Some grow wiser, you just grew older...
Today is Piper's seventeenth birthday... Not that anyone would actually know that, because she hasn't really made it a point to exchange birthdates with anyone. A year ago today, she became a demon and her entire world that had consisted of quietly blending into the background and being unobtrusive went out the window. She hasn't spoken to her
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Not that he knew what to expect.
The sound of her chuckle makes him tense even more. He shifts in his seat and keeps looking from the room back to her, because he can't just look at her all that long, and then she starts talking about the truth about Flagg, and he doesn't look at her at all.
"Jesus," he mutters when she finishes as he holds the cigarrette over the ash tray, because his hand is too tense to bring it back to his mouth. "Jesus fuck."
Rusty sits back, slides his hand back through his hair, and somehow convinces himself that this is it. There's nothing else she has to tell him, cause that is bad enough. The Organization's got control of the city. There's really no fucking escape unless the whole fucking city goes up in flames. Not to mention the fact that the Organization is not something he'd want in practically complete control of any city. Not that he's a good guy. But it doesn't mean he wants people to die, which is what's going to happen with the Organization in charge.
"You serious? Jesus." Rusty stares up at the ceiling.
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She pauses rubbing her temples and pushing her black bangs out of her face, trying to compose herself enough to get to the next part of this, because the thing is... If Flagg's in control, then whether Monroe is running things behind the scenes or Flagg was the big enchilada all along doesn't matter. What matters is that the biggest bunch of assholes in the globe are sitting pretty on the center of the universe.
And she knows how to make all of that go away... Not the whole thing, of course. You can't just extinguish the whole of the Organization, but she can shove them back a few pegs, put them back at the starting gate until they can find a new way to take over the city.
And to do that, she has to die. Or rather, she has to do something that's gonna get her killed.
"You're a demon, Rusty. So I don't really know what your whole standpoint is on right and wrong, and that might not be fair, but I know for a fact that angels, whether we want it or not, have a fixed moral center. There are things that are so appalling to us that they make us absolutely sick to our stomachs and if we just sit there and ignore it... It just gets worse." She taps the table, indicating the city and this whole situation as a whole. "I've got the means to take Flagg out of the picture."
She leans back again. That's the part that's going to have to sink in with him, the part that he'll probably argue.
Who would have expected this? Bambi Dalton, making a heroic sacrifice to save Chicago. Except it's not that at all. Bambi likes stability and she hates her bosses. It's as much for her as it is for Chicago. Nothing fucking heroic about it.
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He shakes his head, still holding the cigarrette over the ash tray. His fingers have tensed, but he can't move them at all, because he's so tense.
"No. No, you have to be shittin' me." He leans forward against the table like being closer to her will somehow drive his point home better. "They own the whole fuckin' city, Bambi. What the fuck? D'you think they won't find out about this shit, and then what's gonna happen when they do? Just cause you got the means and the way, don't mean that you gotta go stirrin' all this up. Angel or no angel, there's gotta be a better way. Drop a note in someone's fuckin mailbox and say, this guy is bad news and let them take care of it."
Yeah, he does not understand that she understands all of this already, that she thought this through, that she's willing to die over this, because he can't handle coming to that realization. If she's already figured all of that out then the only reason she'd have to find him is...
"I mean, Jesus-" Rusty finally manages to find the strength to move his hand and pulls the cigarrette away from the ashtray to take in a long drag like most people would take in a deep breath of air, and then suddenly the intensity deflates. Fast. "You... You should know that..."
The realization begins to hit him, and then he can't look at her, again. His gaze drifts down to the tabletop, which isn't trying to tell him that it's going to get itself killed, and he slips his hand behind his neck as he stares. This isn't fucking happening.
"You... can't," he mutters, weakly. His voice sounds strained, pulled out, because he knows she can do whatever she wants.
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So she just waits until he's done. Stares blankly at him with her jaw set and her knuckles turning white as she continues to grip the table with ferocious restraint.
