Seishi grips the boy's hands firmly in her own, trying to reassure, for
whatever good it will do. However much she can, with something torn and
bleeding inside. How many times can you be too late, not enough, and still
be able to get back up to answer the next call? How much reassurance can
you pour out, when you're not getting any back? Sei may find out just how
much she can give before she's empty, someday. For now she just does her
best to patch the wound. "I know," she says, voice low in her throat and a
little husky. "It wasn't your fault. It was an accident." It was this
world, answering kindness with a stab in the back. Blowing an attempt to
help up in their faces, and taking out innocent bystanders with it. It was
a vicious bitch named circumstance, and she's laughing at all of them.
"There wasn't anything you could do." There's never anything you can do,
except to try to stay on your feet, to keep your balance against the blow.

These are ghosts, it should be noted here, with which Pete is intimately
familiar. Those kinds: dreams deferred, wrenching failures, minor
failures, smashed ideals, smashed hopes, and just smashed. The kind that
don't just go away by themselves, and the kind that people tend to make
worse in the process of trying to exorcise. He's quite horribly familiar,
yes - but he manages to skirt the edge, he manages to keep himself from
falling back into the abyss. Usually. Only - he's been back there
recently, courtesy the Bleach Blond Vampire With Style Express. He keeps
his mouth shut through Sera's tirade, matching her hatred and explosive
rage with the closest to impassivity he can muster - and since he heard
his life die again outside, and can picture it so clearly in his head,
he's feeling precisely numb enough to be able to pull it off. The instant
nausea and faintness and agonising, paralysing cold have passed, leaving
only the tears he can't stop but can ignore, and the face with little more
than the expression one wears when listening. You're going, says a
practical little voice somewhere inside his head, to have to take the
patch off if you can't stop up the leaky eyes, Wisdom. Why -does- he want
to help her? Why, after that? There are so, so many reasons. So fucking
many he can't even count them. As he gets the cigarette flicked at him, he
still stands there, letting it bounce off; when it hits the floor he
crushes it carefully. They don't need the place burning down around their
ears. 'I can't be helped', she says. This sounds so familiar, my god, it's
an echo - it's an echo. As Sera reaches her crescendo and lunges for him,
Pete's stance shifts abruptly to one that can take a violent 98-pound
tackle with a stagger rather than a nasty fall backwards - and he catches
her wrists in his feverish hands. Somewhere in the background, the
teakettle's begun to whistle shrilly, a cosmic giggle in the myriad
additions to the noise and the stress and the demands. Wisdom *catches*
her wrists as her hands come at him, stepping out of the way and using her
momentum to spin her around the other side - then using that same movement
to drop her to the floor quickly (but tugging again on her wrists just in
time to keep her from hitting her head on the floor too hard), right next
to one of those beanbag chairs. The next motion, as fluid as the others
and using the directions he was already going in, is his hand reaching
over to yank the beanbag over the girl's midsection. It's like a dance,
concluding in his actually /sitting/ on the beanbag chair. On top of
Seravina. Hopefully having got her arms underneath before she had a chance
or the thought to get them out. It /should/ keep her still enough to
listen and not give her the chance to kick in in the groin or something,
which holding her - well, never a good idea. "YOU WANT," he starts loudly,
harshly, "to know WHY I want to HELP YOU? I've got a fucking good list of
fucking good reasons, Seravina. Are you going to let me answer your
question?" -Very- brief pause, and he adds much less harshly, keeping his
brain on the one track it desperately needs to be on right now, "Or shall
I sit here until Seishi comes up and you're blue in the face from
screaming at me?"

So many things happen so quickly. The world flashes and spins around her;
she can taste blood and bile and hatred; her voice rips up and out of her
like something gorged on broken glass and 10W-40. "Fuck /you/," she
croaks, tears spilling from her eyes as she lifts her head and crashes it
back against the floorboards, willing herself to see stars. I'll give you
reasons. I'll give you reasons enough to rue the moment your mother gave
your father a second glance. I'll hurt you. I'll /hurt/ you. Her head
feels as though it may, at any moment, explode, give way, paint the walls
and floor and Pete with gray matter. But this is grey matter crawling with
bugs. Infested with disease. Encroached with the nightmares and desires of
so many. "I should've locked the /door/," Sera says dazedly. "Should've
locked... the fuckin'... door." A mewling whimper escapes her as she
writhes beneath the beanbag, her dark eyes turning up toward Pete,
pleading, "You're /hurting/ me." Why're you making this hard? I can't
think.

