2022-04-26 - Not Broken

Afternoon finds Una out in her garden, harvesting properly-sized and reasonably well-shaped carrots from the vegetable patch down against one fence in the back. It's another beautiful day: it rained overnight, but only enough to water the plants and keep things green; now, it just means it's moist and not too damp. Perfect gardening weather, really, particularly with a jug of lemonade and a glass on a table nearby, just waiting for the redhead to take a break.

She's wearing a floppy straw hat, and hums tunelessly-- and maybe venomously; it's a thing-- as she works: if nothing else, that makes it exceptionally easy to locate her.

The quiet roar of Lola Bianca's engine is the first tip that Ravn Abildgaard is back from his shopping trip to Seattle. He's got the side car of the vintage motorcycle attached today, but for once Kitty Pryde isn't riding in it; he's using it for the goods he picked up there, most of which come in bottles. One of those bottles is tucked into the mail box of 1, Oak Avenue. Ava ordered a Jack Daniels Tennessee Honey. It's not the brand Ravn would pick up but it's not a bad one either, and he certainly didn't mind bringing it.

Then he parks the motorcycle in the driveway of Number Three, tosses his black helmet with the raven feather design on a chair on the porch, and walks around to where Una is on her knees. "Mind company for a few? Took me a while in Seattle but here I am. Not eaten by bears, either."

"I don't know," says Una, not looking up. Her phone's not in obvious evidence-- probably tucked into a pocket-- but there have been no read receipts on anything sent after her last. She hesitates, though, now: gaze focused down on her carrots, the brim of her hat making her expression hard to see. "Do I get to be treated like a child and pat on the head some more? 'Good Una, aren't you adorable. Isn't it sweet how you care about other people.'"

Ravn glances back at his bike and takes a moment; probably to decide whether now would be a really great time to just bugger off right back where he came from.

Friendship locks anxiety in a half-Nelson and wins the round. "You know -- I'm shit at expressing things. Emotions. All of it. If I fucked up I apologise. Blanket apology, no conditions. I think it's awesome you care. I don't agree with you that the danger is as great as you make it, but that doesn't mean your fear is silly."

Una probably wouldn't blame him if he did bugger off again. She exhales, the breath catching in a way that suggests she's not quite in control of her emotions, though she's clearly trying to be.

"It is silly, though. I know that. I know she's not going to die. But then my brain goes down this rabbit-hole of all the things that could go wrong and I can't stop it. I'm sorry I snapped. I just-- I hate feeling like people-- well. You know. It's fine. I know you didn't really mean it that way."

Ravn sticks his hands in his pockets. "Couple of weeks ago I ruined a karaoke bar because somebody looked at me in a way that could possibly be interpreted as flirtatious. Pretty sure Monroe didn't mean to do that either. Anxiety isn't rational."

Now's not the time for Una to tease Ravn about what he might do if someone actually flirts with him, but the thought is probably there, just for a moment: a soap-bubble of a thing that disappears as promptly as it appears, and is ignored entirely.

Una turns, adjusting her hat backwards on her head so that she can look up and aim to meet Ravn's gaze. "Yeah," she says. "It's a bitch. And people... have a habit of leaving me. Physically. Emotionally. Whatever. I can tell you all the reasons why I get anxious, but I can't stop feeling it. I hate it so much."

What the hell. It's not like the ground here is cold. Ravn plonks himself down to sit cross-legged on the lawn. Grass stains on black jeans? Hard to see anyway.

"I'm a leaver," he says. "I've done that most of my life. Just gotten up and left. Problems? Bye. Responsibility? Bye. Complications? Bye. For a long time I was happiest when no one knew my name, I was the guy they met at the bus station yesterday, did anyone even ask his name, oh well, too bad, maybe some other time. That way, if I was invisible and alone, at least it was a choice. I still feel that way a lot. I hate it, too."

Una shifts, too, though mostly it's to pretzel herself: not quite cross-legged, not quite kneeling, not quite anything, except a mess of limbs that surely can't be comfortable. At least it means she doesn't have to look over her shoulder in order to look at Ravn.

