2020-09-17 - Calabrian Rabbit with Polenta and Steamed Vegetables

(TXT to August) Ruiz : Heard you had a bit of fun last night with a guy who might be our serial killer.

(TXT to Ruiz) August : mmmmm fun isn't the word I'd use. was driving home and he was going the same way, which honestly doesn't have me feeling terribly secure right now.

(TXT to Ruiz) August : got you a license plate number, if they couldn't pull it off the truck. [XXXXXXX]

(TXT to August) Ruiz : You think it makes me feel much better, as one of your neighbours?

(TXT to Ruiz) August : you're a cop with a security system and a gun under every pillow

(TXT to Ruiz) August : I have geese. well, and admittedly, my wife, who'd probably kill anyone who came here looking for trouble

(TXT to August) Ruiz : Still would've been nice to get a fucking heads up, Roen.

(TXT to Ruiz) August : I mean I figured you hear about literally everything at this point, interim or not. I can give you the big picture, though, if your defectives haven't

(TXT to Ruiz) August : detectives

(TXT to Ruiz) August : I swear that was a typo

(TXT to August) Ruiz : Like shit that was a typo

(TXT to August) Ruiz : And yeah, obviously I hear about things, who the hell else is the buck going to stop at? My point is that I'd like to have heard about it from YOU

(TXT to August) Ruiz : So don't fucking play coy with me

(TXT to Ruiz) August : this isn't about playing coy, it's about me figuring you have enough stupid shit to deal with

(TXT to Ruiz) August : but if I'm wrong about that I am happy to harass you while I make dinner. I might send you home with some.

(TXT to August) Ruiz : How about you let me decide how much stupid shit is enough, yeah?

(TXT to Ruiz) August : fair. and it's greek rabbit stew (or calabrian, still deciding), you know you want some

(TXT to August) Ruiz : I know Rosencrantz will for sure. myself, I haven't decided yet.

(TXT to Ruiz) August : uh huh. well you've got time, I'm going with rabbit because it'll be a bit before Ellie's home.

(TXT to August) Ruiz : I'll be over in ten.

(TXT to Ruiz) August : ::thumbsup::

There's still some light left in the sky when Ruiz comes over; just enough that only the porch lights have come on around August's cabin. The lower-level, fence perimeter lights won't come on for another few hours. The main gate's open, and the lights are on in the cabin. The animals are fed and put away, so there's no wild honking fury to greet him. Instead, a kitten peers over the bottom edge of the lower glass pane of the storm door, flanked by a pair of minipigs. August is visible moving around inside, doing things while he works on dinner.

Ruiz hasn't bothered driving over, and why the hell would he? It's only a couple of miles of farmland slash forest between their homes, and the dirt path running alongside the access road's well worn by now. He cuts a somewhat imposing figure in the faded gloaming; if not in stature, then in build and armament. A hunting rifle's slung across his shoulder, sidearm slotted in at his hip, and a couple of hunting knives sheathed in pockets of his cargo pants, which are shoved into scuffed hiking boots. A black hoodie is pulled over whatever clever tee shirt he's opted to wear today, hood up, sleeves shoved up to his elbows because like hell he's going to have anything touching his wrists.

Once he's banged on the door with the side of his fist, police style, he glances at his watch, then at the kitten and.. pigs? and frowns slightly. Maybe they'll like Mexican beer.

The kitten drops back from the door warily as Ruiz comes up the steps, startles and scampers off when his fist hits the door. The pigs, on the other hand, are more used to this kind of situation, and just back up. They're small things, still young and growing--not even a year, so barely the size of a corgie.

August stills in the kitchen when he hears the knock, relaxes when he senses Ruiz. He washes off his hands and comes to the door, pausing to eye the kitten. She's gone to ground in a soft little woolen cat house, eyes shining in the back corner. "He's fine, honey," he assures the kitten, but she's having none of it.

