2019-09-15 - The New Normal

August came in to work looking like he either didn't get much sleep, or didn't get any restful sleep, and not in the good way. He still had the customary morning waffles, though, and judicious application of coffee has gradually perked him up. He's on the phone with a potential customer at the moment, asking them questions about their situation (an magnolia that was planted too close to their house and which is now making problems for the foundation) and what they can and can't do about it. He's in black Led Zepplin t-shirt, jeans, and workboots, so it's probably a tree climbing day for him.

Ignacio has called off the last week, from life, and pretty much dropped off the planet with assurance from Finch, likely, he's working through some things. Because if you ask Ignacio he's capital F 'fine'. As for Ignacio he kind of looks like hell like he's not gotten much sleep either, but there is 0 tree climbing in his future, likely ever. You're welcome world.

It is to say he was insistent at trying to get in to work. He needed to do... anything. Something. Work is at least on the edge of town and so off schedule he shows up with earplugs in, not that they help much. The cadence of his walk is notable as he's pretty unique in dragging his leg around like an urban cowboy. There's a murmur and the drag-shuffle gets closer to August's door. He leans on the frame, The worn black moto jacket with the red and ivory stripes down the sleeves, clean jeans, button up shirt over a t-shirt with a stylized Fox Racing t-shirt. For now he's quiet and observes looking slightly concerned, and like even being here might be draining his battery a little bit.

"Well we can definitely take it out. Moving it's going to cost a bit more if we can do it, but I'll need to swing by and have a look first." A pause. "No, no charge for a look and a quote. I can email you some ballpark numbers but they'll definitely be just a rough idea until we've seen it." Another pause. "Alright, let me just get this all filed in." August starts typing; thank God his mother insisted he learn how to do that before he started college. He glances up when he seems movement at his periphary, frowns as he takes in Ignacio's situation. He refocuses on his tablet, though.

"Alright. I'll send someone out in about, an hour here, that work? Okay. Thank you." He clicks off his phone, sets it aside and leans back in his chair. "Well you look about how I feel," he says, and raises an eyebrow. "Want to put in some hours today?"

Ignacio takes a deep breath and nods hesitantly looking around trying to make sure his feet are still under him. Yup. Good right now. Casually he murmurs,"Well, yeah I can... I can to talk to you but I, um, I can. I think." Looking around uncertain he nods slowly chewing on the inert side of his lip, "Yeeeah. yes."

He's still studying the boss hating, for the life of him more than near anything, being a mess or people knowing. "You a'ight? You look like you havin' a hell of a day. Look I'm sorry about... I'm sorry about this week. Didn't mean to make shit harder on folks around here."

August waves a hand dismissively. "It's nothing. Someone in the hospital needed a bit of healing, and," he shrugs as if to suggest Ignacio can no doubt put together how well that went. "I'll be fine after I get some rest." He surveys Ignacio. "Not sure that's all you need, though."

His gaze shifts past Ignacio, and his eyes narrow. "Huh. You're different." His brow gathers. "Wonder when that...happened." He shakes his head like he's clearing it, focuses on Ignacio again. "Don't worry about that. If I need someone I can hire. Going to need to, anyways--Ully and Jen go back to school soon, so they'll only be working half-time." He arches an eyebrow. "Speaking of which. Is it your other jobs, or," a glance to Ignacio's leg, something else?

Ignacio winces a bit and addresses the most important part, "They alright?"He's seen the news. The answer is not always 'no. "Wasn't that killer in the news was it?" Sure, now his mind is floating in 50 directions. His hands slide in his jacket and he shakes his head pushing off the door frame with a shoulder. "Naw, things will be slowing down with both once off season hits so. I mean I'd be game for more hours if I'm up on my feet."

Not missing the glance to his leg his head swims in a non-committal figure 8. "Sorta." And to that he idles uncomfortably. Leaning the one leg back he nudges the door closed and tries to come up with the words and can't bring himself to look at August yet. "I got this... problem. I promised Finch I'd work on it ya know? and she's been trying to fix the nerve in my leg. The Nurotin ain't really doin it cause the muscle just ain't there and I promised... I'd kinda kick the Vicodin.... the Oxy... and the other shit cause, ya know, it scared her and ya know I don't... like that part." His lips press togetehr and his chest tightens hesitating, afraid of the reprisal and braodcasting like a sunnovabitch. "I'm... an addict and... it's been... harder than I thought trying tooooo sort... this out." Jaw tightening he tries to fall back on some bleak humor citing casually, "I was addicted to the hokey pokey before, and then I turned myself around. This is... My head's bee feeling like it damn near wants to explode, my leg hates me and Finch has been trying to keep me glued togetehr like a puzzle and..." Eyes wet but composed he murmurs, "I'm sorry. I... I needed to tell you."

