Late in the Evening (Emma)

[Dr. Sean Neville]

There was an Irish pub a few towns over which Sean visited when he truly needed a break from reality. Nobody from his daily life had ever heard of it and certainly none of them ever frequented it, and thus he could simply take a break and blend into the background. He wasn't Doctor Neville: psychiatrist, disciplinarian, authority figure, face of Hammel. He wasn’t even Sean: well-mannered, intellectual, nice guy ™, voice of reason. He was the older, tall guy drinking scotch wearing a leather jacket.

Some days he needed that. Today he needed that.

After an hour-long phone conversation with Ryan asking for help because his parents were upset over his girlfriend, Sean had eventually been forced to speak to Kathleen about it. He had nothing patient to say, and she didn’t appreciate his advice.

Now he had a headache. Although he’d usually wind down over supper, asking Josh over for a meal, his friend was paying visit with his father, and then his mother, until the next day. So he’d driven his van – and he looked forward to his car finally being repairs to allow him to stop sticking out like a sore thumb in yet another way – to that oasis of alcohol and anonymity.

He sat himself down at the bar upon entering. Twenty minutes and three scotches later, he wasn’t feeling better. This didn’t bode well for his mood.

[Emma Cousins]

The very same bar was Emma's favourite haunt.

The bartender never asked for ID, and the girl had often dragged Vincent, Sammy or Ember to the bar to keep her company. As it was, tonight, she was drinking alone to try and forget the fact that she would be graduating within a month or two. Hammel had been her life since her mother had died, and though she missed Lou and her Dad, she couldn't shake the feeling that she would be leaving her home as soon as she packed up her apartment into boxes. She hated boxes. Boxes reminded her of the stale smell in the attic, where her mother's dresses and shoes had been packed. Boxes reminded her of the way she felt when she'd watched the coffin go down the centre of the church.

Emma swigged more of her beer and hung her head a moment.

She never normally felt like this, but the closer she edged to being a grown woman, out of school, the more regularly the feelings bubbled up. She lifted the lit cigarette in her other hand up to her lips, and let out a long puff of smoke with a sigh. She'd have to pull herself together else Vincent would get worried and pester the hell out of her. Crossing her legs and leaning back, she nearly let out a shriek of surprise when she saw Sean appear in the bar door, and instantly the girl grabbed her beer and the ashtray, and shifted over to a darker corner of the bar. She wasn't ready to go home yet at all.

But then, Sean looked pretty rough too. Emma watched the psychologist neck the scotches and sighed. Her lips curled around the cigarette and she huffed, tempted to go over and talk to the Doctor, but she thought better of it for now. The bar had been her favourite for several years, and she didn't want to have to explain herself and get thrown out. Besides, right now she felt pretty damn crap herself, and as she rested her head in her hand, she felt her body try and tense to hold the bubbling emotions inside of her.

"Fuck." She breathed softly, finishing up the beer and giving a thumbs up for another, finding her eyes watching Sean cautiously, questioningly. In the back of Emma's mind, she began to ask questions as to why her "Charles" was in such a bad mood. Racking her brains, she stubbed her cigarette and rested her chin in her palms. Could have been anything, as far as the blonde knew. Sean seemed to be pretty complex beneath his serene, understanding surface, and as the next beer pushed along the bar top, she couldn't help but wonder.

Or at least, that was until three already drunken men slunk in and upset the table as they sat down. Emma quirked a brow and tried to hide a mischievous little smirk. The last bar fight she'd been in, she'd teleported a chair across the room and flung it full force. Sure, she'd got a bruise or two herself, but there was nothing better to unwind like a bar brawl. But... she'd wait. No point in starting a fight when she still had a full beer.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Sean had spent his entire adulthood as a large man, very tall, fairly stocky, with large hands and feet. He didn’t know what it was to live any other way, and so he couldn’t say that he wanted to be shorter, or smaller, but it would make him less of a target when it came to the occasional fight.

Sean detested fighting, although he’d been in more than a couple over the years, most of which were political. Although when he was younger...something about being large made people pick fights, or made them take otherwise innocent comments as challenges. Over the years, he’d learned to keep his thoughts to himself unless there was a problem.

