Need Cape Nor Cowl

Part Four: Can't Stand to Be Alone

Wesker: Had to be the longest bath he'd ever taking in his life. When one doesn't have access to such a simple luxury, they tend to forget how nice it is to just sit there and soak, even if you're so dirty you have to drain and fill the tub up twice just so the water didn't look like you've dropped a brick of mud into it. Arkham had no baths, only showers, it was much too easy for a guard to have his attention stolen and let an inmate drown themselves.

Wesker hadn't had any attention on killing himself, at least not tonight. After all, it was more likely his other personality would have tried to drown him then him drowning himself. Now the little man stood before the bathroom mirror. He'd toweled off and slipped into the oversized t-shirt Gordon had left for him, and was now just staring down at his own hands.

With glasses still on the counter, they were blurry to his blue eyes, but it was still so very strange to look down at his right hand and not see Mr. Scarface. He could run the other hand over the right and feel the calluses and it made him feel very detached from himself. Like he wasn't sure if it felt good or it was painful. Wesker let out a sigh and picked up his glasses. Don't think about it.

He slipped out of the bathroom and into the hallway. House was pretty dark, but the living room light was still on so he wasn't completely blind. He couldn't hear any voices. Where was James? Did he go to sleep? Wesker tiptoed toward the living room, but paused as he got to the door of the Master Bedroom. He bit his lip and reached for the doorknob.

The refrigerator kicked on and he nearly squealed. Stepping back he let out a panicked whisper of " Mr. Scarface? " No answer. It's just the fridge. Just noises. Where's Mr. Scarface? Stop thinking about it. Look for him. No..

Wesker couldn't stand to be alone. Not standing freaking out in the hallway like this. He didn't really want to walk into the living room and see the Dummy lying on the kitchen floor, but he didn't want to stay here. So he finally opened Gordon's door just about an inch and peeked in.


Gordon: The exhaustion had hit the commissioner hard, and the only part he'd thought to free was his feet, which dangled bare off the edge of the bed right above where the shoes they kicked off landed. He was breathing softly, suspenders off his shoulders and arms around a pillow. If he rolled over, he risked breaking his glasses earpiece.

The room had been decorated about five years before, and now clothes sort of stuck out from drawers, and there were ground in coffee stains in the sheets from where Gordon stayed up reading case files. It was passably clean, but not something you'd ask a lover to join you in. Instead it looked more like a room where a man who didn't like cleaning but couldn't stand carnage slept. Perhaps when Barbara was over she'd motivate him into putting forth an effort. Seeing her wheel around with a vacuum, though she was fully capable, struck a chord of guilt in her father and he'd immediately demand he take over (she probably knew this and used it just to get him to clean).

He made a muffled noise and hugged the pillow more, then sighed. It probably was a bad dream he was having. The nice smells that came from the bathroom steam helped in that. Fingers dug into the fabric of the pillow and he rolled over to face the ceiling.


Wesker: Amazing how people seemed so different when they slept. Usually Gordon came off strong and determined, despite all the hardships he'd been through, seen and everything. Yet, seeing him clutching a pillow like that, clothing mussed up, made him so very very down to earth. Not the Commissioner of the police, not a man who cheated on his wife, not anything but someone who was so very tired.

Wesker watched him sleep from the crack in the door for a moment more before almost painstakingly using the palms of his hands to push the door open just enough to get his little frame through. He tiptoed toward the bed, what little light coming from the moon outside reflected and made his glasses sheen. What are you doing?

He paused half way there and froze. He'd didn't know what he was doing. You should go to the couch. What, do you think you're just gonna climb into his bed or something? He .. didn't know! But he didn't want to be alone in the living room, he knew what would happen. I ..could curl up by the bed. Like a..dog would? Suddenly Wesker found himself doing the silent equivalent to a five year olds potty-dance. Without Mr. Scarface to bark orders at him, he was confused and lost. He made a few more shuffles and then finally set both hands on his face and shook for a moment. Stop this.

