2020-08-03 - Under Siege

August is looking better than he has, so it shouldn't be long before Eleanor can bust him out of the hospital. Which, as he looks over his chat history, would be a good thing. He's not on quite as many drugs as he was initially, and regretting it in more ways than one.

"I should've had Ellie change the PIN," he murmurs, swiping through the various texts. Ah, here's one where he implores Joe and Itzhak to send Ruiz dick pics. Maybe he'll keep that one.

And here's one of the guys who definitely kept the receipts, appearing in the doorway. Alexander looks underslept, but unwounded, which puts him over a surprising number of his circle of acquaintances. He knocks on the doorframe with one hand; the other is holding a book. "August? Are you--ah, you're awake. May I come in?"

August glances up, smiles to see Alexander. He's in a set of his own PJs--red flannel bottoms and an old YES t-shirt--courtesy of Eleanor, and there's a plush silkmoth on the bed with him. A vase of overly healthy irises sits on the bedside table, along with his reading glasses. The wall behind the bed has cracked paint, like it's been subjected to some ill-advised home improvements that never panned out.

"Hey, you. I'm awake, and," his expression tightens, "you look like you shouldn't be." No admonishment for the lack of sleep, though; August knows full well what's led to it. He nods at the chair. "Take a load off, huh?"

Alexander studies the wall behind the bed for a moment, before slinking inside at the invitation and taking a seat. "It's okay. I just have had some things to do." He smiles, and offers the book he's holding. "Something to distract you." It's a bit battered, a 70s era illustrated collected works of William Blake. The illustrations are trippy and exaggerated, although not exactly unattractive: the Tyger dominates the cover with massive, golden eyes that seem to stare into the reader's soul as it winds through a dark wood. "How are you feeling?" A glance at the silkmoth, then the flowers.

August bobs his eyebrows, eyes narrowing in wry, morbid humors, sets his phone aside. He can mull over his drug-fueled poor life choices later. "'Some things'," he echoes.. He follows Alexander's gaze to the wall behind him, sighs. "Yeah. First day there was kind of rough. Ellie and Abitha dialed me back a bit." He's still riding the later's dialing down, the enforced calm laying over his usual anxiety like a heavy blanket.

He smiles at the book, accepts it reverently. "Oh, excellent. God, look at this cover, is this yours?" He flips through it a bit. He pauses at A Poison Tree, still smiling. "And I watered it in fears," he says, low.

"Some things," Alexander repeats, leaning back into the seat once the book has been taken, and nodding firmly. They were definitely some things. "I'm glad that they helped. Do you need any more?" Another sidelong look at that wall, although he tries to be subtle about it. He's not subtle. "I found it at a thrift store. I like William Blake, but I thought you might like it." He brightens at the quote, adding, "Night and morning with my tears."

August thumbs through the book a little more, closes the cover. "Thank you," he says, setting it on his lap. "I love it. I don't think I have any Blake." It'll get read later, when he's having trouble sleeping. Of being calmed yet again, he says, "I think," he studiously doesn't look at the wall this time, "I'm okay for the moment." He licks his lips, resists the urge to prod at the tension to check its level. Like checking an injury for the hundredth time, it won't improve things.

He gives Alexander a level look. The drugs are at a low enough ebb that seriousness is possible. "So. You accidentally interrupted a gun buy."

Alexander smiles, bright and warm. "Good." He stares at August like he maybe doesn't entirely trust his self-assessment, but is deciding not to push. When the combat botanist continues, he glances towards the door before trying to answer. "Something like that. We were just--I was just going to observe, record, gather data. I'm not actually good at sneaking. That's a problem. Things got complex. No one died?"

There are just enough drugs in August's system that he finds this funny enough to laugh. He's imagining some sort of keystone cops routine, complete with angry whispering and tripping on shoelaces and dropping smartphones. He shakes his head, wipes at his eyes. "Sorry, sorry, I know you don't--sorry." He sobers. "Just imagining you and Cruz and it was..." He lets out a long, slow breath. "He's doing okay then?" The question is genuine enough.

Alexander doesn't seem offended. In fact, he even offers a wry grin of his own at August's laughter. "It was a little silly," he admits, "aside from him getting shot." A hesitation before he answers the question. "He'll live. Went home with Taylor, and I think that guy can keep him from doing anything really dumb before he heals up. He let me borrow his car." Which may be why Alexander doesn't look damp.

August arches an eyebrow. "Borrow his car? Wow, generous. He must like you." Considering the car, he means, which is a nice piece of work (even August, consummate not-a-car-person, knows this).

