2020-08-18 - Knockaround Guys

Joey has been off. Everything was fine up until a tipping point where 'tired but teamwork' became terse and irritated. Seeing Itzhak rolling up Duarte passes by him with that look of mMMmMhhmmm! "Be thinkin twice about goin in there. he is in a mood. How you been man?" There's a pause to get teh answer when he check his watch with a sigh, "Gotta get. being a maintenance guy is cutting into my not-a-maintenance guy time."

To say the least.

One doesn't need a high mental acumen to pick up the fog of war lingering in the air. there is nothing relaxed about this place, and the relaxed myrth given way only for efficiency. Joey's on the speedbag pummeling out a cadence without dropping a punch; leading with his left as always.

Itzhak swaps the tough-guy handclasp and knucklebump with Duarte, saying, "How's by ya, pal." His eyebrows pop up when Duarte warns him. "Uh...okay. Thanks for the warning. Take it easy, huh?" Well that doesn't bode well. But he rolls in anyway, half-sauntering on those long legs.

Even he can feel the thick tension in the air, focused on the man working over the speed bag like it said something about his ma. "'ey, Kelly," he calls to him, as he comes up. "You got a minute?"

Joey doesn't even look at him. His jaw tightens as Itzhak speaks. he can feel it, his voice, the sharp points in his register, and the way he parked a car on his vowels flattening them out. Everything is grating as all his nerves ins his system lay bare like un-insulated wires with too much juice in em. "This about me taking you off the job, Roz? Cuase I ain't changing my mind for spies." MORE SPIES!!! Really? Joey's bit the spy thing too?

That awful, grating tension, Itzhak can feel, like a building storm. "Yeah, it is, because--I'm not a fucking Russian spy! You don't seriously believe that shit, do you? They're saying it about Cavanaugh, too, it ain't true." Joey isn't looking at him, but Itzhak's looking at Joey, scowling.

And there's a certain vibe to him, too.

He's afraid.

He's come in here to take on Joey on the man's own turf, and he is not ballsy or stupid enough to be unafraid.

pap pap THWAP

The speedbag whips with lightning rapidity until there's a hit on the bag that makes the room flinch. If the lights flutter it's not a current but the ballasts shaking the overhead lights. There's something in his voice that was not there before that is raw, and genuine, and has the worth of warmth found in a nuclear winter; if there's any at all it burns.

"I'm talking about you fucking that goddamn traitor who I know is using you to get to my shit." Int eh span of one inhale Joey's crossed the space closing in like a dust storm come to bury everything. "So pardon but fuck him, and fuck you, Roz. Just do your damn job and we won't have a problem because unlike some I keep my fucking word around here even if I'm the asshole." And with that he brushes a step past Itzhak without so much a hullo.

Itzhak shifts his weight, subtle, fast, when Joey rolls towards him with the power and inexorability of a simoon. Adrenaline which had been simmering spikes into life; his big hands clench and it's all he can do not to make the first move. He swallows hard. Swiveling to keep facing Joey, he snaps, "Listen to me, Kelly! ...traitor? Whaddaya mean traitor?"

And he's serious about that. He doesn't know what Joey means.

Joey turns with a force that might have given Itzhak a swift nap by force were he any less aware. Turns out being terrified is one of those skills that tells you to move before there's reason. When Joey pivots clockwise that heavy left fist comes around within inches of where the taller man's face was until he leeeeeans just out of the way, and just. Recovering, but not taking a second swing Joey lee grabs the beanpole by his shirt and walks him back to the wall hard listing the guy up on his toes. The look in those flashing green eyes can only be described as hell gone feral.

Yup. Itzhak was right. This is cause for concern.

"What am I talking about I'm talking about that fily... lying fucking dirty ass cop being balls deep up in my crew and you playing goddamned house with the fucker is what I'm GODDAMNED TALKING ABOUT!" Shit, Itzhak might get legit bitten if he's not careful. "He sold me out Roz! He sold me out and fucking bailed and he's using you to get information so he can use that to get ahead and sell. us. out. when he's done fucking using us. YOU TELL ME why I should let some copfucker walk around in here so my people can get hurt,. TELL ME."

Itzhak whips aside from that punch, quick as a fence lizard darting for cover. He could back off, he could put daylight between himself and Kelly, but--no, Joey catches him by the front of the tank top and lifts. Itzhak clamps his hands on Joey's forearms, a guttural snarl surging in his throat as the yard boss walks him back. Itz moves with the grace of a dancer, one boot back as Kelly's comes forward, like Fred and Ginger. He can barely touch the ground, almost floating, borne up by the animal strength of the other man.

He evaded Poe for three rounds in the ring. Itzhak can be damn near impossible to hit, and he could be resisting right the hell now. He's not.

His back hits the wall with a thump and a grunt. Teeth bared, heart hammering in his chest like a starving woodpecker, Itzhak bites off the words. "Yeah! He fuckin' is usin' me! That's what I came to tell you!"

