Garrison & Morgan | Monday Afternoon
Jun. 2nd, 2008 01:10 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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xp_logsWood chopping and drinks. Of all the people around the mansion Garrison manages to bring out the part of Morgan she usually keeps under her mask.
Wood pile. Axe. Chopping block. It was almost zen in many ways, Garrison considered as he dusted his hands and hefted the axe. The mansion's woodpile was of towering proportions in the fall, but an entire winter of fuel had gone into the mansion's fireplaces, and according to Marko, there was both a wood fueled barbecue and two different fire pits that were used all summer long. Looking to take advantage of the spring warmth, Kane offered to do it, and had been directed to a brace loaded with lengths of tree trunks and branches from trees taken down or fallen during the winter.
Kane stripped off his shirt, braced his foot on a trunk, and began to hack the trunks down into manageable sizes, in order to split them into proper quarters for burning. He worked swiftly, enjoying the mindless repetition of strokes of the axe and the splitting of the wood.
A break from the general hauling of stuff--boxes, furniture, and once a stubborn child--meant air, preferably the fresh kind that surrounded a person. Nice days always made Morgan long for outdoors. If she knew of a rock to climb she'd be scaling up a stony face but instead she was working, earning the room and board she'd been granted because she refused to take something for free. Once outside the thwack of what she assumed would be an axe on wood was easily heard. She'd figured it would be the overlarge ground's keeper but when she'd followed the sound she found an entirely different person's hands on the handle of the implement.
The view wasn't bad and Morgan was hardly one to turn her nose up at a sight that should be appreciated. She was more a looking than touching kind of girl, at least not touching in a moaning, sweating kind of way, so she'd take her eye candy when she could. Especially when she was clearly surrounded by a whole host of people she regarded as kids, even though one had admirably refuted the term. "I don't think that's particularly safe with hormonal teenagers around," she commented from off to the side of the man chopping wood. Why a person needed wood in May was beyond her, but she didn't think looking a gift horse in the mouth was exactly polite.
"I can run faster than they can." Kane said, without pausing. He completed a split and tossed them into the large wagon with the trailer hitch attached that Marko left behind. He slammed the axe into the chopping block for a moment and wiped his face. "I don't think we've had the pleasure. I'm Garrison."
She was listening to the way he spoke more than she was listening to his name, though they both clicked into the same slot in her head. The FBI agent, she thought as she remembered her conversation with Nate when she'd first arrived. A smile hovered on the edge of her lips, not quite manifesting fully but not fading completely either. "Ah, the supposedly charming Canadian, I hear." One corner of her mouth pulled up into a half-smile more genuine than any full smile she'd ever give someone. "I'm Morgan."
"Supposedly charming? I am definitely losing my touch. " Kane yanked out the axe and grabbed another log. "Morgan? Wait, I've seen you on the journals" He swung the axe in a nice arc, and split the wood cleanly. "You look a little old for a student. Are you here with the Institute, or one of the grads returning home to roost?"
Kane hadn't missed the close scrutiny by the woman. After all, after his relationship with Marie, he was depressed, not rendered blind and stupid. He supposed he could pull his shirt back on, but it was hot, he was comfortable, and if there was anything that Kane hadn't enjoyed in a while was some harmless flirting.
The shrug she gave him was careless and graceful, both of which seemed at odds with things like her posture or her eyes if someone looked closely enough. She doubted the Canadian would peer closely enough to find the dichotomy inherent in who she was, even in the simple and physical ways it presented itself. "What, you expect me to believe everything Dayspring says without sufficient proof?" She'd settled for calling the man who was once her crew's rival by his surname because the word Nathan felt wrong on her lips and she couldn't manage to say it without even a vague distaste for it yet. Calling him Nate was out of the question until she had been around long enough to warrant it being a natural progression of familiarity.
"I'm none of the above, really," she told him, eyes trained on the way the muscles his in arms and back moved as he swung the axe. Morgan's mind didn't live in the gutter even half as much as she made it seem like it did. She'd long ago learned an appreciation for the human body--the way it functioned, what it was capable of, the way it was put together--and her appraisal of Garrison had just as much to do with that as it did with physical attractiveness, if not more. "I had a weird side effect come up with my powers, nearly caused me to get some guys who matter to me dead so I came seeking help getting things back on track and to figure out what happened in the first place. While I'm here I told them to put me to work, that's all there is to it."
"Huh. Weird side effect?" Kane paused again to actually look at her. She was, well, blue. Not the dark indigo of Kurt, but a lighter blue shade, set off by long white hair. He hadn't found out whether or not certain powers caused certain physical mutations, so there was no way to guess what her powers might be. However, if they were anything like Kurt's, side effects could be disastrous, which made sense why she'd be there.
Didn't hurt that she very obviously took care of her self. Kane gave himself a mental shake. "They found any way to help with the, well, side effects? So your... friends? They're alright?"
"Aye, well weird to me since it'd never happened before." She wrinkled her nose and bit her lip while figuring out how to put this in the least threatening manner so she didn't have yet another go on the defensive about how she shouldn't pick up a mimic of them. "I copy people, literally. Physical copies are easy, doesn't take much contact for me to pick one up and when I do I can copy you down to your blood type and vocal cords. No one would know the difference from the outside, or the physical inside for that matter. I pick up more than that, though, if I've got the patience to hang around for it, which I don't unless I've got a purpose. I pick up thought patterns, I guess you could say. Not memories and not knowledge, but the way a person rationalizes, thinks things through. And if they're a mutant and I've had enough contact to pick up their mental imprint then I get their powers, too. It gets...complicated sometimes, like when I don't know someone is a mutant, for instance." She shrugged, brushing it off like it wasn't really the hazard it really was. And a very real hazard depending on the mutation. Technically it was safe for her because she could just drop the mimic before much damage happened, but sometimes she had to hold the mimic for a job and that got interesting in all bad ways.
"Anyway," she continued, "thought patterns started to overlap as I went from one mimic to another in quick succession. I started to lose my own mind under the mental imprint I was wearing at the time. My friends were fine, though, once they sort of beat sense into me." She didn't meant that metaphorically and she made attempt to hide that fact in her voice. Her honesty usually took most people by surprise. She was an excellent liar, but when she was being totally open it was easy to tell. At least if you could get past the glowing to actually look at her red eyes and notice what went on in them. "We're working on making sure it doesn't happen again, though it never happened before so hopefully we'll manage." With that her smile slid back onto her lips, still only curling up one half of her mouth in the expression.
"Wow." Was all Kane said, and pointed at the stack of logs. "You want to start tossing those to me? I used to date a girl who had a similar problem. She used to be able to pull people's powers and personalities into her head. Made it hard for her to sort them out after a while. Sounds somewhat the same. They were able to help her out, so I'll bet they can do the same."
Something that working as a cop had taught Kane was how to read people, and while he wasn't like Pete, who could size someone up in seconds, he was pretty good at telling when he was being lied to, and Morgan wasn't doing that. Plus, it was nice to have someone to talk to out here, and Garrison was enjoying himself. "So what exactly did you do before coming here?"
Morgan went without a word to the pile and did as he requested, picking each log up and tossing it in an easy arch to him. She did make a face at the idea of sucking people's personalities into herself. "I don't absorb anything that isn't in your cells, pretty much. My own personality is enough for people to deal with, I don't need other people's too." She visibly shuddered at the idea. "I do a pretty good mimic of personalities, but that mostly due to studying people. If you know what you're looking for you can figure a lot out by watching a person and not necessarily always for a long time."
He had to ask the dreaded question, didn't he? She knew what he did, but she also knew his job wasn't the reason she wasn't willing to tell people what exactly she'd been up to for the past eight years. Never do business on your home turf, that was Aleister's first rule. And they never had. But she did have a crew of three guys whose safety meant a lot to her and she wouldn't risk that. So she came up with the best approximation to the truth without being full disclosure. She did enough lying for contracts, when given the choice she'd rather not. "I was a whore for a couple years after I got kicked out of the house," she told him without a trace of shame or embarrassment. "Then I was sold, pretty much literally. I've done different jobs since. Mostly stuff that could use my mutation, though not in the way my old madame used them. I got paid to impersonate people a lot, hence the mutation weirdness that brought me here." Technically it was the truth, it just lacked details.
Kane stopped and lodged the axe into the chopping block again. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry into anything private." He said. Oddly enough, there wasn't an revulsion or worse, judgment in the Canadian's voice at learning she'd been a whore. Most importantly, there wasn't any pity either. Just an honest apology if he'd inadvertently crossed the line with her. Garrison, much like most police, didn't have the same kind of condemnation for prostitutes that most of the population had. That they saved for the pimps and brothel owners, the ones who preyed on often confused, addicted girls, most of whom barely spoke English and were trapped in slave like conditions. A couple of years in Vancouver was an education in the real existence of slavery in the world.
He wrenched out the axe and took a look in the wagon. A couple more logs should about do it. "So, since I've now very deftly proven that charming Canadian comes second to 'foot in mouth' guy as a first impression, if you give me a hand with the last of this, I'd be happy to spring for lunch and a drink at Harry's."
