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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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."

"Oh, I remember that, I think. Sounded like he wanted a full background check and references." Raylan goes and finds himself a comfortable place to sit; if George follows, he may even get more attention. "Good-looking dog, though."

George proves to be more than a pretty face; he follows Raylan and receives all the attention Raylan is willing to give.

"Yeah, he sure did," Rachel says, coming out of the kitchen with a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. "But I passed muster and I got to bring George home. Honestly, as much of a pain as it was, I was glad that guy was such a stickler for meeting people and asking for a fee. It weeded out anybody who wasn't really going to take care of the dogs properly, I think."

She perches on the couch next to him, near but not too near, pouring out whiskey into the glasses. She hands over a glass. "And as soon as I saw that face I knew he was the one."

He takes the glass and lightly touches it to hers. "Well. Here's to unlikely encounters, then. May they all resolve as pleasantly."

Half of him keeps expecting Boyd to turn up. Or his father. Maybe it's better not to have anyone he knows around.

"Let's hope so."

She's quiet a moment, thinking, sipping from her glass. And then she sighs. "I'm sorry if all of this made things too weird or uncomfortable between us."

"Well, in all fairness, if you hadn't, there wouldn't be an us because I'd have probably been a splat on the pavement." Cheerful, Raylan.

"In all honesty, though, once I got over the surprise... I've found out worse things about people I like. At home, even. You got nothing to be sorry for."

Rachel makes a face. "Gross. I couldn't let that happen to you. And thank you. I appreciate you taking this so well."

And look! Somehow--somehow--she's managed to inch closer while replying.

"Now, if you take me being a werewolf half so well, we'll be in business." Deadpan.

She raises an eyebrow, barely biting back a grin. "I can totally accept that. But I do need to know if you're a werewolf like Lon Chaney in all those old movies, or you're one of those more modern tear-everything-limb-from-gory-limb werewolves. So I know what I'm in for. And what kind of cleanup it entails."

He laughs, shaking his head. "I'd keep going, but I'll probably meet a werewolf one of these days, and then I'd feel pretty stupid." Assuming the werewolf wasn't tearing him limb from limb.

She laughs too, setting her glass down for a moment to top it off, then holding the bottle up, eyebrows raised--does he want more?

"Well. For the record, whatever you are is fine with me."

He holds out his glass for a refill. "That is incredibly reassuring."

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