silver mckellar and tony stark are (![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} silverandsteel) wrote in ![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} doorslogs,@ 2012-07-29 23:40:00 |
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What: Post memories crazy. Unexpected allegiances. Breaking and entering. More crazy.
Where: The Ladies' Turnberry Spot
When: After the memories
Warnings/Rating: Mostly safe, some mild violence and... crazy.
Silver didn’t bother with calling. He wasn’t that worried about other people’s privacy, not at the moment. The shared experiences had taken that sense of privacy away from them, and even the darkest secrets were easily shared. Silver was operating on the possibility that one or more people might have seen some of the things he had done in the past, and he might not be welcome, but he was still going to show up and make sure everyone was in one piece. Worst case scenario he’d come into something like he had with the fear gas, and that was why he left the gun in the car.
Silver looked serious but fresh in his powder blue shirt and jeans, and he flashed the guard a completely fake badge that got him past the Turnberry security desk. Once he got close to Wren’s new address he paused, softened his footsteps by lengthening his stride and rolling his weight along his feet, and listened hard for occupancy behind the door. He didn’t hear any screaming or wails for help, so he put the badge away and knocked, with a medium-direct sound. “...Wren?” There was a certain amount of time that he would wait, and he hadn’t yet decided if he would pick the lock or break the door down. Probably pick the lock, quieter and more chance of success. This was a solid damn door.
Wren was not in any condition to answer any door. She was in her bedroom still, wedged between the locked door and the wall behind it, wrapped in a blanket and entirely unaware of the outside world. It was likely a good thing, that lack of understanding about the passage of time, given the circumstances. She merely rocked - back, forth, back, forth - the wall a steady and solid presence at her back. The room was a wreck, a mess of vomit and broken crystal and whiskey spilled in various long streaks along the floor, mingling with droplets of blood. The sheets had been dragged off the bed during the maelstrom, and a lamp had found its way to the floor somehow, the bottles of pills that shared the space beside the lamp had gone everywhere, little blue dots of madness on the wood floor. The bar sat open, and the cat was poking around inside, looking for something interesting. Wren, for her part, merely continued to rock, muttering to herself every so often, nonsensical things, names - Alexander, and no, and Luke, and my fault, before beginning all over again with a whimper and Alexander's name.
And, frankly, MK wasn’t in much better shape, even if she hadn’t been assaulted by the same calibre of memories Wren had. She sat in her room, glued to the same spot on the floor, and curled into her body, which shook violently with sobs and rolling panic attacks. Time seemed to stretch for ages as she continued to listen to the sounds of the DVD Alexander sent her, and she couldn’t figure out if it had been hours or days or weeks when she finally regulated her battering heartbeat. Her head was still dizzy, but suddenly, she thought of Wren. It couldn’t have been just her, right? All of this had to do with the alters and that fucking hotel, and Wren and the others couldn’t have been spared either. She pushed herself off of the floor, clutching the bed tightly to give her leverage, and trying to ignore the pain and the lightheadedness, she wobbled out of the room and slowly cross the apartment to Wren’s room. MK could hear the sobs and murmurings through the blonde’s door as she approached it. Knocking on the door faintly, MK leaned against the frame, unable to support herself with her knees knocking together and head light. “Wren?” she asked weakly, sniffling. Her voice croaked, and she ignored the knocking on the front door. She wanted to see Wren first. Whoever it was could wait.
Whoever it was didn’t want to wait any longer. Silver heard very small sounds, things that could be anything from echoes to a cat, but he didn’t like the idea that something was going on behind that door. “Wren? It’s Silver.” He knocked again, not really expecting an answer, then stood back to examine the door. It was a very solid door, and he could pick the lock, but it would take a few minutes. He didn’t necessarily want to wait that long if he could find another way--a way that didn’t involve breaking it down and scaring the people inside out of their minds. The hinges were on the inside, no surprise, so no access to the hingepins that would take the door off entirely. Silver examined the lock. Not bad. He pushed a little on it. Deadbolt. Not good. He thought about it.
Silver left the front door. He went down to the lobby. Leaning over the guard’s desk, he asked the man the names of the inhabitants of the top floor--by now he would know that Silver had gone up that far. Rather than tell him the truth, Silver waited until the man leaned for a file cabinet and then neatly stole the set of keys off the end of the desk. The guard told him who was listed, and Silver got back in the elevator with his keys.
Silver was pushing through the door in the next two minutes. “Wren,” he said, softer now, looking around the room and taking a deep lungful of air. Blood, the dead, spilled or rotting food, these things always smelled. Hints of sour, and now more sounds. “Miss Robinson?” He moved forward, looking.
