2019-11-06 - Set the World on Fire

After Ignacio dropped Finch off at Mallard House and went to work out his own anger issues, the little Ornithologist turned Arboriculturist had to find an outlet for her rage. There was so much of it inside of her. It had always been there, but it had been suppressed by a tiny spark of hope that somewhere out there, was a father who might care about her if he knew she existed. Someone who wouldn't run away because of the Curse, who would not shun her because of her family heritage. So much for that.

She and Ruiz are a lot alike in that they have made an art out of pushing people away, isolating themselves, and giving off the impression of unapproachableness. At least until the last few months. Three people wormed their way into Finch's trust, and thus her emotional core. Ignacio, the lover, Itzhak, the brother, and August, the father. They've filled those roles for her that have been empty her entire life. It's August she reaches out to, with a text, asking him to please come to her house and keep her from setting the world on fire.

The first thing that might strike him when he arrives is her hair. She washed out the pink color, and dyed it back to her natural dark brown. It makes her look that much more like Ruiz's kid, admittedly, but it's a symbol of not hiding anymore. She's done with distracting people with her hair and clothes. They can either like her or hate her or eat a bag of dicks. Fuck it.

She's in denim overalls with a sweater under them, and her combat boots as she sits on the porch steps in the chill Autumn air, giving approximately zero fucks about maybe catching a cold. She's worried if she stays inside, she might take this rage out on Gran, and she just can't bear to do that. Her knees are drawn up, chin resting on them, arms wrapped around her shins, as she waits for Roen to arrive.

August's response to her text was a simple 'omw', because he's aware that people who want to set everything on fire and quite literally can aren't going to sit around and converse via phone. (And she might get mad and just melt her phone. That would also not be useful.)

It doesn't take him long to get to Mallard house from the shop. He's in his work clothes still: a Black Sabbath t-shirt, denim jeans, workboots, and a dark gray OSU hoodie. He parks the car, walks up to the front of his house with his hands stuffed into his pants pockets. He stands there, studying her a it. "New look's good. Got tired of the old one?" The chill air mists his breath.

Finch looks up as August approaches, and her eyes are red-rimmed. She's been crying or smoking weed. Considering the rage, likely the former. "Something like that," she replies in a hoarse voice. She wipes her forearm across her eyes. "Went to talk to de la Vega." That probably says it all.

August just sighs, runs a hand through his hair. He considers her a bit longer. Tone dry, he says, "Went that well, huh?" The smile he manages is wry and bitter on her behalf. He sighs, looks away. "I'm sorry, that sucks. I was hoping it'd..." Not be a total clusterfuck? Not make her cry? "...well. Guess that doesn't matter." He moves to sit next to her on the porch, winces as his back complains. He leans forward, puts his elbows on his knees and looks askance at her. "You wanna tell me about it? Or should I take you somewhere and we can practice throwing fire." He arches an eyebrow; he can't remember if he's told her he can do that now.

"He assumed I wanted something from him. I may have reacted, uh, badly to that," Finch admits. She arches a brow at him. "You can throw fireballs now too? Let's go do that. If I talk about this without letting out some of this," her face screws up into an angry frown, "rage, I worry I might hurt someone." Then she looks over at him. "Can I have a hug first though? I really fucking need one, Roen."

"Ah." August's rueful tone packs an entire monologue of comprehension in that one sound. There are a lot of things he could say to that, but he sets them all on the back burner. He nods, slips an arm around her. "Mind the upper back, got a new tattoo there still healing." It's not a perfunctory hug, he grips her nice and tight. Itzhak has trained him well.

"I'm sorry it didn't go well. And, yeah. Just about burned off Itzhak's hand." He makes a face about that. "I've got a spot in mind that's out of the way where we won't start a forest fire."

Finch folds into the hug, keeping her arms around his waist to not irritate his new ink. She hugs him tightly, squeezing her eyes shut, chin on his shoulder, for a long moment. He's been more a father to her than anyone. He's like a solid mountain, something immovable in his friendship, who is always there for their little band of misfit toys who somehow found each other in this town. He shelters them, is their foundation. "Thank you," she whispers, before letting him go and wiping at her eyes again.

"Is Itzhak ok? I'm guessing you patched him up too. At the rate we're healing people, They are gonna notice us a lot. We're asking for an ass-kicking. But fuck Them."

August sighs heavily, murmurs, "You're welcome." He leaves off his usual spiel of not needing to be thanked. Besides, he needs all these dysfunctional jerks as much as they need him; ten years hiding in the woods might have been necessary, but it was a bit lonely, and he was still learning how to not be a hermit.

