2019-08-13 - Into the Woods

August's text to Eleanor was cryptic and though probably intended to be reassuring, not very: there was a thing at the carousel today. I'm fine. don't go near that carousel, though.

He's fine, except, he's also not at work, and his appointments were all reassigned or rescheduled. At the shop they explain he's not feeling well from a cold, but anyone who's spoken to folks at the carousel knows the real reason (he was battered within an inch of his life and then refused to go to the hospital).

Although his address isn't a secret--land sales records being public and all--it's a bit off the beaten path. Along the highway a couple of miles into Firefly Forest, then a turn onto a Forest Service road, and then onto a dirt road leading to a handful of cabins. Out on the highway things are well-paved and the trees kept back from the roadway, but on the Forest Service road the fir, spruce, and aspen crowd in close, and on the dirt road they're, well, right there. Fortunately the owners of the cabins pay to keep the roadway leveled, so although it's mildly bumpy, it's not offroading by any stretch.

And he's a stubborn jackass, and would have come into work, except Cy called the night before and informed August--informed him--that he's taking a day off, thanks to Finch and Ignacio both spinning a story of August barely surviving some kind of weird run-in with the carousel at the Park. So Monday morning begins with August sleeping in. This means he doesn't get up until at least 7am. It would be luxurious if he didn't feel like he was recovering from some sort of four day bender.

He gets showered, into some comfortable sweat bottoms, a t-shirt, and a hoddie, and does the morning rounds done with the hens, ducks, geese, and goats. He barely manages that, decides to lie down on the futon immediately after he comes inside, curling up under a big, wool blanket with a large depiciton of the Thunderbird on it, and begins a sudden nap. Breakfast and coffee will have to wait.

Eleanor has her little silver and dark grey, well-loved, 2008 Honda Element stopped on the shoulder of the road, where the highway enters the Firefly Forest. Her eyes are wide and her hands grip the steering wheel so hard they turn white. “He might need you. You can do this,” she mutters to herself over and over in a mantra meant to give herself courage.

The trees loom ahead and she wants to scream, cry, and throw up all at once. She doesn’t do any of those things though. Instead she works on her breathing, an old throwback from childhood therapy. “You are awake. You are not dreaming. You are not in the Dream. This isn’t his forest. August needs you.”

After a good 20 minutes of that, she shifts the SUV back into gear and pulls onto the highway. Her heart thunders in her chest the deeper the GPS leads her, and by the time she’s on the little dirt road, sweat beads on her forehead and she trembles. But she makes it, finally, to August’s cabin. She turns the engine off and spends a few minutes crying into a tissue in relief. She pulls herself together, then gets out and heads onto the porch of the A-frame. She knocks on it harder than she means too, but she’s still pretty freaked out.

The goats eye her from their pen, but are content to keep chewing on their hay. They've got something to put in their mouths, Eleanor's arrival isn't a concern.

The geese do not feel the same way, and come shuffling around to the front of their pen to greet her. Four of them, big bastards, two Chinese and two Pomeranian, honking and waving their wings. They don't know this car! They don't know the person getting out of it! Now she's knocking on the door! Alarum! Alarum!

Fortunately, they're in a pen with a shed, so all they can do is threaten her. And boy, they're doing it. It's a cacophony no one could sleep through without the aid of some serious medication, and all August took was some ibuprofen. So he gets up rubbing at his eyes, roused by loud honking and knocking. "Ladies, goddamnit," he says on a groan, opens the door. He does, indeed, look like he's recovering from something bad, though no injuries of any kind are evident. He's pale and there are dark circles under his eyes, which are a little bloodshot.

August blinks at Eleanor, like he's not totally sure she's there or he made her up to improve upon the day. But the geese are still hissing and honking, so someone's here. "Oh, hey." He looks past her, frowns at the geese. "Stop that," he says, making sure his ripple of annoyance is clear, and the geese all quiet down. One Chinese goose keeps waving her wings, though.

Eleanor looks a little too wide-eyed, her smile a little twitchy at the corners of her mouth, and her hands are shaking where they clutch her purse in front of her. “Hi,” she greets. “I thought I should check on you and hear about what happened at the carousel. I may have forgotten you live in the middle of the woods.” Twitch. Twitch. “Can I come in? Before I go screaming back to the city and away from the forest?”

"Oh, sweetheart you didn't have to--" One of the geese honks again, and August glares at her. She hisses a final time and trundles off to some other corner of the pen. He steps aside to let Eleanor in. "Yeah, yeah, come on." He holds out an arm to put in the small of her back. "Sorry, they're all guard geese, I didn't think that through when I picked them out."

The cabin interior is light and cozy from all the large windows at each end. It's far from rustic, so whomever he had built it knew their business. The large wool blanket's been abandonned half-on, half off the futon. "Want something to drink? Water, soda...I can mix you one up, if you don't mind a little something custom."

“Sure, sure that would be good. Something to drink,” Eleanor mumbles, stepping inside and looking around in wonder. She relaxes a few notches when she’s inside and the door is closed, putting a physical barrier between her and the forest. “The cabin is really beautiful,” she notes, with the unspoken ‘to bad it’s in a fucking forest’ at the end of it.

"Thanks. Took a while to find an architect who wasn't going to try and put me in something to fill with hunting trophy pieces, or something full of modern minimalist junk." August leads her to the kitchen, where there's a breakfast bar to sit at. The countertop's a custom piece, slate gray stone with stream formed out of pieces of glass, running around it. Small, bronze fish are embedded into the 'water' here and there, as are suggestions of plants made of what looks to be copper.

August fetches a plain soda from the fridge, opens the fridge to sort through his syrups. He pulls out two bottles (grenadine and blood orange), pours a shot of each into a heavy, recycled glass cup, then adds in the soda water and stirs it all up. He offers that over. "Not too sweet, just enough to give you something to calm your stomach." He reaches out to take one of her hands. "Ellie you didn't have to come out here, I know this," he looks around them, meaning the forest beyond the cabin, "has to be tough for you." For the first time, he's regretting not going to the hospital.

Ellie sits on one of the stools as he makes her a drink. She takes a sip of the soda and she lets out a breath as he takes her hand. “I came out here to take care of you, and here you are taking care of me. I’m sorry, August. This wasn’t what I intended.” She gives him an apologetic look. “Let’s consider it therapy for me. I haven’t been in this forest since before that incident. It’s probably very lovely and peaceful.”

"You got me on my feet again, that's taking care of me." August comes around the counter, stands next to Eleanor as she has her soda. He rests his head against hers. He's weary, that's obvious. "It is. Mostly. Not really different than the ocean, or any other wilderness." He takes a deep breath, lets it out. "Here you are, facing your biggest fear to come see me, and I was too big of a coward to just go to the fucking hospital," he murmurs.

