"The only reason he wouldn't have passed on is because... he doesn't want to."

[hazlogs]

Date: Jan 15, 2004
Location: Rina's apartment

Rina sleeps deep until late in the morning; there is something odd in her
      scent, perhaps the trace of whatever drug ensured that dreamless 
      unconsciousness.

Scar slept lightly and wakes around sunrise. He remains in the bed, however,
      watching over her. A stray noise makes him lift his head from his paws 
      occasionally to look around with alert ears and nose, and then he lowers 
      it again, his muzzle close to her face.

It's almost noon when she stirs, waking betrayed by her breathing, a wince, and
      a low groan as she tries to move. A hand reaches over and clumsily finds 
      the wolf's head. Rina makes a vague, confused noise and slits her eyes 
      open, looking at him bleary-eyed for a moment as she pieces together his 
      presence.

Scar thumps the bed a couple of times with his bushy tail and looks back at her
      with unblinking eyes.

From somewhere she calls up a wry attempt at a smile. She hugs the wolf briefly
      with one arm, mussing the furred ruff and burying her face in it for a 
      time. Then she rolls over and sits up on the edge of the bed with a 
      groan, scrubbing at her hair with both hands. "Ungh."

Scar pushes to his feet and pads carefully over to sit down next to her on the
      mattress. A cold, wet nose pokes at her neck, just under her ear.

"Aaaaaagh--" She tips her head away, wincing, not quite conjuring up a laugh.
      "Least you're healthy," she mutters, looping an arm around his shoulders. 
      Turning her head, she leans her face into his neck and just stays there 
      for a time.

Scar snorts, sounding as dubious as a wolf can sound, and braces himself so she
      can lean properly.

Rina gives a little shake of her head, nuzzling. Pulling away, she rakes both
      hands through her hair. "I'm'na shower," she murmurs, pushing to her feet 
      and looking around blearily, eyes still narrowed against the bright 
      light. "You gonna change? You want coffee?" Frowning slightly, she 
      glances over to the wolf to read his reaction.

As comfortable as it is to wear four legs and be silent and drink in the
      complex tapestry of scents... the Glass Walker jumps down off the bed and 
      shifts smoothly back into human form, his clothes rumpled but looking, 
      overall, far fresher than she does. "I can make coffee." He conjures up a 
      small smile for her.

Rina rubs at one eyes with the heel of her hand, and sniffs. "Okay," she
      mumbles, and pads off toward the bathroom, with a stop to snag clothes 
      from the closet on the way.

The aroma of fresh coffee greets her when she emerges, and Salem's puttering
      around in the kitchen, cleaning any dishes that look like they need it 
      and getting a couple of mugs on standby.

Rina comes out toweling her hair, dressed in loose jeans and a long-sleeved
      t-shirt that hides the new cuttings on her arm. "Much better," she 
      murmurs, coming into the kitchen and taking one of the mugs, dumping in a 
      little sugar before adding the coffee. "Jesus, Jack, you din't hafta 
      clean up..." She obviously hadn't bothered in a few days, and with all 
      the cooking for the big house, things were getting out of hand. A sip of 
      coffee, and she pushes him gently away from the sink and the remaining 
      dirty dishes. "You want breakfast? Shower?" She glances over to him as 
      she scrubs, an oddd tacit contrition in her eyes.

Scar has his own cup of course, the java untouched by milk or sugar. He takes
      another swallow, then rubs a hand over his stubbled face. "I'm fine for 
      the moment." He cocks his head, studying her. "You all right?"

Rina lets out a breath, a sharp inadvertent sound like a humorless laugh.
      "Peachy," she says dryly. Then she glances to him sidelong, her 
      expression bleak. "Not really," she adds, as if the explanation is 
      necessary. Ducking her head, she returns her attention to scrubbing the 
      bottom of the stockpot, with perhaps a bit more violence than is strictly 
      necessary. "If I could just /do/ something," she murmurs, "if I knew what 
      he wants, if I understood any of it..." She swallows, pausing for a 
      moment to look bleakly into the dirty water. "You think it's his fault," 
      she murmurs, "but it's not. It's-- everything. Not only him. But havin' 
      to do all this without him. It's Anthony and Josh hating each other, and 
      Josh bein' a schizo who'll only talk to Signe about anything, and-- 
      everything."

"He talked to me," Salem murmurs, taking another sip of coffee. "Told me what
      his ghost friend Max had been telling him." He sniffs. "There _is_ 
      potential there..." Another sip and a sidelong look at her. "As for 
      John... maybe..." He trails off.

Rina takes a careful breath, and lets it out; she finishes off the last few
      pieces of silverware in the sink, chef's knives and a ladle too large for 
      the dishwasher. Then she pulls the drain, and runs the hot water to rinse 
      everything. "What?" she asks quietly.

Salem studies his cup for a moment, then looks at her steadily. "Perhaps," he
      says, his thin, grating voice as gentle as he can make it, "he needs to 
      be told to let go. Convinced."

Rina's hands still, and her expression turns bleak. Tears well in her eyes, and
      she gives a tiny, unsteady shake of her head.

Salem shifts his cup to his other hand and, with the free one, reaches out to
      cup her cheek. "Rina," he murmurs, "I did some thinking last night, while 
      you slept. This isn't healthy for him, either."

