2020-08-17 - The Agony and the Apology

After school, Alexander fled as fast as Joey would let him - but not before Joey informed him that they were going to be substituting for the rest of the week. Which means that Alexander his hiding in his house, sitting on the couch, with two very different research materials spread on the table. One is the local history textbooks for the classes he teaches, the teachers' editions, which have been marked with the incorrect and oversimplified passages in red. On the other side, there's just a few materials on the murder, pictures of certain things - although none of the body, yet, much to his dismay. Still, he's going through a town map, making notes on it of places the victim frequented according to the contents of his wallet. One is marked with a question mark. The Forest also has question marks. He's still dressed in his 'school' clothes, his battered jeans under a very nice burgundy button down and suit jacket - although the latter has been shrugged off while he works, and he's rolled his sleeves up to his elbow.

August arrives with a box of veggies and fruits, some ice cream, and a Tupperware container of elk chili (the last of it until the coming season, in fact). He pauses at the door, seems to consider just leaving the box. No, he knows how this has to go. So eventually he works up to knocking and then braces himself.

When the knocking happens, there's the lightest brush of Alexander's mind against whoever's out there. He recognizes August, and he makes his way to the door, opening it. "August." He's even more underslept than usual, and his eyes have bags under them. Not to mention the arm in a sling. "Hey." A glance at the boxes. "You don't have to, you know." Despite which, he opens the door wider. "Wanna come in? Can I grab some of that?"

August has looked better. In fact, except for that time he was bleeding to death and utterly refusing to go to the hospital, he's not really looked worse. He's pale, there are odd, webbed patches of bruising on his neck, and a few gauze bandages are visible on his left arm. (He's in a black tee and a blue, black, and white camp shirt with the arms rolled up, and black commuter pants. An austere look, for sure.) But here he stands, box in hand.

And his eyes go right to that sling. "Tell me the kids didn't do that," he says, anxiety spiking. Belatedly, he shakes his head about Alexander taking the box, even though August really shouldn't be carrying anything. "I can, if," he finally stops staring at the sling, looks at Alexander, "you want."

Alexander eyes August. "I don't want." Of course, what he means is that he doesn't want August to carry that stuff, as he clarifies, "You look like shit, and shouldn't be carrying any of that. Your shoulder just healed, and it looks like you fell down a flight of stairs. What happened?" He moves forward to try and take something if August will let him, and gesture the man inside with a flap of his slinged arm. "Come in. Sit. You want something to drink? And no. Kids didn't. Evil Dream." A one-shoulder shrug that says, wordless but clear, it happens.

August if briefly confused by the 'don't want' statement, until Alexander clarifies while moving to take the box. He's relieved it's not the kids, because how do they even deal with that. Gray Harbor bullshit, sure. Out of control high school kids? August doesn't want to think about it.

"It'll be fine," he mutters, a sure sign Alexander isn't the first person to relieve August of something. He follows inside, moving not unlike one of said kids. "Same for me. A Dream, I mean. Ellie patched me up, though." He pauses once the door's shut, fidgeting in place, watching Alexander with the box. "Listen, about earlier. I'm sorry."

Alexander holds the box in is good arm, and wrestles it into the kitchen so he can put it on the counter. "She okay? After that? Lilith patched me up. I worry about her." He turns, looking visibly surprised at the apology. He frowns, then looks down, scuffing the linoleum with the toe of his workbooks. "Don't be. I'm obnoxious. I know that. I'm sorry. It's fine. Just sit down before you fall over and somebody hits me."

August gives Alexander a consternated look. "You being obnoxious isn't a reason for me to be a jackass at you because I'm not having the best week, okay? At best, it gives me leave to say 'try not to be so obnoxious'. Not," he sighs, looks away, "all of that. You're the investigator, not me. I might not trust cops in general and ours in particular, with one major exception, but you probably know a couple people who we could bring all that to and it not be an issue. So."

Sitting down sounds like a good idea, so he does, moving slow and stiff and settling on the couch with a grunt. "Nothing yet. I worry that they'll notice, she healed me pretty strong but...okay so far." His concern is evident in how he toys with one corner of his shirt.

