2019-10-08 - Idle Hands

August isn't going to have to do much worrying about wood for his stove anytime soon. Alexander has read books, but found it hard to focus - his attention keeps drifting towards worrying about people (or thinking out well-ordered plans for killing them from afar). He doesn't really cook, although he's managed not to burn anything down or ruin too many of August's ingredients. And there's a small pile of money on the counter to cover what he's used, and what he calculated out for utilities and time and effort. It will be tucked away someplace for August to find before he gets back. Everything in the house which can be cleaned has been cleaned, with the exception of August's bedroom, which hasn't been touched. The animals are talked to, fed treats, pens are cleaned.

And at the end of it all, he's still restless, and still hurting in a way it's hard to even properly focus on without falling down a spiral of self-hate. So Alexander chops wood, instead. It's satisfying, physical work, even in the misty drizzle falling from the sky. It may be for the best that he's not getting any visitors out here, because it's also the stereotypical shirtless display, and Alexander is actually fairly toned under all those over-sized clothes he wears, although marked with scars small and large from his waist up. His mind is pleasingly blank, filled with the exertion of the swing, the whistle of the axe, the bite and thunk of it cutting through the wood. And if he occasionally (often) imagines cutting through things not like wood at all, well. That's sort of soothing, too.

The voicemail from Isabella was a bit distressing, particularly on top of Eleanor's random slip into the Other Side (from which she returned with injuries) and healing Bennie. So August waits a spell before reaching out to Alexander, so he has time to calm down and get some personal time to just relax and not think in the bathtub. Only after that, when he's situated on the couch with some tea, does he let his mind wind its way down the environs of Gray Harbor to his own cabin and gently tap the presence there.

<<Hey.>>

The tap against his mind makes Alexander twitch in mid-swing, sheering the wood into two distinctly uneven pieces, one only about a third the side of the other. He hmphs, and yanks the axe out and up, swinging it idly in his hand as he measures the mental contact, identifying its source. One corner of his mouth comes up, and he forges the link. It's a light one, deliberately keeping a mental distance, the crimson stars barely seen on the horizon. But the voice that comes down is friendly, warm, and a little worried.

<<Hey, yourself. You okay? How is Ms. Lake?>>

August makes no judgments about the lack of depth in the connection; given his day, it's probably for the best. There are aspen suckers popping up around the regrowing forest, and the wind still harasses him, but it's all seen from far away. <<She's been better. Wound up over there, came back all banged up.>> He's distinctly unhappy about that. <<She's alright otherwise, though. Soldiering though her flu. I'm not great, hurts to see her sick like this but not able to heal it. But at least this way I can keep an eye on her.>> Hesitation, then, <<//You okay? I know we've only got a few more days until the funeral but it's hitting you pretty hard.>>

There's a flicker of distant lights focusing across the space between them, measuring August's own recovery as best they can. A faint echo of pleasure at the regrowth, which then turns to concern as August answers. Alexander curses with his mouth, only the faintest echo of it coming through the link, along with regret. He wipes his face with his forearm as the rain trickles over his skin, tickling him, then goes under the eaves of the house to sit. <<That sucks, August. I wish we could find some way to anchor people. Or at least guarantee we could go with them when it all goes to hell. But - at least with the flu? I think we're all used to not being able to magic away sick, but I know at least for me, having someone there who cares, and is willing to be with you when you're miserable and hurting makes a lot of difference. You're doing good.>>

The hesitation at the end is matched with one from Alexander. <<Who tol--ah. You've been talking with Isabella. I told her not to bother you. Sorry about that. You should be able to focus on Eleanor. Don't worry about me. I'm a big boy.>>

August's recovery continues apace; he doesn't, at least, seem to be overworking himself. (No doubt his employees and business partner have been refusing to let him, though.) He's hungry a lot, so there's been a good deal of cooking. The exhaustion is fading, slowly, leaving him restless--not from Gohl, but from the lack of activity, from the inability to help as much as he'd like with Eleanor.