When he finishes, she starts talking, her voice soft, but firm, "Even if I did it anonymously, there's only so many fuckin' people with my mouth, Rusty. They'd weed out everyone they didn't trust, anyone they thought was expendable." She lets that sit for a moment. "They'd come after you."
And maybe he doesn't care, but she fucking does, like she's never cared about anything. He's a sweet guy, too good to be in this business for all that he's a demon, but even if he can't leave, at least they're not going to kill him.
She slides out of the booth. "Don't get killed, Hunt." She has to get out of here. Final arrangements to make before she starts her walk down the hall. Maybe he won't be difficult and he'll let her leave.
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"Bambi..."
He can't even look at her as she walks away, and then this intense protest hits him. The last time that he'll ever see her is now. Rusty goes after her just before she reaches the exit. He steps out on to the street on her heels.
"So that's it then? You just fuckin' walk in there, tell me that, and walk out, again? That's all there is to it?"
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She's just going to keep walking. If she keeps walking, then maybe he'll lose interest and maybe he won't be a complete dumbass like she suspects he might be. Maybe he'll do the smart thing and actually survive through this.
Fuck if she knows what to say to someone to get them to not be an idiot. If there was a way to get him out completely before she died, she'd do it, but she can't do that. So maybe these people that Gwen Cooper calls hers can find a way to knock the O down a few pegs and let him out. Who knows?
All Bambi knows right now is that she has to keep walking.
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He is still following, even though he knows it won't do any good, because that's how she is. It's just that all the emotions still building up inside him. She's the only friend that he's got in this whole city- the only person he trusts, one of the only people that he thinks gives half a shit about him here, and it's more than that, too, not that that has ever mattered, or come up, cause it didn't need to.
And he doesn't want to lose her over something that won't matter in the end, because Chicago's a doomed city. If it's not Flagg... it'll be someone else. It always is.
"It doesn't fuckin' have to be this way." Even he is surprised by the emotion in his voice, as he keeps walking. Not forever. Not even for long, but he had to say something... even if it all came out wrong. "I mean, Jesus- You don't have to do this." Even though he knows that she does. What he meant was please, don't do this.
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"Yeah, there'll be others, but they're just people. You don't kill the monster, but you can wound it enough that has to regroup and find a new patsy and this city... This fucking city. It's too big for 'em, Rusty. The further they get pushed back, the more this city will rise to meet them. They'll meet an army of people just like me once I get the word out." She shakes her head. "Do you think I wanna die? 'Cause I don't. I'm scared as hell to die, but I don't want to live in their world anymore and I'm stuck in it unless I do something about it. And that's all I have to say about that."
She starts to turn to leave, but then stops, her expression twisting into something that's half smile and half grimace. "No. That's not all I have to say." She meets his eyes, shakes her head, like this is the last thing she really wants to do and then grabs his face and kisses him as hard as she possibly can. It's not a romantic kiss and wouldn't be mistaken for one. It's rough, hard, and desperate- like she's trying to make him understand what he wasn't understanding in her words through some other means.
She pulls back after a moment, shaking her head and stepping backwards. "Don't you dare get killed," she snaps, and then she's off, practically at a run in the hopes that he won't follow her and if he does, she'll take every precaution she knows to lose him. This is just the way it has to be.
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Fuck.
It hurts. He hasn't quite admitted that to himself. He isn't the type to think about how he's feeling, but it fucking hurts. Pangs keep hitting his chest and his arm hurts, and he thinks this is what a fuckin' heart attack must feel like for humans. Rusty takes in a sharp breath, fingers shaking as he searches for his cigarette, which he left inside. Fuck.
Rusty's going to need something stronger than nicotine anyway. So much stronger. There are more than a few options for that. Rusty doesn't want to be a cliche, but fuck, he needs somethin'. And he doesn't think he can manage going back inside that bar ever again. Bile rises up in his throat like hot fire just thinking about walking back in there. Even to get his cigarettes.
He stands there on the sidewalk, leaning up against the wall, legs weak, head spinning, pseudo-heart attack raging on in his chest and arm, and when he finally leaves, he doesn't know where he's going just that he needs to go.
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