Ellie turns to wrap her arms around him in a hug. “Don’t talk like that. What happened to me? It happened once and I haven’t been back to that place, his place, since. But I’ve stayed away from anything that could even remotely remind me of it for over twenty years.” The woods, mirrors, etcetera. “You still go through that experience of yours when you’re around injured people. You still feel them suffering. That’s different. It’s present and now.”

August grunts, strokes Eleanor's hair. "Pretty sure you're stuck around mirrors all the time you're not at home. And you've got people using their power left and right around you, and," he leans his head back a little to look down at her, "you live in a small town on the Washington coast, so you're surrounded by forest." He smiles, fond and tired. "Pretty sure you're not avoiding it. Maybe not running at it headlong, but no one's got a right to ask you to do that." He kisses her forehead. "You're incredibly brave for driving out here to see me."

Eleanor blushes at the kind words. She doesn’t feel very brave at the moment. “You should be lying down and resting. Come on, I’ll curl up with you and you can tell me what happened at the carousel.” She slides off the chair, taking up her drink, and putting on a determined face. She is going to do what she came here to do, dammit! Even if her guts still feel cold and watery.

"Okay." August can't actually argue with 'should be lying down and resting' since he's reasonably sure he lacks the energy to cook something. He'll think about it later. Soup, maybe, that ought to be easy enough. Put things and stock into pot, simmer, pour over dumplings, eat. He even has some fresh gnocchi in the freezer.

He moves to the futon, which is luxurious as such things go, with a huge, thick pad on a dark wood frame intended to extend out to a bed for gusests. There's a couple of throw pillows at each end, and the large Thunderbird wool blanket. August has a seat, shuffles the blanket so Eleanor can sit next to him at an end where an end table provides a spot for her drink. "It was...pretty awful so I hope you don't mind if I skip a few details."

“Totally understood,” Eleanor murmurs, setting her drink down and sliding her keds off her feet so she can tuck them up under her on the futon. “Did someone open a door? Or did something else happen to bring you and others there?”

August stretches out his legs along the futon and leans into Eleanor. This is a little comical given the overall height difference, so he puts more of his weight on the back of the futon than onto her. "Something dragged us in. I think it even drew me there." He makes a face about that. "I was on lunch at the park, I went down to the hardware shop to get something, and..." His voice fades. He's staring blankly in the direction of the woodstove. "I can't really even remember it too well, but it was something to do with the carousel. It wanted us to ride it." After a moment of contemplation, he adds, "Recognized more than a few people--Alexander, he drove me to Finch and the others. And someone from the bar the other night. And Minerva." He grunts. "I should see if she's okay, maybe needs to be patched up." He runs a hand over his face. "Some guy I didn't recognize...and the guy who owns Bayside. Thorne."

Alexander will certainly give her any details August leaves out. “Some places in town seem to do that, like Murray House. I mean, the town itself seems to draw and compel people that Glimmer to stay here. But this is the first time I’ve heard something like that related to the carousel.” She reaches an arm to stroke his hair gently. “And did you ride it?”

August makes a low sound in his chest, both at her comment on Glimmer and for her hand in his hair. "I went and stood on it," he admits. "I'm kind of too big to get on the animals. I was next to a pig, but then the music started." His expression remains distracted as he thinks back on as much as he dares. "The straps they belt you with turned into chains. And it started to speed up. And the song began to..." He grimaces. "Let's just say it put these things in us. And we had to get them out. And once we did...they started to turn into us. Doppelgangers. Except the faces, those were still them." He gives up, says what it was. "They were like worms. With huge fangs. Prehistoric."

Eleanor listens, glad to think about something other than the fact that she’s in the woods at the moment. “Jesus. Like the Precambrian ones? Though those had full sets of teeth and their jaws opened side to side instead of up and down. And how big? Like Tremors big?”

"Yeah, kinda. But they were the same size as us. They started out smaller," August steels himself to not see that in his mind, no sir, "and then grew bigger, so maybe they could get that big." He swallows, turns his head against her for a second. He breathes for a second, until he's not smelling anything from the other day anymore. "Then they attacked us, and the one that looked like me nailed me and I just," he flips a hand, "blacked right out."

Eleanor smells a little of fear sweat still, but it’s mostly masked by the scent of something clean and fresh, her cucumber melon soap, and her pomegranate shampoo. She kisses the top of his head gently. “That is horrifying. And you got bit I take it? I’m glad you went to your friends instead. They probably stopped anything worse from happening from the bites. Doctors are really not equipped to handle injuries from dream things.”

"It was like it mauled me. All," August waves a hand up and down his torso, "over my chest. I think..." He pauses, makes a face. "I think it was trying to eat me." For all that it's awful to consider, it's still not as bad as how the worms formed. "Maybe would have turned into me, if it had. But Minerva lit it up."

He sighs, turns his head so he can glance at her. "Think so? I'll admit I was kind of worried it might...infect us, or something, but we seem to be okay." He fidgets with the zipper on his hoodie. "Even though the real reason I didn't want to go to the hospital is I knew I'd just have a fucking panic attack. Also," he coughs a laugh, "how would we even explain it. 'Yeah, a bear, just came right at me, middle of the day in the Park.'"

Eleanor cuddles him closer. “Yeah, that’s usually a quick trip to a 48 psyche hold trying to tell the truth. It’s less complicated to get healed by a Spiritualist. Provided they’re good at it, and that their usage doesn’t attract too much attention to them.” She strokes his hair some more. “I’m glad you are all right.”

"Well, she has a very 'fuck it' attitude about those kinds of things. I guess I can't blame her." Because August is the same way. He mmmmms in agreement. "I try to never ask if it's not important--something that'll get too many questions. She's got enough to cope with, doesn't need Their attention on account of me getting my ass kicked by a doppelganger worm...thing." He clears his throat. "They killed all of them, at least, and no one died, so." Almost, but not quite. He grips Eleanor tighter. "Yeah. Me too." He holds her like that a time. "And I now have a much better idea of why you feel the way you do about the Other Side. Not that I didn't know? But..." But there's knowing, and there's having a doppelganger worm try to eat you and become you.

“I’m sure there are nicer parts. I’ve heard stories of good experiences, just haven’t had one myself. But most things I hear are terrible. Or at least odd and off-putting. Maybe it’s like restaurant reviews. If you are good, you might get a review once every ten times, but if you’re terrible, you get a bad review every time.” So people just don't talk about the good times. Eleanor ponders that quietly. “I should start a running count of good versus bad experiences.”

August looks up at her. "That's a really good point. And a good idea." He frowns a second. "Also...maybe it's because, the good things don't come to us. Just the bad things." He immediately snorts. "Which is maybe a whole other problem."

He's quiet a time, then, "About out here." The forest, he means. "Maybe we can try something that doesn't involve you going out into it, but might help you a little. But," he raises his eyebrows, "it'd be with Glimmer. Interested?"

“Maybe we go to them? That is something to think about. It would explain a few things,” Eleanor admits. “Maybe the bad things come here to scare us from going over there and finding the good things? Are the good things drawn to happiness and joy, where the bad things seem to feed off fear and sorrow?”