The look she gave him clearly said she felt bad for him, not the other way around, and she certainly wasn't holding any prying against him. "Do you really think if I thought it was all that private I'd have told you so easily? Crash course in Morgan Lennox? I don't have many secrets and the ones I keep I do so because they aren't mine to tell. If you tread into territory I don't want to talk about because it's private or I can't because it involves other people who I've sworn secrecy to then I'll just tell you I don't want to talk about it. I'm not generally going to bother lying or trying to deflect for the hell of it when I can just say it's not something I want to discuss. Few things are sensitive or personal enough to qualify for that which is knowledge that belongs to me alone." She shrugged and tossed him another log. "The whore thing was a while ago. It sucked and it proved just how disgusting most people are, but it was a life lesson or eighty learned. It's history and while you should learn from history you shouldn't carry it on your back. So I don't, because I'm not that person and I recognize that distinction between who a person is and who they were rather acutely."
She smiled to lighten the mood, to hopefully cheer him up a little since he seemed to feel bad for potentially hitting a painful chord. Her expression held playfulness that had been lurking quietly when she'd approached him but disappeared soon after. "Actually first impression was attractive," she corrected him. "And I'm not sure you've actually proven this whole supposedly charming thing yet." She paused, letting the teasing tone linger in the air for a moment. "But if you helping with the last of this means you'll attempt to prove it over lunch and a drink then how could I ever refuse?"
"Um, sure." Kane said, splitting the logs and trying not to consider the implications of the tone. Who ever she was, this was was certainly a handful, and Garrison resolved to choose his words cautiously. He had a feeling that she was like the women at Snow Valley. Confident in their abilities, forward in what they wanted, and in all probably, completely carnivorous.
With a meaty thunk, the last log skipped off the block and he kicked them into the wagon, before burying the axe head again in the block and picking up his shirt. "So, lunch? Classy place; all the sawdust you can eat, I'll fight the bartender for a clean glass."
She really couldn't help the laugh that bubbled forth, clear and bell-like, from his awkward response. Morgan had just hit a button, she was sure of that. She just wasn't sure what kind of button it was. Unfortunately for Garrison she was more likely to try to hit it until she figured out the details than she was to lay off it. She hadn't ever been a very hands off person. Hands on learning was the quickest route to knowledge.
"Sawdust and fighting bartenders? I've hit the jackpot, haven't I, love?" The Irish undertones of her Boston accent thickened with that last word. She hadn't quite reached the level of mischief yet, but playful seemed to growing more and more. There was quite a cheeky half-grin on her face, the other side of her bottom lip caught by her teeth. "Y'know, you're cute when you squirm."
"I do not squirm, Morgan. I simply possess a unique sensitivity towards the feelings of others." He pulled his shirt back over his head and stretched out his arms. "And I am desperately behind in my alcohol consumption for the day."
"So in other words you squirm but hopefully in a very manly way?" Mischief danced in her eyes as she laughed. Morgan liked this one, he was amusing. Two out of the nine hundred people or so that lived there wasn't bad, right? She glanced at her watch before looking back up at Garrison. "Sure you're Canadian, love, and not Irish?"
"Nope. Toronto born and bred. My father's said of the family is from Scotland." He said with a grin. "You got some place that you have to be this afternoon?" Kane pointed to her watch.
"Scottish Canadian, then? Close enough." Eye candy and a sense of humor, if she suddenly started having warm, fuzzy, familial feelings for him she'd say he reminded her of the guys she left in Europe. Only this one was FBI instead of a mercenary. Fine line in some ways... "Eventually I have to finish moving stuff and/or children around, but it's not exactly the kind of thing that involves a schedule."
"I find it's easier to simply leave trails of candy and let them sort themselves out." He walked around to the garage and stopped in front of a leprous white Ford Crown Victoria. It was a big car, heavy framed, and looked like it had at least ten years on it. "I don't know whether or not you brought a car, but I can drop us off. Harry likes it when I leave it there overnight. Someone let it get around this car was owned by a cop."
"They know it's owned by a cop and yet you still have your rims, your tires and general working order? Isn't this a brave, new world." She pointed to the side of the garage where her pearl white Ducati was parked. "That's my girl. And while I follow," she looked down at herself, "this ain't riding gear. Cop spotted with a leather clad biker, now there's a mental image. People don't always assume us to be the most law abiding people ever, after all."
Kane made a dismissive noise. "The whole biker thing is highly overrated. The biker gangs get plenty of attention. The casual riders, nah. At best, they're a local issue as opposed to a real threat. Plus, no offense, but a Ducati doesn't put out the same image as a Harley lowrider, and you in leathers don't exactly put out the same image as a hairy, greasy biker covered in tattoos. It's more Euro heir looking for scandal." He yanked open his door and slid in.
Cops were so cute. "Depends what body I'm wearing. And how badly I'm breaking the speed limit. Have you ever seriously sat down and talked to the Harley sort? Fucking kittens," she told him seriously before following suit and sliding into the passenger seat. "Never met a scary Hell's Angel in my life. Most of the guys in biker gangs are slightly demented but not half as terrifying as their old ladies. Now those are some twisted broads. Besides, it's always the ones you underestimate that will put the gun to your head and actually pull the trigger."
"Last biker I talked to was an Outlaw who killed seven rival gang members and left their bodies in a van outside of St. Thomas." Kane shrugged and gunned the V8 engine, pulling out. "It's a law enforcement thing. Worse were the wannabe Yakuza in Vancouver. They had none of the discipline of the real gang, and all the knife obsessive violence."
She bit back her comment which was to the effect of "only seven?" Nice former prostitutes didn't scoff at body counts like that. Gangs, obviously, weren't her thing. They were petty, lowbrow and generally disorganized. Not to mention they were too big to really keep anyone from messing up and putting everyone else's ass on the line because of it. Maybe she was just spoiled and picky, but she liked her crew, all three of them. "Wannabe Yakuza? You'd think aspiring to be a daunting criminal organization would mean you get things in line a bit better, especially with discipline. Really, how are you going to have people under your thumb if you can't keep your own men to take orders properly and keep things well enough below the radar?" Morgan suddenly grinned and cleared her throat. "I may have read too many crime novels as a kid, though."
"You'd think, however, the world over is that there is one constant." Garrison pulled around a truck. "Criminals, by and large, are stupid."
"Look, no offense seeing as to how you actually are one and all, but you don't actually think cops are much smarter than criminals, do you? People are stupid, the only thing separating a cop from a criminal, aside from a less than solid moral compass most likely, is that cops get trained. If criminals were trained you likely wouldn't catch them very easily, the the mafia or actual Yakuza, I imagine. A smart criminal evades you and you might not even string all their crimes together as being committed by the same person, right?" One day playing Devil's advocate was going to get her in trouble, she just knew it.
"Actually, the Mafia was all but annihilated as an effective underworld force in the US by the FBI in the last decade." Garrison grinned. "You know who we have trouble with? Random people who commit crimes of the moment. Gangs have identities, which means the only way to establish power is to broadcast that identity to other people. Which means it gets to us. The criminal mind isn't really hard to dissect. Someone who'd rather rob a store than work a real job, or deal drugs, is not a person that puts a lot of thought into hiding the money. They splash out, make a scene, and guess what, criminals are happy to turn on each other at the drop of the hat."
Kane shook his head as he pulled into the parking lot. "So no, the difference between a cop and a criminal isn't just training. Your average criminal is not bright, and that's a big reason why they become a criminal, because it's easy. And it's also very short term for most of them. But you're right. There are some very smart criminals we will likely never catch until they make a mistake, but that's also the key. All we need is one mistake."
"One mistake and evidence and jurisdiction," she pointed out. "Innocent until proven guilty, a lot of people get off because the court doesn't buy it. You're kind of fucked from all angles trying to catch bad guys, aren't you?" Morgan liked listening to him talk about criminals, even if other people would have written it off as the same old thing out of any cop's mouth. But then, she just liked listening to people tell their stories and even a lie was a part of a person's story you could learn from. Ultimately she liked to study people, even if she was just going surface deep or only taking what they offered up. People, even the stupid criminals, were fascinating.
Once the car was shut off Morgan got out and waited for Garrison. "So why'd you become a cop?" The question was genuine. Why did anyone do what they did? Motivations varied as widely as people did. "I mean, people sort of default hate your profession, right? You might do good but it's largely thankless. You put yourself on the line for people you don't know with the possibility it won't be for any good. You might not catch the guy or the court might not put him away or he might get off on good behavior and be out committing crimes once he hits the street again, right? There's a lot of obvious drawback, so why choose to do it?"
"I think you're missing something that is key, and that's innocent until proven guilty, and all of the ways that make it difficult also is what makes us right so often. Sloppy work, cutting corners because we're sure we're right and know someone is a criminal when the evidence doesn't support it, borderline vigilantism, that is a very dangerous line, because once the law breaks down down, all we end up being just just a larger and better equipped gang." Kane held the door for her, and then followed her into the familiar interior.
