Wednesday 30 Mar 2005

Rina calls in the late morning, just before lunchtime.
Grey picks up on the second or third ring, answering with a guarded, "Hello?"
Rina swallows. "It's me. Is there... any time someone could pick me up today?"
      She backtracks fast. "If it's any trouble I can call someone else, but 
      I'd rather it was you."
She can hear his surprise on the other end of the line. "Rina? I... no, it's no
      trouble."
"Y'shuah?" There's a least a hint of the old Rina there.
"I'm sure," is the response, more certain this time. "Just need to get my boots
      on, and I'll drive right out."
"Okay. I should have everything set by the time you get up here." A breath.
      "Thanks... Thomas."
A pause, and then, "Welcome." He hangs up, then.

True to his word, the Philodox's dirt-brown Ford Torino -- a nice vehicle
      despite the ugly paint job -- pulls into Merritt's parking lot in record 
      time. The man himself doesn't appear to have slept much recently; his 
      hair's still wet from the shower, and there's stubble around the normally 
      neat, thin beard. In sweatpants and grey trenchcoat and black tanker 
      boots, he'd look positively criminal even /without/ the scars.
The pickup goes smoothly enough; he goes in, just as with the visit, and the
      patient is sent out. She's in the same clothes they picked her up in, 
      washed but a bit rumpled; she certainly looks equally disreputable, and 
      equally tired. Nevertheless, she manages a quiet half-smile at the sight 
      of him. "Hey. Thanks for comin'... Did I interrupt some important 
      loungin'?"
Grey shakes his head as, hands in pockets, he escorts her back to the Torino.
      "Just some reading. Planned to give Kevin a lesson in..." He shrugs. 
      "Something." Oh, yes. She clearly interrupted some big plans.
"I like that kid. We need to pull him out of that... hole he's in." She walks
      with her head bowed, her brow furrowed. "Treat him well. We need the 
      strength."
Grey grunts. "He's /smart/ anyway, and at least he /wants/ to be one of us..."
      Ever the gentleman, he opens the passenger-side door for her. Oh, look, 
      black leather seats. The car's interior is quite clean, except for the 
      smell of cigarettes.
"Nice car," she murmurs, sliding into the front seat. The little plastic bag of
      her stuff gets tossed into the back seat. She looks over to him, as she 
      closes the door and puts on her seatbelt. "You... you've been okay? Don't 
      look like y'sleepin' enough..."
Grey circles around the front and folds himself into the driver's seat, behind
      the steering wheel. At her remark, he gives her a sidelong look, then 
      shrugs, puts the car into reverse, and pulls out swiftly. He knows this 
      car and handles it well despite the touch of recklessness. "Not this 
      weekend, I didn't." There's no accusation or recrimination in his words, 
      just stating a fact.
Rina swallows. "Sorry," she murmurs. "I hope it wasn't all me." She watches him
      from time to time.
Grey shakes his head, eyes on the road. "Don't apologize. Worrying about you...
      it's what I /do/." Weary and slightly wry -- or maybe resigned -- he 
      gives her a quick glance. "Where are we heading?"
A wince is only half-hidden as she looks away, out the window. "The studio,"
      she says softly. "And-- and I'll get myself together. So you won't have 
      to waste energy worrying. And then maybe you can take care of you, every 
      once in a while?"
Grey's wince shows itself in a clench of jaw muscles, the tightening of his
      hands on the steering wheel. "I'm fine," he says, and then changes the 
      subject. "Natalie's worried about you, too, you know."
"You're not any finer than I am," she says quietly. "It's just harder to kill
      yourself when you're Garou. You got that whole duty and responsibility 
      thing goin', and besides, y'not really selfish enough, I don't think."
Grey grimaces. He's tightening up, getting defensive, and he stops too quickly
      at the next red light. "Selfishness hasn't done me a lot of damn good, 
      lately," he retorts.
Rina swallows, closing her eyes. "I'm sorry," she says quietly. A breath, and
      she looks out the window again, determined. "But you can't be any good to 
      anyone else if you don't take care of you. The basics. Food, sleep, 
      sanity. Well, as much of the latter as possible, anyway."
