2022-05-10 - Doctor, Patient, Astronaut

It's been a long night, and a long morning, keeping an eye on Javier and then making sure that other things got taken care of in the meantime. Making sure he didn't tear the tape open was the biggest concern, but it seems that heavy sleeping thanks to the painkillers was mostly taking care of things on that end. Then came the car, making sure that some of the officers got a team to get the blood out of it before dropping it off outside the house. The also delivered some of her work supplies to her while they were at it. It's so much easier to get out blood from jackets and shirts if you have the proper tools.

Type A personalities are certainly able to get a lot done when they're trying to avoid thinking about things that hit way too close to home, like drugged conversations that are so intimate that they drive straight to the heart. Nope, can't think about that. Shirt and jacket are hanging in the bathroom, clean as a whistle.

Now? It's been hours and hours and it's probably about the time for Javier to start waking. Ava is in the kitchen, still dressed in that white tank and rolled sweats, humming to herself as she makes breakfast. Is she good at it? No. But he's probably going to be famished having lost so much blood. There's orange juice, bacon, pancakes, and eggs. Nobody can mess that up, right?

When Javier said she was welcome to help herself to the contents of his kitchen if she needed anything, this probably wasn't quite what he had in mind. Her, making herself at home in his clothes, and cooking him food. This girl he's barely known all of, what, a week? If one doesn't count the very professional context they generally find themselves in: both fully clothed, with all their faculties intact. Usually some sort of in-and-out on his part, since the Chief doesn't generally have much business with the Coroner's office that his officers can't handle.

Yet here she is, cooking him eggs, and.. is something burning? He sniffs the air as he descends the last few steps. Gone are the jeans from the night before; instead, a pair of loose-fitting track pants and a fresh tee shirt depicting a couple of milk cartons meeting each other. One says soy milk and the other looks deeply confused. The cop's dark hair is damp, suggesting he dunked himself in the shower, contrary or not to doctor's orders.

"I figured you'd be gone by now," he rumbles as he pads, barefoot, across to the kitchen. And takes a lean against the wall.

"I can't exactly go until I check your wounds over. Plus, I had to make sure your tape was going to ho-" Ava looks over and spots the wet hair, eyes going wide. "hold. Are you kidding me?! Please tell me you didn't get the tape all wet. You really are the worst patient!" It's not burning, it's just really crispy bacon, okay? Shut up. The last couple of pieces are put onto a paper towel as the woman scowls and turns the heat on the stove off.

The shirt is adorable, of course, but Ava will not be swayed by it's cuteness when betrayal lies underneath. Betrayal and wasted tape. She turns to face him, sunlight pouring in on her from the windows, a spatula waggling in her hand. "All of my hard work better not have been for nothing, sir. You better hope those wounds are healed up to the point you don't need tape anymore."

He returns her look evenly, where another man might wither from such shocked scrutiny. His tonguetip strokes a canine, and then he lifts his arm, pulls his sleeve back, and glances at said slightly soggy tape. "Maybe a little," he confesses.

Pushing off the wall, he slips past her and snags a piece of 'crispy' bacon from the plate. "Arm's fine. Thanks for the help, by the way. The whole, uh, Stepford Wife thing is kind of hot, but.. this is pretty fucking overboard. How about we say I owe you a favour, and I'll drive you home, yeah?"

Which is when there's the sound of a motor, something coming up the drive - one very familiar indeed to Ruiz. It proves to be a motorcycle, a big black beast with a sidecar that looks like something out of World War II. Not a Harley, by the sound of it. Then the crunch of footsteps on gravel, a key turning in the lock, and Joe's shouldering the door open. He's in an old-style black leather jacket, worn dark jeans, and a pale gray t-shirt. Windblown, but not looking particularly perturbed. But then, he's seen Javier wounded so many times before.

"Hey, baby," he says, softly, before taking in the spectacle of Ava. "Thanks for taking care of him," he says, quietly. As if Javier were a pit bull that'd jumped the fence and showed up in a neighbor's yard.

"UGH!" So much annoyance in that one sound, that spatula waggling in the wind. "You are so lucky that you are injured, Javier, I swear." The spatula is put down as she snags some bacon for herself as well and reaches out for the tape to yank it off gently, frowning.

"Stepford Wife? Wow. I'm going to slug you. You need to eat because you lost blood, jackass. So sit down and eat, doctor's orders. You aren't driving anywhere until you do. Though I did get some of your officers to bring your car here, with the blood all cleaned out for you. So it's good to go when I clear you to drive again." As Joseph shows up, she grins. "Hey Joe. Also, I texted your boyfriend so you'd have someone to watch over you."

