ataraxionlogs | letting the days go by, into silent water [open]

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letting the days go by, into silent water [open]

CHARACTERS: Murphy Pendleton and you.
LOCATION: Anywhere. This is pretty much a free-for-all of CR.
WARNINGS: Insert the usual Silent Hill disclaimer here.
SUMMARY: Insomnia hits. Friendly neighborhood convict takes a little stroll.

He couldn't sleep.

Granted, this was nothing new and exciting. If nothing else, it was fucking tedious. His brief spell of excessive sleeping habits died real fast after the jump wired Murphy up all over again.

It wasn't always this bad. In fact, he used to sleep a fair bit. There wasn't much else to do during his alone time in prison, so it had been the only resort next to going stir-crazy with boredom.

Even with Anne in the same room these days, Murphy still felt the nagging urge to escape the closing walls of his ~~cell~~ bedroom. Unlike Ryall, he could at least work off his restlessness by stretching his legs. There were still places that he hadn't yet seen, grounds that he hadn't yet covered. He could scratch this itch. He could.

So he just wandered for awhile. Aimlessly, as usual. He almost felt dazed. But it was good to be out. Not free, not safe, though close enough to settle on the fact that his present situation proved to be more favorable than where he had been coming from, in ways.

That was just sad.

Murphy, this is your life right now. Take a good long look at it.

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She was trying really really hard not to let that grin turn into a leer, okay? She deserved a little credit.

Hopefully that credit would be provided in the form of Murphy not getting all awkward and refusing to answer.

"Is it Anne, by any chance?"

Please please please let it be Anne. Murphy seemed so sad so much of the time, and Heather had barely met Anne but she'd liked her. And more importantly, she'd gotten the impression that Anne was not a woman who'd put up with a lot of shit. It could work!

Murphy turned his head towards Heather again with a look just then. Why would she--?

"Er, yeah. Why...?" He had only to think about it for a second before he shook his head, and added: "We're just friends."

Try to stumble less on the F-word there, Murph. It totally didn't help that his relationship, or whatever you wanted to call it, with Anne was far from a simple one. But he trusted her more than he trusted most people, so their rooming situation just made sense. That was all, nothing more.

Except not really.

What the fuck ever, Pendleton. But she raised her hands, palms open, her expression as close to innocent as it ever got.

"Hey, I'm just glad, is all. When someone's important to you it's nice to have them close. I remember you being kind of --" she's not going to say hurr durr what are friends no matter how much she might want to -- "iffy about the whole deal when we first talked. So it's nice that got sorted."

And it's super cute the way you just stuttered there. You're not even fooling yourself.

Innocent.

Right.

Heather was just about as innocent-looking as a grinning hyena at the moment, but Murphy wasn't about to say anything, at the risk of adding fuel to the fire. He couldn't even bring himself to say It's not what you think, when not even Murphy knew what he thought. And that was just sad.

"Well, it was a... a weird situation back then." It's a weird situation now. "...She's the daughter of my correction's officer. Only I, uh. I didn't really know that, 'till after we crashed, and then... that town happened..."

There, he said it. It wasn't like he had any reason to act discreet about it, not with Heather, and not here.

"Oooh, yeah, ouch. That's gotta be awkward."

She wasn't even faking her lack of concern over why Murphy might have had a corrections officer. Best man she knew on the ship had been on death row. Hell, her own father technically sort of kidnapped her. For all that she tended to come down hard on one side or the other of any given situation, she was way past believing anything was ever black and white.

"You're good now though, right? I mean, I'm guessing she's not just trying to pick up where her dad left off."

There, you get it now? was basically the silent message Murphy made when he just nodded his head at first. Yeah, it was awkward. Awkward being an understatement.

"We're good. I mean, I think we're good, since she's stopped puttin' a gun to my head." Despite the subject matter, he smirked slightly, like it was some kind of lame joke. Oh, the good old days. "Her father was a good person. So is she. I don't wanna fuck things up any more than I have for her."

