Time. Fluid and ever-changing, all depending on the mood and needs of the one observing the passage of it. Like how the last hour before clocking out drags on forever, but with anything fun, hours pass like seconds.

Time had indeed passed.

Seated on the scooter, just after a shift in Rick's shop, she contemplated that while cursing the sudden chill. Helmet and rain slicker, clothing clashing with the tattooed/pierced/green-haired look. Professional, respectable. A blouse/chemise combo over a pencil skirt and leggings, dark toned flats and a jacket to match. Rain sucked ***, sometimes.

The engine purred quietly as she let it warm, spending some time in thought. Two jobs, both fairly distinctive in their relative peacefulness. A wardrobe that most wouldn't look askance to. Over two months, clean and sober, and healing old wounds she'd neglected or forgotten. More meat on her bones, though nobody would ever call her chunky.

Nothing personal beyond hi, hello, and how are you today.

Nights, she went to Sunny Side, ate, listened to Bessy prattle about the events of the day, did some yoga or swam, and slept. Sometimes with tears, sometimes without. And it built, bit by bit, every single day. The urge to do something cathartic, and crazy, most likely regretable.

Still under the awning, hearing the faint rattle of water on oiled canvas, Tanya muttered as she slipped the helmet off, emerald hair in a tight braid. Apropos. Fishing around in her purse, she yanked out the simple phone and hit one of three numbers she had on speed-dial.

Ring.

Ring.

"C'mon, c'mon ... please pick up. Please."

Ring.

"Please, Cris. Pick up the phone."

Now this was a quandry. Dockside had its fair share of dives, but . . . "So . . . where did you want to go?"

Half shake of his head. "This was your idea. I'd very little in the way of plans. I think what you'd like to drink and the potency therein will dictate where we end up."

"Oh. Well . . . " She gave the notion some thought. "****, dude, I dunno. I really thought I'd have a chance to go change or something, make a decent run at it." She looked down at her working attire through the clear plastic of the rain slicker. "Feel kinda frumpy, y'know?"

Snorting, "One of the first ways you'll lose yourself is by allowing comfort to seep into what you're doing. If you're comfortable, you'll want to continue. That and---I was already, slightly, in this neighborhood. I thought it pointless to wait."

She'll grant him that one. "Okay, good point. Fine. But let's avoid the Inn still, okay? I haven't made that introduction yet." Nor will she. Ever. If she has a say on it.

"What introduction?" Glancing aside to her vehicle. "It's your choice where we go, Tanya. I'll follow."

"The one where I go up and say 'hi, in another reality, I popped out of you'." She looked to the scooter as well. "Let's go to the marketplace then. There's some shops there where we shouldn't get into trouble. Wait . . . " She'd almost sat again, and looked up at him. "That one Chinese place you like. Do they sell alcohol?"

"Does that trouble you still?" An absurd question, when he thought about it. Learning there was an alternate version of himself in existence had been difficult to digest enough on its own. Brows rose when he looked back to her. "They've a few, yes."

"That sound good, then? We can get some food too." A sudden thought tickled her into half a grin. "No date, though."

"Certainly," snorting. "Yes, yes. Not a date."

"Date would be weird, right?" Starting up the scooter's quiet hum, she sat and flipped up the kickstand, slipping on the helmet and waiting.

"It would put an unnecessary and an awkward pressure to perform upon me that I would be unable to fulfill." He took his place behind her on the vehicle, ready to loop his arms around her waist when they took off. "That's not to say I don't find you attractive, because you are. But I need not explain this."

Some part of her still saw that apparition in the mirror, if the shake of the helmet's any indication. "Right. Okay, hold on." She twisted the throttle, starting off slow due to the slick roads, and puttered on. This time, she knew the way.

Left hand gripped right wrist and the lock rested where a belt buckle would, if she wore one. He leaned into the curve of her spine to avoid the kick back of the wind. Even though the rain did not hit him, the cold would.

