[ time is a funny thing: when there's too little of it, it seems to pass in the blink of an eye (the quiet times in her neighborhood, the days leading up to the fight with bogue, the years of emma's marriage, now a distant memory). and when one wishes to see something unpleasant long past gone, time seems to drag until every hour feels like ten and the difficulty of moving beyond and dealing with something weighs heavy on any heart.
or body, as the case may be.
it's been weeks since the fight already, weeks of faraday staying in emma's home, of the two of them seeing each other every day. she takes care of him, as much as he'll let her, but she does her damnedest not to let it seem like doting or mothering because she intends it as neither; he's done a great deal for her neighborhood, for herself and the people who'd survived, and he deserves a place to recover from what he'd had to suffer through for a few dingy houses.
the injuries that faraday sustained were not ones so easily disregarded. as if bullet wounds weren't bad enough, he'd gone and blown himself right up, and though he'd (by some miracle) come out the other side alive, his body certainly wasn't going to end up anywhere near normal without time — and more than a little hard work.
physical therapy is hell, from what emma has heard. she doesn't envy faraday a second of it, not when it means dragging himself through exercises, pushing his body to remember how to even work right, but she still insists on taking him to every appointment, refuses to let him skip out no matter how much he complains and grumbles and curses. she knows how important this is to see him healed up, and while she still has no idea what they're doing with the marks, with...everything, she wants him healthy and strong again.
of course, the other downside of the physical therapy is that emma is vividly aware of exactly what kind of pain faraday is experiencing at his appointments. she didn't take the shots and her own body is perfectly fit, but her muscles ache and scream right alongside him, and some days, she's genuinely impressed that he's made it as far as he has.
because lord almighty, this hurts a whole hell of a lot.
shared sensations are something she could really do without when it comes to their bond, and while she's gotten far better at suppressing some of the physical echos she picks up from faraday, there are still days when the intensity overwhelms her ability to block anything out. she can't quite soothe the pain out of her own body — because it's not her that's hurt, not her own limbs and muscles that need to recover — and so she'll often spend his appointments trying to distract herself, trying to focus on a book or anything that isn't the refracted physical ache from her sou—
...
—from faraday.
however, despite that, on those days, she feels far more sympathy for the man than annoyance at their bond; after all, he's the one whose body needs to remember that it didn't die.
after a particularly rough appointment, emma doesn't much feel like making conversation on the way back to her home. god, that hurt like hell, but she realizes she's only feeling the secondhand pain of what faraday's had to go through, and— it's awful. she's never more grateful for how perfectly unscathed she'd ended up after the fight (though she realizes that's thanks to faraday, especially) than when she's in this office with the gambler.
in fact, if she could avoid this ever in the future, she'd much prefer that.
she drives past the still-scorched concrete where faraday's bomb had gone off (though they've all worked to clean up the rubble, preparing it for newly-laid cement), back to her house to park in her small driveway. she's even quiet when she's quick to get out of the car, to go around and open faraday's door.
these days, she tries to do small things like this when she can, to make it a bit easier when he has to get around with his crutch and his bad leg. she hardly even thinks about it anymore, because it's become one of the many gestures she'd gone out of her way to do — the ones that have now nearly become habit. ]
I was thinkin' stew for dinner, if that'll suit you.
[ soft, a casual comment as she holds the door for him. ]
[ Faraday had never expected to survive the fight, though he had a blind sort of hope – the reckless expectations of a gambling man, to play the odds, expecting a loss while hoping to come out on top. Typically he gambled with his money, but this time, he gambled with his life. Put in all his chips with a cocksure grin, knowing full well that the chances of Bogue and his mercenaries sweeping it all away were almost assured.
Except they weren't. And Bogue didn't. Though not for lack of trying.
Because Faraday didn't get to walk away from the table with his head held high. He was dragged away, really, because he was in no state to help himself. Scraped the bottom of his barrel of luck to wake not at the gates of Heaven or Hell, but to the unfamiliar ceiling of a hospital room. To Sam setting aside a book, catching Faraday's gaze, and murmuring with that half-smile of his, "There you are, son. You gave us a scare."
Over time, his skin knits back together, his bones mend, and he heals. For the most part. But then the casts are removed, the bandages tossed away, and suddenly, Faraday realizes that healing was the easy part. It was recovering that would be the true trial.
And the trial feels goddamn rigged. It fucking hurts, makes his muscles and weakened bones scream in protest all over again – and that's goddamn unfair, given that his pain had finally leveled off in the days before therapy began.
Surviving should have been more glamorous than this.
They've been at it for ages, he feels, but it doesn't seem like he's getting any better. His body is still sluggish, unruly, and weakened from the battle. These sessions were meant to make him better, weren't they? Except all they seemed to do was leave him as a trembling, breathless, pain-filled mess. Even when he groused or attempted to beg off just one session, Emma still managed to pile him into her car and leave him to what felt like torture.
And today, as Emma already knows, was bad.
He would be thankful for the silence on the drive back, except he hardly notices. His body feels like a long line of pain, and he spends most of the trip with his head tipped back against the headrest, eyes screwed shut as he tries to breathe through it. Tries to block it out with little success. It's only as he feels the rocking of the car on those last few turns – familiar by now, considering how often they've traveled these roads together – that he finally opens his eyes, stares fixedly out of the passenger window.
(They haven't fixed that damned road yet, he knows, and he grits his teeth and looks elsewhere whenever they pass it.)
The car slows to a stop, and as he's gathering up his things, Emma moves around to open the door for him. Common by now, and nearly common enough that it slipped Faraday's notice, most days – but today is different. Another reminder of his lack of improvement, and it makes something flare in his gut, white-hot and bitter.
Shame, maybe. Disappointment. Regret. ]
Whatever you like.
[ Gritted out on a low rumble, and directed mostly at the ground as he hauls himself out of his seat. It takes a bit of doing, balancing himself with one hand against the roof of the car, as he gets the crutch in place on his bad side. He leans more heavily on it than usual today, thanks to the soreness of his body. ]
[ today is— different. everything feels off. she's not sure if it's radiating through their link or the general mood clinging cloud-like to them both, but there's a level of emotion that emma can't place. it's heavy and dark and sharp like glass, and she doesn't know how to puzzle it out, how to identify the why of it all — but, then again, it's rare that she finds logic behind farday's emotions (or even her own, some days).
but today is one of those rough evenings, it seems. the barbed edges of the odd feedback in their bond rankles emma — but she's also not the one who's just endured an excruciating dose of physical therapy, so she tries to keep her own half of the link toned down, doing her best not to feed into the brewing storm of faraday's mood.
of course, disregarding his response to something as simple as opening his car door, emma's still already decided she's not going to avoid the little habits she's picked up to give faraday a hand. much as he may potentially resent it, there's no denying that it's needed more often than not, which is why she's still holding open the car door, waiting until he's stepped away before she closes it behind him. ]
Then I'll get it started.
[ she stays a few steps ahead of him as they approach the house to unlock the front door (new wood, new lock, freshly painted as it is), and, again, holds it open politely so he can follow her inside. ]
It'll take a bit, if you're needin' to rest before.
