[ 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.
[ That certainty again, when he's sure of so little else. He turns himself to face her, leaning against his crutch. ]
People get sick of each other. They grate on each other's nerves till they can't stand the sight of one another. Turns everything into a goddamn war zone 'fore you know what hits you.
[ He waves his free hand toward the house, the damaged muscle of his bicep twinging in warning as he does so. ]
Earlier today was just a taste of that bullshit about to come. You can't tell me you want more of that.
[ emma meets his eyes when he turns to look at her, but her determination doesn't waver. ]
I can't say as I do.
[ because that had been all kinds of awful. ]
But I don't believe that's the inevitability of our...circumstance. Living with another person isn't all fights and self-imposed misery.
[ she'd known that with matthew. being with him, living together, sharing their life with each other — emma had never experienced happiness like that before him. it's what gives her hope, here and now, that it isn't necessarily a given that she'll tire of faraday, that they'll find themselves prone to nothing but throw-downs and explosive fights. ]
And I'm not nearly so convinced I'll be inclined to see you leave. But if you're intent to drive me away, I'm sure you could manage that just as easy, but— I'm not rushin' you out my door.
If— [ she stops herself for a moment, a little quieter when she continues, though her words don't waver. ] If you want to go because you haven't got a mind to stay, then go. But don't do it because you think I want you gone.
[ He falls quiet at those words, driven to silence by the thread of sincerity in her voice. Their connection makes it difficult to lie, and he can feel that hesitant little curl of hope from her, that little note of certainty, and he frowns down at the ground.
It's easier, moving on. It's easier, being on his own. Not having to worry about pissing folks off. Not having to worry about what other folks think about the life he leads. Not having to give a single shit about the people he hurts along the way. Faraday can live as he pleases, do as he pleases, and all the wounds he inflicts are left to gather dust in his wake.
It's simple.
... and these past couple of months, planning and fighting and healing and living, have shown him just how goddamn lonely he had been.
The silence stretches between them for far too long while he tries to untangle the knots in his chest, in his head, before he finally lets out a long breath. He adjusts the bag on his shoulder, hauling it up a little higher. His head dips a little lower as he takes one hesitant step toward the house. ]
Get back in side. [ Quiet, hoarse. Not an actual answer in the slightest, but his actions speak for him as he approaches. ] 's cold out here, and you ain't dressed for this.
[ the long drag of the silence is enough to put emma on edge, to set that spark of worry in her mind. however, telling him those things had been a moment where she realized she had very little to lose; if he didn't want to stay, he already had one foot out the door, so what would it matter if she'd extended this small, vulnerable gesture? she wouldn't be seeing him again, he'd soon be far off, and—
she's braced for him to turn away, but then he's walking towards the house.
oh.
if she's honest, she'd been so preoccupied with the mess of tangled emotions in her heart and her head that she hadn't cared about the evening chill — but with attention now drawn to it, she realizes that her bare feet are freezing, the light material of her robe has done hardly anything for warmth, and she's...shivering, actually. but just a touch. ]
Not near as cold as it could be.
[ dismissive, but not an argument by any means, and she turns to walk back into the house. the door she'd left open had let the cold air inside, and, unfortunately, not everything is quite as sealed off and insulated as it ought to be, what with the repairs that still need finishing, which does mean the house is going to be fairly chilly until the morning.
she doesn't hold the door for him this time, but instead props it open a bit more, makes sure it won't close on him. ]
[ Her dismissal is met with a one-shoulder shrug and a flat look, as if to say, That's not the point, though both gestures go unseen as she steps back into the house. At the front step, he hesitates, caught between the feeling of relief that sings through him as he draws closer and that old desire to leave it all behind and seek out new horizons.
But decision already made, Faraday steps through, shutting the door softly behind him with a nudge from his crutch. He stands awkwardly for a long second, unsure of what to say, unsure of what to do. Not as though he has any experience seeing these sorts of things through, after all, and he risks a fleeting glance up to her. ]
... Suppose you'll be wanting to get back to bed. [ Slightly stilted, uncertain, and he examines the floor. ] We'll— we'll table this for the mornin'.