Alexander gives another awkward sort of shrug, and doesn't look at August. "I caused your friend distress. You were protecting him. I get that. I do it a lot." He licks his lips. "Um. You want something to drink? I've got milk, or soda, or whiskey." A peek at August as he sits down, and his expression grows more concerned. "Or painkillers. I still have a few codeine, I think. If you need them. And I hope nothing happens. I feel like They've been taking more than their allotted pound of flesh, lately, and I'd really like them to cut it the fuck out. It's summer."

"That's also not an excuse for me to act like I did. I know you're like that, could've simply suggested next time maybe you hold off on jumping to the big lie detector test." August rubs at his eyes. "I..." For a half-second it seems like he will in fact take Alexander up on the codeine. Then, "Just soda's fine. I'm good, I can take some Tylenol when I get home." After his first PT session, which is going to be awesome.

His voice grows distracted. "Yeah. This one was...bad. Really personal. Not like some of the others." Not a narrative trying to tease out reactions and use of power, not a puzzle. No, it was just suffering. "And there was a voice, talking about something 'rising'."

He glances down at the array of materials on the coffee table in front of him. "...wait, are you like, their teacher now?"

There's that moment when Alexander is clearly prepared to launch back into the argument and explain why he was totally right to do what he did, and get his back all bent out of shape again. But he also thinks better of it, the play of emotions clearly seen on his expressive features, until he shakes his head. "Don't worry about it. I'm sorry, you're sorry. It's over." He grabs a bottle of soda from the fridge, pops the top on it, and brings it out for August before taking a seat next to him on the couch. "...rising. It was a dark place? With a sickly pale light, and things that put you in a prison where terrible things happened?"

An exasperated glance towards the materials. "I dunno. Kelly says we're doing it for the rest of the week. I think he enjoys it." A pause. "He's good at it. Rough, but he connects with the angry kids." A roll of his shoulders. "I don't have good memories of high school. But apparently they're short of subs, and every-fucking-body thinks I'm a fantastic teacher. So." There's a burst of mental static that threatens to overwhelm him, but he pushes it away. "...you are still with Eleanor, right?"

August hesitates, looking like he's trying to decide what to say, or if it should, in fact, be over. "You don't need to be sorry, not to me. I was the one being a condescending dick. And I even know why I was. That's why I'm apologizing. Because you're right--you're the one who knows what he's doing. We should tell Niall to tell the cops about the trees. If you know one you trust with stuff, and not..." Not one of these assholes who burned Abitha out of house and home, he no doubt means. "That'd be better. Even more so if it's someone who's got a touch of the Glimmer. Even if the killing wasn't weird, Ha--Henry was, and we know Firefly is. It'd help, I think, to have someone like that looking into things on that end. If we don't have that option, that's okay too. I'll trust your judgement on that."

Okay, so that's not letting it be over. Well, August has never met a bridge he didn't want to light on fire and run around on until he was certain it was going to fall.

He considers the notion of Joey teaching. "This town could use teachers like him, yeah. Bad shit happens here to kids who don't deserve it, and he'd the kind of guy who could teach them how to get through it in one piece." He cuts a sly look at Alexander. "I stand by my claim that you can too. But I know they're stressful and less likely to listen if you don't command a room like he does."

Then comes The Question. The coffee table groans; August forces his hands out into palms on his knees. "Yes, I am," he says in the most forced calm Alexander has probably ever heard. "And if one more dead plant shows up at my shop about that everyone's going to find out how just with her I still am the hard way."

Alexander reaches for his own soda, left on the table from before August arrived. "Detective Wilkinson. She's...okay, I think. I can't promise she's never taken a bribe or looked the other way, but she seems reasonably competent and I think she wants to help people. And a murder like this is a good solve. It boosts a detective's reputation and makes the department look good. It's not something people are likely to want to fuck up." A one-shouldered shrug. "My opinion."

There's a bob of his head, a silent agreement with August's observation of Joey, then a grimace as he talks about Alexander. "I don't like it. They're not there because they want to be there. Because they care about it. It's frustrating. I can feel them, pushing at my brain. I want to just make them pay attention. Make them like it. It's hard not to." That last said very quietly. "I'll do it for a week, so Joseph gets to have some backup. It's a nice thing he wants to do."

