2021-12-04 - Let her

(TXT to Ruiz) Easton : Yo. Saw the announcement. You okay?

(TXT to Easton) Ruiz : I'm fine. though the number of condolences I've had pour in, you'd think I'd fucking died or something

(TXT to Ruiz) Easton : ha. Condolences on the job or the officer who died?

(TXT to Easton) Ruiz : On the leave, asshole

(TXT to Ruiz) Easton : ? Not trying to be an ass. You never sounded like you wanted to be chief in the first place so not sure who's sending those condolences.

(TXT to Easton) Ruiz : I didn't. Part of me thinks it's a blessing in disguise. part of me thinks it's the Veil playing head games with me.

(TXT to Ruiz) Easton : Yeah, it's a fair assumption in this town

(TXT to Easton) Ruiz : You know how it is, though. Like that song, what's it called? Hotel California?

(TXT to Ruiz) Easton : I ever tell you about the time Geoff and I got literally trapped at a Hotel California when we tried to leave the asylum?

(TXT to Easton) Ruiz : No, I don't think you did

(TXT to Ruiz) Easton : just a head trip of choosing the right door or ending up in the same place. Regardless, I wouldn't put it past the veil to give and take just to mess with anyone

(TXT to Easton) Ruiz : neither would I. and fuck if I didn't want this shit job in the first place, but something tells me leaving isn't going to be as easy as walking out the fucking door, you know?

(TXT to Ruiz) Easton : leaving the chief position, not the force, right?

(TXT to Easton) Ruiz : Yeah.

(TXT to Ruiz) Easton : I need to talk to you about Bennie at some point. No rush, just want to give you a heads up.

(TXT to Easton) Ruiz : Yeah, what about her

(TXT to Easton) Ruiz : Or do you mean talk talk

(TXT to Ruiz) Easton : talk talk

(TXT to Easton) Ruiz : all right. You want to come over or something?

(TXT to Ruiz) Easton : yeah. Beer or tequila?

(TXT to Easton) Ruiz : what do you think

Easton laughs at the reply text and gathers up his stuff, throwing on a hoodie and laboriously getting his shoes on. He's over at Ruiz's cabin not that long after, having clearly stopped somewhere to buy a bottle of tequila, which he holds at the door still in the classic brown paper bag. He has a knit hat pulled down over his head but just the hoodie and a pair of warm-up pants against the winter chill. He knocks on the door and waits, not calling out or coming right in.

Probably wise that he doesn't. De la Vega's gotten snarly(er) and paranoid(er) in his old age, and that'd be a great way to find himself with the muzzle of a pistol jammed into the side of his head.

The door's unlocked though after a few seconds, and the cop hauls it open, dark eyes finding his visitor in silence for a beat. Not that it was ever any great surprise who'd be coming to see him tonight. Javier himself is in a faded grey tee shirt and dark, snug jeans. Barefoot, and his beard's a little on the scruffy side. He could use a shave, but with no desk job to return to in the immediate future.. well.

"Come in," he murmurs, a glance at the paper bag before he ambles back and out of the way again.

Easton stands on the porch for a beat, taking in Ruiz who looks a little rougher than he expected for some reason. The younger marine captain turned bartender on the other hand looks pretty good for once. There are no circles under his eyes, he looks showered. He almost looks .. healthy? Weird. He takes a step in and says, without grace but with affection, "You look like shit."

He sets the bottle down on the counter and takes a second to orient himself. It takes only a second to locate every glass in the kitchen and pull out two. It seems that Easton has made the poor decision to drink tequila with him.

"Yeaah..." He doesn't seem to know where to start with the talking so he pours two glasses and starts with taking a sip of his tequila.

Javier's never been one to sleep well. Not when he was a Marine, and not since he's been on the force. At least he's looking to be in good shape; time off work means more hours to hit the gym, apparently.

The you look like shit earns Easton a cheerful middle finger, and a hitch of his chin to show him where he can leave the bottle of tequila. Not that the younger man isn't making himself perfectly at home already. "And you look like a pretty princess today, sir," he grunts as he settles in at the couch. "What's your secret?"

Easton sleeps well on one condition, that he's not sleeping alone and lately that has thankfully been the case. He nods and says, "Thanks for noticing." at the mention of how pretty he looks. "A hot blond who loves me and not drinking a bottle of whiskey everyday." He wasn't quite that bad, but it was close. He takes a big gulp of the tequila though, apparently not slowing down that much.

