Bennett Grantham is the second best secret agent (bwgrantham) wrote in immune_ic,
Excuse me while I murder IJ for just eating my tag.
It was still early. What? five in the morning? six? Just barely daylight. But Bennett needed to get out. He hadn't been out for a week, now, and he was getting a little stir crazy. Cabin fever, if you will. That, and he couldn't take the woman in the corner's sobs any longer. Her husband was dead. She needed to get over it. Was that heartless? Okay, maybe it was. He'd never tell it to her face that she needed to get over it. But he couldn't take the crying anymore. It was depressing him.
So after not getting much sleep, tossing and turning, and trying his best to cover up with his jacket, he decided it was just time to get up and start his morning. He thought about finishing his book: Confessions of a Shopaholic, but it was still a little too dark for that. Pushing his glasses back up onto the bridge of his nose, he tucked his shirt in a bit, and held up his jacket to inspect it. He needed some new trousers. And a new shirt. And judging from the torn sleeve on his jacket-- he just needed a brand new suit. Maybe something fancy. Brooks Brothers. Or Armani. Then he wondered if there were any tailors that had survived, and where they were. Maybe there was someone at Grand Central, even, who knew how to tailor and sew. Who knew?
He'd just pulled on his jacket over his shoulder holster (something that never came off. He never went without his gun.), and was busy straightening it and fixing the collar when Geoffrey came staggering in. He wrinkled his nose when the bag was dropped on his foot. Lifting his attention from the bag, back up to the younger man, Bennett watched him stumble over to a chair to flop down in it.
Now, Bennett was, by no means, any person of authority at Grand Central to be questioning the guy, but since a heavy bag had just been dropped on his foot, he felt like he had every right.
Leaning down to scoop up the bag, Bennett hesitated a moment when he spotted the blood on it. Fantastic. That wasn't a good sign, was it? Wiping his hand on his pant leg a bit, he made his way back over to Geoffrey, having half a mind to throw the bag down on his foot to see how he liked it. But he didn't. And he wouldn't.
Holding the bag up, he curiously studied the other man, "what's this?" and why was there blood on it? "Are you alright? and were you bitten?" That was something they kind of needed to know.