Nausea and Nerves (Open)

[Anya Vasiliev]

As Anya's apartment was over the top of the coffee house, it was hardly surprising to see her in it, nursing a cup of Columbian brew, one sugar, no milk. It was, however, unusual for her to be sat entirely alone with no laptop, no book or even papers to grade.

She was still, her thumb stroking gently over the lip of the coffee mug, expression troubled.

Her mind was replaying the words of Sean's meeting around in her head. It had been nagging at her for a day or so, and she had pushed it away during her lessons, forcing her focus on her students. It had been easy when Sammy had set fire to half the room, and even when two new students had ended up creating a giant green slimeball that stuck to the ceiling and dripped menacingly. But now it was her relaxation time, except, she couldn't. Her sleep had been fitful, images of her friends being shot, children being attacked, even of them coming into her home and smothering her when she slept. Dashenka had been there to cuddle, and she'd nuzzled the cat fondly, but it hadn't settled her.

Anya had sat for coffee instead, hoping the light buzz of idle chitchat would take her mind off what was to come... but then she remembered Chase... Chase with his neckbrace on. James with his hand bandaged, and she silently wondered how many more casualties there'd be before this malicious group had finished their vengeance.

She sipped her coffee wordlessly, and stared out the window.

Her father had shown her how to handle a gun for sport. Could she really use one to injure another being, no matter how misguided they were? Could she block enough of the powers to keep Sean safe? To stop Clarisse being attacked? Was she even good enough to protect those students that needed her guidance and support to use their powers correctly.

Anya felt sick.

She just wanted these sick people to finish this, to stop the waiting and the nerves that knotted her stomach. She hadn't even eaten breakfast. Nor dinner the night before. The sensible half of her knew that should a fight break out, she'd be useless if she had an empty stomach. The other half just didn't want to throw up, to show weakness.

She was never very religious, but in Russian, she whispered;

"Бог, пожалуйста помогите."
"God. Please help."

[Morgan Tonaya]

Morgan had been spending a lot of time in his mother’s shop. He didn’t like not saying hello to her everyday, and for that matter, not saying goodbye. He knew that she knew something was up, but he couldn’t bring himself to tell her the whole truth. He’d told her everything about Jake (and suffered through the unspoken “I told you so”) and Levi, the ensuing alarm, and everything he’d learned about MSAD. But that was it. Just enough to keep her protected.

For the most part, he brought her tea. Neither of them really drank coffee, but it was nice to have the warm beverage to fill up the silence when Morgan’s guilt got to him. He was torn between wanting to protect her and wanting her to protect him. He’d never really grown out of that…but it was time now. He placed his order with a weak smile to the barista and moved to stand and wait for it.

That was when he noticed her. Ann…Annie?...An…ya. Morgan furrowed his brow. A coworker, but more than that, someone who’d volunterred to fight the good fight alongside the others. An ally. She looked nervous. As nervous as he felt. He looked at the barista, and the long line of people waiting in front of him for their orders to finish, then back to Anya. He approached the opposite side of the table and laid his hand on the back of the chair.

“Hi…uh…Anya, isn’t it?” He asked slowly, looking down at the seat with a slight smile in his eyes, more truce-calling than actually happy. “Do you mind if I take a seat? I…I recognized you from Doctor Neville’s house.” He murmured.

[Anya Vasiliev]

So utterly wrapped up in her thoughts, Anya didn't even notice the fact a colleague had entered the cafe, much less noticed her in return.

So when a voice spoke nearby, she started, then broke into a tentative, concerned smile. "Morgan." She said, putting her memory to good use. "Of course, take a seat." Folding her hands around the coffee cup, she tried to push the worries from her mind and be at least somewhat social to the other man. From what Sean had implied, without being horrendously incriminating, Morgan hadn't had the best time of it lately either, and she didn't think he'd want to hear her blabbing aimlessly about how worrying it all was.

Instead, she reached over and gingerly rested a hand on the blonde man's own. Her expression read something like I know what has happened and if you need to talk, I could do with the distraction. "It was quite the meeting, wasn't it." She said sadly, still thinking of Chase's neckbrace. He was such a friendly man, how could anyone want to harm him? "It really... made things seem definite." Her voice wavered, and she lifted her cup to her lips, taking a long sip of the bitter drink.

