RP:Phantom Pain
Part of the Through A Glass, Darkly Arc
Summary: Hudson returns home to his family after the brutal murder of a woman glamoured to look like Valrae Baines (aka The Red Witch) (IC / OOC Secret). Between the things Alvina and Hudson say to each other, they lick their own private wounds that surround the circumstance. Even in the depths of family life, Hudson can't escape the blood on his hands.
The Landon Estate
Hudson had left for the meeting with Macon and Uma in the middle of the night, trying not to wake Alvina. He didn’t think he had. He’d not told her of the meeting, but not out of any desire to hide its purpose. Rather, he simply deems it best to avoid mentioning Valrae where at all possible. This meeting in particular - in which Valrae (well, a woman glamoured to resemble her) was executed - was not one that Hudson had wanted to preview for his wife. After all, things have been good at home, even with the birth of their son.
It’s very late by the time Hudson returns to the family home. The night nurse is awake, though Bryce must be sleeping, for she’s roaming about the kitchen, eating a sandwich she must just have fixed for herself. He greets her, and she holds up a hand in a wave, her mouth being full. Message received. He is stealthy as he ascends the stairways. Upstairs, he stops into a guest room to shower. There’s a hint of blood on his hands that he washes down the drain. His clothes sit in a pile on the tiled floor. He leaves them there for the housekeeper afterwards, clothing himself in a towel to steal back into the master bedroom.
Alvina was a heavy sleeper. She knew about the meeting but didn't remember when it was supposed to be, time wise. It was late when he'd left. No reason for her to be awake. The night nurse came in afterwards to wake her up for her motherly duty (of supplying milk to their son at this odd hour) and only after she'd left did Hudson's wife notice his absence. She sits in the dark, listening to the sounds of the house settling and the nurse saying something to Bryce down the hall. Hudson's side of the bed is cool, his body heat replaced by lack-thereof. Even if Valrae wasn't involved, Alvina thinks she's still feel the old sting of Hudson's late night returns home or 'impromptu' business trips. Or maybe she just tells herself that so she can feel worse. Press on the bruise of anxiety she's welling up in herself.
By the time he's returned to the room in a towel, Alvina's on her side rolled away from the door. Not asleep, but not awake either. The faintest of light filtering in through the hallway announces him and she rolls over to look at him. It pricks her skin that he's showered. "Hey," She calls meekly through the darkness, sounding every bit as concerned as she felt.
Hudson closes their bedroom door without so much as a creak. He’s stealing toward his dresser and congratulating himself for his level of stealth when Alvina’s voice cuts through the night air. She sounds alarmed. “Hey you,” he responds, his tone careful to sound in pleasant surprise. He glances toward the bed as he goes about discarding the towel and changing into the bare minimum of night clothes. She doesn’t answer him right away so he makes haste and moves to get into the bed, where she is. His eyes have adjusted to the darkness and he slides in next to her. “I was trying not to wake you,” he tells her. He of course has presently emotionally moved past those past traumas inflicted by him, he’s more focused on concealing from her the horror of his other self. “Can I get in here?” He tries to stow his arm under her pillow, making a space for her to fall against him. “I’m sorry, I had to get up for a work thing.”
Alvina doesn’t reply but scoots over to give him space to join her. The muted shuffle of covers makes the scene feel more normal. Sometimes he’d shower in the guest bathroom, it isn’t crazy, but the unease remains within the blissfully ignorant want for an easy return to sleep. “You’re not very good at it,” Her attempt at humor falters, her tone is frayed. But still she moves to accommodate his arm by gathering her hair to one side, roll her back against his chest and drink in the warmth of him. The easy way he fits beside her only fuels her whirling imagination. Things we’ve become accustomed to burn more brilliantly when we fear it might be lost. Her eyes ache as she stares in towards the bathroom door, inky blackness stealing all details or true sense of direction. A small chunk of time elapses before she replies, a pinched and emotional “How did it go?”
Despite what her criticism for Hudson's alleged crashing about in their bedroom, Alvina tucks herself against him. She'd said her point nicely but he knows she's mildly put out. It's not ideal to be woken up in the middle of the night. The whole purpose of the night nurse was to minimize such interruptions so that she didn't go nuclear with stress. He gets it. To say that next time he'll sleep in the guest bedroom, though, somehow seems inflammatory given their history. Such things you just let slide for the sake of marital peace, so he says again, "I'm sorry." Then: "Go back to sleep. Love you." He kisses the side of her face, the part accessible to him from this position. His way of shuttering this conversation topic, nothing to see here. He says this, and yet a feral part of him is wide awake, aware of the moonlight sky and yearning to be outdoors. He shouldn't have come here, it had been foolish to expect to lie here in bed and quietly sleep next to his wife after what he'd done. Alvina's question surprises him. She's more awake than he realized, too. There's a certain pitch to her voice that he recognizes. "As good as it could go," he answers her, recalling the frozen expression of terror of the woman as they'd covered her body with dirt. "Nothing dangerous," he adds. "This is the last late night meeting for the foreseeable future, promise."
