She doesn't mean to grip Arthur's wrist quite as tight as she is. But she keeps repeating it in her head, what just happened, visualizing Jesus coming at her, kicking her legs out from under her, chasing her to the greenhouse. Keeps thinking about how much worse it could have been.
Luckily it being John's wrist means she can squeeze as tight as she likes and it won't bother Arthur. He can feel the gentle jostle of his shoulder with her movements, and it helps him try and stay alert.
"Thanks." His voice is clipped, too many things to focus on to be soft for Willa right now. "Almost there."
The brusqueness makes Willa flinch internally, sure she's done something wrong. Definitely sure she could have done something better in all of that. She stays quiet herself until they're on the second floor and in the hall near his room, at which point she takes a sharp breath and presses closer against Arthur to avoid stepping in a spatter of blood someone's left across the floor and up one wall.
The sudden gasp makes Arthur tense, lifting his cane automatically, but when Willa explains it he settles again, and moves to unlock his door.
"Good- well done explaining, thank you," he comments, and he does manage to inject some sincerity into it, as he finally gets the door open and ushers Willa inside.
She hasn't been here before, so this will be her first view of the most Old School Detective office ever, including a radio pressed against the back wall on a filing cabinet and a gramophone sitting on the desk, as Arthur locks the door behind them.
And on doing so, he takes two steps towards the couch, and his knees give out as he collapses to sitting on it in a heavy drop.
"Arthur?!" Willa's at his side again faster than she even knew she could move, catching herself a second before she touches him. "What's happening? What's wrong?"
"I-it's alright, Willa," he mumbles, and he drops his cane unceremoniously so he can rub his face. "I'm just- tired, that's all. I suppose Strange took more out of us than I thought."
But he can feel her hovering, so he reaches over, and with great delicacy he finds her knee, to give her a gentle squeeze. "What about you, Willa? Are you alright?"
"It- it was, yes. He wasn't trying to hurt us, just- separate us. He didn't realise that would be worse."
The hands squeezing his makes Arthur turn his hand in her grip so he can hold her hands back, and scoots closer to her on the couch so she can press into his side.
"You're allowed to be shaken, by that," he prompts quietly. "It's never easy being attacked by someone, even when they realise they were in the wrong."
"Did he not realize or not care because he also apparently said some nasty things to John the other day." There is a deep dislike she can't keep out of her tone, and being mad about that is way, way easier than--
Well. Being shaken. She presses her face against his shoulder, taking a second to sort herself out before mumbling. "I'm okay."
This is the first bad thing she's been part of that's reached through the whole Barge. The first sign of everything her dad and everyone else warned her about. She's got to be okay. She's got too much to prove to too many people to be anything else.
He keeps his grip on her hands, but he has to nudge her off him just slightly so he can lift his arm and wrap it around her shoulders instead, pulling her in tight to rest his chin against her head again.
"D'you know," he mumbles, but his voice is light, a conversational distraction. "The first time someone ever pointed a weapon at me, I froze."
It's so comforting. It's so comforting. She forces herself not to immediately cry at difference between this and what happened on deck, this and imagination of what happened in the hall. Arthur says that, and she snorts, then settles herself in close.
"Yeah, okay." She is not sure she believes you, sir.
"No, it's true. I didn't always have the cold, calculated demeanor of someone not to fuck with, er- a-as John calls it."
And that's certainly something that the steely, cold face suggested, when he was pointing a gun at Kikimora before he knew better.
"N-no, erm. The first time someone pointed a gun at me, it was on a case- I completely panicked and didn't move at all, until my partner Parker tackled me to hide us behind the wall for shelter."
She has to take one hand away--not the one he's holding--to cover her mouth and a snort that turns into laughter. Yeah, okay, his face was frightening in the moment, but hearing it described in John's terminology is still hilarious.
Once she's not going to interrupt herself snickering, she says, "Your private investigations parter?"
Hearing her laugh makes his heart sing, and he lets himself relax into the couch a bit more, still pressed against her.
"Right. His name's on the door, Peter Yang. I've always called him Parker- he asked me to, in fact. Said all his friends call him that," he comments with a light snort.
Please excuse her absolutely shameless giggle. "It's a comic book character with spider powers, or whatever, wasn't really my thing. His name's Peter Parker though."
Willa shifts to rest her head against his chest, realizing with a pang of--what's the opposite of homesickness? She's not sure. Regardless, she gets hugged so much more here. By her dad, by Arthur. She didn't know how much she wanted it until she started getting it from them.
Of course back home no one ever tried to knock her down to probably do worse. Back home there's no unexplained slashes of blood in the halls.
