Social Grace
It took half a day to get out of the hotel room Rhiannon rented in the Orleans.
In the hours between, while the police blocked off the streets, she paced the place, feeling pretty strung out. When Elfleda left the building, she didn't take all of herself. The fragrance remained, and the dirty spot on the wallpaper, and the leftover headache of having metaphysical fingers wriggling her brain. If Rhiannon were paranoid, she would've sworn Elfleda left her entourage behind, too, to keeping nagging her about the offer-- voices under the bed, behind the mirrored closet door, behind the shower curtain. But it was nothing.
She opened the windows to get some fresh air. Then she emptied most of the mini-fridge and passed out staring at a documentary about Roswell.
Having learned her lesson the night before, Rhiannon suggested a rooftop when Connor texted the next night, looking to meet up. She picked a retail space on a dead corner, Rochelle and Salton. Around 9 o'clock she jumped from a waste management bin to a hard-to-reach fire escape ladder and jogged up the rest of the steps.
He was waiting for her when she arrived, sitting with his back against a rusted air conditoner and watching the stars struggle to shine through the haze above the city. He'd brought his pocket knife along, along with some bandages and a small bottle of rubbing alcohol. There was a Coke sitting next to him in a sweaty glass bottle.
He'd seen a Jeep full of uniformed soldiers drive past just before he started his climb to the roof, stared after the vehicle long after it had rounded the corner and disappeared. He wondered what they thought they were doing here. Maybe it didn't matter. Orders were like that.
When he heard footsteps gritting across bits of broken glass, he cast his gaze in that direction to see the Slayer crossing the expanse of roof. "I was hoping you'd be able to reach the fire escape," he said, getting up dusting his jeans off. "Are there many patrols out?"
"What am I, short now?" Rhiannon cut the sarcasm with a smirk and met him by the AC. The Destroyer had about four inches on her. If she wore boots. She looked over the roof ledge and didn't see any vehicles on that side of the building. "There's a lot of cops on the Strip, especially on the north end, up by Sahara. There was a hotel fire earlier. I think somebody pulled a Carrie in the casino."
Satisfied that they were alone, she stuck her thumbs in her hip pockets. "So. What's up?" A hot breeze blew her hair into her eyes. Lately the air smelled bad, like garbage and smoke and exhaust fumes. The city was emptier than before, but the people who stayed behind were making the landscape look more like the set of a disaster flick than Las Vegas.
"I brought that home surgery stuff you asked for," Connor said, holdng out the plastic bag he'd brought the supplies in. "To finally deal with the tracking device. I can't promise I'll be as neat as a real doctor, but I'll do my best."
He wasn't being evasive, at least not entirely. He still felt a little heavy around the edges and would not turn down support if it was offered, but he wasn't shattered. His hands would be steady when he went to make the incision. "It probably won't even scar."
"Aren't we kind-over over scars?" That was a simple but unconsciously loaded question.
Rhiannon took the bag and opened it. Cotton balls. Alcohol. Bandages. The usual injury kit. She sat down cross-legged and put the bag between them. She was glad he remembered. It was doubtful that anybody from the government would come looking for fired Agents, but she wanted nothing to do with the Project anymore. It seemed only fair that Connor, who had been most hurt by her signature on the dotted line, should get to cut the chip out of her.
When he didn't match her quickness to sit down, Rhiannon gave him a questioning look. "You look a little sluggish. No offense. You sick or something?" She pushed up her sleeve and mashed her thumb against her wrist, searching for the embedded lump.
"I'm fine, I just..."
He lowered his weight back to the rooftop next to her, his expression a little distracted. He reached into his pocket for the knife, then picked up his soda and had a quick drink of it. Flipping open the blade, he inspected it under the light, then took out the bottle of alcohol and poured some over the metallic surface.
"Julie told me she's leaving." He said it casually enough, but the quick way he avoided the Slayer's eyes said he was having some problems with it. "Don't know if you saw it, but she actually changed on television, and it got filmed and aired. She's... not doing well over it."
