Rina's Bad Evening (Continued)

[hazlogs]

Date: Sep 7, 2002, Saturday evening. Continued.

With Rina safely bandaged up and unconscious in the bedroom and Cat... well,
not in hysterics at the moment, Salem stalks over to the phone. He takes a
breath, picks up the cordless handset, and dials Smith's number. He has it
memorized.

The call is answered the way it is /always/ answered. That low, rumbling
voice states simply, "John."

Salem keeps it curt and businesslike. Almost bland. "It's Salem. You need to
come over."

"What's happened?" the Elder replies tonelessly.

Cat crouches, then kneels on the floor of the living room, staring into the
orange juice. After a few moments of silence, he tosses his head back and
gulps it down. He's very, very thirsty suddenly.

Salem pauses, grimacing, then says, "Rina's had a mishap."

The Philodox can almost hear the Ahroun's teeth grinding. "What sort?"

"The Russian kind," Salem answers, keeping his voice flat. He glances
sidelong toward Cat, keeping a vague eye on the cub.

"/Fuck/," John whispers, with feeling. "How is it? I'll be right there."

Salem walks away from the counter, pacing the floor of the apartment with
phone in hand. "Her vest took most of it. I cleaned it up. She's unconscious
but stable." He crosses over toward the bedroom door, peering in as though
to make sure that the kinswoman didn't vanish or anything in the few minutes
since he put her there.

There's already sounds of motion on the other end of the line. A car door
slamming closed, and an engine starting. "Five minutes. Tops," John grunts,
before hanging up abruptly.

Cat wipes his mouth with the back of his hand after finishing the orange
juice. He looks down. There's a roach between his knees. Insect and cub
stare at each other for a moment, but the roach loses interest first, and
heads back on its way to the cat food dish. The blond boy tries to set the
glass down in the now-vacant spot on the floor, but somehow screws that
simple act up and the glass falls with a -clink!- to its side.

Salem clicks the phone off, his expression unsurprisingly grim as he walks
the handset back toward its cradle on the counter. His eye goes to the cub
again at the sound of the toppling glass. "She said that you handled
yourself well."

Thin hands don't move to pick up the glass. "She doesn't heal up like we
do," Cat murmurs sadly, ignoring or just not caring about Salem's
passed-along words. "She...she won't -die-, will she?" He looks up at the
Walker Cliath beseechingly.

"She's human," Salem says, using both hands to pull his hair back, away from
his face. "She can't shift. But she won't die, or she shouldn't." A wry note
enters his voice. "I have a feeling she's survived worse than this."

Cat nods slightly, lips tugging down at the corners in a deep frown. He
takes one shaky breath. Then another. And then he completely loses control,
curling over his lap and covering his face with his arms as he starts to
weep.

Salem observes this for a moment with a thin-lipped grimace, then turns and
stalks into the kitchen nook in order to clean up the spilled orange juice.

Rina's leather jacket still lies in a heap by the couch, the bullet holes at
shoulder and side giving glimpses of the vest sewn into the lining. She
wasn't armed--uncharacteristic for the gun-toting Walker kin, but perhaps
the library has tight security, or else she didn't expect to run into
trouble on such a short excursion.

Unlike the first time Salem heard him cry, these sobs are not wild, frantic
tears. Cat's cries are those of relief, disbelief, and...shame. If he'd been
faster, done more, thought about things. Rina would've been okay. It's my
fault, I'm scared, she got shot, I'm scared...

Once the kitchen counter is cleaned up, the apartment falls to a
near-silence, broken only by the cub's weeping. Salem lets him cry and
waits, tensely, for the Walker Elder's arrival. One hand rubs absently at
his left temple.

There isn't even the ticking of a clock; the timepiece on the bookshelf is
digital.

It's not exactly a /pounding/ on the door. But the Elder's knocking is...
insistent.

With the air of one used to crying, and used to having such times
interrupted, Cat's tears stop the moment the knocking reaches his ears and
looks up, face blank as he wipes at it with his sleeves. Dried blood flakes
off his hands, floating into his lap and on the floor.

