[ after their blowout, emma legitimately thought faraday was gone for good — or as much as he could be, tied to the town as he was. but she knows he can make himself as visible as he likes, and if he didn't want her to see him, she wouldn't. it's what she expects, really, to (at the most) catch a glimpse of him before he's gone again, to see him out of the corner of her eye but never that warm, easy smile. never that roguish grin so often followed by an absurd joke or a tall tale. never faraday and that presence he'd brought around to brighten up her home.
she thinks he meant what he said, and she finds that loss sits in the pit of her stomach heavy as his death had done.
it's like he's died all over again, she realizes, and that aches. she can't put it into words, or describe why it hurts so terribly, but emma is hardly herself for days after, enough so that others in town notice. she brushes off their concern with a small smile, assures them that it's nothing more than a few restless nights keeping her up. (teddy is especially worried about her, expresses concern that she's out at that house all alone and that sure can't be good for a lady like herself.
she tells him exactly the same: that she's completely fine.)
it's not until things start to...move that she realizes faraday is actually there.
coffee already ready and waiting. a properly stoked fire when she knows she hasn't gone to touch it herself. newly chopped firewood to keep the house warm (because the winter chill has truly set in now, uncomfortable as it happens to be). she's utterly confused by the gestures at first, because while she knows it means faraday is there, she hasn't seen him, hasn't said a word to him, hasn't had the opportunity to so much as thank him.
she tries one night, to at least show her gratitude for the appearance of a blanket while she sat sleepily in a chair. she hadn't quite drifted, but she'd been nodding off, shivering a bit, and then that throw had been settled over her, the weight enough to make her open her eyes.
no one in the room; not a single whisper of faraday, but the gesture was there all the same.
"Faraday?"
when she hadn't gotten an answer, she just sighed and curled up with the blanket again, mumbling a quiet, "thank you," as she drifted.
the worst part is that she feels she owes him a real apology for their last interaction. the things she'd said had been far from kind, even pushing towards unfair, and she realizes after that making him feel so shamed and angry wasn't her intention at all. in fact, the entire thing had gotten so out of hand that she's embarrassed by how quick and cruel her temper had proved to be. even if he had caused a scene in town, he hadn't deserved that level of treatment, and she shouldn't have let him rile her up.
and she sure shouldn't have slapped him.
that still gives her pause when she thinks on it. she can still remember the feel of his skin under her palm, because she had hit him, truly had, and he'd felt just as much a person as the next man. he'd felt near alive, though she knew that was impossible. couldn't be reality.
not with his body six feet under in that pine box.
but all the same, she knows that she'd touched him, and if he's that solid, she nearly wonders if others in the town had bumped into him, if they had started to see him? what manner had his existence taken on that he was able to be so...human? spectre that he is, dead and gone for all intents and purposes, she didn't think it possible, that she'd always pass through him for that icy brush with death, but that had been far from the feel of a ghost.
they need to talk, she finally decides, and she wants to know if that physical aspect has remained or if he's just as noncorporeal as he'd been before (and she also wants to...try to apologize for the lines she crossed; "try" being the operative word). she's not sure how to get him to show up, given how much he's been avoiding her, but she does notice that the playing cards move every day, always in a new space, and well, it wouldn't surprise her to know he's still practicing his tricks.
one evening, after the sun's properly set, emma finds the cards on her table. pursing her lips, she scoops up the deck, carrying them over to her dying fire, and holds them straight out over the embers. ]
Joshua Faraday, you have to the count of five, and then I'm droppin' these right into the hearth.
This is not a surprising fact. He is routinely an ass – had been in life, has been in undeath, and that’s not likely to change.
But specifically, a handful of days after their argument, he began to think, I might have gone too far. And a full week afterward, with guilt eating away at him from the inside out, he started thinking, Joshua Faraday, you are a complete and utter son of a bitch.
He replays the fight over and over and over in his head – because being what he is, he has an abundance of free time, has no need of sleep to while away the hours, no need to work to make a living – and he knows it was a mistake to say those things, to let his anger boil over so brilliantly. For as mean a cuss as he is, as much of a bastard as he is, Faraday knows his faults and pretends to wear them with pride – but deep down, he’s ashamed of them. He’s been called worse things than what Emma called him on that day, but Emma is the first and only person in his life and unlife to drag all of those faults into the light, to rip open those old scars and pour salt all over them.
She was right, of course, on every count, and that had hurt. But it hurt even more to hear it all in her voice, cold and impassive.
A week of waiting isn’t a lot of time, all things considered, but it’s enough for him to know this problem won’t go away, no matter how hard he tries to ignore it. It’s enough to know that he should make amends, though Faraday has no idea how to go about it or how welcome his presence would be. (Probably not at all, considering what he said and what she said, and all the bad blood left in between.) So he does small things by way of apology. Chopping wood comes pretty easily, as does tending to the fire. Coffee is a little more difficult – he tends to make it strong – but he manages it all the same.
Faraday spends his time nearby, or wandering through town, or in that in-between state, neither awake nor asleep. And he’s lonely, but he reckons that’s what he deserves for the awful things he said. Deserves a lot worse, really, like another smack across the face at the very least. And that’s a funny thing, that getting slapped is even possible, but apparently it is now.
He hasn’t tested out his newfound physicality, not on another person; every time he reached out to grasp someone’s arm, he reconsidered. Probably for the best – he didn’t want to startle someone into a heart attack. But he’s— different now, and he doesn’t know why or how. Still invisible, surely, still inaudible, but different. When he grabs for an axe, he can feel the wood grain of the handle. When he stands at Emma’s hearth and tends to the fire, he feels the heat of flame, the roughness of the iron poker. When he drops a blanket over her, he feels the softness of the material. And he tests it in the dead of night with the stack of playing cards in his hands, feels the way the paper rasps against his palms as the cards riffle and bridge. The old tricks come back easily – palming cards, hiding them behind his fingers, double-lifting them as he deals. Something like relief flows through him – although it’s tempered by… everything that’s happened.
It’s been a bad week.
