RP:Ghosts Of Old Sins

Part of the The Dust Up In Cenril Arc

Summary: Hudson shows up at the house late and drunk, after a night out with Fitz and the campaign team to celebrate the recent annihilation of Sterling Townsend, Fitz's opponent in the Cenril mayoral race. Hudson inadvertently spills water on the cat, who runs over a pretend-sleeping Alvina,¹ who then proceeds to pick a fight with her husband, in so many words accusing him of being unfaithful. The publication of the story about Townsend's pregnant mistress has dredged up bad memories for Alvina, and stirred fears that they too could be the subject of a very nasty smear campaign one day. Alvina reveals that Fitz isn't the guy Hudson knows him to be, that he too has a skeleton in his closet.

FN1) This is the worst. It is known.

The Landon Estate

STERLING TOWNSEND HAS SECRET FAMILY WITH RYNVALE ACTRESS is what the headline reads, above the fold. There's a beautiful illustration of the pregnant Candice Snow. Hudson had seen it earlier that day, on the condo construction site, and he'd smiled. Meri had anonymously leaked the story, and now here it is, in all its glory, sinking Sterling Townsend's political career. By the afternoon, Fitz's polling numbers have started to skyrocket. Townsend has released a press release ("My wife and I appreciate your privacy..." and so on) in time for the evening paper, but the editorials suggest that it's all but over for the guy. Hudson is home late, missing dinner. He'd sent Alvina a note saying that he's grabbing a pint or two with Fitz and his campaign team, which is true. They're celebrating. It's no big deal to leave Alvina with the girls, because their soon-to-be-divorced friend Emily is staying with them. STILL. Even so, Hudson had good intentions to be home to see the girls go to bed, but he's blown his own deadline and thus narrowly missed that. It takes him a second to open his own door, he's a little more wasted than is appropriate. The house is quiet, the only light spilling out from beneath Emily's door - she must be up late reading - and Alvina's - she must be up late getting pissed. If she's not already.

Alvina heard the news from Emily, who was an avid paper reader (and stole their paper this morning, thank you very much). They talked for a while, gossiping about how this woman was so beautiful. Emily made several comments about understanding why he did it, this Townsend guy. Why he impregnated this perfect woman specimen verses his wife. In the most recent paper to come out, there are old illustrations of him and his wife at some gala. She’s beautiful too but it’s more homey. She’s a woman with short dark hair and a narrow chin. It just doesn’t stack up to this Candice Snow. Eventually Emily leaves, totters off to her room with the paper while Alvina stares into the blank darkness of their lawn. She’d received Hudson’s message about being late, turns over the parchment paper as if some secret message would be hidden on the other side. Some imprint of a woman’s fingertip, or a photocopy of some matchbox that would reveal the secret existence of Hudson’s own private Candice. But hadn’t he had one before? The dinner she made them isn’t sitting well in her stomach. She can’t tell if it’s nerves or food or her pregnancy but she’s restless and nauseous. It’s all somehow Hudson’s fault for not being here to comfort her. The girls snore softly in their respective room across the hall. Alvina’s in bed when she hears the front door open. There’s no irrational fear of low lives or axe murderers. Each foot step he takes in the hallway is a heavy drum, pounding in her head. She can’t stop smelling the air, even before he’s visible, searching for flowery hints of perfume. Alvina pulls the covers tighter around her shoulders, closing her eyes shut and praying she can fall asleep in the tense few minutes that prelude Hudson’s eventually arrival to the bedroom.