Outside, sirens wail in the distance; someone must've called for an
ambulance. The boy that desperately wishes none of this were real suddenly
utters a strangled cry, clinging to Seishi, hissing, "Wha's happening?"

Kitty's remains seem to exist and then not; the tangible reek of blood in
the air dissipates, but left behind upon the car is the dent to the
grillework, the smashed headlights, the busted chrome.

The young boy shudders, pale eyes wide and both confused, joyful. Am I
dreaming? Can I wake up now? He slumps, fainting against Seishi. Other
onlookers are startled into hushed silence; the sirens fill that void,
drawing nearer.

Seishi lunges to catch the boy, throwing her arms around him to hold him
upright. "Easy," she murmurs, a little breathless--it wasn't real after
all, thank God, it wasn't real--"you're okay, easy, come on." She talks
without really hearing what she says, a rush of soft babble, half soothing
and half hysterical. Shifting her grip on the young man, she hauls him
bodily toward the open door of the empty shop, settling him down on the
front. "You'll be okay," she tells him distractedly, never mind that he's
not listening. "I need to go up--" Does this mean that Wisdom got through
to her somehow? The illusion went away. "I need to go up and tell them."

"The beanbag," says Pete calmly, voice utterly even; the part of his mind
that can /feel/ has been disconnected in order to allow him to continue -
"shouldn't be hurting you. I'm not particularly heavy, and my weight
should be distributed evenly. The only one hurting you is /you/, carrying
on like that, slamming your head against the floor." Seravina can't hurt
him with words right now, and it's quite unlikely she can hurt him with
events. Not after the one that happened outside the window. Not after
that. He's out of reach now, even out of reach of himself. "I can't let
you up, you just tried to rip out the only eye I have left, and I'm a bit
attached to it, see. Do you want to know why I think it's a lot of
bollocks, you saying you can't be helped? Do you want to know why I want
to help you, even after what just happened? Do you want to know why I
think it's worth it? Or /shall/ I wait for Seishi to come back up here?"
The same tone is used throughout - reasonable, patient, completely
unwilling to give the hell up and just die on the carpet, curled in the
fetal position. And one mind, at least, shouldn't be bothering Sera
anymore. It's Pete's autopilot running right now, his spy mode; it's a
detachment that frightens even him if he lets himself think about it,
ever. But it's always been vital to his job - and for once, it may
actually be used for the side of Good, rather than just something to let
himself kill people without feeling the remorse until after the work had
been done. And still he doesn't move from the beanbag chair on top of
Sera.

The only mind left to torment her is her own. Sera looks up at Pete
balefully, hatefully, cringingly, whimpering and whispering fragments of
phrases to herself. Lavender's blue, dilly dilly... Lavender's green. When
I am King, dilly dilly, you will be Queen. Her eyes are unfocused for now,
she murmurs softly to Pete, "Why?" Why is it worth it? Will you tell me?
Show me the light? Let me see what you're seeing so that maybe I'll know
it's worth it? She turns her head, catching site of the plastic bucket,
far across the room that's been divided by dressing screens. The bucket's
near the bed. She remembers putting it there, for him. He'd been drinking.
Oh, /God/, Ray, why? At least he wasn't dead. At least there's that. She
suddenly bursts into tears, begging, trying to get herself out from under
Pete, miserably working at this strange form of restrainment, weakness due
to the ending of hysteria not allowing her to succeed. "Let me touch you,"
Sera gasps, swallowing back her tears. "Let me hold your hand. Please?"
I'm cold. I'm alone. And I have to be strong for him and he's not here and
I'm lost and please, Pete, please don't leave me? Don't go. "Don't go,"
she whispers. "Don't." I'll be good.

