Another story based on Psycho II. I'm a bit of a Norman/Mary shipper, not so much in a romantic sense but they have such an odd, sweet friendship, they needed each other in many ways even though they were such different personalities. I have a kind of alternate universe in my head where everything works out for them instead of the way things really happened. But that's what fanfiction is for... and I always like to work with canon rather than disregard it altogether.

This fic is for ChocolateChipCookie28 and any other Norman/Mary shipper and fan of Psycho II, a film that I've become very fond of.

Loony

Norman stood in front of the living room mirror. The man in the glass stared back, a familiar figure grown strange. The soft youthfulness of his face was gone, replaced by a gaunt visage that reflected the horror of two decades in the asylum. Dark shadows pooled under prominent cheekbones, thinned lips seemed permanently pressed together in an odd half smile/half smirk. Once lustrous hair hung lank over his forehead, and although his brown eyes still glittered sharply, there was a dullness in them, as if his own mind had seen too much and didn't trust him any more.

He ran a hand over his face and down his long, sinewy neck. He tucked his fingers into his shirt and stroked his blade-like collar bones. He thought he looked less like a human being and more like a skeleton risen from the grave. Another Bates skeleton for the collection.

Warren Toomey's words broke into his thoughts, wiping the smirk from his face. Words yelled at his back as he ran up the steps in the rain.

"At least my guests have a good time! What do yours get? Dead, that's what! Murdered by you, ya loony!"

The word 'loony' made him shudder with self-loathing. For some reason it bothered him more than the accusations of murder. The doctors and nurses never used it, the mental patients occasionally hurled it at each other to reinforce the hierarchy of insanity that existed in that place. But he'd heard it an awful lot since, from mouths that had no right to say it. From people who had never experienced a day in an institution, never mind twenty two years. What fools they were, to think they knew anything about lunacy. To them, it was just another insult.

He watched his reflection with a kind of dissociation, eyebrows coming down like a dark curtain over those piercing eyes. Who was Toomey to call anyone a loony? Toomey was an unkempt slob with a filthy mouth. Was that what you had to be to get by these days? A rude, disgusting oaf? Talking to women as though they were nothing? Things had certainly changed in the years he'd been away.

His reflection chuckled dryly. What do you know about getting by? Norman had never fit in. Even when he was younger, he had always been a square peg trying to squeeze into round holes. But she had always been there to guide him, and now she was gone. It was up to him now, and nobody else, to protect his new found sanity from the Warren Toomeys of this world.

He heard a light creaking as someone came down the stairs. He kept watching the mirror until Mary appeared in the living room doorway. She had showered and dressed, there was an aura around her as she stood bathed in light from the hall. A moment later and he smelled the fresh, clean scent of lavender soap. Immediately he felt less angry, less bothered about Toomey. He had only known Mary a short while, but already she was a calming presence in his life. Her smooth, young face quelled his ire, reminded him that good people existed, people he could trust when he couldn't trust himself.

She looked at him. He looked at her. Not directly, face to face, but in the mirror. She knew he'd been locked up. She'd seen him freak out at the diner. He wondered if she thought he was a loony too. Perhaps the word 'loony' was written on his face and everyone could see it but him.

"Is everything okay, Norman?" she asked.

He watched the changing of his features as a smile wound its way through his lips, a rattlesnake sliding through grass. "Sure, Mary." His shoulders twitched as a short laugh escaped his throat. "Why do you ask?"

Mary shrugged one shoulder. "You looked miles away. I almost didn't want to disturb you."

The light played over her jet black hair as she moved into the room, edging warily towards the sofa. He wanted to say that you can't disturb someone who's already disturbed, but he didn't think she would find it as amusing as he did. Gallows humor. It didn't always work outside the institution.

"I was just thinking." He hoped his smile would reassure her, though to him it looked a little creepy. "Or should I say, trying not to think. I have a lot of... clutter... to sort through."

Mary perched on the arm of the sofa. "Clutter?"

He tapped his temple with a forefinger. Winked knowingly at her.

"Oh. Of course." She fidgeted, not sure what to say next.

"Don't worry," he said. "I'm dealing with it."

Mary laughed, a small, embarrassed sound. "I didn't mean to imply that you weren't."

"My biggest problem right now is Toomey, but I can fix that." I can fix that. He wondered if it sounded worse than he meant.

"Ugh," she snorted. "That creep. I still can't believe the way he spoke to me. I mean I'm no prude," she picked at the blanket strewn over the back of the sofa, "but the way he ran your motel like a cheap whorehouse... "

Norman stiffened at the word 'whorehouse', fighting to ignore the images it conjured in his mind. "I said- " he saw her flinch, caught himself and lowered his voice, "I can fix it."

"I'm sorry," she apologized. "It's none of my business."

Norman's pulse slowed back to normal as the writhing images receded. "It's okay. It was none of my business either, until recently. Until I came home."

Mary glanced at him. "Do you want to talk about anything, Norman?"

He shook his head, still with that inane smile on his face. "No."

Mary chewed her lip, looked down at the floor. The silence stretched out until she spoke again, injecting some brightness into her voice.

"I heard you playing the piano. You're good. Did you learn in... I mean, where you were..?"

"The hospital?" he finished for her. "No. I learned when I was a boy. Right there on that very piano. My ... mother taught me."

Mary looked at the old upright piano standing at the end of the room. "Well, she was a good teacher- you play beautifully. I'm glad you remember how."