So when the three drunken men walked into the bar, their loud voices drawing attention to them, he merely slid over on to the next seat, away from them and ordered another scotch. He planned to stay here for a couple of hours, such that he wouldn’t risk driving drunk home, not when he could potentially hurt someone, and not when it would cause him to lose his only other means of transportation.

That means of transportation was currently a source of ridicule among the three men, all making jokes about the blue “hippie bus” someone had driven to the pub. Laughing, they were looking around, trying to size up who could possibly have driven such a “pansy mobile” from forty years ago. Pressing two fingers to his temple, he tried to ward off the renewed headache.

[Emma Cousins]

Emma wrinkled her nose as the drunkards continued to bellow and generally be obnoxious. They were clearly mocking Sean's van, which pissed her off; the van was cool, and she had extreme respect for Sean just because he owned it. Finishing up her third beer of the evening, the girl moved round in her chair to watch the three idiots make noise and generally bring the tone down in the bar. Quietly leaning over and asking the bartender if she could have a jack and coke, the girl continued to view the goings on calmly.

Sean seemed to be getting a headache, she observed, getting up and silently inspecting the place for her favourite throwing table. Last time Sammy and her had ended up taking on 6 Hells Angels, and had left the place a little broken up with some scorch marks on the floor. She'd promised next time she'd take it outside, and had dutifully cleaned up afterwards, so she wasn't barred.

As she moved over toward Sean, she decided to face the music and brought her drink over, resting her hand on Sean's back gently. "Hey Charles." She said softly, sipping her drink. "You alright?" Her low voice was gravely, clearly not to be heard by the drunken louts, who were now bragging about how many men they'd beaten up. "They're fucking morons, aren't they?" She added, poking the ice in her drink with a slim finger. Her eyes looked positively mischievous as she licked her lips, hand twisting in her hair.

"I think I might teach them a lesson if they keep dicking around." She added, barely audible over the loud men nearby. "What do you think?"

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Sean found it mildly discouraging that one of his protégés frequented this pub, the one that he used as a safe haven from reality; this meant that he could no longer simply fade into the background. It also meant that he’d just stumbled upon one of his protégés engaged in underage drinking, since Emma was all of eighteen. The lecture came to mind immediately but was then pushed aside. Not now.

Straightening his jacket, in an attempt to be more presentable than he was – he could only do so much with empty glasses around him and his posture hunched – he was careful not to dislodge her hand, as that would be rude. He didn’t shy from physical contact, in fact he often used mild physical contact with others, and although Emma’s behavior often bordered on inappropriate with a great many, she didn’t have that problem with him. “I’ll be fine,” he told her, clearing his throat; a tiff with Kathleen was nothing new, and he’d offered his guestroom to Ryan should his nephew need to get away for a couple of days. “And they’re certainly not doing much to make me proud of my gender or nationality right now.” Sean had never regretted being male, nor did he regret being American, but stereotypes could be a bit hard to take.

At the question, the lecture from a moment earlier popped back into his mind. “I think that assault is a serious crime, and that you shouldn’t be in bar fights until you’re twenty-one.”

The rest of his remark was forgotten when one of the three men pondered aloud if the owner of the van was a “faggot.” Pursing his lips together, Sean set down his glass and turned to face the other three. “That’s a disgusting word.”

[Emma Cousins]

Emma knew Sean was going to lecture her, and she raised her hand defensively, her voice still pleasant. "Charles, spare me the lecture. I've been at this place since I was sixteen." She said simply, necking the rest of her Jack and Coke and watching the idiots again. "It's a good place to get away. I have the graduation blues." She added slowly, still not entirely sure whether Sean was going to be okay or whether he needed a few more scotches to change that.

At the word faggot, though, the girl visibly flinched, her hand clenching around her glass as the ice melted in the bottom. "I don't call it assault." She said bluntly, rolling up her sleeves. "I call it taking out the trash." Her voice was slightly harder as her brow furrowed, rising off her barstool and holding her drink just as tightly in her hand. Within the next second, Emma had tossed the melted ice over the face of one of the men and was standing, a picture of rage, hands on her hips.