Grey taps his fingers absently against the steering wheel as he waits for the
      light to change. Her last comment draws a frowning, wary glance. "You 
      think I'm insane?"
That gets a rueful smile, a shake of her head. "No," she murmurs. "I'm sorry.
      Just that... certain aspects of this life aren't so conducive to sanity."
That he seems to have completely lost his sense of humor certainly isn't a good
      sign. The halfmoon grunts and, with the light now green, puts the car 
      back into gear. "Not by normal standards, anyway." He puts the Torino 
      through its paces, and it growls appreciatively. "...Sorry. I know I'm 
      not... especially helpful, lately."
Rina's brow furrows slightly, and she looks over to him. "You've been really
      great," she contradicts. "Since you came back it's-- everything was 
      better."
Grey's brow furrows. "Better?"
Rina nods, looking down into her lap. "Yeah. Easier. I feel like-- there's
      someone in the tribe who's my friend. It's... it was really good." She 
      swallows.
Grey is quiet for a bit after this, frowning at the road, his brow furrowed
      under the shaggy black hair. He frees a hand briefly to push it away from 
      his forehead, but it flops right back over immediately. Too long to be 
      neat, too short to tie back. "I just want you to be happy," he says at 
      last, eyes front. "Or, hell, at least not /miserable/. This thing about 
      John--"
"I've decided it doesn't matter," she says swiftly. "If it's real or if it's in
      my head. It gives me a reason to keep going."
Grey gives her another quick, sidelong look, eyes narrowed. "Does it? Really?"
      Clearly, he'd like to believe this. Also clearly, he has doubts.
Rina swallows. "What happened--it was a mistake. It was stupid. I just-- didn't
      understand, is all. There were things I got wrong, in my head... and I 
      just, something snapped."
She looks out the window again, her face averted.
Thomas Grey chews on that for a bit, as the streets get more familiar, as they
      near the Montrose district. "Don't do it again," he says flatly. His 
      voice gets rougher as he goes on. "Go to the bunker, drink yourself 
      blind, call me up, call Jenny, fucking hell, call /Yi/, even--" He speaks 
      the Gnawer's name with barely-repressed anger. "--but /don't/ do that to 
      me again. I can't--" He stops himself, grits his teeth, and continues 
      more calmly. "I don't want to have to identify your body."
Rina presses her lips together hard, and keeps her face turned away as the
      tears course down her cheeks. She doesn't make a sound until she can 
      trust her voice again; even then it sounds thready and hoarse. "I'm 
      sorry. I'm sorry. I won't. I won't let it happen."
Grey breathes through flaring nostrils, his jaw clenched, knuckles white as he
      grips the steering wheel. "Good," is his only reply, and that curt and 
      difficult. He lapses into silence after that, still glaring at the road, 
      face tight with repressed emotion.
"I'd understand if you-- if you just want to write me off," she says quietly.
"And I'd be quite the shithead for doing so," comes the immediately reply. He
      turns onto her block, then glances over at her, looking grim and tired. 
      There's more there, but either he doesn't want to say it or doesn't know 
      how.
Silence, until he pulls up. "Do you want to-- come in, at all? Have coffee or
      tea or whatever, and just talk?" She doesn't sound too sure of the answer.
Grey hesitates for only a couple of seconds before nodding. "Tea sounds good."
      He doesn't quite look at her.
"Sure," she half-whispers, drawing a hand across her cheeks to wipe the tears
      away. She rolls out of the car, reaching in to get her bag and then 
      digging through it for her keys. She doesn't look at him, either, using 
      the time to pull herself together, leading him into the building and 
      heading upstairs.
Thomas Grey trails after her like an obedient dog, hands in his pockets. His
      gaze trails over the interior of the building, noting the things that are 
      the same from a year ago, the things that're different. He does the same 
      once they reach the studio, and at first stands like a stranger uncertain 
      of his place.
The studio is half-transformed--the walls themselves turned into art, a
      disturbing media-collage in her new style. It's unsettling, perhaps 
      because it's reminiscent of the Umbra here. Decayed metal, dark bursts of 
      color contrasting with deep shadow, shards of glass and mirror. The 
      pictures are still up, but they are almost like windows to something 
      different, relative normalcy against the world she is conjuring out of 
      the walls. 
