On Patrol

[hazlogs]

Date: 11 Jan 2003, Night.

Setting: The Wharf District

From a distance, as he patrols, he catches sight of metal flashing under
moonlight and streetlight. Rina walks with her head down, her posture
speaking eloquently of defeat, of a listless, restless wandering.

Salem breaks clear of the shadows and crosses over, intersecting his path
with hers and making no attempt at stealth. The Walker's hood is up, the
shadow from it partially masking his ravaged face.

Tension comes to her posture, as she notices the approach; then she
glances over and identifies him in an instant, almost before her hand even
slides into her jacket for the gun.

Salem raises gloved, empty hands and smiles sardonically. "Just me." The
smile vanishes. "Prowling the darkness again?" There's no condemnation in
his tone, not in the slightest; his gaze is sympathetic.

Rina takes her hand from the gun--it shows a little, so she must be
packing the .45--and nods minutely. Her eyes are lifeless.

Salem falls into step with the kinswoman, his hands slipping into the
pockets of his coat. He walks in silence for a few moments, then asks,
softly, "How's Cat?"

Rina lifts one shoulder, and lets it fall; those hollow eyes look to the
ground again. "Asleep, I hope," she murmurs.

"I mean in general." He's walking fairly close to her, protective and
concerned. There's a definite hint of worry as he glances down at her.

Rina ducks her head in a quick nod. "Good. He's good. We did some art
today. Sketches." Her voice holds nothing.

Salem nods, and is silent again for a few moments. Then: "Anything I can
do?"

Rina shakes her head minutely, and looks straight ahead. Her expression
remains bleak, and he sees in that hard look a strange reflection of
himself.

"What were you going to tell me, the other night at the Temple?" Salem
continues to look at her as he speaks.

It takes her some time to think of it. She has the eyes of an orphaned
refugee child: empty, emotionless. "I don't... oh." Her voice is dry,
hoarse. "There was a girl. Rainbow wig. She mentioned... you could get the
stuff at certain parties. The kind y'had to be invited to." She swallows,
and glances over to him. "Think she might know people. I could prolly get
invited." There's no feeling in her eyes, her face--nothing that relates
to the offer. She is, quite simply, indifferent.

"You want me to chase it?" she asks.

Salem frowns slightly, steps pausing for a beat, then recovers and shakes
his head. "Not necessary. We know where it's being made, and we know where
they are. The only thing left is clearing and burning the bastards out,
and the Sept will handle that."

Rina nods assent, and looks forward once more. "Right. Just kill it at the
source, fuck the distribution. Easier that way if it's just bein' made
here."

Salem grunts. "And it looks like it is. You know anything about the dealer
you met the other night?"

Rina shakes her head. "I'll know her when I see her again." Not if. When.
"Might try to pull her in. I'm thinkin' about some things. We might keep
some of the shit of the streets, if we started makin' our own. It's an old
debate, all the way back to Paulie Castellano... whether y'oughta sbe in
or out of the pharmaceuticals."

The Walker's lips thin as he considers it. "Hmph. Well, if nothing else,
we can make sure _our_ product isn't going to taint people."

Rina purses her lips. "I'd only wanna do the light stuff. Meth, E. No
heroin--I'd /like/ to shut the goddamn Russians down. No coke, no crack...
none of the hard shit. It's too fuckin' dangerous."

"None of the heavy addictives, then," he says. "Fine with me. Best to keep
it as quiet as possible, though. I doubt that the rangers would think very
highly of it, even if we _do_ keep it light." He snorts.

Rina answers the sound. "Like I give a flying /fuck/ what they think," she
mutters darkly.

Salem glances skyward, at the thickening moon. "Nor I, but I'd rather not
_again_ be on the wrong end of a bunch of high-minded rustics."

"When was the last time?" Anything to talk about. She is reaching for a
distraction, something, anything.

"When the Lords kicked me out," he answers, glancing sidelong down at her
again. "Several times while I was Ronin, too. It's not pleasant." He
twists his lips into a wry smile that doesn't quite touch that somber
gaze.