At the offer Eleanor looks down at him and fear glints in her eyes for a moment. “M-Maybe? What did you have in mind?”

"I hadn't thought of that," August says, eyes roving. "Maybe we need to keep an eye out at...weddings. Or even things like the Festival." He ponders that, blinks when he sees she looks concerned. He reaches up, sets a hand on her cheek.

"We absolutely don't have to do this is if you don't want to." He studies her a second. "I think you're strong enough to hear me. I mean, with my," he taps his temple. "So, I could show you what it's like out there for me. Maybe that would help. Since you'd be right here, not have to walk out there."

Eleanor swallows pretty hard, but she thinks about it, and then she nods. “All right. I’m willing to try. But if I freak out, we stop right away, ok?” she pleads.

"Yes," August says, firmly. "But it's okay if you don't want to. Don't feel like saying no's going to upset me." He raises his eyebrows, licks his lips. Is he regretting suggesting it? Maybe. She came out here, that's enough for one day.

“I’m working on being braver. I can’t live the rest of my life in fear of something that happened 23 years ago, August. I need to get past this, or at the very least face it head on so I can enjoy life. I have things now I want to enjoy, thanks to you.” Eleanor pauses and cocks her head. “Are you ok to do this though? You’re recovering from something here.”

Heartened by Eleanor's reply, August smiles up at her. "Okay. But the second you want to stop, say so." His smile turns rueful. "This is maybe one of the few things I can do right now, since it involves laying right here."

He shifts, takes one of her hands in his. There's a brief sensation, like he's trailing his fingers up her spine. "Yeah," he says, voice low, "you can hear me." His eyes half-shut, and after a moment, Eleanor feels it in the back of her mind, in that dormant place she almost never uses: a line cast in her direction to snag, a hand held out, a soft knock on a secret window she might have forgotten was there.

He can sense all of the aspects in Eleanor, small bits of them, but there. Her glimmer is about half the strength of his, and his aspects are all at least twice as strong as hers, but she has that spark in her. She shivers at the sensation creeping up her spine, and she opens that window into her mind to let him in.

Practice with Itzhak and Alexander makes this easier for August. No grabbing Eleanor by the mental hand, no booming hellos, nothing coming at her fast. Instead, the sound of a river running over the rocks somewhere in the distance. That goes on for a time, until it becomes a kind of background noise.

<<There we go.>> In her mind is voice is something she might not be familiar with: the quiet murmur of the forest at dusk, when the day creatures bed down and the night ones come awake, that brief moment when both occupy the same space. A sound drifting in through that window. He waits, letting her acclimate. It was weird the first time he tried this with Itzhak; he doesn't want to startle her. <<I can talk to some people from across town, like this.>> Not that he does it often, his phone is right there and he has unlimited texting.

I haven’t done this before with someone. Eleanor’s mental voice is soft, like a whisper, like one trying hard not to be heard outside of this connected conversation. The sound of the river has her listening, a bit of tension seeping from her. The Jotunn’s forest was a dead one, and the riverbeds there were dry and littered with skeletal remains. She anchors herself with the knowledge there is life in this forest August knows.

<<It takes practice,>> August assures her. He keeps his voice quiet as well. <<So.>> The sensation shifts, like he's guiding her hand to something. Around them she begins to not just see but feel the shape of the cabin and its contents. The floorboards, the cordwood under the deck, the bed in the loft upstairs, the railings on the balconies, the metal roof, the glass in the windows. They don't shine as bright to August as living things, but the sense of them is strong. Distinct.

The geese and goats and ducks and hens are little bursts like fireflies dancing around beyond the cabin walls. And in front of them, something brilliant, like a beacon. It's smooth, with gleaming white bark and a crown of shimmering leaves: the aspen out front. But like this, it's something much, much more.

<<I couldn't let them cut it down.>> He guides her around the sense of it; it's an old tree, eighty years if it's a day, but oddly by itself. <<Told them to clear around it. It's strange somehow, never puts up suckers.>> More sparks of life flutter around it--hummingbirds in the feeders he's hung from the branches. Beyond the aspen is a softer glow, but August isn't paying attention to all of that right now, just here. This tree. The one he had them leave. (The working garden is a bright patch beneath the tree, alive with bees and--Christ! A rabbit.) <<You little twerp.>> He maybe doesn't mean for her to hear that.

Life. There is life all around and Eleanor clings to that sensation to remind herself this is here, not there. This is safe. This is alive and natural. The tree mesmerizes her, the age, the wisdom that seems to exist in every ring that tells its years. She trembles again, but this time it is due to awe. The hummingbirds make her heart lift, and then there is the bunny. She laughs in her mind at his cursing the little thing. They need to eat too you know, her mind whispers.

A ripple of amusement flickers around them. Well, it's not like August doesn't eat rabbit on the regular. <<Fair enough.>>

Slowly, carefully, he turns their joined attention beyond the aspen tree. The forest is a soft, heaving glow, like bioluminescent waves. They're not in a clearing in a forest; they're on an island in an ocean of trees. A deep, slow thrum accompanies each shift of the light. They don't dive into the trees. It's more like walking along the beach with their shoes off. There's something bright, not too far out--a deer. No, two, a doe and a buck. An owl sleeping in a tree hollow.

They stay put, anchored by the aspen, but she feels August reach, like he's running his hand through that glowing sea. Those trees go on, and on--clear up to Olympic, to Hoh Rain Forest. There's a sense that he can't reach there, though; the rain forest is more a fixed image in his mind to supplement the limit of his power. It's not a living, beating force in their hands like the aspen. <<Can't quite sense that far,>> he says, sounding a little disappointed.

That’s all right, because Eleanor stops paying attention at the deer, more specifically the sense of the buck. The antlers. The antlers bring up the horrific upside down leg antlers of the creature and she begins to panic. T-t-t-take me back, please, the whisper is so tight and quiet it’s almost a squeak.

For a split second August sees it, through her memory, that thing in the woods. He reacts on instinct to her fear, and maybe a little of his own: there's a sense she's been cocooned up somehow, wrapped up like he's shielding her from--whatever the fuck that was. The link slowly begins to unravel. August guides her back, and the aspen drifts away, growing dimmer and more distant. The last thing she hears is the rush of the river. Then it's gone, and she's lying on the futon with him, one of her hands in his. He reaches up to stroke her hair, looking worried. "Hey. You okay?"

Eleanor is shaking and curled tightly against him. “Not really, but I will be. I’m sorry, I saw the deer and, it just rushed back at me like I was twelve again. I’m sorry. It was really lovely til I panicked. A good start.” She squeezes his hand. “You saw it? In my head? What I saw back then?”

