"What can I do?"

[hazlogs]

14 March 2003, after dropping Cameron off at Summer's and doing a few other... "errands." Late night.

Studio

The studio is airy, elegantly modern and full of light: a large, high-ceilinged square room with almost an entire wall of windows. It still smells of paint, though there is no evidence of current painting. Rolled canvases lean in one of the corners, and a few finished pieces adorn the walls. A six-foot length of pipe hangs a painting behind the couch, creating a slightly more personal space that evidently serves as a bedroom; the piece is a dark, strange cityscape, an oddly skewed view of the world beyond the glass seen through otherworldly eyes. The edge of a futon can be seen beyond it; the walls around the bed bear swirling patterns of colors, calming shades of undersea blue and green. These patterns gradually soften as they grow out into the rest of the room, where walls are visible; angles replace curves, until the mural becomes a mix of ocean and curcuitry. The sofa is quirky and curving, a work of modern art upholstered in green velvet. A Turkish rug in vibrant tribal colors occupies much of the hardwood floor; the coffee table, a sculpture of recycled blue and green circuit-board and shiny aluminum, rests on it in front of the couch.

Opposite the windows, a compact kitchen is marked off by a crisp stainless steel counter. The west wall nearby has doors to a closet and to a small, sparsely-appointed bathroom. The east wall holds bookshelves of pale wood, supporting a small stereo, collections of pictures and found objects, and a good number of books; the corner between shelving and the wall of windows holds a plain wooden desk with a slim notebook computer and phone atop it, and an elegant mesh rolling chair.

Several hours pass before Salem's knock -- light, considering the lateness of the hour -- is heard on Rina's door again.

It takes her a moment to come to answer; she slides carefully out of bed, and quietly makes her way to the door. "Jack?" Her voice is soft, hoarse.

Salem's tied his now-dry hair back into a loose, bedraggled ponytail and he smells of cigarettes. He leans against the doorframe with one hand. "It's me, yes."

She opens the door carefully. Pale and sleepy, Rina looks at least as scruffy, and there are signs of recent weeping around her eyes. She glances up to him only briefly, before ducking her head and turning away, gesturing him in. "Hey."

"Mind if I come in?" the halfmoon asks hoarsely.

"That was kinda the idea behind openin' the door," she answers, without looking back. "You want somethin'a drink? Tea? Coffee? Water?"

Salem reaches up to brush away a rogue lock of hair. "Mmn. Right." He shakes his head, straightens, and enters the apartment, closing the door behind him. "Tea would be nice, thank you." He's already heading for the couch, shrugging out of the big black coat as he goes.

Rina glances over her shoulder, toward him. She steps into the kitchen, then, putting the water on to boil; a moment later she comes out again, leaning against the counter with her arms folded. Veiled, tired eyes watch him. "You aright?" she asks.

Salem settles onto the couch with a grunt and leans back, stretching his legs out. "Just tired." His mouth twists irritably. "Punk-ass vampire hunting people in my fucking territory, and Fianna Dundee decides he wants to lock horns and solve all our fucking problems." He grumbles a word in Serbian.

Rina's brow furrows, and her narrowed eyes settle on him. "Cam gave you trouble?"

Tension comes to her posture, and her arms cross a little tighter.

Salem grunts. "The city isn't paradise yet, so obviously, nobody's doing shit. We're all just sitting around having a little pity-party." His voice drops sullen bile; as tired as he is, there's still enough energy for anger, even if it takes just about all the energy he has at the moment.

Wetting her lips, Rina steps across to him, giving a tiny shake of her head. "I'm sure he din't mean it like that," she says tiredly. The woman drops to sit beside him--too close--and leans forward, elbows resting on her knees.

Salem rubs at his eyes. "Maybe not, but he's still got more balls than sense. Hmnf. We'll see if he's got anything beyond good intentions."

Rina nods, lowering her gaze to the floor. "Yeah. I got no idea if he can fight." She sounds oddly ... conflicted. "He's a good kid, though."

You paged Rina with 'Is she sitting on his good side? Or the blind side?'.

Rina pages: Hm. She tends to sit on his good side, if there's room. If he leaves enough space there.

Salem tilts his head, eyeing her sidelong. After a moment, he just shrugs and leans back again, once more pushing back that stray lock of hair. "I don't remember, but I don't think the leech put up much of a fight anyway."

Rina glances over to him, guardedly. "You don't remember? Did it--" There's a flicker of alarm, but she isn't sure how to frame the question.

Salem's jaw tightens subtly. "You mean, did it fuck with my mind?" He shakes his head slightly. "Yes, but not in that way." He glowers at something in the middle distance. "He'd picked a fight with some poor bastard at Charlie's. Cameron and I followed him into the alley next to it." He grimaces. "Must have just started feeding, there was blood around his mouth. I remember that. I charged him, and he did that... _thing_ they do." Disgust and anger, throbbing like a rotten tooth. He folds his arms across his chest, still scowling. "Told me to stop. And I did, for a second. Next thing I remember he was a stain on the concrete."

