2019-12-03 - Bluffs and Beignets

(TXT to Ruiz) Alexander : ::car emoji::

(TXT to Alexander) Ruiz : ??

(TXT to Ruiz) Alexander : Would you like to go for a drive?

(TXT to Alexander) Ruiz : Shit. We were supposed to do that, weren't we

(TXT to Ruiz) Alexander : It's not an obligation. Might be fun?

(TXT to Alexander) Ruiz : All right. But you're not driving.

(TXT to Ruiz) Alexander : I'm a very good driver, you know. ::disgruntled emoji:: But, fine. I accept your conditions.

(TXT to Alexander) Ruiz : I believe you. But you're still not driving my cruiser. Want me to pick you up?

(TXT to Ruiz) Alexander : I'll meet you at the hotel? I'm down that way looking into something else.

(TXT to Alexander) Ruiz : Something else like what

(TXT to Ruiz) Alexander : I'll see you soon!

The evening is clear and cold, with the late autumn sun turning the sky to gold and crimson in the west. The shadows are falling longer, but there's still enough light out to make Alexander clearly visible as he makes his way with a brisk, tireless sort of stride down from the main road, then towards the hotel. He stops briefly by the dumpsters to exchange a quiet word with the homeless guy there, and afterwards slips the guy a ten, before moving on to where Ruiz's room is. He's dressed like Alexanders tend to be dressed: oversized, baggy thrift store clothes, and stompy workboots. When he reaches Ruiz's room, he knocks briskly - three sharp raps, a pause, then three more.

As luck would have it, Ruiz is just in the process of heading out when Alexander arrives. The door swings open just as the man lifts his hand to thump on it, and Alexander's greeted with a briefly startled Mexican tugging on an LA Dodgers cap as he finishes shrugging into that battered leather jacket he's rarely seen without. "Oh." Indeed. "Hey." He tugs the door shut, shouldering past the younger man. "Ready to go?"

Alexander skitters backwards when the door opens, falling instinctively into a defensive posture for the moment before he identifies Ruiz. He coughs, and straightens with a sheepish expression as the cop greets him. "Hey," he responds, offering a quick smile. "Yeah." He holds up a bag in one hand. "Brought snacks. Beignets. One of the bakeries on the way was experimenting. I'm told they're good?" A shrug of his shoulders, before he moves to fall in just behind and beside Ruiz. "How are you?"

The skitter backward is met with a lifting of both of the cop's hands, as if to say, I'm not going to hurt you. He is, of course, armed. Like he always is, on or off duty; the gun is visible under his jacket when his hands come up like that in supplication. "Beignets? The fuck's a beignet?" He waits until Alexander's well and truly settled, before dropping his hands. Then nods toward the lobby, and starts ambling off after waiting for the other man to fall into step alongside him. "I'm well enough. You?"

Alexander does look at the gun. And, as it often does when he sights one, his nose wrinkles briefly in dislike, but he doesn't say anything about it, just reaches into the bag and offers Ruiz a square of fried dough, liberally coated in powdered sugar. "An excellent thing. Sort of like a doughnut, but square. And delicious." He shrugs to the question. "Bit discombobulated. Some stress. But okay for right now." A sidelong look. "Sure I can't drive? I brought beignets."

The pastry is considered thoughtfully for a few moments, and then accepted, and brought to his mouth for a bite that sprinkles his beard liberally with powdered sugar. The front door of the lobby is pushed open and held for Alexander; his car is pretty hard to miss, being the only police-issue Charger parked in the lot, and by far the nastiest looking piece of work in residence. "Don't push me," he grumbles, waiting for the other man to pass through before he trails along. "What's discombobulating you?"

Alexander heads through the door without hesitation, and once he's outside, he brushes the rest of the powdered sugar from his fingers off on his jeans. He recognizes the car, and trails a hand along it as he makes his way over to - SIGH - the passenger side. He tries the door, but fully expects it to be locked. "Mm. Few things. Unexpected houseguest, for one. Bennie's staying with me for a few days - she and Easton are on the outs." A pause. "I saw the press conference."

A tap from his key fob unlocks the car with a little chirp of the security system being disarmed, and with a long-suffering sigh, the cop nods toward the driver's side. "Get in. You can take us as far as the first offramp." With a hard look at Alexander, he nudges past him and tugs the passenger door open, and swings inside with a thump of his weight meeting the seat. He doesn't yet address the comment about Bennie and Easton, or the press conference. Why can't Alexander pick easy things to talk about?