At the very least, the scooter covered up the murmur she let slip. First off, slickers did nothing to keep your legs warm, obviously. That's what the leggings were for, and they did a half-assed job at best. Thankfully, the ride proved a short jaunt from the docks at any rate. Pulling to a stop, she paused to let him get his footing, then popped the storage hatch to find the chain.

Thankfully, with his own vehicle safely tucked away beside his apartment, he'd once again grown used to dismounting bikes. Breaking free of her, he stood and ran a hand through his hair that he didn't need to. "You've decided what you'd like?"

Once she'd secured the scooter, she spent a moment shaking out the slicker, and tucking it away with the helmet. "For food? Not yet, I never did get a look at the full menu. But, let's just stick to a beer or two, okay? Unless you've got another preference here you'd rather show me."

"I do. You've drunk sake before, yes?" Forearm pressed to the restaurant's door, when he stepped in, a sigh of salt and oil scented air rushed out to greet them. "Mijiu is like that."

"No, can't say that I have. What's it like?" Oh, that smelled heavenly. Picking up a menu, she started perusing the selections, jacket over her arm.

"Slightly sweet, but it bites all the way down." He called out something in easy Mandarin and slid into the booth he normally used. Two in from the door. Three of the seven remaining booths were occupied. There was a low level of chatter to fill the room. He sat first.

"Wish I could do that without cheating." Settling into the opposite seat, she set the jacket down, and unbuttoned her blouse further. The chemise underneath was solid cotton, keeping most everything well hidden. "Any suggestions as to what to go with it? I was thinking about some shrimp and crab or something like that."

"The decision is yours. One can't go wrong when one orders Chinese." He straightened the obligatory Zodiac placemat and folded his arms along the table.

"I've had a few iffy choices." There it was. "Seafood delight. And what was that you said, to drink?"

"Mijiu. You'll want it warm." Looking aside. There was a clatter of metal, a rush, and a shout in Mandarin from the kitchen.

"Warm?" It wouldn't be the first thing she'd had warm. "Okay. What was that?"

"Warm," repeating. "The Leungs, infrequently, attempt to employ help, but it rarely works out. It's either that or their cat startled someone."

She shook her head again, making sure she got the right number for her food choice. "Still wish I could do that without cheating. So, what'cha been up to? It's been a while."

"Speak Mandarin?" guessing. "You could, you know. If you'd like to. It's a difficult language and it requires dedication. I've been busy enough." A short, near answer. But there was an elderly woman bustling toward their table with a bright smile that thinned her eyes to nothing. She held a pad and a pencil in her strong, age speckled hands.

A bow accompanied her first words. Then she pointed the eraser at Tanya, looking at Cris as she spoke again.

"On top of the three I already know?" She looked blankly at the words, then turned slightly to speak under her breath. "What'd she say?"

Whatever she'd said, there was strain around his eyes. A few fingers lifted to Tanya, hoping she'd wait. He chuckled, cleared his throat, and put in his own order first. Then a pointed look across the table. Your turn.

Oh, great. Now she was johnny on the spot. "Ummm ... this one here, the seafood delight? With . . . fried rice, aaaand . . . miiju. Please." Hopefully, she didn't butcher that all up.

The woman hummed delightfully and her next few sentences repeated the word mijiu four times. She asked him one last question, to which he responded, before she turned and headed back to the kitchen to shout their order. "She said---that you look different than the last blue haired girl I brought here."

"You have a habit of finding blue-haired girls to bring here?" Tattoos, nose and lip piercing, ears, and the bright green hair, she certainly hoped she looked different.

"Ah---no. There was only one." The beverages came first. Tea in a small, silver pot with a cup; and Tanya's mijiu in a bottle the size of a small soda, with a petite vessel beside it.

"You aren't having any?" Totally unsure about the protocol involved with this, she looked down at the drinks, then up at him. What do I do here clearly written on her face.

"No. I abuse their supply of tea when I can." He filled his cup, looking up at her. "You pour enough for one swallow."

"So . . . it's like a shot?" That was something she was familiar with. "Should I have gotten water to go with it?"

"Angel's mercy, no. It'd be disrespectful to the alcohol." He reached for the bottle, warm to the touch, and set it against her cup. "You take it slow. It's rather strong."