Joey might still bite Itzhak anyways. There will be bruises where knuckles press to the front of Itzhak's shoulders here his shirt is grabbed as he's slammed against the brick wall. It is literally taking every last bit of control he doesn't possess to keep himself from trying to put his mechanic through it right now, and in a rare fracture in his almost perpetual collected calm he is raw, and hurt and inconsolable in this fury. The words get quiet; lower eyelids tuck in a squint and he murmurs through clenches teeth, wounded, "He lied... to me, Itzhak. Tell me why I shouldn't just break you like a bag of pretzels and dumb what's left on his goddamn porch." Now? NOW he sounds like Monaghan.

There is a quiet calm that comes over him informing, out of respect maybe for Itzhak alone or desperation for this to make any sense, "You try to make excuses for that pile of shit you're gonna be picking your teeth up off the floor... when your fingers work properly again. Do you...understand me?" Now he patiently waits. As he said he would.

Itzhak huffs a bitter laugh through his teeth. His long, lanky body is tense as a wire, quivering; his hands on Joey's forearms are incredibly strong, the tendons popping out all the way to his elbows. Violin-playing hands, those. "That how it is now Kelly?" Gray-green eyes stare into bottle green, Itzhak squinting from the strain of holding eye contact. "You don't like what I got to say to you so you're gonna take me apart? Then put me down and let's fuckin' do it."

There's a ripple of violin music, from nowhere--Itzhak brushing a feather-light touch over Joey's mind, not intruding, not asking anything, merely touching him. That's not the Joey Lee Kelly I know, whispers the music, hanging over that terrible deep crack of a wound. Itzhak is afraid, yes, oh yes he is, he knows all too well just how good Joey is and he's supplied with an overactive imagination. He knows what a wound like that can drive men to do.

And yet here he is. He let Joey put him in a real bad position up against the brick wall like this, and here he hangs, pale and defiant.

The distrust is high. It's not even centralized on Itzhak. Really with what Itzhak has been privy to and three of his people in the hospital right now who can call it an irrational fear? Handled poorly, yes, but the betrayal has surfaced more than he'd like it to.

Still he's not laid a hand on him. Yet, and only tried the once.
So far.

The contact is noted and there is static in return like trying to tell the future in a crystal ball made of lead. The offer though? He puts Itzhak down which might just mean glove up. He doesn't answer but stares at Itzhak a long time. "I said," he repeats, "don't try to defend him to me," he points to himself before drawling a lateral line in the air, "in my house after what that sunnovabitch did. Cause on that he's using you? I warned you of that, in the very beginning, Roz, you keep fucking trusting people and this happens." So much for joey trying to have faith in the people. "What he do, hmm?"

Itzhak's boot soles hit the floor. He lets Joey stare at him and he stares back at him, silent prison-style. Tall and bony and whipcord-thin, topped off with a hell of a beak and a mane of black curls, he lets him look. And underneath those curls, a brain like a big-block engine churns away.

"What," he says, slow and careful, "the fuck did he tell you, Kelly?"

Joey prowls just outside of range where Itzhak isn't going to tag him without telegraphing, but he's also not leaving that spot without going through Joey either. It all seems to broadcast some level of control over the train in a 'you can go where I let you go' fashion. His eyes harden and while he doesn't mean to have emotion show he's all but thrown his hand down on the table like he needs this fight because he's yet to actually been able to go to the source. All for the best really.

"OoooOOooh he didn't tell you? Heh, yeah, he sends me a fucking goddamn text that says 'oh how are things? 'By the way we're done because things are too difficult and I decided fuck Felix so ya know, fuck you too. I'm leaving and cutting my fucking losses.'" His fingers slowly pull into a fist, squeeze and open though so he can point index and pinky finger to the Mechanic. "We had a pact and I hopped on a goddamn grenade for him to make sure he walked out of that shootout on more than one fucking occasion when you know damn well August and everyone else up his ass would have him on his feet in five fucking minutes. but no, Fuck me. Yeah well fuck him too. Tell him he can shove those ribs right up his ass. I ain't fuckin expendable."

That look on Itzhak's face is as clear as really good ice. No, Ruiz hadn't told him. "Jesus," he hisses under his breath. It just makes him more tense, too, learning that, watching Joey pace like a caged beast. Violence coils further in the air with each of those heavy strides, driven by the finest muscle west of the Rockies. Itzhak's eyes follow him, but not his face, just the motion, seeing past him. Ready to move.

Itzhak's lips pull back in a grimace. Because there's nothing he can fucking say to the fact that Joey took hits for Ruiz, counted him as someone who he respected, who he liked. Maybe even who he looked up to in his way. And Itzhak is never going to get him to listen when he's like this. Listening is the least of it, too. Kelly has never been like this, never been sunk so far into despair and rage. The Brick is crumbling. Itzhak can't even blame him. That gash in Kelly's soul is eating him away like acid. He can't let that happen. There's too much at stake, and the soul of one Joey Lee Kelly isn't the least of it.