Salem answers it almost immediately. Whatever Cat's state is by now, the
ex-Ronin is completely composed, unemotive and unreadable as he opens the
door and then steps aside to let the Ahroun enter. "She's in the bedroom,"
he informs Smith.

John doesn't waste any time with formalities, speech, or even spare a glance
for the cub on the floor. He heads directly into the bedroom, and closes the
door firmly behind him.

Cat doesn't move from where he is. He just sits there and lets the tears he
missed fall off his face and join his beginning-to-be-stained slacks. "Is it
my fault she got hurt?" he asks, voice trembling the way his hands were a
few minutes ago.

Salem's eye follows John across the apartment. Then he closes the door and
resets the locks and chain. His head shakes in answer to the cub's question.
"No. She... she has enemies." Finally, he looks over at Cat and regards him
critically. "Go wash yourself up," he orders quietly.

There's nothing but silence from the bedroom for a while.

A second ticks by, and then another. Slowly Cat pushes himself to his feet,
grabbing the glass almost as an afterthought. It's deposited into the sink
before he disappears into the bathroom. Water running, a few more selfish
sobs, and then nothing but the usual shower-noises.

Salem exhales a long breath, then crosses over toward the couch and drops
onto it. His head tilts back, butting up against the wall. While John's
locked himself in the bedroom and Cat's tucked away in the bathroom, the
Philodox closes his eyes. And waits.

And still more silence from the bedroom... but eventually, the door opens
very gently, and a subdued Walker Ahroun slowly steps out. And closes the
door behind him. The only noise is a soft 'click'. John wets his lips, and
swallows. Preparing to speak.

Cat usually takes quick showers, but this one seems to go a little longer
than usual. The sound of water running does not abate.

Salem opens his eyes at the sound and lifts his head, focussing his bland,
unreadable gaze on Smith.

John stops, in his preparations, and takes a few breaths. He folds his arms,
eyes on the floor in a vain attempt to hide the rising rage. Another breath
out, and he orders, "Tell me everything."

The muscles in Salem's jaw tighten but, stubbornly, he does not get up.
"You'll have to ask Cat. I wasn't there." If he feels any guilt about that,
he's not letting it show -- not in his face, and not in his voice. "She
wanted to take the boy to the library."

John eyes the door to the bathroom, as if considering barging in and
interrogating the cub while he's still in the shower. He obviously
reconsiders, looking back to the floor - glaring at it - and rumbling, "When
did you come in, and what happened then?"

Salem folds his arms across his chest. "They made it back here. In a cab, I
suppose. I got Rina to the couch, examined the wound, cleaned it and
bandaged it. She passed out a few minutes after I finished, after which I
put her on the bed and called you."

The Ahroun nods tightly a few times, scanning the floor and keeping his arms
folded. After only mere seconds of silence does he eye the bathroom door
accusingly and snap testily, "Does he always take this long?"

At this, Salem's face twists into a rather weary grimace. "No," he says
flatly. "He doesn't." He leans forward and gets to his feet. "He may be
years away from being ready for Riting," he remarks to Smith as he crosses
over toward the bathroom door.

The Ahroun doesn't comment. Just keeps his face tight and controlled while
he watches Salem's every movement.

Salem doesn't wait for a reply. He raps on the bathroom door rather
imperiously, then opens it. The latch has never been repaired. "Cat?"

The water stops running just before Salem opens the door, and once he looks
inside, he can see a wet, scrawny looking boy with a white towel thrown
about him and dark yellow hair straggling over his eyes. Cat blinks at the
Walker, startled, but quickly droop in monotony again. "Almost finished,
sir," is the quiet promise.

Salem gestures the haplessly wet cub out of the bathroom. "Mr. Smith has
some questions for you." His tone's far from encouraging.

Cat's expression gains an edge of uncertainty and fear. "I'm n-not dressed
yet," he protests. Said clothes are folded carefully on the floor, far from
the shower to keep them from getting wet. "I'll be out soon. I'm sorry. I'll
get dressed now." Although 'now' won't be till Salem exits the bathroom.

Salem makes another 'get out there' gesture, this time more impatiently.
"You can get dressed outside." His gaze is steady on the cub and
iron-willed; he won't accept any arguements.