"I meant as a chaser afterward, sorry . . . " She blushed, a little sheepish, and took the 'thimble' in her hand. Carefully, she poured in enough miiju to fill it half way. Baby steps. "I usually just stuck with the stuff I'd find in you-know-who's stashes. Vodka, whiskey, scotch. Those kinds of things."

"I know what you mean, but what I said stands. If you drink this, you will not dumb it down. You'll remember it."

That wasn't making her feel better, but she asked for it. "Okay." Deep breath. Two. "Cane's a jerk." Gulp.

He tried to hide his laugh, but he wasn't too successful. But he kept it short. With a duck of his head, and the release of his cup. "Is he, now? Why, I spoke to a girl last night that seemed rather fond of him."

Her eyes watered, just a little, and she made a face. It had certainly been a moment or three since she'd had anything like this. "****, dude ... I mean, yeah. He is. Sure, I was being bitchy, because hey, anyone would if someone got all up in your personal space and touched your ink."

His smile had yet to die. "In his defense, he and I share the same---realm of existence. His kind and mine work rather closely alongside one another. He's used to tattoos, Marks, ink. Et cetera. When did he do this?"

Pouring herself another half-swallow, she looked up. "Huh? Oh, no. Wasn't him. Was that one creepy looking shaved dude. Had blood all over him.

"He came right up, slicker than ****, and was all 'I know this' while he was touching my wrist here." She showed the falcata, and the family crest there. "You know, kind of like how Izumi 'knows' it. Totally creeped me out. So I said something to Cane about hoping they'd never done anything, because I was afraid of catching something. He took offense." Gulp. The second taste definitely had merit, and didn't burn quite so bad.

Lift of his chin. "Salvador. Rightly so. Your caution is well placed." He watched from over his cup, keeping count as he listened. "You will run into individuals here who will know your parents, Tanya. Unless you've the desire to leave town, you must try to discover some way to accept that."

"Well, yeah, but if they're all gonna come up and do that, hell with it. I'll catch a bus somewhere. I mean, he had blood all over him, what was I supposed to think?"

"That he's supremely unhinged and more than a little dangerous. Because he's both."

"Okay, so why did Cane get all pissy and look at me like he'd stepped in something?" That was the raw, scraped, emotional point of this. She'd opened up to someone, and they kicked her to the curb for it.

"Perhaps he thought you meant something else. As far as I've experienced, in this town at least, homosexuality is more than simply accepted, it's encouraged in some places." Setting his cup down, "The same is not true everywhere."

"Dude, I don't care who or what gets your rocks off. That was just a little too close to home, though, if you know what I mean." She pondered another, but decided to wait until the food arrived. "Is this going to stay warm, or will they reheat it?"

"You know what you mean, Tanya. That does not mean others do." Shrugging, "But that's simply my assumption. I really don't know." A glance to her bottle. "They'll reheat it if you ask."

Perhaps it was the bite of the alcohol, perhaps it was some festering remnant of discomfort by all that had happened, or didn't happen, that night. She looked sullen. "I apologized . . . and guess what? I've been the one miserable ever since." Like a pin-struck balloon, the ire drained quickly. "And I'm probably assuming that Cane knows every little fucking detail. I'm bad about that."

"Apologizing is all you can do in such a situation. From there, the matter is out of your hands. I know that it doesn't---really feel any better. But there's very little pressure remaning." He sat back when Mrs. Leung arrived with appetizers, a plate each of dumplings and rangoons. Nodding his thanks, he looked back to Tanya. "Perhaps if you explained this to him yourself?"

Thinking about that, she eyed the food, picked up a rangoon, and savaged it with her teeth. "Oh sure, that'll go over well. How do you explain to someone that there's not enough degrees of separation?" This time, she downed a full 'swallow' of the wine, grimacing a bit less.

"By sticking to the part where it bothers you that he's being a douchebag after you've apologized." The mundane slang insult didn't seem to fit with the rest of the statement, or the subtle presence of his accent. "I doubt very much he dislikes you that strongly."