August grimaces about all of that ugliness, particularly since it indirectly impacted Eleanor. "No," he says, relieved that it hadn't been. "She got pulled Over There, mauled by an animal. She'll be okay, her doctors are good, just didn't want her laid up longer than needed." He leaves out the rest (Byron hated the methodology, August had wound up throwing up in Eleanor's backyard and spending most of the evening laying on the couch in a stupor, then woke up from three rather monstrous nightmares--thanks Them!), because it's not relevant.

Not as relevant as all of that. He listens with equanimity, nods his understanding. "I don't have experience with that myself, but I knew a lot of guys in counseling who ran into that." He sighs. "Here's the thing. I can't judge you for struggling with the pain." He gestures at his back, laughs, bitterly but not without some morbid humor. "I really can't. And I won't judge you for looking for an out. That'd be hypocritical. I lucked out, someone was in that VA making sure that wouldn't happen to some of us. I know...I know, that I'd be in the same place you are, if not for that person. Whoever they were."

He sighs, ducks his head. "I appreciate the apology, but it's not really needed. You haven't fucked us over or anything. At best, you've worried Ully." This time his smile is a little more positive. "He's soft on you, you know." He sobers. "You thought about getting some help? I mean," he gestures, "if that kind of thing works for you, it's not for everyone."

Ignacio listens about what happened to Saffr-er, Eleanor. Ahem. Either way it's important. slowly he eases himself into his seat. (You know the one right on that cleared off spot on August's desk instead of the actual fucking chair? That one.) Quietly he offers, "Finch got pulled across. I followed her. Somehow I fuckin grabbed her. I still can't tell you how I managed that one but it was... horrifying. I got picked apart by this big fucking bird that tried to tell her they're her ma and she had to, lie repair all that shit. Man By the time she was done I thought she might have to nap for two weeks and I remember how scary that was, and to watch so... I mean... I'm sorry Eleanor went through that, jefe. She's damn lucky you were there."

And then the truthiness of reality is there. Helping. Talking to people. Doctors. Every bit of it less appetizing than the previous suggestion, but, if it was fun they wouldn't call it work. Were he able to get the image of how fucking scared as shit Finch was when she found him out of his head he might argue. Nope. this is where he's at. It's not rock bottom but he can see it from here just fine. The mention of Ully gets a lopsided smile from him as he looks at his fingers fidgeting with the hem of his jacket sleeve. "Yeah... Ully's pretty great. We talked a bit when I came in." Looking up to August who is, listening and not getting a wave of confrontation and disappointment to drown him in. "Haven't really thought about anything other than I need to do... something. The migraines ain't lettin up. Being in town's been hard. I've been camping out in Finch's back yard trying to wait for the world to chill out . So maybe? Maybe I do cause my method suuuucks, and as much as I don't want to I want my leg to jsut stop... being... fucked, ya know?""

August blinks in surprise. It's the first he's heard of Finch and Ignacio getting pulled across, and he sits up. "You're both okay, though?" He eyes Ignacio. "I mean, you know. Relatively."

He doesn't wait for an answer, just nods. "Thanks. We're okay, though. Made it out alright, more of less. This was different, though--happened to someone else this time." He coughs a laugh. "Probably for the same reason though. If we use our power, well, that's the price." He gives Ignacio a helpless shrug, frowns about the migraines and the need for things to 'chill out'. "What do you mean by chill out," he says, slowly and carefully.

Ignacio still hangs on the retelling of August's hell of a time, nervous on that. Just because things are resolved don't mean over, fine, or even done. Especially not in this town. He starts to nod and there's a pause, and that answer of people relatively being alright hangs there for a moment. In the end the truth somehow wins a vote in Ignacio-Landia and he shakes his head "No." His hand comes up to rub at yesterday's 5 o'clock shadow with a sigh. The look is apologetic but if people were incapacitated he'd have lead off with that. "We're working on Okay right now."

When August chuckles dark eyes come up to look to him hanging on those words and filing them away for later. "The um... Finch thinks that the detox isn't the whole problem. She thinks that the drugs were kinda keeping something else like... a seventh sense or whatever suppressed so now I'm detoxing and my brain feels like it's on fucking fire half the time and I can't mitigate the input and I almost had a damn seizure from the withdrawal crash and I'd call that?" Taking a deep breath he looks at his hands. They've been steadier. He's slept more. It could be anything.

