2021-12-15 - Don't Die

It's a cold, rainy day in Gray Harbor. So...a normal day in Gray Harbor. Not all the cheerful canned Christmas carols in the world can quite lift the gloom, and the folks in the coffee shop are generally grouchy; complaining about shopping, about the wet, about this latte, and so forth. Filled with the holiday spirit. They're ignoring Alexander, who is sitting alone at a table in a corner, his back to the wall so that he can keep an eye on the room.

Which he isn't actually doing right now. Instead, he's hunched in place, lost in...something. Maybe thought. Staring sightlessly at his cup of coffee, which is already entirely empty. A couple of books are wrapped in a plastic bag to one side of the table, and they are much drier than he is, at the moment.

Benedict comes in to get some coffee and pastries, and as per usual suggests to Della that hey, you guys really ought to carry doughnuts. As per usual, she does the service worker equivalent of a 'yes, dear' and smiles and humours him and files the idea away in the filing cabinet. Once he's got his coffee and a snack, he looks around for a place to sit. Which is when he spots Alexander, and heads his way over there. He's opening his mouth to say something asinine like 'we've got to stop meeting like this' and then he registers that something is definitely off with then other man, and just closes it instead.

Alexander doesn't acknowledge him immediately; doesn't even to seem to notice that someone has approached. When he does, he starts badly, making the chair hop on the floor. Heads turn, and the townies start up the usual gossipy whispers. Which Alexander ignores. He stares at Benedict, instead. It's blank, for a moment, but then he clears his throat and says, "Did--did you want this table?"

"No." Benedict shakes his head. "No, I...I was going to say something dumb about how we keep bumping into you, and then sit down and drink coffee and eat pastries with you so we both had some company." Quite why he thinks Alexander would want his company is not clear. "But then I saw you looking like...well, like you were completely elsewhere. I figured you probably weren't in the mood."

"Oh." Alexander stares some more. Then, eventually, the sort of brain cells that remind him that it was a nice thing Benedict has just suggested seems to kick in. "I...you can sit down. If you want." It's tentative, like he's waiting for the catch. "I'm not great company. But I can get more coffee. And a pastry. And we can eat." Then, after another of those awkwardly long pauses. "That would be nice?"

"Great." Benedict smiles, putting his stuff down on the table. "You want me to get them? You don't look like you're in much of a mood to go interact with people." He's already grabbing up the empty cup, so it's not like Alexander can say no. Well, he still could. "What kinda pastry you want?"

Alexander blinks as his cup is grabbed, and for a moment it looks like he might snatch it back, with the way his fingers twitch. Bewilderment covers his features. "I...like cinnamon rolls. Here." He shoves one hand into one of the big pockets of the oversized jacket and pulls out a (slightly soggy) bill, large enough to cover even overpriced coffee and pastries. "Take this. Don't say no. I have money." His jaw sets in a stubborn line as he stares at Benedict.

"I know you have money, Alexander. You just got that new office and everything." Benedict points out mildly. But he can read the stubbornness in the other man's jaw, and isn't trying to start a fight. So he takes the money. "If that's what you want." And then he's off, returning with coffee and the requested cinnamon rolls. They're placed down on the table, and then he flops down into a seat. "I'd ask how you are, but you look...well, like you might not want to talk about it."

"Yes," Alexander agrees. "It's a good office." He watches Benedict go, eyes narrowed and watchful. There's even a hint of surprise when the other man comes back, bearing drinks and pastries. "...thank you." It's quiet, but sincere, as Benedict sits. "It's not. I mean. I just. Something brought up some bad memories. I guess I got a little lost in them." A pause. "Not Lost, though. I think." Another suspicious look at Benedict. "If I were Lost, this would be about the time you started trying to kill me. Or tell me that everything would be better if I just killed the people who made me sad. I hope you're not going to do that. I don't want to be Lost right now."

After that...cheerful little ramble, he clears his throat, looks embarrassed. "Uh. How are you?"

"You're welcome." Benedict sips his coffee, listening to Alexander thoughtfully. "I guess by Lost you mean like what happened to us the other night?" He surmises, before shaking his head. "Definitely not going to try and kill you. Or tell you to kill people for the definitely not capital crime of making you sad." He half-shrugs. "I'm good. Can't complain. Still can't move things with my mind." He says in the tone of one who totally, once he had a few drinks after their little talk, sat their trying for a while. "What do you do, when you feel sad? I have a few things I've found that really help."