MK tried knocking again on Wren’s door, a little harder though still fairly faint, and when she heard nothing but the murmurings and sobs and screams still, she felt her chest hitch, too. “Wren, please,” she pleaded, trying the doorknob. Locked, of course. “Please, please, just open the door.” Pressing her body against the hard wood, she felt another wave of dizziness hit, hints of another panic attack creeping up her veins. Knees gave way, and slowly, her body slid down to the floor, bruises and boots around her still injured ankles and all, and she leaned heavily against the frame again. Breathing proved difficult, and when she heard a voice echo down the hall from the front door, her heart skipped a panicked beat. She didn’t recognize the voice, and no one she knew called her Miss Robinson. A litany of answers flashed through her mind, but at that point, she didn’t care if it was the person was their best friend or their worst enemy.
“Hello?” she managed to choke out in the direction of the voice, and when whoever it was found his way over, he’d find a vision of a broken woman. Red hair stuck to her face in a cold sweat, green eyes puffy and bloodshot, dressed in just a baggy t-shirt and her underthings, with faint scars and healing bruises smattering her pale skin. Shattered and given up on trying to clasp her fingers on the slippery strings of sanity. All MK could remember, could focus on, was the heartache Wren felt, and the anger Adam felt, and her own overwhelming headaches and tears.
Silver stopped about half a room away from MK to keep from startling her, looking her over in a calm, collected, faintly military way that seemed to suggest he was in complete control without actually knowing what was going on. He felt naked without a weapon and his eyes slid past her to every entrance and door. To him, her condition suggested that the place was unsafe, but that might not necessarily be true. He repeated her name again and slid a suggestive step forward to see what she would do. "It's Silver McKellar. Remember? Do you know who I am?" He waited until she acknowledged him before he moved again, eyes still on her. She didn't seem to have fresh wounds, but he still hadn't seen Wren yet, and that disturbed him. "Is this Wren's room?" he asked in the same serious, collected voice. He touched the back of one hip where he would have had a gun if he had brought one and shifted to look at the door. He held onto his questions to keep from overwhelming the woman.
“Silver,” MK repeated after the man and nodding. Yes, she did remember who he was. Wren’s friend. He sent her flowers while she was at the hospital, too, right? She ran a shaky hand through her thick hair, barely noticing how calm he seemed when her entire body freaked out, froze up, panicked to a worrisome degree. MK’s mind lingered on the devastating feelings from the memories and the visions she found on that goddamn DVD. But, she mustered enough control up to nod as an answer to Silver’s question. “She’s not answering, but I can hear her in there. I know she’s in there, and I know it’s bad, and we have to get her out of there.” Everything was in a mumbled rush, and MK looked up at Silver desperately. Maybe he would be more successful with Wren than she had been.
"I'm sure she's fine," Silver said, infusing the reassurance with a confidence that he did not feel. He moved closer until finally he was beside MK at the door, and he examined it the way he had the outer door while he listened for noise within. The cool calm seemed to settle in his eyes as he glanced again at MK. "I know it's hard," he said, almost conversationally, "but try to think of something good, instead. What you saw isn't real for you, just keep thinking it." She was not in good shape, but she was on her feet and not bleeding, so Silver's priorities turned.
Silver put a palm against the wood of the door and returned his attention to the lock. Basic interior door, only a little peg holding the lock in place. All it did was keep the doorknob from turning. Silver reached into his back pocket, took out a substantially worn leather wallet, and extracted a piece of metal the size of a credit card out of it. He inserted the thin piece into a tiny hole in the circle of the doorknob, and there was a definite click. "Wren?" Silver repeated at the door.
The click of the doorknob (so close, so close) registered in a way the muted voices outside the door hadn't, and Wren looked up as if the devil himself was on the other side of the door. No, not the devil. Alexander. That last memory, MK's memory. And, no, no, no. The sound of her knees hitting the door as she stood surely registered, as the bruises would tell the tale later on, and her shoulders met firmly with the wall behind her as the sheet fell to the floor, mottled in sick and whiskey and droplets of blood. "No, no, no, no, no," she begged, a constant litany as she moved from the perceived threat of the door. The knees of her pajama pants were dotted in red from crawling over the broken glass of whiskey, and her camisole was damp through with sweat and fear. "Alexander, no, please," was louder, but no more forceful. She moved. Away from the door, backing up without ever taking her gaze from the knob. Somewhere, her mind remembered a curved blade and a bathroom and shards of glass in a cracked mirror, and she shook her head as she backed away to clear her mind of the vision that wouldn't go. "Please, I'll do anything, please." And MK had wanted it to end so badly, Wren knew, but she didn't. She couldn't do that again, even if it meant freedom. She wasn't strong enough. "NO!" she yelled, louder.