[ emma hesitates in the front room, gently rubbing her chilled hands down her arms, fingers brushing over the now-calmed mark. it had gone from the miserable throbbing to a soft pulse, a reminder of its presence and the overwhelmingly unpleasant sensations it had brought around with the threat of separation. finally, she gives a nod, glancing back down the hall towards her room. ]
The morning, then.
[ she hesitates, though there's a part of her that aches for a moment to be near him, for a whisper of contact that will make up for the gnarled rending she'd felt earlier, and it must be that which spurs her to add, ]
Would you like to join me?
[ she looks mildly abashed, and her eyes settle over faraday's shoulder, rather than looking to his face. ]
No harm if you'd prefer your own bed, but...it's gotten mighty cold in here tonight, is all, and I know your window isn't fixed up right yet.
[ one of the many repairs that still needs to be made in her home.
it's not the most honest of explanations, either, but it's hard for her to admit even to herself that she's looking for some flicker of that connection that had come here and there since he'd come to stay with her. ]
[ The request startles him enough that he finally breaks his staring contest with the floor. It even manages to surprise a small smile from him, his mind latching to a million different implications and jokes he could make.
… Maybe not now, though. Not with everything still so raw and unsteady.
He looks off to inspect the wall, and— admittedly, it is cold in here. Thanks to the busted window, the night air has a way of bleeding into his room, leaving him chilled and shivering come morning. But she’s just using it as an excuse; that much is obvious. The why, though, still escapes him – why she’d want him in there with her, why she’d want his company after the way he’s treated her. ]
Sounds like you just wanna keep an eye on me. ‘Fraid I’m gonna try to slip off again? [ A joke, though it falls flat. It feels a little too true to be funny. ]
[ it's...actually not one of her motivators. if he's going to leave, she won't try stopping him again, but she doesn't want him in her bed with her as a means to watch him. ]
I just— want you there.
[ and admitting that is difficult more than anything, showing more of her hand than she usually likes to, and she doesn't look at faraday as she admits it. it's probably nonsense, she tells herself, but the soft ache to be near him is still at the forefront of her mind, that little tendril of honest intention curling through their link.
the bond does strange things, she realizes bitterly, but despite that, she's at least acknowledging that it's a thing she wants, isn't trying to shove it deep down and pretend it doesn't exist. ]
That uncertainty rings through him again, makes him shift his weight in discomfort. So much about Emma leaves him feeling wrong-footed, like he's some awkward kid in his school days all over again.
Whatever their connection is, it doesn't extend to reading minds – but he feels it, all the same. That little tug of want, that note of honesty singing through her – both of them in a tone so distinctly Emma that there's no mistaking it for the visceral instincts that these ropes binding them together force onto them, time and again.
It eases something in him, as much as he hates to admit it, hearing it in her voice, after a fashion. Knowing that it's her and not this. Genuine desire, rather than animal need, like some starving creature lashing out for some small morsel.
Still, it's a long moment before he can sort out his own thoughts on the matter – whether he wants this or not. Setting aside his near absolute certainty that Emma is better off without him, setting aside his resentment of being tied down like this, a small, distant part of him might actually— could actually—
No. He doesn't want this, enjoyable as every brush of contact is, as pleasant as that feeling of being whole is.
At a base level— maybe he just wants the company, too?
Faraday clears his throat, not quite able to bring himself to look at her, either. He moves further into the dark, cold house, head tilting slightly to point out his bag. ]
Let me just... [ He trails off. Starts over, ] Let me put my things down.
[ there are times emma wishes she could tamp down on the amount she accidentally shares through their link. this happens to be one of them, as the relief and appreciation momentarily flashes through the bond, soft but genuine. ]
Of course.
