Re: The woods
There was a time when being told he sounded like Thomas would have been the last thing Luke wanted to hear. But things here were different, if that wasn't already apparent, and instead of making him ashamed, Wren's whispered realization made not-Luke proud. He tilted his chin up, the gesture defiant, as though daring her to comment on it further. The man who'd been thrown off kilter by a woman mere moments ago was gone, and it was clear he relished having the upper hand, being the one with power, rather than the weak one on the opposite end, scrambling for footing like she was just then. "If you're not here for blackmail, and no one sent you, then you're no better than anyone here tonight," he sneered. "You heard the infamous Luke Brandon was coming out of seclusion, didn't you? Thought you'd try like so many before you to see what you could get out of me. Do you really think you're the first to come to me and claim you knew my father, to attempt to use him to catch me off guard?" The accusations were flung at her like knives, bitter and sharp, and the real Luke watched, back pressed against the wall, and wondered what had happened to turn him into this.
He didn't step forward again when she moved back, but then, he didn't need to. None of her claims of knowing Thomas penetrated his exterior, nor did her mention of the vigilante scene, but Jack's name was like a weak spot beneath the armor he wrapped himself in. Surprise lit up his eyes, previously cold and hard, and the Luke in the corner noticed. Oh, he noticed. He unwrapped his arms from around himself (when had he done that?) and ignored Wren's surprise; she hadn't looked at him, had she, so it was her own fault for not realizing he'd chosen to move instead of standing there like an invisible statue. "He won't believe you about Thomas," the real Luke said, sounding oddly distant and far away. "But keep talking about Jack. Max, too. Maybe Gwen. Things you'd only know if you were telling the truth."
As for not-Luke, he was still staring when she said she'd go, and he seemed not to have noticed that his hands had begun to tremble. Not until the tremor extended down to his cane, that is, and the wood made a sound against the floor. He looked down at himself and inhaled deeply before letting it out in one long, slow breath, and gestured to one of the chairs with his cane. "Sit." It was a demand, not a request, and he turned towards the wall, back facing her, so she wouldn't be able to see what he was doing.
But Luke, the real Luke, could see, and he saw his older, alternate self search within his jacket until he withdrew a small bottle of pills. Screw off the cap, shake a few into his palm, and toss them back dry. He swallowed once, twice, then stowed the pills away again, and after a few seconds his hands began to stop shaking.
"Everyone who knows his name is either dead or gone," he said, turning back to face her. "Jack. There were some rumors a while a back about me having a friend in prison, but it never went further than that. Money stems the flow of information quite well, I've found." Not-Luke paused, rubbing a hand along his jaw. "If you're telling the truth, then you must have left before..." His voice faltered. "Before everything went to hell."