Perfect Strangers

Who: Benny and Laura
Where: Run down building
When: Late night

Welsh had tied Benedict to a length of pipe by a piece of white string around one wrist. It wasn't the most enjoyable thing in the world, but it wasn't like he minded it. In Bedlam it was worse he'd wake up in wierd places moored by the white string with no idea how he got there. At least now when he came he he wasn't anywhere where people were screaming. Instead he was in some strange building by all by himself waiting for Welsh to come back.

Laura wasn't usually dressed as a girl when she walked through this neighborhood. Especially not with the killings and all. Mutt had been seriously pissed off, though, and after giving her what her smart mouth had earned, he'd taken her pea coat, cap, and boots and kicked her out of his place in a dress and a jacket that was really too thin for the weather just to be sure she'd go right back 'home' to her broom closet. She'd ducked into a few buildings just for a while to warm up here and there along the way, and managed to reach her own, shivering and damp, and numb with cold. Her head was down when she darted through the door. Laura only looked up as she came around the corner of the stairs leading to the narrow service corridor to her closet, letting out a startled noise as she ran into a man who was just standing there. She stood there, long wavy hair damp and mussed, clinging to her forehead and dripping a little down the sides of her face, the hand that had been clutching her jacket raised to her mouth. She was hoping he would take the motion for surprise and not for what it really was... an effort to hide the darkening bruise and busted lip. She was also hoping he wasn't going to gut her and leave her carcass laying around someplace for some hobo to find. He didn't look the type, but then again, the type who would probably didn't usually look it or they'd never catch anyone.

Benedict raised a fist automatically when a figure ran into him, growling at her. When he realised whoever it was wasn't an orderly (he wasn't at Bedlam anymore, there were no more orderlys, get a grip Benedict) he blinked a couple time at them (it was a girl, he thought, he was pretty sure, the dress was a pretty good give away, but then she also had a girl face and kinda smelled like a girl he thought under the smell of rain and wet wool and the musky dirt-oil-sweat smell of the city there was a little bit of girl smell, even though it had been a while since he smelled a girl, they kept the genders pretty seperate in the criminal wing, the only girls he had seen for almost ten year where the nurses and all they smelled like were aniseptic and drugs and death) Benedict blinked again, he wasn't quite sure what he'd been thinking about. He pulled on the string around his wrist nervously, trying to remember.

The girl didn't run. She raised her hands up around her head, bent slightly and waited for the blow, turning just a little to avoid taking it square in the face, but not far enough to make the kidney punch too tempting. This was someone who was used to being punched.

He realised he had been standing there with his fist up for a while, he wasn't sure how long, he wasn't always good with time anymore and lowered his fist. "Oh," he said.

Slowly Laura peeked up at him from between her arms, straightening only when she was sure he wasn't going to throw a punch. She'd seen a lot of weird stuff hanging around the places her job sent her, but Laura hadn't seen anyone quite like this guy. He didn't seem to be drunk. He was steady on his feet and though he looked dazed, he wasn't out of control in any way. Maybe drugs, but that didn't feel right. Seemed more like he'd been knocked over the head or something, but he didn't look roughed up either. Hell, he looked in better shape than her. She was still aching all over from being knocked around.... and from other things. Every muscle was sore. Laura was on edge. Jangled. She really didn't want to run back out into the cold, even though it was probably a bad idea to let random junkies know you lived alone in a broom closet with no one to miss you if you just vanished one day. She wanted to be warm, even if she had to be alone.

She stood there quietly looking Benedict up and down, finally noticing the string. What the hell? Laura opened her mouth to say just that, but then shut it again while her brain groped for something more helpful. She'd already been smacked around and more tonight because of her mouth. That thought made her smile a little in spite of the busted lip. If Mutt knew she thought a thing like that he might think she could be broken. Of course, Benedict had no way of knowing why she was smiling at him. All of this flickered through her head and across her face in seconds and the girl cleared her throat. "Uh.." Great start there. "Wha... Why are you standing here alone tied to a pipe?" Her next thought is ... ask a stupid question.