Alexander's grin is absolutely brilliant in response. "I can?" The question is rhetorical, because he's already circling back around the car like a hungry shark, and the hard look meets only sheer pleasure in return. He slides into the driver's side without hesitation, drops the bag between the seats, and buckles himself in before reaching for the keys. He waits until they're both in and doors are closed, then turns the car on and just sits there for a moment, feeling the throaty growl of the machine. He wasn't lying: for all his transparent eagerness to get his hands on the steering wheel of Ruiz's muscle car, he's a sedate and careful driver, pulling them out and onto the road with all the precision of someone who is expecting to be graded. It does, at least, distract him from poking Ruiz any more on those particular topics, just yet.

"Get the fuck inside before I change my mind," grouses the captain from the passenger seat. The car doesn't actually require a key in the ignition to start; only in close enough proximity. The engine surges to life like a caged animal, a throaty growl as it turns over and ignites. The interior of the car, of course, is familiar: it's chock full of police equipment, including a laptop (currently closed) and overhead gun rack (currently empty). Ruiz reaches over to turn off the perimeter cameras before easing back in his seat and adjusting his cap. He seems content enough with the silence, and gazes out the window while they pull out onto the street.

Alexander makes a pleased sound as they get to the street, where he can hit the gas a little harder and feel the surge of the engine. "This is a fantastic car," he murmurs, reaching out to pat a non-copified section of the dash. A flash of that delighted grin to Ruiz again. "Thank you. Let's go out to the bluffs," he suggests, and then turns onto Bayside to head in that direction. He looks speculatively towards the radio - no, not the COP radio - and reaches out to start fiddling with it.

"We're switching at the first offramp," he reminds Alexander with a bit of a scowl that's only half visible with that stupid ball cap on. His head is kept turned toward the window, just a brief flick of his eyes when Alexander reaches for the radio. "What about the press conference?" he murmurs, picking what's ostensibly the simpler of the two things to comment upon.

"Does it hurt that much to let someone else do the driving, Javier?" It's playful, Alexander's own mouth curved upward like a happy opposite of scowly cop. He turns the radio to a hard rock station, although at least he doesn't blast it. The question about the press conference, perhaps predictably, triggers a veritable flood of other questions in return. "I saw it. Was there a confession? Did they give up who hired them? Who did they say hired them?" He shifts a little in his seat, eagerness for more information written in every part of him.

Alexander's playful ribbing is met with a grunt that lacks any real teeth. Javier, in his own way, is probably also being playful. "There was a confession," he replies, shoved back into his seat slightly as the gears climb and the car strains to be let loose on the open highway. "But the ADA doesn't believe we have enough to support charges against Foster yet, if that's what you're asking."

"Was it a true confession?" Alexander asks. "I didn't...get a sense of the who when I read the gun. Just the what." Which was not exactly pleasant, so he doesn't go into more detail. His grunt is disappointed, but not surprised. "Guys like Foster always have levels and layers of protection. Dunno if this'll help, but," a long pause, "there's a pharmeceutical distribution hub out in Elma. Run by Cadet," which, in setting, is as big a name as Johnson and Johnson, "mostly over the counter stuff, but they have some controlled substances. Foster runs security for them, apparently. And while nobody's saying that some of those drugs find their way to," he coughs, "alternate distribution channels...well. Maybe it'll help if something links back to it." There's only a little bit of his 'allowed' time in the driver's seat left, so Alexander does push the car a bit more, ignoring the speed limit for just a few moments, so that the hungry growl of the vehicle is released in a rising snarl.

Then, over too soon, he sights the offramp sign, and starts to pull over.

"It was a confession. But yes, we're going to need a little more to tie it to Foster. We've subpoenaed his financials." He turns his head from the window, back to Alexander, and regards him sidelong for a time as he divulges some heretofore unknown information that might pertain to the case. When the other man's finished, he frowns slightly, and shifts to gaze outside again. "I'll have Detective Morgan look into it," he murmurs. And, "Gracias." He says nothing of the speed limit being ignored, though does smile ever so slightly.

"Oh, that'll be interesting," Alexander murmurs, a touch wistfully at the thought of being able to dig into someone's financials. It's probably not a power he should ever have, though. A nod at the thanks. "Off the record, the box I mentioned before? It'll have Gregory Sumpter's blood and handprint on it. My recommendation, if I can make them, is to sit on it. You can probably bust him, but it won't stick, and he's not...overjoyed at his current employment situation. Give him some space and delicate handling, and I think it'll be worth more in the long run than a drug bust where the evidence will probably mysteriously disappear." He pulls the car to the side, and puts it in park, patting at the wheel. "Thanks for letting me try her out, Javier. Switch?" He's already getting out of the car to walk around to the other side.