He dried the blade on some clean gauze, looked at Rhiannon's arm. "Hope they didn't plant it too deep."
"No, I didn't see." Multiple reports of demons and ghosts had flooded the media outlets. No doubt Julie's transformation made breaking news, but Rhiannon wasn't much for TV under normal circumstances. Now she tried to avoid news altogether.
Yeah, she noticed the eye-contact dodge. Out of respect for Connor's privacy, the Slayer watched his hands instead of his face. Those were capable, like always. "That sucks," she said, not just paying lip service. "I knew you two weren't... I guess dating, but she's still a big deal. A person you care about." On a deep level, she got what it was like to be left behind, even when it was for a person's good. She found herself hoping he wouldn't shut down over it. In spite of her own issues connecting with people, she had lately seen a little light in Connor's face. She wanted it to stay there. He was starting to believe in people.
The brunette found the chip and kept her thumb on it. "It's painful, but it'll get better."
Rhiannon extended her wrist for Connor's inspection. Where she pressed, the skin was lighter, and the outline of the chip was visible. "No worries, okay? It's just a flesh wound."
He put his thumb over the spot, felt the unnatural lump, then nodded. "It hurts, y'know?" he asked, looking down at the knees of his jeans for a moment. His mobile features shifted, and then he shrugged a little. "Not as much as it could, I guess, but it hurts."
He grasped the Slayer's wrist gently, lifting the knife to press the tip just beneath the spot where the chip had been implanted. "No worries," he said, meeting her eyes before he broke the skin. A thin trickle of blood wandered over his thumb.
It didn't take long to extract the object, and when he was done he cleaned the small wound, then put a bandage over it before inspecting the device. "The things tax dollars go for," he muttered, then pitched it like a skipping stone off of the roof.
Having held still while Connor dug beneath the chip, she shook her wrist after he let it go. It was stupid to think she could shake the discomfort away, but somehow a natural reaction. "God. I didn't even think of that," Rhiannon said. "I actually paid to get fucked up the ass. That's new." She breathed a little deeper, now that it was gone, and pressed on the wound to stem the bleeding.
"Thanks." The Slayer waited until the red stain in the gauze stopped spreading. Then she looked up, figuring eye contact was okay now. "You thinking about leaving too?" If he was going to take off, Rhiannon didn't want to get caught by surprise. At first, she didn't consider it, but every day that Vegas saw more taillights than headlights, she was force to admit that more people than Corbett would skip town. Where they'd go, she wasn't sure.
He shrugged again, that most noncommittal of gestures. "I don't know. I haven't really thought about what happens next. There's kind of not much holding me here right now, though."
He wiped traces of blood away from the knife blade, then folded it up and put it away. The bottle of Coke was uncapped and drunk from, then closed again and set aside. A sideways look, then, "Well, except for you."
He frowned at that, and then his expression cleared after a moment. Not like that was a bad thing. "What are you planning to do?"
"Uh, you mean after I finish being offended?" Rhiannon smiled, just a little one, and leaned back on her arms. "I don't know." Her expression sobered. After an inner argument over whether or not to tell Connor, she decided to spill her guts. "Elfleda paid me a visit. She offered me a chance to be her Champion. If I said yes, I could cut down the demons she considers unworthy. Hell's rejects. Still killing bad guys, but on her terms. With more power."
She tipped her head on its left ear and breathed out. "You know you need a pick-me-up when that offer starts sounding good."
Rhiannon stretched her legs out and crossed her ankles. "I said no. But I've gotta do something... I don't wanna say bigger, because that's not it. Maybe just get out of the routine before it turns into a rut. I haven't seen Joseph since the world went to shit. I don't know what he wants to do." She swallowed and contemplated her shoes. "Once, he said we'd take a vacation. Go someplace else for a while. Be free. Where's freedom from this?"