"Yeah, took me a couple tries but I got it sorted." He wills the nausea called up by the memory to piss off. He shrugs about Them and Their attention. "They can come and get it. I'm not letting people hurt." Another long breath in and out. "It's a little drive into the forest and then a short walk, you up for that? Exercise might get some of the anger out of you."

Finch nods and she stands up, brushing her hands off on the thighs of her overalls. "Yeah, I could stand to get away from here for a few hours. I don't want to dump all this on Gran. She knows about him being my father, but not that I went to see him, yet." She looks back at him. "Do I need to bring anything?"

August makes a low sound about Dove not knowing of the outcome just yet. Well that would be another heart-wrenching conversation; Dove no doubt had been hoping her granddaughter would finally have an option of another parent in her life. He stands, narrows his eyes at the sky. "Maybe a hoodie or a shell. I know it's clear, but I don't trust the weather. I've got us covered for food. Backpack with water and some snacks in the car." Crackers, cheese, salami, chocolate and oat granola bars, trail mix. Hiker food. He nods at the house, pulls out his keys. "Go grab something if you think you need it."

Finch heads back in and comes out wearing a hoodie. Ignacio's hoodie. She stuffs her hands into the pockets and makes her way to the SUV, climbing into the passenger seat. Hiker food is fine for her, she's used to that being out doing observations for her ornithology degree she is likely never going to finish now.

"So when did you discover you could throw fire around?" she asks, buckling her seatbelt and studying the man.

August fires up the Outback and gets it turned around while Finch is getting Ignacio's hoodie. "Just like, last week," he says, and makes a face. "I could tell something was happening, I kept seeing sparks on my fingers. And Itzhak said he could feel me getting stronger." He pauses a moment to look at one hand, flexing it. No sparks just now, but then he doesn't want there to be.

He shrugs, gets the car onto the road. "Wasn't a fan at first. I mean, with burning Itzhak and all." He pulls a face. "But Alexander insisted I practice, so I'd be able to control it. Wouldn't be afraid of using it." A small smile and a sidelong glance for her as they head up the highway to the forest road. "Pretty useful against zombies, though."

"Did you go near the cemetery Halloween week?" Finch asks with an arched brow at the mention of zombies. "Come on, Roen, that is horror movie 101. You know better than that," she snorts then grimaces. "I feel like I'm getting stronger too. I'm a little scared to know what's stronger than fucking fireballs."

"They've done this run before and there were never zombies mentioned," August says, gesturing. "I assumed someone would have told me." He sighs, shakes his head. "Not doing it next year, and neither is Ellie's brother, far as I'm concerned."

They pull off at one of the trailheads; Flinch will recognize it as one that leads to a few picturesque waterfalls that are ideal for summer picnics. He parks the car, but doesn't get out immediately. "I can also pull people back. If they're slipping away." A glance at her, back out at the trailhead. "Had to do that once already." He stops short of saying who it was. He suspects that'll just make things awkward.

"Who knows--maybe you can move a tree or two." He grins now, indicates the trail with a jerk of his head and gets out.

"I haven't tried to pull someone back from the brink. Fortunately no one has been there when I've been nearby. You really do need to be careful about that, Roen. I suspect They like to feel people suffering, so us going around patching up everyone's hurts is probably A#1 on their shitlist."

She unbuckles and climbs out of the SUV, tying Iggy's hoodie around her waist. Her sweater has long sleeves so she's ok for now, chill-wise. Her rage keeps her warm. "Moving trees? What like Lord of the Rings shit? Ok, I admit that would be pretty cool."

"Yeah yeah," August says, though it's less dismissive and more 'I'm aware I've got it coming'. "That's not even mentioning the church I fucking destroyed." He doesn't get into that, though, just pulls out the small backpack and slips it on, locks up the car, and leads the way.

It's a short hike to the various waterfall trails. The first two have the sounds of other hikers on them, so August diverts away from those. The third one isn't occupied, but he keeps them going out to the fourth and furthest one. They luck out: they see no one one the trail, and there's no one at the site once they arrive.

These falls, like most of the others, are spots where creeks and streams branching off the Wishkah come tumbling down rock faces protruding from the ground. It looks less like a 'waterfall' and more like a series of boulders and rock shelves with water spilling down it. With winter on the approach the water level is at its low point, leaving tracks of white to show where the level usually hits in the spring with the melt. The water collects into a modest, shallow pool at the bottom which proceedes to meander onwards as a healthy stream. There's some plants among the rocks, but largely they're barren and water covered. Ideal targets.

