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

Her grin slowly slips away.

She watches him carefully for a long time. Even if his face wasn't an open book to her, his body is telling her the whole story.

She lifts her head, draping her arm over him; gingerly scooting closer until she has him in something like an embrace, chin propped on his breastbone. She simply watches him, moving only to press a kiss to his heart.

At some point, her eyebrows arch.

His breathing quickens. He can't bring himself to smile even as she drapes herself over him, presses her lips to his skin. Though the haunting is long over, he still remembers the chill in his bones and the dreams that exhausted him with fear.

"There was a..."

What was it? How would he begin to explain it?

"It was just-- I dunno, some kinda-- thing that went around, scaring people, like a ghost or something. Never mind, it was stupid."

His Adam's apple bobs in a hard swallow. He still can't look at her.

"An evil tree god?"

Yeah, she heard.

She doesn't press him to look at her, and she doesn't press him to speak. Her fingers start to etch shapes along his ribs, slow and comforting.

"Sneakin' around an' makin' y'have bad dreams? I was told there was some sort'a confrontation in an abandoned buildin' — y'weren't taken, were you?"

"...Is that what it was? I dunno."

He closes his eyes and rubs his forehead, pinches the bridge of his nose, and sighs.

"I didn't hear anything about an abandoned building or-- people being taken? Jeezus. No. Me an' Lou stayed away from this place for like, I dunno, a couple of weeks until the whole things blew over. He was acting really weird and I couldn't sleep at all 'cause that thing, whatever it was, would show up in my nightmares and-- Christ, I've had really goddamn intense nightmares before, but nothing like this. This stuff got into my bones."

He covers his hand with hers, pressing her fingers flat against his side.

Shaking his head, he utters a dry chuckle. "It's stupid."

"S'not stupid."

Her free hand cards through his hair, slow and soothing. She peppers kisses across his breast.

"I ran away."

She lets the admission hang there, the corner of her mouth pulling into a wry smirk.

"It wasn't that the job couldn't wait. I was here. I saw the strange mist, an' the chill, an' folk were takin' ill, an' I — I couldn't stay. Them dreams y'describe? I had someone get inside my head, few years back. It was 'round this time'a year. He was — sentencin' me t'death. An' it felt — real. Everythin' felt ... Every year since, on All Hallows' Eve, I have these nightmares that I'm talkin' t'dead folk. But it's real, it feels real. Last year — it was my daddy."

She tucks in her chin, pressing her mouth against him for a few seconds. The memories are clearly playing through her mind. She takes a breath, and rests her cheek against his heart.

"He rejected me. For what I've become. Y'know, he was the only thing I had — the only family I can remember. It'd always been him an' me, an' — he was jus' so disappointed. Maybe it is stupid, but I — things started turnin' here, an' I couldn't bear the thought'a facin' him again. So I ran away."

His eyelids flutter open. And he listens.

Not expecting to hear any of this.

He folds his arm around her shoulders, his other hand resting on the back of her head. It'll take a while for him to figure out what to say, but...

I have these nightmares that I'm talkin' t'dead folk.

So he's not the only one. He's not the only one.

He continues to hold her as if he's just found her for the first time.

"Wish I knew what was goin' on before it was too late. I would've gotten the hell out, too."

Tilting his head to the side, he tries to catch her eyes.

"D'you-- d'you think it was really him-- your dad-- in your dream? Or was it just-- y'know, like, your worst fear playing out in your head?"

He sincerely wants to know what she thinks.

Her face twists with regret.

"M'sorry. I should've–I could've said somethin'. I abandoned y'all, like a coward."

She drops another kiss to his chest, though it's a poor salve for running away. The shame twists in her gut, and when he looks down, asking about the dream —

"I reckon it was really him. How can I know? This place's filled with such strange things, sometimes I can't tell what's real anymore. But I know what it feels like t'have a bad dream, an' I know what it feels like t'honestly hold a conversation with somebody. I could touch him. He could hold me. It wasn't like any other nightmare I've ever had before. We talked. We really talked."

He shakes his head and shrugs a shoulder.

"'S okay. Don't matter now. You didn't know if whatever it was would affect everybody. Hell, took me a couple weeks to figure out that I really shouldn't be here."

And when she goes on to describes her dream, his embrace doesn't slacken. In fact, it tightens a little.

