2021-12-19 - Bruised

It's raining. Again. Which, of course, is the perfect time to be puttering about on one's property, if one lives in the PNW. Because if one waited for it to stop raining, naturally, one would never get anything done.

Javier is one such person. He's eschewed any form of actual rain gear, and is instead in a soggy black hoodie, baseball cap, and black jeans shoved into work boots. He's also halfway up a ladder as he installs some Christmas lights on the cabin's pointy roof. Bit late to be doing that, perhaps, but better late than never.

His truck's in the drive, alongside the Charger, as per usual.

Rain gear, schmane gear. Alexander walks up the road leading to Ruiz's cabin without so much as a poncho. His festive sweater is sodden, hanging off off his frame, and his hair is slicked down to his face. He scans the driveway first, nodding to himself when he sees the cars there. He's not deliberately being quiet, but when he spots Ruiz, he also doesn't make any effort to bring himself to the other man's attention as he approaches. Instead, he moves up and puts out his hands to steady the ladder. "Shouldn't be hanging lights without a spotter," he points out, quietly.

There's no response from the cop. Not immediately, anyway. He grumbles at the string of lights he's trying to fuss into place, and lets out a filthy expletive when it slips out of his grasp and tumbles against the wooden siding. And then finally grabs onto the ladder with a gloved hand, and turns to look at his visitor with furrowed brows. "You volunteering? Or just here to be the fucking peanut gallery?"

"Neither. Didn't know you were hanging lights," Alexander points out, in a tone that suggests that he might be psychic buy he can't see the future, tilting his head so he can see the lights. "Look nice. I can spot for you. Especially because it's raining. You could slip and break something." It's gently chiding. "Then I want to talk. About Emil Kovacs." He glances towards the front door of the cabin. "Itzhak here?"

Javier snorts softly, and pauses to take a look at his own handiwork with a glance over the (mostly) strung-up lights. The ones that are behaving themselves, anyway. Then he starts back down the ladder a short way, so he can snag the offending strand of bulbs and tug them back into place. Out comes the hammer and a fresh nail. "Nope," he replies, when Itzhak's asked about. Bang, bang, bang. "Emil? What about him? Heard the case isn't going to court."

Alexander sets his hands on the ladder, holding it steady while Ruiz works. "Don't bullshit me," he says, voice flat. "I know you fucked with his head. And you know you shouldn't have. Why the fuck did you even think that was a good fucking idea? You're the chief of police!" His grip tightens on the ladder until his knuckles creak, but his voice doesn't really rise to an actual shout, although both anger and disappointment come through loud and clear, even without volume.

This time, complete silence from the other man. Flinty and unyielding. He pauses a moment with the hammer, then finishes putting in the last two nails before shoving the tool into his belt and climbing back down with deliberate care. Once he reaches the bottom, he steps off the ladder and removes his baseball cap, and scruffs the heel of his palm through his hair a moment before replacing it.

"Are you done?" he murmurs, turning dark eyes up to the investigator's, squinting into the rain.

Alexander holds the ladder steady the whole time; however angry he might be, apparently he's not the sort to try and sucker punch people by knocking them off unstable perches. He lets go once Ruiz is down and stable, and steps away, his eyes tracking the other man. A muscle is jumping in his jaw, and his hands, without the ladder to hold them open, curl into fists. "Why?" he asks, ignoring the question. "Why did you? It's wrong!"

His eyes track to the curled fists, then back up to the tension in Alexander's jaw, but he doesn't move as the investigator pulls away. Just swallows once, slowly, then sniffs some rainwater out of his nose. "You know what's wrong, Alexander?" murmurs Javier, in that rough, scratchy scrawl. "Pieces of shit like Kovacs getting away with fucking murder because their victims are too afraid to testify. Because they don't have any fucking faith that the system's going to work for them. That's what's fucking wrong." The last words aren't spoken quietly. They're bellowed; spittle flies from his mouth, mingling with the rain, and he wipes it away with the back of a gloved hand.

"That's also wrong," Alexander agrees, "but you shouldn't fucking break someone's mind because the goddamned system doesn't do what you wish it would! It doesn't work! It hurts you!" And now his own voice is spiraling up to match bellow for bellow, leaning in to Ruiz instead of flinching away from the other man's anger. "It hurts everybody. If someone finds out you took that guy, it won't matter if they can't figure out what you did. Why are you trying to ruin your good things? You have people! You have a job where you might be able to actually help people! Stop doing whatever you can to fuck it up!"

Javier makes a sound that might be laughter, if it weren't so brittle and dry and thoroughly without warmth. He looks away for a moment, then back to Alexander, meeting his gaze squarely once again. "I gave her a choice. I didn't want to do this." The way he says that, he really clearly didn't. The man's an avowed sadist. And yet, one needn't even be an empath to see that this wasn't something he reveled in. Regret, disgust, sadness, grief, all sit beneath the surface of his agitation.

"And fuck you, I didn't ask for this fucking job." He jabs a gloved finger in Alexander's direction with that. "I wake up after however many goddamned weeks and the Veil decides this is the best way to fuck with me." To put the official stamp on his appointment, apparently.