"My father was an operative for the British government, and then spent twenty years running her Majesty's Intelligence services. In the process, he left my mother, had about three weeks in total paying attention to us during my childhood, and by the time I was a teenager, I couldn't see how he simply ignored the law for what he felt needed to be done was right any more." Kane slid into a booth. "I was already part of an experimental training program in Canada at the time, and we streamlined it so I could join the RCMP."
"Maybe you really are just a larger, better equipped gang. Maybe with a moral compass, but innocent people end up in prison or with the death penalty and people who are guilty go free because of circumstantial evidence, right? People are fallible, and I don't mean specifically the ones with the badges. I mean the ones who sit on a jury, too. They're fallible, they bring bias and prejudice and sometimes convict the wrong person because they can't find the right person and they want justice, closure for atrocities committed and are willing to believe that an innocent person did it just because it means the one responsible is caught."
Morgan gave Garrison points mentally for holding the door as her eyes swept over the interior of Harry's. She appeared to just be looking around but as usual she was studying the place. Even as she followed her companion to a booth her eyes tracked for exits, escape routes, places to hide. She had the small place mostly memorized by time she slid into the booth across from Garrison. "So, your dad pretty much ditched you so he could work with a badge doing something that I'm sure very likely had little to do with obeying laws. So you decided to be his counterpart? Have a badge and put bad guys away? I don't know what RCMP stands for though, you lost me there."
"A very common argument against law enforcement, and the fact is that every human agency is fallible. And it's only the law and due process that stops it from being capricious. And that is what stops it from being a bigger, better equipped gang. Because through the process, it involves a lot of people in a number of capacities, and that is the best way to smooth away the individual biases against the idea of the law itself." Kane held up a finger to illustrate his point. "That is the key. If you can't believe in the law, if you can't believe that the cop down the street in the uniform, the judge giving a ruling, a DA prosecuting a case, is working under the scope of the law looking for justice, then that is a society that is broken. Without law, you just get thuggery. And that, in a nutshell, is why I didn't want to follow my father."
Garrison accepted a Moosehead from the waitress and took a long sip. "Because I do think that the means are as important as the ends. That the right solution done the wrong way for the sake of immediacy ultimately undermines everything. My dad doesn't, and the way I grew up did a good job making me not want to be the person he is."
Morgan had propped her chin on her hand, red eyes intent on Garrison as he spoke and her lips curled into a slight smile. "You sound a bit like a textbook, you realize that? Or maybe a manual they give people in the academy." She wasn't criticizing him exactly. She sounded amused a little, and perhaps slightly captivated. If nothing else the supposedly charming Canadian was at least sincerely passionate about what he did. Or so it seemed. "How do you know society isn't broken? If you've never been part of something whole how would you recognize what you had wasn't? Easy example, women who end up in a string of abusive relationships but who claim their boyfriends or husbands love them and they deserved it. Sure, it might be a sort of Stockholm Syndrome, but that's not the point. How would they ever recognize love, genuine love, especially the kind that comes without beatings, if they've never actually experienced it? Knowing something intellectually isn't always the same as knowing it through experience, right? So how do you know society isn't broken if you've only got this one to compare it to, practically speaking?"
Parents as anti-role models. She'd known loads of people with that situation, but she'd never learned how to understand it. She'd wanted to be just like her dad when she was a kid, after all. "You make it sound like your childhood was a battlefield. The whole 'the way I grew up' thing smacks of more than an absent father with questionable professional, and I guess maybe personal, morals. But you can tell me to shut up and pick a new topic any time if you want."
"Talk to half of the House of Lords, and they'll tell you my father was the biggest hero of the Cold War. And frankly, he might have been. He just wasn't much of a father, and what he did hurt my mother. It's really not much of a mystery why I wanted to go in the other direction." Kane shook his head. "I had my mother as an example. She was a Pacific Rim language interpretor for the Canadian government. She spent plenty of time translating between all sorts of types of officials and businessmen from most of the countries in that part of the world. The thing that always struck her was that she would be talking to people who could order the deaths of a dozen people at a whim. Since then, I've been to other parts of the world; I've been in the places where warlords simply decide whether or not people get to live or die. In fact, the more places that I go, the more important the law becomes to me. So yeah, I guess I do sound like a bit of a textbook."
He leaned back as the waitress brought over a couple of menus and slid them over. "What is it that you believe in, Morgan?"
She shrugged, the smile fully manifesting. "The textbook thing's not too bad. It's almost endearing, actually. A lot of people work jobs because they need a paycheck, at least you like yours enough to have become textbook guy where it's concerned, right? There are worse things to be. And I'm sure you've met quite a number of those alternatives." Morgan took the menu, sliding to the edge of the table but only glanced down at it before she looked up at Garrison again with a curious expression. "I could think of many answers to that question. All true, but all answering a different meaning of it. So you'll have to get more specific than that."
"What do you get up in the morning for? What is it that drives you? I mean, you-- oh, the wings, hot. Thanks." He handed the menu back. He was starting to get a bit of a handle on Morgan. She was a bizarre mix of earnest honesty and hidden thoughts. This was someone who lived openly and yet consistently hidden. Finally it clicked in his head. She acted like Pete, and in her own way, his dad. This was the mercenary that Forge had told him about!
Why was it so amusing to her when he cut himself off to order? Clearly all the calm was fucking with her head. "Cheeseburger, well done," she recited in a monotone as she handed the waitress her menu so she could wander off to wherever waitresses went. She picked up the thread Garrison had been on, though she wasn't entirely sure she had an answer for him. Instead of trying to think about it she figured she'd just talk and the answer would work itself out as she did. Her answer ended up being sadly dead on, "Survival. Or rather, proving to myself that I've managed to survive. It's not noble, but it's what I've got. I thought my world was going to end when I found out my dad had been killed. Criminals fighting criminals and the bullets went everywhere, of course. But it was our boys, the neighborhood ones I mean, who took the lives of the people who ended up shooting the storefront, and as a result, my father. I loved my mother, but I was a daddy's girl and I wanted to be just like him. Jesus, I even looked like him right down to the shade of fire engine red my hair was and the shade of blue my eyes were. And then I manifested during the gathering after his funeral and got kicked out. If my world wasn't going to end with my father's death then it was going to end being on my own.
"Somehow I'm not dead yet. So that's what I wake up for. To survive and to keep surviving just to prove it to myself that I can and I have so far. A lot of people would say that's not good enough and there should be a bigger picture. Well, I was convinced the john who I lost my virginity to was going to kill me because the pain was so bad. For me it's enough." There hadn't been a trace of remorse in her voice. Morgan had clearly dealt with her demons and her ghosts, it was just the telling of a story really. Others may have teared up or broken down. Their voices may have wavered. She hadn't, because when Aleister saved her one of the first things he taught her was that old pain was a weakness others would exploit and use against her. The only way they couldn't is if she dealt with it, overcame it and got past it so it wasn't pain anymore. Aleister had never pitied her. Maybe that's why people who did tended to turn her stomach a little. She had no fear of Garrison pitying her, he seemed smarter than that.
"And that's enough? Surviving day to day?" Garrison hoped he was keeping his inner turmoil out of his voice. He hadn't immediately associated the charmingly blunt, if slightly odd, and attractive young woman as someone who took money to kill people. He remembered the fight he'd had with Nathan when he first got here, and one thing that hadn't changed were his feelings about that kind of life. Much like Nate, she had a childhood that he pushed her in that direction, but at some point, you had to make the decision that money was worth more than someone else's life. Dammit, he liked Morgan and was enjoying the back and forth with her.
The turmoil was hidden from Garrison's voice, but something in his eyes made Morgan tilt her head and size him up. You don't study people as long and as often as she did and miss subtle clues for long. Eyes gave almost everyone away, but without being a telepath she obviously didn't know what the wheels turning behind them were putting together. It might have nothing to do with her personally, but she wasn't going to rule it out. Aside from the curious tilting of her head, which could have easily been in response to his question, her expression was unchanged from what it had been. "I've got three guys who're family even if they're not blood, and I've got surviving. That's it Garrison. And, aye, some days it's enough. Some days it's not. But you take what you have to work with and you make something out of it. Hopefully something you can live with. And if it's not," she shrugged, "well that's between a person and whatever higher power they do or do not believe in."
"But if you're just surviving day to day, that's not really believing in anything at all. It's getting by and hoping that the world doesn't land on at this minute." Kane said, gesturing in front of him, and almost knocking over his pint in the process. "Does where you want to be in a year, five years have anything more than just being there?"
Morgan quietly slid his pint closer to the wall and hopefully out of the line of fire. She sighed at him and slouched slightly, an uncommon occurrence for a women whose posture was almost always perfect. "Does it have to be? If people concentrate on where they want to be eventually do they ever actually stop to appreciate where they are? Do I need a life plan to aspire toward? From my limited knowledge of you I'd say you believe in justice, in the law. A lot of people would find that just as insufficient as you find my day to day survival. The things I believe in have nothing to do with myself at all." And that probably made no sense at all to him. "I believe almost no one is all good or all bad. I believe in the grey area. I believe people are here to do something and they do. I believe insignificance is a matter of perspective only, a bias, and doesn't actually exist because everything is significant, even if it's not significant to you. I believe in fate. I believe that if something's meant to happen then it will and if it's not then it won't, and nothing can stop that, only delay it. I believe that silence speaks and life without beauty is depreciated. And I believe if I can't manage to survive, even day to day, then I never find out if I'm right about all that or eighty million other thoughts in my head. Survival means living and living means experiencing. Still think it's not enough?"
