2020-09-12 - It Isn't Even Past

It's been three quarters of a year since he arrived here in Surprise. The sailor's let his hair grow out into a mop of curls, gained new scars, and settled in to a surprisingly stable existence, considering the innate instability of this town. He's sitting at one of the picnic areas near the dock, watching the sun go down over the water. His expression's grave, but there's an odd contentment there, as he nurses a bottle of some local beer.

Summer is clearly winding down, as it's not miserably hot, but pleasantly warm. Vic is in black running shorts, a blue sports bra, and a light running jacket in the same shade of blue that is left unzipped, but covers the horrific scarred landscape of her back. Her hair is in a ponytail, and there are earpods in her ears and running shoes on her feet. Clearly, she's recovered enough from being shot to get back to her evening runs, even though the scar is still a livid pink divot over her lower ribs on the right side of her torso.

Her strides are long as she digs into the harder packed sand just above the waterline, and she stops a few yards from where Joe is sitting, to catch her breath for a moment, bent with her hands on her knees. Ok, maybe she isn't quite 100% yet.

What a contrast - him cool and at his ease, her still pink and breathless from exertion. As if figuring that she surely can't hear him with those earbuds in, he lifts another bottle of beer in silent invitation, and grins at her. It's friendly and not mocking, at least, and it makes the smile lines around his eyes deepen.

The movement catches Vic's eye, her senses always on high alert from so many years as a cop. Also because two of Joey Kelly's guys were murdered last night. She looks towards the picnic area and spots the sailor, her pinkness deepening for just a moment, before she plucks the airpods from her ears and begins heading his way. "Who taught you the Vic Grey Summoning Ritual?" she quips with a smirk, reaching for the offered beer.

The (mostly) unseen war progesses apace, Reyes vs Monaghan, and each of them losing vassals and bannermen, though this is hardly Game of Thrones, is it? "Pure instinct," he allows, in that lazy drawl. A nod at the bench of the picnic table - apparently he's had enough time in the air conditioned cool of his apartment, even if he's not spending as much time on his boat as he was. Though he's safe at sea, surely. It's those times when he's out and about on the street.....and there's many a moment where his skin crawls with it. But he can't live entirely as a hermit, either, tempted as he might be.

Neither can Vic, though she's tempted sometimes with everyone whispering about her, the poor dear girl in witness protection with a serial killer ex stalking her. Because she really is tempted to punch those people and that isn't going to help anyone. She settles on the bench and cracks the bottle open to take a deep drink from it. "Not sure if we're allowed to hang around, Joe," she notes with a faint glint of amusement in her eyes and her tone. "Your man broke up with my boss, so to speak." Surely he must know about Monaghan after being beaten up. Whether Ruiz told her of Vic's involvement in the gang war she's not sure, but she's assuming.

Apparently he didn't, for Joe shoots her a faintly surprised look. Not really shocked or dismayed, but really a little bemused. "Oh," he says, after a sip from his own bottle. "Huh. Didn't realize you were, uh, part of all that." He should've, shouldn't he? There's the creeping return of that pink tint to his cheeks. Captain Oblivious strikes again. "Well, I dunno," he says, mildly. "I mean, if it's not good for you to be seen with me....." Joe trails off with a shrug. Glimmer weirdness he can handle - to some extent, that's what he's here for. But this stuff - mundane crime, an assault he'll carry the scars of for good and all.... "He didn't have a choice," he adds, with a sigh. "Monaghan's got to be smart enough to understand that."

"I don't think Felix gives a shit either way, but he broke Joey's heart. They were friends, or as much as a those two could possibly be, you know?" Those two were unlikely friends at best. Vic shrugs and rests her elbows on the table, facing out to look at the water. "I've worked for Felix for a few years, but I am working directly for Kelly now. He's not a bad guy, at all. I mean, most of us aren't bad people, we just got into some bad situations and Felix gave us the only out available to us."

She rolls her head on her shoulder to look over at the sailor though with a tight smile. "Still, we had a choice I suppose. I thought Javier would have told you about me by now." Especially after her morphined texts.