August shifts, sitting up a little so he can wraps his arms around Eleanor and hold her tight, not unlike her did when ending the link. "You don't need to apologize. You didn't do anything wrong. You did great. I'm just sorry it reminded you of...that." So, deer and deer antlers are a no. He memorizes this fact, suppresses a shudder at the glimpse he caught of the thing. "Yeah," he says, voice low. He kisses her neck, says against it, "Not for nothing but if I'd seen anything like that at that age I wouldn't be going near a fucking forest ever again either." He laughs, sad and bitter. "I'm sorry, hon. I'll keep us away from anything like that, if you ever want to try again some time."

“The antlers,” she murmurs. “It raked me with one of them when we were running away from it. It’s the scar I have.” She turns and lifts the back of her shirt up for him to see the long, three pronged ragged raised lines down her back from her left shoulder blade to her right hip in a diagonal. “My parents insisted I’d backed into the mirror and shattered it, and the glass did that. As if.” She grimaces.

August sighs at the sight of the scar. "Jesus." He makes a low sound of annoyance about her parents as well. "Naturally," he mutters. Well, his parents had never believed him, but he'd never shown up with his back cut open. He suspects his childhood would have been different, if he had.

He starts to reach out to touch it, stops short and raises his eyebrows at her in a silent question.

“You can touch them,” Eleanor murmurs softly. No one who isn’t a doctor has. “It dragged up from my hip, dug in near the shoulder blade, lifted me, and threw me. I don’t know how far. Far enough that I was back on my feet by the time Addie reached me at a full run.” She closes her eyes. “I don’t know how we made it out alive. Though I guess only I really did.”

August rests his head against hers. I doesn't need to look to see the scar, not really. His hand's rough with callouses from all these years of physical labor, though at least it's warm. He starts at her shoulder, palm flat, slowly feels his way along the track dug out all those years ago. He doesn't press too hard, just enough that he can feel the scar tissue under his fingertips. His hand stops at her hip, and he sighs, tugs her back against him. "I'm sorry," he says, voice low. "You are incredibly brave, for driving out here. I hope I remotely deserve it."

“My shoulder was dislocated. The doctor explained that away with falling badly after shattering the mirror. People are idiots. They never believe the kids. I have always believed the kids since. They see a lot more than we do as adults I think.” Eleanor leans back against him, her arms on his arms and head leaned back against his shoulder. “You’re definitely worth it,” she murmurs. “Though I’m not sure I can handle driving myself back in the same day. Is this the guest bed?” she doesn’t want to presume.

"Yeah...like at some point society decided because kids might exaggerate due to lack of perspective, everything they say has to be a blatant lie." August grunts about that. He's seen children fighting to live in the worst circumstances possible, and now can't understand where that viewpoint comes from.

He makes a low sound. "It is, if you'd rather sleep alone." He says that very carefully, like he's trying to find a comfortable, neutral way to put it so she won't feel pressured one way or another. He clarifies, "The bed upstairs is a king, there's plenty of space. And this way I can cook for you."

He tilts his head. "Okay. You showed me your scars. Probably fair I show you at least one of mine. There's plenty to choose from."

Eleanor is blushing at being invited upstairs for the night, but she nods. “I think that would be good. I am still in a forest. I don’t want to be sleeping alone in a forest,” she says with a nervous laugh. She looks back and up at him. “Only if you’re ready to show me. No pressure there, August. These things are deeply personal. You’re the first person I’ve showed mine to willingly.”

"I was kind of thinking that," August says, trying not to laugh, because she's blushing, "and since I don't have any large dogs to offer, and my geese are hell to sleep with, you'll have to make do with me." He shrugs in an apology, except how sorry can he really.

He sobers some, takes one of her hands and kisses the palm. "I think I'm way more than ready to, but the one on my back..." He pauses, makes a face. Well, he should just say it. "It's a spinal scar, and I had a tattoo of an elk skull put over it." Now he does sound apologetic, because, antlers. "But that can wait."

He guides her hand to pull up the bottom of his shirt. Running four or so inches above and below his navel, and arcing around it carefully, is a midline incision scar, readily visisble through a mdoest dusting of black hair. "They had to put in pins and screws to stabilize a compound fracture in my ribcage," he explains. "And there was a lot of damage, from where part of the floor above landed on me." With a narrow-eyed look, he adds, "Do not tickle me."

Eleanor leans forward and turns around to look at the bared scar. She reaches a hand to trace it with her fingertips, firmly, so as not to tickle. “I wouldn’t dare,” she murmurs at the look. “Dear God. The fact you didn’t puncture every internal organ in your torso...” It’s kind of a miracle considering the fractures.

"Oh wouldn't you." August doesn't sound like he totally trusts Eleanor, though he's also holding back a smile. His stomach shivers a little at her touch. "Yeah. I kind of wonder sometimes if maybe I wasn't," he makes a face, "using my power unconsciously to stop that sort of thing from happening." He glances down at it. "I healed up better than they expected too. I'm sure that's because someone was there, nudging us all along, but sometimes I think I was tipping the odds in my favor too. You know?" He glances up at her for a moment, back down at the scar. "Don't think I'll get a tattoo on this one, though. It's in an awkward spot." Also, the hair is an issue, and he's not waxing.

“I think if I get my phoenix, it’ll be near my left shoulder, like it’s rising above and away from the scars,” Eleanor murmurs, her hand lingering on his stomach until she realizes she’s lingering. There’s more blushing as she draws back her hand.

August absolutely doesn't mind, even gives her a small, mischievous smile as he drops his shirt. "I think that'll look great." He takes her hand. "So. We can watch TV. We all chipped in and had them put a data line out to us a while back so we could get Netflix." Because of course they did; power they can get from solar panels, and water they can dig wells for, but data lines have to come from somewhere else. "And I can cook us something. Maybe huevos rancheros, the ladies left some lovely eggs the other day, and goose eggs make a great hash."

“I don’t think the geese like me. The goats are friggen adorable though,” Eleanor points out. “I should borrow them to mow my lawn sometime. I hear people do that, rent out their goats to eat people’s lawns. Is that a real thing?”

August chuckles. "The girls aren't really nice to anyone, except Kelly down the road. She takes care of them if I'm out of town, they love her. They're guard geese, though, they're not meant to be docile. I can introduce you to the goats, if you want." Nodding at her question, he continues, "Yeah, Rent-a-Ruminant. Tom Bartlett down the road, he has me bring them over to help clear his blackberry bushes once a year. Probably would need to rent a truck to move them but we could do that, if you want. They're all well behaved." Here he is, in the forest, with his little farm.

He strokes her hair, kisses her temple. "So. Goose huevos rancheros? Anything you don't want in those? I know radishes are a no." Not that he ever puts those in a breakfast hash.

“Security geese. Who’dathunkit?” Eleanor says with a little chuckle. The hair stroking has her relaxing more fully. His touch seems to work well at calming her nerves, at least the ones related to the forest and her past experience. “Whatever you want to put in them is good by me,” she replies.

