Vincent settled on Reeve's private balcony high on the west side of WRO HQ. Only Veld and Reeve knew he came up here - well, and now Nero did, too - but none of them were likely to come looking for him here. He needed the quiet solitude to have a conversation with Mask.
Hellmasker. Vincent sighed, rubbing his eyes. Of all the headmates to come out during the debacle in the training room, why did it have to be him? How many people had seen him attack Nero, with a knife no less? How many had watched him swing at Veld? The EMTs had been busy working on the fallen SOLDIER, but the other troops, and the Turks, had to have noticed. Gods knew what they thought of him now.
He turned his attention inward. Behind the wall he'd built, brick by brick, to keep Mask confined, Mask crouched, grumbling, mumbling, inventing curses that could flay a dragon. Vincent tapped on the wall.
"Mask."
No response, just muttering and hissing.
"Mask! I'm talking to you!"
"Fuck off Valentine!"
"Yeah, no. Shut up and listen to me. You are NOT to attack Nero again, do you hear?"
Mask's presence crept up close to the wall, his anger bleeding through it. "Who, what?"
"Nero. Looks like me, plays with shadows? Leave him alone."
"Shadow-mage," Mask hissed. "He took Bronze! Pretty Bronze, not his to take! I'll carve him into steak! Kill him, carve him, crush him with stone! Suck the marrow from his bones!"
Vincent reached through the wall, grabbing Mask by the throat. "You'll do nothing, you hear me? Nothing!"
Mask squirmed in his grip, spitting and thrashing. "Let go, you prick! It's your fault anyway!"
"Is not."
"Is too! Your anger, your fear! You shouldn't leave them out where I can use them!"
The truth stung. Vincent couldn't argue with it, but having Mask throw it in his face was too much. He let Mask go, and sat down beside the wall. Gods, why wasn't he somebody else, alone in his own head, safe and sane? Why was everything so damn complicated?
"Mask, listen." He'd lost the urge to yell, to make demands or issue ultimatums. "Nero...Nero might be my son. I don't want to hurt him."
Silence, and a rustle as Mask shifted. "Never. Nuh-uh, no."
"Yes. I'm serious, Mask."
"Shadow-mage is yours?"
"I don't know for sure. It's a distinct possibility." One that felt more certain every day, but Mask didn't need to know that.
Mask didn't ask how; his understanding of time was limited. He lived in the moment, his responses flickering like a hummingbird's wings. Only the most dramatic events made permanent memories, and even then Vincent never knew what his reaction might be.
The fact that he'd begun his existence as a part of Vincent's mind only twisted things into more of a tangled mess.
"I don't like him," Mask stated. Trust him to cut to the chase. Which reminded Vincent of something.
"I don't care if you don't like him," Vincent said. "And where the hell did you get a knife? I don't remember putting a knife up my sleeve!"
"Not telling," Mask crooned. "You'll only screech at me, no yelling!"
It was like dealing with a recalcitrant five-year-old. Vincent ground his teeth in frustration. Veld would remember that knife, eventually, and Vincent had no explanation to give him.
"You can't do things like that! Leave the damn knives alone, or next time I'll chain you up! Got it?"
"What's it worth to you?"
Vincent blinked. How the hell was his own mind doing this to him?
"I'm not making any deals with you. Leave the knives alone. Leave Nero alone."
"Or what?" said Mask, his voice low and strained, devoid of the usual sing-song tone.
Vincent shivered. This was the side of Mask that rarely appeared, the side that couldn't be reasoned with, cajoled or distracted. This aspect was dangerous, even to him.
Without a second thought he plunged his arm back through the wall, grabbing Mask by the collar, twisting it tight until Mask choked.
"I'll cage you," Vincent hissed. "Chain you like a dog, muzzle your foul mouth, and keep you confined until you forget what daylight looks like." He smacked Mask's head against the wall. "Remember, Hellmasker. I can do it, you know I can. Keep away from the knives, keep away from Nero, or I will. Make. You. Pay."
He dropped Mask like a rag. Mask scrambled away from the wall, gurgling and gasping.
He wasn't hurt, Vincent knew beyond a doubt. He couldn't do any real physical damage to a figment of his own imagination, even if said figment had taken on a life of its own.
He said nothing more, retreating to the outside world. Evening had fallen, and Vincent took a few minutes just to breathe, easing the headache he'd brought on himself. Home, and bed, tucked in as close to Veld as he could get, sounded like heaven. Could he use the shadows to get there…?
Better not. He didn't want to startle Veld, who'd already had a rough day. He left the balcony via the stairs; boring, but he'd had more than enough excitement for one day.
Behind the wall, deep inside Vincent's mind, Mask huddled, murmuring to himself. "Don't touch the knives. Don't touch the mage. Don't touch-" He looked up, eyes narrowing. "You didn't say anything about Bronze…"