He’s drifting through when Emma calls for him, and he pauses. For a second, he considers ignoring her, because he’s not sure if he’s ready to hear what she has to say, isn’t sure if he’s ready to apologize. The sting of her words are still as fresh as the day they were said, and part of him worries she’s trying for a second round, trying to tell him that his gestures are unappreciated and that he needed to leave her alone for good. He starts turning away, intent on saving this conversation for another day—
Until he notices the cards.
They hadn’t been his personal deck – the set that had been with him on the day of his death – but he’d grown accustomed to them, all the same. Attached, even, though that’s a silly thing (though maybe not so silly, considering they’re about the only things on this mortal plane that Faraday considers his.) And when she actually starts counting, and a sort of nervousness clenches in his stomach.
Faraday lets her get as far as four, and just as she’s inhaling, forming the word five, he appears about two arms’ lengths away – a marked difference from the norm, where he’d materialize directly beside her just to make her jump. For a second, he just stares at her with a guarded expression, arms akimbo, before he reaches out with his right hand. ]
[ he'd let her get mighty close to five, and she hadn't been sure if he simply didn't hear her or rather, didn't care to let her see him. she'll be disappointed if that's the case, but she realizes she won't actually drop the cards, if he doesn't show. that would be far too unkind, and emma doesn't care to do that to him. even if he wasn't ready to talk or...whatever it is they ought to do to find common ground, she wouldn't want to destroy something he enjoyed so much.
when he finally does appear, she tries not to give away the relief she feels, the flush of warmth at just the sight of him (which is an odd sensation she's certainly not going to think on). drawing the cards away from the flame, she holds them close, but doesn't offer them to him. ]
Do you promise not to vanish if I do?
[ because she doesn't want him to just cut and run with the cards; that's not the point of this, not the reason she tried so hard to draw him out. it matters to her that he'll promise to stay put, at least long enough to put some things to rest, to maybe tell him that his presence isn't simply tolerated.
[ It takes him a moment to answer – apparently it's a difficult question she's asked him, because he frowns, hand shrinking back slightly. ]
Depends on what you want.
[ Which isn't very fair of him. She could've called him out here for any number of things, but the reason his imagination provides is one final cutting of ties. And if that's the case, he really shouldn't just disappear on her, should listen to what she has to say and dutifully comply, rather than clamp his hands over his ears and pretend she hadn't asked for him in the first place.
He breathes in slowly, then out (not that he actually breathes anymore, and drops his hand to his hip again. ]
[ well, at least it's not the immediate refusal that it could have been, and emma will consider that a step in the right direction. he's here, he's not disappearing, and that's good enough (for now).
she relaxes slightly, her grip on the deck loosening, but she doesn't hold it out to him just yet. she hesitates, opening her mouth to speak, only then realizing that she has so many things she wants to say, so much she could say, and she has no idea where to start. ]
...I missed seein' you.
[ —well, that's not where she thought she'd pick this up.
it's an honest admission, though, and she looks mildly embarrassed, but— she does want him to know that. she wants him to know, somehow, that she hadn't just been tolerating his presence, that she'd been glad to have him around, even if admitting that would be just as difficult for her. ]
And I haven't liked havin' you gone.
[ she crosses her arms over her chest with the cards, the posture a little defensive, like she's wary about the kind of reception she may get from him; as much as she wants to set this right, part of her is worried he won't be quite so accepting of any apologies or attempts to talk this out, that she'll just be exposing a vulnerable aspect of herself for nothing. ]
[ ... Of all the ways to start this conversation, that was a possibility that certainly hadn't crossed his mind.
His expression goes slack, and he stares at her, because he couldn't have possibly heard her right – not after everything they'd said to each other. This reprieve from his company had to have been a blessing, must have been a wild relief.
Except she goes on, and it's more difficult to tell himself he misheard her. He rocks back a little, not quite keeping the frown from his face – and it's more a look of confusion than anything. ]
I— I figured you wouldn't care to see me. Considerin'...
[ well, confusion is admittedly a far sight better reaction than emma had been bracing herself for; it's not derisive laughter or a dismissive comment, and just a touch of the tension goes out of her shoulders when it's clear he isn't going to needle at that hint of vulnerability. ]
...it's just been mighty quiet without you around.
[ and she hadn't liked it, not one bit.
he'd upset her, said some awful things, but so had she; she's far from innocent here, but without the heat of the moment, the burn of anger and indignation, it feels near ridiculous how worked up she'd gotten, how she'd let herself get caught up in trying to make him hurt just as much as she did.
that hadn't been one of her finer moments. ]
I was...
[ she sighs, brushing her hair away from her face before glancing at faraday again. ]
I was upset with you, but I actually thought—
[ getting this out is a whole new kind of difficult, she realizes. she never had throwdowns like this with matthew, so reconciling isn't her forte. ]
—I thought you weren't gonna come back.
[ and that hadn't sat well with her, not even a little. it's why the small signs that he'd been there, the gestures of kindness and apology (if that's how he'd meant them) had been so important to her. it was a guarantee that he hadn't just gone for good and left her alone in that house again. ]
[ Somehow, everything she says just leaves him more bewildered, more surprised, because – there had been a quietness to the way she spoke to him during their argument. A calmness that reminded Faraday of someone stating dark, necessary little truths – unpleasant and difficult to hear, but honest all the same.
He was a contemptible man, whose presence Emma only tolerated out of necessity. A drunkard, a killer, a sinner, unchanged by his life or the end of it. Things he knew and knew well.
So hearing the facts fall from Emma's lips, with that emotionless stare and impassive voice – each word had torn through him like a bullet from a Gatling gun, but it had been true. He could hardly fault her for them, in the end, but hearing her say she missed him, despite his every fault, hearing her say she worried he wouldn't return—
... Well. He has no idea how to react.
For a long moment, Faraday stays silent, watching her, wondering if staring at her long enough might reveal the falsehood in her words, but he doesn't see it – the telltale twitches, the sharp, nervous glances away that signal a lie. She seems to be telling the truth, and all he can think, all he can finally blurt out is, ]
Why?
[ It falls from his lips before he can stop it, and he winces at himself, at how ungracefully he asked it. Too late to take it back, though, and he reluctantly presses forward. ]
I— I thought you'd be glad for my absence. Sounded like you should've been, anyway.