Alexander nods, slowly. "Yes. Sometimes it's obvious when the world goes all fucked up. Sometimes it's not, for a while. Until your parents try to feed you people, or your shop class wants to put you into the saw." He swallows. "...I'm pretty sure that last one wasn't real, anyway." The weakest attempt at a smile ever is made, and fails. He clears his throat again and takes a sip of the fresh coffee. "What if you could? Move things with your mind, I mean. What would you do with it?" From the way his nearly black eyes are boring into Benedict, it's not an idle question. "And I listen to music. Mostly. Play with Luigi and Bluebell. What do you do?"

"Oh, I work out. Run. Go flying. Drive my car." Benedict lists them off, before turning his attention to the other question. The one that has those dark eyes burning into his soul. "Well, honestly, I don't know Alexander. I don't think there's nearly as many uses for it as people think. I mean, I guess it would be pretty cool to be a Jedi but other than maybe a shootout where I want to have their gun...man, this makes me sound really boring. But I just...I'd feel really lazy if I started using magic to do stuff like fetch beers or turn off light switches."

"I know someone who stores a lot of guns in a small space," Alexander murmurs. "It's one of the things you can do if you're stronger than just...fetching a beer with it." The answer doesn't seem to quite satisfy him. He shifts in place, then says, "One of the other things you can do is open a door, over there. And if you wanted to, you could shove someone through. They couldn't get out. The things over there would kill them, one way or another. But no one would ever be able to link it to you. They'd just disappear." His voice is toneless. "That might be a thing you could do, one day."

Benedict makes a face at that. "That, uh, doesn't sound really superhero. Just...making people disappear. Kinda sounds like a classic bad cop, to be honest. Mafia-esque. Concrete boots." More coffee is sipped. "Storing a lot of guns in a small place could be handy, though. But so far...I don't appear to have any powers. Of any kind."

"No. It doesn't." Alexander swallows, looks down. "But what if the person deserved it? If they would never be caught or punished by the law, but you had the power to make sure they never hurt anyone again? You might not have it now, but one day you might. You--you should think about that. It'll probably come up." He takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly. "Um. But working out does help, sometimes. I've never been flying. Is it nice?" See? Small talk. Normal, every day small talk.

Benedict is silent for a long moment. "The thing is, though...that seems like a bad way to go. I just...sure, maybe they deserved it. According to me. That time. But am I going to be right every time? I don't know that I trust myself to be Judge, Jury, and Executioner. Maybe that says something bad about me, or at least how I think about myself. I don't know." There's a big grin. "Nice? It's the best. I've been addicted to it since I got my private pilot's license in my teens. If you ever want to go up, let me know. I'm always up for introducing people to flying."

"No," Alexander says, softly. "It doesn't say anything bad about you. It says something good." And his reward is another of those bright, uncomplicated smiles that light up Alexander's whole face, there and gone as fast as summer lightning. He looks less depressed even after the smile is gone; a little wistful as Benedict talks about flying. "I...maybe. One day. That's kind of you to offer." Then, with an air of honest curiosity, "Why are you being nice to me? Is there something you want?"

"You should. It's...indescribable. There was a world war 2 combat pilot who wrote a poem about it. The last three lines are 'And, while with silent, lifting mind I've trod the high untrespassed sanctity of space,
Put out my hand, and touched the face of God.'. That's what it's like." Benedict is silent for a moment, letting that hang in the air. Then he blinks at the question. "No, I don't want something Alexander. I try and be nice in general. But also...I know we weren't close during school..." And the whole job thing, but let's just skip that awkwardness. "But your dad was like a second dad to me. And you've been nothing by nice and helpful since I came home. And we have shared interests. I mean, I enjoy running into you. Why wouldn't I be nice to you?"

