2020-09-12 - Stubborn Steps

Her arm is in a sling and she's still working, regardless. Isabella is on the couch, with her bluetooth headset on and using her voice to text capabilities on her laptop to dictate what she wants on a document she has open on her screen. It looks to be some sort of e-mail, but she tends to send regular messages to Doctor Langston around this time, hitting the sweet spot before it gets too late in Oxford to read any messages.

There's a cup of coffee growing cold on the nearby table and Jazz is filtering out through her Youtube channel.

Alexander's leg is now in a cast - despite his best objections, he wasn't able to avoid a hospital trip, since the leg just sort of...popped in a way that legs are definitely not supposed to do. It's held together mostly by plaster and sheer stubborn spite, to be honest, which means that since they woke up together, bleeding and screaming, he's stayed in the house, and mostly on the computer. The serial killer on the MMO, of course, but he's also set up a multiplayer game of Civilization with Abitha Machinae, and they're playing it out slowly.

For now, though, he's limping out into the living room, and pauses to scoop up her cup of coffee and make his way, along with his own empty cup, to the kitchen to top hers off with hot coffee, and refill his own. He brings it back, quietly sets it down in its place, and then gingerly sits down next to her. Curiosity compels him to try and take a peek at her e-mail as he does.

The e-mail has more pictures of the underground waterways surrounding old Alexandria - visibility is poor, but the turquoise waters that surround the ruins underneath are unmistakable. "I wish they could send me clearer pictures," Isabella murmurs absently when the man sits next to her, but she finishes dictating her e-mail before she sends it off with a click of the mouse. That is only when she notices the steaming cup of coffee replenished by the table, and gives him a small smile and a peck on the cheek.

"How are you feeling?" she asks, a furrowed brow cast onto the leg wrapped in white cement. She slowly shifts so she can put away her laptop, and tuck it under the couch so they don't accidentally step on it getting out.

"It's beautiful, though. The water, the ruins just out of focus, like they're obscured by mist. It may not be efficient, but it is very attractive." He smiles at the peck on the cheek, and Alexander leans in - carefully avoiding her arm - to kiss the corner of her mouth in return. "I feel like my leg exploded," he says, voice dry. "But it'll heal. At least it was the same one Lilith shredded. The scars there will blend nicely together, rather than being all spread out." He winks at her. "Thanks for the help with the serial killer, by the way. I wouldn't have gotten nearly as far without your knowledge."

He glances at her arm. "How are you feeling?"

"Preaching to the choir," she says with low and husky laugh regarding the ruins - even if she wasn't in her line of work, she would appreciate the tableau as a diver. She tilts her face when he presses his lips against the corner of hers, Isabella smiling at him through the thin lenses she sometimes wears when the eye strain gets too much looking at a computer, easing the frames away from her face to carefully set them on the table. There's a smirk when he tells her that his leg feels like meat paste.

"If there was a murder case that ever spoke to my qualifications, it would be that one," she remarks dryly. "But I'm always happy to avail my expertise." She wiggles her arm, and winces at the dull throb of pain that shoots up the limb at the effort. "Terrible. It feels heavy, it's awful to sleep in, and sometimes, it itches. I've had to use a pen to get under the layers and get to the itch. It's been so long since I've had a broken arm or anything of the sort, I've forgotten what a pain in the ass it is."

"Can I ask what you're looking for, or is that NDA?" There's no heat to Alexander's question - while his curiosity is an ever-gnawing thing, it's not something that drives him to push too hard on boundaries where Isabella's work is concerned. Usually. "And you were a godsend. Although apparently that new guy in town is a Danish Folklorist? He sent some bits off to...Copenhagen? To get translated. But you're better," he adds, with complete conviction. A rueful nod at her complaints. "Casts suck. The bathtub is not actually meant for baths," he grumbles, "and I can't shower. But. We make do."

He watches her like he's trying engrave her on the backs of his eyes. "Can I help? I can help it heal a little faster. I've been using...a lot of abilities, lately, but I feel like I've already been punished quite enough for the meantime." He nods to the leg. "So it should be relatively safe."

"Well, a few archaeologists think this is the key to discovering Cleopatra's tomb, but understandably getting down there would be a problem," Isabella says. "Battling water pressure and poor visibility constantly, they're going to have to invest in some monitoring equipment." She exhales a breath and rubs the back of her head, though she tilts it at the mention of a Danish folklorist. "What, really? What on earth's he doing in the Pacific Northwest - we're a long ways from Denmark. Luckily for a small town, there's no shortage of Academics anyway."

She finally reaches for her cup of coffee to take a sip from it. "And no, no. If you've been using, I'd rather you not catch Their attention," she tells him quietly. "It'll be alright after a few days, I'm sure. If it gets too bad, I'll find a way. What else have you been up to other than the case?"

Alexander laughs, and shrugs. "I'm not sure. He's working down at the Two If By Sea. You should say hi, if you get the chance. He's...interesting. Nice. Smart. He stands out, so he's probably doomed." He's only half joking. Seeing her rub the back of her head, he extends one hand, and if she allows, starts massaging her shoulders and neck. "Cleopatra's tomb would be an amazing discovery - would be worth the risk, if there's a real chance of it being down there, I think."

He frowns at her. "Mm. I think it would be okay, Isabella. If you change your mind, let me know? I'm not the best healer, but I know you need both of your arms for most of your work." He thinks about it. "I spoke with Ms. Machinae about the case, but she also wants to play games with me. And I made a new friend; Cecil Harvey is with forensics down at the station. He likes murder! He thinks I'm delightful, which probably says something unfortunate about him, but I like it. He's very smart." He practically hums with pleasure. "You should meet him, too, when you have the opportunity. Joseph Kelly made me go teach high school for a week," he adds, explaining an odd series of absences a little while back. "I think he really enjoys it. People thinking he's the gym coach. I hired a forger to make paperwork for him."

"It would be," Isabella says with a laugh. "I wish I had the claim, it's right up my alley. That's alright, I have my sights set on something higher." Because of course she does - chances are she might be aiming for Lost Atlantis at the rate she's going, running around as a professional adventurer and scholar-at-large from the University. She takes a sip of her coffee, and eases closer to Alexander when he rubs her shoulders and neck, murmuring something indiscernible, but content at the ministrations of his fingers.

"I remember Cecil Harvey. Some sort of forensics examiner, yes? Insect guy? We met him in the Cracker Barrel that one night," she tells him simply, as usual not the sort to forget a face once she's exchange at least five words with him or her. "Anyway, I'll end up at the Twofer at some point sooner or later, I'll meet the Dane whenever I do. It's just been..." She hesitates. "...I can't go there without thinking of E." Two brothers lost in and to the Veil, never to return; it's almost too much.

With Joe Kelly enjoying being a gym teacher, though? She lifts a brow towards him. "Huh. You know, I would say that surprises me, but strangely enough it doesn't. He has that sort of face, but I don't think he's the embodiment of criminality his reputation makes him out to be. Maybe he'll enjoy this new gig so much that Monaghan will forget about him entirely."

Alexander's eyebrows go up. Not in surprise, but in an almost teasing, silent question. "It's a shame you couldn't look for ruins in the Veil and publish those observations. I bet they'd set some universally accepted truths right on their fucking ears," he says, with a flash of a grin. He shifts to meet her when she eases closer, gently massaging her scalp as well as her neck and shoulders. "Yes, that's him. He's good. And...I know." A hesitation. "Bennie took Easton's missing poster down. I hate that she's lost hope, but." He takes a slow breath, lets it out. "It might be for the best. She deserves better than a ghost."

A bob of his head at the rest. "He's good at it. I mean, my dad was one, so I know good coaching. He's rough around the edges, but he cares. And I don't think Monaghan forgets about anyone who is still of use to him, but Kelly never got much of a chance to be anything but what he is. If he's able to strike out on another path, that would be good. I like him. Even though I probably shouldn't."

With him massaging her this way, he enables her to lean further back against him until she's cradled in his arms and her legs kick up on the armrest of the couch so she's half-reclined. Isabella rolls her head back against his shoulder as she looks up at the ceiling. "Probably, but I remember when I tried to get the Lover's Jewel analyzed by outside experts, they thought I lost my mind. The Veil protects its own outside of these borders, so it's just as likely that I'd ruin my career before I even launched it." Her expression softens regarding Bennie. "Me, too," she says softly. "But she does. If she's trying to move on, all we can do is encourage her."