"You could have said no," Alexander snarls back. "You barely do what anyone tells you to do, even when it's a good idea!"

He turns and kicks the ladder. "Then quit! Just quit in a way that doesn't end up with you in jail and Itzhak either fucking heartbroken or doing something absolutely stupid to try and get you out!"

"The fuck I don't do what people tell me to," Javier growls in reply, rain dripping off him as he stares down the younger man. "You have no idea. And that's pretty rich, someone like you telling me about good-" He pauses a moment to interrupt himself with, "Don't kick my fucking ladder." And then tries to remember where he was. And makes an agitated sound when he realises he's lost his train of thought. "Rosencrantz is a big boy, he'll fucking manage." And then he makes to go and collect the ladder and start folding it up to haul it away.

"Someone like me?" Alexander draws back like he's been slapped, his eyes going wide and hurt - then absolutely furious when Ruiz replies about Itzhak. "You fucking asshole!" he yells, his skin going red and mottled as his temper snaps and he just launches himself bodily at the other man as he reaches for the ladder. It's a fast hit, but also a clumsy one, half-blocked by the ladder itself - it's likely not going to take Ruiz off his feet as Alexander clearly intended.

Alexander manages to knock him back, but the bigger cop gets a fistful of the investigator's jacket as he's slammed into. The ladder, he wisely lets go of to keep it from coming down on both of them. Then, with that handful of Alexander, he tries to take a swing at the other man. It's fairly sloppy and easy to evade, and the rain's coming down hard, and his footing in the dirt is uneven. He doesn't have anything to say at this point; he just swings with all the pain that's been sitting under the surface since he hauled Emil out into the woods and broke his mind into pieces.

Pounding on each other isn't usually Alexander's preferred method of dealing with emotional distress, for all his temper. But this time? This time, he's perfectly okay with it. He slips and slides in the mud; the sneakers don't have the traction his boots did, but rains blows wherever he can reach on the other man. He doesn't try to yank his jacket free of the grip, either; a close grapple suits him for the moment. His touch phobia always dissolves when violence is on the table so he takes the blows and gives them back without complaint. The only thing he says is, "WHY?" Half angered, half anguished.

The fisticuffs seem to suit Javier just fine. The mud and the rain and the cold that's biting into his extremities, a small price to pay for managing to slip through Alexander's guard here and there and land a blistering hit. At some point, he seems to realise that ripping off his work gloves makes pounding on each other more satisfying, and does so. They're flung into the dirt, and he snarls back, "Because he deserved it. Because Isi Cameron deserved not to be afraid any longer." He pants, but doesn't release his grip on the other man's jacket. "And because as much as you seem to think I don't give a shit about anyone else, I do."

It's himself he has trouble giving a shit about.

At this point, both men are battered; they're close to evenly matched in skill, and Alexander, at least, isn't really trying to avoid any of the blows. He accepts them as his due even as he gives back as good as he gets. His breath is coming in harsh, ragged gasps that let out cold plumes into the air, and his lip is bleeding, split from one of the blows Ruiz landed. He spits out blood to the side at Ruiz's snarl. "She's still afraid! There wasn't any justice in that! Just more awful shit to be afraid of! Teach her to fucking shoot if you want to help!" He shoves Ruiz as best he can when the other man has hold of his jacket.

Spoiler: it's not very far. "I know you care, goddamn it! But you're gonna break yourself, doing this shit over and over again." He wipes his face with one swipe of a wet hand, and his voice catches, ragged. "I don't want you to break yourself. You're my fucking friend and I want you to be fucking happy!" And the best way to tell your friend that you care about his happiness is to punch him in the face.

Which Alexander tries to do right now.

Javier's going to be sporting a lovely shiner come morning, and that one's going to be fun explaining to Itzhak. I walked into a door might not cut it, but he's sure as hell going to try. "The fuck I would if she'd fucking let me," he growls back. "That woman would rather die than ask for help."

And no, the shove doesn't get him very far. Because wherever Javier goes, Alexander goes in the wet dirt. And then he starts talking about them being friends, and there's a twinge of something in the cop's eyes, the moment before that punch cracks him across the jaw and snaps his head to one side with a muffled grunt. It's enough to have him releasing the investigator, finally, and dropping forward to try to catch his breath. And make sure he didn't break anything.

"I thought I was your best friend." His voice wavers a little there, uneven and rough. He watches the ground rather than Alexander's face.

Alexander staggers back and leans over, himself, taking ragged breaths. "You said you didn't like me very much," he points out, talking mostly to the ground. "And that's fair. I broke our friendship when I hurt you. I'm sorry. But I still care about you. I still want you to be happy. I want to be friends. I don't want you to hurt yourself, and especially not to hurt other people to do it. Not even if they deserve it. Because you don't deserve it. You don't deserve being that. You're better than that." He sniffles, an unlovely sound, and wipes his eyes. Lower, he mutters, "It's not like I'd kidnap just anyone."