"I've read that one," Alexander murmurs, with a smile. "I like poetry. It sounds wonderful." He falls silent again, watching Benedict. After the other man finishes, he doesn't say anything for a bit. Just drinks his coffee. Then reaches for the cinnamon roll, and starts cutting it apart into neat, bite-sized pieces. "I told Da that you were back in town, and asked about him. He was happy. You might get an invitation to lunch or something. My parents are retired now, so they invite a lot of people over." A wry, quiet fondness there. Then he says, "I enjoy running into you, too. You should probably know that Margaret hates me, and if she ever unseals herself from her house, probably won't be happy about any sort of association."

"Well, if Coach invites me I'll definitely take him up on it." Benedict can't keep the almost religious awe that's attached to that title out of his voice, even as a grown man decades removed from that time. "I'll keep that in mind." He murmurs about Margaret. "I saw Erin the other day, by the way. So that was wonderful. I really missed her." Perhaps that's a commentary of sorts on what the other man has just said, depending on how much he knows about Addington family politics. "Why does she hate you, if you don't mind me asking?"

There's a complicated sort of smile on Alexander's face as he watches Benedict speak of his father. "He'll be happy. He never forgets a good player." He takes a fork and stabs a bite of cinnamon roll, eats it neatly. "And I'm glad. Erin is nice. I know she's missed having family around." The last question causes one of those long silences. "It's a long story. There are a few reasons. Simplest is: I'm from a family called the Baxters. Who originally owned Gray Harbor's land. Probably made it a thin place. Addingtons and Baxters don't...get along."

It's Benedict's turn to sip his coffee and engage in some thoughtful silence. Finally he offers "That's why you looked so sour the other day when I talked about my family, and how we owned Gray Harbor." He's just learning all sorts of new things in a very short space of time. "Dare I ask why our families don't get along? Is it a good old fashioned human vices story, or one that's more about elves and dinosaurs?"

"Elves and dinosaurs," Alexander says. "And vices. Gray Harbor is a thin spot. And people here, when we have abilities, they're stronger than they'd be elsewhere. That's not...it's not useless, Benedict. An empath walks among disgruntled loggers, and an incipient strike falls apart. A healer sickens a political opponent. Makes them unfit for office. A psychokinetic watches an enemy drive off in a car; snips the brake line with their mind. Powers can be useful." He sighs. "Addingtons, historically, want to keep the powers. Use them. Baxters want to shut them down. Remove them." His lips twist. "Baxters aren't the heroes of the story. A Baxter preacher burned Baxters and Addingtons and others alive as witches, thinking that would turn off the abilities. Didn't work. Baxters kill Addingtons and others. Addingtons kill Baxters and others."

"Wow." Benedict says, and then there's a long silence. "I, uh, can't help but notice every useful thing you described is really pretty awful and just about hurting other people. Can't these powers do anything /good/?" He bites into a pastry for a moment. "So basically our families have been feuding for a long time over the worlds worst superpowers, and there are other things out there that get off on that and eat all the bad feelings produced as a result?"

"I...yes. They can do good," Alexander says, although he sounds reluctant to admit this. "I've known healers that could burn cancer out of the body. I'd be dead five times over, or more, if they weren't willing to heal me. Heal others. Without asking anything in return. A psychokinetic can protect people with shields, unlock doors, cross worlds. I've solved crimes by reading the memory of the crime from objects. I can tell when people are telling the truth, or lying. I can calm people." He sighs. "I just...I'm thinking too much about the bad. Right now. Sorry." He reaches for his coffee. "But yes. Essentially. Most people aren't Baxters or Addingtons, even most people who stand out. But we seem to have, uh, connections with what Gray Harbor is. I think either or both families did something, way back when, that split it off. And then fought. And the Addingtons mostly won."

"OK, that's the power I want to learn. The lying one. And the reading things." Benedict, oddly enough, gravitates to that idea. "It's okay. How come you're focused on the bad, though? The bad memories you mentioned earlier?" There's another thoughtful pause. It's a lot to take in, having your entire world changed in the space of a few days. "So what do we now? Just try and survive and keep the bad things away?"

Alexander tilts his head to the side, watching Benedict - half amusement, half worry. His answer, when it comes, seems to be both caution and answer. "You ever had a town full of miserable people's emotions in your head, Benedict? Feeling the junkie's despair as she tries to stop herself from falling off the wagon, again. The abuser's rage, the victim's pain and fear. The glee of the people who do enjoy hurting other people. That's a part of it, as much as anything. The physical and spiritual abilities are...safer, I think. They're not safe. But safer. But I'm biased." He shrugs. "And you do what you want. I try to help. Where I can. Not as much as Ravn. He's trying to counter the bad feelings with help and hope. Made a community center. That sort of thing. Most people do what they can."