John pulls himself away from the wall and rumbles gruffly, "Let the boy get
dressed."

Cat's eyes go from Salem's face to the space beyond him, where John's voice
floats out. "I'll be quick," he repeats, as he steps out of the shower,
towel wrapped tightly around him, as he shuffles towards his clothes.

Salem's jaw tightens. He grunts, then steps out of the bathroom and heads
for the counter.

John waits impatiently, glaring at space, now - arms still folded.

Cat pokes his head out of the bathroom exactly three and half minutes later,
hair still dripping water down his back and making translucent spots in his
shirt. "Here now, sir," he mumbles, stumbling out into the living room to
stand near the arm of the couch, eyes flicking towards the kitchen and then
to John. "Sir?"

Salem, in that three and a half minutes, has washed and put away the
drinking glass and is now sitting on a stool with his arms folded on top of
the counter.

Leaning forward slightly, and narrowing his eyes as he looks at Cat, John
gives not even a /hint/ of the jovial nature he attempted to display in
their previous meeting. Ice cold, he says smoothly, "Cat. You are now going
to tell me /everything/ that happened. From when you met with Rina, up to
now. You are going to give details. You are going to remove editorial
comment. It will be clear. It will be concise. You will stop and explain
when I ask for more information. ...Do you understand?" The calm in his
voice has that prickly 'calm before the storm' feel to it.

Cat blanches, any color he had managed to regain leaving his face quickly.
Slipping into old routine, his eyes drop to floor and his shoulders slouch,
ever so slightly. "Yessir," he murmurs softly, standing rigidly still.
"Sh-she came to the ap..ap..apartment so we could go to the library. She
took me on a bike. We w-went ins..." He takes a breath, a swallow. "Side,
inside. She went to the re-referranse section f-for books an' I w-went to
the science fiction section and th-the librarian got me my books. And
theh...then Miz Rina came back and we checked out all the books-" He pauses
again, this time chewing on his lower lip as he struggles for details. "The
Eagle Stone, Poisonwood Bible, Ordinary Men, The Fourth Genre, The Gi-Giver,
My Brother Sam Is...Is...Is Dead." Those, apparently, are all the titles.

John waits patiently - ice-cold gaze unwavering. He asked for details, after
all, and these don't seem to bother him any.

Salem observes the interrogation with a cold, intent expression, his gaze
flicking from Cat to John and back again. He pays more attention to the
Ahroun, watching for subtle cues of patience straining past the limit of
self-control.

The blond head doesn't lift up, matted wet curls plastering to the side of
his face. "And...and we went outside. We were going down the steps. There
were a lot of people, an' I almost tr-tripped on the last step and I looked
up because someone was yelling. Really loudly, and everyone was staring..."
Although nothing is touching Cat, he flinches, and his hands start to shake
slightly again. "And there was a car, and the guy was inside, or...or maybe
outside? Two people?" His voice drops in volume suddenly, but higher in
pitch, fearful that his lapse in memory will be the wrong thing. "I don't
remember- I just saw the barrel- my d-dad had one like that in the closet
and he was yelling, and I dropped my books-" The shaking is more noticeable,
and the intake of air audible. "Miz Rina will be unhappy that I dropped my
books-"

And there it is. The patience straining - visible in the tightening lines of
the Ahroun's face. His eyes narrow slightly tighter, despite seeming to be
more intense. "Stop," John murmurs, far too softly. "Stop right there, and
calm down." Though it's questionable as to exactly who's supposed to be
calming down, he continues, "I said no editorial comment. Tell me what
happened. Facts. In order."

Very quietly, very smoothly, Salem gets up from the stool and walks around
to the other side of the counter, leaving no obstacle between himself and
the other two Walkers. He doesn't pretend to be casual about this; he's
watching John very, _very_ carefully.

Cat sneaks a glance through his hair when Salem moves about, wild blue eyes
pleading for some sort of rescue. If John is radiating tense emotions and
authority, Cat is a tightly wrapped bundle of fear and submission. "Sorry,
sir," is the desperate whisper. "Sorry. Sorry. He- he was yelling, and he
looked around and he had the guh...gun. The gun. And he shot it. It-" The
theurge literally bites his tongue, hands clasping together in an effort to
still themselves. "I don't know where the first show went. Then he looked at
M-miz Rina an' he shottertoo."

