[ That brush of contact, tentative as it is, sends something bursting through him, that unfamiliar sensation blossoming in his chest; the tension drops from his shoulders on a slow exhale.
Faraday doesn't remember the day of the battle with any true clarity – remembers mowing down men, remembers an all-consuming rage, remembers far more pain than any man should ever survive.
The first time they had touched, after he suffered the first bullet wound of many, is a hazy spot in his memory, and the time in the hospital was much the same. The only time he recalls vividly is when they grasped one another's hands in the early days after his release from the hospital. A dark, star-dappled sky above them and the night's chill around them.
And just as he did that time, he gives himself to the sensation, lets his body move of its own accord to lean toward her. It stands starkly at odds with how close he had been to willingly shoving this all behind him – but, well, there's much to be said for Faraday's tempestuous relationship with instant gratification. ]
'S fine.
[ More sincerely, that time, though it escapes him as more of a mumble. His left hand loosens its grip on his right arm, and he relaxes by slow degrees.
A quick glance up – something that could likely be categorized as shy – and the corner of his mouth quirks up. ]
[ emma visibly relaxes as he speaks again — though whether it's from the contact, the fading of the pain, or the fact that he doesn't seem especially angry is anyone's guess. ]
Thought it might do something to make it hurt less. It seems to ease things an awful lot.
[ touching him just— made everything oddly bearable, whether it was physical or circumstantial. it had the strange soothing effect of making the world a little less sharp and jagged, like it was just sanding down the edges of whatever ailed them.
in this case, that proves to be in their favor.
she lets her fingers press a little more fully against his skin, still gentle and mindful, but not the barest brush of contact anymore. ]
I'm still sorry for reactin' like that. Just odd having someone here again, if that makes any sense.
[ An involuntary response to her apology, as her touch becomes more sure. Because, for the briefest second as that feeling swelled, Faraday evidently forgot how words worked.
(He had a stormy sort of relationship with schooling, as well.)
He shakes his head a little, clearing the warm, rolling fog that tries its best to settle. Better than any booze, any drug he’s ever tried. He had called this habit-forming, once, but time and distance had made the memory of their contact a little less bright. Now, he remembers why he’d said that.
His left hand falls to his lap completely, this time, and he gives his right arm an experimental stretch. Still stings, but that’s about where he was before his rude awakening. ]
No harm done. [ Nothing lasting, anyway.
Faraday glances up again, and that usual roguish glint is gone from his eyes. His good shoulder lifts in a shrug. ] I get it, you know. Didn’t expect to see me, so you scrambled off like your bed was on fire.
[ His mouth curls in a rueful little smile. ] Can’t say that’s the first time I’ve had that happen, either.
[ emma feels like she should probably pull her hand away, but she's content to let her touch linger for now, skin to skin, though she doesn't reach for his hand like she had before under the stars — doesn't want to push things, really. ]
I wouldn't go claimin' it was because it's you.
[ she shakes her head, but meets his eyes again. there's a melancholy tinge to her demeanor, but not something she wants to actively let slip. ]
This bed has been empty for a while now. If I was so opposed to wakin' up with you, I wouldn't have invited you in the first place.
[ which is true enough. waking up beside faraday doesn't bother her, but she'd been so startled by the change, when she'd just barely started to get used to being alone, that her sleep-hazy mind had reacted in the worst possible way (well, shy of actually punching him instead). ]
It's just— different now. I have to adjust to something else.
[ He falls quiet for a few seconds, letting the waves of their bond wash through him, letting her words settle in his head. He does understand, of course, how the presence of another person might have startled her, sleep-addled as she must have been.
Faraday's not entirely convinced that it wasn't at least partially because it was him, even if she says as much, but he keeps the thought (and that flutter of doubt) to himself. ]
"Adjust," huh? [ He repeats it back lightly, in case she hadn't realized what she had said. ] Seems to imply you expect a repeat of this.
[ admittedly, emma has no idea that she'd given that away, and she blinks at him for a moment, replaying what she'd said, and—
oh.
she certainly doesn't blush, absolutely not. must be a trick of the early morning light that her cheeks seem a bit pink. ]
I— don't expect it. [ she tries to be careful with her words now, not wanting to tip her hand any more than she already had. ] But I suppose I wouldn't be opposed.