The Destroyer just listened, drawing his legs up to his chest to study the frayed knees of his pants. The sound of Elfleda's name still made him twitchy, but the fact that Rhiannon had told the Corruptress no alleviated that. He paused for thought, picking at a thread before pulling it loose from the fabric and letting it blow away on the night air.
"Sometimes it seems like nowhere is really free," he remarked. "This was, for a while, but now look where we are. If it can happen anywhere, where's a place that's really safe?"
He looked up at the hazy sky, picked out one star. "Then again, safety is what we make for ourselves, even if we have to carve it out of something else with our bare hands. Maybe freedom's the same way." The Destroyer took another drink of Coke, scratched a spot on his left arm. Watched Rhiannon's face covertly.
"Is... are things with Joseph okay?"
"Far as I know."
Rhiannon shrugged her shoulders. "Sometimes we're both so busy. You know?" The wind kicked up, and she pushed her hair out of her eye. "Joseph's business takes him one way, and mine goes the other. We both know we'll never give up our jobs. I'm not gonna be anybody's housewife. He's not gonna go straight. What Joseph does is in his blood, just as much as mine."
Lining up her boots, she compared their rounded toes. The right one was more banged up than the left. Anything a demon ever wanted to know about a Slayer, such as which leg she kicked more often, was spelled out in the little details they rarely noticed. Rhiannon tried not to slow down long enough to give them a look.
"We love each other. We always give what we can. It's either gonna be enough in the long run, or it's not." Saying that aloud put a rock in Rhiannon's stomach, but it wasn't any indication of doubt in Joseph. Just a statement that was true for any couple, and they loved and respected each other better than most she knew. "When we were apart last year, I didn't hate him. But some days I pretended I didn't know him. Didn't miss him. Complete bullshit, but I had to cope. Just as long as when he came back, I let all that go. Will you do that for Julie, if she comes back around?"
And it was hard to admit this part, to say it out loud to someone who was only involved on the sidelines, but Connor supposed he might as well come clean. He met Rhiannon's eyes, and the corners of his mouth lifted into a rueful smile.
"It wasn't the right time for us," he said. "Me and her. I thought that if I tried, if I made an effort at it, then the rest would just sort of happen, but not so much. At least not now. Later, who knows?"
His shoulders went up and down, and he dropped his gaze briefly to the bandage on the Slayer's wrist. "We parted as friends, I guess that's something."
"It's a lot, actually." Rhiannon pressed her lips together and followed his eyes. "I dunno about you, but it used to be, if somebody hurt me? I cut them out."
Somehow that didn't surprise him, and he nodded in agreement. "I used to be like that too," he said, thinking of his father. "It's not worth it. Grudges kill you from the inside, like tumors." He pushed out a breath.
"If I hadn't learned to forgive, to admit when I'm wrong, I wouldn't be able to sit here now." The Destroyer poked a finger into Rhiannon's shoulder, a light touch, then withdrew back into his own space. His smile was smaller now, but his expression was surprisingly open. "I guess I'm a work in progress."
"I like that about you," Rhiannon said. "You make me look like a winner." She socked him back with her fist. The absurdity of it made her laugh.
He snorted out a laugh, swatted her hand away, rested his forearms on his knees.
"Well, if it helps, to me, you are a winner," he told the Slayer. "It's not...there's no measuring stick for it, not like looking at a glass and calling it half full or half empty. You're here and you're working on it. That's why, one day, you'll win."
He said it with all the confidence of someone who knew how long the road was, someone who knew that the brunette was capable of doing any damned thing she wanted to do. "You'll make it, you'll see."
"Here's hoping." Make it to what, Rhiannon didn't know. But she did believe there was something. Her life -- ups, downs, and all -- seemed to be building, and whenever Rhiannon thought she'd reached that moment that meant she had finally gotten there, arrived, it wasn't enough. Whether or not there was a pinacle waiting for her or not, it didn't matter. What mattered was how believing it made her want to stay alive.