A small smile when Alexander mentions his dad. "Your dad was a good coach," she agrees easily, giving him a sidelong glance. "But agreed about another path. Who knows, if there's anything good that'll come out of this weird memory business, it might be that - convince Joey Kelly that he ought to be something else all along."

"You're not wrong," Alexander murmurs. "But there's still something very frustrating about never being able to share some of the things we know. Or everyone thinking that they're always wrong." He smiles at her. "You'd be the best paranormal archaeologist the world has ever known. Put Lara Croft in the dust." He lowers his voice to a stage whisper, "I'm not sure she follows proper dig protocols at all, honestly." A simple nod regarding Bennie. "I've tried to encourage her to reconnect with people. I don't know if she will. And yeah, he was. And I hope so. Kelly deserves better than dying of a gunshot one day when he isn't quite quick enough." He frowns. "But he's the one who has to see that, I guess. You can't force that in people. Make them defend the people they look up to, and they'll just dig in harder."

She groans. "I would be the best, maybe, but it would be the worst. I'd have to come up with my own paranormal discoveries show in whatever abomination the History Channel has become in order to pay the bills, situate it alongside Ghost Hunters and Paranormal Adventures. Ugh, my Oxford pride." She clasps her heart in her hand in an exaggerated gesture before she leans further into the private investigator, closing her eyes.

"You're right, though. You can't force people to take a step forward, they have to do that on their own," she says in an absent murmur.

"I mean, it's the History Channel, so it would have to also involve either aliens or Nazis. Possibly alien Nazis. I'm sure there are some alien Nazi ruins around, somewhere." Alexander hums with amusement. "I'd watch it. I think you'd make even the ridiculous sound interesting." His eyes twinkle. "But yes, your nemesis probably would have a field day. So, perhaps not." He tilts his head to kiss the top of her head as she leans in. "But yes. I'll do what I can to give him a chance, at least. I figure, if he's got good paperwork, then he might be able to push matters if this ever wears off. It's Gray Harbor; I think most people are absolutely more willing to let a felon keep teaching children than they are to admit that something supernatural has fucked with their brains."

"It would have to, I don't know - I'm uneasy about this memory effect spreading. You know how I feel about the idea of rewriting history." Isabella tilts her green-and-gold eyes back to the ceiling in thought. "Like I said, it's strange that this happening sometime after we encountered the Doctor in the Asylum. I can't stop thinking about whether it's cause-and-effect. But if you recall, the super-flu that hit us last summer just went away on its own. Maybe we don't actually need to do anything."

She sighs, closing her eyes. "Anyway, hopefully Joey Kelly sounds like he's having fun being a guiding hand, I say let him have this one for as long as it lasts."

"As am I." He looks down at his leg, then at her arm. Alexander says, "Do you think it's related to the circus we saw? Maybe this is sort of like the actors, but on that side instead of ours. Like, the circus comes to town in a thin spot, and fucks up people's memories until it moves on? At least, I don't remember anyone ever mentioning a carnival or circus over there, so it feels like there would have to be something else." Then he smiles, thinly. "Or maybe, instead of the Doctor, it's the Revisionist. Maybe that's a person."

"Or whatever counts as a person over there."

"Probably," Isabella murmurs. "But you already know what I'm going to say to that, round up our gang of usual suspects and check it out. You know me when I want to ask questions, darling - I like to pose them as directly as I can. If we can even find it - streets in that area change, but I think that's where a mover's skills might come in handy, now that I know what the place looks like." She taps her finger against her temple.

There's a quiet chuckle of the quip. "It would certainly fit their naming conventions for the lower-level bureaucrats on the other side. Archivist, Excorcist, Receptionist, Psychologist, Vivisectionist....oh god, if you're right about this Revisionist thing, you and I are going to have words as to when you breached another level of psychic."

Alexander makes a hmph noise. "As long as you do, actually, take us with you over there and don't go running off with nothing more than a message. Or at least warn me. I was worried." He gives her a look, because he means it. "And I don't have to be psychic. I'm just brilliant." A flash of a grin in sudden humor. "But, once we heal up - completely - if we should go over there, then I'm happy to go with you. Finding out what's going on is important. Some people's lives are being ruined by these false memories." A pause, before he admits, in a low voice, "And it's very...difficult. For me."

He clears his throat. "Anyway. If we can stop it, we should."

