burning hill

Isla Jean regarded Cyrus as he spoke, glancing away once he’d said ‘I wasn’t that lucky’. Maybe there’d be a time, some moment, some window of opportunity. And while she felt she needed Cyrus, that the ways in which he contributed to hers and Frankie’s lives was integral and irreplaceable, she sometimes couldn’t help but wonder. It was all too easy, like puzzle pieces. So maybe that was why. She’d needed a friend back then, she’d needed a friend more than anything else. And at the rate that Frankie Mae had grown attached to Cyrus, there’d only been one logical course forward. That had been that. The book had been shut, and never lifted from the night stand again. Before Isla Jean could chime in, Frankie was speaking. ‘It beats sitting at the bed and breakfast all day!’ A content smile on her face, which was festooned with smeared ice cream as she happily dug into her sundae. 

“We’re the lucky ones.” Isla Jean fit in, a hand gliding over to pat Cyrus on the back. “Thanks again for your help, it was so lovely of you.” With goodbyes made, it was just the three of them at the table, Frankie nearly face-first into her ice cream, and Isla Jean looking at Cyrus with a soft glint in her eyes. “I never hazard a guess at what my life would look like without you in it, all I know is that it wouldn’t be half as sweet.” Of all the things that Cyrus Nilsen brought to the table, Isla Jean liked to think his heart was the best of them. Knowing that Isla Jean and Frankie were at a standstill, he’d volunteered himself to wade in, to try and mend fences where Isla Jean couldn’t. No man had loved them even half as much, not since Cal. “I don’t know what I’d do without you most days.”

-

His eyes met Isla Jean’s for a fraction of a second and it near about knocked him off his feet.  For a moment, there was something there, and he wasn’t sure what it was, but damn had it felt like something.  So much of something that now looking away he was overwhelmed at the feeling of nothing.  He had always been an overthinking, the trait ingrained him as eldest sibling, always wondering what could go wrong before it did, so he could stop it, keep the helm of the ship steady.  That trait had only gotten worse with age, and he was eternally grateful that Frankie was the type of little girl who demanded all of your attention, keeping his mind from going down the rabbit hole, trying to identify what in the fuck had just happened.

Although, Isla Jean’s hand on his back didn’t help matters.  With a bit of a shock, he realized he didn’t think anyone but his mother had ever done that to him.  He and Giorgia had been too young for those types of mature romantic gestures, preferring holding hands and making out (and more, obviously, hello, teen dad) in cramped spots, fooling around under blankets while watching movies.  But this felt different than both of those.  It certainly wasn’t a motherly touch, and it wasn’t the immature actions of affection from teens.  He wasn’t sure what it was, but with a shock, he realized he didn’t mind it.

“Where’d you get that, the back of a conversation hearts box?” He asked while clearing his throat, regaining his wits.  “But I think we both know you’d be exactly where you are right now.  Kicking--” he mouthed the next word “ass and taking names.  I just provide the pizza.”

Fliss: that sounds so ominous

Fliss: do I need to get you to bodysnatcher-proof my apartment for me??

Fliss: undecided but I do make a mean chocolate muffin

Cyrus: honestly i'm not sure what that would entail but i can certainly try

Cyrus: but only for your chocolate muffins

“Bless your heart.” Isla Jean replied with a dim smile, a wink shot Cyrus’s way. “She speaks it, alright. But I think she has selective hearing loss when it comes to listening sometimes.” She replied, her and Frankie exchanging a look, her daughter’s smile not yet fading. So, at least she’d found her mother remotely funny, if only for a nanosecond. Isla Jean would consider that a win.  “Why don’t you leave the twang to the folks who can handle it, sweetheart.” She soothed, a pat landing on Cyrus’s arm. 

Cyrus surely must have had a spider sense when it came to Isla Jean and Frankie, that much felt strangely true to the woman. No man had ever known her the way he had, no one had connected with Frankie like Cyrus had (since the loss of Cal, anyway). When she looked at Cyrus, Isla Jean saw the other half of herself in some ways. “I know to never second guess you. I learned that the hard way when you ended up fixing my very broken garbage disposal.” There had been many mishaps over the years she’d been in Eureka, but somehow, Cyrus had been her knight in shining armor when it came to remedying her many struggles along the way. It certainly took a village, and Isla Jean was glad to count Cyrus among hers. 