Looking to August he doesn't quite know how to find the words so he goes about it in a comfortable narrative circle too close to home, "You ever wake up and you can feel teh world breathing. You can feel the nerves of the city are shot: from the people to the power lines like everything is going to snap any fucking moment? I can't get away from it and I don't even know what to do other than camp out in Finch's back yard and wait for the noise t'just... stop haunting me man." He pauses and murmurs, "Also I ain't had coffee in two damn days so that ain't helpin."

August accepts that 'okay' is still a goal to be achieved with a grunt and a nod. Well, it wasn't like he and Ellie didn't still have things to sort through, issues to examine. Like how he'd healed someone at range rather than go into a hospital. But Rome wasn't built in a day.

He tips his head and studies Ignacio, scratches at his beard. "She might be right about that," he says, eventually. "Your Gift's changed since I last looked at you. You've got a bit more of," he taps his temple, "this than you used to. Not so much as people like Alexander but more than me. And if you're not used to not listening to every damned thing, that might be part of it." He raises his eyebrows. "I can show you how to do that, in as much as I do it, if you want."

Ignacio is not thrilled to hear this. Yeah in fact this? This falls under not-great news. Frustrated he works to keep a lid on it grousing idly, "Well they don't get this specific during the drugs are bad, Mmkay? class at school. They skilled the part where you are eaten by birds and exposed to the damn universe if you try to sort yourself out." Pressing his lips together hi finger taps Roen's desk. "Thaaaat wasn't in the fine print at the pharmacy either, I'll have you know." his hand comes up to rub the side of his face and his temple where his pulse feels like a kettle drum. "Finch said you might. I figure maybe... talk to you and see if this i the case. Talk to a surgeon and see what's going on. PT. Something. Just..." His eyes squint and he checks the door first to make sure the conversation stays here. "I don't want Finch healing my ass every day. It's draining. It's dangerous. We need a better long term solution. I don't want something to happen to her because she's taking care of me, ya know?"

August lets out a long, slow breath. "Yeah," he says, of Finch healing Ignacio on the regular. "She does need to stop going that. PT and a surgeon for your leg. But for the rest," he glances at his watch, "come on, let's go try something." He sets his phone to DND, swipes out a group-text to Jen and Cy, and nods out back.

It's a nice day, with the temperature indicating fall is closing in. It won't be long now; they hard edge is in the air, replacing the balmy feel of summer. August leads Ignacio out towards the greenbelt that abuts the back of the property, his goal the stand of spruce that's clustered along the banks of the creek. "Just so we don't have people staring at us," he assures Ignacio.

Ignacio looks honestly relieved to hear someone- anyone else concerned about the healing output the pint sized dynamo kicks out on the regular. For all he likes to hang some rules he's not particularly a fan of risk. Not with them. Sliding to his feet with interest, but low on energy he follows. "No, Ully, I didn't quit. You don't get to be the pretty one. Lemme see about grabbing lunch in a bit." Because after this he might want to throw up and curl up int eh greenhouse. He can't even guess at this point.

It's September and the world has that whole Vermont of the West feel and there is, in all the bad news, a pause to admire it. Careful steps wander over to the edge of the water. Looking up to Roen he sighs, "Ya gonna drown me for being broken? Very old school Greek of ya." He looks down and murmurs something in jest about being consumed by minnows.... "This is gonna take a bit isn't it?"

August snorts a surprised laugh. "No, not drowning you. This stream's all of a foot deep. Just easier for me if we're away from as many people as we can be, without raising suspicion." He tilts his head. "Shouldn't take long. Come on."

Numerous game trails crisscross the greenbelt, following the banks of the stream and leading out across a nearby meadow, and from there into the forest proper. August doesn't take them further than the edge of the meadow, though. They come to an old trunk that was laid down and carved out for sitting purposes (by yours truly, of course...), on which August settles himself. "Okay. So. Here's the thing. I was using my," he taps one temple, "for a long time without knowing it. And in arguably the worst possible place. And when I finally figured out how to turn it the fuck off, it was pretty blissful. But it was also difficult and it took me a while to sort out how to turn it back on. So maybe we can avoid that happening to you if I show you how to do both." He gestures at the other end of the trunk-bench. "You're going to need to practice. And it's not going to get fixed overnight. But it should help. Not with the leg, but with your head."

Ignacio follows. "A'ight, so long as I'm not getting the broken Spartan baby treatment." Every kid wants the letter from Hogwarts except the people who go the Wizarding world is dangerous and I sensibly want no part of tha- wait.... I'm a what? What if I politely decline though??! And so it goes.