Bruce arrived as quickly as time permitted. His first priority was the child, who had not suspected that the man who spoke his father’s words and controlled his body was not actually Luke, and in the end he had put Gus in the care of his babysitter for the next few hours, perhaps more if it was needed, and he was confident in the fact that she left the apartment with the fear of God (or him, perhaps) instilled within her. As a precaution, he’d also equipped the boy and the dog with tiny tracking devices, invisible to the naked eye, though the existence of such equipment told him that this was something Luke had done in the past. Needless to say, he approved. Trust was too delicate to be given thoughtlessly, especially when children were involved.
Then, after ensuring that those Luke knew were all alive and not in various states of insanity or disrepair, he set his sights on Turnberry. Bruce could have used the front door, but he had no patience for the tedious routine of security he would inevitably face, and so he decided he would enter as he had once before, so long ago, when the boy had relinquished control in the hopes that Bruce could put a stop to Alexander’s sadism without resorting to lethal measures. That particular occasion meant that Bruce was rather familiar with Luke’s body and how it worked; he was accustomed to kevlar, of course, and even without his suit he had more bulk than the boy, but his smaller size resulted in a sort of swiftness he had to push himself to attain. He had taught himself to become lethal, Luke had, whereas Bruce was only capable of it, stopping just short of that bright line. Regardless, he was pleased with how well the boy’s body responded to what he wanted it to do, and once he’d pinpointed where Wren’s apartment was in the grand scheme of the building, getting inside was no trouble at all.
He did not break the window so much as he removed it, as the shattering of glass would be an unfortunate heralding of his arrival. Bruce followed the sound of voices, which was simple enough, and just before he rounded the corner he remembered to adjust his posture to align with Luke rather than himself. Nobody else carried themselves the way he did, especially not Luke, and so he focused on becoming the boy, on adopting the sort of concern and panic he likely would have felt had he not become an anguished presence delegated to the back of his mind. He would not be calm. Bruce saw Silver first, and his gaze passed over the other man almost dismissively, though something akin to a roll of his eyes crossed his expression before it settled on MK. He recognized her through secondhand knowledge, assessed her condition, and determined that, at least physically, she would survive. Wren, however, was not visible, and judging by the loud no that came from behind the door, the same could not be said for her.
“MK,” he said as he approached, twisting his voice into something hoarse and desperate. Bruce ignored Silver, because he thought that was what Luke would have done. “She’s in there?” He didn’t wait for a response, pushing past the other man (again, a very Luke-like action) and trying the doorknob. Unlocked. The girl was good with knives, he recalled, and should she have some sort of weapon in there, she might be unstable enough to attack, but better him than either of the others. And, incidentally, however good her aim might be, Bruce was even better at avoiding that which was intended to cause him harm. “Wren?” he called, waiting until he had pushed open the door just enough so that it would carry, rather than end up muffled. As long as he was careful, he was certain he could fool her into believing his ruse. “It’s just me. Luke. You don’t have to be afraid.”
Silver turned to see Luke coming, and again he brushed at the line of his hip where it cut into his back, and again came up with nothing. He acknowledged Luke to be a threat even without realizing that he was not actually Luke, even if it was very unlikely that he would act on the notion. He thought it unlikely that Luke would do damage, and what was happening to Wren behind the door sounded exactly like her state after the fear gas. Silver didn’t much care for Luke, as he felt he was dangerously inept, but Wren did, and that was what mattered. Silver made the little shining lockpick in his hand disappear as Luke pushed toward the door, and stood back with MK as the man moved past him into the room. Silver didn’t like the state of what part of the room he could see, but pointing out the obvious would undoubtedly be no help at all. If Wren was speaking and mobile, which she had been, by the sound of it, then that would need to be enough. Silver didn’t feel the need to prove how useful he was, nor did he wish Luke failure at Wren’s expense. Turning away from the door, he put out one hand to steady MK in the shadow of the wall beside the door.