[ which is, admittedly, why she thought stew would be a viable option. it would need to cook for a couple hours at least before they could eat, which would give faraday time for a nap if he wanted it, or at least time to put his leg up and ease some of the leftover ache she can still feel reflected through the link. ]
[ He snaps the answer back automatically, that shard of annoyance piercing through his chest again, irrational and sharp and edged with barbs.
(Give it time, they keep telling him. Keep working at it. It’ll get better.
Bullshit, he thinks.)
He’s not fine, even if he says it, and Faraday knows she’ll pick up on the lie. She’ll feel it twisting through their connection. She’ll feel the ache that reaches deep into his bones, and that bitter resentment seeps through him. He’s been here too damn long, he thinks, and that itch creeps up the back of his spine, familiar and insistent. That need to move before he roots himself too deeply, before he becomes too complacent.
A part of him knows he’s not being fair, knows that Emma doesn’t deserve him snarling at her like a rabid dog, but she’s the only one around to bark and snap at. That’s she’s liable to snap back is another point in her favor, and he needs some outlet for his frustration, this growing sense of helplessness crawling through him with fingers like ice.
It’s why he trudges inside, brushing past her with hardly a look. ]
[ that tone, along with those snarled-out words has emma's eyebrows lifting in a look that very clearly screams, "excuse me?" he hasn't talked to her like that since...well, since they met, since they exchanged bitten-off growls and mean glares. they've both been a touch short with each other on occasion in the days he's spent in her neighborhood, because neither of them has the broadest threshold for patience, but never like this.
all it manages to do is fan that aggravation she's been trying to curb as it wafts off of him in waves.
be understanding, she tells herself. he's in pain.
the annoyance still starts to knot itself in her chest, and she frowns after him, closing the door finally and turning to follow him into the house. ]
I'm not babyin' you, Faraday. I'm trying to be considerate.
[ because she knows how much he's hurting, and she knows that today was hard.
of course the problem is that emma's never been the most gracious towards a person lashing out at her — because she has the kind of sharp tongue and hot temper that'll have her snapping back just as quick. for the moment, however, she's trying not to let it get to her, honest-to-god trying. ]
[ Her flash of annoyance echoes across their link, stoking the steadily burning fire in his gut; he feels a flicker of satisfaction. Faraday doesn’t need saintly patience or well-meaning concern right now – he’s had enough of that for goddamn ages, those concerned looks and quiet frowns and promises for prayers as people encountered him around the neighborhood.
And normally Faraday is better about recognizing those good intentions for what they are, but their kindness, their sympathy, makes him itch just beneath the surface of his skin. Makes him want to lash out like a cornered animal, all teeth and claws and wild violence.
It’s harder keeping those inclinations in check today with his whole body feeling like a gnarled knot of muscle, every nerve screaming. Even harder knowing that he wouldn’t be like this if it weren’t for these bastards, who couldn’t hit the broadside of a big rig with a handful of rocks from ten paces away. ]
Hang your consideration. [ And he parrots the word back with disdain, half turning to face her. His upper lip pulls away from his teeth in a sneer. ] Call it what it is, Emma: it’s goddamn pity.
[ emma stops short a few paces away from the front door, her eyes fixed cold and hard on faraday as he throws that contemptuous look her direction. the link prickles with the jagged edge of anger and resentment, and it— stings when it's turned on her like this. this is the sort of sensation she'd expect ages ago; not recently, not now, and it just grates in the worst fashion.
but emma, as she's always been, is far more inclined to shove back than allow someone like faraday to speak to her like this; no matter what they'd been through, no matter what he technically is to her, oh, this doesn't get to just slip right on by. ]
I assure you, Joshua Faraday— [ her tone is flat, unaffected, but absolute ice. ] —you are the last man I would see fit to pity.
[ like he's not deserving of it, like she couldn't even summon up a real ounce of pity for a man cut from faraday's cloth. ]
[ The frigidness in her voice catches him off-guard, and a flicker of surprise crosses his face. That icy shard pierces his chest – not shame, not resentment, this time, but a direct hit from her words, her tone. For a brief second, Faraday is startled by just how much that hurts.
But that’s good, he thinks. He wanted a reaction. Wanted her to remind him of the kind of man he is. Didn’t want her mistaking him for someone actually worth a damn. Better than the soft looks of concern, the little gestures to hammer home just how terribly he had been mangled in her damned war.
Somehow, surviving felt like a punishment. Emma was rewarded a bastard like Faraday. And Faraday was rewarded with days and nights of pain. A useless lump of a right arm that refuses to move as he tells it to. (And what the fuck could he do with that, when he made his living on swindling folks out of their money in billiards? When he survived his marks’ wrath by the quickness of his gunhand?)
A killer for hire. That’s all he was – a desperate man bought at the right price. And that’s all he had been to Emma from the start: a weapon to point and shoot. Nothing more than that, regardless of the mark swirling on the inside of his forearm or the unsteady truce hovering between them. Kindness borne of guilt. That’s all this was.
After all, bearing that in mind would make it easier when he finally gathered up strength enough to finally leave. ]
Good. [ A dark, bitter satisfaction at her admission. ] Keep it that way, Cullen, ‘cause I’m the last man who would ever want it.
emma feels that hurt refracted back on her, and it mingles with the lingering muscular ache that she's tried so hard to ignore. it's not her body that hurts, and she's not the one who's gone through the physical therapy today, but that throbbing, leftover pain is still there. it doesn't do much to help her already short temper, and these jolting, fragmented shots of emotion through the link are— distracting, twisting in her chest.
the mark gives an unpleasant twinge as that knotted mess tightens again at the use of her last name (because it's been "emma" for a good while now, never "cullen"), and she just pointedly crosses her arms over her chest, hiding the coiled design against her blouse. ]
I am more than aware.
[ her words are still cold, carefully maintaining her steady voice — because she doesn't like to give herself away, doesn't want a smidgen of that unsteady, uncertain feeling slipping out. ]
Don't go and confuse my good will for pity, Faraday, because I guarantee that would have worn thin a long time ago.
[ trying man that he is, if emma only felt he should stay because she pitied him, he would have made himself unwelcome very early on. if she's honest, having faraday around is more of an inconvenience than anything else, especially given how much work she's still trying to accomplish, all she still has to do for her neighborhood, and he's not remotely recovered enough to be any use now.
emma is a compassionate woman, but if all that sustained her care of faraday was pity?
she doubts she would have managed this for near so long.
it is not, however, the kind of thing she's prepared to cop to, and if she can shuffle that back, bury it under layers of chilly looks and colder words, she'll take that method easy. after all, she can feel the way he's provoking her, trying to get a rise out of her, but she's not eager to oblige him with shouts or curses or a proper physical display.
but she sure can summon up the kind of ice that would manage a blizzard in hell itself. ]
Edited (and then 10pm makes me change my mind on words and shit s h r u g s) 2016-12-01 05:03 (UTC)
[ That chill washes over him, rage in ice and snow – so different from his own anger, with its wild flames, devouring anything in its path. It's so completely alien, a cold pit in his stomach, and still he feels that curl of satisfaction, knowing he's roused this from her. None of that tentative curl of amusement or fondness. None of that quiet concern.
Better this way, he tells himself, even if it stings more smartly than a slap to the face.