Ignacio follows behind with his right leg more pulling him than any sort of hiking back there. He looks around and rubs the stubble on his jaw asking curiously, "This when you were in Scandinavia?" He pauses, "Sarajevo." yeah that sounds more correct.

August shakes his head and smiles. "No. I'd have had to drown myself first, in that case." He leans back on the bench, winces as something pops. The good thing about it being cooler is the scars won't itch; the bad thing is the bones will ache. The circle of life.

"Right. Sarajevo. I didn't figure out how to turn it off until I was in the VA. After they got me moved back stateside and I was in recovery." He sighs, gaze drifting out over the meadow. The sun passing between the big, puffy white clouds leaves dark splotches that move over the grass. "Laying there, feeling everyone's injuries and illnesses, and how those injuries made them feel..." His eyebrows go up. "At a certain point I just needed it to stop."

He looks at Ignacio again. "But we don't want you to do it like I did. That was kind of a hard stop. And it had some bad outcomes for me, long term. So we'll try something simpler. First thing's first, just--chill. Don't think about anything, or if you do, think about something that's relaxing and fun to think about. You know," he shrugs, "plans you and Finch have. Rebuilding her car. The good ol' days. That kind of thing."

Ignacio is so right in that wheelhouse with August about 15 years too damn early. It's different though, in some relief to have someone get what is happening without describing the impossible feat of this break in reality and logic. Hell it's nice to just feel not entirely alone like he's losing his mind.

Planting his ass on the log he sits, wincing a little as he tries to get comfortable doing so and this is as good as it's going to get. The motion that August didn't get help until after the VA pulls a slow wince. It's been a week for Iggs and that's been long enough. "Shit, that's rough dude."

Fingers stretch and curl into fists a couple tines taking a deep breath. "Okay. Peter Pan this shit... right. Happy thoughts." Racing? Nah that gets a flinch. Plans though. Finch? He can think of her. The tent. That way he can make her smile and her telling him they're going to find a way to make things work. Plans. He's got plans again with someone who makes him want to try again. There's a faint flicker of a smile on the fully functional side of his smile. Yeah, that's the look.

"It sucked. There was a kind of frog in the slowly heating pot of water situation there. You know? I didn't know anything was out of the ordinary was wrong, since it had all been wrong for years." August says this without rancor or ill will; he's come to terms, mostly, with that phase of his life. "But hey, it's over, and the good news is, since I went through it, maybe you don't need to."

They sit for a while in silence, August leaning back, one arm across the back of the trunk-bench, eyes shifting back out to the meadow. They half-close as he concentrates on doing this as carefully as possible. The sounds of the wind through the spruce and meadow grass and the stream burbling shift and alter. A deeper, swifter river; aspen, not spruce, their leaves shivering in the wind. Through it all winds a gentle request, like a knock on a door, or a tenative step out of the treeline and into view.

<<Hey.>>

Ignacio like an idiot holds the grin and says out loud, "Oh hey that's you." TELEPATH FAIL! Stop using your face, Ignacio!Right! Happy place 101. he works on holding himself in that moment and piggybacks on that feeling,

<<Hola.>> He doesn't open his eyes but murmurs, "This is movie levels of wild..." <<This kidna feels like that time we build the->> The image recapture of the bird cage for the, um, chicken?!fills in instead of words. Feelings that form impressions seem to be easier. Focusing at all right now is the challenge but it's coming along.

<<There's a reason for that.>> August's voice in Ignacio's mind has a different tone; older, heavier. <<It's a different space, a different layer. Like smell and taste are part of the same thing, but separate? This is like that. What people say is what you smell. But what they feel is what you taste.>>

He lets Ignacio see a little further, feel a little more. Now it's the meadow and the greebelt's trees, but not as Ignacio sees them. It's how August feels them: everything seems to ripple and shimmer, like there's bioluminescence, a light within that flows in a thousand little threads, or rivers. <<These are other senses. Beyond what other people have. As soon as you can get hold of that, you can think about how to stop using them. But first you need to get used to knowing it's even there.>>

Ignacio sits and closes his eyes to try and focus on getting used to doing this with not Finch. She's helped him practice he least and so long as he doesn't try to figure out how is brain is doing it he seems to waver but keep his proverbial bike from getting dumped. <<That...is... glowing? And super pretty. this how you see plants, man?>>

He sits in stunned silence letting his mind explore taking in the colours and textures at a higher plane of perception and then bursts out in a snicker, "Shit, man how do you eat a salad!?" <<I'd feel so bad if I hacked this apa- Oh check out you, mr. caterpillar.>> Fucking fascinating. As pretty as it is it doesn't stop it from being jarring. his hand closes as a reflex around the one his mind still instinctively has there, and even if Finch isn't standing there the impression holds. Trace echoes in his head tell him in that voice <<You're fine. hold on>>

It begs to ask if you know someone would and will say something do they really need to come all teh way over and do it if he already knows? No. And that's a very lucky place to be.