At least she's not actually crying, too.

"And I went the other extreme. Cling on to everything; if only I prove I'm good enough, care enough, people will stay. It makes me feel so stupid. Because you and I both know we're not alone, right? We're not invisible" .

"Yeah. They're both pretty silly. But that's how it is, right? Anxieties are silly. Knowing that doesn't make them go away, though." Ravn rootles in a pocket. This is the kind of talk that warrants a cigarette, and they are outdoors.

He lights it with his battered old zippo with the Abildgaard coat-of-arms. "I still feel it a lot of the time. Maybe I should just butt out. Mind my own. Not assume people want my company just because they're too polite to tell me to get lost. It's brain weasels, though. You can't prove anything like that. Either people want you, or they don't. If they do, I feel, they'll tell you. And sometimes, they tell you in stupid ways, like today. I'm honestly not very worried about Jules, not any more than I'd be about anyone who lives here any day. I'm more worried about how worried you are. Pretty sure Jules didn't realise it'd freak you out this bad, either."

Una's gaze drops to watch Ravn with his cigarette, rather as if it's easier to do that than to focus on the Dane himself: a nice distraction. "I don't understand the woods at all, and I'm sure that's part of it," she murmurs. "I know that Jules does, but I've also-- you read things. Experienced people, going off alone. Things happening. I'm afraid a lot of the time, it's just usually there's nothing so concrete to latch on to. It's stupid, and I feel stupid, and I know that everyone is petting me and trying to reassure me, and-- I hate that even more. Sometimes I wish people would just lie to me and say, yes, I'm worried too, let's be worried together, rather than making me feel stupid. But I know that would be lying, too."

Ravn shakes his head. "It's not stupid. I'd be terrified to do what she's doing -- because I don't know the woods the way she does. To her, the woods are -- well, probably safer than this town with its people eating habits. To me, the woods would probably get me killed in three days. I tell myself, people are adults. They make their choices, and I just have to accept that. Same as Brennon and her greenhouse full of Veil seeds. I wouldn't have done that. But she's an adult, and she has the right to make those choices for herself."

He offers a small smile, around drawing on the cigarette. "For what it's worth? We can be worried together. I think at least for me, I try to talk it down because I can't do anything. So I feel this need to convince myself and others everything is fine. Reality has to listen, right? If we want it hard enough, it's going to be fine."

And then a light shrug. "It doesn't work like that but there you go. One of my greatest fears is going into spaces I don't belong in. Thinking I belong there, only to find out I don't. Whenever I come over here? A part of me thinks, is today going to be the day somebody politely drags me aside to say, Ravn, dude, we appreciate it, but, you know, give us some space, maybe you could go away for a while."

"Of course she has the right to make that decision. I wasn't going to... I don't know, chain myself to her car or anything to stop her. Or Ava, either." Una doesn't particularly approve of her experimentations, either, but that's... different, somehow. Somehow.

"I wish I could do that. I don't know how to talk it down. My head is just a roller-coaster of horrible things happening to people I care about, and them walking calmly into situations that..." She presses her lips together, tightly, then shakes her head just ever so slightly. "It feels better, when I'm not the only person worried. Like I don't need to catastrophise everything as much, because there's already an understanding that it's worth some concern."

"I know it won't change that voice in your head, but... I want you to come over here. I want people to just feel like they can walk into my kitchen at any time. I will fight with Della over keeping the back door unlocked if I need to, so people always know they're welcome. I don't have to be the most popular person in Gray Harbor, but I want my kitchen to be the most popular place." She makes a face. "I understand the fear, though. I have that one too."

"Yeah. And I'll keep coming until you tell me to go away. What can we do besides not give in?" Ravn offers a small smile. "I'll be glad when Jules is back, and nothing serious happened to her. I insisted on her taking that GPS because there is reason for some concern. At least if she doesn't check in at the expected times, we should be able to tell the park rangers where to look for her. And sure, if it turns out her phone died and she's fine, she'll be mad as hell to get hunted down by them, but you know what? Sucks to be her. We let her go off alone. We're not letting her stay out there alone if we have genuine reason to think something is wrong."