Speaking of which. He smiles to himself, which is like the forest brightening just a touch. <<That goes for you too, you know. That all would have been a lot worse for me without you around, so. Thanks.>>

He doesn't bother to dissemble about Isabella. <<You are, but you're also alone up there right now, and I think that's freaking her out, given the givens. I figured it wouldn't hurt to ask, make sure you were doing okay. Considering.>> Considering Alexander is chopping trees like the lumberjacks of old.

<<I...you're welcome, August.>> Thanks, as always, stirs up a complicated blend of Alexander's dislike of gratitude and equally strong desire for acceptance and belonging. <<Just don't work yourself back into exhaustion. I'm sure someone can spell you if you need a rest.>>

He reaches out and touches the axe leaning on the wall beside him. It's just nice to have it there. Feeling all solid and heavy and sharp. Just in case. His fingertips lightly tap against the head, dancing towards the blade as he scans the woods for any movement or figures. None there, of course, but you never know when that might change. <<I think it's more freaking her out that I tried to kill a detective, and was going to try to kill a couple of others.>> A pause. <<It's probably better if I'm not intimately involved in any investigations further until after the funeral.>> Which is another coping mechanism down, along with surrounding himself with familiar things, and playing with his bird. Even from a distance, the strain can be seen if one looks, like the stars are shivering and cracking, pulled in too many directions.

August doesn't lean into the gratitude, just lets it sit. A brief recollection of Itzhak reacting similarly (don't thank me for that) bubbles to the surface of the river, then is washed away.

Tried. He wants to ask but knows he shouldn't. <<Do you need any help with that situation or is it okay?>> Said help would have to come from de la Vega, no doubt, but at least August can make for a neutral go between.

He watches the stars, thinks about ways for Alexander to keep busy until the funeral. (God but that needed to work.) <<Should try to pick something to research. That seemed to keep you focused for a while.>>

<<It's not okay.>> Alexander's response is sharp, bitter with self-loathing. <<It can't be MADE okay. She should have shot me where I stood. I don't really know why she didn't.>> There's a flicker of imagery that leaks through - a cloud of sea gulls descending onto a dark-haired woman sprawled on a rocky beach, an outraged shout the weirdest lunatic in town and a casual not even human, and a feeling like his mind is just washed in red, sweeping away anxiety and doubt and hesitation (and how good that feels) for just a moment.

He cuts it off. Takes a breath. Realizes that he has lifted the axe from its resting place, and puts it back down, carefully. <<I was trying to apologize,>> he adds, bleakly. <<I'd attacked her before. Before Gohl.>> A shaky admission. <<This isn't Gohl. This is just me. It's always going to be me, until someone gets smart and puts me away. Or down.>> And that deepening need for rest suggests that if someone did, maybe it wouldn't be such a bad idea.

He shakes his head, rubs at it, makes himself stand up and walk away from the axe to start gathering the wood to put it away before it gets too soaked. <<I'm chopping wood. That helps. It's hard to concentrate on research. I keep thinking about other things. It's only a few more days. Then I can decide what needs to be done.>>

August's reaction to all of that is complicated. It's part 'well that sure did happen' and it's part 'how fucking dare she'. It takes him a second to track down the source of the later. It's Eleanor. The notion that someone would call Eleanor inhuman or a lunatic for being as she is, after everything she's been through and how brave she's been on behalf of others (himself)--

He has to stop thinking about it. Saying something like in front of him would be bad in general, and especially right now. Would he be able to keep his temper, Gohl aside? He's not actually sure he wouldn't do something drastic and ugly. He knows he can. So he can't say he's surprised Alexander did, in fact, explode.