… After a few hours spend meandering around, Isla Jean had elected to wait for their sodas and ice cream while Cyrus and Frankie laid claim to a picnic table. She glanced over at the pair, giving them a small wave of recognition as they gathered her attention, signaling where they’d landed. While she fully trusted Cyrus could wrangle their large order to the table, Isla Jean was quite adept when it came to such things, and there seemed to be a degree less risk involved because of that. Although, without a tray she was one hand short, when a bystander stepped in. ‘Can I help you with that?’ They inquired with a friendly smile, to which Isla Jean nodded and gestured towards Cyrus and Frankie with an elbow. “Thank you so much. We’re just headed over there.” As they weaved through the tables, Isla Jean would deposit her end of the order onto the table, turning then to grab the last ice cream from the good samaritan. “You’re a lifesaver, really, thank you.” The woman waved a dismissive hand, clearly happy to have been able to help. ‘Not a problem. I hope the three of you are enjoying your day. My husband and I love to bring our kids, too.’ She added, gesturing towards her own brood.

Isla Jean paused, prepared to offer the distinction that they weren’t a couple, but paused, looking then to Cyrus to chime in.

🌲

“I don’t know about this one, Frankie, it looks like a table primed for butt splinters,” Cyrus hemmed and hawed, the two somehow having started a game of finding something wrong with every table the other picked, and the reasons had ranged from reasonable to crazy.  “But I don’t think we have any other choice, it’s now or never, Kid.” he reasoned while motioning to her mother and another woman making their way over to them, arms laden with treats, only to get a dramatic sigh and agreement.  God he loved that kid, her sometimes dry sense of humor knocking him on his ass.  

His appreciation for the little spitfire that reminded him so much of her mother sometimes, was broken by something of a pickle.  He wouldn’t lie, there had been other times while out with Isla Jean and Frankie, that he had been mistaken for father and husband, and he had never really corrected them.  Mostly because he didn’t find it necessary, and it would be time consuming and awkward to do so to a person he’d never see again.  But with Frankie’s insistence of her surname that morning and the difficulties Isla Jean had been having with her, he knew how he answered was incredibly important.  “Ah, nah, unfortunately these two aren’t mine, I wasn’t that lucky.  Though I was lucky enough that these two lovely ladies decided to play hooky and come to the zoo with me, though.”  He looked to Isla Jean, hoping that he had struck a good enough of a balance, making sure that Frankie knew he wasn’t trying to trespass into incredibly delicate spot her father had left, but also letting it be known how much he cared for her and loved spending time with her.  Both of them, really.

Fliss: the return??

Fliss: exactly, glad you know what i keep you around for

Fliss: I'll start baking now so feel free to stop by whenever!

Cyrus: they're bound to come back at some point

Cyrus: What can I say, I know my strengths

Fliss: I am pretty short of cash at the minute so I was going to have to pay you in alternative ways...

Fliss: but those ways were cake and beer, before you starting thinking I've been hacked or something

Cyrus: that or return of the bodysnatchers

Fliss: so I know you're a very busy man etc but would you have any time to help me out? my diy skills only go so far and I'm in desperate need of a handyman xoxo

Growing up, Isla Jean had seen her father in the same sort of god-like glow that Frankie would eternally see her own father in. But then, Isla Jean had grown up, seen the man from a new perspective, had lived her whole life with him around, with fresh new reminders to his limitations as a human being. Cal would be preserved in amber, the young and perfect daddy that Frankie’s memory captured him in. To say that Cyrus was a completely different type of man than Waylon Elkins would be a gross understatement of the facts. Cyrus was generous, decent, loving — he gave his time, which to Isla Jean, would always be the most meaningful gift. He was the ying to her yang, the two always seeming to be rather simpatico. 

“Oh hush,” Isla Jean scolded, a small wave beckoning Frankie to her feet as they made their way for the door. She watched as Cyrus behaved in his usual manner, scooping the girl up like she was a ragdoll, much to Frankie’s joy. ‘It’s King.’ Frankie corrected Cyrus with a heavy layer of sass, which earned a pointed look from Isla Jean. It hadn’t been with any malice in her heart that Isla Jean had gone back to her maiden name after Cal’s passing. A part of it was the final piece in a puzzle of moving on with her life, of letting him go in every sense of the the phrase. Everything Isla Jean did was perceived as a provocation by Frankie, as if she was perhaps trying to erase his memory. Despite Isla Jean’s many assurances, her daughter never quite took her word for it. But in Cyrus, Frankie had found a slice of peace, a kindred spirit, someone who reminded her what it was like to have a dad, to share hobbies with and feel truly bonded to. There were many days where Isla Jean realized she’d have no idea what she’d have done had they not met Cyrus when they’d moved to Eureka. 