Quietly, she says, "I thought he was going to kill me. I mean... I think that's what I thought. Mostly I was thinking about running away."
He pulls her in tighter against his chest, pressing his face into her beanie to continue the hug as much as he can.
"Our bodies can... often identify things before conscious thought catches up," he says quietly. "Fear and survival above all else. It's not a thought, really, more like... gut instinct. You know, o-or, believe it so fiercely, that all of your real thoughts line up with it. To make sure you survive."
He knows Willa needs reassurance, but he's not going to lie to her either. "I believe he would have. Which is why I'm fucking relieved we arrived when we did."
Would he have made it hurt? He had a knife--would he have done it some quick permanent way or would he have made it hurt? The visual of her dad's fist connecting with Clement's face, the way the man's head snapped to the side with force and recoil that was nothing like an action movie. The way her dad's knuckles came away cut and bloody and Clement staggered off laughing.
Willa shudders at the thought of being someone who would kill and make it hurt. Who would take that kind of beating and then laugh like it's something to be triumphant about.
"I didn't even see John get there. I got into the greenhouse and by the time I turned around he, Jesus, he wasn't trying to get in any more."
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"Top of the stairs."
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"Thanks." His voice is clipped, too many things to focus on to be soft for Willa right now. "Almost there."
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"Nobody there," she says quickly. "Just. Blood."
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"Good- well done explaining, thank you," he comments, and he does manage to inject some sincerity into it, as he finally gets the door open and ushers Willa inside.
She hasn't been here before, so this will be her first view of the most Old School Detective office ever, including a radio pressed against the back wall on a filing cabinet and a gramophone sitting on the desk, as Arthur locks the door behind them.
And on doing so, he takes two steps towards the couch, and his knees give out as he collapses to sitting on it in a heavy drop.
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But he can feel her hovering, so he reaches over, and with great delicacy he finds her knee, to give her a gentle squeeze. "What about you, Willa? Are you alright?"
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"Yeah. Yeah, I'm okay. Strange--that's who hurt you and tried to hurt John?"
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The hands squeezing his makes Arthur turn his hand in her grip so he can hold her hands back, and scoots closer to her on the couch so she can press into his side.
"You're allowed to be shaken, by that," he prompts quietly. "It's never easy being attacked by someone, even when they realise they were in the wrong."
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Well. Being shaken. She presses her face against his shoulder, taking a second to sort herself out before mumbling. "I'm okay."
This is the first bad thing she's been part of that's reached through the whole Barge. The first sign of everything her dad and everyone else warned her about. She's got to be okay. She's got too much to prove to too many people to be anything else.
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"D'you know," he mumbles, but his voice is light, a conversational distraction. "The first time someone ever pointed a weapon at me, I froze."
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"Yeah, okay." She is not sure she believes you, sir.
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And that's certainly something that the steely, cold face suggested, when he was pointing a gun at Kikimora before he knew better.
"N-no, erm. The first time someone pointed a gun at me, it was on a case- I completely panicked and didn't move at all, until my partner Parker tackled me to hide us behind the wall for shelter."
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Once she's not going to interrupt herself snickering, she says, "Your private investigations parter?"
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"Right. His name's on the door, Peter Yang. I've always called him Parker- he asked me to, in fact. Said all his friends call him that," he comments with a light snort.
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She doesn't know man it was the Dark Ages.
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Willa shifts to rest her head against his chest, realizing with a pang of--what's the opposite of homesickness? She's not sure. Regardless, she gets hugged so much more here. By her dad, by Arthur. She didn't know how much she wanted it until she started getting it from them.
Of course back home no one ever tried to knock her down to probably do worse. Back home there's no unexplained slashes of blood in the halls.
Quietly, she says, "I thought he was going to kill me. I mean... I think that's what I thought. Mostly I was thinking about running away."
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He pulls her in tighter against his chest, pressing his face into her beanie to continue the hug as much as he can.
"Our bodies can... often identify things before conscious thought catches up," he says quietly. "Fear and survival above all else. It's not a thought, really, more like... gut instinct. You know, o-or, believe it so fiercely, that all of your real thoughts line up with it. To make sure you survive."
He knows Willa needs reassurance, but he's not going to lie to her either. "I believe he would have. Which is why I'm fucking relieved we arrived when we did."
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Willa shudders at the thought of being someone who would kill and make it hurt. Who would take that kind of beating and then laugh like it's something to be triumphant about.
"I didn't even see John get there. I got into the greenhouse and by the time I turned around he, Jesus, he wasn't trying to get in any more."