bannion_sight | (no subject)

(no subject)

It's almost true winter, even if it is only November. The dark branches of now-leafless trees are lined with the same snow that covers the ground, blanketing Toronto in a clean and shining white.

Here in Nathan Philips Square, however, lawyers and civil servants have much less appreciation for the pristine and icy beauty as they pick their way carefully over slippery sidewalks. City Hall at lunchtime is a busy place, as is the Mackenzie King Dining Room on the far side.

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It's not surprising to see snow in Toronto in November. In fact, it'd be more surprising not to see it.

It's annoying as hell, though, Dave thinks, maneuvering his way towards the restaurant entrance. Especially when you're wearing nice leather shoes and what is, in fact, a very snazzy suit - and it looks as if you're already late.

Even though Dave might not have noticed the trio at one of the tables, at least one of them has noticed him.

And Kevin Laine is more than aware of the suit's snazziness.

"Dave, when did you get the time to snag a new suit?"

Ragging Dave is apparently also on the list of things to do today. That never gets old.

Dave veers in the direction of the trio at the table.

"Hi, everyone," he says, slightly sheepish.

The old Dave would have scowled at Kevin's comment, and hunched his shoulders. The New Dave (as he imagines himself) eyes Kevin's jacket, and says, airily, "Last week. Can't wear the same old jackets all year, can I?"

"A deep truth."

Kevin grins easily, leaning back in his chair. Sparring with Dave almost makes up for the tediousness of studying for the Bar exam.

"If that's a three piece suit my image of you is going to be irrevocably shattered."

Best to warn about these things ahead of time, honestly.

Wordlessly, Dave unbuttons his overcoat.

Beneath: a shattering navy vest.

"Angels and minsters of grace defend us!"

Kevin sketches a hasty sign of the cross with his left hand, given that the right is occupied by making the sign against evil.

It has no effect on Dave.

Paul, however, laughs, causing Kevin's grin to broaden.

"Actually it looks very nice."

He pauses, looking innocent.

"Why didn't you buy it in your size?"

Laughing, Kim shoves playfully at Kevin's arm.

"Oh, Kev, give him a break!" Turning away from him, she adds, "It is nice, Dave, and it fits perfectly-- you look great."

Her smile turns mischievous as she finishes,

"Kevin's just jealous because he's feeling scruffy and underdressed."

Hey! Kevin resem---

"I am not!"

He adopts a tone of exaggerated gravitas.

"I am simply giving my buddy a hard time."

Then all solemnity falls away, and he looks almost plaintive.

Almost.

"If I can't tease Dave, who can I tease?"

"It's okay," Dave says, kindly. Looking down at Kevin, who is rather significantly shorter than he is.

"I'm tough. I can take it."

He grins at Kim, and then looks back at Kevin. Who is still shorter than he is.

But Dave isn't thinking about the height difference, exactly. What he's thinking about now is Kevin Laine's face - his face seven months before, in a room at the Park Plaza Hotel. His face, as he swore an oath, looking down at the wreckage of a woman, the wreckage of Jennifer, on the floor.

To this I will make reply although he be a god and it mean my death.

Dave's less sensitive these days, it's true. His time in Fionavar has done a lot for him.

But Kevin, especially, gets a little latitude - Kevin, who used to be the most jarring thorn in Dave's side.

Because even though three-quarters of the time his words jab without meaning it, and sometimes hurt like hell - well. When he gets them right, he gets them right.

"All right," she says, very softly. She is who she is, and more than she was once, and in any case it's not that hard to know what Dave must be thinking now.

Kim's bright smile has faded into something more solemn as she shoves her cloud-white hair back from her face, impatiently.

"Come on. Let's go in. We have things to talk about."

And if she gives the ring on her finger a quick glance as she looks from it to the door, likely only Paul will know the reason why.

Paul intercepts the gaze, all laughter gone from his face.

And by the time Kim looks back up, he's already risen, turned to lead them through the door.

There's a space where Jennifer used to be--Kevin can see it.

He can feel it.

And good as it is to see Paul awake and aware and almost himself again--as instrumental as Fionavar was in bringing that about--it is little enough compensation for what was done to Jennifer at the hands of Rakoth Maugrim.

For in truth, there is no compensation at all for such terrible pain, and no revenge in all the worlds, not even that (especially that) sworn by Kevin himself, will ever make anything better.

But it's all he can do.

All any of them can do: Kim with her Sight, Paul the Twiceborn, and Dave, who found himself among the Dalrei--none of them have anything to offer Jennifer.

Nothing.

And as for Kevin--Kevin Laine who has nothing but himself and his all-consuming need for something he's never been able to name--he's never felt so helpless.

Kevin isn't the only one feeling helpless.

In a way, it's stronger here than it was in Milliways. There, there was Raven, and Bran, and the flash of the Baelrath; there was the belief that there was something for them to learn, a purpose in them being there. A belief that was eventually validated.