Will it? Will it be interesting? Javier seems to hope so, but is clearly hedging his bets; he doesn't comment further on his plans for Foster's financials, or how damning he believes them to be. He looks over again when Sumpter is mentioned, and snorts softly when Alexander mentions that any charges he's slapped with won't stick. What he doesn't say is that they won't stick, because Felix fucking Monaghan will be using him to make sure they don't. Talk about dead in the water. "Yeah, you don't need to tell me twice," he murmurs as the other man climbs out.

Then with a huff, he shuffles over and slides into the driver's seat once it's been vacated. He waits for Alexander to climb in on the other side, and fasten his seatbelt, before peeling out of the rest area with a skitter of tires against gravel and shroud of dust that kicks up after the briefly fishtailing car.

Alexander makes a startled sound as the car pulls out, that turns into a surprised laugh as the car fishtails. He manages not to grab at the dash, but only just. "You're abusing the part where you're not gonna get pulled over," he accuses, with a grin. He reaches for the beignet bag, the consolation prize for not being able to drive any further, and relaxes back into the seat, his eyes turning to watch the sun set in glorious colors over the harbor. "How fast does it go?" Which isn't necessarily a request to see what happens when the car gets to really cut loose, but the lift of his eyebrows suggests that if Ruiz decided to take it that way, his passenger might not object. "And anything else you want me to look into, regarding that whole thing?"

"One-fifty or so," replies the cop in a low murmur, right as the vehicle comes out of its brief loss of traction. It's rear wheel drive, of course, which probably explains the particular way it handles. "And I'm not abusing shit. Speed limits don't say a word about how fast you can get there." He slides a dimpled grin Alexander's way, and slows as they're about to merge with the highway. After a brief check for oncoming traffic, the accelerator's gunned and away they go with a lusty roar of the engine.

"No, I don't think so. The information you were able to provide us with has already helped tremendously." The speedometer climbs past sixty in a frighteningly short amount of time, and keeps going. "Thank you. If I haven't already told you so."

"Oh, that's nice," Alexander says, with a low satisfaction. Mind you, it doesn't stop him from tensing up when the accelerator's gunned, riding that edge between anxiety and excitement as the car leaps forward. "Christ. Does this thing run on rocket fuel?" His grin comes out again, and if there's a bit of disappointment at the response, it's revived at the thanks. He looks away. "It's no problem. I would have poked around in it anyway, and it's not like I can arrest anyone. Sharing with you guys doesn't cost me anything." Another pause. "So." He clears his throat. "That was the least awkward topic of conversation. Others go in escalating degrees of awkward. You want me to start at the top and work my way down, or...?" It's said quickly, the words sort of tumbling over each other, and he doesn't look at Ruiz. Instead, he gets another beignet, because sugar makes this better.

Ruiz settles in once they reach highway speed, both hands on the wheel, eyes on the road rather than his passenger. A chuckle at the rhetorical question, a brief shoulder check and a lane change to get them off the main route that takes them to Seattle, and onto a less maintained backroad that heads out to the bluffs. "Escalating degrees of awkward?" His smile fades a touch. "You can start wherever you like. I don't promise I'll have answers for you."

"I think I've seen a youtube video on how to convert one of these to running on actual jet fuel," Alexander muses - and now far too much is known about how he spends some of his many sleepless nights. "Itzhak could probably do it. If anyone could. The resultant mechanical abomination would probably not be street legal, however." It definitely would not be street legal, but Alexander is mostly chattering nervously as the car takes the road less traveled. "Yeah. I know. And I won't start where I like, but I will start with where I guess I need to." His gaze slips sideways, watching Ruiz carefully. "How long have you been using? The cocaine, I mean. You might have a prescription for the pills. I don't know. Pretty sure not for the cocaine, though." One day, Alexander will learn tact. That day is not today.

The cop's only visible reaction, when cocaine and pills are mentioned, is a slight tightening of that muscle in his jaw. The one that twitches when something's bothered him, or someone's pissing him off. He doesn't take his eyes off the road. "Why are you asking?" Not, what makes you think I am? or I don't know what you're talking about, but why are you asking? The canopy is hemmed in close to the road here, the foliage throwing muddled shadows like spilled ink.

"Because." Alexander frowns, like maybe that's all he's got, or because I'm curious, which even he can figure out is the wrong answer. And it might not even be the entire true answer. But the actual answer is complicated, and so he feels his way through it like a blind man through a hedge maze. It doesn't change the blunt nature of his reply, though. It just makes the words come out slower. "You're my friend. And sustained, long-term use is more damaging than something that just started, and harder to work through the withdrawal without risk of significant physical side effects. So it's good to know. If you decided you didn't want to, anymore. I could be better prepared to help." He looks down at his hands, which are fidgeting with each other. "I've done it before. If you ever wanted."