He pokes at a piece of grass. "You know what terrifies me? If I'm interested in someone, and I feel like someone else is as well. I back out right there. Cede the field, so to speak. Whether it's romantic or someone maneuvering to be better friends. I walk away. Because I don't compete, I won't. Some people want you to keep proving to them who's the better friend. I won't play that game. I won't play it so much that a lot of times in my life, I've backed away so hard people think I don't like them at all. When in truth I'm trying to save them from becoming a prize in a competition for attention."

"Yeah," allows Una, after another moment. "Things can happen out there. I feel... not better, but a little more comfortable, knowing there's a way to track her, and that she knows she can get in touch with us, too."

Maybe that's enough. Just enough, anyway, to ease some of that tension that's still been hovering around her brow. "That's shitty," she says of the rest. "But... I get that. I mean, my assumption tends to be that if there is a competition, I'm going to lose, so believe me, I do get it. I don't need to be anyone's best anything; first in their thoughts. But I need to feel like I exist, that I'm in the supporting cast, at least." She tilts her chin up, gaze lifting towards Ravn. "Life would be so much easier if we could all just... say exactly what we mean. Instead of hiding our soft underbellies in fear. But I sure as shit-- I mean, most of the time. I can't do that. Even right now, I'm afraid you're going to decide I'm too much effort to be friends with, too broken, and walk away."

Ravn manages a wry little smile. "That's okay. I'm terrified you're going to claw my face off if I tell you I've kind of got a severe crush on Ariadne Scullins because I worry that so do you."

Cat. Out of bag. Damn you, Rosencrantz, for insisting that saying things is better than burying them under the kitchen floor.

He looks at his hands and at the cigarette smoke that curls away on the breeze, away from them both. "I'm badly broken too. I think most of us are. Some of us hide it better. I describe myself as a walking buffet of PTSD triggers as a joke but -- you know how it is, it's not a joke."

The way Una's breath catches at that admission may not be a promising sign, but-- "Oh."

And then she flushes. "Oh." Beat. "No-- no. I mean, yes, but not... like that. I think she's amazing, but I don't-- I'm not. No."

The cat is not dead. The cat is live and well and probably looking for scritches.

And because she's kind (okay, no: awkward and avoidant), she hastily adds, "It's not a joke. None of it. And I'm not sure there's enough therapy in the world to put me, probably any of us, back together properly."

Watch Ravn breathe out in relief.

And then half-laugh, mostly at himself. "See? This is one of those situations where my instinct is just -- yeeep, Irving likes her too, I'm just going to butt out. And that isn't necessary. Because Scullins is a big girl and even if she had two or more people liking her? She gets to pick which she likes back. And we get to still be friends because it's something we have in common -- not something to be enemies about."

And then, another small laugh. "I've tried. I mean, therapy. It didn't really work very well. In part because at the time I didn't know that this was all one thing, and seeing dead people and believing in telekinesis was another. In part because I don't really want to be fixed, if fixed means going home, running the family business and having the expected two sons -- you know, an heir and a spare."

That relief earns a crooked smile from Una; a little wry, a little (tiny, tiny bit) amused. "She does," she agrees. "And I... am the last person who would stand in anyone's way, I promise. You're safe. Go forth, be adorable together. Just... if something does happen between you, don't get so wrapped up in each other you forget your other friends, okay?" That, right there, has a more self-effacing grimace attached: not quite needy, but acknowledging, just quietly, that there's things at play even so.

"That doesn't sound like fixed to me," she adds, then; it's potentially safer ground. "That sounds miserable. For me-- well, I don't know if fixed even exists. But more functional. I'd take more functional in a heartbeat, though all of this... I'd never want to see someone who is part of this community, as a therapist, because that would be weird. But I'd also... how can you relate to someone who isn't?" So that's a no go.

