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simple_works2013-06-21 01:26 pm
healthdrinks) wrote in simple_works2013-06-21 01:26 pm
Entry tags:
Circles part 2
Title: Circles
Fandom: Silent Hill: Downpour
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: cursing
Pairing: eventual Anne/Murphy
The silent bitterness was something Anne was well suited to. She was used to it. It wasn’t something she really felt the need to escape, to ignore, or to change. After all this time spent in Silent Hill, cold and wet and more or less constantly miserable, anything that felt even remotely pleasant was a foreign concept. It killed her in a way she didn’t even want to realize that the first pleasant thing she had felt in days, weeks, months (she couldn’t even keep track of time anymore) was the warm, intrusive weight of Murphy Pendleton’s hand on her shoulder.
“Hey,” he said to her softly, and it was so strange to hear a tone so soothing in the voice of her father’s murderer. The voice of her murderer. All at once newly furious, she lowered the hand she had up to cover her face, like a barrier to the outside world, and turned her glare back on him. How dare he, was all she could think. How the fuck dare he?
“Get away from me,” she snapped, but somehow it lacked the rage and conviction she wanted to express in the words. It lacked any fire at all. Because the simple fact of the matter was that she really didn’t have any rage left to express, not after the overflow that his apology had brought earlier and not after all these months of hating him and raging at him, reminding him over and over that she would never let him live down what he had done. It was sick to her, even in her own mind, that she could only really feel that damn warmth come through his touch even as she felt wrong just having him touch her, felt repulsed by the fact that he thought he had any damn right…
Feelings, however, were fickle things. Even in the face of this insurmountable loathing she felt toward the man in front of her, it was still warmth. It was still something. After so many countless hours of wet and cold and agony, it was something that didn’t hurt. Something that didn’t bring her more reason to lie down and give up. There had been times, before she found that old stubbornness that Frank had so often teased her fondly for, that she had simply wanted to curl into a ball and let Silent Hill swallow her. It was something she wasn’t proud of, something she never would have dreamed of doing when she was alive. But there was something about this town that had the ability to destroy her will to live. Right now, there was that subtle warmth, and as much as it made her itch to realize, it was the closest thing she’d felt to comfort since she’d lost her father. And then he just had to go and make it worse by moving his arm up on the wall beside her head, like some sort of makeshift embrace. This wasn’t something she could deal with. Not now.
There wasn’t any sort of consciousness on her part to the way the tears started to overflow. It wasn’t as though it was the first time it had happened in Silent Hill, not by a long shot, and it wasn’t even as though it was the first time it had happened in front of Murphy. There was consciousness in the way she cursed at him under her breath, both for being the cause of this whole thing and for being the only source of human contact she had left. For a moment she actually considered hitting him, thought it would feel good. Instead her hand gripped a fistful of his shirt, smearing his own blood onto the material in the process. It stunned her, scared her a little to realize that she just didn’t have any more rage to pour out at him. All that was left was a kind of sad, cold bitterness. She wasn’t sure what it was that made it impossible to push him away. Maybe, though, it was because he was right. She was lonely.
Loneliness was something she’d gotten used to back home toward the end. She’d lost her father and gone through a divorce in a remarkably short time, and it left a lonely ache that no amount of double shifts could compensate for. This was a different kind of loneliness, however. This was the crushing weight of being without another human being for companionship at all, for days upon days upon days. This awkward moment with Murphy was the closest thing she’d felt to sanity since they’d crashed on that damn bus. It was more than she could do to bother fighting it right now. Trying to salvage what was left of her dignity was an option but it seemed like one that was more trouble than it was worth. There was still some rational part of her mind that wanted to shove Murphy backward as hard as she could, but the warmth and the presence and the smell of him was just so human. It was something so different from those monsters. For a moment she almost forgot about the monster he was himself.