"But that blond is why I'm here." He winces again as the tequila burns a little more than he expects. He sighs and starts, "Her father was a class a asshole. Gambling debts. Wife-beating. Just general dick." He tries to find his way through this conversation. "I don't know if that ever came up with you. But at some point he saddled her with all his debts, skipped town and didn't mind that she was working something like six jobs just to keep her legs from being broken."

This definitely sounds like it's going to require hard liquor. Which he's just going to have to go fetch himself, it looks like. Shoving off the couch, de la Vega ambles over to pour himself a glass, and snags the bottle as well on his way back. Thump as it's deposited on the coffee table, and sinks back down into the couch.

"Bennie's deadbeat fucking dad? Yeah." He sips. "I know a little about him, and her debt. Why?"

Easton ambles his way into the living room after Ruiz, finding a chair to slowly sink into. He nods, "Yeah, wasn't sure." With that bit of background out of the way he winces, "So we managed to clear the debts. Basically called the bluff, paid something reasonable and thought we got Bennie out, scott free." The fact that it takes a turn is predictable, but not necessarily what turn. "Well turns out he was alive. And not that far away. And so I told her.. because I don't know. I thought she should know and I thought ... fuck I don't know. I don't know what I thought."

Easton can take his pick between the couch his host has picked, and the one sitting perpendicular to it. That one's probably the safer option, given there's alcohol consumption to contend with. De la Vega's listening quietly, settled into a comfortable sprawl with his knees spread and his glass balanced in one hand as he lets the tequila percolate on his tongue. His brows furrow at the word alive. Then furrow some more at not that far away. And he sips again as Easton continues.

"Okay. So what's the situation right now? Where's this fucker and what's he want?" And, the implication there, what do you need me to do?

Ruiz takes the couch and Easton retreats for the chair it seems. There's definitely something different in the dynamic there on Easton's end. He's not as cagey or twisted up. It's almost like something has found some resolve on his end but who knows how long that's going to last.

"He's dead." He takes a beat to explain. "Which is why I'm here. Bennie was ... involved." He picks that word carefully. "We don't know exactly what happened it was right before the storm and she can't remember. She went up to confront him and then she got back in the Jeep and there was blood and then the storm hit." He sighs, "Alexander and I went up there, and confirmed that yes he's dead. And yes she was there when he died. Alexander did a reading but ... it doesn't all add up."

Maybe he's noticed, or maybe he's too busy enjoying the tequila he's been gifted. Odds are though, a powerful empath like de la Vega, he's perfectly aware there's been a shift in the other man's mindscape. How could he not be?

There's no evidence of shock on his features when it's revealed the guy's dead, though. He pokes at the inside of his cheek with his tongue, then downs a little more of his drink. "Okay," he murmurs again, eyes on his glass. Still waiting, apparently, for the punch line here.

"And I love Clayton." Easton starts, clear that it's a disclaimer for whatever is about to follow. "But" There it is. "Bennie is not in a great space right now and I'm a little worried he's going to 'help' and it's going to fuck her head up more." He admits, "She said she wouldn't turn herself in. But Gunny..." He trails off and gives the man a look. A look that says he can not have that happen. "It all happened outside Gray Harbor... it's not in your control. I get that."

No interruptions from the cop. He knows the but is coming, and he's prepared for it. "You shouldn't be telling me this," comes out low-voiced, with a fine, sharp edge to it that isn't anger. But it might just be fear. Then he sighs, and scrubs an inked hand through his beard, over his eyes, and up and into his scruffy curls. "No, it's not in my fucking control. So what do you want me to do about it, huh?"

Easton's jaw clenches and he nods at the first rebuke. He knows. He wasn't going to talk to Ruiz about it unless he had to, but then things started to turn. He had just gotten his feet under him. They were on a healthy path. And Easton wants so /badly/ to stay on that. So he's here. Saying things he didn't plan to say.

He sips the tequila and shakes his head. "I don't /know/." He scowls and says, "But I can't get Geoff fuckin' involved because of his record and Bennie is insisting she's fine and .." It takes him a while to say it. "And your what I got." Boy that's not a terribly complimentary way of putting it, but that's par for the course for these two. Even when Easton's not wallowing in pain.