Wren was unarmed when the doorknob twitched, and she was unarmed when the door opened, but the movement made her reach for one of the shards of crystal on the floor, an unthinking weapon in a bleeding hand. She brandished it, as the shadow entered the room, for that's all it was at first; shadow. "Stay away!" she insisted, and she even hesitated once her name was spoken. There was something in the sentence that was wrong, something, something, but then Luke stepped into the light and whatever had seemed off about the voice seemed to fade. "Alexander- Alexander, and we have to make sure MK's okay." She pointed the crystal madly, with unfocused movement, toward the door, where she knew MK's voice had been, and- "Silver?" she asked, confusion all over her features as she looked back at Luke, expecting him to have answers, to fix it. The crystal shard in her hand wavered, but she did not lower it, and she did not throw it. "Alexander," she repeated, as if the word was the only thing to come back to in the end, as if it explained everything. Her voice hitched, and blood dripped from her palm onto the floor. She raised her hand, and she looked at the makeshift weapon, as if she only then realized she had it. "It's not a curved knife," she whispered, as if that comment made all the sense in the world.
While Luke’s disdain was widely known, Bruce’s opinion of Silver was largely neutral. The only thing which might have lowered it was something Wren had once said, a passing comment about him having killed people in the past, which would negatively affect anyone in his eyes. There had been no details, however, and his distrust largely came from the fact that there was virtually no one Bruce trusted save for those he had either known for a length of time or who had, in one way or another, proven themselves. Silver simply failed to fall under either category.
The man was unarmed, and had not presented himself as a threat, so Bruce allowed his full attention to go to Wren. He stopped moving once he was in the light, unaware that she had noticed anything different about his voice, and regarded the shard of glass as though it was nothing more than a harmless child’s toy. “MK’s fine,” he said, doing his best to sound reassuring. What Luke felt for the girl far surpassed anything he had ever felt for another person, yet he had loved someone once, and so he tried to remember those feelings, to imagine how he would react if she were in Wren’s position. “She’s just outside the door, and Silver is with her. Alexander isn’t here. He’s gone, remember?” He took careful steps forward as he spoke, one by one, seeking to calm her as he imagined Luke would attempt to do. “Alexander is gone,” he repeated, and he absorbed the state of the room without moving his gaze from her. The blood caught his eye, but she didn’t seem to be seriously injured. His own hands were bandaged--well, Luke’s hands, he supposed--as a result of the broken glass, but he doubted she was in any state to notice, and regardless, it was unlikely to be high on anyone’s priority list just then. The mention of a curved blade puzzled him, though there was a faint whimper of no from the boy. Bruce paid it little attention, however, because Luke had been repeating that word for quite some time, and the only reason he seemed unaffected by the memories was because he had refused to deal with them at all. “No,” he agreed cautiously. “It’s not. Can you put it down? You’re going to hurt yourself, Wren, and you don’t need it. You’re safe.”
Something was wrong, but Wren couldn't quite put her finger on it. She wasn't logical enough to understand what it was just then, to understand where the disconnect was, but she knew it was there, and it only made her feel more panicked, as if she was imagining things that weren't there at all. She shook her head, even as she looked toward the door, to verify Silver's and MK's presence there. Alexander was gone. Yes, Alexander was gone. "But he was just here. I know he was. I felt- I felt him. He had me tied up, and-" Her gaze moved to the door again, to where MK was. No, no, it had been MK tied up. Alexander had never tied her up. She took a shaky breath, and she tried to figure out what she was missing, what was wrong. She held the shard tighter, not even feeling it as it sliced deeper into her palm. She looked from her palm to Luke, as if one had something to do with the other, and then the immediate threat became that curved knife, the one she wasn't holding in her hand. And why wasn't he coming closer? He should be coming closer. Luke wasn't scared of her, no matter what she was holding, and it had to be because of what she'd seen, because of the knife. He didn't want her to see, she thought. Didn't- Didn't- When she lunged forward, it was with the goal of dragging up Luke's shirt, to look for the marks she'd seen in the memory. But it didn't look that way, not with the shard raised and how fast she moved forward, almost tripping over her own feet in her haste.