When she flicks on a light, the shadows change, almost setting off instinctive
      alarms in his peripheral vision. "Sorry it's... not so cheery," she 
      murmurs. "I've been working. I mean I was, before... all of that shit."
He's already on edge, and turns a little to sharply, nostrils flaring. Still in
      his coat, he prowls closer to her, good eye raking over the place. 
      "Working's good," he mutters.
Rina tosses the bag carelessly toward the closet, and turns to him, looking up
      into his face. Her eyes are just a little reddened, from the earlier 
      crying. She takes a careful breath, and reaches for one of his hands.
Grey looks down at the touch, focussing on her face, his own somber and
      guarded. Then he swallows and looks away, fingers closing around her 
      hand, squeezing it lightly. "I don't have any friends anymore," he says, 
      almost absently. "Outside the tribe. If I ever did."
Rina shakes her head minutely. "Shhh. You got me. And Cat, even if he's off
      doin' God knows what." She doesn't look away from his eyes. "I'm really 
      sorry," she says, determined and sincere. "And I'll be okay. I'll get 
      help. Whatever it takes."
She might not look away from his eyes, but he continues to avoid hers. "I
      thought I could help you." His voice is almost bland.
Swallowing, she gives his hands a quick squeeze. "You do. You are. Since you
      came back it's-- it's a lot better than before. I don't feel so isolated. 
      I talk to people, make friends..."
He dares a glance at her, wary and guarded and, somewhere behind the walls and
      moats and fences, desperately needing reassurance. "Really?"
Rina nods minutely, without looking away. "Yeah. It's-- it's just good to know
      you're here."
There's a slight tremor in his hands as he takes this in, and then he nods and
      looks away again, discomfited but not letting go of her hands, not 
      withdrawing. "That's... good, at least."
Rina gives his hands another quick squeeze, and then releases them, turning
      to head for the kitchen. That, at least, hasn't been taken over by the 
      shadowy metamorphosis--not much, anyway, since the cabinetry takes up 
      most of the wall space. "What kinda tea?"
Grey watches her for a moment, then shrugs out of his coat. "Chamomile. If you
      have it." He's just got the tee-shirt on underneath, and the ash-darkened 
      scar-glyphs are visible on his forearms. Charach and Dishonor, right and 
      left. His eye roams the studio again, restlessly.
She puts on the kettle, and then turns back to him--stopping for a moment at
      the sight of the scars, a flicker of visible pain crossing her face. Then 
      she summons up a strained, wistful smile. "I should show you mine," she 
      murmurs, and then comes out to sit on the futon.
Grey, settling himself on the couch, gives her a puzzled look for about half a
      second before he gets it. His face tightens into a shamed, bitter grimace 
      as he looks away, rubbing unconsciously at the Charach marking. "They 
      scarred /her/, too. After everything else."
Rina winces, looking away and rubbing at her knees. "Jesus." She presses her
      lips together a moment, and then says, "It's-- kind of like with John." 
      She doesn't even trip over his name, now. "I feel bad for-- for 
      supporting you, when it turned out so awful..."
"If you hadn't, I still would have done it." He studies his hands, his left
      thumbnail tracing a curve in the glyph. "I should have tried harder to 
      get her to rejoin the Nation. Then she wouldn't have gotten... sick. 
      She's lucky she survived as long as she did. Hundred Stars thinks they're 
      just being merciful, being /charitable/--" He spits the word out with 
      venom. "--but they're damned lucky to have her. She's /good/. /We/ could 
      have used her, here, but..." He releases his arm and rakes his left hand 
      back through his hair, mussing it up even further.
Rina nods minutely. "No sense makin' it worse than it has to be," she says
      softly. Looking over to him, those eyes carry a dark empathy.
Grey exhales a hard breath and leans over, elbows on his knees. He rubs his
      eyes wearily. "I know. I'm... obsessing. I can't seem to /help/ it." His 
      hand moves back through his damp hair again and comes to rest at the nape 
      of his neck; the other hand dangles limp between his knees. He stares at 
      her feet.