"Excuse me." Emma's voice was cold and angry, as she heard Sean's comment. "For one, there's nothing wrong with faggots, and for two, you are the ugliest women I've ever seen." She snapped, trying to swallow the rage that burnt up in her neck. "Who the fuck says faggot these days anyway? Are you hicks?" The men didn't take too well to the double insult, and as they rounded on her, she looked over to the bartender. He simply shrugged and looked away, as the blonde girl stood her ground.

"Sorry Charles." She added quietly, as she pulled her arm back and teleported her fist directly into the ring leader's face. "Not bad for a faggot, huh?" She snapped, shaking her hand to relax her bruised knuckles. The blonde was vaguely aware that Sean was irked, and probably the picture of disapproval, but the girl was tired of her crappy day, of her bad mood, and these idiots were the perfect excuse to release her tension.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Sean had to agree that it was a good place to get away, which was why he’d come in the first place. That his students knew about it gave him pause about returning, but he’d think about that later. Her graduation blues were familiar, both from other students over the years, and to what he had suffered when he was a student, those decades ago. He hadn’t wanted to leave behind the safety of the school, and although he’d returned, he was better off for leaving in the first place. “We can talk about graduation later.” When his headache was gone and they were back in Pilot Ridge.

For Emma’s sake, and for Sean’s plausible deniability, it was best for him to pretend that she hadn’t admitted to frequenting bars underage multiple times, over the past two years. And any correction he might have on the matter was forgotten in the midst of the ensuing chaos. As was the correction that assault was always assault, no matter the euphemism, or his general “every unnatural mark to the skin is a shame” lecture, which had gotten him out of fights before. It had also made others worse.

Sean had already involved himself by commenting on the other man’s epithet, although he had yet to identify himself as the owner of the van in question, or out himself as a man who had been intimate with other men before. He was only involved verbally, at the moment, hadn’t even risen from his chair. This was key, because Sean knew that when a man of his stature stood during a fight, he was asking for trouble. But he couldn’t let Emma be hurt, or get others hurt, without trying to defuse the situation.

Pushing off from his bar stool, he tried to move between Emma and the man she’d just punched, to prevent any retaliation on her part. “I trust you know better than to hit a child,” he said sternly.

The jury was out on that, because the man punched Sean in the stomach instead.

[Emma Cousins]

Emma was used to fights.

From playfighting with Vincent and Sammy, to the occasional bar brawl, to the skanks that laughed at her sister, there was always some sort of fighting to be had. Generally speaking, the girl was far too mellow and fun loving to cause a ruckus, but once the f-bomb (which Emma considered worse than fuck) was dropped, the girl changed her mindset from rolling her eyes at the idiots to wanting action, pronto. She just couldn't sit still and la-de-da over those words; someone needed to teach them how hurtful and cruel they were being, and the blonde was that vigilante.

As the man rounded up angrily on her, she had hoped Sean would either throw a punch, or leave before things got nasty. Of course, no such thing happened, and as Sean stood in front of her, she shook her head furiously. "Sean!" She hissed through her teeth desperately, only to wince as he got punched in the stomach. "Shit! Fucking Shit!" She shouted, instinctively holding Sean and pulling him back out of the fight. "What the hell is wrong with you morons?" She growled, worriedly holding Sean around the shoulders.

And now the threads of decorum and self control Emma had been desperately clinging to had been snapped. Making sure her psychologist (and almost-father-figure) was okay, the blonde girl headed back into the fight, her fists clenched as the two other men came in towards them. The leader, however, looked as though he might be going back to Sean again, and the girl teleported quickly in front of him, jamming the toe of her boots directly into his crotch. "Rule number one," She hissed, eyes narrowed. "Do not pick on my friends or mentors."

"Rule number two," She continued, very nearly getting a punch to the face. "Don't pick a fight with a teleporter." Her voice darkened. "You wont fucking win." Emma was irked that Sean had got injured protecting her, and partly because she blamed herself, and partly because she was pissed off with today and all the bad feelings she'd had, she teleported shamelessly in front of the room, throwing teleported punches and kicks here there and everywhere, and getting a fat lip in the process.