Hudson had thought he'd noted candlelight in their bedroom but when he opens the door in what he hopes is a reasonably discreet (and yet somehow creaky) manner it's dark. Uh-huh. He's not sure he imagined the light beneath the door, what he surmises is between the time it had taken him to grab a glass of water in the kitchen and come here, Alvina had blown out the light. "Babe, are you asleep?" he whispers loudly, unhelpfully. He doesn't really think she's asleep, it's possible she's pissed. He knows her. He's still drunk enough to think that he can win her over, though. He really rarely goes out anymore, he was with Fitz, how can she be grumpy at him over this? "I don't think you're asleep," he whispers his theory at her body, covered by the duvet. He lays a hand on what he supposes are her feet beneath the covers. He knows this because her cat is sitting thereabouts. "Please stop fake sleeping. I love you, I'm sorry I'm drunk and home late," he slumps into the mattress, spilling his water on the cat, who makes a disgruntled sound before stalking off, using Alvina's legs as a springboard to do so. Well, if she wasn't mad now!! That can't have been pleasant.

Alvina clutches the covers silently, squeezing her eyes tighter with the single wish that she was. Anything short of actually sleeping feels like a lie. She strains her ears, hoping he’ll surrender this charade and flop into bed beside her so she can do what she anticipates is the only thing for a woman afraid her husband is going rogue; cry as quietly and pathetically as possible next to his sleeping form in the dark. It’s morbid, she knows thanks. But Hudson does something different. After this soft accusation to her state of awareness, he spills water on Aria, who FREAKS OUT and rips through the duvet and Alvina’s leg in the process. There was no time for her to stay stone faced; she shouts, throwing the duvet off while Aria’s form takes off out into the hallway. Blood trickles to the surface of two nasty claw marks. She hikes up her nightgown, trying to examine the damages with puffy eyes in the dark. Never mind the damp spots on the duvet from his water adventures. “Hudson, Gods damn you, what the hell are you doing?” She hisses at him like he’s the one who dug through her legs. Roughly, she tumbles to her feet, trying to strike a spark to restart the candle with the box of matchsticks on the bedside table. The first few fail, and she throws the cold sticks in the floor dramatically in the darkness, cursing under her breath and refusing to acknowledge his vows of love.

It all happens very quickly, but Hudson knows he's in trouble the second the cat's little body tenses to spring. Alvina's shriek merely confirms it. Hudson curses immediately, sitting up right to examine the damage to Alvina's leg in the darkness. "I'm sorry, baby," he's saying, except he can't see anything and she's getting up anyway to put a candle on. She's also monstrously annoyed with him. "I'll get some bandages," he says, deciding his current and best utility is to be moving in the general area of the bathroom and finding said bandages. He pauses in this endeavor because Alvina's thrown everything on the floor in what is a bold declaration of hate for her present state of being. "Baby, no, I love you, calm down," he says, maybe unhelpfully, and reaches to retrieve them, taking a second to light them using the alchemical name for fire. It's a labor to set them on the bedside table, he really concentrates, because holding a burning object is a dangerous activity for a drunk person. He's pretty pleased with himself for succeeding. "Bandages," he says, whereupon he stubs his toe into the bathroom door. He says, very loudly, a word beginning with F and ending in K, and then after hopping dramatically and receiving no wifely attention for his efforts, returns a minute later with the smallest size of bandages available in the house. "Here, I found these," he says, lowering himself into the mattress beside her.

Hudson’s assistance proves to be gasoline on the proverbial fire of Alvina’s temper. She can’t light the candle, why can’t she do this simple thing, and then Hudson comes to the rescue to prove his innocence. Ha! As if she’d believe that! To top is all off, he’s telling her he loves her. Likely story! Where are the witch prints on you Hudson? She wonders, poisoning herself further while he scrambles off to the bathroom to return with the smallest set of bandages, never mind that he’d run himself into the wall to go get them. It’s his own damn fault, she sneers behind her penetrating stare of disbelief. When he returns, her arms are crossed in frigid defense. Her emerald eyes boring into his hand as he offers these bandages. Her reaction is not full of wifey love, quite the opposite. She sighs with the notable eyeroll. None of this would have happened if he hadn’t stayed out late. What was terrible at being in bed next to her at a normal time?!? “These won’t work.” She hisses, heaving herself up to make her own trip to the bathroom for a wash cloth and possibly the larger bandages. She rounds the mattress, taking extra steps to keep from brushing into him as she passed through the bedroom doorway, ignoring his attempt to start a dialogue. Emily was in the hall, candlelight rolling out in small, wavering sections. “What’s going on?” She asked in the sleepy voice. Alvina sighed again, trying to wave Emily back to her room. “Don’t fall asleep with the candle on, you’ll burn the house down,” was the bard’s answer before she slammed the bathroom door behind her. The sound of a running faucet could be heard from Emily’s position her doorway.

