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

Current Mood: awake
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?

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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.

Yeah, she hasn't... heard of anything like that happen before... except in Phoenix's case, where his daughter-from-the-future showed up... but unlike Heather, Trucy had made herself known right away. Awkwardly, maybe... but it was all for the best.

So Cooper's statement gets a PSHHSHT sound.

"'Course not! That'd require me to be, like, a responsible, mature human being. I mean, duh, Cooper, get with the program."

Self-deprecation is something that's almost always in Heather's tone in one way or another-- she's never been one to shy away from self-mockery. But it's absolutely oozing from these words, and it lacks the goofy, playful edge that it's usually characterized by. Even now, she's disgusted with how she had handled this.

"I buried my head in the sand. I didn't even tell anybody that he was my dad. Apart from like... one or two people. I was too embarrassed. I didn't push him away, but I sure as hell didn't give him any reason to come closer, and so he didn't. Why would he? I was just some punk kid. I even gave him a fake name, so he wouldn't suspect."

Morris instead of Mason... the alias they'd gone by after the name-change that had resulted in 'Heather'.

"Anyway... time passed, shit went down... I eventually realized what an ungrateful idiot I'd been, and after I got a little... reality check, I finally told him who I was. He'd already figured it out... saw my real name on a police warrant, of all things. Really cementing my great rep in his eyes, right? ... But I told him. And..."

She pauses to take a deep breath, staring straight ahead.

"... And that's when he stopped replying."

She'd asked him if he was mad at her, for lying.

And even though it hadn't been his fault, and she'd gotten her closure with him now that he was back, older and wiser and accepting of her no matter HOW many mistakes she'd made... god, that silence had still hurt. It had hurt more than almost anything else she had experienced here in Johto.

Her voice is a little dull when she continues.

"It took about a month of radio silence before I finally got that error message. I still hadn't... told anybody about what had been going on. The fact that I'd finally said something and just... hadn't gotten anything back was just so fucking embarrassing, I didn't even say anything to the couple of people who DID know. And when I finally got the proof he was gone, I just..."

Wellp.

Removing her chin from her hand, she balls her fingers into a fist and raises it at Cooper, showing off the gnarled white scar tissue that decorates her knuckles, standing out quite visibly even in the dim light.

"There wasn't anybody around who I wouldn't have to explain the whole story to, and doing that just seemed... impossible, that night, so I just ... went off alone and found an alley wall somewhere in Goldenrod, and..."

And the rest was history.

Oh, he remembers commenting on that. That had been a long time ago now - he barely knew her. But her hands had looked terrible by any standards and he hadn't gotten out of the habit of checking out exactly why that was.

And, let's face it: he still hasn't. In almost any given situation he will poke and prod and investigate, because that's what he's always done. Sure, it's led him into some less than desirable situations ... but on the whole it still seems to have worked out.

At least as far as the big picture goes.

He hadn't forgotten about those scars. He'd noticed them on occasion but never commented further, hadn't honestly been all that interested to know about them either after a certain point. But there's still a sense of satisfaction in knowing where they came from, now, and he makes a little 'ah' sound when he looks at the ragged white lines across her skin.

Then he looks back to her face. He's honestly not entirely sure what she's trying to tell him, so the expression is thoughtful, but there's also sympathy for HER there.

He recalls wanting to punch people's teeth out. He imagines what she describes would be a little like that. Except what she did also looks a lot like punishment. To herself.

"You must have been very relieved when he came back."

From her time, no less.

It was.

Most of what had been coursing through her veins that night had just been frustration, pure and unfiltered. It'd had to come out one way or another, and letting fists fly had seemed like the only option. Because talking... talking wouldn't have worked.

But she'd be lying if she tried to claim that part of it hadn't also been a petty little bit of revenge on herself for letting that chance slip away. Heather had always been a vengeful person, after all. Her anger was characterized by bloodthirstiness, and when that anger was directed at herself... well, let's just say she doesn't believe in exceptions.

But she nods.

"I was. Still am."

And not a day went by that she didn't hug her father, tell him she loved him, or even just sit there with him quietly while he jotted down his never-ending story ideas and musings. Whatever happened, she was NOT making the same mistakes she'd made before. Never, ever again.

But that wasn't the point of this story.

So when she looks up, she fixes Cooper with a piercing stare.