Now he slants a faintly skeptical look at her, out of the corner of his eye. "Sugar," he says. "Do you want to be tellin' me all this? I mean, I like to think I'm no kind of blabbermouth, but ....every man has his breaking point, and Reyes's guys already had their fun with me once. They c'n do it again, 'specially if they think I know somethin' they might want. They didn't ask last time 'cause it was more by way of sendin' a message to Javier."

He takes another pull from the bottle and says, "That's what I hear about Monaghan - he's apparently real keen on the Corleone model of makin' someone an offer he can't refuse. And Javier's a man of very few words even on happier subjects. He don't let things slip at random."

"Reyes knows who I am, believe me. That's why I wanted to tell you, give you fair warning to tell me to stay the hell away from you. I'm bad news and you're a damn nice guy, who happens to be my favorite author, and is really not hard on the eyes, so I'd rather you don't get the shit kicked out of you for talking to me, by anyone on any side of this dumpster fire." Vic sounds sincere about that at least as she takes another swig of her beer. "Collateral damage seems to be this town's specialty."

"Well, that's real nice of you, an' thanks for the compliments," he says, with a rueful little smile. "I don't know that there's much point. I don't know much either way that's not already known to the major players, I'm sure. Someone'r other'll likely try to use me as a hostage again, though that may be redundant. Reyes has made it clear he can get at me, if Javier gets any untoward ideas. I thought about stayin' in Savannah, but that's more likely to just.....lure 'em towards my family." His tone is matter of fact. "And yes, it surely does, doesn't it?"

"I'm sorry you got caught up in this, Joe. Really, I am. Javier will do what he has to, to protect you. It's what he does best. And you're right, keeping them away from family is important." Vic is where she is now because of trying to protect family. "How's the book coming?" she asks, trying to change the subject. If anyone is watching them, they've already seen them drinking beer on a bench together so no harm in chatting more in the moment, right?

For his part, Joe seems to be still at ease, even with such a grim subject of conversation. "I know," he says. "That's what concerns me, honestly. But...." he hesitates. "Well, I'm not the only one here he's close to, even if I'm weaker'n Itzhak." One shoulder lifts in a half-shrug. "Eh, stalled for the moment. I've managed to palm off my publisher with a few short pieces....and one of my older books is being excerpted for a Library of America anthology on the history of American writing about aviation and space. So that's good news."

"Well congratulations on that!" Vic says with a genuine grin. "I'll need to get you to autograph my copy of Martian Dawn some day. I dunno how strong Rosencrantz is or isn't, stronger than I am for sure. Abilgaard said he was able to affect something way down the beach. That's pretty amazing." She watches the sinking sun with a small sigh. "I'd think that was beautiful if I wasn't half sure there'd be some shark monster lurking right under the water waiting to eat me if I set foot in there. This damned town."

Joe blinks. "Oh, sure," he says, "Uh, next I see you at the Twofer, maybe. And yeah, Rosencrantz is a hell of a power." He snorts and finishes off his beer in one long swallow, adams' apple bobbing. "Yeah. I keep thinkin' about takin' up surfin' again, and then I think something like that. Also, even with a proper wetsuit, it's cold as fuck and I'm not so much into that as I used to be."

Vic chuckles at his admission, "I grew up in the PNW so I'm used to the colder water. Never tried surfing though. I think that's a shorter person's sport, center of gravity wise. I was built for beach volleyball or basketball," she notes with a smirk. Just shy of six feet tall that makes more sense. I used to love to swim in the ocean though. Before all the weird shit came into my life." She looks a bit wistful at the memories. "And I apologize in advance if Javier ever shows you the crazy shit I texted him from the hospital. That morphine drip was something."

"I grew up in Savannah. It's real warm there," he says, on a sigh. "No good surfin', though. Didn't take that up until I ended up stationed in Hawaii for a while. Did a lot in Florida, too. Livin' in Houston made it harder, and I was too damned busy to get away much. I know what you mean, though. You can swim in the sea near all year 'round, in Savannah. And nah, you c'n be tall 'n be a good surfer."

