3 - 2 - 1 Contact!: Breakfast

[x-leosamson.livejournal.com]

Leo & Yvette have breakfast on Leo's first morning after moving into the mansion.




He knew he should eat, but he wasn't hungry. Or, more accurately, he was aware of being hungry, but the process of actually opening the fridge and making food seemed too much trouble to simply silence his stomach.

Leo leaned back on one of the stool at the counter and gazed off into space. Maybe he'd get hungrier enough in a while to actually think of something worth eating.

There was a quiet sound at the doorway and a glance up revealed Yvette, looking at him with a slightly concerned expression. "Good morning, Dr. Samson," she said, polite as always. "Were you getting the breakfast?"

"I..." Leo trailed off, looking down at the counter. He really couldn't look at Yvette at the moment. He focused his attention on the fridge. "Working on it. Don't let me stop you, though."

"Please, let me to be getting you something to eat also, yes? It will not be the trouble and you are looking like you need the food." It bothered her that Dr. Samson wouldn't look at her, but mourning was a very personal thing. "I can be making more than the apples, even." It was a small joke, but one that showed how comfortable she was with the doctor usually - her humour tended to be saved for 'her' people.

Leo attempted to grin, but barely managed a ghost of a smile. "Thank you, Yvette. Whatever you make is fine."

The smile helped, even if it was fairly feeble. Yvette's eyes glowed brighter in response, and she turned to the fridge to see what there was to eat. She had been planning cereal for herself, but Dr. Samson was a big man who needed more. Too bad she didn't have time... no, wait, it was Spring Break - plenty of time. "Have you ever had the potato pancakes, Dr. Samson?" she asked, pulling out eggs, milk and bacon from the fridge and setting them on the counter before heading to the cupboards for the flour. "It is the food from my country, and very good for the breakfast. I am making them for my mother when she is too sick to get out of the bed."

"Yes..." Leo was actually able to muster a bit more of smile, thinking about his foster mother's latkes. "Jewish families make them as well, we call them latkas. My mother used to make them when we were sick too."

"Well, I am thinking you would not be eating the bacon, then, if you are Jewish, yes?" She hadn't really known that about him, but then again, there wasn't a lot about the doctor's life she did know. She pulled several potatoes out from the larder and set about peeling them with the fingers of one hand, using the quick, economical movements Logan's woodcarving lessons had taught her. "I like to be cooking sometimes. There are many people who are being better at it than me, so I do not do it so often."

"I don't keep kosher exactly, but no, I don't eat pork, or shellfish." Leo watched Yvette peeling the potatoes efficiently. He processed the rest of her sentence, and a part of him realized he should be encouraging her to cook so as to gain confidence in the skill, but he couldn't seem to put the words together. "I'm glad you enjoy it," he finally said.

He glanced out the window of the kitchen absently. It was such an odd sensation. Clinically, he could assess his feelings and identify that he was still experiencing shock as his mind processed the events of the last few days. He recognized that he felt rage, guilt, grief, worry, even fear--but everything seemed so detached. Even the soft noises Yvette made as she began preparing the potatoes seemed much more distant than the two feet of space between them.

Recognising perhaps the need for quiet, Yvette went about her task, grating the potatoes against the skin of her knuckles and mixing the resulting pulp with flour and eggs. Butter went into a pan on the stove and she shaped the mix into balls before frying them, flattening them with the spatula - sometimes she used her hands to flatten and lift food on the stove, but not in front of other people as it tended to evoke instinctual concern. At last, she was done, and she slid a plate with several hot potato pancakes in front of the doctor. "Here. Eat. It will be making you feel better," she said softly, holding out a fork and knife to him.

The smell of the pancakes was familiar, and actually stirred up a little interest in eating. He worked his way through half the plate in silence and then paused to drink some water. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Yvette eating quietly as well. That clinical part of his brain that still seemed to be functioning could see that she was doing her best to feel comfortable. He cleared his throat and looked over at her, pushing away the memories she evoked. She and Jada were so similar--he stopped that thought before it could go any further.

"Yvette, I...I just want you to know that I may not be very good company for a bit. I just want to make sure you understand that it's not because of you, it's just..." He trailed off, unable to find the words he wanted. "Thank you for the pancakes."

"I understand." She paused, looking for the words in English - or even her native language - to try and express what she felt, and came up empty. Loss was loss, and the way it had happened, the senseless, stupid violence of it... "You are welcome, Dr. Samson. Sometimes... we all need to be looked after, yes? Even the doctors."

"Yes. I suppose that's true," Leo responded quietly. He returned to his pancakes, eating quietly until the plate was empty. He had been hungry after all, apparently. He gazed out the window for a few minutes, and then turned back to Yvette. "I did want to thank you, Yvette. For your help with..." He trailed off, and then continued, "It made a difference to her, and I thank you for that."

"If there was the difference, I am glad," she replied. "I wish she had not... I wish things had been different, but even for the little time, things were better for her, yes?" She sighed, toying with her own food - she'd forgone the cutlery in favour for her very idiosyncratic "eat with your hands" technique. "What will you be doing, Dr. Samson? About the clinic?"

The clinic. Leo swallowed, his mind full of images. Tamika and Jasmine were still in the hospital--Jasmine had been moved out of ICU, but Tamika was still there, with another surgery scheduled for tomorrow.

And it was because of him. He hadn't even talked to Dante yet--he didn't know how to face him. What if more people had been there? What if Yvette had joined them for another session? Or if Jasmine's session with the Peterson twins gone longer? Or Frank hadn't canceled his Monday group therapy session?

None of the other clinic staff were mutants. If he wasn't involved...

"The clinic has temporarily relocated to the Angels Clinic, but I will not be working there any longer, Yvette," Leo replied firmly, and then stood to place his dish in the sink.

She blinked. "You will not?" she asked, turning in her seat to look at him. "But..." She paused. "You are not leaving are you, Dr. Samson? Like Kevin was doing?"

The tone in Yvette's voice cut through the numbness and he turned back to look at her. No. He couldn't leave the kids here. "No, Yvette, I'm staying. I'm staying here at the mansion."

Her eyes brightened, a small smile appearing. "I am glad, Dr. Samson. You are, how you say? More than the doctor, yes? You are being the friend. And if you are being here, we can be looking after you are you are looking after us, yes?"

Leo managed a smile. Despite everything, there was still some hope--the small Albanian girl never failed to remind him of that.

"Yes, Yvette. I suppose so."