Not after everything she had to deal with. Back then, he was so confused why she hated him so much. Death threats wasn't anything new and exciting for him, but this was different. Her hate was personal. He should have known.

Being on the Tranquility, in a way, seemed like a chance to try and pick up some of the broken pieces he had left scattered. He was afraid of slipping. Making it worse than it already was, like he always seemed to do.

Lame or not, Heather laughed at the gun-to-head comment. Hey, after what they'd all been through, they could be excused a few moments of dark humor, right? The laughter turned into a mock-scornful snort when he continued.

"Murphy." Deadpan. Serious business. "She's been abducted onto a spaceship filled with endless corridors, labyrinths, killer dog-things and a smileyface with a hitlist. What could you possibly do to fuck her life up even more?"

And it really wasn't her place to comment, but... Heather had never really been great at knowing her place.

"Listen, I'm not saying you guys are into each other or whatever -" yeah she is -"but if you were, it would so not be the worst thing either of you had to deal with."

The fact that Heather found humor in the comment to laugh like that reminded Murphy of the kind of company he was in. It wasn't normally his style to just throw off-handed comments about what his trip in Silent Hill was really like. The monsters were bad, sure. There was more to it than that.

Heather, though... it felt safe. She got it, at a messed up expense.

"Hey, with my track record, you never know." He waved a hand, and the smile faded into something a bit more sincere now. "In any case, it's not... really dealin' with what's on the ship that worries me. It's what's gonna happen to us if we ever make it back. It's messed up, but sometimes I think it'd be better if we could just... I dunno, stay where we're at."

Whether the end involved some time distortion or whatever technobabble logic that Murphy only ever saw in sci-fi flicks, he had no idea what was going to happen. Or if they were ever going to make it back home, or somewhere else entirely. Or if there were even going to make it at all.

That realization brought a pang. "Is it selfish that I'd... that I'd rather risk the dangers of bein' here than to have to run anymore?" He almost visibly winced. "I mean, I think I've felt like I could do more here than I ever did when I was tryin' to catch a few hours of sleep under an overpass."

Wow, Murphy, when you put it that way...

"Nope." She didn't even have to think about it; she'd had the same thoughts herself, more than once. "Back home, I've got a dead-end job, an apartment I share with a cactus, a therapist I have to lie to, and that's it. I mean, it's no overpass, but it's not a lot to want to go back to. I know people here and I don't have to worry that one day everyone'll figure out how messed up I am, 'cause..." she shrugged, and her smile wasn't quite as apologetic as it ought to have been. "Well, you guys are all messed-up too."

She wanted to hug him, really. But she was sweaty and gross, he was frequently awkward, and if there had been a moment there it had passed. She reached out and nudged his shoulder instead.

"At least here we know here we stand. Even if where we stand is somewhere crappy."

Heather didn't have to say anymore, Murphy already understood.

Coming back from that place they all knew, it was hard to think of what a normal life was supposed to be like. Hell, he was still trying to get the hang of dealing with anyone who wasn't an inmate or a prison guard. Hence the slight reaction when Heather pushed him, but only slight. It was progress.

"Mn, think I'd take my chances dealin' with the unknown here than the life I already know that's waitin' for me. You have any idea how nice it was to actually sleep in a bed again, or bein' able to pick what I eat, or just...?"

It was obvious that there were plenty of simple things in life that Murphy appreciated.

Like being able to reach out to someone and ruffle his hand over someone's hair. Which he was doing right now.

"I dunno. Beats fuckin' therapy somehow, that's for sure."

Progress.

Progress indeed. Last time someone had ruffled Heather's hair on the ship, she'd ducked away so hard she walked into a doorframe. What Murphy got was the kind of scrunched up face that was supposed to mean Da~ad, you're embarrassing me and didn't make a very good job of covering up the fact that actually? She kinda liked it.

"I think so," she said, making an essentially useless effort at settling her hair into some kind of order. God, she needed to do something about it soon. "Sometimes it doesn't really matter how bad your options are, the important thing's that you can choose. Not that I've ever had to deal with that the same way you have, but..." she shrugged. "Well, I don't think the psychiatric help around here is too fancy, anyways."

