2020-08-01 - And If I Recover

The call comes in on August's phone, but not from August. That's the first sign something is wrong. And right about when the news is hitting her phone about a shooting is when she hears 'surgery' and 'stabbed' in some order or another.

The good news is, because August is himself, he's always kept his orthopaedic implants in good shape using the Art. He probably (definitely) shouldn't do that, but in this case it's saved him some grief. They don't need to do a full replacement.

The bad news is they do have to do a fair amount of work fixing the damage, adding to the existing plate. He's blissfully unaware of this, having been out cold since a guy's head exploded in his face. And now he's lying in a hospital bed, monitors beeping, slowly coming out of sedation.

Eleanor is frantic. She got word at the shop that August had been attacked at, of all places, St. Mary's Church. She rushes in, still in her khaki shorts and "Espresso Yourself" tee from work, her hair in a braid, green eyes wide with panic. The hospital receptionist is hopefully blissfully unaware as she gives August's fiancée the information she demands, with a little nudge of mental Glimmer to make her mood one of compliance rather than protective of PHI.

She reaches the room, having grabbed what she could from her house quickly for August. Pajamas he'd kept there. His toothbrush. Reading glasses. Some books. She's not sure what his exact state is, only that he is out of surgery and out of recovery, in a room. She steels herself, exuding her own forced calm through her gifts, and steps inside. "AJ?" she asks quietly. The sight of him hooked up to monitors has her heart dropping into her stomach.

August is pale, but the pain meds have at least left his face relaxed. His left shoulder is bandaged, the arm in a sling and immobilized. He's going to LOVE that.

The sound of Eleanor's voice draws him up and out of the mental holding pattern he's been drifting in. It takes a few seconds for the general anesthesia to let go enough that his senses can report real findings. For example, he fact that he's not alone. That tell-tale hospital smell, the sound of monitoring equipment.

The emotions and pain of other people around him sick, hurting, dying.

The shift in his emotions from muzzy confusion to panic is immediate. His mind launches from 0 to 60 in moments, an engine tuned to perfection by years of hypervigilence. Emotional murmurs of 'what's going on' become a thunderous flood of 'THIS, ISN'T, HAPPENING'. The heart rate monitor blips at a sudden spike.

The plaster on the wall behind the bed starts to crack.

This was expected. Eleanor quickly moves to his side and she places her hands to either side of his face. Her glimmer reaches out, wave after wave of Mental power trying to bring him to a sense of pure calm, zen, he is safe, he is not at war, he is loved, his love is by his side, everything is going to be all right. Tonight she shines brightly in spite of herself, his state seeming to power her to greater protective heights. They can fucking come for her, she's using her power, dammit.

August wouldn't normally fight back against Eleanor. But this isn't normal; he's drugged to the gills and half-conscious from anesthesia and adrenaline is helpfully making a mess of his emotions and thought process. He thrashes, no no no we have to do something they're dying everyone is dying!

Yet this is Eleanor, and she walks through the maelstrom and says that nickname that only she gets to say, douses the panic with her calm. She's here, it's going to be okay. It's going to be okay.

The panic subsides, easing from a furious storm to a steady rain, from that to a drizzle. The wall stops cracking, his eyes blink open. "Ellie," he whispers, tears in his eyes.

Ellie smooths a hand over his brow, fingers sweeping gently into his hair. "I'm here, love. You were attacked at the church but they patched you up. You're going to be fine. I'll make sure you get out of here as quick as possible." Because she knows she can't be here 24/7 to Glimmer him down from panic attacks. "Gonna just give your body a boost to heal up quicker, ok?" she says quietly.

August closes his eyes, shudders. He turns his face into and if Eleanor's hand and nods an acknowledgement to her healing him some, stays like that a spell, trying to calm down. His heart is hammering on his chest, he feels cold and exhausted. "Sorry, sorry, I...felt the...everyone..." No. He's not thinking about that right now.