Javier's silent for a long.. long while after that. Just the sound of the road, the occasional rock ticking the undercarriage. The radio playing whatever the fuck it's playing now, resulting in him reaching over reflexively to turn it down a notch. And, of course, that aggressive thrum of the engine reminding them both that it wants to go fast.

"I started after some time I did undercover," he murmurs. "Just a little here and there, at first, to keep my mood up. Then I couldn't get through a week without it. Then I couldn't get through a day without it." He digs his teeth into his lower lip, right where it meets beard, then releases it again. His eyes are still on the road. "I did manage to get clean, though. For.. for a few years. Things here have.." He makes a sound in his throat and shakes his head. Does he need to explain? The murder rate, the amount of grisly shit he's exposed to on a constant basis? The fact that he soaks up peoples' emotions like a sponge, and this whole fucking town is in his head?

The admission is made, finally, with some unsteadiness: "I don't know how to stop."

"This town fucks you up," Alexander agrees, quietly. "Everybody has something, when you stand out like we do. Or maybe it's just the people like you and me who get the worst of it. The healers are worried about hurting people and that freaks them out, but we --" he takes a deep breath, "--we get all the shit in our head, whether we hurt anyone, or not. So it's. I think everyone has something. Except maybe Thorne, but that's," a pause, "he has his own things to sort out. So he probably has something to, but you won't pry it out of him without a crowbar, and he's going to insist that he's fine and sane and everything is alright right up until his head explodes."

He realizes that he's rambling , then, and stops. The silence stretches for a while, before he says, "I can help. But it'd be ugly. I'm not a real healer, and I don't have--" his lips press together. "The last time I did this, I had a real healer. I can probably get access to methadone if you wanted to try it a little easier, but." He shrugs. "I mostly know how to do it hard. Downside of cults - you learn the asshole way to do things, even good things."

Alexander's permitted to talk as much as he wants. It's a familiar dance for Javier, as the one in almost all his relationships who speaks less; he's content to listen, though his thoughts likely wander here and there. Then I can help and he looks up and over, brows furrowing slightly. "I don't think there's ever an easy way to get clean," he murmurs, glancing away again. And, "I.. don't know. I'd have to think about it. Who told you?"

Now, Alexander looks offended. "No one." Then, a shrug. "Or you. I guess. You invited me over. I'm not an idiot, and I know what cocaine residue looks like, and what the signs of use are." He rubs the back of his neck and looks out at the passing trees. "Although. Let's be honest. The signs were there way before that, and I just made other explanations for them. Which is stupid of me, I know. Sorry. Evidence should always be considered without bias. I would have offered help sooner. But...think about it. Let me know. Offer open in perpetuity." Another of those considering looks towards the cop. "How many people know?"

His look of discomfiture doesn't fade when Alexander confides that he figured it out on his own merit. That means he's getting sloppy, which is just as troubling. He blows a huff of breath out his nose, and doesn't comment on most of the rest of what the other man says. Until he asks his question at the end. How many people? "Sutton." Of course. He pauses, and then shakes his head, as if to say that he's confided that particularly damning information to no-one else. "I think it was part of the reason she left me." The treeline suddenly melts away, and up ahead, washed in fading daylight, exposed granite cliffs angling down to the ocean. He throttles back on his speed, and swings off the road and into a small gravel lot bordering the lookout point. Once he's parked, "I'll give it some thought. What else did you want to talk about?"

Alexander sighs. "Well. You did try to commit actual suicide, Javier." He sounds more guilty than judgmental - that one, he clearly thinks, is on him. "It's one of those things that tends to terrify the people who care about you." When they're parked, he unhooks his seat belt and slumps in the seat, looking out over the bluffs. "I actually really like this place. Back before Gohl, I'd sometimes hitch a ride or even get an Uber and come out here so that I could see the whole area, and reach out and just touch people. Lightly. Very lightly. And it's beautiful anytime."

After a moment, he says, "You never told me about this kid you apparently have. That's just cruel."

Ruiz doesn't make eye contact when trying to commit suicide is mentioned. Nor does he speak on it. He simply kills the ignition and gazes out at the water for a long moment before unlocking and opening his door so he can swing out. "Why would I tell you? I only just found out a few weeks ago, and I have no fucking clue whether she wants that fact broadcast across this goddamned town." He slams his door and adjusts his cap before patting himself down for his pack of smokes.