The pigs aren't so afraid. August opens the door, and they politely wait off to one side, sniffing with curiosity. "Hey." He eyes Ruiz's armament. "Expecting trouble?" he asks, one eyebrow up, nods for Ruiz to come in and steps aside. The smell of red peppers and paprika and garlic wafts out from the interior. Calabrian rabbit, then.

The question's left unanswered; the pigs are eyed. The way an old wolf eyes.. a pair of small, juicy pigs, accurately enough. The whole cop/pig thing may or may not have occurred to him. A sharp sniff eventually, and Javier eases out of the doorway and properly inside. He'll even wait, patiently, for one of them to stop sniffing his leg before moving on, in that manner of old wolves. "You're not careful, you're going to have some Orwellian shit start happening here, Roen," he points out, tugging his hood down.

"Food smells good, though. What'd you say you were making?" The rifle's slung off his shoulder, safety double checked, and he looks for a place to set the gun down.

The interior is much as Ruiz has seen it before, with the indelible mark of Eleanor's residence: numerous pieces of furniture have been replaced with hers, most notably a gorgeous Wooton desk in blonde aspen wood, with a matching chair and bookshelf. There's more art on the walls now too, and a variety of things that make the whole place feel a good bit more cohabitated.

Not the least of which is a pair of pigs eyeing Ruiz. They're well-behaved, trotting over to the rug on which the futon, TV, and coffee table sit to flop. The kitten continues to sulk in her little woolen cave. It's safer in there.

"What on Earth would anyone get out of spying on me," August says, sounding amused. "Unless you mean being some kind of prepper farmer living the woods, in which case, I'm pretty good to go." He nods at a rack on the wall for the gun, one which is clearly meant for a rifle or shotgun but presently empty. "Calabrian rabbit. Braised with red peppers and paprika and garlic. And some polenta, probably some steamed veggies." There's a big 12" sauteuse on the stove, the contents gently bubbling.

"For fuck's sake, Animal Farm? Two pigs leading a revolt?" The cop gestures at said pigs. Who look perfectly comfortable on the rug, and in no mind to stage a revolt which might lead to their dinner rights being revoked, but have at it, Mr. Wolf. He snorts and moves to unload his rifle and stow it before prowling into the kitchen to go check on the food and set aside the beers. Because that's the sort of guest he is. He fetches a whisk, gives the polenta a quick stir and replaces the cover on the pot.

"How'd the rest of your, uh, stag party go? You seemed to be having a good time. I'm sorry I didn't stay long." He takes a lean against the kitchen counter and pops the cap on one of the beers. Offers August the other one. "More importantly, I guess, how's it feel to be married?"

The pigs definitely have no revolt plans in mind. Mei Mei the Chinese goose is considering a coup, but has to get some better military backing. Maybe she and Ruiz can strike a deal. All she wants is world supremacy and to be left the fuck alone. And possibly her own kiddie pool.

August has the grace to look abashed. Of course he'd been thinking 1984 instead. A true child of the 80s, and survivor of the Oregon public school system. "Oh. Right." In his defense, he never read it, and never saw the animated movie either. Life in US schools. "Well, I like to think I take good enough care of them that they wouldn't want to." He bobs his eyebrows, stands back as Ruiz takes command of the kitchen to ensure nothing is out of order. The polenta's a delicately creamy preparation, with herbs to compliment the rabbit and not much else; it's meant to be a filler, really. Carrots and cauliflower are chopped in a bowl to one side, waiting to be steamed.

Settling his hip against the counter, he says, "Went wonderfully, if the pictures are to be believed. Itzhak and Ignacio outdid themselves. And," he raises a hand, "no apologies needed. I didn't want anyone there any longer than they'd enjoy. If that's just a few minutes, it's more than enough." He soudns sincere as he says this, even folds his arms. "It, ah...wasn't easy, spending a couple days in Seattle." In a city that size, he means. "So."