"They're good for getting my attention, I'll give them that." August gives Eleanor a squeeze, eases himself off the couch with a wince. He probably shouldn't have been using his powers, but, whatever. "Okay, peppers and onions and mushrooms it is." He gestures at the remotes on the coffee table. "Can flip around on Netflix or Amazon, if you want, or come watch, or, whatever you like." He seems to have the sense her mind should stay occupied on things not her location. "There's also music you can put on," he nods towards the reading nook, "and plenty to have a look through in there."

While he works in the kitchen, Eleanor does put on some music, whatever he had been listening to. Then she moves to the reading nook to see what he has on the shelves. Leave it to the researcher to gravitate towards the books. Her eyes scan the titles as her fingers trace over the spines, the occupation of her mind doing wonders for easing back on her level of fear. She tucks her hair back behind her ears as she pulls out a selection to flip through.

"You're a fascinating man, August Roen. So complex. So many interesting layers. You're like a puzzle I could delve into and never reach the final solution. I like that," she quips back to him.

There's records and a turntable as well as an iPod in a dock; the records seem to largely consist of jazz, R&B, bluegrass, and soul, but the iPod has a more eclectic collection including folk and chamber music, classical guitar, and such. Stevie Wonder was up on the iPod, the Definitive Collection, and Signed, Sealed Delievered starts playing.

The books are no less of a mix. They're not organized, except that books in the same series or cycle are clustered. There's plenty of non-fiction: Josephus, any number of plant guides from various regions of North America (one copy each of his own, the first print proofs), micro-histories such as Empire of the Summer Moon. The fiction is by and large science fiction, with an angle towards 'biopunk' and biology-themed books: Vandermeer, Bacigalupi, Tepper.

August moves about, fetching out a pair of goose eggs and the various vegetables. He glances up from chopping the vegetables, arches an eyebrow. "Yeah? I always figured I'm pretty simple." He glances around himself, considers the ridiculous counter top he had made. "Mostly. Just, you know, old. Storied." He smiles, wry, scoops the peppers into a prep bowl. Next come the mushrooms. "You, on the other hand, definitely strike me as complex." He pauses to survey her, smile warming, goes back to chopping. His method's nowhere close to Julia or Ignacio's; he's self-taught only. But he's efficient and careful, and works steadily. "You've been steeped in all of this," he means Glimmer, of course, "all your life, been learning everything about it, archiving things, and running your own business. That's a lot to balance."

Ellie has picked up Annihilation by Vandermeer and smiles,. She brings it back with her to the kitchen and sits at the breakfast bar. "Can I borrow this? I saw the movie with Natalie Portman, but I'd like to read the book, which I assume is much better." She smiles at him and at his words she chuckles. "You're anything but simple. Simple is someone who doesn't know what they like so doesn't bother. You have interests, and good taste if the music and book collections are any indication. You say you live alone, but you don't not really. You have killer attack geese and goats that love you, and a tree that seems to have bonded with you, and an entire forest that you live in harmony with."

At the mention of her balance she nods. "It has been. Admittedly at the cost of a social life until you. But now I'm at the point where my managers at the business are trusted, and it runs well with very little interference from me. So it's easier now than when I first started out." She watches him cook with eager eyes. She's hungry, she skipped food earlier to get here quicker.

"Mmmm, well...fair. I definitely have opinions about what I do and don't like." August flicks a glance up at her, smiling, focuses on the chopping. He stops again and studies her when she says he doesn't live alone. His attention shifts, and after a second he nods. "I guess that's true," he says, thoughtful. "I never thought of it like that." He resumes chopping, brow furrowing. "Maybe it just feels like I'm alone because of the glimmer. Makes it more obvious I'm not around people."

He nods at the book, gets the frying pan heated with peanut oil, sets the veggies to sauteing. "Sure. I didn't see the movie, read a review and it sounds like the book's incredibly different, for what that's worth. Wasn't sure I wanted to watch it after that. I might, at some point, just to compare. There's two more books, by the way. Really interesting stuff."

"The movie was all right. Interesting. But yes, I heard they were much different." Eleanor smiles as the smells of the sauteing veggies make her stomach rumble. "I guess when we glimmer we're never truly alone. Or when the stronger folks like you do. But even I can sense the living things around me, and feel the life force of plants and the weight of the objects around me." She props her chin in her hand. "We see and feel everything more than other people do. We have a level of awareness of the world that most people lack."

August stills while cooking, like something she's said has struck him. "Yeah," he says, focusing on the food for a moment. Veggies out to the side, scrambled eggs into the center. He adds in a bit of chili powder as well, some salt, some black pepper. He seems to shake it off, and says, "That was my problem, over there." In Sarajevo, he means. "I didn't know what I was doing so I didn't know how to not do it. At least, I think that's what it was." There are other possibilities, as he now knows; maybe They were involved, or some of Their agents. Or something else entirely.

He watches the eggs as they slowly begin to cook, but his mind is still elsewhere. "I wonder how many people like us there are out there, going through these kinds of things, and they don't realize, it's not just the universe being particularly nasty to them." Of course, when had he realized it? A reasonable question, come down to it. He couldn't even say he was sure.

His attention moves back to the hash, and he starts mixing everything together. "Did you want any toast to go with it? I've got some sourdough."

“That’s a good question,” Ellie admits as she watches the cooking thoughtfully. “Or there may be people who Glimmer and don’t know it, because they’re physically far removed from a thin area of the Veil, or because they’re happy. The bad things tend to feed on fear and sorrow and misery, so it’s likely they aren’t as active around places where people are happy. Like Norway.”

At the offer of toast she pops off the stool. “I think I can manage to make some toast.” She hunts around for the bread to slice if needed, and pop into the toaster.

August coughs a laugh about Norway, gives Eleanor an amused look. "My paternal grandparents were Norwegian," he says. "Not sure I remember them being very happy." He's teasing, though, if his smile is any indication.

He jerks his head at an honest to god breadbox, inside which is the sourdough, a boule that's wrapped in a paper bag and appears homemade. There's a breadknife in the knife block, and a toaster at the ready on the far end of the counter. This is right next to the huge, sliding glass doors, but the curtains are drawn, blocking the view. There's plenty of space for Eleanor to work without crowding August or him crowding her. He nudges the butter dish towards her, on the off chance she needs it, and continues stirring up the hash, which is just about done.

"I can mix up some more soda, or, we can have some beer, if you want. I think I've got some lager in there, maybe an IPA or two."

Eleanor works diligently. She’s used to using knives at the shop so she’s no slouch when it comes to cutting bread for toast. Not that this is a super skill or anything, but she gets the toast going. “The soda is really nice, I wouldn’t mind some more. Little early for beer still isn’t it?” she asks with a chuckle. She knows he’s offering things to calm her nerves, though, and she appreciates. She moves behind him to slide her arms around him in a hug. “Thank you for all of this,” she murmurs softly.