"Alright, darling," Isabella murmurs, pressing a kiss to his cheek after craning her head and neck over a shoulder so she can reach the side of his face. "Once we're healed up from this, we'll go check out the circus. Besides, it's been forever since I've been in one." There's a faint smirk at that.

She inclines her head at him curiously. "Difficult how? Is it because people can't seem to figure out what's real anymore or...?"

"Do you like circuses? We could find one to go to for fun, I'm sure. One that probably won't try to murder us, or pop our limbs, or twist our conception of reality around." Alexander brightens. "I do like acrobats. They're so bendy and focused." He nuzzles her in return, his expression utterly besotted. Even as she asks the difficult question. He goes still. Thinks about his words carefully, before he tries to explain, "I don't know if I'm right about everything. Some people insist that the Black Bear Diner used to be called the Grizzly Den Diner. But I don't remember it like that. I know I don't. And if I'm wrong about that. If I'm wrong about that, what else am I wrong about? Sometimes I remember things wrong, anyway. But usually people will tell me when I am. Now everything is wrong, and most everyone insists that I'm remembering it wrong. I don't think I am. But what if I am? And more, what if there's stuff that I'm remembering wrong, and I don't even know it? What if there are friends that I don't know that I have? Parts of myself that have been changed into something else? How would I tell?" His voice stays low, but the rapid pace, each word flung like a bullet, betrays his anxiety. That, and the way that his hand on her neck grows heavier, as if he can reassure himself that she even exists by digging his fingers into her muscles.

"I can always take you to Vegas - a lot of the most famous modern-day circus acts hold a stage there," Isabella suggests, smiling blithely when he nuzzles her cheek and cradles her further, nestling against him on the couch. "Bendy and focused, huh?" She's clearly teasing him, but all of that falls away to seriousness when he expresses his anxiety. "All of that is understandable, Alexander, especially with a man of your history," she tells him quietly, reaching up at his tightening grip to brush fingertips over his knuckles where it's clasped at the juncture between throat and shoulder. "But we'll figure it out, love. We always do. We might not always be able to do anything about it, but parsing the situation is always the first step, yes?"

"Vegas? I've never been to Vegas. I understand it's very loud." Which isn't a 'no'; Alexander actually looks intrigued by the idea, and his eyes light up a little when she teases him. "I like bendy. And focused. Speaking of which, August stripped at his stag party. I mean, did a routine and everything. He's not very bendy, but I don't think Eleanor has any cause to be disappointed by anything that might happen." He grins at her, briefly, before the anxiety creeps in. "I know. And I'm trying. It helps that most of the people I care about remember the world the way I do. But," he takes a breath, "I'm just trying not to punch anyone whose only crime is thinking I was their favorite teacher, you know?" His fingers lighten when her hand brushes against his, and his caress is apologetic. "How about you? How are you holding up with everything? I mean, your dad doesn't stand out...does he think you're a kindergarten teacher?"

"Did he?" Isabella laughs. "To be a fly on the wall there. I mean, the man's been through quite a few things in his youth, the fact that he can still own it just means that Ellie's keeping him young. Still, I'm glad he got over the nerves - at some point, he thought he would make a terrible father and he couldn't marry her because he knew she wanted children." She pushes her cup to the side again. "And as much as I can sometimes enjoy watching you fight, it would be a good thing not to be thrown in jail every week for an altercation." She flashes him a look over her shoulder. "We'll get to the bottom of it. As for my Dad..."

She pauses. "I didn't have the heart. I figured if I could get to the bottom of it, it wouldn't matter and everything will just reset. I hope it does."

"Well, that's stupid." Alexander, tact. "August is pretty much the de facto parent of half the people who stand out in the city, anyway. And he's damned good at it. He'll make a wonderful father." He harumphs. "I'm glad he got past that." Then he stops, and gives her a surprised look. "You enjoy watching me fight?" There's something around his mouth that looks like it sort of wants to be a smile, but doesn't quite make it there. Especially as she goes on. He leans in close to kiss her temple. "I can understand that. I haven't reached out to my parents since things changed. Except to leave messages when I knew they weren't going to pick up. I hope everything reverts."

