[ well, it is incovenient — it stained her apron and a few other things, after all.
she makes a small noise that's nearly a huff, but she reaches up to take the rag from him, careful not to touch his hand and avoid the fairly unpleasant experience of passing through him. she's made that mistake before, even actually stumbled through him once, and it's not especially enjoyable; it's like being doused with ice water while something crawls right up your spine, and emma does her best not to suffer through that.
(even if she would be all right with the occasional contact, she reckons — before disregarding that line of thought.)
she mops some of the blood away from her palm and where it's trailed down her wrist, then wraps the rag around her finger again. ]
It's just a cut, Joshua. Hardly the kind of thing you need to get bent out of shape over.
[ she doesn't take concern especially well, doesn't like letting or making other people worry over her, and she's far too prideful to admit that the cut's bothering her or might need attention. ]
[ In the time he's spent with her, he's starting to realize they're alike in a lot more ways one. He learns she can take a joke, can give as good as she gets. That she has little patience for cheats and idiots. That she suffers from the same shadows in her dreams, though she never talks to him about it. (He does his best not to ask; when he had need for sleep, when he dreamed, he preferred not to talk about it, either.)
But above all, he learns that they're both as stubborn as mules and far too used to taking care of themselves.
The use of his first name still jars him, and for a second he blinks, surprised out of his annoyance. It's short-lived, though, and he huffs out a breath through his nose.
It should've stopped bleeding by now, he thinks, if it had been as minor as she said. The blood should've stopped itself up or gummed up a little and slowed to a trickle, at least, but it hasn't. (He feels a quick pang of guilt; he shouldn't have tried to scare her.) ]
Good Lord, you're planning on just bleedin' straight through that rag, ain't ya?
[ emma fixes him with a Look, serious but also mildly dismissive. ]
There's no need for that.
[ she doesn't want to go to the town doctor, not over something as simple as a cut on her finger. ]
Besides, it's late; it'd be a bother over somethin' this small.
[ she puts some extra pressure on the cut, trying not to betray a wince at the sting. she doesn't want to make faraday fixate on her little slip-up, because really, she probably should have been more cautious with the knife so it didn't happen in the first place, frights or no.
she pulls the rag back to take a peek, then covers her finger again, glancing up at him with the same level of stubborness. ]
[ As with most things, he takes that look on the chin – returns it even, with full force. He watches her with a sharp gaze – a level of perception that served him well in life, and now, apparently, serves to catch the barest hint of a wince, as much as she tries to hide it. (That pang of guilt again, ringing like a church bell.
Lesson learned, apparently, and far quicker than any lecture might have taught him. No more frightening Emma.)
His gaze flicks down to her hands as she checks her cut, then back to her face, watching for tells – a skill he used in his card games, watching for facial tics or reading his opponent's body language. Faraday keeps his vigil for another second, before tilting his head slightly. ]
Why, Miss Emma Cullen.
[ He takes a second to peer at her, eyes narrowed and piercing, before he clicks his tongue, shaking his head in disapproval. ]
You're lyin'. Don't they teach you up in that church it's a sin?
[ emma's eyebrows rise just a touch, and she looks near offended — but it's hard to look offended when she's doing her damndest not to smile again. ]
I do not know what you're talkin' about, Mister Faraday.
[ she sniffs dismissively, but she still curls the rag tighter around her finger to look less conscpicuous. ]
And to think you'd call me a liar? Shame on you.
[ but it's just a little white lie. her finger isn't gushing blood, by any means, it's just not letting up entirely, and that's not the worst it could be, she decides. not worth making a fuss when there are far worse things that could've happened to her.
she could be a ghost, after all.
(but then she probably wouldn't even need to consider medical attention.) ]
[ He falls silent for a half second before barking out a laugh. He rocks back again, as if to get a better look at her, gaze roving from her head to her toes. ]
Mrs. Cullen, as I live and breathe.
[ (Not that he's currently doing either of those things.)
He presses a hand to his chest, wearing a look of mock indignation. ]
You are telling complete falsehoods. Mistruths. To me. A veritable king of bullshit.
[ ... he probably shouldn't swear in front of a lady, but the Lord already struck him down once. The results of that are plain to both of them.
His hand drops, and the expression disappears, replaced with a frown. ]
I'm no doctor or anythin', but it seems to me you need some stitches.
[ it's when faraday really laughs that emma can't hold her own smile back. it's an open, warm smile — the kind of smile faraday would never have had the chance to see during his life, but here and now, she's so much freer with her humor. it doesn't fall by the wayside in favor of far stronger emotions, and if anyone is to bring it out of her, it's usually faraday. ]
King indeed.
[ she's hardly one to be scandalized by faraday's foul words anymore, given how much time she's spent with him, but she still scoffs for the sake of it. ]
That mouth of yours, Mister Faraday.
[ but she sees the seriousness back in his expression, and she considers the bloody rag around her finger with a reluctant frown. ]
I don't much care for stitches.
[ hated them, as a matter of fact. she'd sliced herself wide open on some barbed wire as a child and needed a fair helping of sutures, and since, she'd gone far out of her way to avoid needing them again. she vividly recalls her mother fretting over her while the doctor saw to some nasty cuts, while she bawled like a colicky infant the whole time.
of course, she's a grown woman now and not one to cry over a couple of stitches, but if she can avoid them, she certainly will. ]
Not a matter of carin', if you're gonna keep bleedin' out like that.
[ It's not the most serious of wounds, admittedly (and Faraday knows a thing or two about serious wounds, though he'd rather not admit as much aloud), but it's enough of one that Faraday appreciates the need for some proper attention.