After a few seconds of silence, he murmurs, "Yeah, there was a guy...he had a gun--" Another flare of panic, this one localized. The table next to August's bed twtiches; there's a hairline fracture in one of the legs now. "Itzhak was there. Is he okay? That guy had to be there for him." Which maybe doesn't jive with the part where it's August who was stabbed and the inexplicably incapable TIBS bartender who was shot, but logic isn't a thing he can cope with right now. There's a crime gang war underway, Itzhak is dating Ruiz, and a dude just opened fire in a fucking church. These dots connect themselves as far as August is concerned.

Eleanor's Spirit flows into him, encouraging cell regeneration, coaxing mending to come quicker, directing blood flow to where it is most helpful, waking up antibodies to fight any infections. When she can do no more, she slumps a bit and sits beside him on the bed. "Not a scratch on him. The only other casualties were the woman who was shot, who is still in surgery, and the shooter who was DOA. Itzhak is fine, AJ, other than being freaked out and worried sick about you. Everyone else is all right too. Do you remember anything else?" She glances towards the door, wanting to call Ruiz to get a watch put on the room, needing to talk to the doctor and explain the PTSD situation and adjust August's meds accordingly until he can be discharged.

The great thing about having just come out of surgery is August is on a happy cocktail of 'I don't have a body, I'm just a brain tethered to a bed'. He grits his teeth, though, feeling things fix themselves at a speed they normally wouldn't. It's less painful than it is uncomfortable.

He reaches for Eleanor's hand when she sits, grips it tight. God, maybe he shouldn't have let her do that, what if They come for her now? He'll be worse than useless; he'll be a liability.

Think about something else. He focuses on what she's told him. Itzhak's okay. Lyric and the new guy are okay. As to what happened...

"There's some kind of... Exhibition, at St. Mary's. Some...statues. They're weird. We went inside and there was a guy there. The guy who shot at us." It's a lot to say, and it exhausts him, so he stops there.

Eleanor listens attentively, holding his hand gently, stroking the back of it with her free one. She nods. But doesn't voice her thoughts, mainly of rounding up Alexander Clayton to go take a look at this Exhibition and see if it had to do with the shooting. She'd heard it was coming, of course, being a parishioner. "Shhhh, don't wear yourself out. You need that energy to heal up. I brought you some books, your reading glasses, some jammies, and your toothbrush. Do you need anything else? I need to step out for a bit and check on some things." Mostly cornering the doctor and calling Ruiz about that watch.

August grunts, sags in the bed. Rest, heal, take it easy. Twenty-two year old him is stomping around in his mind, furious at being trapped here again. Again. Useless, weak, damaged, stuck.

He keeps holding Eleanor's hand. It's a reminder that he's here with her, in the now. Hopefully it can help him wake up without breaking anything next time. "Yeah," he says, so she'll know he's taking the rest thing seriously (twenty-something temper tantrum or not). He manages a smile at the list of things, brings her hand to his lips for a kiss. "Thanks, sweetheart." His eyes are half-closing again already.

She'll be there every minute they let her be, save those she needs to grab a little of her own shuteye and turns the watch over to Itzhak or Ignacio or one of the others. Eleanor has been through far, far worse with him, this is nothing by comparison. Just a little bump in the road. "You're welcome. Just think, not too long til your bachelor party," she teases as he starts to nod off. The minute he's asleep, she is cornering the doc and making sure they are ready with sedation if he panics.

Itzhak comes in for his turn at watch, after Ellie needs a break. He's brought with him his violin, of course, and a gift for August: a big, gloriously colored moth plushie. Rapping on the doorframe, he leans in. "Hey. Got a delivery here for August Ro-wen?" deliberately mispronouncing August's name to be funny. He looks tired. Like. Really tired. But it's quite a chore to actually get him to stop moving and clearly he is not at that point yet.

