2019-07-26 - Guilt and Opportunities

Alexander is on the phone. Not his cell phone, but the room phone. He looks more alert, at this point; the dosage of drugs has been steadily decreased, despite the occasional quiet entreaties from nurses who find him far more easily dealt with when he's asleep or half-conscious than when he's awake. Most of his color has returned with the transfusions, and his leg is elevated and immobilized, but (after his repeated demands) noises are being made about sending him home soon. But right now, he's sitting up in his hospital gown, and he's got the phone cradled in the crook of his neck.

"A couple of days, Ma." A pause, a sigh. "You don't work here anymore. You don't have to--no, Ma. I'll try to be nicer." A grimace. "I don't want to talk about it." A longer pause, and he closes his eyes. "No, Ma. I didn't hurt them. And I'm not hurting myself again. Promise."

After getting someone to finally tell her which room is his, or lucking down the right hallway in her search, Vivian has made her way to Alexander's room. There's a quiet knock, but before anyone could react to the knock the door is swinging open. It could be one of the nurses, everyone in hospitals has a terrible habit of not actually waiting for responses, after all.

But it's Vivian. The blonde doesn't look at all like her usual composed self. Instead she looks like she might have barely slept, and only left the hospital long enough to change clothes at some point. More jeans and a t-shirt, sneakers instead of boots, and her hair has been pulled back into a ponytail to disguise the fact she's not washed it today.

Alexander jerks when there's the knock on the door, his head coming up - which means he almost loses the handset from the phone, and there's quiet cursing as he grabs for it. Then a hasty, "No, Ma. Not at you - I didn't mean...shit." And then another wince as the voice on the other end almost gets audible. He gives Vivian a long, flat look, then says, "Sorry. I have to go. No. Just a doctor." A pause. "No, I'm not telling you which one." An exasperated sigh. "No, I'm not putting you on the phone with them. You're retired. Go be retired. I'll call later. Love you."

He hangs up, hastily, and with the air of a man who knows he's going to pay for this entire conversation at some later day. Then he turns back to Vivian, eyebrows going up. "Dr. Glass. You look like you slept here. Is Thorne all right?"

"Mister Clayton." Vivian greets, pushing the door such behind her before she moves further into the room, taking a quick assessment of him before she pulls up the chair in the room, "I did sleep here, and I'll probably continue to until everyone gets to go home."

Everyone. She says that, but she probably only means one person. "Byron is as well as can be expected, details are a little fuzzy in the retelling. Of which all he's done so far is tell me that her father is dead, and that he shot her. I was hoping you could tell me more."

Alexander looks...probably better than any of the others, to be honest. He wasn't dealing with ringflu or obsession (more than his usual obsessions), and he's had an opportunity to catch up on a lot of sleep while confined to the bed and on enough drugs to suppress his nightmares. His hair is wildly clumped, and there are bruises on his arms from his last confrontation with Isabella on the houseboat, but other than the leg, he didn't sustain any other visible injuries. He stares at her for a moment. "People don't heal faster while you're watching."

The rest is considered. He glances at the door, to make sure no nurse or other doctor is likely to be coming through. All clear. "I went looking. He wouldn't meet up with me, so I tried to provoke him into coming looking for me. Didn't work. Tracked Miss Winslow instead. Got there. They were on the bridge." His eyes close, his expression twitching briefly with the memory. He blinks twice, refocuses. "By the time I got there, the shot had already been fired. She broke his wrist, he dropped the gun. Miss Jones arrived on the other side of the bridge. Thank you for that. I subdued Thorne, she removed the ring from Miss Winslow. Miss Winslow's power is," a glance at his leg, "impressive. I dosed her. Passed out. You probably know more than me after that point."

"I'm glad that Miss Jones was able to find all of you." Vivian replies after a moment, her expression turning thoughtful before she nods, "I don't, though. Not really, other than the ring is disposed of some how, and everyone seems...No longer ring-crazed by it. Isabella came with me as soon as I got the call that everyone was in the hospital."

There is the very slightest frown, "They wouldn't let any of us into the ER when you all first arrived...It was hours of waiting before everything was settled." She nods faintly, "I'm glad that the syringes proved useful, at least. However I'm sorry that you were hurt in the process."

"So am I. She seems competent." It's toneless, but 'competent' is one of the highest complements that Alexander tends to give to people, so he's probably more grateful than he's willing to let on. His eyes flicker at the mention of Isabella, but he just jerks his head in a single, downward nod. Acknowledged, not commented on.

"Hospitals are like that. Little better than prisons. Twice as annoying." A pause. "The syringes were very useful. Thank you. And yes, the ring is...gone. In the pond, I think. Hopefully at the bottom." His jaw tightens at her last sentence, and he shrugs. "I should have expected it. I knew what she could do. Didn't know she was that strong."

"I don't think I can do anything..." Vivian probably has gone round and round about this since she learned that this was even a thing. But it's possibly a strange time to mention it. Maybe not.

