1329/Checking In

Checking In
Date of Scene:	07 July 2017
Location:	West Harlem - Mercy's Garage
Synopsis:	Claire and Mercy check in on each other after the debacle with Coyote. Only there's more to this meeting than checking in, there's talk of war.
Cast of Characters:	Mercy Thompson, Claire Temple
Tinyplot:	Tayaniye

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Mercy Thompson has posed:
Time passes as it is wont to do.

Not even the oddity of the astral plane can halt the passage of time. Not even the feeling of unreality for Mercy Thompson can stop the sun from rising and setting. As such, life settled back into more normal and routine patterns. The first day back the garage was opened, cleaned and worked within. Then at quitting time the coyote closed the shop down and went back inside. She slept, awoke, ate in those same varying degrees these last few days, as well. While Mercy still struggles with what happened and /all/ that is remembered, life doesn't pause to allow her to find her balance or equilibrium.

The only thing she has yet to do is reach out to Claire and by extension Yasha, or rather James. She knows she should, to see how the two are doing, but in this particular instance Mercy Thompson cries wolf. How many times she picked up her phone to text, but then chickened out. There's so much guilt riding the woman for what happened to the other three that she's struggling to figure out what to do. Where to go.

It's why she's also been pulling longer shifts at the garage. She can focus on broken cars, broken engines and broken machines, versus thoughts that circle madly. And that's what she's currently doing. She's elbow deep within the guts of a car, half concealed by the raised hood. Music drifts softly from within the garage, the notes of the song holding a specific vibe of anger to them.

Like most nights as she works the front door is locked, whereas the side garage door is open, the light spilling outward into the parking lot; a beacon bright welcome.

Claire Temple has posed:
There's no stars in New York City. No constellations under the muggy, punched-purple haze of Hell's Kitchen.

There was never anything Claire could ever see in the bleak Harlem skies of her childhood. Wishing on a star was for richer girls, luckier girls, suburban girls. You don't get starlight to guide you and follow far when you're raised in world of concrete and cement.

And yet, seeing that bit of light flaring out of Thompson's garage makes Claire think of them, if just for a brief, hopeful moment. It's not starlight, but it's something guiding her home to a place of safety. It's enough. And she takes it.

She hasn't texted. She knows she should have. She even tried, more than a few times. Especially after what just happened. Especially after what she needs to /tell/ the other woman. What she needs to know.

A text felt too thin. Too impersonal. Too pathetic.

Soft, slow footsteps prick against Mercy's unnaturally-sharp senses; a gait she's well-acquainted and familiar. Light-footed. Restless. Weary. Then comes the scent: medicine, alcohol -- lots of it, so much of it -- anxiety, panic, old tears.

Claire Temple is there. Just standing there, looking like she's wearing clothes she's slept in, a removeable cast strapped and locked over her right arm. She doesn't say anything; when Mercy looks up at her, sees her there, all the other woman can stare. Her eyes squeeze like they are trying to say an apology.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
A scuff of shoe upon pavement and a sharp scent brought upon the muggy breeze that tries valiantly to work against the heat of New York City.

Though it fails, miserably.

Either way, those two things alert the coyote to the fact that she's no longer alone. Her hand momentarily tightens upon the silver wrench that she's currently using. That grip upon the tool only loosens when she recognizes both scent and cadence of walk.

Easing out from under the hood the mechanic will pivot upon heel, her gaze moving towards the door of her garage. The silence may stretch for a few seconds longer than necessary as Mercy grapples with the sudden appearance of the nurse. Finally though, it'll be Mercy that breaks the silence. "Claire!"

"I didn't expect you here -" Begins the coyote, even as she shakes her head, that was definitely not the right thing to say there, no. "- How're you doing?" Mercy will ask, concern in voice and eyes, even as she tucks the wrench into one of the pockets of her coveralls and moves to walk towards the woman. Guilt also wars within Mercy's expression, as she takes in that cast upon arm, parses the whole of Claire's scent and that look within the other woman's eyes. Though the emotions expressed within Claire's eyes aren't seen as apologetic; not by Mercy right now. Not with the guilt coloring the coyote's perceptions of everything. "Are you okay?" Comes the mechanic's final question to the woman, though that's not her final words.

Instead, Mercy's last words are simply, "I'm /so/ sorry. If I had know -"

That she was going to be kidnapped, that they'd take Claire too, Mercy would have made sure to keep the other woman away.

Claire Temple has posed:
If not for the little tells the coyote can glean from her -- scent and sound and energy and bearing -- Claire's face could be a turned poker hand.

She's lived a life where survival and advancement come within concealed weaknesses; she's used to others breaking down around her and being their objective pillar to hold them strong. But never needing the same for herself.

Claire says nothing to Mercy's questions, Mercy's apologies, Mercy's concessions. Something squeezes her heart, and she simply steps forward.

Then, if she lets her, she reaches out to try to close the woman into a hug. It's awkward, only able to use her left arm with any real force, but it's genuine. It's almost needy in a way, the nurse who tries to give a bit of herself to everyone --

-- and never really takes back.

"Don't apologize," is her answer, and though the words may come blunt and coarse, Claire's voice is gentle. "It's fine." A pause. "It's not fine. I need to know you're OK. I need to know how you are. I need -- to know if you're willing to go to war with me."

Mercy Thompson has posed:
The two women are almost like opposites in some regards.

One's expression so closed down, while the other is quite open.

Thankfully, for Mercy, her senses give her a small window into what Claire is really feeling; otherwise the coyote might have thought she was about to lose a friend. And friends are so precious in their world.