If that's something you'd also find yourself amenable to.
[ He wears a small, crooked smile, noticing the light flush of her cheeks. (A faint part of him warms at the sight, though he doesn’t acknowledge it.) And he should joke, to cut some of the tension. Should let his smile slowly spread in that uniquely ribald way of his, point out that he doesn’t often share the bed with a woman more than once.
But he keeps those comments to himself. Instead, ]
Depends. [ His head tilts slightly, and his voice takes on a teasing timbre. ] You likely to try and punch my teeth out the next time?
[ emma looks mildly embarrassed, but she covers it easily with one of her usual flat expressions, that little half-glare he tends to get from her when he's just bordering on irksome. ]
I wasn't plannin' on it. Can't say as you've done anything to deserve it.
“Yet.” [ Repeated back flatly, almost something akin to agreement. He does, after all, make a habit of being an ass, much to the chagrin of anyone who has the poor fortune of knowing him for even a handful of minutes.
He stretches his arm again, smoothing his other hand over the reddened scar. ]
Suppose it’s just as well that I can take a punch. [ And a half-dozen bullets. And an explosion. But he’s more well-versed in shaking off a punch to the face than any of those. ]
Then I'm sure it won't be all that much of an imposition if you do earn it, so I don't see why that oughta stop you from sharing my bed.
[ she says it matter-of-factly, like she's not talking about punching him in the face. she's mostly trying to do something to keep it from being awkward or tense or...from really focusing on the fact that she's giving him an open invitation to her bedroom.
[ He chuckles at the deadpan delivery of those words. ]
Inconvenient, is what it is.
[ Brightly, like he’s not talking about getting punched in the face.
And truthfully, the invitation is… odd. And the jokes are welcome, because as yet, Faraday’s not entirely sure how to react or how he should react – which, in his experience, are often two very different things. The invitation to stay in her home had been one thing: a matter of practicality for him, considering he had no place to return to. A matter of— politeness, he supposes, for her. Gratitude. Indebtedness.
(His mind drifts to yesterday’s argument, and he inwardly cringes.)
But this is… new. Not at all what he’s used to. Offers to share a bed are a dime a dozen, admittedly, but that had been strictly sexual. This is intimate, and he’s not rightly sure what the endgame might be.
He takes a deep breath, forces that air of levity that so often wreathes him. ]
My teeth and I would appreciate it if we kept the hittin’ to special occasions, thanks.
[ part of emma doesn't entirely expect faraday to accept the invitation, which may be why it's easier to offer up. it's intimate, certainly, but she also didn't...hate sleeping in that bed with him. in fact, she'd rested far better than she had in months, and that was significant enough on its own.
however, it's still a new layer to this...thing. and while she's no stranger to affection (and, in fact, misses it mightily since matthew's death), it's different with faraday. the implications, because of their marks, are greater, more weighty and hinged on this odd twist of fate.
but, in a way, the offer is another quiet acceptance on emma's part. she isn't rejecting him on principle alone, and given how the bond affects them both, she's not going to write it off immediately. ]
Think I could manage that. But does that mean you'll be keepin' the kind of comments that would warrant such retaliation to yourself?
[ she raises her eyebrows at him, like she's doubting his ability to be properly polite, because, well. she absolutely is. ]
[ Amusement blooms in his chest, made all the more obvious through their continued connection. Still, she hardly needs the bond to know that, considering the crooked, roguish smile that curves his mouth. ]
Doubtful.
[ Which is probably the most genuine answer he's given in months. ]
I believe there's a saying regarding old dogs and new tricks. Seems to hold water in this case.
[ He rolls his eyes at the comment on his age but doesn't respond to it beyond that.
His lips part to reply back, That just sounds like a challenge, but he falls quiet, watching her comb through her hair. His gaze flicks to the window, morning sunlight still flowing into the room, to the clock on her nightstand, and he frowns.
With a touch of hesitation, ]
... Suppose the two of us oughta get started on the day.
[ his words draw Emma's attention to the clock by her bed, and she gives a small nod, just as reluctant when she speaks. ]
I reckon you're not wrong.
[ and it's a little strange how much she finds herself just wanting to stay in that bed with faraday, just...enjoying his company? is that what she's doing?
that feels even stranger. ]
I can try seein' to your window today, if you'd like.
[ it's been patched, but not properly, and it's unfortunately fallen by the wayside with the list a mile long full of other repairs that need to be made, in her house and the rest of the neighborhood. it's a small offer, but it hinges silently on whether or not faraday wants a repeat of sleeping in Emma's bed. ]
[ He hears it for the out that it is – a door propped open, allowing him a graceful exit. Classy, he thinks. Far better than him trying to stumble his way into an escape, like he had attempted last night.
And he could easily take it, offer to lend a hand in its repair to help speed things up and smooth things over. He probably should take it, in fact, to keep them from edging up toward this dangerous ledge. Keep them from diving too deeply into some strange unknown, because Faraday hardly knows if he can handle this. Maybe Emma can, with all that steel plating her bones, but Faraday is a different story entirely.
But that selfish part of him shrugs its shoulders, thinks about the short term feeling of satisfaction, tells him that the consequences are surely such a long way off. Why not enjoy this while it lasts, and deal with the aftermath when it comes, ages and ages down the line?
That selfish voice is so damn loud most days, and it’s why Faraday shakes his head. ]
No need. Pretty sure a drafty window is about the least of your worries, these days.
[ Accepting her offer, then, though without so many words. ]
[ emma's momentarily taken aback by his response, because she takes it just as much as an acceptance of her oblique offer, and...she likes that. it stirs a small, curl of warmth in her chest that she tries to ignore, to push aside for later.
much later. ]
Then I suppose I'll be seein' to it eventually instead.
[ and there's a small tug at the corner of her lips, just bordering on a smile. ]
Damnedest thing, actually. Woke up this mornin’ feelin’ like my arm got trampled.
[ A teasing sort of smile, before he lets out a breath, shaking his head.
As she can probably tell, it’ll be ages before Faraday lets her live that down. It’s been an eventful morning, and an eventful evening before that, and Faraday thinks the both of them could do with a small laugh. ]
Seems to have passed, though, thank my lucky stars.
[ it— actually does make emma laugh. small and soft, but it's definitely a laugh. ]
Imagine that. Perhaps you've been tanglin' with horses in your sleep. Would explain the trampling.
[ it's a much needed reprieve from the tension of the night before, from the uncertain steps they've been trying to tip-toe around each other. it's more progress than they've made since he came to her home, since that night under the stars, and it's...at least something. slow and tentative, but something all the same. ]
Horses, surely. [ This, said with a light shrug. ] Couldn't imagine it being anything else.
Unless there was a half-dreamin' woman, flailin' her limbs about every which way, but that seems highly unlikely, don't it?
[ He smiles, gives his right arm one last stretch, before deciding that it feels far better than it has in ages. The soreness will return soon enough, he knows; a slow tide that'll draw in as the day goes on, but he'll deal with it when it gets there. ]
I'll make do. [ A more earnest response to her original question. ] See how the day treats me.
[ but she nods softly, appreciating the honesty (well, of a fashion), and she just shifts again, tucking her hair behind her ear as she considers faraday. ]
Let me know if you're needing anything?
[ for the pain, is what she mostly means. even if it's something as small as a brief bit of contact, she knows what it can do for his injuries and the leftover ache. she's still working on adjusting to the idea of touching faraday, but...it's so pleasant that it's difficult for her to simply write it off — like the rest of this mess, if she's honest. ]
Which isn't me coddlin' you.
[ she adds, though without any of the sting behind her words that there might have been months ago. ]
There just seems to be a kind of boon to this— thing as far as helping ease your discomfort.
[ A reassurance, where yesterday it was shaped as the start of an argument. Difficult to get angry, anyway, with that feeling of contentment flowing through him, sanding down the rough edges. His smile takes on a confident edge. ]
I've lived through worse than a few stiff limbs.
[ He reaches over, rests his hand over hers, where she still presses her fingers to his skin. His expression softens a little, some of that cocksure attitude slipping away. ]
[ for some reason, it still catches her by surprise when faraday reaches out to her like that, when his hand settles over her own, even more of that warmth and completion winding through her. there's a quiet part of her that feels the smallest twinge of guilt by how she naturally reacts to faraday and this contact, because...well, as much as she'd loved matthew, there had never been this kind of physical or psychic connection that just drew such immediate and genuine comfort to her. she has no control over it, of course, but it's startling all the same to feel something so significant for a man who most certainly isn't her late husband.
but even with that quiet reluctance, she still enjoys the way all of this feels.
tentatively, she turns her hand under faraday's, giving his fingers a soft squeeze in return. ]
Happy to offer.
[ she lets the touch linger, momentarily loath to pull away (even if they ought to be starting their day; can't just lounge about when there's work to be done). ]
How about breakfast instead? You must be mighty hungry after skippin' dinner last night.
[ And there it is again, that flash of sincerity, so stark and unfamiliar that it could only be from Emma. (Lord knows such a thing could only come from Faraday if hell froze over and pigs found means to fly.)
Frightening, to be offered this kindness, not knowing what's expected of him. Easier when these things had some sort of give and take baked in – but what can Faraday offer, anyway, other than a few off-color jokes and a handful of tricks, hampered by the toll taken on his right arm?
It's Faraday who pulls away first, slow and reluctant, and their connection slowly closes over to a single, buzzing thread. He rings with the loss, momentarily dazed, but he shakes himself and presses on. ]
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no subject
Faraday doesn't remember the day of the battle with any true clarity – remembers mowing down men, remembers an all-consuming rage, remembers far more pain than any man should ever survive.
The first time they had touched, after he suffered the first bullet wound of many, is a hazy spot in his memory, and the time in the hospital was much the same. The only time he recalls vividly is when they grasped one another's hands in the early days after his release from the hospital. A dark, star-dappled sky above them and the night's chill around them.
And just as he did that time, he gives himself to the sensation, lets his body move of its own accord to lean toward her. It stands starkly at odds with how close he had been to willingly shoving this all behind him – but, well, there's much to be said for Faraday's tempestuous relationship with instant gratification. ]
'S fine.
[ More sincerely, that time, though it escapes him as more of a mumble. His left hand loosens its grip on his right arm, and he relaxes by slow degrees.
A quick glance up – something that could likely be categorized as shy – and the corner of his mouth quirks up. ]
This ain't too bad, as far as apologies go.
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Thought it might do something to make it hurt less. It seems to ease things an awful lot.
[ touching him just— made everything oddly bearable, whether it was physical or circumstantial. it had the strange soothing effect of making the world a little less sharp and jagged, like it was just sanding down the edges of whatever ailed them.
in this case, that proves to be in their favor.
she lets her fingers press a little more fully against his skin, still gentle and mindful, but not the barest brush of contact anymore. ]
I'm still sorry for reactin' like that. Just odd having someone here again, if that makes any sense.
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[ An involuntary response to her apology, as her touch becomes more sure. Because, for the briefest second as that feeling swelled, Faraday evidently forgot how words worked.
(He had a stormy sort of relationship with schooling, as well.)
He shakes his head a little, clearing the warm, rolling fog that tries its best to settle. Better than any booze, any drug he’s ever tried. He had called this habit-forming, once, but time and distance had made the memory of their contact a little less bright. Now, he remembers why he’d said that.
His left hand falls to his lap completely, this time, and he gives his right arm an experimental stretch. Still stings, but that’s about where he was before his rude awakening. ]
No harm done. [ Nothing lasting, anyway.
Faraday glances up again, and that usual roguish glint is gone from his eyes. His good shoulder lifts in a shrug. ] I get it, you know. Didn’t expect to see me, so you scrambled off like your bed was on fire.
[ His mouth curls in a rueful little smile. ] Can’t say that’s the first time I’ve had that happen, either.
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I wouldn't go claimin' it was because it's you.
[ she shakes her head, but meets his eyes again. there's a melancholy tinge to her demeanor, but not something she wants to actively let slip. ]
This bed has been empty for a while now. If I was so opposed to wakin' up with you, I wouldn't have invited you in the first place.
[ which is true enough. waking up beside faraday doesn't bother her, but she'd been so startled by the change, when she'd just barely started to get used to being alone, that her sleep-hazy mind had reacted in the worst possible way (well, shy of actually punching him instead). ]
It's just— different now. I have to adjust to something else.
[ and faraday is that "something else." ]
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Faraday's not entirely convinced that it wasn't at least partially because it was him, even if she says as much, but he keeps the thought (and that flutter of doubt) to himself. ]
"Adjust," huh? [ He repeats it back lightly, in case she hadn't realized what she had said. ] Seems to imply you expect a repeat of this.
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oh.
she certainly doesn't blush, absolutely not. must be a trick of the early morning light that her cheeks seem a bit pink. ]
I— don't expect it. [ she tries to be careful with her words now, not wanting to tip her hand any more than she already had. ] But I suppose I wouldn't be opposed.
If that's something you'd also find yourself amenable to.
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But he keeps those comments to himself. Instead, ]
Depends. [ His head tilts slightly, and his voice takes on a teasing timbre. ] You likely to try and punch my teeth out the next time?
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I wasn't plannin' on it. Can't say as you've done anything to deserve it.
[ but she adds (without too much sincerity), ]
Yet.
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He stretches his arm again, smoothing his other hand over the reddened scar. ]
Suppose it’s just as well that I can take a punch. [ And a half-dozen bullets. And an explosion. But he’s more well-versed in shaking off a punch to the face than any of those. ]
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[ she says it matter-of-factly, like she's not talking about punching him in the face. she's mostly trying to do something to keep it from being awkward or tense or...from really focusing on the fact that she's giving him an open invitation to her bedroom.
(even if that's what it is.) ]
But I won't make a habit of it.
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Inconvenient, is what it is.
[ Brightly, like he’s not talking about getting punched in the face.
And truthfully, the invitation is… odd. And the jokes are welcome, because as yet, Faraday’s not entirely sure how to react or how he should react – which, in his experience, are often two very different things. The invitation to stay in her home had been one thing: a matter of practicality for him, considering he had no place to return to. A matter of— politeness, he supposes, for her. Gratitude. Indebtedness.
(His mind drifts to yesterday’s argument, and he inwardly cringes.)
But this is… new. Not at all what he’s used to. Offers to share a bed are a dime a dozen, admittedly, but that had been strictly sexual. This is intimate, and he’s not rightly sure what the endgame might be.
He takes a deep breath, forces that air of levity that so often wreathes him. ]
My teeth and I would appreciate it if we kept the hittin’ to special occasions, thanks.
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however, it's still a new layer to this...thing. and while she's no stranger to affection (and, in fact, misses it mightily since matthew's death), it's different with faraday. the implications, because of their marks, are greater, more weighty and hinged on this odd twist of fate.
but, in a way, the offer is another quiet acceptance on emma's part. she isn't rejecting him on principle alone, and given how the bond affects them both, she's not going to write it off immediately. ]
Think I could manage that. But does that mean you'll be keepin' the kind of comments that would warrant such retaliation to yourself?
[ she raises her eyebrows at him, like she's doubting his ability to be properly polite, because, well. she absolutely is. ]
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Doubtful.
[ Which is probably the most genuine answer he's given in months. ]
I believe there's a saying regarding old dogs and new tricks. Seems to hold water in this case.
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[ was that an old joke? probably. ]
I suppose it's fortunate for you, then, I have more self control and less inclination to go knockin' your teeth out on a few ill-mannered comments.
[ she shrugs lightly, reaching up to run fingers through her own hair, gently working out a few knots and tangles. ]
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His lips part to reply back, That just sounds like a challenge, but he falls quiet, watching her comb through her hair. His gaze flicks to the window, morning sunlight still flowing into the room, to the clock on her nightstand, and he frowns.
With a touch of hesitation, ]
... Suppose the two of us oughta get started on the day.
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I reckon you're not wrong.
[ and it's a little strange how much she finds herself just wanting to stay in that bed with faraday, just...enjoying his company? is that what she's doing?
that feels even stranger. ]
I can try seein' to your window today, if you'd like.