Benedict looked down at his wrist and pulled at the string a couple time curiously as if he wasn't quite sure himself before looking back at her. "I get lost." She smiled at him, it made Benedict jumpy, made him feel like his skin was curling under his fingernails, a deep itch he couldn't get to. He curled into himself, with both hands. No one smiled at him nice except Welsh, but Welsh was bad too, hungry and bloody and scary. The girl might not be bad and hungry and scary. She might be nice nice.

"I get lost," he said again blinking up at the ceiling a couple times and then looking back at her. He barely resisted the urge to reach toward her pitifully with open hands begging for her to touch him. To be tender to his elbows or behind his ears or his fingertips. To be nice nice to him.

The girl's smile faded a little, but not because she was unhappy with him. She was just trying to make some sense of the situation. He obviously wasn't drunk. Maybe he was simple. Or maybe he was like that man she'd seen on the street the other day. The one they said came back from the war without his wits. Slowly, she reached for his wrist. "I'm good with knots." She could at least untie the poor bastard. He just stood there tugging at the little string as if it were a chain or something.

Benedict kind of twisted his wrist slightly so the pads of her fingers rested on the inside of his wrist. His smile turned beautific and this time when he looked at her it was less like he was staring at her through thick glass. "Welsh won't like it," he offered as friendly advice.

"Welsh? Is that your name?" She glanced at his face as he turned his wrist into her fingers. Laura was dimly aware that some might have considered his reaction creepy, but it made sense to her. Instinctively, she let a couple of fingers trail against his wrist at all times as she untied the knot, and when the string fell away, she didn't pull back.

Benedict's wrist followed the movement of her fingers hungrily as his face went confused. "I'm not Welsh, I'm Benedict," he said in a manner that implied he was reminding someone of something they should already know. He looked at the falling string with dismay and gripped the edge of Laura's sleeve desperately with one hand. "I get lost," his eyes were wide and worried. "Welsh won't like it, he'll know."

"I'll tell him I found you if he's mad." She reached with the arm he wasn't clutching at to touch his upper arm in an effort to reassure the man. "I won't let you be lost." As she said it, Laura wondered how the hell she'd keep someone else from being lost when she was half drifting through the city herself. "I'm Laura. I live here and right now you're at my place. See... you're not lost."

He actually made a soft little mewling sound when she touched his arm. When Welsh touched him it was like giving a drug to a junkie, just enough to keep him hooked and making sure no one else got him hooked, this was nice. Nice nice. He leaned into her hand as if he was trying to get it to cover the maximum available surface area of his arm.

Laura responded as if it were a dance and he were leading. Her hand slid along and her arm pressed against his. The mewling drew a soft noise from her. Perhaps, if not for the way she'd spent the last few hours, she would have been out of there like a shot. Mutt had used a blindfold and a radio playing nothing but static. It was disorienting and the mixture of fear and dependence, pain and pleasure, anticipation and relief... it had left her with slightly altered sensory perception. She could have stayed there all night just running her fingers over the hair on his arms and across his palms, staring at the reflections of the overhead light on the face of his watch and listening to the low rumble of his voice. He hadn't allowed it though. He knew the physical and emotional need. He knew that she'd be a little disoriented for days unless he helped her through it, but that was the point. Benedict might be shell shocked, brain damaged, doped up, or retarded. He might be a serial killing nutjob, but she needed to be touched as much as he did. She wasn't thinking very clearly to start with and it was getting harder to get in touch with her brain.

Benedict looked where she pointed with big eyes, clinging to the girl's sleeve, "Okay, okay that's good." It was nice of her to (what if it was dark in there, he didn't like the dark, it was dry in the dark he could feel the dry crawling along he skin hungry hungry hungry sucking him dry up through the knobs of his spine and it hurt and hungry tummy twisted in his gut and nobody was there, nobody was there forever, sometimes it dripped, that was nice because then he could count, even if he forgot sometimes and lost count, he was always losing things even tied down in the dark where it was so quiet, except sometimes for the dripping no one could hear his screaming and if he screamed long enough he couldn't hear it either) offer to no let him get lost, that was very kind of her. And he had matches, they were in his pocket, maybe his pocket, maybe. "Okay, help me find my matches." Then he realised this wasn't Welsh who insisted on doing things like helping him find his matches. He looked at Laura suspiciously.