[ the way emma had talked to faraday— it had been purposeful. it had been meant to hurt him, is the worst part, without giving any of herself away at the same time. she doesn't react with violent, obvious anger like faraday — not until she's truly pushed, like she had been when he'd brought up matthew — especially not when it's so clear that meeting that sort of flashbang rage with her own would have been more easily written off than the sort of quiet, unmovable disgust she could really summon up.
that had far and away had the effect she'd wanted it to — at the time.
after, she'd just felt guilty.
and there he just has to go and ask those questions, the hard ones that she struggles to answer even for herself. her body language doesn't radiate that of a liar, but rather, someone uncertain, like she's out of her element — which she is. ]
Because—
[ her lips purse, brow furrowing, and she tries to figure out how to properly articulate what she whats to say. ]
Because I've gotten accustomed to havin' you here with me.
[ because he's become a part of her life in ways she didn't expect, and she'd felt a kind of emptiness when he vanished. ]
And everything I said to make you think otherwise...
[ her jaw tightens, and she looks to the fire before finally turning her eyes on faraday. ]
I said it to be unkind. Not because I wanted you gone.
[ For all the time he'd run over the argument, he'd also considered how their second round would go, if it ever came to it. He had imagined more yelling (from him) and more of those truths fired with pinpoint accuracy (from her), and the storm of his rage would meet the calm of hers, until the two of them finally ricocheted off one another, separated at last.
He never imagined this: him, standing in stunned confusion. Emma – a woman he had known to be steadfast and sure, relentless and determined when she took a stance – to look at him so uncertainly, to struggle with what to say, when he had almost constantly seen her fire words back at a man as if they were always chambered and always at the ready.
This is— this is unexpected.
Faraday bows his head, examines the wooden floorboards beneath his feet, and he takes a deep, fortifying breath. ]
You weren't wrong, though. On any particular account.
[ He pauses, swallows down the flare of guilt, before he pushes on. ]
Things I said to you, though. [ Hesitant, as though he's picking his words carefully. ] I didn't— I didn't mean any of it. Just meant for it to hurt, I suppose. But I didn't— I don't actually think any of that.
[ this is why emma feels so far out of her element with faraday: when she's usually so steady, so in control, he makes her feel...something. he throws her off-kilter, puts her in these situations where she's flatout uncomfortable, because lord, never has she had to apologize to a man whom she'd so thoroughly torn down with her words. never has she actually been in a sort of argument like the past week, not with someone she—
cared about?
that sort of tone, that kind of sniper-like efficiency didn't tend to be directed at people she thought important — but she also had never been close to someone whose temper could so perfectly stoke her own, until they were both simply pouring oil on the respective fires of their rage. there's no need for it to have gotten so out of hand, she'd realized, but she'd let herself get sucked into the argument and let his words fuel her own, until some incredibly hurtful things had been said.
but not things she'd meant.
as he continues to speak, however, she's almost taken aback by his admission, that he didn't truly believe what he'd said to her, and that— that helps. ]
I'm not lookin' to replace you, Faraday, you know that?
[ her voice is soft, but it doesn't waver; the candidness in her tone is clear, because she wants him to believe she means it. ]
Having you here, I'm not sufferin' through any of it.
[ pain that he may be on occasion, she doesn't think of him as a burden.
she doesn't mention matthew, mostly because that still stings a touch. ]
And those things I said about you...they were supposed to be cruel, but I don't truly believe any of it. If I did, would I actually be wantin' you around?
[ and admitting this is hard as hell, but she does it all the same, even for the hit her pride takes. she looks uncomfortable, and that's because she really is; she's not used to this kind of conversation, by any means, and feeling like an apology is owed and trying to give it— difficult, is what it is.
she sighs, looking away from faraday and to the cards still in her hand, before holding them out to him. ]
[ He watches her again, listens to her words, tries to pick out the tells for a bluff. Shifty eyes or a nervous posture or too wide eyes that tried too hard to pass for innocence. Emma offers none of that, though, reads to him as someone struggling beyond their depths, unused to admitting fault or— unused to swallowing their pride, maybe.
Faraday can hardly blame her for that, truth be told. He's hardly well-versed in any of those cases, himself. So he appreciates how damned difficult it must be, because he's feeling that same struggle – the need to hold back, to curl up around the remaining shreds of his dignity, even as he knows the state of his pride will mean squat if it means the end of this—
... friendship?
What an odd thought, but Faraday can't deny the truth of it. The two of them are friends, or at least Faraday considers Emma to be as such; part of him thinks the feeling might actually be mutual, after everything she's just said, and he doesn't have words for the way it had soothed his nerves. For as amiable as Faraday can be, as easygoing and as talkative as he is, he has very few actual friends. Even less, now, considering he's given up the ghost.
(In a manner of speaking.)
He can't quite dredge up a proper response to her words, to the kindness in them, and he's relieved when she saves him from answering by holding out his cards. Slowly, he reaches for them, pausing just shy of taking them. Part of him thinks he doesn't deserve them just yet, because he hasn't quite said his part, has he? Seems unfair, all things considered, for Emma to swallow her pride when he has yet to do the same.
He swallows thickly, and in a voice that's only a hair above a whisper, ]
... I'm sorry.
[ He licks his lips, drags his gaze up to look at her. ]
About— all of it. The dirty trick with the man's horse. The way I acted. The awful things I said. I'm— I'm sorry.
[ it's that damnable pride of hers that makes this so difficult, she thinks, because while emma may try her hardest to live a good and decent life, she's still incredibly prideful, and copping to this, admitting she crossed a line, is hard for her.
perhaps an exercise in humility is what she's been due.
she's not sure what she expected from faraday, but if she's honest, an apology — a real apology — hadn't been it. but here he is, owning up to his mistakes and to what he'd said, and...that means far more to her than she can properly understand or articulate.
some of that tension and unease leaves her, her frown softening as she looks at him, meets that equally uncertain gaze. there's no judgment in her eyes, nothing to say "not good enough" or "try harder," because she feels that was plenty sufficient. she believes him, because if he's duping her, he's doing an awful convincing job of it. ]
So am I.