The stockpot slowly fills up with hot water. 

Rina looks over to him, the dark eyes shimmering, hollow with grief. "Then you
      gotta help him," she says in a small voice. "Whatever-- whatever went 
      wrong, you hafta find him, and help him--"

"Sepdet did the Gathering for him," Salem says, his hand dropping away from
      her. He holds his cup between both now. "The only reason he wouldn't have 
      passed on is because... he doesn't want to."

Rina closes her eyes tight, and turns her face from him to look at the sink
      again. When her eyes open again, they remain unfocused, blurred as the 
      tears begin to fall. She shuts off the tap absently, and lets both hands 
      rest on the counter's edge.

Salem looks unhappily at her; he clearly hadn't relished telling her this. He
      glances away, mumbling an apology.

"You can't hurt him..." Her voice is thready, almost a whisper. "If-- if he
      comes back, if--" A swallow tightens her throat. She stares bleakly 
      ahead, as if the empty future stretches out before her. "You have to let 
      me talk to him," she whispers. "If he has to go through that again-- I 
      gotta be there, with him. So he's not alone."

Salem's gaze turns back to her; solemnly, he nods.

Rina ducks her head, covering her eyes with a hand, trying to stifle or at
      least swipe away the tears.

Salem hesitates, then reaches out to touch her shoulder, lightly, as if he's
      not certain she'd welcome it so much after what he'd told her.

"I-- I'm sorry," she whispers. "I'm sorry." Wiping fiercely at her cheeks, she
      forces away the tears, pulls herself together with an effort he has seen 
      before, a quick little shake of her head, a steely determination in her 
      jaw. "I'm fine. You're right. The tribe. I'll be fine. I have to."

Salem nods, one corner of his mouth twitching upward in a wry sort of way. He
      finishes off his coffee with a gulp.

Rina runs a hand violently through her hair, making it stand up in wet
      spikes--where it's long enough. "I'm sorry," she says, a little more 
      firmness in her voice. "I'll come by, maybe tonight, we can talk about-- 
      some things. Gotta get Anthony settled in. I tried to talk to him but it 
      was like chatting with a fuckin' brick wall..." She dumps the water from 
      the rinsed pot, and begins drying off the knives and dishes with 
      businesslike efficiency; only the slight hoarseness and the reddened eyes 
      betray the tears just past. "I want to find these two Russians we got 
      names for, and bug their apartments, maybe even the cars if we can do it. 
      See if we can get some more names, more info. I got Jer working on the 
      technology but he wants to go along on the insertion, too... to deal with 
      any security systems, he says. But I'd rather have one of you guys do it 
      if we can manage. Someone who won't die if they get shot."

Salem nods again, turning the empty mug around in his hands as he listens to
      her. "You know I'm up for it."

Rina looks over to him, considering. "Yeah, but you gotta know which wires to
      cut. Maybe see if you and Anthony both can sit down with Jer, and learn 
      somethin' about security wiring?"

Salem sets his cup down on the counter and rubs his jaw, nodding. "Need to
      broaden my skills anyway," he says, with dry humor. "Old dog, new tricks."

"Somehow I just don't think of you as a stealthy rogue type," she answers,
      summoning up a wry attempt at a smile. Bowing her head, she returns her 
      attention to the dishes, stowing the knives in their block and setting 
      the stockpot on the stove.

Salem folds his arms across his chest and grunts squeakily. "Yes, I know. Big
      brute animal. I'm good at hitting things." His self-deprecation's 
      half-serious, half-joking.

"Least you're good at something *useful*," she murmurs. Glancing over to him,
      she summons up a smile--with slightly better results, this time, though 
      the expression has a bit of wistfulness about it.

"One-trick pony," Jack counters.

Rina rolls her eyes. "Yeah. Right."

Salem curves his lips into a smirk. "Although I'm all right at this judging
      thing, I suppose."

"You're all right at a lotta things," she answers. Drying her hands on ehr
      jeans, she gives him a quick, impulsive hug.

Salem returns it after a moment, head lowering briefly over her damp-haired
      scalp. When they part, he exhales a breath and says, "I ought to go. Make 
      sure Joshua hasn't sulked the house down."

Rina nods quickly. "Yeah. Good plan." She looks up to him, giving him a faint
      half-smile. "There's a game tonight, so I won't be around. But there's a 
      lasagne in the freezer over there."

Salem tilts his head. "Game? Hockey, you mean?"

Rina nods minutely, glancing away. "Yeah. Greg got me a ticket, so I oughta go."

Salem arches an eyebrow, not knowing who 'Greg' is, but his nod is easy enough.
      "All right. Have fun." He touches her shoulder to get her to look at him 
      and gives her one of those rare, honest little smiles. The ones that 
      aren't wry or sardonic or vaguely bitter.

She looks up and answers it, her own smile fragile but real. "Thanks," she says
      softly.

Salem holds her gaze for a moment more, then turns away, collecting his coat
      and pulling it on as he heads for the door.

Rina walks that far with him. "Don't forget to feed the boys," she murmurs,
      opening the door.

Salem answers with a silent salute and a slanted half-grin, then heads off down
      the stairs and back to the street.