tampered | Log; Complete

When; Sunday night (5/4) | 9PM
Rating; PG-13; because everyone knows how Faye's mouth works.
Characters; Gren (

notapreacher) & Faye (

glock30)
Summary; There's a difference between a few nights ago and a few months ago, but who's counting? A log in which Faye is not a lady and Gren is ambiguous as usual.
Log;

She's sitting on one of the low couches in the lobby, staring out at the street lights through the glass doors. Although not everyone in the building smokes, someone or something has thought to provide either side of her little perch with end tables and ash trays, and Faye has pulled one of them over to rest beside her on the cushion, while she smokes through her second cigarette in as many minutes.

It's not that she's early - because she isn't - and it's not that she's prompt - because she rarely ever is - and it's most certainly not because she's always a bundle of odd curiosity when Gren shows up - even though she is. Faye knows that he'll ask pointless questions and play the preacher routine and she'll get annoyed and he'll buy her a drink and that will be that will be that. Even after all this time, it's still weird, and her brain agrees with her as she sharpens her orange cherry on the lip of the ashtray.

There's a lot on her mind, but for once she isn't actively participating in it, crossing one leg over the other, tapping a boot - not white, these are black - against the leg of the sofa. A clock on the wall ticks but not as loudly as the one she's more familiar with, and Faye glances up out of habit, hoping that she'll get the chance to say to him, "You're late."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Well if he's going to pony up those sorts of reactions then she's just not going to show any generosity at all in the future. (This is bullshit. And she knows it. But that doesn't mean she has to admit it either aloud or to herself.) Faye reaches across the table to drag the plate back her way, but she doesn't finish what he left of the sandwich. She just tucks into her drink.

Faye wants to make a comment about how no one rubbed anyone in anyway, but that might be in bad taste and she doesn't know if she'll be able to keep a straight face while saying it. So she lets it lie and says instead, "Wouldn't you like to know?"

For a moment she looks beyond his shoulder, scanning the crowd. Maybe she can read his mind, who knows? But she keeps her lookout for someone as brief as possible before looking back Gren's way again. And then she does laugh. He says it so simply. "What, do you want a cookie for that decision?" Faye leans forward again, over the table, braced against her folded arms.

"No."

She already accused him once of always leaving. Maybe that's something his other self or selves here did too, but he thinks it probably is time to go now. "I'm sorry if my dying is an inconvenience for you, Faye. If you have any expectations of me, maybe you'd better tell me what they are because I don't know what you want and right now I'm too tired to guess."

The night should have gone differently, but so should the end of his life.

He's dead.

Dead.

That reality is just beginning to sink in, and it almost demands a little bit of personal space.

She starts a little and raises an eyebrow as she leans back in her chair. Because something that he said does catch with her, the bit about dying. Everyone she's ever cared about has been dead or dying. It's a serious drawback, but Faye can hardly help it: she has a thing for dead guys. When she puts it that way, however, it doesn't sound nearly as funny as it does outside of her head.

Did he actually think that she was being serious?

Faye frowns and then she pulls herself together with a scowl. She doesn't ever expect anything from anyone - except for when she does - because she's always, always disappointed. Always. "I don't," she says, simply, matter of fact, finishing her coffee. She doesn't want to act this way around Gren, but it's a defense mechanism, and she'll employ it even if it fails her.

She pushes her chair back but doesn't stand yet, under the guise of fishing out her cigarettes.

"If you don't have any expectations, Faye, stop acting like you do."

She may not stand but he does and it's not to reach over and light her cigarette. This is like Callisto all over again. The only difference here is that she's shooting at him with words instead of bullets.

It doesn't feel any better, but he ought to know better than to expect that things can ever change.

"But look on the bright side. I'm not handcuffing you to my bed this time before I go." As he turns to leave, he lets out a heavy, dead sigh.

Welcome to the City.

She gets up as soon as he does, dropping a few of the colorful coins on the table as an afterthought. This isn't how she wanted things to progress or end, but Faye isn't really in the market for knowing how men will react to her comments these days. Feeling tired, she doesn't even light her cigarette, just shoves it back into the box with little finesse and then worms her way out between the chair and the table, bumping the latter with her hip as she passes it. Faye's already on her way out without a goodbye - it's a habit she'd gotten into on the ship, but one she hasn't really had to employ around the City - her boots clicking again, when she realizes that they're going back to the same building.

She's not going to walk five steps ahead of him and have to know that he's there, and she's not going to go stay with someone else in an effort to look less like an idiot. Because she's not an idiot, and she's too proud for this shit.

And then she remembers Vicious, and she practically kicking herself in the face for all the trouble she's putting herself through for this guy. Fucking Gren and his fucking attitude and her fucking inability to move beyond her shit.

Faye 'tsks' to herself and then turns, leaning all her weight to one side, jutting her hip, crossing her arms. What's she supposed to say? Well, jokes always went over well. "Don't worry, I've got cuffs in my kitchen drawer."

It's her way of saying 'you're walking back with me, no questions allowed, move it.'

It isn't like he has anywhere else to go, anything else to see, anything else to do: hands stuffed into his trouser pockets, he shrugs and falls silently into step beside her. When they're about halfway back, he glances over at her.

"I hope you have the key to go with them."

"Somewhere," she points out, but she doesn't look up at him this time, just keeps her gaze set on the direction that they came from. There's a weird tension in her shoulders now, and she doesn't even try to shrug it off. Sometimes tension is necessary in a situation, in order to prove a point.

Not that she is, really.

"Make sure you don't lose them, Faye. I'm pretty good at getting people out of some jams but not others. I'm terrible at picking locks."

And playing poker, and getting revenge. But he won't be telling her any of those things any time soon. No, he knows now that he made an error. He misjudged Faye just as much as she misjudged him: he might look like the same person but he isn't. She's had two years of experience at this place and he's brand new.

Expecting her to be the same was a mistake, but it's one he won't make again... or with anybody else.

Not even Vicious.

But he can still be a gentleman; he opens the door for her when they get back to the apartment building and lets her in first. Whether she appreciates it or not, he'll never stop treating her like a lady.

It's something she does appreciate, by degrees. Even though it's not the first time she's been shown an action like that - as she'd thought earlier - that doesn't change the sentiment. Deep down, somewhere, underneath the hot pants and all her insisting that she is a lady, she actually could be one, the kind that doesn't mind the good sort of attention instead of the bad.

But that's not who she is right now. Right now she's just Faye. And he's opening the door for her and she's going to walk through it like she doesn't give a damn. Which she does. Flawlessly.

"Lucky for you," she says, as she passes by him, "I'm pretty damn good at picking locks." It's the truth, at least. She could pick handcuffs all day long, ditto for door locks. The only thing that gives her a hard time is her boss's filing cabinet. "So the next time you think about trying anything... don't."

His answering laugh is a little half-hearted, but it's there nonetheless. "Thanks for the date... fairy."

She hasn't even sneezed once. As she moves in the direction of her apartment, he turns and heads back toward Julia's. Hopefully he won't be disturbing anything being in this early, but she's not his mom. There wasn't even a curfew or anything.

"Take care, Faye."

She doesn't say 'likewise' or 'you, too' or even laugh. She doesn't even wave. Faye just turns and heads down the hallway on the opposite side of the building, moving toward her apartment.

When she gets to her door, she doesn't waste time in unlocking it and she doesn't look back over her shoulder. She just lets herself inside and shuts the door behind her before switching on the main light in the living room.

Well. That was brilliant.

Log; Complete

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