[ her voice is genuine, if still a touch quiet, but she takes a step closer to faraday, holding out the cards again. ]
...and you are a good man. You did a whole lot for this town, and I'm still grateful to you for it.
[ she takes a slow, deep breath, then focuses on his face, that determination in her eyes — but the rage is clearly gone, not a touch of that anger still licking at her. she offers the cards more pointedly, like an olive branch of sorts. ]
Oh, and I'm mighty sorry for smackin' you. If I haven't mentioned that.
Edited (fighting myself on word choice hhhhhh) 2016-10-15 23:27 (UTC)
[ If he had breath in his lungs still, what she says would have stolen them away. Her apology sweeps away his worry, floods him with an unfamiliar sense of comfort, and some of the tenseness leaves the set of his shoulders.
She continues on, though, and his lips draw into a thin, solemn line. You're a good man, she says, but a part of him flinches away from the words, senses an inherent lie in them, even if she says them with the sort of straightforward honesty he's come to expect from her.
His jaw clenches, and he has nothing to say in return. Thankfully, her apology for slapping him drains the tension away again, and he huffs out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. His hand lifts to touch his cheek, still remembering the shock of pain. ]
No, that was fine. I reckon that was the least I deserved.
[ He hesitates again as he reaches over to the cards. His fingers wrap around the deck, his thumb resting on the top card, and the roughness of the paper, of the cards' edges, against his hand makes him smile slightly, unconsciously. He falls quiet for a second, then, with his eyes narrowing slightly, ]
[ the way he touches his cheek and even bringing up the slap itself reminds her that she did indeed smack him. actually touched him and all, and that's still something she can't quite wrap her mind around.
the "how" of it escapes her, and during the week that they hadn't been speaking, she hadn't had an opportunity to wonder on it further, but now that it's at the forefront of her mind, she's curious all over again. ]
I might have. But you appeared in time, so it doesn't especially matter, now does it?
[ but, in reality, probably not. that would've been another level of unkind that she didn't feel the need to employ. and, well, he'd shown up, so she considers the point fairly moot.
she lets him take the cards, but she's still looking at him like she's trying to suss him out, and with another moment of hesitation, she reaches out to just—
—poke his shoulder.
she needs to test for herself if he's still solid enough for her to do it, if that strange level of corporeal existence has stuck around. ]
[ He huffs out another quiet laugh, ducking his head to turn the cards over in his hands when she releases them. His thumb runs over the short edge of the deck, and he takes a second to marvel over how strange it is, that he can feel each card falling against the pad of his thumb as he riffles them. Faraday misses the examination she's giving him in favor of looking at his cards, misses the open curiosity in her eyes—
— but doesn't miss the way her finger pokes into the meat of his shoulder. Not through.
Faraday freezes, eyes darting up to meet hers. In their week apart, he hadn't tested it, whatever it is that's allowed him to touch and feel again. Before, he just had an innate sense for grasping and holding things; now, it's the same as when he was alive, feeling every imperfection beneath his hands. For a bit, he had thought it was a fluke – and still did, actually, until just then.
For a long second, he can only blink. Then, in a hollow sort of voice, ]
[ now that had been confirmation emma hadn't expected: her finger makes contact with faraday - actually faraday and not the cold, ghostly air she near expected. she's not sure what he is, what she's touching, but he's solid and there, and she looks completely bewildered by the discovery.
she's so startled, she doesn't immediately pull her hand away, but at his words, she draws back, glancing off to the side. ]
I just wanted to see, is all. I wasn't convinced if you were still solid like that or not.
[ and that had seemed a better way to test it than slapping him again. she knows better than to reach out and try again, but now with the knowledge that she's not just going to fall through him...that's incredible.
strange and new, but incredible all the same.
she doesn't react with the same open shock like she had the first time, doesn't ask him what he's done, because of course she realizes there's no way this is something he controls (she knows none of it, not really). ]
[ He's not sure what it is – her open shock or his own, or the stunned way she pulls back, like he's suddenly grown a second head, but it's enough to make him smile a little – a strange mix of discomfort and amusement warring in the expression. ]
I should thank you for not just smacking me again, I suppose.
[ And despite the dryness in his voice, he is genuinely grateful she hasn't slapped him. He'd rather not repeat that any time soon, mild as the pain was.
Her question, earns a bit of a frown – thoughtful, more than upset, and he answers slowly, ]
I think it has.
[ He could describe how his sense of touch has returned, how he can feel textures and heat and cold, but clever though he his, he's never quite been one for words. A man of action, he likes to consider himself, so rather than describe what little he's explored over the course of the week, he finds an easier way to do it.
He takes the top card from the deck – a two of hearts – and reveals it to her. ]
Watch.
[ —as if she would do anything but. He places the card face down into the deck, giving it a quick, easy overhand shuffle. With the deck in one hand and between his fingers, he splits the deck with his thumb, twisting the top half of the cards away, pushing out a card from the middle. He flicks it out and away, the card spinning through the air, before he catches it with his right hand.
He holds the two of hearts between two fingers and grins. ]
[ emma's uncertainty seems to melt away as she watches him with the cards, a smile starting to lift the corner of her lips as he twists and spins and flicks the cards until the two of hearts is back between his fingers. that's the level of skill she'd come to expect from faraday, and seeing him capable of it again is heartening on its own. ]
Far closer to your usual standards, I should say.
[ she turns from him long enough to toss one of the newly-chopped pieces of wood onto the fire, before looking back at him, her hands on her hips. ]
Suppose that means you could teach me much more than before, Mister Faraday.
[ any time she uses "mister" these days, it's a way to tease him, affectionate in its own way, and not out of propriety or a sense of obligation. it's the same now, completely lacking in the cold edge she'd had the last time she'd attached it to his surname during their argument.
admittedly, she doesn't expect to get anywhere near the same level of quick skill and practiced talent that faraday has accomplished, because she's admittedly still practicing the first trick he'd shown her. she's greatly improved with it, found a better rythm and managed to make it look more convincing and natural, but it's still new to her, a different kind of movement with her hands and fingers that she's just never had the need to utilize. ]
[ Her praise, slight as it is, makes him smile as he shuffles the two back into the deck. The use of the title still rankles a little, though it's nowhere near as bad as the early days, when it was used in well-meaning earnest, nor is it as bad as the other day, when she had used it like a knife, with a kind of precision that would've made even the late Billy Rocks proud.