And with Alvina's declaration that the bandages won't work, Hudson feels his mood begin to sink. He'd felt bad about the cat gouging her, but now it's become apparent that there'll be no winning her over. She's turned against him for the night. His gaze connects with Emily's in time with the bathroom door slamming. Evidently Alvina wants none of his help. "Cat ran over us in our sleep, go to bed," he tells her, and Emily, sensing that perhaps tensions are a bit high considering, makes her way back to her room. Hudson gets up and closes their door. Hopefully the cat's not trapped inside because otherwise he'll regret that in a couple hours. He gets in bed, waits for Alvina's return. Of course he's supposed to think about his conduct while she takes an eternity getting back into bed, but what is there to think about? His list of crimes: he'd sent word he was getting drinks with Fitz, and that's literally all he did, and the cat, well, that had been unfortunate, but who can control them. About the drinks, he begins to feel defensive, even. They'd had such a great day politically. He'd sent her a note they were going out. He'd literally been out with Fitz and Fitz's campaign team, it wasn't as if it was the cast of Lithrydel's next top model.

Alvina takes more than enough time to clean and dress the stinging wound left by the cat’s ungraceful departure. She sits on the side of the tub, wiping her face with cold water, hoping it’ll reduce the puffiness of her eyes when she goes back in the room to confront Hudson on his whereabouts. If she closes her eyes, she can see Hudson’s face. All defensive, clearly thinking it’s not fair that he has to continue to pay for this mistake WELL BUDDY. It isn’t fair for Alvina to have to feel this way either okay?! Eventually the bathroom door opens with a pronounced creak and she makes her way into the bedroom, the door there so much louder that even if Hudson -had- dozed off, this would be more than enough noise to wake him again. The candle still isn’t snuffed out, so she makes accidental eye contact with him before sitting on her side of the bed, arms laced together while she stares at the floor. “Where were you tonight?” Her frame is tense, his note was beside her bed. The explanation read in clear black ink (points subtracted for penmanship) that he’d be home late, he was going out with Fitz. She’d seen the paper, knew this was cause for a celebration but it just didn’t settle right in her stomach. The things Emily had said burned holes in her chest and made her restless as she waited for his voice to break the stuffy silence of the room since her return. If he tries to reach for her, she’ll recoil. No matter how many ‘babe’ or ‘I love you’s he offers.

Hudson hadn't dozed off, he'd have liked to but his indignation is keeping him up. He's changed for bed by the time she returns, jump shot his dirty clothes in the hamper and all that. He rolls her eyes as she practically stomps back out into the bedroom. "Whaler's, with Fitz and the campaign staff," he recites, trying to find where he'd left his patience. A deathly silence ensues. He reminds himself that this is a Thing with them. He looks at the sheets, furrows his brow, and releases a sigh. "Babe, I pretty much never go out anymore," he says, quietly. "I went out with my friend and his staff to celebrate a good day for us, I sent you a note, and I'm here now. OK?" He pauses, looks at her. "You know I want to be on your team and understand you on feeling insecure and I think I'm pretty good about it most of the time. But here, Alvina... I honestly don't know what I could do differently besides just never go out."