He snorts out a derisive laugh, the metal of his crutch clanking as he turns to face her. ]
Then what the hell am I still doin' here?
[ Growled out, like a snapping dog. ]
Me, I know why I'm here. I ain't got a choice but to loaf around. Depend on your "good will." [ And he echoes the phrase back with that same scorn. ]
But you. You let me hang around, much as you find me despicable. You open doors and cook dinner, and for what?
D'you think treatin' me all domestic is gonna make me stay, fill up this empty nest of yours? Is that it? You want me to stick around, play house with you? 'Cause you're barkin' up the wrong goddamn tree.
[ the twist in emma's chest does little for the rising anger that threatens to push the boundaries of her composure, of that carefully untouched expression, because she sure as hell doesn't want him to see that his vicious attempts to see her riled are working. her jaw clenches, fingers curling around her own elbow as she looks at him with that intense focus, hawk-like and precise.
breathe. breathe and don't let it slip.
don't let it show exactly the kind of stinging wounds those words dig into her. ]
I have no delusions about what you plan to do when that leg of yours is strong enough to carry you out. If it ever is.
But you saved my life. [ a begrudging admission. ] I thought at the least I ought to do right by you while you're barely able to take one miserable step without keeling over.
[ she doesn't want to let the edge of emotion show as she speaks, but it's threatening to creep in, threatening to push up into her words and make her voice crack.
goddamn it, no. ]
But I'm not countin' on you to stay. I know you haven't got a reason to— [ but part of her, part that she won't let anywhere near the surface, had hoped so badly that he might find one ] —so I can guarantee I haven't been suffering through your company simply out of the hope you'll find it in that black hole you call a heart to finally appreciate a speck of kindness.
I know why you're still here, Faraday, and if I had any inclination to keep you, I certainly would have asked rather than holding my damn breath.
[ "If it ever is" – and it's as good as a punch to the gut, the way the words steal the air from his lungs. And she just drives it home, that feeling of weakness, of helplessness, that reminder of how goddamn broken he is. It's like nails raking across his ribs, an icicle piercing through that "black hole" of his heart.
His good hand clenches around the grip of his crutch, knuckles turning white and metal creaking beneath him. ]
Well fine, then. [ He turns back around, the aches and pains from today's session dulled by the dark, seething mass in his chest. ] So long as we're on the same page. You don't got aims to keep me, and I ain't got it in my sights to be kept – least of all by you.
[ He lumbers down the hall to the room he's been staying in, and that bitterness lances through his chest again. Good Lord, he's been here far too long. If he could, he'd gather up his sparse belongings and leave tonight, with the moon high overhead to make up for the lack of working streetlamps around the neighborhood. Faraday no longer lacks for money, thanks to the payment he received for his part in the protection of this damned town.
And maybe he should leave, he thinks, reaching the door to his room. He pauses, hand on the knob, and looks up, anger still stark on his face.
Coldly, with a sour twist to his mouth, ]
Thank you for the hospitality, Mrs. Cullen.
[ And with that, he admits himself into the room, the door slamming shut behind him. ]
[ emma doesn't let her gaze fall away from faraday as he makes it to the door, as he looks back at her with that rage plain as day. the hard look she's managed to plaster on her face doesn't falter, even with that throbbing ache radiating out from her chest and the burning sting in her mark, but she keeps it all in place until the door closes loudly behind the gambler.
finally letting herself exhale, emma leans against the wall, pressing a hand momentarily over her eyes as she forces herself to steady, to breathe. she's shaky, a little off-kilter, and her breath comes with a small hitch (nothing she'd let faraday even catch a glimpse of, let alone acknowledge herself). everything feels like an overwhelming mix of anger and hurt, and now that faraday isn't standing in front of her, goading her on, she's a little aghast that she let herself get dragged into that.
that she'd said those things.
but damn it, her pride and that furious swirl of emotion isn't going to let her go anywhere near faraday right now, because there's no way she could summon up any sort of apology when she feels like this.
goddamn him.
she spends the rest of the evening distracting herself, making dinner, tidying up, fixing the small house project here and there that needs it; it's all something to do to ignore the gnawing in her chest and the dark cloud clinging to her mood. she doesn't go out of her way to let faraday know when the food is ready (mostly because she doesn't expect to see him for the rest of the evening), but on the off chance that he does find himself hungry, she'd left a small bowl of stew covered on the stove for him to heat, if it suited him.
she's even grateful when it's finally late enough for her to crawl into bed, and she takes the opportunity to curl up under the covers, press her face into the pillow, and just wait. it's not a night for easy sleep, but when it finally comes, she doesn't fight the much-needed rest.
of course, emma hasn't been the deepest sleeper since everything that happened with bogue, and it only takes the small sound of shuffling in the dead of night to get her to rouse. she slowly sits up, rubbing a fist over her eyes as she glances curiously towards the door of her room, listening again.
this time, a slightly louder thump.
she stiffens, and something— panics inside of her. she can't place what it is or why, but something feels wrong. ]
What in god's name...?
[ she's quick to climb out of bed, going to grab a light robe to wrap around herself, before stepping out into the hall to investigate. ]
[ The second the door slams shut behind him, Faraday has to lean back against it to catch his breath, to calm some of the fire still rampaging through him. (That was just one of his many problems, his mama had always said. Too filled with the Devil's own rage. Too blinded by it, just like his daddy.)
But not long after that, he moves around the small room with a renewed purpose. Gathering up the few odds and ends he had brought with him or had collected in his short stay in this godforsaken neighborhood. He had ridden in with little more than the clothes on his back and his few sparse belongings, including his guns, which means riding out should be just as easy. Minus a few things, plus a few new things – simple.
It takes him longer than he wanted, though. He lingers on the new things the grateful people of Rose Creek offered him on his return. A scarf, for the approaching cold season. New clothing to replace that which was torn and soaked through with blood. "Get Well" cards from people whose names Faraday never bothered to learn, having been so sure he would either die or leave before the dust settled.
How odd, finding a place where people might actually like him. Or at least, appreciate the idea of him.
The buzzing behind his breastbone like a hive of enraged wasps quickly reminds him not to settle, not to stop, because growing these connections was messy.
So hours after their blowout, sometime past midnight, Faraday steps out of his room, a bag slung over his shoulder. Weeks in town have amounted to little in the way of material things, but the bag still feels like a heavy weight on his back. He doesn't linger, though his gait is made awkward by his wounded leg and made even worse by the fact that he gave himself little time to actually rest after his therapy session today. His entire body feels like one bundle of knotted muscle, and his steps are stilted as he makes his escape.