Silence, in the wake of that. Awkward, and somehow very loud in spite of the fact that not a word's being spoken. De la Vega drops his hand, and stares at his glass for a few moments. Then downs the rest of it, throat working quickly to dispatch the hard liquor. He reaches for the bottle, and unscrews the cap one-handed. "I'm what you've got." And then he laughs. Husky and rough and thoroughly without humour.

"Really? That's it? I'm what you've got? After all we've been through, that's the best you can come up with?" He turns, and looks the other man in the eye, like he's daring him to back down or step up and fight. They've certainly scrapped over stupider things.

"That's.. yeah fuckin' great." Easton stares at Ruiz through the silence and then has that to say at the end. "Why the shit do I even bother? I mean.." He stands up, slowly and moves to go place his glass in the kitchen. "Fuck." He can't really stomp but he's pissed and he's for once not going to start a fist fight over it. He does stop and ask, "Yes. That is the best I can come up with. Because I feel like when I say more I'm the asshole. And when I say less I'm the asshole. I am /always/ the asshole."

"So let me get this straight," he replies, watching Easton back off to the kitchen, though he doesn't make to follow. "You come here to talk to me, something's clearly changed. I'm guessing something for the better, looking at you. Which, more fucking power to you. But you tell me you need my help, as a last fucking resort. Because you've gone through all your other options, and this is the shit that's left at the bottom of the barrel. And you're surprised when I call bullshit on it? The fuck is that, Marshall?"

Easton stops and glares back at Ruiz, "Yes, something's fucking changed. I have a life. Maybe." That sounds all wrong and not what he means by it. It implies he was friends with Ruiz when he didn't. What he means is that he was a mess because he felt he didn't have or deserve one. Oops. "You're a last resort because this is not the type of shit you need, and it's not what I wanted to do. /You/ have responsibilities. This pile of shit I just dumped on you is not that." He looks at the empty glass, annoyed he doesn't have a drink right now. "Fer fucksake. This isn't about your being the bottom of the barrel. I wanted to keep you out of it because I didn't want to put you in the position of doing something that fucks with your job. The only bullshit is everytime I start to think I know where we stand, you turn it into some goddamn pissing contest about who the fuck knows what."

A derisive snort is what Easton gets for his I have a life comment. But de la Vega's not going to be the one to up the ante on this one, so he stays put, and knocks back another slug of his tequila while his so-called friend goes to put his glass away. "You could've fucking led with that," he replies tautly, keeping his head down. "And don't you fucking pin that shit on me. You've started enough pissing contests, you don't have a leg to stand on."

Easton's face twists into a glare at the derisive snort. He clearly didn't miss it, even if he possibly misinterprets it's meaning. He sees it as a dismissal of that life that does mean so much to him, not any comment on the drama-queening of calling his prior existence without life. "Yeah well I often forget that I have to spell things out." Again realizing just how often he still makes the mistake of relating to people who aren't Tom like they were and being surprised when they don't react as expected. It has bitten him enough times that you would think he'd learn

He walks back into the living room though, apparently not storming out of there just yet. He stops to pour a drink and says, "I have absolutely started and won my fair share." He says proudly of their pissing contests.

"But I don't know what to do and I don't know how to help her."

"I didn't say shit about winning," retorts the cop, low-voiced. He watches as Easton heads back over to the living room, and says nothing as he pours himself another drink. "And maybe if you'd quit fucking acting like reading your goddamned mind is a requirement for being your friend. Because if you want me in your head, knowing what the fuck it is you want before you want it, you can fucking ask for that, too."

He shoves his empty glass onto the coffee table, and scrapes both hands over his face slowly. "Tell me what you want from me. Just stop fucking beating around the bush and say it."

The crack about winning gets the first smile out of Easton of the night.

He listens to the rest and is sufficiently chastised by the accuracy of it to not have a joke to crack or a biting retort. He shakes his head and says, "I know. But .." He starts to retort but thinks better of it. It's not the time for him and Ruiz to work out any of their issues.

"What I want.." And it's clear that he actually has to think about it. "I want you to say /Shit, that's fucking terrible. Suck it up and be there for her/ or some other Gunny-shit that snaps me out of this stupid-crayon-eating-boot panic shit." He takes a sip and only then checks his phone. He growls, "Great. She's staying at Clayton's.. that's... that's a shitshow waiting to happen."

"Shit," de la Vega responds dutifully, after a minute or two of silence. "That's fucking terrible. You should suck it up and be there for her." He thumbs at his empty glass absently. "Better? And why the fuck is she staying at Clayton's?"