New and unexpected information defuses some of the Elder's tension. He
frowns quickly. "The first shot was... at someone else?"

Salem lifts an eyebrow, shooting the cub a quizzical look.

"I don't know, I don't know!" is all Cat can mumble, shaking his head
tearfully. "It didn't make a big sound, an' I wasn't watching where- there
were so many people, I'm not -used- to that it's been so long I'm sorry, I'm
sorry, I'm sorry..." He's useless after that, arms wrapping tightly around
himself as he keeps his head bowed, murmuring over and over 'I'm sorry.'

John's fists twitch. He lets his arms fall loose by his sides, and takes in
a deep breath. The Ahroun closes his eyes for a few moments, as he takes
those breaths, and then opens them only to reach over to Cat - the
leather-gloved hand gently ruffs up the boy's hair. "What's done is done,"
he rumbles lowly, before turning and heading back into the bedroom.

Salem's body language betrays a subtle increase in tension as John reaches
for the cub and, with it, a certain level of distrust. His face is stone as
his gaze follows the Ahroun back toward the bedroom, and once the Ahroun is
out of view, he glances back over at Cat.

The theurge cub flinches a bit at the touch, but when John moves away from
him- and he is miraculously unhurt -Cat flings himself towards the couch and
curls up there, weeping up a storm again. The only coherent word is 'sorry',
and even that doesn't seem to be heard very much.

Salem takes a deep breath and lets it out, slowly. Then he crosses over
toward the couch. For a moment, he merely stands there, looking down at the
teary cub, arms folded across his chest, his expression unreadable.

His face is buried in the crook of his arm, and his legs are pulled up so
that he's in a protective little ball, nestled in the corner of the couch.
Cat's whole body shakes with the force of his tears; while his sobs do not
increase in volume, he is starting to become utterly hysterical.

Salem passes a hand across his face, rubbing briefly at his eyes as though
tired. Then, somewhat stiffly, he settles onto the couch next to the cub and
lays a hand on his shoulder. "Cat." His voice is quiet, surprisingly gentle.

The shoulder pulls away from the hand, but since he's already in the corner
Cat can't get away completely. "Don't TOUCH me!" he cries out, his voice
uncharacteristically harsh and strained, more of a snarl.

Salem's jaw clenches, but he controls the reflective spasm of rage that
jumps up in reaction to the snarl. He's calm again in a moment -- outwardly,
in any case. "Fine," he says evenly, taking his hand away. He folds his arms
across his chest and doesn't go away. "Let me know when you're ready to face
the world again."

From the looks of it, never. Cat curls up more if possible, cries becoming
more muffled as his face is pressed up against his knee. "I...want...to
go...home..." he chokes out between sobs. "I want Sunshine. I want
-Sunshine-..." A short, keening cry and then he's back into a (to Salem, at
least) familiar pattern of crying.

Salem gets up abruptly at this, muttering a short, biting phrase in Serbian
as he stalks away from the cub. The size of the apartment doesn't allow him
to go very far; he stops at the kitchen area and leans against the sink. He
keeps his breathing slow and even.

The bedroom door opens again, and closes with a soft click - much the same
as before. John's lost the over-clothing, now, choosing to stalk out in that
tight (not by design) black t-shirt. He eyes the cub weeping on the couch,
then frowns at Salem queryingly.

Cat doesn't even register the fact that Salem spoke, although dimly he notes
his absence from the couch. The few good memories he had of his life before
Firsting make today seem so much darker than it already seemed. He hugs his
knees to his chest tightly, still sobbing away. His hair is starting to dry,
and is a complete mess of tangles and curls now.

Salem straightens up at the sound of the Ahroun's return and turns around.
His face is drum-tight with repressed, frustrated anger. He meets John's
gaze for a moment, then shifts his eyes over toward Cat, and disgust -- just
a hint of it, but undeniably there -- tugs at the corners of his mouth.