Alvina would have lost her mind if he left in the middle of the night and came back to the guest bedroom. This pattern is incendiary and echoes nightmarishly. Even if he has to wolf out for a bit, he always comes back unless they’re in a bad state. It’s been ages since they’ve been in that kind of place. Maybe she should have said ‘I love you’ and just tried to nod off but the adrenaline of fear was already snaking through her and she’d need a good reason to beat it back. His answer is vague, glancing over the topic she rarely asks about; his work. The reassurance that this is the punctuation on his ‘night activity’ isn’t soothing. Since when is meeting with Larket, in possession of a witch they murdered, not dangerous? “What’s going to happen now?” In her mind, Hudson and Uma had just handed Valrae over. She couldn’t begin to imagine all the twists and turns behind this ‘colorful’ fabrication that Hudson’s invented to conceal his wife’s heart. Or his own peace of mind. She’s present, albeit a little stiff and uncertain. It didn’t offer any solace to know that Val had been handed over, as much as she hoped it might. The wounds were old, numbing out. Where waves of jealousy had once been, ripples of heartache remain. The fear that Val could entice Hudson away would never leave her, not truly. No matter how irrational it might be at this point.
Hudson resists the urge to sigh when Alvina proves herself to be a dog with a bone about the topic. "Nothing, I think," he answers her. He mentally scrolls through what he'd told his wife about why he'd be out late: the hand over of Valrae, Larketian war criminal, would be taking place, full stop. Given Alvina's present interest, he knows that leaving it where he had - at 'nothing' - won't do to put the matter down. A silence threatens to encroach between them, and he feels his resistance begin to yield to the patience he reserves for his wife on this topic. "Nothing is going to happen," he repeats. He feels himself decide in that moment that he'll tell her a little bit more. He hopes that he won't regret it later. He talks quickly, "She was executed and they buried her in the forest. Macon and I agreed that no one can know." A beat. He knows that it's his fire to put out, but he still feels a pulse of resentment for having to do it, always. When will he be done walking over the coals for this... He sighs. "I don't know how much you want to know about this stuff."
Alvina closed her eyes, the stiffness in her shoulders evaporated. Not from relief but from his continuation. He’s seeming ‘willingness’ to discuss. She hears the note of his annoyance; if it had been anyone else, Alvina wouldn’t have asked. Would have been happy to put it out of her mind and tell herself it was simply ‘resolved’. Nothing -is- going to happen because everything has -already- happened. Outside the spectrum of her influence, or so she convinces herself. Sure, she’d asked Hudson to cancel the resurrection to begin with but that didn’t mean she was pro-death v. 2. She’s been in her own head since he answered. “I’m sorry,” She offers instead. There’s been no formal reply to his apology. “I just want to know enough -” The bare minimum, whatever fights off the guilt, “So I don’t feel like I’m in the dark.” But only about certain things, in which she had a personal interest. His answer left her with so many questions; did Hudson and Uma have to watch while Macon killed her? Did Hudson feel any regret over turning her over? Did any residual flames spark? Common place questions about how things might have been different only if he’d been able to get her out of Larket like he’d offered or if she’d never turned herself in for the murder Hudson had committed. Was there still time to forget? “Thank you for letting me know, I know it’s not a pleasant thing to discuss.” She’s suddenly very diplomatic, for fear of making him feel like she’s reprimanding him once more. She’d also like to dispel his abbreviation, wondering if it’s selfish to crave this information to begin with.
Hudson is still against Alvina, feeling out the contours of her words so that he can answer with care. He again wishes he'd gone wolf, but now knows why he'd made the decision not to: because to have done so would have signified Something. Capital S. That he'd felt something, been stirred by this parting with Valrae to the point of needing the release. In fairness, that was true, but it wouldn't have been in the way his wife would have assumed. Or would it have been, perhaps to a small extent? It's impossible to be objective about oneself. But he is here, anyway. "I know," he says simply, in response to her explanation for why she needs to know. He resists the urge to dunk on her and point out that her need to not feel in the dark has to do with her inability to trust him. That his feeling is that she might never trust him. Maybe it seems like tenderness or patience on his part to her but in truth he can't dunk on her about not trusting her, because he is deceiving her: Valrae is alive. They've said their goodbyes, but she is alive. He hugs Alvina against him and considers the door of their bathroom. "It's fine," he says, carefully. "I just didn't want you to think I'm a monster, somehow. Anyway, it's over." A beat. "I feel relieved."