"Or what?" Javier fires back, shoving the bacon in his mouth without giving a fig for the irony of him being a cop. "You're lucky I don't put you over my-" Oh, look, there's Joe. Whatever he was going to say turns into a smile that falls on the disconcerting side of such things. Like a wolf baring its teeth. He wipes some grease off his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes lingering on Ava a moment before he pushes off and goes to tug out a chair at the kitchen island. With a little more force than is necessary.

"You didn't need to come. I don't need fucking babysitting." He settles in, slouch shouldered and spread kneed, and digs out his phone to check his messages.

"Don't tease the lady, Javier," Joe drawls, as he grins back at Ruiz. Not quite so feral, but there's a definite edge there. One that vanishes, by the time he turns that blue gaze on Ava. "Well, there anything further you need to do with him today?" Joe wonders, as he shrugs out of his jacket, hangs it up by the door. The t-shirt's short-sleeved, he's long ago given up trying to conceal the scarring.

He ambles over to pour himself coffee. "Sure you don't," he says, almost absently. Used to humoring Javier in his growlier moods. Which is most of them. "We can just hang out." No question about Itz - he's not gauche enough to ask her about the tall mechanic at the moment. Joe asides to Ava, "Lemme know when you're ready, I'll drive you home if you need."

"Oooh." It's almost a low rumble, like a warning from a cat in the back of their throat. "I dare you to try, you just see what happens." Yeah, she heard that almost threat. Her own plate is gathered up along with one for him and she moves around the table to find a place, leaning in to Javier with a warning look. "You thought you had trouble with the bear." His plate is placed in front of him. Then she's settling into her seat to take eager bites of eggs. They tastes like... eggs. Not the best. But they aren't terrible at least.

"I just need to check the wounds and then I'll be all set. We came in my car, so I'll be able to get myself home without any issue." Ava glances up at Joe with a smile. "Doesn't seem to be any range of motion issues from all the grouchy chair pulling and what not that I can tell. That's a good sign."

"If I was trying to tease her, she'd know," mutters the cop as he fusses with his phone. A quick message sent, before he turns it facedown on the counter, and collects his fork. It's held poised above an egg, and his dark eyes flick to the brunette for a moment. "I'm not taking that dare," he murmurs, low-voiced. A little scratchy, too many cigarettes in nearly fifty years of life.

Then he stabs it into the yolk, and watches it run before he takes a bite out of it. "You two know each other?" he thinks to ask after a minute. "This is Joe Cavanaugh, he's my, uh." Say it, Javier.

Joe's placidly doctoring his coffee with his usual unholy amount of sugar and cream. Not for him Chief Hard-boiled's drinking it black. Glancing at the pair of them with an amusement that his pokerface does little to hide. It's all to clear in the vulpine gleam in the blue eyes. "A'right," he says, as he ambles over to hitch out a chair and set down with that gingerly care.

"We've met," Joe allows, lazily. "And she already knows I'm your lover. I'd guess Rosencrantz told her." Not a flicker of embarrassment....only that fond tolerance as he eyes Javier. Twisting the knife maybe a little over that hesitation on the cop's part.

"Smart man," Ava states with a nod when Javier refuses the dare, another bite of eggs taken as she stares back at him through slightly thinning eyes. That's what she thought, that looks seems to say. His uh-- "Boyfriend? He's your boyfriend." Then Joe is saying lover and Ava's head tilts towards him with a dreamier sort of look. "Even sweeter. But it was you." The fork points at Joe. "First day we met you mentioned a boyfriend. Then when you came in with Javier at the bar."

"I remember his voice getting all stupid and sappy with someone on the phone the other day. Then I asked you if that was the boyfriend you were talking about and you confirmed it." The doctor grins. "I'm trained to put pieces together. It's all part of the job description."

Ava stares at Javier, and Javier stares at his eggs like he's concerned they're about to grow legs and run off. He carves a piece off, stabs it too, and shoves it into his mouth. Quietly, once he's finished chewing and swallowing, "Are you done?"

In contrast to Joe, there's plenty of discomfort with discussing their relationship openly. One might get the impression he's not quite entirely out of that closet, yet.

Joe considers that a moment, coffee mug held cradled in long, inked fingers, and then concedes, "Fair enough." As if he long ago made his peace with the idea that he can't pass for straight, anymore. But that faintly needling look has left, and he eyes Javier with evident sympathy. The question doesn't seem to be directed to him, so he only takes a sip, and sets his drink down. Simply looks inquiringly back to the coroner.

