2019-12-04 - Not Cute

The house smells clean again, which when Bennie is staying in the house might never be a good sign. What was the victim this time if she swore to not touch his books again? Bennie is seated on the couch, working a fresh pair of laces into her work boots. Something is different about her. It looks as if she's banished her normal care free beach waves with a straight iron so the blonde locks are stick straight and she's gotten a little too enthusiastic with the black eyeliner.

Alexander comes in without fanfare, shivering a bit. It's started to turn cold as December comes in, and he pauses just on the other side of the door to take off the oversized coat and hang it up. An ugly, and also oversized, sweater is underneath. He's got a couple of bags with him, but one has been...torn to pieces and clearly has nothing in it. And yet, he puts it down near the wall as carefully as the full bag, and comes in, blinking a bit at Bennie. "Your hair is straight." A pause. "Hello. How are you doing?"

Normally such a comment would cause her to fret about making the change, but Bennie just flicks a lock out of her eyes with a finger and comments back with a wry smile. "It is." But as to how she's doing? She's just gonna steer riiiiight around that question. "Were you attacked by a rabid wolverine on the way back from the store?" Asked before her eyes go back down to her boot as she's apparently getting ready for work at the Station.

Alexander shakes his head. "No. Black-eyed elves that wanted to eat presents." A pause. "It's been a day." And he does look tired, and a little odd around the eyes, like some other emotion wants to be there, but he's not quite sure which one. He wanders to the couch and sits down beside her with a flumph. He sniffs. "You...do you typically clean when you're feeling upset, or is it just my house? It's not that I mind," he adds, with a smile. "Just collecting data for future information."

"Tis the season." You know, for deviant Christmas themed nuisances because Gray Harbor. Bennie looks aside to Alexander for a long moment, as if weighing the benefits of mustering up one of her patented Bennie sunshiny half truths, or just trusting Alexander with the actuality of it. He's probably one of the few people that gets the latter. "The Adderrall. I need to focus on something intently, otherwise it's like fire ants crawling through my veins like I've had too much caffeine. I just happen to turn up at your house when I'm upset."

"Yeah." A pause. "And one of August's friends just died. Found out from a news broadcast." Alexander leans his head back on the couch and closes his eyes briefly as he listens. "Mm." Two fingers come up to lightly massage his own temple. "That makes sense." There's no judgement in it, and he adds, "I get like that, sometimes. I have to write things down, make files. Things like that. Make all the stuff on the inside go to the outside before it eats me alive." He turns his head towards her, opens his eyes again to study her. "Because you avoided the question last time: How are you doing, Bennie? I'm sorry about all the fuss, earlier."

Bennie leans over to quietly place her boot on the floor when the news comes of August's friend. "That's hard." In her blue Dickies-like pants, she turns her hips to draw her socked feet up onto the couch in a curl next to her, making it easier to face Alexander. "If you see him before I do, pass along my condolences." She starts picking at a loose thread on the cushion, obsessing over it. "It's better it manifests in something productive. There's nothing to apologize for, it was just a misunderstanding. So long as you and Isabella are okay, that's all that matters."

The blonde shifts uncomfortable. "Lemme ask you a question. Do you think our friends are asking Easton that question? No. They're patting him on the back, congratulating him on dodging out of a serious relationship. Cheering him with drinks and pointing out fresh tail for him to nail."

"Yeah," Alexander says. He looks like he might say more about it, his brow all furrowed, but in the end, he just says, "I will." There's an awkward sort of shrug at him and Isabella being okay, and then he goes still at her question and comment. "I don't know," he says, perfectly honestly. "Is that what we're supposed to be doing? It isn't what I've been inclined to do, but I know I'm not the best at this sort of thing." He frowns at her. "Do you want me to pat you on the back and point out fresh tail for you to nail?"

"No." Bennie relents. "I just want to not think about it. I know what my leaving is going to do to him. He's just going to shut if off, the parts of him that were 'us'. His drinking is going to get worse, his insomnia is going to get worse. He's going to do stupid shit because he thinks that's all he deserves and he's going to convince himself he's having the time of his life doing it. You want to know how I'm doing? I'm fighting the urge to go back if only to save him from himself."

Alexander considers it. "Probably. At least to some extent. People make bad choices when they're hurting." He lets out a slow breath, leans his head back on the couch again. "And you love him, so of course you want to go and help him. That's...probably not the right reason to make up with him, though, if you decide to." He rubs at his beard wearily. "It's not your job to save him. It's not his job to save you." His eyes stare blankly up at the ceiling. "You have to do what you feel is right for you, Bennie. I don't know what that is, ultimately. I mean. You both seemed happy, before Gohl. I'm sorry."

"I keep going over and over our fight in my head and I keep boiling it down to the fact that I couldn't give him what he felt he needed, so he got it from someplace else. Should I have been more understanding? Accepting? Or if I stayed would that just give him the cart blanche to do it again, as if my staying would some how condone that behavior. The answer is simple: If you can't beat 'em? Join 'em." Bennie forces herself to stop picking at that thread before she tugs it and does something unfortunate like unravel his couch. "What's up with you and Isabella?"