Edited 2012-08-25 06:29 (UTC)

Ah, yeah. Murphy knew that look. He could only smile briefly as he dropped his arms back down at his sides. "That's fine. I think I'll stick with you guys."

Between Heather and Alex and Anne, it didn't seem like Murphy needed anything else in the psyche department. Like some kind of bizarro kinship that he had with these people that made it oddly easier.

Birds of a feather.

"That kinda help never did me much good before, either. Just... wound up stealin' a police cruiser." What the hell, right? Might as well go all the way with Honesty Hour or something.

"Holy shit, really?" That wasn't shock in her voice; it was awe. The combination of her natural disrespect for authority figures other than Harry and his tendency (born of necessity, she now realizes) to discourage her from trusting or relying on the police hasn't bred any particular fondness for the constabulary in Heather. Those big, shining eyes and the impressed tone to her voice might not be the effect Murphy was aiming for, but it's what he's getting.

"That's so cool. What happened? Oh my god, did you use the siren? Did you steal a uniform?"

That wasn't what he...

No, really, why should he even be taken aback by this? It wasn't like he was surrounded by a bunch of well-behaved, law-abiding citizens, either. Not as bad as prison, at least.

"Er..." Words got stuck in his throat. Murphy paused, rubbing his forehead. "No, nothin' like that. I... wasn't really plannin' on doin' it when it all went down. I just... saw it, broke into it -- gave 'em hell tryin' to chase me for ten hours. I don't really remember much of it. I did cross the state line and, uh... I got arrested in Ashfield. Broke enough yellow tapes to get me a pretty high sentence on top of just car theft."

There was, of course, more to it than that. But there was no reason when it came to the mental health of a grieving father, who couldn't help but blame the useless police department for not being able to find his son in time. He could've stolen any car, really, but there was something more poetic about it in hindsight.

Edited 2012-08-25 09:06 (UTC)

"Ten hours?" Good job discouraging her there. Murphy had pretty much just elevated himself from 'good guy' to 'Batman'. Stealing a car? Anybody could do that. Stealing a cop car? That took balls. Stealing a cop car and driving it around for ten hours? That was the biggest fuck you to the police she'd heard of in... well, ever.

"Murphy, you're a badass. And just on the spur of the moment? Why in the hell would you do that?"

Edited 2012-08-25 09:48 (UTC)

Unbelievable. She was flattering him. Here Murphy was admitting to breaking the law, and Heather was giving him the verbal gold star for it.

Which was why he ducked his head, reluctant to remove his hand from that nervous spot in his forehead. Heather's disposition practically brimmed out from his peripheral vision.

"Couldn't afford a vacation. Thought I'd go to prison instead." Eventually, he moved his hand away from his face. "No, I was goin' through a rough patch, and... I guess I got pretty angry."

Getting angry was bitching out some jackass who cut you off in line at the grocery store. Stealing a cop car and joyriding until maximum sentence could be achieved took going apeshit to a whole other level.

Rough patch seemed like an understatement for something that could get someone as soft-spoken as Murphy to a level of angry that would result in such a sustained fuck you, and it was that idea that softened her grin into something a little more restrained as she shook her head.

"So you made 'em chase you around until they were all out of coffee and doughnuts, and then what? They shoot out your tyres? Use one of those spiky stinger things?"

"Tire shredders. They were able to close off this area from bystanders comin' through, and I ran right over 'em. By then, I'd not just stolen a car, but I had endangered civilian lives, crossed the state line, broke several traffic laws, and committed a direct offense against the Boston Police Department while resisting and evading arrest."

His memory on the whole incident was fuzzy. What was ten hours felt more like ten seconds to Murphy, and even after that...

"This just... got really crazy. Felt like I had no control over anything in my life anymore, and this was the only way."

It was also the only way Murphy could get close enough to his son's killer, but that was another story.

That was... a long list. A very long list coming from someone like Murphy, whose MO seemed to be to keep his head down and go about his business, hoping nobody would notice him while he was at it.

