Apartment Above Lukes, Friday Afternoon

[spin_kick_snap]

Kathy was prepping for Pride over the weekend. Most of the merchandise she was planning for the booth had already been boxed up at the store, but she was folding pamphlets and making bracelets out of embroidery floss and beads that she'd picked up from Hobby Lobby when she'd taken a trip over there to discuss which store was going to hand out the birth control. The bracelets all corresponded with the various Pride flags; it was like an eighth grade craft project up in here.

But it was fun and relaxing and made for nice breaks between constant pamphlet folding while still letting her feel like she was being productive. Win/win.

Comments

[vdistinctive]

"The trick will be workin' past that and doin' things anyway."

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"It was easier before I knew just how much there was to be afraid of," Kathy muttered into her sandwich.

[vdistinctive]

"Just means you're gonna be smarter going about it," Eliot said. "I'm sure you know by now that bein' brave ain't about not being afraid."

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"No, but sometimes I'm pretty sure it's about being stupid," Kathy said ruefully. "I went patrolling for demons the other day, did I mention that?"

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Eliot frowned slightly. "No. Did you find any?"

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"Yeah," Kathy said. "They're rife in Limbo City."

Beat.

"I wasn't alone."

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"Limbo City's where Dante's from, right?" Eliot wondered if he was reading a defensiveness into her tone. "How'd it go?"

She didn't seem injured -- and clearly wasn't dead -- so he was willing to bet they'd won.

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That was one of the many emotions in the cocktail that was Kathy right now. Defensiveness at her choice to go patrolling. Ruefulness. Anger. A smidgen of pride. Worry he'd disapprove. Frustration that anyone got to.

It was complicated.

"Yeah," Kathy said. "The place with the cops." She figured he'd remember the time she walked into Luke's and burst into tears. "Well, not so many cops anymore. A lot of them were working for Mundus, the Demon King."

She took a bite of her sandwich, teeth snapping shut over the bread and pears. "It went...well?" she said, chewing quickly. "I killed a few things while Dante hung back and watched."

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Eliot nodded. "Good." Like he was going to judge anyone for killing things. "Sounds like it was a decent time."

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"Except for how I spent the whole morning leading up to it freaking out, then the fighting in this haze of, like, joy, and then broke down the minute it was all over and threw up and cried all over Dante," Kathy said, lip curling at her own ridiculousness.

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Eliot winced sympathetically. "That the first time you've fought to the death since. . . ?"

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Kathy shook her head. "I was there when Dante fought Mundus and Limbo crashed into the real world, letting all the demons free," she said.

Oops. Hadn't she mentioned that?

"But it was, like, just a few weeks after I...got back." Six months later and she still wasn't sure how to refer to her resurrection. "I was still all messed up. But, honestly, that was the first time I really felt like my old self, I think. Hard to say. Everything was kinda foggy."

[vdistinctive]

Eliot nodded. "You were still at least partially in full-siege mode," he guessed. "Now you've had time to breath, get some space, and maybe start to feel a little safe again." He leaned back, resting his arm across the back of the couch behind her. "You know, this is all perfectly normal. Even if you hadn't been killed, back home, you'd likely still be experiencing stuff like this. A lot of soldiers do."

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"Then why do I still want to do it?" Kathy asked, temper flaring. "With everything it cost me, with everything I put everyone else through, why am I still so selfish as to still love doing it so much? Why can't I learn?!"

[vdistinctive]

Eliot sighed and looked away. There was too much to unpack in all that that he wasn't qualified to tackle, and it took him awhile to respond. When he finally spoke, it was quiet, the kind of even, steady tone he only used when a subject was hitting too close to his own cold past.

"What exactly do you think you shoulda learned?"

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Like father, like daughter?

"Not to do stuff like that again," Kathy snapped, not frustrated at the question but herself for being so...so...so her. "To not want to do it! I should be sitting in my house, grateful that I don't have to patrol anymore, not leaping on the first opportunity to do it that I'm handed!"

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Eliot raised an eyebrow. "You're not an addict, Kathy. And even if you were, would you get mad at a recovering alcoholic for still wantin' a beer, even if they know it ain't good for 'em?"

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"For wanting?" Kathy asked. "No. But for taking it? Maybe?"

Look, hadn't you realized yet that she wasn't a very nice person, Eliot?

[vdistinctive]

Eliot nodded, looking away again. "Let's try it this way. You know why I never use a gun?"

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"Because they make it too easy to kill," Kathy said. "It's distant and you can say you're not killing anyone, you're just pulling the trigger?"

[vdistinctive]

"All that's true," Eliot said, looking down at his hands. "But it ain't the most important reason." He took a deep breath, buying himself a moment to work out how much he needed to tell her to get the message home, without forever destroying how she saw him. "I don't use guns because using one is how I hit rock bottom."

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"On--on yourself?" Kathy asked, even though she knew it wasn't.

[vdistinctive]

"No."

Eliot let that hang in the air a moment, then took another deep breath. "So I got rid of my guns. Promised myself I'd never use one on anyone again, and -- well, I've almost managed to keep that promise. But even with that, even having to relearn how to do every part of my job, I never stopped fighting. I wouldn't be me if I did."

He finally looked over at Kathy. "You hit your rock-bottom. And it was deeper and lower than any I've ever seen anyone come back from. But you did. You are. Way I see it, you've gotta figure out what your gun is. 'Cause I gotta say, I don't think it's killing demons, or enjoying doing it. I'm pretty sure that part's just . . . you."

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Kathy scootched forward, letting her foot knock into his. She wasn't sure how much personal space he needed atfer that--sometimes she needed tight hugs and other times she needed whole football fields of distance. The idea that Eliot had killed someone was nothing new to her and she'd left that moral high ground behind almost a year ago. He probably hadn't eaten whomever he'd killed afterwards.

"Don't I kinda owe it to everyone else to not do that, though?" she asked, less angry now but tired. "There's a reason one of those twelve steps is asking forgiveness from the people you've hurt before. Wouldn't you be happier, breathe easier if you knew I'd never chased something over a rooftop ever again?"

[vdistinctive]

"You're not an addict," Eliot said again. He shifted closer to her on the couch, stretching his arm along the back of it again. "Darlin', I'm going to worry about you even if all you ever do is go out and . . . become an accountant or something." That was the most boring, plebian job he could think of, yes. "But I'm gonna be happier about you doin' things that make you happy." He tilted his head, giving her a knowing look. "You think if I was lookin' for a life full of peaceful people who never put themselves in danger, I'd be livin' with Hardison and Parker?"