2019-08-01 - Night Watch

It's evening, and Isolde has already gone to bed. By which is meant 'couch'. Luckily, she's a deep sleeper, and accustomed to Alexander's insomniac habits and how they have him roaming the house at all times of the night. The light is burning from the kitchen, clearly visible from outside through the garden window, and Alexander is currently in the kitchen, going through the fairly impressive first aid kit from his bathroom. He's keeping one eye on the open window, since it looks out into the driveway. He's dressed in an old t-shirt and jeans, and Luigi's cage is covered for the night. It's pretty quiet in the house, although Elm is...never a particularly quiet neighborhood, so the sounds of some couple fighting can be faintly heard through the thin walls of the house.

Ruiz's more than familiar with Elm and its particular proclivities. He might even know the names of the neighbours who are having a domestic dispute; they certainly get called in often enough around here. The door of his truck is slammed after he climbs out, hands jammed into his jacket's pockets. Out of uniform, there's really no reason for anyone to find him out of place here. He blends in well with the residents, with that ensemble of dark on dark: faded old tee shirt, cargo pants, combat boots and leather jacket.

There's a quick rap on the door, then his hand is shoved back into his pocket and a glance sent toward the neighbours' house while he waits.

Alexander is already moving towards the door, warned by the flash of headlights through the window. He hardly has to knock before it's open. "Come on in," he says, quietly. Nods towards the kitchen. "Want a cold pack for that nose? I've got one in the freezer." He's going to study the other man's face with that same, open stare he favors, no trace of trying to be subtle about it. "I've also got some painkillers. They gave them to me for the leg, but I don't take them. You can have a couple if you need." He doesn't look at the neighbors' house, but he catches Ruiz doing so. "They're not going to get more violent than that, tonight," he murmurs.

Ruiz does, indeed, have quite the fucked up face. Broken nose that someone's done a pretty good job of setting. At least one eye that's going to be bruised come morning. He looks tremendously unamused, though quiets once his eyes cut to Isolde's sleeping form on the couch. A small, abbreviated nod for the offer of an ice pack. And after a long, long moment, he pulls out of the doorway and further into the room. Still in his jacket and boots, dark eyes returning Alexander's scrutiny. Like a predator that's learned never to take its eyes off its prey. "I'm not worried," he murmurs, about the neighbours.

Alexander tilts his head, inviting Ruiz to follow him into the kitchen. He pads in that direction on bare feet, and opens the freezer to get the cold pack. It's one of the fancy ones especially shaped for a face - Alexander may not have a lot of luxuries, but apparently he spends his money on getting decent patch-yourself-up tools. It's offered over, and then he opens the fridge, pulls out a bottle of beer, and puts that on the counter. Then the bottle of painkillers next to the bottle of beer. He leans one hip against the counter and crosses his arms over his chest, just watching Ruiz. "I'm worried, so you get to hear about it. Sorry. You want anything to eat? I have..." there's a long pause. "Ice cream? And leftover fried chicken."

After loitering in the entryway for a good minute after Alexander's started pulling things out of the freezer and fussing, the cop finally prowls closer. Wary still, but that seems to be the theme for the night. The ice pack is given a funny look, like he's never seen one like this before. The painkillers though are popped without hesitation, and the cap popped on the bottle of beer with a flick of his thumb. Down the hatch it goes, about a third of it at once. Knuckles across his mouth before he responds, "Not hungry. Thanks, though." His eyes flick back to the younger man. "If you've got a spot I could.. sit." It sounds halfhearted. Maybe he doesn't really give a shit about all this keeping an eye on him garbage. Maybe, just maybe, some blood on the brain is starting to look like an easy way out.

"Yep," Alexander says. He skirts past Ruiz, giving himself space to move without brushing up against him. He walks past the sleeping Isolde, wrapped up in a blanket, and pauses at the juncture between bedroom and office. "If you want to sit, you can have the office chair until you feel like sleeping." A nod in that direction. "When you do, I'll make sure you're woken up on the hour. How bad is the concussion? Someone set your nose, so I assume if it was immediately warranting hospitalization, they'd have pushed you in that direction."

Ruiz watches Alexander move about from his lean against the counter, his eyes as always hard to read. "I'd rather not be an intrusion, Clayton. I can sleep anywhere. The floor, if need be. Did that plenty in South Korea." His tongue traces his lower lip slowly, and he takes another swig of the beer. His eyes don't leave the other man. "I don't know. She told me to go in if it kept bleeding, or.." He doesn't seem certain. His head is fuzzy, and more beer seems to be the answer.

"If I considered you an intrusion, Captain, then I would not have invited you over." From someone else, that might have sounded like an attempt to reassure, or even a friendly tease. Alexander simply recites it like an observation of fact. "South Korea. That's where you were stationed? You've never mentioned." And Alexander hasn't really asked, of course, but he's watching the other man now, curiosity pushing out the weariness from his face.