He nods at the news about Dante, the nod of a man taking something in and making assumptions. Maybe correct ones, maybe not. "Dante was asking me about how to, ah...not be a liability." He wrinkles his nose. "He's a little like me, more like Itzhak. I was trying to impress on him that he doesn't need to actually be involved in the fighting part of fighting, if he'd rather not. Not sure I was successful." It might be a gentle suggestion Alexander talk to Dante about such things. Or just a warning that Dante is, for all that he might appear strong, still getting his sea legs.

Alexander's head tilts to one side. "It's hard to tell. I think I might be bait." Driving around in his car, shortly after said car was used to interrupt a weapons deal. He doesn't seem particularly upset about this, though, if it's the case. He hums to himself at the news about Dante. "He's looking for self-defense lessons, it sounds like. I tried to make it clear that the best thing he can do is be smart and escape if someone attacks him. I'm not sure it was effective." A pause. "Not that I think he wants to get into a fight. He doesn't seem like that. But people often feel like if they can't punch something, they're not helping with it."

August coughs at the idea of Alexander being bait. "Well, maybe don't fry the car if they decide to take said bait." He speaks from personal experience on that front. (In Ruiz's defense, it was Wagner's fault, not his.)

He considers the question of Dante, running a hand over the silkmoth like it's a cat. "I can understand why he feels that way. Not being able to help with the punching," one of his eyebrows goes up, "makes you feel ineffective. Even if it's patently not true. I tried to impress that on him--that he can do quite a bit without ever actually attacking something. But I think he's also more concerned about the times he can't run away." Like the Dream at the funeral. He ducks his head. "Admittedly, when it's just me, I have to buck up and go on the offensive, and it's always hard. But it is what it is."

"I won't fry the car," Alexander says, eyes widening in shock. "It's a classic, August. I think it's still got the original tape deck in it. I'm pretty sure he'd consider the car worth way more than me." His smile is slight; he's not entirely certain he's joking. "And yeah. Feeling weak is...hard. Especially when people you love are getting hurt. There's no easy answer. But he shouldn't have to fight, either."

"He shouldn't have to. And yet." August's expression is distant, staring down at the tiger on the cover of the book. And yet, here we are, under siege.

He shakes his head, focuses on Alexander again. "Oh he would consider it worth more than you," August assures him. "So, you know, careful with the lightning." A brief lift of his brows to underscore that fine line between humor and seriousness.

He rubs at his eyes. "Listen. I know I wasn't making a lot of sense yesterday, but I'm pretty sure that wasn't some random run-in. I think that guy was after Itzhak."

"And yet," Alexander echoes, quietly. He nods. "And yes. He probably was. They do seem to be going after people they consider vulnerable and linked to certain persons of interest. Or maybe just Javier. He doesn't really...bend. Much. They may want a more direct method of influence over him." It's an observation - for once, Alexander's not letting on much about what he's feeling about it one way or the other. "Was Itzhak okay? I didn't see any indication he was admitted here."

"He's fine," August says. "Didn't get a scratch on him." That makes August laugh; it hadn't occurred to him until just now how mad about that Itzhak probably was. Here he is, trying to protect people, and who gets almost killed? Half of everyone not him. "I think he got the guy's knife, you or de la Vega should read it. See if there's anything useful on it." He pauses, then, "Actually, that bartender blew his head off, so maybe let de la Vega do it." 'Because of the Alice thing', his tone implies.

Rubbing the back of his neck, he continues, "What bugs me is how they knew to go to a place like that and keep an eye out. How many other spots like that have they been staking out, waiting for him or someone else to show?"

"It's a small town, August, and those of us who are...involved in things? We're not really that unpredictable," Alexander points out with a little smile. "You could set up a watchpoint almost anywhere in the city and one of your targets would cross it eventually. Especially if you can bait things." He runs a hand through his hair. "The aggressor always has an advantage in any conflict. People often think it's the defender, and in the short them, that's true. But as long as an aggressor can afford to keep throwing resources...they only have to be lucky once. The defender has to be good every time."

"This is one of the reasons I live in the woods," August points out. "A lot harder for assholes like this to get the drop on you." Okay, that's not totally true, but it is a fringe benefit.

He mulls over the concept of defender vs. aggressor. "That works out great for the aggressor as long as they've got support. Like you said--resources." He reaches out to run a hand over the irises. One of the many things keeping him calm. "I guess the salient question is, how do Monaghan and company go on the offensive. Because this town can't take much more of this."

Alexander's eyebrows go up. "I knew you had a dark secret, Roen. Hiding from the mob with your trusty herd of attack aspens?" See, he can make jokes! Sometimes. But the smile disappears as quick as it came. "It depends on what resources they have available and what they're willing to take on. As underground wars go, this is still a small conflict, affecting only a few people to any major degree. When one side or the other goes loud, really loud, bodies are gonna drop. And that's going to attract attention from the state and feds that neither side wants. I imagine they're both still hoping to pick off soft targets while maneuvering for a decisive strike."

August's response to Alexander's joke is a smug, self-assured look which might not be entirely put upon. "Any idiot who comes for me in the forest deserves nothing but pity." He blinks, slow, smiling properly. "Oh, you've probably never seen me do that. Well, that's okay, we'll leave it for a surprise."

The good humor fades into a grimace. "A big city like Seattle can absorb that kind of thing, but not here. A 'decisive strike' could easily cost the town most of its livelihoods." As would the state and the feds poking their noses in, but that's neither here nor there.

Alexander shakes his head, slowly. "Not yet. Both sides still want to rule. It hasn't become personal enough to warrant burning down the town, yet. By decisive strike, I mean trying to cut the head off the snake. Both sides' leaders are staying out of sight. If they could get a bead on one or the other? They'd take it." He frowns. "My recommendation would be just to keep your head down and try and stay out of it, August. As much as you can. Ultimately, it's a matter for the cops and the criminals to sort out. Right now, it's...unpleasant but manageable."

August mmmmms, reminded of the casino shootout. An example of what stood to happen when they did get a bead on one another, no doubt. He snorts, shakes his head at the idea of 'keeping his head down'. "As much as I fully intend to not get up in these guys' faces," because he knows who'll suffer the most for that, and it's not him, "I'm not going to be able to stay out of it." He tilts his head to his bandaged left shoulder and slung arm. "Case in point. And I'm not steering clear of you or Itzhak, so feel free to keep that wrong-ass opinion to yourself." He says it mildly enough, but his eyes are narrowed. He knows what Alexander's suggesting, what he wants, and he's not getting it. Period.

Alexander stares. But he doesn't have Ruiz's method of projecting menace, and can't even manage Itzhak's tough guy attitude. He just stares. Then, eventually, he sighs. "Fine. Just be careful. These guys aren't like the Shadows. They don't particularly want anyone to suffer, if it's not profitable. They won't torment you. They'll just remove you."

August watches Alexander, bland and unmoved. It's true that Ruiz or Itzhak also wouldn't get August to budge on this, so Alexander shouldn't feel too bad about it, though August knows that's also a fruitless comment to make. He grunts an acknowledgement. "Yeah, that's apparent," he murmurs, thinking of the bullet in the bartender and the knife that went into his shoulder. "Ellie and I already talked about, you know...playing along, not trying to rock the boat. Just the same," he raises his eyebrows, "thanks for keeping an eye on her, yeah?" The hospital isn't the only giving August anxiety at the moment.

"Of course, August. No need to thank me," Alexander says, with that little frown he gets whenever anyone expresses gratitude about anything other than his detective skills. "And that's a good tactic, honestly. Play along, keep the cops you trust informed, keep the criminals you trust informed," and here Alexander shares a moment of wry humor that there might be folk that fit that designation. "And if things get bad, take Eleanor and have a nice vacation."

Tone arch and prim, August informs Alexander, "Well you're getting thanked, needed or not." He even chases that with a sniff. The notion of them cutting town, though, that gets a frown. "Even if she'd go--and you'll pry that coffee shop from her with your own cold, dead hands--I won't, and if I don't she definitely won't. So." He shrugs. It's not happening, says the gesture, with a side of strap in.

Alexander huffs out a frustrated, but resigned, sort of sigh. "Stubborn," he accuses them both. He rubs at his face. "Well. I'll keep an eye on things as I can." He moves to stand up. "Right now, I should go. Got some stuff to look into. You have my number, or," he taps his temple, "if you need to get in touch with me. Enjoy your drugs until they let you out." Another flicker of a smile. "Don't die, August."

August wiggles a little in the bed, proud to have caused Alexander, of all the people, to call him stubborn. Ha! A point for him. "Like I'd marry anyone who wasn't," he says, smiling in earnest. "Speaking of which, this," a nod at his left shoulder, "isn't keeping me from my stag party. That's still on. Prepare yourself." For what? Well, Alexander will just have to see.

He nods, agreeing to text or shout, as needed. Hopefully neither will be. "I think you mean you all get to enjoy them, given what I found on my phone." He sighs, leans back and closes his eyes. "Be careful, Alexander. Stay safe. Thank you for the book." He pats it for emphasis.

Alexander bobs his head. "We can always just bring the strippers to you, if necessary. And I'm bringing booze." He looks proud of himself. He's a real boy, and knows how people functions like bachelor parties work, he does! Then he outright laughs. "They were entertaining texts. You are enthusiastic when high." He smiles, and does not promise to stay safe, but waves and slinks on out.