love me, because love doesn't exist, and I have tried everything that does.
Sooner rather than later, Rachel Dawes was finally well enough to join the rest of the clean-up crew at the Conrad. It's important to Rachel to feel like she's making a difference, however small it ends up being. It's important she actually keep on with the idea of forming an organization to pose as a united front within the supernatural community
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"You've got to be kidding me," he says out loud to no one in particular. "I've just finished cleaning the last bloody..."
He sighs heavily... and then notices Rachel, and he's much more reserved than he was a moment ago. And awkward. Robin had intended on talking to her earlier, at least to be sure that she was okay, but he couldn't quite bring himself to do so. Robin asked around to make sure that she was alright. Sometimes he may have looked in on her like a creeper, but it was always at a distance and never quite satisfied him.
Sometimes he'd needed to see her, because he continued having dreams about killing her in a fit of rage, nightmares that they were back in that small room.
"Rachel," he says, and his voice is thankfully empty of any of the pain that he's feeling.
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This time--this time Rachel understands all too well why he would. Fragments of that day in the small room come to her, though not easily. She steps through the flashes in an uncertain haze. Glass breaks and there's an anguished cry and she's on the floor and she can't move and no.
She will not think about it. She will also not think about the way he says her name, differently to every other time he's said it.
"... Hi."
The word feels like rusty metal on her tongue, and she clears her throat before she says anything else. "There was no one else nearby when I stepped out."
Rachel is talking about the graffiti but she's looking at him, as if with a look alone she can see how he's been doing.
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He nods when she says that there was no one nearby.
"They likely did it at night," Robin says, looking at the words with disgust. He can't imagine anyone being stupid enough to come down during the day to spread their hate speech, especially when this clean up brings so many to the entrance of the hotel.
He shoves past whatever emotion still remains in his chest, and he turns to look at her. Robin surveys her with concern that he doesn't bother hiding. It isn't the same. He has changed. Those walls aren't crumbled down anymore, but they're not standing solid and strong as they once were either. They're somewhere in between.
"How are you?"
There's no mistaking how much he cares, not in the tone of voice in that question. It's missing the pain but not the concern and not the love, which will always remain for her.
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Her lips press into a thin line, nails digging to the center of her palm.
"We need to let the rest know about it, if they don't already," she says quietly. Martha, the archangels, she doesn't really know at this point.
It's difficult when there don't seem to be any real leads.
"I'm okay." It's not a lie, exactly. She hasn't slept in days and she hasn't eaten much. Considering the circumstances, she is as well as she can be, even if she doesn't look it. She looks brittle, and Rachel Dawes is anything but.
"It's been a really long week. I've--" Rachel swallows thickly. She doesn't avert her gaze and she doesn't take a step back, but she feels her chest clench painfully.
"Do you think after we deal with the wall we could have a minute? Maybe take a walk and get some fresh air."
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She doesn't get too close to Josef or the fire. There's something beautiful about watching the flames rise in front of him, and it's weird to feel more than fear in the face of fire but she does.
The fear is manageable after closing her eyes, breathing, going through the exercises that she's learned in her head. The fire is only fire then, and it isn't burning her. It isn't burning him, which is something that is far more frightening to her. It just is.
Fear mingles with her other emotions. She trembles a bit but doesn't say anything.
Face the fire. Face your fear.
The fear surges up again and it feels like ice in the center of her chest, but she shoves it back down.
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He doesn't have to see anything to feel her fear.
Josef remains where he is, simply staring. Acid swirls in his tongue and sweat trickles down his forehead at the swell of those emotions that beckon him, and there's the faint lull of pleasure he shoves back down to the base of his spine.
A calling is in one's bones, no matter who is in front of them. An angel of vengeance can love with all their heart, but once there is a trigger, it doesn't matter.
A temelechus demon may find it in themselves to love as well, but once they catch a whiff of fear, they'll desire it like no one can ever possibly understand.
He stands and he stands and he doesn't move.
Josef waits until the flames subside before he lets himself turn around. He doesn't dare step any closer to her. Not right now. "What are you doing here?"
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"Someone was dying. A few buildings over," Elizabeth explains. Her voice is calm, but she recognizes the tension in the air. She knows it comes from more than herself, which is why she stays where she is, too. "I smelled the smoke. I've been taking that therapy, ya know. I was... kinda wondering if it's helped at all, and there was only one way to test it so."
