multiversallogs | But these stories don't mean anything / when you've got no one to tell them to

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But these stories don't mean anything / when you've got no one to tell them to

Who: Raylan Givens and Rachel Conway
What: Dinner and catching up. And, likely, A Talk.
Where: In the general vicinity of Rachel's workplace in Syriac Well.
When: forward-dated to Veerdi.
Notes: passing mentions of sexual activity.
Warnings:see above.

Rachel packs it in for the weekend at a quarter to six, putting away files and notes, clearing her desk so it's neat for Newdi morning. It's something she's always done, as far back as college; a clean desk when she starts the next day's work is like a fresh start, it's soothing somehow.

Knocking off a little early also gives her time to duck into the restroom and make sure she's still presentable before heading for the front of the building. She's always thought it rude to keep someone waiting, or to make them have to ask somebody to go find you, and that's part of the reason she intends to meet Raylan out front.

The other part being she's still pretty new here, and even the best workplaces are full of gossip. She's not ready or willing to have her personal life or friendships examined quite so closely here, not yet. The front steps aren't far, but it's far enough to ward off most of the well-meaning-if-nosy questions and speculation.

So she's a few minutes ahead of six o'clock when she steps out the front door, ready to head down the steps to the sidewalk.

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The diner is someone's perfect interpretation of every stereotypical small-town diner, from the old but well-kept formica table tops to the fake leather upholstery to the noisy open kitchen behind a long counter to the giant clock on the wall and the glass case with desserts. They head inside and take a table near one of the front windows.

"I was, like, totally happy to find this place a couple weeks ago," she says, reaching for the salt shaker and fidgeting with it, rotating it between her hands. "Syriac Well is a nicer neighborhood than I'm used to and most of the places right near our offices are, like--a whole day's pay for a couple of artfully arranged vegetables on a china plate."

He pulls out the tie he had folded up in his pocket with a grin. "Wasn't entirely sure you weren't gonna take me to a couple-vegetables-on-a-plate place, so I figured I'd better be prepared."

She laughs, shaking her head a little. "Well, thank you for thinking of that. But I wouldn't have done that. They're not my kind of places. And besides." Her grin brightens, takes on a mischievous cast. "That just seems mean, to invite someone to dinner and not get a proper meal."

He laughs. "Very thoughtful of you. I can't imagine a man could even get a chocolate milkshake if he wanted, place like that."

"No, no, he couldn't." She leans forward a little, elbow on the table, chin braced on that hand. "...And actually, that sounds good."

"I am of the sincere opinion that any occasion that's inappropriate for a chocolate milkshake is probably outside my comfort zone." He almost grins.

"You have a usual?"

"Amen to that. And yeah, I do."

Rachel grabs one of the laminated menus out of their spot behind the ketchup and mustard bottles, turning it and setting it down on the table in front of Raylan. "The burgers here are all good," she tells him, leaning in, indicating that part of the menu with her finger.

"Well, luckily I'm a burger kind of guy. After all, you need fries to dip in the milkshake." ...not everyone needs that, Raylan.

Maybe there are things that not everyone needs, but...

"...I've never tried that, is that good?"

There are certainly always things people are willing to investigate, if nothing else.

"Seriously? Well, now you have to. Chocolate." He shakes his head. "Next thing you'll be telling me you never had homemade fried chicken before."

...you might kill him, Rachel.

Rachel shakes her head, entirely unaware of the potential effect of this declaration:

"Nope. We don't really do that in California? Like, the closest thing is going to a diner for their fried chicken, I guess."

He looks stricken. "That is not at all right. Even in Miami you could get decent homestyle chicken."

Miami.

She shakes her head, still smiling, spreading her hands. "I don't know what to tell you. We just don't fry chickens in southern California. I mean, outside of like dubious offerings at fast food restaurants, but I'm sure that's so not what you mean."

"I mean, fast food chicken has its place, but it's nothing like... okay, I'm finding a place with acceptable fried chicken for next time we have dinner." He is really worried about Rachel's well-being.

"Sounds like a plan." Look, the way he's carrying on about this, she has to try it now.

--And there's a part of her that's really, really pleased by the idea of next time, considering she wasn't sure if that was ever going to happen. But she plays it cool, dropping her gaze again to peer at the upside-down menu she'd placed in front of him. "So. Chocolate milkshake's the way to go, is that right?"

"I think it's a must, now. I mean, you can go vanilla if you want, but I wouldn't recommend strawberry to a novice."

...now he's possibly having her on a little.

Rachel half-suspects he's pulling her leg, but she lets it go.

The rest of dinner passes in easy conversation and good companionship. She knows there are Important Things they really ought to discuss, but every time she thinks she should edge toward them, she talks herself out of it. Enjoy the good times while you can, don't cause trouble, and all that.

(Never mind that that's what got her into the whole yeah, I really should've told you about that mess to start with. Learning lessons, what's that?)

The waiter clears the last of their plates and she regards Raylan across the table, smiling faintly. "So? Now what?"

"So." He exhales. "Look. I just wanted to say... I'm not sure, in all that mess if I ever thanked you for saving my life. Maybe I did but... now. Thank you."

That sets her back slightly, surprised. Here she'd been dancing around the issue all through dinner and he just went and jumped in.

"I think you did," she says. Truth is, she doesn't remember, but it doesn't matter to her if he did or not, so she's not uncomfortable with the reassurance. Maybe he didn't say those exact two words, thank you, but she's sure he appreciated it.

"You're welcome. I was glad to. And I'd do it again."

He smiles, a little. "Look, I've been thinking about it and... hell. It threw me, but I can't blame you for not just casually throwing it out in conversation. I just wanted to let you know... it's your secret to keep. No one'll hear a word from me without your say-so."

Raylan offers a hand. "I'd say scout's honor, but I was never a scout, so you just have to trust me, I guess."

Her very first instinct is to wonder what the catch is, when the other shoe will drop. Not at all because of Raylan; that's just the way life's tended to go for her, especially where this subject is concerned.

But the instinct is fleeting, because:

"I trust you," she says, reaching across and taking his hand. "Thank you."

He smiles a little, then. Neither of them is great with trust, it seems, though they hide it different ways. It means a lot, that she says so.

"Well. Gotta have someone watching my back next time monsters attack, don't I?"

"Yeah." She smiles too, squeezing his hand. "Can't have you dying. That's on the list, no dying."

And then, more seriously: "...Thank you. For being so decent about all of this. It's-- I mean. Not to sound like some sad case or whatever, but. It's a lot better than what I'm used to, with this. And that means a lot to me."

"No dying," he agrees, then sighs.

"Look. This whole place... I don't like it. Never have, doubt I ever will. But that ain't your fault, and you've been nothing but decent to me since we met. I figure if I'm too picky to deal with anything but totally ordinary, I'd better just lock myself in my room and drink, because this is where I am. Wishing it different doesn't do anyone any good. And it's no more your home than it is mine."

Just because she was outside his experience, didn't mean he had to lump her in with the rest of Baedal. She's a refugee here too.

She nods, taking that all in. "No, I understand. I think that's the way I feel, too. I do not like this place, I do not like being here, and I do not like that I can't leave. But I can't take that out on anyone. I mean, if I ever find the person responsible for me being here, or the one who actually did whatever it is they do to put us in that little green room, God help him. But beyond that... no."

Rachel still firmly believes the cohort, each other, that's their best defense against this place. And it's the other people that make it easier to be here, even in these circumstances.

"I'm glad you're willing to deal with a little out of the ordinary, in my case."

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