"But the fact is, if I hadn't bottled it all up... if I'd actually told people what was happening, asked them for help... I wouldn'tve been left high and dry that night. I would've been able to go to somebody before I turned my hands into ground hamburger. ... I did go to someone, for the record, but it was still a little too fucking late."

As usual... although choking her troubles out to Phoenix that night had been the best thing she could have done.

"But I didn't, and even though I needed somebody, the thought of having to explain the entire story before I could even start to answer the question of 'So why are you so messed-up right now?' was just so mortifying I couldn't do it. Because I didn't go to anybody for help, for months. Just ignored everything, and brushed it off as me dealing with it on my own and not burdening other people with my truckloads of emotional baggage, and by the time I realized I was up the creek without a paddle, I was too far from shore to yell for help."

And there you have it, Cooper.

There's her lesson.

She folds her arms over her knees again, resting her head on them broodingly. Even remembering that night conjures up the same bitter feelings that had led her to take out her frustrations on a brick wall. Her tone is appropriately sardonic.

"And that was the day I learned I wasn't a special snowflake who didn't need to open up to anybody."

Edited 2011-10-18 06:10 (UTC)

Well. That certainly got her point across. And Cooper is actually a little stunned.

A lot of people had started to tell him what she just told him, but never quite so directly. So obviously pointed his way. Mostly because he never gave them a chance -- because hell, he's punishing himself too, isn't he?

So when it hits home, his first instinct is to dodge again. Argue. But that's not the right thing to do and he's quiet while he thinks about what she said. Really thinks about it.

"Okay," he says after a moment, pronouncing it 'okei' the way he does sometimes. Okay, he thinks he understands. There's a moment of silence, and then, bluntly, suddenly-

"Do you want to hear the whole story?"

That's Heather for you.

Sayin' it like it is.

She doesn't really expect him to take it completely to heart right away. But she'd said what she wanted to, and maybe it'd even help him out.

... Needless to say, she's surprised by the sudden offer, and she lifts her head again, looking back over at him. It's obvious she didn't expect him to say... well, that.

"... Sure," she says, after a moment or so. Because... yeah. She's curious. Can you blame her for it? Trying to chase some of the bitterness out of her tone, she offers a sheepish smile. "We still got a good few hours of moonlight, after all."

He smiles back, very briefly. Yeah, it looks like they have a few. At this rate he wouldn't be surprised if they stayed until morning, but the thought of not getting any sleep doesn't really bother him. He doesn't even feel very tired. Not yet, anyway. Or at least not physically so.

"My partner was taken to a psychiatric ward shortly after it happened. The woman we were supposed to protect was his wife."

It's a confession, really. He went behind his partner's back and he's sure this isn't lost on the teenager listening.

"He was my closest friend at the time, Heather. He taught me everything I know about being an agent." He'd betrayed him. He really had. "A man I really admired, driven over the edge."

He sighs, eyes drifting down at his hands again. He's quite literally holding hands with himself, thumb stroking lightly over a knuckle as he just listens to himself speak.

"He was the one who found us. I've been told it was a really bad scene." Small pause -- this is the real issue. "But I also believe he was the one who committed the original crime Caroline witnessed and is responsible for the stabbing of her and myself. He killed his own wife. Very nearly killed me. And I can't prove it or understand it."

To say it's affected him for years is an understatement. And though he freely tells this to her there's a bit of a void in the way he does it, like he can't really muster up the energy to be invested or emotional about what happened. Like he's just tired of it, especially that last part. He just wants to understand but he's pretty damn sure he won't be getting any answers.

Everything Windom had told him since the whole thing had been either cryptic or chilling or a nasty combination.

Edited 2011-10-18 07:27 (UTC)

She listens in silence.

... That's a pretty big confession, and while it doesn't... shock her, necessarily (all things considered, Heather is a pretty hard person to shock), it does just make her... think.

Because christ.

This poor man.

The weariness in his tone is something she recognizes, almost intimately. It's how she feels about some of her OWN demons of the past, or rather feels about trying to talk about them. Like there's almost no point. Nothing will change, nothing will get easier.

But either way, when he finishes, her brows are creased upwards in empathy.

"... So your best friend hurt you too, huh."

Except it was possibly even worse, because the betrayal had come from someone current. Not... a distant childhood memory.

"Yeah. I guess he did."