That Ruiz did this to protect Joey is going to go over like a lead brick itself at the moment.

Well. Is Itzhak a tank, or isn't he?

He struts forward, letting his mouth twist into a sneer, letting all those old prison instincts come back. "So, nu, you gonna stand there flappin' ya jaw or are you gonna put me in my place?"

Joey pulls right around on that hair trigger. Any other day -any other **fucking* day*- and Joey would go through his mental checklist. His fuse has been burning hot on all sides and he closes like a freight train. When he turns his fist doesn't swig wide in a haymaker, but instead a jab that might very wellt ake a lesser man's block clean off. He might break Itzhak's nose. Again. Eh.

He needs him alive though. If he remember that is another story. Working with Poe is what people call 'a good start' and Joey pissed? Christ, he should have gotten out of this town. Had things stayed clean maybe he'd be the new de la Hoya. They didn't though and the man very nearly has nothing to lose. It's a damn good thing Itzhak has that talk with Roen first.

"What makes... you THINK... I shouldn't drop your body off on that pig's porch for selling us out Itzhak? Why shouldn't I fucking take everything from him??!" The fury making his eyes water and his voice break.

No matter how many times Itzhak spars him in the ring, no matter how often he watches him move--when Joey really moves, it's shocking every single time. Itzhak doesn't think, he just reacts; lashing out even as Joey hits him, stepping into it and letting his Song roar at the point of impact, soaking some of that devastating kinetic energy.

Still hurts. Gevalt it still hurts, black stars sparkling in his vision, and his nose is bloodied good but not broken. Maybe not broken. Hopefully not broken. Itzhak hisses Yiddish while he slugs Joey back, not pulling anything, not daring to give anything other than his best. 'DOWN' comes for the Lead Brick's face. "Ir trakhtn ir kenen, you think you can!? I wanna see you TRY!"

Joey walks in like he owns every damn room he's in subjugating ego and people who think they got game with a glance always knowing at least 5 ways to take a person apart before saying hi... in case. Everything in the world is a threat and in Gray Harbor twice so. At 5'10 he doesn't necessarily look like he's towering over the 6'1 swearing New Yorker who is notoriously ( and thankfully) deft on his feet, but bullets aren't very tall and they're fast as hell itself.

Muscles tense and fists come back with a pummeling barrage seeming to hunt the same two places in the ribs with the promise of : you will break in half you bendy sunnovabitch*. Blows come for his head. He's warned Itzhak about that: the bones are thicker there; sharper. Catch someone in the cheekbone and it'll hurt like hell but cut the shit out of your hand. His head dips to soak on the hard bone at his hairline and keeps going after the ribs forcing Itzhak to lower his elbows to protect his vulnerability that he's chipping out.

The words bite sharp words biting into him and finally with far less work than what's required on any other day either aided by circumstance, heartache, or going into 'battle mode' Joey lets his fury off the chain and doubles back on his efforts with senseless efficiency.

He's not even fighting Itzhak anymore.

"I SAID keep your fucking guard UP!" and that said he comes back around with a double jab to the breadbasket and that heavy ass left cross of his. "You used to give a shit, asshole!" Yeah he is definitely not yelling at Itzhak anymore.

Joey's not fighting Itzhak, not in his mind. He's not yelling at him, but at his own ghosts. This is exactly what Itzhak wanted--and yet, oy vey izt mir it is hard. Hard because he aches for Joey, he wants to weep for him--and hard because Joey's a better brawler than he is and he's terrified and he keeps thinking of Roen's gift. Should he use it now?

Will he walk away from this or be carried out?

"C'mon," Itzhak pants, twisting, dodging, blocking. He's on the move, backing across the gym, making Joey chase him. "C'mon boychik, that all you got, c'mon!" Then Joey makes him pay for his lip in that combo and catches him in the gut with the one and across the jaw with the other. Crack! Itzhak's Song leaps like a salmon, but he stumbles, losing his wind. Then he's got his balance again in a flickering instant and he's fighting for all he's worth.

He's a good fighter. Actually, he's a great fighter, owning not only skill but the kind of canny drive to win that makes champions. It doesn't matter. Not here. Not against Joey Lee Kelly in a rage.

Were this a metaphor (and it can't be because Joey doesn't know what a phor is much less meet one, ask him) it would be another showdown of the Red Bull trampling the Last Unicorn back to the sea. Fists come in tightly packed combination, one-two three, one-two-three beating down a waltz of pain until finally Roz snaps into a Slim Jim or whatever and starts biting back.