He understands, though, after a fashion. He remembers the first time he'd been seriously wounded – a knife slash across his side when he was nearing his twenties, young and stupid, left there by a drunken swing when someone didn't take kindly to Faraday winning a high-stakes round of poker. He had stormed out after that, hand clamped over the wound, stubbornly refusing a doctor. (No such qualms for stitches, on his part; it was entirely about the money.) It was the bartender, in the end, who practically threw him over his shoulder and took him to get sewn up.
His worry is as much fueled by concern as it is by guilt, though. She wouldn't have been soaking the cloth with her blood if it hadn't been for his little prank, after all. His lips draw into a thin line, and he—
disappears—
—and reappears beside her front door. ]
If you don't get a move on, I'm gonna go'n'knock over as much of the doctor's things as I can. Don't think I won't.
[ it still startles emma a touch every time faraday vanishes into thin air — though, at least now it's far more because he chooses to and not because he's being wrenched out of the living world again. she'll still staring at the spot where he'd been, but the sound of his voice from her front door draws her attention back, her expression drawing into immediate disapproval. ]
Joshua Faraday, don't you dare.
[ the poor doctor certainly wouldn't deserve such a fright, but she wouldn't put it past faraday to do it just because he'd find it amusing.
with a noise that's nearly an exasperated huff, emma goes to grab a nearby shawl, wrapping it over her shoulders as she keeps the cloth snug around her finger. it's gotten colder in rose creek, not nearly the same kind of summer heat from six months past, and late as it is, she could use a bit of bundling up.
coming up beside him by the door, she looks up at him with an unimpressed glare. ]
You're makin' a fuss over nothing.
[ but she still opens the door to step outside into the chilly evening air. ]
[ The use of his full name doesn't cow him, as it should. In fact, it just makes him smile a touch smugly. While she wraps her shawl over her shoulders, he waits beside the door with his weight on one leg. ]
You'll thank me for makin' a fuss once you're not gettin' blood everywhere.
[ The weather doesn't bother him, and he wonders if one of these days, he'll start to miss it. The warmth on his skin or the chill in the air – he doesn't feel much of anything, though he's aware of both, in much the same way one might be aware of a spider in the next room. It's there, of course, but its presence isn't an immediate concern.
He wears what he wore the day he died, though thankfully without the splashes of red or the accompanying holes. Despite the chill, his sleeves remain pushed up to the elbows, and every brush of cold wind goes largely unnoticed. He can smell it in the air, though, the shift of seasons, sees it in the leafless trees and in the way people shiver when he and Emma pass. (Faraday tries to step around anyone who approaches, much as he did in life. He can pass through folks, but he doesn't care to. It doesn't hurt, exactly, but it's distinctly unpleasant. Feels like someone walking over his grave.)
Even with the sun tucked away behind the horizon, there are still some people wandering the town's streets, having their dinner with their friends in town rather than in their homes. Goody would probably say something poetic and solemn, were he here, something about war forging strong, unbreakable bonds. Faraday thinks they probably don't want to be alone with their memories. ]
That friend of yours, Teddy. Theodore. [ Light and teasing, in his usual fashion. No one immediately around them, for now. Faraday casts Emma a sidelong glance, as he tips his head toward the saloon. ] You know he keeps makin' eyes at you, right?
[ emma would make a comment about overexaggeration, but then the door is open and the chilly air hits her full in the face — and shivering is plenty distracting to keep at least a little of her sass at bay (for a moment).
she holds the shawl tighter around her shoulders as they walk, and she finds herself appreciating the low light, now that the sun is setting earlier and earlier these days. it's cold, certainly, and only due to get colder, but emma is hardly one to complain; in fact, she rather likes winter and the quiet peace that tends to accompany the shorter days. admittedly, she's less fond of working harder to keep warm during that time, but it's not unbearable, is what it truly comes down to.
glancing over when faraday breaks the silence, she quickly takes stock of their surroundings to ensure that they're by and large alone — no one to overhear her talking to what would look to be entirely empty air. ]
Then I'm afaid he may be due for a disappointment.
[ because, honestly, emma isn't interested in teddy. never has been and never expects to see that changing. he's a friend, certainly, and a sweet boy, but...she finds it difficult to see him as anything more. ]
[ The simplicity of her statement, the ease with which she says it, makes him bark out a quick laugh. Straight shooter, he thinks. Hardly any bullshit. Faraday finds he appreciates that about Emma, that she says what she means and means what she says. It was a rare quality. ]
He's not so bad, Teddy. Humorless li'l thing, bless his heart, but alright, all things considered.
[ They continue on in silence for a few more paces, interrupted by the soft murmur of conversation up ahead and the sound of Emma's footfalls. (Faraday walks alongside her, or at least seems to walk, but his steps make no noise on the packed dirt.) Before long, Faraday smirks a little and asks, ]
It's on account'a' the peach fuzz he calls a beard, isn't it?
[ it takes a whole mess of willpower not to actually laugh when faraday says that, and she covers it up with a cough behind her hand instead. she tries not to let her smile show as she glances over at the gambler. ]
I'd hardly count that as a reason, Faraday.
[ teddy just isn't her type, in reality. he's sweet, well-meaning, but, well. not the sort of man who would ever draw her eye. ]
I don't look at him that way, that's all.
[ she gives a dismissive shrug, before looking at faraday pointedly. ]
Why exactly do you bring it up? Are you tryin' to send me off to find some sort of gentleman caller?
[ Even as she hides it, Faraday sees the laugh threatening to bubble its way from her lips, the smile tugging at her mouth. (He likes coaxing them from her, surprises himself every time when he finds he likes to see her smiling. Sometimes, he even tricks himself into think she has a different sort of smile when she's alone with him.
Strange little thought, he tells himself later. Couldn't possibly be the case, either.)
At her pointed look, he holds up both hands, widens his eyes in what might be innocence, trying to placate her with the gesture. ]
No meaning behind it. Just wondered if you'd seen the way he mooned after you.