August shrugs, says, "It's six o'clock somewhere, right?" He leans back into the hug even as he starts plating the hash. "Soda, then. And thank you, for coming out here." He stops short of saying she didn't need to. He knows, instinctively, how that might go, conversation-wise.

Plating done, he turns off the stove top, sets the pan and spatula aside so he can turn and get both arms around her. Eyebrows up, he says, "I'm pretty lucky, that a brave woman like you is interested in me," and tucks a strand of hair back from her face.

Ellie blushes and shakes her head a little. “Not brave. Definitely not that. Getting there though, a baby step at a time. Thanks to you. You’re quite a carrot to dangle in my path to keep me moving forward,” she murmurs. Then blinks. “Not that you’re a vegetable or that I’m referring to your uh manhood as a carrot or…” stop her now before it gets any weirder.

"That's all bravery is. Baby steps up the face of a mountainside." August leans down to kiss Eleanor, light and sweet. "One day you look back, and you're at the saddle. Next time, half-way to the top. Just be patient with yourself." He can't help but laugh as she starts comparing him to a carrot. He doesn't blush, but there's the suggestion that came awful close. "I think I could at least rate a cucumber," he says, smile turning downright wicked.

Eleanor returns the kiss and then comes the cucumber comment and she turns so red she might detonate into a million bits of embarrassed redhead at any moment. She clears her throat. “Oh…my…” she murmurs, swallowing. What were they doing again? There was something they were going to do, but her brain seems to have short-circuited.

August laughs, drops his head to Eleanor's shoulder. "Sorry, it sort of jumped into my head and then I said it." He doesn't sound especially sorry. He laughs more, kisses her cheek. "I might be exaggerating." He bobs his eyebrows in a 'you'll just have to find out for yourself' sort of suggestion, turns to get the cheese from the fridge. "Want some cheddar on your hash?"

Ellie finally snaps out of it and pushes her hair behind her ears again. “Oh my,” she repeats under her breath quietly. “Cheese would be great, sure.” She gets the toast onto a plate and sets it on the counter with the butter dish for them, returning to a stool.

August can't help but keep sneaking glances at Eleanor and chuckling to himself as he grates cheese onto their meal, mixes up a few more soda cocktails. Hibiscus syrup and peach bitterss this time, with a touch of the blood orange syrup from before to cut the sweetness of the hibiscus. He sets the glasses and plates on the bar, fetches forks and adds those along with napkins (real cloth napkins in soft, dark purple cloth). Then he settles in next to her, holds up his glass of faintly red soda. "To first steps," he says, like they're toasting at dinner with wine.

Ellie picks up her napkin and puts it in her lap. “Fancy. Or just eco-friendly?” she asks him with a smile. When he makes the toast, she holds up her glass and clinks it gently against his. “To first steps,” she agrees, eyes sparkling. The fear from earlier seems to be solidly locked away for the moment.

It likely won’t stay that way, especially when the day turns to dusk and then night. That is the true test of her bravery, being in the woods at night, when she can’t see the leaves on the trees and the grass on the ground. When she can’t discern that the forest is alive, rather than the barren haunt of the Jotunn.

"Mostly the later," August admits, clinking his glass to Eleanor's. "We have to haul our own trash, so the less I have, the better, and compostable ones get expensive. Cheaper to just wash napkins, since it's usually just me." He digs in, well and truly hungry now. "I was probably just going to work on my book today. I'll have to go out and feed and get the birds all put away later, but aside from that, it was going to be a lot of lounging around." Of course, now they day's close to half-gone, so not that much lounging, anymore. "Feel like working remotely? You can use my tablet, I've got a laptop for writing on." Still aiming to keep her busy and distracted.

Eleanor digs into her food as well, and makes a sound of approval at the meal. “This is delicious. You’re right about the goose eggs.” At the offer of his tablet to use she nods. “I don’t have much I need to do, my managers handle the day to day, but I can keep busy with that. What are you writing this time?” she asks, genuinely curious.

"Why thank you. If you'd like to fry yourself some at home, just let me know, I do sometimes wind up with more than I can use." Between bites, he says, "Plant guide focusing on Hoh Rain Forest. Slow going, mostly because of," he makes a face, shrugs, "everything, but I'm about three-fourths there. Once I finish writing I can send it in for copyediting and layout. They already have the pictures for scanning. Probably the last one I'll do on slide film though, digital's just way easier to manage." He shakes his head about that. "Honestly, not going to miss cataloguing slides. Not, one, bit."

“Cataloging slides does sounds about as fun as inventorying cups at the shop,” Eleanor notes with a smile. “I look forward to reading it. Maybe reading about the forest is a good way to be less afraid of it.” Breakfast is finished, and they set off to do their work.

Ellie checks in with Espresso Yourself and is assured everything is fine and she deserves a day off. She spends the afternoon curled up in the reading nook with Annihilation while August writes.

August's writing process involves a lot of going through a series of journals. They're full of his notes from the posting in Hoh Rain Forest, pressed specimens, and more besides. He occasionally murmurs to himself, but otherwise he's quiet. He takes breaks to get them water and a snack, and to sneak a kiss now and again, but otherwise sticks to his work. It's probably one of the most productive says he's had in weeks.

He glances up at the high windows around seven, when the sun's fallen behind the trees and the light begins to fade from the sky. He goes around turning on the lights, so the cabin's well lit, then says, "Gonna go feed and get everyone put in," while pulling on his work boots. "Shouldn't be more than a few minutes."

Eleanor shifts in her seat and stands up to stretch. Only then does she realize it’s getting darker out, and a chill creeps up her spine. The shadows elongate as the sun sinks ever lower on the horizon. When August goes to take care of the animals, she gives him a small smile to hide the growing dread lurking in her stomach. It will be all right. He’ll be back in a few minutes. She’s safe inside. Safe.

The geese honk, the ducks mutter and quack, the hens cluck. The birds all fall quiet after a few thumps of the doors shutting. Next the goats baaah, and a little after all of that, August comes tromping back in. He slips out of his boots, goes to wash his hands. As he comes out of the bathroom, he says, "So. How does stroganoff sound, for a quick dinner."

Eleanor has moved herself to a spot that has no views to the outside. She looks a bit pale when he comes back in, and her arms are wrapped around herself, but her shoulders seem to relax some when he returns safely. She smiles again and absently twines her hair in her fingers. “That sounds good, August.” She realizes she probably looks as nervous as she feels, so makes up for it by heading for the kitchen to help.

August intercepts Eleanor part way to the kitchen, slipping an arm around her and pulling her close. He's looking better than this morning; the circles under his eyes are mostly faded, and his color's a bit better. "Hey," he says, voice low. "You know you're doing great, yeah?" He smiles, strokes a hand down her back. "I don't think I've been that productive on my book this whole summer."

Eleanor is stopped en route and she slides into his arms easily, closing her eyes as she tucks her head under his chin and just clings to him for a minute. She feels fragile in that moment, like she might break apart and fly away into a million little pieces if she doesn’t hold it together. Or, you know, cry. She doesn’t though, instead she soaks in the sensation of his life force surrounding hers, like a protective shield from the things that terrify her.