Rina shakes her head. "It's called love," she murmurs, reaching over to stroke
      back his hair. A barely-audible click turns her head. "Chamomile comin' 
      up," she says, heading to the kitchen again.
His hair, the way it is now, is -- if one's mind decided to take a strange
      quirk -- reminiscent of Cat's. Black instead of blond, but overlong in 
      that same way, needing a trim, almost in his eyes and hanging around his 
      ears. When she touches it, he goes perfectly still for a moment, then 
      looks up in time to see her go to fetch the tea.
"You want honey?" she calls from the kitchen.
"Yes, thanks," Grey answers, somewhat distantly. He pushes hair away from his
      forehead, uselessly, then gives his face another rub and straightens up, 
      composing himself.
A couple of minutes later she comes out with the two steaming cups, the tea
      that faint pale-green. She hands one to him, and sits down again beside 
      him, turned a little until her knees touch his. "You'll be all right," 
      she says softly. "I know how hard it is, how crazy... but you're strong."
Grey wraps his hands around his cup, taking the time to inhale its scent, savor
      its warmth, its taste. It gives him time before he has to speak again. 
      "'Strong'," he echoes, ruefully, and then grimaces at his tea. "Maybe. 
      It's..." His jaw clenches. "It's more difficult, this time. Trying to 
      rebuild." Then he sighs in a self-derisive sort of way and shakes his 
      head. "I'm just tired."
Rina takes a sip, and sets her own cup on the table--freeing a hand to reach
      over and touch him again, tenderly. "Neither one of us is as young as we 
      used to be," she says.
Grey grimaces unhappily, tightening under her touch. "I'm going to be
      thirty-two next month. Thirty-two, and Cliath... /again/..."
Rina shakes her head minutely. "Not to me," she says quietly. "You're the same
      to me. Strong. Maybe stronger, now." Her hand is careful, combing the 
      dark hair back; it is ordered only to fall forward again when he moves.
"I don't feel it," he mutters. His breathing slows as she strokes his hair,
      though his hands remain tight around his cup. "I don't /feel/ stronger." 
      Jaw muscles clench, and his throat works. He speaks again after a 
      moment's hesitation, and his voice is more careful, more controlled. 
      "More like the opposite."
"That's because you're letting yourself feel. Which makes you whole, makes you
      more human..." Her hand is so careful, falling to his shoulder. "The 
      walls are down. It'll take you some time to find the balance, yeah?"
Grey shakes his head slightly. "It--" He breaks off, closes his eyes, jaw
      tight, breathing carefully, the tea cup forgotten in his hands.
"Tell me?" she whispers, rubbing his shoulder gently.
Again he shakes his head, fighting tooth and nail against--what? Something
      terrible, to judge by the tightness underneath her hand.
"Please," she says, soft enough to break hearts. A swallow, and she edges
      closer, putting her arm around his shoulders.
Maybe it's the 'please', or the tone of her voice, or the arm around him, or
      the undeniable mixture of all three. Grey's famous self-control collapses 
      like a dam under a tidal wave of unknowing, unthinking, unreasoning 
      panic, accompanied by the crash of the teacup, the splash of spilled tea, 
      and the sound of tearing cotton. And a terrifed black wolf squirms away 
      from her, falls off the couch in a graceless tumble that would be amusing 
      in other circumstances and -- still tangled in the remains of a sadly 
      unDedicated cotton t-shirt -- tries to flee.
Not that there's anywhere for a wolf to flee to.
She cries out, a strange mix of pain and horror--and, probably not realizing,
      she comes after him at first, until the wolf's frantic terror makes 
      things clear. Then she just drops into a heap on the couch, head in her 
      hands, letting him be as she murmurs, over and over, "I'm sorry. It's 
      okay... it's okay..."
The wolf ends up in the kitchen somehow, nowhere near the door. Unable to find
      escape, he hunches trembling against the cabinets underneath the sink, 
      ears flat, tail tucked underneath him, that one golden eye rolling within 
      a ring of white.
There's little to be done except wait; she finishes her tea and then curls up
      on the couch.