[ It was cute, in a sad sort of way, because Faraday didn't see much sense in the matching, himself. But he's not entirely truthful, either. Part of him wonders if Emma must be lonely, considering the loss of her husband. Considering she seemed slightly removed from the rest of Rose Creek – not a hermit by any means, but not as involved.
Loss tends to isolate people. Dark experiences even more so. The battle in Rose Creek seemed to set Emma apart while unifying the rest of the survivors, at least in his eyes, and he's not entirely sure why. ]
[ emma has been much more alone since the battle of rose creek, since bogue has been buried and their town has seen justice - since all of this, emma has been alone. she hasn't isolated herself, and she hasn't gone out of her way to avoid her neighbors and the people of her town, but she's no closer to them than she had been. since the loss of matthew, she hasn't exactly gone out looking for another suitor nor intended to do so - in fact, she's hardly looked at the men of her town as possible options. she's been...content, oddly, in the way she lives and with the company she keeps.
especially since that company has come to include faraday. ]
I've seen it. I do my best not to encourage him.
[ she doesn't want to get his hopes up, after all. that would be unkind, and while emma is straightforward, she doesn't go out of her way to be cruel. she will be honest, if it comes to that, but if she doesn't have to break his heart, she'd prefer not to. ]
Odd question, if you ask me.
[ she pulls the shawl tighter around her shoulders, trying to fight off the evening chill. ]
[ Faraday watches her carefully, trying to stare without staring (and it's a balance he has some practice in maintaining). When she offers her objection, Faraday shrugs and says quietly, ]
No arguments from me.
[ Although he has many arguments, little comments on how she hasn't quite settled back into the town. It reminds him a little of a bit of oil sitting atop water. Occupying the same space, but not exactly mingling, all things considered.
He worries, but he's not sure why. It's none of his business, that's for damn sure, and it's certainly not anything Emma would admit to or accept help with, proud and stubborn as she is. Not even really anything he could help with, if he's honest about all of it.
So why does he care?
(Probably because they're friends. He didn't have very many of those in life – lots of acquaintances, sure. Lots of folks who knew him and remembered his name, if they ever had occasion to cross paths a second time, but not anyone who would be liable to miss him. To care about him.
Ridiculous, really, how in his last days of life, he finally felt as if he had forged some lasting bonds. Even more ridiculous, that he and Emma could only stop butting heads after he had died.
Life really was unfair, wasn't it?)
He sees how she pulls her shawl around her, and he frowns. The doctor isn't too far away, and he speeds up his steps, as if to hurry her along. ]
We'll discuss how you can shatter Teddy's heart into millions of pieces later. C'mon.
[ that sure does sting a touch; she hopes it doesn't come to that, rejecting that poor boy, but if he's any real kind of determined, it probably will. she makes a soft, annoyed sound of acknowledgement, but she picks up the pace, falling better into line with faraday.
the doctor's home is still well-lit, so at least emma knows she won't be disturbing him too terribly (at least he won't already be in bed, is more like it), and when emma goes to knock on the door, the answer comes quickly.
the doctor looks surprised to see her standing there in the low evening light, and emma just offers a polite, if apologetic smile. ]
Miss Emma, is there somethin' you're needin' on this cold evening?
[ emma is careful not to look at faraday, because it really would seem odd if she was casting any glances at empty air, and instead, she just holds up the hand she's wrapped in the rag. ]
I seem to have gotten a might overzealous with my dinner preparations this evening. If it's not too much trouble, would you mind havin' a look at this finger?
[ the doctor ushers her in with an easy smile, leading her to have a seat so he can inspect her hand. ]
Why, you've made quite a mess of yourself, haven't you?
[ emma looks mildly abashed as the doctor starts tending to her finger, though the anxiety is clear in her eyes when he's pulling out his suture kit. the alcohol used to disinfect her finger stings like the dickens, and while emma tries her hardest not to let it show, she's clearly in a fair bit of pain as the doctor sees to her hand.
she only needs a couple of stitches, but even that's enough for her to look thoroughly unsettled, despite her best efforts, and she can't watch while the doctor fixes her up.
she looks at faraday instead, trying to come off accusatory, but it's a bit harder when there's a needle yanking through her skin. ]
[ When she shows her wound to the doctor, Faraday takes that opportunity to get a good look at it, as well. The quick inspection is enough to confirm what he already knew – it was worse than Emma had let on, and he feels that faint tug of guilt in his gut again. As the Doctor stands to gather his supplies, Faraday casts her a flat sort of look, as if to say, You're such liar.
He wanders around after that, as the doctor sets to work disinfecting her cut, looking idly at shelves and books. Satisfied with his examination, Faraday turns back – and he notices with some alarm the look of unease in her eyes, the pain on her face.
(Guilt again. He really starts to hate that feeling. And worry, too – strange and unfamiliar. It's been such a long time since he's given a shit about anyone else but himself.)
He crosses the space in a few quick strides, hovering uncertainly over the doctor's shoulder as he sets to work, and offers a small smile at the hard look she tries to cast him. ]
Glare daggers all you like. [ Even if the doctor can't hear him, Faraday still pitches his voice low, out of habit. ] They'd go right through me, anyway.
[ He pauses, glancing around again as if the room might provide some inspiration. Emma is clearly in need of some form of distraction, and after a quick false start, he says, ]
You know, I'm startin' to think I'm a good influence on you, all things considered. Don't think I'd ever seen you lie before – honestly didn't even think you capable of it, pious woman that you are. Yet you did it. Lied straight to my face without even a twitch.
I think I might try'n'get you to smoke, next. Maybe play poker. I got an awful lot of trick shuffles I could show you.