A swallow wings low over the meadow in bright, crescent flash. <<Anything alive.>> The rocks and dirt don't glow like this, nor do any downed branches--and yet, there's something there too, a different sense to them. Almost a dark, thick color, like oil on water. <<That's a different sense. Matter.>>

He takes in a breath, lets it out slowly. A pine cone on the ground in front of them rises up to eye level, a dark, bumpy, ovid shape against the meadow's grass-light. <<Not as strong as this one. Harder to do the small things. Itzhak, he's incredibly strong this way. He can move liquids. I can barely sense them as something to move.>>

There's a sense of power gathering, and a shove. The pine cone flies out over the meadow, lands somewhere out of sight. <<That's just it. You have to turn it off sometimes. I don't look at my food like this. I'd never be able to eat if I did. Same thing with this--you can't go around listening to everyone all the time. You'll go deaf. So you have to learn how to take out the ear buds. So to speak.>>

The visual of light vanishes. Just like that, it's simple a meadow: the smell of grass, with a hint of piney tar and wet ground. Nothing more.

Ignacio might not know he's doing it but his hands are stretched out on the log so he doesn't fall over or throw up. Oof. His mind swims like a roller coaster with the hail of input, though he's at least on 600 mg. of aspirin which is helping the damn migraines, so there's that mercy. There's a lot of trust and tenacity going into keeping himself upright, but it's paying off. The back of his throat tasting a bit like earth and copper is enough distraction and focus to rally to.

There is that wave of momentary panic that hits him like a reflex at the change down to radio silence.

<<Jefe... you still here?>> Of that he's uncertain. His eyes flicker awake as that secondary panic hits him and is abated immediately proving how very much more reactionary he is below the calm and snarky surface. And if we give him a minute his pulse will stop doing that thing that imitates the dubstep off the last Skrillix album. Deep breaths, guy. <<How do I unplug? Total sensory collapse is pretty much what I'm angling to avoid.>> Because the constant drone of information bringing him close to having a damn seizure is what he'd like to avoid here.

<<Still here. I just stopped looking that everything that way.>> August is quiet a moment, leaving Ignacio with that notion that the stream is a river, that there's a burned-and-regrowing forest here in this meadow. <<Think of it like...when you think you hear your car making a funny sound. You tune out everything else to just hear that, right? Those sounds aren't not there. But you're not listening to them.>>

For a moment Ignacio sees the gleam of life energy again, though only one little bit of it: a mouse, creeping through the grass of the meadow. <<You can listen to just one thing. Then,>> the mouse disappears into the grass, <<you stop listening to that too.>>

Now this example speaks to the man. Images flood his head of that electric orange 2005 Grand Am. That hum. That memory broadcast of feeling the wind blowing his hair back and listening to the pitch of the engine focusing down and knowing just when to shift. Honing in on that one thing ignoring all else. Good job August.

If there's one thing he can, or at least could, do really well it was pilot a machine and fall into sync with it and let the world fall away. Now the sensation comes in trying to pilot his own body which is just a really weird concept to think about. <<Yeah... I think I'm pickin up what you're putting down. I mean it sounds great on paper but... you got the idea.... and then what?>>

He asks out loud, "Jefe? How... do I manage this without putting you guys at risk?"

August's internal laugh is 'louder' than the chuckle Ignacio hears with his own ears. The undergrowth and trees ripple with wind, the river seems to cascade over rocks. <<You're not strong enough to be dangerous. Not yet. That's why it's good you learn this now.>> He's quiet a bit, letting Ignacio focus on that one sound in the engine, that individual strain in the song that bounces around inside. <<I used a lot of metaphors when I was learning how to do this. Shutting a door, turning off a TV, that kind of thing. But eventually I started thinking of it as a lamp I'd turn off, or a candle I'd blow out. That worked the best for me. For you...>> He shows Ignacio, rather than thinks it.

Ignacio pulling his Grand Am up somewhere--a house? a taco cart? a beach?--setting the hand break, shutting it off, and getting out. The door of the car closes, and the car sits. Still there, silent, waiting. Full of potential for the next time it's started.