And he nods.

"I know what you mean."

He's not making fun of her. Not being facetious. No scoff, no smirk. He really does know what she means.

She can't help but give in to the embrace. She inches a little closer, arms around him, keeping her fingers in his hair. Closing her eyes for a moment, she just enjoys the warmth.

"Yeah? Y'do?"

"Mmhm."

It's a deep grunt at the pit of his throat; his breath feathers her hair, his heart beats against her ear. He stares up at the ceiling.

"Years before I started coming to Milliways. I see-- dead people in my dreams. And-- when I drink. I don't even hafta be drunk, just-- even just a little alcohol in my system, and-- I see them. They talk to me, I talk to them, they follow me wherever I go."

He pauses, swallows.

"These people-- most of 'em are people who I tried to save. From fires, car accidents, whatever. Some of 'em are just kids. Others are guys I used to work with. Guys on my crew. Who we lost on the job. My cousin-- my best friend-- was one of 'em."

He sniffs, his breath hitching as he grits his teeth against everything.

"And I've seen Connor even though I ain't had a goddamn drop to drink since he died, so I dunno what the hell it's gonna take to stop 'em from coming."

When he drinks.

So that's why he stays away from alcohol. And that's why he reacted so strongly the last time they saw each other before she left, when he tried to kiss her and caught the tequila on her breath. Vaguely, she knows there's more to it than that, but when it comes to reasons to stop there's no greater motivation than being followed by your dead loved ones.

A line forms between her brows. She thinks about Sam. She saw him today. Before the bank job, after the bank job; when she and Rachel were riding through the desert. Standing with Mary Lou, hitched to his onion cart. He never follows her here, but everywhere she turns outside that door she sees him.

She stretches carefully to press a lingering kiss to the pit of his throat, following it with another to his adam's apple. Her fingers feather his hair.

"I see — "

Her voice hitches, trust wavering.

Knowing this will breach her carefully constructed walls.

"I see Sam. That way. I — can't let him go."

She lays her head on his shoulder, just concentrating on the steady beat of his heart. She doesn't say anything for a long time. Nothing needs to be said.

She wants to tell him everything's okay. It's all going to be okay.

But she's not so sure of that herself.

He regains a hold of himself. He has to.

Her kisses, her touch -- they help. More than he'd admit to needing them right now.

I — can't let him go.

He brushes his lips against her temple and tucks her head under his chin, smoothing down her hair.

Sometimes, he can't let his ghosts go either. There are days when he misses them; there are days when he wishes they would just find their peace.

Things probably won't ever be okay. They'll just have to continue finding ways to cope.

After a long time spent in silence -- for the dead, for memories, for each other -- Tommy squeezes her shoulder and turns his head, burying his nose in her hair with a sigh.

"I don't-- I never-- really talked to anybody about this."

She closes her eyes.

"S'been a long time for me, too."

She nuzzles up under his chin, stroking the nape of his neck. It's a leap of trust. For as many times as Tommy's gotten her naked, this is far more intimate than any time they've ever had sex.

And that frightens her.

"Your secret's safe with me."

She kisses that soft patch of skin under his chin. She kisses his jaw. She kisses his shoulder. Her fingernails gently drag down his neck, making figure eights and starting over again.

"I understand."

The intimacy. The trust.

Yeah, it's a little frightening, but Tommy thinks he's got a handle on it. He thinks he knows enough to not get in too deep.

This, right here -- this is good. Which is a little farther along from the last time they made sure they were on the same page. But as long as it stays this way.

His lips find her ear.

"Thanks."

There's that word again.

He kisses her there, his teeth lightly catching her earlobe, his fingers threading through her hair. His other hand slips up the back of her blouse.

Slowly, they'll melt into one another again.

It's been too long since she last shared comfort with someone. Not just comforted a companion, as she often does; not just let herself be comforted. But to hold someone vulnerable, and make herself vulnerable at the same time — it's a shared experience that isn't easy to describe.

Their lips connect, the steadfast magnetism between them unrelenting. They always come back to this, making up for what they can't say by drinking each other up through their hands, their eyes, their mouths. It's so natural, even when forced to pause, and laugh, and save the Stetson from being crushed between them (joking that it doesn't even need a peg to hang on, all he has to do is stand up). It's like breathing. Holding on, not letting their ghosts pull them apart; laughing, moaning, whispering muddled words. Eyes connecting more than usual, just to be sure of each other. Fingers twisting in sheets, tugging at hair, gripping each other, white knuckled.