Alvina keeps her position; arms pulls across her chest like a shield. To filter out any words she doesn’t want to hear. Hudson’s staying calm, which fuels her irrational even more. She’s pumping her insecurities into both of them. He shouldn’t be punished forever but her feelings shouldn’t be ignored. He’s right, that he never goes out and it seems unfair to say he can never again go hang with his friends but...there’s still this ‘idea’ that if he spends all his time with her, he won’t be tempted to stray. She hates to even be angry but it’s one more thing that could jettison him off into the arms of some blonde slight of a woman like this mayoral candidate...or Valrae. The witch is permanently bleached into her skin. A tattoo with white ink that no one can see until the lights go out and it glows, bold as ever, in their presence. “I know.” She says, at last, sorting through her numerous thoughts like speech cards, casting a forlorn glance over her bare shoulder in Hudson’s direction. There’s nothing in his expression that reads guilt. Would he be more defensive if he had done something worth noting? Crimson hair falls along her cheek, breaking their eye contact. A sleek curtain to clear the stage. “I just don’t know what to do with how I feel.” The honesty stings her eyes, she faces the opposite wall completely. “I want to believe you but there’s this nagging insecurity that says it isn’t true and no matter how I try to argue with it...say that things have been good, there is obviously reason to celebrate with your friend, that you wouldn’t... we wouldn’t fall down that toxic road again, the voice persists.” She’s thinking of this Candance Snow woman, her portrait in the paper with her perfect smile and lithe frame. Alvina’s imagination can transpose Valrae’s face over hers in an instant, it’s -so- easy. What would Uma think? Was she being unreasonable? “I’m just mad at myself, for not believing in you...” She says, cutting herself off before she finishes the rest of the thought. That she’s mad at him for making her feel that way, even still...but only when it presents itself. She’s in denial of the fact that she’s yet to fully forgive him for the destruction it’s caused, the responsibility of which sits squarely on her shoulders. He’s gone above and beyond to mend the divide.

Hudson sighs a considerable sigh. At least she sees that she's being hard on him, but again, what is he supposed to do besides never go out? "Well... OK," he says, the words deflated, edged in frustration. He wishes he could snuff out this insecurity like a candle and be done with it. It's long outlasted the duration of his affair with Valrae. "Well tell me what to do, Alvina," he tells her. "Because I don't know. I hope you see I try to make you happy. I think you are happy, mostly. I know I'm happy." He gazes at her. "Literally the other day I complained that Emily being in the house was irritating because I felt desperate to spend alone time with you. But then like the most random thing like me getting drinks with my buddy, like my squeaky clean buddy, the one who's literally trying to become mayor, the most random thing puts everything in the trash." He shakes his head. "Do you want to go back to therapy - I really feel like we don't have time to go back to therapy - I don't know what else to suggest? We can't just walk on eggshells around each other forever."

Alvina leaned over, her face pressing into the creases of her palms. No, she didn't want to go back to couple's therapy. Those sessions had been pretty brutal and mostly like children pointing fingers about who said what. “I don't have the answers…” and quite frankly she's tired of advising him to be patient in the same way he's tired of her insecurities surrounding this topic. “I am happy most of the time, but when I'm not… “ It's the other end of the spectrum. It's cut apart by how happy they are. It fuels the curse. If they can be this happy and if it still happens… Then all hope is lost and they've wasted their time trying to rebuild something on their one stable foundation! Only, nothing was wrong. She just didn't know it. “I don't know, please just tell me you missed me and you love me and you wouldn't trade me in for a newer model…” She feels pathetic to even ask him to say that things, knows she won't believe it entirely because he'd been prompted. There's no logic to her being triggered still. It's all a mess of emotions that stem off this fear of being wrong. Of being blind. Of being the last one to know.

Hudson feels like this is a lot to have to deal with while still kind of drunk. He sighs again and reaches to put an arm around her, drawing her against him, as she rattles off this litany that she wants out of him. It's then that he draws the connection between the news in the papers and the outsized reaction to his going out with Fitz. The waifish blond woman in the illustration. He frowns into her hair. "The story in the paper got under your skin," he voices his realization outloud. "We planted that, I didn't think about it, I'm sorry." He kisses the crown of her head. "Baby, that's never going to be us, I'm not trading you in for a newer model. I love you. Obviously I missed you at drinks. You know that's all I want literally in the world right now, to have drinks with my wife and be like, not a responsible parent for a couple hours."