One awkward brush against a wall, as he pauses for breath. One clumsy bump into the corner of a table, and he hisses out a curse as it jostles the things atop it. The creaking of a door, and Faraday's head shoots up to scowl into the dark. Emma's awake, it seems, and not wanting another shouting match, Faraday turns away. He closes the small space between him and the front door and slips through, not bothering to mask his exit. ]
[ emma can hear the movement far better once she's in the hall, and her eyes immediately settle on the open door to faraday's room. a quick glance tells her it's empty, and as the baffled frown on her expression deepens, the dread in her chest gets all the heavier. ]
Fara—
[ she doesn't even manage to get out his name before the front door opens, and he's just gone.
there's a moment where she just stands in the front room, dumbstruck and confused, and then—
something excruciating hits her like a goddamn truck, and she has to fight down a wave of unsteadiness threatening to knock her off her feet. she doesn't know why that strange, instinctual response is so strong and immediate, because she knows what faraday had inevitably intended to do. she'd told herself, repeatedly, that there would be a day that he'd stride out of her neighborhood without looking back, but the reality of it is so much more of a shock to her system than she expected. the coiling black mark on her forearm burns something fierce, and as she closes her eyes to try and fight it down, pressing a hand over the sting, she takes careful steps forward to the front door.
no, she's not just leaving it like that. not with all that misplaced anger and those vicious words.
she doesn't bother with shoes as she steps out into the cool night, leaving the front door open behind her. ]
Faraday.
[ it's not a shout; not even truly raising her voice at all, lest she wake any of her closer neighbors. ]
[ In those few seconds, he doesn't get very far. Hobbled by his healing wounds. Something in his chest wrenching as he crosses the threshold. Something crashing into him with all the strength of a freight train, making him stumble his next few steps.
He feels drunk with this sensation of wrongness that creeps into him, icy tendrils seeping through his veins. That coldness burns in his forearm, and he sucks in a breath, and his right hand clenches against the ache. Faraday tries to grin and bear it as he lurches forward.
The tether that yanks him back nearly topples him, like a master with his unruly dog. That sense of unease screams in his ears, some reminder that this is wrong, that he needs to go back, that he needs to fix this—
But he hears that other voice, too – the familiar one, whispering to leave it all behind. That this attachment has already left him near useless; waiting around all the more would surely kill him.
Emma's voice in the dark is a force all its own, quiet as it is. Another vicious pull on that tether that steals his breath, nearly unbalances him. He staggers to a stop, coldness creeping in his spine, coiling in his gut – a counterpoint to the fire still smouldering from their argument earlier.
Faraday keeps his back to her, head bowed to aim his grimace at the ground. His words are just as low, gritted out between clenched teeth, but it carries in the quiet. ]
[ everything is so still around them on the street that it feels almost surreal compared to the storm of sensation assailing her whole body. she remembers little mentions in those old stories, about how difficult and wrong it is to see soulmates parted, but she'd assumed it was more— subtle, more like that odd feeling from before, like her skin was too tight or her body couldn't settle, but this is so overwhelmingly powerful that it leaves her momentarily unable to gather her thoughts.
she catches his voice, and his words ring in her ears as she keeps a hand pressed over her mark, still trying to calm the throbbing it's chosen to adopt.
what does she want? ]
I—
[ she opens her mouth, but for once, she doesn't have a quick word at the ready. nothing sharp or dauntless or with her usual concise edge. ]
—I don't know.
[ because that's the reality: she has no goddamn idea what she wants — in this moment or in the grander scheme of this mess the universe has thrown their way. she'd felt compelled out into the night by something far more powerful and automatic than she could ever articulate, and she realizes, she'd gone after him without a plan. she thought she'd braced herself for this— inevitability, but standing here now, looking at faraday's back as he (tries) to walk away from her and her home...
something in her just twists, and she almost has to remind herself to breathe. ]
But don't— [ she stops, fingers curling on her arm as she tries again. ] Don't go yet.
[ yet.
(not that she wants him gone at all, she distantly realizes, especially if it means feeling like this. but if it's this easy for him to walk away, why would that change or make it any less painful if all that's done is delayed his leaving?) ]
[ The words freeze him in place, make something tentative hum in him, something almost pleased. Like some neglected pup earning its first kind look, and—
It makes him sick to his stomach, how strong that feeling is. How pathetic it is. How both of them are helpless to this thing between them, like it's turned Faraday into some sort of parasite, feeding of Emma's good will and patience.
He laughs, a bitter, hollow thing in the silence of the street. The aching muscles of his right arm protests as he brings up his hand to press against his brow. ]
Yet. That's how it's gonna be?
[ Faraday turns to look over his shoulder. A distant streetlamp provides just enough light that he can see her, or at least a dim outline – but even without it, that tether points him straight to where she stands, a handful of paces away from her doorstep. A magnet snapping to its polar opposite. ]
That's not you sayin' that. That's not you wantin' me.
It's this. [ And he gestures loosely to the space between them. ] This goddamn thing that's got us both by the throat.
"Yet," because I know you've been fixin' to leave since the start.
[ her voice isn't icy like before, not intended to be cutting or cruel. it's more a hollow statement of fact, still quiet, but now at least vaguely steady.
she rubs her palm down the length of her mark, trying to ease it, but there's no fighting it back right now, not with how insistent it is about all of these damned feelings that scream to keep its reflected mate near, like just the proximity will make it all settle again. ]
I can't want you if I keep expecting you're waiting for the first convenient moment to turn tail, Faraday.
[ because that's been the biggest thing holding her back since she felt that connection and rightness with faraday, since she knew what it's supposed to feel like being close to him, but she's also fought tooth and nail to push back those wants — because what they could be to her, what it might mean if she gets attached when he's just planning to leave anyway?
she has no idea why she'd do that to herself.
but then again, here she is, standing barefoot on her doorstep, asking him to stay instead of calling out "good riddance" or the like, as she probably ought to. ]
All this nonsense aside, the mark and— all of it, I'd be asking you here to stay if I thought you would, but there'd be no point if all you're looking for is a way out.
[ because she hasn't asked him to stay with her. she's given him the option by simply opening up her home to him, but she hasn't come outright and asked it of him — because she's always been so sure she already knew his answer. she'd told him before that she wasn't repulsed by their connection, wasn't trying to buck it off with every ounce of her being, and that is true. but given the otherwise overwhelming uncertainty, she'd found herself reluctant to simply turn into the skid and give into the powerful drag of the compulsion to be near him. letting herself want that, when she doesn't know what good it will do, is almost more terrifying than the appearance of the mark itself. ]
Don’t pretend like you haven’t been half-wishin’ I’d turn up missing.
[ Because those early days still sit clearly in his mind, how he could feel the heat of her eyes on his back, that frustration and annoyance coiling behind his sternum. That resentment has faded in recent days, though, nd maybe, maybe there had been a short moment when Faraday had considered it. Staying. He admits there’s some merit to feeling as though he might belong somewhere, to wander around a place and have people recognize you not as the cheat who had swindled them out of their hard-earned money, but as someone who might actually be worthy of some modicum of respect.
But today had just been an unpleasant reminder – that patience soon wears thin; that men like Faraday are better off on their own. ]
I’m tryin’ to save us both the trouble. You don’t want me here.
[ A warning, rather than a statement, though he says it with absolute certainty. ]
[ emma's frown is back in full force. she's not bristling, not offended, but— a touch hurt instead. ]
Is that how you feel I've been treating you? Like I'm just hopin' you'll disappear?
[ hesitant as she'd been to form a proper attachment to him, she doesn't think she's been hostile or condemning — not since the fight with bogue, not since everything had drawn to a close. she's been trying to come to terms with everything, while still juggling her grief and the twists and turns her life had taken at breakneck speed.
but she hasn't been praying for him to vanish. not even slightly.