Ignacio tries to work on picturing this as a different kind of driving. It's... not intuitive. He knew that car better than he knows himself which is likely why his car had fewer accidents. Whoops. Weirdly the spot he stops isn't even in front of his apartment building, but a parking garage. There's a voice, male, and familiar, and crabby as hell trying to be patient remembered saying 'Turn it off. Step away from the car. They can't get you if you're not inside.' Possibly the best and most dubious advice he's received but a calm comes with it which helps him buffer out the noise. This is going to take some work. A lot... of work.

The garage is a good enough metaphor to start with. Maybe better than most: aren't they working on Ignacio? Poking around at him, trying to see where some of the problems are and set them to rights?

The garage is it's own hive of activity, but it's all internal. Chosen. It's him, it's not all those people outside who show up wanting everything fixed. This is just work, tireless and soothing. Also frustrating, but in that good way of solving a tricky problem. He chooses to be here, working on cars, working with other mechanics, trading barbs and jokes and gossiping (they don't call it that but that's what it is).

Out there, he's subjected to other people's opinions, wants, needs. In here, it's just the work.

<<Just go inside and shut the door. Only let in who you want.>>

The garage is a number of things. The parking structure where his future best friend became his teammate. The other that lingers in the periphery is a tidy mess of a auto garage on the Lower East Side and an imagined place of solutions. The familiar and crabby voice of Jimminy Fucking Cricket grousing away to the tune of 'It doesn't work yet. That just means we ain't done yet.'

His hands come up to rub his face and he tries not to think about all the shit outside. The outside world resting and only the build remaining. His hands rise to cover his face and breathes in staggered inhalation. His fingers lace together tightly and then? His eyes open with a slightly wild, mildly paranoid look that slowly subsides.

<<This is going to take getting used to>>

<<It does.>> August admits that with a fair amount of sympathy. He's been there, trying to understand what the stopping and starting even is, what it means in the grander scheme of himself. Wrestling with notions like 'am I obligated to listen to people who need help'. Compassion fatigue, a thing he knew all too intimately.

But here in these two garages--one for hiding, resting, waiting; one for working out of view of strangers--there's none of that. It's only what Ignacio brings in with him. What he allows in. Everything and everyone else can fuck off.

<<You make yourself a space. A place inside that's you. And maybe you're something in the space, or maybe you are the space. Whatever works. It'll take time and practice. Just like driving, just like cooking. But the good news is, you're not learning it alone. You've got all of us.>> FinchItzhakRafAugustJulia. <<Don't think you're all by yourself on this.>> A pause, then, <<Alexander has this Gift. You should think about talking to him.>>

<<Jefe, you should never, ever try to cook and drive. *Es muy malo...stick to growing the plants, and I'll stick to making them into a soup.>> Okay so he's getting his sense of humor back even if he's not full throttle again.

<<You know I'm pretty certain he really doesn't like me and thinks I want to eat his young or something. He kinda scares the hell out of me if we're being honest.>> Palms gain warmth being rubbed together nervously and he murmurs out loud, "Mi hermano's guy I think does too. I started picking up on... something when we were out on the boat. Tobin, on the other hand doesn't look at me like I tried to kick his dog." Looking out at the water the static tries to start building up as the anxiety starts shaking his zen loose and he sits on it like a box in the most proverbial of senses. "I dunno what I did to him but he's one crabby old fucker."

<<I cook just fine. I'm no restauranteur but I can make a mean roast grouse. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise.>>

August laughs about Alexander, out loud, though, and not in the link. That he lets sit there between them, an alternate channel. "He just runs hot and cold like that. It's not you." He looks askance at Ignacio. "Like with Itzhak. You don't take every one of his reactions to you personally, do you? Same thing with Alexander." He furrows his brow. "Your brother's guy?" He seems to have no idea who that could be.

Ignacio works on the math of that in his head. Yesterday's 5 o'clock shadow adding some years to him. He considers Itzhak and arches an eyebrow tilting his head. "Guess you have a point. " He pauses and takes in the lack of things screaming at him letting the water be water. Weirdly after finding reprieve in camping in Finch's back yard for a week Ignacio can very keenly appreciate why August doesn't live closer to town. Hell he's debating that. The snow will come and Finch will poke her head in the tent and tell her Igcicle he needs to come inside. Contemplating this he decides to quietly capitalize on all rights claiming Igloo are named after him. Briefly he considers Iggyloo? His eyes go wide looking to August apologetically realizing too late they are still mentally linked and he just heard all of that.

August just smiles, first at the stream of consciousness, then at the realization. "It's fine," he says, tracking a hummingbird as it goes between flowers in a near by bush.

