Chapter
two
Wesker: Ugh.
His
head hurt. It was the dull thudding of pain in the back of his head that
eventually woke him. A low groan escaped his throat, and before it ended, he
was aware he was some place he did not know. It wasn't.. an unwelcome place. He
did not get an overwhelming sensation of dread like he use to when he'd wake up
after a mob deal gone wrong, or after the bat had knocked him out.
This
place had a soft air about it, and whatever he was laying on was plush supple
and good against his tired back. As he drew in deeper breaths he could feel
silken material around his hands and under his neck. He had to be in a bed. He
swallowed and cringed as he moved his head against the pillow.
"Oh
g-god."
His
mouth tasted like utter rot. And it wasn't that I've-not-brushed-my-teeth taste
either. An almost sickly sweet bile flavor that settled heavy on his tongue.
Was it alcohol, or had he actually vomited? He tried to swallow it down and
gave up.
It was starting to come back to him even before he opened his eyes. The party? What had happened? Where was he now? Oh god, had he done something? Freak out? "Oh god." Arnold said again and opened his eyes.
Everything
was fuzzy, he realized he wasn't wearing his glasses, and all he could barely
see was the spinning blades of the fan above the bed. "Ugh." He
slowly began to sit up in the bed, mismatched hands going to his face to rub.
He could still feel the cold fear sweat sticking to his face, even thought it
had dried. He tried to rub it away with another vocal groan.
And
that's when he started to feel afraid. Here he was, blind without his glasses,
waking up in a strange bed. He was almost too alarmed to lower his hands and
try to search for them.
Alfred: Arnold
could hear, a few minutes or so after he came to, a soft clicking sound.. Then
footsteps, barely audible against the hardwood floor.
Alfred had remained by the unconscious man's side
for quite a time.. Watching him, thinking.. Wondering about Bruce's mental
state, more than anything. That was one good thing; Bruce likely wouldn't try
another stunt like this anytime soon. He thought for a time about the defense
mechanisms that all people have, the ways different men and women cope with the
frightfulness of everyday life in Gotham. The most senior of the staff at Wayne
manor could not say he lived a life without danger, but.. He was not only
inured to the pressures of his job but also provided with a sense of security,
having such a close relationship with Gotham's protector. Alfred felt, above
all.. At nearly all times.. Safe. Not invincible, but reasonably reassured.
This poor creature, without his defense mechanism.. Couldn't feel safe, ever.
His brow furrowed at the thought. Maybe.. Maybe if Wesker could not feel safe
for himself..
It was at that time that Bruce called his butler
away from the bed. Alfred had seen the last few guests off.. And then he'd seen
Bruce off for the night. Well, not Bruce.
The manor was quiet, then.. The servants retired,
the messes cleaned up, the ice sculpture dripping despondently in
the pathway behind the chef's quarters, the gates locked and the garages
full. Alfred returned to Wesker's side and took his glasses from the bedside
table, his blazer and shoes and hat.. Even his tie, which Bruce had removed
so that he wouldn't be constricted in his sleep.. And brought them to the
laundry room to be cleaned in the morning.
He returned empty handed but for the glasses to find
Wesker stirring about on the bed, and allowed himself a half-smile, coming to
the bed and placing one gloved hand upon the scarred one.. taking it, and
placing his glasses where the fingers could grasp them. The yellowish lenses
had been wiped off.
Alfred sat in the chair by the bed and crossed one
leg over the other.
Wesker: Arnie, in his childlike
sense, couldn't do much more about being frightened then he could when he had
fainted on the dance floor. Like a child stripped of it's security blanket;
this case being the nasty and absent Mr. Scarface, the most he could do when he
found himself alone in this foreign place; blind by his own bad eyes, was
whimper pathetically and cling to himself.
Professor
Crane back at Arkham would have been the type to enjoy such a show. The aspects
of what we're afraid of and what kinds of horrors the mind could produce when a
person has nothing but their own livid imagination and suffocating unknown to
draw upon must have been a psychologist's wet dream. Arnold had always relied
on Scarface to tell him to quite sniveling and suck it up. Mr. Scarface had
always been there to keep him safe; even if the dummy had been the worst thing
for him. It was almost irrational to try and grasp the kind of relationship one
has when your very own savior is your worst nightmare all in one.
While
alone at his apartment, Arnie had his things and the comfort of quite a few
locks to keep him from huddling against a headboard in utter terror of what
could be trying to get him. Years of repression, abuse, torment and his
own rattled brain had molded him into a shaking mouse of a man where he felt
like Gotham was a huge tom cat with it's talons spread out to snag
him.
And
here.. here... where he could knew he was in a welcomed environment, even then
he couldn't feel safe. Even the light tapping of shoes against hardwood caused
salty sweat to stain around the man's white silken collar.
It
wasn't until those soft-gloved fingers landed on his suffered scarred up ones
did Arnold realize that he was okay. It was like an angel's feathery touch
reaching through the walls of purgatory to guide his soul away from the clutch
of uncertainty. The small ex-criminal drew in a labored breath and for a brief
moment clutched at that hand. Fingertips found the thick frames of his glasses,
and he pulled his other hand to take them and quickly bring them up to his
face.
The
blurriness of the room quickly faded away and his vision focused on the light
smiling face of the man that sat next to the bed. Alfred blurred out starting
from his perfectly groomed mustache, to his dark eyes; the light flashing in
his monocle, and then the rest of his lightly lined face.
Wesker
stared for a moment, and then looked down at where he still clutched the man's
hand and let got with an embarrassed squeak. "I'm s-sorry.. I just woke
up.. and it was d-dark, I'm sorry..."
Where am I? What time is it? Am I still in Wayne Manor? Did I hurt someone? Ruin the party? All questions he wanted to spill out but couldn't get his mouth to work. Instead the small man curled into himself, pulling his knees to his chest and wrapping his arms around them. Turned up nose was pressed into the caps of his knees and he sighed.
"I b-blew it, didn't I?"
Alfred: Alfred
paused, the little crease of his mouth undecided. He wasn't exactly thrilled to
be watching over this nervous wreck, but.. All at once, he wanted to comfort
the man, if only because his shivers and sniffles were entirely unsettling.
"No." He
drew his hand back a few moments after it was released, and both hands settled
in his lap. "Actually.. All things considered, you er.. You handled
yourself fairly well.." Until you flopped over and wriggled like a fish
thrown onto the chopping block. The mental image amused him for only the
briefest moment..
That was Alfred's
defense, really. A cool sense of humor. The capacity.. and the ability.. to
poke a little fun at everything, even the Batman. Of course, it was hard for
anyone but Bruce to realize this. Alfred's face was so often a mask, composed
and calm, impenetrable but for the briefest of smirks. His was not usually a
cruel wit, but it was incisive.
"You're alright now. Hmm?" He wasn't..
terribly good at being comforting, not when he barely knew a person, but he
tried. A moment's paused, and he inclined his head slightly. "Would you
like something to drink, maybe? Water, I mean. I suppose alcohol doesn't agree
with you.."