Faraday lets it slide, save for the slightest pursing of his lips and narrowing of his eyes. He knows now she means it as a sort of pet name, something to get a slight rise out of him, which is a little amusing, he supposes. ]
Seems to be the case.
[ A mild little agreement. He falls quiet for a second, shifting his weight from one leg to the other, then, ]
... So. You'n'me.
[ He keeps his gaze fixed on the cards in his hands as he mixes them together, keeps his voice quiet, as if he's afraid to break the peace that's fallen between them. ]
[ emma, of course, doesn't miss the little shift in his expression with the addition of "mister" to his name, but, well, that's part of the fun, if she's honest. he reacts, but not in such a way that she'd find it harmful or problematic; just enough that she knows it rankles him a touch, and that makes her smile.
the question, though, that gives her pause. not because she has to consider whether or not they're reconciled, but mostly that he'd asked it in the first place. ]
...I'd say we are.
[ her smile is a little softer as she watches him shuffle the cards, not expecting eye contact or more than this acknowledgment. ]
So long as you can do me the kindness of not up and disappearin' for so long. I'd appreciate that.
[ she'd found his absence unpleasant, even at just a week, and it had been so...uncomfortably quiet without him in the house — or at least without him making himself known. he'd obviously been hanging around, just without letting her catch a glimpse of him.
she gives a pointed little nod, then turns from faraday to wander towards the kitchen and start herself some dinner. ]
[ His eyebrows rise a little at her request, caught off-guard. But— she had admitted it earlier, hadn't she? That she had missed him, that she had actually been afraid he wouldn't return, and—
And he's not sure how to feel on that, still. Not sure why that little tendril of warmth unfurls in his chest again when she says it &ndash familiar, in that he seems to only feel it with her. Unfamiliar, in that it's not exactly a sensation he's had before his passing.
When he looks up, Emma is already stepping away, and he breathes out a quiet little laugh. She wants the last word on this discussion, it seems, and— well, normally Faraday would have something to say, just to be an ass. But considering the last time he was an ass, it had nearly ruined everything...
Well, better to let that conversation slip away. He just smiles a little to himself, dropping the deck off on a table. ]
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how do you adult
she thinks he meant what he said, and she finds that loss sits in the pit of her stomach heavy as his death had done.
it's like he's died all over again, she realizes, and that aches. she can't put it into words, or describe why it hurts so terribly, but emma is hardly herself for days after, enough so that others in town notice. she brushes off their concern with a small smile, assures them that it's nothing more than a few restless nights keeping her up. (teddy is especially worried about her, expresses concern that she's out at that house all alone and that sure can't be good for a lady like herself.
she tells him exactly the same: that she's completely fine.)
it's not until things start to...move that she realizes faraday is actually there.
coffee already ready and waiting. a properly stoked fire when she knows she hasn't gone to touch it herself. newly chopped firewood to keep the house warm (because the winter chill has truly set in now, uncomfortable as it happens to be). she's utterly confused by the gestures at first, because while she knows it means faraday is there, she hasn't seen him, hasn't said a word to him, hasn't had the opportunity to so much as thank him.
she tries one night, to at least show her gratitude for the appearance of a blanket while she sat sleepily in a chair. she hadn't quite drifted, but she'd been nodding off, shivering a bit, and then that throw had been settled over her, the weight enough to make her open her eyes.
no one in the room; not a single whisper of faraday, but the gesture was there all the same.
"Faraday?"
when she hadn't gotten an answer, she just sighed and curled up with the blanket again, mumbling a quiet, "thank you," as she drifted.
the worst part is that she feels she owes him a real apology for their last interaction. the things she'd said had been far from kind, even pushing towards unfair, and she realizes after that making him feel so shamed and angry wasn't her intention at all. in fact, the entire thing had gotten so out of hand that she's embarrassed by how quick and cruel her temper had proved to be. even if he had caused a scene in town, he hadn't deserved that level of treatment, and she shouldn't have let him rile her up.
and she sure shouldn't have slapped him.
that still gives her pause when she thinks on it. she can still remember the feel of his skin under her palm, because she had hit him, truly had, and he'd felt just as much a person as the next man. he'd felt near alive, though she knew that was impossible. couldn't be reality.
not with his body six feet under in that pine box.
but all the same, she knows that she'd touched him, and if he's that solid, she nearly wonders if others in the town had bumped into him, if they had started to see him? what manner had his existence taken on that he was able to be so...human? spectre that he is, dead and gone for all intents and purposes, she didn't think it possible, that she'd always pass through him for that icy brush with death, but that had been far from the feel of a ghost.
they need to talk, she finally decides, and she wants to know if that physical aspect has remained or if he's just as noncorporeal as he'd been before (and she also wants to...try to apologize for the lines she crossed; "try" being the operative word). she's not sure how to get him to show up, given how much he's been avoiding her, but she does notice that the playing cards move every day, always in a new space, and well, it wouldn't surprise her to know he's still practicing his tricks.
one evening, after the sun's properly set, emma finds the cards on her table. pursing her lips, she scoops up the deck, carrying them over to her dying fire, and holds them straight out over the embers. ]
Joshua Faraday, you have to the count of five, and then I'm droppin' these right into the hearth.
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This is not a surprising fact. He is routinely an ass – had been in life, has been in undeath, and that’s not likely to change.
But specifically, a handful of days after their argument, he began to think, I might have gone too far. And a full week afterward, with guilt eating away at him from the inside out, he started thinking, Joshua Faraday, you are a complete and utter son of a bitch.
