An Attempt to Tip the Scales (OPEN!)

[DETECTIVE PETER ARAMIS]

"Good.” The agreement was in a whisper, but Peter still heard it. "I can't - I can't remember, I... it's in here. At here. It's New York. It's... Manhattan!"

Well, that was a relief. The last thing he wanted was to get this man on the subway to go to some borough, like Queens or even Coney. The exact address spewed out so quickly that he barely caught it, but it wasn’t terribly far.

“Alright, I know where that is,” he offered, trying to be as comforting as possible with how agitated Victor appeared. “We can walk there from here.”

Again, thank god. Peter walked almost everywhere, so it wasn’t a bad idea. Exercise was good, after all. Now he had to get Victor to relax. The best thing would be to get his mind on something else.

“How about we discuss something that interests you, Victor? What do you do for a living?”

That was always the place to start. People generally liked to talk about what they did for a living, after all. Well, most people. Peter avoided it with new people. Explaining his life was always a bit of an ordeal. Some people judged him, some people pitied him, some people put him up on a pedestal like a saint. He didn’t want any of that. He just wanted to be Peter. Maybe Victor was a well adjusted human being who didn’t have any of those thoughts? He could hope, at least. If not, he was going to have to think up something else that they could talk about for a while.

[VICTOR FRANKENSTEIN]

Victor was so, so glad that Peter knew where his house was. It as also a bit weird - was Peter a stalker. Wait, no, he was a police officer, he was supposed to know where everything in the city was. And the police was not a conspiracy, of course it wasn't, but - oh, god, if it was!

Thankfully Peter's voice was calm, and comforting; he seemed like a good man. He was a good man. Victor forced himself to follow the police man. He fidgeted as he walked, his body screaming to let him run away, his fingers nervously dancing about the air and his tongue darting around his mouth, reminding him what he tasted like.

“How about we discuss something that interests you, Victor? What do you do for a living?” Peter's voice was welcome.

"I, um, I don't do anything," he said nervously. He had nothing to tell, but he didn't want Peter to stop talking. It was grounding. "W-w-wh... what do you do tell me,"[/b] he said, starting at a stutter and ending so quickly the words were barely separate.

[DETECTIVE PETER ARAMIS]

"I, um, I don't do anything...W-w-wh... what do you do tell me.”

Peter frowned a bit, thinking that had only made Victor sound more nervous, something he’d been hoping to do the opposite of. He suddenly wondered if Victor was involved in something sordid. He hoped that wasn’t the case. He did sound like he was a harmless guy, if confused.

“That’s alright,” Peter assured him, hoping he’d calm down again. He could talk about himself, seeing as how Victor seemed to be more comfortable there. “I’m a Detective with the 1-2-5. When I’m not doing that, I bartend.”

Both had their merits. He loved the study of people, and he certainly got his fill with both jobs. He also liked to solve puzzles and he always found a puzzle or two wherever he was.

“Work is a boring thing to talk about. What do you do for fun, Victor?” he asked, hoping he might have more luck there. After all, everyone had fun.

[VICTOR FRANKENSTEIN]

“That’s alright,” Peter said, and unlike some people, he really did sound alright with it when he said so. Well, that was good. Victor hated when people said one thing while their face said another - that was the pique of confusing and annoying. “I’m a Detective with the 1-2-5. When I’m not doing that, I bartend.”

"Oh that's interesting,"[/b] Victor said quickly, and it really was kind of interesting and a bit ironic, but he was more concerned with all the people around; they were distracting and made him nervous. They were all walking bombs, hazards, germs. Everything disgusting. Humans were disgusting. And the Thing had been... No! His eyes grew slightly wider when he forced that thought to go away. Thankfully, Peter was speaking again and it made him feel more normal, that steadiness.

“Work is a boring thing to talk about. What do you do for fun, Victor?”