The young man rests in the doorway, unconscious mind protecting itself in
denial. It was a dream. All a dream. He slumps, head lolling, seems to nod
to Seishi. Go, tell them.

Seishi hesitates, glancing back at the car and the pavement in front of
it. No blood, no broken person. Nobody's heart getting ripped out and
served to them yet again. Maybe-- Hope bubbles up and threatens to choke
her. She turns and bolts for the stairs, taking them two at a time and
plunging through the door into the apartment. She gets as far as "It
wasn't--" before she sees Pete holding Sera down and stops like cut off
with a blade, staring in noncomprehension. "What are you /doing?/" she
demands, suddenly fierce. Not quite bristling. Not quite.

"No, love," replies Pete quietly, still patiently, apologetically. "I
can't let you up until Seishi's here. Then I will, all right? But I won't
leave until it's time to." He shifts slightly in position, trying to be
even more even about weight distribution without letting go her arms,
without letting her up. And he reaches out slightly with one foot, kicking
back the untouched clove cigarette he'd pulled out years ago, then picking
it up as soon as it's close enough to. And he lights it with his hand.
"You remind me," he says, head still closed off, eye distant and
reflecting his lack of presence, "of myself. And Kitty -- my Kitty, from
my universe, not the one that fell through that portal just now -- thought
I was worth saving. Me. You're a far sight better than I ever was.
Besides, Seishi loves you enough to have asked me, a near perfect
stranger, to help you - and she's good people. She said you hadn't any
control of your powers. She said you were self-destructive. She asked if I
had any experience with either." It's at this point that he takes a
contemplative drag of the cigarette, then exhales, then looks down at Sera
with his eyebrows up. "I do. If it's in my power to help, I will. Needs
doing." Carefully, he moves the black cigarette between his fingers so
that there's a significant gap between the unlit end and his fingertips,
and holds said end out toward Sera, wordlessly questioning. And then
Seishi bursts in, and Pete continues to fail to move; he answers in the
same monitored tone, "I'm holding her down, Seishi. She attacked me, and I
didn't want to fight her. Come here, will you?" Keep an eye on her while I
get up; I'll be vulnerable for a moment.

Eyeing the clove with a hungry expression, Sera leans up the scant inch to
take a long, sweet drag, holding the smoke til she can feel her lungs
perforated and sizzling. Absurdly, she says, "You're a daisy, if you do,"
and the bluish smoke whispers from her lips, through her teeth, floats
lazily up. Other than that, all she does is turn her head to roll her eyes
back and look at Seishi somewhat blandly. I know /you/. Oh. I /know/ you.
A pause, and Sera whispers, "Promise you won't tell Ray." Promise. If he
knew. If he knew, he'd worry. Don't let anyone else worry; don't let
anyone else look at me with pity. Save me. Then, solemn and almost
childlike, she assures in a mild, doe-eyed fashion. "I'll behave, now; I
promise." I promise. She's still, not even tensed, looking, for all the
world, like someone nearly drowsing into sleep. A ragged, half-starved,
maddened and rasping someone, but all the same.

A deep frown creasing her face, Seishi edges her way around the furniture,
padding up beside the beanbag chair and looking down at the both of them
with her hands fisted by her sides. Her voice, when she speaks, is gentle,
far out of keeping with the harsh look on her face. "I won't tell anyone,
Sera-chan." She hesitates, dark eyes flicking to Pete, before she offers
in that same gentle voice, "It wasn't real. Nobody got hurt."

"I won't tell Ray," agrees Pete, also, finally getting up once Seishi's
there; one hand holding the clove up in the air, now, he picks the beanbag
chair up off of Seravina, drops it, and moves to help the girl up -
holding out that overly warm hand, wondering detachedly if even that's a
dreadful mistake but doing it anyway. His gaze still on Seravina, he
replies to Seishi matter-of-factly: "It was real enough."

