedrooms, here, both set opposite each other down a short hallway and both with their own bathroom. The end of the hallway holds a large study, with book-lined walls. Another half-bath sits off the living room, underneath a carpeted lofted area accessible by ladder and big enough to be a room itself, though it lacks walls; instead, a short balcony looks down on the living room beneath. Wednesday evening at One Sixty-Seven is much like every other evening. You doesn't pay prices like its tenants do and expect the hallways to be anything but pristine, and the sound to bleed out from any of the other apartments. The risk for surprises is decreased even more, considering the doormen in the lobby that screen visitors quite thoroughly - not to mention the cameras that dot the lobby and act as further disincentive for surprise visits. Not that any of that stops Iolaus from visiting, it seems, as he pops into the hallway a few feet outside of Rasheed's doorway accompanied by Daniel, looking as bored as ever. Though he's not quite dressed for a execution - a pale blue dress shirt and black slacks aren't /quite/ up to snuff, Iolaus' conflicting expression of sadness and apprehension at least seem to be in line as he stares at Rasheed's door. It takes him almost a half minute of staring before he raises his hand and presses the doorbell. Given that he /isn't/ expecting anyone -- or perhaps given the barrage of hate mail he's gotten (mixed in with the /larger/ swamps of encouragement and praise) it takes, perhaps, longer for Rasheed to open his door than it might otherwise have. Though just sitting around at home he is still dressed in dress shirt and slacks; maybe he doesn't have other clothes. He looks tired, shadowed around his eyes, the silver in his hair far more prominent lately than in months past. For a long moment he stands in silence after opening the door, hand still on the doorknob. Still silent, he steps back, gesturing mutely to invite Iolaus inside. Iolaus' eyes match with Rasheed's as he opens the doors, light blue locking with dark brown. He, too, doesn't say anything, stepping into the room and bending down to unlace his shoes and slip them off. Daniel does the same, moving over to plop down into his usual armchair and pull out a book, as if this was no different than the countless number of times that they had visited before. For his part, Iolaus takes a bit more time than usual unlacing his shoes and putting them away carefully before he straighens up and looks at Rasheed, shoulders slumped inwards. "Rasheed." Rasheed pushes the door closed behind the other men, fingers still gripping the knob tight even after he's shut it. His shoulders are slumped -- but that's no different than his usual habitual /slouch/. He musters up a little bit of energy to straighten, turning back to Iolaus. "Io." Iolaus looks over the other man for a moment, hands flexing into fists and back again at his side. He lets out a long sigh and shakes his head, stepping forward to shove Rasheed lightly, then step forward again to pull the other man into a fierce hug. "Damn it, Rasheed." he murmurs, into the taller man's shoulder. Rasheed tenses when Iolaus steps forward, shoulders tightening like he is /bracing/. Tall he may be but reed-skinny and certainly Not A Fighter; he sways onto his heels even at the light shove. But leans forward into the hug, exhaling a shaky hard breath and wrapping his arms back around Iolaus, tight. Iolaus' arms only tighten around Rasheed as arms encircle him, eyes scrunching shut and face pressing into the taller man's shoulder. For a while, he says nothing, breathing ragged and eyes tightened against the world. Eventually, though, his arms loosen and he pulls back to look up at Rasheed, eyes glinting with moisture. "Why?" Rasheed drops his arms, his shoulders sagging again with this motion. He steps away from the doorway, gesturing towards the kitchen. "Would you like some coffee? tea?" There's a small tightness around his eyes. "I don't have anything stronger." His hands both lift, palms-up as though supplicating -- then fall back to his sides again. "We got into this field to help people." Just that, simply. "Tea, please." Iolaus says, softly, watching Rasheed as he steps towards the kitchen for several moments before he follows him. Rasheed's response makes Iolaus' eyes flash, briefly, annoyance flaring and dying behind the sadness in his eyes. "Yes, Rasheed, but surely you can see how this is going to be /used/." "Which has always been a danger. /Will/ always be a danger. But acting like that danger /vanishes/ if we don't --" Rasheed shakes his head, moving to put a kettle of water on the stove. "Iolaus, this drug is /out/ there in the world already. We've seen it in Jackson's team. It's only a matter of time before /those/ people released it to the market. And what do you think would happen /then/?" He leans against the counter, the heel of his hand rubbing against his eyes. "Surely you can't believe that they'd just let that go nowhere. At least now we have some control over its production and distribution." "Out there in the hands of a limited few," Iolaus counters, settling against the counter across from Rasheed. "Of bad actors, yes, but rare ones. Now that the drug is public and out there, that number will increase." Iolaus' voice is lightly pleading, and he shakes his head. "Some control, yes, but now that it's public, what's to stop the government from ordering it be used? Before, they couldn't do it nearly as openly. Or what's to stop someone from turning it into ammunition for a dart gun?" "Putting it in the hands of Themis House is a little bit different than offering it up to the NYPD on a silver platter." Iolaus says, eyes searching the other man's face. "If we have control over its production and distribution, why are they involved?" A pause, and he looks over Rasheed's face. "And why, Rasheed, did I find out about this from some fucking