Locks and Good Men

Who: Pandect and Kurt
When: midday
Where: home improvement store

Kurt had swung by the house that Doc had offered up to him, to see what was what. The first thing he determined was that the place needed a couple more deadbolts. And the fridge was empty, but it was wiser to buy hardware before perishables. It was also possible that the house was fine, and he just needed to be out doing something. Either way, he was out doing something. Shopping at the home improvement store for tools and other things he probably didn't strictly need. Having a car seemed to have made him rather restless. He pushed the cart in front of him down a wide aisle, eyeing the locks with a critical gaze.

Pandect was contemplating shot guns and golf clubs, but Amy had insisted on more peaceable solutions, so he was in the same store he found the shingles at (and they were good shingles) so he figured why not trust them for locks as well. He was testing the window locks, Amy's vandal's favorite way of gaining entrance (which was frankly annoying, it would be a whole lot less hassle for whoever it was to just break the lock on the door, which reminded him, he needed to get another lock for Amy's door) for a second he had thought it was Rey (and it really, really had better not be or he was going to knock out two Delacourts with one stone or die trying) but the demon would taunt Pandect afterward. Let him know he had Pandect's number. And to confront the demon would only reveal his weak spot.

He uncrouched from the floor (where of course they put all the good window locks so he had to crawl around like a crab) and stretched.

The tall German had crouched down to examine the locks on the lower hooks when someone rose up in his peripheral vision. He looked over, though the wire mesh of his cart, and saw a familiar profile. His blue eyes widened just slightly, and he tensed, not sure what to do for a second in his surprise. It was him, the man from ... well, from the life he thought he had completely left behind, sixty years in the past. Who'd also reacted so strangely to him in the shoe store. There was no way not to be noticed in this situation, so Kurt cleared his throat and stayed where he was. "They seem to make shelves for toddlers these days," he said sardonically.

Pandect jumped about a foot sideways barking out a sharp laugh once his heart had slowed, his hand moving automatically to cover the smile and then down to adjust his coat as if that was what he had meant to do all along. It was the German from before. Kurt Peterson, his mind supplied. The man seemed wary, but then Pandect suspected that was a permanent state with the man.

"And you're even taller than I am," Pandect said by way of friendliness. He had the oddest urge to just open his wings. They were still a little sore though, and besides that would be stupid. He kept his hands where Kurt could see them and deliberately opened his posture, letting Kurt see that he wasn't a threat. Their last meeting seemed to have left quite enough of an impression on the man, Pandect didn't want to make it worse. "Um, how are you?"

Kurt noted the open posture, and appreciated it on some level. Even if it might not've been genuine. He was always wary of some sort of deception, especially with the very odd note that they'd left off on the last time. He turned his gaze back to examining the lock selection, but every other sense was focused to his right. "Doing decently enough, yourself?" he asked, giving Pandect another glance before he pulled a selection off the rack to examine more closely. He still wanted to know how it was that the man had come to be there, but didn't expect to get any better answer than he'd gotten before. Which was none.

"Well enough thank you," Pandect said politely with a careful inclination of his head. He almost wished he had a nervous tic to occupy his hands with, but nervous tics got you noticed. After a moment of literally holding his tongue with his teeth Pandect sighed and nodded towards a selection above the one Kurt had just chosen.

"Not to pry, but I think you might prefer something a little different for your front door, those tumblers can be slipped too easily. Not that any lock is above being picked, but most thieves tend to work in patterns, something a little harder, a little out of the ordinary is usually enough to dissuade a common house burgler," he cleared his throat awkwardly, about as awkward as his attempts at amiability had been he was sure.

He looked over for a moment, then back to the packaged lock he was still holding. He put it back after a second's consideration and stood up to his full height again. Crouching like that for too long played hell on his knee. He wasn't even sure he was trying to deter a common house burgler -- it wasn't as though he had a lot to steal, and his senses were keen enough even sleeping that he thought he could wave Big Iron in their face and be done with it. "What would you recommend?" he asked, looking over -- and down -- at Pandect again.

Pandect could help relaxing a little, not just for show this time, his shoulders opened and his back straightened. He moved carefully a few steps nearer to the locks and to Kurt as well, raising one hand and carefully moving his calloused fingers over the keyholes. "Your knee," he said hesitantly feeling a sudden flash of guilt at the way Kurt was moving his knee. "You didn't hurt it the other day, when we first met?"

