Checking Up on Family

[hazlogs]

Date: 7/6/2002
Location: Salem's Apartment

The knock comes at his door in the early afternoon, on the 6th. Rina waits with her head bowed, chewing on her lower lip nervously.

There's no answer for a minute or two, long enough that an impatient or worried visitor might be prompted to knock again. Eventually, though, there's the sound of locks and latches being undone and a very tired-looking Jack Salem opens the door. "Rina. Come in." He's dressed in black sweatpants and gray t-shirt, barefoot and looking like he just woke up.

The dark eyes glance to him, and then lower again. "Shit. I din't think I'd wake you... sorry." She rubs at the back of her neck with a nervous hand. "I can come back later..." That black gaze flickers up to him, uncertainly.

Salem shakes his head. "No, you're fine, come in. I've slept long enough." He steps aside, giving the kinswoman room to enter.

Ducking her head, she walks into the apartment. A glance around--she has never been here before--and then she looks back to him, searching his face. "You been aright?"

He shuts the door behind her and resecures it against entry -- lock, latch, and chain. His movements are stiff and pained. "More or less." Salem drags his fingers back through his hair and limps toward the kitchen. "Coffee?"

"Sit. Lemme get it for you, 'k?" She paces to the kitchen, and says, "Just tell me where to get things."

Salem hesitates, then relents and drops onto the couch with a grunt. "Mugs are in the cupboard next to the fridge. Maker's on the counter." And it is, too, coffee already made and being kept warm; the halfmoon thinks ahead.

"You got the timer kind? I love that shit. Wake up and smell the coffee, 'cause the machine made it for ya at nine or whatever." She rattles about in the kitchen like the ball in a pinball machine, opening cabinets and getting down a couple of mugs. "Y'like anything in it? I f'get."

Salem leans his head back and regards the ceiling. "Black," he answers, and then asks, "Did John get the rifle back to you?"

Rina shakes her head minutely, pouring for them both. "Nah, I think Frankie's got it still. John wasn't in such good shape t'carry it up the stairs... barely made it as it was." She lifts a shoulder, and turns to bring out the drinks, one in each hand. "I'll get it from him. Gotta send it back soon."

Salem grimaces, then presses the heels of his hands to his eyesockets. "Mmnh. Right. That fucking bullet in his lung. Dammit."

Rina chews on her lower lip, as she sits down carefully on the couch beside him. "Yeah, he looked pretty bad. I made him rest up a coupla days...'

"Mnh," grunts Salem. "More or less what I've been doing. Between Strider-sitting." He opens his eyes and accepts a coffee mug, wrapping both hands around it and sipping slowly, savoring. "Fucking mess out there."

Rina folds up one leg between them, the better to face him. "Yeah, I bet." She watches him over the rim of the mug, as she drinks. "Anything I can do? I know I ain't much of a woodsy type, but if there's any cleanin' up labor, I'm willing.'

Salem considers, his eyes half-lidded over the mug of coffee. "They _are_ welcoming kin. Currently, in any case. Just make sure one of us goes with you."

Rina nods. "Yah, John said quite a few of 'em got away." Another swallow, and she adds, "Good coffee."

"About a dozen. So I'm told. I was... a bit indisposed, myself." Salem grimaces, irritated.

Rina's brow furrows a little. "And... babysitting? There a new cub or somethin'? Be careful, might be a ticking time bomb."

Salem shakes his head. "Tatt," he says, sourly. "She had a fucking attack while cleaning the burial markers. John has her locked away." He takes another sip. "She made a damned mess in my bathroom, too."

Rina winces. "Oh. Yeah. I went down to the bunker for morphine and there she was. I left, real quick." She shakes her head minutely, her expression grim. "Thing is... she's got somethin' if she could just get it together."

Salem nods slowly, lips pursed in thought. "John seems to think so. I'm inclined to agree." He hesitates, then swifts a glance sidelong at her. "Did Malone ever mention..." He trails off.

