He’s not in the habit of staying where he doesn’t want to, and more than that, of staying where he’s not wanted. He made a life on running, on causing trouble and dodging it, on laughing and gambling and shooting his way out of his problems, when it came right down to it. He doesn’t outstay his welcome, most of the time – sticks around long enough to line his pockets and then absconds with other men’s money.
These days, being what he is, he can’t quite do that. Can’t leave the town of Rose Creek, thanks to a tether he can’t see, a hitching post he can’t find, binding him to the place. Can’t run off and stir up new trouble, thanks to his invisibility. Can’t do much of anything, really, and it makes something stir in his gut, something restless and hopeless and—
And lonesome, if he’s honest.
Something terribly, terribly lonesome.
But most days, he can ignore that. Days filled with teasing and joking and exasperated sighs. Nights filled with magic and sleight-of-hand and more exasperated sighs, as Emma throws the edge of a blanket over his shoulder, his head, as Emma pokes into his flank with a wooden spoon.
(She’ll say something like, “Been a while since I checked.”
Faraday will scowl, rubbing at his side, and say something like, “You just ‘checked’ not but five seconds ago.”
And she’ll smile that small, impish smile, and say, “As I said, it’s been a while.”)
But Faraday is keeping his distance. Checking in, of course, because he craves the acknowledgment, the brief reminder that he’s not actually alone. Not yet. Not while Emma still deigns to make note of his existence, but that could change. Has in the past, in small ways – never outright ignoring him, thank heavens, but edging so dangerously close that Faraday had felt something freeze in his belly. Icy tendrils scrambling in his chest.
And when he does check in, she’s distant. Quiet. Hardly asks for favors, these days – “Grab that pot for me? Show me that trick again? Cut these carrots, would you?” – and it leaves him wandering. Aimless.
He drifts, day and night and day again, hardly notices time passing, feels those cold claws burying into what might have been his heart. He wonders what he’ll do if, at long last, she stops lifting her head when he enters the room.
The thought makes him want to scream.
Faraday occupies himself with people watching, these days, though it’s hardly even that. He sits or props up a wall somewhere out of the way, or he wanders the streets when he doesn’t feel like staying still, hands in his pockets, head bowed. And these days, he’s more often intangible than not, with hardly a thought to the transition.
(Folks pass through him, sometimes, though he hardly notices or cares. Folks will pass through him and shudder violently, and when their companions frown at them, when they ask, “What’s wrong?” they’ll answer, “Someone just walked over my grave.”)
With as long as he’s stayed in town (longer than he’s ever stayed in one place since his childhood), Faraday likes to think he recognizes everyone who lives here. There are new faces, now and again, of folks passing through, folks visiting family, sometimes even some folks who had once lived here before the battle and decided to return.
(Faraday wonders how the survivors must feel, these prodigal sons returning to live in a town they hadn’t bled for. Hopes they’re not too resentful.)
He’s drifting down the main road, head bowed as usual, thumbs hooked over his belt, when he hears a new voice. Faraday frowns, glances around, listening for someone else’s reply.
No response comes.
His frown deepens, and he scans his surroundings, gaze falling on a man standing on the porch of the Imperial Saloon. Faraday thinks he’s seen the man, once or twice – brief, rare, distant glimpses that made him think the stranger must be a visiting relative or friend – but he’s never heard the man speak. Explains the new voice, at least.
Doesn’t explain why the hell the man is staring straight at him.
The gaze roots Faraday to the spot, makes him gawk for a good, long second. He can hardly wrap his head around it, though, and he looks over his shoulder – no one’s stopped, no one’s taken notice of either of them – before turning back to the saloon.
Faraday takes a breath (though there’s no need for it), just blinks for a few seconds (hardly a need for that, either), before clearing his throat (though there’s nothing in need of clearing). ]
Did you—
[ He cuts himself off with a wince, his voice raspy and odd, unfamiliar in his ears.