She wraps herself in him, head spinning in the afterglow. It takes several long minutes to come back down.

Eventually, she finds herself on her side facing him, lazily tracing the crow's feet at the corner of his eye with the pad of her thumb.

Sometimes there's more to sex than just action. No demands, no challenges. Just equal parts give and take, moving to whatever rhythm strikes their fancy, riding the waves as they come.

It's fun.

Meanwhile, the Stetson remains safe and sound, resting on a pillow.

He'll never tire of the touch of her fingertips. Wherever they want to go and whatever they want to do, he's fine with that. And so in the dreamy wake of ecstasy, with a small, languid smile, he turns his head slightly and kisses the underside of her wrist.

Her lips twitch, nose crinkling softly; it's a sincere smile.

She lets out a soft breath, thumb moving down his cheek to the corner of his mouth, tracing his bottom lip. She tweaks his chin, and leaves her hand to rest at his clavicle.

Blue eyes on blue eyes.

"I was thinkin'. 'Bout New York."

Those crow's feet of his deepen and the corner of his mouth ticks upward when she tweaks his chin.

"Yeah? You still wanna come, right?"

She nods slowly.

Searching him out, she hunts for her words. It's still a little nerve-racking, so many commitments all at once, but one show of trust deserves another.

"It's gettin' close to the day my daddy died. It'd be good t'get away for a bit."

"Oh."

He blinks rapidly, a line forming between his brows. After a short pause, he nods.

"Yeah. Yeah, you should get away. Do something different. Take your mind off things."

Resting his palm on the side of her neck, he sweeps his thumb back and forth over her cheek.

"You wanna go to the party, too?"

She smiles reassuringly.

She doesn't want to bring the mood back down.

"I know I jus' got back from bein' gone, I jus' try t'be someplace else this time of year. However, Bar's timin' bein' what it is... It's — it's nothin' t'worry 'bout. I gotta be 'round here anyway; I promised a few folk I'd help 'em out with things 'round their worlds. Maybe jus' a day next week sometime? Y'can take me out, an' humiliate me on a pair of ice skates?"

She plays with the sharp line of his collarbone, drawing her finger back and forth.

His follow-up question makes her pause.

"When is it?"

The mention of her visiting other people's worlds brings his thoughts back to John Marston. And how he's not supposed to worry about what she does or who she's with wherever she goes off to.

Still. It's not something he can drop so easily.

"Sure, yeah, sounds good to me. I just gotta make some arrangements, make sure I can put in some time off at work. I'll let you know when we can go."

He smiles, excited at the prospect, although other questions are at the tip of his tongue.

"And the party is about a week or so before Christmas. Are you-- okay with that?"

"Okay. Whenever y'say so."

She nods — it looks a touch awkward as she's lying down, hair moving like sidewinders through the dunes of her sheets.

Her finger keeps sliding across his flesh.

"I think so. I should be. There – there ain't reason t'hide away when there's folk here lookin' for me. S'jus' — hard. Spendin' the holidays alone since he died, an' thinkin' 'bout what he said."

She purses her lips, going distant for a second. When she returns, it's with a forced, crooked smirk.

"I'm a sourpuss this time'a year."

"Well, hell, I'm a sourpuss all year 'round, you don't see me hiding away."

He offers her a smirk in return, but it disappears as he moves in to press his lips to her forehead, and then to her mouth. Meeting her eyes, he's completely sincere. He understands.

"Seriously, though. If you don't feel up to it when it comes around, we don't hafta go. Alright? We can do something else if you want. Or nothing at all. We can just be sourpusses together for all I care. Don't worry 'bout it now."

Giving her another warm peck on the lips, he continues to stroke her cheek with his thumb.

"Although, the party would be a good reason for you to wear that purple dress again."

Edited 2012-12-28 03:20 (UTC)

She chuckles.

"I think it's amusin' how much y'want t'get me in that dress, when all y'can talk 'bout once I'm in it is gettin' me outta it again."

She kisses the tip of his nose.

She's grateful for his understanding.

"Thank you. Maybe it'll be fun."

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