"Well I like to, to, to watch things. To watch to dance, James does dancing. James is wonderful."[/b] It was very true - he could never really lie when he was in this state, but even so, he meant it very much. His grammar may have been a bit odd, there. But while he was quite fluent in English by now, there was still an amount of translating that went on in his head at all times, and the logical bit kept being pushed around by the emotional part, right now.

[DETECTIVE PETER ARAMIS]

"Oh that's interesting," Victor said quickly, nervously. It seemed like he still wasn’t loosening up. "Well I like to, to, to watch things. To watch to dance, James does dancing. James is wonderful."

Hmm, he’d met a man named James who was a dancer. Apparently Victor knew one of his own. But watching things as a hobby was a bit hard to comprehend.

“I envy you – I wouldn’t have the patience to just watch.”

It was true. Either he’d fidget or wander into the fray for something to do. He was a terrible observer of life, but a great creator of moments.

“And I’m sure that you’re right about James being wonderful,” he added, not having met James, so he couldn’t judge. “I love to dance. It’s so expressive. Professionals are amazing at it. They tell stories with their bodies.”

He thought briefly of Damon, remembering how he’d been introduced to the more sensual forms of dancing and couldn’t help the little grin at the thought.

“What else do you do, Victor?”

[VICTOR FRANKENSTEIN]

“I envy you," Peter said. Envy him? Why would people envy him? Well, he was a pretty good person. He was smart and had money. "I wouldn’t have the patience to just watch. And I’m sure that you’re right about James being wonderful."

"Of course I am," he muttered, immediately after Peter had finished the sentence. He was always right, when it came to James. Well, maybe not physically, but he knew his friend better than anything else in the world, he was sure.

Peter continued, likely not having heard his quick, breathy comment, “I love to dance. It’s so expressive." Victor looked up at Peter - he didn't look like a dancer. Hardly a dancer's physique. More of some other kind of sportsman's. "Professionals are amazing at it. They tell stories with their bodies. What else do you do, Victor?”

"I don't want to talk about this anymore," he announced, his voice wobbling and becoming higher at the end of his sentence. His hands were clenched and shaking, because he was scared not knowing where this was and suddenly he was very angry, because he wanted to be home and he wasn't and why couldn't he just be home already? "I - I want to go home, Peter, take me home, take me home now."[/color] He was almost yelling again by the end, like he had been a few minutes ago. They'd been walking too long. He ought to be home now. They must have been walking for hours, maybe... no, not days, but a long time. He was being kidnapped, drugged.

Whatever clarity he had begun to regain was slipping once again, and when he looked down again he was holding on to Peter's wrists, hard. Hard enough that he was sure this man wouldn't be able to pull away, to form bruises. He didn't care - he wanted - he didn't know what he wanted, but he felt so very alone. "Where's James?" He growled, then shouted, "What did you do with him? Why are you hiding him - why are you doing this to me?!"

This all seemed very wrong, very very wrong, so confusing. He let go of Peter because it was making him feel bad, and grabbed his own head instead, muttering, No, no, no this isn't right, I'm not, I'm not, glancing back at Peter with worried eyes.

[DETECTIVE PETER ARAMIS]

"I don't want to talk about this anymore."

Peter caught the wobble in his voice, the high pitch at the end, the way his hands were clenched and shaking. He knew the signs of an oncoming panic attack.

“I - I want to go home, Peter, take me home, take me home now."

Before Peter could assure him that he was taking him home and they would be there in a minute, his wrists were grabbed tightly in some desperate attempt to make him understand. Peter didn’t struggle, knowing that it would only make things worse. He’d been in this kind of a situation before and it never turned out well for his shoulder if he struggled. Sure, Victor’s fingers hurt, but it was a tolerable pain from a man who didn’t mean to hurt him.

"Where's James? What did you do with him? Why are you hiding him why are you doing this to me?!"

“Victor. Breathe. Calm down and think,” Peter said calmly. “Look around you. We’re literally on your street corner. James is in your home, waiting for us.”

God, he hoped that was the case. He didn’t want to deal with Victor if there was no James to calm him down. If James was some figment of his imagination, Peter wasn’t sure if he’d make it out of this unscathed. But, like he always did, he had to give it a try.

“Let’s go inside and see James.”

[VICTOR FRANKENSTEIN]

Peter's level voice broke through somewhat, but he really wasn't entirely sure what he was saying. Or, he heard the words, but they suddenly meant very little. Words meant nothing to him, after all. He squeezed his eyes shut and made himself think of orders of formulas, counting was good. The logical side of the brain shuts down the emotional side, but - god, they were all jumbled now, because of what his logic had created...

“Let’s go inside and see James.”

He let himself open his eyes. It was bright out. A grey brightness. It would snow soon. It had been before. He forced himself to look where Peter was indicating. Home. He wanted to run because inside was James, but what if he was gone? That scared him even more. He'd rather never know that James was gone, if he was gone. But the temptation to know was far greater than what he wanted, and he found himself at the door, staring. Did he have a key? Of course not, stupid, stupid.

He raised his hand to knock, but no luck - no noise. He was afraid of the expanse of street around him, its pressure pushed him forwards. He leaned his head forward to rest on the door frame. Maybe this was close enough; he took a heavy breath and waited.

[DETECTIVE PETER ARAMIS]

Peter wasn’t sure, but it seemed like Victor was calming down, figuring out that he was safe. Of course, now that he knew where home was, Victor practically darted to the door, Peter dragged along with him. Oh, he was definitely going to have bruises. He got enough jokes about his sex life, he didn’t need this to earn him more comments. However, Victor seemed to be hesitant to open the door or knock or anything. He just leaned his head against the door, breathing.

“We should go in,” Peter said easily. “Or at least knock.”

Peter waited for a long moment of nothing, wondering what they were doing. He figured that he was going to have to be the one to do something. He managed to pull his left wrist free, which was no small feat. He raised it up, flexing his fingers for a moment to get the blood flowing again and glanced down at Victor’s slumped form. Yes, if there was really a James in there, he needed him to help him out here. Victor really shouldn’t wander the city on his own like this. He really didn’t want to know what would have happened if he had met up with someone else first.

“How about I knock?” he asked, knocking on the door without waiting to see what Victor thought about that. “There we go.”

Now all he would have to do was wait and see what was going to happen.

[JAMES WINDSOR]

It was by pure coincidence that James heard the knock of the door, being upstairs in his studio at the time. Fortunately, however, with the knowledge that Victor was not in his presence came the gift of keen hearing - he usually needed to keep an ear out to know what the man was up to if he was unable to immediately see him.
The dancer darted down the stairs and pulled the door open in one fluid motion, knowing from experience that it was best he didn't pause to think what lay on the other side, if it was indeed Victor returning from wherever he had been. James wouldn't put it above the other man to forget his key.

What he saw in the doorway made him immediately alarmed. There were two figures, that he was aware of, though the second unknown person was immediately ignored in favour of James' concern over the other. It was Victor, as he had expected. And he didn't look to be in particularly good shape.
The man had probably been leading against the door before James opened it - and it was likely only the dancer's quick reaction to steady his hands on Victor's shoulders that stopped him from falling into the house. He barely spared a glance for the other man until he had led Victor inside and had him seated on the couch with a murmur of "Come inside," directed toward the stranger.
When he did look up, he found himself rather pleasantly surprised.
"Peter," he acknowledged the man he had run into (quite literally) not long back, and was quite thankful that this was the man who had, for some reason, brought Victor home. At least he knew who he was.
"Perhaps you could tell me what happened?" He gestured to a seat in the living room, before turning his attention back to Victor, making certain that he was not physically harmed. He wasn't particularly surprised by the situation, as it was rare for Victor to shock him, but he did find himself feeling regret at not being worried earlier, upon noticing that the man had gone out without him.

[VICTOR FRANKENSTEIN]

He was falling, like in his dreams, and then he could smell James and it was okay. It didn't particularly matter what happened, or where James was leading him, because it was okay now. They were away from all the people and the germs and the layers or filth outside and in their house where there were linoleum and hard wood floors, plastic bagged bread and leather coverings.