“No,”Bruce said, and perhaps he was too calm in his reassurance. Luke embodied everything he strove not to be, that which he could not allow himself to become, and so becoming him was easier said than done. “Alexander was never here. What you saw already happened, Wren, and not to you.” Bruce’s real mistake, however, was not in his lack of emotion. No, it was the way he responded when she lunged at him, glass shard raised, looking for all the world as though she intended to attack him. She had, in a matter of seconds, become a threat, both to herself and others, and it was not Luke who reacted, or even Bruce Wayne, playboy billionaire; it was the Bat. Something in his gaze changed, hardened, and his movements were too skilled as he dodged what he perceived as an attack with practised ease. He took hold of her wrist then, that of the hand which held the glass shard, too quick, utilizing speed Luke did not possess regardless of his stature, and drew her arm up behind her back, opting for immobilization rather than pain. It would have been an uncomfortable hold, the limb pinned firmly against her back, his body angled to keep her from struggling, but his intention was not to harm her. If it was, he could have broken her arm with far less effort than what it took for this. “Let it go,” he ordered, and there was nothing of Luke in his voice then. It was the Bat, not a boy, and seconds ticked by before the severity of his mistake registered; Luke would never have laid a hand upon her, regardless of whether or not she intended to impale him on a shard of crystal. While he did release his hold then, once he realized what he had done, and he did step back in dismay at his error, it was too late; he knew the damage was already done.
Wren registered the hardening gaze before she even reached him, and she was too confused about what was real to make the connection between Luke and Bruce just then. She just knew that he wasn't Luke. She realized it before the grab to her arm, and the uncomfortable hold that she couldn't break free of, no matter how she screamed or how she tried. And make no mistake, she did scream, and she did try. Just then, when she couldn't see his face, and with that hold that was so unlike anything Luke would do, he became someone entirely different. She let go the shard at his command, but she was sobbing and pleading by the time she did, calling him Alexander, and putting as much distance between them as as she could once he had let her go. "You're not Luke," she managed, even as she moved toward MK and Silver (safety), but she paused halfway there, too. What if they weren't who they looked like too? "Go away," and it wasn't even certain who she was talking to anymore. "GO AWAY."
Silver saw what was about to happen with Wren's glass about the same time that not-Luke did, and he had a flash of moving in before not-Luke actually moved. Silver stopped and came to a much saner conclusion than Wren did, and after watching her scream for a moment, he said, "Wren, calm down. No one is here to hurt you. Alexander is dead." Silver gave not-Luke a look that said, clearly, way to go. Silver glanced at MK, but it was probably too much to expect her help in her condition.
Bruce saw no reason to continue his pretense, not when it would be a waste of his and everyone else's time to do so. "I'm not Luke," he admitted, "but he is here." He pressed two fingers to his temple, and as he did so his demeanor cracked and reshaped itself, becoming one which did not suit Luke's exterior but was a far more honest portrayal of who was currently in control. It was vaguely reminiscent of a man forcing himself into a suit that was much too small. Her yelling hardly seemed to phase him, yet he was wise enough to stay where he was rather than attempt to approach her again. "We've spoken once before, Ms. Maheu, though not in person. You know who I am." He returned Silver's gaze with a cool, blank one of his own, and his voice was far calmer than Luke could ever have managed even on his good days. "Mr. McKellar is right. I apologize if I hurt you. That was not my intention." He knew he hadn't, because he had far too much control for accidents, but he thought the words might help somehow nonetheless.
MK watched the entire scene unfold in silence, having pulled herself up from the floor with Silver’s assistance. Heart was hammering against her chest again, and though seeing Luke stroll into Wren’s room quelled a little bit of her panic, it quickly doubled when she saw the shard of glass in Wren’s bloody hand. Something seemed off about Luke, and as MK stood there with Silver in the doorway leaning against him for support, her paranoia got the best of her. Shivering, shaking, and wrapping her arms around herself with a look of fearful desperation. And as soon as everything disintegrated between not-Luke and Wren, she jumped, scared and absolutely livid. This wasn’t Luke because MK could never believe that he would hurt her, at least like that.
If MK could have launched forward and pushed him away, she would have done so immediately, but she couldn’t. She was still weak in mind and in body, and all she could do was hold her arms out to reach for Wren. To save her best friend from whoever this really was. “Get out,” MK said, eyes pricking with tears still and voice shaky with trepidation. Somehow, the anger she felt from Adam’s memory fed into her own at the moment, a quiet rage searing underneath the surface. She couldn’t do anything to him, not physically, but she could save Wren. “I d-d-don’t care if you didn’t mean to hurt her. Whoever you are, get away from her and get the fuck out.” MK was a stuttering, stammering mess, a bundle of hitched breaths and panic, but none of that mattered when Wren was in trouble. For the redhead, Wren would always come before herself in the end.
The assertion that Luke was there, in Bruce's mind, made Wren shake her head quickly, frantically, and yes, she realized who it was, but it was on some level that wasn't grounded in anything real, not just then when she'd lost count of the things she'd seen through other people's eyes. "No. He'd be here. He'd be here," was all she managed, a denial as she trembled, because Luke would be there if she could, she knew he would, and the changing of demeanor of the man in front of her did nothing to ease the ache that was starting to mingle with the fear and the anger and everything else that was swirling inside her. She couldn't breathe, and she might have said as much, but she couldn't stop shaking her head. His apology fell on deaf ears, because it only reminded her of the panic at being restrained, and she was hyperventilating by the time MK spoke up and held her arms out.
Wren went into those arms without even a moment's hesitation, arms wrapping around her friend, who had suddenly become the only truly comforting person in the room. Silver hadn't stopped it, hadn't stopped Alexander grabbing her just then- And, no, no, not Alexander. For a second, she remembered that MK was hurt, that MK shouldn't be standing here, and she tried to tell her as much. But the words failed, and Wren just took a deep, shuddering breath. "Where is he?" she managed, the question directed toward the man who was not Luke, the one who it hurt to even look at. And it was about Luke, but it reminded her of Gus, and the little boy shouldn't be with Jack, he shouldn't, not after- "And Gus. Where's Gus?" she asked, holding onto MK as if life itself depended on it.
MK’s reaction was not surprising. Of course she would want to protect her friend from what she perceived as a threat, though Bruce wondered if either of them had stopped to consider what damage Wren might have done to herself had she been allowed to keep hold of the shard of glass. Regardless, he recognized that this was not the time for logic, and he watched her calmly as she spoke, tactfully remaining silent. He had not gone near the girl after releasing her, and so he could not quite get away from her, but leaving, that he was certainly capable of. Luke wouldn’t like him leaving Wren with Silver, but while he had once intended to stay it was now clear his presence was doing more harm than good, and perhaps this would be added incentive for the boy to fight through what he had seen and piece himself back together.
“He would be,” he agreed, when Wren insisted that Luke would have been there, “if he could.” Bruce tipped his head to the side and regarded her with something akin to sadness. “You aren’t the only one who saw things that disturbed you, and we both know that he is not as strong as he pretends to be.” Surely, he thought, she would be able to put the pieces together for herself. What she had gone through, the things she had done, it was not something he would wish upon anyone, and she had deserved none of it. Wren’s memories had been the worst, though not the only ones that had contributed to Luke’s current state. As he spoke, Bruce began to step back, towards the far side of the room. He had no desire to go through the door which he had entered, as he faced enough hostility in Gotham, thank you, and it was fortunate that high-rise penthouses had an abundance of windows. Down would be a bit of a risk, depending on what was below him, and considering their height he decided that up would be best. “I told you,” he said, with a surprising amount of patience. “Here.” Another press of his fingers to the side of his head. “Gus is safe and being looked after, but not by Jack Corvus.” His expression hardened for a fleeting moment; no, he would not leave the boy with Jack, not after what he’d seen, combined with his suspicions that the man had fallen back into old habits. “I came here on Luke’s behalf, to ensure that you were safe,” he explained, his steps coming to a halt once he knew the windows were at his back. “This is only temporary. I’m merely giving him time to recover, and once he has, he will come himself.”
When Wren came into her arms, MK squeezed the other woman as best she could without hurting either of them, shushing the blonde and whispering reassurances that felt false coming from her lips. MK wished more than anything that she could simply lock Wren away from the world, from all the bullshit and sadness and insanity that seemed to follow them like a thick fog. It was sticky and ruthless, and the redhead just wanted to save her best friend from it. More than anyone else, she, Wren, she deserved happiness with her son. Luke, for MK, wasn’t even a factor at the moment, not after what just happened. Fingers reached up and threaded through Wren’s stringy blonde hair in a weak attempt to soothe her. “Get out,” MK repeated over Wren’s shoulder, glaring at not-Luke. She still hadn’t made the connection that Bruce had been the one to take over Luke’s mind because she never even entertained the idea that alters could do that. No, something happened though, and after experiencing all the bizarre things since receiving her key and journal, MK didn’t find it hard to believe something strange had happened.
Her fingers dug deeper into Wren’s hair, one arm wrapped tightly around the girl’s shoulder. “I don’t know how you thought fucking pinning her arm would help or visiting here when you’re the last thing she needs right now. Don’t come back until it’s Luke that’s here, and not whoever the fuck you are.” Her voice sounded stronger, like she wasn’t messing around at all, but the tired edge still hung at the corner of her lips and in her eyes. But she had to be strong in that moment, didn’t she? Wren was collapsing in her arms, and she had to get rid of whoever this impersonation of Luke was. “Shh, kitten, it’s okay,” MK said, voice dropping so that it was only clear for Wren. “Don’t worry. We’ll fix this. Don’t worry.”