Wesker: Inch thick frames were like
emotionless sauces on the ex-criminal's face as the butler did his briefest to
consol him out of his damaged ego. Aha, what ego really? And truly,
Alfred had every right in his graying head to not care that much for having to
take this wretchedly pathetic little man under his wing for what should have
been a good party. Arnie wasn't this man's responsibility, and it unfair
of the ex-criminal to ask him for anymore.
"I
know I s-shouldn't have come, Just Mister Wayne seemed so hopef-" He
trailed off as he let out a sigh and slowly slide off the bed. Standing up gave
him a bit of a head rush, so he had to clutch one hand to the bed as he
straightened his back. God, he'd made such a mess, probably embarrassed Bruce.
He didn't know how he was going to show his face at work on Monday.
And yet, here was the butler, extending him more favors. A glass of water. He didn't quite understand Alfred's kindness. He didn't know the man, and the British Butler certainly didn't know him outside his legacy as the Ventriloquist. Arnold almost felt utterly dastardly having made this man suffer his company for the evening.
Yes,
Arnie would be the type to consider himself 'sufferable company'. Scarface had
always told him he was worth 'guck-fifty even in a clean suit.' With a sickly
pale face and mused up bed-wrinkled clothes, he hardly felt worth a penny.
"No..no
I've taken up too much of your time as it is, I'll just get my things and g-go
home." It was only then did he realize his bow tie, hat and jacket
were missing. He let got of the bed to reached up and pull the open ends of his
tuxedo shirt collar together. "Where... where are my things?"
Alfred: Alfred
got to his feet as Arnold did, both hands reaching out.. It was almost
reflexive. But he didn't grab him, just.. stood, watching. He didn't seem as
though he would fall, but maybe it'd be better to make sure. Wesker didn't seem
as if he would fall earlier, but he did.
"They're.. I took the liberty of bringing them
downstairs. They'll be cleaned tomorrow morning. I think it's best you stay
here tonight, Master Wesker.." He tried to be as polite as he could,
hoping the man wouldn't faint again, and moved to touch his arm.. Place one of
his hands on Arnold's shoulder, and take the hand without scars in his other.
It was in this manner that he guided Arnold into a sitting position on the
bed.. And then released him, feeling slightly ridiculous. Him holding the other
man like that, it looked for a moment as if they were in the position to waltz.
Alfred sighed, annoyed at himself. Why make
anything out of that at all? He was dizzy, and you were helping.
"Maybe you should go
back to sleep. You've had a rough night.. Lord knows we all have." His
expression wasn't without humor as he looked over at Arnold's spectacled face,
sitting beside him upon the edge of the bed. "I'm sure in the morning
you'll feel much better."
In the morning, they could go their respective ways,
and this made Alfred feel a bit better about being so close tonight. After all,
it wouldn't be too long.. Being nice to him wasn't exactly a chore, but it was
rather irregular.
Wesker: He was a jumpy little
critter, one had to admit to that, but the ex-Ventriloquist did not startle at
Alfred's gloved hand with the taller man lead him back to a sitting positions.
If anything, those smaller clammy fingers merely latched for a brief moment.
"I
don't want to be trouble, please I could really p-pick up the clothes another
day." It's not like he wore the suit anymore, this was the first time he'd
worn it since.. well.. since his last time out with Scarface.
But there was that thing about Arnold. So reluctantly obedient. So easy to see how hard it had been drilled into his balding head, when Alfred had him sat back on the bed, he bowed his head submissively into his collar and fumbled his hand from the glove back into his own lap. Those mismatched items twiddled nervously with each other and he just finally nodded. "Okay, if you say so."
But
to go back to sleep? He hardly felt tired. Much too jittery and worried about
taking up too much of this man's time, but if it was to be, he could always LAY
here and just pretend to sleep, right? It was just for a night. He'd lay
in his asylum bed and stared at the ceiling for hours on end before. "I
guess I could t-try to lay ba-" What did he just call me?
Like
a deer in headlights, the small mousy male snapped his attention back up to
Alfred's face and stared at him for a moment. They way those glasses reflected
was almost an eerie reminded that something evil had once lurked in side
him. (Maybe it still did.) Master Wesker? Master Wesker?
Something about those two words together made Arnie almost feel ill. This man
wasn't his servant. With as long as he'd spent playing bitch to Scarface, it
almost pained Arnold to have anyone be a subordinate.
"Please
don't call-" He swallowed and finally looked down. ".. A-Arnold
please, or even Arnie. You don't have to wait on me, or .. or anything of that
sort, it's not.. right."
Alfred: One brow raised, his
expression just a bit uneasy. How Wesker was so frightened by every little
thing inspired a touch of fear in the old butler.. As if he ought to be fearful,
too. More than anything else, though, it inspired sympathy. He smiled slightly,
comfortingly, and wrapped an arm around the man's shoulders, trying to instill
him with some sense of.. security.
"Well.. It's my job, er.. Arnold. I am a
servant, after all, to all the guests of this manor. But if you don't want me
to call you that.." What a strange guest- Well, not that strange, really.
He wasn't a typical guest. Not only was he poor, but a reforming mental
patient. No, the odd thing would be if he acted like the snobs at the party, if
he expected Alfred to be a sniveling accessory. It was a bit more down to
Earth, a bit more comforting to hear Wesker encourage him to be an equal. So..
It didn't feel odd at all to squeeze him slightly, brows raising somewhat. The
only people he could get close enough to comfort were Bruce and a few of the
younger servants, the ones who saw him as a brother.. in Bruce's case, a father
figure. Though he still semi-sarcastically referred to the young Wayne as
'master' as well.
"You'll be fine, Arnold. You don't have to
sleep. We can talk."
His eyes glanced over the other, once.. Collar
undone, head bare, tattered socks over feet that stayed close together on the
floor. In such a short time he'd been undone, and Alfred still looked just the
same..
Wesker: Of course, Arnold wouldn't ever dream of treating anyone like they were beneath him. If anything he looked up to the bottlish butler as a superior. Look how he handled himself! He made parties go spectacular, he kept Bruce Wayne; only the biggest playboy billionaire in all of Gotham city, in line, and why he even made time in his busy busy schedule to sit here and comfort Wesker. Arnie couldn't even cook fish sticks without burning the hell out of them.
When
the arm landed on his shoulder, the ex-criminal didn't flinch away, or go
squirreling across the bed. His shoulders just lowered a little and a long sigh
left him. His appearance honestly wasn't what depressed him; here was a man who
was use to sitting in scrubs behind a slate glass window; no it was the
shameless kindness the other showed.
Alfred wasn't trying to make Arnold into a model citizen like Bruce wanted to. He wasn't shoving him out the door now that he was awake and the party was over. The Butler was sitting on the bed with him, even willing to talk to him. No one ever wanted to really talk to Arnie.
"You'd..
sit here...and talk to me?" The last word trilled higher in the
question and the smaller man raised his head again to look at Alfred. For a
brief moment, Arnie's mouth quirked into a shy smile even if his hands wrangled
more nervously together. "..that's so.. nice of you.. but you don't have
too, I'm not really interesting, and I don't want to cut into your sleep
time."