Ruiz does not, truthfully, seem like the sort of man to rely on others for much of anything. Leastwise something like this. It's a lot to ask, and he could very literally die, if he's got a brain bleed and doesn't know about it. There's a twinge of his lips like he wants to smile. Really wants to smile, but it comes out like a baring of teeth. The bottle's tipped back again, drained to less than a third. "Si. Camp Humphreys, for a while." Where else that deployment might have taken him, he doesn't discuss. Stingy with information, thy name is Javier. "Are you feeling better?"

"Camp Humphreys." Somewhere in Alexander's brain, one can almost see a mental file being updated. Possibly with a little 'ting' noise for capturing a rare fact. He returns to where Ruiz is standing, with another sidelong glance at Isolde, then leans in, studying the nose and eye as best he can. "I might be able to make that heal faster. I can't wave a hand and make it go away, and I can't do anything about the concussion other than make sure we know if things go south, but the exterior trauma, might be able to speed." He frowns at the question. "Yes. Actually. Still burning, but it seems to be...less. Tonight. Thank you for asking."

The captain doesn't move from his slouchy lean against the counter, when Alexander draws close to peer at his injury. It's not terrible, in all honesty. The worst part about it is going to be that black eye. Which is going to be all kinds of awkward to explain tomorrow morning at the precinct. "..I don't know if that's a good idea." Tension stitches through his bulky frame at the suggestion, and flickers along his jaw. He too slides a glance Isolde's way. Then back to the man looking at him like he's an exhibit at the zoo. "Can I do anything to help?" With the burning.. bones. Thing. Hey, it's a long shot.

Alexander's eyes flick up from the injuries to his eyes, and from there to the tension in his frame. "Mm." It's thoughtful, a reminder however inadvertent that while Alexander has never carried a badge (and, barring sudden fits of high insanity among local LEOs, never will), he's not exactly unfamiliar with investigations. But he doesn't press further, just nods, and leans back. "I don't know," he says, after a moment. "I don't know what you can do." He reaches up and taps his own temple. "There, I mean. Read things, obviously. But have you tried anything else?" He moves back to start packing up the first aid kit. "You said 'she' told you. This the girlfriend? She patch you up?"

Ruiz starts to answer the question of what he can do. His mouth opens like he's going to say something, but nothing comes out. Because how does one talk about this sort of thing when he is what and who he is? What if it got out that a captain in the police force could fucking electrocute people at will? "Yes." The girlfriend. "Sutton. Paramedic." Girlfriend is a loose term, but he doesn't say this. It's the closest word he's got. "Thank you again. By the way."

"Paramedic is good," Alexander says, with a nod of approval. "And she cares enough to set your nose. So probably not more than a mild concussion. She probably doesn't want you dead." There's a quick grin, bright and pleased, at the thanks, although he says, "It's fine. Don't be grateful. I don't like gratitude. And I suspect you don't like feeling it. Best to just skip that part." He seems okay with Ruiz not wanting to talk about his abilities, although he continues to give the man a curious look, his fingertips nervously playing along the cracks in the countertop as he thinks.

Ruiz looks a little bit distracted for a minute there. Right around when Alexander starts talking about her caring enough. His dark eyes refocus again on the younger man's face, then his hand as it seeks out the imperfections in the countertop. And he offers, finally, one of those not-quite-smiles before pushing the rest of the beer away. "Entiendo. Show me where I can lie down. I'll get out of your way."

"Get what?" Alexander's head tilts to one side. He doesn't miss the changes in the Captain's mood, and he frowns a little. "You're not in my way. Unless you just stand in my way. Then, yes. Otherwise, no." He moves back towards the hallway, nods to the bed. "I changed the linens. They're clean." A pause, as he stares mostly as a wall. "My mother was a nurse at the hospital. Until she retired. She always said people should have clean sheets after an injury. As much for the feel as for the hygiene."

A nurse. This, too, is new information. See? Potentially lethal brain injuries are a great way to get to know your frenemies. He starts, but doesn't actually say the words thank you. And watches Alexander for a very long moment as if considering something, before nodding once and stepping on past him with that latent, predatory prowl of his. His jacket is halfway off by the time he disappears inside.

Right. Yes. Alexander relaxes a little as Ruiz goes into the bedroom, but clearly hasn't thought much BEYOND that, in regards of the further etiquette of hosting concussion sufferers who just a few days ago you wanted to give a concussion yourself. He doesn't go into the bedroom, even though it's his, but apparently has reclassified it as Ruiz's territory, at least on a limited basis. Instead, he sort of slinks into his office, turns on the light, and logs into his computer. It's close enough to the bedroom that he can hear any words the other man might speak, and Ruiz can hear the clatter of computer keys as Alexander does something.

One thing in the bedroom has changed: the lampshade has been replaced from a plain one to one that has colorful birds.