It wasn't even that she planned on backing out. Never. It was just so real, and nothing she had coped with before, not even with Kirill. "How are you taking this? I... well... I heard about what happened." She took a sharp inhalation as though waiting for Morgan to react angrily. Her hand gave Morgan's a light squeeze. "I'm sorry." She breathed, withdrawing her hand back across the table, then looking out the window.

Bitter memories, much like the coffee, stirred to the surface. "It's funny, how you think you know someone..." Anya added sadly, a half smile pushing its way onto her lips. "Anyway, this is probably not something you want to talk about." Her voice changed tone, one hand waving airily as though brushing the thoughts and conversation away. "I can get your order done faster, if you'd like. I know the owner." A devious, but small smile tweaked the edges of her mouth, the first in three days.

[Morgan Tonaya]

Morgan looked relieved that he’d remembered her name properly and, on her invitation, took his seat. He tensed greatly, almost jumping, when her hand was on his. Warmed from the coffee cup, her skin was what reminded him that he was even cold. Despite the warm wind, he just couldn’t seem to feel warm. Nervously he laughed, licking his lips as he looked at the floor.

Not shame, but something akin to it wrote on his face. He cleared his throat in an attempt to seem netural, but he came off as he was: freshly wounded and not particularly keen on reliving the experience. “It’s really not something I want to talk about.” It was all he could do not to snap the short response. Anya hadn’t done anything wrong; she was only trying to make him feel better, share his burden or something.

Morgan wasn’t keen on any of it really, preferring to be alone at this point. But he couldn’t just push her away. Perhaps it was she who was reaching out for her own benefit and not truly his…either way, Morgan needed her as a comrade. He wouldn’t push her away just yet. “But…you’re right.” He said quietly, his tired eyes cutting up to her. “You think you know someone.”

A tired huff of a laugh exited Morgan’s mouth and he drew his hand into his lap, shaking his head. “Ah…no thank you. I’ll just wait for my turn.” He managed a true smile and gestured to
the line with his head.

“Besides. I’d hate to have that mob on me, y’know?”

There was a short silence and Morgan, struggling to fill it, stammered out some more conversation. “Ah…how do you know the owner?”

[Anya Vasiliev]

Anya's expression flickered to sad understanding as the pain flickered across Morgan's face. "I really do understand." She said warmly, offering a sympathetic smile, before turning her attention back to her coffee. Taking a deep swig of the dark drink, she cleared her throat and tilted her head. "It'll be raw for a long time." She added, her voice almost disappearing into the air around her. "But I assure you it gets better."

Changing the subject, she glanced over to the line and rested her cheek in her hand, still insistently chasing the rim of her coffee cup with a finger. "I live above the coffee house." She said simply, looking over at the owner and giving him a small wave. "He's my landlord." The woman let out a soft chuckle, then peered rather intensely into Morgan's expression, as though trying to read into it. "You need to rest more." Anya's voice was slightly accusative, lifting the coffee cup to her lips and pursing them slightly. "Honestly Morgan, you look exhausted."

She let out a faint laugh. "That wasn't an insult, for the record." She added hastily, a little frown of concern on her face. "I guess none of us are sleeping well right now, though." Anya looked a little upset, a deep sigh falling from her mouth. "With them around, I can hardly sleep from worry."

Anya's lips closed rather tightly then, as though she'd said something she hadn't meant to. Her expression seemed closed, as though she was reflecting on something, and her head came to rest with a small bump against the glass. Her fingers curled together around the cup and squeezed it in a tense embrace, jaw tensing and relaxing repeatedly. "I have nightmares about it." She said finally, refusing to meet Morgan's eyes. "About what would happen if we failed."

[Morgan Tonaya]

“You sound like you’re talking from experience.” Morgan said with as much finality as he could. If she truly was speaking from experience, Morgan didn’t want to pry. If it was an experience anything similar he reallydidn’t want to pry. If that was the case, he knew the feeling. He didn’t want anyone prying, why would she?

He was greatly relieved for the change in subject, and he ran with it. Anything to keep his mind off of what was actually happening. He looked up when she mentioned the location of her apartment. “There are apartments up there?” He wondered, chuckling. “I’ve lived in Pilot Ridge for a good chunk of my life and I never even noticed.”

Quirking a skeptically eyebrow. “Forgive me for pointing it out, but you look like you haven’t slept in a few days either.” Managing a playful smile he added, “What color is the pot, kettle?” The silence that hung between them was heavy and uncomfortable. Morgan swallowed a heavy lump in his throat.