"I think that believing in something means wanting something, not having a life plan. Are you really saying that you have no aspirations beyond just survival and experiencing what happens moment to moment?" Kane said, actually surprised. He could understand boring dreams, he could understand greedy ones, noble ones, unrealistic ones, but not having any at all? It surprised him.
"Aye, pretty much. Other than finding people you care about who in turn care about you, what's there to want? What's there that truly matters beyond those people and their well being?" It was possibly a strangely almost maternal thing to say made stranger by the life Morgan led. It was, nevertheless, something she meant sincerely. "In the end you can't take the material things with you and the only real proof that you lived exists in the people left behind. Times erases all things, including the memories of us after we're gone. Beyond doing something worth remembering and meaning enough to someone for them to want to remember you what is there to aspire to?"
"So you've been lying this whole time." Garrison replied with a laugh, but not in an accusatory way. It was more of a 'gotcha!' from the Canadian. "It's not just about survival, Morgan. You're talking about family, and it doesn't end with who ever those three guys are. A place in which you are able to be your own person, and make an impact on the lives of people around you. That, my blue skinned friend, is something deep and important, and a hell of a lot more than just surviving in order to experience."
In her own way, Morgan reminded him a little of Adrienne, the one's brittleness replaced with the resignation of fate of the other. And, sadly, both of them echoed Marie; strength wrapped tenaciously around the harshest experience. The sudden knife of hurt that rippled outward through his body surprised him. His somewhat adolescent attempt to mourn his lost relationship and move past it wasn't as complete as he'd hoped, and just thinking of her left a metallic tinge of loss in his mouth.
Fortunately, they were both interrupted by their food hitting the table, and Garrison shoved all of the conflicting emotions into the back of his mind for the moment."So hey, welcome to Xavier's then, Morgan. I hope you'll survive this experience." He said teasingly.
His decision that she'd been lying nearly got her tongue stuck out at him. She didn't care if she was twenty-five and it was technically a very childish thing to do. Some impulses were timeless and she was going to claim this one was, too. "I just don't think about things the way you do and people don't ask me the questions you have. It wasn't lying," she decided thought her voice was uncertain because she didn't know how she was going to justify that claim. "It was...my failure to articulate. What, you expect me to be this cute and be good with words?" Morgan laughed, clearly not taking any of what she'd just said seriously.
She did, however, stick her tongue out at him when he gave her his own version of a welcome to Xavier's. Though she also raised her glass and inclined her head to him. "Let's hope the kids don't maim me first," she kept her tone light but she'd noticed the flash of pain in his eyes. It was a familiar look, distinct and it read the same on every person's face she'd ever spied it upon, no matter how fleeting. Her attention turned to her burger, specifically the ketchup and mustarding of it. She kept her eyes down as she spoke. "It's obvious, you know, when it crops up. To anyone paying attention, anyway. Want me to hit her? 'Cause I would for you," her tone turned up at the end, making her words more joking than they were. The person Morgan was when she worked was a very different person from who she was beneath the job. She didn't like to see pain like that on someone's face. Especially when she'd decided she liked this one and was keeping him, adding him to the box that previously only included Monet.
"Don't. You'd just break your hand, and then get drop kicked, likely finally coming down somewhere around Cleveland. Ever been to Cleveland? It is not a place that you want to end up in accidentally." He picked up a wing and tossed it back into the basket. "I'm guessing that it's still that obvious, eh?"
"Is Cleveland the only reason to hit her because a blow doesn't have to be physical," she offered lightly, sure he wouldn't change his mind. Morgan leaned back and watched him carefully, letting silence settle between them for a moment before she disturbed it. "Aye, it is. But like I said, only if someone's paying attention. I've learnt I pay attention more than a lot of other people sometimes. I can pretend not to, though, if you'd like."
"It's hardly a secret. I was dating Marie, and then we broke up a few weeks ago. My attempts at emotional therapy due to the judicious application of rye turned out to be less effective than I hoped. However, the last thing I want to do is see her hurt. Oddly enough, that was pretty much what broke us up in the first place."
Eyebrows furrowed, Morgan blinked at him a few times before she could speak. "Hang on here, not to go digging in open wounds, and again I tell you that you can tell me to shut up and pick another topic any time here, but exactly how does that work? Generally not wanting to see a person hurt is a good thing in a relationship. Of course, my relationship tutor could have been feeding me false information there..."
"Marie's mutation is to absorb the powers of any mutant she touches. Along with the powers, come a little of the personality as well. The longer she touches someone, the more times she does it, the stronger that personality becomes in her head. It makes it difficult to control them all at times, and worse, any skin to skin contact triggers her powers. If she holds on for too long, she can kill the person." He spoke slowly, carefully, less like he was treading a minefield and more concerned about precision in explaining her. "As a result, she's built up a lot of emotional walls. Big trust issues, problems letting people in. Unfortunately, as her boyfriend, not only did we have the trouble of physical intimacy, but also emotional intimacy. When she was hurt or upset, I wasn't the one she came to. I couldn't help make anything better, because she wouldn't let me in to try. You know how some couples grow apart? Well, we started apart and just never got closer."
Right, now I know why the kid told me I should talk to Marie with the whole losing my identity thing, she thought to herself as Garrison explained the side effects of Marie's powers. "So why was she with you? Don't get me wrong I'm not trying to put her down, mostly for your benefit, but from a slightly informed and mostly objective point of view, if you can't be there physically and you know your only option is to be there emotionally but you're not emotionally available why get involved with anyone? Self-denial, a belief she could let you in, too oblivious to realize it was necessary? If you couldn't have a physical or emotional relationship and she knew she couldn't give you either then I don't see the point of doing that to either of you. And intellectual relationship only goes so far before it's not enough, and that's not usually very far unless you're both genius level minds who want to explore astrophysics together or something."
"That's where it gets tricky." Kane sighed. "I thought she was trying, and honestly, I think she thought she was too. But, I don't know. Every time we seemed to get a little closer, or bridge the gap a bit, something would come up and we'd be right back where we started. I'd be a giant liar if I didn't say that I wasn't still in love with her, but feeling outside, feeling untrusted and second best whenever anything that counted happened; well, I guess that's where it just came apart."
Morgan actually felt bad for him. She didn't let it show much on her face because a lot of people would have resented it, but it sounded like a pretty awful situation to get stuck in. Loving someone and not feeling like you were quite good enough in the other person's eyes? That was beyond awful. "Guess that's why they say love's not enough. Relationships of any type are work, friendships are easiest to maintain so people don't think about it much in that realm. Romantic ones take a lot more work and if you don't put in the work, or I guess if you don't put in the right kind of work it's sort of all for naught, you know? For what it's worth I'm sorry it turned out like that. It's hard to lose love and you seem like a genuinely good guy, which is rare."
"Don't tell anyone. This is all just a carefully calculated ploy in order to get sex. Or something." It was a pretty weak attempt at a joke, but an attempt nevertheless. Garrison drained his pint in a single long pull and waved for another. "So, tell me you're a baseball fan or something and we can talk about the Yankee's collapsing starting rotation or some kind of worthless Hollywood gossip or something?"
She nudged his leg under the table, small smirk on her face. "C'mon now, love, former prostitute? You could get me in the sack way easier than that." That was, of course, a complete lie. She may have been one of the hardest people to get in bed who didn't have a reason associated with mutation in the entire mansion, but the line was just a line to her. "I was once a Southie kid in Boston. That means I hate the Yankees, and love the Sox. I'm woefully out of touch with baseball and pop culture in general though. I haven't really watched a television for years and I've been out of the country. Last I heard Britney Spears shaved her head? Though do feel free to fill me in if I've missed anything actually interesting."
"Why is it that all the attractive women that want to have a drink with me these days end up being Red Sox fans? I think it's a plot. Certainly a plot." Garrison accepted a new pint. He shook his head. "And no matter how attractive you might be, and I have no doubt that you were excellent in your former profession, I think if I paid directly for sex, I'd be the only person I would feel contempt for."
"Sorry, babes," she gave him an innocent shrug but she didn't sound all that innocent at all. "I think it's impossible to be from Southie without either getting tied up in criminal activities or being a Sox fan, at the very least. Just be glad I picked the latter. Well, I guess the whore thing sort of qualifies as the former but since those weren't exactly on the menu for the sake of the example they don't qualify." Did that make sense out of her head? No, probably not. Oh well. "For the record? I've refused to take payment for sex since I was seventeen." Wow, that sounded a lot worse when she said it to someone she put into the "normal" category. "Anyone who tried to proposition me now would likely end up getting socked."
"So I should go with the more traditional route and just try and get you drunk instead?"