"I live out in the forest because in a city..." He stops a second. "When I hear city sounds, behind that, I still hear the shells coming down. And the sniper rifles. And the buildings falling apart." He sighs about that. "It's better than it used to be. A lot better. And it might never really go away. But you know," he half turns to face Ignacio, "we work with what we've got. And no one can blame you for needing time to figure it out. You've been dealt some shitty cards, and we didn't get manuals for," he gestures beyond them at the meadow, "any of this shit. So. Don't think I'm gonna judge you for how you're going about sorting it. Long as you don't hurt Finch, we're fine." He smiles, laughs. "Besides--judging you, that's Itzhak's job."

Ignacio glances to August and looks ... well as embarrassed as Ignacio is able to which is really just a resignation of well... shit. His hand lifts to rub at the back of his neck frowning. That's concern but somehow understanding. <<Yeah. I... have bad experiences in hospitals for that reason. We.. We got pulled through in this old mental hospital in Baltimore. From what I'm reading the veil always seems thinnest around that which I guess makes sense you know? But I always hear metal. Screaming... people crying trying to get out.>>

He pauses and says out loud, because he needs to hear himself say it, "It's why I need to help Julia. She was stuck in ... something like that. I have people that still are and I'm wondering if this... asylum, ya know?... maybe... maybe Rico is one of the people still alive in there? Even if he ain't people are. Like..." Taking a deep breath and he looks to August <<Maybe like your war. You want to get out but you don't want to leave anyone behind... so what do ya do? Rally. Get a plan. Do... something or hope there is something we can do.>>

His eyes close as he's advised to not hurt Finch. Any other day this might come with a war for many reasons. Today? "Yeah. It's why I'm askin for help. I need... to get my shit together so she's at rick picking my dumb ass up less. For her, but for me too. I can't hurt her and... I know I am. not deliberately, but it's happened. I need to reduce that for her and for you guys too."

His lower eyelids tuck in and he looks at his hands and back to Roen with mild, but earnest apology, "I ain't the easiest guy to work with. I do appreciate what you been doin for us though. I'm tryin. I'm fucking it up preeeetty spectacularly but talkin with mi Pajarito y Iz? I kknow I can't do it alone and ... I guess I'm trying to say I'm sorry for being a colossal pain in your ass. I really appreciate this. It ain't a place you like going back to. I mean I know I don't.... but I also dunno many who get it either."

"Who knows--your friend might be there. But," August leans forward, elbows on his knees, "don't convince yourself he is. Help Julia because she needs help, and because it'll help you come to terms with what happened. Not because you're convinced you can fix a mistake you never made." He sits like that a time, to make sure Ignacio understands what he's getting at. "Otherwise, if you go through all that and Rico's not there, it's going to hurt more. A lot more."

He sits back up, looks down at the trunk bench. He runs a finger over the woodgrain. "For me it was less about leaving anyone behind, more about, letting them down. Not doing enough. We were trained in triage--figure out who you can help, right now, versus who you can't. Who can wait, who can't. And it's logical, it makes sense. It ensures you save as many as you can by the numbers. It's a good way to keep yourself going when it's bad, focused, on task." He gets a distant look for half a second, shakes it off. "But it doesn't hurt less to know some people you have to put into a category of not being able to save. And it's not so great for reconciling that you can't help everyone." He grimaces, shrugs. "So it goes."

He clears his throat. "But I get what you're saying, about needing to help Julia. It's why I heal people even though it's a problem." For all the people he couldn't heal. On a wry smile, he says, "I appreciate the apology, but, you're really not that bad." He manages a rough laugh. "I'm glad I can help, though. I know what it's like...to not be able to. It's a powerless feeling. So if I can, let me do it, yeah?" He arches an eyebrow, leaves it at that.

"How's your head?" he asks, gesturing with one hand. "Little better?"

Ignacio sits still and gives August his attention on this; those answers he needs to succeed. He's desperate, not obstinate and certainly not one to throw away good and usable advice, even if it's not what he wants to hear exactly. Judging by the faint flinch he hadn't considered Rico isn't there and also doesn't seem surprised. The feeling of regret is palpable, but it's still good prep advice. "Yeah... I guess it will." August said Iggy never met a bad idea he didn't fall in love with. He wasn't wrong.

