route_1065 | Leave my door open just a crack, 'cause I feel like such an insomniac

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Current Location: Ecruteak City Inn

Entry tags:

Leave my door open just a crack, 'cause I feel like such an insomniac

Who: Dale Cooper and Heather Mason
Where: the Ecruteak City Inn
When: Wednesday night, 2:33 AM
Summary: Losing beloved friends and gaining unwanted reminders of the past in payment... none of that makes for a peaceful night's sleep, not even in peaceful little Ecruteak City. Some people think that the best cure for a churning, restless mind on bad-dream-filled nights is to indulge the sweet tooth a bit. Which is why Heather is slipping down to the (closed) inn kitchen in search of some ice cream, when she encounters the only thing worse than being forced to remedy a lack of ice cream by 'borrowing' some: getting busted by a cop for doing just that.
.... Except that it turns out he's down there for the exact same reason she is!

...

... She won't tell if he won't.
Rating: G
Log:
For anyone who's grown accustomed to spending time in the cities where the population's collective bedtime seems not to roll entirely around until at least three in the morning, it's surprisingly jarring to suddenly find oneself in a town where it's the exact opposite.

The town of Ecruteak sat in the middle of a blanket of forest sort of like an elderly cat-- sleepy and quiet, save for the quiet purr of the wind through the trees and shingled rooftops. Far from the busybodies of places like Goldenrod, the population of Ecruteak was old and happy, and therefore on principal, virtually all activity in the city seemed to die out entirely by the time the clocks hit 1:00 AM.

Peaceful was a good word to describe the place. No far-off music (apart from the everlasting 8-bit soundtrack, of course), no voices filtering in through the windows as groups of nightlife-enjoyers walked past down the street, no clunky footsteps of people going up and down the stairs of the inns at all hours of the night. Nothing to keep your average weary traveler from their beauty sleep, not even on a warm night like this one.

... Unfortunately, for one Heather Mason, the it was that very silence itself that was keeping her awake.

And-- after a whole hour of tossing and turning after startling awake in a cold sweat around one-thirty, she knew that even if sleep were eventually to come, it wouldn't be a sleep she wanted to slip into, nor would it mute all the noise in her own head.

Which was why, a quietly-shut door and a few creaky wooden steps later, she was standing in the dark Employees-Only kitchen of the Ecruteak City inn in a tank-top and boxer shorts, scratching the back of her ankle absentmindedly with one bare foot as she tried to work out which stainless-steel fridge door was the one that led to the freezer component, and whether or not it would make much noise if she just... opened it and took a look at what was inside.

If there had been room service available at all hours like there had been in the big Goldenrod Hotel, she'd have done the nice, legal thing and ordered something like a responsible human being. But THIS place practically shut down at midnight (what the hell?!), so she couldn't. Really, there was just no alternative.

Besides, they wouldn't miss a little bit of ice cream, right?

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"Your father told me that's your original name."

Well, as far as Cooper knows, anyway. He looks ar her carefully - he doesn't want her to think he's trying to make her talk. He can be the good cop as well as the bad cop but he's much more inclined towards the first and is right now, in fact, not much of a cop at all.

"Yeah, it is. ... In... more ways than one."

Well, she's already told him about the reincarnation... Cheryl's existence in and of itself was a strange little anomaly-- a temporary blip in time. Which was, perhaps, what had made it so hard for Harry to let go of her. Half a child, living as one being for seven years... and then ceasing to exist.

Well, not ENTIRELY, but... close enough, from the perspective of anyone who had known her... of the man who had raised her from infanthood.

"See, before I... died, the first time... I did this thing. Sort of. To stop... to stop the cult's plan from succeeding, they needed me in one piece. So I sent half of me... away. Where it'd be safe. And-- y'know, be able to be happy. ... That was Cheryl."

She pauses there for a breath, folding her arms across her knees more comfortably and then resting her head sideways. Remembering that period of separation was... often confusing, and a little painful. When half of yourself was living a happy childhood, and the other, a haze of pain and horror that could hardly be called a life at all...

And it got even worse when they had converged in that town on the night Alessa had died. Two separate trains headed back for the same track...

"... Eventually the cult was able to draw her back to Silent Hill, and Dad... followed. Um. ... When I was... one person again, that's when... that's when I finally died. ... And when I was reborn, Dad named me Cheryl again. ... Even though I wasn't the same."

He looks down briefly as he listens in a small bow of sympathy. Because he doesn't understand and can't even imagine - and yet weirdly, a small part of him somewhere feels like it does and can.

And that same part (his soul? being? mind?) makes sense of what he doesn't understand from her words. She's not really speaking clearly and the whole thing is confusing ... but even if he doesn't quite get it, he doesn't question it, the same way he doesn't question giants or little men or logs: the same way he doesn't ask them too much in the end because he trusts he'll understand later.