Rina wets her lips, and looks up, brows lifted slightly. After a moment's waiting, she gives a small shake of her head, cueing him to continue.

Salem brings the coffee cup close to his face, but doesn't drink. "I... used, for about a couple of years, while I was Ronin." He lays the fact out there as blandly as possible, with no tone of excuse or defense. Just the facts, ma'am. "It... helped... on the full moon."

Rina swallows. There's no judgment in her eyes, but they are veiled, watching him. "You talked to Gianni about it, ever?" she asks softly.

Salem cuts a look over toward her, squinting. "No. The subject never came up. I've been clean for four years."

She nods, a swift gesture that matches the understanding in her eyes. "Talk to him, sometime. Tell him. It might... help the both of ya." She looks down, then, and closes her eyes to take a sip of coffee. When she lowers the mug she says, quietly, "Never done H, but I been addicted to plenty of other things, in my time. So."

He studies her for a few more moments, then nods. "A common ailment," he says, almost wryly. "Unfortunately, Tatt's being using for almost as long as I've been Garou. She's... very resistant. But I imagine that Sepdet would be rather put-out if I shot her." Now he _does_ sound wry.

Rina snorts. "Probably not a good idea for, um, inter-tribal relations." She drinks down a few more swallows, closing her eyes with the pleasure of it. A deep breath, a sigh, and she lowers the mostly empty cup to her cocked knee. The dark eyes flicker open, to regard him with an unusual serenity. A faint smile comes to her lips.

After a few seconds of this, Salem arches a brow. "What?"

"Thanks," Rina says simply. "For... being there, and for talking to me, and... and for bringing him back. Mostly in one piece." A wry smile quirks at one corner of her mouth. "Anything you need?"

Salem manages a crooked, sardonic half-smile. "Two weeks' vacation in Tahiti," he replies. "And... you're welcome."

Rina flashes a brief grin. "I'll call my travel agent," she answers, and then tosses back the rest of her coffee.

He utters the briefest of chuckles, more an amused exhalation than anything, and drains his own cup. "Seriously, I was thinking that a pack trip to the tribe homeland might be a good idea, once things have calmed down. There might be a way to fix John's injury. Technology is... quite advanced, there. Unsurprisingly."

Rina wets her lips, a flicker of interest in her eyes. "Yeah? Cool." She rises, with a smoothness the injured Garou might envy at the moment, and paces to the kitchen to set her cup in the dishwasher. "You want I should leave the coffee on for ya?"

Salem's expression remains wry as his gaze follows her across the room. "Please."

After dropping off the dirty cup in the kitchen, she parks herself against a wall, one shoulder leaning, her head tilted. "You gonna be home tomorrow? I could bake you a lasagna or somethin', then you wouldn't hafta cook f'r a while, y'know?" That crooked, sympathetic half-smile comes again, something wistful touching her eyes. Affection? No, impossible.

Salem scratches absently at the side of his neck, regarding her with a mildly bemused air. "I'll be home, but you don't have to go to any trouble on _my_ account." He seems... pleased at the suggestion, though.

Rina lifts a shoulder. "You're tribe." Her smile quirks slightly at one corner. "And I'm Italian. We feed people when they're hurt, 'cause it makes'em better."

"Ah," says the Philodox. "Much better than Serbians. They just recriminate. Or assasinate someone."

This time the smile is genuine--and yes, affectionate. "You rest up, aright? And if there's anything you need, that /I/ can do--not plane tickets to Tahiti--just gimme a call, 'k?"

Salem gives another of those small, crooked, wry half-smiles. "I will. Make sure you get John to rest as well."

This time there's a glint of wickedness in her eyes. "Oh, he is. I have ways." Then she gives one of her insouciant grins, and heads for the door.

"Poor John," Salem says, with dry humor. "Take care."

"You too," she offers over her shoulder. She lets herself out, then, closing the door behind her and checking to make sure it's locked.