In the middle of drinking Morgan half choked. Now that was graceful. All she could manage was a, "Yes. Yes you should."
"See, I can be charming."
Wood pile. Axe. Chopping block. It was almost zen in many ways, Garrison considered as he dusted his hands and hefted the axe. The mansion's woodpile was of towering proportions in the fall, but an entire winter of fuel had gone into the mansion's fireplaces, and according to Marko, there was both a wood fueled barbecue and two different fire pits that were used all summer long. Looking to take advantage of the spring warmth, Kane offered to do it, and had been directed to a brace loaded with lengths of tree trunks and branches from trees taken down or fallen during the winter.
Kane stripped off his shirt, braced his foot on a trunk, and began to hack the trunks down into manageable sizes, in order to split them into proper quarters for burning. He worked swiftly, enjoying the mindless repetition of strokes of the axe and the splitting of the wood.
A break from the general hauling of stuff--boxes, furniture, and once a stubborn child--meant air, preferably the fresh kind that surrounded a person. Nice days always made Morgan long for outdoors. If she knew of a rock to climb she'd be scaling up a stony face but instead she was working, earning the room and board she'd been granted because she refused to take something for free. Once outside the thwack of what she assumed would be an axe on wood was easily heard. She'd figured it would be the overlarge ground's keeper but when she'd followed the sound she found an entirely different person's hands on the handle of the implement.
The view wasn't bad and Morgan was hardly one to turn her nose up at a sight that should be appreciated. She was more a looking than touching kind of girl, at least not touching in a moaning, sweating kind of way, so she'd take her eye candy when she could. Especially when she was clearly surrounded by a whole host of people she regarded as kids, even though one had admirably refuted the term. "I don't think that's particularly safe with hormonal teenagers around," she commented from off to the side of the man chopping wood. Why a person needed wood in May was beyond her, but she didn't think looking a gift horse in the mouth was exactly polite.
"I can run faster than they can." Kane said, without pausing. He completed a split and tossed them into the large wagon with the trailer hitch attached that Marko left behind. He slammed the axe into the chopping block for a moment and wiped his face. "I don't think we've had the pleasure. I'm Garrison."
She was listening to the way he spoke more than she was listening to his name, though they both clicked into the same slot in her head. The FBI agent, she thought as she remembered her conversation with Nate when she'd first arrived. A smile hovered on the edge of her lips, not quite manifesting fully but not fading completely either. "Ah, the supposedly charming Canadian, I hear." One corner of her mouth pulled up into a half-smile more genuine than any full smile she'd ever give someone. "I'm Morgan."
"Supposedly charming? I am definitely losing my touch. " Kane yanked out the axe and grabbed another log. "Morgan? Wait, I've seen you on the journals" He swung the axe in a nice arc, and split the wood cleanly. "You look a little old for a student. Are you here with the Institute, or one of the grads returning home to roost?"
Kane hadn't missed the close scrutiny by the woman. After all, after his relationship with Marie, he was depressed, not rendered blind and stupid. He supposed he could pull his shirt back on, but it was hot, he was comfortable, and if there was anything that Kane hadn't enjoyed in a while was some harmless flirting.
The shrug she gave him was careless and graceful, both of which seemed at odds with things like her posture or her eyes if someone looked closely enough. She doubted the Canadian would peer closely enough to find the dichotomy inherent in who she was, even in the simple and physical ways it presented itself. "What, you expect me to believe everything Dayspring says without sufficient proof?" She'd settled for calling the man who was once her crew's rival by his surname because the word Nathan felt wrong on her lips and she couldn't manage to say it without even a vague distaste for it yet. Calling him Nate was out of the question until she had been around long enough to warrant it being a natural progression of familiarity.
"I'm none of the above, really," she told him, eyes trained on the way the muscles his in arms and back moved as he swung the axe. Morgan's mind didn't live in the gutter even half as much as she made it seem like it did. She'd long ago learned an appreciation for the human body--the way it functioned, what it was capable of, the way it was put together--and her appraisal of Garrison had just as much to do with that as it did with physical attractiveness, if not more. "I had a weird side effect come up with my powers, nearly caused me to get some guys who matter to me dead so I came seeking help getting things back on track and to figure out what happened in the first place. While I'm here I told them to put me to work, that's all there is to it."
"Huh. Weird side effect?" Kane paused again to actually look at her. She was, well, blue. Not the dark indigo of Kurt, but a lighter blue shade, set off by long white hair. He hadn't found out whether or not certain powers caused certain physical mutations, so there was no way to guess what her powers might be. However, if they were anything like Kurt's, side effects could be disastrous, which made sense why she'd be there.
Didn't hurt that she very obviously took care of her self. Kane gave himself a mental shake. "They found any way to help with the, well, side effects? So your... friends? They're alright?"
"Aye, well weird to me since it'd never happened before." She wrinkled her nose and bit her lip while figuring out how to put this in the least threatening manner so she didn't have yet another go on the defensive about how she shouldn't pick up a mimic of them. "I copy people, literally. Physical copies are easy, doesn't take much contact for me to pick one up and when I do I can copy you down to your blood type and vocal cords. No one would know the difference from the outside, or the physical inside for that matter. I pick up more than that, though, if I've got the patience to hang around for it, which I don't unless I've got a purpose. I pick up thought patterns, I guess you could say. Not memories and not knowledge, but the way a person rationalizes, thinks things through. And if they're a mutant and I've had enough contact to pick up their mental imprint then I get their powers, too. It gets...complicated sometimes, like when I don't know someone is a mutant, for instance." She shrugged, brushing it off like it wasn't really the hazard it really was. And a very real hazard depending on the mutation. Technically it was safe for her because she could just drop the mimic before much damage happened, but sometimes she had to hold the mimic for a job and that got interesting in all bad ways.
"Anyway," she continued, "thought patterns started to overlap as I went from one mimic to another in quick succession. I started to lose my own mind under the mental imprint I was wearing at the time. My friends were fine, though, once they sort of beat sense into me." She didn't meant that metaphorically and she made attempt to hide that fact in her voice. Her honesty usually took most people by surprise. She was an excellent liar, but when she was being totally open it was easy to tell. At least if you could get past the glowing to actually look at her red eyes and notice what went on in them. "We're working on making sure it doesn't happen again, though it never happened before so hopefully we'll manage." With that her smile slid back onto her lips, still only curling up one half of her mouth in the expression.
"Wow." Was all Kane said, and pointed at the stack of logs. "You want to start tossing those to me? I used to date a girl who had a similar problem. She used to be able to pull people's powers and personalities into her head. Made it hard for her to sort them out after a while. Sounds somewhat the same. They were able to help her out, so I'll bet they can do the same."
Something that working as a cop had taught Kane was how to read people, and while he wasn't like Pete, who could size someone up in seconds, he was pretty good at telling when he was being lied to, and Morgan wasn't doing that. Plus, it was nice to have someone to talk to out here, and Garrison was enjoying himself. "So what exactly did you do before coming here?"
Morgan went without a word to the pile and did as he requested, picking each log up and tossing it in an easy arch to him. She did make a face at the idea of sucking people's personalities into herself. "I don't absorb anything that isn't in your cells, pretty much. My own personality is enough for people to deal with, I don't need other people's too." She visibly shuddered at the idea. "I do a pretty good mimic of personalities, but that mostly due to studying people. If you know what you're looking for you can figure a lot out by watching a person and not necessarily always for a long time."
He had to ask the dreaded question, didn't he? She knew what he did, but she also knew his job wasn't the reason she wasn't willing to tell people what exactly she'd been up to for the past eight years. Never do business on your home turf, that was Aleister's first rule. And they never had. But she did have a crew of three guys whose safety meant a lot to her and she wouldn't risk that. So she came up with the best approximation to the truth without being full disclosure. She did enough lying for contracts, when given the choice she'd rather not. "I was a whore for a couple years after I got kicked out of the house," she told him without a trace of shame or embarrassment. "Then I was sold, pretty much literally. I've done different jobs since. Mostly stuff that could use my mutation, though not in the way my old madame used them. I got paid to impersonate people a lot, hence the mutation weirdness that brought me here." Technically it was the truth, it just lacked details.
Kane stopped and lodged the axe into the chopping block again. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry into anything private." He said. Oddly enough, there wasn't an revulsion or worse, judgment in the Canadian's voice at learning she'd been a whore. Most importantly, there wasn't any pity either. Just an honest apology if he'd inadvertently crossed the line with her. Garrison, much like most police, didn't have the same kind of condemnation for prostitutes that most of the population had. That they saved for the pimps and brothel owners, the ones who preyed on often confused, addicted girls, most of whom barely spoke English and were trapped in slave like conditions. A couple of years in Vancouver was an education in the real existence of slavery in the world.
He wrenched out the axe and took a look in the wagon. A couple more logs should about do it. "So, since I've now very deftly proven that charming Canadian comes second to 'foot in mouth' guy as a first impression, if you give me a hand with the last of this, I'd be happy to spring for lunch and a drink at Harry's."
The look she gave him clearly said she felt bad for him, not the other way around, and she certainly wasn't holding any prying against him. "Do you really think if I thought it was all that private I'd have told you so easily? Crash course in Morgan Lennox? I don't have many secrets and the ones I keep I do so because they aren't mine to tell. If you tread into territory I don't want to talk about because it's private or I can't because it involves other people who I've sworn secrecy to then I'll just tell you I don't want to talk about it. I'm not generally going to bother lying or trying to deflect for the hell of it when I can just say it's not something I want to discuss. Few things are sensitive or personal enough to qualify for that which is knowledge that belongs to me alone." She shrugged and tossed him another log. "The whore thing was a while ago. It sucked and it proved just how disgusting most people are, but it was a life lesson or eighty learned. It's history and while you should learn from history you shouldn't carry it on your back. So I don't, because I'm not that person and I recognize that distinction between who a person is and who they were rather acutely."
She smiled to lighten the mood, to hopefully cheer him up a little since he seemed to feel bad for potentially hitting a painful chord. Her expression held playfulness that had been lurking quietly when she'd approached him but disappeared soon after. "Actually first impression was attractive," she corrected him. "And I'm not sure you've actually proven this whole supposedly charming thing yet." She paused, letting the teasing tone linger in the air for a moment. "But if you helping with the last of this means you'll attempt to prove it over lunch and a drink then how could I ever refuse?"
"Um, sure." Kane said, splitting the logs and trying not to consider the implications of the tone. Who ever she was, this was was certainly a handful, and Garrison resolved to choose his words cautiously. He had a feeling that she was like the women at Snow Valley. Confident in their abilities, forward in what they wanted, and in all probably, completely carnivorous.
With a meaty thunk, the last log skipped off the block and he kicked them into the wagon, before burying the axe head again in the block and picking up his shirt. "So, lunch? Classy place; all the sawdust you can eat, I'll fight the bartender for a clean glass."
She really couldn't help the laugh that bubbled forth, clear and bell-like, from his awkward response. Morgan had just hit a button, she was sure of that. She just wasn't sure what kind of button it was. Unfortunately for Garrison she was more likely to try to hit it until she figured out the details than she was to lay off it. She hadn't ever been a very hands off person. Hands on learning was the quickest route to knowledge.
"Sawdust and fighting bartenders? I've hit the jackpot, haven't I, love?" The Irish undertones of her Boston accent thickened with that last word. She hadn't quite reached the level of mischief yet, but playful seemed to growing more and more. There was quite a cheeky half-grin on her face, the other side of her bottom lip caught by her teeth. "Y'know, you're cute when you squirm."
"I do not squirm, Morgan. I simply possess a unique sensitivity towards the feelings of others." He pulled his shirt back over his head and stretched out his arms. "And I am desperately behind in my alcohol consumption for the day."
"So in other words you squirm but hopefully in a very manly way?" Mischief danced in her eyes as she laughed. Morgan liked this one, he was amusing. Two out of the nine hundred people or so that lived there wasn't bad, right? She glanced at her watch before looking back up at Garrison. "Sure you're Canadian, love, and not Irish?"
"Nope. Toronto born and bred. My father's said of the family is from Scotland." He said with a grin. "You got some place that you have to be this afternoon?" Kane pointed to her watch.
"Scottish Canadian, then? Close enough." Eye candy and a sense of humor, if she suddenly started having warm, fuzzy, familial feelings for him she'd say he reminded her of the guys she left in Europe. Only this one was FBI instead of a mercenary. Fine line in some ways... "Eventually I have to finish moving stuff and/or children around, but it's not exactly the kind of thing that involves a schedule."
"I find it's easier to simply leave trails of candy and let them sort themselves out." He walked around to the garage and stopped in front of a leprous white Ford Crown Victoria. It was a big car, heavy framed, and looked like it had at least ten years on it. "I don't know whether or not you brought a car, but I can drop us off. Harry likes it when I leave it there overnight. Someone let it get around this car was owned by a cop."
"They know it's owned by a cop and yet you still have your rims, your tires and general working order? Isn't this a brave, new world." She pointed to the side of the garage where her pearl white Ducati was parked. "That's my girl. And while I follow," she looked down at herself, "this ain't riding gear. Cop spotted with a leather clad biker, now there's a mental image. People don't always assume us to be the most law abiding people ever, after all."
Kane made a dismissive noise. "The whole biker thing is highly overrated. The biker gangs get plenty of attention. The casual riders, nah. At best, they're a local issue as opposed to a real threat. Plus, no offense, but a Ducati doesn't put out the same image as a Harley lowrider, and you in leathers don't exactly put out the same image as a hairy, greasy biker covered in tattoos. It's more Euro heir looking for scandal." He yanked open his door and slid in.
Cops were so cute. "Depends what body I'm wearing. And how badly I'm breaking the speed limit. Have you ever seriously sat down and talked to the Harley sort? Fucking kittens," she told him seriously before following suit and sliding into the passenger seat. "Never met a scary Hell's Angel in my life. Most of the guys in biker gangs are slightly demented but not half as terrifying as their old ladies. Now those are some twisted broads. Besides, it's always the ones you underestimate that will put the gun to your head and actually pull the trigger."
"Last biker I talked to was an Outlaw who killed seven rival gang members and left their bodies in a van outside of St. Thomas." Kane shrugged and gunned the V8 engine, pulling out. "It's a law enforcement thing. Worse were the wannabe Yakuza in Vancouver. They had none of the discipline of the real gang, and all the knife obsessive violence."
She bit back her comment which was to the effect of "only seven?" Nice former prostitutes didn't scoff at body counts like that. Gangs, obviously, weren't her thing. They were petty, lowbrow and generally disorganized. Not to mention they were too big to really keep anyone from messing up and putting everyone else's ass on the line because of it. Maybe she was just spoiled and picky, but she liked her crew, all three of them. "Wannabe Yakuza? You'd think aspiring to be a daunting criminal organization would mean you get things in line a bit better, especially with discipline. Really, how are you going to have people under your thumb if you can't keep your own men to take orders properly and keep things well enough below the radar?" Morgan suddenly grinned and cleared her throat. "I may have read too many crime novels as a kid, though."
"You'd think, however, the world over is that there is one constant." Garrison pulled around a truck. "Criminals, by and large, are stupid."
"Look, no offense seeing as to how you actually are one and all, but you don't actually think cops are much smarter than criminals, do you? People are stupid, the only thing separating a cop from a criminal, aside from a less than solid moral compass most likely, is that cops get trained. If criminals were trained you likely wouldn't catch them very easily, the the mafia or actual Yakuza, I imagine. A smart criminal evades you and you might not even string all their crimes together as being committed by the same person, right?" One day playing Devil's advocate was going to get her in trouble, she just knew it.
"Actually, the Mafia was all but annihilated as an effective underworld force in the US by the FBI in the last decade." Garrison grinned. "You know who we have trouble with? Random people who commit crimes of the moment. Gangs have identities, which means the only way to establish power is to broadcast that identity to other people. Which means it gets to us. The criminal mind isn't really hard to dissect. Someone who'd rather rob a store than work a real job, or deal drugs, is not a person that puts a lot of thought into hiding the money. They splash out, make a scene, and guess what, criminals are happy to turn on each other at the drop of the hat."
Kane shook his head as he pulled into the parking lot. "So no, the difference between a cop and a criminal isn't just training. Your average criminal is not bright, and that's a big reason why they become a criminal, because it's easy. And it's also very short term for most of them. But you're right. There are some very smart criminals we will likely never catch until they make a mistake, but that's also the key. All we need is one mistake."
"One mistake and evidence and jurisdiction," she pointed out. "Innocent until proven guilty, a lot of people get off because the court doesn't buy it. You're kind of fucked from all angles trying to catch bad guys, aren't you?" Morgan liked listening to him talk about criminals, even if other people would have written it off as the same old thing out of any cop's mouth. But then, she just liked listening to people tell their stories and even a lie was a part of a person's story you could learn from. Ultimately she liked to study people, even if she was just going surface deep or only taking what they offered up. People, even the stupid criminals, were fascinating.
Once the car was shut off Morgan got out and waited for Garrison. "So why'd you become a cop?" The question was genuine. Why did anyone do what they did? Motivations varied as widely as people did. "I mean, people sort of default hate your profession, right? You might do good but it's largely thankless. You put yourself on the line for people you don't know with the possibility it won't be for any good. You might not catch the guy or the court might not put him away or he might get off on good behavior and be out committing crimes once he hits the street again, right? There's a lot of obvious drawback, so why choose to do it?"
"I think you're missing something that is key, and that's innocent until proven guilty, and all of the ways that make it difficult also is what makes us right so often. Sloppy work, cutting corners because we're sure we're right and know someone is a criminal when the evidence doesn't support it, borderline vigilantism, that is a very dangerous line, because once the law breaks down down, all we end up being just just a larger and better equipped gang." Kane held the door for her, and then followed her into the familiar interior.
"My father was an operative for the British government, and then spent twenty years running her Majesty's Intelligence services. In the process, he left my mother, had about three weeks in total paying attention to us during my childhood, and by the time I was a teenager, I couldn't see how he simply ignored the law for what he felt needed to be done was right any more." Kane slid into a booth. "I was already part of an experimental training program in Canada at the time, and we streamlined it so I could join the RCMP."
"Maybe you really are just a larger, better equipped gang. Maybe with a moral compass, but innocent people end up in prison or with the death penalty and people who are guilty go free because of circumstantial evidence, right? People are fallible, and I don't mean specifically the ones with the badges. I mean the ones who sit on a jury, too. They're fallible, they bring bias and prejudice and sometimes convict the wrong person because they can't find the right person and they want justice, closure for atrocities committed and are willing to believe that an innocent person did it just because it means the one responsible is caught."
Morgan gave Garrison points mentally for holding the door as her eyes swept over the interior of Harry's. She appeared to just be looking around but as usual she was studying the place. Even as she followed her companion to a booth her eyes tracked for exits, escape routes, places to hide. She had the small place mostly memorized by time she slid into the booth across from Garrison. "So, your dad pretty much ditched you so he could work with a badge doing something that I'm sure very likely had little to do with obeying laws. So you decided to be his counterpart? Have a badge and put bad guys away? I don't know what RCMP stands for though, you lost me there."
"A very common argument against law enforcement, and the fact is that every human agency is fallible. And it's only the law and due process that stops it from being capricious. And that is what stops it from being a bigger, better equipped gang. Because through the process, it involves a lot of people in a number of capacities, and that is the best way to smooth away the individual biases against the idea of the law itself." Kane held up a finger to illustrate his point. "That is the key. If you can't believe in the law, if you can't believe that the cop down the street in the uniform, the judge giving a ruling, a DA prosecuting a case, is working under the scope of the law looking for justice, then that is a society that is broken. Without law, you just get thuggery. And that, in a nutshell, is why I didn't want to follow my father."
Garrison accepted a Moosehead from the waitress and took a long sip. "Because I do think that the means are as important as the ends. That the right solution done the wrong way for the sake of immediacy ultimately undermines everything. My dad doesn't, and the way I grew up did a good job making me not want to be the person he is."
Morgan had propped her chin on her hand, red eyes intent on Garrison as he spoke and her lips curled into a slight smile. "You sound a bit like a textbook, you realize that? Or maybe a manual they give people in the academy." She wasn't criticizing him exactly. She sounded amused a little, and perhaps slightly captivated. If nothing else the supposedly charming Canadian was at least sincerely passionate about what he did. Or so it seemed. "How do you know society isn't broken? If you've never been part of something whole how would you recognize what you had wasn't? Easy example, women who end up in a string of abusive relationships but who claim their boyfriends or husbands love them and they deserved it. Sure, it might be a sort of Stockholm Syndrome, but that's not the point. How would they ever recognize love, genuine love, especially the kind that comes without beatings, if they've never actually experienced it? Knowing something intellectually isn't always the same as knowing it through experience, right? So how do you know society isn't broken if you've only got this one to compare it to, practically speaking?"
Parents as anti-role models. She'd known loads of people with that situation, but she'd never learned how to understand it. She'd wanted to be just like her dad when she was a kid, after all. "You make it sound like your childhood was a battlefield. The whole 'the way I grew up' thing smacks of more than an absent father with questionable professional, and I guess maybe personal, morals. But you can tell me to shut up and pick a new topic any time if you want."
"Talk to half of the House of Lords, and they'll tell you my father was the biggest hero of the Cold War. And frankly, he might have been. He just wasn't much of a father, and what he did hurt my mother. It's really not much of a mystery why I wanted to go in the other direction." Kane shook his head. "I had my mother as an example. She was a Pacific Rim language interpretor for the Canadian government. She spent plenty of time translating between all sorts of types of officials and businessmen from most of the countries in that part of the world. The thing that always struck her was that she would be talking to people who could order the deaths of a dozen people at a whim. Since then, I've been to other parts of the world; I've been in the places where warlords simply decide whether or not people get to live or die. In fact, the more places that I go, the more important the law becomes to me. So yeah, I guess I do sound like a bit of a textbook."
He leaned back as the waitress brought over a couple of menus and slid them over. "What is it that you believe in, Morgan?"
She shrugged, the smile fully manifesting. "The textbook thing's not too bad. It's almost endearing, actually. A lot of people work jobs because they need a paycheck, at least you like yours enough to have become textbook guy where it's concerned, right? There are worse things to be. And I'm sure you've met quite a number of those alternatives." Morgan took the menu, sliding to the edge of the table but only glanced down at it before she looked up at Garrison again with a curious expression. "I could think of many answers to that question. All true, but all answering a different meaning of it. So you'll have to get more specific than that."
"What do you get up in the morning for? What is it that drives you? I mean, you-- oh, the wings, hot. Thanks." He handed the menu back. He was starting to get a bit of a handle on Morgan. She was a bizarre mix of earnest honesty and hidden thoughts. This was someone who lived openly and yet consistently hidden. Finally it clicked in his head. She acted like Pete, and in her own way, his dad. This was the mercenary that Forge had told him about!
Why was it so amusing to her when he cut himself off to order? Clearly all the calm was fucking with her head. "Cheeseburger, well done," she recited in a monotone as she handed the waitress her menu so she could wander off to wherever waitresses went. She picked up the thread Garrison had been on, though she wasn't entirely sure she had an answer for him. Instead of trying to think about it she figured she'd just talk and the answer would work itself out as she did. Her answer ended up being sadly dead on, "Survival. Or rather, proving to myself that I've managed to survive. It's not noble, but it's what I've got. I thought my world was going to end when I found out my dad had been killed. Criminals fighting criminals and the bullets went everywhere, of course. But it was our boys, the neighborhood ones I mean, who took the lives of the people who ended up shooting the storefront, and as a result, my father. I loved my mother, but I was a daddy's girl and I wanted to be just like him. Jesus, I even looked like him right down to the shade of fire engine red my hair was and the shade of blue my eyes were. And then I manifested during the gathering after his funeral and got kicked out. If my world wasn't going to end with my father's death then it was going to end being on my own.
"Somehow I'm not dead yet. So that's what I wake up for. To survive and to keep surviving just to prove it to myself that I can and I have so far. A lot of people would say that's not good enough and there should be a bigger picture. Well, I was convinced the john who I lost my virginity to was going to kill me because the pain was so bad. For me it's enough." There hadn't been a trace of remorse in her voice. Morgan had clearly dealt with her demons and her ghosts, it was just the telling of a story really. Others may have teared up or broken down. Their voices may have wavered. She hadn't, because when Aleister saved her one of the first things he taught her was that old pain was a weakness others would exploit and use against her. The only way they couldn't is if she dealt with it, overcame it and got past it so it wasn't pain anymore. Aleister had never pitied her. Maybe that's why people who did tended to turn her stomach a little. She had no fear of Garrison pitying her, he seemed smarter than that.
"And that's enough? Surviving day to day?" Garrison hoped he was keeping his inner turmoil out of his voice. He hadn't immediately associated the charmingly blunt, if slightly odd, and attractive young woman as someone who took money to kill people. He remembered the fight he'd had with Nathan when he first got here, and one thing that hadn't changed were his feelings about that kind of life. Much like Nate, she had a childhood that he pushed her in that direction, but at some point, you had to make the decision that money was worth more than someone else's life. Dammit, he liked Morgan and was enjoying the back and forth with her.
The turmoil was hidden from Garrison's voice, but something in his eyes made Morgan tilt her head and size him up. You don't study people as long and as often as she did and miss subtle clues for long. Eyes gave almost everyone away, but without being a telepath she obviously didn't know what the wheels turning behind them were putting together. It might have nothing to do with her personally, but she wasn't going to rule it out. Aside from the curious tilting of her head, which could have easily been in response to his question, her expression was unchanged from what it had been. "I've got three guys who're family even if they're not blood, and I've got surviving. That's it Garrison. And, aye, some days it's enough. Some days it's not. But you take what you have to work with and you make something out of it. Hopefully something you can live with. And if it's not," she shrugged, "well that's between a person and whatever higher power they do or do not believe in."
"But if you're just surviving day to day, that's not really believing in anything at all. It's getting by and hoping that the world doesn't land on at this minute." Kane said, gesturing in front of him, and almost knocking over his pint in the process. "Does where you want to be in a year, five years have anything more than just being there?"
Morgan quietly slid his pint closer to the wall and hopefully out of the line of fire. She sighed at him and slouched slightly, an uncommon occurrence for a women whose posture was almost always perfect. "Does it have to be? If people concentrate on where they want to be eventually do they ever actually stop to appreciate where they are? Do I need a life plan to aspire toward? From my limited knowledge of you I'd say you believe in justice, in the law. A lot of people would find that just as insufficient as you find my day to day survival. The things I believe in have nothing to do with myself at all." And that probably made no sense at all to him. "I believe almost no one is all good or all bad. I believe in the grey area. I believe people are here to do something and they do. I believe insignificance is a matter of perspective only, a bias, and doesn't actually exist because everything is significant, even if it's not significant to you. I believe in fate. I believe that if something's meant to happen then it will and if it's not then it won't, and nothing can stop that, only delay it. I believe that silence speaks and life without beauty is depreciated. And I believe if I can't manage to survive, even day to day, then I never find out if I'm right about all that or eighty million other thoughts in my head. Survival means living and living means experiencing. Still think it's not enough?"