"I doubt he gives a **** one way or the other, really." Grousing, she tore into another rangoon, giving the small bottle the hairy eyeball. "I only saw him once after that, and he was just as smarmy and smug as anything." Grump, chew. "This would be so much easier if he didn't have that a*s."

He rolled his eyes. "All right, may I suggest we discuss something else? I'll listen to you because you are my friend but the moment we cross into male a*s territory, I'm finished. Yes?"

She flinched like she'd been hit, then brought up her hands to curl fingers in her hair. That didn't do much for the braid, but she did it anyway, gritting teeth against a growl of frustration. "Yeah, yeah. Sorry. Damn it."

Calmly, he selected a dumpling and drowned it in sauce. Two droplets splashed onto the small plate he'd been given with them. "I do not dislike Canaan. But I do not particularly like him yet either." He took a bite, then looked up. "You despise disappointing others, don't you?"

Flopping one arm flat on the table, she leaned forward with her chin cupped in a palm. "Yeah. That obvious?" Errant strands of hair curled over, and she blew a shot of breath upward. It didn't help.

"You dislike being a burden, upsetting someone, offending someone." He finished the dumpling. "It is. Yes."

"****." Picking up her chopsticks, she tried a dumpling, much the same way as he'd done to his, with much the same results. "Hate it coming the other way too, I guess."

Half smiling, he took a rangoon this time. "I wouldn't worry about it, Tanya."

"You wouldn't. I do." Picking up the bottle, she swirled the contents while staring at it. "This is gonna hurt in the morning, isn't it?"

"It will if you don't stop. Don't worry, I'm watching you."

"He offered me some of what he was drinking, that night. Did I mention that already?" Poking at a dumpling with her chopsticks.

"No, you didn't. The trick to it, really, is to be stern with yourself. That's all." Slight shift of his shoulder meant to be a shrug. "But, at the time I was cheating. I'd cigarettes to tide me over."

She moaned. "Dude, don't remind me. Rick doesn't smoke in his shop, but you can still smell it. And there's barely candles in Jaycy's place, let alone tobacco. Ever try smoking on a scooter? It's not fun."

Snorting, "No, I've never tried that. I've blown many a cigarette out, however, on rides. I doubt that I would've been able to survive abstaining from liquor without them."

"But you quit those too?" It's distracting talk, circling around the great white elephant in the room.

Lifting his chin. "So far. There's---several I know, and have met, that'd disliked the habit. They tolerated me when I needed them. I quit some time ago after a very serious discussion with a friend of mine wondering why I would knowingly harm myself. I promised her that I would stop.

"I indulge the motions every now and then, and I light them and let them burn. But for the most part---yes, I've quit."

Now she really wished they'd brought a glass of water. Her throat was growing parched, but she didn't feel up to chancing another swallow without something substantial in her stomach. Already the room felt a hair's breadth away from too warm. "You know something else I don't like, too. But, I'll say it anyway, regardless. Thanks."

This time, he smiled a little more. "You owe me nothing, Tanya. I give you my time, my company, and my aid freely." Half shake of his head. "You needn't add the pressure of repaying a debt to me to your mind."

She leveled a flat stare at him. The kind friends give when they're about to pull a smartass. "I'm still buying."

"Not particularly, but now that you mention it . . . " She tried for a speculative look, but lost it in a smile. "I'm kidding. It's not just his, it's anyone's. Seriously. Manual labor is getting old."

"It does, yes." There was a hidden euphemism in her words, the birth of his grin. Once she'd finished that cup of mijiu, he took the bottle and set it on the corner of the table furthest from her.

She almost griped. Almost. It started to twist up her face, but seemed to die off rather swiftly. "So, that's how you do it?"

"By my count, and my knowledge of how large that cup is, you've drunk about four shots worth. That is how I do it, yes. Action is only a small part. The rest is vigilance. And memory, or lack thereof, in my case."

Nodding somberly, she picked up another bite of seafood, averting her eyes from the bottle. "You practice every day? The vigilance stuff, I mean."