(praying for her own patience, more like, but not for faraday to leave.) ]
[ He winces at the question, at the hurt in her voice. Barely there as it is, he still hadn’t expected to hear it. Lord, but it’s a change from earlier that same day, flinging ice and fire in a hellish storm of wills. Now, it’s just a quiet ache, like staring out over the wreckage and realizing just how much there is to fix.
If Faraday were an honest man, he’d admit that, no, he hasn’t sensed that same hostility, as in the early days. Not since that quiet moment under the stars. Not since she sat with him in his hospital room while he was drugged to his eyeballs on painkillers. Not since they found one another on the battlefield, their connection flooded by feelings of fear and excitement and battle-rage and worry.
So he doesn’t answer her question. Not directly, anyway. ]
It'd solve a whole lot of our problems if I did, wouldn't it?
[ she watches him quietly for a moment, considering her words before she speaks again. ]
Not in the way I want them solved.
[ she can at least say that with some sort of confidence. hard as this is, complicated as it's become, she knows she doesn't want him to disappear on her (especially not if it means feeling like she's being wrenched apart). ]
I told you, I'm not tryin' to shove this away anymore. I don't— [ she pauses, reevaluates. ] I'm not near sure what I want or how best to go about this, but I'm not in any hurry to see you gone. I know that much.
[ she's no good at this, partially because she's never had to be, never had to stare down her own pride and try to parse out something this difficult. things with matthew had always been easy, had just flowed, but with faraday, she feels like she's constantly tripping over herself and their differences, trying to find a middle ground (or, really, any ground to stand on with him). ]
[ Faraday brings up both hands, scrubbing his face, as if that alone could fix things, could uncoil the strange knot twisting in his stomach.
He had spent so much of his life being so sure about himself, about how he conducted himself. Make a quick buck by parting idiots from their cash – because if they were smarter, they would have seen right through him. Fuck and drink and laugh, because who the hell cares? Take easy jobs, now and again, if money was tight.
Taking a job from a bunch of hapless bastards living on the wrong plot of land should've been more of the same. The money was good. The job was suicidal. It should've been fun. It should've been easy.
And then Emma Cullen appeared, threw a giant wrench into the simple workings of his life. ]
So, what— [ His hands drop from his face. ] I stick around? Wait till you get sick of me?
Why do you keep expectin' I'll tire of your company before you decide to make tracks?
[ she hasn't lost her patience with him yet — or, well, not enough to want him gone; he's gotten on her nerves, certainly, and today was...much bigger than usual, but she hadn't wanted him to leave because of it.
irksome and exasperating as he could summon himself up to be, she didn't wish him away like she had before, in the beginning.
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emma means well okay
or body, as the case may be.
it's been weeks since the fight already, weeks of faraday staying in emma's home, of the two of them seeing each other every day. she takes care of him, as much as he'll let her, but she does her damnedest not to let it seem like doting or mothering because she intends it as neither; he's done a great deal for her neighborhood, for herself and the people who'd survived, and he deserves a place to recover from what he'd had to suffer through for a few dingy houses.
the injuries that faraday sustained were not ones so easily disregarded. as if bullet wounds weren't bad enough, he'd gone and blown himself right up, and though he'd (by some miracle) come out the other side alive, his body certainly wasn't going to end up anywhere near normal without time — and more than a little hard work.
physical therapy is hell, from what emma has heard. she doesn't envy faraday a second of it, not when it means dragging himself through exercises, pushing his body to remember how to even work right, but she still insists on taking him to every appointment, refuses to let him skip out no matter how much he complains and grumbles and curses. she knows how important this is to see him healed up, and while she still has no idea what they're doing with the marks, with...everything, she wants him healthy and strong again.
of course, the other downside of the physical therapy is that emma is vividly aware of exactly what kind of pain faraday is experiencing at his appointments. she didn't take the shots and her own body is perfectly fit, but her muscles ache and scream right alongside him, and some days, she's genuinely impressed that he's made it as far as he has.
because lord almighty, this hurts a whole hell of a lot.
shared sensations are something she could really do without when it comes to their bond, and while she's gotten far better at suppressing some of the physical echos she picks up from faraday, there are still days when the intensity overwhelms her ability to block anything out. she can't quite soothe the pain out of her own body — because it's not her that's hurt, not her own limbs and muscles that need to recover — and so she'll often spend his appointments trying to distract herself, trying to focus on a book or anything that isn't the refracted physical ache from her sou—
...
—from faraday.
however, despite that, on those days, she feels far more sympathy for the man than annoyance at their bond; after all, he's the one whose body needs to remember that it didn't die.
after a particularly rough appointment, emma doesn't much feel like making conversation on the way back to her home. god, that hurt like hell, but she realizes she's only feeling the secondhand pain of what faraday's had to go through, and— it's awful. she's never more grateful for how perfectly unscathed she'd ended up after the fight (though she realizes that's thanks to faraday, especially) than when she's in this office with the gambler.
in fact, if she could avoid this ever in the future, she'd much prefer that.
she drives past the still-scorched concrete where faraday's bomb had gone off (though they've all worked to clean up the rubble, preparing it for newly-laid cement), back to her house to park in her small driveway. she's even quiet when she's quick to get out of the car, to go around and open faraday's door.
these days, she tries to do small things like this when she can, to make it a bit easier when he has to get around with his crutch and his bad leg. she hardly even thinks about it anymore, because it's become one of the many gestures she'd gone out of her way to do — the ones that have now nearly become habit. ]
I was thinkin' stew for dinner, if that'll suit you.
[ soft, a casual comment as she holds the door for him. ]
let this woman rest
Except they weren't. And Bogue didn't. Though not for lack of trying.
Because Faraday didn't get to walk away from the table with his head held high. He was dragged away, really, because he was in no state to help himself. Scraped the bottom of his barrel of luck to wake not at the gates of Heaven or Hell, but to the unfamiliar ceiling of a hospital room. To Sam setting aside a book, catching Faraday's gaze, and murmuring with that half-smile of his, "There you are, son. You gave us a scare."
Over time, his skin knits back together, his bones mend, and he heals. For the most part. But then the casts are removed, the bandages tossed away, and suddenly, Faraday realizes that healing was the easy part. It was recovering that would be the true trial.
And the trial feels goddamn rigged. It fucking hurts, makes his muscles and weakened bones scream in protest all over again – and that's goddamn unfair, given that his pain had finally leveled off in the days before therapy began.
Surviving should have been more glamorous than this.
They've been at it for ages, he feels, but it doesn't seem like he's getting any better. His body is still sluggish, unruly, and weakened from the battle. These sessions were meant to make him better, weren't they? Except all they seemed to do was leave him as a trembling, breathless, pain-filled mess. Even when he groused or attempted to beg off just one session, Emma still managed to pile him into her car and leave him to what felt like torture.
And today, as Emma already knows, was bad.
He would be thankful for the silence on the drive back, except he hardly notices. His body feels like a long line of pain, and he spends most of the trip with his head tipped back against the headrest, eyes screwed shut as he tries to breathe through it. Tries to block it out with little success. It's only as he feels the rocking of the car on those last few turns – familiar by now, considering how often they've traveled these roads together – that he finally opens his eyes, stares fixedly out of the passenger window.