Unlike MK, Wren knew Bruce could take control of Luke, and she knew he'd done it without Luke knowing about it in the past. She knew it, but she couldn't miss the look in Luke's- no. She couldn't miss the look in his eyes that said there was more to it, and that just made her cling tighter to MK, as if holding onto the other woman would somehow keep them grounded in light of all this, and keep the realization that was just starting to spark from becoming fully real. She could tell he was backing toward the window, and she started shaking her head as violently as she had before. "No. Not in his body. No. The door." And it was a sign that the madness was passing, at least a little, the ability to think about the consequences of that. She took a deep breath, and she tried to make her voice stronger, which almost pointless with how hoarse and broken it was from all the screaming during the memories. "And Silver will go get Gus and bring him here. Just until Luke's back," she insisted, and she looked over her shoulder at Silver to see if he'd agree. Neither she or MK were in any state to leave the condo, and she wasn't really thinking about Gus' panic issues with strangers just then. She only knew that a babysitter wouldn't care about taking care of him in the same way, and suddenly that was inexplicably important. "Please."
Silver frowned, a gesture that was mostly in his eyes, and bizarrely he turned them to look at Bruce (through Luke). As far as he was concerned, not-Luke was the only person acting sensibly around here, and though he wanted Wren in her right mind and MK likewise, he didn’t necessarily think here was the best place for a child. He allowed MK to leave his side and go to Wren somewhat reluctantly, because he could tell the woman was still standing only from sheer willpower. “Wren,” he said, in that eternal calm voice that seemed to lace through his whole being before making it into the air. “There is glass everywhere, and you’ve been... making a lot of noise. Are you sure you want to bring Gus here?” In a normal situation, with the child not involved, he would have already called medical services, but when (not if, when) Wren was diagnosed with mental imbalance, they would take the child away and never give him back. That was not what Silver wanted for the two of them.
In the face of MK’s anger, Bruce remained unflinching. “I intend on getting out, Ms. Robinson,” he said mildly, almost quiet in comparison to her tone, “and as I said, I came here on Luke’s behalf. As for Ms. Maheu, she is in no state to have hold of a weapon of any sort, even one as insignificant as a piece of glass.” He paused. “I’m well aware that I am not what she needs.” His being there had nothing to do with such ridiculous self delusions. He almost pointed out that his name was Bruce, as he was beginning to tire of being referred to as ‘whoever the fuck you are’, but now was not the time for such minor annoyances, and so he kept quiet. Wren’s sudden insistence that he not use the window elicited a reaction of genuine response, as he’d simply assumed that she would know he would never allow harm to come to the boy, and he was no amateur; he knew precisely what he was doing. “I wouldn’t allow him to fall,” he told her, surprise becoming something almost insulted. Did she really think he was so callous? When it came to Gus, he could understand Wren’s concern, but bringing the child here-- no, that he could not agree to. He shook his head even as Silver spoke, and despite Luke’s feelings towards the man, Bruce found himself relieved that there was someone else in the room who was still capable of logic and rational thought.
“Whatever else you think of me, I know what Gus means to the both of you, and I would protect him with my life.” Even aside from what Luke would want, this was no place for a child, not with the current condition of the two women living here. Bruce may not have been able to fool Wren, but she knew him better than most. Gus was young, still too trusting, and if nothing else, he was far more stable than either of them. The child needed that. “I’ll look after him until Luke returns. He cares about you and his son too much to stay away for long.” Or so he hoped. Convincing him to return would not be an easy task, and it was one he would undertake alone.
His calmness, more than anything, unnerved MK, and she looked down to Wren for a moment to see how she was reacting. She knew the blonde was fragile, and whatever she had seen sent her closer to teetering off the edge. Just like it did the same for MK. Both girls standing on the precipice of insanity, and now Luke wasn’t Luke, and Wren was barely Wren herself, and the redhead couldn’t see which cracks to fill in first. But she did believe that this man would protect Gus; something in the way he looked at Wren made her believe it. Still, she looked back at Silver, eyes questioning and desperate before turning back to Wren. “Gus should stay with him,” she said, even as the uncertainty bled into her tone. “Silver can check in on him, yeah? And then, when we’re better...when we’re better or you’re better or Luke’s better, we can go see him. Or he can bring him here.” MK didn’t quite like the idea of keeping the boy with this man, but it was the only viable solution. Fuck knew she was in no state to take care of a child, thoughts briefly drifting back to the DVD still burning a hole in the player, and Wren definitely wasn’t either. No, this was the only way, and she felt like the girls could trust Silver to keep an eye on everything, too.