The
smile had faded by the end of his statement, but it had BEEN there! And Arnold
Wesker didn't smile at just anyone! It was the smiling that had gotten
him into this mess in the first place.
Alfred:
"Yes,"
it was only one word, but it seemed to take Alfred a long time to say it.
"Yes, I'd like to talk." If absolutely nothing else, he was curious.
Alfred
knew about all of the nasty scum and murderous monsters of Gotham.. He could
name every lowlife that Batman landed in the slammer off the top of his
baldhead, though he didn't exactly like dwelling on that sort of thing. He'd
seen the effects of the fierce insanity of the Joker, he knew how dangerous it
could be to deal with the venomous Poison Ivy or the duplicitous Two-Face.
But.. Actually talking to a criminal, even to a reformed one[And Alfred did not
doubt at that moment that Wesker was reformed, though he knew the man still had
a lot of socializing processes to go through] was a rare occurrence.
He
did want to talk.
He wanted to know what was going through that head.. What
sort of things had to.. HAPPEN to a person for such a terrifying other
personality to emerge. He knew Arnold would be loathe to tell his life story
just then, but he didn't need to hear everything. Just a few things. He could
figure out a lot from just a few things. What he could figure out now.. What
anyone could figure out, really, was that Arnold needed to feel safe at all
times.
Maslow's
hierarchy of needs stated that a person needed to sate their hunger and thirst,
and their desire for shelter, before they could worry about grander pursuits.
The need for societal acceptance and physical safety was the third or fourth
rung up the ladder, but Alfred could gather that it was the very first step for
the exventriloquist. So.. Setting aside how odd it felt to himself, Alfred
practically cradled the other man, holding him.. Not tightly, really, but
firmly, and his voice was low. "You can tell me anything you want, Arnold.
I'm here to listen.."
Wesker: Oh, if only Alfred had the
time to understand what had happened to this rattled little individual, if only
Arnold hadn't been so bottled up inside himself that he could have poured it
all out into the other man's shoulder! Some things were probably best not
brought to air, very few people knew the whole backwater horror story that had
created the Ventriloquist. From the neglect, to the abuse, to the humiliation,
to the utter self-torture he'd put himself through for years. Some things.. no
one needed to hurt over.
Not for Wesker. Not for him. Pity was one thing, knowing all that...
Joker
would have spilled out lies. Hatter would have smooth talked his way into an
open door. Twoface would have swung his fist. Arnold Wesker merely moved his
face so that his nose was pressed into the kook of the butlers arm and pulled
his legs up onto the bed. His fiddling hands found the edge of
Alfred's tuxedo tail and worried it into those conflicting digits.
"I didn't w-want to come to the party, but I didn't want to disappoint Mr. Wayne. I was so worried, and look what I went and did." A deep breath was taking. Alfred's scent alone was calming. He didn't smell like a doctor or a work boss. He didn't smell like gunpowder or prescription medication. He smelt clean, expensively washed with just the hint of dust and smoke. (No doubt acquired from his duties hustling about the manor.)
And
it didn't seem weird to Arnie that this man was nearly cradling him. He felt
comforted, even as his heart started to hurt with the realization. You're
not meant to be on your own. What Arnold DID need was someone to take care
of him. He couldn't last in the real world, not with so many predators lurking.
He'd failed twice already.
"I'm.. n-not going to make it, M-Mr. Alfred. I know I'm not. I can't even make it through a day without feeling like the world is going to e-eat me. It's always b-been like that. No matter what I do.. I try to be good, I try to just live, and someone comes along.." He could feel tears started.
Don't
cry. Why are you crying? Don't dump this in this poor man's lap. He doesn't
need your sad-sack drama. ".. Mr. Scarface always comes back, Alfred. I get so
scared, and then I'm alone and he comes back."
Alfred: There were a few long
moments of quiet, the only noises being Arnold's shuddering breaths, when Alfred
was puzzling over what to do. What else could he do? He held him, shoulders
relaxing, and couldn't help swallowing.
He was a stoic sort of fellow, slow to show distress or
elation, but feeling that warm shivering body and hearing that plaintive small
voice made a bit of a knot swell in his throat. He had a fleeting notion of
possessiveness.. Feeling, perhaps not wrongfully, that he was the only
person the Ventriloquist had.. The last shining light in the abysmal
worthlessness that was his life.
But..
Alfred squelched the thought. That was wrongheaded; having that sort of feeling
about.. anyone, really. Arnold was his own person, and an adult.. Not a thing
to be had, certainly not a child to be coddled. He had things to learn,
certainly.. Alfred could help. But don't go about with the notion that
Arnold is.. YOURS. He isn't.
Alfred
sighed. As sad as the fellow was, the feeling of someone looking up to him made
Alfred feel important.. Like he had something to offer. It wasn't bad.
He
let one hand fall on the back of Wesker's head, and he spoke: "You're not
alone, Arnold. Scarface can't come back if you have someone here with you, can
he? And I'm here.."
Wesker: As poignant as it was; it
was a pitiful truth. At this very moment, all Arnold had.. was Alfred. To have
to put your trust and sorrow in a stranger; to rely on a stranger
to chase away the boogeyman; to expect a stranger to save you; why it
was damn near selfish!
But did Arnold have every right to be? Yes, he'd been a nasty evil character in the last ten years, but he'd loathed his own existence. It had been everything else that had shoved that monster out of him, yet here he was, without that monster, still loathing. But here was Mr. Pennyworth, knowing what an nasty little bugger he'd really been, holding him; hardly knowing him, telling him.. you have me with you, don't be afraid.
What
are good guys for, hm?
"Oh
god!" Arnie actually let out a sob and was suddenly clutching the taller
man. That poor fitted perfect tuxedo suddenly had a little balding head pushing
into it's chest. Mismatched hands clutching into the butler's side as he shook
for a moment. "oh god, oh god, oh god."
Arnold
almost wanted to shove away from Alfred; run like a bat out of hell (how
fitting) toward the front door. Not because he was afraid this man would hurt
him, but because he knew deep down, if he let this man get close to him,
something bad would happen. And he wanted to tell Alfred that. Tell him to let
go and let him cry alone like he always did.
But
God. It felt so safe right here. And goodness knows Arnold didn't need
to be coddled like a damn child, but he wanted to be. He wanted to be held, and
stroked and told everything was okay, because no one ever had. It was selfish,
but the smaller man curled, dragging wet face and scrunched nose right into the
other man's bow-tie. "I d-don't want him to come b-back, with you h-here,
he won't come, but tomorrow, I'll be alone again."
Alfred: Alfred felt more apologetic
than anything.. There wasn't much he could do to help, not more than what he
was already doing. He bowed his head slightly, moving his arms as if in an
attempt to cover Wesker with himself. Not much to do but offer hope.
"Don't..
worry about that, okay? Mas.. that is.. Bruce and I, we're here to help.
Not just tonight, but any time you need us." There was a moment's pause,
and he let out a slow breath, reaching up to remove his monocle and slip it
into his front pocket. He held Arnold for what seemed like forever, that
smallish body quaking, the breaths growing huskier and lower and somewhat
calmer. Only somewhat.
