…ouch? [Wendy/John]

Perhaps he had no reason to be concerned. Perhaps he was just using someone else’s problems as a distraction from his own. He seemed to be rather keen on finding distractions lately. At the very least, he did look a little better today. The shadows were gone from under his eyes, so he had been able to sleep… if a bit fitfully. He had on another button-up shirt tonight, though this one was more plain: white and cotton, with the sleeves once again rolled up, and those two faded hemp bracelets hanging upon his left wrist. On the lower half was a pair of dark blue jeans, fashionably cut.

As he stepped into the brotherhood, he moved around a tall, bookish looking girl whom he hadn’t met before. She was offered a brief, polite smile before his eyes settled upon the object of his present concern. The reason he’d come by to begin with. Gabbie Bellamonte.

“Hey you. I was worried about you last night.”

“It does look much heavier than it is, doesn’t it?”

Then Aidan slid in behind her, looking a little more casual and a little more well rested. He glanced to the girl as well, who smiled nervously at the handsome beautiful young man before making her way to the bar. Gabriella looked up to the Fianna Kinfolk with a tired and somewhat forced smile. “Sorry about that. I was in no state to return downstairs after the conversation that took place. I felt fairly guilty about leaving you alone with just a ‘be back in a minute’ to go on.”

Meanwhile, at the bar, a tall and rail thin young man with bottle-red hair and dark clothes looked up to Wendy when she took a seat. His attire and appearance suggested something along the lighter sides of ‘goth’ or ’emo’, but the genuine and incredibly happy smile that crossed his face spoke world otherwise. “Well hello there, New Face!,” he said.

As the man walks deeper into the restaurant, the open front of the trenchcoat gathers the wind of his passage silently, exposing dress pants of simple gray and a shirt in a purple hue. A necktie hangs loose from the unbuttoned collar, its varying striped purple, plum, and gray pattern swaying slightly with each step. A small piece of polished metal flashes briefly in the light of the restaurant as he approaches the bar… A five pointed star reading C.P.D. affixed unassumingly to his belt near his hip.

Upon the deadpan expression, but one indication of his mood is shown… A cheshire smile, hinting at knowledge unspoken, yet telling nothing of its nature, dances about the otherwise untelling facade… Like rays of sunshine peeking through rain clouds.

Do you maybe serve, just juice, this late? No alcohol in it?

*she scratches the back of her neck and catches a look at the imposing man in the trench coat. She offers a quick smile..*

“Are you alright?” He spoke gently. “What happened?”

There was genuine concern on his face as he watched her, looking closely for clues in the subtle (or not so subtle) expression of emotion on her features.

She shook her head slowly in response to his asking if she was okay, or perhaps because she was still a little on the side of dumbfounded, and answered his second question with two words, spoken quietly, breathed more than anything else. “He proposed…”

Meanwhile, back at the bar, Danny Kinkaid, the fresh-faced gumby of a boy, kept up that bright smile toward Wendy when she asked for juice and nothing else. “We serve anything you like, toots! What kind of juice would you like? We have apple, orange, cranberry… Pretty much anything used to make a mix drink, we have it.” A one-page, two-sided laminated menu was taken from under the bar and slid across the counter to her. “We serve food as well, if you’re looking for a bite.” Then a thin hand swept toward the pastry bar against the wall. “And our pastries are city-known!” So he embellished a little, sue him. It was good for business.

As in… diamond ring and a white dress and isn’t it all just so romantic? And hadn’t Gabbie said that they weren’t exactly even official as a couple? Weddings and monogamy: two things that existed on an entirely different planet from Aidan Whelan. Or at least, one might assume so.

She gave him the news, and he looked at her in surprise. Silence settled between them for a few beats, and still he just…stared.

“I take it from your reaction that… this isn’t good news.” Oh, he had his own assumptions, to be sure, but at least he was going to make sure that he hadn’t wildly misinterpreted the situation before going off on some anti crazy fenrir rant.

“Coffee. Black.”

His hand slides into his back pocket to withdraw a wallet that bulged overfull with small slips of paper. In spite of the volume of information, John nonetheless withdraws several ones with the practiced speed of one adept at navigating the information overload contained within the impromptu leather filing cabinet.