"Sometimes I forget things like this are out here," Finch admits as they reach the waterfall. She smiles a little, breathing in the freer air of the woods, not contaminated by humans. She can feel the life all around her, birds, critters, plants, trees. It is soothing in a way few things are. People are irritants, but August doesn't ping as one out here. They are Sylvans, as the Dryads said.

"How long was the ichor in your system?" she asks him curiously, her eyes flitting his way.

"Yeah--being in town a while can do that. You're surrounded by people and their situations, and yours, and it's easy to stop seeing a way out. But it's always here." August sets the backpack on a tree stump, where it's in plain view. No squirrels or raccoons will be making off with their lunch. Warmed up by the hike, he slips off his hoodie as well, drapes it over the backpack protectively.

He smirks. "Maybe, three days or so. I stopped feeling high as fuck after the first day, but when I was talking with Itzhak," he taps his temple, "I could see it was still...doing things." He wonders, immediately, about long term effects. And cummulative ones. What happens when the dryads come back to inspect their handiwork?

He clears his throat, gives Finch a sideways look. "I bet Ignacio didn't have any complaints, though."

"Nope, no complaints at all from Ig," Finch says with a small snort. "It was really incredible though. I could just sense everything to such detail. I think I sat in a tree outside for hours watching birds in the branches. Feeling their little heartbeats, sensing their pulses, feeling the hollow cores of their bones compared to the sturdy solid ones of the squirrels nearby," she muses.

"I did a lot of that," August says, nodding. He smiles to think back on that day, even though the resulting text conversations were an embarrassment from which he might never recover. Certainly the subsequent evening had been great. "I could feel the blood flowing in her veins," he continues, voice low. And a whole lot more than that.

He shakes his head. Good thing he's not a blusher. "Anyways. This is a good spot. Water, rocks, not much that can catch fire." Maybe not as ideal as pouring rain and concrete barriers, but it would do. He holds up a hand, concentrates a second. The air around his hand ripples with heat and sparks flow off his finger tips, swirling together into a teardrop shape that blooms into fire tinged with a pale pink-lavender shade. "I've been wondering how much we can control it." He displays what he means by turning his hand. The fire rolls around the outside, hovering over his knuckles. He tilts his hand up, and the fire moves to just over his fingertips.

Finch watches August create his little fire teardrop, noting the colors of it, and then she holds both her hands in front of her, cupping them towards one another and turning them in place, like she's forming a sphere. There is a flicker, then the fireball coalesces in a swirl of what feel like flaming feathers which spin into a fully formed ball of orange inferno.

As if to outdo her boss, she looks towards August and then slides the flaming sphere up onto the tip of her finger and spins it like it's a basketball.

August laughs at the basketball spinning, makes a face as the fire starts to warm his hand through his matter Gift's innate shielding. He gives is a hefty throw out into the falls, where it splashes onto the rocks, making a burst of steam that rises into the air and leaving a small black mark. "I keep wondering if we can shape it. Mine's always that same kind."

"Not sure. Mine's been like this since it manifested. I think maybe it's like the brain thing you do? Where you're like a forest and stuff? It is molded by who we are in some manner." Finch chucks her own fireball near the spot his landed and watches it sizzle out with great satisfaction. "I think he might be worried about his reputation. De la Vega. Having a bastard kid would probably not look good on the Police Captain."

August tilts his head, thoughtful. "I hadn't thought of that." He tries again, concentrating a bit more, and this time the droplet of dire is much smaller, maybe no fatter than a golfball. He seems to have to work to keep it that size though, eventually gives up, letting it grow, than tosses it with a hiss and a fwoosh.

He snorts. "His reputation?" He's about to rant, it's coming, Finch has seen this look before. And then...he doesn't. He hesitates, makes a face. "Let's just say I doubt that's it." A hand goes up to forestall any pre-emtpive panic. "I can't, in all fairness, explain why I think that. Not fair to him and...other people. But I don't think it's that you're a black mark on his public record, or, anything."

He shrugs, crouches down to pick up an aspen leaf and twirl it in his hand. "I'll be honest with you--I don't know him. Not really. So I can't really say, one way or another, why it went the way it did. Aside from," he drops the leaf, looks out over the water, "that finding out there's been a kid out there you abandonned, unknowingly or not, is a hell of a fucking thing. And, I think I do know enough of him to say, he's fucked up, has problems, and isn't dealing with them. So an overwhelming bit of news, well--he's not going to deal with that gracefully either." He follows that up with a wry if apologetic smile. "Which isn't fair to you, at all. But it's kinda where we're at. And it's okay to be fucking furious about that."