But her comment has him glancing over again, brows up. "I'm sure they can't use it against you in court...and I know how that goes. I've spent whole weeks outta my mind on that crap, in the hospital. I had some spells so bad they had to tie me to the bed."

"Yet, they can't use them against me in court yet," Vic quips with a chuckle. Then her smile fades. "They had to rebuild the right side of my lower ribcage. There's metal in there now and I can feel it. It freaks me the fuck out. Something foreign in my body that I can sense because of this Gift bullshit. So I hit that drip button a whole lot, then I think I texted your boyfriend I'd tap you." She laughs.

"I know what that feels like," he says, more somberly. "The pins in my hip.....I've got a lot of titanium in there. And in my jaw, actually. That's honestly why I didn't lose teeth to Reyes's guys - the ones they'd'a knocked loose was already gone." For a writer, his spoken grammar is absolutely awful. Then he's giving her another of those sidelong glances. "Opium goggles, huh?"

Vic snorts. "More like morphine filter removal service. You are hot as hell, Cavanaugh. You have got to realize that. I mean, Javier de la Vega is using the term 'boyfriend' for fuck's sake. That right there is a testament to your effect on people." She swigs from her beer bottle again, to try and hide the slight blush creeping up her neck. "Anyway, he growled about not hurting you in any way you don't request and has kindly left it at that. And he hasn't run me over with his Charger, so...he's forgiven my texts I think."

Who should stroll past, of course, but said boyfriend, in the process of lighting up one of his spiced clove cigarettes. Javier's rocking the not-quite-incognito look of ratty black ballcap pulled over his disheveled curls, a hoodie with Relax, Gringo, I'm Legal and a silly mustache silkscreened in faded lettering on the front, and snug, faded black jeans tucked into shoddily laced combat boots. He pauses when he spots the pair chatting nearby, and backtracks a step or two, cigarette dangling between two tattooed fingers; dark eyes switching between both sets of blue. "You two fucked yet?" is what pops out of his mouth. Because, Javier.

Joe's gone from gently pink to bright red and he manages to set the new beer down right before he drops it. At least he's not about to choke on a swig of it. "Well, I, uh....mean we're public enough that what else is he gonna say?" Joe's the one still half-panicky about being even that much out of the closet. He's got none of Itz's easy assurance about his own queer identity. No comment at all on how he'd request being hurt, but the color doesn't ease.

Then the man himself is popping up and Joe is choking on a mouthful of beer, having popped the bottle top with a keychain. He sets the beer down and thumps himself soundly on the chest. "Jesus, Javier, you startled me. What, 're you so eager to watch?"

Oh now Vic is blushing full force, as she nearly chokes on her beer, coughing and doubling over on the bench. "The fuck, Javier?!" she splutters animatedly, as her beer foams over from her flailing motion. "No we haven't fucked! Why does everyone assume we're gonna fuck!?" She thumps her own chest in concert with Joe.

Javier's face squinches up in an expression of pure, unadulterated confusion. Like, what are you two, twelve?

"You don't want to?" he queries somewhat gruffly, taking a drag off his smoke, and dropping down next to Joe with his typical wide splaying of knees. "And no, I sure as hell don't need to watch, unless you want me to, baby." He curves a quick smile Joe's way.

Joe rolls his eyes skyward, as if beseeching heaven for patience. "It's not a matter of 'want to'," he says, when he can speak again. "It's.....uh....there's the whole thing about who you both work for. And....I've already fucked up on that front, so the last thing I want is to create more drama." He's still beet red. Gotta love the fact that even with a tan, he's too fair to hide how he's feeling. "And no, I......that'd be awkward." As if that's ever stopped him.

Oh Lord. Vic drops her head into her palm, literally facepalming over Ruiz, as her other hand holds her beer out until it stops erupting like Mount Vesuvius. "I'm pretty sure after this conversation, I will never get laid again, for the rest of my life," she mumbles into her hand. Because now she's downright embarassed.