With her free hand pinching at the bridge of her nose and rubbing the inner corners of her eyes, she continued after a few deep, soothing breaths. “I don’t want marriage. I don’t want the responsibilities that marriage, or being mated to someone, whatever, entails. I’m hardly prepared to be a mother, or a widow for that matter. On top of that, Lucien wouldn’t allow it, his blood’s not right.”

Beat.

“He was so heartbroken, Aidan…” The tone she used here, the way she looked at him, was almost pleading. For him to make it better, to erase last night, to take away the sudden surge of awkwardness in her life.

And Danny the Bartender winked to Wendy. “Yes ma’am.” And smiled to John. “Sure thing, Deputy.” And he was off to retrieve pastries first. When he returned a minute later he’d pour the coffee and the apple juice and serve each Kinfolk their respective beverage and foodstuff.

With a soft, empathetic sigh, he leaned across the table, one hand reaching out to touch hers – an act of reassurance and gentle affection. Not unlike the kiss to the hairline that Gabbie had given him last night. If she didn’t pull away, his fingertips would trace the delicate bone structure he found there, running across knuckles and metacarpals.

“Gabbie, you have the right to be happy. You shouldn’t feel guilty about what you want… or don’t want.”

“Detective, actually.”

That said, he nods politely to the young woman doing the heavy reading at the bar, before making his way to the stairs to the upper level of the restaurant…

It’d be ok. Right?

She’s a little slow getting out of the cab. The driver’s been worriedly watching her, hoping she wasn’t going to die or anything on him, but she’s fine. Really, she’s fine. She takes her time, and makes sure she’s steady on her feet before she starts to walk toward the door. Her hoodie has been washed – but it’s definitely seen better days, and those stains look suspiciously like they might could be blood. Along with all the ground in grime that never quite washes out. The hood is pulled down low over her face, hiding her in shadows. Her jeans are two sizes too big, taken from the donation bin at the hospital, and cinched tight at the waist with a belt under the edges of that oversized sweatshirt. She’ swimming in the clothing, and waifishly thin under them. That she’s in pain is obvious in the way she moves. Carefully. Cautiously.

She makes her way to the door, pulling it open with one hand, the other wrapped tightly around her ribs, bracing them as she moves into the restaurant. If the wingback chairs are empty – she makes her way toward one of them, otherwise, it’s to her favorite back booth, where she can hide out for a while.

“I know. I tell myself that. But… I just….” She frowned heavily because she couldn’t find the words. Normally she was so well-spoken, so eloquent, it was quite the change to see her half-in and half-out, frustrated, lost, upset, and unable to articulate correctly. This had seriously derailed her, it seemed.

A sip of coffee, taken as hazel eyes made green in the room’s lighting make their preemptory evaluation of the common room…

He listened to what she had to say, and the expression in his eyes was soft and sad. It hurt him to see her in this state.

“Gabbie…”

There was a connection between them. It might not have been what she had with Sam (at least, not what Sam had with her), but it was something. And he remembered being close to her now, in a bittersweet, nostalgic sort of way. Remembered her when she was relaxed and able to forget about all of the chains of responsibility.

She held onto his hand as if it were a tether, and he kept hold of hers as well, as he suddenly stood from his chair and swept over to lean in and wrap his arms around her in a comforting embrace. “Please don’t. Don’t torture yourself for something beyond your control.”

After waiting a short time longer, a curious brow raises…

The detective turns and starts back to the stairs to the restaurant area proper.

Yeah. Great idea, Maija. Let’s go out in public two days after leaving the hospital AMA… GREAT idea.

Wendy stammers her apologies, and Maija lifts a hand – a hand that’s trembling – to wave them off. She can’t speak yet, though. It’s all she can do to breathe, as she all but collapses into the nearest seat.

Her response was to lean her head forward and touch her forehead to his shoulder, move from grasping his hand when it left hers to holding the sleeves of his shirt instead. Her shoulders trembled, she felt like she needed to cry, needed that emotional release, but she absolutely would not. If she cried, it’d all go downhill from there, she thought.