[ a distraction is absolutely what emma needs at this point. she needs to not think about the sting of the needle and the tugging at her skin, but it turns out that faraday's voice is...oddly soothing. some of the tension rolls out of her shoulders, though she's clearly not impressed by what he's saying.
the worst part is, she can't even banter with him, can't refute what he's saying and tell him he'd be more than hard-pressed to get her smoking and playing (cheating at) cards. a little white lie, while she may feel vaguely guilty about it, is hardly the most undesireable of traits she could have picked up from faraday.
after all, she'd told it to simulaneously avoid stitches and...well, to keep him from worrying over her. she's not one to openly accept concern, and she knew that if she'd let on to the nature of her cut, he'd be fussing and, of course, trying to shoo her off to the doctor.
like he had done.
she gives him the most exasperated of looks she can manage while the doctor is still seeing to her, but faraday has drawn her attention away long enough that she doesn't even notice when the sutures are done. ]
There now. That should do you up right.
[ emma looks down at her neatly stitched finger before the doctor wraps it gently but firmly, and she offers him a warm thanks for his time. he's more than content to send her on her way back home (after inviting her to dinner, which she politely refuses), and once they're outside of the small house again, she turns on faraday with a little huff. ]
Now that was all kinds of unnecessary.
[ she should be thanking him for keeping her mind off of the stitches, but she's still not quite so appreciative of needing them in the first place. ]
And, I'll have you know, you're hardly any kind of influence on me, Faraday – good or bad.
[ she turns away from him with a soft scoff, crossing her arms over her chest to pull her shawl tigheter around her shoulders with her neatly bandaged hand. ]
[ Sometimes, Faraday gets a kick out of the way he can talk and talk and talk, while Emma can't get a word in edgewise. Entertaining to see her struggle with the compulsion to argue or smack him. He's learned she's got one hell of a poker face, even as he trots out some of his best stories or jokes as he wanders Rose Creek with her.
He's gratified to see some of her anxiety ebb, though, and some of that pain, as she levels one of her glares at him. He'll take as much scorn in the world, so long as he doesn't have to see that look on her face again any time soon. Even worse, knowing he was the direct cause of it.
They finish up at last, and as he predicts, she turns on him only seconds after the door shuts behind them. Faraday just grins, casting her a dubious look. ]
Says you, Cullen.
Give it a month, and I bet I could get you smokin' like a chimney.
A habit I am mighty glad you can no longer engage in.
[ on account of being dead and all. ]
And one I'm never inclined to pick up.
[ she leads the way back to her home, walking marginally faster on account of the cold air. she'd rather be back inside, where it's warm, because while the shawl helps, it's not especially suitable to the growing chill. ]
Now hurry up; I still have to finish makin' my dinner.
[ she doesn't wait for him, mostly because she expects he'll follow along anyway, but when they're nearly back to the house, she does pause for a brief moment, glancing over at faraday. ]
...do you miss it, though? And I mean, all the things you did when you were still livin', not just smoking.
[ she's sure he does, so it must be a foolish question, but it isn't one she's ever thought to ask. ]
[ He just smirks all the more at her refusal – more in an effort to be as infuriating as possible than any real intent, on his part. Truth is, he has no intention of introducing that particular vice to her home, and doesn't think it would much suit her, besides.
... Though he does get a hoot out of the mental image.
He follows after her, as she expected he would – because what else can he do? He could leave, he supposes, wander off as he does sometimes, but he's content for now. Hasn't felt drained just yet, which happens on rare occasions when he's likely overstayed his welcome. Whatever he is, he doesn't know all his limits just yet; he's not sure when he'll know all of those, either.
Her question startles him out of his thoughts, though, and his step slows as he mulls it over. ]
... I'm— Maybe.
[ Uncertainly, slightly stilted. He doesn't know how far he wants to delve into this question. ]
Might be startin' to, now that the novelty's wearin' off.
[ Even with that brief answer, he already feels the sting of melancholy sinking in, like a hook in a fish's mouth. For a few seconds, he keeps his silence, thinking about the little things he'll never experience again, like the taste of warm beans or the burn of Tanglefoot or the feel of a gentle touch, of warm skin on skin—
He shakes himself, speeding up his step, and bowing his head a little as he walks.
Brusquely, ] Ain't nothin' can be done about it, though. No use thinkin' on it.
[ that's admittedly one of the things emma tells herself when she starts to long for the kind of life she'd had with matthew. where she is hasn't changed, what she does with herself is largely all the same, but...it's different. all the time she'd been married, she'd gotten so accustomed to having company, to the affection and casual touch she experienced with her husband, and now? now that everything has settled down in rose creek, and she's no longer distracting herself with the kind of tenacity and hellbent need for righteouness?
now she can really feel that emptiness. it's not all the time, and it's not a constant, but when she's lying in bed or when the oppressive silence of her house sets in around her, she remembers that matthew isn't there to sweep her into his arms, to kiss her until she laughs, to whisper the kind of sweet nothings that had her weak in the knees. she'd loved her husband something fierce, and now the closest she can get to him is kneeling and praying at his grave.
hardly comparable.
however, that emptiness is far lessened when faraday's around, she's noticed. it's strange that she could find so much comfort in a ghost, in ways that her neighbors and the people of the town couldn't provide for her, because when he's there she's not thinking on matthew. the silence is filled by something far more meaningful, and as much as faraday exasperates her, makes her roll her eyes, near scandalizes her with his crude humor and irreverant tongue — well. he makes her laugh.
he makes her smile.
what an odd notion, she realizes, that a dead man could help her see brighter flickers of joy than any of the living she surrounds herself with.
shaking off that train of thought, she finally leads them back to her front door, opening it and wasting no time in shuffling into the warm room. she needs to tend the fire, help the heat pick back up, but it's still far better than the temperature outside. ]
At least you won't be havin' to deal with this frightful cold.
[ it's an attempt at a slightly lighter tone, because really, when the cold truly hits, she's sure faraday won't be terribly put out he's avoiding the worst of it. ]
[ He glances up, huffing out a near silent laugh. ]
Suppose I won't, no.