He stopped at a lock that looked simpler than some of the others, didn't have that brassy finish, and wasn't even the most expensive lock there. But it had a good settled weight right where it should, in the center where the actual lock was. "This one will probably work best for you," his eyes canted sideways to catalog Kurt's reactions. "And you won't have to pay for a lot of shine that'll flake off in a few years anyway."

Kurt was a little surprised at the concern, but didn't let it show. It was, after all, potentially a poke at his weaknesses, to find the soft spots. "No, it's an injury from a short time back that I'm still healing from," he said, though it wasn't short or curt. It was just fact. That his knee would continue to heal, was the point. Or at least it could be to this mysterious man. He reached out to the lock that Pandect indicated, and pulled it off the shelf to look at. It seemed heavy enough, and the installation wouldn't be complex ... "A good choice," he said with a nod, and set the package into his basket. "Thank you," he added. Might as well be polite, yes?

Pandect smiled, his hand moving automatically to cover it in a smooth motion (smiles were more dangerous than most people knew, and besides, he had a dimple), "You're very welcome." He wouldn't have smiled in the first place, but his relief was immediate. Sometimes when he reached out karmically there were repercussions that he had no power to fix. That was the way of the universe, but it didn't help his guilt any, he would have felt horrible if he had caused this man who had already gone through so much any serious injury when he hadn't even meant to use his karma in the first place. "I hope it continues to heal well."

He shuffled in place a few times and grabbed his own basket. He had enough things on his mind anyway, with Reiz and Amy and Jamie and Amy's interest in Jamie. Amy's birdseed and window locks and Amy's nails and duct tape. When had he slid so far as to be doing someone else's shopping? Someone else he had met on a job? He hadn't done anyone's shopping since... It was like being hit between the eyes with a two by four. Since Kels. What an excellent place for an epiphany. He was trying to make Amy his little sister. Or perhaps himself her older brother. The tingle of blood leaving his face made him a little light headed, but he was good at sucking it up, at straightening his back and moving on. He needed to get away, he needed to go far away before she got into trouble. Before she needed him.

"Thank you," Kurt echoed to the well-wishing. It was polite habit, really, and he was much more interested in the play of emotions across Pandect's face, and the way the already-not-tanned man went even paler. He knew enough to recognize some inner-working when he saw it, and Kurt arched an interested eyebrow. None of his business, of course, but he wasn't sure he could let it just go, either. "Everything all right?" he inquired, blue eyes locked on the man's face and not going anywhere else.

Pandect opened his mouth to reply, but he seemed to have lost his English. He needed to get a handle on himself, having a mental breakdown in the middle of a home improvement store would draw attention. And it was completely useless. He scrabbled for the English in his mind until he was sure he had it. "I'll be fine," he said, his accent coming through heavily. He blinked down at his basket before he could collect himself again, he carefully rearranged his face although he could still feel all his face, the curious paleness there, he hoped his eyebrows weren't giving him away. "Have a good day."

Some times retreat was the only viable action.

Kurt's other eyebrow joined the first. Something internal had happened, and it had quite obviously shaken the man. But instead of prying -- something he never did unless very close to someone, and there'd only been one someone in years who fell into that category -- he reached into his coat and pulled out a shiny silver flask that he'd taken to carrying around, full of some pretty good vodka. Sometimes it was just needed, to settle the nerves. He offered it to Pandect with something of a sympathetic expression. "Prost," he said as a toast in his mother-tongue.

Pandect blinked himself out of his daze and looked at the bottle in Kurt's hand. He... Well... It was... Pandect took the flask and threw back a single deep drink. "Merci," he said softly, his voice not so much cracking as rasping.

"Do you...?" he closed his eyes hard, he was over Kels' death, he had been over it for a while, he had let go of the anger and the hurt. Most of it. A good part of it. "Its this town," Pandect said by way of weak explanation. "There's something about it, it pulls at people, collects them, its so hungry, Marquette, she knows just where to twist the knife. But I'm running out of things to give up," he lapsed tiredly into French. "I almost have nothing left that is my own."