She didn’t really answer, especially not when the girl with the thick glasses, pleated skirt, and now an addition of a textbook and two pastries, crashed into the thin and sallow looking girl in the hoodie that she’d seen around once or twice– the Kinfolk that had come up to Lukas and asked for weed that night that he was so gone from himself, so wounded, that he lashed out viciously to be left alone. Maija, the equally skinny as the librarian girl, moaned in absolute pain at the impact, but that was all that Gabbie took in.

Call it selfish if you will, but Gabriella didn’t jump up to help. Spilled danishes were spilled danishes, nothing would change that, and Danny was kind enough and business was slow enough that he’d replace them for free. Maija was injured, Gabbie was no healer, and if you asked her when no one was listening she’d say that it wasn’t very smart of her to be out and about if she was hurting that badly anyways.

So, instead, she took a deep, bracing breath and murmered to Aidan, turning her head to look blankly past his throat and to the bar, where the red-haired scarecrow of a man rushed over to the scene of the crash to be of some assistance. “I don’t know what’s next. Taggart’s missing, the pack’s all gone, everyone left.”

Her voice, even pained, is a mixture of nowhere and everywhere in accent – no real way to pinpoint where she’s from. It’s just bad, broken grammar, that could be learned anywhere.

“Ain’t yer fault.” she says again. “Was already hurt – ya ain’t done no more damage.”

He closed his eyes when she said that. When she couldn’t see his face. But said nothing. Then, slowly, he loosened his arms and let them slide away from her…almost regretfully. It wasn’t until then that he glanced behind his shoulder briefly and noticed who it was that had made such a commotion. Maija. And she looked…hurt.

His stomach tightened. Everyone around him was in pain these days, it seemed. He was torn momentarily, and if she looked his way and met his gaze, she’d see an offer in his eyes. Tell me if you need help.

Then there was Gabbie. Poor, beautiful, bedraggled creature. He walked around to her chair, putting a hand on her shoulder. “If you want to talk… we can go upstairs.” And warning be to those who knew from experience what usually happened when alone in a room with Aidan, but to his credit, he didn’t seem to be thinking of anything right now except making her feel better.

Hazel eyes drift to where a familiar figure sat, being tended by the bookish young lady he’d seen before. A curious brow raises, before the detective approaches the pair.

“Good evening”

That had gone places it shouldn’t have, the last time they were upstairs together, but tonight she just couldn’t, even if he did try sliding hands up her shirt, rubbing against her or unbuttoning her pants. She didn’t have the emotional energy left to even humor thoughts of sexual activity, regardless of the person attempting to seduce her.

But she sighed, quietly, and gathered up the cranberry-orange bread in the napkin and rose to her feet, willing to be led upstairs. “I can’t imagine what there is to be spoken about at this point…”

She waves it off again, and shakes her head slightly, a move more suggested than actually seen. “M’fine. Really.” Really.

….not…

She finally lifts her gaze to see who saw her little stumble and doesn’t exactly meet Aiden’s gaze, but sees the look, that look. She missed the one Gabi had sent her way, which is fine, all told. She just lifts a hand in a little wave toward Aiden, of the ‘m’fine, tend to your night’s date’ kinda way.

And here comes the detective. Maija don’t have the ability to be skittish as normal right now, so she don’t even try to avoid whatever conversation is about to happen. Another slow breath, and she sinks back into her chair, lifting her feet to prop them on the edge of her seat, folded up for protection as much as anything else.

“Detective.” she lifts a hand to wave at him as he joins them.

So it was, then, that the two of them would wander together up the stairs and into Gabbie’s room. And once inside, Aidan shut the door and sat with her on her bed. It would be different than the last time. Tonight… he was just there. In whatever capacity she wanted or needed. And eventually, when she fell asleep, he would watch over her for a few minutes, quietly and protectively, before making his way back out into the hallway and leaving her to her rest.

Hazel eyes become almost clinical in nature, as the man in the trench considers Maija. After a short time, he turns to the bookish young lady and nods.

“Hello… Perhaps I can help you with this.”

That said, John bends to help her out with the pastry mess.

As he picks up a larger piece and sets it on the table, his eyes move back to Maija.

“What happened?”