(They haven't fixed that damned road yet, he knows, and he grits his teeth and looks elsewhere whenever they pass it.)
The car slows to a stop, and as he's gathering up his things, Emma moves around to open the door for him. Common by now, and nearly common enough that it slipped Faraday's notice, most days – but today is different. Another reminder of his lack of improvement, and it makes something flare in his gut, white-hot and bitter.
Shame, maybe. Disappointment. Regret. ]
Whatever you like.
[ Gritted out on a low rumble, and directed mostly at the ground as he hauls himself out of his seat. It takes a bit of doing, balancing himself with one hand against the roof of the car, as he gets the crutch in place on his bad side. He leans more heavily on it than usual today, thanks to the soreness of his body. ]
Doesn't matter any to me.
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but today is one of those rough evenings, it seems. the barbed edges of the odd feedback in their bond rankles emma — but she's also not the one who's just endured an excruciating dose of physical therapy, so she tries to keep her own half of the link toned down, doing her best not to feed into the brewing storm of faraday's mood.
of course, disregarding his response to something as simple as opening his car door, emma's still already decided she's not going to avoid the little habits she's picked up to give faraday a hand. much as he may potentially resent it, there's no denying that it's needed more often than not, which is why she's still holding open the car door, waiting until he's stepped away before she closes it behind him. ]
Then I'll get it started.
[ she stays a few steps ahead of him as they approach the house to unlock the front door (new wood, new lock, freshly painted as it is), and, again, holds it open politely so he can follow her inside. ]
It'll take a bit, if you're needin' to rest before.
[ which is, admittedly, why she thought stew would be a viable option. it would need to cook for a couple hours at least before they could eat, which would give faraday time for a nap if he wanted it, or at least time to put his leg up and ease some of the leftover ache she can still feel reflected through the link. ]
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[ He snaps the answer back automatically, that shard of annoyance piercing through his chest again, irrational and sharp and edged with barbs.
(Give it time, they keep telling him. Keep working at it. It’ll get better.
Bullshit, he thinks.)
He’s not fine, even if he says it, and Faraday knows she’ll pick up on the lie. She’ll feel it twisting through their connection. She’ll feel the ache that reaches deep into his bones, and that bitter resentment seeps through him. He’s been here too damn long, he thinks, and that itch creeps up the back of his spine, familiar and insistent. That need to move before he roots himself too deeply, before he becomes too complacent.
A part of him knows he’s not being fair, knows that Emma doesn’t deserve him snarling at her like a rabid dog, but she’s the only one around to bark and snap at. That’s she’s liable to snap back is another point in her favor, and he needs some outlet for his frustration, this growing sense of helplessness crawling through him with fingers like ice.
It’s why he trudges inside, brushing past her with hardly a look. ]
Quit babyin’ me.
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all it manages to do is fan that aggravation she's been trying to curb as it wafts off of him in waves.
be understanding, she tells herself. he's in pain.
the annoyance still starts to knot itself in her chest, and she frowns after him, closing the door finally and turning to follow him into the house. ]
I'm not babyin' you, Faraday. I'm trying to be considerate.
[ because she knows how much he's hurting, and she knows that today was hard.
of course the problem is that emma's never been the most gracious towards a person lashing out at her — because she has the kind of sharp tongue and hot temper that'll have her snapping back just as quick. for the moment, however, she's trying not to let it get to her, honest-to-god trying. ]
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And normally Faraday is better about recognizing those good intentions for what they are, but their kindness, their sympathy, makes him itch just beneath the surface of his skin. Makes him want to lash out like a cornered animal, all teeth and claws and wild violence.
It’s harder keeping those inclinations in check today with his whole body feeling like a gnarled knot of muscle, every nerve screaming. Even harder knowing that he wouldn’t be like this if it weren’t for these bastards, who couldn’t hit the broadside of a big rig with a handful of rocks from ten paces away. ]
Hang your consideration. [ And he parrots the word back with disdain, half turning to face her. His upper lip pulls away from his teeth in a sneer. ] Call it what it is, Emma: it’s goddamn pity.
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but emma, as she's always been, is far more inclined to shove back than allow someone like faraday to speak to her like this; no matter what they'd been through, no matter what he technically is to her, oh, this doesn't get to just slip right on by. ]
I assure you, Joshua Faraday— [ her tone is flat, unaffected, but absolute ice. ] —you are the last man I would see fit to pity.
[ like he's not deserving of it, like she couldn't even summon up a real ounce of pity for a man cut from faraday's cloth. ]
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But that’s good, he thinks. He wanted a reaction. Wanted her to remind him of the kind of man he is. Didn’t want her mistaking him for someone actually worth a damn. Better than the soft looks of concern, the little gestures to hammer home just how terribly he had been mangled in her damned war.
Somehow, surviving felt like a punishment. Emma was rewarded a bastard like Faraday. And Faraday was rewarded with days and nights of pain. A useless lump of a right arm that refuses to move as he tells it to. (And what the fuck could he do with that, when he made his living on swindling folks out of their money in billiards? When he survived his marks’ wrath by the quickness of his gunhand?)
A killer for hire. That’s all he was – a desperate man bought at the right price. And that’s all he had been to Emma from the start: a weapon to point and shoot. Nothing more than that, regardless of the mark swirling on the inside of his forearm or the unsteady truce hovering between them. Kindness borne of guilt. That’s all this was.
After all, bearing that in mind would make it easier when he finally gathered up strength enough to finally leave. ]
Good. [ A dark, bitter satisfaction at her admission. ] Keep it that way, Cullen, ‘cause I’m the last man who would ever want it.
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emma feels that hurt refracted back on her, and it mingles with the lingering muscular ache that she's tried so hard to ignore. it's not her body that hurts, and she's not the one who's gone through the physical therapy today, but that throbbing, leftover pain is still there. it doesn't do much to help her already short temper, and these jolting, fragmented shots of emotion through the link are— distracting, twisting in her chest.
the mark gives an unpleasant twinge as that knotted mess tightens again at the use of her last name (because it's been "emma" for a good while now, never "cullen"), and she just pointedly crosses her arms over her chest, hiding the coiled design against her blouse. ]
I am more than aware.
[ her words are still cold, carefully maintaining her steady voice — because she doesn't like to give herself away, doesn't want a smidgen of that unsteady, uncertain feeling slipping out. ]
Don't go and confuse my good will for pity, Faraday, because I guarantee that would have worn thin a long time ago.
[ trying man that he is, if emma only felt he should stay because she pitied him, he would have made himself unwelcome very early on. if she's honest, having faraday around is more of an inconvenience than anything else, especially given how much work she's still trying to accomplish, all she still has to do for her neighborhood, and he's not remotely recovered enough to be any use now.
emma is a compassionate woman, but if all that sustained her care of faraday was pity?
she doubts she would have managed this for near so long.
it is not, however, the kind of thing she's prepared to cop to, and if she can shuffle that back, bury it under layers of chilly looks and colder words, she'll take that method easy. after all, she can feel the way he's provoking her, trying to get a rise out of her, but she's not eager to oblige him with shouts or curses or a proper physical display.
but she sure can summon up the kind of ice that would manage a blizzard in hell itself. ]
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Better this way, he tells himself, even if it stings more smartly than a slap to the face.
