ikissdhimbck | OOM: Room #100 -- For Tommy Gavin

Lucky.

Yes.

She was.

She smiles crookedly, giving him another nudge with her foot.

"D'you really think y'need to explain yourself to me?"

Her voice is soft, non-accusatory, and just slightly amused. If he was expecting shock or disappointment, he's not going to get it out of her. Her 'issues' have issues, and she knows better than to press.

She looks away, with a self-deprecating little half-shrug.

"Listen, sugar — I know we ain't anythin' special. But we are friends, aren't we? Y'can say an' do whatever you like; or y'can not say or do whatever y'like. Y'wanna come up an' mess around, then we don't hafta worry ourselves on talkin'. But if y'want someplace t'spend the night, or someone t'talk to, I suppose I can be convinced."

Her lips twitch.

"I don't mind."

Resting his elbows on the table and loosely lacing his fingers, he glances at her over his knuckles, then past her shoulder out the window at the brightening morning sky.

She confuses him sometimes. That whole physical/emotional thing. It's no more clearer to him on a full stomach and two cups of coffee than it is after cheesecake and sex.

He flashes back briefly to the first time he kissed her. He wishes he could take it back if only to never see the shock and fear in her eyes.

I don't mind.

How or why she even let him get to this point, he'll never know.

But they are friends. And he's grateful for it.

"Thanks."

It's a word that Tommy says so infrequently that he might as well have forgotten how to pronounce it or what it means.

As he looks at her, an already imperceptible smile is hidden behind his hands, but it somehow manages to reach the hard sharpness of his eyes. Under the table, his knee touches hers.

She's still trying to figure out the physical/emotional thing herself. She's only been vulnerable with him once before last night, on that day he kissed her for the first time. She doesn't like being vulnerable, not least because others don't like it either. He'd burned so hot and then went so cold, flashing from annoyance to remorse, in such a blink that it startled her, and made her feel guilty.

She doesn't know what she's doing, but he doesn't need to know that.

(Just like he doesn't need to know that while he was sleeping she had herself a good cry in the tub when she finally allowed herself to think — about the curse, about her dimming hope for a suitable life, about Doc, about her empty heart.)

She's feeling her way through the dark, hoping he won't notice just how out of her depth she is, how lost she feels. Because, despite all her better senses, it feels good to be looked at again. To be touched. To not have to wake up alone, for the first time in far too long.

Even if it isn't real.

Cradling her chin, a smile spills across her face. She bumps her knee against his, and her bare foot dips under his pants leg.

"Anytime."

She warned him. She gave him every opportunity to back away. Instead, he closed the distance.

Maybe it's a little selfish, trying to fill up an empty space at the expense of someone else.

(It's more than a little.)

Or maybe, somewhere deep down, she's still gripping that hopeful-hearted girl who can't let go of maybe.

maybe it will be different this time.

He can make it different.

For a while.

But it would end the same.

His fault, his mistake, his touch that eventually brings everything crashing down.

But screw endings. He can't see that far ahead and can't waste time thinking about consequences, not when the present is all he has and the past constantly threatens to swallow him up.

He wanted this.

He wanted her.

Even if he had no idea what to expect. Even as she kept asking him, warning him, if it'd be worth it.

Her smile charms him, the flirtatious nudge of her foot sparking a glint in his eyes. He pushes his plate aside and folds his arms on the table.

"Know what you should do with your free time today? You should try on some of those dresses from that catalog. Just so you can get a feel for what they're like, y'know?"

She quirks an eyebrow.

"Y'really think so?"

Seems awful indulgent, spending the day fussing over clothing. However, it does need to be done. And this is for Carlotta, after all. She wants to be presentable.

"Sure, why not? 'Specially the sexy ones. Then while I'm at work I can imagine you in 'em and it'll make my day go by a lot faster."

Unapologetic as ever.

Her expression flattens.

"Would it now? An' I'd think imaginin' me slowly peelin' off dress after dress would make the hours at work go by a lot slower."

Her voice is a husky hum, intended to tease him.

The drop in her voice coupled with that drawl sends goosebumps up and down his arms.

"With that mental image? Ain't no better way to pass the time, honey."

His gaze dips briefly. Though her robe is wrapped securely around her, the silk clings to her curves in a way he can appreciate.

"Eyes up here, pardner."

Her voice hasn't changed a bit, so it sounds a little less like a command and a little more like a challenge. Her smile is practically sinister.

Her foot continues its climb up his calve, only stopping when the angle becomes too difficult. She leans back.

"I reckon you've gotta leave soon? Catch up on them last few hours of sleep?"

His eyes immediately flick back up, and he grins, still unapologetic, especially since her foot's still interested in his leg.

"Yeah, I guess oughtta get goin'."

The thought of his father alone in the apartment gives him a sudden twinge of worry.

"Though I might not be able to sleep anyways 'cause of the two cups of coffee I just had, but it ain't like my sleeping habits have been the most regular or whatever. Last night was, like, the most sleep I'd ever gotten in a while. And I don't mean like hours, I mean like, really deep, actual sleep. So. I dunno. Thanks for not kickin' me outta your bed?" He smiles lopsidedly.

She hides the surprise well.

Her expression warms, a chuckle caught somewhere in her quiet exhale.

"Thanks for not givin' me a reason to."

She takes a slow draw off her coffee, pulling her leg back and neatly crossing her ankles. Well, now. This wasn't as awkward as she was afraid it would be. She might even like to do it again sometime.

"Go on. Get."

Before they start thanking each other for everything else.

The list could get lengthy.

He holds a hand up as if solemnly swearing. "Believe me, I'll try not to ever give you a reason. I can't guarantee it, but I'll do my damnedest." Not much with the solemnity, but there was a mild swear in it anyway.

Then at her command (there's that fantasy again where the outlaw is calling the shots), he rises from the table with a stretch and pads over to the bed to pull on his boots. He's...in a pretty good mood, actually. He likes where this whole thing went. She seems pleased with the results. Nothing could possibly ruin things now!

"Um-- can I ask you something?"

She's just covering the leftover food and stacking plates when he calls out the question.

"Sure, sugar."

Boots on, still sitting on the bed, he runs his fingers through his hair a couple times.

"You know a guy named Voodoo, right?"

He asks this as casually as possible.

Goosebumps rise on her forearms.

"Yes, I know him. Why d'you ask?"

She continues cleaning up.

"Oh. Yeah, well, uh."

He shrugs and gets up. Takes a few steps. Turns, leans against the bedpost with his fingers tucked into his jeans pockets. Watching her.

"I dunno, it's just something stupid, really, I guess. We were just talking yesterday, y'know, shootin' the shit about whatever. And you just happened to come up. And, well..."

He scrubs a hand through his hair again. He's not mad, or even irritated, or anything like that -- he just wants to know.

"He kinda said something about-- you. About your-- y'know."

He gestures somewhat vaguely at her, attempting to indicate what she has under her robe.

He starts talking, and a number of things fly through her mind.

The fight.

The bruises.

The moonshine.

The kiss.

Her panic abates, however, as he goes on and she notices how twitchy he is. She'd expect anger, or suspicion, or frustration, but he doesn't seem to be any of those things.

However, when he gestures at her body she quickly becomes all three. She goes still.

Rising to her feet, she turns to face him, leaning back against the table.

"About my what?"

There's a chill in her eyes, and her voice leaves no room for discussion.

You're going to have to spell it out for her, Tommy. Every. Single. Word.

He blinks. And then suddenly Tommy feels as if he should be defending Voodoo against her (but not really).

"Your breasts," he blurts out. "We were talking, I mentioned that I was-- y'know, kinda with you-- and then he got this weird reaction like he couldn't believe it or something, and then he gave your stats for some crazy reason, even gave your measurements as 34D -- which, in our world is, y'know, a woman's bra size. So I was like, how the hell does he even know that? And naturally I got really pissed off at him 'cause I thought he'd -- y'know, felt you up. He kept sayin' he never touched you, and the madder I got, the more insistent he was, and I just-- I dunno if I believe him yet. Seriously, he didn't feel you up, did he?"

Edited 2012-08-23 08:29 (UTC)

What.

Kate blinks hard.

"He told you he knew what my breasts look like?"

Tommy might be able to infer, just from the tone and volume of her voice, that Voodoo most certainly did not feel her up.

"That sonnovabitch."

They agreed not to say anything about what happened, to anyone, ever. So instead he manufactures this story?

"That sonnovabitch!"

She's going to kill him.

He is going to be killed.

There will be not breathing with the Voodoo.

!!

This is a stunning turn of events.

"And giving a woman's bra size ain't even just about what they look like, it also about what they-- uh, y'know--"

Tommy cups his hands.

"--feel like. Which is why I thought he felt you up."

He might have made things worse for Voodoo. (You're welcome, Voodoo.)

Kate's ire is impressive, and maybe even a little hot (unf), but Tommy goes up to her and puts his hands on her shoulders, sliding his palms down her silk-clad arms.

"Listen, honey, I was this goddamn close to bashing the guy's face into the floor, but I didn't, 'cause one, no violence in the bar, and two, he's my friend, but if he truly, honestly didn't touch you, then that's all I wanted to know. As for what he said, well, yeah, it wasn't exactly what I wanted to hear come outta his mouth either and I was ready to knock his teeth in for sayin' it, but who knows, it's probably just a thing that he does out of habit, with all his goddamn Navy training, maybe he can't help-- sizing people? Or some shit like that. I dunno."

A beat.

"Although if you do kick his ass, let me know, 'cause I wanna watch."

To be truthful, Kate has a lot of patience born from what her father used to call 'Now Katie' moments. As a girl, whenever something made her livid he'd often approach with his soft English voice, and say Now, Katie, a lady minds her manners, or Now, Katie, a Barlow takes the high road. Kate's temper runs hot, but he almost always talked her down with his quiet reasonableness.

However, Tommy isn't her father.

And he's never seen her temper.

She looks at him, like she's throwing a set of ice-tipped daggers straight at him. She rumbles like a thunderstorm when she's angry, lightning quick and deluge fierce.

"Well. I reckon that's it, then. You almost beat 'im up, so I should feel infinitely better, right? I'm glad that's been decided."

She still says nothing about Voodoo touching her: number one, because it's really not the biggest issue with Kate right now; and number two, because he did touch her. Just not in the way Tommy suspects. And she is not about to get into that right now.

"I'm glad you got your peace of mind, but this really ain't about you, Tommy. It ain't about puttin' your mind at ease. An' I don't need you fightin' my battles for me."

His hands fall from her arms.

This part of her ire is more confusing to him. Because he's always missing some goddamn point, saying the wrong goddamn thing, and having it all thrown back in his face.

And it always makes him bite back.

"I-- wh-- hey, I never said this was about me, okay, I didn't say anything about 'fighting your battles,' alright? Deciding for you? I didn't-- Jeezus Christ, that's bullshit, Kate. So shoot me for, y'know, defending your honor, or-- or whatever the hell! Look, I thought Voodoo put his hands on you. What did you expect me to do, not get pissed off? I mean, shit, all I ever do is get pissed off at people, you might as well know that about me now, especially if they put their hands on people I like or care about or-- Listen, the guy's my friend, okay, and I wouldn't be giving him the benefit of the doubt if he wasn't, but as it is, if he never touched you, that's the end of it for me, but you, fine, I don't give a damn what you do now. He said the stupid shit he said and you can go take that up with him however the hell you want."

"Defendin' my honor? Really?"

She scoffs, bemusement tinged heavy in her blue eyes. She brushes past him.

"You should know me well 'nough by now t'know that if he did 'feel me up' then I'd handle it myself. So what d'you plan t'do? Beat 'im up twice? Give 'im a stern talkin' to? Or maybe y'jus' wanted to know if I liked it?"

She starts collecting clean clothes to change into, only occasionally throwing him a hurt glare.

"If an' when Voodoo touches me, then he deals with me. If he slanders me, then he deals with me. An' if all you care about is defendin' my honor, then sweetheart, consider me taken care of. I ain't got that much honor t'defend. I'll see you at the weddin'."

With that, she storms into the washroom and closes the door.

Even if he could get a word in edgewise, besides an incredulous no here and there or a sputtered that's not what I meant, he wouldn't know how to complete the thought.

Then the bathroom door shuts in his face, and oh yeah, when has he seen this before. Throwing his hands up, he grits his teeth and exhales an exasperated growl.

And takes a few seconds.

He leans against the doorframe.

"So," he says through the door, his tone still pointed, "what you're sayin' is, I shouldn't get mad if someone says something that I don't like about you. Right? Is that it? Well, jeez, excuse me for giving a shit about how that would make you feel. Listen, whether you realize it or not, I-- y'know, I--"

He trails off, scowling, defeated, gnawing at the inside of his lip.

"Look, what did I do wrong? Honey? Kate? C'mon."

There's a long pause.

When, finally, the door opens, it's just by a crack. She leans on the opposite end of the doorjamb, looking at Tommy with half-melted ice.

"No. That ain't what I'm sayin'."

Her voice is a little more level.

"Y'don't hafta look out for me, all right? I ain't defenseless. I've been lookin' out for myself for years now, an' I'll be lookin' out for myself long after you leave. Voodoo's always runnin' that big mouth of his, an' sayin' things he don't mean, but I don't need you t'step in for me. Or for him."

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