He clears his throat. "Feels amazing. Now if I can just get over myself so we can move into Eleanor's house more regularly." He makes a face.

The cop's got the good grace not to look offended. About the book. Maybe he hasn't read it, either. Guy like him, he certainly doesn't look like he spends much time on that sort of thing. He takes a swig of beer while he watches the other man talk, then sets the bottle aside and goes to check the meat. It needs a little longer, and the temperature's nudged down a hair. Bossy much?

"I remember my wedding to Karin," he murmurs, resettling with the beer, scritch-scratching at his beard with an inked thumb. His brow furrows, then smoothes. "God, I swear that church had rats. She'd have killed me if I tried to throw a stag party." He cracks a grin, sudden, that dimples his cheeks. "Or her father would've. He was a real dyed in the wool Catholic. Convinced himself we hadn't been fucking like rabbits before we walked into that chapel."

Another swig of his beer, and then he pauses on the last thing said, dark eyes going to August's. Silence for a moment. "Eleanor's house?" he repeats, cautiously.

If August minds Ruiz taking command of the kitchen, there's no sign. Instead he takes one of the beers and opens it, murmuring a thanks. He's middrink when Ruiz says 'fucking like rabbits', and coughs on his beer, laughing too hard to be mad. "Oh fuck you," he says, grinning and shaking his head. He snags a handtowel to wipe off his chin and shirt.

Once he's cleaned up, he says, "Fortunately, despite being Irish Catholics, Eleanor's parents aren't that clueless about reality." He pauses, awkward a half-second, because of course, Ruiz's wife and son are both dead. But here he is, laughing about that memory despite the grief which followed, so August opts to keep it easy as well.

"This is why you get married in a nice, secular location like a farm," he confides. Where there were no doubt rats, but also ducks, chicken, horses, cows, and more besides. It was an amazing orchard.

"Yeah," he nods towards town proper, "on Spruce. It's her parents' place, she bought it from them. It's," he looks around the cabin, "bigger than this. More room for both of us. Just..." He pauses, half-shrugs in a helpless gesture. "Not full time," he adds around some more beer, "we can't have animals like this in town, and she loves them."

The asshole looks a little pleased with himself for that one. Making Roen wear his drink? That's got to be about ten points, right there. He sounds off with a low, warm chuckle and gives his bottle a swirl before tipping it back again. "Well, congratulations. You both deserve to be happy. She's.. she's good for you. And you for her, I think." He fusses with the beveled lettering on the bottle, avoiding August's gaze for a minute. A bemused huff at mention of getting married on a farm. He can imagine, no doubt, but that's not what his mind's stuck on.

Instead, "I don't want you to leave." It's sort of blurted out there; something guileless, and almost shy about how he continues to avoid eye contact. How he digs teeth into his lower lip and immediately thunks his beer down to go check on the polenta again. Surely it needs whisking, yes, yes it does. With a vengeance.

August nods and smiles, ducking his head. "Thanks. And, yeah, she is. She keeps me from getting trapped in my own head, you know? It's real easy to run around in circles, chasing my tail. She doesn't let me do that." And if he does the same for her, well, that's only fair, as far as August sees it.

He blinks at this comment, slow and careful, and studies Ruiz as he whisks. It takes him some time to think it through. It's true that the back and forth won't work, not long term. If there's going to be kids (another of those things he likes to pretend is uncertain when he knows, balls to bones, what's in the offing), they have to stay put, sooner or later.

Presently he clears his throat, says, "Well, in all honesty, I don't want to either. But there's other options. Maybe we can see about expanding the cabin. Or building a bigger place." He bobs his eyebrows, has some beer.

There's a little hm from the cop, at mention of Ellie not letting him get in his own head, or chase his own tail, as it were. Some abstract warmth that's filtered into his eyes, dangerously close to becoming a smile. "Yeah, I.. I know what you mean," he murmurs, sending a glance to the other food on the stove. Always with half a bead on it, like any good cook. "She completes you," he offers quietly, voice a little rough around the edges. A roughness that's cleared away a moment later, and his dark eyes rove back to the other man as he sets the whisk back down.