Eventually, the fit passes, the trembling stops, and rationality returns by
      reluctant degrees. Twisting back into human form, Grey groans a couple of 
      words in Serbian and then -- with audible dread despite the lack of blood 
      by sight or smell -- calls her name.
Rina lets out a breath, and gets to her feet, heading for the closet to get a
      bathrobe. Her eyes stay on the floor at her feet, as she heads for the 
      kitchen; turning in profile, she just holds out the robe, small on him 
      and no doubt huge and enveloping on her. "I'm sorry," she says softly. "I 
      shouldn't have pushed that hard."
Shame-faced, he stands, accepts the robe and shrugs into it. Too-small bathrobe
      and heavy-duty tanker boots (/those/, at least, were bound to him, good 
      boots being too expensive to risk losing) -- so much for dignity. He 
      fumbles with the belt. "I--no. Not your fault that I... Fuck. ...You were 
      saying something about strength?"
"Yeah, I was. And I'll stand by it," she says quietly. "You're not any more
      scared of how you feel than most men." She heads for the closet again, 
      digging through things--deciding which of the treasured clothes might be 
      sacrificed on the altar of a living friend's dignity. She finally comes 
      up with some faded blue sweats, a pair of boxers and a t-shirt, and 
      brings them out. "Best I could do on short notice," she says quietly.
Grey mutters a thanks and quickly trades the bathrobe for a dead man's clothes.
      "I'll return them." He pulls the t-shirt on last, covering the 
      seven-fingered handprint marking his chest and starts pulling his boots 
      back on. "--It hurts," he says, keeping eye and fingers occupied with 
      buckling up the heavy footwear. "Feeling this... this deeply. And when it 
      doesn't hurt, it's because I'm too damned blind with Rage to think."
Rina swallows. "I know." She turns away, awkward. "Not about the second part,
      but... you want some more tea? It's good to settle you down..."
His boots are all buckled, but he remains crouched over them a moment more
      before straightening up and raking fingers back through his hair. "Yes, 
      thanks. I--I didn't hurt you, did I?"
Ducking her head, she smiles faintly. "No. It's okay."
"Good. Good." Grey's voice is distracted; resting his hands on the counter, the
      halfmoon takes a moment to recover his composure. Some of it, anyway. 
      Another mutter in Serbian, accompanied by a self-directed grimace.
"Don't," she murmurs. "Don't punish yourself. Say things to yourself like that.
      It doesn't help, it just makes everything worse..." She goes out to 
      retrieve his cup--hopefully not broken--and washes it out at the sink.
He subsides, obediently, and watches her with arms folded across his chest.
      After a few moments of her washing out the teacup, he says, quietly, 
      "Thank you."
Rina's brow furrows, and she glances over her shoulder to him. "What for?"
      There's a trace of wistful in her attempt to smile. "You wouldn't talk to 
      me."
Grey forces himself to look at her, to keep looking at her. "I've said more to
      you than I've said to anyone," he tells her seriously. "Except Lara."
She's touched, a visible shift in her expression as she lowers her eyes. With a
      faint, sad smile, she looks over to him again. "I'm glad, then," she says 
      softly. "It-- it helps, you know? For somebody to... for me to be able 
      t'help someone else."
Grey rubs absently at the scar on his left arm. "Stupid me," he mutters. "I
      didn't want to... to /burden/ you. To lay my... problems... on top of 
      yours."
Rina shakes her head minutely, and pours his cup of tea again, stirring in a
      little honey. "It's not like that. I figured that out when the Fianna kid 
      needed someone to talk to. It just-- made me feel so good, to help 
      someone out... to listen." She offers him the cup, then, turning and 
      looking up into his face. "So it's okay."
Grey accepts the cup, his fingers brushing hers, and looks back at her,
      unguarded. Weariness blunts his gaze, fear gnaws at the small, tight 
      muscles of his jaw, and the ever-constant beast prowls restlessly behind 
      his eyes. He drops his gaze before she does and gives a slight nod. 
      "...Thank you," he says again, and lifts the cup to his lips to drink.
"Thank /you/," she answers, softer. "For trusting me with it." She swallows,
      and heads out to the couch to get her own cup of tea; bringing it back to 
      the kitchen, she tops it up to warm what's there. Plenty of time for him 
      to settle himself.