He tries again: ]
Are you— Did you— [ His eyebrows knit together. The corners of his mouth pull downward. ]
[ matthew waits patiently as faraday takes a long, slow moment to acknowledge him.
(it's not surprising, really. he can't imagine anyone other than emma's said a single word to faraday since his reapperance, and matthew understands that; those stumbled words out of faraday's mouth are the first anyone's said to him in over a year.)
a crooked smile tugs at the corner of matthew's lips, and he spreads his hands wide in a sweeping gesture. ]
You see another dead man tryin' to get your attention?
[ might as well speak plainly, he reasons. he and faraday are here on equal ground (in a manner of speaking), and it's at least explanation enough for why matt can see him, let alone speak to him. ]
[ Faraday wastes another few seconds to stare at him, trying to place the face, trying to match it to someone from the battle. He hardly remembers the folks they lost, having only spent a week in their company. Could be one of Bogue's men, even, but the man doesn't have that look about him – roughness at the edges, cruelty in the eyes.
He can't place the man, in that short moment of scrutiny, and he frowns all the more for it. ]
... Do I know you?
[ Wary and slow. He wonders if this is how Emma must feel, speaking with someone he's not sure should exist. ]
[ Shit, he thinks, and he straightens, arms going lax at his side.
Shit, he thinks, and he feels like the ground falling away from him. ]
Shit.
[ he says, dread and uncertainty and the oddest sense of fear knotting in him. ]
I—
[ Shit, he thinks again, for good measure.
If this were any other time, he'd find something hilarious in this. Wouldn't be the first time he's been caught with someone else's wife, but it would be the first time he's been caught without anything having happened.
Not really, anyway.
... But knowing that, knowing he and Emma have done nothing to be ashamed of, why the hell does Faraday feel so damned guilty?
(Probably 'cause you're in love with her, you stupid son of a bitch, he reminds himself.)
He swallows, licking his lips, and his gaze flicks to the graveyard down the road, where Emma sits beside the little cross, every Sunday. Where Faraday leans against the wrought iron fence, facing out toward the town to offer her privacy, lets her pray over the remains of her late husband.
And here the man is – not in the flesh, not as Faraday lives and breaths, but calm as anyone could goddamn please.
[ in different circumstances, matthew might have actually found faraday's reaction funny: the way all the air goes out of him, that look on his face, almost like a child caught sneaking desserts when he more than knows better, and that flat little curse.
a slow nod, and his gaze follows faraday's brief glance towards the cemetery, to that little wooden cross he sees emma visit so diligently. he hears her, sometimes, feels when she kneels over his grave, and it leaves him with some flashes of comfort to know he isn't forgotten.
remembered, mourned, but he doesn't feel tied to her prayers and thoughts. he can leave when he likes, but he tends to return just to reassure himself that emma is moving on like she should.
(though is it moving on if she's clinging instead to a different ghost?) ]
I was in life.
[ he looks back at faraday, that smile tugging at his lips. ]
[ This, with a hollow echo of his usual confidence.
He hesitates before taking a single, hesitant step toward the saloon’s porch, that frown still on his face as he peers at the other man – Matthew Cullen. A man he’s wondered about for ages, trying to imagine him and the sort of man he’d be.
Faraday isn’t entirely sure how to feel, now that he has the opportunity to meet him, though when a thought suddenly occurs to him, he blurts it out immediately: ]
[ There's something cruel in that, Faraday thinks, that Emma can't see her late husband.
There was a long time ago, ages past, it feels like, when he had accused Emma of using Faraday as repentance. That she had harbored the secret belief that if she could only suffer through Faraday's company, her husband would eventually return to her.
He wonders if he was somehow half-right. ]
Then— why can I see you?
[ Setting aside the fact that they're both dead men, that is. Faraday hasn't seen the spirits of other men who passed during the battle of Rose Creek – or at least, not at all that he's noticed. Hasn't seen Billy or Goody or Horne. Hasn't seen the bastard who caught him the back or the son of a bitch with the eye patch or even Bogue.
[ matthew looks thoughtful, considering the question quietly. ]
Maybe I thought it past time we exchange words.
[ he'd been observing for a while, after all, flitting in and out of existence. nearly every time, he always saw faraday close to emma, in some manner or another.
she seemed less lonely for it, he'd noticed. ]
Maybe it's somethin' to do with Emma, connected as you are to her.
[ Faraday only just suppresses the instinct to wince at that.
(He almost feels like a child again, preparing himself for the dressing down of a lifetime.) ]
Well, you've got my attention.
[ Mildly, his thumbs hooking over his belt; a posture of ease, as he rocks his weight to one leg, though it's mostly for show, as something nervous coils tightly in his chest. ]
Expect you want me to pass on a message or somethin'?
[ the offer seems to catch matthew by surprise, and there's something...compelling about that, but after a moment, he shakes his head. ]
No, Emma doesn't need to know I've been here. Temptin' as it might be, it won't do her any sort of good.
[ because, yes, while he may wish he could say something to emma, to at least tell her how proud of her he is, how much everything she's done has meant to him, it's for the best that she doesn't have a reason to cling to him or look for his spirit. ]
She's already let me go, Faraday. She shouldn't have some sorta message coming from the hereafter.
[ Well, alright, there goes Faraday's other guess for why Matthew would be speaking to him, aside from taking him to task over mooning over his widow.
Maybe that's still coming – the upbraiding, the insistence that Faraday would never be good enough, that Emma hardly deserves to be plagued by the spirit of a man like Faraday. It's not anything he hasn't already thought himself, but certainly nothing he would enjoy hearing aloud in another man's voice.
But he's no coward, not one to back down from a challenge (genuine or imagined), and Faraday takes another step closer, standing beside a watering trough in front of the porch. He peers up at Matthew as the other man leans against the wooden post. ]
Why do you keep sayin' that?
[ Because that little bit sticks with him. ]
"She let you go." "She's not hangin' on to you."
The hell's that supposed to mean?
[ If Matthew knows who Faraday is, then he likely knows why he's here, of all places. A stranger, tethered to this town for which he bled himself dry and breathed his last.
A war, waged not in Matthew Cullen's name, exactly, but certainly in his memory. A widow filled with righteous fury, who every Sunday, without fail, kneels before a modest white cross in a graveyard too full for a town this size. ]
[ he watches faraday approach, but he doesn't move, just keeps his eyes fixed on the gambler. ]
She put me to rest with Bogue's body. That was peace for her.
[ something tugs at his smile, something fiercely proud of his wife. he never would have wanted all of that violence and heartbreak for emma, but she's come through on the other side, tempered like steel and just as brutally capable as she's always been. ]
If any part'a her was clinging to me, she'd be able to see me or I'd be tied to her. I'm not.
[ he can leave when he likes, come and go as he pleases — move on, if it suits him. ]
It's what'll keep a soul among the living, Faraday. Someone has to want them here, and much as my wife may have loved me, she gave me that justice she thought I deserved. She's movin' on, like she ought to.
[ but moving on with faraday? unconventional and unexpected, really.
a little ironic, that emma's traded one ghost for another. ]
[ Faraday’s eyes narrow, clearly unconvinced by all of that. ]
That doesn’t make a lick of sense.
[ For a number of reasons, really, because if that’s the case, what the hell is Faraday still doing here? Faraday doesn’t know a soul in Rose Creek who would’ve kept him here like this. Maybe some idiot back in Nevada who wished Faraday were still around to enact some misguided attempt at payback, but not anyone here. ]
If that’s the case, then what are you still doin’ here? And if that’s the case, why can she see me?
[ Faraday opens his mouth, apparently his need to say something moving faster than the words actually arrive.
And when the words do arrive, his mouth snaps shut, teeth clacking together with an audible click.
Because he knows what Matthew must be getting at, why he felt the need to talk to Faraday after all this time, when Faraday can remember seeing him from a distance at least months ago. He deflates a little, shoulders dropping, gaze darting away to examine the hitching post to one side. ]
[ there's nothing harsh in the way matthew looks at faraday — no indignant rage or jealousy for the fact that faraday's gotten so close to emma. it would be hypocritical, after all: wanting emma to move on and then being upset by the way she does it (because he's seen emma immediately following the fight and he's seen emma now, and it's...different; she's more of the woman he married again). ]
That's hard to believe, what with the way she looks at you.
[ He cuts Matthew a glance, his expression caught somewhere between puzzled and mildly affronted. He’s not sure what “way” Matthew’s talking about, but Faraday is reasonably sure Emma has yet to look at him with much beyond mild exasperation and outright anger, quiet amusement and little, mischievous smiles.
(At least, not that Faraday has seen with his own eyes.) ]
No offense meant, Matthew, but I’m not entirely sure you know what you’re talkin’ about, here.
That is, I’m pretty sure you’re at least half mistaken.
[ Because the other way around? Well, Matthew’s got him on that, at least. ]
And though he keeps the thought unvoiced, a bit of it shows in the narrowing of his eyes, the twist of his mouth.
He takes a breath – or at least, he appears to take a breath, though the air hardly seems to notice his efforts – in an effort to quell his annoyance. ]
Alright, then.
[ Low, quiet. ]
Assumin' what you're sayin' is true, assumin' Emma actually wants me here, then—
What is it you're tryin' to tell me, exactly? That I ought to help her— I dunno. Let go? Move on?
[ as thoroughly unconvinced as faraday seems to be, matthew knows there's no point really arguing with him over it; in matthew's eyes, the solidness of faraday's existence, the amount of time he's been bound to emma, should be proof enough, but, well, that's up to faraday to decide.
all he can offer instead is another unhelpful gesture, spreading his hands wide in something of "it's out of my control." ]
That's up to you. The both of you let go, and you can move past this kind of existence.
[ It's practically nothing, if he's honest. Which is probably why it's just as well he's not entirely convinced by Matthew's words, being bound here by Emma's desire. By her wanting him here; they'd become friendly with one another, sure, but he doubts it extends as far as Matthew seems to think it does.
Letting himself be bound by her, though – he can't argue that. ]
So? What would you do, then? Were you in my shoes.
[ it isn't much of an answer because matthew knows he can't make this decision for faraday — and he doesn't expect the man to take any advice he might offer, either. ]
If it were me instead?
[ he laughs once, though there's no humor in it. ]
I wouldn't want her fixated on a ghost. It's hard for her to be a part of this life when she's stuck on somethin' removed from it all. Anything she had with me like this wouldn't be...whole for her.
[ he shakes his head, glancing towards the cemetery again. ]
We wouldn't grow old together. We'd never have children. She'd have to go through everything never acknowledging me around other folks or recognizing that she's still married.
[ he finally looks back at faraday. ]
But since it's not like that between the two of you, I imagine those'll never be concerns for you to entertain. Suppose you don't have much to lose just bein' here with her.
[ Faraday grows still as Matthew speaks, something cold and bitter sinking in his gut as he goes on.
None of these were thoughts that had ever occurred to Faraday, but then again, why would they? Faraday has always been a selfish man, has always considered his own needs first before anyone else's.
The reminder of that selfishness is enough to make him wince and bow his head.
He hadn't thought of any of this. Hadn't considered the great impacts it would have on Emma's life, should she ever return his affections – a fact that still feels impossible to Faraday, regardless of what Matthew might say. Even beyond who he is, Emma couldn't – shouldn't – love him because of what he is.
And that hurts even worse.
And what kind of bastard was he, really, that he hadn't ever considered Emma's well-being in all this?
He's silent for a long moment, regret winding through his gut, sour and burning like bile. His expression is caught in a scowl. ]
All the same, ain't it? It's as you say – not much of a life for her, with me hangin' around. Bein' what I am.
[ His lips press together in a grim line, hands tensing over his belt. ]
I ought to leave her alone, is what you're sayin'.
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no subject
He’s not in the habit of staying where he doesn’t want to, and more than that, of staying where he’s not wanted. He made a life on running, on causing trouble and dodging it, on laughing and gambling and shooting his way out of his problems, when it came right down to it. He doesn’t outstay his welcome, most of the time – sticks around long enough to line his pockets and then absconds with other men’s money.
These days, being what he is, he can’t quite do that. Can’t leave the town of Rose Creek, thanks to a tether he can’t see, a hitching post he can’t find, binding him to the place. Can’t run off and stir up new trouble, thanks to his invisibility. Can’t do much of anything, really, and it makes something stir in his gut, something restless and hopeless and—
And lonesome, if he’s honest.
Something terribly, terribly lonesome.
But most days, he can ignore that. Days filled with teasing and joking and exasperated sighs. Nights filled with magic and sleight-of-hand and more exasperated sighs, as Emma throws the edge of a blanket over his shoulder, his head, as Emma pokes into his flank with a wooden spoon.
(She’ll say something like, “Been a while since I checked.”
Faraday will scowl, rubbing at his side, and say something like, “You just ‘checked’ not but five seconds ago.”
And she’ll smile that small, impish smile, and say, “As I said, it’s been a while.”)
But Faraday is keeping his distance. Checking in, of course, because he craves the acknowledgment, the brief reminder that he’s not actually alone. Not yet. Not while Emma still deigns to make note of his existence, but that could change. Has in the past, in small ways – never outright ignoring him, thank heavens, but edging so dangerously close that Faraday had felt something freeze in his belly. Icy tendrils scrambling in his chest.
And when he does check in, she’s distant. Quiet. Hardly asks for favors, these days – “Grab that pot for me? Show me that trick again? Cut these carrots, would you?” – and it leaves him wandering. Aimless.
He drifts, day and night and day again, hardly notices time passing, feels those cold claws burying into what might have been his heart. He wonders what he’ll do if, at long last, she stops lifting her head when he enters the room.
The thought makes him want to scream.
Faraday occupies himself with people watching, these days, though it’s hardly even that. He sits or props up a wall somewhere out of the way, or he wanders the streets when he doesn’t feel like staying still, hands in his pockets, head bowed. And these days, he’s more often intangible than not, with hardly a thought to the transition.
(Folks pass through him, sometimes, though he hardly notices or cares. Folks will pass through him and shudder violently, and when their companions frown at them, when they ask, “What’s wrong?” they’ll answer, “Someone just walked over my grave.”)
With as long as he’s stayed in town (longer than he’s ever stayed in one place since his childhood), Faraday likes to think he recognizes everyone who lives here. There are new faces, now and again, of folks passing through, folks visiting family, sometimes even some folks who had once lived here before the battle and decided to return.
(Faraday wonders how the survivors must feel, these prodigal sons returning to live in a town they hadn’t bled for. Hopes they’re not too resentful.)
He’s drifting down the main road, head bowed as usual, thumbs hooked over his belt, when he hears a new voice. Faraday frowns, glances around, listening for someone else’s reply.
No response comes.
His frown deepens, and he scans his surroundings, gaze falling on a man standing on the porch of the Imperial Saloon. Faraday thinks he’s seen the man, once or twice – brief, rare, distant glimpses that made him think the stranger must be a visiting relative or friend – but he’s never heard the man speak. Explains the new voice, at least.
Doesn’t explain why the hell the man is staring straight at him.
The gaze roots Faraday to the spot, makes him gawk for a good, long second. He can hardly wrap his head around it, though, and he looks over his shoulder – no one’s stopped, no one’s taken notice of either of them – before turning back to the saloon.
Faraday takes a breath (though there’s no need for it), just blinks for a few seconds (hardly a need for that, either), before clearing his throat (though there’s nothing in need of clearing). ]
Did you—
[ He cuts himself off with a wince, his voice raspy and odd, unfamiliar in his ears.
He tries again: ]
Are you— Did you— [ His eyebrows knit together. The corners of his mouth pull downward. ]
Are you— talkin’ to me?
no subject
(it's not surprising, really. he can't imagine anyone other than emma's said a single word to faraday since his reapperance, and matthew understands that; those stumbled words out of faraday's mouth are the first anyone's said to him in over a year.)
a crooked smile tugs at the corner of matthew's lips, and he spreads his hands wide in a sweeping gesture. ]
You see another dead man tryin' to get your attention?
[ might as well speak plainly, he reasons. he and faraday are here on equal ground (in a manner of speaking), and it's at least explanation enough for why matt can see him, let alone speak to him. ]
no subject
He can't place the man, in that short moment of scrutiny, and he frowns all the more for it. ]
... Do I know you?
[ Wary and slow. He wonders if this is how Emma must feel, speaking with someone he's not sure should exist. ]
no subject
[ matthew shrugs, like there's nothing at all strange about speaking with faraday. ]
You and I never met.
[ his tone is casual, even, holding a steadiness and quiet confidence that doesn't waver as he says, ]
But you know my wife awful well.
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Shit, he thinks, and he feels like the ground falling away from him. ]
Shit.
[ he says, dread and uncertainty and the oddest sense of fear knotting in him. ]
I—
[ Shit, he thinks again, for good measure.
If this were any other time, he'd find something hilarious in this. Wouldn't be the first time he's been caught with someone else's wife, but it would be the first time he's been caught without anything having happened.
Not really, anyway.
... But knowing that, knowing he and Emma have done nothing to be ashamed of, why the hell does Faraday feel so damned guilty?
(Probably 'cause you're in love with her, you stupid son of a bitch, he reminds himself.)
He swallows, licking his lips, and his gaze flicks to the graveyard down the road, where Emma sits beside the little cross, every Sunday. Where Faraday leans against the wrought iron fence, facing out toward the town to offer her privacy, lets her pray over the remains of her late husband.
And here the man is – not in the flesh, not as Faraday lives and breaths, but calm as anyone could goddamn please.
After ages, Faraday finally rasps out, ]
You're Matthew Cullen?
no subject
a slow nod, and his gaze follows faraday's brief glance towards the cemetery, to that little wooden cross he sees emma visit so diligently. he hears her, sometimes, feels when she kneels over his grave, and it leaves him with some flashes of comfort to know he isn't forgotten.
remembered, mourned, but he doesn't feel tied to her prayers and thoughts. he can leave when he likes, but he tends to return just to reassure himself that emma is moving on like she should.
(though is it moving on if she's clinging instead to a different ghost?) ]
I was in life.
[ he looks back at faraday, that smile tugging at his lips. ]
And you'd be Faraday, I presume.
no subject
[ This, with a hollow echo of his usual confidence.
He hesitates before taking a single, hesitant step toward the saloon’s porch, that frown still on his face as he peers at the other man – Matthew Cullen. A man he’s wondered about for ages, trying to imagine him and the sort of man he’d be.
Faraday isn’t entirely sure how to feel, now that he has the opportunity to meet him, though when a thought suddenly occurs to him, he blurts it out immediately: ]
Why aren’t you with Emma?
no subject
there's something a bit sad in matthew's smile — sad, but not bitter or resentful. ]
She doesn't see me.
[ it's for the better, if he's honest. ]
But she doesn't need to, really. She isn't hangin' onto my death after finishing off Bogue.
no subject
There was a long time ago, ages past, it feels like, when he had accused Emma of using Faraday as repentance. That she had harbored the secret belief that if she could only suffer through Faraday's company, her husband would eventually return to her.
He wonders if he was somehow half-right. ]
Then— why can I see you?
[ Setting aside the fact that they're both dead men, that is. Faraday hasn't seen the spirits of other men who passed during the battle of Rose Creek – or at least, not at all that he's noticed. Hasn't seen Billy or Goody or Horne. Hasn't seen the bastard who caught him the back or the son of a bitch with the eye patch or even Bogue.
So far, just this. Just Matthew Cullen. ]
no subject
Maybe I thought it past time we exchange words.
[ he'd been observing for a while, after all, flitting in and out of existence. nearly every time, he always saw faraday close to emma, in some manner or another.
she seemed less lonely for it, he'd noticed. ]
Maybe it's somethin' to do with Emma, connected as you are to her.
no subject
(He almost feels like a child again, preparing himself for the dressing down of a lifetime.) ]
Well, you've got my attention.
[ Mildly, his thumbs hooking over his belt; a posture of ease, as he rocks his weight to one leg, though it's mostly for show, as something nervous coils tightly in his chest. ]
Expect you want me to pass on a message or somethin'?
no subject
No, Emma doesn't need to know I've been here. Temptin' as it might be, it won't do her any sort of good.
[ because, yes, while he may wish he could say something to emma, to at least tell her how proud of her he is, how much everything she's done has meant to him, it's for the best that she doesn't have a reason to cling to him or look for his spirit. ]
She's already let me go, Faraday. She shouldn't have some sorta message coming from the hereafter.
no subject
Maybe that's still coming – the upbraiding, the insistence that Faraday would never be good enough, that Emma hardly deserves to be plagued by the spirit of a man like Faraday. It's not anything he hasn't already thought himself, but certainly nothing he would enjoy hearing aloud in another man's voice.
But he's no coward, not one to back down from a challenge (genuine or imagined), and Faraday takes another step closer, standing beside a watering trough in front of the porch. He peers up at Matthew as the other man leans against the wooden post. ]
Why do you keep sayin' that?
[ Because that little bit sticks with him. ]
"She let you go." "She's not hangin' on to you."
The hell's that supposed to mean?
[ If Matthew knows who Faraday is, then he likely knows why he's here, of all places. A stranger, tethered to this town for which he bled himself dry and breathed his last.
A war, waged not in Matthew Cullen's name, exactly, but certainly in his memory. A widow filled with righteous fury, who every Sunday, without fail, kneels before a modest white cross in a graveyard too full for a town this size. ]
You certain on all that?
no subject
[ he watches faraday approach, but he doesn't move, just keeps his eyes fixed on the gambler. ]
She put me to rest with Bogue's body. That was peace for her.
[ something tugs at his smile, something fiercely proud of his wife. he never would have wanted all of that violence and heartbreak for emma, but she's come through on the other side, tempered like steel and just as brutally capable as she's always been. ]
If any part'a her was clinging to me, she'd be able to see me or I'd be tied to her. I'm not.
[ he can leave when he likes, come and go as he pleases — move on, if it suits him. ]
It's what'll keep a soul among the living, Faraday. Someone has to want them here, and much as my wife may have loved me, she gave me that justice she thought I deserved. She's movin' on, like she ought to.
[ but moving on with faraday? unconventional and unexpected, really.
a little ironic, that emma's traded one ghost for another. ]
no subject
That doesn’t make a lick of sense.
[ For a number of reasons, really, because if that’s the case, what the hell is Faraday still doing here? Faraday doesn’t know a soul in Rose Creek who would’ve kept him here like this. Maybe some idiot back in Nevada who wished Faraday were still around to enact some misguided attempt at payback, but not anyone here. ]
If that’s the case, then what are you still doin’ here? And if that’s the case, why can she see me?
no subject
Me? I want to be here. See how things are going.