"I think that believing in something means wanting something, not having a life plan. Are you really saying that you have no aspirations beyond just survival and experiencing what happens moment to moment?" Kane said, actually surprised. He could understand boring dreams, he could understand greedy ones, noble ones, unrealistic ones, but not having any at all? It surprised him.
"Aye, pretty much. Other than finding people you care about who in turn care about you, what's there to want? What's there that truly matters beyond those people and their well being?" It was possibly a strangely almost maternal thing to say made stranger by the life Morgan led. It was, nevertheless, something she meant sincerely. "In the end you can't take the material things with you and the only real proof that you lived exists in the people left behind. Times erases all things, including the memories of us after we're gone. Beyond doing something worth remembering and meaning enough to someone for them to want to remember you what is there to aspire to?"
"So you've been lying this whole time." Garrison replied with a laugh, but not in an accusatory way. It was more of a 'gotcha!' from the Canadian. "It's not just about survival, Morgan. You're talking about family, and it doesn't end with who ever those three guys are. A place in which you are able to be your own person, and make an impact on the lives of people around you. That, my blue skinned friend, is something deep and important, and a hell of a lot more than just surviving in order to experience."
In her own way, Morgan reminded him a little of Adrienne, the one's brittleness replaced with the resignation of fate of the other. And, sadly, both of them echoed Marie; strength wrapped tenaciously around the harshest experience. The sudden knife of hurt that rippled outward through his body surprised him. His somewhat adolescent attempt to mourn his lost relationship and move past it wasn't as complete as he'd hoped, and just thinking of her left a metallic tinge of loss in his mouth.
Fortunately, they were both interrupted by their food hitting the table, and Garrison shoved all of the conflicting emotions into the back of his mind for the moment."So hey, welcome to Xavier's then, Morgan. I hope you'll survive this experience." He said teasingly.
His decision that she'd been lying nearly got her tongue stuck out at him. She didn't care if she was twenty-five and it was technically a very childish thing to do. Some impulses were timeless and she was going to claim this one was, too. "I just don't think about things the way you do and people don't ask me the questions you have. It wasn't lying," she decided thought her voice was uncertain because she didn't know how she was going to justify that claim. "It was...my failure to articulate. What, you expect me to be this cute and be good with words?" Morgan laughed, clearly not taking any of what she'd just said seriously.
She did, however, stick her tongue out at him when he gave her his own version of a welcome to Xavier's. Though she also raised her glass and inclined her head to him. "Let's hope the kids don't maim me first," she kept her tone light but she'd noticed the flash of pain in his eyes. It was a familiar look, distinct and it read the same on every person's face she'd ever spied it upon, no matter how fleeting. Her attention turned to her burger, specifically the ketchup and mustarding of it. She kept her eyes down as she spoke. "It's obvious, you know, when it crops up. To anyone paying attention, anyway. Want me to hit her? 'Cause I would for you," her tone turned up at the end, making her words more joking than they were. The person Morgan was when she worked was a very different person from who she was beneath the job. She didn't like to see pain like that on someone's face. Especially when she'd decided she liked this one and was keeping him, adding him to the box that previously only included Monet.
"Don't. You'd just break your hand, and then get drop kicked, likely finally coming down somewhere around Cleveland. Ever been to Cleveland? It is not a place that you want to end up in accidentally." He picked up a wing and tossed it back into the basket. "I'm guessing that it's still that obvious, eh?"
"Is Cleveland the only reason to hit her because a blow doesn't have to be physical," she offered lightly, sure he wouldn't change his mind. Morgan leaned back and watched him carefully, letting silence settle between them for a moment before she disturbed it. "Aye, it is. But like I said, only if someone's paying attention. I've learnt I pay attention more than a lot of other people sometimes. I can pretend not to, though, if you'd like."
"It's hardly a secret. I was dating Marie, and then we broke up a few weeks ago. My attempts at emotional therapy due to the judicious application of rye turned out to be less effective than I hoped. However, the last thing I want to do is see her hurt. Oddly enough, that was pretty much what broke us up in the first place."
Eyebrows furrowed, Morgan blinked at him a few times before she could speak. "Hang on here, not to go digging in open wounds, and again I tell you that you can tell me to shut up and pick another topic any time here, but exactly how does that work? Generally not wanting to see a person hurt is a good thing in a relationship. Of course, my relationship tutor could have been feeding me false information there..."
"Marie's mutation is to absorb the powers of any mutant she touches. Along with the powers, come a little of the personality as well. The longer she touches someone, the more times she does it, the stronger that personality becomes in her head. It makes it difficult to control them all at times, and worse, any skin to skin contact triggers her powers. If she holds on for too long, she can kill the person." He spoke slowly, carefully, less like he was treading a minefield and more concerned about precision in explaining her. "As a result, she's built up a lot of emotional walls. Big trust issues, problems letting people in. Unfortunately, as her boyfriend, not only did we have the trouble of physical intimacy, but also emotional intimacy. When she was hurt or upset, I wasn't the one she came to. I couldn't help make anything better, because she wouldn't let me in to try. You know how some couples grow apart? Well, we started apart and just never got closer."
Right, now I know why the kid told me I should talk to Marie with the whole losing my identity thing, she thought to herself as Garrison explained the side effects of Marie's powers. "So why was she with you? Don't get me wrong I'm not trying to put her down, mostly for your benefit, but from a slightly informed and mostly objective point of view, if you can't be there physically and you know your only option is to be there emotionally but you're not emotionally available why get involved with anyone? Self-denial, a belief she could let you in, too oblivious to realize it was necessary? If you couldn't have a physical or emotional relationship and she knew she couldn't give you either then I don't see the point of doing that to either of you. And intellectual relationship only goes so far before it's not enough, and that's not usually very far unless you're both genius level minds who want to explore astrophysics together or something."
"That's where it gets tricky." Kane sighed. "I thought she was trying, and honestly, I think she thought she was too. But, I don't know. Every time we seemed to get a little closer, or bridge the gap a bit, something would come up and we'd be right back where we started. I'd be a giant liar if I didn't say that I wasn't still in love with her, but feeling outside, feeling untrusted and second best whenever anything that counted happened; well, I guess that's where it just came apart."
Morgan actually felt bad for him. She didn't let it show much on her face because a lot of people would have resented it, but it sounded like a pretty awful situation to get stuck in. Loving someone and not feeling like you were quite good enough in the other person's eyes? That was beyond awful. "Guess that's why they say love's not enough. Relationships of any type are work, friendships are easiest to maintain so people don't think about it much in that realm. Romantic ones take a lot more work and if you don't put in the work, or I guess if you don't put in the right kind of work it's sort of all for naught, you know? For what it's worth I'm sorry it turned out like that. It's hard to lose love and you seem like a genuinely good guy, which is rare."
"Don't tell anyone. This is all just a carefully calculated ploy in order to get sex. Or something." It was a pretty weak attempt at a joke, but an attempt nevertheless. Garrison drained his pint in a single long pull and waved for another. "So, tell me you're a baseball fan or something and we can talk about the Yankee's collapsing starting rotation or some kind of worthless Hollywood gossip or something?"
She nudged his leg under the table, small smirk on her face. "C'mon now, love, former prostitute? You could get me in the sack way easier than that." That was, of course, a complete lie. She may have been one of the hardest people to get in bed who didn't have a reason associated with mutation in the entire mansion, but the line was just a line to her. "I was once a Southie kid in Boston. That means I hate the Yankees, and love the Sox. I'm woefully out of touch with baseball and pop culture in general though. I haven't really watched a television for years and I've been out of the country. Last I heard Britney Spears shaved her head? Though do feel free to fill me in if I've missed anything actually interesting."
"Why is it that all the attractive women that want to have a drink with me these days end up being Red Sox fans? I think it's a plot. Certainly a plot." Garrison accepted a new pint. He shook his head. "And no matter how attractive you might be, and I have no doubt that you were excellent in your former profession, I think if I paid directly for sex, I'd be the only person I would feel contempt for."
"Sorry, babes," she gave him an innocent shrug but she didn't sound all that innocent at all. "I think it's impossible to be from Southie without either getting tied up in criminal activities or being a Sox fan, at the very least. Just be glad I picked the latter. Well, I guess the whore thing sort of qualifies as the former but since those weren't exactly on the menu for the sake of the example they don't qualify." Did that make sense out of her head? No, probably not. Oh well. "For the record? I've refused to take payment for sex since I was seventeen." Wow, that sounded a lot worse when she said it to someone she put into the "normal" category. "Anyone who tried to proposition me now would likely end up getting socked."
"So I should go with the more traditional route and just try and get you drunk instead?"
In the middle of drinking Morgan half choked. Now that was graceful. All she could manage was a, "Yes. Yes you should."
"See, I can be charming."
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