Another swallow and he stepped up to the edge of the bed. Reached out with one hand he laid small fingers on Gordon's big toe and shook very very gently. Voice barely above a whisper. " M-Mr. Gordon? Mr. Gordon? J-james.. james.. please.. james. "


Gordon: "HmmmhUUUUH!" a startled nose came out of Gordon and he sat up so quickly his glasses dropped off of his face and his toes spread. He blinked harshly, the squinted at Wesker. "Arnold?" he said, staring into the face which was nice even between his feet. He waited 'til his eyes focused slightly on the fuzzy visage. "Yeah, I'm up, I'm up, are you done with your bath?" Oh, good cop, Gordon. His hair is wet, his face is clean, and he's wearing-

Then he noticed what he was in and flushed. Sweatpants. He forgot sweatpants. Or did he remember the sweatpants and was Arnold just not wearing them? He couldn't remember, he'd been so tired and frustrated with himself that he wasn't quite sure what he'd done. All the overanalyzing of his past judgment calls, the physical action, the pondering of the state of his life in general. It was something that wore Gordon's mind out more so than his body (though he'd probably have a nice red place on his knee).

He rubbed his eyes. "Don't worry, I didn't put the dummy in the trash or anything. I just put him somewhere so you wouldn't run off while I was trying to nap or if I get called to work." He yawned and pulled his feet back and sat forward so he could see the small man's face better with his slightly bothersome vision.


Wesker: The Ventriloquist had back off a good two feet with a mousy squeak when Gordon had thrashed awake. But at least he hadn't turned tail and bolted out the door. He stood clutching at his own elbows, just staring rather dumfounded at the cop on the bed till James seemed to slip from the groggy just-startled-awake scene and had calmed down on the bed.

" Y-yes sir, thank you, I hadn't had a bath in a good long while. " Nope, no sweatpants, he'd just found the T-shirt. Not that he'd complain. Wearing anything that was made for James' hips, even stretchy, would have probably meant hitching the back up every step for poor Wesker. He caught the flush and bit his lip. Not sure what was wrong with the other man. So use to people staring at him, it was possible, in all his meekness, self dignity wasn't really an issue.

A light cough and Wesker took the steps back to the bed. " I'm glad.. I..I don't think Mr. Scarface would be very pleased with me if you had put him in the trash. " Wesker shifted his vision from James' face to his glasses on the bed. Brows flurried in an apologetic way. ' I'm.. I'm sorry I woke you. I know you're really tired,, but I .. I .. " He was fumbling. Lip was bitten and he nearly choked out. " didn'tknowwhattodo. "

He just wasn't use to being alone. Truly alone, without his second personality to cling too. Not without four padded walls to keep him from hiding somewhere.


Gordon: For a moment James didn't know what he meant, but he could see the scared expression, even blurry. Which reminded him. He used flat palms to find his glasses on the bed, then laid back and scooted up onto the pillow to put them on an end table. He patted the bed beside of him. "Come on."

He ran a hand through his slightly tussled graying hair, which being thick and... well... there, unlike Wesker's, liked to stick out after a good sleep and leave him with various waking hairdos. "Been a while since you've been on the outside?" he asked. He could remember his last escape, but not time with him out, just walking around like a normal person.

"Wow, seems like I've known you for years and not known you at all. Like one of the guys who works in one of the other departments. I talk to him on occasion at a crime scene, then I forget I met him until I see him again."

He rested his hands on his stomach and leaned his head back into the fluff. "Tell me something about yourself, Mr. Wesker. Something that wouldn't be on file and isn't psychobabble."


Wesker: Wesker stared for a moment, not moving. Perhaps he hadn't been prepared after all, for James to invite him into the bed. Even if it was just to sit and talk. The man wasn't shooing him out of the room, or showing him to a guest bedroom or the couch. The pat-pat against the bed was almost deafeningly loud, as was Wesker's own heart for a moment.

" R-really? " The small man muffled out and looked around the room, as if he was looking for someone else, other then him, that Gordon was talking too. How silly. He let out a nervous laugh, pulled at the collar of the T-shirt and then slowly stepped around the edge of the bed to the other side, and crawled into it. " T-thank you. "

He ended up with his back pressed to the headboard, sited down on one hip, with legs closed and to the front of him, feet curled back toward his butt. Thumbs twiddling down into his lap, and it was now the smaller man's turn to blush.