Rina swallows. She couldn't get much paler. There is a shadow in her eyes, a dark and painful empathy that makes her lips press together. "It's gone," she says quietly. "That's what matters, right? You guys're both fine."

Salem shakes his head briefly. "Hope it was a rogue," he says in a low voice, not looking at her. "Had a room over at the Motel 6. Already cleaned it out, and I'll take the car down to Eddie Lo's in the morning. That'll make him happy." He twists his mouth into a humorlessly sardonic half-smile.

Rina swallows. "If it wasn't just one..." Her expression is grim. "We'll know soon enough."

Salem nods wearily and sits up, locking his fingers together behind his neck and stretching with a grimace. "Nnh. Yes." As he settles back again, he glances at her, almost warily. "If you can stand a change of subject, I found out something interesting the other day."

Her head lifts the slightest bit, and her attention seems piqued. "Yeah?"

Salem nods. Arms folded, he studies his nails, frowning at a bit of dried ick clinging underneath them. "Been doing some background checks on Mel. Found out her mother's from Boston, so made some inquiries with Family there." He pauses, glances over at Rina again, his expression flat. "The girl's kin."

Rina's jaw tightens. Abruptly she gets up and paces to the kitchen. "Fianna?" she asks, tersely.

Salem's gaze follows her across the room, warily. "Yes."

She goes into the kitchen, and a few moments later there is the sound of pouring water. "Who do we call?"

Salem exhales a slow breath and rubs at his eyes. "Mmnh. Depends. I'm not entirely sure who's decided to be Fianna Elder this week. I thought it was Luke, but Cameron claims that he defers only to Eamon."

Unseen, she leans heavily on the counter with both hands, and bows her head, and waits for the tea to brew.

Salem waits a couple of moments. Then, getting no reply, he hauls himself to his feet and joins her in the kitchen, brow creased with concern. "...Rina?"

Rina straightens quickly, rising on tiptoe to get down cups. "You want anything in it?" she asks hoarsely. She doesn't look at him, but a tension rides in her shoulders.

Salem leans against the counter, arms folded across his chest. He watches her, broodingly. "Straight's fine."

Pouring for them both, she keeps her eyes down--settling herself, centering and drawing inward in that way of hers. She turns to him only to offer the steaming cup; for the barest instant the dark eyes flicker up to his. "Here," she says quietly.

His eyes still have that worried, wary look in them, but he takes the cup with a nod of gratitude and sips. His eyes close briefly. "Mm. Perfect."

Rina takes up her own. The faintest half-smile tugs at one corner of her mouth, never touching the darkness in her eyes. "Weird how tea is comforting and coffee isn't." Seriousness comes back, quickly, and she looks up at him with all the soberness of a child. "You sure you're... everything's aright?"

Salem takes another swallow of tea before answering. "Just tired," he says quietly, studying the depths of his cup. "Probably how the leech got past my defenses." His mouth thins; he shifts his weight as though in discomfort and shakes his head.

She swallows, but doesn't take those dark eyes from him; he can feel them, like a subtle pressure. "You gotta take better care of yourself," she says quietly. "There's gotta be some way to help with the sleep thing."

Salem looks up from his tea, regarding her from under lowered brows. "I'm not the only one who hasn't been sleeping."

She looks away quickly, turning her face from his, discomfort sliding across her features. "Yeah, well, there's nothin' that'll help that, 'cept maybe a well-placed bullet."

Salem's jaw tightens. He looks away, down, studying his tea again. He sips rather than reply to that.

Rina winces, and swallows. "Sorry," she murmurs. "It just came out." She takes her own glass, and paces as far as the edge of the kitchen tile; her gaze focuses on the neat dividing line between that and the rest of the laminate floor. Her shoulders move faintly, as she takes a few deep, regular breaths.

Salem lifts his eyes and studies her back. "It's late," he says, after a moment, as if that explained everything.

When she speaks, the whisper is slightly strangled, the words a shade too quick. "Don't go yet," she pleads.

"I'm here," comes the reply from the Walker, with quiet reassurance.

Rina nods minutely. Another swallow, to get around that tight place in her throat--when she speaks, her voice is a fragile, fraying thread. "It doesn't feel right, is all," she says quietly. "I can't--I'm not-- putting it away and moving on, I've done it before but I can't seem to--"

"You can't stop missing him." Salem sets his cup down on the counter and walks over to lay a hand on her shoulder.