Alvina frowned, while still wanting to believe his sweet sentiment. “I’m sure Fitz felt the same way.” She says, too catty to disguise her salty reflection on her conversation with Uma. No, the witch was on her side and likewise probably worried, even though she had managed a better facade to these things (or so it looked on the outside to Alvina). It’s a hat trick of unfaithful men. Hudson, Fitz, this Sterling guy...Fitz and Hudson celebrating, even though it’s for the good of his political career is like celebrating because the bear caught your slower friend and not you. Dog eat dog, etc. Alvina isn’t a fool about how the system works...but Hudson can’t think she’ll trust him just because he was out with Fitz. His name isn’t squeaky clean in the mouths of those he loves. “You outed him?” That makes it a little worse. Not only did ‘someone’ find out, but they threw him into the fire to fuel Fitz’s side of things. Hudson’s shady dealings hadn’t ceased. She hated to see evidence of his ‘business’ like this. Hated to think of him still running drugs and abusing his money and power for his personal investments. Was it him or was it Fitz? Did it matter? He’s sorry? Is he? How would he feel if it’d been a new story about him and Valrae? His reputation destroyed for the same mistakes? Still, she can’t bring herself to recoil from how he is holding her, face tucked into her hair, hands around her frigid form. He’s drunk. She can smell the booze on his clothes, along with cigar smoke and salty air.

Hudson is confused by this remark about Fitz. It seemingly comes out of nowhere. "We have to win, Alvina, sometimes to win you do unsavory things," he tells her, feeling a bit like his soothing her isn't going as planned, maybe he shouldn't have mentioned the paper. He knows she's drawing the parallel between Sterling Townsend's crimes and his own. It's true, it could happen to them too, but it didn't. It could happen to anyone, regardless of truth of the accusations, he feels like pointing out, but he doesn't. "Hey, I love you," he reminds her, since she's still stiff, like a frozen statue really. He stirs his hand along her back. He feels the frustration returning to him. One step forward, two back... He sighs, trying to get a handle on his frustration. He can stay kind to her, he just needs to endure this frostiness a bit longer. "What was that thing you said about Fitz?" he asks.

Alvina does soften when she’s met without much resistance. She knows what he does, and Hudson’s right. If this Sterling character found out about whatever Fitz had done ( or possibly what he was still doing?!) to Uma, his campaign could be over just as fast. If Fitz hasn’t told Hudson...but had Hudson told anyone about Valrae? He hadn’t even told Ethan (good call on his part though). Instead of telling him she loves him (which she does), she remarks on Uma’s husband. “I got the impression from Uma that Fitz has something in common with this story… Obviously I didn’t probe, because that’s rude and tender but...I think you should talk to Fitz about whatever he’s doing or has done so it doesn’t get in the papers too.” Gods forbid he has a baby by another woman after they outed his opponent. The pot calling the kettle out, really. And then it’s all laid out, in messy black and white smudges, that Alvina feels the parallels. She’s upset for Uma, for Townsend’s wife...for herself. It’s an injustice that continues to permeate their surroundings and what had they done to deserve it?

Talking about other people to take the focus off of them, that's the current strategy, apparently. Hudson however is shocked to hear that Fitz had been keeping something under his hat. He frowns. "Sven," he says, surprise in his voice. "Yeah, I will... that's news to me," he hastens to add. Women talk about everything with each other, apparently. It's not the case with him and his friends, except for that rough, messy period of his life when he spilled his guts to Sargaso about Alvina and Valrae. And now he and Sargaso will need to have an unfortunate conversation with Fitz about whatever Fitz has been keeping with them. Hudson feels a sudden pulse of irritation that Fitz isn't as advertised, had made the mistake of stepping out on Uma. Never mind that Hudson has made the same mistake in his life. It's silent now between them, and though his arm is draped behind Alvina's back, he feels coldness from her. He knows what she's thinking about. "I can control the papers, baby," he tells Alvina, in a manner that's meant to be reassuring but carries all the subtext you'd expect from a guy who runs an organized crime ring. "Don't worry," he says.