[ He wonders if he'll eventually grow to miss it, though, if only for its absence, if only because he doesn't feel much of anything – neither the heat nor the chill. Even when he picks things up, pushes things around, he doesn't quite feel it. Just knows when something is in his grasp, knows how much pressure to apply or how much to hold back.
He doesn't quite feel. He just... is.
His gaze flits away again, and despite his best efforts, despite how he tries to shove it away, the melancholy sinks in. He feels that, at least, emotions. Sadness, annoyance, anger. Happiness, too, and he thinks on how strange that is, that he should actually find something to be happy about in this state. Something to laugh about or smile at, when what he is should be a constant source of dread or despair, ungodly as he is. Some sort of entity beyond the realm of possibility or understanding.
But he is happy more often than he isn't, odd though that is; he finds things to joke about, things to discuss with Emma, finds joy in the way she smiles and laughs (though he shies away from delving into the whys of that). And for now, that's enough to stave off the worst of his darkened mood.
Faraday trudges over to the hearth, steps silent despite how they drag, and after a bit of concentration, lifts up nearby log and tosses it onto the fire. He grabs hold of the poker next, brow creased with focus, and stokes the flame. ]
Go on, then. Ain't you got your dinner to attend to?
[ the drop in faraday's mood isn't especially hard to miss, but emma doesn't think to draw attention to it, not now. it must be a sore spot, she reckons, to realize how much one would lose in an existence such as faraday's. not alive, not experiencing life like those around him, but still present enough that he sees it all go by, invisible to the world, except in the eyes of one woman.
what a strange life, to be seen by one person alone, while effectively having his existence seem void otherwise.
she's appreciative of the way he sees to the fire, and it makes a quick difference, enough for her to leave her shawl behind to head into the kitchen again. ]
I suppose I ought to, as long as I'm guaranteed to have no further startling experiences while I'm at it.
[ she casts a pointed look towards him, but it's not especially disgruntled - there's almost a teasing edge to it, even. ]
I doubt the doctor would appreciate another visit this evening.
[ and she sure would like to avoid any further stitches in the immediate future. she doesn't actively blame faraday for the mishap, because really, it had been an unfortunate accident all around, but she still had zero appreciation for getting spooked at any point, knife in hand or no. ]
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no subject
she makes a small noise that's nearly a huff, but she reaches up to take the rag from him, careful not to touch his hand and avoid the fairly unpleasant experience of passing through him. she's made that mistake before, even actually stumbled through him once, and it's not especially enjoyable; it's like being doused with ice water while something crawls right up your spine, and emma does her best not to suffer through that.
(even if she would be all right with the occasional contact, she reckons — before disregarding that line of thought.)
she mops some of the blood away from her palm and where it's trailed down her wrist, then wraps the rag around her finger again. ]
It's just a cut, Joshua. Hardly the kind of thing you need to get bent out of shape over.
[ she doesn't take concern especially well, doesn't like letting or making other people worry over her, and she's far too prideful to admit that the cut's bothering her or might need attention. ]
So, yes. Inconvenient.
no subject
But above all, he learns that they're both as stubborn as mules and far too used to taking care of themselves.
The use of his first name still jars him, and for a second he blinks, surprised out of his annoyance. It's short-lived, though, and he huffs out a breath through his nose.
It should've stopped bleeding by now, he thinks, if it had been as minor as she said. The blood should've stopped itself up or gummed up a little and slowed to a trickle, at least, but it hasn't. (He feels a quick pang of guilt; he shouldn't have tried to scare her.) ]
Good Lord, you're planning on just bleedin' straight through that rag, ain't ya?
You need to get that tended to.
no subject
There's no need for that.
[ she doesn't want to go to the town doctor, not over something as simple as a cut on her finger. ]
Besides, it's late; it'd be a bother over somethin' this small.
[ she puts some extra pressure on the cut, trying not to betray a wince at the sting. she doesn't want to make faraday fixate on her little slip-up, because really, she probably should have been more cautious with the knife so it didn't happen in the first place, frights or no.
she pulls the rag back to take a peek, then covers her finger again, glancing up at him with the same level of stubborness. ]
It's slowin' down already.
[ mostly. ]
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Lesson learned, apparently, and far quicker than any lecture might have taught him. No more frightening Emma.)
His gaze flicks down to her hands as she checks her cut, then back to her face, watching for tells – a skill he used in his card games, watching for facial tics or reading his opponent's body language. Faraday keeps his vigil for another second, before tilting his head slightly. ]
Why, Miss Emma Cullen.
[ He takes a second to peer at her, eyes narrowed and piercing, before he clicks his tongue, shaking his head in disapproval. ]
You're lyin'. Don't they teach you up in that church it's a sin?
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I do not know what you're talkin' about, Mister Faraday.
[ she sniffs dismissively, but she still curls the rag tighter around her finger to look less conscpicuous. ]
And to think you'd call me a liar? Shame on you.
[ but it's just a little white lie. her finger isn't gushing blood, by any means, it's just not letting up entirely, and that's not the worst it could be, she decides. not worth making a fuss when there are far worse things that could've happened to her.
she could be a ghost, after all.
(but then she probably wouldn't even need to consider medical attention.) ]
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Mrs. Cullen, as I live and breathe.
[ (Not that he's currently doing either of those things.)
He presses a hand to his chest, wearing a look of mock indignation. ]
You are telling complete falsehoods. Mistruths. To me. A veritable king of bullshit.
[ ... he probably shouldn't swear in front of a lady, but the Lord already struck him down once. The results of that are plain to both of them.
His hand drops, and the expression disappears, replaced with a frown. ]
I'm no doctor or anythin', but it seems to me you need some stitches.
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King indeed.