[ she hesitates, watching him for a moment, before she heads down the hall and past his room (looking even more sparse now than it had before), back to her own. she leaves her robe on the small hook over her door, sitting on the edge of her bed in her usual nightgown. she feels...fidgety. nervous. while she's glad that she'll have faraday's company, she's also a little uncertain about sharing so much space with another person again.
out of the corner of her eye, she looks to the empty side of her bed. matthew's side. he's been dead months now, and she still can't bring herself to sleep there, can't even properly spread out on the mattress because she's so accustomed to sleeping with someone. having that presence beside her had made it so effortless, had let her rest easy, even on her more fitful nights.
that's one of the biggest adjustments she's had to make: being alone again.
in an effort to redirect some of her nervous energy, emma runs her fingers through her tangled hair as she sits on the edge of her mattress, not crawling back under the covers or properly laying down yet. she's taking the moment to wait for faraday, to make sure he doesn't need a hand with anything (as much as she knows he won't ask for it), but also halfway avoiding crawling once again into an empty bed. ]
[ Faraday follows her, just a pace behind, before turning into his room. Without the adrenaline coursing through him, the chill starts setting into his already aching bones – but he ignores it all, as he tends to. He hesitates, glancing over his shoulder as though he expects Emma to be hovering there. Thankfully, she isn’t, and he lets out a quiet breath, forcing himself to relax a little.
He moves slowly, as much in a bid to buy himself time as it is in deference to the soreness still lingering from earlier in the day. His bag is packed with little, which makes it an easy thing to fish out his night clothes; the rest he’ll unpack in the morning, he supposes – an endeavor that would likely take less than a handful of minutes. He changes into loose-fitting pants and a threadbare shirt and leaves his crutch leaning against the wall beside the door. He tugs off the blanket from his bed – cold as it is, the added layers probably wouldn’t go amiss – bundling it up as he limps to Emma’s room.
It’s only as he hovers in the doorway that it well and truly strikes him how completely out of his depth he is.
Whatever the two of them are to one another, he can at least rule out something romantic. Not that Faraday knows the first thing about proper romance, fond as he is of one-night stands, of forging temporary connections and cutting ties to set himself adrift, once he’s gotten what he’s wanted.
This is unfamiliar territory, and the weight of those tomorrows sits awkwardly on his shoulders.
Still without meeting her gaze, without speaking, he leans against the door’s frame. He shifts the blanket in his grip, runs his hand over the angry, red scar on his right bicep. There’s expectation in his silence, like he’s waiting for direction; like he’s waiting for her to change her mind. ]
[ emma is the complete opposite of faraday in this instance. she's used to having someone, used to the comfort of warm arms and sweet kisses, used to affection that comes easy; she's used to matthew, if she's honest. faraday is new and strange, and she feels lost when she deals with him. it's the bond that keeps them together, and though she's warmed to him, isn't repulsed by their circumstances, she still doesn't know how best to move forward.
but really, at least she knows she's not the only one fumbling in the dark.
she looks up at the sound of his heavy footfalls, quietly taking him in as he stands in her doorway. she sees the blanket in his arms, and she has to admit, that wasn't a bad idea. it's cold enough as it is, and while having him in the bed will probably help, more blankets are never something to scoff at. ]
You can come in, you know.
[ her voice is soft, and she gestures vaguely to the spot on the other side of the bed. she hasn't changed her mind, isn't going to send him away, but she's waiting for him to join her before she properly climbs under the covers. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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?
no subject
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?) ]
no subject
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.
no subject
[ 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. ]
no subject
[ 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. ]
no subject
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.) ]
no subject
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?
no subject
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). ]
no subject
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?
no subject
[ 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. ]
no subject
[ That certainty again, when he's sure of so little else. He turns himself to face her, leaning against his crutch. ]
People get sick of each other. They grate on each other's nerves till they can't stand the sight of one another. Turns everything into a goddamn war zone 'fore you know what hits you.
[ He waves his free hand toward the house, the damaged muscle of his bicep twinging in warning as he does so. ]
Earlier today was just a taste of that bullshit about to come. You can't tell me you want more of that.
no subject
I can't say as I do.
[ because that had been all kinds of awful. ]
But I don't believe that's the inevitability of our...circumstance. Living with another person isn't all fights and self-imposed misery.
[ she'd known that with matthew. being with him, living together, sharing their life with each other — emma had never experienced happiness like that before him. it's what gives her hope, here and now, that it isn't necessarily a given that she'll tire of faraday, that they'll find themselves prone to nothing but throw-downs and explosive fights. ]
And I'm not nearly so convinced I'll be inclined to see you leave. But if you're intent to drive me away, I'm sure you could manage that just as easy, but— I'm not rushin' you out my door.