Victor could feel James touching him, as he did, carefully, checking for bruises Victor never seemed to notice. James did that a lot, on days like this; he ripped stitches in his elbow once and James said that couldn't happen again. So it hadn't.

There was an awareness that only floated around the sides of his head, and through that he knew James was talking to Peter in familiar tones. He was almost too tired to care that they for some reason knew one another. Perhaps it was conspiracy, or Peter was just the last part of his mind left that was clear, but he was exhausted now and wanted to sleep.

He stared at James and the words that came out of his mouth in neat, curvy script. The man was in clothes for dancing, Victor could see light sweat from exercise just moment before. Strong muscles made of thick and sturdy strings, nothing like the bones of animals they ripped meat off for dinner.

"Beau..."[/color] he mumbled under his breath, then louder, "And you're really there, are you, police man?"[/color] Peter. He was shadowy and the edges of him were slow; they caught on furniture when he moved and left pieces of dark where they tore off. But he seemed real, just... spectral.

[DETECTIVE PETER ARAMIS]

Peter was surprised when the door was answered. Of course, that was the secondary reaction to things. First he was relieved that someone was home to take care of Victor. But the fact it was someone he knew threw him for a bit of a loop.

James. James from the park. Well then, this was Victor then. It explained a lot.

Still, he was glad it was this particular James with his sharp reactions, otherwise Victor probably would have crashed into the floor. Peter wasn’t at all offended when James focused on Victor, absently remembering to invite Peter after him. He got Victor situated on the couch before acknowledging the detective.

“Peter. Perhaps you could tell me what happened?"

Peter shrugged a bit, sitting down where James indicated, watching as James tended for Victor.

"Beau...And you're really there, are you, police man?"

Peter leaned his elbows on his knees, wondering if he was really there. It seemed far too surreal. But then, he’d found that the weirder his life got, the more surreal everything he experienced seemed to be. Well, at least he could do as James asked.

“Yeah, I’m really here,” he offered Victor. “Just like you were really screaming in the middle of Times Square.”

It was still something Peter marveled at. How anyone could do that was beyond him, and yet, he’d seen it. Turning his attention to James, his lip quirked a bit as he shifted back against the couch. He never could sit still when he was out of his element. His fingers traced the marks on his wrists a little absently as he thought about his morning adventure.

“Victor seemed confused, and I thought it was a good idea to bring him home.”

There, that was simple enough. He didn’t really need to go into details. After all, James probably knew Victor better than anyone else. Explaining probably wouldn’t surprise him at all.

“I wasn’t aware you were the James he told me would be here.”

He smiled a bit, his eyes looking around the room, hoping that this was less awkward than it all seemed to be in his head.

[JAMES WINDSOR]

James listened to Peter's response, keeping his focus for just a little longer on Victor, in order to see how he reacted to that. It was certainly not the worst he had been, and the dancer was extremely thankful that somebody had been thoughtful enough to take care of a man 'screaming in the middle of Times Square'.

"Victor seemed confused, and I thought it was a good idea to bring him home."
James nodded quickly, and turned his gaze to Peter, who seemed to be comfortable on the couch.
"I can't thank you enough, and I'm sure Victor would thank you also if he were in enough sense of mind to do so." His lips quirked into a smile at the other man, before his attention returned to his friend long enough for him to mutter a few words of French hopefully to calm the man further.

"Il est un de mes amis, et je vous promets qu'il est réel - votre esprit joue des tours à nouveau, mais vous pouvez voir à travers eux*. You are fine now, Victor."

James knew from the past that it was far easier to calm Victor when words did not have to pass through a processing unit of his brain, and when he did not have to think too much of them, but rather just listen. He did not intentionally mean to exclude Peter (for all he knew, the man spoke impeccable French - but then that was unlikely, and as both James and Victor spoke flawless English it hardly mattered), and proceeded to transfer back to English once he had assured Victor of the reality of the situation.