The couch is only a couple of years away from being a sad heap of springs and cushions anyway. Alexander's fingers beat a rhythm on his thighs as he clearly tries to figure out how to tread these murky waters. "I don't know," he says, at last. "I wasn't there. I don't really believe that love conquers all - I investigate murders, and it really doesn't. Although sometimes it makes for interesting blood spatter patterns." It's not a joke. "I don't think there are simple answers, though; I feel like the answers that seem simple are traps. Because I..." he takes a breath, "if I hurt Isabella the way Easton hurt you, even if it was entirely against my will? I would never forgive myself and I don't think I could be around her, again. Not because of anything she'd do. But because I'd be forced to recognize what I was capable of every time I looked at her. Even as it is," he falls silent for a long time before continuing, "as it is, she knows enough about what I'm capable of, that sometimes I can tell she's thinking about what I can do, and it hurts. Even though she's never seen me do it." His smile is brief, and crooked. "In that way, Easton is a little less of a coward than I am. Or maybe he just has other ways to run from things."

A shake of his head. "We're fine. Isabella and I. Just working things out, figuring out how this works? We're different people, and I love her for her fierceness and her fearlessness and her brilliance and her passion. But sometimes it burns."

"Like when it looks like she's going to smother you with a pillow." Bennie tries to make the joke but somehow it just goes sour in her mouth. "Easton can break my neck with his bare hands, I can break his with just my thoughts manifesting themselves. How can you not be terrified of those things in each other, but ultimately you accept them. Accept them because just because those things live inside us, it doesn't define us. Love is your broken pieces fitting in with theirs to build something new."

"The paradigm with Easton and I shifted when my instincts to protect myself over came that logic. And I was going to get help it just..." She shrugs. "Just didn't work out that way. So if you and Isabella ever get to that point, address it hard and fast and maybe things will work out differently for you two. Your empathy isn't a curse, but I can get that it will be overwhelming at times. That's why you're hesitant to touch people, right?"

"Oh, no. I'm used to that from anyone who tries to be in a relationship with me," Alexander says, and it's both dry and light. "I'm just grateful it wasn't something heavier. Head wounds are a bitch." He rubs at his eyes. "It's understandable, Bennie. Having that reaction. It's one thing to know that someone can hurt you, or even kill you, and entirely another to have it happen. It's also difficult to recognize that from the other side; it's one thing to know that you're dangerous, and another thing entirely to remember breaking, or nearly breaking, someone. He made a fucking poor decision on how to deal with how he was feeling about that, maybe." He shrugs. "But it was his decision. And you're making your decisions."

He blinks a couple of times. Then laughs, softly. "No. I mean. That's a part of it. But mostly it's a phobia I developed a little later and comes from a different place than my abilities. These days, I have a good enough handle on my abilities that I don't read a person unless I want to."

"You know that's the hardest thing about being your friend, right?" Bennie asks, tilting up her head where she's come to rest it on the back cushion of the couch. "Restraining the urge to just cuddle the snot out of you all the time in those oversized sweaters and that cute little infuriating face you make when you're enduring me."

Alexander arches an eyebrow at her, turning his head so that she can see it properly. "I don't see how any faces I make are cute. Infuriating, yes. And I'm not enduring you. You may have noticed, but I have no social graces. If I didn't enjoy your company, I'd call you an asshole and move on." He blinks. "Speaking of assholes - I've been hired to kill a homicidal Elf on a Shelf at Addington House. Want to come with? It might be fun, and take your mind off things. And I'll pay you."

"You make cute faces, Clayton. Own it. Like that tired and concerned one you we're making when you came home." Bennie's hands raise with fingers bent like claws in mock threat. "And if you're not careful, I'll hug the fluff out of you!" She grins, an honest one that Alexander wouldn't need to read to discern whether or not it was just her putting on a face. She finds a moment of genuine happiness in that moment, however brief it will last. "And a chance to dispatch the creepy manifestation of an abominable love child of folk lore and consumerism? Count me in. I'll even do that crap for free."

Alexander stares at her, then just cracks up, his laughter coming deep and pleasant. "You have a skewed sense of 'cute', Bennie. And I do not fear your hugs." A grimace. "Untrue. But I don't fear your hugs, in a specific sense. More like hugs in general. I also have no fluff. Just me." He grins, and adds, "Don't you dare do it for free. Patrick Addington is footing the bill, and he does not get any sort of discount. You will be my assistant, and you will be paid, so I have an excuse to charge him more."

"Uh-huh. Not proving your point there, Alexander." Bennie says smugly when he laughs which does wonders for lightening her own mood. "Fine, I'll take Addington money. I'm not taking your money. I already have enough money being thrown at me by Easton out of guilt." She whacks the cushion between them. "Alright, I better finish getting ready for work. I have to start allowing for extra commute time for when all this rain starts to freeze."

Alexander wrinkles his nose at her. "Don't get smart with me, Oakes. I have a cat, and I'm not afraid to use her. Addington money is fine. And, thank you; I nearly punched him the last time we interacted, so I'm actually grateful to have someone to be there, just in case the urge arises again." He jumps a little when the cushion is whacked; Alexanders are skittish creatures. It settles after a moment. "All right. Be safe out there, Bennie, and let me know if you need anything. And what sort of ice cream you like. Isolde should be back soon, and we can all have some together."

The notion of ice cream makes Bennie skip a little bit on the way to the bathroom to finish getting dressed in her uniform. "Mint chocolate chip!" She chimes back before the door closes.

When she's gone, Alexander rises and makes his own way to his bedroom, closing the door behind him. Time for punishingly loud metal music through headphones and an attempt to process some recent events. And then? Ice cream.