She hesitates, biting down on her lower lip. Her gaze remains on his face. She knows it so well, and she isn't afraid of it or him.
"I didn't know you were here."
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Whether she is afraid of him or not doesn't change the fact he contemplates it. It doesn't change the fact he thinks it, for even a fraction of a second. It's more than enough for the alarm bells to go off in his head.
"Can you--" Josef swallows, taking one step back. "Can you wait for me at the front?"
Five minutes. It's all he needs. He has control and he knows exactly what he is doing.
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What's more startling is that he recognizes the sound of the crying.
He runs over (chew, chew, swallow... the hot dog), jumping over some kid on the ground and walking to her side.
"Uh. Pheebs?" Xander puts his hand on her shoulder. His other hand will hold his giant hot dog. Awkwardly. He's using his frowny concerned face, because he doesn't like seeing her so sad. "What's wrong?"
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"Xander! Hi!" She wipes her cheep with a hand quickly, before looking up at him with what she hopes is a bright smile.
In a small, suffocated voice she answers, "Why would anything be wrong?"
Maybe because her nose is red and her eyes are bloodshot.
"That's a big hot dog."
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"Gee, I don't know," he says, and it's sarcasm, but it's gentle, teasing sarcasm. "It's just that in my experience? Crying usually doesn't mean good times are of the now."
He smiles when she notices his hot dog.
"Thanks!" He stops when he realizes what he's just said. "That... was probably not the correct response. Want a bite? On second thought, that may not be a correct response either.
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Sniffling quietly, she looks up at him pointedly. "It's stupid," she says lamely, tugging at the sleeves of her shirt.
Oh, Xander. She can't help but crack a smile when he thanks her. It's a half-snort, half-hiccuping sound she makes.
"That's okay, I'm not really hungry." In fact, she doesn't even think she could stomach Twizzlers right now. "What're you up to?"
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When it doesn't stop, she turns back in that direction, and it's only once she gets closer that she realizes it's not a kid.
It's a Phoebe. And, she's a crying Phoebe.
Well.
That's not good!
Rogue jogs over to Phoebe and stops a few feet away, her face concerned. She doesn't reach out to the girl, as there's no reason to make things worse, but she does clear her throat.
"Aww hell, darlin'. What happened?"
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Mostly because she was frightening young children.
"Nothing," Phoebe answers miserably. She's not as good of a liar as she wishes she were sometimes, which doesn't mean she wants to talk about it.
Rogue is her friend and all but still. A world of do not want.
"It's that time of the month."
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Her face is fixed into a worried frown. Then, she hears Phoebe tell her what's wrong.
It takes a moment to process.
Rogue is confused, for a moment, and then she figures Phoebe must have the worst cramps in the history of the world.
She's ...not quite sure what to say, and she takes a moment.
"I'm awful sorry, darlin'," Rogue says finally. She sits on the bench beside the girl, utterly flabbergasted. She remembers her mother once stabbing a man in the forehead with a fork during her time of the month, and she nods to herself.
"That sucks. You want me to run and get you some chocolate or somethin'?"
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The kids that were climbing on the monkey bars have now moved on to the swings again, and Phoebe watches them.
Sometimes she'd like to be a little kid again, even if she didn't have her wings.
Everything was more or less simpler. Maybe she just can't remember it as well.
Smiling Rogue's way at the mention of chocolates, Phoebe waves it off. "Naw, that's okay, Rogue. Were you headed somewhere?"
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Mio rounds the corner of the building Josef is loitering behind and spots the fire he's built inside the metal bin. She draws closer, entranced by the flame. If she couldn't find someone to break, she might as well watch something burn. The fire expressed her feelings nicely.
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He wants it all gone, and he watches intently as it turns to ashes. Normally he would know someone has joined him. It isn't until he turns around that he notices there's a woman nearby.
The surprise isn't outwardly evident because Josef is good at concealing.
He tilts his head, regarding her with a certain level of curiosity. "I didn't see you there," he says in a mild tone. It isn't meant to convey aggression.
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"Not at all," Josef answers smoothly, stepping forward and buttoning his suit up while he does. "I was simply surprised to find someone else around these parts. It's usually deserted."
He has to wonder what she was doing here in the first place.
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