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

Entry tags:

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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"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."

He smiles. "I don't think I have the temperament for the locking myself in my room and drinking plan. Besides, we already said no dying." So clearly, drinking himself to death is untenable, under the circumstances.

"So dealing with the unusual it is. Besides, there's a lot more to you than just that."

"It's good of you to notice," she replies, and the grin turning her lips and the light tone of her voice both clearly say she's teasing. But there's a hint of steel behind those words, too, the weary, vaguely-hurt wariness of someone who's Been There. It's too often been the case that once someone learns about that, it's all they can think of, which is where things have tended to go so wrong. People get scared, people can't deal, people leave or try to act like they're not scared or can't deal and make her leave.

"I've started seeing a doctor about it," she offers suddenly. You know, since they're already on the subject, why the hell not? "There's a guy, he's really nice, over at Madrasati. He specializes in working with people like me. So I can get a better grip on it and not be afraid of using it. Or afraid of it at all." She shrugs slightly. "Just in case I need to punch a ghost's lights out again in the future or whatever."

"That's gotta be comforting, right? To have someone to ask questions to, at least." Raylan didn't know how he'd cope with discovering a power like Rachel's. Poorly, if he had to guess. "Do you trust the guy?"

"I do."

It was sort of a quick judgment, deciding to trust Charles Xavier. His obvious expertise and understanding of the subject went a long way, but it was his compassion that sealed it, earned her trust.

"He really knows what he's talking about. And, like, he... I dunno. Doesn't make me feel like a weirdo, I guess. I've always seen it as a curse but he wants me to think of it as a gift, to learn to embrace and harness it instead of being afraid and pretending it's not there."

"Probably best, in the long run," Raylan says. "Can't imagine ignoring it makes it go away. And it comes in handy, I'd think, now and then."

He runs his thumb along hers, lightly, and then releases her hand. "Maybe it's easier, here. Don't know where I'd even start in your position, back home."

"I think it is easier here?" She withdraws her hand, smiling. "I mean, like. I'm far from the only person around here who can do things that aren't normal back home. It's a more comfortable atmosphere, I guess, for working with it."

She pauses a moment. "Better than back home. I really didn't know where to begin and it was just one more thing that made me different from everyone else when I didn't want to be. So I never really dealt with it. Now I'm learning."

He looks down, with a fainter smile. "Well. Can't think it's ever easy to be the only one of anything. This as much as anything else, if not more."

"I guess not, no."

She glances up at their waitress, politely hovering off to one side of the room. "I think maybe they want the table. We should probably get out of here."

Which begs the question of what to do next. Where to go.

"...If you don't have anywhere to be, we could head down to my place. I can introduce you to my dog."

"I'd like that. If you're sure it wouldn't be a bother." He doesn't want to end the evening just yet, but he doesn't want to impose, either. They've been occupying a strange, undefined space for a while, now, and he's not sure when and if to push that.

"It's not a bother," she insists, sliding out of the booth to stand up. "I promise."

She can't know what he's thinking, has no idea it's the same things she's wondering and wanting. Not wanting the night to end, to give up his company just yet, but not sure if that's wanting too much or when or how to move things forward.

He picks up the check, waving off any effort on her part to see it or contribute. Once they've paid, he offers his arm. "Lead the way."

Things aren't the same as before, but he still feels better. The subject is open, at least, and they're talking. Given his usual track record with human interaction, he thinks, it could be much worse.

It's something of a haul out to Raven's Gate from Syriac Well, but it passes reasonably quickly due to the efficiency of the El trains. It doesn't feel as private as their table at the diner so Rachel keeps the topics of conversation pretty benign: work, the commute, and how she's thinking of finding somewhere closer to Jack's offices even though she loves being out near the water.

They step into her apartment building and she warns Raylan, with a wry smile, "Brace yourself." She pulls her keys out of her bag as they climb the stairs to the second floor, and it seems someone up there recognizes the sound, if the excited barking that sounds down the stairwell is any indication.

"George, seriously, sshhhhh." She unlocks the door, and as soon as she's pushed it open far enough for the dog to squeeze out, he does, running an excited circle around her legs before she shoos him back into the house.

"Come on in, he'll settle. Eventually."

Edited (lol what is html) 2012-08-26 21:29 (UTC)

Raylan smiles. "'salright. He's just glad you're home, right buddy?" Raylan is very firmly a dog person. He offers his knuckles to sniff, and if George sits still long enough, a skritch behind the ears.

Once they're in, he removes his hat. "He come with you, or you two find each other after you'd got here?" Tim's dog came from home - he didn't think it an unreasonable question.

George does in fact sit still for hand-sniffing and headscratching, because attention is attention and George will not ever turn that down. Rachel waves at the living room, the gesture meant to convey go make yourself at home, as she detours briefly into the kitchen.

"I got him here," she calls, amidst the sound of a cabinet opening and glassware being fetched. "A guy was giving away puppies on the network, I guess he found them and wanted them to have good homes. That was a little while back; maybe right after the monsters."

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject