[ 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. ]
[ For a long second, he makes no move – just stands there awkwardly in the doorway, peering at the empty space of her bed. The covers are tousled to one side, an indent on one pillow to signal which side is likely Emma's. The other pillow, however, looks relatively untouched, and something quails in him, quiet and apprehensive.
Faraday knew little about Matthew Cullen, largely by design. What did he care about a dead man? Who Matthew was, how he was, had no bearing on the job or on Faraday, wouldn't have affected the outcome for good or ill. What Faraday knows, though, is that Matthew Cullen's death was enough to spark a massive thunderstorm, one that put steel in Emma's bones and flames in her eyes.
What a poor substitute, Faraday must be.
He swallows thickly, taking a few limping steps forward. ]
You sure on this? [ low, uncertain, and his gaze flicks up to her face before darting away. ]
[ in lieu of an immediate answer, emma reaches over to the unmussed side of the bed, and pulls back the blankets for him. the usually-empty space is being offered up, in a gesture that's probably more significant than she wants to acknowledge; that this place she'd reserved for her husband for so long is quietly being given to faraday is an olive branch of sorts. ]
I assure you I'd send you off if I wasn't.
[ emma isn't one to go back on her word — but, more accurately, she's not one to even offer something if she thinks she'll regret it.
she's still uncertain about the road she's going down with faraday, but she doesn't regret offering a place in her bed. ]
[ Even if Emma doesn't acknowledge it, Faraday sees it for what it is. Like the tip of an iceberg – some quiet little offer, but with more weight hidden beneath the depths. Like being handed so delicate and so very valuable, knowing that even an involuntary twitch could shatter the entire thing.
It's terrifying, is what it is, but Emma has that steadfastness to her that Faraday has come to recognize as when her mind is made up. No doubts, no regrets – just churning forward.
Refusing the offer would do more harm than not, he thinks, and he's caused enough harm today. Faraday moves forward, sitting on the edge of the bed. Tries not to think of the dead man whose shoes he could never be able to fill.
He busies himself for a second with unraveling the blanket he had brought, spreading it out on the bed for that little bit of warmth, before he slowly crawls under the covers. He keeps to the edge of the mattress, leaving space between them. ]
[ emma's quiet as she watches him come over to the bed, and though she's struck by the strangeness of seeing someone who isn't matthew climb into her bed, there's still a small curl of warmth in her chest because it's faraday. it's a sensation that's different from the usual reaction of her mark when they're close to each other, and she finds she appreciates the genuine comfort of a response that's her own and not the compulsion of their bond.
but again, it's not something she's eager to offer up, even if it's bound to bleed into their empathic link.
she finally swings her legs back into the bed, scooting under the blankets and making herself comfortable as she lays back. ]
More than fine, Faraday.
[ she shifts onto her side to look at him, though the space between them feels like a small country, for all that they haven't crossed it. no man's land, after a fashion, and though she wants to reach out, at least touch his arm or his hand, she holds herself back for now. this is...a big change already, and she doesn't want to overwhelm either or both of them in the midst of finding their footing in something new. ]
[ That flicker of warmth flashes through their connection, and Faraday spends a second puzzling over it, over why the sensation is as comforting as it is frightening.
If he had more distance to this strange evening, he'd find the whole thing laughable: going from snapping and snarling at each other like caged animals, to Faraday packing up his things and attempting an escape, to easing onto unstable ground and sharing a bed. It's likely that the quickness of it all has left Faraday in something of a daze, careening from one extreme to another. How else can he explain why he's gone from stepping out onto the street, intent on hobbling his way to the closest bus station, to lying with Emma goddamn Cullen in her bedroom?
Maybe in the morning he'll feel something beyond this uncertainty, this nervousness that tells him he's bound to screw something up, as was his way. For now, though, it fills him up, drones in his ears like a second pulse.
But her question, the mundaneness of it, makes him laugh a little; that's the sort of question one asks a guest, sitting on a lumpy couch. Or an ailing friend, resting in an unfamiliar chair. Some of his anxiety ebbs, and he forces himself to relax a little.
(Maybe they're just both lonely, a small voice tells him. Would it be much of a surprise if that were true?) ]
'M just fine.
[ he makes himself settle a little further, shuffling down a ways to get comfortable. It's a little odd for Faraday, sharing a bed without expecting sex to come into the equation, but speaking that thought aloud would likely shatter the brittle truce they've formed. ]
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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.
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[ her voice isn't icy like before, not intended to be cutting or cruel. it's more a hollow statement of fact, still quiet, but now at least vaguely steady.
she rubs her palm down the length of her mark, trying to ease it, but there's no fighting it back right now, not with how insistent it is about all of these damned feelings that scream to keep its reflected mate near, like just the proximity will make it all settle again. ]
I can't want you if I keep expecting you're waiting for the first convenient moment to turn tail, Faraday.
[ because that's been the biggest thing holding her back since she felt that connection and rightness with faraday, since she knew what it's supposed to feel like being close to him, but she's also fought tooth and nail to push back those wants — because what they could be to her, what it might mean if she gets attached when he's just planning to leave anyway?
she has no idea why she'd do that to herself.
but then again, here she is, standing barefoot on her doorstep, asking him to stay instead of calling out "good riddance" or the like, as she probably ought to. ]
All this nonsense aside, the mark and— all of it, I'd be asking you here to stay if I thought you would, but there'd be no point if all you're looking for is a way out.