Taking in Salem's expression, and evaluating the situation as it stands,
John frowns and growls out, "/Boy/." A command for attention.

The cub shudders, his crying cut off by that word. It's almost uncanny, the
way John manages to get the right tone and inflection of a voice that will
always make Cat freeze whatever he's doing. "Yessir," is the croaked reply.
He doesn't turn around, merely uncurls a little so his face is lifted out
from his arms and knees. "Yessir?"

Salem simply watches, arms folded, his expression unchanging.

"Stand." John's command is firm and solemn. His expression grim.

Thin hands press against the back of the couch as Cat slowly untangles his
limbs and gets up. He's facing the sofa, but after a moment's hesitation,
turns to face more in the direction of Salem and John, his gaze set on the
cockroaches and their cat-food dish. His fingers press tightly into his
palms, nails digging in.

John moves a little closer to the boy, taking slow, careful steps. His eyes
settle on Cat's. "You're not to blame. No-one is going to punish you. No-one
has been hurt beyond healing. Everything is going to be OK. Because I /say
it will/. Do you understand?"

At the first step towards him, Cat moves one foot back...and then John's
words start to sink in. His blue eyes are red from crying, his face splotchy
with tears and his entire appearance scruffy. "E-everything?" he whispers.
His glance shifts from John's face to Salem's, seeking wordless confirmation
from the Philodox.

There's a heartbeat or two when it seems as though Cat's going to get no
help from Salem; the ex-Ronin's face is unreadable. Then he nods once.

John eyes Salem impassively for the duration of that decision. Then nods
minutely (in approval?) and looks back to Cat. The words are low, again, but
this time lack any of the command or firmness. There's a hint of the
Ahroun's own weariness in them. "It's been a rough time. You can sleep if
you want. You can do whatever you want, for the moment. But listen to Jack.
He knows what's best for you. OK?"

There is a stifled, barely audible sound from the bedroom: movement, and an
ill-suppressed noise of pain.

Cat's gaze returns to John's; after a moment, he nods jerkily. "Kay. Sir."
He looks down at his bare feet at the noise in the bedroom. He mumbles
something, or maybe just his lips move...it really is said too softly to be
heard.

Salem glances toward the bedroom but doesn't make a move toward it. He
seems, in fact, fairly rooted to the spot.

John's eyes flicker towards the bedroom immediately. He stands rooted in the
spot, though.

A faint, barely audible click comes from the bedroom door, and it opens a
little. Rina holds herself up by the edge of the door, her hand white. Dark,
shadowed eyes look out into the rest of the apartment. "Don't scare the
kid," she says hoarsely.

John and Salem seem to have finished frightening- and, in turn, comforting
-Cat. It's Rina's chance to freak the cub out now, and her appearance does
so. Cat's head snaps up at the sound of her voice, eyes wide and pinned on
hers. "Miz Rina!"

The Walker Elder slips over to Rina, eyeing her warily. "Hey..."

The glance she gives John is the slightest bit self-conscious, tense, and
then the girl's dark gaze returns to Cat. Her hand remains tight on the
doorframe. "Hey, Cat," she says. "I hope you brought home the books. Seein'
as how we ended up runnin' the gauntlet to get 'em."

Cat chews on his lower lip, looking side to side on the floor reflexively
for the plastic bag with the books... "I mi-misplaced them," he mumbles
ashamedly, blinking back tears at the thought of a disappointing Rina. "I'll
find 'em, honest I will, they have to be here...somewhere..."

John sets a hand over the hand gripping the doorframe, looking somewhat
relieved, but unable to keep from frowning slightly. Watching the girl for
the first sign of weakness.

Rina's lips tug upward at one corner in a faint smile. "They're around,
then. Good." Her breathing is very careful, shallow. "I'm prolly gonna go
home, and I din't want you to be bored and stuff."

Salem remains silent in the kitchen, arms folded and face blank.

"I'm not bored. I'm f-fine. You should rest," Cat says quickly, unable to
keep the worry out of his voice and expression. A pause, and he frowns
slightly. "D'you want any orange juice?"