In the beginning if Joey gets hurt it doesn't even seem to register, but he's always been an adrenaline junkie. Hurt leads to anger and you burn anger as fuel, but this? Well this is what happens when you are too juiced up. Can he break Itzhak? Quite definitely. Not immediately, but eventually, and what Itzhak is classically gifted at is avoiding being hit so it's very interesting when it happens. What is true is it takes a lot out of anyone to weather him down in a battle of attrition.

This is one of those things people blinded in fury don't realize they need this badly until they have it, a good fight. A great fight really. He could have been in Vegas with his skill, but here he is running drugs and guns in Gray Harbor. Trying to crack Itzhak like a Kinderegg filled with swearing and chutzpah is really the next best thing. It's fucked up. Really, really fucked up considering he actually broke most of his own rules to help the mechanic get out of Felix's pocket.

His hand is red but he knows where to land to protect it. It's also why he's avoiding the face: Prevents bloody knuckles. Face is full of hard sharp bones, and Itzhak's skinny torso is not.

Taking a breath even he has to wonder... why am I doing this?

Joey has been kind of in a funk lately and Nicole isn't fully aware of why. She's heard mumblings, both coherently and incoherently (while sleeping even), that equate basically to: People suck. Fuck Ruiz. God-damned traitors. Grrr. Rawr. Grumble. Grump. The only things that seems to unwind all that outraged energy are the pups (especially Riley, cuz who can be grumpy with an adorable three-legged dog) and Nicole, sometimes, when she manages to get through... when she is brave enough to try.

But, she was going to try today, try to bring a bit of bright into the dimness of whatever he is going through. Rolling up to the gym, Nicole climbs out of her beat-up old car, oblivious to what is going on inside, but she would swear she could feel tension in the air around the place. Grasping the paper bags from the passenger seat, Nicole heaves a sigh of apprehension and walks towards the door. Just before she opens it, she plasters on a bright smile.

"Joey, baby! I brought food!" She hears the sounds of a fight before she sees it, but isn't all that worried. It is a boxing gym after all. It takes a split second for her to realize the ring is empty and for her eyes to sweep across the place until she spots the pair; Itzhak pressed against the wall, Joey pummeling him like one of the bags. She gasps and drops the bag of greasy food as she rushes closer. "Joey Lee Kelly!" There's blood on Itzhak's face. She knows the man can hold his own, but... it's Itz and they aren't in the ring and she can feel the anger, smell the blood and sweat, and taste the aura of red hanging in the air. She stops before coming too close to him, reaching out to touch his shoulder before then taking a step back. Her voice is softer than the first cry. "Joey... stop. That's... he doesn't deserve this." Does he? Hell if she truly knows, but she's gonna guess not. Then, just in case the beating of his heart in his fury drums in his ears loud enough to drown out her voice, she says louder again, "Stop!" Something tells her he might not stop though... and she starts thinking about her options, what can she do if he doesn't?

What can she do?

It makes a music of a kind, the rhythm of Joey's fists and Itzhak's half-Yiddish swearing, the rasp of their breathing and the scuff of their boots across the gym floor. Not the first time these walls have witnessed such a thing. Won't be the last, either. Thud and smack! and Itzhak takes it and takes it, his Song a silent roar like meltwater gushing in the spring.

When Joey takes that breath is when Itzhak flips an internal switch and goes on the offensive. Here comes his own combo, STAY and DOWN and of course he's gotta run his mouth at the same time, snarling, "Don't you dare fuckin' stop now! Gimme everything you GOT!"

That's when Nicole walks in on their conversation. Itzhak does not dare look at her or hesitate or do anything other than go at Joey with everything he himself has got. Doing that would be a great recipe for a caved-in ribcage.

But he's also not worried at all, not even a shred in the back of his mind, that Joey will turn this violence on Nicole. Didn't they storm a wizard's tower together in the name of a woman who had been hurt? Didn't Joey put a sword in that man for what he'd done to a little girl? Itzhak has no fear for Nicole.

Only himself.

There's a reason Joey's got faded ink that reads YARD BOSS on his fingers. He doesn't stop until he's pummeled every threat into subjugation. Look Itzhak asked nicely to do this that makes it okay right?

Right?

And then there's something cold touching him; fingers at room temperature hesitatingly tapping at muscles that have been burning with anger for more than a minute leave him in reaction to reel. There's a sliver of his awareness that they ARE in proverbial Kansas (that means like the story and not a type of a suburb thanks to Alexander's book) that recognizes Nicole is the furthest thing from a threat. His fist cocked back like its own sort of loaded weapon holds and he freezes in place, winded, as he tries to make any sense of what's going on.

Sharp green-glass eyes focus on her, the horrified, worried look on her face, the sound of a splat of blood or saliva coming off his fist and hitting the concrete floor of the gym. There's a pause longer before his head whiplashes to look at Itzhak briefly, and back to Nicole.