The cop, meanwhile, just rolls his eyes so goddamned hard they look for a moment like they might roll right out of their sockets. Flick, flick as he liberates some ash from his cigarette, and uses the thing to gesture at Vic, while talking to Joe. "You know, this isn't Westside fucking Story. You want to screw each other stupid, Monaghan is not going to come after you with his goons like something out of some shitty film noir. Just don't be fucking stupid about it. God." The last epithet is breathed out in irritation as he takes another drag off the thing, gaze shifting to the water.

She's not the only one. Joe's blushes usually come and go quickly. Not this one. But then there's that crooked smile returning....and his voice is fond, even gentle, as he notes, "You know I'm one to love not wisely, but too well." Then he's lifting the remains of the six pack in Javier's direction - some local beer, not an IPA. He shoots Vic a commiserating look.

"You know it's more than just that, Javier. I don't need to utterly fuck up your life, again," Vic says with a grimace. "Not fucking your boyfriend can't possibly make up for the shit I did in Portland but, let's just say I'm not adding more to the red in my ledger by seeing what kind of canvas Cavanaugh would be for my tastes." Oh yes, she and Ruiz have a few things in common in that department. She sits up again and slurps from her dripping beer. "For fucks sake I'd figured you'd warned him off me by now anyway!" She meets Joe's gaze and looks about angry enough to punch a nun.

A snort from the Mexican, who's possibly running short on patience and even shorter on good will tonight. He doesn't speak any further on the matter, but brings his clove to his mouth for one final drag before sliding his hand over Joe's thigh firmly, possessively, and hoisting himself back to his feet. "You two want to pine over each other from a distance instead, I sure as fuck know what that's like. Though like hell I wouldn't have taken any chance I could get to end it sooner." It's Cavanaugh he's watching for a long, heated moment before he eventually shifts in preparation to go. "Nos vemos luego," he murmurs to the pair, then makes to continue on the path he was originally headed, along the boardwalk, unless stopped.

How did he not suspect she shared those tastes? Joe looks....even more off-balance if possible. This is a far cry from the young pilot and scourge of dockside bars Javier once knew, capable of cutting a single girl out of the pack as deftly as a collie snagging one particular sheep from its flock. There's a shudder at that touch, response unmeditated and unconcealed. He's gazing at Javier, and there's that look in his eyes, like it's taking nearly all his willpower to refrain from rising and following.

Vic sighs. "Dammit, Javier, I'm trying to be..." Nice? Kind? Neither of those things seem to suit Vic, "I'm trying to not make it worse. Goddammit! Haven't I already fucked you over enough for one lifetime?!" She pushes up off the bench and chucks her empty beer bottle into a nearby trash can, using a little of the Art to make sure it goes in, though she revels in the satisfying crunchy tinkles of it shattering on impact. She plants her hands on the hips of her running shorts, kicking at the ground before she closes her eyes to try and reclaim her calm. As she moves the running jacket shifts and some of the horrific scars on her back become visible. "Listen, Cavanaugh, I'm sorry. Just forget all of this ok? Go after him." She gestures towards the retreating cop.

It's exceedingly rare for Javier to throw his power around without a hell of a good reason. So when he pivots, mid-prowl away from the pair, like an old wolf that's caught the scent of game in the long grass.. well, the scent of it's maybe the first thing that isn't right. Like an electrical fire, and Joe knows it, and Vic likely does, too. Acrid and bitter and overpowering, just for a fraction of a second before the bottle explodes with an arc of electricity too bright to look at directly. The afterimage is jagged and lovely and terrible, like a fading mandelbrot.

"Fuck off," he snarls, pacing closer, rather than away. Dark eyes riveted on Vic's blue now. Joe's kept in his peripheral vision, because he'd not be much of a fucking Marine if he wasn't, but it's his ex-partner he's focused on. "Don't fucking tell me what I need, or what I want. I've got enough shit to deal with right now, without you acting like you've got my best fucking interests at heart. Which you do not, and never have."