Bar brawls - Emma's way of marking her territory.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Sean was not a fighter. He was capable of fighting, like any person who wasn’t Amish, a monk, or a Quaker, but he didn’t like doing so. Particularly not fighting over something as senseless as that which triggered bar brawls. He didn’t care about other people’s opinions when it came to his van. And although he had that impulse to correct people when using vile language and hate speech, in the end he hadn’t expected to change these men’s minds. Inevitably, he’d interceded because Emma was his protégé and he didn’t want the situation to explode.

As a reward, he now had a stomachache in addition to his headache. He groaned from the impact, and then his breath caught in his throat; at least he didn’t have a full stomach, thus preventing him from vomiting.

Sean should have seen it coming, but the other man was too drunk to think about his actions, and the telepath’s attention was defusing the situation. He tried to tune out the background noise at bars, as he was depressed enough and didn’t need the additional baggage. Yet, reflexively, upon being punched in the gut, he dropped his mental shields a tad. He focused through the static of other minds on the three men, and then through the lack of clarity that was their alcoholic haze; Sean found it calming in a way.

He was pulled back by Emma, and as he shook off the pain, he saw her teleporting around the room, punching and kicking the three drunken men. The situation was worse now, far worse, as the men tried to retaliate, and were shouting anti-meta sentiment. He wouldn’t let her handle this alone, even if she had been the one to start the mess, and so he straightened.

Making eye contact with the largest, and possibly drunkest, of the three men, he said, “Leave her alone.” This caused the man to rush at him, and Sean backed against the wall, ducking out of the way at the last minute to cause the drunk man to hit the wall; on the rebound, the telepath grabbed his arm to restrain him.

[Emma Cousins]

Emma had been just about to swing another left hook when one of the other men went charging off back towards Sean. The girl whipped her head round to look and hope Sean could handle it, and let out a soft cheer as the man restrained him. However, this left her completely oblivious to the fist that quickly dug itself into her ribs, and she shrieked like a banshee, bellowing out all manner of cuss words before smashing her elbow down into the man's face.

"You get 'em Charles." She added to cheer her mentor on, ducking a rather large fist to the face and teleporting over to the other side of the room. Sure, she should have probably not used her powers in a fight - it wasn't particularly fair, and gave bad press to metas - but as far as she was concerned, this was life or death, and one of the reasons WHY she liked her power in the first place.

Of course, the side effects were gradually starting to kick in, and Emma looked over to Sean, wiping her split lip and hissing. "I'm running out." She mouthed, grabbing the chair behind her and lifting it defensively. The smaller of the three men came charging towards her like a bull to a red rag, and she expertly sent the chair crashing down on his head, knocking him out. "One down." She said bluntly, wincing a little at her ribs. The bartender appeared to be pretending this wasn't happening, as he was humming and cleaning the beer glasses. Emma thanked the lord she was a liked patron.

The last man, as Emma assumed Sean was handling the largest, was about to go for the telepath again, and she sighed wearily, the fight and adrenaline nearly burnt out of her system, replaced with pain and aching muscles. "Oi, fucktard." She said sharply, catching the man's attention almost immediately. "Catch this." She added bitterly, before kneeing the man directly in the family jewels. The poor guy (I feel sorry for him at this point) toppled down and whimpered, clutching his bits. As for Emma, she simply leant heavily against the wall of the bar and tried to ignore the sharp stabbing pains in her ribs.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Sean was busy twisting the pack leader’s – as he’d been mentally dubbed – arms behind his back, keeping him restrained. He gave the other man’s arm an extra tug, not to harm him, but to make the point that he, not Sean, was helpless in this situation. With his free hand, he brought two fingers to the other man’s collarbone, and said, “When I was in school, they made us learn boxing, wrestling, and ballroom dance. I did a little fencing in college, and in medical school, for giggles, we mapped the pressure points on the human body.” He shook his head, pressing on the man’s collarbone which made his body jerk downwards, but he kept him in a vice grip; as a younger man, Sean had been exceptionally strong – not superhuman by any means, as he knew what that was like, but his body’s size had many advantages. Older now, he’d lost a fair amount of that, though enough remained for this nonsense. He remained light on his feet, although his back was beginning to hurt; he was too old for this.

