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Who: Raylan Givens and Rachel Conway
WhatThe Militia Is Up to No Good and Sucks Anyway: a tale recounted by Rachel Conway
Where: Rachel's apartment, Raven's Gate
When: backdated to Veerdi
Notes: takes place in the evening of this day
Warnings: will update if/as needed

She's paranoid now, following that run-in with the Militia. Rachel thinks she's probably being ridiculous, but she can't be sure she is, so. Better safe than sorry.

Or in jail.

Just in case they're still somehow watching or keeping tabs on her to see how she reacts to today, she doesn't dare use the video or voice on her CiD. She doesn't want prying eyes or ears to have enough context to hang her.

She goes over and over what to say, drafting and deleting and tweaking the message about half a dozen times before she's satisfied and sends it:

Are you free tonight? Can you come over to my place after you get off work? I really want to see you.

It works, she thinks. Without her face or voice to give anything away the message is perfectly innocuous: it reads like she's arranging an end-of-the-workweek date. And she's sure once he hears what she has to say, Raylan will forgive her the bit of subterfuge, the lack of warning that there was anything else going on.

(Besides, the message, while meant to hide another agenda, is still factually true. She really does want to see him.)

A little while later there's a volley of texts between them: yes, he's free, he'll come over, she'll send out for dinner if he'd like, he'll be there at seven. That leaves her enough time to get home and changed, to pour herself two fingers of whiskey and set out another glass for him, and to pace the living room until he turns up.

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She laughs as she settles in beside him, handing over a plate and going after the takeout containers with a fistful of silverware, popping each one open and sticking a fork or spoon in for digging out its contents.

"It's funny you should ask that, and I'm going to ignore now neatly it might tie into that complacency I'm trying to shake off. I just put a down payment on a townhouse in Flyside, I can hopefully move in after the first of the month. It's got a yard, I can put in one of those dog flaps and George won't have to be cooped up all day long."

George, right on cue, leans into her as if he knows he's being talked about. And also, perhaps, to remind her he's right there should she want to drop anything out of one of these containers, he's just saying.

"And it's closer to Jack's offices so I won't be on the train all day long getting back and forth."

"You need any help moving?" he asks, digging into the carton that's full of something vaguely like lo mien, if you ignore the vegetables in colors earth vegetables don't come in. "I can probably get someone to cover at Thames if you need me."

She pauses, fork primed to spear a piece of sweet and sour chicken (it totally is, if you ignore the sauce is gooey and blue) out of the carton in her other hand, eyebrows raised.

"Most people run the other direction when a friend says they're moving," she observes, clearly teasing him, "but here you are offering to rearrange your schedule. You must really like being appreciated."

Her expression softens, and she gives him a gentle nudge with her arm. "If it doesn't put you and your coworkers out too much, I would appreciate some help. The realtor has a guy with a big carriage or cart or something but I might need some help getting things up and down stairs."

"Nah, they can get by without me for a day. I think it is traditional, though, to pay your friends in beer if they're helping you muscle a couch up more than three steps."

That's a rule, right?

"You won't be the first person I've helped move. It's no trouble."

It's totally a rule! Also, moving is stressful, so:

"Don't worry, I was planning on there being a lot of beer. And dinner. It's the least I can do."

"Sounds like a fair shake to me. Maybe you can return the favor some day." If he ever moves into a real house.

"I will," she assures him as she goes back to excavating the contents of the takeout container in her hand.

"And you know you're as welcome over there as you are here, any time." She laughs. "Maybe next time I have you over for dinner I'll actually have a table and chairs, instead of having you balance a plate on your knees."

"Don't worry about it," he laughs. "Really, I've had less formal than this. We've got actual furniture to sit on."

"Well, still."

She switches one container out for another. "From what little I know of Thames," she says, poking warily at its contents (she's sure it's fine, it's just the colors of things around here sometimes), "they go good work there. Do you like working with them?"

"I do," he says, relaxing a bit into the couch. "Feels a bit less like I've sold out - not to get down on my boss, but deputy sheriffing sometimes feels a bit like patting the populace on the head so they'll look the other way. I don't know if I do a lot of good over at Thames, but I try. Sometimes people, specially new arrivals, just don't know what the laws even are here. I do what I can. And," wry, "if nothing else, they need someone to file paperwork when things are slow."

"I'm sure you do," she says, soft, earnest--not just to reassure, but because she honestly believes what she's saying. "Make a difference, I mean. You go in there intending to, and you try to. That counts for a hell of a lot more than you'd think." She smiles. "Even if it's just one person you made a difference for, that counts."

Or maybe that's her eternal (if hard-fought-for) optimism all over the place again.

"I'm glad you found something you like."

"We aren't so popular with the powers that be, I'm sure, but we're not doing anything illegal. For now, that's enough protection." Not forever, he was sure, but for the time being at least.

She keeps smiling, but she's silent a long moment, making a mental note to bring this up with Jack. She knows Jack can't openly oppose the powers that be, but maybe his influence could be quietly brought to bear if it comes to that.

"Hopefully 'for now' lasts a good long while."

"We can hope. I mean, as many lawyers as we've got on our side, we've got some recourse," he adds, half joking. As long as the law holds up.

"Don't forget we've got my oil-wrestling pair, too, if it comes to that," she says, laughing, it's a joke.

Mostly.

"I can't imagine they'd want to shut down a place doing good... but so much that happens here is beyond my imagination anymore."

"I think, for now, we're more useful open. They can point to us and say, 'Look, there's ways to work within the law.' Even if they're shitty ways for people who have no choices, if you'll pardon my French. It's a way to prove the vigilantes are unreasonable, for now." Or at least, it's why he figures they haven't been targeted (yet).

"Yeah." It's logical, in its own terrible way. They'll allow one thing if they can use it to show the populace how much worse (supposedly) this other bad (allegedly) thing is.

"...But then what happens when they crack down on the vigilantes? And after?"

"I don't know," he says, setting down his food. "They've got friends in high enough places I'm sure they could take out a charity if they wanted to. With or without an excuse. But I think it's important, doing what we can meanwhile."

"It is important."

She sets her fork down, frowning. "But I'd like to know who the hell their friends in high places are. Who's really pulling the strings."

"Your boss'd probably have a better idea than I would," Raylan says, leaning back. "Not like the civic process is especially transparent, even on its face."

"I'll ask." Just like that. She's not one to sit around when there's something she can do.

"If he doesn't know he can at least point me at someone who might. I should talk to my lawyers, too--they're upholding the law, maybe they have some idea how it gets passed or passed down?"

"Only if it's not going to get you in trouble. You've got enough on your plate right now," he points out. "But I'd be interested to know."

"Don't worry," she says, wry. "I know 'stay out of trouble' is on the list."

Her expression softens a bit and she reaches over, taking one of his hands and squeezing it for a moment. "But you be careful too. Especially if you guys see the Militia taking a bigger interest in Thames."

He laces their fingers. "Alright. I think I'm pretty far down on the list, though." Unless he does something stupid in the heat of the moment.

The problem with there being a list of people is that as the ones above you get picked off, you become more vulnerable. Also, she doesn't exactly trust the Militia to be orderly about busting up Thames, if and when--if and when, not just when, she's going to cling to that hope--they decide they want to do that.

But she doesn't say that. She knows he knows. Of the two of them, he's the one with the more fitting life experience, the one better equipped to deal with what's going on.

It doesn't stop her worrying. But maybe he knows that too.

"Hopefully they'll stay sensible where you guys are concerned."