"Got lots of land to work with. Could get Rosencrantz to help you build on an addition, maybe, I uh.." He rifles fingers through his hair awkwardly.

August toys with the wedding ring on his finger while staring at nothing in particular. "Yeah," he says, finally. "She does, I think. Which is the best way to do it, right? Finding the people who help you be he better you, and let you help them be the better them. For," he shrugs a shoulder, "whatever level of better's available. It's not," a sideways glance at Ruiz, and his attention comes back into focus, "always much. Not for all of us." He's maybe not thinking of Ruiz and Itzhak specifically, but he clearly knows people who're never going to be 'great'. That's not how life is going to work for them.

He toys with the ring a little more. "But that's fine. Sometimes you're a tree growing off a cliff face. You work with what you've got. And when you've got someone to work with, well...that makes it easier."

He had intended to go on at length, but that's what Ruiz gets for inspiring him to do so. He arches an eyebrow. "There's a thought. He just redid the garage, so he'd got all that in his mind." He half-turns, considers the far wall. "Could, add in an atrium and den on the first floor on this side. Perfect for Ellie to do her research in." Her conspiracy theory, murder board research. Well, what can he do, he knew who he was marrying.

Ruiz could let the guy keep prattling on about trees growing off cliff faces, and modifications to the cabin. Or he could accept that the seed's been planted in Roen's mind, and that might just be sufficient for now. And move on instead to,

"So what the fuck's this about you chasing down a serial killer on your own?" as he goes to turn down the polenta and put the vegetables on.

August cuts a look back to Ruiz, narrows his eyes. "I did no such thing," he says, all mock offense. "I drove home, and the serial killer happened to be heading in the same direction." He is, from his expression, entirely aware that this is a fine hair to split, but has chosen this hill to die on. Metaphorically. "I called Niall and gave him the plate number and his heading, made my turn like usual. Not long after I got home, the truck went up in smoke." He shrugs helplessly. "Maybe it's because he saw me behind him? But that APB's been out for a minute, he probably had plans."

"I imagine you're well aware that I've been keeping an eye on the case," Javier murmurs, folding his arms across his chest, meeting the other man's gaze. "Despite the fact that you and your merry band of vigilantes haven't bothered keeping me in the fucking loop on what you've been finding. Despite the fact that it'd make my job a hell of a lot easier." Agitated much? Maybe slightly. He waits, presumably to see whether August has anything to say for himself or his merry band of vigilantes on this subject.

August mouths, 'band of vigilantes', then straightens. "Let's get something straight. I'm not a cop. I took a forensics person out there based on what I was told by the admin in charge of this end of Olympic, and," his eyebrows go up, "told him to report to Detective Wilkinson at Alexander's recommendation. So if you're not being kept in the loop, maybe ask her and the forensics guy why. Don't come at me like I've been out," he waves a hand, "playing vigilante, all I did was respond to a request to climb some trees. Isabella and Alexander and--" He stops, realizing he's just about outed someone aside from the usual suspects, makes a face. "Which is nothing you're not used to. I have not spearheaded this in the least. Alexander has."

"Mm." Outed, indeed. The names, he makes a mental note of to follow up with perhaps. "Alexander? I'll have a word with him." Make that definitely. And for all of de la Vega's temper, he's actually remarkably steady, and slow to wind into a frenzy; though agitated about all this, he appears far from actually angry. "I have Detective Wilkinson's reports. And.. some suspicions that at least one witness account may have been outright falsified, if not missing information. If Isabella or Alexander have that information, and they aren't sharing it, I'm going to be.. well, displeased." He works his jaw slightly, glances back to the vegetables. A beat. "I, uh. I'm sorry." For what, he doesn't explain precisely.