"Sorry." When it's clear that there's actual discomfort there, Ava's halting is immediate. So too is that apology. It's tone is also genuine. Glancing away from the Chief and back to Joe, she frowns just slightly. "Back to your textual prodding, I was right about what I said, back at karaoke when I was lamenting. It's me. It was confirmed. So things right now are strange. So if you want to text, the please feel free."

The cop returns to eating, big shoulders hiked up as he digs into a pancake with a clack, clack, clack of his fork against the plate. His dark curls look slightly damp, like he recently showered, and he's wearing that stupid soy milk shirt he likes. A few scratches and bruises darken his throat, and it's clear something tried to take a bite out of his left arm fairly recently. Talk of Ava lamenting, and things being strange has him flitting his eyes her way, then across to Joe curiously. Then back down to his food, which he continues to shovel mouth-ward.

It's an awkward subject for two out of three in the room at the moment. Tact says that Joe should find some way to turn the conversation away from that particular matter, come up with some distracting inanity. Being Joe, he does nothing of the sort. "Strange how?" he asks, bluntly. "What happened with you and him? You made a pass, he turned you down?" Because surely she's going to want to discuss that.

Ava sucks in a breath and stares down at her food. It was being eaten with vigor, but now it's just being pushed around on her plate instead. "Not a pass, so much as just talking about the things that I admired about him. We were talking about his tattoos and pomegranates and duality, and I went off on a stupid tangent about his own duality between strong and gentle and yada yada. Eventually it led to the 'I think you're great, but' conversation. That's all."

"I just need some time to deal with it."

"Sorry Javier." No doubt for whatever might be leaking his way at the moment. That can't be fun.

Javier's in the midst of dousing a mouthful of overcooked (read: extra crispy) bacon with a slug of coffee, when that apology's pitched his way. It takes him a moment to finish swallowing, and a pause to make extra certain it actually went down, before he's able to offer in return, "De nada."

Easing back in his chair, he drags inked knuckles across his mouth, then the heel of his palm. "You really like him, huh?" It's not teasing, the tone of his voice. He's not smirking at her, either; he seems to mean it.

Joe unashamedly picks a scrap of bacon from Javier's plate, eats it. Another mouthful of coffee, as he glances between them. He purses his lips, as if suppressing a smile. "Well, everyone in the room here likes him," he says, finally. "There's really no one like him." Sympathy, perhaps, in the look he levels on the coroner.

"I think--" Ava stares at her eggs, twirling her form in them quietly. "I think it's best that it came to a stop before the feelings grew even a hair deeper, because that would have truly been awful." Her jaw tightens as the plate is pushed away. "He's a good man. You really should text him, Joe, and let him know what happened." There's a firm smile in place by the time Ava glances up towards the man. "I'm going to freshen up in the bathroom really quickly so I don't choke Javier on my emotions, then I'll check his wounds and leave you two be for the day, yeah?"

That chair pushes back as she turns to make her way up the stairs and scurries towards the bathroom.

Javier looks up from his food, and squints a little when Ava starts talking about choking on his emotions. His fork goes down as she pushes her chair back, and if he had a shred of manners or an ounce of tact, he'd let her go. But he really, really doesn't. So when she tumbles out of her chair, intent on making a beeline up the stairs, his hand shoots out for her arm to try to haul her back down.

"I'm not," he informs her, "choking on your goddamned emotions. So sit the fuck down." Then he pushes to his own feet, and angles for the coffee table. "I'll get you a box of tissues. You need me to step outside, I've been dying for a smoke anyway."

Joe gets that pained expression. "Hey, the lady was trying to make a graceful exit, Javier," he points out, quietly. But he lets it go at that, before giving the cop a sidelong glance. Not scolding, more patient, commiserating. "Whatever you need, doc," he adds, looking back to Ava.

Ava yelps in surprise at the grip and finds herself off balance in a way that hadn't been expected. Toppling back into her seat with wide eyes, Ava finds herself blinking in surprise between the two men. "Well. I guess I'm sitting the fuck down then." It's offered in a quiet tone, stunned.

It's clear for a moment that she's not sure what she needs. Proper manners dictated that she leave the room because she was the one making a fuss. But now she's stuck at the table. "So. Um. Haggleford is taking the souls out of the bodies he's kidnapping and shoving them into a horrible soul pit. Then using the body as a vessel for plagued children in his reality." There we go. Work distraction. That's the right angle to play here, correct? No? Yes?