" About me? " Now psychiatrist had asked him this question before, but they were always digging for those little tid bits of childhood nightmares, something to answer the proverbial question. Why are you so fucked up? Mother beat you? Father molest you? Did you kick puppies as a child? " Well I.. " Twiddle. Twiddle. Twiddle. " I actually wanted to be a singer as a kid, but I just didn't have the voice for it. So that's why I got into Ventriloquism. "


Gordon: Gordon chuckled and turned his head to look up at Wesker, an odd position for him since he was accustomed to being taller than him. "Really? The Daily Planet didn't have you pegged as the artistic type." He looked back up at the ceiling. "Which is pretty good bullshit when you think about it, you've got to be pretty creative to-" he didn't continue. He didn't want to insinuate that Scarface wasn't real and drive Wesker out of the room.

"Those profilers try too hard sometimes, especially the ones on the journaling shows. The number one priority should always be the crime scene, but no, now we got people typecasting criminals like characters out of movies. 'This chick has claws? Must mean she's a pent-up housewife dominatrix.' When Selena Kyle is actually a very intelligent and dangerous woman. 'This man obviously has some childhood defect that drives him to personality changes.' Please, I worked with Harvey Dent. He led a fine life but was prone to mood swings even then. The acid just drove him over the edge."

He looked back up at Wesker, realizing he was babbling. He was also realizing just how much sympathy he still had for the criminals of Arkham. Not that he'd let them get away with it in a million years, but he did feel bad for them. And he felt so much sympathy for Wesker, trapped in there by his own psyche. He moved his hand and covered Wesker's, stilling his twiddling appendages.

"I'm sorry, you can tell me something else. I won't go off on another tangent."


Wesker: Indeed an odd change of position. Wesker wasn't accustomed to looking down at anyone, well, save for Mr. Scarface, but the Dummy wouldn't stand for any disrespect. Arnold Wesker was not a disrespectful man, he didn't even interrupt James when the man went off on his little rant about the media.

He did wince a little when Catwoman was mentioned. He'd honestly felt bad for Scarface double crossing her, and he'd nearly had his chest torn open for the puppets misbehavings. But he'd already told James he'd tried to say he was sorry to that hell fire.

He jumped slightly when the hand landed on his, jarring any thoughts for him and he looked down at Gordon's large hand on his. Wesker swallowed. "It's okay. At least.. you still talk about us like like.. like we're human. "

He pulled one hand out from under the commissioners and placed it on top of the other man's. He didn't look up yet. Just stared down at the lines in James's fingers, faded bruises and the calluses from years of hard work and guns. " When people like me go to Black-Gate ..or Arkham, no one expects us to change. They use pills and words that don't mean anything, if we behave long enough they release us without even repairing what's wrong. .. or they simple lock us away and try to forget the stains we put on this city. " His fingers tightened around Gordon's hand. " They don't really care what made us, or if we ever get better. Just so long as we stay on the news and out of their lives. "

The corners of Wesker's mouth twitch, but he neither smiled or frowned. " I..I .. got r-raped my last night in Black Gate, and the guard knew it was happening. I think.. I-I think the other inmate paid him off not to tell. "


Gordon: Gordon's eyes widened and whatever groggy elements of his brain slipped away. He sat up and scooted up to mirror Arnold's pose, only with his legs stretched out. "And they didn't have cameras to watch for this!?"

Every cop element of him wanted to start questioning right there. How tall was he? Do you know his name or inmate number? Did he have any distinguishing features? Were you well acquainted with him? He kept his cool, though. In this situation, he was being a protector, and finding out that information or making an arrest would give away what he'd been doing to keep Wesker safe.

He squeezed his hand. "Maybe we should switch out some of the regular prison guards instead of the Black-Gate guys... Fuck, they must just think because everyone thinks you're crazy, no one will believe you. Didn't they learn anything from the one psycho they eventually caught. What did they do to you-" He regretted the question as soon as it came out of his mouth.

"Sorry." he followed, looking down at the hand he was squeezing.


Wesker: Wesker wasn't sure why he'd told James that. Maybe because he'd never told anyone. The only other person who knew.. was Scarface. But Scarface was the end result of the whole thing, the day Wesker realized that one night in Black-Gate, that last night, was the last straw for his poor brain, and he'd created the nasty puppet out of his own sheer will to not kill himself and lash back out of the world.

His lip trembled as Gordon squeezed his hand and rambled out in a cop manner before apologizing for it. " It's.. okay.. I needed.. I needed to tell someone. " He then curled down into the bed, curled around the Commissioner's hand, pressing his face into the other man's wrist. Glasses were shoved up onto his forehead. Shoulders shook hard. I can't do this, I need Mr. Scarface.