reporter instead of you?" Rasheed rubs a hand slowly across his brow. He's slow and mechanical in his motions as he goes to prepare the tea, getting out cups, adding leaves to a teapot. "I haven't -- I was in discussions with the /city/. Not --" His palm drags down against his face. "This was all so preliminary. I don't even know how this /reporter/ found out. I've promised nothing, given nothing. I would have come to you long before it got to /those/ stages. The media never really gave me that chance." Iolaus sighs, head tilting back to rest against the cabinet as he stares up at the ceiling. "The city. Jesus, Rasheed." He closes his eyes for a moment, lightly banging his head on the cabinet once, twice. "I wish you had talked to me /earlier/. We could have been more prepared, and maybe...." Iolaus trails off, lifting his head to lock his eyes with Rasheed. "What was your goal, Rasheed?" "I didn't even think this would /go/ anywhere. Certainly not any time soon." Rasheed drops his hand heavily, clunking the tea tin back down on his countertop. His palms brace on the counter, weight sagging heavily, too, onto his forearms. "There's a lot of /good/ that can come from a drug like this. My goal was to figure out how to /get/ there. Before someone starts pushing it towards --" His chest rises, falls, a sharp exhale. "Well. I'm sure you've already speculated plenty on the /bad/. I know I have." "I know, Rasheed. I know there can be good, but the potential for bad...." Iolaus looks over the other man, sadly. "'Now, I am become death, the destroyer of worlds.'" Iolaus quotes, splaying his hands out on the edge of the counter behind him. "Oppenheimer worried. So should we." "I worry every damn day, Io." Rasheed's eyes tighten -- moreso as the kettle starts whistling. He grabs a dishtowel to pluck it off the burner, filling the teapot and lidding it. "The potential for /bad/ is there. Already. Waiting. None of this sits /easy/ -- but it feels a good deal more precarious if it's just the government who is controlling the distribution and use of this thing. Because we all know they've been so good at keeping their human rights violations in check." "You and I both." Iolaus watches the other man pour into the teapot, and he crosses across the kitchen to lean against the same counter as Rasheed. "I still wish that you had aimed for a less effective treatment. Something that needed to be carefully targeted, instead of something broad-spectrum. The harm is less. Though, discoveries come as they do." Iolaus taps his fingers along the countertop, then he shakes his head. "I'm sorry I had to throw you under the bus, good friend," Iolaus says, looking sadly at Rasheed and briefly lapsing into Greek. "I think this will be more helpful for you, ultimately." Rasheed stares down at his teapot, hands splayed to either side of it on the counter as it steeps. "I mean, how many patients have come into the clinic that -- took so much longer than it should have just to be /able/ to work with them, simply because it was too unsafe for any of our staff to even get close? If we could help get their powers under control /first/, safely and temporarily, it would help get them the care they need that much faster." For a moment -- almost, /almost/ -- his lips twitch as though in a smile. It doesn't quite make it. "Mmm? That was Greek to me, Io." "Greek, exactly," Iolaus says, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips despite his tired expression. "Perhaps. It would certainly make many things easier, and I'm sure help people too. But if we are seen as allying ourselves with the police, with the government, we won't have any patients to treat." He pauses for a moment, eyes searching the other doctor's face. "It scares me, Rasheed. Some things are too dangerous to exist." "You can't stop it existing." Rasheed moves tea and cups both over to the kitchen table, pouring slowly. The vegetal scent of sencha drifts up into the room. "In all likelihood it would have been the paramedics who would benefit from this -- for the same reasons we do. There have been /multiple/ cases of patients dying, not because they were /refused/ treatment, but because they /couldn't/ be treated. Not safely. If that can stop --" "If, if." Iolaus leans in to breathe in the tea, letting out a long sigh. "I hope you are right, Rasheed. Really, I do." His smile is a weak one, but it is a smile. "Somehow, we have traded roles, hmm? You, the idealist, and me, the cynic?" He wraps his fingers around the cup and picks it up, blowing over the surface of the tea and taking a sip. Iolaus hisses softly, then blows over the tea once more, a long exhalation of breath that is not quite a sigh. "I still wish you had told me, Rasheed. I was... scared. I think many of us were." Rasheed blows over his tea as well, a long exhalation of breath that is not quite a laugh. "Perhaps, my friend, you need a vacation. There are so many ifs, aren't there? But there always are. All I can do is what seems best for those who need our care." His eyes drift across his living room, up to the loft that sits over it. "That, and pray. For so many years I never did, but these days I find myself turning to it often again." "You and me both, Rasheed." Iolaus says, turning his head to look towards the windows, and the city skyline beyond. "If God can't look down and help steady the hands of those trying to protect His treasures, then I don't know much what good He really is." Iolaus turns a smile briefly on Rasheed. "Alright. Alright, old friend. There's an investigation on-going, but I'm sure it will clear you and your privileges will be reinstated. So. Two weeks, and we haven't talked. Did you miss me?" Rasheed settles down into a chair at the table, curling spindly-long fingers around his teacup. "More than you know. It's been a long two weeks." His eyes lift to Iolaus, weight sinking heavily into the chair. "I'm sure you have a lot to fill me in on."