Well ... most likely.

"_{Not the same ...} Because you were whole."

Both a question and an assumption and thinking out loud, trying to catch up. The repeat is to anchor it somewhere. Make it more true.

A moment of silence - and then, perhaps, a simpler question.

"Why Heather?"

It's okay that he doesn't quite get it... it's confusing as hell, even to Heather, and even SHE can't quite explain it right. Which is really saying something, because, more than anyone, she knows what happened.

But at Cooper's little hypothesis (which happens to be correct), she nods.

"Exactly. I was whole."

It had been rough for Harry ... slowly but surely realizing that the baby he'd brought home was not his beloved Cheryl and never would be, not truly. Hard for him to keep smiling when a scruffy little five-year-old Heather would come scurrying up to him excitedly chattering, "Daddy, remember when...?" and then reciting a memory that had happened eight years before, when Cheryl had been five.... with no idea that it had happened in another life.

In the same way that Cheryl had been different than her tortured half lying in captivity in Silent Hill, Heather had turned out different than EITHER of her two previous, separated selves... same person, different life. Different chances.

And being the whole of two halves, of course.

Cheryl had still been there... was still there, even now. But it still wasn't the same.

"Heather... I don't remember why I picked it. Dad let me choose a new name, when we went into hiding. I must've been... what, five?" She pauses thoughtfully, then lets out a dry chuckle. "I guess I just thought it was pretty."

"That's not a bad reason."

Not to mention it is a very nice name. And an interesting family of plants - ones that grow from sour soil. Which makes for a rather appropriate analogy, if you think about it.

And that explains the comments about dreams, as well. It makes sense that what she's been through would come back to her in her sleep. And probably still will.

Unless Heather ever wound up taking a look at flower symbolism and trivia, she'd probably never realize how fitting the name she'd picked was. But then, when Silent Hill was in the mix... things often just turned out that way.

Fitting.

She smiles a little bit, nodding.

"Yeah... surprised I wanted such a sensible one, actually. I don't remember for sure but knowing me, I probably suggested 'Sparkleheart' or 'Red Power Ranger' first."

And Harry had shot those ones down. ... Kindly.

As is the best way of doing it.

"I think I'll stick with Heather."

Unless you mind remains implied but unspoken. He draws up his own legs a little and rests his elbows on his knees as he looks at her, liking that he finds that smile of hers sincere, however small.

Sincere smiles are always the best... and hey, it's probably a little nice to find that Heather is capable of smiles that aren't giant toothy 'I might play nice or I might bite your hand, YOU DON'T KNOW' grins.

"That's fine. Only Dad calls me 'Cheryl'."

And she sort of liked it that way.

He smiles in a way that tells her he knows what she means. Only his dad ever calls him 'Dale' anymore.

Well ... him and Windom, but Windom does so for entirely different reasons. Reasons Cooper doesn't particularly care for.

That was an interesting thing about coming to Johto. Without a title to attach to his family name a lot of people seemed to insist on using his first, which in all honesty had taken a little while to get used to.

No words for now, though - just a moment of companionable silence.

It was for her father's memory that she'd once asked Douglas to call her by her real name... but it hadn't really stuck. Douglas was a creature of habit and after a few months of reminding him it was okay to call her Cheryl, she'd sort of given up.

But with Harry HERE... it was nice, letting him call her Cheryl, without fear of outing themselves to any cultists, even if everyone else knew her as Heather, so thoroughly that it'd be pretty hard to start correcting THEM now.

She falls silent as well, for a little bit.

... And then, after a moment or so, she pipes up again.

"... So... what kinds of dreams were keeping you up tonight?"

Yeah, she didn't forget the part where they were talking about him. Remember that, Cooper? Like, fifteen minutes ago. They were talking about you. Let's go back to that.

There's the slightest hint of a nod, almost as if showing acceptance to the once again redirected topic. Like a man accepting his fate, really. He hadn't expected her to drop it ... but he's going to need a moment here. Pretend that he doesn't, at least for a while, but he does need one - and he's going to stall to get it. Or even better, avoid it completely.

"Different ones from the dreams I mentioned."

There's something hiding beneath the carefully even tone that Heather may or may not recognise from the time Cooper first met Sunny. He's tipped his head back and is frowning at the ceiling as he speaks.

"Unpleasant dreams. Normal nightmares. Memories resurfacing to the conscious awareness in vivid detail."

He hasn't dreamt anything that deviates from the norm since he got here. No dancing men. No red rooms ...

Oh yeah. She notices that tone.

And she remembers his odd wariness around Sunny, who was arguably the most harmless-looking animal Heather had ever met in her entire life. Sure, the SIZE could be intimidating, but it was pretty hard to be scared of something that looked like what would happen if a hang glider and a giant marshmallow had a baby.

So she tilts her head.

Like hell she's gonna let him avoid it completely.