Now that they actually stopped and Joey turns to look at her.... well, Nicole is still asking herself, 'what do I do?' She doesn't voice the question, just stares wide-eyed at the boxer, jaw dropped slightly.

"I-" 'brought food'? No... that's stupid. Don't say that Nicole.

"What?...." She blinks, looking between the two men. "What's going on?" She steps over to the towel rack and grabs two, walking back over. She hands one two Itzhak, nodding up towards his face and tries to take one of Joey's hands to look it over. It might need ice. She doesn't have ice.

Itzhak holds his fire when Joey does, but he too is locked, cocked, and ready to rock; fists at the ready, long body coiled with tension. He's a mess, his nose and mouth bleeding and his eyes blackening (only one hit to his face but it was more than enough), his reddened teeth bared in a sneer. A mess, but on his feet, still fighting despite his entire torso howling at him, a thousand alerts going off: fuck that hurts!, I think that's broken, jesus what does it take to tire him out. His body will give out long before that spirit of his.

However, Nicole walks over, bringing her noncombatant status and her womanliness and her concern for Joey and himself, and Itzhak loses his taste for more. He raises his hands, painfully uncurling his fists (his hands are battered, knuckles split, he'll need help before he can play his violin again) in surrender. Then his knees wobble and give out beneath him, landing his narrow butt on the floor. Thump.

Joey just stares at her with a tongue as this as a lead brick. She's afraid. He's mot all up in his head like Alexander or even like Itzhak and Sparrow, but he can taste it. What's he say to that? His reaction is 'It's nothing baby, we're just talking go back inside' but she's not an idiot, and he doesn't dare patronize her intelligence saying it. His arms lower, slowly and try to hang loose to get the tension out.

He doesn't apologize for what he's not sorry for. This is survival as he knows it in its very fucked up way Itzhak seemed to pick up on. He takes a deep breath and looks to Nicole and says in as few words that don't answer her question but do, "We've been sold out."

The words Joey finally utters are heavy on her and not at all what Nicole expected to hear. "Sold out?" She turns to look at Itzhak just as he thumps to the floor, her gaze following him down. The look she is giving him now is one of confusion. It is part 'wait, what?' Part, 'holy shit, are you okay?' She knows enough to know Joey doesn't think (not truly, at least, no matter what he might have said) it was actually Itzhak that sold them out.... or Itzhak surely wouldn't be conscious at the moment.

Her eyes shift back to Joey and she asks, "how? Who?" Yeah... she needs more here. "What's going on?" she asks again.

"He knew I worked for Monaghan since the minute we met," Itzhak rasps from the floor. "And he never asked. You hear me, Kelly? He never asked." He sets fingertips gingerly to his mouth, testing for loosened teeth. There are none; he's lucky, or Roen's luck spent itself for him. "Only now he asked." Looking up, he scowls in helpless ferocity. "Because he knew! He knew he'd have to cut you off but he left you a way to still talk to him and that he can talk to you. Through me. I'm the only--"

Itzhak's voice breaks and he coughs. "I'm the only person in town who can do that. I'm his man, and I'm your man."

Then, looking up at Nicole, he nods, wearily, wryly. "'m okay." Oh is he now, collapsed on the floor all bleeding and stuff? But he's okay enough to run his mouth. By Monaghan crew standards, that's the peak of health.

Joey cracks a gin canting his head to one side. When he smiles he really does look like Jaime; blessed with the grin and the cheekbones and that sideeye that can make the Mother Theresa drop her drawers. But there's something else and that's a hurt that lies beyond physical pain. "Roz... You can't... you can't have it both ways. And the mother fucker cut. me. off. After..." Are his eyes watered up? It's fury. Ahem. He points to himself tapping his sternum twice and then accusingly at itzhak trying to hold himself together, words choked d in his throat explaining to Nicole that maybe she'll understand what the *problem is here. "He was 'cutting his losses' marking me fucking expendable after... apparently, I was an idiot and a goddamn moron for kepeing him off Felix's shitlist. He used me." And that might be the wound that ticks deepest when he goes to speak, the words choke, "I... I trusted him, Nicole... He did this. To the idiot that took three bullets and a grenade for him. In a ...in a text."

Swallowing he sniffs and turns cheek puffing out with a bellow of volume. He walks over to to the heavy bag trying to process so much emotion that's cut him him in half. The punch he throws has a warp of reality around it and it pulls a couple of the pictures on the wall toward him a bit, a little bit more, one with every hit into the bag instead of Itzhak with his hand on fire. Good. "You don't... fucking... DO THAT!" and that last hit pulls the glass in the posters out like the pictures themselves are punching their way out as Kelly creates a vacuum like a goddamn mantis shrimp with a punch like a bullet. The tinkling of glass can be heard like wind chimes and it is surreal enough the rest of the tension is broken turning his face to avoid the glass. He did this. His anger. Not de la Vega, not Felix, and not even his fucking...whoever the fuck his father is. This was him.