If— [ she stops herself for a moment, a little quieter when she continues, though her words don't waver. ] If you want to go because you haven't got a mind to stay, then go. But don't do it because you think I want you gone.
no subject
It's easier, moving on. It's easier, being on his own. Not having to worry about pissing folks off. Not having to worry about what other folks think about the life he leads. Not having to give a single shit about the people he hurts along the way. Faraday can live as he pleases, do as he pleases, and all the wounds he inflicts are left to gather dust in his wake.
It's simple.
... and these past couple of months, planning and fighting and healing and living, have shown him just how goddamn lonely he had been.
The silence stretches between them for far too long while he tries to untangle the knots in his chest, in his head, before he finally lets out a long breath. He adjusts the bag on his shoulder, hauling it up a little higher. His head dips a little lower as he takes one hesitant step toward the house. ]
Get back in side. [ Quiet, hoarse. Not an actual answer in the slightest, but his actions speak for him as he approaches. ] 's cold out here, and you ain't dressed for this.
no subject
she's braced for him to turn away, but then he's walking towards the house.
oh.
if she's honest, she'd been so preoccupied with the mess of tangled emotions in her heart and her head that she hadn't cared about the evening chill — but with attention now drawn to it, she realizes that her bare feet are freezing, the light material of her robe has done hardly anything for warmth, and she's...shivering, actually. but just a touch. ]
Not near as cold as it could be.
[ dismissive, but not an argument by any means, and she turns to walk back into the house. the door she'd left open had let the cold air inside, and, unfortunately, not everything is quite as sealed off and insulated as it ought to be, what with the repairs that still need finishing, which does mean the house is going to be fairly chilly until the morning.
she doesn't hold the door for him this time, but instead props it open a bit more, makes sure it won't close on him. ]
no subject
But decision already made, Faraday steps through, shutting the door softly behind him with a nudge from his crutch. He stands awkwardly for a long second, unsure of what to say, unsure of what to do. Not as though he has any experience seeing these sorts of things through, after all, and he risks a fleeting glance up to her. ]
... Suppose you'll be wanting to get back to bed. [ Slightly stilted, uncertain, and he examines the floor. ] We'll— we'll table this for the mornin'.
no subject
The morning, then.
[ she hesitates, though there's a part of her that aches for a moment to be near him, for a whisper of contact that will make up for the gnarled rending she'd felt earlier, and it must be that which spurs her to add, ]
Would you like to join me?
[ she looks mildly abashed, and her eyes settle over faraday's shoulder, rather than looking to his face. ]
No harm if you'd prefer your own bed, but...it's gotten mighty cold in here tonight, is all, and I know your window isn't fixed up right yet.
[ one of the many repairs that still needs to be made in her home.
it's not the most honest of explanations, either, but it's hard for her to admit even to herself that she's looking for some flicker of that connection that had come here and there since he'd come to stay with her. ]
no subject
… Maybe not now, though. Not with everything still so raw and unsteady.
He looks off to inspect the wall, and— admittedly, it is cold in here. Thanks to the busted window, the night air has a way of bleeding into his room, leaving him chilled and shivering come morning. But she’s just using it as an excuse; that much is obvious. The why, though, still escapes him – why she’d want him in there with her, why she’d want his company after the way he’s treated her. ]
Sounds like you just wanna keep an eye on me. ‘Fraid I’m gonna try to slip off again? [ A joke, though it falls flat. It feels a little too true to be funny. ]
no subject
[ it's...actually not one of her motivators. if he's going to leave, she won't try stopping him again, but she doesn't want him in her bed with her as a means to watch him. ]
I just— want you there.
[ and admitting that is difficult more than anything, showing more of her hand than she usually likes to, and she doesn't look at faraday as she admits it. it's probably nonsense, she tells herself, but the soft ache to be near him is still at the forefront of her mind, that little tendril of honest intention curling through their link.
the bond does strange things, she realizes bitterly, but despite that, she's at least acknowledging that it's a thing she wants, isn't trying to shove it deep down and pretend it doesn't exist. ]
no subject
That uncertainty rings through him again, makes him shift his weight in discomfort. So much about Emma leaves him feeling wrong-footed, like he's some awkward kid in his school days all over again.