Hugs. While others might not be able to accept hugs quite so easily Mercy can. It's part and parcel of who she is, how she was raised. Wolves, in her pack at least, aren't exactly known to be standoffish. And so, when Claire awkwardly reaches out for that one armed hug, Mercy is returning it right back. Though likely in an easier manner than the poor Nurse. Relief tinges the coyote's expression, even her tone of voice, even as she offers a weak sort of laugh at the other woman's words. Or, at the very least, those first few words. "Like you said, it's fine, it's not fine, but I'll eventually be okay."

And she will too, it's just going to take time, and the realization that Mercy will likely never quite be the same again. Which is only natural. "You? How're you really doing?" The mechanic asks, managing to squeeze that question before that last question of Claire's.

That question is enough to cause the woman to straighten, her expression questioning, sharp, "War?" Mercy repeats slowly, trying to figure out just /where/ Claire is going with this particular line of conversation. "/Of course/ I am. I'll help in any way I can, but what happened? What's going on?"

Claire Temple has posed:
Feeling that returned hug briefly closes Claire's eyes.

The smallest of breaths vents free from her lips; a weakening on all her walls, all her guarded doors. It hits her, in that brief realization: she hasn't had a friend in a long time.

"Shitty," Claire answers Mercy's question, low and honest, pulling back from the hug enough to flash a brief, humourless smile. It never comes close to touching her eyes. They ring black with telling days of chronic sleeplessness. "Really shitty."

The only salve to it is, in the insinuation of /war/, Mercy Thompson... gives Claire her help. Without even /asking/ what it is. Of course I am, she says.

Relief staggers the nurse. "I... want to ask you so many questions. About what happened. What happened to me. What -- what happened to you. What that was. But I don't know if I even have the time. I'm scared to stop. I'm scared to sit down."

Claire looks briefly down, then back up again, her dark eyes meeting Mercy's. They crease with pain at that question: what's going on.

"Yasha," is all she says. "Those guys -- those /motherfuckers/. They took him. They took him, and -- I can't. All my life, I've had things get taken away. I won't this time. I need your help. I keep --"

She blinks. Somewhere between them, tears roll free, quiet and unfussed. "Why is it I'm always begging you for your help, and you're always telling me yes?"

Mercy Thompson has posed:
Shitty - that's a better word for it. It's enough to bring an answering smile from Mercy, though her expression is much crimped and crooked than before, but still it's a smile.

That smile doesn't last long, however, when Mercy sees how the humor doesn't quite make it to Claire's own eyes. It must be serious then. Whatever it is. It must be serious.

Those questions of Claire's are quite expected, in fact they cause the coyote to nod in agreement and understanding. It's enough to cause a faint shadow of guilt to flicker across her features again; how can Mercy answer those questions of Claire's when she many of those same questions herself.

Thankfully, again for Mercy, the situation allows the mechanic to gloss over /some/ of Claire's questions. It allows Mercy to focus on the words that really matter - Yasha taken. Help needed. Hearing that the coyote's expression turns grim, her mouth thinning to a flat line with each word Claire speaks.

'Those guys' and then 'all her life those things she cared for taken from her' - anger flashes in the coyote's gaze. Anger for both the Winter Soldier and Claire. Anger that the world is such a terrible place still. That life is always so unfair.

That anger doesn't stop Mercy from reaching out to Claire, especially when the tears spill over. "We'll find him, Claire. I promise." States the Coyote, her voice resolute and with those words she'll offer a squeeze of her hand to Claire's shoulder to let her know she's not alone here.

That last question though, that causes Mercy's expression to turn toward another crooked smile, "Because -" She begins, "- we're friends and no matter what, friends help each other out."

Claire Temple has posed:
Whether it's those sharp, resolute words, or that squeeze on her shoulder, or both -- it helps Claire.

It helps significantly. Whatever she can say of her life as it is, bereft and scarce and in some indeterminate stasis -- put on hold as she tries to help her neighbourhood and world around her --

Claire can say she has a friend. One willing to put up some extreme stakes. One who guided her through a dreaming she still has to tell herself was true. One she decides she trusts.

Her own arm bends up to cover Mercy's hand with her own. "Someday," Claire promises wearily, "I'm actually going to pay back this racking debt I owe you." Her next smile, still wan, at least comes more sincere.

But the woman wets her lips, and with another breath, forgets her needless tears and finds in herself a new well of strength. Much of it thanks to Mercy. "But thanks. Seriously. Tomorrow, then, I'm going to take you to a bunch of people you need to meet. People who may else be putting hands into this -- this whatever it is. They may call it a rescue. I think, for me, for you, for what we saw... it's war."

Claire's tears are no more. Dried over into a quiet look of conviction. "Got any more beer? I'll tell you everything I know."

Mercy Thompson has posed:
There's that word again.

War.

So many heavy connotations with that word.

Still, it's likely the truth. Claire and Mercy will likely be the most naive ones there. Seen so much, but so little when it all comes down to it.

War indeed.

"You owe me nothing." Are Mercy's quick words to the speak of debt; or perhaps their mutual debt zeroes it all out? Mercy definitely feels she owes a debt to Claire, Bucky and Loki for all that happened upon within that dreaming realm.

"And yes, I have beer. Come on, let's go grab a few bottles and you can tell me everything."

And just like that Mercy leads the two past the work benches, the tools, the cabinets and inside to her kitchen, where beer and food will be found for both of them. Enough to get Claire through the telling of her story and then some.