Linking her arm in Cyrus’s, her other hand came around to give his bicep a squeeze of appreciation. “We’ve been meaning to go and see the Sky Walk since they opened it, so this will be quite the treat. It’s almost like you knew we’ve been jonesing for a day at the zoo.” 

🌲

“Is ‘oh hush’ a Southern thing for ‘Okay fine you’re right, Cyrus’, because that’s what it sounded like to me,” Cyrus started, his eyes shooting up, brows raising, in an effort to look at Frankie, “You speak Southern Mom, is my translation right?” he asked, only hearing a response of giggles.  “But you’re right, my apologies, Madame King,” Cyrus corrected himself with an exaggerated and affected accent, and something resembling as much of a bow he could manage with the girl on his shoulders.  

Isla Jean had mentioned in many of their get togethers over glasses of wine and bottles of beer the trouble she and Frankie had been having over Cal.  Cyrus wished he knew what to say, what to do to help, even if it wasn’t his place to do so.  Frankie was smart as a whip, and he hoped that her anger towards her mother was something that as she grew emotionally, she’d grow out of and come to understand her mother’s actions.  But other than offering that platitude, which while he hoped was the truth, he had no way of making sure it was so, Cyrus had nothing to give his friend other than an ear to listen and a shoulder to lean on.  

“I thought you knew,” His eyes widened, still playing it up for Frankie, “I have a King/Elkins lady spider sense.  It tingles when I know you all need something.  Today it was only a little one.  In my toes.  So I knew a red panda viewing was necessary.” He pushed against Isla Jean a bit, an approximation of a nudge with her arm wrapped up in his. 

“I’d say you sound like my father, but he even had his go-to guy for taxes.” Waylon Elkins had a go-to guy for practically anything, Isla Jean might have added, but she wasn’t much in the business of discussing her family. She was estranged as estranged got when it came to her parents and brother, with very good reason. And as far as friends went, Cyrus was the only person who knew it — that sad and draining truth about Cal and her brother Travis. But it was that same guilt about being apart from her own family that made her give in so easily to pleasing Frankie — it was a guilt that ravaged her often, wondering if the evil you knew was better than the evil you didn’t. If Isla Jean’s bitterness had broken the only familial bonds her daughter had outside of Isla Jean, a relationship that clearly wasn’t always blossoming. “You know I’m a sucker for those fellas.” She added with a soft smile and a shake of her head. “Well, let me just tell Sonia I’m stepping out. Keep an eye on the rugrat for a moment.” 

Isla Jean made her way back to her office, collecting her essentials — keys, purse, phone, before slipping into the kitchen to bid adieu to her staff, certain to let them know that, as it went when she was spending time with Frankie, her phone would be silenced, and all crises would have to be managed by Sonia in the meanwhile. The woman paused as she began to reenter the lobby, eavesdropping on the tail-end of Cyrus and Frankie’s make-do conversation as they bided their time for her eventual return. This was one of the reasons Isla Jean had come to trust Cyrus implicitly with her daughter — he thought beyond himself, thought of Frankie’s needs, what might bring her joy or brighten her day. He understood her in a way maybe Isla Jean even didn’t, which the mother could readily admit was a possibility. Or maybe not so much understand her, but relate to her on a level Isla Jean couldn’t — Cyrus enjoyed the same activities she did, could impart knowledge on any manner of pastimes, hobbies or skills in a way Isla Jean couldn’t. A piece that had been sorely missing since Cal’s passing. “Alright, you two.” She finally chirped, interrupting their little tête-à-tête. “Let’s get a move on, before someone catches something on fire.”

🌲

Cyrus thought of making a crack that he took the difference between himself and Mr. Elkins as a compliment, knowing that the two were estranged, but having never met the man himself, it didn’t feel right, despite his views on the man from what Isla Jean had told him.  So instead he settled for “I think all us dads sound a bit alike at some point.  Something in our genes.  Sorta like how all dads over the age of 43 own a pair of those new balance sneakers.” He said with a shrug.  He did find it to be somewhat true, though.  There were things that he hadn’t understood about his own father, until he had become a father himself, until his life had gone from being about himself to being about the life you brought into the world.  He gave his friend a nod of acknowledgement as she went to alert Sonia to her bueller’s afternoon off.

