2020-12-05 - Neighborly

Vic's dad left this morning to drive back to Portland. Like his daughter, he's not a big fan of flying, and if it's possible, he'll drive where he needs to go. It's not that either are afraid of airplanes or heights, it's that they cannot stand being jammed into those too narrow aisles with stupid people, and be expected not to knock someone out so they can travel in very cramped peace and quiet. He did leave a package for Vic to bring to Alexander Clayton, though, and so she makes her way up the porch steps of 13 Elm and raps on the door with the side of her fist, police style. Old habits.

She's in jeans and a thick sweater to ward off the autumn chill, but she didn't bother with a jacket this close to a neighbor. Ma Kelly no doubt shrieked at her on her way out about catching cold.

The shabby little house on Elm is quiet, thanks to the chill, and the clouds that threaten with rain at any moment. Not even Alexander is devoted enough to gardening to be out in this. He does seem to be home, though - there's a light on in the living room and the bedroom, although there aren't any cars in the driveway. Alexander is actually in the bedroom, stretched out on the bed in an old, loose sweatsuit that was easy to get on one handed.

At the sound of the police style knocking, he bolts upright in his bed, then cries out with pain as the rest of his body protests this sudden movement. Or any movement. He contemplates just...ignoring it and hoping that whoever came for their pound of flesh this time just goes away. But...he's a curious creature, and just can't resist rolling slowly out of bed. It takes a while for there to be an answer, and when it comes, it's not the usual door opening. Instead, on the other side, Alexander says, "Miss Grey. Why are you here?" He sounds weary, and wary.

Vic arches a brow at the door not being opened to greet her. "Are you naked? I really don't need to see you naked, Clayton. So put on pants and open up, I have something for you from my dad. He headed home this morning."

"I don't need you to see me naked either," Alexander responds, quite solemnly. "And I'm wearing pants." There's a long hesitation, nonetheless, before the door swings open enough for Alexander to look out at her. He's opened it with his left hand, his arm crossed across his body as he peers out at her. Whatever truck hit him before running into Vic and her dad at the diner has apparently come back for second helpings; there's a nasty series of bruises spreading out from a goose-egg on one of his temples, and his eyes are bleary. He stares at her for a moment, then hobbles back to open the door wide enough for her to come in, although his right hand hangs limp at his side. "Was it a good visit? Do you want some coffee?"

"JESUS FUCKING CHRIST ON A POGO STICK!" Vic exclaims loudly, when her brain finally can make out what is supposed to be Alexander's face under all that bruising and swelling and mess. She shoulders her way in and shuts the door behind her, locking it for safety because clearly someone is trying to kill this guy. "What happened!? Sit the fuck down, you have a first aid kit?" She is halfway to calling an ambulance to come patch him up, or Joey to hunt down whoever did this.

She doesn't wait for him to sit, she carefully guides him over to the couch herself, a hand to the small of his back which is hopefully not something that's messed up.

Alexander recoils from the exclamation, wincing at the volume. He stumbles back a little, his good hand raised to fend off...anything, really. But especially any attempt to touch him. That attempt to guide him over is more like herding, because he retreats from her hand like they were two opposing magnets. He does sit down, though. "It's a personal matter," he says, flatly. Then, after a moment. "First aid kit is in the bathroom. I did what I could, but if you're offering help, I could use a hand with bandaging the ribs. He lifts up his other hand; what was two broken fingers now looks like someone took a heavy boot or some other blunt object to the whole damn thing. He grins, without much humor. "Only got one at the moment. How was your visit with your dad?"

The bathroom does, indeed, have a very well appointed first-aid kit, the kind you only have when you're used to getting injured and used to not going to the authorities or formal medical community about those those issues.

Vic stalks into the bathroom to retrieve the kit, as well as wetting a washcloth before moving to the kitchen. She fills the wet cloth with ice. "Don't try to change the subject, Clayton, this is bad, really bad," she notes. She's seen a lot of bad shit in her day, being embedded in a cartel for two years is something nightmares are made of. "I think you need real medical help for the hand. Or...other medical help. Can I call Bennie?" she asks as she sets the kit down and opens it up. First things first, she needs to get the swelling down to see how bad things really are. She sets it on the smashed hand carefully.

"What did you take for the pain?" she asks uncomfortably, before getting out bandages for his ribs.