One
of the butler's hands moved to rub at the back of Wesker's shoulder, more
absentmindly than anything else, and this seemed to calm him a little bit
further. The little sobbing sounds were coming slowing, at least.
This was a low sound, from the back of this throat, more
to himself than anything. "You've been through so much." Holding the
man like this had reminded him of the way he'd held Bruce as a child, but
before it was more than the actions, the feeling. Now he realized that Arnold
was a lot like his friend and employer. Maybe Wayne knew that, maybe that's why
he could feel sympathy for such dastardly types. Both were just responding to
stress; both reacted in different ways to the fear of being alone and
unprotected. Both needed a.. a rock, of sorts.
"You've done so much." The sound was drier and somewhat sadder. "You don't need to do anything, now. I'm here." And that wasn't all just.. a pretty thing to say, something that would make Wesker stop trembling. He meant it..
Wesker: How one deals with stress
and sorrow can really show what type of person they truly were. Unlike Bruce
who'd dealt with his parents death by becoming cold and calculated; hiding
under a cape and cowl to distribute justice upon the Gotham Night. Arnold had
been wronged too, just like Bruce; only he'd shifted down a completely
different path. His own vengeance a completely different personality.
But
with Scarface gone, he had no anger or hatred left. Just loneliness and the
dismal feeling of fear. Feelings that he couldn't handle well, and needed
someone to help him. Feelings that Alfred was helping to stroke away
with hugs and gentle words. If there was every anything that could keep a monster
like that horrid personality at bay; it was what this man was doing for him,
right now.
So
yes, Wesker did stop sniffling so loud; his tears came slower and finally dried
up till he was just mildly hiccupping into the other man's chest. His mismatched
hands finally loosened in their death grip and he just leaned on the old
butler, not even really knowing how he'd about ending up in his lap. Not quite
in his lap, but just about.
"You'd..You'd
want to spend time with m-me? You'd let me come b-back?" As unsure as the
questions were, they bordered on a hopeful note. Arnie finally pulled his face
from that rather wrinkled and now soaked white tuxedo vest. His nose furrowed
at he looked up the kind face of the bottlish butler and made a small uncertain
whine. "N-no ones ever b-been there for me, I almost can't bare it.. I'd..
like it... I think."
He
must have seemed so silly. This man, a year shy of fifty, pawing at another
like an insecure child whose been offered a ride for ice cream, unsure of
wither he was being tricked or not. Yet, Arnold kind of knew Alfred was being
sincere. If the butler's only intention had been to get the smaller man to
quite his fit, he'd succeeded.
Alfred: The lump in Alfred's throat faded
slightly.. And he smiled despite himself. This man really had him affected,
like it or not. As bad as he'd been, the sorrow and the fear were endearing,
and he couldn't help liking Wesker, in a way that was beyond obligation. For
that moment, he really did think the two could be friends. The butler shifted
slightly against the dark sheets, tugging on Arnold's shoulders to get him to
sit up, and regarded that face silently. His cheeks were red, glasses slightly
crooked, skin streaked with drying tears.. Alfred tugged a handkerchief from his
front pocket and reached out to rub it against his cheek.
"Stay
still, then, it'll just take a moment.." The old Brit let out an eerily
maternal sigh as Wesker squirmed slightly. "There. See, you look much
better." His voice was a bit gentler, now.. Softer than the tone he used
with others. He knew other people could with stand a little coldness. Arnold
seemed as though that would make him shatter..
Wesker: How utterly puppy-like
Wesker could be at times. Yet, it wasn't the happy jumping up into your lap
kind of puffy purebred that one would like to vision; it was the raggedly
little half starved mutt that the clean Sunday-church ready child would tug in
his arms and present to his mother. 'Maw-Maw, could we please KEEP HIM?"
Of course mother would always tell Jimmy to get rid of that creature as quick
as possible; it probably had fleas.
But
was Alfred to be like that refined child; who runs around the house and
stashed the dirty pup so that when he is alone and back from Church he can bath
it, fed it and love it anyway? It was an interesting comparisons. As the other
man pulled away and insisted the smaller man sit straight on the bed for a face
washing, as much as Arnold felt very strange about it, he did just that.
Round
shoulders were pulled tight and he lifted his tear stained face up against the
handkerchief as the butler wiped at him cheeks. Face was scrunched as a toddler
would, but he did not jerk his head away. Teeth tugged his bottom lip under
them and he nibbled till Alfred was finished and then tilted his head up at
him. "T-thank you, I'm sorry I'm such a mess, I'm sorry I threw such a
fit."
The Ex-Criminal swallowed and then finally smiled again, reaching up to rub his scarred up hand over his freshly rubbed cheeks. They no longer had tears, but they were still red. "You're so ..n-nice and I hardly even know you." Arnie let his mouth curl up into a light smiled and he pushed himself off the bed, standing up and curling his hands under his armpits in a nervous manner, but he didn't let his lips droop again.
"I
think.. I do need some water, but .. I don't want you to get it for me. Could
you just come with me, s-show me where to get it?" Arnie WAS lying
here, he wasn't really thirsty, he just didn't want to sit there on the bed
anymore. No.. he wanted to sit there, he'd sit there forever, he just knew if
he did; he'd be clinging to the butler again. You've already made him suffer
your childish whimpering so long. But he's so nice, and he's arms were so warm
too. Arnie's heart thumped.
It
was a good kind of thump though. "Please?"
Alfred: "Of course." That
same sort of stiffness returned, that sense of quiet duty. Alfred couldn't be
called a brokeback humble servant, of course, but he knew when he was working
and he knew when to be proper. He stood, dusted off his coat and placed the
handkerchief back in his pocket, then turned to help Arnold stay on his feet.
The poor fellow was still weak and woozy, but felt much more sure than he had
been a few minutes ago.. So, that was something.
It
was odd.. Wesker was almost fifty- He looked older, his face made haggard
from a lifetime of stress.. But he acted younger, his maturity stunted in some
bizarre way. He wasn't immature, really, but.. just couldn't DEAL. Alfred had
spent his whole life 'dealing', though.. He wasn't sure that it was a quality
one could teach.
Would
he, though, if he could?
As they walked slowly down a smaller hall.. Lavishly
carpeted and furnished with paintings and the occasional small statue, but not
as imposing as the main entryway by a long shot.. Alfred wondered about how
he'd take care of this man. Not that Bruce WOULDN'T, certainly, but one could
only do so much at the office. Perhaps, if he stayed at th-
Oh,
God!
The
Ventriloquist, living at Wayne manor! He certainly wouldn't be sleeping with
the servants-
Well,
Alfred, stop thinking that way. He's not the Ventriloquist anymore, he
certainly isn't a danger to anyone but himself. And maybe behind that
quivering exterior is honor as shining and strong as the Batman's..
One
just needs to know how to draw it out.
He
blinked, glancing over at the other as they reached the door to a small
lavatory.. Hoping his silence wasn't scaring the skittish creature..