He sauntered over to where the youngest Elkins had plopped herself down, and peered over her shoulder to see what she was reading (a book about Californian wildlife, for the record), and he couldn’t help himself “Did you know bears can run up to 40 miles per hour?” he questioned, only to receive a look that was the child version of ‘no shit Sherlock’, so he knew he had to up the ante “What about the fact that due to polar bears moving further south for food and meeting other types of bears, they’ve been noticing Grolar and Pizzly bears?” he asked, each weird new breed names accentuated by a tickle to the little girl’s neck.  Along with a giggle, he also got an interested eyebrow raise, so he considered it a success, and continued with the limited knowledge he remembered from the article he read.  Thankfully, Isla Jean made her reappearance, as he was starting to run out of it.

“Frankie,” Cyrus started, staring at her with wide eyes and an open mouth.  “Please tell me your mama did not just say the ‘F’ word in front of a volunteer firefighter who could get called in any second.” He was being melodramatic to be silly, but he was the tiniest bit superstitious.  It was like saying Quiet in a hospital.  “Well, we better really get going then,” he said before abruptly grabbing the little girl’s hand and in a deft, practiced movement, swung her up so she was sitting on his shoulders.  “The red pandas are waiting for the Elkins ladies,” he finished, offering his arm out to Isla Jean.

TASK #005

BASIC INFORMATION

FULL NAME: Cyrus Mark Nilsen PRONUNCIATION: Sigh-rus Mark Nil-sen MEANING: Cyrus--Sun, Mark--consecrated to the god Mars, Nilsen--son of Nils REASONING: on their babymoon, a trip around Big Sur, Cyrus’ mother had fallen in love with the Monterey Cypress trees that covered the coast, and knowing she’d seem a bit too crunchy granola for her traditional family if she named her first born ‘Cypress’, she thought Cyrus was a good substitute NICKNAME(S): Cy, Nilsen PREFERRED NAME(S): Cy or Cyrus BIRTH DATE: May 5th, 1984 AGE: 38

“Mm.” She replied with a raised brow and knowing grin. Frankie, however, had been raised around family that never swore, and for the most part, found it highly indelicate. Isla Jean, clearly, didn’t feel such a way, but her daughter was still at a tender age with impressionable ears and she wasn’t primed to endure having to teach her why Isla Jean could say something that Frankie couldn’t. “Golly. You do your own taxes?” Isla Jean asked teasingly, though there was a degree by which she was impressed at the notion he sat down to file his own taxes. “Oh, well, I don’t know. I’ve got an awful lot to do here, and, as you may know, Miss Frankie hasn’t exactly earned a treat lately.” A pointed look shot Frankie’s way left the seven year old rolling her eyes, which Isla Jean chose to ignore. “But I suppose… We could play hooky, just this once.”

🌲

Cyrus couldn’t help but grin in return, eyes darting over to where Frankie was busying herself, and he was fairly sure they had gotten away without her noticing the near-cuss, something he considered a success.  “Ha, ha”, Cyrus sarcastically shot back in return, his own siblings having made fun of his whole process many times before.  ‘You look like dad’ they would say, with his piles of paperwork and the wire frame glasses he only wore to do paperwork perched on his nose, typing slowly away at the computer.  “I’m not a paranoid person, but there isn’t a way in...--Heck that i’m letting someone else handle my money and taxes.” He said with a shrug, always preferring to do it himself to also take a bit of a mental check in with where he was on his finances.  “I get it,” he started, her point being something he had thought of, not wanting to reward bad behavior.  But he also knew that sometimes the cycle just had to be broken.  When his mother had come back into the picture Evan and Cyrus had gone through a particularly rough spell, of Evan acting out, Cyrus punishing him for the behavior, and the Evan acting out even more due to the punishment.  It got to the point where eventually Cyrus had to do something, and had chosen a similar fun day out to the one he was proposing, and it worked like a charm.  It reminded the two that while they were parent and child, they were also people who loved each other and had fun with each other.  He hoped, maybe it could do the same for Isla Jean and Frankie.  “Oh thank god,” he sighed, happy that she agreed “Because I really thought I was gonna have to drag out the pictures of the red pandas to get you to agree to go. --- So, can you ditch now or do you gotta finish some things up?”