The admission, or perhaps its inevitable fallout, seem to have broken whatever spell came over him. There's no appeal left in the violence any longer, and Javier sniffs sharply as he wipes his knuckles across his bleeding nose, and goes to fetch the work gloves from where he'd tossed them into the dirt. Then another swipe at his face. His eyes, this time. Might be the rain getting into them, but probably not.

"Well, you've made your fucking point. We done here?" He keeps his eyes averted as he goes to collect the ladder.

"You are a stubborn asshole," Alexander bites out. And when Ruiz dismisses him once again, his face spasms with anger and hurt in equal measure. The fight drains out of him, when the man turns away to get the ladder. His voice is rough and low. "I don't know how to be friends with you, Javier. You won't let me be friends with you, and I don't--I don't know what to do."

He stares at the back of Ruiz's head for a moment, then reaches out with something more than his fists. Alexander's mental touch isn't the fire and ferocity of Ruiz's worth; it's a cool wind at its most gentle...and when he's not gentle, it's a knife, sharp enough to cut. At the moment it's more the latter than the former, but it's still an invitation and not a demand, trying to establish that bridge between them, and say in that stronger, more confident voice, <<I am always your friend. If I weren't your friend, it wouldn't make me so angry to watch you do this sort of shit to yourself.>>

Gloves clutched in one hand, Javier manages to get an arm around the ladder when Alexander's words reach him. He stops cold, back turned to the younger man, big shoulders heaving. Once, twice, and then he sobs. Audibly, no way to pretend it's anything but. He tucks his head against the metal siding of the thing, and heaves a couple more. It's an ugly sound.

And for once, when Alexander comes seeking communion with his mind, there's no immediate resistance. The flaming wolf that stands guard at the threshold of his consciousness does not bar the way. And when it speaks, as always, it's with that sweet, clear voice that's nothing like his own: <<I did what I thought was best. I've only ever tried to do my best, Alexander.>>

Alexander flinches at the sound of that sob. His hands twitch, and he stares at the back of the older man. He doesn't speak out loud, and his mind telegraphs the move before he makes it; that flare of anxiety that feeling of //what if I hurt him/what if he hurts me// which is pushed aside as Alexander clomps across the wet ground, then throws his arms around Ruiz from the back and hugs him, tightly. <<I know.>> His voice is bolder here, stronger. <<I know. You would cut your heart out to protect someone. I just don't want you to. It's a good heart. Don't lose it, Javier. Please.>>

There's no verbal response from him. Just the feeling of his bulky frame tensing briefly, then relaxing slowly under the weight of the other man's grip. Two more sobs and then silence, and the rain mingles with the salt of his tears, tracking them into his scruffy beard. <<You're a few years too late, Alexander. I lost it a long time ago. I don't think I'm the man you wish I was.>>

Alexander rests his chin on Ruiz's shoulder, and holds him tight. <<No,>> he says, and there's no doubt in it. <<You have a good heart, Javier. Stop telling yourself you don't. Stop trying to prove you don't. You're not always good. I know that. I know that. But that's okay. You don't have to be. You're still my friend. I still love you. And when you hurt yourself, hurt other people, I will hit you until you remember that you're better than that. I would prefer not to,>> he adds, with a hint of exasperation, <<but talking doesn't seem to work.>>

Silence now from the cop. Even his thoughts are quiet; the wolf stands watchful for a time, but its hackles have come down. And after a while, it bleeds away across the mindbridge, flame guttering into smoke and mist, and the link evaporates.

Javier sniffs sharply once, and drags his knuckles across his nose, but doesn't make to dislodge Alexander from him. Just the rain, and eventually the fact that, "Well, I fucking love you, too, you know." And that's about all he's got to say.

Alexander doesn't try to hold on to the contact when Ruiz lets it go, although some of his own tension comes out of him when the wolf allows its hackles down. The words out loud, though? They bring a startled, surprised noise from Alexander, then a brief, bright pulse of happiness projected outwards. "I'm glad," Alexander mumbles, squeezing once more. He holds the embrace as long as he can; when he starts to shake, he finally lets it slip free and sidles away, his teeth chattering from anxiety as much as the cold.

He's shaking slightly too, though it could also be easily blamed on the cold. Which he does: "It's fucking freezing out here. You want to come inside?" Another swipe at his face, just in case there are any more traitorous tears, or his nose is dripping (or bleeding) or who the hell knows what. Then his grip tightens around the ladder, and he hefts it up with a grunt. "I've just, uh. I've got to put this away in the back first."

"Yes," Alexander says. His split lip curves upwards. "Especially if you have a towel. Or three." He lifts his hands towards the ladder. "Can I help?" Whether he can or not, he still follows Ruiz like a stray dog to put it away, his shoulders hunched and water dripping through his hair. He runs his thumb idly over the places where Ruiz got in solid hits, wincing when it comes away red from the blood leaking out the split skin.

"Sure, if you want." He has to adjust his grip to let Alexander help shoulder the weight of it, but then of course it's easier, and not so burdensome. He'll direct the other man to a workshop around the back of the house that looks relatively recently built, where an assortment of tools and a workbench reside. "We'll hang it up here," he explains, nodding toward a large hook on the wall. And it turns out he has a few towels. And drinks that don't contain alcohol (and more than a few that do).