For longer than Anne could even comprehend, Murphy didn’t move a muscle, just kept up this almost-hug between them as she pathetically let herself dissolve into the sort of hysterics she hated to let anyone see her in. And somehow, Murphy didn’t seem to care. He didn’t seem disgusted or embarrassed or any of the sorts of things any sane person would be seeing someone blubber like this. Instead, there was a heaviness to him, and when Anne opened her eyes she could see it. The hand that held onto his shirt tightened, and through the sounds of her sobs, the ones she tried as hard as she could to muffle somewhat, a small and pathetic noise escaped. It startled Anne a bit to know that it had come out of her own mouth, and Murphy looked just as surprised as she felt. For a moment there was just that stunned tension between them, and then Murphy moved the hand that was on her shoulder and wrapped his arms around her. Her first instinct was to simply bolt, to push him away and lash out at him. In the past, she might have even shot him for the action, knowing that killing him would most likely never be a permanent action, though it was something she hadn’t yet done. But for now all she could do was stand in a stunned silence as the inevitable warmth of his body soaked through the damp cloth of her coat, and all over again she realized how cold she’d been.
Despite all her normal natural impulses, all her disdain for Murphy and everything he had done, she simply crumbled against him then and as the two of them stood there in that silent and empty shop and she clung to him in a way that made her sick to her stomach with shame. The absolute, undeniable quality of humanity about him was what made it so impossible to pull away. After countless months without any sort of human contact, this was something so foreign and something she hadn’t even realized she’d missed, and something that was difficult to let go of.
“I’m sorry,” Murphy muttered for the second time today, and this time she didn’t have the energy or the blind rage left to fight back with barbed words. All she could do was shake her head against his shoulder, lift it so she could look him in the eye. Those eyes were hazel, mostly brown, and seeing her own face reflected in them made her feel sick to her stomach. Somehow, those eyes held no coldness, no malice, and it felt wrong and the world felt tilted that a murderer should have eyes gentler than her own.
“It’s not okay,” she told him rather coldly, shaking her head again, hard. The hand around the material of his shirt tightened. She was still weeping like a child, and it was a little embarrassing to let him see it, but at the same time part of her realized he deserved to. This is all your fault. “It’s not ever going to be okay.”
“I know,” Murphy’s voice was soft, muted, and when Anne took a step back, almost reluctant to leave that embrace, he looked somehow more wounded than she would have expected. Hands falling to his sides, Murphy simply stared at her in silence, the look in his eyes so hard to take than Anne had to look away. Because he did look sorry. That was the worst of it. He looked sorry and he looked like he was in pain. As much pain as she was, in fact. “I know I have no right to ask for your forgiveness. Shit I… I’ve got no right to expect it, ever, not after the things I’ve done. But that doesn’t mean… that I’m gonna stop telling you I’m sorry. Because I am. If I could take it all back—”
“Well, you can’t,” Anne snapped at him, taking a few more steps backward. “There’s no taking it back now. You did what you did, and that’s why we’re in this mess in the first place.” There was really nothing left to say to him, especially not now. Not after the embarrassing way she’d let him hold her close and watch her cry like some pathetic little weakling that had no right to wear the slightly tarnished badge that was still clipped to her jacket. Not that it mattered now; she wasn’t a CO anymore. She couldn’t be. After all, she was dead, and she was trapped here. There was no conceivable way she could imagine that they would ever escape.
“Officer…”
“Don’t bother.” With a shake of her head, Anne turned her back on him and walked through the shop, past the chair and the now discarded first aid kit to the door, where she could still hear the rain coming down full force. A crash of thunder rocked the air around them, and just briefly she glanced over her shoulder to see Murphy leaning against the wall, shoulders slumped, just watching her. For all the times he had said he was sorry over the months and she hadn’t believed him, there was certainly apology in those eyes. Regret. Guilt and pain and the aching wish that it could all go back to the way it was once, the same things she’d seen in the cracked and bloody mirrors she’d run across in the town. Somehow the fact that he meant it, that he wasn’t just fishing for her forgiveness for selfish reasons made it that much worse. With a heavy sigh that shook her shoulders, Anne turned back to the door and placed her hand on the cold knob.
“Next time try not to get your ass in trouble,” she told him sharply as she opened the door into the pouring rain and put one foot out. Almost immediately her damp shoe was newly soaked in the water that poured in a steady, dependable gale from the skies above. And with that she closed the door behind her, trying not to let herself regret leaving the dry safety of the shop for the heavy storm outside. Above her the heavy sky cried the heavy droplets like it was just as miserable as she was. With a shake of her head, she left Murphy behind and ventured out into the cold street.
