Not So Nice Reunions

Who: Hadley and Brett
When: Early afternoon
Where: Streets

If there was one thing that Hadley was not thrilled about, it was living next to a cemetery. She didn't care much that her house was small - given it was just her, she didn't need anymore space than she had. She was thankful for the privacy. The neighborhood she was stuck in? Wasn't the nicest she had seen, but fuck - it was so much better than her previous living arrangements.

Still, living next to the cemetery made it difficult to sleep at night. She already had nightmares about the dead. Waking up and looking out her window to seeing where the dead rested permanently didn't help. In order to get rid of her nerves, Hadley left her house and began to walk. It took her about four blocks before she had been able to light her cigarette. By the time she managed it and shoved her lighter away, her hands were trembling and she was inhaling deeply to try and soothe her nerves. Lifting a hand to wipe a bit of damp hair away from her forehead, Hadley released the smoke and closed her eyes to take a moment and relax. When she opened her eyes, she started again, rounding the corner toward the bank. She figured if they were providing her with money, she might as well take advantage and withdrawal what she could. She was still paranoid and suspicious of the situation and wondered if she would wake up tomorrow and everything would be vacant, including the bank account. She wasn't going to take any chances this time. She wanted to stock up on anything and everything and be prepared.

Brett had been in his house all of maybe seven hours before he'd had to get out of there. He'd put things away, he's opened all of the doors, all of the windows and it still hadn't been enough. The walls felt like they'd been closing in on him and he'd had to get out. He felt self-conscious, heading down the street, like everyone he passed was staring at him, but he set his jaw and figured that if they wanted to fucking stare, that was their fucking problem. He was just out and he was going to go up and down every street in this tiny town until he knew exactly where everything was. That was important - knowing where everything was, knowing how it was laid out, knowing how to get places - and knowing what was beyond the town boundaries, where the map he had stopped.

Walking down the street, Hadley had taken in as much as she could, trying to commit each business to memory in case she needed to visit them for whatever reason. She supposed the map would help, but she was loathe to carry that thing around. Hadley brought her gaze back and immediately noted the wheelchair ahead of her. Or well, the guy in the wheelchair. She recognized him from the house, not that they had been friends by any means, but a part of her was still relieved to see someone she knew. It told her that maybe some of the others from Experiment D were in the town as well.

She walked toward him, lowering her cigarette to her side and reaching up to push her hood from her sweatshirt off of her head. "Brett," she called, wanting to catch his attention.

Brett slowed to a stop as she hailed him, a look a stubborn resentment on his face, as though she'd stepped into his own private little space. "I take it we're all here then?" he asked, keeping his reply short, not using her name, though he knew it. He knew all their names, though he doubted they were aware of that. He sometimes wished he didn't, but he'd always had a good memory for names and faces. Before, it had been useful - now her viewed it more as a curse.

Hey, how are you? Me? I'm fucking great, thanks. Hadley didn't expect even that much, given the way the guy had been when they shared the same house. But hey, she was trying to start fresh, right? Right. "I don't know," she answered, reaching up to rub at her elbow. "You're the first I've actually recognized, though one of the volunteers said that some others from our experiment are actually here." Hadley paused, debated and then figured why not. "How are you?"

Brett looked up at her, scathingly. "How do you fucking think I am?" he practically spat at her. "We've been through nine months of fucking hell and now they dump us in the middle of fucking nowhere with no real explanation and that's just it? After a couple of days of being poked and prodded and being asked inane fucking questions, just like that one. 'Are you okay?' 'How are you feeling?' 'Would you like to talk to someone?'," he mimicked. "Please." He rolled his eyes.

She rolled her eyes behind her sunglasses. "Okay, then how's the fucking weather?" Hadley asked, bringing her cigarette back up to her lips. It was damn fine with her if he didn't want to talk about it. Neither did she. And she was fine with pushing through the politeness. She should have learned from the moment she met him that politeness didn't work. Not that she cared much at all, given he was nothing but a bitter asshole. "Think we'll get any rain? How'd you sleep? Those are some great fucking shoes you've got on there." She exhaled the smoke from her lips and smiled humorlessly. "How's that?"

"Why do you fucking care anyway, sweetheart? You were a vapid fucking chimney when we met and from what I can see, you haven't changed much," Brett told her. "Only improvement I can see if at least you're not taking up our oxygen with your habit there any more, though - you mind stepping back? I really don't wan to add cancer and emphysema to my ever growing list of issues," he said, gesturing for her to move away with his right hand.

Hadley stayed rooted to the spot, because damned if her pride was going to make her step back. "And it's glad to see you're still wanting to make sure everyone knows just how miserable your life is by being a bitter asshole. God forbid someone actually tries to have a decent conversation with you, right?" She deliberately brought her cigarette back up to her lips and arched a dark eyebrow. "And if you don't like my habit in your face, then roll your crippled ass around me, wheels."

Brett held her eyes for a minute, then abruptly pushed himself back and started round her. "Fuck you, bitch," he told her, clearly, starting down the street away from her.

"Yeah, don't you wish," she remarked before shaking her head and starting to walk. Asshole. She didn't feel the least bit of guilt. People probably skirted around his attitude all the time because of his condition. Just because his legs didn't work didn't mean he couldn't act like a human being, nor did it mean she was going to rein in her own attitude. Fuck that.