Then he goes silent as the furniture makes that sound, his body tensing and hands curling into fists for a moment. An instinctive defensiveness. But he watches August carefully, then says, "Sex on the carousel? If you pick four-thirty in the afternoon, you should get most of the town going by."

August is jarred out of his quickly darkening mood by Alexander's suggestion. He'd been contemplating moving every plant in the Park to spell out I LOVE HER YOU ASSHOLES or maybe AJ + ELLIE (less plants to move) or--

He frowns, not like he's disapproving of the idea, just considering feasibility. There can be no doubt this man pranced around on the decks of rich peoples' yachts in a banana hammock at one point in his life. "She won't go for it," he says on a sigh.

"Kind of the down side of the Amercian education system." His tone is all sympathy, both for the high school kids and their sudden substitute. "We make it impossible for them to like by forcing them to wake up at the crack of down, put fifty of them in a room, and teach them nowhere near enough of the right things. It's bound to piss them off. And for a strong reader like you, I'm sure it's that much worse."

"Wilkinson." He echoes the name, nods. "Okay. We'll gather up what we can on our walk." He picks up his soda, has a sip. "We were in cells, in the Dream. I mean--the Russian girl, Kip, and I. Thorne wasn't. And I..." He falls quiet, shakes his head. Eventually, he murmurs, "I'm not sure I did the right thing."

Alexander laughs, softly. "Just imagine all the over the top condolences she's getting, August. Give it another couple of days and you might be surprised what she'd go for. I'm about ready to start stabbing people if it'll get people almost my age from coming up to tell me how much they loved having me for social studies in the seventh grade." It's more than that, for all he tries to be light about it. His hands visibly tremble when he talks about it, and he moves on quickly. "That sounds like...not quite like, but somewhat like. Three people? Each with different specialties?" A pause. "Thorne mentioned he was hurt." He looks at August. "Survival is the right thing. Whatever you did, if it helped you survive, it was right. You...want to talk about it?"

"She's been staying in her office to avoid customers coming in to console her," August mutters into a sip of soda. His fiance, driven into hiding over some dumb memory change--

No, no. Don't think about that. Alexander's reaction is a think August can focus on, and he pulls a face. "Listen, if you need some time out at the cabin to get away from...overly effusive people you didn't teach," he clears his throat at the idea of Alexander, mobbed by thirty-year-olds calling him Mr. A, "just let me know."

He blinks at the first question. "...yeah. Kip, she's a mover. Thorne mentioned something about that, about how this has happened a couple of times." He glances at Alexander's arm. "Itzhak and Aidan and Rekani too."

The survival part, that makes him wince and look away. "I left them in there, Alexander. Kip and Thorne. I woke up and it was just me. I left them to..." He looks down into his glass, toys with it.

Alexander looks desperately tempted by the offer, but slowly shakes his head. "I don't think...an unfamiliar environment is best for me. Right now. And I have work to do. I have to be interacting with people to do it. It'll be fine," he lies. He frowns. "Isabella said she went over to find out something about this nonsense. I hope she did. People keep telling me Thorne's dead, and Lilith killed him. It's absurd, but what if something like that happens with someone else, and someone decides to take revenge? And, and I don't like it. Any of it."

He takes a deep breath, refocuses. It's harder than it should be, but August's last words make it easier. "No, August. You didn't abandon them. You couldn't have stayed if you'd wanted to - and if you had, you'd probably have died. Thorne's alive. I doubt he blames you. If he thinks about it at all, he probably thinks it was the sensible thing to do," he says, proving that perhaps he's not as bad a judge of character as all of that, when he isn't wanting to believe in someone. "If it's anything like mine was, you were separated from the others, anyway. I could barely help myself, much less anything else. As soon as I saw the door, I ran."

August expects Alexander to decline the offer, so only offers a nod when he does. "Understood. Offer stands, though." Unfamiliar or not, there won't be anyone thinking Alexander tried to teach them on August's property. Just some animals who won't be very impressed by him one way or another (unless he gives them treats, and then he'll be their best friend for life). He grunts in shared concern. "I'm just getting dead plants, but...what if someone decided to burn my place down? What if someone tries to get Itzhak bounced back into prison for treason?" The hair stands on the back of August's neck the second he says it. "Yeah. We need to stop it."

He shudders and looks away. "I might have been able to, there were these windows, but I didn't even try to open them. I just focused on those stupid trees, and they weren't even trees," as he speaks his voice gets harsher, a little more hoarse, "they were bodies, or parts of bodies, people I watched get shot or dug out of buildings, and I was so fucking angry, that they were determined to keep me from finally having some good and decent things in my life, and I just," he stops, swallows.

He can feel every molecule of the glass in his hand, the silicon dioxide intermingled with sodium and calcium, the way could so easily sever those connections. They're quite fragile, no one seems to realize how fragile all the bonds are that whole life and matter together can be. It doesn't take much to undo them. He can break them like he broke the corpse trees. Broke them, then burned them, down to ash.

Alexander watches, and he listens, and his face twists. If there's anyone who understands the regret from losing control and letting the anger take the driver's seat, it's Alexander. "You just needed to punish them," he offers, quietly. "I know. It sucks. It's bright and hot in the moment, and afterwards there's just ashes and wondering how broken you must be." He draws a knee up so he can put his chin on it and study August. "I won't tell you that was right. Losing control is dangerous. But you've held off longer than just about anyone would. And you didn't hurt anyone. Not Thorne, not the other one. You didn't lash out and break them. You just broke what was hurting you - or the closest you could get to it. It sucks. But it could have been a lot worse."

August takes a steadying breath. Another. The glass stays whole and unbroken.

"Yeah," he agrees, voice soft. "If I could have I'd have torn that whole fucking Dream apart. It just--was too much, and I was exhausted." And had a bad arm, to boot. "I had to settle for what was in front of me." He wipes at his eyes, clears his throat.

"I didn't, but, I also didn't help them. I didn't even try to." His expression tightens for a second. "I know maybe I couldn't, but..."

He sags, defeated. He knows, logically, Alexander is right. It's just hard to reconcile against being someone who'd rather stay and die than leave anyone behind. He slowly looks at Alexander's arm. "Same for you?" he asks, finally looking him in the eyes.

Alexander scoots. He gets just close enough that he can lean to one side and just barely brush his shoulders with the other man's, if August lets him. It's very gentle, mindful of wounds. "You do what you can. Sometimes you don't do all that you know you want to. It hurts, and you have to live with it. It's hard." A long pause. "But you're a good man, August. No one is their best self all the time, but you're pretty damned good more often than most." A tentative smile. Then he shrugs and slinks back to his side of the couch. "Something like that. I was pretty useless in there, and we were separated. I didn't really have to choose." He looks down. "The dream took away all my defenses. Made me feel. Everything. All the bad things. All at once."

This is the Alexander equivalent of a big warm hug, and August is entirely aware. He leans into the brush of shoulders, just enough counter-pressure to suggest a return embrace. He listens, gaze on some spot on the floor, elbows resting on his knees, soda glass carefully held in his hands like a challice. He watches Alexander shift back to the other end of the couch, and murmurs, "Nobody gets out of it, having to swim through the fires to stay in this world," under his breath. Then he swallows, adds, "Thanks. I try. I owe it to my family, for putting me back together after Bosnia. The way I was acting earlier, that was just a taste of me twenty-odd years ago." He shakes his head, a sort of 'I have no idea why they bothered but I'm going to make it worth it' gesture.

It's his turn to study Alexander, and he does. Of course that's what you'd do, to someone with the mind talent--strip away their protections, give them no say in what they felt, or how much. "Like you just told me. Not useless--just put into a situation where you had no choice but to do one thing." Suffer. Feed what needed feeding.

"You weren't that bad, August," Alexander says, sounding amused. "Stop beating yourself up about that. Like I said - I know I'm obnoxious. Better men than you have said nastier things to me and been perfectly justified in it." A sip of the soda. "Mm." It's not agreement on the subject of his uselessness, but it's agreeable, or as agreeable as he can manage. "Anyway. If you got the 'something is rising' message, too, then it probably means that this isn't over. Whatever that means."

"I was, and it says something about how you're used to friends treating you, that you're not more upset with me." August arches an eyebrow in a 'so there!' kind of way, sits back up. "Being justified doesn't mean it's okay. We can be better to one another. Especially as friends. You deserve friends who don't do that kinda thing."

He doesn't miss the lack of real agreement, but also doesn't push it. He knows how it is, to feel like you're nothing but dead weight, nothing but an obstacle to other people's survival and success. "No, definitely not." He pinches the bridge of his nose. "They didn't nab anyone a second time, so far. So we need t keep an eye on people who've done things lately. Isabella, Eleanor, maybe even the new guy if he's trying his power out. Ravn." He says the name near perfectly.

Alexander hesitates, then says, "Before a year and a half ago, I hadn't really...had any friends. Not real friends. And you don't go through almost forty years without friends unless there's something pretty deeply fucked up about you, you know?" He smiles. "It's all right. I don't deserve anything like that. I know that." It's just a fact, in his mind. He nods seriously to the rest of it. "I don't know that Ravn uses his abilities much. He moves stuff, but not a lot. Sort of like, um, it boosts his slight of hands. He picks pockets." He sounds intrigued about that. "I need to learn how to pick locks."

August nods, expression mild and gentle. This is his, 'I hear you, and I'll spend the next few years proving you wrong, so just sit tight' face. It hasn't failed him yet.

"I'd like to think we could keep him that way, but," his tone turns dry, "you, me, Itzhak--we're not good influences in that regard." He peers at Alexander. "You don't know how? I bet Kelly could teach you, or at least know someone who can."

Alexander rolls his eyes. "Hey. I'm not a good influence in any regard." A flash of a smile. "And no. Never learned. But it'd be useful for gathering evidence. I don't think Kelly wants me to be gathering evidence." He falls silent. "He probably would help if I asked, though. I just don't know if I want to ask. Favors always come due, one way or another. Even if he never formally asked for one back, I'd know. And feel obligated." He looks down at his hands. "I already do, and it's irritating."

August shares in the smile. "I dunno, I'm sure I can think of a couple of things," he says, and has a bit of soda. Then he mmmms, a low sound deep in his chest. "That's true, about favors." And obligations, though he doesn't say that. It won't surprise anyone, especially not Alexander, to know August feels obligated all the time.

He thinks. "You know who else might know? Eleanor. She's done a fair bit of snooping in her time. And Bennie. I would highly suspect Bennie knows." He bobs his eyebrows; speaking of favors owed, there's one Alexander might not mind.

Alexander smiles at both names. "Well. We'll see," he says, with a shrug. "Anyway. Don't worry about the texts, okay? We're still friends. And thank you for the box. You keep giving me food. It's a little weird. But it's very good food." He lowers his voice conspiratorially, and adds, "I won't let Isabella cook it."

"I'm glad we are, I retain my right to beat myself up over being a dumbass to you." August glances down at the meager evidence about Henry, pulls a face. "We'll get what we can from the forest, hand it off to Detective Wilkinson and you. See if you two can scare up something useful." He sniffs, about the food. "As a man of Jewish heritage it's my duty to inform you that you don't eat enough and prevent you from starving. And, yes, please don't let Isabella cook it."

"You're difficult," Alexander tells August fondly. He follows his look. "It's early days, yet. See what happens with the autopsy. And I met the new forensics guy. He seems competent. I'll reach out to him, see if I can persuade him to let me take a look at the lab results. There's," he reaches out for one of the photos, "here. This barber shop card. On the back it had some of the symbols from the body. And the forest, maybe. Gonna look more into that. We'll find whoever did it, August."

"I try," August assures Alexander. "It's hard work, takes years of practice. Everyone always trying to talk me into being easy going." He shakes his head. "Nuh uh. Ain't happening."

He watches Alexander point out the barber shop card, brows gathering as he studies the symbols. "Mmmm. On his card." Which of course, suggests a source for the marks on the trees...

He licks his lips. It's not a good thought. So. "Yeah. We'll see what you find." He sighs, gets up with a wince. "Alright. Gonna go to the coffee shop and glare at everyone until they shut up about my engagement. Which is still on."

Alexander stands up to show August out. He smiles. "I'm telling you, August. Sex on the carousel. It will definitively put the issue to rest. People will still talk, but no one will say that you're still broken up. And I think Eleanor has more of the wild child in her than she shows. She might go for it." He grins, opens the door, has to stifle a yawn. "Don't die, mmm?"