[ she's hardly one to be scandalized by faraday's foul words anymore, given how much time she's spent with him, but she still scoffs for the sake of it. ]
That mouth of yours, Mister Faraday.
[ but she sees the seriousness back in his expression, and she considers the bloody rag around her finger with a reluctant frown. ]
I don't much care for stitches.
[ hated them, as a matter of fact. she'd sliced herself wide open on some barbed wire as a child and needed a fair helping of sutures, and since, she'd gone far out of her way to avoid needing them again. she vividly recalls her mother fretting over her while the doctor saw to some nasty cuts, while she bawled like a colicky infant the whole time.
of course, she's a grown woman now and not one to cry over a couple of stitches, but if she can avoid them, she certainly will. ]
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[ It's not the most serious of wounds, admittedly (and Faraday knows a thing or two about serious wounds, though he'd rather not admit as much aloud), but it's enough of one that Faraday appreciates the need for some proper attention.
He understands, though, after a fashion. He remembers the first time he'd been seriously wounded – a knife slash across his side when he was nearing his twenties, young and stupid, left there by a drunken swing when someone didn't take kindly to Faraday winning a high-stakes round of poker. He had stormed out after that, hand clamped over the wound, stubbornly refusing a doctor. (No such qualms for stitches, on his part; it was entirely about the money.) It was the bartender, in the end, who practically threw him over his shoulder and took him to get sewn up.
His worry is as much fueled by concern as it is by guilt, though. She wouldn't have been soaking the cloth with her blood if it hadn't been for his little prank, after all. His lips draw into a thin line, and he—
disappears—
—and reappears beside her front door. ]
If you don't get a move on, I'm gonna go'n'knock over as much of the doctor's things as I can. Don't think I won't.
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Joshua Faraday, don't you dare.
[ the poor doctor certainly wouldn't deserve such a fright, but she wouldn't put it past faraday to do it just because he'd find it amusing.
with a noise that's nearly an exasperated huff, emma goes to grab a nearby shawl, wrapping it over her shoulders as she keeps the cloth snug around her finger. it's gotten colder in rose creek, not nearly the same kind of summer heat from six months past, and late as it is, she could use a bit of bundling up.
coming up beside him by the door, she looks up at him with an unimpressed glare. ]
You're makin' a fuss over nothing.
[ but she still opens the door to step outside into the chilly evening air. ]
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You'll thank me for makin' a fuss once you're not gettin' blood everywhere.
[ The weather doesn't bother him, and he wonders if one of these days, he'll start to miss it. The warmth on his skin or the chill in the air – he doesn't feel much of anything, though he's aware of both, in much the same way one might be aware of a spider in the next room. It's there, of course, but its presence isn't an immediate concern.
He wears what he wore the day he died, though thankfully without the splashes of red or the accompanying holes. Despite the chill, his sleeves remain pushed up to the elbows, and every brush of cold wind goes largely unnoticed. He can smell it in the air, though, the shift of seasons, sees it in the leafless trees and in the way people shiver when he and Emma pass. (Faraday tries to step around anyone who approaches, much as he did in life. He can pass through folks, but he doesn't care to. It doesn't hurt, exactly, but it's distinctly unpleasant. Feels like someone walking over his grave.)
Even with the sun tucked away behind the horizon, there are still some people wandering the town's streets, having their dinner with their friends in town rather than in their homes. Goody would probably say something poetic and solemn, were he here, something about war forging strong, unbreakable bonds. Faraday thinks they probably don't want to be alone with their memories. ]
That friend of yours, Teddy. Theodore. [ Light and teasing, in his usual fashion. No one immediately around them, for now. Faraday casts Emma a sidelong glance, as he tips his head toward the saloon. ] You know he keeps makin' eyes at you, right?
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she holds the shawl tighter around her shoulders as they walk, and she finds herself appreciating the low light, now that the sun is setting earlier and earlier these days. it's cold, certainly, and only due to get colder, but emma is hardly one to complain; in fact, she rather likes winter and the quiet peace that tends to accompany the shorter days. admittedly, she's less fond of working harder to keep warm during that time, but it's not unbearable, is what it truly comes down to.
glancing over when faraday breaks the silence, she quickly takes stock of their surroundings to ensure that they're by and large alone — no one to overhear her talking to what would look to be entirely empty air. ]
Then I'm afaid he may be due for a disappointment.
[ because, honestly, emma isn't interested in teddy. never has been and never expects to see that changing. he's a friend, certainly, and a sweet boy, but...she finds it difficult to see him as anything more. ]
Teddy is not a man I would be likely to fancy.
[ simple as that. ]
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He's not so bad, Teddy. Humorless li'l thing, bless his heart, but alright, all things considered.
[ They continue on in silence for a few more paces, interrupted by the soft murmur of conversation up ahead and the sound of Emma's footfalls. (Faraday walks alongside her, or at least seems to walk, but his steps make no noise on the packed dirt.) Before long, Faraday smirks a little and asks, ]
It's on account'a' the peach fuzz he calls a beard, isn't it?
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I'd hardly count that as a reason, Faraday.
[ teddy just isn't her type, in reality. he's sweet, well-meaning, but, well. not the sort of man who would ever draw her eye. ]
I don't look at him that way, that's all.
[ she gives a dismissive shrug, before looking at faraday pointedly. ]
Why exactly do you bring it up? Are you tryin' to send me off to find some sort of gentleman caller?
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Strange little thought, he tells himself later. Couldn't possibly be the case, either.)
At her pointed look, he holds up both hands, widens his eyes in what might be innocence, trying to placate her with the gesture. ]
No meaning behind it. Just wondered if you'd seen the way he mooned after you.
[ It was cute, in a sad sort of way, because Faraday didn't see much sense in the matching, himself. But he's not entirely truthful, either. Part of him wonders if Emma must be lonely, considering the loss of her husband. Considering she seemed slightly removed from the rest of Rose Creek – not a hermit by any means, but not as involved.