Finch presses her lips together and thinks for a long moment. "Yeah, you might be right about that not being it. His uh, I guess 'date' at the Day of the Dead looked like she wasn't much older than me." She smirks at that. She spins up another ball of fire, letting it rage and reflect in her dark eyes, before chucking it at the rocks and letting it explode there.

"Yeah well, it's not like I'm much better in that regard. Instead of, you know, being a fucking grown up and going back to talk to the man, I'm trying to burn the forest down. Stubborn stupidity must be genetic. He's still one up on my mother though, since he hasn't tried to stab me to death."

August coughs. "That, uh, might be something that's getting to him, yeah," he says, tone dry. He thinks of the talk he and Alexander had in the cabin, with the flu bearing down on them and Billy the Ghoul's hate whispering in their ears. "Among other things."

Another shake of his head. "This is perfectly grown up. You both need time to take the shape of it, and most importantly, calm down. If you go back and talk to him now, you're both going to say shit to one another you'll regret and not be able to take back. It's a bad time for decisions. So, don't make any. Let the anger do what it needs to. Don't ever let anyone tell you you're not allowed to be pissed about life handing you a shit deal." Another of those apologetic looks. "You shouldn't take it out on anyone--but that's why we're out here. So you won't."

He stands again, draws up another of those oddly-colored fire droplets. "I wonder if I'm mixing in oxygen somehow. I mean, before it burns the air." He turns it over on his fingers. "That's how you do this with a Bunsen burner, anyways." He flicks it, and it splatters in a bright flash. A cloud of steam passes overhead.

Finch listens to his words quietly, nodding her head. He is wise. And kind. And not sleeping with her. And that's why he is her sounding board in this. He is very much the kind of father she'd hoped for. Maybe though, if she does as he suggests and give them some time to sort it out in their heads, there can be something of a family relationship between her and Ruiz.

She ponders his other words. "Not sure. I mean, we can control regular fires, direct them across natural flammable things. Maybe being able to control them through the air is just the next stage of the evolution." She flits her eyes back to him as she rolls up another ball in her hands. "Or you know, there's always the reason of IT'S MAGIC."

She flings the fire to the rocks again, grinning a bit as it scorches stone. It feels good to have an outlet for the rage.

August nods in turn, letting that keep. There's a lot more to deal with, a lot he knows that she doesn't, and he doesn't really even know Ruiz, which tells him there's a good deal more beyond even that. None of it's going to be easy for her to learn. She has to take it slow if she wants to build something that'll hold. (Which is why there's plenty about him only a couple of people actually know.)

"Magic is just science we don't have a proper description for," he replies, prim and proper. Then he licks his lips, narrows his eyes. "Let's try something. Throw another one, I'll see if I can direct it."

"At the Day of the Dead, his father came to dance with me. He was a soldier, not an American one. I saw his nametag, S. de la Vega. He kissed me on top of my head, and in Spanish he told me not to be afraid of his son. That he was still a good man, despite the things he'd done."

Finch spins up another smaller ball of fire then at his signal, lobs it towards the rocks.

August often has a lot of trouble with the matter Gift. He sometimes suspects it's because a building fell on him, so he and large objects have a grudge they're still working out. But for whatever reason, the Gift answers him today, stronger than it ever has. (The Unshaped are going to take a huge piece out of him, he just knows it.)

He reaches out, intending to redirect the fireball, yet rather than simply push it off course he stops it. It hovers there in place until he curls his fingers inward which draws the fireball towards. Its pace is slow and steady, right up to his own hand. He examines it, letting it hover there over his fingers. It's still shaped like Finch made it: a brilliant, tiny sun flaring red and orange.

He watches it for a time, letting his matter Gift absorb the heat, then looks past it to her and smiles, rueful. "Kinda wish Itzhak'd been here to see that." He makes a closing motion with his hand, and the fire winks out.

Of Finch's grandfather's words--Ruiz's own father--August says nothing. Finch isn't the only one with things to process.

Finch watches, awestruck. "How did you do that?" she asks, bewildered. She has a lot to learn, mostly all the things about the other aspects. She is pure Spirit, fire to the core, a healer who nevertheless can rip someone's bones apart with a thought.