Nicole listens to Itzhak, even though the words are directed more to Joey. She squints at him, but it is Joey that basically says what she is thinking. She points to him as if to say 'that. What he said.' "He used you and you know it and you still?....." Her voice trails off and she shakes her head, looking back to Joey. She frowns, deeply, seeing the pain this is causing Joey written on his face. Shaking her head again she whispers, "you are not expendable... He..."

But she doesn't finish what she was going to say, as it is then Joey walks to the bag and starts to punish it instead of Itzhak. Only....he begins to reshape the fabric of all that is around them with every punch he throws. Nicole's eyes go wide and it is then that she truly looks frightened. She backs against the wall but soon realizes, maybe that isn't the safest place, as the pictures begin to move. She sees what is about to happen before she can react, and as the glass begins to shatter, she ducks down, arms covering her face and her head. "JOEY!" It's too late, of course, to stop him as those glass frames crash to the ground in a cacophony of wind chime sounds.

Itzhak looks up at Nicole, slumped there on his knees, beaten to a minor pulp. His eyebrows tip up, poignant, pleading with her silently, and he's about to say something when Joey starts pounding into the heavy bag. Well at least it's not his face? Itzhak grimaces, swallows, calls, "Kelly, he don't think that--"

and then his blackening eyes go wide as he feels that pressure. He bolts to his feet just in time to fling himself between flying shards of glass and Nicole. He can no longer throw his protective shield to someone else...but he can use himself. I will be your shield.

Joey hasn't really looked scared in a long time and up until right now that's not ever occurred to him, but they say courage is mastery of fear, and consuming it, not the absence of it. That's just reckless which is where he's weirdly finding himself.
He steps back, stunned; trembling. He looks back to Nicole looking ... yeah. And it's Itzhak there playing human shield.... from him... to protect her.

Joey just shakes his head, face contorting with too many feelings. The heels of his palms press to each eye, head shaking, as he sinks to the ground. Fingers slowly wrap around his head and squeeze just a bit murmuring in his gravel tone taking a deep, deep breath, "This is fucked uuuuuuuuuup... oh shit..." Fingers slowly clench against his head and almost like that the adrenaline crashes out in teh room like a damn letting out and water returning to its routine.

Crouched down as low as she can, she makes herself as tiny as possible, making it easier for Itzhak to act as a human force field, putting himself between her and the glass. When the sound of glass falling stops, Nicole begins to lower her arms, to peek about. "Are you okay?" she whispers to Itzhak, hoping he doesn't have some glass shard acting like a dagger in his back. Joey turns to see Itzhak protecting her and her dark eyes lock on him as reality breaks through his rage and he sinks down. Joey may not look scared often. Nicole tries not to, but she does. Her face is far more expressive than she would like at times. Placing a hand on Itzhak's forearm, a final questioning of how okay he may or may not be asked with her eyes before she slowly approaches Joey.

Lowering herself down to rest on one knee in front of him, she reaches up to place her hands gently over his as he clenches his head. "Joey... baby..." It's a familiar refrain from her lips, those two words now whispered so softly. Her eyes are blinking rapidly, trying to fight back the tears of fear, of worry for the man she loves. "I'm okay... I'm right here... your, um... Glimmer took over. " She tries to lower his hands if he lets her, otherwise keeping hers on his. "Look at me baby... It's fucked up... it is... but we'll get through it." She gives a glance over her shoulder towards Itzhak. She's a bit at a loss for words, for how to help Joey in the immediate moment. They'll come to her, she is sure, but her mind is still reeling, processing everything that has happened since she walked in the door.

At least Itzhak seems not immediately worse for the flying glass. His Song (and Roen's luck) turned away most of it, only scratching him a little here and there. Glittering shards have fallen on the floor in a sort of halo around the heels of his boots. He puts his battered hand over Nicole's when she lays it on his forearm and nods, his breathing rapid and shallow. "He needs you," he murmurs to her urgently. "Don't worry about me."

That's been his whole theme today. Don't worry about him.

Nicole approaches Joey and Itzhak lets Joey have a moment of privacy in the inmate fashion, offering him the gift of lack of attention. Not that, just as in prison, he's not really paying attention...but it is polite to turn away sometimes, and that's what he's doing. Not literally turning away, just looking away for a moment. Oh, look, floor. Covered in glass. He should sweep that up. In a second.

First he catches Nicole's helpless look, and he takes that as his cue to come closer, gently, none of his usual swagger. He's not going to inflict himself on Joey. That time is done for now. Now he's merely being there.

Joey is quiet, silent really, and it's only when the artist's hands rest on his the golem of a mood really shifts back to being recognizably human. That last vestige of the red bull dissipating, and limbs unfolding without looking to pull Nicole in, shaking. Words don't some easy and unclenching his jaw is honestly a struggle as he murmurs from some dry well of his soul, "Baby, I'm...so... sorry." From the man that doesn't apologize.