After that, he sits in silence for a long moment, eyes downcast. Mentally back in the safe house in Pittsburgh and hearing Windom laughing.

That had been jarring, if anything. The laughing. He could be making it up but the sound strikes a chord in him that makes him certain he really heard it.

But that also leads him back to the knowledge that it couldn't have really been Windom who did it. It had been him, no doubt, but at the same time it just didn't make any sense on a level beyond delusion, psychosis, psychopathy or schizophrenia.

(Hell. Cooper had only been in his twenties. Windom used to call him 'boy'. The idea of his ex-partner knifing him is still bizarre.)

He clears his throat, looks back up at her. He might as well ... since he's already talking.

"He recently escaped the hospital. That's my current case."

... Christ.

As she watches him, she can tell that in his head, he's there. .... Where 'there' is, she doesn't know. But she bites her lip for a moment... and then, after a brief deliberation, scoots a little closer to him, reaching out to close her hand on whichever arm of his is closest to her.

It's not much of a comfort... but it's a little more personal than anything she could actually say to that.

And a few hours ago... she wouldn't have done it.

A fact that isn't lost on him, and he appreciates the gesture. There's a hint of a smile her way too - both a sort of 'thanks' and maybe one of those 'I'm alright' kind of things, which is obviously not all too true but still a front he's used to putting up.

Not that he's trying to do that right now. His guard is lowered considerably - how couldn't it be? - and even though he will admit to there being a small comfort in having told her about the whole thing (something he hasn't told anybody for a long time now), it's still something he will remain unwilling to touch. The guilt of what happened, and is happening, is just a little too much most of the time.

But taking the circumstances into account he'll still consider himself more or less okay. He's still fit for fight. And hell, right here, in Johto? He doesn't even have to worry. If Windom ever shows up he can deal with it then. Meanwhile he'll just keep trying to live for the moment.

So it's with that thought he sits up a little straighter, trying to will away the recalled blood and and breathing difficulties.

She doesn't leave her hand there for TOO long, although it lingers a little longer than he left his on her shoulder. For all her grievances and and reasons not to trust, she's always been a touchy-feely person, and hardship has always been a way to get her sympathy, no matter how cynical or critical she might be beforehand.

She does take it back eventually, though, laying her arm across her knees again.

"... Think that helped any?"

"Marginally."

He's not going to lie - since he never really delved into his own emotional mess about it, it remains unresolved (and, in fact, is likely to stay that way for quite some time) ... and he's not the kind to vent or ramble, so there's still a ton he should probably say before he's actually helped by talking. But the word is spoken in a way that indicates that that amount is still more than expected, with a warm mildness that lets her know he appreciates it.

Because he does, really. He realizes that her pushing, the let-people-in, is probably good for him in the long run, despite his tendencies and expected continuation to not allow himself to do just that. That - and because she now knows about his big regret it's not something he'll have to pretend isn't there. And that's where the small comfort of the conversation is.

He almost shrugs. He never really shrugs.

"At least Windom's not here - that's his name, Windom Earle." And here we go - getting used to how he does this yet? "That's more than I can say for your case."

As in, think your talking helped any? He's more concerned with her than himself.

Baby steps, Coop. Baby steps.

Heather vented tonight because she needed to... and while she's more than happy to pull things out of people by hook or by crook, she won't push it too far. Not just yet. But she's got her foot in the door, now. In time...

"Windom Earle."

She repeats it softly... as though memorizing it. And she kind of is. She'll need to remember the sound of it... just in case this man ever shows up. She's already been given names by some others... names to watch out for, names to run from or mistrust right off the bat. This is another... one that is more than worthy of remembering, if Cooper's story was true. And she believes that it is.

"... It... yeah, it did. I think I just... needed to get that stuff off my chest. I hadn't... really told anybody yet. 'Cept for Dad. N'getting it out in the open helps make it look... not so bad, I guess. As it was in my head."

She looks up and gives Cooper a small, slightly-sheepish smile.

"I know Claudia won't hurt me here. OR Dad. ... She even said so."

And Heather trusts her. She may hate her, may want to kill her, may think that she's a fanatical psychopath... but she trusts her. When Claudia says something, she means it.

"... I just... need to deal with it. ... Myself. ... And the disappearances... well, there's nothing I can do about those. So... no point in worrying, right...?"

That last bit is cleverly aimed at Cooper in addition to being about herself.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject