[ there's something at war inside of emma. is it better if she never sees him again, never encounters this strange, ghostly man so he can go back to haunting rose creek, unseen and unheard? is it better if he lives in her nightmares, in the flashes of blood and half-hearted jokes and cold, trembling grief? is that better than whatever strange moments these are, that there may continue to be, of truly seeing faraday again?
he's not alive, that much is abundantly clear, but he's here, and maybe that's something.
but is it better?
emma looks down at the flowers in her hands, brushing her fingers across the wilted petals. she never leaves them at the markers long enough for them to truly decay, replacing them every week, or at least tidying up the crosses to make sure they're never left looking unkempt. this gently fading bouquet still has a few days left in it, she's sure, but it's near ritualistic for her at this point, and it's...a nice gesture, she thinks.
glancing over at faraday, she gives him a mildly unimpressed look. ]
You know good and well that if I'm leavin' these flowers for them, I'll be putting some here for you. Not a matter of needing them or not.
[ she doesn't need to do it, but...she wants to. she wants to see this place maintained and revered, and, above all, remembered.
these men deserve that. ]
You thought I wouldn't be doin' this after you were gone?
[ her eyebrow raises, just slightly. emma has always been and continues to be the type of person to pay her respects to the dead, especially those she deems significant. on these sundays, she always visits matthew's grave, too, and brings him flowers just the same. ]
[ If Faraday were an honest man, he'd tell her exactly what he expected:
His passing would go unmarked. His body would go unmourned. His grave, whatever form that took, whether his body was piled into a ditch or left in the fields, would grow grass and thorny weeds until the freshly turned earth finally dried.
He expected to be forgotten. In life, that felt like a tragedy, but it also felt like what he deserved.
What he says aloud, though, is this: ]
Dunno what I thought.
[ But it figures, really, that she'd tend to their graves. Emma always did have a strong moral sense, from the little Faraday has seen, is perfect in righteousness, has a whole mess of other qualities that Faraday desperately lacked. Stubborn as a mule, but someone who sought fairness and decency in all things.
Little wonder she was the one to bring down a devil as prolific as Bartholomew Bogue.
He feels like he should offer some word of appreciation to her – for this, for everything – but Faraday is not the type of person for whom sincerity or gratitude comes easily. Feels odd, besides, to thank someone for tidying his grave, prettying it up, because he's starting to realize that these markers are for the living more than they're for the dead.
The dead don't give a shit, after all. On account of being dead.
But he may not see her again, and Emma has been nothing but decent to him, even when he tried his hardest to form a terrible impression in their first few days together. He really ought to return the favor, at long last. ]
... Listen. I— Before I go. If I— don't come back—
[ He takes a deep breath. (He doesn't need to breathe.) ]
Thank you, for what you've done. What you did, back when I...
[ He trails off with something of a grimace. ]
Anyway. I appreciate it. I do. Or, well— [ He fidgets a little where he sits. ] I did, I suppose, at the time. You've done me a better kindness than I ever warranted, so— thank you.
[ of all the things emma expected to get out of faraday, this honest, open gratitude is certainly not one of them. she doesn't gape or gawk (she's too composed for that), and she has the good sense to realize that now is not the time to give him grief over such a change. there's vulnerability in his words and in his face, and she has far more tact than to poke fun at such well-meaning thanks.
she's quiet for a moment, taking in his words, and then she just gives a small nod. ]
What you did for me and for this town— I think that makes all of this plenty warranted. You stood with us against Bogue when so many wouldn't, and you turned the tides in far more ways than I think you realize.
[ she shakes her head softly. ]
I think that makes any kindness I can extend plainly due — then or now.
[ even if it's something as simple as tending these graves, she wants to do that for them. ]
And...you know I wouldn't have rather been anywhere else, on that day.
[ as much as she still sees faraday's final moments in her mind, she's glad she was there for it and for him.
she's glad he didn't have to die alone. ]
And, Joshua—
[ she looks back at him, a bit of turmoil in her eyes, but she seems determined all the same to continue speaking. ]
If you can come back this way again...I'd like it if you'd come find me.
[ maybe it's the wrong choice, maybe it's an unhealthy or unholy one, but if she can see him again like this, she's decided that she wants to. it could be months from now, she realizes, or it could be as soon as days, and that would suit her just fine. she doesn't know what he is or what's keeping him tied to this world, but if by some misfortune he's still here, then...at least he wouldn't have to be alone. ]
[ Stilted as his thanks are, it would've been even worse if she had interrupted. He would have gladly suffered a joke, though, considering what he was in life – what he is now. Always did like a good joke, Faraday, always could've done with a bit of ribbing to poke holes in his arrogance.
He might've done better with a bit of ridicule, even, because her sincerity makes him itch. Appreciative as he is for her kindness, he doesn't think he's ever had so much directed at him all at once in his life. It's a strange feeling – something caught between discomfited and proud at once. He thinks it might actually feel kind of nice, as much as it chafes.
But there's his name again, formed in her voice. (He hasn't been called Joshua in so many years. He can count on one hand the number of people in this state alone to whom he's personally told his name.) The shock of it makes him look up again, makes him catch her eyes with his. Apprehension and uncertainty warring with that fiery resolve he's come to understand as so purely Emma Cullen.
For a little while, he just nods at her words – it's all he can manage, really, because a lump manifests in his throat, traps up his voice. But there's surprise on his face, and relief, too, and he thinks that maybe this existence, whatever the hell it might be, might not be so bad if he's got at least one person to talk to.
Assuming he comes back, that is. It hadn't been a concern before, but it's a concern now, and he feels worry start to gnaw in his gut. This might be it. Faraday, as he knows himself, might very well be gone after this very moment. But... maybe if he holds on to that dangerous sort of hope, things might be alright.
Quietly, in a voice strained and roughened by his gratitude, he says, ] I'll try.
[ his disappearance is so sudden that emma has to blink a few times to realize that he's gone again. it's quick, just like the first time, but that doesn't mean she isn't startled; it's odd enough to have had him right there, only for him to vanish, leaving behind not even a depression in the grass.
like he'd never even existed.
it sets emma on edge again, because it's so hard not to have any solid proof that this faraday is some kind of real. it's easier to convince herself that she's just imagining things when he isn't right in front of her, and she decides she still hasn't wholly written off "madness" as an explanation.
after staring at the same spot for a good minute, she finally drags her eyes away, glancing back at faraday's marker. she finds herself wondering if the other three are stuck in the same kind of limbo, if they're haunting rose creek just as much, but continuing to go unseen by the people of the town. what manner of hellish purgatory that must be, she thinks, before quickly shaking away the thought.
she busies herself with gathering up the gently wilted flowers, setting them aside and replacing them all with the new ones she'd brought along. it's fairly ritualistic, at this point, to simply clean the graves, leave the flowers, and say a prayer for them all, and then return to the town. usually, she feels at peace after visiting the crosses, but today, her mind is turning itself over and over trying to make sense of faraday's appearance. she's not sure what he truly was or how he'd gotten there or what to do about it, but—
if she's honest, it was good to see him.
that thought bothers her more than she can truly articulate, mostly because she's not certain why — just that it had been, almost like a salve had been applied to the aching memories of rose creek's short, painful war.
she tries not to dwell, because she realizes that, in reality, she may not even have the chance to see him again, and if that was one last goodbye, it was probably a good one. ]
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no subject
he's not alive, that much is abundantly clear, but he's here, and maybe that's something.
but is it better?
emma looks down at the flowers in her hands, brushing her fingers across the wilted petals. she never leaves them at the markers long enough for them to truly decay, replacing them every week, or at least tidying up the crosses to make sure they're never left looking unkempt. this gently fading bouquet still has a few days left in it, she's sure, but it's near ritualistic for her at this point, and it's...a nice gesture, she thinks.
glancing over at faraday, she gives him a mildly unimpressed look. ]
You know good and well that if I'm leavin' these flowers for them, I'll be putting some here for you. Not a matter of needing them or not.
[ she doesn't need to do it, but...she wants to. she wants to see this place maintained and revered, and, above all, remembered.
these men deserve that. ]
You thought I wouldn't be doin' this after you were gone?
[ her eyebrow raises, just slightly. emma has always been and continues to be the type of person to pay her respects to the dead, especially those she deems significant. on these sundays, she always visits matthew's grave, too, and brings him flowers just the same. ]
no subject
His passing would go unmarked. His body would go unmourned. His grave, whatever form that took, whether his body was piled into a ditch or left in the fields, would grow grass and thorny weeds until the freshly turned earth finally dried.
He expected to be forgotten. In life, that felt like a tragedy, but it also felt like what he deserved.
What he says aloud, though, is this: ]
Dunno what I thought.
[ But it figures, really, that she'd tend to their graves. Emma always did have a strong moral sense, from the little Faraday has seen, is perfect in righteousness, has a whole mess of other qualities that Faraday desperately lacked. Stubborn as a mule, but someone who sought fairness and decency in all things.
Little wonder she was the one to bring down a devil as prolific as Bartholomew Bogue.