"I told him the same - that he would be an amazing father, but like you said earlier, there are things that people need to figure out for themselves," Isabella says. But at the surprise look he angles at her, there's a blink and she laughs, before pressing a kiss on his mouth at the smile that isn't quite one. "In certain circumstances, yes. I've been around fighting men all my life, Alexander. I've learned to appreciate it. Not that I favor violence for sport. but knowing a man is capable of defending himself especially in this town has its own allure." She sighs, though, when they go back to the strange memories. "Me, too," she mutters. "This town, I swear to God."

"Well." Alexander's cheeks are slightly darker than they usually are. "Once we get these damned casts off, and the serial killer caught, and the fucking gang war dealt with...I guess I could start a fight with someone aesthetically pleasing, for your pleasure. Just name the person. And if we should be shirtless." His eyes twinkle. "This town," is his simple agreement. "But we do what we can, Isabella. As long as you're happy, we can do whatever needs to be done."

"Shirtless, always." Was that a serious question? She may love him on sheer, ridiculous levels, but she's clearly not above making him strip for her pleasure also, because come on. "And I am happy," Isabella murmurs at last, turning her face so she can glimpse his profile, her smile tilting up at the corners. "Especially if you're offering to get in a bare knuckled match just because I find it wildly attractive. Honestly, if I ever moved out of Gray Harbor after everything, life's going to seem unbearably tame by comparison, and you know how I feel about that sort of thing. I'm not meant for a sedentary life. Sorry, Mr. Clayton." She snuggles in further, closing her eyes. "I know it ruins all of your hopes and dreams about getting me to leave for safer pastures, but you're stuck with me now. Maybe forever."

Alexander laughs, softly. "Well then. Choose my opponent, and I'll challenge them to a shirtless punch-up for my lady's pleasure." He grins, but he's definitely not kidding. Although the smile shades complicated, even a little sad, as she goes on. He kisses her on the head, but says, "Despite all the supernatural uniqueness of this place, it is too small for you. You should be exploring far off seas, finding ruins no one has ever even seen before. You won't always be happy here, and that's okay. It's not that I don't love you, and don't love the idea of being 'stuck' with you - but I'd rather cripple the rest of my limbs than see you squeeze and cut yourself to be fit here, rather than the wide world you were meant for."

"It's an old argument, but there's nothing that says that Gray Harbor can't be my base of operations. Even the hardiest and most well-traveled sailor needs to make berth somewhere," Isabella murmurs, keeping her eyes closed and smiling faintly when he kisses her hair. Unable to see him and his complicated smile, she responds as if she does - she knows him well, and this wouldn't be the first time he's communicated this to her. "I know you're a worrier, but trust me when I say that you're not holding me back from anything."

Alexander snorts. "Do I look like the kind of guy who has the self esteem necessary to think he could?" He shakes his head. "I might be the excuse this place tries to use, maybe. But we both know that it exerts its own gravity, gives people who stand out reasons to just never leave. Until it's too late, and they can't leave. Even Thorne stays, and he hates this town, and has more than ample reason to take Lilith and get the fuck out of Dodge." His voice is dry. His fingers wind through her hair, careful and tender. "I'm not a good enough person to kick you out until you want to go. But I love you too much to want to see you grow old, here. Or disappear." There's a strain in his voice, clearly calling to mind her disappearance not that long ago.

"Well, first thing's first - we'll have to get old first, and then we can maybe worry about that," Isabella remarks dryly - if she seems dismissive of his concerns, nothing could be further from the truth. But she's always been stubborn and the more someone tries to tell her to do something she doesn't agree with, she only digs her heels in harder. "No force on earth'll be able to stop me from going anywhere I want, anyway." That might simply be bravado, but there's a part of her that almost has to believe it, otherwise what would be the point of getting this far?

After that she lifts her head, and cracks open a single eye. "Anyway, it's getting late - should we go to bed? I don't think I can look at another screen today. Even if it means missing a Jeopardy re-run."

"I'll have you know that I am half way there," Alexander says, mock proud of his advanced age of...forty years old. Not exactly a grayhair there, even if some of his hairs are trending in that direction. "And if there's anyone who I believe can resist the Harbor's pull, Isabella, it is you. You're unstoppable." He bends to kiss her again, then agrees, "Sleeping sounds good. And we absolutely must protect your eyes." Still, he doesn't make any move to get up immediately, enjoying the closeness of her until they decide to make it to their feet and walk (or, in his case, hobble) their way into the bedroom.