Ravn looks up again, and then shakes his head. He actually shudders. "My first relationship? It was like that. She didn't want for us to spend time with others. At first I loved it. Because I'm an introvert, I like things to be quiet. After some time I started to realise -- she didn't want me to spend time with others. Because she was afraid to lose me, afraid that I might meet someone who might be competition. I don't ever want to be in a relationship again where you only go see anyone else if you do it together. If this becomes a thing? I don't want to own Scullins, and I don't want to be owned by her. And I sure as hell don't want to give up my friendships, nor expect her to give up hers."

Wry smile. "Let's not plan the wedding just yet. But I -- hope I won't fuck this up, yes. I'm pretty damned good at fucking things up, though. Thank you for not being mad. I mean, I fucked up here too. And you let me apologise. Thank you for that."

That little-- not so little-- exhale from Una? That's genuine relief, followed by a quick nod and a not-quite smile that turns up the left corner of her mouth, but never quite makes it with the rest.

"I'd be a shitty friend not to let people apologise. We all do things. Things we didn't mean the way they came across; things we didn't realise would be taken the way they were. Things. It's okay. And for the record... I hope you don't fuck this up, either. I hope it works for you both. I want you both to be happy. I want everyone around me to be happy."

"Pretty much." Ravn stubs his cigarette out and pockets the butt; he always does because birds eat them, and they're horribly bad for birds. "Everyone around us, and sometimes we forget ourselves in that. I'm not calling you out, I'm calling me out. Us out. I want to live in this place where I have friends everywhere. You look after us all a lot, kitchen cleric. Don't forget to say what you need, okay?"

That does make Una laugh, albeit ruefully. "I need none of my friends to ever leave me ever again, and unfortunately that's not something anyone can promise me, is it? But... I'll try." It requires a little more scrubbing of eyes, though it doesn't look like Una is teary, not properly.

"You presumably dropped in for a reason that was not me yelling at you?"

"Not really," Ravn says with a small smile. "I wanted to make sure you were okay after you went quiet. I also promised Jules I'd keep an eye on you, though she'll probably bury me in a shallow, unmarked grave for telling you. And I saw you sitting there in the sun and thought, well, I can go inside and put my stuff away and spend an hour worrying when is a good time, or I can walk right over and jump to it. Besides, it is a nice afternoon. I don't know shit about gardening, but if you want to tell me which bits to pull up and which bits to water, I'll give you a hand?"

Una's gaze narrows, just ever so slightly, for that reference to Jules, and the promise made. "If she kills you, I'll have to kill her," she mutters-more-than-says. "I don't need a babysitter." Still, the real moment of pique has passed, now, and in the end she rolls her eyes, gesturing towards the vegetable patch. "I'm harvesting carrots today. It's easy; I'm pretty sure even you can do it without causing any harm. C'mon. The sun's nice, and I always feel better when I have something productive and constructive to do."

"Same. Brooding is bad. Hence, reading everything in sight." Ravn grins slightly and then -- quite uncharacteristically -- offers Una's shoulder a small gloved nudge. "Don't be mad at Jules. It's not baby sitting. It's knowing that you worry and in her own, somewhat backwards way, trying to make sure you don't get left to sit alone with your worries."

Take hold of carrot, pull carrot out of ground. Even Ravn can't mess this up. "How many do we want? Just a few for tonight's supper, or the whole row?"

That nudge is uncharacteristic, and that's enough to draw Una's attention: a moment's hesitation, followed, in time, by a slow nod. "I guess," she says. "It just feels like... 'everyone pet and placate Una' and then we end up back down that road we just walked our way back from. I get it. I just..."

She just.

"Oh, all of them. I thought I'd take them down to HOPE. Della and I absolutely can't eat that many carrots."

Ravn nods. All the carrots. Commence carroticide. Check.