He heard Emma’s admission of exhaustion, and rom the corner of his eye, saw her knee one of their attackers – that word was used loosely considering Emma threw the first punch – in the groin. Sean approved of women’s self-defense training, but as a man, he was reluctant to use that move himself, and he felt a brief pang of sympathy for the one on the receiving end. Not enough to apologize or to admonish her. That made two down.

Sean struck quickly, pressing his knuckles against the third man’s carotid artery, and after a moment of the direct pressure, he flailed and went limp. The telepath sighed and loosened his grip, letting the other man slip to the floor in a heap. Some days more than others, he was grateful for medical training.

Stepping over the other man’s body, he took a breath to calm himself and immediately went to Emma’s side. “Are you all right? Are you hurt?”

[Emma Cousins]

As the fight wound down and the men were dispatched, Emma felt her side effects drawing in on her dangerously. She couldn't help but be impressed by Sean's ability to dispatch the ring leader, and gave him a light round of applause as she pushed the chair she'd used back under the table. Scrambling over to her handbag, she quickly grabbed a handful of ibuprofen and mumbled something about a lemonade, gratefully necking it and the pills down, leaving her with just the dizziness and the hunger to worry about.

"I've had better days." She laughed weakly, rubbing her side and then touching her split lip carefully. "What about you?" The blonde asked, concerned. "You got hit pretty hard in the stomach." Shakily, the girl sat down and lit a cigarette up, inhaling greedily. It didn't seem to dull the sharpness in her ribs, and she wrinkled her nose, looking up at Sean with a slightly pained expression. "The bastard got me in the ribs." She finally added, sipping more of the lemonade and willing the room to stop spinning.

At least the side effects were more manageable than they had been those years ago when she'd first started using her skill. The dizziness made her vomit, the headaches so bad and so sudden she'd pass out, and the hunger so great she ate seven meals a day, not including snacks. "Sorry about that, Sean." The blonde added softly as her head hung and the last remaining fragments of adrenaline flushed out of her system. "I'll buy you a bottle of scotch to apologise." She mumbled, her voice far more gravelly than before. "So much for a quiet night's drinking."

Emma looked distinctly more vulnerable now she'd worn herself out, and she very, very gently rested her head on Sean's shoulder, closing her eyes. "I'll stop leaning when the room stops spinning." She sighed, pressing her fingers to her temples to will the remaining traces of dizziness away.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Sean lifted his hand, calling over the bartender, who’d otherwise been conveniently preoccupied, neither assisting them nor making them leave the bar. When the bartender came over, he ordered her a lemonade, non-alcoholic, and was glad she spared him the need to lecture her about taking ibuprofen with alcohol. The cigarette smoking was bad enough, but she was legal and if she needed it to relax, well, she’d earned it.

He’d have to find another safe haven for anonymity the next time he went out. For now instead of being that guy drinking scotch in the leather jacket, he was that guy who’d gotten in that brawl with that blonde girl, that “meta” girl. And before the evening was over, he’d out himself as meta as well, one named “Charles,” thanks to Emma’s nickname. Well, he could pay for damages and find another place later.

“Honestly? I think I’d like to vomit, but that would be rude.” Fortunately, there was only scotch in his stomach, and he’d swallowed the bile. He’d also bruise later, and he didn’t look forward to seeing himself in the bathroom mirror during the next morning’s shower. Besides that, his back and knees were screaming at him, Do you think you’re still twenty-five, Sean? Of course, he knew that he wasn’t, but he wouldn’t let anyone hurt one of his students; nobody hurt his students without dealing with him in one way or another.

He wrapped his arm around her, offering support whilst she worked through the pain and drain of her side-effects, and slowly began to maneuver her to a stool so she could sit down. Sighing, he said, “I’ll save the bottle for a happier occasion.” Not to mention that he didn’t want to be involved in underage drinking, either as a catalyst or as a recipient. He rubbed her arm to help soothe her, and with his free hand, gave his own stomach a pat. “Back in college, after a brawl, we usually ended up in a diner. And don’t rush yourself; you’re not hurting me.”