Taking the proferred hand, Sera moves to get up. Her own fingers are cold,
thin, frail things that seem as though they might never have been able to
sculpt, before. How can one create with such lifeless, spindly things? She
grasps Pete's hand, seeking the warmth, begging it, moving as though she
might put her arms around him... but stops. Stops short and pulls back,
instead moving to wrap her arms around herself and shrink away. "Or
Lindsey," Sera says, looking at Pete, somewhere near pleading. Don't tell
them. I promised I'd be strong. Promised. Falling back into the
overstuffed chair, Sera curls up, all spidery length and shaking limbs,
dark eyes looking up at Seishi with a profound loss. "This can't keep
happening, Sei. Can't. I don't want to hurt people; I don't want to hurt
you," she says, a hitch in her voice. And then, to Pete, hope daring to
present itself in her voice, "D'you.. you really think you can help me?"

Seishi's expression melts into concern, and she moves after her friend,
perching on the arm of Sera's chair so that she's within arm's reach.
"We'll stop it, Sera-chan," she promises, "one way or another. That's why
I asked Wisdom to come see you. Just don't give up, okay."

"I believe I can, Seravina. And trust me, Lindsey won't hear a word about
it." We'll be too busy blowing up his place of employment for it to come
up, anyway. If Pete's even managed to wake up by then; he mightn't have.
He finally looks away from Seravina, casting about rather distractedly for
an ashtray as Seishi speaks. As soon as he finds where Seravina's is, he
moves over to ash in it, then looks up again - and now Seishi will be able
to actually take a look at his face, if she happens to. His very, very
bland face. "I've had some experience training others, even, not just me
with my own. And what I don't personally know, I can find people who will
tell me." She may just let him help, then; good. A purpose can help keep
him the hell away from introspection, from actually thinking about
anything /but/ the purpose. Keep busy. "But - yeh. That. Don't give up,
all right? Because I need your help if I'm to be of any use at all."

I can't give up. I promised I wouldn't leave him, and giving up... that
falls under the 'leaving' category. Hey cutie, goin my way? She leans
against Seishi, tears on her cheeks, glistening on the pallor of her face.
Have to make this right. I have to. A sigh, and then, "I'm not giving up.
I won't. But I'll be the first to admit this is going to be /hard/." She
swallows, roughly, and wipes at her face, pawing back wild hair. There's a
long moment, and then Sera looks up at Pete, dark eyes anguished in a face
struggling for composure, "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Seishi murmurs, putting her arm around Sera and letting the
younger woman lean... as always, small as she is, she makes a sturdy
support. "We know it's going to be rough, but we can deal with it. That's
what we do." She's speaking to Sera, but it's Pete she's watching, face
mild--uncritical, undemanding, but watching steadily. Who are you? She
doesn't even know, really. It hasn't seemed to matter much.

Funny thing is, Pete doesn't blame her at all. Condemning Seravina for
this is unthinkable; she may have meant it at the time, she may not have.
But her feelings weren't her own. "You don't have to apologize, but if you
need to, you can consider yourself forgiven. I shouldn't have gotten
nervous to begin with." He ashes again, taking a drag of the clove
cigarette - he should go, go and come back. He should go and see if he's
close to losing it; losing it here would be the worst idea yet. He can
come back when he's decided he'd be all right for her to continue being
around. Finally, his gaze meets Seishi's. She saw him break. And now
there's /nothing/, not even the animation of before, not even the nervous
control of a bit earlier. Just nothing. Speaking of dealing - someone
apparently has to.

There's a moment there where there's almost a hush, and then there's a
sizzling splash from the kitchen area; all forgotten and lonely, the
teapot's gone mad. The top of the kettle's stuck open from the furious
blast of steam, earlier, and isn't whistling, but the boiling waters
making a strange gurgling noise on the red hot burner. Sera glances toward
it, and then toward Wisdom, and says, softly, "Tea time."

Seishi wonders vaguely, "Should I get it?" but makes no move to get up
yet, arm still around Seravina. Under slightly different circumstances,
she'd be amused--is amused, in a detached sort of way--at that way that,
in the midst of all this, little household mundanities still make their
demands. It's funny, not like a joke, but funny. She looks back to Pete,
watches him a moment longer, and finally settles on noting hesitantly, "I
think we should all take a minute to try and settle, before we go any
further." It's an out if he wants one. If he needs one; hard to tell
what's going on behind such a blank look, but she can't help but make the
suggestion. Just in case.

