Katherine "Kissin' Kate" Barlow (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ikissdhimbck) wrote2012-08-12 04:29 am
ikissdhimbck) wrote2012-08-12 04:29 am
Entry tags:
OOM: Room #100 -- For Tommy Gavin
[following this:]
It's late.
Dug hasn't shown up tonight, and the cats are curled up on Kate's bed sleeping soundly. She might have joined them already if Tommy hadn't said he'd be coming by.
'I just wanna see you tonight. That's all.'
She's curled up in one of her armchairs reading The Jungle Book, dressed comfortably but still very much clothed. Tommy won't be seeing her in her chemise, thank you. Her guns are laid out on the chest at the foot of her bed.
It's late.
Dug hasn't shown up tonight, and the cats are curled up on Kate's bed sleeping soundly. She might have joined them already if Tommy hadn't said he'd be coming by.
'I just wanna see you tonight. That's all.'
She's curled up in one of her armchairs reading The Jungle Book, dressed comfortably but still very much clothed. Tommy won't be seeing her in her chemise, thank you. Her guns are laid out on the chest at the foot of her bed.
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"You know a guy named Voodoo, right?"
He asks this as casually as possible.
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"Yes, I know him. Why d'you ask?"
She continues cleaning up.
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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.
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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.
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"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?"
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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.
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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."
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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."
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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."
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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.
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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."
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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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He scratches the back of his head.
"Okay, listen, I wasn't-- I mean-- I know, okay, I know you ain't defenseless. You're like, one of the least defenseless people I know. Like if someone came up to me and asked me to pick three people with the best defenses, there'd be you, my sister, and the goalie on my hockey team. I know this, okay, but that won't change the way I feel. I wasn't lookin' out for you like you needed it or whatever, it's just-- that's how I react to things like this. I get-- y'know, defensive."
He pauses, shrugs haplessly. "And yeah, I overreact sometimes. ...Well, most of the time. ...All the time, really."
He's still confused as to when exactly this whole thing went south so quickly but it was his fault anyway.
"I'm sorry."
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"Jus' — don't fret about it."
If what he's saying is true, she'd shudder to think of what he'd do if he knew the bruises on her arms were Voodoo's doing. She doesn't aim to find out.
As for changing the way he feels — well. Men come and go. They've all got their opinions on what she can and can't handle, what she should let them do for her, what she should think, and how she should act. She always just ends up relying on one and they disappear. Part of what makes Tommy safe is knowing he won't stick around anyway.
But she'd rather not fight with him. She didn't expect him to care, but if he does then it's his prerogative, and so long as he's not trying to take care of her then she doesn't have anything to lose.
She glances away.
"I beg your pardon for snappin' at you."
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"Well, hey, if snapping at me was one of your defenses, then I ain't gonna begrudge you the use of it."
He offers her a small, faint smile, a little wry as well, if she chooses to accept it.
Then straightening up with a sigh, he stuffs his hands into his pockets.
"Can you at least open the door a little more? I don't wanna leave you like this."
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Pulling the door open a little more, she looks up at him with a furrowed brow.
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With another sigh and a barely contained roll of his eyes, he whines, "Aw, c'mon, honey, I said I was sorry. What else d'you want me to say?"
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It's also entirely possible it's both.
She lets the door swing wide open, and crosses her arms. The ice is gone from her eyes, but in its place is that familiar outlaw bite.
"Nothin' else. We're square."
Her shoulders relax minutely, but it might be enough that, when combined with everything else, he'll know she's gone from scolding to teasing.
"Did y'want somethin'?"
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It is good. It's very good.
...So.
He senses the slight shift in her mood and an eyebrow twitches at her question.
"Did I--?"
Oh. Ohh, okay. Two can play at this game.
He shrugs, shakes his head.
"Nah, not really."
And he turns on his heel, stalking across the room to get his jacket.
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Arms still crossed, she takes the half-step into the doorway and leans against the jamb.
"Good. 'Cuz I don't plan on gettin' changed in front of you."
Her face is an impassable fortress.
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"Yeah, well, that wasn't the case last night, but whatever."
Meanwhile, he's already losing this game. She just can't see it. Back turned and all.
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Her voice carries the kind of nonchalance one would expect from discussing the weather.
"A lady has t'have some things that're private."
Beat.
"Haven't y'left yet?"
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He kind of wants to bang his head against the door.
"I'm putting on my--"
Exaggerated jacket-adjusting!
SIGH.
He turns around.
"Y'know, you could enjoy this a little less."
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"I could, but I don't care to."
Do you see why Kate never seemed bothered, all those times you told her what an asshole you were, Tommy? It's because she's kind of an asshole, too.
"Now, are y'gonna get, or are y'gonna give me a kiss first?"
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He rakes his teeth over his bottom lip.
"Nah-uh, honey. Are you gonna bring your sweet little behind over here so I can give you that kiss, or do I hafta get before you can get it?"
One hand is on his hip, the other's on the doorknob.
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