"How is Itzhak doing? We've all been so busy, he and I haven't spent a lot of time together. He finished Gran's car though. She's a beaut. Gonna start driving her to work after I get proper winter tires on her."

"Matter Gift. Though I kinda thought it would just, you know," August waves a hand, "move it. I wasn't expecting that." He pauses a second, eyes fixed on the ground like he's listening to something, shakes his head. "I suspect I'm going to get the shit beat out of me any day now."

Looking over his hand, he says, "I can feel the lightning and the fire people make. It's hard to describe, but there's a quality to it that says I can grab it. Manipulate it. Or just," he forms a fist with his hand, "douse it. Turn it off." He points at her. "Itzhak can do that, so just keep it in mind next time you wanna impress him with fire. He could show you up good and proper."

He moves to get some snacks out of the backpack, arranges the aluminum water bottles and baggies of things on a flattish rock, has a seat on a log next to it. Between bites of salami, he says, "He's doing alright. Playing his fiddle again." He smiles about that. "Ignacio getting him back in the saddle again was a relief. And apparently he had some sort of thing happen over the weekend where he turned into a unicorn." A bob of his eyebrows for that. "I told him to get a tattoo of it. We'll see if he does."

"Interesting," Finch muses. "Then I need to make sure Ignacio has the two of you on speed dial in case I go all, you know, murderbird." Not a bad idea. If they can at least keep her from burning the entirety of Gray Harbor to the ground, that is a start.

Finch settles on another log and fixes herself a cracker sandwich. "What the hell is it with him and Unicorns? Is he Lisa Frank's lovechild?" she asks with an amused chuckle. "Sure I get giant shrikes pretending to be my mother and clawing Ignacio up. Itzy gets Unicorns."

"He could be," August says. He has a couple handfuls of trail mix. "Or at least her soulmate. Anyways, sounds like it wasn't all fun and games. There was stabbing and stomping and running for their lives involved. Though I guess if you have to kill some people to protect a hunted animal that's a way to do it."

He frowns at her, reaches out with a booted foot to nudge her leg. "That's not going to happen, because we're not going to let it." He says this not like it's wishful thinking or a hopeful outcome, but the reality he is going to personally will into being, even if he has to drag it kicking and screaming. "And he should have us on speed dial already, I'm fucking insulted if he doesn't."

"I mean, were they really people? Or Glimmer constructs?" Finch asks curiously. "This is all way beyond my understanding. I'm not a scholar about the stuff Over There. Clearly." She smiles at August's reassurances.

"I'm sure he does, but this is Ignacio we're talking about. At any given moment he won't remember where his phone is, or that he can talk to you with his brain. I love him, but this is what we're working with." She chuckles and her smile turns wistful. "We have to fix this thing with the Curse, because I can't bear the thought of hurting or losing him. Or Gran. Or you or Itzhak."

"Maybe they weren't real--doesn't make killing them any less awful, though." August grimaces, thinking of the groomsmen, very real people, he'd wanted to do some serious harm for attacking Eleanor, even though they didn't mean it. That hadn't mattered one iota to him in that moment, and it still bothered him. "That's the sticking point of what they do to us. The fact that it's not real isn't relevant. The injuries we take are."

He snorts a laugh, has some water from one of the water bottles. "Yeah, well, he's a work in progress, just like the rest of us. We'll get there." He gives her a long, thoughtful look, studies an indeterminate spot on the ground. "We're not gonna let it come to that," he says, nibbling on a piece of tried apple. "And we're not gonna hurt you in the process of stopping it either." He glances back to her, brows up."No maiming and killing on either side of the equation."

"Right, I guess you're right in that. I hope it wasn't too traumatizing for him. But he did get to be a unicorn, so there is that," Finch points out with a wan smile. "They want us to hurt, to suffer, to grieve. Sadness and fear. At some point, we have to turn the tables on them."

She sips from the water bottle for a moment as she ponders. "If I am getting stronger. We should consider what to do to fix Iggy's leg soon. I think it might be a combination job. We'll definitely need Itzhak. And we'll need drugs. We need to anesthetize Ignacio, open up his leg, have Itzy take out the metal slowly while we regrow what the metal was replacing, and repair all the muscle and tendon that were destroyed or damaged. Then we'll need to close him up and wake him up. This is going to be Glimmer surgery."