Rina looks over to him, then. "I'm glad y'not, anymore," she says quietly.

"Not Ronin, or not Shadow Lord?" Salem arches an eyebrow, then gives her a
faint half-smile. "Either way, I'm glad, too." He looks away, his gaze
passing over the quiet, dark wharf district. "It's... bad, not having
family to count on. And the Lords... hmph." His smile vanishes into
something more sour.

Rina's mouth twists slightly. "Yeah. Cutter was the only decent one I ever
met. Mostly 'cause he hated 'em too, like you."

"Cut-throat. Competitive." Salem shakes his head. "Chiaroscuro... you met
her, once, the ice queen? Is about as trustworthy as they come. But an
outcast, or close enough." He grimaces. "I suspect Jarred drove her out of
the city. I haven't seen her in months. Shame, really."

Rina's jaw tightens at the mere mention of the man. She snarls something
not quite intelligible, and her steps speed up a little.

The Philodox quickens his own stride to keep heeled with her. "My thoughts
exactly. I would have joined the damned Gnawers before going back to
_that_ vicious little viper nest. Or stayed tribeless."

Rina stops abruptly, turning to him. There is a strange, cornered look in
her eyes. Desperation. A hand seizes his arm, as if he can hold her up.
"I'm glad you didn't," she says hoarsely.

Salem stops short, halted by her hand. He looks down at her for a moment,
pensive, vaguely sad, and then says, quietly, "Me, too."

Rina swallows, looking up at him with those bleak eyes. "I don't think I
can do this," she whispers. "Without him--"

"You can," he tells her. He puts his hand over hers, where it's gripping
his arm. "You will." His voice is quiet, firm. "You're not alone."

Her eyes, hopeless, stray a moment or two before coming back to his own.
They hold a faint shimmer of tears now. "Jack--" Her voice is a thin
thread of denial, a small thing against the huge darkness.

"You're not alone," Salem repeats, steadily, meeting her eyes. "I'm here,
and Cat loves you. Wholeheartedly. He'd do anything for you."

Rina swallows, meeting his gaze with a shimmer in her own. "I'm sorry,"
she whispers. "The way everything-- the way it is... I--" She wets her
lips nervously, and steps closer to him. The embrace is familiar, the way
she clings like a drowning sailor, ducking her head against his chest--and
trying to suppress the shaking of her shoulders.

He holds her tightly, his arms around her, one gloved hand stroking at her
hair as though comforting a lost child. "I know," he murmurs, his voice
barely above a whisper. "It's all right. I know."

She sobs violently, the jerking spasms confined by his arms. Quiet,
difficult tears wrench at her body, and wet the front of his coat. There
is nothing to be done but what he is doing, not for some time... he can
only hold, and wait, while the grief takes it course yet again. She feels
thinner than the last time he held her like this; it has been a while.

Salem waits until the worst of the storm has passed, then pulls back
enough that he can look into her face, his brow furrowed. "You haven't
been eating." It isn't a question.

She is pale in the moonlight, pale and gaunt, her cheeks hollow and her
eyes shadowed. Those dark eyes remain averted. "I eat every day. With Cat.
I gotta cook for him, at least." Her eyes drift closed, and she shakes her
head, the dark lashes are wet. "It doesn't matter," she whispers.

"You've lost weight," he says quietly. "And it does. Matter. To us. To
me." He brushes a thumb across her cheek, then moves back and takes her
arm gently. "Let me take you home."

She nods, a tiny numb movement. There are tears on her cheeks, still, when
she draws away. The dark eyes meet his only for a moment, and then she
ducks her head to start the long walk homeward.

Salem's quiet on the way back to Rina's building. When they finally reach
her door, he faces her again, hesitates a moment, then says, somewhat
awkwardly, "Get some rest. Or try to. And tell Cat hello for me, all
right?"

Her eyes are lowered as she nods--but then she looks up to him, her eyes
still reddened from crying. That one strange glance, and then she turns
and numbly lets herself in.