Grey takes a deep swallow of the chamomile and honey and finally seems to relax
      a little, starting to really unwind for the first time since he got back. 
      "Hell of a year," he murmurs.
"Yeah," she answers, crossing the room to return to him. She sits down beside
      him again, both hands framing the steaming cup as she sips from it.
Grey takes another sip, then looks ruefully over at her. "I'm sorry I didn't
      call more often. Sometimes, I couldn't. Other times..."
Rina swallows, and gives a small shake of her head, looking over to him with a
      brief, pained half-smile. So much empathy, in that single glance. "It's 
      all right. I-- I've been, you know, on and off."
He studies her carefully, head cocked slightly to favor his bad eye. "You look
      better." As if he'd only just noticed this.
She lifts her head, straightens slightly to look over to him--mildly startled.
      "Really?" Her brow furrows with the question; it isn't disingenuous, 
      merely curious, a little hopeful. An awkward smile softens her 
      features--not quite so gaunt as they once were, true. "I been tryin' to 
      do better. Exercise, food... sleep. And takin' care of Angela helps. You 
      gotta eat just to keep up."
He doesn't quite smile, but his expression is lighter somehow. There's weight
      off his shoulders. "You look more like... you used to." He hesitates. 
      "Before." His mouth twists in a self-recriminating kind of way. "I didn't 
      really see it, earlier. Assumed otherwise, I suppose." There's a note of 
      apology in the last sentence.
She manages a fragile half-smile. "It's okay," she says quietly. "First time we
      saw each other, you had a lot on your mind." Carefully, she takes one 
      hand and reaches over to touch his.
Grey glances down at her hand on his. He nods faintly. "I did. But, still--"
"Hsst." She gives him a look, almost scolding. "Please. Don't waste energy on
      somethin' so... trivial." Giving his hand a little squeeze, she takes it 
      away to wrap both hands around her drink again. Her eyes are lowered, 
      unreadable, as she sips from the tea.
He ducks his head slightly, chastised, and like her, focusses on his tea. A
      year ago, he would have uttered a dryly humorous, "Yes, mom," but now 
      there's just a murmured apology.
Rina lets out a breath, and sets her cup down on the table. She leans over, an
      arm behind his shoulders, her head leaning on his upper arm, giving him a 
      gentle sidelong hug.
She feels him tighten up again, though less so than before. After a moment, he
      leans his head down towards hers.
"You can lean on me, y'know," she says softly. "Anytime you need to talk, or...
      or anything. It's-- it helps."
"This helps," he confesses to her. "A great deal." He inhales sharply, breath
      catching just for the slightest moment, and then subsides.
Rina nods minutely, rubbing her cheek against his shoulder in the language of
      packmates. 'I'm here,' the gesture says. "I'm glad," says her voice.
"The first thing I did, when I got near home," he says after several slow,
      careful breaths of them just leaning together, "was to try Questing Stone 
      on you. Before I even called, left that message. I don't know what I 
      would have done if it hadn't worked."
Rina closes her eyes, ducks her head against his shoulder. "I can't tell you
      how glad I am that you're here," she says softly. "That you're back. I 
      wish-- I wish things were different for your sake, but..." Letting out a 
      breath, she smiles faintly, the expression hardly visible to him unless 
      he happens to look. "Really, at heart, I'm pretty fuckin' selfish."
Grey doesn't, in fact, see; if his eyes were open, he wouldn't see much more
      than the top of her head. Her confession of selfishness prompts a 
      disbelieving grunt, and then: "No more than I am, Rina."
Rina laughs a little, and straightens. "A little more, maybe," she says,
      reaching for her tea again and drinking down a few swallows.
He glances at her, and a ghost of a smile flickers briefly, just for a second,
      around his lips. It's the laugh. Then he ducks his head down and brings 
      the tea to his mouth to drink.
The silence is comfortable, easy between them. There's a slight draft from the
      windows. Rina glances toward them for a moment, her eyes distant; after a 
      long time she speaks again, her voice softened by the intervening quiet. 
