multiversallogs | (no subject)

Who: Raylan Givens and Rachel Conway
What: Regrouping.
Where: Rachel's house, Flyside.
When: backdated to a few days after the riots.
Notes: n/a
Warnings: none so far, will update as needed.

It takes her a few days to reach out to people. It's not that she doesn't care.

It's that she cares so desperately, so deeply. Feels so much responsibility for everyone she cares about, too much to let them be dragged into whatever mess she's created.

But she can't be sure, at first, what that mess might be. She lets that small handful of days pass, lets time come and go and unfold and bring what it will. And it brings... nothing. Apparently.

No imminent danger, at least. Rachel still can't quite believe she walked out of the Arena with a fallen vigilante's sword down her boot and a purloined Militia agent's CiD slipped down her shirt, but she's apparently pulled it off. No one's come to kick in her door, no one's come to drag her away.

So now she can reach out. Now she can make sure the people most dear to her are all right without putting them in harm's way.

She starts at the top of the list.

are you okay?

She still can't bring herself to send even Raylan a voice or video message, started out paranoid after her curbside interrogation, got even more so after her thefts at the Arena. What if someone sees her face and remembers her? What if someone hears her voice and reads between the lines?

i'm at home.

Her new home, the house in Flyside he just got done helping her move into, in the days leading up to the riots.

come over when you can.

He works to help keep order in the city and to help those that need it and have no other resources. God only knows how busy he is right now, in the wake of everything that's happened.

i want to see you. i miss you.

And that, at least, requires no further explanation.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Yeah?" A pause, then, "I expected you to be madder at me for getting shot at."

"What?" She draws back, searching his face, confused. "Why would I be mad at you because somebody else shot at you? They had no right, and you didn't go asking for it.

--Shit, even if you did go courting trouble," she adds, because she's not entirely unfamiliar with that state of being, especially not lately, "I don't know. You'd have to being doing something impressively and pointlessly dumb for me to be mad over it."

He laughs, then. "I've just had a long line of women in my life angry at me for getting shot, I'm kind of used to it." Which probably doesn't say anything good about how many times he's been shot or nearly shot, frankly.

"I had noticed you seem to make a habit of it," she says, but her smile's not unkind. "But I imagine it at least comes with the territory, in your line of work. I could sit here and get mad about things that are out of my control, but that's no way to live and really no way to carry on being with somebody."

Especially not in a place like this, where it feels like so many things are out of their control.

That's a rather remarkable theory, in Raylan's experience. Then again, his marriage had fallen apart (twice?) and maybe there was a reason for that.

"Well, I'll take your optimistic attitude with gratitude and do my best not to get shot anyway."

She shrugs, laughing a little. "I'm sure, given time, we're going to find all kinds of ways to drive each other up the wall, for a minute, a day, permanently. I'd rather save the being upset for things that actually have some bearing, instead of losing it at every thing that comes along. There's enough out there to make a person miserable, I don't need to look for more. Now, that being said--"

And here she pauses to underscore the upcoming request with a kiss. "I would appreciate your best efforts where not being shot is concerned. I'm sure that'd be easier on both of us."

He chuckles, shifting to kiss her again. "Look, I'm not so fond of being shot either, you know. I'd think that'd kind of be a given." Apparently not.

"I didn't think you did," she says, curling back into his side now that this is all settled. "I understand it's a risk but I didn't think you were out there actively inviting it. Let's hope it doesn't happen again."

She sighs, softly. "But if there's trouble, come here. I mean, you can come when there's not, too. But." That's what the key's for. It's more than just wanting and enjoying his company; she'd feel a lot more secure knowing he had one more place to go if anything happened.

Which, at the rate the two of them were going... it's not a certainty, but the probability's pretty high.

"I guess living in a bed and breakfast sacrifices a little in the way of security," he chuckles. "Alright. Thanks. And if there's any other ways I can help with all this..."

She nods, leaning up to kiss his cheek. "If there's anything, I'll tell you. I promise."