" I-I-It hurt. It still hurts. I .. don't want to hurt anymore, J-james, I just want to be able to sleep at night and not feel like someone else is looming over me, yet I don't think I could stand to be alone. "


Gordon: Likewise the larger man curled himself around the smaller one, bothered by this new information. He slipped his hand from Wesker's grip to put at his back with the other and hug against his torso. He rubbed his back.

"I don't think you ever get over that feeling. Even with someone with you, it doesn't go away..." he said sadly. "But, if you want... Why don't you stay in here tonight."

Luckily he'd had the forethought to hide his gun in case Wesker got any ideas, and he doubted the mousy man, without the help of the hateful wooden extension of his own dark anxiety, would do anything to him in his sleep. It still made Gordon nervous a bit, though. "You can go get whatever you need to sleep better, glass of milk... peanut butter sandwich... a pair of sweatpants?" he stammered as all his back-rubbing budged up his sweatshirt so that the next rub he made ran over the edge of the shirt to the top of his butt cheeks, then up the bare of his back underneath the cloth.


Wesker: Wesker might, at his worse, steal all the blankets and roll onto the ground. Without the wooden dummy to bark orders at him, he was honestly a very very gentle soul. It was indeed, only when the Dummy was threatened did Wesker on his own even act rationally. Even though he didn't know WHERE Scarface was at the moment, he did know his other half was somewhere in this house, safe, and for once, he didn't feel like going and finding him.

When Gordon curled around him, Wesker snuggled closer, moving his forehead from pressing against hands to buried into the nape of the taller man's neck. Knees were pressed against Gordon's stomach and groin. He might have not had any thing under that shirt that was being bunched up, but at least he wasn't laying sprawled out on the bed or anything. Hands curled into James' shirt and the smaller man just laid very still while those hands moved across his back.

" I don't.. I don't need anything, thank you. and thank you for not sending me away. I-I won't do anything wrong, I won't even get off the bed till you wake up. " He pressed his face harder into the other man's chest. Glasses clinked and slid off his forehead, landing on the bed above his smooth head. He was just. So relieved, so very relieved.

I could stay like this forever. It's warm, his hands are nice. Usually anyone even dragging a finger near him made him jump and cringe, but Gordon had been so nice about protecting him, been so helpful. Those calloused fingers against his clean skin were comforting, especially after telling one of his most horrible secrets.

Gordon: Gordon laid there, feeling the heat that the freshly washed barely covered body oozed. But then it started feeling a little better than good, that sort of good he felt before where his stomach brimmed with the polar opposite of nausea and his own body began to heat up.

Against the knees next to his groin, the khakis rumpled by the day's action stiffened, cloth contorted by some unseen though not at all mysterious pressure. His mustache twitched and he rubbed an eye, before picking up the round lenses and placing them by his own on the night table.

"I'm starting to worry less about what you're gonna do and about what I'm gonna do." He didn't want to do that to him. Not after an admission like he'd just gotten. He rested his chin on Arnold's head. "You make me want to do all sorts of things I don't want to do, Arnold... Wanna climb under the covers?"


Wesker: God it was so warm. It was like being bundled up in a nice safe place where no one, not even his own mind, could hurt him. Right here in this man's arms. Wesker could feel his heart starting to race and a grogginess stealing at his brain. The sudden pressure on his knees though, jarred him a little back to reality.

The smaller man pulled back just enough to look up at the commissioner. Without his glasses, and probably for the first time, James's get a good look, even if it was dark, at Arnold's eyes. Blue, hazy, obviously eyes are windows into the souls. With a soul like the Ventriloquists, one might not have wanted to peek in too deep. Yet he wasn't really evil, just troubled. He squinted, pretty hard at that. One could imagine with coke-bottled glasses his vision must have been atrocious. But he could see well enough to see Gordon's mustache and his eyes.

" O-okay. I don't want you to do anything you wouldn't want to do.. " He flushed hard. Would he actually want to do such a thing? With you? That's .. maybe you'd like him too. No.. it's not like that. You liked it with Donnagon. I.. Wesker shook his own head to clear his thoughts. Even without Scarface, his brain was still badgering him. He let out a breath and scooted away from James, completely off the bed. He took a moment, to slid the bunched up shirt back down over his hips and then turned up the covers. " T-thank you again. " He slid back onto the bed and curled up into the covers.