Wesker: He was certainly much more
sure on his feet then he'd been when he'd woken up a bit ago. It couldn't have
been too long; how long had he been clinging to the butler; weeping softly into
starched lapels? Arnie had never been good with gauging time; or perhaps he'd
simply forgotten how too. When one spends countless hours in a prison or asylum
cell, the hours, days and even months tend to blend together.
But
now was not the time to think about how hard his life had been. He was done
crying, and was just going to try and enjoy the butler's company while he had
it. Had he, at any time, known of the thoughts going on inside Alfred's head,
it might have caused another emotional break in the small ex-criminal.
Someone
wanting to keep him. Him. Imagine that.
Wesker couldn't have fathomed anyone wanted him around. He simple thought everyone tolerated his presence. But Alfred did seem different. There to offer him a handkerchief or a pat on the back; even a hug. Something Arnie appreciated, oh god yes, he did. But it wasn't something he would ever dream could be on a daily basis, or that someone would considerably WANT to take care of him. He couldn't wrap his already broken brain around it; and for now, he didn't have too.
Maybe
with time, Alfred would get to learn what made a friendly little guy like
Arnold Wesker turn into viable mouse that's had one too many cats pouncing on
his back; and he could figure out what kind of horrors it took for someone to
be as damaged as the ex-ventriloquist was. When such things were learned, the
healing can begin. Maybe, for Wesker, it already had. With the touch of a
glove, with the offer of water.
He
followed just lightly behind the butler as Alfred lead him down that long, nice
but spaciously decorated hallway. Now why Alfred did not walk fast, Wesker
still had to scamper a bit faster to keep up with the Brit's long legs. He kept
his hands at a constant fiddling in front of him, but even though he did not
know the halls they traveled, with the butler with him, he didn't feel scared.
Just
his normal nervous self. Lip biting, slightly stooping, fumbling into his
wrinkled white dress shirt, but not terrified or scampering. Alfred's silence
wasn't taking out of context, but to be on the safe side, once they reach the
door, Arnie lifted his head and piped out. "T-thank you for showing me the
way."
Alfred: The
implications of that statement would only really occur to Alfred later. Now he
just smiled.. Smiled, but not in a polite, cool way. This was warm and kind and
real, his caustic humor put aside for a brief moment as he looked at the other
man. That expression of gratitude and.. maybe even admiration made his heart
thud, one pulse among the others just a bit faster, a bit louder. It might have
been the pleasure of someone's company that did it, or the fact that the
slightest little kindness was received so hungrily. Alfred had gotten so used
to a world where little kindnesses, the kind it was his job to provide, went so
unnoticed. Maybe that was why he responded:
"My pleasure," as he opened the door, and not 'It's my job' or
'You're welcome.' It really was a pleasure, for the first time in a long time,
to show a guest to the bathroom. How odd..
The bathroom was small, and like many of the facilities at Wayne Manor[but
unlike many bathrooms] was tiled darkly. The sink and toilet gleamed white, but
almost everything else was a jet marble, and the fixtures were modern and
mostly brass, and the towels were a faded blue with the Wayne insignia
embroidered in the corner. It was almost as if the staff kept the rooms clean
just as a hotel might.. There were two glasses resting beside the faucet, both
with the little paper covers, and the soap was wrapped. Though this bathroom
had been cleaned and prepared months ago, waiting for use, nothing had been
allowed to gather dust.
Alfred filled a glass for his guest- For he did think of Arnold as HIS guest-
And held it out. This was somewhat familiar, but-
"Do you need anything else?" His brows rose, slightly, tone
concerned. "Anything at all." The way the other's glasses glimmered
under the somewhat dim light made his heart thud quick once more, and this time
he noticed it, the unnamable feeling slightly rather disconcerting.
Wesker: Arnie was not accustom to
luxury, and he often didn't bother to stare at it. He had no real lust for
material possessions; that had all been Scarface. Before he'd gotten his clammy
little fingers on the Puppet back at Black Gate, Wesker has been, as he was
now, dirt poor. Everything they had acquired with a bit of taste had been
stolen, even his cheeky tuxedo's; the first one lifted from the costume
designer shop half an hour out of Prison. The Royce, the hotels, the fine Cuban
cigars Mr. Scarface like to let burn, all the puppet. Arnold didn't even give
too much awe to the wondrous bathroom Alfred had lead him into. He was far more
enticed by the butlers presence after all.
Hands
shook lightly as they took the cup of water from the aging Brit's gloved hands.
He never shook this much when he'd had the puppet on his hand. Scarface had
always been his stone, almost completely taking Arnie over till the smaller man
was the lifeless husk that merely stood there, waiting for a command. Now he
was free; and he was so alone. It might of given reason why he was so desperate
to keep Alfred around a bit longer, the other man had proven himself
trustworthy and not out to harm him. Such a rare thing.
His
pleasure? Oh goodness, Arnold would be mirroring those heart thumps.
Cup
was lifted and the ex-Ventriloquist swallowed down the whole thing in a few gulps,
finding himself thirstier then he'd anticipated. The water was cool and didn't
have that metallic aftertaste that seemed to come from the rusting pipes of his
apartment building. When he finished, the smaller man held the cup back out to
the butler with a 'T-thank you."
Those
glasses would sheen again as the mousy male lowered his chin to his chest as he
always would when trying to get out a question or a statement. To Alfred's
inquiry of needed anything, oh God! There was so many things Arnie could of
asked of this man; a warm blanket to sleep with; for his clothes; for another
glass of water. But the only thing Arnold Wesker truthfully wanted?
"W-would
you stay with me a b-bit longer, p-please? I understand if you don't want
too.."
Alfred: "Certainly-"
Alfred wondered for a half-second if he'd said that TOO
quickly.. And then wondered for a full second why he suddenly felt that
mattered. After all, he was just.. staying with Arnold, keeping him company.
God knows the poor man needs company. It must be a bizarre kind of loneliness..
To have your only companion be.. Yourself. For so long, having only a second
personality to be with.. And then not even having that. He must feel so cold..
He must feel so empty. It must be void, one that.. Well, not many people would
even attempt to fill. But.. Alfred would do his best.
"...Yes.
I.. Well, it's no trouble." He wasn't tired, really, and he wondered if
Arnold would just fall asleep again if-
Asleep? ...Hmm.. He hadn't been any trouble before as he
slept, but it only now occurred to the Brit that sleep might bring trouble.
Dreams and Nightmares and Vivid Imaginings.. They held sway over the brain in
sleep, they made one.. well.. They -affected- people.
With
that on his mind, Alfred wondered why the thought of watching Arnold sleep
wasn't a troubling one. It'd be like... Being a guardian, again. Master Wayne
needed someone to keep his servants, someone to tend to his business and keep
him in line, certainly. But at the end of the day, did he really need Alfred's
protection?
Wesker
seemed to..
Wesker: You could actually see the
tremor of utter joy that ran through Wesker's body as Alfred so easily agreed
to spending more time with him. He caught himself before he actually let out a
vocal squeak to it though. "O-okay, I'm glad.. I didn't want to have to
lay there... " He swallowed as he lifted his head to look up at the taller
man. ".. I don't like to be alone. I'm sorry."