"So wait, you can't turn it off? You're just picking all that up, all the time?" Benedict frowns thoughtfully. "Like John Coffey in the Green Mile. You ever see that movie? Or read the book? I'm tired boss...mostly I'm tired of people being ugly to each other. Is that what it's like?" He stares down at his coffee for a minute, his face a complicated frown. Like someone who has spend his life playing the hero, only to find out that things are a lot darker than he thought. "Wow. Sounds like he got really involved in the place. And he's not even from around here."

"I don't like fiction. Uh, my parents wouldn't let me, when I was younger. The doctors said I didn't need help with my...overactive imagination." Alexander's voice is dry. "And I don't like things that aren't real. But...not now. When I was a kid, though? Yeah. Too much, too early. I got control of it, eventually. You--if you do start feeling things that aren't you, I can try and help you put some distance between you and them." He smiles. "Ravn is a better guy than he thinks he is. You should meet him one day."

Benedict considers for a moment. "Fiction is full of things that are real. Just...you gotta hide it in stories, I guess, for people to believe it. But I get what you mean. And I'll keep that in mind, if I ever find myself picking up on other people." There's an answering smile then. "I have, but only briefly. The day we ran into each other here. He's clearly close with Tanasha, who is an old friend of mine from one of my postings."

"Tanasha." Alexander scowls, briefly. "The one who likes to tease." A sniff; clearly the programmer hasn't won him over. Still, he says, "I'm glad you found a friend. Friends are important." A pause. "Do you like chocolate?"

"That's her." Benedict smiles, clearly very fond of the woman. "And yes, I do like chocolate as it happens. Weakness of mine, sugar and sweets in general. Makes sticking to my diet healthy. See, for example, these pastries I regularly consume. Just means I have to work out more, I guess. How about you?"

"Yes. I'm not...I don't eat a lot of sweets, but I like them." Alexander points his fork at the mostly demolished cinnamon roll. There's a faint smile. "But one of the benefits of not having a car means I burn a lot of calories walking everywhere. And I punch bags at Kelly's Gym. It's not far from my house."

"Amateur boxer, or just like the bag workouts?" Benedict asks curiously. "Mostly I just lift, and run. I've thought about getting into BJJ or MMA or something like that. Maybe Judo. But, you know, I really don't have much free time as it is."

"There's a ring," Alexander says. "Kelly teaches boxing. I mostly just use the bags, though. I have terrible form," he admits with a crooked sort of smile. "And hand-to-hand isn't really all that necessary when you use a gun, if you have to fight. I don't, so things get close." He spreads his hands. "But free time is important. Life-work balance. All of that. And you fly."

"Yeah, but if you don't know any hand to hand you're not going to retain your weapon if they get close." Benedict points out. "Happens more than you'd think. And that's the crux of it, yeah. I have my Reserve drills, and I do search and rescue flights for the Civil Air Patrol. And then flying for fun, or just to keep currency on my various certs. And work of course."

Alexander stares. And then he laughs. A low chuckle that grows to an actual, deep belly laugh. "...no, you don't have much free time at all. That's good, though. If you like it." He finishes off his coffee, then the last few bites of the roll. "I won't...recommend that you go to Kelly's Gym, if you decide to practice some hand to hand. It's on Elm Street." Which is, as far as Gray Harbor has one, the bad side of town. "And some of the people who go there, you might end up seeing in a more professional capacity. One day. It might not be entirely safe. But if you want to work out, one day. Run or punch, or whatever, I would be happy to." He stacks his empty cup on his plate. "But for now, I should go. I...um. Thank you? For being nice."

Benedict smiles. "I'll keep that in mind. All of it." He assures the other man. "We'll have to figure out getting together for working out. And think about the flying thing." There's a pause, as he tries to consider what to say to the last words. Finally he settles on "Thank you for letting me be nice."

Alexander smiles. "Don't die," he tells the other man, then walks off to dump his trash and step out into the rain without another word.