Alexander exits a little after Ruiz, all slumped posture and sidle as he makes his way towards the bluff and looks down and out over the view. One toe of his work boot idly nudges a rock towards the edge of the cliff. "Maybe because you might want to talk about it? You don't have to deal with all the shit alone, Javier. I know that's how you operate, and it's nice to have control of those things. I get it. I operate best that way, too. But that's a hell of a shock to try and process all alone, and just sometimes, someone can help you with a little of it. Or at least listen."

His response is sharp, and interjected into the midst of Alexander's diatribe about how he operates: "Look. I fucking tried that. I tried that, and the woman I loved walked out the fucking door, told me to get my shit under control, and never spoke to me again." His shoulders are bristling with tension, and a little of it's channeled into an agitated kick that launches a decent-sized rock off the cliff's edge before plunging into the water. A cigarette is procured a moment later, brought to his lips and lit. "I don't know what makes you think I need any help." The drugs, maybe, Javier? The aggression?

Alexander wobbles, flinches away from the sharp interjection. For a moment, he looks like he might just back off and away from it all in response to Ruiz's agitation. But his jawline hardens, and he turns to give Ruiz a long look. "That's an excuse," he says, bluntly. "Yes. You tried, and it freaked Sutton out. I wasn't there. I don't know her. I'm sorry it happened like that. But sometimes you open up and it's the wrong time, or the wrong way, and sometimes it just doesn't work. That's no reason to stop trying." And at the last, he can't help it; he lets out a disbelieving bark of laughter. "Jesus, Javier. You really want me to start listing reasons? You want to try to tell me that you've got everything where you want it? Remember that I am actually fucking psychic."

"I don't have anything to say about it," he murmurs around his cigarette, hand cupped over the thing so he can light it, then slip the zippo away. "She came to the station to tell me. It was unexpected, and I didn't react well. We've been for coffee since, which.." He slides a cautious look to the other man, then away again. "..went slightly better. I really don't know what else you want me to say." He flicks his cigarette lightly to ash it. "Oh. And fuck off with that." Slight irritation, but no real bite to his words.

"I mean. Who would? I'd probably have screamed and actually run away," Alexander admits, with just the hint of a self-mocking smile. "So. She wants to get to know you, sounds like. That's not a bad thing. Do you want to get to know her? I assume she's old enough that it's not like...you have to figure out how to get a place with enough bedrooms and deal with school enrollment, since you aren't mentioning anything about that. But...is she nice? Someone you want to spend time with?" Honest curiosity there, which can only be so far contained. And there's a snort to the last. "Didn't think so," he says, with just a hint of amusement.

"Twenty-five," Ruiz murmurs, settling onto the hood of his car, boots kicked out in front of him with a scuff of gravel. "She's twenty fucking five years old." Which is not an awful lot younger than several of the women he's been with in recent months. Awkward? Just a little. "She invited me over for Thanksgiving dinner, and it was nice." He seems to have trouble even getting that word out. Then a glance and a frown at Alexander's last. "What? Didn't think what?"

Alexander turns to watch him settle himself on the car, then slouches his way to sit beside him. Or, rather, lean; he doesn't quite seem to dare to actually sit on the hood of the Charger. Call out the Captain on his cocaine habit? Sure. Risk denting his sweet ride? Nope. His eyes widen. "Wow." Some quick math. "You had to have been, what, nineteen? Twenty?" He breathes out with a shake of his head. "Pretty much a kid yourself. Military posting?" A smile flickers. "I'm glad that it went well. You know, it doesn't sound like she wants to keep you secret or anything. It's a small town. Besides, you'd be all right to be related to." The smile becomes cheeky for a moment. "Didn't think you could get away with trying to say that everything is all right and you had it under control, Javier."

An odd little look comes over the man, when he gets to talking about Finch. Like a child who's found something sparkly hidden in the dirt, and simultaneously wants everyone and no-one to know about it. "Pre-deployment party," he murmurs, taking a drag off his cigarette. "Believe it or not, we were using protection." Which is probably way too much information for poor Alexander, but he opens the can of worms, he gets the real talk. Then Javier gives the hood of his car a solid pat, and ticks his eyes up to the half-leaning man. "Sit."

"Guess someone really wanted her to be," Alexander says, with a shrug. At the pat, he looks a little wary. "You're sure?" But he doesn't wait for the answer before he slides up on the hood, carefully settling in next to Ruiz. Not that he has a tremendous amount to worry about; he's got a fair amount of muscle underneath all that oversized clothing, but it's the lean and wiry type that doesn't look like much until he's breaking something. Unless he decides to jump up and down on the hood, it's probably safe. "Is her mom still around, or not in the picture anymore? You haven't mentioned anything about her, so I'm guessing the latter."