August stirs awake at the shift change. The table next to his hospital bed trembles in that hazy moment between dozing and proper wakefulness, where he's not sure what hospital this is. Ellie's zone of enforced zen settles in, and he takes a breath, opens his eyes.

"Hey," he says, voice still rough. He eyes the moth, manages a smile at the sight of the violin. "My turn, huh?" He doesn't bother to hide that he's checking Itzhak over for injuries, because despite being told he was unhurt, seeing (and Glimmer) is believing.

"Your turn. Besides, these nurses would mug me if I showed up without my fiddle." Itzhak, teasing, offers over the moth plush. It's more a work of fabric art than a child's toy, beautifully constructed, the same species as the moth in August's tattoo. And in fact, he's his usual healthy leanly muscled scrappy self. Not, indeed, a scratch on him, just like Ellie said. Despite taking a headlong flying tackle at an armed gunman.

August is a grown man receiving a lovingly crafted, plush moth from another grown an, and he couldn't be happier. Well, he could be; he could not be in the hospital, there could not be a gang war going on, and so on. But this helps a lot.

"Yeah I bet." He glances at the door, back at Itzhak. "That guy wasn't there on accident," he says, voice low. He has some judgment for the football-player-like manner in which Itzhak opted to handle the situation, but the drugs have his priority order out of whack. First thing's first: why are they planting gunmen in churches. Who the hell does that.

Itzhak grins that his gift is so well received. He settles into the chair, unslinging his violin with idle ease, a motion he does several times a day. "Nah. Figure it wasn't an accident. Them statues, the way they Sang..." unlatching the case to have something to do with his hands, he shrugs. "Bait that none of us can resist, because we're idiots."

August makes a low sound. He's pale, his hair's a mess, and he looks...flat. Not his usual tall, sturdy, reliable self. An old wound flaring back to life has taken it out of him. Under the exhaustion is a seed of self-loathing, ready to sprout a reminder of just how fragile he really is.

He runs a hand over the moth. He's worked for two decades to stomp out such seedlings. It's exhausting work. For now, he makes a low sound, studies the silkmoth. "Trying to net whoever they could, you think? Or," he looks up at Itzhak, "just you."

plink plink goes the violin as Itzhak tunes it, twisting the ebony knobs, head bowed over the instrument. "You mean, just me, because they wanna get at de la Vega," he murmurs. "I dunno, but I sure show up when something weird's going down, don't I? If I was going fishing for me, I'd do something like that. Dunno, but whoever showed up proved their theory right, that some weird Song artifact pulls us in."

August makes a face when Itzhak says 'they wanna get at de la Vega', glances away. "Fair point. If there's weird shit, a good chance you or Finch will show up." Joe, they went after him direct, but then, he lives in a nice, secure apartment. They had to. Someone like Itzhak requires careful bait.

His brows gather for a moment. "Alexander...or, maybe it was de la Vega. Someone said they suspected those guys have been watching us for a while. Long enough to know what we get up to. So." So yes, hanging out by weird shit would be a way to catch Itzhak out in the open.

He watches Itzhak tune the violin. "Guess you have to have a chaperone wherever you go now." He says this matter of fact, sorry but that's just how it is, strap in.

Itzhak smiles a rueful little 'wouldn't that be nice' smile. "Yeah, I don't think so. I think anyone wants to come after me gonna bite off more New York than they can chew." He strums the violin lightly. "I'm a real son of a bitch when I want to be, Roen. You don't think de la Vega would settle for less, do ya?"

August coughs a laugh, immediately regrets it and grimaces. "Don't make me laugh, you asshole." He clears his throat, sobers a bit. "I mean, no going around solo. At all. That guy almost killed two of us." He arches an eyebrow. "Like Alexander said, if they really want you...they'll get you." And if that happens, all hell's going to break loose, it'll just be a question of who does the most damage. And the list of people who'd be doling it out is long.