"Can you help me find my matches?"

Matches? She blinked, looking up at his face. "I got some if you can't find them. I got smokes too if you need one." She pointed at the door to her little room. She was leaning into him slightly now. He was dry and warm. He was there.

He looked in the room, it was dark. He could tell, it was dark. He could see it. He scratched at the place on one wrist where the restraints had left a narrow scar, still holding onto her sleeves with a couple fingers. "Its dark in there." Of he had come across Laura while he was fully cognesent he would have looked at her with suspicion, but as it was he had woken up with her there so to speak. Woke up with her offering him touch, he curled one arm protectively around her waist, his voice clear and strong, even if his mind wasn't at the moment, "Don't go in the dark, they lock you in the dark." The had on her waist sort of quivered, asking if it was okay, shyly asking for permission.

The girl leaned into him, not the least bit shy. She rested her head against his shoulder, just beneath the collar bone, in that spot that seems made for the purpose. "The light is off. We can turn it on if you want and I have the key. There's a lock on the inside too, so I can lock them all out. The lights and the lock are for us." These were things she'd never said out loud and never really realized meant something to her. She didn't even think about the 'us' part of that. Her little closet had been strictly hers, in her mind, from the day she first stepped through the door, but that was about the light and the lock and she didn't know it. Benedict needed the light and the lock.

Benedict made another soft sound halfway between a question and a joyful noise when her head touched his collar bone, her wet hair stuck to him nicely, made him feel secure. He turned his body subconsciously, twisting Laura gently with his chin on her head and his hand on her waist until he was between her and the darkness, sidling up to it slowly as if it might bite him. His fingers dug anxiously into the fabric of his coat as his other hand spidered along the edge of the doorframe, trembling when the shadow in the room touched him. Taking a big breath and almost growling he thrust his hand along the wall, keeping as much of his body as possible out of the dark until he found the light switch and snapped it on. When he was finished he was panting and shivering, beads of sweat popping up all over his body.

Laura's arm snaked under Benedict's coat and around his waist as he turned her. His guiding her and taking care of things, even though it was just the light switch, pushed her further from any ability to think.

"Its okay, its safe now."

The room was small. It held a deep sink with a little shelf above it that contained a hotplate and a few cans of soup. Under the sink there was a box with soap and that sort of thing, and a bed, slightly smaller than a twin, took up most of the rest of the space. Nails and pegs on the walls held a towel and a few articles of clothing, both male and female. "We can lock the door. We can lock the whole rest of the world out." Usually she'd be locking that door and he'd be lumped in with the rest of the world because this was a good way to end up hurt or dead, but this wasn't the usual circumstances.

Before Bedlam Benedict would have wanted to explore, look around, take stock of her little space. But now his curiousity could be appeased perfectly fine while he was still attached to her. Welsh wouldn't like it if he came back and Benedict wasn't there. The last time he couldn't find Benedict right away he got mad and pulled his hair and was bad. Welsh was so close to crazy sometimes and all that focus went on Benedict (Benny, Benny, Benny what did I tell you) when he was upset, but Welsh had been hungry for the past couple of days he would be out looking for someone to eat for a while. He might not even come back for Benedict until the morning time and that meant he would be okay. Bedlam couldn't hold Welsh, the single locked door of a broom closet wouldn't hold him either, Welsh would burst in with his wild eyes and sink his teeth into the nice girls neck so all the blood flowed red and eat her up like he did the mailman. Sometimes he wanted Benedict to watch, to give him critique (is this too much Benny, should I go and get the knife instead?) and sometimes he only wanted Benedict to see the aftermath (Dave isn't your friend Benny, that crazy little klepto isn't your friend, I'm your friend, your my Benny). But sometimes like tonight he'd be gone for a while while he filled his belly.

"Okay," was all he said though, stroking her hair absently, the wet strands sticking to his fingers. "But I gotta go before Welsh comes back. You'll have to hide like a bunny, hide, hide away. You smell like a girl."