August shrugs. "Sounded like it was reaffirming, more than anything else." He thinks back to what Itzhak showed him. "Harrowing, though. They were fighting for their lives." He sighs, scratches his beard. "I'm not sure we really can. They don't have a form or a name. There's all the old stories about how things without shape or name can't really be fought. Only survived." He shrugs. "If that's how it is, well, that's how it is. We hold on to one another and don't let go, and give them the middle finger."

He makes a low sound, thoughtful, about Ignacio's leg. "Might want a doctor to consult for that. If we have any doctors who have the Gift." He wouldn't know, given his absolute avoidance of the hospital. "You and I do that stuff on instinct, but they'd be able to look at it as deliberately and with the Gift's intinct. Would be good for you to have that kind of help." He ducks his head, has a bit of cracker-and-cheese. "Plus...not sure how much help I'll be." While he's throwing up in a corner.

Finch gives August a sympathetic look. "You say that, but I've never known you to turn away when someone needs healing. You're the bravest of us all." She munches some more cracker, salami, and cheese sandwiches as she ponders deeply. "I need him to tell us when he's ready though. Even if I'm strong enough, he has to be ready. He's lived with this for a long time, and suffered with it, but it's a part of who he is too."

"Healing someone is one thing." August toys with his water bottle, giving Finch only the most furtive of looks. "Intentionally..." He lets out a slow breath, drinks some water. "Something like surgery, I don't know how much use I'm gonna be." He is refusing to think about surgery with the Gift. Yep, not imagining that. Not right now. He just ate. He doesn't, it's clear, feel particularly brave about it.

The subject of being ready is a welcome one, then. No opening people up with the Gift in that. "Yeah. And, he might decide," now he looks at Finch, directly, steadily, "that he doesn't want to. Same way I don't want my scars removed." Because he knows they could do that. He didn't need to keep the newer one, even. But he did. "You should be ready for that. For him to change his mind."

Finch grimaces and nods with another sip of her water. "I know. That kind of scares me, that he would rather live in constant pain and risk overdosing on opioids than let us help. But I know it has to be his decision, and I will love him no matter what. I've been reducing his nerve pain every day for months in the hopes of getting him fully off the meds, so they will at least work again if he returns to them. He overdosed, August. It was an accident, but it's how these damn pills work. You keep taking more because they begin working less effectively as you become immune to them."

She scrubs a hand over her face, plucking at a chunk of her hair, as if surprised to see the color. "This is going to take some getting used to, but I guess it's time I grow up a little. I'm not that scared 13 year old kid anymore. I'm not the girl trying to be perfect so people forget I'm cursed in high school. And I'm not the girl who shoves everyone away and tries to be as unapproachable as possible."

August stills at the revelation of the overdose. Not that he hadn't suspected it or hadn't known Ignacio was having trouble, but there was 'trouble' and there was 'overdosed'.

He's a little while in turning that over in his head. It takes him a second to deal with it, during which time he stares resolutely at the ground, rubs a hand over hair. "Yeah," he murmurs, sad, defeated. "We'll find a doctor who can help you do it right." He sits back up, has some more trail mix to get the taste out of his mouth. "Make sure he's not in pain like that anymore."

He chews quietly for a bit. "Growing up's not so bad," he says. "You get to do cool shit like be a know-it-all the to kids." A bob of his eyebrows and a sly smile.

Finch chuckles, her mood clearly improved. "If I haven't said it lately, thanks. For being there for me, and for all of us. Ig and Itz and I are damn lucky to have you in our lives, August." She gives him a genuine smile before capping her water bottle.

August smiles, gets up off the log with a wince and moves to offer Finch a hug. "You don't need to say it at all. I'm the one who's lucky to have all of you. I hid in the woods for a damned decade because I couldn't deal with any of this, and would've gone back to that, if not for all of you. So, if anything, we're even." He's tired and achey, in his bones and in his heart. There's a thorny conversation coming up involving how Itzhak and Ruiz are, well, not just having a one night stand. That's going to go over like a lead balloon and make things intensely awkward. And August can't do much but offer support. A helpless feeling that he's all too used to, even if it is still something they'll need.

Finch returns the hug and then steps back. "I think I'm ready to go home now. I'm gonna get some rest, sleep on things, and figure out where to go from here."

"Sounds good." August packs everything back up, pulls his hoodie on and slides the backpack into place, mindful of the new tattoo. He eyes the scorch marks already being washed away by the water. In an hour they'll be smooth rock once again. "Can't believe I did that and Itzhak wasn't here to see it." He shakes his head, resists the urge to mess with Finch's hair. Instead he smiles and nods at the trail, turns to lead the way.