He shuts his eyes for a moment, listening to Itzhak tune. "Look. For de la Vega's sake. And mine. No running around alone. Okay?"

"You are not talking sense, bubbeleh," Itzhak murmurs, wrinkling his nose. He shifts the violin to rest position so he can get his phone out and text someone (hint: it's Ruiz). "I'm not gonna live like that. I'm just not. I got through prison. I'll get through this."

(TXT to Ruiz) Itzhak : hey, Roen's in the hospital, I'm with him. he got stabbed

(TXT to Itzhak) Ruiz : He what?

(TXT to Itzhak) Ruiz : He's in the hospital? August? and he hasn't burned it down yet?

(TXT to Ruiz) Itzhak : yeah they put the good shit in his drip bag. he's not suuuuuper rational right now. you heard about the attack in the church? I mean I assume you did, there were a lot of first responders

August winces. Well, he knew this was a fool's errand, trying to get Itzhak to consider sticking close to someone, but he felt compelled to try.

He wants to say it's not like prison, except, he knows that's not true. It's like prison, it's like Bosnia. And how many Bosnians had he watched go about their lives despite knowing snipers lurked in the trees, in the buildings, ready to kill them for the high crime of collecting firewood or going to work.

"Yeah," he admits, finally. "Look, though. You get jumped, I expect a shout." He opens his eyes to narrow them at Itzhak. "None of this Lone Ranger shielding your friends shit. You're stronger with people like me there, and you know it."

(TXT to Itzhak) Ruiz : Yeah I heard about the ADW at St. Mary's, didn't know Roen was involved. I wasn't on scene. how badly hurt is he?

Itzhak makes a few really curiously funny faces as he texts. Then he tucks the phone into his hand and leans towards August, delicately petting his arm. "Yeah. I know it. But you were busy getting stabbed, so you don't get a say."

(TXT to Ruiz) Itzhak : uh, not sure. He had to have surgery, guy stabbed him in the shoulder. That woman who Easton hired got shot, too. Lyric was there and brought some new guy, like a moron. They're okay. I'm okay. Oh I was there too.

August rolls his eyes dramatically. "It's fine, I'll get Alexander to keep an eye on you until I'm good enough to do it myself." He might not be exaggerating. And hey, he might proceed to cut every last tree on Spruce Street so he can watch Steelhead like a hawk. It's the kind of thing he'd do.

He watches the phone disappear. "How's de la Vega doing," he asks, voice low. Of all of them, despite not being in the hospital, August suspects he has it the worst.

There is a brisk knock of knuckles outside August's room before a blonde haired head with an all too perky smile angles in. "Knock knock!" Bennie verbalizes, just in case the rap was missed. It's perhaps a (cheerful) warning of her intrusion, just in case there are any bro make outs going on or something. "How's our patient?" The rest of the EMT gear clad figure steps in. Even though she technically owns TiBS now, Alexander convinced her not to give up the job she loves, and let the manager take care to the day to day of the bar.

(TXT to Itzhak) Ruiz : I'll be there as soon as I can.

Itzhak smiles wryly, like he can't help it. "What did I ever do all those years I spent without you, Guskha?" Curling over, he gently rests his head alongside August's, on the crinkly hospital pillow--so somewhat regrettably it might look like bro make outs are going on when Bennie knocks. Itzhak twitches a little and lifts his head to squint at her. "'ey there, Sunshine." His violin is tucked under his arm.

"Got the shit beat out of you," August reminds Itzhak. "That doesn't happen when I'm there." Which is, of course, what's bothering him. Now he's stuck in here (with people who are dying, who're in pain), he can't help anyone, can't keep them safe. Alexander had asked him what he needed, and this is it: to not be like this. But here he is.

He leans his head against Itzhak's, smiles when Bennie shows up in the doorway. "Hey Bennie. I'm doing great." Great is clearly 'post orthopedic surgery great' which is to say 'on a lot of painkillers and mad about being in a hospital'. "How's your bartender?"