It was easy for Silver and Bruce, Wren thought, easy for MK too, being told no when it came to Gus. None of them were related to the little boy, none of them were his mother, and they weren't the ones letting him down, in the end. The unanimous vote took whatever fight she had left and smothered it like a doused flame. "Okay," she said, and the madness from earlier was gone, just like that, replaced by an audible numbness. She shook her head, and she nodded to the bed. Numb was easier. Numb she could do. "I want to lie down, if that's okay," she said, just wanting to be alone. Alexander's name was still echoing at the edges of her mind, but it was quieter now. Luke was gone, and they wouldn't let her have Gus, and she just wanted to be left alone. "Please," she said, disentangling herself from MK with an unsteady sway. "You should rest too," she managed to tell MK, voice just as dead, but steadier for it. She wasn't steady enough to realize that MK shouldn't be alone, because she couldn't actually see as clearly as all that. "Thank you both," She told Silver and Bruce, and she moved toward the bed, expecting everyone to just go.
Silver hesitated for a moment, and then again looked at Bruce, feeling a moment of rare accord. He did not think that the boy should be left alone, nor did he think Gus would be well staying here, with his mother so upset and MK looking like she’d just escaped hell on earth--which, of course, she had. He did not plan on leaving Wren alone, but he had somewhat counted on Luke swooping in and insisting on some idiotic emotional plan, and that wasn’t happening. “I’ll stay here and help clean up, if you plan on keeping an eye on Gus,” he said to not Luke, putting additional meaning into his gaze that implied he planned on lingering until he was absolutely sure everything was okay. “And then perhaps Wren can visit when she’s feeling better.” Glancing to her on the bed. Then, to MK, he smiled and said, “Would you like something to drink before I get started? You should sit down, I think.”
Bruce didn’t necessarily need agreement, but all the same, it was somewhat of a relief to not have to face overwhelming opposition. This was in the best interests of the child, however difficult it might be for Wren to accept; oh, and it was difficult. He saw that quite clearly. Her acceptance, followed by the numbness he recognized all too well, troubled him, and he realized the severity of the situation had surpassed his original estimations. Perhaps Luke needed time, but he didn’t have a lot of it. Somehow, he needed to make the boy see that, regardless of his own troubles. He nodded, satisfied that Silver intended on remaining behind; neither Wren nor MK were in any condition to be left alone just then, and he could not stay himself. “Yes,” he said, and he moved towards the door, assuming that leaping out a window in front of Wren would be a very, very poor choice indeed. He would simply go out the way he had come in, and she would never be the wiser. Gotham was in the back of his mind, but right now this took priority, and he could not cross--for long, at least--until this was resolved. He paused in the doorway, wondering briefly if he had simply made things worse by coming.
“I’ll bring him back.” It was a promise, meant for the woman on the bed, and regardless of what he had to do, it was one Bruce intended to keep. He inclined his head towards Silver before disappearing around the corner, and a few seconds later he was gone, an open window left behind.
MK wanted to follow Wren into her room, to crawl into bed with the other girl like old times. When everything could get fixed by a good snuggle and a cheap bottle of wine, but MK knew that nothing could be this simple. So, she watched helplessly in the doorway as the blonde shuffled towards her bed, looking to the two men with watery eyes. She wanted to ask them to help more, to actually do something to save Wren. Silver seemed adjusted enough, and not-Luke looked stronger than the three of them combined. The redhead knew, however, that nothing was to be done at the moment. Nothing could help Wren until she could wrap around her mind that what she saw wasn’t real, at least for her. MK couldn’t even imagine what Wren had seen, but that was for another day. Instead, after not-Luke left, she turned to Silver and offered him the ghost of a smile. “Yeah, a drink. Yeah, that sounds good.” Hoping that he meant her usual kind of drink, she glanced in at Wren once more. And all of a sudden, the exhaustion hit her again, and she looked like she had been plowed over. Leaning against the door, she looked at Silver with a great amount of concern, and whispered, “We’ll make sure she’s okay, right?”
Silver gently moved closer to MK near the door. He concentrated on the curled form in the bed, not for long, just for a lingering moment, and ripples made it through the deep calm. Whatever the emotion was didn’t last long on the surface of his expression, however, because the abortive movement into the room was tightly controlled and calmed again before he moved in a circle and carefully supported MK’s arm so they could move back into the wider room. “Right.”