The only way, he'd said. She knew what that felt like. She though on it, silent for a moment, her grin of amusement as his disrespect for authority slipping away and leaving a bitten lip and creased brow. As amusing as Murphy tearing around in a squad car blasting NWA might be, it's pretty obvious that's not how things went down. So when she speaks again it's quiet, concerned.

"What happened to you?"

Suppose saying that he had a bit of an anger problem would have been another understatement. Murphy always did have issues controlling his emotions. That wasn't what she was asking, though, and he knew it.

He was silent for several seconds, the feelings not just stewed right then but came to a boil until he forgot the meaning of how to exhale. Which he did then, tearing his eyes from Heather to the floor.

"My son was murdered." Never had his mouth gone dry so fast simply within four bitter words. Murphy felt his jaw lock up. "I couldn't... I just didn't know how I was supposed to move on, like everything was gonna be alright. Charlie was gone... Hell, couldn't even keep my marriage together..." He scoffed despite of himself. "Suddenly, the world was just a bullshit place to be in."

Because children died every day. While that same world went on and stopped for no one, there was still Murphy, who may as well have been dead.

Murphy's eyes dropped, and Heather's words abandoned her. It was just too big, something like that. It sucked the air out of the hallway, left her holding her breath as he spoke. When she could answer, it came on the tail of a sharp inhale.

"I'm sorry." Any concerns about grossness or awkwardness abandoned her and she reached for his hand, to take it in her own. To say... what? I'm here? I understand? One couldn't possibly help, and the other was a lie. The knowledge didn't stop her from trying. "God, I'm so sorry."

Murphy used to laugh harshly at those words. They were always spoken by people who didn't get it, had no fucking idea what it was like. Death was one thing. Everything was going to die in the end. Losing a life that you helped bring into the world, on the other hand... That was a perspective that Murphy never hoped to experience, and yet haunted him mercilessly.

What was he supposed to say now, to Heather? Definitely not chide for looking at him that way, or taking his limp hand the way she did, or for apologizing for a terrible thing that wasn't her fault.

"I meant it back then, what I'd said. That I would've done the same thing." He still couldn't look her in the eye, not when he brought up her father. "...'Cause that's exactly what I did."

Heather wasn't so subtle or so delicate. Her eyes searched his face, her neck craning to follow as he ducked his head away.

"You killed them. The person who took your son." It made sense, then. How Murphy could be so kind and so quiet but also seem so angry and broken. Her hand tightened on his as she fought down the urge to say good, they deserved it.

"You killed them and that's why it called you."

He felt her watching him, and in that moment wanted to sink away someplace -- or just disappear altogether. Murphy hated the fact that he brought it up altogether. But, for some reason, he felt like he had to tell someone, and he didn't worry about judgment from someone like Heather.

All he'd been doing for so long was running away. Even when he had no place to go, he tried to escape from the thoughts and deeds that plagued him. He never thought of it that way -- that he'd been called, but it made sense, didn't it?

"There was more to it than that... a lot more. Things that I had to do, and wished I didn't..."

He stopped himself, his eyes shifting from the ground to the small hand that Heather had around his own. Part of him struggled with it. Like he should rip it away and run, because maybe it was true. Maybe he did just destroy everything. Everything he'd done just wound up getting other people hurt in the process.

"There always is." She shrugged. Of course there was more to it; nobody lived a pristine life and then had their entire world fall apart over a single mistake. She saw his eyes go to their hands and it only increased her determination to hold on. To let go now would be to show disapproval, to disengage. Instead she thought of her father, the way he'd always taken her hand when he had to give her bad news (Cheryl, honey, we have to move. Sweetie, if you could choose a new name, what would it be? How would you like to try having blonde hair?), or when he asked her something he knew she wouldn't want to answer.

"You don't get where we've been without having a shitty story to tell." She wanted to say I'm listening. If you need to talk, I'm here, but it's so Very Special Episode, and what came out wasn't so tactful.

"Takes a lot to scare me these days."

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