Dammit. If she had only hung out in the hallway a few more seconds, she might have walked in on something juicy. Not that bro snuggles aren't adorable, as the sight makes her give a truly girly little, "Aww." Complete with hands clutched underneath her chin. "Hi!" She chirps as Itzhak greets her, hands swinging down and thumbs hooking in her Batman belt. If only grappling hooks were department issue! But alas, it's just her radio et al. You know. Boring stuff. "I was between runs, heard he was out of surgery, thought I'd check in." Her nose wrinkles at August's answer, clearly not buying all of it. "Still missing. Oh! You mean Vic. She'll be okay. And for anyone wondering her boobs are totally real."

"Hmph." Itzhak narrows his eyes in mock irritation at August. He eases back into his chair as Bennie makes awww noises at them, and narrows his eyes at her too. But then he snorts laughing and covers his face. "I wasn't wondering. I swear to God I wasn't wondering."

August weathers the irritation with ease; in a way, it makes him feel better, or at least more normal. This is how it should be, Itzhak being annoyed at him and August being right. It's a reclamation of the proper order of things.

He winces in apology for the reminder of Easton, which becomes a resigned sort of acceptance that 'Vic' is okay. Well. Maybe he can patch her up some, when he's feeling up to it. He blinks at the comment about her boobs. "Ah, good to know." He seems confused--but then, he missed that particular show. Itzhak's reaction only confuses him more, and he glances from him to Bennie and back, a silent question in his eyes.

Bennie catches that look between August and Itzhak. "Oh, I'm just saying because I saw them jiggle when I helped the orderly move her to a hospital bed. Like two water balloons." She grabs her own chest, suddenly feeling entirely inferior in that department, but then again she's all strapped into a sports bra and a duty shirt, and even Pamela Anderson might. The blonde for all her bubble, doesn't seem phased by the reminder of Easton. There are several stages of grief, and perhaps she's starting to move onto acceptance of the Marshall shaped hole in her heart, even if she'll never refill it. Welcome to Gray Harbor. "So whaddya say, you want me to get you sprung out of here a little sooner?" She asks, stepping forward to occupy the end of his bed without so much as a may-I-please-and-thank-you.

Itzhak, for all his bad-boy-brawler attitude, can't watch Bennie talking about that or grabbing her chest. He keeps his now beet-red face covered. "Look, I had my hands on her chest holding her blood in, this is not something I need to be told! Or was thinking about!" Here's something else normal: Itzhak getting roundly flustered.

August laughs at Bennie grabbing her own chest, even harder at Itzhak's compounded reaction. Like before regrets it immediately, resettling on the best as the pain from his shoulder pokes through the haze of medications. "Huge, natural tits aren't the be all end all," he assures Bennie.

He watches her settle on the bed, swallows uncertainly. "I'm not...sure it'll work like that anymore." He glances down at his slung arm. "Last time I healed someone, all it did was make them heal faster." He looks up at her. "Like, it sped up how they'd have healed." He sighs. "And you're the last person who needs Them coming sniffing around." It's not a no...but it's reluctance, plain and simple.

"Oh, so you know!" Bennie chirps at Itzhak. " I was tempted to give them a honk, but you know. Unprofessional conduct or whatever. Like. On two fronts. Not left boob/right boob front, but like as a paramedic and technically her boss at the Twofer." Her nose wrinkles with thought, either about Vic's boobage situation or the healing thing. "Yeah, I noticed after the asylum went all kablooey and Lilith fixed my broken collar bone. But maybe if I give you a little juju juice you can be released sooner, because the food here serious sucks."

"Bennie," Itzhak groan-whines through that schnozz of his. He might be about to crawl inside his violin to escape Bennie's pitiless boob talk. He glares at August between his fingers. "You're not helping!" Thank God they go on to talk about things that aren't Vic's jiggling boobs and he can surface in safety, like a submarine, cautiously. "He hates hospitals," he tells Bennie. "Sooner he's outta here, the better."