Rina takes a sudden breath, and ducks her head. "I'll always miss him," she whispers. "Sometimes I still miss Angelo. Spider. Jenny, even though she's not dead and I get to see her some--" Closing her eyes tightly, she fights back tears and struggles for a breath. "I can't let /go/," she says hoarsely. "I can't stop-- /needing/ him to be here. I can't --live."

He squeezes her shoulder, gently. "Let's sit." There's a brief silence before he makes the suggestion, though, and his face has turned broodingly thoughtful.

She wraps both hands around her cup, and nods woodenly. After a moment she moves, pacing toward the couch again. The apartment is dim, only a little night-light in the kitchen adding to the moonlight and illumination from the streets. She sits down, stiff and unsteady, still cradling the steaming cup in both hands and looking forward.

Salem retrives his cup and joins her on the couch, sitting with his good side toward the kinswoman. "John was never much on letting go of anything either," he remarks. The words are slow, as if he were examining each one before releasing it.

Rina swallows, and tears shimmer in that bereft stare. "I let go all the time," she whispers. "It's a fault. I thought there was never gonna be anything else-- and then-- then he shows up--"

"Shh." He brushes his fingers through her hair, gently, tired eyes fixed upon her face. "I know."

Pain crosses her features, the struggle clear on her face as she tries to stop the tide. Tears slip free, to run faint-shining lines down her cheeks; her expression twists through torment and anger and frustration by turns. "I can't--" Her hands shake a little, holding the cup; with exaggerated care she reaches forward to set it on the coffee table, as if it is crystal rather than ceramic.

Her movement pulls her away from his touch, and he shifts his weight. He holds his cup with both hands, looking down at it, a dull frustration gnawing at the edges of his weariness. "What can I do?" he asks, after a pause.

Rina shakes her head, a tiny, difficult movement. "I'm sorry," she whispers. "I'm sorry." It has the sound of a ragged litany. "I know I have to-- keep it together. Have to. So I will. I'll be fine. It'll all be fine."

One corner of Salem's mouth quirks upward in a wry, dark-humor kind of way. "That's what I tell myself. Usually around this time of night, too."

She looks over her shoulder, then, tear-streaked face an odd place for the echo of his own half-smile. "See, there's lots you can do." The expression doesn't take the sadness from her eyes, but at least there is something other than despair. Her brow furrows a moment later, but she manages not to turn away, or withdraw.

Salem lofts an eyebrow quizzically. "Penny for them."

Rina lets out an almost-laugh, the smile coming back faintly. Her gaze slides away, and she gives a tiny shake of her head. It takes her a moment to settles herself, to look at him again with those edge-of-a-cliff eyes. "You're here," she says quietly.

Salem makes a little 'ah' noise and stretches his legs out. "For as long as you need me to be," he says.

Rina nods, and then leans close, curling up to put her head on his shoulder. The approach is more childlike than tender, hands kept entirely to herself lest he object.

Salem shifts his position subtly to allow her to get more comfortable. He's more tired -- drained, really -- than properly relaxed. His head tips back, gaze turning toward the ceiling, thoughtful.

She snakes an arm across his chest, ever so carefully, to rest a hand on his shoulder. Her cheeks are dry, now, at least--even if her eyes still have a telltale shimmer, even if her expression holds the same tired, lost look. After a silence, she whispers, "Just... just be here f'ra while."

Salem tilts his head, regarding her for a moment. Then he gives her a small half smile, one side of his mouth quirking upward. "Long as you need," he repeats. Loyal as ever.

Rina takes a steadying breath, and relaxes into the crook of his shoulder: a small, fragile wounded thing, curled up at his side as if to absorb strength and warmth. "Thanks," she whispers, closing her eyes and falling quiet again.

"Any time," Salem replies. He lapses into silence, then, and returns to studying the ceiling in thought.

Some time later, the woman's hand slides limply from Salem's shoulder, stopping a short way lower on his chest. The shoulder she rests on is slightly numb, and she appears to be fast asleep on it, pale but peaceful.

Salem considers her for a moment, considering, and then shifts his weight carefully, easing his shoulder out from under her. He keeps alert for any signs of waking or protest.

There is only a faint, wordless murmur, and she nuzzles her cheek against his shoulder before he quite takes it away--then settles again, letting out a breath.

Salem, managing to extract himself from the sleeping kinswoman without incident, pauses a moment to stand and look at her. Then, wordlessly, he collects the two tea cups and carries them off into the kitchen for cleanup.

She sleeps like the dead and the little children, her brow slightly furrowed by the time he finishes the cleaning up.

He returns a few moments later with a blanket, covering her. He stands for a time afterward, looking down at the kinswoman's sleeping form and considering his options. Finally, with a silent, rueful sigh, he pulls off the Army shirt she loaned him, shifts to wolf form, and curls up on the floor near the couch.