“You’re helping me do great, you know,” she murmurs finally. “Sometimes I feel like I’m just hanging on by my fingernails, but then you anchor me just by being here. Thank you.”

"I'm glad I can help, but you're the one doing all the work." August holds Eleanor firm, rocks her even. "Any time you feel like that you can let me know. I don't mind being here." He laughs, soft and quiet. "Pretty sure I can manage that much." He kisses the top of her head. "You can help me chop, if you want, and do the pasta. Should keep you nice and busy."

“Busy is good.” Eleanor tilts her head up to give him a proper kiss, before finally releasing him so they can make dinner. She’s not bad at the chopping, though not as fast as he is at it. “I do know how to cook,” she explains. “My dad taught me. He was a GH firefighter, and he cooked a lot for his shifts at the station. Unfortunately that means all my recipes feed a small army,” she chuckles.

“But since my parents moved to Florida and I’ve been living along, I don’t have much occasion to cook, so I’m a little rusty.” She smiles over at him, seeming to calm again with tasks to perform.

The pasta is, it turns out, home made; rolled out into sheets, Eleanor has to cut it first (August offers her a nice, big, 10" carving knife for that) into strips, or, as August tells her, whatever shape she feels like amusing herself with. Then there's mushrooms and onions to slice.

August sees to the lamb, courtesy of a trade for duck with a farm down the coast, getting it sliced and seared. "It took me a while to sort that out after college. It was always three to four of us in an apartment, so we'd group cook. Then I got my first posting and I had to figure out how to feed just me on a tight budget." He huffs a breath, shakes his head. "Those were some interesting meals, let me tell you...

"It's definitely easier to cook for three or more, though. And for one you have to plan and budget a lot more carefully, since almost nothing's sold to cook for one." Which would be why he grows most of his own stuff.

It's an easy meal to make, with only a handful of ingrediants and a single skillet (plus some prep bowls) involved. Really, the longest part is probably waiting for the pasta water to boil. August schools himself to not hovering around Eleanor, though he does remain in her vicinity, chatting generally keeping her occupied.

“You need to get yourself a stand mixer with a pasta attachment,” Eleanor declares. “They’re pretty neat. I have one. You can roll pasta, and there is a cutter for different thicknesses.” For stroganoff she goes with a thicker egg-noodle type width. “Two isn’t so bad to cook for. You just cook for four and the extra helpings can be frozen for another time,” she notes with a smile. “Four servings for one person though? You get real sick of that fourth helping of goulash in a month.” She looks over at him with a look at the lamb. “I’ve only had it with beef before. This should be delicious. Are you ok with lots of garlic?” she asks.

"Plenty of garlic," August confirms. "Lamb gives it a nice kind of, I guess," he wiggles a little, "mellow flavor, I want to call it." He shrugs; he's no chef, to know how to describe such things. He shrugs about a mixer and pasta making attachment. "I guess that wouldn't be too bad. Probably prevent me from getting early arthritis in my hands." He looks down at one, flexing his fingers, which have so far never had a problem. "I wonder about that--if our power...effects things like that, somehow." He knows they can't heal themselves, but what about putting off chances for injury? That might be another story.

"I definitely get bored after that fourth or fifth helping of red sauce," he confirms. "So I tend to interleve things. You know, bake a bird, then have a variety of things from that in between pastas, that sort of thing. Doesn't always work, but mostly."

In the end they've got themselves a nice, simple, filling meal, with lagers to go with it. Maybe not the ideal pairing, but August has no complaints.

“Interesting thought,” Eleanor admits. “I think maybe those of us who have the Physical aspect of these powers likely unconsciously protect our bodies from harm, but I don’t know if we mitigate wear and tear over time. Another thing to add to the pile of research.” She smiles at him.

Ellie has no complaints about the meal either, and she seems to greatly enjoy eating it. The lager takes any edge off her fear after she no longer has tasks to see to as well. It’s a good solid bit of footing she’s on for the moment.

Afterwards comes the dishes. Another task for Eleanor to help with! Unfortunately because August is pretty efficient about this whole cooking thing, it doesn't take them long. By the time they're done August is stretching and hiding a yawn here and there. Well, he's early to bed anyways, since he normally gets up around 5:30. "Feel like watching anything, or do you want to get to sleep so you can be up bright and early? Sun'll be up by six." In case she wants to get the hell out of the forest, he no doubt means. Also she might want to swing by her house before heading in to work.

And now comes the awkward part. “Heading to bed sounds good but uh, do you have a t-shirt or something I can sleep in?” Jeans and a blouse do not exactly make for comfortable pajamas. Eleanor is blushing again, because of course she is.

August tries not to enjoy the blushing too much. "Sure. Be kind of like a tent on you, but maybe that's a feature." He smiles, kisses the tip of her nose and nods at the bathroom. "Bathroom's right there if you've got some bed prep to get to. You can go first." He fetches his tablet from the coffee table and settles in at the bar to wait his turn.

Eleanor smiles at the kiss to her nose and then she looks towards the bathroom with a level of trepidation. Right. Bathrooms have mirrors and all sorts of reflective surfaces. She can do this though! She heads in and turns on the light, glad she keeps a little travel toothbrush in her purse so she can brush her teeth. She stays to the side of the mirror best she can, out of its immediate view. She cleans up a bit and takes care of other business before she emerges.

August glances up when she comes out, nods at the stairs leading up into the big loft. "So, I put a couple of shirts on the bed, long-sleeve and tees, just, pick whatever looks comfortable. There's a bedside table so you can charge your phone right there if you want it handy." He sets his tablet down, drops a kiss on her head as he passes her to the bathroom. He stops in the entrance, stares at the mirror. "Shit," he mutters, then over his shoulder, "Sorry, I can get a sheet to cover this." Fortunately, he doesn't have any mirrors upstairs, and he thought to shut all the curtains while he was up there.

The bedroom's simple and cozy, with a king, sleigh bed in dark red-brown wood, with a dark blue duvet over slate gray sheets. A large, ornate rug bearing a black, cream, gold, and red fleur de lis design covers part of the floor so it's not all hardwood underfoot. There's a free-standing closet and large chest of drawers stained similar to the bed, and the windows have all had their curtains drawn and firmly shut, revealing nothing of the dark forest outside. On top of the chest of drawers are a few things: a medal box containing a purple heart, some photographs of an impossibly young August with a variety of other people, and one of him in his graduation robes with an older man and woman and two somewhat younger women--his family, come to see him graduate.

Two of the shirts are thin, button-down, long sleeved flannels, one a little larger than the other, and the other two are a black Henley and a simple dark blue t-shirt, all laid out on the bed.