Laura tilted her head, nuzzling into the stroking. Again, in the back of her head someplace, alarms were going off, but they were only dimly heard. "You're warm." There was only just room for them to stand in front of the sink and close the door. Once it was closed, Laura showed him the bolt, without leaving the embrace. Heavy metal door with a bolt installed just for her to lock out everything.

Standing there in the space so small that they couldn't help but touch, the girl started to take off her wet things. She peeled off the jacket and dropped it in the sink, followed by the dress, which was raised over her head. She was bare beneath it. Her shoulders were covered in bite marks and scars from cigarette burns and her arms laddered with cuts in various stages of healing. There wasn't room to back up and get much of a view of the rest of her, but as she practically burrowed into his coat, he might notice that the burn scars dotted her entire back. Laura loved the feel of skin on skin, and modesty was a foreign concept. She would continue to simply follow his lead and do whatever he guided her to.

Benedict tilted his head aganist hers, smiling at the feel of cheek aganist cheek, delicately using the tips of his index fingers to draw the strands of her hair off her face and behind her ears, taking a moment to rub the pads of his fingers gently back and forth behind her ears to feel the smooth skin there. It was a bit of a shock, her naked body, but he didn't feel anything but curiousity, pleasure at the touch. To be allowed to touch. To touch something that wouldn't snap back with mad iron teeth. He drew her arms around his waist, half waltz walking them in smooth harmony so he could snag a stray piece of clothing, dry and worn soft from frequent wear and began to dry her bare shoulders with small gentle circles. When one shoulder was dried he rubbed his cheek around it, the short stubble on his face just coming through his cheeks. The motions was as innocent and demanding as the cuddling of an infant seeking comfort. He hummed soft aganist her cold skin, rosy from being dried off.

With each touch Laura responded, tilting her head, nuzzling, humming softly. She held Benedict and moved with him, sighing when he gently dried her shoulder. She tensed briefly at the feel of stubble, but quickly relaxed again, bringing a hand up from his waist to wrap around the back of his neck. No more worries. No more thinking at all. There was someone else to do that. For her, just a series of sensations. A man's hands and the feel of his clothing against her skin. Warmth and strength. Gentle touches and rough cheeks. His heartbeat and the deep voice only making sounds, not words that she would have to think about and respond to. Release. From everything.

"Lay down?" he said to her collar bone, crouched around her front while his fingertips moved sympathetically over the scars on her shoulders. If he was a different sort of man, if he hadn't had such negative connections with mouths (any mouths) he would have touched them with his lips, tried to kiss them away. "Maybe, lay down?"

He pulled the cloth he had been using to dry her off around her, tucking it in tight. After all he was a guy, an attractive naked girl was making him uncomfortable, best to cover it up, not think about it. Focus on comfort.

He pulled her down with him (at the hospital Benedict wished he could have done this sometimes, but the only person he could get away with cuddling would have been Welsh and that was nearly beyond thought, for one thing Welsh would have taken it as an invitation and Welsh was always up for anything; and another, it wasn't a safe place to be next to Welsh - he might wake in the night and decide he was hungry) curling down on the mattress that smelled a little musty and old and absolutely fabulous. The bed at Bedlam smelled of human waste, old blood and chemicals, they smelled cancerous and when he slept on them he had felt filthy, always trying to pull as much of his skin as possible away from the mattress. It was even harder to do than it sounded.

Her narrow scarred body landed on top of him as he stretched out, her weight a comfort, pressing him lightly down into her bed, they turned together, until they found their places, like puzzle pieces, or puppies trying not to drown. His fingertips trying to memorize her skin before he thought to cover them both up.

She rolled with him, shifting and nuzzling until they found that perfect fit. She arched and hummed a little as he ran his fingers over her, working her own hands under his shirt to his chest and back before falling asleep.

When she woke in the morning, she was naked and alone, tangled in the covers and the old shirt she sometimes slept in. She could still smell the musty wool of Benedict's coat and the clean smell of his hair. More than that for proof that he had really been there, there was the fact that she didn't feel so lost, and like everything had been spilled out of her the way she did the night before. Laura closed her eyes and lay there for some time, until the scent faded, the bed cooled, and she was sure the sun was up. He had been there when she needed someone most, but he was gone like everyone else now and it was time to wake up.