[ Things are different, after the mess with Teddy Q.
A small, petty part of him blames the other man for the problems that have arisen between himself and Emma, though the problems are largely invisible and ignored. Like Faraday, in those early days after his death. There, but certainly not acknowledged. But unlike Faraday and his haunting of Rose Creek, this was looming. This was giant and incredibly close, its shadows dark and oppressive as it stood over them.
Too big for Faraday to get a good look at it. Too dangerous for him to grapple with it. Too terrifying for him to spend too much time dwelling on it.
But it's there, creating a wall between them. Old, familiar barriers that Faraday had once assumed were set aside. Emma goes back to treating him like a leper, and something in his chest clenches. He misses the casual brush of her hand against his arm. Bitterly, he thinks on how a kind touch has been stolen from him twice over now – once by death, and again by this thing driving them apart. He finds himself moving to initiate some kind of contact, sometimes – except he always shies away at the last moment. Some alien fear he's never experienced, something that paralyzes him and brings him to his knees.
Like stepping onto a bridge, hearing the telltale snap of twine. Like feeling it lurch beneath his feet and fearing that another misstep will send him plummeting. Better to be frozen than to unravel the whole thing.
Eventually it becomes too much, and rather than speak on it, rather than turn to Emma and demand an explanation for this sudden wedge driven between them, he drifts away. Faraday had always done his best to never outstay his welcome in life, and now, while he doesn't have a choice, he can at least make himself a little scarce. Wandering through town. People watching. Making life inconvenient for a particular Theodore – nothing dire or dangerous, but small things to get his dander up. Nudging his glass toward the edges of tables, leaving him liable to knock the thing over onto the floor. Pushing his chair aside as he moved to sit. Holding doors shut and letting them just as Teddy heaved it open with all his might, sending the poor man tumbling under the force of his own strength.
It did little to improve Faraday's mood, but it did little to harm it, too.
But Faraday always drifts back, always finds himself ending his day in Emma's home, because what else can he do? Even with Emma keeping her distance, Faraday craves her company – not just because she's the only one who can speak to him, but because he likes being in her presence. Feels a strange sort of warmth curling in him as she smiles, as she laughs, as she turns that look on him, the one that tells him she's up to no good.
Lord, how he misses it, that comfort that had settled between them. Now, the tenseness just makes him itch.
So here he is, just as the sun begins to set, fresh from tripping Teddy Q off the edge of a porch, face-first into a mud puddle. (Entertaining, at the time, but still not a proper remedy for what ails Faraday.) He appears timidly in the corner of her home, thumbs hooked over his belt, and glances around carefully. ]
Miss Emma?
[ Back to old habits. A quiet warning to alert her to his presence. He steps further into her home. ]
Just dropping by—
[ His gaze falls on the small table – his usual haunt while Emma busied herself with chores – onto the bottle of bourbon sitting alongside an almost innocuous set of cards. Faraday slowly stills, eyes narrowing as he takes in the sight, as he tries (and fails) to determine the reason for the items' presence.
Faraday creeps up the table, almost as though he was afraid of startling some frightened creature, and reaches out. His hand hovers uncertainly before it closes around the cards. Brand new, judging by the sharp edges of the cards, the whiteness of it, the snap of the paper as he riffles the short edge.
His gaze flicks to the bottle again, and in a murmur, mostly to himself, ]
no subject
A small, petty part of him blames the other man for the problems that have arisen between himself and Emma, though the problems are largely invisible and ignored. Like Faraday, in those early days after his death. There, but certainly not acknowledged. But unlike Faraday and his haunting of Rose Creek, this was looming. This was giant and incredibly close, its shadows dark and oppressive as it stood over them.
Too big for Faraday to get a good look at it. Too dangerous for him to grapple with it. Too terrifying for him to spend too much time dwelling on it.
But it's there, creating a wall between them. Old, familiar barriers that Faraday had once assumed were set aside. Emma goes back to treating him like a leper, and something in his chest clenches. He misses the casual brush of her hand against his arm. Bitterly, he thinks on how a kind touch has been stolen from him twice over now – once by death, and again by this thing driving them apart. He finds himself moving to initiate some kind of contact, sometimes – except he always shies away at the last moment. Some alien fear he's never experienced, something that paralyzes him and brings him to his knees.
Like stepping onto a bridge, hearing the telltale snap of twine. Like feeling it lurch beneath his feet and fearing that another misstep will send him plummeting. Better to be frozen than to unravel the whole thing.
Eventually it becomes too much, and rather than speak on it, rather than turn to Emma and demand an explanation for this sudden wedge driven between them, he drifts away. Faraday had always done his best to never outstay his welcome in life, and now, while he doesn't have a choice, he can at least make himself a little scarce. Wandering through town. People watching. Making life inconvenient for a particular Theodore – nothing dire or dangerous, but small things to get his dander up. Nudging his glass toward the edges of tables, leaving him liable to knock the thing over onto the floor. Pushing his chair aside as he moved to sit. Holding doors shut and letting them just as Teddy heaved it open with all his might, sending the poor man tumbling under the force of his own strength.
It did little to improve Faraday's mood, but it did little to harm it, too.
But Faraday always drifts back, always finds himself ending his day in Emma's home, because what else can he do? Even with Emma keeping her distance, Faraday craves her company – not just because she's the only one who can speak to him, but because he likes being in her presence. Feels a strange sort of warmth curling in him as she smiles, as she laughs, as she turns that look on him, the one that tells him she's up to no good.
Lord, how he misses it, that comfort that had settled between them. Now, the tenseness just makes him itch.
So here he is, just as the sun begins to set, fresh from tripping Teddy Q off the edge of a porch, face-first into a mud puddle. (Entertaining, at the time, but still not a proper remedy for what ails Faraday.) He appears timidly in the corner of her home, thumbs hooked over his belt, and glances around carefully. ]
Miss Emma?
[ Back to old habits. A quiet warning to alert her to his presence. He steps further into her home. ]
Just dropping by—
[ His gaze falls on the small table – his usual haunt while Emma busied herself with chores – onto the bottle of bourbon sitting alongside an almost innocuous set of cards. Faraday slowly stills, eyes narrowing as he takes in the sight, as he tries (and fails) to determine the reason for the items' presence.
Faraday creeps up the table, almost as though he was afraid of startling some frightened creature, and reaches out. His hand hovers uncertainly before it closes around the cards. Brand new, judging by the sharp edges of the cards, the whiteness of it, the snap of the paper as he riffles the short edge.
His gaze flicks to the bottle again, and in a murmur, mostly to himself, ]
The hell is all this?