Here - here, there is only the helplessness. Helplessness, and waiting, and Paul - Paul is not a patient man.

He is silent, as the waitresses come and take their orders. Restraining himself. Silent, until they are alone at the table, and then he looks at Kim, and says only, "Well?"

"Stop it. Just stop."

Kim both looks and sounds irritated, now.

"If something happens, I'll tell you."

And you should know that, she almost adds, but doesn't. Not all of those at this table know of the place between worlds that the two of them have visited, while they've all been waiting.

She stabs a fork into the salad in front of her with unnecessary force, then sets it aside.

"Stop pushing me, okay?"

"Hey, hey."

Kevin holds up a conciliatory hand.

"Take it easy, Kim. You have to understand how we feel. You're our only link."

"Not right now I'm not, and that's all there is to it." Kim sighs, absently turning the vellin stone -- Matt's gift -- around on her wrist as she does.

"There's a place I have to see. I have to find it, and it's not like I can control my dreaming. Wherever it is, it's in this world, that's all I know."

Her clear gray glance flicks to Paul for a long moment before she looks around at the rest of them.

"And I can't do anything else until I do. Do you think I'm enjoying this any more than you three are?"

Dave - Dave, unfortunately, does not have Kevin's way with words.

He knows it, of course. But still, he can't seem to stop himself from saying the wrong thing at the wrong time - for example: now.

Confused: "Can't you send us back?"

"I am not a goddamned subway system!" Kim snaps at him. "I got us out because the Baelrath flared, for some reason. I'm not a trained seal, I can't do it on command."

No matter what Bran Davies might have thought.

Kevin sags in his chair, foot tapping almost moodily.

"Which means we're stuck here."

"Unless Loren comes for us," Dave amends.

It's a little gruff, because he's feeling a little stupid. Of course, if Kim could send them back, she would have done it already.

He's only just now realized that part of him has been thinking that, you know, they'd be going back to Fionavar after he passed the bar exam.

But Paul's already shaking his head.

"He won't," he says, quietly.

Dave frowns at Paul.

He knows Paul is probably smarter than him. He doesn't like having his face rubbed in it.

"Why?"

"Loren's been playing hands-off, I think," Paul answers, his voice matter-of-fact.

He's given this a fair amount of thought. He's had time to do it in, since they got back from Milliways.

"He set things in motion, but he's leaving it up to us now - us and some of the others."

Kim is nodding, while Paul speaks.

"He put a thread in the loom," she murmurs, "but he won't weave this tapestry."

She exchanges a quick glance with Paul.

"But why?"

The frustration is clear in Dave's voice.

"He needs us - or at least Kim and Paul," he amends, although without much bitterness.

He's okay, now, without being all that special, when it comes to mystical burdens of power. He's fine with his axe. He likes his axe.

"Why won't he come for us?"

"Because of Jennifer," Paul answers; and it stops all conversation for a moment, including the words in his own throat.

Because of Jennifer.

"He thinks we've suffered enough," he adds, finally. "He won't impose anymore."

Because of Jennifer.

Eventually Kevin clears his throat, and tries to get back to business.

"As I understand it, though, whatever happens in Fionavar is going to be reflected here and in the other worlds too, wherever they are. Isn't that true?"

Some part of him is still hoping the answer to that is 'no'.

It's a very small part, by now.

"Yes."

Simply said, and with a quiet weight of calm that is unusual for Kim save when treating patients-- but not at all unusual for the Seer of Brennin.

"It is true. Not immediately, perhaps-- but if Rakoth takes dominion in Fionavar, he takes dominion everywhere."

Each word is as clear as her bright gray gaze, which moves to each of them in turn.

"There is only one Tapestry."

"Even so," Paul adds, before anyone has time to protest further, "we have to do it on our own. Loren won't demand it. If the four of us want to go back, we'll have to find a way ourselves."

Paul is clearly cracked.

"The four of us?"

He looks to Kim.

Surely someone has to have a better answer than that.

Surely.

"I don't know."

It's a whisper, no louder than that, for Kim can't choke the words out past the tightness in her throat. She looks away from them down at her hands, at the ring on her finger, which blurs as hot tears fill her eyes.

"I just don't know. She-- she won't see you, any of you. She never goes out of the house. She talks to me about work and the weather, and the news, and she's-- she's--"

"She's going ahead with it," says Paul.

His tone is expressionless; and in his head, the memory a cheerful voice: Also there is a baby, I think. You should hold it, perhaps.

A cheerful voice, and a baby doll - plastic, charred and burned.

Consider it practice.

Oh, Jennifer.

Golden she had been, from inside the sorrow.

Kevin will not forget that, not in all the days of his life.

Oh, Jen.

Kim nods, looking up directly at Paul.

"She is."

"All right," Paul says, abruptly; and rises from the table.

"All right. It's my turn now."

Arrow of the God.

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