He closed his eyes and reached out, this tame taking Anya by the hand, his fingers covering hers around the cup. When he opened his eyes he looked level, and surprisingly calm. He was determined. “We won’t fail.” He said confidently, albeit quietly. “There’s plenty to be afraid of but…failure isn’t one of them.”

[Anya Vasiliev]

"I am." Anya said shortly, offering a very small, strained smile to Morgan. Tucking her hair behind her ear, she pushed any further thoughts of her ex husband far from her mind. She had enough to worry about without remembering that.

Her throat bubbled a small laugh when Morgan expressed surprise that there was an apartment up above the coffee shop. "Just one, mine." A proper smile glimmered on her lips, and she decided to spread the branch of hospitality. "It's nothing special, but you're more than welcome to wait up there till this rather intimidating line of coffee zombies clears." She watched the shuffle of the people's feet and their coarse voices with amusement.

Then Anya really did laugh, her face lighting up as Morgan pointed out the obvious. "Well I dare say it might be black." She said warmly, shaking her head. "But my kettle upstairs is chrome so I think I might have dodged a bullet there." Her eyes looked bright for the first time in a few days, and she even managed to get the horrible dwelling thoughts off her mind for a moment or two. It did feel better to talk about it after all.

Anya looked a little surprised when Morgan's hand came around hers, and she looked almost pleadingly over to him, hanging on his every word. "I don't care about what happens to me." She said stoically, taking a deep breath. "It's our students. God Morgan, they're so important. The fact they got one... I just..." Her voice broke, and she hung her head. "I just can't understand why anyone would think this was the right way to go about things. We all want greater meta rights... but not like that." She became acutely aware of how much she was trembling, and she squeezed her eyes shut, slipping her hand out from Morgan's and finishing her coffee.

[Morgan Tonaya]

“That sounds like a nice place to live.” Morgan mused, looking up as if he would be able to see the apartment through the ceiling (obviously not the case, but wouldn’t x-ray vision be cool?). “Coffee all the time.” He joked. Though it had seemed a little forced at first, the smiles came easier now. They were weak and sometimes small on both counts, but the tired expressions were sincere. And admittedly, they felt good. Morgan felt like heaving a heavy sigh of relief, even if just for a moment.

And only a moment it was before the anxiety returned. The worrying, the constant viligance. For Morgan, it also brought a pang of guilt. Despite having tried to convince himself otherwise, Morgan couldn’t help but feel that Levi’s current state of affairs was partially his fault. Why hadn’t he seen through Jake? Why?


“Tonaya? Tonaya!” Morgan’s head perked when his last name was called. He stood up and shook himself slightly, trying to keep a blank face. As much as he wanted to break down and hide, he knew that was the last thing he could do right now. He cleared his throat and offered Anya a discreet, but sincerely encouraging face. “We’ll make it through this Anya, and the students will be safe. Whoever did this…they’ll…” He paused and closed his eyes. “Everyone will get what they deserve.” He said quietly, moving to the counter to get his order.

When he passed Anya again on his way out the door, he faltered. “Anya it was…”He looked over his shoulder and smiled tiredly. “It was good to see you.”

[Anya Vasiliev]

"It is." Anya said warmly. "I get coffee and pastries in the morning." Her voice sounded lighter, less strained and heavy. Morgan seemed to mirror her exhaustion, but she understood that the man had far more on his mind than just the protection of students. She wondered if he could feel her genuine sympathy oozing from every pore, or whether it just made him feel worse. She stared down into her coffee cup, eying the dregs of the drink self-consciously.

When Morgan spoke again, she looked him directly in the eye. "Morgan." She began, rising up with him. "It's not your fault." Her voice was slightly broken, as though she were hurt one of her colleagues could assume such a thing. "I promise it's not your fault." Her hand moved to grip Morgan's suddenly, just before he turned. "Together, we'll make sure it's safe. All of us. That includes you." Her voice sounded firmer now, as though she were trying to be strong for her weaker companion.

"People lie. People cheat and deceive, and it's a painful reality that sometimes the good ones are on the receiving end. Take the experience in, learn from it, then let it go." Anya released Morgan's hand and stepped back, letting the man get his order. She managed a bright, warm smile for the man. "I have faith in you."

When he left, she waved a hand gently and nodded, leaving her cup behind. "It was good to see you too." The woman nodded, then pushed her way round the back, feeling like she could sleep for a little while. Morgan's words had soothed her a little, and when she unlocked the door, she managed a smile for Dashenka, disappearing from sight.