Loss tends to isolate people. Dark experiences even more so. The battle in Rose Creek seemed to set Emma apart while unifying the rest of the survivors, at least in his eyes, and he's not entirely sure why. ]
Just speakin' aloud, is all.
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especially since that company has come to include faraday. ]
I've seen it. I do my best not to encourage him.
[ she doesn't want to get his hopes up, after all. that would be unkind, and while emma is straightforward, she doesn't go out of her way to be cruel. she will be honest, if it comes to that, but if she doesn't have to break his heart, she'd prefer not to. ]
Odd question, if you ask me.
[ she pulls the shawl tighter around her shoulders, trying to fight off the evening chill. ]
Besides. I think I'm doin' just fine.
[ without matthew. ]
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No arguments from me.
[ Although he has many arguments, little comments on how she hasn't quite settled back into the town. It reminds him a little of a bit of oil sitting atop water. Occupying the same space, but not exactly mingling, all things considered.
He worries, but he's not sure why. It's none of his business, that's for damn sure, and it's certainly not anything Emma would admit to or accept help with, proud and stubborn as she is. Not even really anything he could help with, if he's honest about all of it.
So why does he care?
(Probably because they're friends. He didn't have very many of those in life – lots of acquaintances, sure. Lots of folks who knew him and remembered his name, if they ever had occasion to cross paths a second time, but not anyone who would be liable to miss him. To care about him.
Ridiculous, really, how in his last days of life, he finally felt as if he had forged some lasting bonds. Even more ridiculous, that he and Emma could only stop butting heads after he had died.
Life really was unfair, wasn't it?)
He sees how she pulls her shawl around her, and he frowns. The doctor isn't too far away, and he speeds up his steps, as if to hurry her along. ]
We'll discuss how you can shatter Teddy's heart into millions of pieces later. C'mon.
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the doctor's home is still well-lit, so at least emma knows she won't be disturbing him too terribly (at least he won't already be in bed, is more like it), and when emma goes to knock on the door, the answer comes quickly.
the doctor looks surprised to see her standing there in the low evening light, and emma just offers a polite, if apologetic smile. ]
Miss Emma, is there somethin' you're needin' on this cold evening?
[ emma is careful not to look at faraday, because it really would seem odd if she was casting any glances at empty air, and instead, she just holds up the hand she's wrapped in the rag. ]
I seem to have gotten a might overzealous with my dinner preparations this evening. If it's not too much trouble, would you mind havin' a look at this finger?
[ the doctor ushers her in with an easy smile, leading her to have a seat so he can inspect her hand. ]
Why, you've made quite a mess of yourself, haven't you?
[ emma looks mildly abashed as the doctor starts tending to her finger, though the anxiety is clear in her eyes when he's pulling out his suture kit. the alcohol used to disinfect her finger stings like the dickens, and while emma tries her hardest not to let it show, she's clearly in a fair bit of pain as the doctor sees to her hand.
she only needs a couple of stitches, but even that's enough for her to look thoroughly unsettled, despite her best efforts, and she can't watch while the doctor fixes her up.
she looks at faraday instead, trying to come off accusatory, but it's a bit harder when there's a needle yanking through her skin. ]
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He wanders around after that, as the doctor sets to work disinfecting her cut, looking idly at shelves and books. Satisfied with his examination, Faraday turns back – and he notices with some alarm the look of unease in her eyes, the pain on her face.
(Guilt again. He really starts to hate that feeling. And worry, too – strange and unfamiliar. It's been such a long time since he's given a shit about anyone else but himself.)
He crosses the space in a few quick strides, hovering uncertainly over the doctor's shoulder as he sets to work, and offers a small smile at the hard look she tries to cast him. ]
Glare daggers all you like. [ Even if the doctor can't hear him, Faraday still pitches his voice low, out of habit. ] They'd go right through me, anyway.
[ He pauses, glancing around again as if the room might provide some inspiration. Emma is clearly in need of some form of distraction, and after a quick false start, he says, ]
You know, I'm startin' to think I'm a good influence on you, all things considered. Don't think I'd ever seen you lie before – honestly didn't even think you capable of it, pious woman that you are. Yet you did it. Lied straight to my face without even a twitch.
I think I might try'n'get you to smoke, next. Maybe play poker. I got an awful lot of trick shuffles I could show you.
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the worst part is, she can't even banter with him, can't refute what he's saying and tell him he'd be more than hard-pressed to get her smoking and playing (cheating at) cards. a little white lie, while she may feel vaguely guilty about it, is hardly the most undesireable of traits she could have picked up from faraday.
after all, she'd told it to simulaneously avoid stitches and...well, to keep him from worrying over her. she's not one to openly accept concern, and she knew that if she'd let on to the nature of her cut, he'd be fussing and, of course, trying to shoo her off to the doctor.
like he had done.
she gives him the most exasperated of looks she can manage while the doctor is still seeing to her, but faraday has drawn her attention away long enough that she doesn't even notice when the sutures are done. ]
There now. That should do you up right.
[ emma looks down at her neatly stitched finger before the doctor wraps it gently but firmly, and she offers him a warm thanks for his time. he's more than content to send her on her way back home (after inviting her to dinner, which she politely refuses), and once they're outside of the small house again, she turns on faraday with a little huff. ]
Now that was all kinds of unnecessary.
[ she should be thanking him for keeping her mind off of the stitches, but she's still not quite so appreciative of needing them in the first place. ]
And, I'll have you know, you're hardly any kind of influence on me, Faraday – good or bad.