Easton knows it's coming. I mean he can see it from a mile away but he does still smile at the delivery of the exact same words that he said to say. "Yeah, you're great at that. Really sold it." He lets out a breath and says, "Because Alexander offered to let her know what her dad felt when he died. He picked it up off the memory and experienced it himself and it was some horror-show shit. And of course he offers that to her like it's going to do anythinb other than hurt her and convince her she's this terrible person or whatever... I don't even know."

"You fucking asked," Javier retorts gruffly, tipping his glass toward him with a finger as if to confirm that it is, indeed, empty. He glances up when Easton mentions the bit about Alexander recording the memory and basically playing it back for Bennie. And now she's staying at his place? He grimaces a little. "Are you going to reply to her? Tell her you're taking her home?"

Easton just nods, and agrees flatly, "I did." He looks down at his phone and shakes his head. "I could." He nods and looks at his phone and then types a text and deletes and types a text and deletes. "She could just be crashing there..? She hasn't been sleeping well..." He is clearly trying to convince himself that this doesn't mean what he thinks it means. There are other explanations after all, they're just not very good ones. "Maybe he's just helping her sleep with some juju?" Her word. Definitely not his.

Javier still looks dubious. And it's not helped by the word juju that comes out of Easton's mouth. He snorts, and decides to pour himself another drink. And Easton, too, unless he objects. Even de la Vega has his limit, and he's sure as hell reaching it. "You know what you want to do. You're just too chickenshit to do it."

"I want to go punch Alexander in the mouth, tell Bennie she's being fucking crazy and drag her cute ass home." Easton says it, falling easily into it with only the slightest of taunting. He shakes his head and says, "But that's not exactly trusting her to deal with this and she and Clayton are tight.." His face screws up a little and says, "Like a real tight." He has never objected to it before and he's not now but it's also clear he's not completely comfortable with it.

He sets the glass down and says, "She killed her fucking dad. What am I supposed to say? Get over it?" He looks off to the side, feeling the intensity of Ruiz's gaze as always a little too intense.

"Who the fuck am I to tell someone how to deal rightly with something like this?"

The frank description of what Easton would like to go and do, doesn't even prompt a reaction from the cop beyond a rough sounding chortle. "Sure, they're tight. So maybe you don't punch him in the mouth. Com.. como..." He's having trouble with the word. "Compromise." He gestures with his glass, and a little of the tequila sloshes over onto his knuckles.

"And no, you don't fucking tell her to get over it, asshole. You wait until she wants to talk about it, and then you let her fucking talk. And you be there for her. And you tell her it'll be okay." He sets his glass back down, and scrapes his fingers through his beard, and pinches his eyes shut. "And you let me deal with the rest."

Easton's jaw clenches at the thought of just how annoyed he still is at Alexander for offering that to Bennie and the thought that she is likely over there now being tortured by it. He pours himself more tequila and says, "Is a headbutt a compromise in this situation? I feel like it is." He takes a sip, clearly not going to go headbutt anyone as he sinks back down into the couch.

"But what if she wants to do dumb shit instead of talk about it?" Oh Easton, how much 'dumb shit' have you done instead of talking about it? But he can't see any of that right now. He's floundering.

"I didn't want you to have to deal with this."

It's what he says but Easton looks at him, knowing that by coming here and talking about it he was implicitly making Ruiz a part of this. He doesn't apologize. He hates apologies, especially for things people chose to do. So the closest he can come is to express regret.

"It's a shitty fucking compromise," Javier retorts with a husky chuckle. As to the dumb shit, "So fucking what? Let her. She owes you."

He doesn't quite meet the other man's eyes at those last words, though. Nor does he respond immediately. Just the sound of his breathing; that slight rasp that's indicative of how much drink and drugs and smoke he's inflicted on his body in fourty-eight years. Then he grunts something softly, and hitches his chin to the door. "You should get going."

"Yeah.." Easton wants to laugh about it but he also really wants to physically stop Alexander from doing that in any way he can short of shooting the guy.

Let her.

His eyes flick up and he considers that. And for once he's able to connect it back to himself and people who tried to stop him in all his spiraling behavior and terrible decisions and he nods. Maybe.

At the suggestion he looks at first confused, but then agrees. "I should get going." He finishes the drink and stands, stiffly.

"Thanks Gunny."

(TXT to Alexander) Ruiz : Hey Clayton, heads up. incoming.