Then he nods. "I know that feeling. It's not true, though. It's seeing Una concerned, and wanting to remove the obstacles from the path of the person who usually runs around like a bee with its arse on fire, trying to keep the rest of us happy. And for me, personally, also -- I'm very good at telling myself to not intrude and impose. And here you are, telling me you worry that people don't want to spend time. I mean, there's some logical conclusion in there, somewhere."

"That we should both get over ourselves and acknowledge that we're not imposing or intruding, and that people do want to spend time with us?" Una's low little laugh is short-lived, but not fake. "I mean, I know it's true. Logically. I'll get there. We'll get there. I know people mean well, I think it just all falls in with my inferiority complex, and-- blah."

She pulls another carrot, peering at it, and admits, "Every so often, I feel like I'm going to pull one of these and it's going to turn out to be some carrot-mandrake root cross, and it's going to scream at me. I wouldn't put it past this garden, you know?"

"In this garden? I'm surprised we aren't fighting a small tribe of well armed raccoons and squirrels, defending their food supply." Ravn laughs softly. He too pulls up a carrot -- and for a moment he actually looks kind of amazed. It's not that he doesn't know where carrots come from. It's possibly that it's the first time the knowledge isn't theoretical.

"Inferiority complex. Yeah. I have a weird mix of that, according to one therapist I went to. Inferiority because I'm pretty sure I'm no use. And superiority because there's also a part of me that's raised to be a VIP guest, and damnit, you will treat me like one. The two tend to be somewhat in conflict, which is how I ended up with a passive aggressive disorder diagnosis: I get mad, but I direct it at myself instead."

"I feed the squirrels, these days," says Una, laughing again. "And the birds. Not so much the raccoons, though mostly because I haven't seen any. If they're out there, they're probably helping themselves, I suppose. I'm still surprised summer is holding, though."

She dusts some of the dirt off of her carrot, then adds it to the pile. They're good looking carrots: prime specimens. "Being mad at yourself never helps anything, does it? I wish it did. 'Don't get mad, get even' only works when you're able to prove yourself wrong, and... that's hard."

"Don't get mad, get even -- is not great life advice when it's yourself you're mad at, no." Ravn finds another little green-haired sucker to pull up. This is surprisingly fun. "The older I get, though, the easier it gets. When I was younger, I was constantly at war with myself, with everyone else. Now? I'm not thrilled with myself in some respects but I accept who I am. Scars, fuck-ups, issues. It's all me."

He looks up and then offers one of those little lopsided smiles. "And you know what's amazing? People here still tolerate me. I had a couple of things I kept very quiet about -- and when the cats escaped the bag? No one gave a shit, no one still gives a shit. I bloody love this town, I bloody love you people."

Gardening! It's so therapeutic! Especially when the garden itself happens to be climate controlled.

That lopsided smile earns one in return, a little brighter and a little broader. "And we-- to borrow the phrase-- bloody love you too. I do... even when I'm chafing at things, I'm still so aware that people do it because they care. Just like I do it because I care. And in this world? That's something notable. So I'll cross my fingers for it becoming easier to accept me for me, and... keep appreciating what I've got, too."

"And what we got presently, is carrots." Ravn's blue-greys sparkle with amusement. "It's okay to have boundaries, though. You don't want to be attempted talked out of your worries in a way that makes you feel like your concerns are silly. I'll probably argue with you over specific concerns that I do think are silly, but the underlying concern is not. And drawing boundaries are a big deal."

He sits back on his haunches a moment. "I've had to, a few times, too. There's been a few times somebody's decided to save me. When I've had to tell people, I don't need to be rescued. Or repaired. I'm introvert, sure, but I'm not a broken bird looking for a saviour."

"And excellent carrots they are too," agrees Una, though her expression has turned more thoughtful, and distinctly introspective, as Ravn speaks.

"That... yes," is what she concludes. "I don't need people to agree with all my concerns, but I--" An easy shrug, then. It's ground well-tread, by this point, but at least she has a better grip on why and what, and that makes all the difference.

"A little banged up," she concludes. "A little tattered in places. Full of flaws. But not broken and in need of saving. Yes-- I like that."

And the carrots? They don't mind a bit.