"It's fine, really, he just gets a little worked up sometimes. Thankyou for caring for him."

"I wasn't aware you were the James he told me would be here."

The dancer laughed, before responding in a much more lighthearted tone than he had been speaking in beforehand.
"No, I never did get around to introducing the two of you. Well, I suppose you managed to do that yourselves in the end - and succeeded in doing so in one of the strangest ways I would think of. Congratulations,"

His grin dropped momentarily as James seemed to suddenly remember the manners he was raised with, and stood suddenly.
"Oh gosh, I'm being rude. Would you like something to drink, perhaps?"


((*It doesn't really matter what James says here, haha. Just him telling Victor that his mind is playing tricks - pretty much))

[VICTOR FRANKENSTEIN]

Victor curled his legs close to his chest on the couch, his eyes peaking out from above his knees and glaring weakly at anything that moved. "Yeah, I'm really here," Peter answered him. He was so casual. Victor much preferred casual over un-casual. "Just like you were screaming in the middle of times square."

"Ha!" was his high pitched and nervous response. He really was a bit of a nervous wreck. He listened to Peter and James talk to one another and that was comforting, because the ones that weren't really there never talked to each other, only to him. His eyes closed slowly and his mind had begun to withdraw from all the stressful scene he'd just encountered, until James spoke to him kind words that let him relax.

"You are fine now, Victor."

Victor stared at James with almost erie concentration. James was the only person who had really even been able to save him from himself. Oh, Elizabeth tried, as did his mom and dad, but James only could really speak with such comforting eloquence. James knew when translation became too much, when words would not do at all. He heard James speaking to Peter cheerfully and offering the man a drink. Victor didn't know if he wanted Peter to stay. He wanted James to himself now. He wished Peter would go away. But, oh, Peter had been so kind...

He could feel the rise of indecision grow with tremors underneath his skin, uncomfortable and bringing rise to stress, and he leaped blindly up and wrapped his arms around James' chest with almost violent force. He hugged James tightly, his head resting on his friend's shoulder and his eyes shit tightly. "J'ai besoin de toi..." he muttered, and forgetting Peter himself was privy to he and James' own language they had come to rely on as private, "Dit à Pierre qu'il peut rester, mais j'ai besoin de vous ici. tu es à moi."

*note: google translate is my only friend and I have no idea how correct that is. It's supposed to say "I need you. Tell peter he can stay but I need you, you are mine."

[DETECTIVE PETER ARAMIS]

Sitting in the living room, Peter was glad that James was there. Victor clearly needed him and Peter was more comfortable, as well. Victor was an interesting person, but he was a little less comfortable with him since he’d managed to earn finger shaped bruises on his wrists. So he waved off James’ thanks, not feeling like he needed them. Had it been Angie drunk and screaming in the street, he’d hope someone would help her home. In his mind, this was no different.

Peter found it interesting that James and Victor seemed to think that speaking in French was private. He supposed for the greater population of the United States, it was. However, having grown up under the thumb of a French grandmother, he was very aware of how to speak French. He almost felt guilty listening to James assure Victor was a very private thing. Luckily, he didn’t stick to French for long.

"No, I never did get around to introducing the two of you. Well, I suppose you managed to do that yourselves in the end - and succeeded in doing so in one of the strangest ways I would think of. Congratulations."

Peter chuckled. “Well, normal is boring, after all.”

He did think it would have been better had they been introduce properly. At least his wrists thought so.

"Oh gosh, I'm being rude. Would you like something to drink, perhaps?"

“No, thanks. I’m good,” he assured him, not really wanting to impose, especially with Victor groaning on the couch.

His attention shifted back to Victor when he started muttering in French, but the words caused him to raise an eyebrow. He glanced from Victor to James again, suddenly catching on. These two were more than friends. The words were certainly more like a lover would use than a friend. He hoped Victor didn’t think he was homophobic. That would be...well, the pot calling the kettle black.

“I, uh, really should be going now that he’s home and all.”

And get away from all this awkward intimacy he wasn’t supposed to know about.