August blinks, surprised. "Falsified?" He sounds honestly confused about that, frowns. "Well I really hope no one was doing that, but I wasn't there when they..." His voice fades, and he shrugs it aside. "No apology needed, last thing you need is a bunch of Artists running around playing Batman." He coughs, shakes his head. "What could I even do if I caught someone? If they're not pointing a weapon at one of you my best bet is tie them up with poison ivy and send you a text. I'm next to useless at that sort of thing."

A grunt from the cop, and he moves to turn off the food once he's satisfied that it's done. A hitch of his chin to indicate that August should fetch plates. Pushy as fuck, this man. "I don't know. Something's fucking off with her. Something she isn't telling me. Omission of information is still a fucking lie, and all." He switches on the faucet, goes to wash his hands before helping to serve the food. "I'll talk to Alexander," he repeats. "You know anyone else who's involved?"

August mmmms, low and thoughtful. He doesn't know who Ruiz might mean--there've been a few witnesses, come to it--so can only hope it's a misunderstanding, or something along those lines.

He moves to pull down the plates. "A...few people," he admits, wincing. "There's a video game involved, so they asked Abitha for some input. Itzhak was on the beach when they found Hank, so he might know who else was there. Or, Niall would. Ah," he moves to the dining room table, looking like he's trying to remember, "there was ancient script on that first body, and at the site where we found the second one, so Isabella and the Danish guy looked into that." He looks up from setting out the plates, silverware, and napkins. "Not sure if they maybe asked anyone else for help with that."

Call it a traditional Mexican upbringing, or call it simply a pushy fucking personality, but de la Vega doesn't even ask; he just starts serving out food while he talks, once August's got a plate steadied in his hands to accept it. "Stupid fucking civilians fucking up my chain of evidence," he grouses, moving on to his own plate. "By the way, you might want to look into extra security around here. If you're, uh. You know. Planning on staying."

August makes no complaints, doesn't contradict or refuse. He was raised similarly; there wasn't always lot of time or room in their household for idle requests and standing around waiting. They had a family of five to feed.

He gets glasses out for the beer, on the off chance de la Vega wants to pour his into one, and does just that for himself. "Yeah, I was kind of considering it." Now that it's not just him, he means. "How're you liking yours? Did you set it up custom or have someone do it?"

Once he's served the other man, Ruiz ladles polenta and rabbit and vegetables onto his own plate. Plenty of it, too; he worked up an appetite walking over, and he's going to work up more of one walking back. Then he slides into a seat at the table, thumps his plate down and digs in unabashedly. "Hell, no, I had a guy I used to work with back in Seattle set it up. I could put you in touch, if you like. He does good work, isn't cheap though." A tick of dark eyes to Roen's, then back down to his plate as he shovels food into his mouth.

"I would appreciate it," August says, settling in to have a few bites. "It's okay if it's not cheap. I try to be careful with money in general, so I can spend it on useful shit like that." He chews thoughtfully, checking the flavor, nods. It meets his standards, which admittedly might not be the same as Ruiz's. The rabbit's come out tender and juicy, and the sauce is a strong, sharp, spicy pepper and tomato. The polenta is a smooth compliment, as are the steamed veggies and cheese sauce, so the rabbit doesn't overpower bite after bite. "So. Everyone still convinced you're the chief?" he gives Ruiz a wry, sympathetic look.

It's possibly not the sort of food he's accustomed to eating; wild game is a very recent addition to his repertoire. But the sound he makes after the first couple of bites is one of tacit approval. And considering he continues shoveling it away, it can't be that offensive. "I'll pass on your name and contact information, so keep an eye out for an email soon," he murmurs, easing back in his chair to fire off said message. At mention of the whole chief debacle, he snorts ruefully. "I don't even bother correcting anyone, anymore. Though Rosencrantz keeps pointing out that I'm the captain like anyone gives a shit." This seems to amuse him; his eyes crinkle up at the corners when he grins. "How's your shoulder doing, by the way?"