Happy
but still apologetic, even if he had no reason to be. One had to remember that
this was a man use to being told he was wrong, or stupid, or weak. Oh such
nasty things he'd been told. Also the butler was right to worry about wither
his fits and dreams would be more painful; Arnie dreamed about Black Gate more
then he dreamed about anything else. About the iron bars, about.. Donnegon..
But
the Brit knew nothing of that, and Wesker was not about to go into one of his
fits. He fumbled with his white tuxedo shirt and smiled at the other. "Do
.. you want to go back to the bedroom, or what do you do here if you c-can't
sleep?"
Honestly, if the Butler wanted to drag him around the mansion on another tour, Arnie would have gladly gone; if he'd taken him to the kitchen to wash dishes, oh Arnie would have done that too. If they'd did go back to the room, and the ex-criminal just got to talk to Alfred, or hug him again, maybe even sleep with his head in his lap...
Why
did that seem the most appealing? Oh dear.
Arnold
did his best to straighten his shoulders and raise his head fully. Waiting for
an answer from the British Butler. Glasses hid wide anxious eyes. Maybe the
little guy was a little more then star stuck for his kindness by the
proper well kept butler, maybe it was just the moment. But what ever the case.
The
thought of spending more time with this man. Being kept safe, talking,
anything. Was like a dream. A good dream.
Alfred: "When I can't sleep..?" Alfred
paused as they left the bathroom, started down the hall again. Sometimes he
cleaned, more out of habit than anything.. Sometimes he read. Sometimes he
typed up the occasional dictation, or wrote letters. He didn't much like
watching television.. The radio never played anything good. He did have records
and tapes that he enjoyed. On those long, cold nights when there were no
parties to be had, when the Batman was out- Which was nearly every night- When
absolutely nothing else had to be done-
Well-
Alfred might have
been old and with a very polite exterior, but he was still a man with a pulse,
and he.. did what he could.
"Whatever comes up," Was the final, vague
answer, and he watched the wall as he walked. It wasn't that the question made
him uncomfortable, just.. It got him thinking.
"We can go back to the room, if you like.
Really.." He turned to look at him again after a few moments-
"Anything you like. You are a guest here, and as such.." He trailed
off, not wanting to sound too cold about it. He.. well, seeing Wesker smile
made him so happy, warmed his heart. It was like seeing a sad little child
receive a gift, every time his face lit up- Relaxed, relieved.. and.. Hopeful.
Wesker: "Y-yes! The rooms
fine."
Going
back to the room. Going back to the room! Why did that make him so happy? And
oh god, he sounded a little too happy about it. Arnie coughed as they headed
down the hallway and stepped along behind Alfred just slightly. He did his best
to cover up his eagerness at spending time with the butler with some idle
excuses.
"I'd rather not be walking all over the place.. or making you too tired for the n-next morning, I know you'll probably have lots of work to do." He swallowed again, reached up to rub at the back of his neck, sweaty again; but not because he was afraid.
Nervous,
but in a good way.
"I'm..I'm
not a really good conversationalist, but I can try.. I just hope I don't bore
you or take up too much of your time, you can let me know if I am.." Now
he was rambling by the time they got back to the door of the room.
What would they talk about? The sudden notion made Arnie shift on his feet. As much as he hated to BE alone, he was alone so much in his own apartment. His free time was spent watching TV, reading, and often just staring at the wall and thinking; or curled up in a blanket on his bed when the silence got to him. He rarely ever... welll.. you know. Only when he was feeling desperate, and it always made him feel a little sick inside.
Scarface
always said it was disgusting.
How
would a chunk of wood know what a living breathing man needed anyway? But Arnie
had always listened. But now with Scarface gone, and here was Alfred to see him
with some company till he feel asleep.
Arnie
would do his best to not bore the butler!
Alfred: One wouldn't think, to
look at him.. Alfred wasn't one to deny himself that kind of attention.. Well,
maybe one would think it. When he peeked around the facade, when that sardonic
glint could be seen in his eyes, maybe one would think it. Who knew?
Well, it wasn't too much of an issue at all, to him. He didn't abstain and
he didn't overindulge. It happened when it happened, and these days it didn't
happen so often, but it HAPPENED, and it wasn't much to dwell on when it did.
And somehow, his mind sticking on the subject for a few moments led to the
question-
Did Arnold-
No, no. don't think about THAT, That's.. None of your business. Really. And
honestly, he doesn't seem like the type, not at all. After all...
Well. Enough of that. They reached the room and were once again thrown into the
warm, sleepy uncertainty of the dark walls and the sole light and the rumpled
sheets.
"I am a bit tired.." Alfred admitted, almost to himself, and glanced
at the bed. Hmm...
Wesker: If it had been brought up,
of course Wesker wouldn't have been surprised if Alfred
indulged in a little after-hours company every once in a while. After all..
Look at him! Tall and handsome and so well mannered with that slight coldness
and articulate way of presenting himself. He was so unlike Arnold who figured
he didn't have a cold day in hell's chance of ever thinking anyone would want
his company.. in that way.
He
could understand a pent up lifer with nothing to do but go mad inside the cage
the city had condemned him too. Then, there, anything starts to look enticing.
But someone with such impeccable tastes and good breeding? Bah.. that was
wishful thinking..
But
it wasn't about that, and Arnold would never even try to place himself so high
up on someone's meter. All he really wanted was the company. That's right,
that's all. You keep telling yourself that. When the room was reached,
the smaller man finished wiping at the back of his neck and turned to look at
the bed just as he heard Alfred's little mutter of being tired.
"Oh?"
Hands were quickly fumbled together as he passed the butler up and went to sit
on the edge of the bed. "You reallllly d-don't have to spend time with me,
I won't mind if you go to sleep." Well he wouldn't mind, but he'd be
hurt, but also; he'd never let the butler know.
"Or..
if you want .. you could.. lay down with me?" That didn't come out
like he wanted it too. Hah! Imagine Arnold Wesker trying to be
suggestive. No, he just meant.
Lay
with me and talk.
Lay
with me and maybe I can just hold your lapels again.
Lay
with me and if we go to sleep, I promise I won't grip you too tightly.
"I
mean... well I mean... if you're tired.. and uh... I won't touch you.. or
anything.." Chin met shirt collar again. "youdon'thavetoo."
Alfred: Alfred
paused, reaching up to remove his monocle and slip it into his front pocket.
"I.. I wouldn't mind that." He wouldn't, not at all. Why? What about
Arnold Wesker, an only mostly-reformed criminal who he only felt pity for
until... Until when, exactly..? ..Would make Alfred want to sleep beside him?
Well,
when was it? At what point did he change from a sympathetic ear, a.. 'project'
if you will, to a.. a platonic bedfellow? Platonic. That jolt, for the third
time, that heavy feeling in his chest, the feeling.. confusing, but not at
all unpleasant..
That man, sitting on the bed, he.. Was it him, really?
Making his heart thud harder and his face feel just a touch warmer? There was a
part of Alfred that got an intense enjoyment out of seeing a smile on the small
mousy face, and they'd only recently met. Only met him a few hours ago, and
already you were planning on sleeping beside him!
'This is ludicrous,' Alfred thought as he unhooked
his tie and removed it.
Wesker: With a light grunt, Wesker
scooted himself more fully on the bed as he watched the butler remove his
monocle and unknotting his bow tie. He was going to stay! He was going to keep
him company! Arnie nearly felt like standing up and bouncing on the bed!
Now
that was an odd feeling! Not that he would do such a thing, but the
smile he gave the other was warm and welcoming and caused the faint lines on
his face to be more obvious when he was scrunching them up. One had to
forgive the ex-criminal. He'd been so starved of good contact and even the
simple joys a person is suppose to get in their lifetime, just the thought of a
mutual, plutonic! Sleep over was making him feel giddy.
"T-thank
you, I hope it's not too weird or anything.. I just... I mean.. Thank
you.." Sheets and comforter were bunched up a bit as the smaller man
scooted himself toward the headrest, making sure to move far enough over to
give the British Butler plenty of room for his long legs. After all he was sure
Alfred didn't want him smushed right up next to him.
Tired
back was pressed into the pillows and Arnie fumbled his hands into his lap.
Averting eyes down to those twiddling appetencies. He didn't want to stare at
Alfred the whole time he stripped down more comfortable. Not that the other was
taking too much off, it was just.. not polite to stare!
How
the hell did he convince this proper gentlemen to spend the night with him? Or
was it Alfred himself that had been pending for it? It was just going to be
talking, right? Talking and maybe just enjoying hearing another breath.
No
need to act like something illicit was going on! Oh Heaven's no. Then why did
Arnold feel his cheeks getting red? Certainly there was nothing the 'old boy'
should be ashamed over? It was just that...
Alfred
made him feel sweaty, and had his heart racing, made him swallow faster. But so
had many many people in his life. Only with this man.
He
wasn't afraid, in fact. He was safe. That was the REAL difference.
Alfred: Alfred
removed his jacket, the long tails curling slightly as he folded it over the
back of the tall chair beside the bed.. Eased his belt out of the belt loops of
his pants, and slipped out of his shoes. The articles he removed were folded
and set down in some sort of inscrutable order.. Everything methodical, ever
little offhand move seeming practiced. It was just.. How Alfred was.
He sat upon the edge of the bed and pulled up his
legs, lying beside his recently acquired companion, and gazing up at the
ceiling. They stayed that way for quite a while, both.. Both enjoying the
presence of the other, both too afraid to say or do anything that would make
the other uncomfortable. Alfred shifted ever so slightly, eyes falling shut..
Felt Arnold's arm brush his, and felt himself shiver. Now, why was that?
"Perhaps.." He cleared his throat,
quietly, his voice not too much more than a whisper.. "I'd better turn off
the light."
Wesker: The moment of silence
between them seemed like forever. Even if it couldn't have really been more
then five or ten minutes. Once Alfred had stretched out on the bed, Arnie had
rolled onto his side, and nearly curled. The distance between them allowed the
smaller man to bring his knees to his chest and curl his hands together in
front of him. Hip was cocked slightly, while Arnie was thin in most places of
his body, he still retain enough flesh around his belly and hips to cause a
slight bump in the folds where shirt met trousers. The Ex-Ventriloquist laid
silently just facing British Butler.
It
was why his breath leveled so softly against Alfred's arm. He hadn't bothered
to take off his glasses, so it was hard to tell if he was actually watching the
other, or had his eyes closed. In truth it was a little of both. Arnold let out
slow articulate breaths, sometimes letting his eyes squeeze shut and just
listening to the other's breath come slow and occasionally heightened. And then
other times he'd peek a eye open and just look at the man who was kind enough
to share a strange bed with him.
He
watched the little hairs on Alfred's mustache twitch to his breath, the line
where his hair receded just above his ears; even the folds of his white shirt
below his chin. And he thought to himself, he could lay like this forever. Well
maybe not forever, but for a good long while. It was so quiet that he could
hear his own heart thudded rather fast in his chest. If it was so peaceful, why
was his heart racing?
The
question startled Arnie slightly; he was so keen on paying attention to
Alfred.. he wasn't paying attention at all, if that makes any sense. He shifted
against the sheets and nodded lightly at the other. "O-okay, I guess it's
silly to keep the light on in bed."
Silly
as it was, then he wouldn't be able to see Alfred anymore. He had to remind
himself, just because it would be dark, wouldn't mean the man was gone.
Alfred: Alfred
shifted, sitting up halfway to reach over the other man to the lamp that
protruded from the wall to hand over the edge of the bed. The light was dim and
the windows draped, so when he flicked off the light there was near-complete
blackness.. But.. As he settled back down, facing the other man, he felt as
though he could see everything clearly.
The soft breath that issued from Arnold's lungs met
his face in a slow, gentle stream every few seconds, the smell of alcohol
barely there and the smell of something else.. unidentifiable, but no
unpleasant.. far behind that. With every breath there was a low sighing sound,
and this sent strange little prickles down his spine. It was the odd sort of
feeling one got from a close, personal contact with anyone.. Romantically
involved or not. It was akin to the knot one gets in the back of the throat
when someone else brushes your hair.
He
swallowed, trying to direct his breath downward, not wanting to disturb
Arnold's sleep.. If he was asleep. He couldn't see his eyes, not even the
barest glint of his glasses, and all he felt was breath and substance beside
him. His brows furrowed and he shut his eyes tight.. Wanting to sleep. Wanting
to pretend this didn’t affect him at all..
Wesker: The smaller man caught his
breath as Alfred leaned over him to shut out the light. He was left with just
the barest drag in of the other's scent of cloth, mild mild cologne and sweat
before the other pulled back in the darkness.
There
was that brief second when the lights went out that Alfred light up like
Christmas lights, all in a white glow before the darkness settled all around.
Even though Arnold wasn't alone, he still felt the pooling black pull at his
senses. You're not alone, he's right there, you can even hear him breathing.
He
wanted to scoot closer, or just go and ball up at the man's feet like a true
stray. He should have been use to sleeping alone, or like that. In the Asylum
it was always Mr. Scarface who got the bed; only rarely had the puppet let them
share the same mattress. When they had been freed, he slept in another room,
waking every hour to tiptoe in to check on Mr. Scarface.
There
had been that ONE occasion when Rhino had let him curl up with him. But
only because they were in a single room, hiding from the cops. One bed, and
he’d lost Mr. Scarface. After hours of balling, Rhino had scooped him up and
gone to bed. It hadn't been a comfortable sleep, wedged between a snoring giant
and a wall, but it had been the closest thing to feeling like this in his whole
life.
Arnold
made a light whine in the darkness and sat up slightly. 'A-alfred?' Like a
child would to see if a sibling was still asleep or not. "Do you t-think I
would be better off going back to the Asylum? Even if Mr. S-scarface came back,
at least there he couldn't hurt anyone."
Alfred: He wasn't asleep.. The
breath of those words was felt very faintly across his cheeks, and he bit his
lip, wondering. Would he be better off at the asylum?