"I've got it, I'm already up," says Pete, bending to scoop the pack of
cloves up off the floor, then hand off both the pack and the lit one to
Seravina. He starts going toward, then nearly into the kitchen - pauses at
the door. "And yeah. Settling. I'm actually going to have to go, briefly,
I've another responsibility I need to take care of. But I'll be back." As
he says 'another responsibility', his eye flickers back to look at Seishi;
there's something there this time, short-lived and practical.
Acknowledgement? Gratitude? He needs the out desperately. His promise to
return is directed completely at Seravina, reassuring and rather
terrier-like in its determination. "And listen. I hadn't foreseen needing
to stay particularly long; this /is/ unavoidable. But I will see this
through with you, all right?"

The look in his eyes reminds her. Reminds her. I loved you when we danced
in the rain. Sometimes she loves this city with a fierceness she never
knew existed within herself. Sometimes... she hates it more than can be
expressed in words. Sera shudders, closing her eyes as she takes a drag
off the clove, setting the pack aside. "Okay," she says, quiet and
subdued. "I'm not going anywhere. Except maybe in the shower." I feel...
dirty. One hand lifts to rub at her temples; she's got a splitting
headache. And no aspirin to speak of.

Seishi inclines her head to Pete, a bow in miniature, before looking to
Seravina. "Do you want me to stay? If you do, I will." She's not sure she
wants to leave Sera alone just now, but she's got no way of knowing what's
best, and doesn't say anything about her doubts.

"I... I think I really just want to go to bed," Sera says, rubbing her
face with one hand. "I won't be much conversation or anything of the
sort." She smiles toward Seishi, her face wearing, for a moment, a look of
warmth and gratitude that's shadowed by weariness. "Thank you, though,"
she says. And then looks toward Pete, saying, "Both of you."

It doesn't take Pete more than a couple of seconds to go in and turn the
water off, keeping an ear out to hear Sera's response to Seishi's offer.
In his personal opinion, someone /should/ stay here. He just knows that it
would be far too dangerous for /him/ to, right now. God knows what he'll
dream. Coming back in and catching Seravina's thanks for both Seishi and
himself, he offers a - he's supposed to smile, yes? Right, yes. He offers
a half-smile and a miniature shrug. "Don't thank me yet. I can be a right
pain in the arse."

"If you're sure," is all Seishi says on the subject of staying. She gives
Sera's shoulder a reassuring pat before she gets up from the arm of the
chair. She smooths a hand distractedly over her hair, drawing in a deep
breath and letting it out slowly. Her smile is a bit more successful than
Pete's. "You should know you don't have to thank me. I have an obligation.
Get some rest, Sera-chan."

Obligation. I'm an obligation? Was that really the right word? Sera looks
up at Seishi, undisguised confusion mingled with hurt touching her
features. She looks away, though, quickly, standing, moving to take
another drag from the clove and then crush it out. That's probably not
what she meant. She nods to both Seishi and Pete, escorting them to the
door in polite fashion. She makes a mental list of what she plans, once
they're gone. First, a shower. Second, either a massive quantity of booze,
or a call to Ray. One or the other. Most likely Ray, but booze is
definitely up there. Don't want to think. "I will," she promises, anyway.
Because she know's she'll get rest. One way or another. Exhaustion, bottom
of a bottle, however it may come; she'll reach unconsciousness in a few
hours, come hell or high water.


================================ Reports ==================================
Message: 3/3                       Posted        Author
Things that go bump...             Tue Apr 30    BH News Services
---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Emergency services were mystified when they arrived at the scene on Pilot
Street... And were told in no uncertain terms that whatever had occured
was now all but settled. Michael Governs, 17, was the only party left
after a strange accident occured on the street near what used to be
Grandmother Moon's Tea Emporium. Though his vehicle sustained some damage,
and the youth was obviously in a state of near-shock, no injuries were
reported and no bodies were found. Investigations are being handled by the
BHPD, who have lately felt pressures from escalating crime and emergency
situations.

===========================================================================