"Will do, thanks." August relaxes into focusing on his own food when Ruiz makes that sound. It's not disgust, and it's not 'well I can choke it down', which is really all he was hoping for. He's well aware not everyone has been eating game meat long enough to be comfortable with how much it differs from farm-raised stock.

He mmmms about the continued 'Chief of Police' thing, laughs and shakes his head to hear Itzhak is doing his best to make sure everyone calls Ruiz 'Captain'. "That's just his way. Whether or not other people care isn't important. He does." A glance up from his food at Ruiz, brows up. "That's what he's trying to make clear." His focus returns to his dinner, and he gives said shoulder, the left one, a small shrug. "Getting there. I can't climb much for a few more months, at least, and I have to keep up with PT for the next forever. The surgeons did a good job, though. And thanks for the recommendation, the therapist is good." Between sips of beer, he asks, "Got Itzhak's workshop all squared away?"

He's going back for seconds of the rabbit, so August's definitely done well. Javier's not the sort of man to politely choke down a second helping of food he doesn't like. Dropping back into his chair with a slight wince as that gunshot wound in his hip continues to give him trouble, he makes a sound like mm when the physical therapist is mentioned. "Heard the guy who did it might've been trying to make a statement," he murmurs, flicking his eyes up to meet the other man's, just for a moment, as he chews and swallows.

Of the workshop, a nod. Some polenta is pushed around, scooped up, shoveled into his mouth. "You want to come by and check it out some time, I'm sure you'd be welcome. Just, uh. Knock first." He doesn't explain why. Does he need to?

August tries not to be too proud that Ruiz is getting seconds. He basks in that for a moment, makes a face at the mention of the church attack being some sort of statement. "Yeah. Abitha said." He sighs, stares at his glass of beer. "Not entirely sure why they jumped to trying to bump me off instead of some good old muscle first, but..." He licks his lips. It could have to do with how he supported Abitha. But anyways, "They try a stunt like that again it'll be a question of who gets them first, me or Ellie. So." He has a drink of beer. "I haven't heard anything out of them since." He shrugs. He's not as nonchalant about it as he wants to pretend, yet he's also not overburdened with options, and sees no reason to be too upset about it.

"Knock, eh?" He grins, tips a head at one of the black, embroidered pillows on his couch which reads WE HAD SEX HERE. "Maybe I should get you guys a few of those." An eyebrow goes up. "How many you think you need...ten?"

A glance upward at mention of Abitha, whom August may or may not be aware of as being in the GHPD's employ at the moment. He finishes chewing and swallowing, washes down his food with a swig of beer, and eases back in his chair to regard the other man critically. "Ellie? You really want to drag Ellie into this, Roen?" That look on his face, that's disapproval. He knows what these people are capable of.

The nonchalance just makes him frown even more, and the pillows? The pillows make him grimace, like, whose idea of a wedding gift was that? "Please fucking don't." And, "We've talked about this before, Roen." Sip. "How we're not discussing my sex life."

"It's not about dragging her into it, de la Vega. I'm not the boss of her, I don't get to tell her what to do." August gives Ruiz a Look which suggests deep pity and sympathy for anyone who attempts to. "And if she decides she's not taking her husband getting threatened and almost killed lying down, what am I gonna do--lock her in the bathroom?" He laughs, only a little morbidly. "You think you could tell Itzhak to 'stay out of it' after what's happened to you?" His eyebrows go up. "Eleanor's a lot more dangerous than me. She's like Itzhak--a mover. Only she's got the other two as well. " He tilts his head, shrugs. "We agreed to play along for the sake of our employees and our businesses. But if they come at me like that again, playing along's not gonna be in the cards for her. I can pretty much promise that." Left unsaid is the part where, come to it, if someone tries to hurt Eleanor there won't be enough of them left to fill a bucket. He's sure he needn't tell Ruiz that, the same way he knows Ruiz would end anyone who tried to hurt Itzhak. It was a foregone conclusion.