There is silence but for a few ragged breaths, the concrete floor below growing dark circle with a slow splatting cadence. "I dunno what happened it's eating me whole. I just... I thought things were okay. It's prison on the outside I thought they were going to hurt you. Turns out it was me. Was me all along." Taking a deep breath he hugs her gently "I swear to god I'm an inch from setting the harbor on fire and moving to Santa Cruz."

Nicole sinks into Joey as he pulls her close, not caring about sweat or blood. Arms slip around him and she holds him close. After his murmured apology, she is not going to simply say 'it's okay'. It isn't okay. None of this is okay. "It wasn't intentional," she says softly.

She lets him hold her, silently for a moment as Itzhak gives them that privacy. When Joey speaks again, she lifts her head to look up into his eyes. She's trying to determine whether he was the one hurt, or the one that was going to hurt her. "I am not hurt, baby, and it seems... you are the one they ended up hurting." She nods, having covered both bases. "I don't know what is going on with all this. I don't know what's wrong with Ruiz. I know it's not Itzy's fault though... it can't be." And she looks out of the corner of her eyes to see Itzhak standing nearby. "He, you know... I am pretty sure he cares about you," she says to Joey.

"I mean, Santa Cruz doesn't sound so bad... but maybe we can set fire to the assholes that are causing all this mess instead for now? Then, you know, if you want to talk about going somewhere else, starting over somewhere... we can put that on the table. But you and I both know we can't just walk away right now." She presses her cheek to Joey's then turns to kiss it softly. Reaching up to press her hands to either side of his face, she looks him in the eye. "We can't let the real bad guys win. So let's figure out how to thoroughly defeat them."

Itzhak occupies himself with wiping the blood off his face, gingerly. Is his nose broken? If not, it's certainly sprained. (Can you sprain your nose? Joey would invent how.) He stands there, tall and lanky and bruised from Hell to breakfast. But he's on his feet. He's a survivor, like all three of them in this room. Really, that was all he hoped for, coming out of this discussion he knew he'd have to have with Joey Lee.

"Yeah, I care about you, may you grow upside down in the ground like an onion," he grumbles. "You're...Jesus, Kelly, I dunno how you did it, but you're not Monaghan. You're ten times the man he is." Finally he looks over, gray-green eyes bloodshot in blackened sockets. "I ain't about to let you become him."

Joey just holds onto Nicole for once in his life actually breaching that dam of emotion. Turns out the well is't dried up, just filled with debris and sea water and mud. Gorilla arms try to hold Nicole close but in truth he's the one that's fragile right now, not her. It's an uncomfortable anathema to everyone really. The kiss falls on a cheek flush with emotion and damp from not keeping it contained. This is not the lead brick he's been, nor the theoretical red bull crushing the enduring New Yorker into paste- or at least trying.

The words land when Nicole speaks. Really sending her in to do the talking was a smart move; risky but smart. He swallows hard trying to catch his breath and wait for the room to stop . He looks up over her shoulder to Itzhak still there and now sitting down with them. He asks pointedly, "Why?" there's a pause and he's no insulted so much as confused, "How's an onion upside down?" really this is what derails fear and grief: agricultural orientation. "Not Jesus. He's Spanish."

He's quiet for a long time and says, still that bitter taste in his teeth, "Yo know I really though.... I dunno what I thought. Felix never lied to me though. Five years, and he didn't throw. me. away, Roz. The fuck am I supposed to think?"

Wrapped up in Joey's arms (well, more he is wrapped in hers but he is more gigantic so it LOOKS like he is engulfing her), Nicole peeks out of the corner of her eyes to Itzhak again, then agrees, softly saying to Joey, "he is right. You are not Monaghan. And I do not think you ever will be... especially if I have any say in the matter. No matter where your life takes you, Joey baby. You are... human. He.. he does not seem to be. Does he have emotion at all?" Not that she's ever met the guy. But she's heard stories. Lots of them. She thinks she is probably pretty good with NOT meeting him.

Despite a brief imagining of upside down onions, Nicole does not give that particular saying too much thought at the moment. Perhaps it will be revisited later.

She does, however, look up at Joey with a very confused expression for a moment. "Jesus is Spanish? What?" It doesn't occur to her that it sounded like Itzhak CALLED Joey Jesus. "Baby?" She bites her lip, tears springing up in her eyes again. She doesn't want to shatter his entire view of... everything, but, this is one of those moments when maybe... maybe he needs the hard truth. "He's not going to throw you away... because he needs you. You do a service for him. I pray he never stops needing you, only because, I don't think I would like the results of what happens when he no longer does. And... I mean, how do you know for sure he has never lied to you?"