The last few months had forced her to work alone, instead of rushing off to touchstones when she got into scrapes. Whistler couldn't get her out of the Project. Connor couldn't fight at her side. Joseph was endangered by it. Instead of freaking out completely, or fearing her own actions, Rhiannon got her first glimpse at owning the independence, and doing it well. She could not only recover from disasters, she could avoid the worst of them.
That made the people that mattered, like the Destroyer, more important on deeper levels. "You'll let me know if you go, won't you?" Rhiannon asked. "And where?"
"Of course." Because it had never occurred to him to do otherwise. Why would he want to risk getting lost out there, wherever There was, where he'd know no one? He had few friends, certainly not enough to take them lightly.
Connor reached out and put a hand on Rhiannon's shoulder, left it there for a few silent moments as if offering her balance. Maybe neither of them knew where they were going, but if so, at least that meant they could keep track of each other. Connor chewed on his lower lip, thought about taking his hand away, then didn't. "You'll do the same, right? Tell me you're leaving and where you're going, if you do?"
"You know it." Rhiannon looked at Connor's hand on her shoulder. A companion. She reached up and squeezed it. "You're a lifer. Sometimes? When I'm bored out of my mind? I think up my dream team of kick-ass-take-namers. Like... the people I'd want on my team if hell broke loose."
She tipped her chin. "If I'm really bored, I draw start drawing it. I give you cute little outfits and weapon accessories."
"Aw, go on with ya," Connor said, but he squeezed Rhiannon's shoulder when she grasped his hand. His other hand reached for his Coke bottle, balancing it on one knee. Pause.
"Do I have a cape?"
Rhiannon leaned forward, as if she hadn't heard him correctly.
"I'm sorry... did you want a cape?"
Connor blushed, his face reddening all the way to the roots of his hair, and he shrugged while trying to battle back the urge to laugh. "I dunno, you're the one who mentioned outfits. And an image of Whistler in Batman tights is something I need never, if that's okay with you."
The Destroyer finally took his hand off the brunette's shoulder, removing the cap from his soda bottle again. "Did I know you draw?" he asked her idly, wiping stray drops of Coke off his chin. "Maybe I oughta get a hobby outside of all this. That might help me figure out what's next."
"Oh, god. You have no idea what you've just done." Rhiannon pressed her fingers to her forehead and scrunched up her face. She experienced a memory of Whistler's old Halloween costume. Elvis Presley, the Later Years. Tight white suit. Rhinestones. Popped collar. Apparently he went skydiving in it. Bad.
"Okay. Banish the thought." She finally sniffed and lifted her head. "Whew. You went in my apartment once. There were paintings and a couple of charcoals on the walls. That's me."
"Huh." For some reason that hadn't occurred to him, though now he couldn't think of why. The soda bottle was almost empty, and he set it next to the makeshift first aid kit he'd brought along. He fingers drummed a quiet rhythm on the rooftop next to him, and he squinted up at the sky.
"If you could go anywhere, where would you go? What would you do when you got there? If you could do anything, what would it be?"
The roof was warm beneath her back when Rhiannon stretched out. She took a moment to think about the possibilities. A particular star caught her eye. "I'd go to Berlin. Be an artist. Sell enough to live on. Kill demons all night and create all day."
She twisted a ring around her index finger. "When I was a kid, I had this dream I'd win a scholarship to the Art Institute of Chicago. My dad couldn't afford it, unless I got the money. But I wasn't too invested in the," she put her fingers up in quotes, "Holistic learning process."
Rhiannon turned her head. "What about you, what would you do?"
In a perhaps unconscious imitation of his companion, Connor also stretched out on his back, the toes of his shoes pointed towards the heavens as he looked up into the Great Wide Open. "Maybe go back to school?" he said, and it was absolutely a question. "I promised my parents I would one day. But I don't know about that. I guess I'm not too sold on the 'holistic learning process' either."