Whatever their connection is, it doesn't extend to reading minds – but he feels it, all the same. That little tug of want, that note of honesty singing through her – both of them in a tone so distinctly Emma that there's no mistaking it for the visceral instincts that these ropes binding them together force onto them, time and again.
It eases something in him, as much as he hates to admit it, hearing it in her voice, after a fashion. Knowing that it's her and not this. Genuine desire, rather than animal need, like some starving creature lashing out for some small morsel.
Still, it's a long moment before he can sort out his own thoughts on the matter – whether he wants this or not. Setting aside his near absolute certainty that Emma is better off without him, setting aside his resentment of being tied down like this, a small, distant part of him might actually— could actually—
No. He doesn't want this, enjoyable as every brush of contact is, as pleasant as that feeling of being whole is.
At a base level— maybe he just wants the company, too?
Faraday clears his throat, not quite able to bring himself to look at her, either. He moves further into the dark, cold house, head tilting slightly to point out his bag. ]
Let me just... [ He trails off. Starts over, ] Let me put my things down.
no subject
Of course.
[ she hesitates, watching him for a moment, before she heads down the hall and past his room (looking even more sparse now than it had before), back to her own. she leaves her robe on the small hook over her door, sitting on the edge of her bed in her usual nightgown. she feels...fidgety. nervous. while she's glad that she'll have faraday's company, she's also a little uncertain about sharing so much space with another person again.
out of the corner of her eye, she looks to the empty side of her bed. matthew's side. he's been dead months now, and she still can't bring herself to sleep there, can't even properly spread out on the mattress because she's so accustomed to sleeping with someone. having that presence beside her had made it so effortless, had let her rest easy, even on her more fitful nights.
that's one of the biggest adjustments she's had to make: being alone again.
in an effort to redirect some of her nervous energy, emma runs her fingers through her tangled hair as she sits on the edge of her mattress, not crawling back under the covers or properly laying down yet. she's taking the moment to wait for faraday, to make sure he doesn't need a hand with anything (as much as she knows he won't ask for it), but also halfway avoiding crawling once again into an empty bed. ]
no subject
He moves slowly, as much in a bid to buy himself time as it is in deference to the soreness still lingering from earlier in the day. His bag is packed with little, which makes it an easy thing to fish out his night clothes; the rest he’ll unpack in the morning, he supposes – an endeavor that would likely take less than a handful of minutes. He changes into loose-fitting pants and a threadbare shirt and leaves his crutch leaning against the wall beside the door. He tugs off the blanket from his bed – cold as it is, the added layers probably wouldn’t go amiss – bundling it up as he limps to Emma’s room.
It’s only as he hovers in the doorway that it well and truly strikes him how completely out of his depth he is.
Whatever the two of them are to one another, he can at least rule out something romantic. Not that Faraday knows the first thing about proper romance, fond as he is of one-night stands, of forging temporary connections and cutting ties to set himself adrift, once he’s gotten what he’s wanted.
This is unfamiliar territory, and the weight of those tomorrows sits awkwardly on his shoulders.
Still without meeting her gaze, without speaking, he leans against the door’s frame. He shifts the blanket in his grip, runs his hand over the angry, red scar on his right bicep. There’s expectation in his silence, like he’s waiting for direction; like he’s waiting for her to change her mind. ]
no subject
but really, at least she knows she's not the only one fumbling in the dark.
she looks up at the sound of his heavy footfalls, quietly taking him in as he stands in her doorway. she sees the blanket in his arms, and she has to admit, that wasn't a bad idea. it's cold enough as it is, and while having him in the bed will probably help, more blankets are never something to scoff at. ]
You can come in, you know.
[ her voice is soft, and she gestures vaguely to the spot on the other side of the bed. she hasn't changed her mind, isn't going to send him away, but she's waiting for him to join her before she properly climbs under the covers. ]
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)