"I'm not changing the subject. I asked first, so technically, you're changing the subject." There is no degree of injured where Alexander stops being infuriatingly pedantic, apparently. Especially when he's trying to avoid the subject. "And it's not that bad. The hand's the worst. Some fractures...mostly the ribs, but I think my legs got a good working over, too." At least he's not denying what happened. "I'll reach out to Bennie. I was just trying...to rest a bit." A careful shake of his head at the last question. "Nothing. There's some codine in the kit. But the cap is child proof. Fuckers." Another of those rather ghastly smiles. "It's fine. I've had worse." He looks around to where she put the package down. "Your father gave me a package? What is it? Why?"

"It's not fine. Stop saying it's fine. I don't like it when people beat the shit out of my friends. I don't have a lot of them. I especially don't like it when people beat the shit out of people my dad likes. I really don't like that." Vic's voice is gruff and thick, like she may be a little choked up over just how much pain Alexander must be in. Pain she might be able to relate to.

She pulls out the codeine and opens it, shaking out the safe dosage. "You need water or you used to dry swallowing?" she asks, as she holds them out to him with a scowl. "I dunno what's in the package. It's addressed to you and you do NOT interfere with dad's correspondence," she notes, with a faint quirk of her lips.

"Your father has weird tastes. He remembers that he caught me breaking into his business, right?" Alexander's voice is dry, and he extends his good hand for the pills. Apparently dry swallowing is fine, because once he has them he just pops them into his mouth and swallows them down. "Thanks," he says, quietly. "I'll have to get a new bottle for them. Didn't think about what it'd be like getting into the damned things if I was significantly injured." Another look at the package, and he returns the upward quirk of her lips with one of his own. "If he booby traps them, I think you should give me a warning. Did he say I should open it alone or anything? You have to be curious about what's inside."

"I need you to answer me one thing truthfully, Alexander, because it's very important. Did Reyes' guys do this to you?" Vic asks, with an expression of stony determination. If it was Reyes, she needs to tell Joey, and shit has to be done about it. If it wasn't, she can let him continue to not tell her. It's a matter of work obligation when it comes to the gang war.

As to the pills, "You're kidding right?" she asks, with a grin. She holds out the cap to him, then flips it over, and screws it back on...in the non-childproof capacity. "Life hack. They make them so you can use them either way, so people with arthritis and such can use the non kiddie version."

Alexander shakes his head. "No. Reyes had nothing to do with it. Personal matter, like I said. If it was Reyes, I'd either be dead or I would have called in some form of cavalry." He smiles up at her. "Scout's honor." A pause. "To be fair, I wasn't ever a Boy Scout. But I don't like lying." His eyebrows rise when she flips the cap. "Well, shit. Did they always do that? I don't take much. I just had these from...I think it was when my leg got ripped up in the ring thing. Learn something every day." He tries to relax into the couch but it'll take a bit for the pills to kick in. "Thanks, Grey. Don't mean to be a bother." Another look at the package. It's like a cat with a new box, really.

"You're not a bother. You're my neighbor," Vic points out. She gestures for him to brace himself. "Gonna have to lift your shirt to wrap your ribs, Clayton, you ok with that?" She grabs the envelope and sets it next to him, like a treat he can open if he's a very good boy and lets her make sure Isabella doesn't come home to find a corpse.

She nods about it not being Reyes, and seems relieved. She doesn't seem ready to have to take the actions that would have required her to take.

"That's kind of you to say." Alexander actually does look pleased by it. A little shake of his head at if he minds. He straightens up with a bit-back groan, and then reaches for the hem of his sweatshirt with his good hand, pulling it up. It is, as expected, a beautiful tapestry of black and blue. Underneath the swelling and bruises, there's also a wealth of previous scars. The scars are varied in age and apparent origin; not a lot that seem to be knives or gunshots, but several that are just strange. There's even recent scarring on his abs that look like acid burns or something similar. "Don't mind if I flinch. Touching is...hard. But these ribs need to be bound. I don't think any are significantly broken, though. Just cracked." A long pause. "Don't suppose you know how to set hand bones?"

Vic shakes her head at the question. "No, just basic first aid. I just know how to do the ribs because I had to have mine done after I was shot in that church. Bennie is your best bet, she's an EMT. And I think her shine is the healing sort," she notes as she looks over the damage. "Looks like you and I have a lot in common, Clayton. You have a lot of scars, too." She begins to carefully but firmly wrap the bandage around his ribcage to keep it from moving over much.