It was better this way, she reminded herself. It had to be.
Fandom: Silent Hill: Downpour
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: cursing
Pairing: eventual Anne/Murphy
The silent bitterness was something Anne was well suited to. She was used to it. It wasn’t something she really felt the need to escape, to ignore, or to change. After all this time spent in Silent Hill, cold and wet and more or less constantly miserable, anything that felt even remotely pleasant was a foreign concept. It killed her in a way she didn’t even want to realize that the first pleasant thing she had felt in days, weeks, months (she couldn’t even keep track of time anymore) was the warm, intrusive weight of Murphy Pendleton’s hand on her shoulder.
“Hey,” he said to her softly, and it was so strange to hear a tone so soothing in the voice of her father’s murderer. The voice of her murderer. All at once newly furious, she lowered the hand she had up to cover her face, like a barrier to the outside world, and turned her glare back on him. How dare he, was all she could think. How the fuck dare he?
“Get away from me,” she snapped, but somehow it lacked the rage and conviction she wanted to express in the words. It lacked any fire at all. Because the simple fact of the matter was that she really didn’t have any rage left to express, not after the overflow that his apology had brought earlier and not after all these months of hating him and raging at him, reminding him over and over that she would never let him live down what he had done. It was sick to her, even in her own mind, that she could only really feel that damn warmth come through his touch even as she felt wrong just having him touch her, felt repulsed by the fact that he thought he had any damn right…
Feelings, however, were fickle things. Even in the face of this insurmountable loathing she felt toward the man in front of her, it was still warmth. It was still something. After so many countless hours of wet and cold and agony, it was something that didn’t hurt. Something that didn’t bring her more reason to lie down and give up. There had been times, before she found that old stubbornness that Frank had so often teased her fondly for, that she had simply wanted to curl into a ball and let Silent Hill swallow her. It was something she wasn’t proud of, something she never would have dreamed of doing when she was alive. But there was something about this town that had the ability to destroy her will to live. Right now, there was that subtle warmth, and as much as it made her itch to realize, it was the closest thing she’d felt to comfort since she’d lost her father. And then he just had to go and make it worse by moving his arm up on the wall beside her head, like some sort of makeshift embrace. This wasn’t something she could deal with. Not now.
There wasn’t any sort of consciousness on her part to the way the tears started to overflow. It wasn’t as though it was the first time it had happened in Silent Hill, not by a long shot, and it wasn’t even as though it was the first time it had happened in front of Murphy. There was consciousness in the way she cursed at him under her breath, both for being the cause of this whole thing and for being the only source of human contact she had left. For a moment she actually considered hitting him, thought it would feel good. Instead her hand gripped a fistful of his shirt, smearing his own blood onto the material in the process. It stunned her, scared her a little to realize that she just didn’t have any more rage to pour out at him. All that was left was a kind of sad, cold bitterness. She wasn’t sure what it was that made it impossible to push him away. Maybe, though, it was because he was right. She was lonely.
Loneliness was something she’d gotten used to back home toward the end. She’d lost her father and gone through a divorce in a remarkably short time, and it left a lonely ache that no amount of double shifts could compensate for. This was a different kind of loneliness, however. This was the crushing weight of being without another human being for companionship at all, for days upon days upon days. This awkward moment with Murphy was the closest thing she’d felt to sanity since they’d crashed on that damn bus. It was more than she could do to bother fighting it right now. Trying to salvage what was left of her dignity was an option but it seemed like one that was more trouble than it was worth. There was still some rational part of her mind that wanted to shove Murphy backward as hard as she could, but the warmth and the presence and the smell of him was just so human. It was something so different from those monsters. For a moment she almost forgot about the monster he was himself.