He waits until Alexander hops on up beside him, mouth curving in a fractional smile for the other man. Then a column of ash is tapped off his cigarette, wrist draped against his knee as he looks out over the water again. "I don't know. We didn't stay in touch. I think Finch mentioned she'd been institutionalized." He sniffs once, rubs at his nose with his knuckles. "Tried to kill her, from what I understand."

Alexander coughs. "Finch? The bossy healer with the curse?" His eyes widen and he stares at Ruiz in open astonishment for a moment. Then, there's a short, sharp laugh. "Wait, no. I definitely see the resemblance." Then a blink. "She hangs out with Itzhak and August a lot." A sidelong look toward him at the mention of Itzhak's name, before his gaze skitters away again. "Seems like a good kid. She heals too much, and the bird thing is...a hell of a thing to be saddled with all your life. But a good kid." He pulls up one knee, and hunches over, resting his chin on his knee. "Always wanted kids," he says, softly. "I did, I mean. I'd be a terrible dad, and I knew that, so I've always been very careful. But." A shrug.

"The bossy healer with the curse," Javier confirms, chuckling a little when Alexander gives him that look. And one would have to be blind not to see the resemblance; she has his eyes, and the set of his jaw when he's determined about something. "Yeah," he murmurs, as to whom she hangs out with. "Has a boyfriend. Ignacio, fancy Spanish fucker." Presumably he doesn't call him this to her face. But, "She is a good kid," he concedes, quietly. Then his brows furrow softly as he ticks his eyes back up to the other man. "I disagree, you know. That you'd be a terrible father."

"I've met him," Alexander admits. "And snapped at him. He thinks he's funny." He shrugs. "Honestly, he probably is. I'm just not very good at...funny people. But I like his column. It's actually funny, but not mean, and not terrible advice. He's probably a good kid, too. And he does actually have the proper attitude towards the Veil of caution and fear." He leans to bump his leg lightly against Ruiz's. "She could do worse, especially in this fucking town." There's a pause, then a sad little smile at the last. "Thanks. For saying so." He looks away, back over the bluff at the lights twinkling below. "You're not going to be a terrible father either, you know."

"You're really not," comes with another chuckle. "Good at funny people." He flick, flicks some more ash off his smoke, brings it to his lips again. With the sun having set, the air's considerably colder, and he looks like he's shivering slightly. "I didn't know he had a column. Maybe I should check it out." He catches sight of that sad little smile, and nudges Alexander with an elbow. "What's with the long face? I'm fucking serious. And I've been a father, for fuck's sake. I didn't think I'd.." He takes a breath. "I wasn't prepared to do it again." Plenty of emotion tangled up with that confession.

Alexander rolls his eyes. "I know that," he mutters, with a glare that's (mostly) joking in Ruiz's direction. He notices the shivering, and his half-smile becomes a frown. In his truly ridiculous layering of shirt, oversized sweater, and oversized jacket, he doesn't seem to feel it as much. "It's getting cold," he says, pointing out the obvious. "And you should. It's in the local paper. On Thursdays, usually." He snorts as he's nudged, but doesn't skitter away. "I'm not stable, Javier. And I don't mean in the 'has a real job and a mortgage' sort of--well, I guess I do. A little. But mostly I mean," he reaches up and taps his temple. "Even on a good day, I'm a little off. I don't pass for normal." It's light, but bitter at the same time. "I don't want a kid growing up with a loony for a dad, especially if I just lose it one day. And what if they're...you know, what if they get it. From me." He looks back at the cop. "No. I imagine not. But you're a good person. You care about people. You want to protect people. You're not perfect. But you've a chance to make something that works for both of you, maybe. If you're both patient and want it."

"Will you stop-" It's snarled before he has the chance to hold his tongue, and followed by a hissed, agitated sound as he pushes off the hood of the car and punts another rock down the steep incline. "You think you have the monopoly on fucked up? You think you're the only one in this goddamned town that doesn't pass for normal?" He turns back on the other man abruptly, and prowls in aggressively close, knees practically touching Alexander's, one hand slapped down on the hood so he can lean right the fuck in. "No, I'm not fucking perfect. Not even close. And I'm not a good person either, so fucking stop that."