He snorts out a derisive laugh, the metal of his crutch clanking as he turns to face her. ]
Then what the hell am I still doin' here?
[ Growled out, like a snapping dog. ]
Me, I know why I'm here. I ain't got a choice but to loaf around. Depend on your "good will." [ And he echoes the phrase back with that same scorn. ]
But you. You let me hang around, much as you find me despicable. You open doors and cook dinner, and for what?
D'you think treatin' me all domestic is gonna make me stay, fill up this empty nest of yours? Is that it? You want me to stick around, play house with you? 'Cause you're barkin' up the wrong goddamn tree.
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breathe. breathe and don't let it slip.
don't let it show exactly the kind of stinging wounds those words dig into her. ]
I have no delusions about what you plan to do when that leg of yours is strong enough to carry you out. If it ever is.
But you saved my life. [ a begrudging admission. ] I thought at the least I ought to do right by you while you're barely able to take one miserable step without keeling over.
[ she doesn't want to let the edge of emotion show as she speaks, but it's threatening to creep in, threatening to push up into her words and make her voice crack.
goddamn it, no. ]
But I'm not countin' on you to stay. I know you haven't got a reason to— [ but part of her, part that she won't let anywhere near the surface, had hoped so badly that he might find one ] —so I can guarantee I haven't been suffering through your company simply out of the hope you'll find it in that black hole you call a heart to finally appreciate a speck of kindness.
I know why you're still here, Faraday, and if I had any inclination to keep you, I certainly would have asked rather than holding my damn breath.
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His good hand clenches around the grip of his crutch, knuckles turning white and metal creaking beneath him. ]
Well fine, then. [ He turns back around, the aches and pains from today's session dulled by the dark, seething mass in his chest. ] So long as we're on the same page. You don't got aims to keep me, and I ain't got it in my sights to be kept – least of all by you.
[ He lumbers down the hall to the room he's been staying in, and that bitterness lances through his chest again. Good Lord, he's been here far too long. If he could, he'd gather up his sparse belongings and leave tonight, with the moon high overhead to make up for the lack of working streetlamps around the neighborhood. Faraday no longer lacks for money, thanks to the payment he received for his part in the protection of this damned town.
And maybe he should leave, he thinks, reaching the door to his room. He pauses, hand on the knob, and looks up, anger still stark on his face.
Coldly, with a sour twist to his mouth, ]
Thank you for the hospitality, Mrs. Cullen.
[ And with that, he admits himself into the room, the door slamming shut behind him. ]
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finally letting herself exhale, emma leans against the wall, pressing a hand momentarily over her eyes as she forces herself to steady, to breathe. she's shaky, a little off-kilter, and her breath comes with a small hitch (nothing she'd let faraday even catch a glimpse of, let alone acknowledge herself). everything feels like an overwhelming mix of anger and hurt, and now that faraday isn't standing in front of her, goading her on, she's a little aghast that she let herself get dragged into that.
that she'd said those things.
but damn it, her pride and that furious swirl of emotion isn't going to let her go anywhere near faraday right now, because there's no way she could summon up any sort of apology when she feels like this.
goddamn him.
she spends the rest of the evening distracting herself, making dinner, tidying up, fixing the small house project here and there that needs it; it's all something to do to ignore the gnawing in her chest and the dark cloud clinging to her mood. she doesn't go out of her way to let faraday know when the food is ready (mostly because she doesn't expect to see him for the rest of the evening), but on the off chance that he does find himself hungry, she'd left a small bowl of stew covered on the stove for him to heat, if it suited him.
she's even grateful when it's finally late enough for her to crawl into bed, and she takes the opportunity to curl up under the covers, press her face into the pillow, and just wait. it's not a night for easy sleep, but when it finally comes, she doesn't fight the much-needed rest.
of course, emma hasn't been the deepest sleeper since everything that happened with bogue, and it only takes the small sound of shuffling in the dead of night to get her to rouse. she slowly sits up, rubbing a fist over her eyes as she glances curiously towards the door of her room, listening again.
this time, a slightly louder thump.
she stiffens, and something— panics inside of her. she can't place what it is or why, but something feels wrong. ]
What in god's name...?
[ she's quick to climb out of bed, going to grab a light robe to wrap around herself, before stepping out into the hall to investigate. ]
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But not long after that, he moves around the small room with a renewed purpose. Gathering up the few odds and ends he had brought with him or had collected in his short stay in this godforsaken neighborhood. He had ridden in with little more than the clothes on his back and his few sparse belongings, including his guns, which means riding out should be just as easy. Minus a few things, plus a few new things – simple.
It takes him longer than he wanted, though. He lingers on the new things the grateful people of Rose Creek offered him on his return. A scarf, for the approaching cold season. New clothing to replace that which was torn and soaked through with blood. "Get Well" cards from people whose names Faraday never bothered to learn, having been so sure he would either die or leave before the dust settled.
How odd, finding a place where people might actually like him. Or at least, appreciate the idea of him.
The buzzing behind his breastbone like a hive of enraged wasps quickly reminds him not to settle, not to stop, because growing these connections was messy.
So hours after their blowout, sometime past midnight, Faraday steps out of his room, a bag slung over his shoulder. Weeks in town have amounted to little in the way of material things, but the bag still feels like a heavy weight on his back. He doesn't linger, though his gait is made awkward by his wounded leg and made even worse by the fact that he gave himself little time to actually rest after his therapy session today. His entire body feels like one bundle of knotted muscle, and his steps are stilted as he makes his escape.
One awkward brush against a wall, as he pauses for breath. One clumsy bump into the corner of a table, and he hisses out a curse as it jostles the things atop it. The creaking of a door, and Faraday's head shoots up to scowl into the dark. Emma's awake, it seems, and not wanting another shouting match, Faraday turns away. He closes the small space between him and the front door and slips through, not bothering to mask his exit. ]
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Fara—
[ she doesn't even manage to get out his name before the front door opens, and he's just gone.
there's a moment where she just stands in the front room, dumbstruck and confused, and then—
something excruciating hits her like a goddamn truck, and she has to fight down a wave of unsteadiness threatening to knock her off her feet. she doesn't know why that strange, instinctual response is so strong and immediate, because she knows what faraday had inevitably intended to do. she'd told herself, repeatedly, that there would be a day that he'd stride out of her neighborhood without looking back, but the reality of it is so much more of a shock to her system than she expected. the coiling black mark on her forearm burns something fierce, and as she closes her eyes to try and fight it down, pressing a hand over the sting, she takes careful steps forward to the front door.
no, she's not just leaving it like that. not with all that misplaced anger and those vicious words.
she doesn't bother with shoes as she steps out into the cool night, leaving the front door open behind her. ]
Faraday.
[ it's not a shout; not even truly raising her voice at all, lest she wake any of her closer neighbors. ]
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He feels drunk with this sensation of wrongness that creeps into him, icy tendrils seeping through his veins. That coldness burns in his forearm, and he sucks in a breath, and his right hand clenches against the ache. Faraday tries to grin and bear it as he lurches forward.
