2020-07-03 - A Walk Home

It's a nice night, really; a light breeze off the coast keeping it cool enough to be comfortable under bedcovers, but not so cold that walking home shirtless like August is will pose a problem. He's toying with that crow feather as they walk, glancing up at the blade-thin crescent moon and the Earthshine that shadows it. "You three seem like you're doing well together," he says, giving Itzhak a sidelong look. Despite the dark it's hard to miss the sly smile in his voice.

Walking home with one guy shirtless and the other in most of a three-piece suit, that's Gray Harbor for yas. Itzhak looks up at the moon, hands in pockets. He glances back at August, smiling a little. "It ain't exactly officially the three of us, but, yeah. S'going okay." The smile is subdued. Ruiz had had to pull him back from the edge of a meltdown, and that he still misses his girls is plain as anything. Hence why August repaired his suit.

"Isn't it." August doesn't sound convinced. "Sure seems like you're getting there." He runs his fingers up and down the feather, up and down. "At the very least, you're easier around Cavanaugh than you were. That has to be good for you and de la Vega." Their feet crunch over the gravel, sending the occasional rabbit scurrying into the brush. Nighthawks call, winging overhead as they chase down insects. "How's he doing? With the Chief going out like that, and all."

"Took me a while," Itzhak says on a sigh. "Getting to know him helped, it always does, yannow? He ain't like me, not deep down. He likes followin' orders." 'Likes' is understating it a tad, which Itzhak expects August to know. Hadn't Joe stripped off his shirt on de la Vega's say so? Yeah, they both know what that's all about.

He shrugs, with shoulders and eyebrows, as to how Ruiz is doing. "You wanna know the truth? Not great. He doesn't wanna be Chief, not even temporarily. Means doing a lot of stuff that he hates. But he's good at it. He's real good at it. I'm worried they'll keep him there." Quiet for a few minutes, as they walk along. Then, softer, "Thatchery was a friend of his."

"It almost always does. It's never a good idea for the relationship to be too linear. Makes for a lot of misunderstandings. Not saying everyone needs to be up in each other's business, but 'friends' is a solid start." August chases that with a low, thoughtful sound. He's suspected that about Joe; now Itzhak's confirmed it. He'd been uncertrain how to feel about Ruiz demanding Joe go shirtless and Joe's casual compliance despite August being there. He can let that concern go, then. It's their dynamic, that's just how they are. He has to trust de la Vega enough to not ask Joe to do anything he really doesn't want to even when someone like August is present.

A sigh for Ruiz losing a friend. He's not the kind of man who has all that many. He's glad he showed up in his uniform, if nothing else for de la Vega rather than Thatchery himself.

He mutters a, "Yeah," of unhappy agreement to Itzhak's concerns over Ruiz's (temporary) promotion. "And there's the question of who did it, and why." And how much danger Ruiz is in, as the other top cop. He cuts a look at Itzhak, feeling him out for his thoughts there. Who murders the Chief of police of a small town? Had Thatchery pissed off someone with more balls than brains?

Itzhak feels in a pocket, but managed to leave his cigarettes on the counter. Ugh. This is a walk and a conversation that could really use a smoke. He's reduced to rubbing his hands together, for lack of any better way to stim. "It ain't good news, can tell you that," he mutters, glancing over his shoulder like he's thinking seriously about going back--but he faces forward again with a grunt. "He wanted me to leave," he goes on, quiet, but if there's anywhere safe in Gray Harbor to have this conversation, it must be here, on foot, on a dirt road in the middle of nowhere. "Told him he was crazy if he thought I was gonna do that. Wants me to get Stephanie and the kids and get 'em outta town. I didn't say it to him, but Christ, Roen, how'm I gonna do that? She's got her job here. The kids have school, they got their friends. Am I supposed to scare the fuck out of 'em like that and tell them to leave their home?"

August notices the gesture, is half tempted to tell Itzhak to get on back to the house. But then, he says that, which brings August to a dead stop.

"What?"