"I'm a little rusty, but thank you." Norman flashed a real smile and was surprised at how young it made him look. Her compliment felt good, pushed Toomey's accusations out of his mind. He found himself desperate for the mood to remain light- it was such a welcome contrast to the darkness that threatened to overwhelm him. Besides, Mary was a guest in his house and he wanted, needed, her to feel comfortable in his presence. Without the doctors and the nurses, without the laughter and the tears, the cacophony of voices and the soothing/jarring presence of Mother, this was the first time in his life that he'd ever been truly alone. He wasn't too sure if aching loneliness was any better than raving insanity.

He pressed on, hoping he sounded bright and relaxed. "How about you, Mary? Do you play any instruments?"

She laughed loudly. "Me? No way. I'd break anything before I learned how to play it!"

"Well, I could teach you to play the piano, if you'd like." Well! Where did that come from? he wondered.

She lowered her eyes and gave him a bashful grin. "You'd have a job on your hands."

"I'm up to the challenge," he said flirtatiously.

Mary's mouth fell open and Norman blushed. It was way too early in their friendship for that kind of talk, and what was he doing flirting anyway? It only ever led to trouble. Snippets of a long ago conversation flashed into his mind- a blonde girl sitting in the parlor, though the details were hazy due to all the years of medication. He was pretty sure he had tried flirting with her and it had ended badly. He had always been an awkward child in a grown man's body, and even though he was twice her age, he felt younger than the streetwise Mary in many ways.

He didn't want to make himself look foolish, a middle aged man making passes like a teenager. What he really wanted was to cut through all the crap and ask her straight out what she thought of him before he drove himself crazy with guessing. Did he look like a loony, with his bony shoulders, sunken cheeks and suspicious stare? Did his sinister countenance scare her? Was it obvious he'd been locked away in a psychiatric hospital for most of his adult life? Because he couldn't tell anymore. The man who looked out of the glass was a stranger, a thin, cynical man with a face he'd seen all his life but no longer recognized.

To his surprise, Mary was regarding him warmly with arms folded and eyes gleaming. "You sound very confident," she said with an inviting smile.

"I'd like to think there's one thing I'm good at." The words were out before he could stop them and despite his misgivings, he marveled at how easy it was to parry with her.

"Really?"

He nodded, amused by her tone. She clearly wasn't intimidated by this new turn in the conversation, nor was she afraid of his clumsy attempts at flirting. In fact, it seemed like she was used to the territory. He was no expert on women, but he knew they didn't flirt with you if you repulsed them.

"Well then, I just might take you up on your offer."

He took a chance then, buoyed by her willingness to participate. "That is, if you don't mind being taught by a loony." He wished he were closer to the piano- he would have struck a few discordant notes for the full effect.

Mary jumped off the the sofa and came over to sock him gently on the arm. "You're not a loony, Norman. After the way you handled Toomey, you're my hero."

Norman blinked. He had been called many things, but never someone's hero. He didn't care that all he'd really done was shout at a man and give him a hard stare. His reputation preceded him; Toomey had been deflated and he had even sent legitimate customers running in case he went berserk with the cake knife. They probably thought he was a loony, but he couldn't help that. He'd make sure to apologize to them if they ever came back again. I'm not a killer anymore, I promise. That guy was being a monumental jerk and I just lost my temper, that's all.

But Mary was looking up at him with a shy, almost reverent smile, and he felt himself puffing up, just a little bit.

"I don't know about that," he said modestly. "I did what I could- I still don't think it was enough. Maybe I should have thrown him through the front window, like I wanted to."

"Ooh," she shivered. "Tough talk. I like it."

He grinned awkwardly. "I wouldn't have wrecked the joint like that. Mr. Statler and Mrs. Spool have been very good to me."

She nudged him playfully. "Even if it takes..."

"'A nut to work there'," Mary and Norman finished their catchphrase in unison.

When they'd stopped laughing, they stood together at the mirror, gazing at their reflections.

"Isn't it funny how different we look to each other?" Mary said. "But so familiar to ourselves."

"I don't look familiar at all," he said quietly. "I've changed so much, it scares me."

Mary rested her head on his shoulder. "You've had a tough life, Norman. No one gets out without scars. Besides, you're not bad, for an old guy. I bet you had all the nurses swarming round you."

He smiled again. This was the third compliment she'd paid him and he felt better already. Surely if a beautiful girl like Mary wasn't afraid of him then maybe it was time to have more faith in himself. Maybe he didn't look like a loony. People often said things just to be hurtful. Toomey was pissed off about being fired and knew which buttons to press. That's all it was. There was no neon sign saying 'loony' above Norman's head. Not the way Toomey meant it. Toomey was the type of guy who was rude to everybody.

He sighed softly. Mother would have known what to do, Mother always stood up for herself. He was the one who always held back, afraid of confrontation. But the fear never went away, it just turned into rage and frustration; and sooner or later it came out in other ways. Dangerous ways that he couldn't control.

He just hoped those days were gone forever.

"Well, I have things to do, Norman. I'll see you later for that piano lesson." Oblivious to his internal conflict, Mary patted him fondly on the back before scurrying out of the room, leaving him to continue gazing at the mirror. A moment later she returned, peeking round the door with a mischievous grin.

"Stop staring at yourself," she giggled. "You'll go cross eyed."

Norman went cross eyed and pulled a face at her. She shrieked with laughter and disappeared. He listened to her running up the stairs, her footsteps getting fainter as she reached the landing. He looked up at the ceiling, wondering what things she needed to do. He liked having her in the house; her youthful sparkle brought energy to the empty rooms and dusty halls. She made the place feel alive- something it hadn't been in a very long time. And she liked him- he didn't have to be an expert to know that. She liked him, and he was grateful for it.

Toomey, he decided, was no judge of character- and 'loony' was a word used by imbeciles. If Mary liked him then that was enough; he didn't need to worry about anyone else.

Mary was one of the good people. Mary would help keep him sane.

Mary knew he wasn't a loony.