The girl's smile actually softens, becoming a touch less pained. Her free
hand waves off the offer with a desultory, casual gesture. "Nah. I'm good.
It's all good." She gives John a look at that last, just to direct the
reassurance at him as well.

"Oh. 'Kay," Cat murmurs, glancing at the couch. Sleep, mentioned before,
sounded positively wonderful now. He looks to Salem, cants his head and
watches the Philodox for a second, gauging something.

John simply stands there, silent.

Salem gives the cub a slight nod. "Go ahead."

The Philodox's voice is flat, emotionless.

Blinking slowly, and supressing a yawn, Cat crinkles his fingers in a small
wave to John and Rina...although he's not going far. "I'm...going to sleep
now, Mister Smith sir," he mumbles. "Goodnight Miz Rina. -Please- get
better." Another worried look at the kin, and then he goes to the couch and
curls up, closing his eyes to sleep.

Rina lets out a breath, pain creasing her expression, a sudden surge of
empathy for the odd beaten half-child as she watches him close his eyes. Her
free hand comes up to rub at her eyes, a hard tense motion that forestalls
tears or collapse.

Watching Cat for a few more moments, John murmurs softly, "Think you need to
go back to sleep," and rubs Rina's fingers lightly.

Salem looks away from the couple, giving them a measure of privacy, perhaps.
He eyes the bills and papers scattered over the counter with a bland
expression, then goes and starts gathering it up in neat piles.

Rina nods, her hand falling away to reveal an expression taut with pain.
"Can you-- can you take me home?" she asks unsteadily. Far less cool and
confident, now that the boy isn't looking at her.

The Ahroun moves to gather the girl up in protective, supportive arms, and
nods a few times. "We'll talk in the car." He looks over his shoulder,
frowning slightly - reserved. "Thanks, Jack," he says lowly. A little more
warm than he's been forced to be in the last few minutes.

Salem looks up after the briefest of hesitations -- maybe he didn't quite
hear. He nods to the other man, curtly. "Welcome."

Rina swallows, leaning back against John a little as she finally
relinquishes her hold on the wall. "Jack," she says quietly, "just... just
tell me, if y'need anything. I -- you're doin' a real good job, I know it's
hard... and if I can help just call, aright?" She looks pale, her eyes
shadowy with the injuries and blood loss.

John pauses for a while, brows furrowing a little more. "We need to have a
talk about that boy, sometime," he notes, ominously. The Ahroun's eyes fall
away at that, and he concentrates on helping Rina to the door.

Salem simply nods again, tightly; his face is stone, his body rigidly
controlled. He doesn't speak a single word.

Rina holds up a hand to pause the movement for a moment. "Can one of you--"
A futile gesture. "--pass me my jacket, maybe?" She almost laughs before a
sudden sharp pain reminds her not to. "In case anybody else decides they
want a piece of me, on the way home."

The request stirs Salem into motion; he fetches Rina's jacket from where
it's crumpled at one end of the couch, near Cat's feet and -- with the air
of a perfect gentleman (albeit a particularly emotionless one) holds it in a
way to help the kinswoman into it.

John releases Rina so as to aid Salem's effort to help. Remembering his own
jacket with a shake of his head, he heads into the bedroom to fetch it.

Rina just settles it over her shoulders, letting the sleeves hang loose.
"Thanks," she says quietly, glancing over to him. Worry deepens the pain in
her eyes, for a moment. "Get some rest," she says softly. A hand reaches out
to touch his, holding it for a moment. "I /mean/ it."

Salem tenses, muscles tightening in his jaw, body stiffening. He withdraws
his hand as quickly as courtesy will allow and notes, "You need rest far
more than I."

John emerges, slipping his coat on, over the jacket, and reaching into his
pocket for keys. "Listen to the woman," he grunts mildly, and moves to
escort Rina again - an arm moving around her shoulder for support.

Rina winces, ducking her head and muttering a curse. "Fuck. Sorry. See,
there I go again--" She limps toward the door, her balance less than steady
until John steps in to help.

Salem, for once, shows few signs of weariness, but he accepts the suggestion
-- or order -- with a slight inclination of his head and steps over toward
the door to see them out.