August desperately tries not to laugh more. It's so hard when the topic is 'are that really bad bartender's boobs real and did Bennie check to make sure' with a side of 'Itzhak can't handle discussion of Vic's boobs for some reason'. Those results in him chortling, which is almost worse given how much it makes him move.

He wipes tears from his eyes. "God you're both terrible." It takes him a second to get hold of himself. Presently he nods at Bennie, cuts Itzhak a sidelong look. "He's right." He jerks a thumb over his shoulder at the wall behind his bed. The keen-eyed will notice the paint and drywall on it is...cracked, like there was an earthquake. "That tends to happen, if someone isn't here when I wake up."

The door to August's room is shouldered open, and thank god, it isn't Vic who walks in. Which is none too surprising, as she's likely still laid up with that GSW she took in the firefight. No, it's just that guy whose guts she hates. Whose expression is perplexed as he takes in all the laughing and trying not to laugh and blushing going on as he steps inside. "Hola," Ruiz greets cautiously, dark eyes going right to Roen. Then the wall behind his bed. Then back to Roen. "I brought you some shitty flowers." He did. At least they aren't yellow. "How're you feeling?"

"Hmm?" Bennie blinks at Itzhak, "Oh! Boobs." She grimaces, as if not realizing that it put Itzhak so ill at ease. But then she just can't help herself and she peeps out one more little, "Booooooobs."

But then August is thumbing at the wall and she sobers with a bite to the corner of her mouth. "They really should put a note in your chart." Pragmatic Bennie thinks that will solve all. 'Do not return patient to consciousness unless friend with metal and/or emotional straightjacket is on hand'. She's distracted for the moment from getting to the juju part as Ruiz enters, and she turns her full beaming smile on him, "Dela la!" Even if he hates the nickname, he's going to be stuck with it for life because if he ever complains, Bennie will just pull the Easton used to call you that with me guilt card. And maybe a chin wobble. "Itzhak felt up Vic." Because that should be the take away from today.

Itzhak casts a relieved-yet-hangdog look at Ruiz. Yay, he's here and he brought shitty flowers. Itzhak has his violin under his arm in rest position, but he's not playing it, possibly because Bennie is peeping 'boooooobs' at him and then saying he felt up Vic, which gets a real glare out of him. "OAKES! I did NOT!" All of this is very restful for August, the guy who just got out of surgery.

August smiles to see Ruiz, though it's a sad, pained sort of smile. A 'I am post-op and high on drugs and we're talking about boobs and it hurts to laugh and I am in a hospital, please save me' smile. "Hey." The smile becomes a little more genuine. If August didn't feel so deflated, he'd try to sit up. "No flower is shitty," he says, approving of them no matter what they are. They could be dandelions and he'd be satisfied. "Thanks."

He sighs at Bennie, both for the 'felt up Vic' bit, and the 'note in your chart'. "I think Ellie told them about the PTSD, so. Maybe that...counts." 'PTSD which could do severe structural damage to this wing'. Is that the kind of thing you can put on a chart?

He flinches at Itzhak's raised voice, wishes for the ability to nudge him somehow. "Hey, some of us are post-op," he mutters, petting his plush moth.

It bears noting that Roen is about the only exception to his ban on flowers in hospitals. Because, well, it's Roen. And plants are literally his lifeblood. They're irises, and placed in a free spot on the nightstand beside his bed. Then, since he has his priorities straight, he swings by to sling an arm around Itzhak's waist and plant a kiss on his mouth, complete with a little nose rub. "Wouldn't blame him if he had," he tells Bennie with a little wink. "She has an incredible rack."

Then to August, once he's released his lover, "You need anything, old man? Holding up all right?"