[ it's been patched, but not properly, and it's unfortunately fallen by the wayside with the list a mile long full of other repairs that need to be made, in her house and the rest of the neighborhood. it's a small offer, but it hinges silently on whether or not faraday wants a repeat of sleeping in Emma's bed. ]
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And he could easily take it, offer to lend a hand in its repair to help speed things up and smooth things over. He probably should take it, in fact, to keep them from edging up toward this dangerous ledge. Keep them from diving too deeply into some strange unknown, because Faraday hardly knows if he can handle this. Maybe Emma can, with all that steel plating her bones, but Faraday is a different story entirely.
But that selfish part of him shrugs its shoulders, thinks about the short term feeling of satisfaction, tells him that the consequences are surely such a long way off. Why not enjoy this while it lasts, and deal with the aftermath when it comes, ages and ages down the line?
That selfish voice is so damn loud most days, and it’s why Faraday shakes his head. ]
No need. Pretty sure a drafty window is about the least of your worries, these days.
[ Accepting her offer, then, though without so many words. ]
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much later. ]
Then I suppose I'll be seein' to it eventually instead.
[ and there's a small tug at the corner of her lips, just bordering on a smile. ]
Is your pain any better today?
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[ A teasing sort of smile, before he lets out a breath, shaking his head.
As she can probably tell, it’ll be ages before Faraday lets her live that down. It’s been an eventful morning, and an eventful evening before that, and Faraday thinks the both of them could do with a small laugh. ]
Seems to have passed, though, thank my lucky stars.
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Imagine that. Perhaps you've been tanglin' with horses in your sleep. Would explain the trampling.
[ it's a much needed reprieve from the tension of the night before, from the uncertain steps they've been trying to tip-toe around each other. it's more progress than they've made since he came to her home, since that night under the stars, and it's...at least something. slow and tentative, but something all the same. ]
I haven't the faintest what else might've done.
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Unless there was a half-dreamin' woman, flailin' her limbs about every which way, but that seems highly unlikely, don't it?
[ He smiles, gives his right arm one last stretch, before deciding that it feels far better than it has in ages. The soreness will return soon enough, he knows; a slow tide that'll draw in as the day goes on, but he'll deal with it when it gets there. ]
I'll make do. [ A more earnest response to her original question. ] See how the day treats me.
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[ but she nods softly, appreciating the honesty (well, of a fashion), and she just shifts again, tucking her hair behind her ear as she considers faraday. ]
Let me know if you're needing anything?
[ for the pain, is what she mostly means. even if it's something as small as a brief bit of contact, she knows what it can do for his injuries and the leftover ache. she's still working on adjusting to the idea of touching faraday, but...it's so pleasant that it's difficult for her to simply write it off — like the rest of this mess, if she's honest. ]
Which isn't me coddlin' you.
[ she adds, though without any of the sting behind her words that there might have been months ago. ]
There just seems to be a kind of boon to this— thing as far as helping ease your discomfort.
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[ A reassurance, where yesterday it was shaped as the start of an argument. Difficult to get angry, anyway, with that feeling of contentment flowing through him, sanding down the rough edges. His smile takes on a confident edge. ]
I've lived through worse than a few stiff limbs.
[ He reaches over, rests his hand over hers, where she still presses her fingers to his skin. His expression softens a little, some of that cocksure attitude slipping away. ]
... But I appreciate the offer.
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but even with that quiet reluctance, she still enjoys the way all of this feels.
tentatively, she turns her hand under faraday's, giving his fingers a soft squeeze in return. ]
Happy to offer.
[ she lets the touch linger, momentarily loath to pull away (even if they ought to be starting their day; can't just lounge about when there's work to be done). ]
How about breakfast instead? You must be mighty hungry after skippin' dinner last night.
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Frightening, to be offered this kindness, not knowing what's expected of him. Easier when these things had some sort of give and take baked in – but what can Faraday offer, anyway, other than a few off-color jokes and a handful of tricks, hampered by the toll taken on his right arm?
It's Faraday who pulls away first, slow and reluctant, and their connection slowly closes over to a single, buzzing thread. He rings with the loss, momentarily dazed, but he shakes himself and presses on. ]
Whatever you're havin' will do me just fine.
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