Gordon: Gordon stretched uncomfortably as Wesker moved under the covers. He rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling and wished he'd watched his tongue. So he switched on the analytical part of the brain, willing away the betrayal of his body. "I'm always wondering how the criminal mind works, I'm always wondering what drives people to do these things."

"I guess when people are vulnerable, there's something in people that makes you wanna take advantage of them," he said sadly. "I think it falls down to which ones of us can walk away when they need to, and which ones actually go through with their baser instincts."

"I think whoever did that to you... he was closer to an animal than a man. He couldn't tell that wasn't what he needed to do. I guess the Bats, though, he's another sort of animal." He pursed his lips. "See, you're in here now so I get to talk to you until you I bore you to sleep, don't you feel better now?"


Wesker: " I d-don't mind. " Wesker whispered back against the covers. He'd pulled them up to his chin and had curled into a ball under them. Knees to his chest. He always slept like this. In the asylum, he'd always curled around the puppet, yet when he'd been out of the pen, Scarface had always insisted upon his own bed. Something along the lines of You might ge a limpwristed little fag, Dummy, gut I'm not. Sleep in yer own ged!

So with no puppet and Gordon on the other side of the covers, Wesker hugged himself. " I've.. I've never been really good at protecting myself. Even as a kid...people would pick on me and I'd just let them, .. " He swallowed a bit. " The only time I ever lashed back out was the night I.. I.. accidentally killed that one guy and got sent to black-gate. " The smaller man let out a sigh and stared at Gordon with his blurry vision.

" I didn't.. I didn't even really yell for help. " His mouth pulled into a frown and he removed his vision to the pillow next to him. " He was twice as big as I was, he could have killed me, So I just did what he told me to do. " Wesker swallowed hard. " Mr. Scarface says that he's the only reason I'm still alive, because I'm too .. I'm too weak to defend myself. "

This was years of guilt and torment bottle up inside Arnold Wesker. If there was ever a prized aftermath of what this City did to those that couldn't keep it's wolves at bay, Wesker should have won a metal.

Gordon: He turned his head toward Wesker. "He's just taking advantage of you too, Arnold. Just like the rest of them." He felt bad for him, but it was true. He wasn't going to sugarcoat it. Arnold was weak and easy for the predators of Gotham to pick off. So his own mind produced a criminal just like them, a way to compensate in a world that he felt that he just... came up short in.

Gordon however, Gordon had no excuse. He was never weak. Yet his family still got picked off like the lot of them and it was all he could do sometimes to save his own hide from the carnal executioners this city held.

"The next time you're with Mr. Scarface, Arnold, I want you to do something for me, I want you to try telling him what to do and not letting him say no, okay?" he said, swiveling his position.


Wesker: The smaller man's brows flinched. It WAS tough to hear that. Even though, somewhere deep inside, Wesker did know Scarface was just using him. Hell, the dummy had nearly killed him several times. But then again, he also knew that Scarface WAS the only reason he was still alive. If Scar-Woody hadn't started talking to him that night in Black-Gate, he'd be in a pine over suit right now.

How sad it was that something could be your savior and your damnation all in one. Wesker shifted his face again so he could look back at Gordon and the slowly nodded, swallowing. " I.. I don't know if I can, but I'll try. He's going to be very angry at me, but I'll try to not let him hit more or order me to run back to the underground. I .. I don't want to go back to crime. "

The small man sat up suddenly and leaned over toward Gordon. A hand reached out and he landed it on the other's mans chest. " But.. but if I can't control him, will you promise to take him and put him back where every you hide him? Even if I tell you not to? " It could be some kind of therapy. Maybe with Gordon's help, he could learn to shove Mr. Scarface away, to tell him no completely. It was a hopeful thought.


Gordon: His eyes lowered to his chest to where the hand lay. "I shouldn't have a problem with that, Arnold." He looked over at his face. It seemed so needy, so longing. It had been a while, a long time since Gordon had seen a look on that face in that house, of someone who really depended on him.

It felt good to see that again.

He reached over and put a hand on the side of Wesker’s face. "Go to sleep, alright? You've had a hell of a day."

Wesker: A small sigh escaped the smaller man and he nudged his cheek into Gordon’s palm. “ O-okay, t-hank you James. “ Lips and nose dragged against that gun calloused hand before Wesker rolled back over and snuggled down into the covers. He curled into a ball and found it rather easy, for once in his life, to just fall asleep.

He felt safe.