loficharm | (no subject)

2 August, 2023

It's been so long since he received a hand-written letter that its arrival almost made him suspicious at first. He'd stared uncomprehendingly at the little envelope, the child-like scrawl of his name and address, and the sender's name, thinking Who the hell is Gwendolyn Blake? before he'd finally realized and torn the envelope open with a mix of disbelief and feverish curiosity.

He'd read the letter three times, first shocked, then ashamed, then finally with an odd mix of amusement and regret. It was just so... sweet, down to the bit where she explains that she'd have to stab him again if he ever tried to stab her. He'd clutched the thin sheet of loose leaf, the sort of thing he'd normally associate with school work, tightly between his fingers for several long seconds, trying to think what to do and how to do it.

There hadn't really been much to ponder. Poor Gwen deserves to be set at ease, and the only thing that had been holding him back was the assumption he and John had more or less shared, that she wouldn't want anything to do with them. But now that she's made this clear of an overture, there is nothing to hold him back.

It had been too late in the day for it, so he excuses himself from work the next day, heading straight for the Children's Home. He still has the letter, folded neatly in his pocket. He's not sure why, exactly. He supposes he could show it to someone if there are questions about his intent to see one of the kids, though it's not the sort of letter that should be shown around, either. Maybe it's just for some kind of odd moral support.

The woman who greets him doesn't ask for any such evidence, anyway. She just asks his name and relationship (with some hesitation, Martin offers that he's a friend, for lack of a better option), and then has him wait while she goes to find Gwen herself.

So he waits, as patiently as he can. He doesn't really know what to expect. Maybe this was stupid. Maybe he should have written her back first, asked if this would be okay. That would have been a lot more considerate. Christ, she might be scared he's come to get her in trouble. Why is he always so impulsive?

But before he can even consider the possibility of finding another adult to mitigate any potential misunderstandings, the woman he'd sent returns, with Gwen alongside her.

"Gwen!" he blurts before she can say anything, and he offers a slightly strained smile, awkward, but hopefully reassuring. "I, erm... I got your letter."

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Martin feels a little guilty for turning the discussion to him — he certainly wasn't trying to draw sympathy — but he can't begrudge Gwenny her curiosity, nor the possibility that she might feel some small relief at shifting the focus away from her own fears for a moment.

"It was," he answers, equally soft. "We were involved in some very dangerous things, and we didn't really know how bad it was until it was too late. Being brought here saved us, I think." He smiles faintly, then looks at her. "But it left its marks, and as you've seen, that's quite bad enough."

He hesitates, supposing now might be as good a time as any to turn the conversation back to asking mutual questions. She's borne the weight of that long enough, he thinks.

"Back home, did you know anyone else who... dreamed like you did?" he asks. "Or was it just you?"

That's a fair question, though it does make Gwenny feel a little nervous, like she really shouldn't be talking about it. But she and Martin have already talked about so much together, so she knows it's just an instinct carried over from Daddy and their screaming matches. Still, she hesitates for a second or two, then finally says, "Well, Mommy did. I think she could see stuff, too? Daddy said that she'd hear things." She purses her lips to the side, trying not to remember the way Daddy talked about her. Gwenny has her own suspicions now, after what happened while looking for Finney, but now that she's here, she can't tell Daddy or Finney. She's not sure they'd even believe her if she did. Well, Finney might.

And maybe Martin would, too.

"I think," she begins, then hesitates and trails off.

Martin watches her with a small frown, a little worried and trying not to show it. He was curious, but maybe he should've just held onto that. He feels bad turning the conversation now to her mother, when the first thing he even learned about this poor girl is that her mother is dead.

There are hints, though, of something that needs to get talked about. That little mention of her father is telling. And the way Gwenny seems to be starting a sentence, only to stop with clear uncertainty. He gives her a moment, but when she doesn't continue, he sits forward just a little.

"You don't have to tell me about any of it if you'd rather not," he says softly. "But also, if you need to talk about it, you can. Whatever feels best to you. It's okay."