He works through that in silence. The wind sighs in the forest. <<I know I haven't known you very long, Alexander, but I don't think this is just how you are. Something like that, a person would have to be a rock to not react to. Especially after what you've been through.>> He doesn't mean just Gohl, then; he means the long, storied life Alexander's led. <Sure, you could've handled it better, and sure, you probably should have had someone else hand that off given the Gohl thing. But that's not the same, at all, as this just being how you are. That's Gohl talking.>>

(Anyways, August has Opinions on someone who'd called a person like Alexander inhuman, anyways. He's making assumptions, oh yes he is.)

<<I can come up with more manual labor stuff, if you want. Digging, gardening, that sort of stuff.>>

<<She didn't mean it like that.>> Even if it hurt like that, even if the words stay with Alexander now, twisting in poisonous little circles in his head, he recognizes it. <<She was trying to ask if Monaghan was-->> but like me has its own dull trigger of rage, so he avoids that, throwing up little walls around it and says, <<someone with abilities. She doesn't stand out. She's trying to deal with all this shit, but she doesn't, she can't feel it. And I know that. I know what she meant. It just didn't matter.>>

There's a sudden lift of amusement, although it has its sharp edges to it. <<You really don't know me very well, August. The Shadows have wanted this for me for a long, long time. Other people can see it in me. The cut throat woman, the Archivist, even Gohl. They all know I'm not right, just by looking at me. Most of the town does, too. The people who grew up with me. They know what I am. Notice that my friends are out of towners and people with more kindness or need than self-preservation? It's not really a coincidence.>> There's resignation to that, but a sort of self-pitying satisfaction to it, too. Sometimes nothing feels quite so good/bad as feeling sorry for yourself.

He rouses a little at the offer, grabs at it with an almost physical sense of relief. <<Yes. I want. Having something to do helps, and I don't think you want me reorganizing your house.>> Then a pause. <<Have you spoken to any of the others? Is everyone okay? I've only talked to Isabella. She's out of the hospital.>>

Another of August's Opinions threatens: how he feels about people who 'totally didn't mean it like that'. But he doesn't let it come to fruition or harass Alexander with it. Instead, he points out, <<You sound dead set on making her out to be innocent, but I gotta tell you--I'm not getting the impression she was blameless here. That doesn't justify your reaction, but she can also be responsible for her own behavior and word choices. The 'didn't matter', well--that's Gohl.>>

<<They want it for all of us, Alexander. Not just you. And besides--self-preservation is something I excel at. I just think you need to realize some of us are up to the task. If other people aren't, well, that's their choice, and they're entitled to it. And we're entitled to ours.>> It's 'you're stuck with me, cope' but it treads awful close.

His cabin could use it, in all honesty, but first... <<So the garden, I'll show you the various daily stuff that needs doing. And the fruit trees out at the East edge, they need pruning. I've also been meaning to get a second garden set up--a smaller one, for ornamentals. First step there is to dig out the trenches and lay down the new soil. The dirt up there's all clay about four inches down, no good for starting things out.>> He thinks of the aspen suckers. <<And I need to move a lot of the suckers. Some of them are too close to the cabin, they'll damage the sewage and water lines.>> It's a big list. There's no wonder August never looks like he keeps on weight. He might not stop moving, dawn to dusk. <<Any of that strike your fancy?>>

Alexander can be ridiculously stubborn about the most stupid things, and there's the dull pulse of going to blame myself for this and you can't stop me - although he also does seem to realize that it's a childish reaction, because there's a swirl of rueful self-mockery that sort of curls around it, hiding it from view. And rather than stomp his foot and argue that no, this is all his fault, there's a sharp little mental chuckle. <<Maybe. Maybe, August.>>

<<You're too quick to hold on to people, you know. Too quick to try to help. Some people should be left where you find them, maybe.>>

And yet, he soaks up the list with the burning need of someone who yearns to be useful above all else. And someone who wants to find things to do with his hands before what's in his head finds occupation for them. He walks over to where his shirt is neatly folded on the deck, and pulls it on, nevermind that it immediately gets soaked through, and thus the point of taking it off in the first place is ruined. He doesn't seem to notice, instead walking around the property so that he can see the places August is describing. <<All of it. All of it sounds good. But it's only a couple more days, so how about I start with the pruning, then move on to replanting the, uh, suckers? That's a funny name.>> Amusement slivers and shatters like thin glass.