"But of what? C'mon, I shared mine."

"I know you did. I appreciate that."

He holds her gaze for a moment, then looks down at his hands. This is one of few things he'd leave completely alone if he could - if only because it keeps tormenting him, keeps endlessly digging into his guilt and hurt. Talking about it is reliving it. No matter how brief he makes it.

'It' ... nearly dying. He still remembers the feeling of bleeding out. Swimming in and out of consciousness. Waking up in a hospital bed and desperately wishing he hadn't. Learning what happened to Caroline ...

and what happened to Windom.

It takes him another moment to start talking.

"Some years ago my partner and I were to protect a material witness to a federal crime. She was ... a very gentle, very beautiful woman. And she'd seen things I can't imagine to this day."

"His head was in my lap, looking at me. His body on the floor."

He remembers it clearly because it haunts him still. The things she told him - and the things Windom told him - only furthered his belief in evil as something separate and tangible, an entity on its own. Something alive. That not only corrupts and destroys, but relishes in it.

"We were supposed to be ready twenty-four hours a day. An attempt on her life was a very real possibility. But I fell in love with her. And because of that I failed in my vigilance when the attempt was made. I couldn't protect her."

"I was badly injured. My partner ..."

He stops. Windom ... Cooper still hates the knowledge that it was all his doing. The loss of his partner to whatever dark forces that can so thoroughly destroy a person's mind is as real and painful as the death of the woman he loved.

He sits up a little tighter. Rigid as if still trying to remain stoic and professional. It's impossible, of course: though not at all vulnerable (he won't let himself) it's easy to tell that he's sad, tired and remorseful.

Then it momentarily shifts into something akin to contemplation, with what sounds like an afterthought ...

"I suppose I'm still trying to save her life."

When he starts his brief but clearly-painful tale, Heather falls silent completely.

She's often rude and inconsiderate, and often doesn't know when it's the right time to crack a joke and when it isn't. But trauma is different. If there's one thing that she got more sensitive to after Silent Hill, it's how it feels to relive something terrible, and be completely powerless to stop all those feelings from gripping you like a fist the moment the mere thought of those memories even floats into your mind.

She deals with that on a regular basis, like most people who have been through horrible things.

And she can tell when it's happening to someone else.

So she just listens.

No commentary from the peanut gallery here.

When he ends on that thoughtful little note, she just ... looks at him. This whole conversation had taken a serious turn quite awhile back, but there's more sympathy in her expression right now than ever before, even when he was talking about bodies and violent crimes. Sympathy... and a certain amount of understanding.

"... I'm so sorry."

He nods his thanks, looks back at her. There's a whole lot left that he could tell her - about how Caroline was Windom's wife, that Windom lost his mind completely (and yet he's sharper than ever), that he's killing innocent people just to torment Cooper even further.

That when he made an attempt to escape the hospital he was locked in three other patients hung themselves. Patients that did it for no discernable reason. People that were going to be released just weeks after.

That there must be something else at work. Something Cooper's yet to understand properly.

He could tell her everything, really. He's already told her much more than he normally would. But he's not sure if he wants to, nor where he would start. Or if she even wants to hear any more.

Which is why he stays quiet for a while, again brushing hair back from his forehead, lightly pressing the heel of his hand against an eye momentarily as he does. He's nowhere near tears, actually, but he feels a little drained. Normally he can keep his feelings at some distance, with rehearsed words and plenty of things he can allow to distract him, but this night has been emotional for the both of them and he finds that that's part of the reason he can't escape the dark place that his mind actually is.

That and the fact that these kind of things almost always come out at night. Sometimes in dreams and sometimes, apparently, in ice cream followed by conversation.

"... I couldn't attend her funeral." It comes out low and tender. Directed to both himself and the dead woman who very rarely leaves him alone. It's possible it wasn't even meant for Heather to hear, but what he says next clearly is, illustrated by a rise from the quiet tone of his voice and a directness in the words that wasn't really there in the previous five. (There's no accusation in what he says now. He understands Heather's light pushing. It's more a comment on the general state of things - and sure, he'd be happy if she stopped asking at this point, but he's mentally preparing himself for it all the same.)

"There are a lot of things I regret in my life but this remains at the top of the list. I think you can understand why it's not something I'm all that happy to discuss."

Accusatory tone or not, she actually does feel a little... guilty for pressing.

He hadn't pressed her, after all.

So her voice is a little bit more hushed than normal when she replies.

"I'm sorry... I didn't know..."

Edited 2011-10-17 03:57 (UTC)

"Not a lot of people do. There's no way you could have."

She's the first in Johto, actually. Back home, there's Albert. Gordon. Harry, Audrey. His dad. And most of the Pittsburgh field office, but that's part of the reason he transferred to San Francisco. And though the whole incident is old news at this point - he supposes, he's not sure how much the word's spread that Windom escaped - he never did return.