Of course he's yielded to impulse and followed. Hasn't that been the pattern for nearly thirty years now? Ever since that dawn in Hawaii, him waiting there, knowing how wrong it was. How wrong he was.....and never able to help himself. Not beyond the briefest moment. But he has sense enough to keep out of the direct line of fire, to hover off to the side, waiting. There's a faint flinch for the death of the bottle.

No attempt to soothe things, to calm Javier down. He doesn't know the history here.

Vic stands her ground, something not many tend to do with Javier de la Vega. In fact she steps into him when he paces closer, her own hackles up, and the alpha versus alpha tension is almost something one can taste in the air. There is a gathering of the energies in the area around them, and the bottle reforms, without its former contents, of course, and settles back on the table.

"I fucking did have your fucking back and you know it. I got these goddamned scars by having your best interests at heart, cabron. If Ojeda hadn't threatened Walt, I'd have died in that chair with Vargas still trying to get your name from me." She hisses it at him through clenched teeth, every fiber clenched and ready to throw down if he makes a move.

"That is not what he told me," rumbles the Mexican, stalking in closer still, and completely undeterred by the fact that this particular woman is in fact taller than him by a hair. Assuming she isn't in heels, which would make it more than a hair. He comes to a halt about a foot away, cigarette smoking away between two fingers, ignoring the bottle in favour of continuing to study Vic with that singular intensity. "And half my fucking department is turncoats waiting to put a couple of bullets in my head and dump my body in the dock here, if I so much as breathe wrong, so forgive me if I'm not quite ready to take you at your goddamned word right now."

Joe's expression is the grown up version of 'Mommy and Daddy are fighting'. He's just standing there, listening, like he's hoping they're gonna forget he's even there if he just holds sufficiently still. The blue eyes are wide, his expression rapt - he doesn't turn his head as each speaks. Just lets his gaze move from one to the other.

"Fuck you, Javier. Do you think I wanted any of this? Ojeda told you what he wanted to, to make sure we never spoke again. Felix-goddamned-Monaghan is the only reason my father is still alive after I was fired. And I can't even set foot back home or his agreement with Ojedia is null and Walt's life is forfeit. I haven't seen him in years, YEARS. My fucking father who I sold you out to save." Vic is livid. She hauls off her jacket and throws it in his face. "So Fuck you! I didn't make your cops turn on you. Don't blame me for Reyes' bullshit!" She turns and stalks back the way she came down the beach, towards the lot her truck is parked in, the horror show that is her back on display. Seriously, Sally from a Nightmare before Christmas has nothing on her. She looks pieced back together, and the skin graft in a near perfect square on her lower back is particularly ugly.

God only knows what else Ojeda told him. What else they shared, how close they were. How badly that man got to him, before the department managed to pull de la Vega out of there. His lip curls back in a guttural snarl as Vic drags the name Monaghan into the mix like he's done any sort of good here. The lesser of two evils is still evil.

"I didn't fucking blame you-" The rest of what he was going to say is about to fall on deaf ears as she flings her jacket at him and stalks off. He fumbles for it, manages to stop it from hitting the ground, and watches her go with a slouch-shouldered, predatory tension. Like he's just waiting for her to change her mind, and turn, and lunge at him. And damned if he doesn't have a decade on her, but it hasn't mattered before, and it wouldn't matter here and now, if those claws were to come out.

After he's certain she's leaving, he shifts his gaze to Joe, and there's a little tic in his jaw. "Come on," murmured as he waits for the blond to catch up. And then his clove's flicked away, Vic's given one final glance, and he prowls off in the opposite direction.

These aren't names he knows. But the history's clear. The ugliness of it - her scars and Javier's ink, ink taken not for vanity or adornment or to commemorate achievement or old loves, but as a sign of ownership. For once, Commander Motormouth is mute, unprotesting and unquestioning. A last glance after her, and then he's following after Javier. Apparently he's entirely forgotten the remains of the six-pack. It can be left as libation, right?

Not a stumble, as he catches up with the younger man. So much for his peaceful sunset.