[Emma Cousins]

Emma managed a weak smile as Sean spoke, managing to listen to him without groaning or grumbling. Lifting her cigarette back to her lips and inhaling, she opened an eye and laughed quietly. "I don't mind if you're sick. You forget who I hang out with." The girl had often rubbed Sammy's back after a night of drinking, and was immune to the nausea accompanied with watching someone throw up. "Thank you. For stepping in." She added quietly, staring down at her lap and feeling a little embarrassed that Sean had seen her at her worst. She wasn't the most quiet and retiring of students, she knew, but aside from her sarcastic comments, crazy stunts and occasional prank, she hadn't ever caused a fight around anyone at school.

Lifting a napkin from the table, she dabbed at her lip slowly and let out a quiet sigh, staring at the red that stained it. "Gross." She added with a grumble, finishing the lemonade and looking over at Sean. "Are you suggesting we reconvene at a diner, Charles?" She said playfully, flicking through her bag to grab her purse. Her ribs were positively aching, and she could feel her lip sting as she talked. However, a cheeky bacon sandwich or even a big bag of fries sounded amazing right now, especially with her hunger kicking her in the stomach.

Stamping out her cigarette, she leant forward and slowly rose, hissing as her ribs moved. Grumbling, the blonde lifted her top to stare at the black mark on her side. "Wow, that came up fast." She breathed, leaving a few dollars on the table for the drinks. "Thank you so much, Mark." She added, nodding to the bartender and giving him a ginger kiss on the cheek. She wasn't entirely sure how well she'd do riding her bike at the moment, but she refused to leave her baby alone in the car park.

"Know any diners?" Emma said, looking over her shoulder at Sean, before gently hugging him. "Thanks, really. You're the best, Charles."

[Dr. Sean Neville]

She might not mind if he was sick, but Sean did mind. Even if they had been in a bar fight together, she remained one of his students and thus it was inappropriate for him to empty the contents of his stomach in front of her. It was disgusting to do so in public at all, and he didn’t want to ruin what remained of his reputation here. Besides, the last person to see him vomit after drinking was Josh, after a particularly long night, and he planned to keep it that way. “It will pass,” he assured her. The nausea was already fading, and the pain would eventually pass as well, although that would be a slower process.

When she thanked him, he managed a half-smile, before replying, “I can’t say I’m happy about the fight, but I wouldn’t ever turn my back on you.” Not on a student, not on a patient, particularly not on one whom he knew as well as he knew Emma. “We’ll just try not to make a habit of this.” He sighed softly, taking a deep breath and letting his bones settle; his knees appreciated remaining still, so he’d pay them that favor for another moment or two. Answering her question, he said, “I think it couldn’t hurt, and I, for one, could use a cup of coffee.” Or three.

Sean paid for his drinks as well, although he didn’t have quite as intimate or familiar a parting with the bartender. Then he rose to his feet and walked with Emma, making sure that she was steady under her own power. “Three, actually. One isn’t too far from here.” It was far enough that Sean didn’t think they would have to worry about someone from this pub following them over, but they wouldn’t have to return to Pilot Ridge in order to reach it. Returning the embrace lightly, mindful of her ribs and his back and stomach, he replied, “Helping out is what I’m here for, even when this is the help you need. As I said, I have your back." He couldn't be the best, of course, because that title had been taken by his mentor, but that was a story best saved for the diner.

Speaking of which...he pulled back from the embrace and turned to look at the three unconscious men. It would be best to tend to this matter now, rather than let it fester; he couldn’t trust alcohol to blur their memories enough. Taking a breath, he closed his eyes and concentrated through the headache, the alcohol, and the other pain. He touched the mind of the first man, then the second, and finally the third, letting their memories after stepping into the bar recede into that place where drunken memories hid. Best if they didn’t remember. Then with a sigh, he opened his eyes. “Let’s go.”