      "You still talk to her, at all? Or is it just... indirect, that you hear 
      from someone how she is?"
Grey's mouth tightens into a grimace. "For now, she's being kept close. But a
      friend of mine there, the one who defended us, gets access to her 
      periodically. Keeps me updated, passes messages." He ignores the draft, 
      if he even noticed it at all. "The Gaians there don't quite approve, but 
      haven't stopped it yet."
Rina nods. "That's something, at least. You can know if she's well."
Grey takes another swallow of tea. "This is true. And they won't throw her life
      away. Too much of the enemy there and not enough manpower. So everyone's 
      valuable, to them." His mouth thins. "To a certain degree."
"The same is true just about anywhere," Rina says quietly. "Any Garou life is
      precious." She swallows, and turns her face away. "When we lost Saul--"
Grey tilts his head, watching her with that somber, intent way of his,
      nearly-empty teacup held loosely in both hands, their legs almost close 
      enough to touch.
Rina's brow furrows. "Maybe that's what started it," she says softly. Her
      expression is intense, dark.
His eyebrows rise quizzically. "Started...?"
Rina shakes her head minutely. "This... this time around. Depression. I was...
      I was doing okay, for a while, I really was..."
He reaches out, almost hesitantly, to lay a hand lightly on her shoulderblade.
      "You two were close?"
Rina shakes her head minutely, and looks over to him with a sad not-smile.
      "That was just it," she says quietly. "I'd hardly even met the kid. And 
      then--" She snaps a finger. "Like that, gone."
Grey mutters a soft word in Serbian and shakes his head. "That's a shame. It's
      different, though, with Kevin, yes?"
Rina nods minutely, offering him a faint smile. "Yeah. I'd like to get in,
      spend s'more time with him. Teach him what I can, to take some load offa 
      you guys."
Grey nods, his eyes lighting at this. Or maybe it's the idea of her spending
      more time over at the safehouse. "That'd be good." He pauses to finish 
      off his tea. "Natalie puts you off, doesn't she?"
Rina snorts, the sound an answer in itself. She drinks, swallows. "She's
      crazy," the Kin says, heedless of the irony or hypocrisy in her words. 
      "Unstable. You never know what she's gonna do, she could just lose it 
      over nothing..." She purses her lips. "Plus she fuckin' hates me and I 
      don't know why."
Grey leans back against the couch, grimacing faintly as he stretches. "She
      doesn't hate you. She just doesn't know how to deal with kinfolk." He 
      rubs his face, then folds his arms across his chest and looks over at 
      her. "She came to talk to me yesterday because she was worried about you."
The look he gets is skeptical. "Yeah, right. more like worried about havin' a
      loose cannon crazy-ass Kin around."
Grey frowns, his brow furrowing. "No, about /you/, believe it or not. Family's
      important to her."
Rina's brow furrows, and she looks down. "I wouldn't have guessed it," she
      concedes.
"I'd just hate for you to... write her off," he says, leaning forward to rest
      his elbows on his knees. "/She's/ been good to me, too. And she's good 
      with Kevin. She'd do anything for the tribe, I think."
Looking over to him, Rina considers the words, thoughtful. "Maybe--" She looks
      down, then, her brow furrowed. "Maybe I haven't given her much of a 
      chance."
Grey's gaze is intent on her, but not hard or harsh. "Probably neither of you
      have."
Rina presses her lips together, and gives a small nod. "Always the Philodox,
      huh?" she asks, softly.
Grey blinks at this, surprised. He ponders for a moment and then shrugs
      faintly. "I'm still better at beating things up," he says, with a 
      self-deprecation she's heard before. "Even without the Gifts."
She looks to him, conjuring a smile. "You're good at both," she says quietly.
Grey opens his mouth to make another self-desparaging remark, then seems to
      think better of it and just takes the compliment. "Thanks."
Rina reaches over and musses his hair, her smile gentle. "That's more like it."
Grey snorts, jerking his head slightly, but it's not a real protest. That much
      is clear by the look in his eyes, in the almost-smile lurking around the 
      corners of his mouth.
Rina frowns slightly, combing fingertips through his hair with absent
      attention. "It needs to grow out," she muses. "You gonna let it get long 
      again?"