"I don't, I don't think I have a monopoly on fucked up," Alexander mutters, watching Ruiz warily as the man stands up. He looks like he might be about to do the same, although more slowly, when Ruiz prowls back and gets all up in his personal space. There's that flash of panic and aggression, visible even in the dark, but although Alexander's hands instinctively curl into fists, he leans back and away from the aggressive move, body language defensive and wary. "I just. I'm just not..." he trails off with a low, frustrated sound. And when Ruiz insists on his own sticking point, his eyes narrow. "You stop it," he says, tone sharp. "You act like you're bad, and you're not. It's very frustrating!"

"I.. I act like I'm bad?" His voice pitches to a low growl, tone incredulous. "Are you fucking kidding me? Have you listened to yourself talk, Alexander?" He does, though, push out of his aggressive lean, and backs off a pace. Doesn't help that he still looks like a dog about to bite someone's hand off. "God's sake," he mutters, touching his cigarette to his mouth and walking back to the edge of the cliff. How many times has he come out here alone, and considered just stepping right the fuck off?

"Well. You do," Alexander mutters. When Ruiz backs off, he takes a breath, the tension in his shoulders relaxing a touch. He slides off the car when the man moves away, and stands up, shoving his hands in his pockets. "What I may or may not do is irrelevant to the conversation." Alexander's hypocrisy in the matter of self-esteem is, at least as far as he's concerned, not the point. "You get angry when people call you good," he points out, slinking up next to him on the cliff. "Feels like you try to go out of your way to prove to yourself that you're not. Sometimes." It's a flat observation. He looks down over the cliff rather than at the cop, staring down into the darkness.

"It is not fucking irrelevant. You don't get to decide that." Grumbly and agitated, Javier proceeds to angry smoke. Which is totally a thing. "And if you knew me a bit better. You might change your mind about that. And don't-" He tries to cut off the inevitable disagreement with his cigarette jabbed menacingly in the other man's direction. "-argue with me."

"And you don't get to tell me what I can or can't argue about," Alexander says, with a return scowl and an eye on that jabbed cigarette. "You think I'm not aware that there's shit in your past that isn't nice, or good? Or that you make some really shitty choices in the here and now that hurt you and the people around you? I'm not blind, and I'm not stupid." He shrugs. "It's not like there's not shit in my past, too, Javier. And no one's gonna accuse me of making stellar life choices. I like you anyway. I'd probably like you no matter how much I knew about you, because every time when it's counted, you've been there, trying to figure out the right thing to do. Even when you clearly didn't want to be, and were hoping we'd all fuck off and let you pretend the world was a sane place."

The cop gives a derisive snort, and takes one last pull off his cigarette before tossing it off the cliff and into the water. "Fuck off," he mutters, possibly to the shitty choices in the here and now. "You ready to go, or would you like to run your mouth about my terrible choices a little more?" Hands jammed into his jacket's pockets, he watches the other man with slightly narrowed eyes.

Alexander glares back. "Sure. Pick that part out and ignore everything else, Javier." It's his turn to kick a rock, and he picks a big enough one that he can get a solid hit on it, and send it sailing into the dark with a vicious kick. He pauses, for a second, and then snorts. "You're difficult." It's not without as much fondness as it has frustration. Then his back straightens out of its habitual slouch, and he turns to face Ruiz, eyes dark and intent. "Let me link with you."

The rock's trajectory is watched for a few moments, until it disappears into the dark. A second or two later, the crash of it plunging into the water. Jaw tight, eyes still slanted up and wary, he murmurs, "You sure you want to do that?" Alexander is well aware of de la Vega's particular brand of mind bridging, and what it entails.

Alexander snorts, that flash of arrogance coming out again. "If wasn't sure I wanted to do it, then I wouldn't have asked. Your mind doesn't scare me." It's blunt, and if there's a little bit of challenge there...well, his head tilts slightly to the side, the smile slanted and sharp in the dark. Come and get it, no one needs to be a psychic to read. His feet do slide a little apart, bracing himself for Ruiz's particular method of linking, and the fact that sometimes it feels like being body checked by an actual wolf.

The arrogance is part of Alexander's charm. Fortunately and unfortunately. Something the man says makes Ruiz snort softly, and he contemplates some more before giving his friend a slight nod. "Fine." His gaze flicks toward the road, as if half expecting some other idiot to come rolling up on them, out here, at this time of night. Then back to Alexander, dark eyes on dark.

It's forceful, as always, the intrusion of his mind. Though in recent weeks and months he seems to have developed a touch more finesse; rather than teeth and claws out of the gate, the wolf prowls in, sleek and hot with glittering eyes and claws retracted like a cat's. Restraint? Possibly. <<What do you want?>> How many times has he asked this question?

