losttheright | (no subject)

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russell clank

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The first cop who comes in to get her statement is a stranger. There have been a lot of those tonight, between the other woman at Patrick's and the assorted medical personnel she's seen, but somehow, counterintuitive though she believes it to be, the thought of talking to one, just as the thought of being treated by one, makes her too uneasy. Much as Molly doesn't especially want to talk about it to someone she knows, either — she'd rather not talk about it at all, though there's no pretending like she's fine in the face of this when her physical state alone is proof that she's not — if there's anyone she wouldn't mind seeing her like this, it's Russell. Besides, there's comfort in the familiar, though God knows there shouldn't be. It's the part of this that still doesn't make sense to her. She'd known Patrick for ages, had spent plenty of time around him, and she'd never once had any idea that he was capable of something like this. Even now, she still doesn't know why he would have done any of this. She just knows that, in spite of it, it's the idea of speaking to someone she's never met that unnerves her, cop or not.

He doesn't seem all that inclined to listen to her at first, and she can't even hold that against him when he's clearly just here to do his job. Even when she tries to, though, figuring she ought to be helpful, that she has no reason not to, she can't bring herself to tell him anything. Just thinking about it is fucking difficult enough, and she can't get away from that, panic surging through her all over again if she lets herself think too hard on it, until she reminds herself again that she's safe now, that Patrick is dead. She'd seen his body. It should have been far more reassuring. It's when she starts to really withdraw, only half-aware of doing so herself, that the man's demeanor softens somewhat, and he says he'll see if Russell will come in, as she's asked him to. Once he's out of the room, she lets out a breath, resisting the urge to bite at her already-bitten lip, throbbing faintly where there are a few stitches in it. She catches herself wondering, not for the first time, if it will scar, and feels just as fucking stupid for it as she has before. When she's lucky to have walked away from all of that in the first place, the condition of her face shouldn't be one of her primary concerns. It's always been her way, though, to act as if she's fine even when she isn't, and like this, she couldn't even come close to passing for it. Besides, the last thing she wants is to have to look in the mirror and see reminders of all this for however long she has left.

Reaching carefully for her phone where it's resting on the table beside her bed, she pulls up her email. Work probably ought to be the last thing on her mind right now, but she needs something to focus on while she waits to see if Russell will get here. Being in her own head is too dangerous right now.

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Though it takes just a moment for the implicit meaning to sink in, Molly realizes when it registers that it's pretty fucking chilling. Not because of what something like that would involve — she already watched Patrick die once, and in a rather gruesome fashion, and if anything, takes comfort in that — but because he'd be doing it, at least in part, for her sake. There can't be many other people here, if anyone, who would do the same. Even back home, it would be different. She'd be a major news story, even more so than is bound to be the case already, and her father would have seen to it that he was prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law, gotten her all the protection she needed, but no one would have taken action like he's suggesting. Hell, she isn't sure anyone's ever cared about her that much. She can't say she minds that — she keeps most people at arm's length for a reason — but that doesn't make this any less meaningful.

"It's for the best that way," she says, though the look she fixes him with doesn't say anything but thank you. She knows better than to give voice to it, though, even without saying anything specific. "Just saves everyone a lot of trouble."

Russell knows he should agree with her, that it's better for everyone that Bateman is already gone, but there's still a part of him that wishes it hadn't happened like that. He wants nothing more than to see the man die, to cause him as much pain as possible as he can before Bateman goes. But that's not an option available to him anymore.

"You're probably right," he says. He'd lost his job over something like that. It's not an easy thing to cover up no matter what precautions he takes and Russell knows he doesn't have a stomach for real violence anyway. He'd make an exception in this case, but it's better he doesn't have to.

"I mean," Molly says, the words catching in her throat before she can continue, though she tries not to let any worry through. There's no reason for that, not even when entertaining hypotheticals. It's over now. She keeps thinking that it shouldn't be so difficult to remember that when it was barely more than a matter of minutes anyway. Even so, when she's this fucking worn down, even sparing that much energy is more than she really has in her. Besides, she has to conserve what she can, when they probably won't let her sleep quite yet, when she isn't sure she'd be able to even if they did. "Who knows what would have happened otherwise?"

Russell thinks he knows what would have happened. That if he hadn't gotten his hands on Bateman, someone else would have. That if someone who cared for Molly or the other woman hadn't gotten there first, the citizens of Darrow would have ripped him limb from limb just for killing their pop princess.