The tether that yanks him back nearly topples him, like a master with his unruly dog. That sense of unease screams in his ears, some reminder that this is wrong, that he needs to go back, that he needs to fix this—
But he hears that other voice, too – the familiar one, whispering to leave it all behind. That this attachment has already left him near useless; waiting around all the more would surely kill him.
Emma's voice in the dark is a force all its own, quiet as it is. Another vicious pull on that tether that steals his breath, nearly unbalances him. He staggers to a stop, coldness creeping in his spine, coiling in his gut – a counterpoint to the fire still smouldering from their argument earlier.
Faraday keeps his back to her, head bowed to aim his grimace at the ground. His words are just as low, gritted out between clenched teeth, but it carries in the quiet. ]
What do you want?
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she catches his voice, and his words ring in her ears as she keeps a hand pressed over her mark, still trying to calm the throbbing it's chosen to adopt.
what does she want? ]
I—
[ she opens her mouth, but for once, she doesn't have a quick word at the ready. nothing sharp or dauntless or with her usual concise edge. ]
—I don't know.
[ because that's the reality: she has no goddamn idea what she wants — in this moment or in the grander scheme of this mess the universe has thrown their way. she'd felt compelled out into the night by something far more powerful and automatic than she could ever articulate, and she realizes, she'd gone after him without a plan. she thought she'd braced herself for this— inevitability, but standing here now, looking at faraday's back as he (tries) to walk away from her and her home...
something in her just twists, and she almost has to remind herself to breathe. ]
But don't— [ she stops, fingers curling on her arm as she tries again. ] Don't go yet.
[ yet.
(not that she wants him gone at all, she distantly realizes, especially if it means feeling like this. but if it's this easy for him to walk away, why would that change or make it any less painful if all that's done is delayed his leaving?) ]
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It makes him sick to his stomach, how strong that feeling is. How pathetic it is. How both of them are helpless to this thing between them, like it's turned Faraday into some sort of parasite, feeding of Emma's good will and patience.
He laughs, a bitter, hollow thing in the silence of the street. The aching muscles of his right arm protests as he brings up his hand to press against his brow. ]
Yet. That's how it's gonna be?
[ Faraday turns to look over his shoulder. A distant streetlamp provides just enough light that he can see her, or at least a dim outline – but even without it, that tether points him straight to where she stands, a handful of paces away from her doorstep. A magnet snapping to its polar opposite. ]
That's not you sayin' that. That's not you wantin' me.
It's this. [ And he gestures loosely to the space between them. ] This goddamn thing that's got us both by the throat.
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[ her voice isn't icy like before, not intended to be cutting or cruel. it's more a hollow statement of fact, still quiet, but now at least vaguely steady.
she rubs her palm down the length of her mark, trying to ease it, but there's no fighting it back right now, not with how insistent it is about all of these damned feelings that scream to keep its reflected mate near, like just the proximity will make it all settle again. ]
I can't want you if I keep expecting you're waiting for the first convenient moment to turn tail, Faraday.
[ because that's been the biggest thing holding her back since she felt that connection and rightness with faraday, since she knew what it's supposed to feel like being close to him, but she's also fought tooth and nail to push back those wants — because what they could be to her, what it might mean if she gets attached when he's just planning to leave anyway?
she has no idea why she'd do that to herself.
but then again, here she is, standing barefoot on her doorstep, asking him to stay instead of calling out "good riddance" or the like, as she probably ought to. ]
All this nonsense aside, the mark and— all of it, I'd be asking you here to stay if I thought you would, but there'd be no point if all you're looking for is a way out.
[ because she hasn't asked him to stay with her. she's given him the option by simply opening up her home to him, but she hasn't come outright and asked it of him — because she's always been so sure she already knew his answer. she'd told him before that she wasn't repulsed by their connection, wasn't trying to buck it off with every ounce of her being, and that is true. but given the otherwise overwhelming uncertainty, she'd found herself reluctant to simply turn into the skid and give into the powerful drag of the compulsion to be near him. letting herself want that, when she doesn't know what good it will do, is almost more terrifying than the appearance of the mark itself. ]
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[ Because those early days still sit clearly in his mind, how he could feel the heat of her eyes on his back, that frustration and annoyance coiling behind his sternum. That resentment has faded in recent days, though, nd maybe, maybe there had been a short moment when Faraday had considered it. Staying. He admits there’s some merit to feeling as though he might belong somewhere, to wander around a place and have people recognize you not as the cheat who had swindled them out of their hard-earned money, but as someone who might actually be worthy of some modicum of respect.
But today had just been an unpleasant reminder – that patience soon wears thin; that men like Faraday are better off on their own. ]
I’m tryin’ to save us both the trouble. You don’t want me here.
[ A warning, rather than a statement, though he says it with absolute certainty. ]
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Is that how you feel I've been treating you? Like I'm just hopin' you'll disappear?
[ hesitant as she'd been to form a proper attachment to him, she doesn't think she's been hostile or condemning — not since the fight with bogue, not since everything had drawn to a close. she's been trying to come to terms with everything, while still juggling her grief and the twists and turns her life had taken at breakneck speed.
but she hasn't been praying for him to vanish. not even slightly.
(praying for her own patience, more like, but not for faraday to leave.) ]
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If Faraday were an honest man, he’d admit that, no, he hasn’t sensed that same hostility, as in the early days. Not since that quiet moment under the stars. Not since she sat with him in his hospital room while he was drugged to his eyeballs on painkillers. Not since they found one another on the battlefield, their connection flooded by feelings of fear and excitement and battle-rage and worry.
So he doesn’t answer her question. Not directly, anyway. ]
It'd solve a whole lot of our problems if I did, wouldn't it?
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Not in the way I want them solved.
[ she can at least say that with some sort of confidence. hard as this is, complicated as it's become, she knows she doesn't want him to disappear on her (especially not if it means feeling like she's being wrenched apart). ]
I told you, I'm not tryin' to shove this away anymore. I don't— [ she pauses, reevaluates. ] I'm not near sure what I want or how best to go about this, but I'm not in any hurry to see you gone. I know that much.
[ she's no good at this, partially because she's never had to be, never had to stare down her own pride and try to parse out something this difficult. things with matthew had always been easy, had just flowed, but with faraday, she feels like she's constantly tripping over herself and their differences, trying to find a middle ground (or, really, any ground to stand on with him). ]
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He had spent so much of his life being so sure about himself, about how he conducted himself. Make a quick buck by parting idiots from their cash – because if they were smarter, they would have seen right through him. Fuck and drink and laugh, because who the hell cares? Take easy jobs, now and again, if money was tight.
Taking a job from a bunch of hapless bastards living on the wrong plot of land should've been more of the same. The money was good. The job was suicidal. It should've been fun. It should've been easy.
And then Emma Cullen appeared, threw a giant wrench into the simple workings of his life. ]
So, what— [ His hands drop from his face. ] I stick around? Wait till you get sick of me?
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[ she hasn't lost her patience with him yet — or, well, not enough to want him gone; he's gotten on her nerves, certainly, and today was...much bigger than usual, but she hadn't wanted him to leave because of it.
irksome and exasperating as he could summon himself up to be, she didn't wish him away like she had before, in the beginning.
she hadn't for a good while now. ]
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