"I need not practice vigilance itself. It comes naturally to me now. But I know my limits." Beneath the table, he bounced his knee. "And I refuse to cross them."

"If that's the case, I wouldn't need to 'practice' yoga, but I still do." Or she does now, in any case. Scraping up the last of the rice, she set the plate aside, and looked at his portions. "You barely ate. You okay?"

"I'm fine. I don't believe you've ever seen me finish a meal before. It shouldn't be that surprising."

"I was usually fairly distracted most of the times we've shared food, y'know." She certainly had, down to a few specks of rice and trails of sauce.

A short, almost chuckle, nodding his understanding. "I've a weak appetite. It's gaining in strength lately, but I do not tend to eat very much. Thank the Angel, else I'd be broke."

"I've been talking with Jaycy about trying to find somewhere closer in town to stay." Then she held up a hand. "No, I'm not asking you to help me move again. I think I can manage, this time."

Brows rose, intrigued. "Really? Has she found anything?"

"Couple of places. Still looking for one that's not trying to scalp me for a pet deposit." This time, when she blushed, she looked sheepish. " ... I wanted a cat."

This time, his chuckle was abrupt. Surprised. "Are you to take one from Rick and Quinn?"

"I thought about it, but they all seemed pretty happy there. So I thought, maybe a kitten?"

"Do not get a persian. I will disown you as my friend if you're to get a persian." Finally, the stern set of his features and his terse delivery were good for something.

"I was thinking more about a tabby, or something. Good solid stock, but not all shaggy or anything like that."

"Thank the Angel." He sat back and folded his arms. "I've known two women that've owned just as many persians. They're a terrible, terrible breed. Bitchy and completely not worth the trouble."

"Besides, those cost money. I was just going to head to a shelter or something, make sure they've got their shots first." Picking up her tea, she cupped it in both hands and kept her eyes off of the bottle, taking a sip. "So. This wasn't bad, was it?"

In Nicholas' defense, he wasn't a persian, and he was, unfortunately, dead. He pushed those thoughts back where they belonged, fixing her with a puzzled look. "Did you think it would be?"

"If I hadn't been scared of that, I wouldn't have asked you to come with." Because he was one of the handful of people on this rock she trusted. He'd seen her at the worst.

This time, his smile was slow to grow. It started in his eyes rather than his mouth, spring green warming as if backlit by a candle. "If ever you need to do this again, you've only to call me. I can think of very little that will keep me from trying to help you."

"Jeez, there you go again, making me all weak in the knees." She was teasing, wasn't she? Had to be, with the eyeroll and grin. The mask back on, as it were.

Snorting, he rolled his eyes. "You're sitting down."

"Ahh, you know what I mean." She flipped out a hand to swat at him over the table, intending to come nowhere near close.

He was still smiling, tightened the fold of his arms like he meant to protect himself from her hand that couldn't reach him. "You need to know you've people that want to help you, that do believe in you."

"Still taking some getting used to." She'd gone somber again, but shook herself out of it soon enough. "And hey, you want to help? Find me someone with an a*s like that, without the cocksure attitude to go with it." Like that's going to happen.

"You want me to shop for a man for you," flatly, though his smile softened it to mild disbelief. "I've already enough trouble disspelling rumors that I'm gay."

"Dude, I didn't say you had to go chat him up or anything, jeez." Another eyeroll.

"Forgive me, I've a very short length of experience being a wingman. Only enough to know the term and what it means, really."

"Yeah, well . . . you're taken, or I'd return the favor." Another somber tinge, this one not fading so readily. Memories.

"Should I ever not be," he said, though the words tasted like poison and sounded wrong, "I'll know who to contact."

"If you're needing a wingman, and you try calling me for that, you'd better get ready for a fight." Then she stuck her tongue out at him, a bit braver from the alcohol.

"A fight with you, or whomever I'm hoping to sleep with?"

" . . . " For a long minute, she stared perplexed. "Please tell me you're joking. Because this?" She waved her hand at his face. "Is seriously telling me nothing. Θεά να με βοηθήσει." Without thinking, she'd slipped into her native tongue.

