formoftherapy | (no subject)

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The door is supposed to take her to Natalie's spare room; Kite stumbles at the threshold, but keeps going. The t-shirt and sweats she wears almost fit her. Another shirt and a pair of jeans are bundled in her arms. (These are splattered with...something. Cran-apple juice, maybe?)

She heads straight for the bar, where she drops the second set of clothes off. "Bar, can you...take care of these? I don't need them back."

The clothes vanish, to be replaced by a mug of hot tea. "Thanks," she murmurs.

Her throat is still a wreck, probably will be for the next few days. She can learn to like tea for that long.

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Someone sitting at the near end of the bar turns slowly to look at her.

She almost drops the goddamn mug.

"Hi," she says.

"Sunnydale or New York?"

"New York. I don't know you, but I know who you just killed, and I'd buy you a drink for it if you did not already have one."

She grins crookedly.

"You can buy my next one.

Kite Morian, by the way," she adds.

"I went to high school with you and Tony."

"And what led you to stab Obadiah Stane to death?"

"A number of things," she says.

"The most immediate being his attempt to choke me to death.

And not too long before that, he let vampires into Tony's house that only managed to...to get you. To turn you.

And..."

High school.

"...like I said, a number of things."

"Was it the first time he tried to choke you?"

The 'to death' is notably, deliberately absent.

"Not hardly.

But you probably already guessed as much."

"The thought had occurred to me, yes. I believe my circumstanves were very like. Except that in my case, there were no helpful young ladies to rescue us, and they got to Tony before I could stop them."

"Tony rescued himself.

We were lucky, that was all."

If they had stayed at home. If they had all gone out. If they had returned earlier, or later.

If Obadiah had stopped being such a goddamn tease and just broken her neck.

"I am glad you were, then."

"What happened to your Sherlock, after?"

"I met this girl at school. A witch.

She gave him his soul back.

I had to leave right after that."

"Tony?" he guesses.

"Tony," she echoes, sipping her tea.

"He walked in, when I was...

It wouldn't have been good, me sticking around."

Softly: "I imagine not, no."

"Yeah," she whispers.

Tea is suddenly a lot less satisfying.

"Don't suppose I could get that drink now?"

"Oh, as you like," he says, opening his hand in an inviting gesture.

"Thnaks.

Bar, can I get--

Fuck it. Surprise me. Just make it strong."

A cut glass tumbler appears on the bartop; she takes a healthy first sip.

She's pretty sure there's Jaeger in this, which means a hangover tomorrow, but she can't bring herself to care.

"I would say that I'm sorry," he says,

"but at least yours is alive."

She winces.

"I know, I...I know it doesn't always turn out that way."

She knows she should be grateful. She is grateful.

It's just hard to remember right now.

"Yes. Well. I am glad that it did, in your case." He sighs. "And that your Sherlock retained his soul. I've no doubt Tony needs him."

"Yeah."

"Can I ask you something?"

"By all means, yes."

Even with permission, she still hesitates.

(It's a stupid question. And of all people to ask--

But who else is there?)

"Do you think Tony will ever forgive me?"

He shuts his eyes.

"Of course," he whispers.