[ she turns away from him with a soft scoff, crossing her arms over her chest to pull her shawl tigheter around her shoulders with her neatly bandaged hand. ]
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He's gratified to see some of her anxiety ebb, though, and some of that pain, as she levels one of her glares at him. He'll take as much scorn in the world, so long as he doesn't have to see that look on her face again any time soon. Even worse, knowing he was the direct cause of it.
They finish up at last, and as he predicts, she turns on him only seconds after the door shuts behind them. Faraday just grins, casting her a dubious look. ]
Says you, Cullen.
Give it a month, and I bet I could get you smokin' like a chimney.
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[ on account of being dead and all. ]
And one I'm never inclined to pick up.
[ she leads the way back to her home, walking marginally faster on account of the cold air. she'd rather be back inside, where it's warm, because while the shawl helps, it's not especially suitable to the growing chill. ]
Now hurry up; I still have to finish makin' my dinner.
[ she doesn't wait for him, mostly because she expects he'll follow along anyway, but when they're nearly back to the house, she does pause for a brief moment, glancing over at faraday. ]
...do you miss it, though? And I mean, all the things you did when you were still livin', not just smoking.
[ she's sure he does, so it must be a foolish question, but it isn't one she's ever thought to ask. ]
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... Though he does get a hoot out of the mental image.
He follows after her, as she expected he would – because what else can he do? He could leave, he supposes, wander off as he does sometimes, but he's content for now. Hasn't felt drained just yet, which happens on rare occasions when he's likely overstayed his welcome. Whatever he is, he doesn't know all his limits just yet; he's not sure when he'll know all of those, either.
Her question startles him out of his thoughts, though, and his step slows as he mulls it over. ]
... I'm— Maybe.
[ Uncertainly, slightly stilted. He doesn't know how far he wants to delve into this question. ]
Might be startin' to, now that the novelty's wearin' off.
[ Even with that brief answer, he already feels the sting of melancholy sinking in, like a hook in a fish's mouth. For a few seconds, he keeps his silence, thinking about the little things he'll never experience again, like the taste of warm beans or the burn of Tanglefoot or the feel of a gentle touch, of warm skin on skin—
He shakes himself, speeding up his step, and bowing his head a little as he walks.
Brusquely, ] Ain't nothin' can be done about it, though. No use thinkin' on it.
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[ that's admittedly one of the things emma tells herself when she starts to long for the kind of life she'd had with matthew. where she is hasn't changed, what she does with herself is largely all the same, but...it's different. all the time she'd been married, she'd gotten so accustomed to having company, to the affection and casual touch she experienced with her husband, and now? now that everything has settled down in rose creek, and she's no longer distracting herself with the kind of tenacity and hellbent need for righteouness?
now she can really feel that emptiness. it's not all the time, and it's not a constant, but when she's lying in bed or when the oppressive silence of her house sets in around her, she remembers that matthew isn't there to sweep her into his arms, to kiss her until she laughs, to whisper the kind of sweet nothings that had her weak in the knees. she'd loved her husband something fierce, and now the closest she can get to him is kneeling and praying at his grave.
hardly comparable.
however, that emptiness is far lessened when faraday's around, she's noticed. it's strange that she could find so much comfort in a ghost, in ways that her neighbors and the people of the town couldn't provide for her, because when he's there she's not thinking on matthew. the silence is filled by something far more meaningful, and as much as faraday exasperates her, makes her roll her eyes, near scandalizes her with his crude humor and irreverant tongue — well. he makes her laugh.
he makes her smile.
what an odd notion, she realizes, that a dead man could help her see brighter flickers of joy than any of the living she surrounds herself with.
shaking off that train of thought, she finally leads them back to her front door, opening it and wasting no time in shuffling into the warm room. she needs to tend the fire, help the heat pick back up, but it's still far better than the temperature outside. ]
At least you won't be havin' to deal with this frightful cold.
[ it's an attempt at a slightly lighter tone, because really, when the cold truly hits, she's sure faraday won't be terribly put out he's avoiding the worst of it. ]
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Suppose I won't, no.
[ He wonders if he'll eventually grow to miss it, though, if only for its absence, if only because he doesn't feel much of anything – neither the heat nor the chill. Even when he picks things up, pushes things around, he doesn't quite feel it. Just knows when something is in his grasp, knows how much pressure to apply or how much to hold back.
He doesn't quite feel. He just... is.
His gaze flits away again, and despite his best efforts, despite how he tries to shove it away, the melancholy sinks in. He feels that, at least, emotions. Sadness, annoyance, anger. Happiness, too, and he thinks on how strange that is, that he should actually find something to be happy about in this state. Something to laugh about or smile at, when what he is should be a constant source of dread or despair, ungodly as he is. Some sort of entity beyond the realm of possibility or understanding.
But he is happy more often than he isn't, odd though that is; he finds things to joke about, things to discuss with Emma, finds joy in the way she smiles and laughs (though he shies away from delving into the whys of that). And for now, that's enough to stave off the worst of his darkened mood.
Faraday trudges over to the hearth, steps silent despite how they drag, and after a bit of concentration, lifts up nearby log and tosses it onto the fire. He grabs hold of the poker next, brow creased with focus, and stokes the flame. ]
Go on, then. Ain't you got your dinner to attend to?
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what a strange life, to be seen by one person alone, while effectively having his existence seem void otherwise.
she's appreciative of the way he sees to the fire, and it makes a quick difference, enough for her to leave her shawl behind to head into the kitchen again. ]
I suppose I ought to, as long as I'm guaranteed to have no further startling experiences while I'm at it.
[ she casts a pointed look towards him, but it's not especially disgruntled - there's almost a teasing edge to it, even. ]
I doubt the doctor would appreciate another visit this evening.
[ and she sure would like to avoid any further stitches in the immediate future. she doesn't actively blame faraday for the mishap, because really, it had been an unfortunate accident all around, but she still had zero appreciation for getting spooked at any point, knife in hand or no. ]