Alexander's smile widens a bit as their eyes meet, and there's no hesitation in letting Ruiz in, although possibly a flicker of relief there that it's not quite as forceful as it sometimes has been. Stars spread through the void, reflecting light and dark untainted by Gohl's crimson intrusions. He's open, although it's a carefully constructed openness - one that implies a lack of boundaries, while still keeping some things hidden in the darker shadows of his mind. The question makes him laugh, just a little, the sound more seen than heard, an aurora that shimmers across the sky in the mindscape. <<To show you something.>>

He's not the best with explaining things; an often frustrating detail for those who have to deal with him. And here, he doesn't even try. He just lets his affection for Ruiz flow, full-strength, down the link between them, bathing the prowling wolf in it. It's not a soft emotion, for all its strength - it has edges and sharpness to it, frustration and deep knives of worry, exasperation sometimes fond and sometimes not - the core of it is fierce with admiration for Ruiz's strength and skills and grouchy kindnesses, and pleasure in the man's company, even when he's snarly, and a possibly unhealthy dose of fascination and curiosity, that gnawing thing that wants to know everything about his friend. It's not a simple thing, by any means, and he doesn't try to explain away the complexity of it. Just dumps it in Ruiz's head and lets him figure it out.

The link is easier to maintain, at least from Ruiz's side of things, when accompanied by physical contact. Rather than ask, he simply closes his hand over the other man's shoulder, grip firm without being uncomfortably so. Then his head is dropped low, eyes hooded and distant as the wolf moves slow through Alexander's mindscape, reflected infinitely in its sharp, bright stars. His own emotions are kept far from the surface, but resonate more easily here; affection, deep and unshakeable. Exasperation, too, plenty of it. Worry, a filament of fear, and pain that's gouged a wound in him and since started healing over. At the core of it all, trust. Which is no simple thing for a man who's had his broken in many ways, shapes and forms, and keeps people at arms' length as a result.

<<I don't deserve you>> is whispered across the link, the thought blooming through the starscape as the wolf slinks through it, then wisping away again.

Alexander freezes at the grip, that instinctive reaction to unexpected touch kicking in, then forced away. His eyes close as his sharing is returned in kind, and there's no hesitation in him to study the complicated emotions that are revealed, the focus of his mind like spears of starlight striking highlights on the wolf's fur. Each emotion is accepted in turn, and if some make him flinch internally, he still doesn't pull away from them.

Instead, he smiles. And if it's a sad smile, it's still a genuine one, and his mindvoice is firm. <<And I don't deserve you. 'Deserve' is a stupid concept when it comes to friends, anyway. I mean, so is beating yourself up for shit you can't change instead of changing what you do in the future, which hasn't stopped either of us from doing it like we're getting paid for it. You're stuck with me. Unless you shoot me, I guess. But that's a crime, and not a good idea for a cop.>> There's a moment of silence, before he adds, <<Thanks for letting me drive your car. It's beautiful.>>

<<Not going to shoot you,>> filters back along the link, along with amusement; warm and bright, like spilled paint. <<Though you make me want to punch you, sometimes.>> Then his hand withdraws from Alexander's shoulder, and as always, the sudden lack of him is keenly, viscerally felt, even if less violently than usual. "Not my car, strictly speaking. But you're welcome." His voice is a little rough, a little husky, as if he hadn't spoken in a lot longer than what couldn't have been more than five minutes. He glances out over the water once more, then eases away and goes to open the driver's side door. "Ready to go?"

There's a brief sigh as the link disappears from his mind, and Alexander shakes himself, like he's waking up from a kinder dream than his usual. Then chuckles. "Yeah, well. You talk with your hands, Javier, so I'm going to assume that's just the urge to yell." He runs a hand through his hair and makes his way over to the passenger side door. "And it's your car. Sure, sure, the department has the lease on it, or whatever. But it's yours." He flashes a teasing grin over the aforementioned car. "Sure. This was fun. Horribly uncomfortable at times," and whose fault was that, Alexander, "but fun." He tosses himself without grace into the passenger side, closing the door and buckling in. "Think about my offer, though."

"I can yell at you and hit you, if you prefer," mutters the cop, tugging open his door and swinging inside with a grunt as he settles into the driver's seat. "I can multitask." The tease is offered along with a dimpled grin, and he slams his door before buckling in as well. Mention of the offer has him sobering though, dark eyes sliding from Alexander's face, to the windshield and the darkness beyond. He blows a breath out his nose, and starts up the car with a throaty growl. "Si," he murmurs finally as he puts it into gear. "I will."