"Even expecting it, I'm still sorry that you were hurt, Alexander. The risk that you took was something most of us would not have taken." She glances towards him, her expression looking very serious, "Is there anything that I can do?"

"Do anything? About my leg?" Alexander shakes his head. "It's...better than it was, than I remember it. I think someone already did. But with the police involved, better it not mysteriously heal over night. Even if you could." He shifts in his bed, his expression turning a bit sour, exasperated. "No, Dr. Glass." A longer pause as he lowers his eyes. "If not for the injury, I would have gotten rid of the gun. Do you know if it's in Thorne's name, or if he acquired it while he was," he doesn't finish the sentence, but she can easily fill in the blanks: crazed, obsessed, willing to do things like buy illegal firearms or steal them.

"Short of what the doctors have done, there isn't anything I can do for your leg. I can give you perscriptions once discharged, I'm willing to do that. It's the least that I can do." And potentially hazardous to her career, depending on what she writes them for. But then she shakes her head, "I didn't even know he had a gun, so I don't know. But judging from his reaction, I'd say there's a good chance that it is in his name." She tilts her head back, resting it against the back of her chair, "I've already called a lawyer. No one is going to be put in jail without a fight." She glances at him, "Including you."

Alexander grimaces. "God, no," he says, with a hard shake of his head. "I don't even want what they have me on now. I hate the way it makes me feel. I hate being here." A flare of irritation, anger and anxiety mixed but muted by the drugs. He runs a hand through his hair; it doesn't noticeably improve the situation up there. "Right. Well. That's not terrible. If it's legal and he's got a permit to carry." He looks up at the last, staring at her. The blankness is there, but not fast enough to hide the moment of surprise, even shock. "...you don't have to do that, Dr. Glass." A pause. "Who's been assigned to the case?"

"No idea who...there was a uniformed officer here that night, and a hispanic male, Isabella seemed to know him. They spoke briefly." Vivian shakes her head, "But who caught it? Not sure. But I've got it on good authority that the lawyer is a good one, it was a friend of a friend of my mother's...so we'll see how well they do their job." Judging by her tone it's clear that she fully expects them to do their very best. "How do you make your money, out of curiosity."

"Hispanic...ah. Captain Javier Ruiz de la Vega." Alexander says it with a sort of lilting relish. "He has a good number of names. He knows that there was a cursed object causing obsession. If you decide to tell anyone on the force the truth, it should be him or Detective Johnson. They're both," a pause, "aware of Gray Harbor. If no one presses charges, and it's clear that none of us encouraged the," his face spasms, briefly, "the suicides. Should be fine. For everyone."

The question takes him by surprise. He frowns, staring at her as if trying to decide whether to be offended or not. Eventually, he looks away, one hand playing with the buttons on the bed handrail - not enough to actually adjust the bed or call the nurse, but nervous little twitches. "Few different ways. Cases. I teach. At the college. Online classes. I track fugitives, call in tips for the reward, or hand things off to bounty hunters or cops in exchange for fees." He shrugs. "I get by."

"Aware? That's good...hopefully then he'll be able to help this all go away." Vivian seems almost relieved by that, because a lawyer can only get them so far, afterall. If no charges are filed, then it's all better. Right? Yes. Happy little bubble has been created with this news.

But she asked a question, and got an answer. "What would you say to a job with a steady income?"

Alexander's jaw sets, mulish. Now he's offended. It's clear to see, from the hardening of his expression to the curl of his fingers, trying not to bunch into fists. "I don't need your charity, Dr. Glass." It's stiff, wooden. "Thank you for the offer. I'm glad Thorne is recovering, and if I hear anything from the police regarding the disposition of the case, I'll let you know." He glances towards the door, his meaning obvious.

It might be obvious, but she's not budging from where she's sitting. "It's not charity, I'm offering you a job." Vivian shakes her head faintly, "I pay my debts, Alexander, and I paid that by making sure you've got legal protection for the risks you took. As well as permission to drive my car whenever you need. But what I need is someone that can help me navigate this town, help me when...things come up like this. I realize I should wash my hands of things and walk away, but I'm not that kind of person. I'm just going to get myself more involved as time goes on, and I'd like someone that I can rely on in a pinch."

"Then you don't want me," Alexander shoots back, his voice low, but harsh. "I'm not well liked, I have no entrance into the circles you travel, and I am increasingly aware that I don't even understand the lost places as well as I once thought I did. I couldn't predict something like the ring." He snorts, his lips twisting in self-mockery. "I couldn't even figure out Thorne was affected by it when he was right in front of me. If I'd just realized and subdued him in that damned hotel room, maybe two more people would be alive right now, and several more people wouldn't be in the goddamned hospital. Find someone competent to be your guide. Or at least find someone sane. I just want to get out of this place and go back to what I can understand."