"It is," Alexander confirms. "I'll reach out to her in a bit." A slight nod at the comment regarding having a lot in common. "Mostly not from people," he admits, sheepishly. "I get Lost a lot. Always have. But usually I'm better about not getting my ass kicked by people." A rueful edge to his smile, there. "But," a pause to breath in as the bandage starts to wrap around his ribs, and his voice becomes strained with the effort not to make embarrassing pain noises, "seriously. How was the trip with your dad? Any further trouble? Were you able to catch up?"

"That's the difference then. Mine are mostly from people," Vic notes. Which explains a lot of her trust issues and standoffishness. "I only got Lost a couple times in Portland. It's not as thin there as it is here, and Hoquiam was downright quiet by comparison."

She smiles at his questions though. "It was nice. We caught up, he still doesn't know why I'm really here, but he feels better knowing I have people here I can count on. He met some of my friends, reconnected with de la Vega, it was nice."

"Yes. August has mentioned that Portland has a thin point. I was in Eugene for college, but only got Lost a...couple of times, there." Alexander's breath hitches a little, then settles. Another hitch at the mention of de la Vega, but he just says, "I'm glad. I know he was worried about you, and vice versa. He seems like a good person." Once his ribs are completely bound, he lets out a sigh of relief, and lowers his shirt again. "You gonna do it again? I know it's a risk, but...seems like it does you both good."

"Yeah, we're gonna try again in a couple of months, if things here seem safer. I mean he was here less than two weeks and there were ghost turkeys. With the Reyes stuff, I don't want him around too much. He would become a target here, you know?" Vic moves on to find some antiseptic stuff to clean up his face with, just to be safe. "Doesn't look like you need stitches, but I am worried about the hand. You need your hands to learn to pick locks, Alexander," she points out helpfully.

"Have to do something about Reyes, eventually," Alexander mutters, with a shake of his head. "And yeah. Your situation seems complex enough, without adding another group of assholes to the mix." A faint smile, that widens as she goes on. "Hey. I'll have you know I'm very clever, Miss Grey. Don't count me out." And yet, he can't hide the worry in his eyes when he glances at the disabled hand. "It'll be f--okay. It just needs to heal, and get someone to set some of the bones. It's not like anything's shattered or missing, I think." He chuckles. "Once, they found this body in the woods that had no bones. Someone died in a Dream, I guess, and got tossed back out into the world. I didn't find out what, exactly, did it, but watching the police try to come up with a sane theory was actually kind of entertaining."

"Yeah, cases like those were a royal pain in the ass back in Portland. Mostly people just quietly forgot about them and the cases went cold. The Veil works in strange ways like that. Kinda hoping Dad forgets the ghost turkeys after he gets some distance from here." Vic cleans up his face and sighs, packing up the med kit but leaving the pills out for him. "I'm gonna be watching your place from mine for a bit, make sure someone doesn't come back to finish you off. Two beatings in this close succession worries me." As if any beating ever wouldn't? They live strange lives.

"Same thing happens around here," Alexander says, wryly. "You have a few people in the force who stand out, but who wants to write up 'monsters did it' in an official report, right? Always best to just say 'animal attack', and bury it under the nearest convenient pile of paperwork." He grimaces. "I can't even blame them, most of the time. You can't make an arrest of a Veil creature, you know? It bothers me more when it's possible to arrest the perpetrator, but they're just...too protected to do so." He trails off awkwardly, suddenly remembering who Vic works for. He shakes his head at the offer. "Don't. It's f--um. I don't think anyone's going to kill me, Miss Grey, and if they do," he shrugs, "I probably deserve it. It's not something anyone else needs to get involved in."

"I was a cop, Clayton. I may not be one in title anymore, but I still am in spirit, even if that spirit is pretty beaten down and hobbled by circumstance. I can't just look away when a friend is hurt. Sorry," she confesses. Vic gets up and moves to the kitchen, to try and put together anything for him to eat that she doesn't have to cook. "Don't take codeine on an empty stomach, you'll regret it." She brings him out a plate and then heads towards the door. "Be safe. I'll stop by and check on you now and then. Don't forget to call Bennie."

"All will be well, and all will be well, and all manner of things will be well," Alexander assures her in a rough, sing-song sort of voice. There's cold cuts enough for a sandwich, and he takes it with a murmured thanks. "I won't forget. Kinda hard to," he adds, with another weak chuckle. He stands up and hobbles after her to the door, to let her out and close it behind her. "Don't die," he tells her, fondly.