A lump forms in her throat and she has to blink rapidly, trying not to add to the tears and/or blood splashing on the gym floor. "But..." Fuck. Fuck.... admitting something to yourself is hard. Emotions are hard. Dammit. "Other people need you..." she starts. "Jaime, Jessie, Ripley, Harvey, your friends. True friends. And... I need you. Joey..." Her nose and cheeks have turned red from trying to restrain the flood of emotional release and she sniffles. "I need you and I am definitely not throwing you away. Whether you are an upside down onion or a right side up one."

How many people has Monaghan thrown away? How many people has he had you throw away for him?

Itzhak doesn't say that. His musician's sense of timing (not always the greatest, truth be told) suggests now isn't the time. Not while Nicole is saying the things that really need to be said. Gratefully he meets her glance, just for that half-second. They don't know each other well, but they're working as a team in the moment.

And her words are so eloquent and so wise that Itzhak starts losing the battle against the lump in his throat. He grimaces, which then really fucking hurts. Oy! The last thing he needs is to start sympathy crying.

"Town needs you, Kelly," he says, quiet and gruff as de la Vega himself. "Needs you. Not another Monaghan."

How many people has Joey gotten rid of for him? Many, and without question.
He has questions. So, so many questions.

He knows the answer to Nicole's question and it haunts him. He knows the answer and it's not a flattering one. The question though stills the sea of emotions that have been hurling around like a torrent. "It's just the way it is Nicole. That's... that's all there is." The emotions are still with him with a sharp sniff and his gravel voice is hoarse trying to get them to get it. "It's all there is. I know what... I've done. I know what happens to us if we walk out or stop doing our goddamn job..." He winces seeing no reason to keep it anymore, "I warned de la Vega Felix ain't gonna let him walk either." Around Nicole's shoulder he reaches up to wipe his face off. defeated in this round. "And I got a... sucks to be you Kelly."

Shaking his head he murmurs, "Fuck em. Fuck em both. " he shakes his head with regret, "Fuck me too. Because right now you can say the same fucking thing about de la Vega but Felix' is at least up front about it. This is all I got. What do you want from me? Something happens to Felix it's because something worse pops up and then fuck all of us." Green eyes, tired, spooked, and bloodshot look past Nicole to Itzhak wondering where they're going with this though the sting is still there, Looking back to Nicole he sighs. This is just how things are. It's all we know."

Nicole pulls back just enough to look into Joey's green eyes. She hears every word he says. Every. One. Her brows knit with sympathy, sorrow, worry, and confusion. It seems she no longer knows just what to say. She takes a deep breath and lets it out, leaning her head down to rest her forehead on Joey's sweaty shoulder. She is quiet a bit and shakes her head slightly. "It's how they are. It's how things have been... it's all we know... but it doesn't have to be. I just, don't know how to make it not be." Already soft, her words are barely a whisper at the end. "I don't know how to make it all better. I just know the importance of you keeping on being you and not... becoming like him. I just... I can't let you lose yourself in this shit."

"So no. Not fuck you. All I want from you is for you to be you. All I want.. from you... is..."

"You."

Itzhak has a terrific scowl on, despite how much it hurts his face. It's because he's trying not to cry too. Better to scowl, right? That's what his people say. "I can't fix what's between you and de la Vega," he mutters, pretending to inspect his hanky for blood. (Spoiler: there's blood.) "Ain't about to try. S'up to him and you."

But he never asked you to kill anybody. He did everything he could to help you. He knows what it's like to be a biting dog on the leash for a bad master. More words Itzhak doesn't say. Wouldn't do no good, would they? He looks over at Joey and Nicole, brief, taking them in, before looking away again. Nodding in Nicole's direction, he murmurs, "She's right. There's a life on the other side for guys like us. I been there."

Then, sighing, he stuffs his bloody hanky in his back pocket. "I'll get outta ya face." He's had most of his swagger beaten right out of him...but he rolls towards the door and it's still there. Subdued, pained, but he took a beating from Poe and motored out under his own power. Now he's doing the same after Joey dropped on him like a ton of lead bricks. A tough guy in more ways than one.

Joey reaches out and grabs Itzhak's fist in his. The reality is Joey really could pulverize a stone as sure as be can fold a quarter in half between thumb and forefinger. The truth is that hand is not moving until he let's go. It's a pause though, and held long enough to convey what he doesn't have words for. "I can't fix what he broke."

He lets go.

Bloodshot green eyes fly back to Nicole and the question hits him like a shower of lead while trying to surface for air. He actually answers her, "More than you ever want to hear about." Taking a deep breath he shakes his head, "I dunno who else to be to survive this so this city doesn't burn." Closing his eyes he slumps his massive arms carefully around Nicole and sighs. "I just want to go back to teaching gym. Can't I just do that?"

No. No you can't, Joey.
And you can only do that because Felix allows it.
He really is just Felix's favourite barking dog...
...while he's still useful.