Title:Over Lunch.
Author:Rodlox.
Summary:Shawn talks to Devon.
POV:Shawn.
Note:this is my 22nd 4400 fanfic.
Spoilers:Pilot, various season 1 episodes, Wake-Up Call (parts 1 & 2)...and my 'Rebuilding from Rockets'.
Author's notes:This takes place between the "pod people" comment in Wake-Up Call part one, and Shawn confronting Collier in Wake-Up Call part two.
"Somebody sitting here?" I ask.
She doesn't look up at me from where she's sitting; she used to, though. Nowadays Devon just says "No," and says nothing when I sit down at her table and start eating my lunch. Mm, meatloaf. It was this or mahi mahi, and I had that yesterday. Just how rich is Jordan that he can afford supplying everyone here with daily highpriced meals for anyone who wants one, free of charge. I'm still trying to figure that one out. I'm definately glad, though, that we don't have to queue through a cafeteria line.
I've been doing this for two months now, asking permission and sitting down at this table. All this time, she's been wary of me. And all this time, all I want is someone to sit with. Nothing more. The last thing I need in my life is another relationship. Maybe its all my fond memories of cafeteria food that make this place so reassuring. Maybe its the fact that I know this place is safe -- nobody's going to pick a fight with me, nobody's going to deface my car -- and we're all 4400s here. Even Collier's security detail was recruited from the 4400. "Can I ask you something?" my first question in two months; now's a decent time, I figure. She looks over at me with those sharp eyes of hers. After a while, she nods, as cautious as ever. "What exactly do you do?"
"I beg your pardon?" Doesn't matter where in time she's from, I recognize the set of her shoulders from back in school -- it tells me she's about to stand up and walk off.
"Nothing personal," I tell her. "I'm just wondering what it is you do for Mr. Collier. If you don't want to say, that's cool," and, to prove it, I take another spoonful of mashed potatoes.
I'm done with the potatoes and more than halfway through my meatloaf before, "I'm a public image," Devon says. "A pleasant face to win audiences." Into her glass, "Much as in the before." 'In the before,' I've heard that phrase used around here. It was coined by another returnee, not sure who exactly, but it refers to our own personal era before we were abducted. 'Subjective, individual,' as it was explained when I asked about it, 'not our collective experience.'
"That's it?" and I regret saying it as soon as its out. Aw man, I'm sorry about that.
"Of all people, you expect more from me?" her tongue as sharp as her eyes.
I admit, I coulda phrased it better than I did. Shoulda worded it better. I...ah..."I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like...its just that it doesn't seem like that's much of a life." And doing dictation can't possibly be a full-time job.
Her shoulders settle, she returns her attention to her lunch. Well, at least I won't have to eat alone, which'd be a real pisser. "Can you fly?" Aw man, now you're threatening me?
Wait a minute...'Fly'? "No, I just heal people. You?"
She finished off her lima beans and coffee before answering. "I fly." Staring into her green beans, "I also flew."
"That your ability?" Most folks here don't like it called a 'talent,' like its nothing more than sleight of hand...and 'power' makes it sound like you need to plug a 4400 into a wall socket.
"I fly planes and helicopters for Mr. Collier," sharply. There wasn't any space between my question and that answer of hers.
Really? Cool. "Cool. I've never met a pilot before." I went to an airshow, once, when I was like five. Never got closer than the rest of the audience.
Skeptical eyes rise to peer at me. Cool and unperturbable, that's you. No amusement in those beady pupils of yours, but that might just be a front. "You're from the recent years, aren't you?" sounding like she's verifying what she's heard or been told, but wondering, maybe puzzled. I confused her? I can't see how I did that. That doesn't mean I didn't, but I don't see how.
"Yeah."
Devon stabs her brocoli, bites and chews. I guess it's a sensitive subject; I'm all set to apologize when she says, "Flight is common now-a-days," enunciating the word; guess it wasn't that prevelent back in your before, huh? Or maybe it was, and you personally didn't use it much.
I shrug. "That doesn't mean I met any pilots." Guess its true, we all have assumptions about other years, other decades. Bring us all together, and watch us stumble over our beliefs. Probably one of the reasons Jordan's brought us all here, to break down the walls that divide us -- if the 4400 can do it, the rest of the world can follow our example. Hell its what I like to think I'd do if I had his resources.
Two more minutes pass before Devon stands, all set to leave; before she does, though, she looks at me, and says, "Your cousin was singularly rude." Kyle!Kyle was here? When? And why didn't anybody tell -? Before I can ask any of that, she's gone.
the end.