<<Oh. Your funeral clothes. Are they here? Will you be coming back before the funeral? If so, could I, would you be willing to go by my house and have Bennie give you my garment bag? If it's out of your way, don't worry about it. I'll see if someone else can pick it up. I just don't want to startle her.>> Or anything else.

<<Maybe.>> August's tone is dry as the deserts of his home state. He's going to savor this small not-really-but-sort-of victory, at least for thirty seconds.

He's reluctant to admit to that, even though he knows it's completely true. He thinks of Markale, and the hospital, and all the rest of it, stretching on for a fraction of his life that seems like forever. <<It's a hard habit to break.//>> Also, he's not really inclined to break it.

<<I'll be forever grateful. Pruning and suckers would be a huge help.>> A series of mental images follow--basic instructions on what to do and not to. Where to trim for pruning. How to move the suckers so they'll be okay in their new placements, and where those are. The order he needs to maintain around the cabin so tree roots don't become a problem. (Really he can just turn them aside with the Gift, does it all the time in fact, but it's better if he doesn't need to.)

<<Yeah, my suit's at the cabin. And I need to put something together.>> A brief glimpse; some sort of wreath or crown. <<Not out of my way, and will do.>> A small pause, then, <<She's hanging in there, by the way. I healed her up.>> Another pause. <<Gonna take a while, though.>> Regret and sadness, for her and Easton. Gohl's victims were countless, it seemed.

<<It is.>> Alexander doesn't push beyond that; his curiosity and his worry is there, but also the recognition that August is as much of an adult as he is. Probably more of one, if he's honest, and not because of the difference in their ages.

His mind quiets to listen, absorbing the information like the proverbial sponge. He's done some gardening before, some farming ((a flash of a sunnier place than this, and tomato plants in cages, the plants growing to ridiculous sizes)), so it's not completely new, but it's been a while. A flash of curiosity at the glimpse, and the slightest mental tendril in that direction, like he has the urge to just try to snatch at the interesting picture and examine it further. He distracts himself back to the point, though. <<Good. I'm worried about her. And Easton. And--just everyone. Things have broken, and I don't know that they'll come back together in the same shape.>>

Then he takes a deep breath. <<But I can't--I want to go out, back to town, and try and fix things. But I can't. I'll just make them worse. So I'll fix things here. Thank you, August, for letting me. And don't be grateful. You're the one doing me the favor. Just take care of yourself and Eleanor, and don't worry about me. At least I'm away from things, right?>> A weak sort of smile as he goes to put the axe back wherever axes live at August's house, and find the pruning shears.

The image of the token clarifies a little: grouse feathers; laurel; antler tips; aspen leaves, sharp yellow with autumn color; a single oak leaf in fiery copper gilt. A crown for the burial. Gohl wants a proper funeral, he's getting one. The whole nine yards.

<<They won't be the same shape.>> August offers this not without some sympathy, though also seems to think it's reassuring. <<That's just the nature of it. Rock falls in your path, you carve a new path through it or around it. You lose a limb, the prosthetic's not going to look identical. We can't undo what happened, not really,>> an odd thing for someone with the spirit Gift to think, especially at his level, but there it was, <<but that doesn't mean there's not a way forward.//>>

Sympathy again, for the helplessness of not be able to do things, ringing from some deep, dark place at the bottom of that volcano caldera in the distance. Wry amusement tinges that sympathy. <<Going to worry just the same, you know. You're welcome, and thank you. I'll see you in a few days. Might check up before then.>> Is that a warning? 'Don't be in the middle of killing someone when I call!' Or maybe he just means 'to see if you need more to do'.

The forested landscape falls away. The last thing Alexander can see is a small aspen sapling at the bottom of the volcano caldera. Then that fades too.