He replays the fight over and over and over in his head – because being what he is, he has an abundance of free time, has no need of sleep to while away the hours, no need to work to make a living – and he knows it was a mistake to say those things, to let his anger boil over so brilliantly. For as mean a cuss as he is, as much of a bastard as he is, Faraday knows his faults and pretends to wear them with pride – but deep down, he’s ashamed of them. He’s been called worse things than what Emma called him on that day, but Emma is the first and only person in his life and unlife to drag all of those faults into the light, to rip open those old scars and pour salt all over them.
She was right, of course, on every count, and that had hurt. But it hurt even more to hear it all in her voice, cold and impassive.
A week of waiting isn’t a lot of time, all things considered, but it’s enough for him to know this problem won’t go away, no matter how hard he tries to ignore it. It’s enough to know that he should make amends, though Faraday has no idea how to go about it or how welcome his presence would be. (Probably not at all, considering what he said and what she said, and all the bad blood left in between.) So he does small things by way of apology. Chopping wood comes pretty easily, as does tending to the fire. Coffee is a little more difficult – he tends to make it strong – but he manages it all the same.
Faraday spends his time nearby, or wandering through town, or in that in-between state, neither awake nor asleep. And he’s lonely, but he reckons that’s what he deserves for the awful things he said. Deserves a lot worse, really, like another smack across the face at the very least. And that’s a funny thing, that getting slapped is even possible, but apparently it is now.
He hasn’t tested out his newfound physicality, not on another person; every time he reached out to grasp someone’s arm, he reconsidered. Probably for the best – he didn’t want to startle someone into a heart attack. But he’s— different now, and he doesn’t know why or how. Still invisible, surely, still inaudible, but different. When he grabs for an axe, he can feel the wood grain of the handle. When he stands at Emma’s hearth and tends to the fire, he feels the heat of flame, the roughness of the iron poker. When he drops a blanket over her, he feels the softness of the material. And he tests it in the dead of night with the stack of playing cards in his hands, feels the way the paper rasps against his palms as the cards riffle and bridge. The old tricks come back easily – palming cards, hiding them behind his fingers, double-lifting them as he deals. Something like relief flows through him – although it’s tempered by… everything that’s happened.
It’s been a bad week.
He’s drifting through when Emma calls for him, and he pauses. For a second, he considers ignoring her, because he’s not sure if he’s ready to hear what she has to say, isn’t sure if he’s ready to apologize. The sting of her words are still as fresh as the day they were said, and part of him worries she’s trying for a second round, trying to tell him that his gestures are unappreciated and that he needed to leave her alone for good. He starts turning away, intent on saving this conversation for another day—
Until he notices the cards.
They hadn’t been his personal deck – the set that had been with him on the day of his death – but he’d grown accustomed to them, all the same. Attached, even, though that’s a silly thing (though maybe not so silly, considering they’re about the only things on this mortal plane that Faraday considers his.) And when she actually starts counting, and a sort of nervousness clenches in his stomach.
Faraday lets her get as far as four, and just as she’s inhaling, forming the word five, he appears about two arms’ lengths away – a marked difference from the norm, where he’d materialize directly beside her just to make her jump. For a second, he just stares at her with a guarded expression, arms akimbo, before he reaches out with his right hand. ]
Give ‘em here.
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when he finally does appear, she tries not to give away the relief she feels, the flush of warmth at just the sight of him (which is an odd sensation she's certainly not going to think on). drawing the cards away from the flame, she holds them close, but doesn't offer them to him. ]
Do you promise not to vanish if I do?
[ because she doesn't want him to just cut and run with the cards; that's not the point of this, not the reason she tried so hard to draw him out. it matters to her that he'll promise to stay put, at least long enough to put some things to rest, to maybe tell him that his presence isn't simply tolerated.
that he's been missed. ]
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Depends on what you want.
[ Which isn't very fair of him. She could've called him out here for any number of things, but the reason his imagination provides is one final cutting of ties. And if that's the case, he really shouldn't just disappear on her, should listen to what she has to say and dutifully comply, rather than clamp his hands over his ears and pretend she hadn't asked for him in the first place.
He breathes in slowly, then out (not that he actually breathes anymore, and drops his hand to his hip again. ]
You've got my attention.
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she relaxes slightly, her grip on the deck loosening, but she doesn't hold it out to him just yet. she hesitates, opening her mouth to speak, only then realizing that she has so many things she wants to say, so much she could say, and she has no idea where to start. ]
...I missed seein' you.
[ —well, that's not where she thought she'd pick this up.
it's an honest admission, though, and she looks mildly embarrassed, but— she does want him to know that. she wants him to know, somehow, that she hadn't just been tolerating his presence, that she'd been glad to have him around, even if admitting that would be just as difficult for her. ]
And I haven't liked havin' you gone.
[ she crosses her arms over her chest with the cards, the posture a little defensive, like she's wary about the kind of reception she may get from him; as much as she wants to set this right, part of her is worried he won't be quite so accepting of any apologies or attempts to talk this out, that she'll just be exposing a vulnerable aspect of herself for nothing. ]
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His expression goes slack, and he stares at her, because he couldn't have possibly heard her right – not after everything they'd said to each other. This reprieve from his company had to have been a blessing, must have been a wild relief.
Except she goes on, and it's more difficult to tell himself he misheard her. He rocks back a little, not quite keeping the frown from his face – and it's more a look of confusion than anything. ]
I— I figured you wouldn't care to see me. Considerin'...
[ He waves a hand vaguely. ]
Considerin' what happened.
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...it's just been mighty quiet without you around.
[ and she hadn't liked it, not one bit.
he'd upset her, said some awful things, but so had she; she's far from innocent here, but without the heat of the moment, the burn of anger and indignation, it feels near ridiculous how worked up she'd gotten, how she'd let herself get caught up in trying to make him hurt just as much as she did.
that hadn't been one of her finer moments. ]
I was...
[ she sighs, brushing her hair away from her face before glancing at faraday again. ]
I was upset with you, but I actually thought—
[ getting this out is a whole new kind of difficult, she realizes. she never had throwdowns like this with matthew, so reconciling isn't her forte. ]
—I thought you weren't gonna come back.