"Ah ah ah," August says around a bite of polenta, "nice try. You are the one who brought up your sex life. I just offered to give it some proper decorations." He grins; they were one of his favorite wedding gifts. "Bennie got us those."

Ruiz snorts softly, and polishes off his food before collecting his plate and taking it to the sink to wash it off. "If I felt that's what I needed to do, to keep him safe. Then yeah, I'd tell him to stay the fuck out of it. And I'd expect him to respect that. Cavanaugh, too." He finishes scrubbing, rinses, and hunts down a dish cloth to dry the plate off. "I don't give a shit how dangerous she thinks she is, these people don't work how you might think, Roen. They're not going to leave themselves prone. They'll let you take a few cheap shots, sure, but then they'll come back in force, and they'll fucking rip her apart while you watch. And then they'll do you next, and send a piece to each of your friends. And it'll be just fucking business." There's a gathering storm in his voice, like a man who's done more than witness this. Like a man who's engineered it, maybe. Been steeped in that kind of horror.

He turns, dark eyes boring into the other man's, ignoring the talk of his sex life now. The dish cloth's used to dry off his hands absently. "Just.. don't. Don't do this."

August studies Ruiz while he washes of his plate, thoughtful. He's used to these kinds of storms; from himself, from others. He knows, in a general sense, the kinds of things that bring them on. So it doesn't bother him, not really. It's an ugly subject, an ugly thing. He suspects more than a little that his lack of reaction to Ruiz saying that sort of thing about Eleanor is couched in nearly getting killed himself, for the second time in his life, no less.

Eventually he has a drink of his beer. "I think we're talking about two different things. I didn't refuse to cooperate with them, or come looking to make trouble with them--despite wanting to--or even involve myself. In fact, Itzhak asked me not to, early on, and I agreed, and held to it. And they just up and tried to kill me anyways." He spreads his hands helplessly. "So staying out of it did fuck all. But that much aside," he shifts in the chair, wincing, "I didn't say she or I were going to come at them, or that we plan to refuse to cooperate if they come to us with 'business' requests we can fulfill. What I said was, if they take another shot at me like that, she's not going to stand by while they kill me. And neither am I. Whoever shows up trying to make that kind of trouble's not going to be talking about it later." He lets that sit a second. "This wasn't like with Cavanaugh or Abitha. They weren't responding to a refusal from me, or me getting involved in some way. In fact aside from helping Abitha and Cavanaugh recover I've steered well clear of all of it," his tone turns dry, "despite numerous accusations and assumptions otherwise. And," he shrugs, "it didn't matter. We can't stay out of what they won't let us stay out of."

He sighs, leans back in his chair. "Thing is," he looks out across the cabin, "I'm sure you know that. And I know it's frustrating to want to keep people out of something and them getting pulled into it anyways." He looks askance at Ruiz. "I have watched people like them wipe out whole neighborhoods, and wasn't allowed to do a thing. I'm not sure if doing it for ethnic cleansing is worse or better than doing it for fucking money, but..." His attention moves to where Ruiz set his gun, then back to his plate. "That part isn't new for me." Fortunately, he was done with his food.

August's reaction, and his involvement in all of this, is likely only tangential to Ruiz's little lashing out at the man over it. He's clearly touched a nerve whether he knows it or not.

The towel is tossed aside, and his palms placed flat on the countertop for a moment while he listens to what August has to say, and re-calibrates.. something. So that maybe he's actually listening to him again, rather than inventing situations based on people who aren't here, and things that happened years ago. "No," he murmurs, back still turned to August, "I don't imagine they'll let you stay out of it." He may, or he may not catch the glance toward his rifle. "But I want you to promise me you'll come fucking talk to me, if shit starts to go sideways for you or Ellie. I can't help if I'm left in the dark, yeah?"