He feels like he should offer some word of appreciation to her – for this, for everything – but Faraday is not the type of person for whom sincerity or gratitude comes easily. Feels odd, besides, to thank someone for tidying his grave, prettying it up, because he's starting to realize that these markers are for the living more than they're for the dead.
The dead don't give a shit, after all. On account of being dead.
But he may not see her again, and Emma has been nothing but decent to him, even when he tried his hardest to form a terrible impression in their first few days together. He really ought to return the favor, at long last. ]
... Listen. I— Before I go. If I— don't come back—
[ He takes a deep breath. (He doesn't need to breathe.) ]
Thank you, for what you've done. What you did, back when I...
[ He trails off with something of a grimace. ]
Anyway. I appreciate it. I do. Or, well— [ He fidgets a little where he sits. ] I did, I suppose, at the time. You've done me a better kindness than I ever warranted, so— thank you.
no subject
she's quiet for a moment, taking in his words, and then she just gives a small nod. ]
What you did for me and for this town— I think that makes all of this plenty warranted. You stood with us against Bogue when so many wouldn't, and you turned the tides in far more ways than I think you realize.
[ she shakes her head softly. ]
I think that makes any kindness I can extend plainly due — then or now.
[ even if it's something as simple as tending these graves, she wants to do that for them. ]
And...you know I wouldn't have rather been anywhere else, on that day.
[ as much as she still sees faraday's final moments in her mind, she's glad she was there for it and for him.
she's glad he didn't have to die alone. ]
And, Joshua—
[ she looks back at him, a bit of turmoil in her eyes, but she seems determined all the same to continue speaking. ]
If you can come back this way again...I'd like it if you'd come find me.
[ maybe it's the wrong choice, maybe it's an unhealthy or unholy one, but if she can see him again like this, she's decided that she wants to. it could be months from now, she realizes, or it could be as soon as days, and that would suit her just fine. she doesn't know what he is or what's keeping him tied to this world, but if by some misfortune he's still here, then...at least he wouldn't have to be alone. ]
no subject
He might've done better with a bit of ridicule, even, because her sincerity makes him itch. Appreciative as he is for her kindness, he doesn't think he's ever had so much directed at him all at once in his life. It's a strange feeling – something caught between discomfited and proud at once. He thinks it might actually feel kind of nice, as much as it chafes.
But there's his name again, formed in her voice. (He hasn't been called Joshua in so many years. He can count on one hand the number of people in this state alone to whom he's personally told his name.) The shock of it makes him look up again, makes him catch her eyes with his. Apprehension and uncertainty warring with that fiery resolve he's come to understand as so purely Emma Cullen.
For a little while, he just nods at her words – it's all he can manage, really, because a lump manifests in his throat, traps up his voice. But there's surprise on his face, and relief, too, and he thinks that maybe this existence, whatever the hell it might be, might not be so bad if he's got at least one person to talk to.
Assuming he comes back, that is. It hadn't been a concern before, but it's a concern now, and he feels worry start to gnaw in his gut. This might be it. Faraday, as he knows himself, might very well be gone after this very moment. But... maybe if he holds on to that dangerous sort of hope, things might be alright.
Quietly, in a voice strained and roughened by his gratitude, he says, ] I'll try.
Emma... tha—
[ And he disappears from sight. ]
no subject
like he'd never even existed.
it sets emma on edge again, because it's so hard not to have any solid proof that this faraday is some kind of real. it's easier to convince herself that she's just imagining things when he isn't right in front of her, and she decides she still hasn't wholly written off "madness" as an explanation.
after staring at the same spot for a good minute, she finally drags her eyes away, glancing back at faraday's marker. she finds herself wondering if the other three are stuck in the same kind of limbo, if they're haunting rose creek just as much, but continuing to go unseen by the people of the town. what manner of hellish purgatory that must be, she thinks, before quickly shaking away the thought.
she busies herself with gathering up the gently wilted flowers, setting them aside and replacing them all with the new ones she'd brought along. it's fairly ritualistic, at this point, to simply clean the graves, leave the flowers, and say a prayer for them all, and then return to the town. usually, she feels at peace after visiting the crosses, but today, her mind is turning itself over and over trying to make sense of faraday's appearance. she's not sure what he truly was or how he'd gotten there or what to do about it, but—
if she's honest, it was good to see him.
that thought bothers her more than she can truly articulate, mostly because she's not certain why — just that it had been, almost like a salve had been applied to the aching memories of rose creek's short, painful war.
she tries not to dwell, because she realizes that, in reality, she may not even have the chance to see him again, and if that was one last goodbye, it was probably a good one. ]