It isn’t hard to believe he’s relieved. It’s a sentiment that’s been on repeat since Valrae was imprisoned. Relieved. It would be a relief if it was Desparrow or Cayl. It’s a relief when you run into someone and get to leave. There’s no real relief in death. The problem can’t be buried, gods how she’d tried. It’s unclear if this idea is born of paranoia or a stubborn unwillingness to think Hudson could think of her as anything but someone worth saving. He’d done so or tried...always. Her arm wraps up around his, hugging it close. Maybe if she wants to believe -enough-, it’ll be over this time. Truly. This burden she clings to because it’s safer than being caught off guard again. “I don’t think you’re a monster.” But Ethan’s friends sure had. Paying for protection for Cenril’s citizen? What did Uma think about all of this...did she easily hand over Val or had Hudson strong armed her? Fitz...would he have done the same? “It’s over.” She repeats, forcing the sound of relief where none could be found. The night nurse is shuffling back down the hall to Bryce’s room, what luxury his activities afforded them. “I’m sorry.” She says again, as if consoling him but makes no note of it. Nor does she linger. Instead, she rolls over to face him, unweaving their arms and studying the odd silhouette of his face in the dim room. Surely, his wife could read the secrets buried behind his eyes. When she’s a wolf, will she feel what he’s feeling? Know when he’s lying? Know when he’s plagued with adrenaline from choking his former lover to death? “I’m sorry what you do is hard sometimes,” Pity the Mobster - I’m sorry, ‘Real Estate developer’ but she did. No one knew him, she hoped, like she did. His panic after nearly killing Astrid flashes back to her mind. He doesn’t -want- to kill people. Couldn’t -want- to have surrendered Val to that fate, right? Her hair fans out behind her, clinging to her pillow stubbornly while she trails Hudson’s cheek with her fleshed hand. “But everything is resolved now. It’s -” dead and buried seems tasteless here, “- out of our hands.”
Hudson's mouth cuts a smile in the darkness. Of course his wife says he's not a monster. He'd fished for that. He listens to the sound of footsteps in the hallway. The night nurse must be done her sandwich and is checking on Bryce. He takes a pause in this serious moment with Alvina to reflect for maybe the millionth time: the night nurse is money well spent! (Damn it feels good to be a gangster.) Alvina is apologizing and shifting in the bed to face him. Sorry, sorry, sorry, it's the word that infects any conversation about Valrae. 80% uttered by him, 20% uttered by Alvina because of the time he'd snapped at her for never missing an opportunity to drag him. Not his best moment; sometimes when he looks at her, like he is now, he can practically see the invisible cuts that he's given her over the course of their relationship. He likes to think they're still doing better than most people. She touches his face and he pretends to nip at her trailing fingertip. "Yep," he agrees, trying to read her face. "You should go back to sleep," he tells her.
Alvina feels (correctly) like her husband is rushing this conversation. Push through, get to the other side. What else is there left to say? Fair point but it still feels lacking. She scrunches a weak smile and pulls her hand back. Rude man. “I was waiting for you.” She yawns while her heart still races with imagined scenarios and muddled memories. Hudson had been there the last time Valrae died. It’s entirely possible they exchanged parting dialogue that could - an anxious shiver trails her spine. “It’s cold-” she falsely complains, scooting over to weave around him again in the dark. Whatever happened, his presence is comforting. His heat and scent, even freshly showered, draws her into better times. “I love you…” a quiet goodnight. Silence spills between them until Alvina’s breathing evens to a light slumber and her arms go limp around him.
Hudson feels he is doing the conversation equivalent of heroically shoving closed a portal to a known demonic dimension. No good ever comes of their revisiting Valrae. He grunts in response to Alvina's declaration that she'd been waiting for him. Perhaps because he believes it, and knows that she too views their present circumstances this way, and knows that discussing Valrae tomorrow, with the bustle of their children readying for school, will be impossible. And beyond that, too late. Portal closed. Alvina claims that she's cold, and he opens his arm to her. "Well, get in here, take my wolf heat," he tells her. With that staid attempt at a joke, they're moving in the right direction now. She's letting him shut the door on this topic, at least it seems that way. "I love you too," he tells her and kisses her shoulder. "Goodnight." Of course, while it's nice to lie in bed with one's wife, he doesn't fall asleep so quickly like she does. He listens to the night sounds from outside and feels the phantom pressure of the fishing wire in his hands.