Isla Jean was happy with her new relationship — there had only ever been Cal before, and when it came to romance and dating, she only had Cal to compare against. But Kevin was charming, a true gentleman, and understood that she was somewhat cautious when it came to certain aspects of her personal life, mainly, her daughter. But Frankie was wiser than perhaps her mother had given her credit for, and after eavesdropping on a conversation between Isla Jean and Sonia, Frankie was… Less than enthused to find that Isla Jean was dating. Frankie, as Isla Jean had quickly learned, could be harsh when she wished to be. That sting was still lingering as she was summoned to the front of the house, Frankie quickly collecting herself from her mother’s office at the mention of Cyrus being afoot. “Hey, darlin’.” Isla Jean greeted her saccharine twang, smile widening a bit at the presence of an ally. “You can’t carry a tune for —” She paused, noting the presence of her daughter. “To what do we owe this impromptu drop-in?” 

🌲

“--Can’t carry a tune in a bucket?” he finished for her, knowing that at least for Evan, even cutting himself off before swearing was enough to get him in arms and whining with ‘you were about to swear, why am I not allowed to?’ “So I’ve been told.  Many times.  And loudly.  By my 6th grade chorus teacher.” though his delivery was deadpan, he couldn’t help but chuckle inwardly of memories torturing his siblings with embarrassment when he would sing at them  publicly; at a game, at a dance, really anywhere he could manage.  “Well,” he started tentatively, unsure of whether his idea would be taken as sweet or overstepping, “When I was doing my taxes this year I realized I was still paying for annual tickets to the Sequoia Park Zoo even though Evan and I haven’t been in ages, so I was wondering if you and Frankie wanted to play hooky today and come with?  Maybe give you two a chance to relax and just have fun together?”

Cyrus’ fingers drummed a steady beat on the front desk of the B&B, waiting for the receptionist to come back with Isla Jean, his eyes roaming the interior of the building he had been in countless times, but always picking up some piece of thoughtful design he hadn’t before.  While his eyes wandered, so did his mind, coming to settle on the owner of the establishment and her daughter, two women who had sneakily burrowed into his heart while he hadn’t been looking.  He cared for them deeply, and after sensing the tension in the household the last time he had swung around, his mind had sparked with an idea, but figured he’d run it by Isla Jean first.  As he thought he heard the tap of her shoes down the hallway, he called out hopefully in a sing-song voice, despite being the most tone deaf mother fucker in all of Eureka “Oh, Ms. Elkins...”

Her reply came in from of a grin and a light-hearted chuckle. Whatever the case may be with those crew anchors, she was glad that she now had someone reliable who could help a girl out of her visibly confusing situation. “Perhaps it’s a little like Russian Roulette, where only one or two of these are rotten, and the rest are fine. If you were to use a rotten one, and you’d have to get back go the store and get another set. Voilà, money made.” Alessia wiggled her fingers and then spread them in a ta-daa-like motion. Gently, her fingers closed around the packet of screw anchors that was dangling from his fingers in front of her. “Since they have the Cy Nilsen stamp of approval, I have no doubt they’ll do the trick. Thank you, this’ll help me out a lot.” It was mostly for her peace of mind, and the little fact that she didn’t want to have to buy another tv any time soon. 

It was really sweet of Cyrus to offer his help, and she gladly accepted it, because she was sure she would make a mess of things, and probably have to call him to get some advice anyway. This way, she could go right to the source and know that things would be done right the first time around. “Ah, see, that I cannot promise,“ Alessia teased back with a cheeky smile, “Spoiling people with food comes naturally for me, it’s basically in my DNA! Any preferences, or do you want to let yourself be surprised?” If he were to slave away for her for this task, the least she could do was make sure he was compensated properly. “Tell me, whenever it’s a good time for you, and I’ll make time for you, caro.” Glancing at him, she let her gaze fall to the items he wanted to purchase, and she raised an eyebrow, curious what it was about. “Do you have a greatly heist planned? Or is this all for your house?” While had no clue what “this all” actually was for, she was curious, not to mention that she didn’t want to just end the conversation and leave now that she had what she needed. She hadn’t seen Cyrus in a while, either, and it was nice to see him again.