"..No..
No, I don't think so."
A
pause of a few moments, and Alfred coughed slightly, shifting to press his hand
against the mattress, supposing he ought to explain.
"I
think.. Locking you up in a cage wouldn't do much good at all. You're unique in
that.. You want to change. I think if you want that badly to be good, you can
be good. I think.. In Arkham, you.. well.. You'll just be another inmate.. But
Arnold.." He shifted, slightly, one hand reaching out tentatively through
the darkness. "You're not some.. hopeless criminal, I think. You're a
person." The fingers found the side of Arnold's neck, and he slipped his
hand quickly lower, to the shoulder. Alfred was realizing something and he was
rather glad that it was so dark.. He must have looked slightly feverish.
"No
man who wants redemption should be denied it.. Locked away.. Hopeless. You can
have hope, Arnold- Oh-" He paused. With that last word, he felt something
against his mouth, and realized that he was much closer to the other man than
he thought. His mouth practically touched a smooth pale forehead. He could feel
breath on his throat, and his unfocused eyes slowly closed. "If you want
to be free, you have the chance now.."
Wesker: "I..I always seem to
blow my chances."
Alfred's
finger tips did seem rather hot on the skin of the small ex-criminals neck; but
it was a wonder if even felt the heat with how burning his own skin was. Which
was odd, he felt hot; but he felt like shivering in the same instance.
Especially when lips brushed the skin on his forehead, faintly wet and barely
even leaving a trace of moisture on his skin. He could feel it there, as if it
was a hundred times larger then it really was.
"..but
that's the nicest... thing.." Arnold could feel a big big lump starting in
the back of his throat again. No don't cry, you cry too much.
"..anyone's every said too me.."
As
much as he'd been fighting it up too now; as much as he knew he really
shouldn't have; and even promised not too, but Wesker reached over with
his arms and curled them into the taller man's sides anyway. A faint groan and
a scoot, praying to GOD the other man wouldn't pull away, he buried his face
into the butler's neck and continued to mutter out.
He
must have sounded so pathetic.
"...I
don't want to be evil.. I hate when Mr. Scarface does b-bad things, all those
horrible things he does, I just want to be good and live a normal life. B-but
every time I try someone in this horrible city comes along and hurts me and out
comes Mr. Scarface.. Oh god.. I don't want him to come b-back."
He
could feel the tears starting, but what was worse, he could feel his mismatched
fingers tightening into the other man's clothes again. Not in a hard, tearing
way, but in a needy begging way. "will you hold me, p-please? I won't
do anything else, you don't have to do anything else. Just need to be.. no one
ever.. p-please?"
Alfred: Alfred complied without a
second thought, wrapping his arms tightly around Arnold, holding him tightly to
a narrow chest. The twitching, shriving body, warm against him.. He heard
himself mumbling something like 'Ssh, don't worry', but he wasn't concentrating
on what he was saying. He was somewhat distracted by an urge that had been
creeping up on him, waiting to strike without warning.. It was an urge he
felt.. well.. that he could follow up on.
Arnold was so frightened and this.. This kind of thing seemed so- so-
..Not wrong, not at all..
The butler inclined his head slightly, mouth
returning to the spot just before the bridge of his nose began, pressing a kiss
to that place.. The contact was deliberate, now, and originating in that one
spot was a strange sort of thrill that raced through the butler's mouth and
rushed down his spine, making him considerably more alert. "It's
okay.." He felt himself saying, a heavy breath nearly fogging up Arnold's
glasses. "You'll be fine. I can help.. And.. Wayne manor isn't like the city.
Nothing can hurt you here.."
Wesker: So warm and so so .. right, was probably a pretty
damn good analogy.
Even
if it HAD been wrong of either of them, who was there to tell them other wise?
Bruce was off on his 'nightly' errands; the rest of the servants had either
gone home or were slumbering. Arnold didn't know if other people stayed the
night of if it was just the Butler all on his lonesome late most nights.
So maybe he was doing the old butler a favor too, spending a little time with
him. This kind of thought, Wesker could almost placate his guilty mind with.
It's okay. Maybe they both needed it. Which was way when the butler wrapped his
arms around Wesker tightly; the smaller man responded with a happy murmur that
seemed to cut right into his threatening sobs.
Those
mismatched hands of his found their way under Alfred's arms and onto his upper
back, clutching lightly into the fabric around his shoulder blades. Now fogged
up glasses pressed heartily into the slightly softer skin under Alfred's chin.
Wesker heaved a hard sigh that shook his whole frame and closed his eyes tight.
His knees were pressed to the other's upper thighs, his chest almost into the
other's stomach. Here he found an odd relief to the stress. If he thought he
couldn't feel safer with Alfred. Here; he'd been wrong.
With
his heart thumping a mile a minute, his body rising quickly in
temperature, even a slight bubbling in his groin (a bubbling he could ignore
for now, as long as it was left alone.) Wesker felt utterly .. home? And this
certainly wasn't his home.
Even
if his brain wanted to torment him, Alfred was at least giving his body a much
needed touch. "You'd h-help me?" He whispered into the other's neck.
"I'd like to... your help."
He
nearly squeaked. "If I mean.. you want to.. I'd come around again.. or you
could.. Not for a party." Was it so hard to just spit out I'd
spend more time with you?
Alfred: "As long as I'm here, you.. you're
welcome." Alfred's hands rested on the backs of Arnold's shoulders; cradling
the smaller, healing creature closer; and let out a sigh. Everything.. was
easier now. That initial terrifying step had been taken, and.. A door had been
opened.
Alfred
couldn't deny that what he did felt good. The way he was holding Wesker felt very
good.. And.. It wasn't as though nothing had a sexual connotation anymore.
Alfred was still very much aware of that sort of thing. But as younger men
might have taken pause at this, might have worried about 'seeming gay' or taken
some other superficial excuse, there weren't many people Alfred would have
found it necessary to hide this from. And after all, Alfred had become used to
people seeing him as a creature entirely separate from libidinous tendencies.
He
was a foster parent of sorts, a servant, a technician, a guardian and a
teacher, but..
But
with Wesker, he..
He
was a person. He was a tall older fellow who enjoyed Bradbury and a good port,
liked his classical music post-Renaissance and his olives without pimentos.
Holding Arnold close, he didn't have to be a butler. He could be a man like any
other, with desires like any other; and that was what felt most perfect.
Wesker: When coddled together in
warm arms and slowly calming breaths, indeed, there was nothing spectacular
that needed to be known about them. Alfred neither a servant or a hero; Wesker
neither villain nor victim.
Just
two men; two heart beats; two intermingling breaths. Here, with the night
slowly dwindling on to the twilight hours, they could cease to be nothing but
what they needed to make it through the night without bad dreams.
It
was here, ironically, with that kiss cooling between his eyes and Alfred's warm
grip around his body, that Wesker finally slipped back off to sleep. Chest
heaved one more happy sigh, and he curled as close as he could before awareness
slipped into a preverbal slush of warmth and unconsciousness; unlike that of
fainting before, but so safe.
Safe.
That was what he wanted all along.