She’d been hopelessly optimistic to think that she might be able to get here, find a seat, and be hidden but not home for a couple hours – that a change of venue would make things ok, be more like they were last week. At the same time, it was also something she had to do.

What happened, he says, and she lifts a hand to rub against the line of her jaw, before tugging that hoodie firmly into place.

“Mugged. Las’week. Was in the hospital till couple days ago. Still got a long way t’go afore I’m in one piece again.” A rough day is an understatement. “Jus’ ain’t wanna stick at home t’night, so braved t’wild crowds.”

It’s said with the slightest hint of amusement as she glances at Wendy once more. “Danny’d likely get ya another pastry if ya want.”

“Where at? What time of day?”

Moving to take the seat across from Maija, he watches the woman flee before turning his attention back to her.

“Can you tell me specifically how it happened?”

“Will – he’s th’guy I’m shackin up with, he helped me fill out a police report. They were all fuckin’ insistent in the hospital n’shit. Was late, like 3am or some shit las’ wednesday. Got on th’wrong bus to Bronzeville, so was late gettin home. Th’bus from there to th’Green, 3 gangbangers made a move, I got off th’bus an’ ran. They ran faster’n me.”

A pause. No details of what happened next.

“When i woke up, they was gone. I got home, an’ Will called 911. 4 days in the hospital, one surgery, an a whole passel fulla broked ribs they ain’t able t’do nuthin bout, an’ here we is.”

“I know you’re afraid of something. I know having me around discomfits you.

Next time though… Go ahead and give me a phone call.”

The hazel eyed gaze is level, fixed…

“Otherwise, it might not be simple gangbangers that find you.”

It wasn’t a threat, at least, not one from John or anyone he knows. It was as though he indicated something darker… more sinister…

“Ain’t nuthin’ personal. I jus’ ain’t need a paper trail leadin to where I is. I ain’t too happy bout th’police report an’ hospital, but weren’t nuthin I could do bout it. An’ to be honest, I ain’t remembered I had ya number till much later. I was kinda outa it.”

She chews absently on her lower lip, until hitting that still healing cut and making a face. Some habits are hard to break. “I know all too good what’s out there. What’s worse is when it’s th’folks ya know. M’18 now, at least. S’maybe..”

She lifts her shoulder in a slight shrug. Maybe. Maybe he ain’t lookin no more, maybe he thinks she’s dead, maybe he’s waitin right round the corner.

Before his eyes again came the leer of the overly perfect clerk, his teeth shining white as he drained the very life from John’s skull. Then, in a moment that passes all too quickly, John finds himself back in the restaurant, seated across from Maija. The whole of the thousand-yard-stare he’d worn while reliving that past moment was gone in but an eyeblink…

But it had occurred…

Then, John shrugs…

“I’ll see what I can do to get the report moved to my jurisdiction… I’ll need to know where you were admitted and when.”

Then, John reaches into his back pocket, again retrieving the beaten up billfold with its filing cabinet of paper slips inside. He continues to speak even while pulling out several bills of varying denomination.

Not much… But it was okay for city salary.

He also withdraws another business card, his cellular telephone number listed on the back.

“Whatever the case may be, you getting mugged helps noone.”

Placing the small pile of bills and the business card on the table, he moves to stand again.

She gives the information he requests though. “I checked out AMA. They ain’t none to happy bout it, but I jus’ ain’t one t’be trapped like that. They weren’t takin no for an answer on my fillin out the paperwork no more, so had t’bail. Should still be under Maija or Jane Doe.”

She watches as he gives her money again, an’ as much as she hates it, she sure ain’t gonna turn it down, neither. At the last comment though, she snorts a very brief laugh (…ow…) “Kin say that agin.”

As for having seen ‘shit’, as you put it… I realize that. However, I don’t know what you’ve seen, and I’d prefer you not have any illusions.”

He nods, before starting toward the door once again.

“If you see Mrena, tell her I dropped by.”

With that, the detective is lost to the night beyond, the door opening to the darkness without, closing behind with little trace of his passage.

((Bedtime for me; thanks for the rp! *wave*))

And for her part – it’s time to make that painful walk home once again.