[ and that hadn't sat well with her, not even a little. it's why the small signs that he'd been there, the gestures of kindness and apology (if that's how he'd meant them) had been so important to her. it was a guarantee that he hadn't just gone for good and left her alone in that house again. ]
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He was a contemptible man, whose presence Emma only tolerated out of necessity. A drunkard, a killer, a sinner, unchanged by his life or the end of it. Things he knew and knew well.
So hearing the facts fall from Emma's lips, with that emotionless stare and impassive voice – each word had torn through him like a bullet from a Gatling gun, but it had been true. He could hardly fault her for them, in the end, but hearing her say she missed him, despite his every fault, hearing her say she worried he wouldn't return—
... Well. He has no idea how to react.
For a long moment, Faraday stays silent, watching her, wondering if staring at her long enough might reveal the falsehood in her words, but he doesn't see it – the telltale twitches, the sharp, nervous glances away that signal a lie. She seems to be telling the truth, and all he can think, all he can finally blurt out is, ]
Why?
[ It falls from his lips before he can stop it, and he winces at himself, at how ungracefully he asked it. Too late to take it back, though, and he reluctantly presses forward. ]
I— I thought you'd be glad for my absence. Sounded like you should've been, anyway.
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that had far and away had the effect she'd wanted it to — at the time.
after, she'd just felt guilty.
and there he just has to go and ask those questions, the hard ones that she struggles to answer even for herself. her body language doesn't radiate that of a liar, but rather, someone uncertain, like she's out of her element — which she is. ]
Because—
[ her lips purse, brow furrowing, and she tries to figure out how to properly articulate what she whats to say. ]
Because I've gotten accustomed to havin' you here with me.
[ because he's become a part of her life in ways she didn't expect, and she'd felt a kind of emptiness when he vanished. ]
And everything I said to make you think otherwise...
[ her jaw tightens, and she looks to the fire before finally turning her eyes on faraday. ]
I said it to be unkind. Not because I wanted you gone.
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He never imagined this: him, standing in stunned confusion. Emma – a woman he had known to be steadfast and sure, relentless and determined when she took a stance – to look at him so uncertainly, to struggle with what to say, when he had almost constantly seen her fire words back at a man as if they were always chambered and always at the ready.
This is— this is unexpected.
Faraday bows his head, examines the wooden floorboards beneath his feet, and he takes a deep, fortifying breath. ]
You weren't wrong, though. On any particular account.
[ He pauses, swallows down the flare of guilt, before he pushes on. ]
Things I said to you, though. [ Hesitant, as though he's picking his words carefully. ] I didn't— I didn't mean any of it. Just meant for it to hurt, I suppose. But I didn't— I don't actually think any of that.
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cared about?
that sort of tone, that kind of sniper-like efficiency didn't tend to be directed at people she thought important — but she also had never been close to someone whose temper could so perfectly stoke her own, until they were both simply pouring oil on the respective fires of their rage. there's no need for it to have gotten so out of hand, she'd realized, but she'd let herself get sucked into the argument and let his words fuel her own, until some incredibly hurtful things had been said.
but not things she'd meant.
as he continues to speak, however, she's almost taken aback by his admission, that he didn't truly believe what he'd said to her, and that— that helps. ]
I'm not lookin' to replace you, Faraday, you know that?
[ her voice is soft, but it doesn't waver; the candidness in her tone is clear, because she wants him to believe she means it. ]
Having you here, I'm not sufferin' through any of it.
[ pain that he may be on occasion, she doesn't think of him as a burden.
she doesn't mention matthew, mostly because that still stings a touch. ]
And those things I said about you...they were supposed to be cruel, but I don't truly believe any of it. If I did, would I actually be wantin' you around?
[ and admitting this is hard as hell, but she does it all the same, even for the hit her pride takes. she looks uncomfortable, and that's because she really is; she's not used to this kind of conversation, by any means, and feeling like an apology is owed and trying to give it— difficult, is what it is.
she sighs, looking away from faraday and to the cards still in her hand, before holding them out to him. ]
Here.
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Faraday can hardly blame her for that, truth be told. He's hardly well-versed in any of those cases, himself. So he appreciates how damned difficult it must be, because he's feeling that same struggle – the need to hold back, to curl up around the remaining shreds of his dignity, even as he knows the state of his pride will mean squat if it means the end of this—
... friendship?
What an odd thought, but Faraday can't deny the truth of it. The two of them are friends, or at least Faraday considers Emma to be as such; part of him thinks the feeling might actually be mutual, after everything she's just said, and he doesn't have words for the way it had soothed his nerves. For as amiable as Faraday can be, as easygoing and as talkative as he is, he has very few actual friends. Even less, now, considering he's given up the ghost.
(In a manner of speaking.)
He can't quite dredge up a proper response to her words, to the kindness in them, and he's relieved when she saves him from answering by holding out his cards. Slowly, he reaches for them, pausing just shy of taking them. Part of him thinks he doesn't deserve them just yet, because he hasn't quite said his part, has he? Seems unfair, all things considered, for Emma to swallow her pride when he has yet to do the same.
He swallows thickly, and in a voice that's only a hair above a whisper, ]
... I'm sorry.
[ He licks his lips, drags his gaze up to look at her. ]
About— all of it. The dirty trick with the man's horse. The way I acted. The awful things I said. I'm— I'm sorry.
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perhaps an exercise in humility is what she's been due.
she's not sure what she expected from faraday, but if she's honest, an apology — a real apology — hadn't been it. but here he is, owning up to his mistakes and to what he'd said, and...that means far more to her than she can properly understand or articulate.
some of that tension and unease leaves her, her frown softening as she looks at him, meets that equally uncertain gaze. there's no judgment in her eyes, nothing to say "not good enough" or "try harder," because she feels that was plenty sufficient. she believes him, because if he's duping her, he's doing an awful convincing job of it. ]
So am I.
[ her voice is genuine, if still a touch quiet, but she takes a step closer to faraday, holding out the cards again. ]
...and you are a good man. You did a whole lot for this town, and I'm still grateful to you for it.
[ she takes a slow, deep breath, then focuses on his face, that determination in her eyes — but the rage is clearly gone, not a touch of that anger still licking at her. she offers the cards more pointedly, like an olive branch of sorts. ]
Oh, and I'm mighty sorry for smackin' you. If I haven't mentioned that.