🌲

“You’re diabolical, Zabini.  I think you may have missed your life’s calling in being, like, one of those low key conniving villains that you don’t see coming.” Cyrus chuckled, “There’s enough insanely talented doctors in the world, but not enough super villains.”  He paused as she took the packet of anchors from between his fingers and cocked his head “What’re you trying to hang up anyways?” he questioned, figuring he should at least know what he was getting into beforehand, bring anything else he might need.

Cyrus wasn’t inept, he could fend for himself when it came to cooking, but things tended to be on the simpler side, not hugely enjoying the whole process of cooking, so he stuck to easy to make recipes that didn’t take up a whole lot of time.  That being said, the idea of being cooked for with the promise of definite edible food a the end? Well it was a treat.  And he thought it was well worth the trade off for some handy work.  “Or are you just trying to fatten everyone up so they can’t run away? --- I’ve seen how your brain works now, and now I’m convinced everything has an ulterior motive.” That couldn’t be further from the truth, he knew Alessia enough to know what a kind and friendly person she could be, not to mention easy to talk to and get along with, no need to fatten anyone up to prevent escape.  “But surprise me, I trust you.”   He railed off the details of his schedule, pretty much available most nights after 6, but always having the possibility of being called in to the firehouse if they needed extra hands.  He knew her schedule was most likely the more complicated between the two of them, and was willing to be flexible.  

“Ah, the Nilsen family compound is in need of some repairs, I’ve been slowly chipping away at them since my folks passed, but I swear they pop up faster than I can fix them,”  He was hoping to have his siblings and extended family over for some time this summer, and was desperately trying to get everything fixed before then.

There’d been times when he’d served that his squad’s habits of doing rounds had turned into more of a competition to see who could buy the most outlandish drinks. He’d tried his fair share of cocktails and concoctions but beer would always remain drink of choice, a creature of habit for better or worse. “A pal of mine once described it as a fancy vodka cranberry but I’m fairly sure a purist might have something to say about that.” 

He chuckled slightly at his friends words, them serving as a reminder of fatherly pride. “As his coach I’m pretty biased too but he had talent but more importantly the work ethic. Still, it’s his life and his choice to make. Pretty sure you’ve equipped him well enough to choose the right path for himself.” As a teacher and coach he knew - or hoped - that he would have some influence over his students and their futures but he knew that in most cases it was the parents who would really prepare them for life. In Evan’s case he had a level-headed father who wanted nothing but the best for him. 

While he had always been self sufficient, he did his best to never be too much of a martyr and remind himself to take help when it was offered. He was pretty sure he and Charlie had it covered but he was also happy to let her be the judge of that. “Fair warning if I take you up on that you’ll lose at least a whole day of your life.” Wry smile was flashed the other man’s way before he took another drink. “Well it’d at least get you up to a population of two. Getting Ripley was one of the best decisions I ever made, it’d keep you busy if nothing else.” 

🌲

“Is it just me or do vodka-cranberries get a bad rap?  I mean, sure if you call it a vodka-cran I’m gonna cringe, but the drink itself isn’t too bad.  Though, that just might be the Thanksgiving-cranberry-loving-bastard in me.” Cyrus mused, never having really understood why some found themselves giving a shit what someone else drank.  It was all poison to your body in the end, so who gave a shit what flavor it was?

“God, Hudson, if I didn’t know your wife I’d think you were trying to get into my pants with those sweet words,” he laughed, wiping a fake tear from his eye.  Though Cyrus may be joking, the words were ones that meant a lot to Cyrus, because truly, that’s all he had aimed to do, raise Evan as a good man who could stand on his own two feet, and who knew his own mind.  It was bittersweet, because it seemed he had succeeded, but that also meant that his son, now basically a full blown adult, didn’t need him anymore.

Cyrus had been taught from a young age to always offer to help, so much so at this point, it often came out of his mouth before he realized what he was doing, but in this case, he was more than happy to.  He considered Nate a friend, and he somewhat enjoyed handiwork, so ‘losing’ a day of his life shooting the shit, drinking beers, and patching up walls or whatever he needed help with?  Didn’t sound like a loss to him.  “S’not like I got anything better to do,” he responded with a snort.  “Maybe,” he conceded, “Might keep me from looking like a lost kid with all my wandering around, wondering what to do on my days off.”