So there you have it, Heather. If he kept secrets this might have been his big dark one. The fact that he dreams about it is hardly surprising ... it's become something of a symbol of his inability to keep people close, the way he's been so utterly unable to prevent them from leaving. Well, disappearing. "Leaving" makes it sound like it's a choice.

He's really scared that that will happen. That more people will disappear from his life. Yet it's something he keeps expecting, especially in Johto.

"Yeah, I just..."

She trails off a little bit, rubbing the back of her neck. It's a habit-- he's probably noticed she does that a lot when she's unsure, or trying to figure out what to say.

"... I ... have had a lot of issues. From not talking to people. ... Lots've things've happened that I regret because I just didn't... tell people about what was going on with me. ... And I STILL have a problem with that, but I've sorta been... y'know. Trying to get better."

She looks back over at Cooper, a little sheepishly.

"... Sometimes it just... you know. Helps to talk. ... 'Cause I've found... well, especially here, where people... might not stay forever... you might regret not speaking up."

Another long pause.

"... I know I do."

He looks a little surprised when he looks over at her again. The fact that she's pointing out exactly what it is that he does wrong is more perceptive than he would have originally given her credit for.

And yeah, he can recognise that that's a thing he does. In a way it's a little hypocritical. He spends a lot of time making other people talk, trying to fix their problems, but he very rarely if ever focuses that inwards to where a lot of people would argue it matters the most.

But it's pretty simple to him, really: it's his fault, which makes it his problem. And people don't really need to know more than that because it has very little to do with them.

He tries to stay unbiased when he listens to her, then just ... blinks and looks away.

"I know it helps a lot of people. I just ..."

The fact that he trails off should speak volumes.

"I don't normally include myself in that group."

Well, gosh, Cooper.

Could it be that on this one subject, the youthfully-hotheaded, often-irrational, traumatized and emotionally-scarred teenager might actually be a little more on the ball than you are?

Perhaps.

She watches him quietly, her expression unreadable. Then she shrugs.

"I didn't used to, either. ... Then I learned my lesson."

Her words are just slightly pointed. She's not pointing fingers or anything... after all, Cooper's still a... well, he's not a stranger anymore, that's for sure, but one night of ice cream and confessions didn't entitle her to be quite as frank with him as she was with the friends she'd known for months.

But they're still pointed.

She heard the uncertainty in his voice when he trailed off.

She most certainly is. If you take the time to poke and prod him enough it's clear that he's not all that good at dealing with things - surprisingly so, maybe, when taking into account how he deals with everything else.

But oh, he hears that. And maybe he deserves that tone. If nothing else he knows his therapists would be thrilled to hear her coaxing him this way.

So he gives her a long look.

"And what lesson was that?"

More exactly, that is. He's listening. Hell, he might learn something.

Edited 2011-10-18 04:03 (UTC)

Awhile ago, she might not have wanted to talk about it, herself. But it's been awhile. Although the hurt's never faded entirely, time had dulled its sting. ... And the fact that she'd eventually gotten her father back-- been gifted with a third chance-- sure didn't hurt, either.

So she looks at Cooper evenly.

"Did you know that my dad was here in Johto once before?"

"No, I didn't."

He tilts his head a little, intrigued, expression open. He can sense where she's going with this but that doesn't mean he won't listen.

"Well, he was. Way back in the beginning. Alive and kicking. Something that I'd... in the entire year since he'd died, I'd wished over and over again that I could just have a second chance to talk to him. Just to tell him I loved him, and say I was sorry for having spent so much of those last years he had with me being an ungrateful fuck-up. So you'd think, getting him back... it'd be my dream come true, right?"

STORYTIME.

Not a very fun story, though.

Heather nestles her chin on one fist, eyes lidded. Even though she's willing to freely confess her past mistakes, that doesn't mean she likes remembering them. It gives her a sour feeling in her stomach.

"But he was too young to know who I was. He was from... back when I was Cheryl. ... The first Cheryl. Cheryl 1.0, if you will. Anyway... I made a real bad first impression. I won't go into the details, 'cause they're embarrassing as fuck, but lemme tell you, hearing your dead father asking you 'Didn't your parents teach you better?' while looking at you like you're the kind of person he'd tell his kid to stay away from ... Yeah. Kind of a real 'Look at your life, look at your choices' moment there."

She pauses to rake her fingers through her hair, making a fair portion of it stand on end.

"Anyway... you'd think the responsible thing to do would be to 'fess up who you were and ... try to patch things up. Get to know him, take advantage of the opportunity-on-a-silver-platter you'd just been handed. Right?"

"But you didn't."

He looks at her knowing she'll continue - and yeah, he's listening. The situation described is nothing short of unique. Though he's aware of the time stunts Johto pulls, this in particular sounds terrible and confusing.

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