"I couldn't even figure out Byron was affected by it and he sleeps next to me." Vivian frowns faintly, "Most nights." It seems to get her momentarily thinking, that little bit that she'd brushed aside before. But then she shakes her head, "I don't need someone that can gain access to the circles I'm already in, I can gain you entry there. Not that I actually have any circles here, here I'm no one." She shifts forward, turning her chair around so that she can face him in the bed better, "I want you to listen to me, Mister Clayton. Very carefully, because I'm only going to point out a different way this could have gone once, and make the offer one more time. If you still refuse, that'll be the end of it."

There's a moment spent watching him, waiting to see what he might do or say before she continues, "If you had not gone looking for him, for Miss Winslow, they both could be dead right along side the others. If you had figured it out, and had Byron trussed up like Isabella, then you might not have been out there that night, and Miss Winslow could be dead along side the other two. Of course, people might not be in the hospital, but that would be three dead people and the ring still out there. So I disagree with your suggestion that you are not competent. You are very competent, you are good at what you do. As for your sanity, I'm sure that you might agree I can make my own decisions about it."

"He is startlingly good at deception," Alexander admits. There's no condemnation in it; a touch of wariness, of curiosity. No praise, either, despite the words themselves. It's a piece of data added to a larger whole, which - along with the gun - perhaps Alexander has not yet decided how to process. But it's clear it interests him, and it interests him enough that it momentarily distracts him from that prideful snitfit.

But when she moves the chair to face him, his spine stiffens and shoulders square again, ready to face off with her. His unwillingness to consider the offer of employment is clear in every line of his body, a mix of indignation and fear clear on his face, whether he wants it to be read there or not. "You don't understand. I don't want you to rely on me. I will fail you. I won't want to, but eventually I will flip out, or get lost, or just fail. And it will hurt. It will hurt you, and it will hurt me. I've created something that gets me by. That I know that I can do, and if I go crazy, or I get lost, or if one day I just disappear or someone finds me with my brains splattered over the nearest wall, it doesn't change anything for anyone else. Everyone goes about their lives. That's the best for everyone."

"Alexander." Vivian shakes her head faintly, a hand reaching out to his hand, slow enough that he can afford the reach all he wants. "It will matter if that happens, and while I agree that it'll be problematic if you get lost, or hurt yourself, considering the rather selfless individual I've grown to know this far, I'd rather be hurt by the loss than never have the chance to be. Which, I realize doesn't make as much sense as I'd like for it too...But I'm tired." Self-awareness, sometimes it is good. Other times it isn't. "We all fail each other, I failed Byron not noticing this was happening. I should have seen it....out of everyone. But I didn't, so this is as much at my feet as anyone elses."

Alexander pulls his hand back from the potential touch, but it's clear from the softening of his expression that he appreciates the carefulness with which she reached out. And maybe the use of his first name. "I envy not the beast who takes, to whom a conscience never wakes," he quotes, softly. "It makes sense. To me." A crooked smile, there for a moment, then gone. He takes a deep breath. "Let me think about it. I can't think here. The drugs, the...hospital, the constant touching and interruptions and all the pain and sorrow. I can't think about anything here except getting out of here." A sidelong look. "Okay? Can I have some time?"

"You can have time." Vivian agrees with a nod, sitting back in her chair, fingers lacing together, "In the meantime, I suppose that I should try and let you get some more rest before the next nurse comes in." She glances towards the door, studying it for a moment like she's expecting a nurse to come through at any moment, "Are you certain there isn't anything you need? Jello...books, whatever might make you as comfortable as possible."

Alexander relaxes at her first words, relief coming to life on his features. Another potentially stressful decision kicked down the road where he can just not think about it for a bit. This is fine. He grimaces at the mention of the next nurse. "They're tyrants," he mutters. Spoiler: they're not. "And I hate Jell-o." A pause. "I...appreciate the offer. I wouldn't mind crossword puzzles? I like those." A longer pause. "But you don't have to bring anything, Dr. Glass. Or blame yourself for anything. This town is what it is."

"If I don't have to blame myself, then neither do you. As you say, the town is what it is." Vivian waves a hand lightly in the air, however, "I can head down to the gift shop and pick up a few of the crossword puzzle books they'll likely have. If you like word searches, I imagine they have a few of those as well."

Alexander makes a noise that does not agree with her interpretation of his response, but also clearly isn't aiming to argue over it. Passive-aggressive resistance. He shakes his head. "Just a crossword book, if you like. Word searches are just pattern recognition. Boring." He ducks his head. "If you are checking in with the others, please give them my regards."

"If I do, I'll let you know. I don't know Miss Winslow, though, and I wouldn't want to intrude on her if she's not feeling up to visitors." Vivian clearly doesn't have that same worry with those that she knows, however. Either way she gets to her feet, reaching out to lightly tap her fingers against the surface of the bed, substituting it for what would likely be a pat on the shoulder, "I'll drop by again with the crossword book."

Alexander nods, shortly. "I understand. Thank you, Dr. Glass. Try not to die." He doesn't say anything else, just stares at her with dark eyes as she makes to leave, the corners of his mouth pulled down into a thoughtful frown. Once she's gone, he settles back into the bed and closes his eyes. Soon his breathing evens out, and he's pulled down into sleep once more.