He listens though, tired but engaged, to the story of the city and the shells falling and how something beautifully and constantly banal has become something of a non stop reminder. It's a concept he can understand. "So it goes." When August talks about Julia Ignacio's head falls with a small disheartened nod. "Until you seen that ... place? Places like that on that side? There she was stuck and we broke out of? It's... Having lost everything there, man, I can't deal with that's all they gave her. The more I think on it the more I go back there and...my mind feels like it's..." He sighs shaking his head. No point in getting himself worked up. Hands rubs over his unshaven face, his age catching up to him not that he's terribly old, but he has been carrying this with him for the last six years.

His hand slides away from his face, reaches out, and rests on August's giving the back of his hand a squeeze. "That... I get, man. I'll give you that." Asking about his head there's a laugh and a tired, but erstwhile lopsided grin that warms up his face speaking volumes in gratitude. "Yeah, man. It's a little better. Gonna take some time but this is helpin."

August takes Ignacio's hand in both of his. Rough, calloused, hands that have seen more than their fair share of physical labor, and despite the gloves marks and seams remain. "Here's the thing--it doesn't mean you can't hold out hope for him. Just be careful, how deep you let is get its hooks into you. When hope gets crushed enough times it starts to leave scars."

He nods at about the Asylum and its ilk. "I hope I never do. But I know what you mean, about me not being able to imagine it unless I've been there. Believe me I do. It's hard to explain something like that to people who don't know." He smiles a little. "So, don't think I don't understand the level of what you're describing. I do, in my own way." Another squeeze for Ignacio's hand, then he lets it go.

"It'll take a while to get used to it. So I'd find a nice quiet spot and just practice. Once, maybe even twice a day. Just set aside some time to pull that car into the parking garage, turn it off," he gestures towards the store behind them, "and walking away for a little while."

Ignacio listens. He's tired, and there's a lot to think about and stop thinking about. The feelings on the Hospital both escaped and facing soon, Julia, helping Julia's friends and possibly just accepting Rico as being lost? It's a lot. Sadly the guy is just too used to this feeling to fall apart about it. August's hands clamp around his giving him warning and permission to stop hoping so hard. For a guy who could have been a hope elemental (ask Itzhak about the old days)it's crushing.

His jaw squeezes. Hand with familiar cooking scars squeezes August's back. The other hand falls over it with the worlds and Iggy's hand squeezes it slowly until it's just a handhold to hang onto so he doesn't fall off the Earth as that weightless, helpless feeling feel like they are pulling him up off of it in a dizzy swirl of mild despair He sits perfectly still, eyelashes wet, clumping as he listens using the words as a path. With a deep breath he lets the hand go and musters up a nod.

"Walking away. Sure. We'll just do that. I like the plan." Because if you make it sound casual it's totally doable. Well, step one is leaving the possibility out there. Swallowing he looks up to August hands rubbing his face giving him a slow nod. "Hey... thanks. I mean I probably don't say it enough. Trust me I get it's not easy for you having your own shit to worry about. You still worry about our dumb asses." Something he's got a lot of practice with, though that might be him neglecting his own problems in favor of helping Finch with hers.

"We ever gonna get better, man or is this just... the new normal?"

"It'll probably be harder than just doing it," August allows, wry. "But that's a start."

He blows out a breath, nods and looks down between them. "You're welcome." He pauses, thinking that over, says, "It's important for me to be able to help people. It's a thing I have to try to do. Because a lot of people helped me to get to where I am now, and I've got no hope of ever paying them all back. So instead, I try to pay it forward. Do for other people what they did for me. Maybe that way the world's a little less cold and shitty."

He sighs, manages an apologetic smile. There's a gentle nudge at Ignacio's despair, an encouragement, an uplifting. "It can get better," he says. "This is your normal right now, but it doesn't have to stay that way. I won't lie to you and say it'll be easy--it won't be. But I think you can get to a spot where the pain's manageable. Where you can focus on the next step forward."

Ignacio nods slowly, eyes squeezing shut.

Don't... fall... apart.
Nope. Don't do it, Ignacio.

A smaller, more certain nod follows working on creating a still point He offers some agreement, "Well, at least this time I got people that believe me...and Ully." Ully might not believe him but he'll go along with most anything Iggy's come up with. There's that. "Goal's worth it. We got a better goal. I have... a better goal." This place. The team. Finishing his book. Most importantly something for himself he wanted to move towards again.

"Yeah. I think it can be. I kinda like some of the parts we ain't gotten to yet."

"Exactly," August says, voice low. He reaches out, puts a hand on Ignacio's shoulder. "It's gonna be okay. You don't have to do this all by yourself. We can't help you with everything, but we will help with what we can, if you want us to." His grip tightens a moment, loosens.

He stands up, offers a hand in case Ignacio needs it. "Any time you want to practice a bit, I'm happy to help. Let me know."