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She continues on, though, and his lips draw into a thin, solemn line. You're a good man, she says, but a part of him flinches away from the words, senses an inherent lie in them, even if she says them with the sort of straightforward honesty he's come to expect from her.
His jaw clenches, and he has nothing to say in return. Thankfully, her apology for slapping him drains the tension away again, and he huffs out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. His hand lifts to touch his cheek, still remembering the shock of pain. ]
No, that was fine. I reckon that was the least I deserved.
[ He hesitates again as he reaches over to the cards. His fingers wrap around the deck, his thumb resting on the top card, and the roughness of the paper, of the cards' edges, against his hand makes him smile slightly, unconsciously. He falls quiet for a second, then, with his eyes narrowing slightly, ]
Were you really gonna drop these in the fire?
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the "how" of it escapes her, and during the week that they hadn't been speaking, she hadn't had an opportunity to wonder on it further, but now that it's at the forefront of her mind, she's curious all over again. ]
I might have. But you appeared in time, so it doesn't especially matter, now does it?
[ but, in reality, probably not. that would've been another level of unkind that she didn't feel the need to employ. and, well, he'd shown up, so she considers the point fairly moot.
she lets him take the cards, but she's still looking at him like she's trying to suss him out, and with another moment of hesitation, she reaches out to just—
—poke his shoulder.
she needs to test for herself if he's still solid enough for her to do it, if that strange level of corporeal existence has stuck around. ]
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— but doesn't miss the way her finger pokes into the meat of his shoulder. Not through.
Faraday freezes, eyes darting up to meet hers. In their week apart, he hadn't tested it, whatever it is that's allowed him to touch and feel again. Before, he just had an innate sense for grasping and holding things; now, it's the same as when he was alive, feeling every imperfection beneath his hands. For a bit, he had thought it was a fluke – and still did, actually, until just then.
For a long second, he can only blink. Then, in a hollow sort of voice, ]
That was uncalled for.
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she's so startled, she doesn't immediately pull her hand away, but at his words, she draws back, glancing off to the side. ]
I just wanted to see, is all. I wasn't convinced if you were still solid like that or not.
[ and that had seemed a better way to test it than slapping him again. she knows better than to reach out and try again, but now with the knowledge that she's not just going to fall through him...that's incredible.
strange and new, but incredible all the same.
she doesn't react with the same open shock like she had the first time, doesn't ask him what he's done, because of course she realizes there's no way this is something he controls (she knows none of it, not really). ]
...has it made a difference?
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I should thank you for not just smacking me again, I suppose.
[ And despite the dryness in his voice, he is genuinely grateful she hasn't slapped him. He'd rather not repeat that any time soon, mild as the pain was.
Her question, earns a bit of a frown – thoughtful, more than upset, and he answers slowly, ]
I think it has.
[ He could describe how his sense of touch has returned, how he can feel textures and heat and cold, but clever though he his, he's never quite been one for words. A man of action, he likes to consider himself, so rather than describe what little he's explored over the course of the week, he finds an easier way to do it.
He takes the top card from the deck – a two of hearts – and reveals it to her. ]
Watch.
[ —as if she would do anything but. He places the card face down into the deck, giving it a quick, easy overhand shuffle. With the deck in one hand and between his fingers, he splits the deck with his thumb, twisting the top half of the cards away, pushing out a card from the middle. He flicks it out and away, the card spinning through the air, before he catches it with his right hand.
He holds the two of hearts between two fingers and grins. ]
Couldn't manage that one before.
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Far closer to your usual standards, I should say.
[ she turns from him long enough to toss one of the newly-chopped pieces of wood onto the fire, before looking back at him, her hands on her hips. ]
Suppose that means you could teach me much more than before, Mister Faraday.
[ any time she uses "mister" these days, it's a way to tease him, affectionate in its own way, and not out of propriety or a sense of obligation. it's the same now, completely lacking in the cold edge she'd had the last time she'd attached it to his surname during their argument.
admittedly, she doesn't expect to get anywhere near the same level of quick skill and practiced talent that faraday has accomplished, because she's admittedly still practicing the first trick he'd shown her. she's greatly improved with it, found a better rythm and managed to make it look more convincing and natural, but it's still new to her, a different kind of movement with her hands and fingers that she's just never had the need to utilize. ]
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Faraday lets it slide, save for the slightest pursing of his lips and narrowing of his eyes. He knows now she means it as a sort of pet name, something to get a slight rise out of him, which is a little amusing, he supposes. ]
Seems to be the case.
[ A mild little agreement. He falls quiet for a second, shifting his weight from one leg to the other, then, ]
... So. You'n'me.
[ He keeps his gaze fixed on the cards in his hands as he mixes them together, keeps his voice quiet, as if he's afraid to break the peace that's fallen between them. ]
We're— alright, then?
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the question, though, that gives her pause. not because she has to consider whether or not they're reconciled, but mostly that he'd asked it in the first place. ]
...I'd say we are.
[ her smile is a little softer as she watches him shuffle the cards, not expecting eye contact or more than this acknowledgment. ]
So long as you can do me the kindness of not up and disappearin' for so long. I'd appreciate that.
[ she'd found his absence unpleasant, even at just a week, and it had been so...uncomfortably quiet without him in the house — or at least without him making himself known. he'd obviously been hanging around, just without letting her catch a glimpse of him.
she gives a pointed little nod, then turns from faraday to wander towards the kitchen and start herself some dinner. ]
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And he's not sure how to feel on that, still. Not sure why that little tendril of warmth unfurls in his chest again when she says it &ndash familiar, in that he seems to only feel it with her. Unfamiliar, in that it's not exactly a sensation he's had before his passing.
When he looks up, Emma is already stepping away, and he breathes out a quiet little laugh. She wants the last word on this discussion, it seems, and— well, normally Faraday would have something to say, just to be an ass. But considering the last time he was an ass, it had nearly ruined everything...
Well, better to let that conversation slip away. He just smiles a little to himself, dropping the deck off on a table. ]
You need a hand?