"I was considering it," Grey says slowly, head cocked to watch her. "You think
      I should?"
Rina nods. "Either that, or get it buzzed close and go for the 'scary jarhead
      thug' look. I like it long, but that's me. It's still in pretty good 
      shape, though... I'd enjoy it while you got it." A wry flicker of a 
      smile, then.
"While I've..." Grey trails off, disturbed by the concept of going bald.
      Nevermind the whole problem of being a known charach, or the end of the 
      world possibly coming within their lifetimes.
She laughs, not at all cruelly--just a soft, wry amusement, only a little at
      his expense. "You're adorable sometimes, y'know." She thinks for a 
      moment, tips her head. "I could braid it in little braids for ya."
Grey rubs the back of his neck, staring at her in bemusement. "You want to tie
      it up in ribbons, too?" Was that /humor/? /Finally?/
It brings a grin. "Hell yeah." Rumpling his hair again, she leans over and
      delivers a chaste kiss.
Er, to his cheek. Or temple. Or something.
Grey manages a faint, brief, crooked smile at this. "You're a cruel woman,
      Rina," he deadpans at her.
"Mmmhm!" she agrees, complacent. A moment later she takes up her tea again.
      "I'm going to Jenny's, after a bit. Gonna see Angela, have dinner."
Grey shakes his head fondly at her. "Good. I'll be spending some time with
      Kevin, I think. See what he hasn't been learning."
Rina looks over to him. "Do me a favor, let him know I'm willing to teach him?
      Make sure he's got my numbers, too. I'll be over when the moon's a bit 
      smaller.
Grey nods. "Absolutely." He gets up, stretching languidly, fingers laced
      together at the back of his neck.
Rina drains the last of her tea, and sets down the empty cup on the coffee
      table. Then she stands, stepping to him to offer a hug.
When has he ever refused such an offer? Accepting the embrace, he rests a hand
      lightly at the back of her head. "Next time I'm an asshole, shoot me. Or 
      get the rolled-up newspaper."
Rina takes a deep breath, relaxing against him. "Newspaper," she murmurs. "But
      you haven't been. /God/, I'm so glad you're here."
"Likewise," Grey mutters back.
After a long time, she releases him, looking up into his face with a smile he
      hasn't seen in years. "Thanks, J--." Breaking off, she shakes her heasd 
      minutely, her expression turning rueful. "I have to get used to the name. 
      What d'you want me to call you? Tom just doesn't seem right."
Grey looks thoughtful. "'Thomas' too formal for you?"
Rina considers, tipping her head and studying him. "It's okay, I guess. Just
      takes gettin' used to."
"Like most things," he agrees, and then shrugs, his expression turning pensive.
      "Still me, whichever name it is."
Rina reaches up, to frame his face with both hands--like a lover, but oddly
      impersonal, just drinking in the sight of him, studying. "Yeah," she 
      finally says, searching his eyes.
The dark one stares back at her, somber and intent. The pale one just stares,
      blind and stupid. The eyebrows black and thick, barely visible behind 
      hair that's equally black. The sockets deep, shadowed from ill sleep and 
      too much stress and worry and grief.
After a second or two under her regard, Grey swallows, his gaze flickering away
      like a animal's will if a human tries to lock eyes. Like Mowgli's curse 
      (and gift), that no animal of the jungle can meet his gaze, not even 
      Bagheera who was raised by men.
Rina smiles--just that, a quiet, tender smile. "Take care," she says quietly.
      "Don't be a stranger, yeah? I'll see you soon, maybe we can go shooting 
      or somethin'."
Grey ducks his head into a nod and, somewhat reluctantly, withdraws. "Soon," he
      promises. His eye lingers on her for a moment more before he breaks off 
      and goes to retrieve his coat.
Rina lets him out, her head bowed as she opens the door. "Good," she says
      simply, offering another quiet smile.
He returns it, or a lesser version of it, and then starts down the stairs to
      the street. Though not all of his ills have been cured -- any more than 
      hers have -- his step is lighter than it's been in a long time.
She watches for a moment, just a little while, a fond smile softening her face.
      Then the door closes, and she leans against it.