[ because she hasn't asked him to stay with her. she's given him the option by simply opening up her home to him, but she hasn't come outright and asked it of him — because she's always been so sure she already knew his answer. she'd told him before that she wasn't repulsed by their connection, wasn't trying to buck it off with every ounce of her being, and that is true. but given the otherwise overwhelming uncertainty, she'd found herself reluctant to simply turn into the skid and give into the powerful drag of the compulsion to be near him. letting herself want that, when she doesn't know what good it will do, is almost more terrifying than the appearance of the mark itself. ]
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. ]
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Is that how you feel I've been treating you? Like I'm just hopin' you'll disappear?
[ hesitant as she'd been to form a proper attachment to him, she doesn't think she's been hostile or condemning — not since the fight with bogue, not since everything had drawn to a close. she's been trying to come to terms with everything, while still juggling her grief and the twists and turns her life had taken at breakneck speed.
but she hasn't been praying for him to vanish. not even slightly.
(praying for her own patience, more like, but not for faraday to leave.) ]
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If Faraday were an honest man, he’d admit that, no, he hasn’t sensed that same hostility, as in the early days. Not since that quiet moment under the stars. Not since she sat with him in his hospital room while he was drugged to his eyeballs on painkillers. Not since they found one another on the battlefield, their connection flooded by feelings of fear and excitement and battle-rage and worry.
So he doesn’t answer her question. Not directly, anyway. ]
It'd solve a whole lot of our problems if I did, wouldn't it?
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Not in the way I want them solved.
[ she can at least say that with some sort of confidence. hard as this is, complicated as it's become, she knows she doesn't want him to disappear on her (especially not if it means feeling like she's being wrenched apart). ]
I told you, I'm not tryin' to shove this away anymore. I don't— [ she pauses, reevaluates. ] I'm not near sure what I want or how best to go about this, but I'm not in any hurry to see you gone. I know that much.
[ she's no good at this, partially because she's never had to be, never had to stare down her own pride and try to parse out something this difficult. things with matthew had always been easy, had just flowed, but with faraday, she feels like she's constantly tripping over herself and their differences, trying to find a middle ground (or, really, any ground to stand on with him). ]
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?
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[ she hasn't lost her patience with him yet — or, well, not enough to want him gone; he's gotten on her nerves, certainly, and today was...much bigger than usual, but she hadn't wanted him to leave because of it.
irksome and exasperating as he could summon himself up to be, she didn't wish him away like she had before, in the beginning.
she hadn't for a good while now. ]
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[ 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.
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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.
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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.
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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. ]
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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'.
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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. ]
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… 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. ]
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[ 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. ]
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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.
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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. ]
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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. ]
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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. ]
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Faraday knew little about Matthew Cullen, largely by design. What did he care about a dead man? Who Matthew was, how he was, had no bearing on the job or on Faraday, wouldn't have affected the outcome for good or ill. What Faraday knows, though, is that Matthew Cullen's death was enough to spark a massive thunderstorm, one that put steel in Emma's bones and flames in her eyes.
What a poor substitute, Faraday must be.
He swallows thickly, taking a few limping steps forward. ]
You sure on this? [ low, uncertain, and his gaze flicks up to her face before darting away. ]
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I assure you I'd send you off if I wasn't.
[ emma isn't one to go back on her word — but, more accurately, she's not one to even offer something if she thinks she'll regret it.
she's still uncertain about the road she's going down with faraday, but she doesn't regret offering a place in her bed. ]
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It's terrifying, is what it is, but Emma has that steadfastness to her that Faraday has come to recognize as when her mind is made up. No doubts, no regrets – just churning forward.
Refusing the offer would do more harm than not, he thinks, and he's caused enough harm today. Faraday moves forward, sitting on the edge of the bed. Tries not to think of the dead man whose shoes he could never be able to fill.
He busies himself for a second with unraveling the blanket he had brought, spreading it out on the bed for that little bit of warmth, before he slowly crawls under the covers. He keeps to the edge of the mattress, leaving space between them. ]
This fine?
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but again, it's not something she's eager to offer up, even if it's bound to bleed into their empathic link.
she finally swings her legs back into the bed, scooting under the blankets and making herself comfortable as she lays back. ]
More than fine, Faraday.
[ she shifts onto her side to look at him, though the space between them feels like a small country, for all that they haven't crossed it. no man's land, after a fashion, and though she wants to reach out, at least touch his arm or his hand, she holds herself back for now. this is...a big change already, and she doesn't want to overwhelm either or both of them in the midst of finding their footing in something new. ]
Comfortable enough?
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If he had more distance to this strange evening, he'd find the whole thing laughable: going from snapping and snarling at each other like caged animals, to Faraday packing up his things and attempting an escape, to easing onto unstable ground and sharing a bed. It's likely that the quickness of it all has left Faraday in something of a daze, careening from one extreme to another. How else can he explain why he's gone from stepping out onto the street, intent on hobbling his way to the closest bus station, to lying with Emma goddamn Cullen in her bedroom?
Maybe in the morning he'll feel something beyond this uncertainty, this nervousness that tells him he's bound to screw something up, as was his way. For now, though, it fills him up, drones in his ears like a second pulse.
But her question, the mundaneness of it, makes him laugh a little; that's the sort of question one asks a guest, sitting on a lumpy couch. Or an ailing friend, resting in an unfamiliar chair. Some of his anxiety ebbs, and he forces himself to relax a little.
(Maybe they're just both lonely, a small voice tells him. Would it be much of a surprise if that were true?) ]
'M just fine.
[ he makes himself settle a little further, shuffling down a ways to get comfortable. It's a little odd for Faraday, sharing a bed without expecting sex to come into the equation, but speaking that thought aloud would likely shatter the brittle truce they've formed. ]
Get back to sleep. Mornin's not too far off.
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