[ 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, ]
[ with the sun going down, emma is just finishing off her laundry, bringing it in from the clothesline to properly put it all away. she nudges open her front door with her hip, an armful of dresses and otherwise in hand as she steps inside. she pauses when she sees faraday by the table, the new deck in his hands, and she can't help the faintest of smiles tugging at her lips (not quite there, but she's oddly warmed to see him with the cards). ]
Evenin', Faraday.
[ she doesn't say anything about the spirits or the cards, doesn't feel the need to mention the gift — because it's absolutely all for him. not many others she'd be gifting with alcohol, and certainly none she'd go out of her way to bring a deck of cards.
she moves to set down the laundry, figuring she might as well take care of it after she's made dinner (which, even months after matthew's death, it's still strange to cook for herself and no one else, deadman that faraday is). ]
I trust you found something to fill your day.
[ she isn't sure what he does when he vanishes during the daytime (now that he's taken to disappearing from her home, from no longer trailing along beside her), but she assumes he entertains himself...somehow.
unfortunately, she's also realized how much she's missed having him hang around, and the quiet in her days without his chatter and jokes (often at others' expense) is unpleasantly hollow. ]
[ Puzzled as he is by the bottle and the cards, he almost doesn’t hear Emma’s approach. He freezes again as the door creaks open, glances up almost guiltily when she greets him – but she says nothing when she spots the new deck in his hands. Smiles even, and even with how faint it is, Faraday has had more than enough time to acquaint himself with her smiles.
(This one is… fond, he thinks, and that familiar warmth twists in his lungs. Would’ve stolen his breath, if only he had any to steal.) ]
I did.
[ In answer to her unspoken question. More of the same, as with the other days. Stepping back to watch the people of Rose Creek live their lives. Standing on the hill and sweeping away some of the dirt from the white markers. (He leaves his own untouched. He’s still unsure whether he deserves this place of respect, but there’s little he can do to change it.) Rounding it out by watching Teddy wipe globs of mud from his face and shirtfront.
It all felt empty without Emma to enjoy it all with.
He watches her move through the room, the new, crisp cards still in hand, frowning a little when she doesn’t acknowledge the items on the table. (Well, item, singular, considering he’s holding the deck still.) He cuts a quick glance to the bottle again, then back to Emma. ]
You… [ He trails off, taking another second to shape the question properly. ] You expectin’ company?
Edited (guess u can call me at work now) 2016-11-15 23:37 (UTC)
[ emma steps past him to the kitchen, though there's a difference in the way she navigates the space: instead of giving faraday a wide berth like she has the last week or so, she just walks right by him, close enough that she could reach out and touch him, if she chose to.
it's not much, for the moment, but it's not the intensely purposeful avoidance from before. ]
Not a soul other than yourself.
[ not that she especially counted faraday as company these days; he's around so much and so often that she just expects to see him there, like being settled someplace in her house is where he ought to be. of course, that's been different lately, but...she's at least wanted to continue ending the days with faraday's presence somewhere nearby.
she busies herself in the kitchen, pulling down the things she'll need for dinner and setting them onto the counter, though when she tries to lean up and reach for her skillet, she's not quite tall enough to grasp it. (she'd asked faraday to put it up, after all, with those long arms of his.) she could find a small stool to boost herself up, but instead, she glances at faraday over her shoulder. ]
Would you mind givin' me a hand?
[ it would make her life a little easier, save her some trouble, but it's the kind of small request she hasn't gone and made since she'd put her walls back up again.
emma cullen is, and will always be, an incredibly self-reliant woman. however, it's a gesture of trust when she's asked faraday for a touch of help here and there — usually things she could take care of herself, but for her, letting someone else have the opportunity to at least do something minor is a gesture on its own. ]
[ Faraday tenses as she strides past – an involuntary sort of thing, one that he curses himself for even as he does it. More out of surprise than anything, too, rather than any sort of discomfort, any sort of anxiety. She had been so careful to avoid him this past week, and whether she meant to or not, the unnaturalness of his existence had slapped him once again in the face. An uncomfortable reminder of those early days, when a brush of his hand was like death itself.
But now, she moves right past him, close enough that he could easily grab hold of her arm, if he were inclined to, but he doesn’t. This ground is unsteady. Too precarious. And typically, Faraday is the type of man who would take an inch and go a mile, but not with this. Not with them. Not with something this—
(valuable. precious. treasured.)
—uncertain.
His gaze is sharp as he watches her – the gaze of a sharpshooter, preparing his shot. His hands turn the cards over, shuffling and cutting and turning the packets in his hands almost mindlessly – wearing down the cards, breaking them in to make them easier to handle. When she turns to look at him again, he jumps a little, startled out of his reverie, and puts the cards back on the table where he found them.
His approach is not unlike how one might slink toward a dangerous animal. A wolf who’s caught him in its sights, who’s captured the scent of him, but makes no move to attack. And Faraday walks forward slowly, almost warily, as if expecting Emma to flee or turn on him. When she makes no move to do either, he steps up beside her and reaches up, fingers easily wrapping around the handle of the pan. He pulls it down, holding it out a little hesitantly. ]
[ emma's more than aware of the hesitancy in faraday's posture, easily picking up on that expression that seems like he's waiting for her to snap at him with pointed teeth and glass-sharp edges. not that she can blame him: her reaction to proximity with him recently has been...skittish, overly mindful not to get near enough even for accidental contact.
(like she's expecting a burn or a bucket of icey water for her trouble.)
but instead of stepping pointedly away from him when he stands beside her, she holds her ground, maintains her unwavering gaze. emma is an individual of intensity, and in this moment, that focus is squarely on faraday, rather than more of the same fleeting, dismissive attention she'd paid him lately. ]
Yes, that's the one.
[ there's nothing hard about her tone, but for a second, she hesitates, questioning herself, but then the moment passes, and she reaches to take the pan from him.
as her fingers wrap around the handle, they brush over his. it's brief, gentle, but very much there, very intentional. she doesn't recoil or step away from him like she might have the rest of this week, doesn't jerk back like she's affronted by it, but rather, she seems wholly unbothered by the touch of his unearthly skin under hers.
(it's that casual contact of before, how easily and naturally she'd touched him, without a second thought.) ]
I appreciate it.
[ there's a part of that wants to— say something? reach out to him? apologize? does she owe that to him?
probably, given her inexplicable avoidance, but it's harder to swallow down her pride long enough to acknowledge that.
this is strangely easier, like a proffered olive branch of sorts — though it's not an explanation or much of a gesture on its own (because she still doesn't know how to parse this out, how to go about understanding exactly what she'd felt being so close to him and— and the fact that she's still drawn to being just as near as before, wouldn't even mind the possibility of more—
but oh, that's a dangerous line of thought. like looking down into a murky lake, because she can't see what's at the bottom or what kind of trouble she'll be letting herself dive into if she indulges those nagging little calls to be at this dead man's side.) ]
...might please you to know I haven't touched those cards long enough to go ruinin' their luck for you yet.
[ Her touch is deliberate, soft and brief though it is, and a marked change from a day ago, when she went out of her way to give him a wide berth. Faraday is confused by the change, certainly. Hardly knows why she's treated him like some disease-ridden mongrel, hardly knows why she's stopped, and the abrupt switch, back and forth, has left him dizzy.
He ought to be angry. He ought to demand an explanation, kick up a fuss until she tells him what in the hell is going on—
But mostly, he just feels relieved.
Her thanks is answered by a quiet hum of acknowledgment (he doesn't trust himself to say much more), and he steps back, leaving her space to prepare her evening meal. He struggles to shape words together, to offer some smart, cheeky comment to help smooth things over (because that's surely what they're doing, or at least it feels that way), but the words flit away from his grasp, leave a strange, fluttering sensation in his stomach. Luckily, Emma saves him from having to continue the conversation himself, and some of the mounting tension drains away from the set of his shoulders. ]
They're for me, then?
[ There's a bit of warmth in his voice as he asks it, something that betrays just how touched he is by the gesture. Gifts were a rarity in life, seeing as how he was a man who did little to deserve such simple kindnesses. He clears his throat and breathes out a quiet laugh, gaze flicking over to where he left the cards. ]
Mighty kind of you. Would be an inauspicious start, havin' to chase the devil outta them even before I had a chance to break 'em in.
[ oh, she probably ought to have all kinds of explanations ready for him, if she's honest. owes it to him to explain what's gone on in her head to cause the rapidly shifting treatment, but— she's not certain she's got words for it, herself. as mercurial as her behavior had been, it had all been an effort to avoid thinking about whatever those soft, warm feelings are settling in her chest.
she can't truly make sense of them herself, let alone articulate them for faraday.
(though there's a part of her that's not even remotely certain he'd want to hear it, if she managed to piece together a proper explanation.)
she keeps her hands occupied by preparing her meal, casting a glance towards him. she likes the warmth in his tone, she thinks, though she knows better than to say a thing about it — simply tucks it away with the rest of the flutters that accompany all of this. ]
Them and the bottle.
[ not that she's even sure if he can drink it, state that he's in, but it's the meaning she'd gone for, rather than the nature of the spirits. she certainly doesn't think he'd manage any kind of drunkenness, ghost that he is, but now that he can feel again, she thought perhaps he'd be able to enjoy the taste of fine alcohol.
the last bit gets an exasperated little sigh out of her, and she turns back to the counter with a roll of her eyes. ]
Responsible for callin' down the devil now, am I?
[ she just scoffs as she reaches for a knife, meaning to cut a few vegetables. ]
I suppose at least there's some measure of comfort for you now you've got a deck all your own; you won't have to go about sharin' with me.
[ she doesn't say it with any measure of bitterness — mostly, it's just a statement of fact. the deck that faraday had procured all those months ago can easily be the one emma uses for herself, while this brand new, previously untouched deck can be faraday's own.
it can be something, in the midst of his own existence so far removed and otherwise limited, that belongs solely to him. ]
[ He blinks a few times, gaze flitting to the bottle again with a renewed interest. He hadn't bothered trying to eat or drink anything since he realized what he was (or what he wasn't, more accurately), made easier by the fact that he feels no hunger or thirst. On occasion, he felt a little pang of nostalgia for his old vices whenever he and Emma drifted past the saloon, some fleeting desire to throw back a glass of whiskey, same as he had in life.
Faraday has no idea how that might work, drinking or eating, given what he is (isn't). He has no earthly clue if his strange form would allow him to taste.
The thought is short-lived, though, and he cuts a glance over to her as she starts chopping her greens. ]
Sharin' with you ain't so bad. [ He admits it softly, lifting a shoulder in a shrug. ] Even if you do make a habit of borrowin' bad luck.
[ emma's back is still to him as she tends to her food, and it gives her a moment to conceal a soft smile, something warmer, more genuine than she's managed over the last week.
of course, when she glances over at him, she's schooled her expression into something unimpressed, if a touch impish. ]
I don't see how you've gotten this notion I'm bad luck. You do just fine even after I've touched the cards.
Or is it instead that I'm startin' to show up my tutor that's got you stuck on some foolish idea that I'm cursing your deck?
[ which isn't actually true, because faraday's skill level is far beyond emma's, but she's been learning quick, catching onto tricks and perfecting the motions with her hands and the cards. her downfall comes when she has to try maintaining some sort of verbal patter when she's playing, because she's not exactly chatty by usual standards, and it comes less naturally to her to keep up a stream of distracting conversation. ]
Now, where’d you get a foolish idea like that from? [ This, with an impudent little smile. ] Silly of you. Deluded, almost. You’re gettin’ good, I’ll grant you that, but enough to show me up? The world’s greatest lover and showman?
[ He puffs out air from between his lips, a derisive sort of noise. ]
[this she missed. this goodnatured back and forth, the easy ribbing and competitive edge that had been so delightfully challenging these past months. matthew, bless his heart, had not been a competitive man, so to strike that cord with faraday has been strangely satisfying.
she just scoffs lightly, meeting that smile with a twitch of her own lips. ]
I reckon only one of those claims rings true — and perhaps even then would be mighty exaggerated.
Oh, my hearin' is just fine. But I'm saying your boasts are awful broad, and you've got no way of provin' them — might as well be you're simply full of hot air.
[ there's nothing scathing in emma's tone (a marked difference between when she really means to summon up something hurtful), but rather the usual sort of playful challenge they often bandy between them. ]
[ He huffs out a laugh (and decides to not point out the fact that he’s full of no air at all, considering what he is). It’s an old, familiar argument, circling round and round Faraday’s over-inflated sense of self-importance and skill, and it eases away a little more of that ache that had settled in his chest as the week had progressed, as Emma had pulled further and further away.
Faraday had worried in more recent days that she would abandon him entirely. Leave him to his own devices to wander in silence through a town that barely remembers him; oh, they remember what he did, riding out to Bogue’s secret weapon and nearly blowing himself up to kingdom come to rid them of it, but they hardly seem to remember him. Not like Emma did.
(He’s not sure what he would’ve done, if she had withdrawn from him entirely, but he fears he would’ve gone mad from loneliness.)
Settling in again, he purses his lips, tries to think of the most tactful way of asking the question burning at the back of his mind. And that’s a wonder, that he’s even attempting tact, considering the type of man he is; the two of them have been on thin ice, the past several days, and Faraday can’t bring himself to risk it with a reckless word. ]
What’s the occasion? [ This, with a jerk of his chin toward the small table. ]
well, it was unlikely they'd manage to continue dancing around the cards and the whiskey for too long, and while it gives her a moment's pause, she's not quite so tense or uncomfortable as she'd been over the last week. she's tentative, like she doesn't know where to begin explaining herself, but she knows she ought to, at least in some manner or another. ]
I suppose you could call it a reconciliation, of sorts.
[ the words edge their way dangerously close to an apology, one she's not even sure how to make — isn't even sure what she's going to apologize to him for. ]
Edited (changes things forever i am the worst) 2016-11-17 20:07 (UTC)
[ This, repeated flatly. Not quite disbelieving, but only just. Faraday had assumed (and rightly so, in his mind) that he had been the one to create the rift between them. That he would need to be the one to work toward an apology – though he had no idea what he had done, no idea what he had said, that had caused Emma to pull away as she had.
And he’s relieved that things are slowly returning to normal, though he has no earthly clue as to why that is, either. The whole ordeal has left him confused and reeling, and even with these little overtures, Faraday has yet to find his footing. ]
[ and this is where emma feels...at a bit of a loss. how does she articulate that faraday hadn't rightly done a single thing? that she'd been far more spooked by her own reactions and the potential implications of how she'd responded to being so close to him? obnoxious and trying as faraday could so often be, this time, emma couldn't fairly say that he'd been the sole cause of her sudden separation — or, even if he was at the heart of the matter, it wasn't that he'd somehow wronged her.
with a small sigh, emma turns away from the counter and her nearly-finished meal, looking towards faraday with a touch of that usual determination in her expression. ]
Over my mistreatment of you this last while. I have been shuttin' you out over— [over what?]— something out of your own control, and that was wrong of me.
[ her lips press in a thin line, and she looks...uneasy — and at least this time, it's thanks to an ache in that pride of hers. admitting she'd been hurtful (even just through neglect rather than intentional unkindness) is still difficult for her, but she's actually trying now. ]
[ ... Well, it's something, at least, to have her acknowledge the space that had formed between them. But with the life Faraday had led, he's unused to being on the receiving end of an apology. For a few seconds, he stares and rocks a little onto his back foot. His expression is not unlike what one might wear after being handed some foreign tool and told to get to work, without having the first clue as to its function or purpose.
At length, he realizes he's been far too quiet – or at least that the conversation has lapsed into silence just a few beats longer than would be considered comfortable – and he clears his throat. ]
I...
[ He should probably accept the apology. Just to move things forward. ]
... I see.
[ ... that was not, in fact, the proper response, and he knows it. But despite all the tentative steps forward he's been taking, he presses on anyway. ]
So this whole time, with me thinkin' I'd made some kinda mistake, that I might've said some churlish thing, it's— it's nothin' to do with me?
[ That should be a relief, except it isn't. It was easier to think the blame was on him, considering how he typically acted and behaved. It's somehow worse, knowing that this past (hellish) week was due to no fault of his own.
He shoves up the brim of his hat to rub at his forehead, and he laughs a little bitterly. ]
Well. That's a comfort.
[ Said in a way that implies the exact opposite. ]
[ that silence stretches long enough that emma nearly isn't sure what to do — what she ought to say, if she'd gone and said the wrong thing on top of this, and, well.
seems she probably had.
(or maybe it's rather not that she'd said the wrong thing, but that this week of forcing space between them was itself...not the right choice.)
she shifts her weight, her fingers curling a touch nervously into the fabric of her skirt as she regards faraday, forcing her usual impassive expression into place. ]
I know it wasn't a kindly thing to do, punishin' you for— I suppose nothing at all. Nothing you had done on purpose.
[he certainly hadn't been in control of how she'd responded to him before, and...this last week had been an unfair reflection of how poorly she'd handled being presented with something she couldn't quite grasp. ]
That's why I'm tryin' to make up for it.
[ in some way. because she misses being them, and really, she's missed him far too much to just silently allow their friendship or connection or— whatever she had with this ghost of a man to let it all dissolve away. ]
[ He keeps telling himself, This should be fine. This should be a comfort, but Faraday is still reeling, still trying to think over the days leading up what had driven them apart. The mess with Teddy Q comes immediately to mind, when some ugly, bitter thing had tinted his vision red, but he had reined that in, hadn’t he? And even then, Emma has seen him far more bloodthirsty than that, when they entered the outskirts of Rose Creek together on that first day, after Sam and Goody had put their heads together to put together their plan. She had seen the way he grinned, the way his hands twitched toward his guns, even before he had dismounted Jack to get into position.
Faraday had wanted to punch that pretty peach fuzz off Teddy Q’s face, certainly, but that was nowhere near the same vehemence as that first day in town.
So what, then? Calling her bad luck, maybe. Poking too hard with his jokes. But he can’t recall crossing any lines, there, or at least any lines he hadn’t toed before. That brief, odd moment after they had spilled over onto the floor, maybe – though Faraday can’t recall any peculiarity there, aside from the odd flare of heat that had ignited behind his sternum—
“Nothing you had done on purpose.”
He clears his throat, shifting awkwardly in place. Maybe she had seen it in his eyes. Maybe he had tipped his hand. Maybe she had seen his confusion, had seen something in his face to signal the pang of loss he felt as she pulled away. Faraday settles the hat back onto his head, gaze flitting away to look at anything but Emma. ]
Makin’ up for it with grog and cards? [ Faraday forces a smile, though his heart isn’t exactly in it. ] You sure you wanna encourage these sinful habits of mine?
[ oh, but emma's too sharp to miss the way he doesn't look at her, that strain in his smile, and that makes this ache more than it already did. part of her just wants to try to tell him, at least find some way of explaining where exactly her mind has been this past week, why she's been so shaken, but that would involve showing far more of herself than she's sure would be...safe. she trusts faraday in so many ways, but the potential to share something she's not even sure of is frightening — like walking forward in pitch dark with no earthly idea if she's nearing a cliff.
she can't quite manage a proper smile, not with the tension still holding in her shoulders. ]
Considerin' there are few other habits I could be encouraging, these seemed like they might at least ingratiate me a touch.
[ she gives a small shrug. ]
Besides, with the cards, I reckon there may be little protesting I can do without riskin' something hypocritical.
[ she's obviously not using the tricks faraday's taught her to cheat anyone out of their money, but, well, given the man's state of existence now, neither is he.
she hesitates, her own eyes finally glancing away from faraday, like she can't quite continue to look at him while she speaks. ]
...I just want things the way they were again. I don't much care for this distance.
[ That quiet little admission at the end feels like a blow to the gut, and he winces a little with it. But it hadn’t been his fault, had it? Not really. Or at least, not in any way that she seems liable to share, considering she has yet to explain what, exactly, had transpired to drive this rift between them.
He supposes the truly painful part is that this friendship of theirs stood on much shakier legs than he had thought, if she could shut him out for reasons he could hardly understand. It makes something tighten in his chest, something barbed and cold, though he hardly understands it, hardly has a name for it.
But Faraday would be lying if he wasn’t a dupe to his own whims, though death had seemed to even out some of the more dangerous inclinations of his. In life, he was just as likely to make friends of foes and vice versa, so he supposes he can’t fault Emma too much for this sudden turn. Childish part of him certainly wants to, though.
At length, he lets out a breath (a habit, an echo of his mannerisms in life), and forces his gaze to flit up to her. Evidently he can’t sustain it, though, and he looks away just as quickly. ]
This likely to happen again? [ Quietly, with a bit of annoyance (of hurt, though less of that) threading through his voice, even as he tries to subdue it. ]
[ emma wants to say it won't happen again. she wants to say she won't find herself frightened and overwhelmed by whatever she's realized she...feels? but, no, that's what matters: even if she gets spooked, even if she's startled by whatever odd ache is in her chest, she's not going to force him away from her.
he doesn't deserve that, and preserving whatever friendship and closeness they've cultivated means the world to her. ]
No. It won't.
[ she wants to be sure in that. she wants to believe she's not going to put up another wall and force him away, because where she's managed to find herself with him, with this strange coexistence and companionship, is what she knows she's wanting now. she aches for matthew, misses her husband something fierce, but there are days when she forgets the emptiness, for the span of a few warm laughs and well-meaning smiles, and being there with faraday makes it all worth the strange, unearthly haunting she's settled into. she doesn't forget (never forgets), but she feels stitched together again with faraday at her side. ]
[ He mulls over her answer for a few seconds, even knowing that he'll ultimately accept the apology. Because he wants to, if only so they can move beyond this unpleasantness and return to something approaching normal.
(As normal as a ghost haunting a widow can be, at any rate.) ]
And are you likely to tell me what it was that got you so incensed?
[ This, asked with the resigned air of someone who already knows the answer.
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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?
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Evenin', Faraday.
[ she doesn't say anything about the spirits or the cards, doesn't feel the need to mention the gift — because it's absolutely all for him. not many others she'd be gifting with alcohol, and certainly none she'd go out of her way to bring a deck of cards.
she moves to set down the laundry, figuring she might as well take care of it after she's made dinner (which, even months after matthew's death, it's still strange to cook for herself and no one else, deadman that faraday is). ]
I trust you found something to fill your day.
[ she isn't sure what he does when he vanishes during the daytime (now that he's taken to disappearing from her home, from no longer trailing along beside her), but she assumes he entertains himself...somehow.
unfortunately, she's also realized how much she's missed having him hang around, and the quiet in her days without his chatter and jokes (often at others' expense) is unpleasantly hollow. ]
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(This one is… fond, he thinks, and that familiar warmth twists in his lungs. Would’ve stolen his breath, if only he had any to steal.) ]
I did.
[ In answer to her unspoken question. More of the same, as with the other days. Stepping back to watch the people of Rose Creek live their lives. Standing on the hill and sweeping away some of the dirt from the white markers. (He leaves his own untouched. He’s still unsure whether he deserves this place of respect, but there’s little he can do to change it.) Rounding it out by watching Teddy wipe globs of mud from his face and shirtfront.
It all felt empty without Emma to enjoy it all with.
He watches her move through the room, the new, crisp cards still in hand, frowning a little when she doesn’t acknowledge the items on the table. (Well, item, singular, considering he’s holding the deck still.) He cuts a quick glance to the bottle again, then back to Emma. ]
You… [ He trails off, taking another second to shape the question properly. ] You expectin’ company?
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it's not much, for the moment, but it's not the intensely purposeful avoidance from before. ]
Not a soul other than yourself.
[ not that she especially counted faraday as company these days; he's around so much and so often that she just expects to see him there, like being settled someplace in her house is where he ought to be. of course, that's been different lately, but...she's at least wanted to continue ending the days with faraday's presence somewhere nearby.
she busies herself in the kitchen, pulling down the things she'll need for dinner and setting them onto the counter, though when she tries to lean up and reach for her skillet, she's not quite tall enough to grasp it. (she'd asked faraday to put it up, after all, with those long arms of his.) she could find a small stool to boost herself up, but instead, she glances at faraday over her shoulder. ]
Would you mind givin' me a hand?
[ it would make her life a little easier, save her some trouble, but it's the kind of small request she hasn't gone and made since she'd put her walls back up again.
emma cullen is, and will always be, an incredibly self-reliant woman. however, it's a gesture of trust when she's asked faraday for a touch of help here and there — usually things she could take care of herself, but for her, letting someone else have the opportunity to at least do something minor is a gesture on its own. ]
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But now, she moves right past him, close enough that he could easily grab hold of her arm, if he were inclined to, but he doesn’t. This ground is unsteady. Too precarious. And typically, Faraday is the type of man who would take an inch and go a mile, but not with this. Not with them. Not with something this—
(valuable. precious. treasured.)
—uncertain.
His gaze is sharp as he watches her – the gaze of a sharpshooter, preparing his shot. His hands turn the cards over, shuffling and cutting and turning the packets in his hands almost mindlessly – wearing down the cards, breaking them in to make them easier to handle. When she turns to look at him again, he jumps a little, startled out of his reverie, and puts the cards back on the table where he found them.
His approach is not unlike how one might slink toward a dangerous animal. A wolf who’s caught him in its sights, who’s captured the scent of him, but makes no move to attack. And Faraday walks forward slowly, almost warily, as if expecting Emma to flee or turn on him. When she makes no move to do either, he steps up beside her and reaches up, fingers easily wrapping around the handle of the pan. He pulls it down, holding it out a little hesitantly. ]
Were you lookin’ for this one?
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(like she's expecting a burn or a bucket of icey water for her trouble.)
but instead of stepping pointedly away from him when he stands beside her, she holds her ground, maintains her unwavering gaze. emma is an individual of intensity, and in this moment, that focus is squarely on faraday, rather than more of the same fleeting, dismissive attention she'd paid him lately. ]
Yes, that's the one.
[ there's nothing hard about her tone, but for a second, she hesitates, questioning herself, but then the moment passes, and she reaches to take the pan from him.
as her fingers wrap around the handle, they brush over his. it's brief, gentle, but very much there, very intentional. she doesn't recoil or step away from him like she might have the rest of this week, doesn't jerk back like she's affronted by it, but rather, she seems wholly unbothered by the touch of his unearthly skin under hers.
(it's that casual contact of before, how easily and naturally she'd touched him, without a second thought.) ]
I appreciate it.
[ there's a part of that wants to— say something? reach out to him? apologize? does she owe that to him?
probably, given her inexplicable avoidance, but it's harder to swallow down her pride long enough to acknowledge that.
this is strangely easier, like a proffered olive branch of sorts — though it's not an explanation or much of a gesture on its own (because she still doesn't know how to parse this out, how to go about understanding exactly what she'd felt being so close to him and— and the fact that she's still drawn to being just as near as before, wouldn't even mind the possibility of more—
but oh, that's a dangerous line of thought. like looking down into a murky lake, because she can't see what's at the bottom or what kind of trouble she'll be letting herself dive into if she indulges those nagging little calls to be at this dead man's side.) ]
...might please you to know I haven't touched those cards long enough to go ruinin' their luck for you yet.
[ ...well, that's something. ]
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He ought to be angry. He ought to demand an explanation, kick up a fuss until she tells him what in the hell is going on—
But mostly, he just feels relieved.
Her thanks is answered by a quiet hum of acknowledgment (he doesn't trust himself to say much more), and he steps back, leaving her space to prepare her evening meal. He struggles to shape words together, to offer some smart, cheeky comment to help smooth things over (because that's surely what they're doing, or at least it feels that way), but the words flit away from his grasp, leave a strange, fluttering sensation in his stomach. Luckily, Emma saves him from having to continue the conversation himself, and some of the mounting tension drains away from the set of his shoulders. ]
They're for me, then?
[ There's a bit of warmth in his voice as he asks it, something that betrays just how touched he is by the gesture. Gifts were a rarity in life, seeing as how he was a man who did little to deserve such simple kindnesses. He clears his throat and breathes out a quiet laugh, gaze flicking over to where he left the cards. ]
Mighty kind of you. Would be an inauspicious start, havin' to chase the devil outta them even before I had a chance to break 'em in.
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she can't truly make sense of them herself, let alone articulate them for faraday.
(though there's a part of her that's not even remotely certain he'd want to hear it, if she managed to piece together a proper explanation.)
she keeps her hands occupied by preparing her meal, casting a glance towards him. she likes the warmth in his tone, she thinks, though she knows better than to say a thing about it — simply tucks it away with the rest of the flutters that accompany all of this. ]
Them and the bottle.
[ not that she's even sure if he can drink it, state that he's in, but it's the meaning she'd gone for, rather than the nature of the spirits. she certainly doesn't think he'd manage any kind of drunkenness, ghost that he is, but now that he can feel again, she thought perhaps he'd be able to enjoy the taste of fine alcohol.
the last bit gets an exasperated little sigh out of her, and she turns back to the counter with a roll of her eyes. ]
Responsible for callin' down the devil now, am I?
[ she just scoffs as she reaches for a knife, meaning to cut a few vegetables. ]
I suppose at least there's some measure of comfort for you now you've got a deck all your own; you won't have to go about sharin' with me.
[ she doesn't say it with any measure of bitterness — mostly, it's just a statement of fact. the deck that faraday had procured all those months ago can easily be the one emma uses for herself, while this brand new, previously untouched deck can be faraday's own.
it can be something, in the midst of his own existence so far removed and otherwise limited, that belongs solely to him. ]
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Faraday has no idea how that might work, drinking or eating, given what he is (isn't). He has no earthly clue if his strange form would allow him to taste.
The thought is short-lived, though, and he cuts a glance over to her as she starts chopping her greens. ]
Sharin' with you ain't so bad. [ He admits it softly, lifting a shoulder in a shrug. ] Even if you do make a habit of borrowin' bad luck.
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of course, when she glances over at him, she's schooled her expression into something unimpressed, if a touch impish. ]
I don't see how you've gotten this notion I'm bad luck. You do just fine even after I've touched the cards.
Or is it instead that I'm startin' to show up my tutor that's got you stuck on some foolish idea that I'm cursing your deck?
[ which isn't actually true, because faraday's skill level is far beyond emma's, but she's been learning quick, catching onto tricks and perfecting the motions with her hands and the cards. her downfall comes when she has to try maintaining some sort of verbal patter when she's playing, because she's not exactly chatty by usual standards, and it comes less naturally to her to keep up a stream of distracting conversation. ]
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[ He puffs out air from between his lips, a derisive sort of noise. ]
You’ll need to think again, Emma Cullen.
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she just scoffs lightly, meeting that smile with a twitch of her own lips. ]
I reckon only one of those claims rings true — and perhaps even then would be mighty exaggerated.
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I can't see anything I might've said as bein' untrue. You need me to repeat anything back? I'm thinkin' you might've misheard.
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[ there's nothing scathing in emma's tone (a marked difference between when she really means to summon up something hurtful), but rather the usual sort of playful challenge they often bandy between them. ]
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Faraday had worried in more recent days that she would abandon him entirely. Leave him to his own devices to wander in silence through a town that barely remembers him; oh, they remember what he did, riding out to Bogue’s secret weapon and nearly blowing himself up to kingdom come to rid them of it, but they hardly seem to remember him. Not like Emma did.
(He’s not sure what he would’ve done, if she had withdrawn from him entirely, but he fears he would’ve gone mad from loneliness.)
Settling in again, he purses his lips, tries to think of the most tactful way of asking the question burning at the back of his mind. And that’s a wonder, that he’s even attempting tact, considering the type of man he is; the two of them have been on thin ice, the past several days, and Faraday can’t bring himself to risk it with a reckless word. ]
What’s the occasion? [ This, with a jerk of his chin toward the small table. ]
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the occasion, he asks.
well, it was unlikely they'd manage to continue dancing around the cards and the whiskey for too long, and while it gives her a moment's pause, she's not quite so tense or uncomfortable as she'd been over the last week. she's tentative, like she doesn't know where to begin explaining herself, but she knows she ought to, at least in some manner or another. ]
I suppose you could call it a reconciliation, of sorts.
[ the words edge their way dangerously close to an apology, one she's not even sure how to make — isn't even sure what she's going to apologize to him for. ]
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[ This, repeated flatly. Not quite disbelieving, but only just. Faraday had assumed (and rightly so, in his mind) that he had been the one to create the rift between them. That he would need to be the one to work toward an apology – though he had no idea what he had done, no idea what he had said, that had caused Emma to pull away as she had.
And he’s relieved that things are slowly returning to normal, though he has no earthly clue as to why that is, either. The whole ordeal has left him confused and reeling, and even with these little overtures, Faraday has yet to find his footing. ]
Over what, exactly, are we reconciling?
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with a small sigh, emma turns away from the counter and her nearly-finished meal, looking towards faraday with a touch of that usual determination in her expression. ]
Over my mistreatment of you this last while. I have been shuttin' you out over— [ over what? ]— something out of your own control, and that was wrong of me.
[ her lips press in a thin line, and she looks...uneasy — and at least this time, it's thanks to an ache in that pride of hers. admitting she'd been hurtful (even just through neglect rather than intentional unkindness) is still difficult for her, but she's actually trying now. ]
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At length, he realizes he's been far too quiet – or at least that the conversation has lapsed into silence just a few beats longer than would be considered comfortable – and he clears his throat. ]
I...