“It’s ok August. I have to deal with mirrors in places every day. You don’t need to alter things for me. I have to learn to navigate around it on my own,” Eleanor insists. She heads up to the loft and opts for the larger of the two flannels, rolling the sleeves up so her hands aren’t covered. She folds her clothing neatly in a pile on the chest of drawers, all but panties which she keeps on.

When August joins her, the first thing he’ll notice is that her legs are about a mile long, and make up much of her 5’9” frame. His flannel falls to mid thigh on her. She’s also taken out her contacts and put her glasses on, and is looking at the photos of him with a wistful expression.

August's evening routine is a bit more involved, since he prefers to shower at night. He's down there for a spell, finally coming upstairs with his tablet in hand, hair damp and sweats draped over his arm. Boxers and the t-shirt for tonight, it seems. He pauses just as he reaches the top of the stairs, staring at Eleanor in his shirt. He takes a second to think about how awkward this is going to be, stops thinking about that. Not awkward at all. Right. (Stop staring at her legs.)

"Hard to imagine me at twenty-five, right?" he says, unable to keep the wry humor out of his voice. His hair's much darker, almost entirely black, his long face a bit longer in his youth, without age to round it out. "I'm glad I took them, though. I wound up looking a lot different over the years." Especially after Bosnia, he thinks and doesn't say.

Eleanor lets out a low whistle. “If I’d know you when I was in college, I think I’d have tripped over my own two feet chasing after you. But honestly?” She smiles and looks over her shoulder at him, “I prefer the finely honed, classically aged version.” Then she’s blushing again at the sight of him in boxers and tee and pushes her glasses up on her nose.

"I would not have been worth your time, I was working out my problems in college. I regularly apologize to any of my exes when I see them." If August is being honest, he still is, but he likes to think he's gotten better at it. He smiles, lets her see him give her an appreciative once over in his shirt. With just his boxers on half of the raven tattoo is visible, the lower bird clutching the hellebore its claws. "But thank you." He watches her a spell, seems to decide against joining her at the dresser. Not while she's in that shirt.

Instead, he heads over to the left side of the bed, gets his tablet and phone plugged in. He's pulled out some extra pillows for her; she has choice of big, fluffy king-sized or squishy feather-alternative. "Just toss whichever ones you don't want in the floor," he says, pulling back the covers and climbing in.

Eleanor moves to plug her phone in, and she tests out the pillows, opting for the king-sized one and setting the other at the foot of the bed, in case she needs one to hug at some point. She slides in under the covers, blushing to her knees. This is not an everyday occurrence for her, clearly. “I uh, will try not to keep you awake,” she offers, though her eyes seem to say she’d LOVE to do just that. She sits back against the pillow and works on twining her hair into a loose braid over her shoulder to keep it out of his territory if she thrashes about in her sleep.

August surveys her a spell, starts to say something, seems to decide not to. He gets another of those looks which indicates he's in the verge of blushing, yet doesn't Instead he gets settled, lying on his side facing her, one arm under his pillow. "I won't turn off the lights until you want me to," he says. "And I can leave one on, if you want. Or put in a night light, I have one of those for when the nieces visit."

She feels so foolish, having to be treated with kid gloves, or needing a nightlight like his little niece. Eleanor sets her glasses on the nightstand before she slides down to face him, one hand under her pillow as well, squinting to focus on his face. “I...think if you just hold my hand or keep in contact I’ll be ok with the lights off.” She reaches to run her fingers through his beard lightly.

August winces, realizing too late how that probably sounded. "Okay," he says, reaching behind himself for the wall switch. And he wasn't kidding, about how dark it was going to be--there though are a few night lights downstairs, to make a trip to the bathroom less treacherous on the stairs, it's otherwise unavoidably dark in the cabin. No star- or moonlight to filter in from outside with the curtains drawn, just the faint glow of downstairs.

No sooner had August turned out the lights than he puts his hand over Eleanor's in his beard, turns his face to kiss the palm. "You okay?" She can just barely seen the outline of him in the dark.

Eleanor shivers, just a tiny bit, and he can feel it through his hand over hers. “So far, so good.” But she’s wide eyed, and she snuggles in tight against him after a moment, needing the contact to close out the encroaching dark and everything that could be in it.

August makes a low sound in his chest, not the least bit put out by Eleanor snuggling in close. "You're fine," he murmurs against her neck, stroking one hand down her back and keeping the other at her cheek. "It's fine. I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere." He stays like that, content to hold her until she wants to move again. Maybe he won't sleep, but that's okay. He'd rather make sure Eleanor's alright.

Being this close to August is exhilarating and frustrating all at once. “I can’t believe I’m half dressed in bed with you and this is the topic of conversation. I feel like an idiot for being so scared.” Eleanor laughs a little, quietly, embarassed.

August can't help but laugh, his breath warm on Eleanor's shoulder. "Don't. You're not an idiot. Hell, even my sister has trouble sleeping out here--too dark, too quiet. They're used to the city. And you've got a much more concrete reason than that."

She can feel him shiver, and he takes in a steadying breath. "Besides. If we don't talk about that, what do we talk about." He kisses her neck, laughs, a little helplessly. After a second, he says, "Don't think I don't want to," a bit more quietly. Like he's afraid someone might hear. He hopes she knows what he means. "But you're scared, you're not in a good place right now. I wouldn't..." He sighs. "I would not deserve to be with you if I took advantage of that."

Eleanor makes a little sound at the kiss to her neck, and then groans. “Now I feel even worse. But I understand, and I absolutely appreciate you not taking advantage. Even if it may frustrate me so bad I won’t sleep at all,” she chuckles. She kisses him tenderly, stroking his beard. “This is nice though, just being with you.”

"It is. Nice." August returns the kiss, trails it down her neck. "Anticipation is the purest form of pleasure, right? I think that's how that saying goes. So now you can think about this when you're lying in bed without me. And I can think about you, and how good it feels to have your hands on me." He's careful to keep his hands at her back. A wicked smile creeps into his voice. "And you can think of me any time you see a cucumber."

That starts Eleanor to giggling, because humor is the greatest enemy of fear. She strokes his face gently, keeping her hands there because he is trying to be a good guy, and she doesn’t want to throw him to the wolves by letting her hands slide downwards. “Well now that’s going to be stuck in my head, thanks for that,” she laughs.

"That might have been the idea," August says around a laugh that he's trying to keep in. "Now they're ruined for you, forever. You won't be able to have a salad without thinking of that. You'll order a sandwich at a deli and see a dill spear. And on and on. There'll be no escaping the cucumber." He manages to sober for that last part.

The giggles continue until they finally subside. She tucks herself in under his chin and puts an arm over his hip. “Maybe I can try to sleep now. I’ll be dreaming of cucumbers though.”

August thinks very hard about saying something like 'as long as they're mine', opts not to. They do need to sleep at some point, and if they're lying in bed laughing like loons that won't happen. He strokes Eleanor's hair, drapes his arm along her waist. He kisses the top of her head. "Wake me up if you need to." And then he's drifting off, still smiling about cucumbers.