The box of tissues, possibly unneeded now, though damned if he isn't committed to retrieving them, are collected. And the gruff Mexican ambles back on over to the kitchen, and uses the box to point at Joe while he talks. "You know what, blondie?" Then he tosses it down between the older man, and Ava, letting it skid a few inches on the countertop. "I didn't fucking ask you."

His seat's reclaimed then, and he picks up his lukewarm coffee. "Well." Sip. "Someone needs to end that motherfucker."

Joe's answering grin is sharp, feral. "I know you didn't, baby," he replies, in that slow southern drawl. Stretching the words out like he knows it gets to the cop, one way or another. "That's me, always stickin' my oar in where it isn't wanted." A beat, as if he'd go on in that vein, but he's recalled to the fact that they're in company, and picks up his mug again.

Displeased by that revelation, but not particularly perturbed. "This sounds like that guy Ghoul? Goule? That you and Itz mention," he asides to Javier. "But yeah, that's right. Guy's gonna end up regretting that. If the souls are just captive and not destroyed, maybe we can free 'em."

Ava presses her tongue to a canine as she watches Joe and Javier, smiling to herself at the back and forth. Joe might have stopped, but the company didn't seem to mind. It's adorable. "Yeah. He needs to go."

"We got pulled into another Dream. Got to see a little more of what's going. If what we learned is to be believed, there's a plague going on where they are. Instead of asking anyone for help, they're just going around and stealing bodies. They put the folks they want in these new, unplagued bodies. Children into adult bodies, even. They're hoping that one of them will grow up and have a cure for the plague." Ava grabs for her own coffee, black and almost cold at this point.

"So far as we saw, if we free a soul by itself, it passes on and the body dies along with the other soul inhabiting it. So two deaths. We're going to have to figure out how he's switching souls in the first place and undo it. Plus... see if we can cure a plague. Which means I need samples. Which means I need to get there by going through that damn portal in a hazmat suit."

His coffee's finished off, and then his mug's collected, and a quick glance to see if the other two need a refill, before Javier ambles off to start the machine. He watches Joe for a long moment at the oar comment, then seems to think better of remarking on it.

A switch is flipped to start the thing grinding, or whatever the hell it's doing, and he lifts his good shoulder when Ghol's mentioned. "That guy we trapped in Rosencrantz's violin case? I don't know, I guess there's some similarities." He rifles his fingers through his hair, thinking as Ava talks. "Joe here has some ability to, uh, make doors. Whatever the hell you call it. Moving. Not as strong as Rosencrantz, but maybe he can help you out, too. You should make sure you bring someone who knows something about how the Veil works, too."

"I ain't strong enough to make doors at random to get out," Joe says, bluntly. "I won't ever willingly go on a trip to there without someone I know that's that powerful. Which at the moment is Rosencrantz. You should also talk to August Roen at Branch and Bole. He's damn good on the biological front. I'll happily go with y'all or whomever we need to go deal with this, but I'd be a damn sight happier to do it with my finger hooked in Itz's belt-loop. "

He leans back a bit in his chair, looks between them again, as if to make sure how that assertion's received. Since the lanky fiddler is currently a sensitive subject.

"I wasn't here for what happened with Gohl because I was out of town for training for two years, but it sounds like these two would have gotten along, that's for sure." Ava folds one leg over the other as she considers. Joe gets a faint nod at his admission. "Don't worry. I think if anyone dared trying to go to that world where there might be a chance of running into the actual Haggleford rather than a clone and Itzhak wasn't invite? His head might actually explode off of his body. I wouldn't do that to him. We both hate that man."

A flicker of bright eyes in Javier's direction before Ava smiles faintly. "Believe me, I won't be going over there alone. That kind of thing would be a group mission. Even I'm not foolish enough to try that by myself."

Javier's look toward the Georgian is somewhat puzzled. "Didn't say anything about you going alone. You think I was born yesterday?" Irritated, he blows a sharp breath out his nose and starts digging for his pack of cigarettes. "Coffee's almost done. I'll be out on the deck."

Then he goes to find a pair of boots to shove his feet into, and do just that.

"No, I wasn't talking about going alone. I was talking about going there without a Mover on hand that's strong enough to rip a hole back when and where it's needed," Joe says, as he gets up to deal with the coffee. There's an upnod for Ava's comments.

"It'll be a whole team. We'll need one. That's assuming we don't get pulled there without warning before we go there ourselves. They tried kidnapping us once before. They may try again." Ava pushes out of her seat again, yawning and giving a long stretch. "When you're done smoking, I'll check your wounds, then I'm going to go. I have a little, blue bean to get back to."