There is a wide grimace for Itzhak in an apology but Bennie brightens back up immediately when Ruiz takes her side. "Right!? I mean, like, serious motorboat territory." Her hand pats August's hospital blanket covered shin. "Sorry, sorry. We'll be serious." She holds a hand up in front of her face and swipes down with it, putting on the tragedy mask of theater. "They really should call it PTSI, because it's an injury, not a disorder. Okay! So where did we land on the whole voodoo juju, are we yay or nay? Definitely yaying?"

Well that settles Itzhak right down; he gets the dumbest goofiest smitten look on his face as Ruiz lays one on him. The eyebrow tilt up, his tension melts off, and he practically gets hearts in his eyes. Disgusting. "Yeah, yeah, okay, right, post-op," he mumbles apologetically. "...it's all her fault." But never let it be said he won't blame everything on an annoying little sister figure when possible. After Ruiz lets him go, he settles his violin into strumming position and gives it a few soft rippling little strikes. "The juju is up to Roen, but I say yea."

August smiles at the flowers, reaches out with his right hand to touch them. They're not quite close enough, but an iris leans over so he can rub a petal between his fingers. "I'm good." He watches Ruiz take care of the Itzhak situation, smiles properly. "Thanks."

He stifles yet another laugh. "Motorboat," he murmurs under his breath. "God, Bennie." He watches Itzhak depart to get them some actual coffee, considers Bennie again. He can't deny that he's a liability in a hospital, and that's all there is to it. "Okay," he says, finally. "Don't overexert yourself, though." And, remembering how it went for Joe, he braces himself.

Bennie is more than happy to be the annoying little sister to Itzhak, as long as there is no blood relation because she found some pictures on Easton's phone and HOBOY. Bruises shouldn't be that sexy, boys. "I'll take it easy. Still have the rest of my shift to get through, and my new partner gets all cranky pants if I make him drive while I nap on the gurney in the back." She scoots forward on the hospital bed and reaches up to touch the front of his hospital gown gently, just beneath the bandage from his surgery. She closes her eyes and there is a glow of warmth from her, seeping into August's musculature like the best rub down of Aspercreme ever, without that medicine smell to boot!

August sucks in a breath as Bennie's healing moves things along, knitting the new implants in, strengthening weakened ligaments and muscle. He exhales slowly, sags against his pillows. "Thanks," he says, eyes half closed. He smiles a bit about her partner being cranky. "A ball-buster, eh?" He sounds sympathetic. A girl needs her naps.

He licks his lips, glances at Ruiz. "Listen, about, your new bartender. The Danish guy, Ravn." He almost says the name like Ravn does, but not quite. Not...quite. "He was there. It probably spooked him good. You might want to check up on him."

Ruiz doesn't have a shift to be at for a few hours yet, so he'll happily take the chair Itzhak vacated and plunk himself down with his phone to keep watch over August. Bonus: if the botanist gets ideas about trashing the place, he can keep him in line with a little mental nudge. Dark eyes tick up briefly from the screen as Bennie works her magic, and settle on the other man's at that glance he gets. A quirk of his brow, nothing more. Ravn's ostensibly none of his business, after all.

"One: he's a bar back. And two, a girl can take a hint." Bennie's eyes crinkle up with her warm smile, though she seems a little tired around the edges now, so it's a good opening to slip out now that August has been tended to. "I'll leave you boys to it."

"A bar...back." August repeats that like he has no idea what it means. He blinks, though, as Bennie gets up to go. "No, sorry, I meant..." He bites his lip, lets out a slow breath. "I meant, when you have time. Doesn't have to be right now." He shifts on the bed, grips the moth a second, wills a wave of nausea to subside. "Thank you, though. I'll make sure someone gets you a box of something from the garden, okay?"

But as Bennie's suggested, there's a functional reason for Ruiz to be there, and they might as well get it out of the way. "I think, probably...he was after Itzhak. He was waiting for us. Pretending to be on some kind of...church...history tour."

Bennie shoots August a wink and Ruiz a subdued smile before she slips out.