[ He should probably accept the apology. Just to move things forward. ]
... I see.
[ ... that was not, in fact, the proper response, and he knows it. But despite all the tentative steps forward he's been taking, he presses on anyway. ]
So this whole time, with me thinkin' I'd made some kinda mistake, that I might've said some churlish thing, it's— it's nothin' to do with me?
[ That should be a relief, except it isn't. It was easier to think the blame was on him, considering how he typically acted and behaved. It's somehow worse, knowing that this past (hellish) week was due to no fault of his own.
He shoves up the brim of his hat to rub at his forehead, and he laughs a little bitterly. ]
Well. That's a comfort.
[ Said in a way that implies the exact opposite. ]
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seems she probably had.
(or maybe it's rather not that she'd said the wrong thing, but that this week of forcing space between them was itself...not the right choice.)
she shifts her weight, her fingers curling a touch nervously into the fabric of her skirt as she regards faraday, forcing her usual impassive expression into place. ]
I know it wasn't a kindly thing to do, punishin' you for— I suppose nothing at all. Nothing you had done on purpose.
[ he certainly hadn't been in control of how she'd responded to him before, and...this last week had been an unfair reflection of how poorly she'd handled being presented with something she couldn't quite grasp. ]
That's why I'm tryin' to make up for it.
[ in some way. because she misses being them, and really, she's missed him far too much to just silently allow their friendship or connection or— whatever she had with this ghost of a man to let it all dissolve away. ]
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Faraday had wanted to punch that pretty peach fuzz off Teddy Q’s face, certainly, but that was nowhere near the same vehemence as that first day in town.
So what, then? Calling her bad luck, maybe. Poking too hard with his jokes. But he can’t recall crossing any lines, there, or at least any lines he hadn’t toed before. That brief, odd moment after they had spilled over onto the floor, maybe – though Faraday can’t recall any peculiarity there, aside from the odd flare of heat that had ignited behind his sternum—
“Nothing you had done on purpose.”
He clears his throat, shifting awkwardly in place. Maybe she had seen it in his eyes. Maybe he had tipped his hand. Maybe she had seen his confusion, had seen something in his face to signal the pang of loss he felt as she pulled away. Faraday settles the hat back onto his head, gaze flitting away to look at anything but Emma. ]
Makin’ up for it with grog and cards? [ Faraday forces a smile, though his heart isn’t exactly in it. ] You sure you wanna encourage these sinful habits of mine?
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she can't quite manage a proper smile, not with the tension still holding in her shoulders. ]
Considerin' there are few other habits I could be encouraging, these seemed like they might at least ingratiate me a touch.
[ she gives a small shrug. ]
Besides, with the cards, I reckon there may be little protesting I can do without riskin' something hypocritical.
[ she's obviously not using the tricks faraday's taught her to cheat anyone out of their money, but, well, given the man's state of existence now, neither is he.
she hesitates, her own eyes finally glancing away from faraday, like she can't quite continue to look at him while she speaks. ]
...I just want things the way they were again. I don't much care for this distance.
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He supposes the truly painful part is that this friendship of theirs stood on much shakier legs than he had thought, if she could shut him out for reasons he could hardly understand. It makes something tighten in his chest, something barbed and cold, though he hardly understands it, hardly has a name for it.
But Faraday would be lying if he wasn’t a dupe to his own whims, though death had seemed to even out some of the more dangerous inclinations of his. In life, he was just as likely to make friends of foes and vice versa, so he supposes he can’t fault Emma too much for this sudden turn. Childish part of him certainly wants to, though.
At length, he lets out a breath (a habit, an echo of his mannerisms in life), and forces his gaze to flit up to her. Evidently he can’t sustain it, though, and he looks away just as quickly. ]
This likely to happen again? [ Quietly, with a bit of annoyance (of hurt, though less of that) threading through his voice, even as he tries to subdue it. ]
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he doesn't deserve that, and preserving whatever friendship and closeness they've cultivated means the world to her. ]
No. It won't.
[ she wants to be sure in that. she wants to believe she's not going to put up another wall and force him away, because where she's managed to find herself with him, with this strange coexistence and companionship, is what she knows she's wanting now. she aches for matthew, misses her husband something fierce, but there are days when she forgets the emptiness, for the span of a few warm laughs and well-meaning smiles, and being there with faraday makes it all worth the strange, unearthly haunting she's settled into. she doesn't forget (never forgets), but she feels stitched together again with faraday at her side. ]
...it's not somethin' you deserve.
[ and she feels wretched over it. ]
It was my own— mess.
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(As normal as a ghost haunting a widow can be, at any rate.) ]
And are you likely to tell me what it was that got you so incensed?
[ This, asked with the resigned air of someone who already knows the answer.
That answer being, "No." ]
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