[ how emma's doing.
he doesn't haunt the same way faraday does, because, well, he can go when and where he likes. he isn't trapped in rose creek. ]
You really don't understand who's tyin' you here?
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And when the words do arrive, his mouth snaps shut, teeth clacking together with an audible click.
Because he knows what Matthew must be getting at, why he felt the need to talk to Faraday after all this time, when Faraday can remember seeing him from a distance at least months ago. He deflates a little, shoulders dropping, gaze darting away to examine the hitching post to one side. ]
... It ain’t like that.
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That's hard to believe, what with the way she looks at you.
[ quiet, but pointed. ]
Her wantin' you here will keep you around.
Goes both ways, though.
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(At least, not that Faraday has seen with his own eyes.) ]
No offense meant, Matthew, but I’m not entirely sure you know what you’re talkin’ about, here.
That is, I’m pretty sure you’re at least half mistaken.
[ Because the other way around? Well, Matthew’s got him on that, at least. ]
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I know Emma, Faraday. And I know, seein' her with you, somehow you make her happy.
[ he gives a little shrug. ]
Couldn't tell you the "why" of it or what's got her holdin' onto you hard enough to keep you here; that's her business.
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And though he keeps the thought unvoiced, a bit of it shows in the narrowing of his eyes, the twist of his mouth.
He takes a breath – or at least, he appears to take a breath, though the air hardly seems to notice his efforts – in an effort to quell his annoyance. ]
Alright, then.
[ Low, quiet. ]
Assumin' what you're sayin' is true, assumin' Emma actually wants me here, then—
What is it you're tryin' to tell me, exactly? That I ought to help her— I dunno. Let go? Move on?
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all he can offer instead is another unhelpful gesture, spreading his hands wide in something of "it's out of my control." ]
That's up to you. The both of you let go, and you can move past this kind of existence.
[ to wherever it is faraday's bound for. ]
You do what you think is best for her.
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That ain't much of an answer.
[ It's practically nothing, if he's honest. Which is probably why it's just as well he's not entirely convinced by Matthew's words, being bound here by Emma's desire. By her wanting him here; they'd become friendly with one another, sure, but he doubts it extends as far as Matthew seems to think it does.
Letting himself be bound by her, though – he can't argue that. ]
So? What would you do, then? Were you in my shoes.
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If it were me instead?
[ he laughs once, though there's no humor in it. ]
I wouldn't want her fixated on a ghost. It's hard for her to be a part of this life when she's stuck on somethin' removed from it all. Anything she had with me like this wouldn't be...whole for her.
[ he shakes his head, glancing towards the cemetery again. ]
We wouldn't grow old together. We'd never have children. She'd have to go through everything never acknowledging me around other folks or recognizing that she's still married.
[ he finally looks back at faraday. ]
But since it's not like that between the two of you, I imagine those'll never be concerns for you to entertain. Suppose you don't have much to lose just bein' here with her.
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None of these were thoughts that had ever occurred to Faraday, but then again, why would they? Faraday has always been a selfish man, has always considered his own needs first before anyone else's.
The reminder of that selfishness is enough to make him wince and bow his head.
He hadn't thought of any of this. Hadn't considered the great impacts it would have on Emma's life, should she ever return his affections – a fact that still feels impossible to Faraday, regardless of what Matthew might say. Even beyond who he is, Emma couldn't – shouldn't – love him because of what he is.
And that hurts even worse.
And what kind of bastard was he, really, that he hadn't ever considered Emma's well-being in all this?
He's silent for a long moment, regret winding through his gut, sour and burning like bile. His expression is caught in a scowl. ]
All the same, ain't it? It's as you say – not much of a life for her, with me hangin' around. Bein' what I am.
[ His lips press together in a grim line, hands tensing over his belt. ]
I ought to leave her alone, is what you're sayin'.
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