He fell silent, still looking up into the dark sky. "FInd out who I am, maybe. Sometimes I still don't have any clue of who that is, even when I'm staring myself right in the face in the mirror. Maybe if I become less of a stranger to myself, I can be less of one to other people."
He was dissatisfied with his own answer, and yet he'd put it as clearly as he was able to. "Maybe I should start by getting my fortune told. Someone who can actually see what's ahead might be someone to ask."
"I always wonder if that's self-fulfilling." Rhiannon laid a wrist against her forehead and rubbed it back and forth. "I went to Emmeline once, in Searchlight. All I remember is the 9 of swords. The nightmare card." Anguish, guilt, worry.
Once away from the fortune teller, the Slayer tried to shake it from her head, but afterwards, Deanna had come into her life in greater force, and then the hellverse. "What can it tell you, that you won't find out yourself?"
"I don't know," the Destroyer admitted. "If I knew what I was even looking for, that would be a start, but I kind of don't."
He was silent for several minutes after that, sifting through his thoughts and looking at the stars. He thought he heard another military jeep down on the street, but he didn't poke his head over the edge of the roof to look. They probably had orders to shoot curfew-breakers on sight.
Another minute passed, and he turned his head to look at Rhiannon. "Would... would you help me?"
"Yeah." Rhiannon's dark eyebrows pulled together. "How?" No matter what he asked, she would do it. But for the moment, she was clueless what kind of help she could be. It never occurred to the Slayer that she could teach a person anything, other than how to put defenses up.
The roof was uncomfortable. She slid an arm under her head.
He sat up, brushing awkwardly at the back of his shirt. It had just now occurred to him that he could ask Rhiannon, that he could ask her and she would say yes. He scratched his left bicep, picked up his soda and drank the last of it.
"I don't know how to live in both worlds," he said slowly, piecing his words together as he went. "Ours and 'theirs', if that makes sense. I guess maybe I was thinking you could show me how to get along in broad daylight, at least better than I do right now."
He felt like the dumbest person alive, and he was also red in the face again. He picked at one of his shoelaces, untied the knot, then re-tied it. "Do I sound really stupid right now?"
"No." Rhiannon brought her knees up, and they swayed slightly. "It's just funny you think I'm good at it." No doubt some other people Rhiannon knew would snort over the idea of Rhiannon having social graces, or fitting in well with the daylight world. "If I'm getting you right... You want somebody -- a somebody in your situation -- to help you get comfortable interacting with regular people. In regular places."
Well, she wasn't the friendliest girl in the world. Not the most outgoing. But Rhiannon could make acquaintances, hang out in public places without wigging out, go to bars, shoot pool, attend concerts or dance in clubs. She could race her boyfriend in go-karts. It had a lot to do with wearing a different face in those places than she did in fights. A very different face than she wore with her lovers.
"You and me, exploring the great big world of normal people, not just meeting up to plan our next hunt." When she shrugged, her shirt snagged on the roof. "Yeah, sure."
Connor was nodding, and maybe he was thinking of Star a little bit. Or maybe not. Maybe he just wanted to fit in. But Rhiannon did know what it was like, having to sit on the fence between light and dark, and she seemed to do okay with it. If he could learn to be okay, he wanted to try.
"Thanks," he said in response to her agreement, and the corners of his mouth twitched before he leaned down and kissed the Slayer on the cheek. "Can't guarantee it'll be easy, but I want to give it a shot."
"Wanting it's half the battle." Rhiannon grinned. "And hey, if positive coaching and leading by example don't do the trick, there's always calling you chickenshit." The Slayer tousled his scraggly hair.
Connor snorted out another laugh, ducking Rhiannon's hand and feeling not quite so self-conscious anymore. Learning by example was something he'd done in the past, so maybe this time he could put that to positive effect instead of a negative one. He would have to learn this someday, anyway.
"I'll try to follow your shining example, O Great Guru."
"Bring sunglasses. I'm a veritable beacon of social graces and couth."
Rhiannon sat up and patted her pocket. "Now where are my smokes?"