August relaxes, lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding. Boy, is his next therapy session ever going to run over.

Fortunately, it's an easy promise to make. "You can damned well bet I will," he says, raising his beer in a salute. "For one thing...I know that this deosn't end if whoever's behind it quietly vanishes, or the rest of us take up arms like...concerned citizens." He makes a face about that. "It only ends when a clear winner emerges. That's all. And that, Alexander pointed out, has to be left to the police and Felix Monaghan. So." He finishes off his beer, slowly gets up and gathers his plate and silverware. "I'm happy to leave that to the professionals while I get on with my life."

As he comes into the kitchen, he gives Ruiz a steady look. "That said. Please don't hesitate to ask for help. I don't know what kind I can give, aside from," he half-shrugs, indicating the expected sorts of things, "but even if it's just that, it's better than nothing." Better than standing by and watching. Like he told Itzhak--he can't do that anymore.

A curt nod from the cop, and he pushes off the counter, and briefly surveys the food left on the stove. "Thanks for dinner," he murmurs low, with a twinge of a smile that reaches his eyes in a brief crinkle of crow's feet at the corners. Then a breath, and the warmth's faded back to weariness again. Inked fingers threaded through scruffy curls as he steps past the taller man, grunts quietly at mention of Monaghan. "I'll do that. These guys are bigger than what the GHPD can handle, and they shine." In case August hadn't noticed.

"I'd better get home. You mind me bringing some of the, uh, the rabbit back for Rosencrantz?" He reaches for his rifle, loads in the magazine and checks the safety.

August grimaces. "Yeah, I noticed. Which, makes them a lot worse in various ways." For example, lying in wait near Weird Things to snipe someone like him.

He straightens up, meets the smile with one of his own. "Any time. And, sure thing." He moves into the kitchen, pulls out a small tupperware container and begins filling it. A serving of polenta, rabbit to one side, veggies and a dollop of cheese sauce on the other. The flavors might mix a little here and there, and August can't for the life of him remember if Itzhak cares about that sort of thing. (Hanne does. She hates it when things mix. She ate off a sectioned plate when they were kids.)

He snaps the lid on, offers it up. "And, thank you, for the beer and company." Outside the sky is a deep blue; not quite full dark, but nearly there.

"Security system. Don't forget." This, with a pointed glance from Javier as he slings the rifle across his shoulder, checks his sidearm as well, and reaches out to accept the tupperware container. Hell if he can remember whether Itzhak minds the food mixing together. If he does, he'll find a way to smooth it over later. Don't underestimate his charm.

A glance for the darkening sky outside, and then a glance for August, and he offers another of those little things that.. might? be a smile. Slivered eyes and dimples and.. he looks more awkward than anything else, about it. Silence for a while, then a shift of his body like he might simply.. leave on that note, without further ado. But no. He stills, and he has a few more words for the botanist:

"Finalmente vi que las preocupaciones no habían llegado a nada y lo dejé. Y tomé mi viejo cuerpo y salí por la mañana, y canté." Then a breath blown out his nose, his sweatshirt's hood, tugged up over his head, and he turns for the door.

"I won't," August assures Ruiz. Really, he should have installed one ages ago. It's nice to have someone harass him into doing it.

He joins Ruiz at the door. The pigs watch from their pig (dog) beds. The kitten, probably sensing Ruiz is departing, creeps out of her woolen fortress to survey his exit. Outside the other animals are all tucked in for the night. It's quiet, save for the calls of nighthawks and bats as they hunt insects.

August, for his part, is happy to take the expression for a smile, and so gives one in return. His eyes narrow as he attempts to parse any sort of meaning from what Ruiz says. He gets maybe three words. Well, he can try to look it up online later.

"Take care," he says. "Stay safe."

Ruiz doesn't seem particularly inclined to elucidate. He simply shoves the door open and heads on out into the night, and the animals probably breathe a collective sigh of relief that he's gone.