He blinked. "Well, either you'll get into a cat fight, of which I'll not stop. Or, you'll fight with me because you want to sleep with me instead."

Muttering, she mock-glared. "And I'll take you down hard, too. Mister angel man." She stopped her glance half-way to the bottle, then sighed, looking around for Mrs. Leung.

"I'll attribute that desire to the fact that you'd like to sleep with anyone, at the moment. In your own words." He raised his hand in what appeared to be a signal to the kitchen. They were the only patrons left, the rest of the tables had steadily emptied over the course of their conversation.

"Wouldn't fight for anyone, though." More muttering as she rose, starting toward where she a*sumed the bathrooms were. "Be right back!"

He watched her go until Mrs. Leung appeared in her place with a small clipboard holding their bill and a tray full of take-out containers. He apologized, a rueful curve to his mouth. She waved her hand, spoke something to him in return and clapped him on the shoulder, leaving her burdens behind.

She didn't take too long, as those things go, but when she saw the containers, she frowned. "Tell me you didn't pay already."

She caught him mid-scoop of one dish into one container. "I wish I couldn't." Nod of his head toward the bill still on the table.

Quick to grab, she made for the bill. "Good. I'd have to . . . okay, I wouldn't stab you. But I'd be upset."

"I wouldn't dream of causing that. Leave me a cookie, yes?" There were two on the clipboard she'd picked up.

Setting the tray back down, she left both cookies as she went to pay the tab, coming back after a moment. "Mrs. Leung smiles a lot." It's an odd expression on her face, but it didn't stop her from reaching for a cookie.

"She still finds it amusing that I've collected a strangely-hued girl. She asked before if you'd gotten it from a box. Thank you," taking the other fortune cookie. He paused in his boxing to break the seal and snap it in half to read.

Following his lead, she couldn't help cracking a smile when she read the inscription. "Don't let doubt and suspicion bar your progress."

He skimmed the small slip of paper, then crushed it in his hand. Both halves of the cookie made it into his mouth and he continued packing what was left of the food on the table.

"Not gonna tell me what yours said?" She didn't have anything left to pack, watching him at work instead.

"Sometimes they get it right, other times they do not." It could work as a fortune, even if it wasn't what the slip had said. Lo mein beef into one container, rice into another, dumplings and rangoons into the third. "Would you like to take one of these?"

"Nah, I'm good." She'd take that at face value, blame the drink, and that he'd not been false with her to her knowledge. "Still don't have a fridge to work with. And I'd rather not clutter Bessy's kitchen just yet."

"As you wish." Mrs. Leung always left a flat paper bag for him to shake out and pack the containers into. Once he had, he stood and slid out of the booth. "Thank you for buying. You did not have to. You know that, yes?"

"I know. You didn't have to take on guard duty, either. But you did." Moving out to stand as well, she reached to clumsily pat his arm, not well versed in the gesture. "You want to drive for a bit, so my head can clear?"

He wasn't exactly well versed in receiving such gesture either, so for a moment he simply stared at his arm. "Certainly. To Sunny Side?"

"No way, you don't have to drive all the way out there. How would you get back?"

"You'll be surprised to discover this, but most of my height is attributed to two long columns of muscle and bone called legs." He took three steps, looking back at her. "And lo, they work."

"I'm still not making you walk all the way back hom, Cris." From the look on her face, she wasn't kidding. "I just need a bit of air to clear things up, and I'll be fine."

"All right." He didn't mind, but he didn't want to argue either. Pressing his hand against the door, he'd let her out ahead of him.

The air was brisk indeed, and she was thankful for the jacket she put back on, and the leggings she wore. Fishing her keys out of the pocket, she popped the hatch to put her helmet on, then held them out for him to take. "Remember, you drive where you need to go. I'll get out to Sunny Side from there."

That was the problem. He hadn't anywhere pressing to be. But he offered the food for the keys. "Hold this." The scooter's engine was modest in comparison to his bike. It barely sounded like it was on, even though he could feel the vibration through his gear.