For longer than Anne could even comprehend, Murphy didn’t move a muscle, just kept up this almost-hug between them as she pathetically let herself dissolve into the sort of hysterics she hated to let anyone see her in. And somehow, Murphy didn’t seem to care. He didn’t seem disgusted or embarrassed or any of the sorts of things any sane person would be seeing someone blubber like this. Instead, there was a heaviness to him, and when Anne opened her eyes she could see it. The hand that held onto his shirt tightened, and through the sounds of her sobs, the ones she tried as hard as she could to muffle somewhat, a small and pathetic noise escaped. It startled Anne a bit to know that it had come out of her own mouth, and Murphy looked just as surprised as she felt. For a moment there was just that stunned tension between them, and then Murphy moved the hand that was on her shoulder and wrapped his arms around her. Her first instinct was to simply bolt, to push him away and lash out at him. In the past, she might have even shot him for the action, knowing that killing him would most likely never be a permanent action, though it was something she hadn’t yet done. But for now all she could do was stand in a stunned silence as the inevitable warmth of his body soaked through the damp cloth of her coat, and all over again she realized how cold she’d been.
Despite all her normal natural impulses, all her disdain for Murphy and everything he had done, she simply crumbled against him then and as the two of them stood there in that silent and empty shop and she clung to him in a way that made her sick to her stomach with shame. The absolute, undeniable quality of humanity about him was what made it so impossible to pull away. After countless months without any sort of human contact, this was something so foreign and something she hadn’t even realized she’d missed, and something that was difficult to let go of.
“I’m sorry,” Murphy muttered for the second time today, and this time she didn’t have the energy or the blind rage left to fight back with barbed words. All she could do was shake her head against his shoulder, lift it so she could look him in the eye. Those eyes were hazel, mostly brown, and seeing her own face reflected in them made her feel sick to her stomach. Somehow, those eyes held no coldness, no malice, and it felt wrong and the world felt tilted that a murderer should have eyes gentler than her own.
“It’s not okay,” she told him rather coldly, shaking her head again, hard. The hand around the material of his shirt tightened. She was still weeping like a child, and it was a little embarrassing to let him see it, but at the same time part of her realized he deserved to. This is all your fault. “It’s not ever going to be okay.”
“I know,” Murphy’s voice was soft, muted, and when Anne took a step back, almost reluctant to leave that embrace, he looked somehow more wounded than she would have expected. Hands falling to his sides, Murphy simply stared at her in silence, the look in his eyes so hard to take than Anne had to look away. Because he did look sorry. That was the worst of it. He looked sorry and he looked like he was in pain. As much pain as she was, in fact. “I know I have no right to ask for your forgiveness. Shit I… I’ve got no right to expect it, ever, not after the things I’ve done. But that doesn’t mean… that I’m gonna stop telling you I’m sorry. Because I am. If I could take it all back—”
“Well, you can’t,” Anne snapped at him, taking a few more steps backward. “There’s no taking it back now. You did what you did, and that’s why we’re in this mess in the first place.” There was really nothing left to say to him, especially not now. Not after the embarrassing way she’d let him hold her close and watch her cry like some pathetic little weakling that had no right to wear the slightly tarnished badge that was still clipped to her jacket. Not that it mattered now; she wasn’t a CO anymore. She couldn’t be. After all, she was dead, and she was trapped here. There was no conceivable way she could imagine that they would ever escape.
“Officer…”
“Don’t bother.” With a shake of her head, Anne turned her back on him and walked through the shop, past the chair and the now discarded first aid kit to the door, where she could still hear the rain coming down full force. A crash of thunder rocked the air around them, and just briefly she glanced over her shoulder to see Murphy leaning against the wall, shoulders slumped, just watching her. For all the times he had said he was sorry over the months and she hadn’t believed him, there was certainly apology in those eyes. Regret. Guilt and pain and the aching wish that it could all go back to the way it was once, the same things she’d seen in the cracked and bloody mirrors she’d run across in the town. Somehow the fact that he meant it, that he wasn’t just fishing for her forgiveness for selfish reasons made it that much worse. With a heavy sigh that shook her shoulders, Anne turned back to the door and placed her hand on the cold knob.
“Next time try not to get your ass in trouble,” she told him sharply as she opened the door into the pouring rain and put one foot out. Almost immediately her damp shoe was newly soaked in the water that poured in a steady, dependable gale from the skies above. And with that she closed the door behind her, trying not to let herself regret leaving the dry safety of the shop for the heavy storm outside. Above her the heavy sky cried the heavy droplets like it was just as miserable as she was. With a shake of her head, she left Murphy behind and ventured out into the cold street.
It was better this way, she reminded herself. It had to be.