There's only one end here for Patrick Bateman.

"We don't have to talk about it, y'know," he says, still rubbing her back gently. "We can just... sit here." For awhile, anyway, he has two more statements to collect.

Molly lets out a breath of a laugh, though the way it catches in her throat means it doesn't sound much like one at all. Talking about it is far from pleasant, but it's all-encompassing, impossible to get away from. Even if she couldn't feel it all physically, the pain in her face and head and radiating through the rest of her where shots from nails are bandaged up, it floods through her head like an annoyingly catchy song on the radio, one she tries her damndest to keep at bay but that inevitably winds up looping over and over again.

"What else is there to talk about?" she asks, a tired sort of amusement in her voice, even as she curls against him. No matter how much she hurts, it's the closest she's felt to safe all night. "I don't... Everything else feels so far away now."

He can't even begin to imagine and what he wants to do is tell her he'll stay here with her until she falls asleep. But he knows she's not supposed to do that, that another doctor will be in not long from now to check her vitals, make sure she's still awake, so he can't even give her that. He can't let her fall asleep to maybe escape some of this for a little while.

"You wanna watch some shitty late night TV with me until I gotta go?" he asks, because he can't stand the idea of her being here alone, thinking about what happened, running it through her mind again and again. "I bet I could find some movie about a dog that travels across the country to get back home or somethin' equally stupid."

In spite of everything, Molly can't help but smile at that, small and weary but unspeakably fond. "You know me so well," she says, half-teasing. "Shitty late night TV is my favorite." In the past, it's just been what she's had time for, and she's come to enjoy it because of that. Now, though, she has a feeling that there's going to be a lot more TV-watching in her future. Even once they let her out, she thinks, there's no way in hell she could go into work like this. They probably wouldn't even want her to. "The remote should be right over there."

Russell turns carefully, all without moving too far from Molly, then snags the remote from where it's resting on the table. He hits the power button, then settles back down, still careful, making sure not to jostle her or move too quickly. At first, he doesn't say anything else, not while he flips through the channels, looking for something they can watch to pass the time. He's not the kind of person who talks about his feelings a lot, he doesn't tell people what they mean to him or how much he cares, because he's always been taught that he shouldn't.

But now he's thinking about how close he came to losing someone he cares about. Again. All without having ever said how important she is to him.

"I'll be here, whatever you need," he tells her, and though his words are a little awkward, he means them all genuinely. "You just call me night or day. I love you, Molly. I'd do anything for you."

It is, perhaps, only because it's been such an emotional night already that the words leave Molly feeling suddenly as if she's about to cry. It's certainly that she's spent so much time doing that already that no tears actually come, though her breath catches for a moment like they might. Though she's been told that she's loved before, it's almost exclusively been by family members, the odd boyfriend for whom the sentiment wasn't returned. She's never especially felt an absence of that, either, that sort of affection not something she's been too inclined to seek out, but it's striking all the same to hear, all the more at a time like this, surprising though it probably shouldn't be. He's long since been her closest friend here, the person about whom she unequivocally cares the most. It is anyway.

Less surprising is how easily her own response comes, not really taking any thought at all. "Yeah," she says softly. "Me, too." Of course she loves him, she thinks. Maybe she's never thought about it expressly in those terms, but there'd have been no way for her not to. With as close as she came to dying tonight, she has no qualms about making sure he knows it, too. "And, um... Thanks."

Russell smiles a little and brushes some of her hair back. "Yeah, of course," he says, because there's no way in hell he'd be able to do anything else. He's not one to normally say things like this, but he thinks now, more than ever, it's pretty important for Molly to know she's got someone on her side, even when she feels like it might not be the case.

"How's this?" he asks, settling on some stupid late night reality show. He doesn't even know what it is, but he thinks it might be the right sort of thing to distract them both.

"Just what the doctor ordered," Molly says, and very nearly smirks, the closest she's come to it all night. "Almost literally. I mean, it's bound to keep me awake." She needs that for herself right now, too. Despite how deeply exhausted she is, the idea of sleep is a frightening one, a chance that isn't worth taking when it's too hard to shake thoughts of what happened. Having Russell here helps now, but if she dozes off, it won't matter at all. At least the concussion gives her a good excuse to stay awake.

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