He stands there, head tilted, ruined jacket and shirt rolled up under one arm, crow feather in his other hand, under a darkening summer moon. They're more monochrome than not in this light, so August's hair looks more like its original black, his eyes silvery. "Why would he ask you toleave?" With Stephanie, no less.

Frowning, puzzled, Itzhak looks at August. He slows, turning to keep facing him, winds up standing opposite him on the road with the faint moonlight silvering his hair.

Why wouldn't Ruiz ask him to leave?

Then the eyebrows drift up. Oh. This isn't August's world.

"'cause this isn't gonna be pretty," he says, thinking the words over, considering them as he says them. "A guy like Thatchery don't get randomly assassinated by some punk. Who pulled the trigger?" His palms flip upwards. "Who cares? That ain't the point. Who keeps the trains running on time? And who wants to plant dynamite on the rails? That's the real question." He grimaces, tilts his face up to the night sky. "Javier's worried. He's right to be, but I ain't going anywhere."

August blinks. "Thatchery was--" He stops himself. Well, of course he was. As Itzhak just said, who kept the trains running on time? And could Monaghan do that without having Thatchery in his pocket? Of course not.

He sighs, rubs his forehead with the side of the hand holding the crow feather. "Well...if whoever did that comes around here looking for trouble, don't you dare not call for backup. You know I don't have to be there physically to help." He points with the feather for emphasis. Pauses as that brings it into view, stares at it. "The crow." He looks up at Itzhak. "It said his name, when it cawed. 'Clarence.' That was his first name, right?"

Itzhak smiles in a way as thin and remote as the sliver of moon. "Come out here to hassle a pissed-off Marine sniper in the middle of the goddamn woods?" He shakes his head. "If it happens, I'll call. Believe you me, I'll call."

He regards the feather, eyebrows quirking. "Yeah. Clarence. I heard it too. Sounded like that one in my garage, the one the raccoon killed." And he's been feeding that raccoon ever since. She won his lifelong loyalty with that move.

"They offed the Chief of police in the least subtle way possible," August says when he catches that shudder. "That can't be that smart." He's satisfied, though, by Itzhak's agreement to ask for help. He can do anything he needs to from his own yard.

"Your very own guard raccoon, huh?" He contemplates the feather, turning it over in his hand, makes a face. Nothing good is going to come of reading it. But maybe he should anyways. After all, what if Thatchery was into more than just Monahan's interests? Say, something more occult?

That's for later, though. "I know better than to get involved except tangentially, so don't worry, I won't. But if they show up out here, or your garage?" He meets Itzhak's eyes again. "No promises."

"I'd tell you not to read that fuckin' feather but I know better, too." Itzhak allows the eye contact, gazing steadily into it, letting August hold it. "You don't gotta promise me nothin', Roen. All I ask is you don't let 'em suffer."

"Even if I'd listen to you, Alexander for sure won't." August lifts his brows briefly in a 'so there' gesture. He sobers, then, looking confused for a couple of seconds. He even starts to say something, but stops. "Ah," he says, coming to the realization of who, exactly, Itzhak expects to be making them suffer. "Yeah. I can...keep that from happening." He licks his lips, hopes he doesn't have to. That'd be the ugliest possible thing in a long list of them.

"The last thing either of us wants to do. I know." Itzhak steps close for a hug, like he needs one. Yeah, he totally does. He puts his arms around August, the fabric of his expensive shirt slick and crisp and cool. "I'll try not to let it come to that," he mutters, rubbing the other man's bare back. His hand passes over the scar and the stag's skull tattoo; he squeezes him in his arms, then lets him go.

August returns the hug gratefully, gripping Itzhak tight. "Yeah," he says into the shoulder of the fine suit, acknowledging that Itzhak will try, and maybe the universe will deign to care, or maybe it won't. He doesn't tremble, but it's a near thing. Here they are on a lovely night under a waning summer moon, making a solemn pact in he face of on-coming disaster. Just another night in Gray Harbor.

He pulls back, gives Itzhak a tired smile. "We'll get through this. We got you through giving birth to an alien queen, didn't we?" Does he still feel mildly proud of himself for that? Yeah, a little. (A lot.)