ikissdhimbck | OOM: Room #100 -- for Tommy Gavin Pt. 2

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OOM: Room #100 -- for Tommy Gavin Pt. 2

[a little after this...]

She looks for reasons to stay in the stables as late as possible, but eventually she can dally no longer. They're practically sparkling, and all the animals are in for the night. Beaut's cooled down after her ride around the lake, and is cocking her ear at Kate like she knows something the woman doesn't.

All right, you nag.

True to his word, Tommy's waiting for her when she gets back to her room. They share a meal, quietly conversing about New York, and 'anniversary' plans; she reminds him it's getting close to her anniversary here, and how she's been thinking about leaving awhile. They seem a little shy to set the other off, and so discussions stay light and open. It's late by the time they're through.

He invites her to come to bed, and she sends him ahead, saying she'd like to stay up and read for a spell. He doesn't fight her on it, perhaps because he knows she's uncomfortable about something. She typically sleeps well enough when Tommy's here, but he's usually worn her out before they drop off; it doesn't seem worth the gamble tonight.

She's only ten pages through her book when he starts to sigh, all the while tossing and turning. He coaxes her to join him, and with a good deal of long-suffering patience, she closes her book and does just that.

He's got her wrapped up in his arms when she finally drops off.

It feels nice.

For the first time in months, she dreams about her daddy dying: his body carried up the hill to her childhood home, breast stained red, dust curling in the air as they drop him at her feet. Trout's there, telling her she brought it on herself. Sam reaches out to her with that questioning tone, the last words he ever spoke ringing in her ears.

'...Kate?'

She's on a boat. Sam's face explodes beside her, iron rain pattering on her skin. She's screaming, but she isn't making a sound. Trout overturns Sam's boat into a sea of scorpions, writhing and snapping, some big enough you could ride. She's caught in a maelstrom of them, and the more she fights the more it feels like quicksand, the more her limbs feel heavy and dumb. She fights harder, and harder, but she's sinking.

The sky is red, and in the middle of it all a hole opens up, sucking everything up like so much refuse.

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She doesn't need to explain her frustration.

"I know..."

It sucks breaking down in front of others, losing control, showing your weaknesses.

"I know."

He rubs her back and shoulders vigorously, bracingly, and kisses the top of her head.

"It's only me here, though. So just let it out."

They go on like that for a long time, her hands over her face, gasping and sobbing, shaking like a leaf. Her heart is hammering like hummingbird wings, leaving her dizzy and leaden as it slows to a normal rhythm. There's a dull throb spanning her forehead, an unbearable heat encasing her face.

After a long, long while, it feels safe to come out.

She peels her hands away from her face, sucking in slow, deep breaths of cool air. She doesn't open her eyes for shame of seeing his face, or him seeing hers. However, she doesn't pull from his embrace either.

"Did I hurt you?"

He's as patient with her as he is impatient with himself when he gets the same way. So he'll hold her, wordless, because there's nothing he can say to stop the flood of tears. She just has to ride it all out.

Finally, her sobbing begins to subside, and he breathes a little easier for her sake. Combing her hair away from her temple, warm and damp with perspiration, he turns his head slightly to brush his lips against her brow.

"Nah, 'm fine. Caught you before you could give me a bloody nose. It's an easy target even in the dark, y'know."

She's thinking through mud, and by the time she realizes he's made a joke it's too late to laugh even if she could. She tries to nod, but it ends up being one half-hearted jerk of her head.

Everything is dull and numb.

(Everything but the madness inside her heart.)

She wants to roll away, but she doesn't have it in her to struggle against him. She was fighting for her life, and now that she's awake she can't figure out why it was so worth fighting for.

Edited 2013-07-03 16:47 (UTC)

It was just a small attempt at lightening things, but he can't blame her for not laughing. He didn't really expect her to anyway.

So with a sigh into her hair, he shifts his arms around her, clasping his fingers at her shoulder. She's probably way too raw yet to want to talk about it. If she even wants to talk about it.

This episode has him a little worried about her, though. He knows how these things can wear you down, physically and mentally. You can't always escape into a bottle or throw yourself into work.

There's a few more moments of quiet before he asks,

"D'you want some tea? I can go downstairs and get you a cup..."

"No."

Her answer is immediate, but she doesn't back it up with any reasons or preferences. It's difficult switching back to reality, trying to get her words to work.

So she rolls away instead, slowly sitting herself upright.

Without a handkerchief at her disposal, she uses the short sleeve of her chemise to dab at her eyes and cheeks. Trying to wipe her malaise away with the moisture left behind.

He says nothing and doesn't press her about the tea. And when she makes a move to sit up, he lets her slip from his arms. As she dries her eyes, he lays there for a moment, watching her form in dim light, before he sits up as well.

"Are the nightmares getting worse or is it that you just can't take this anymore? Or both?"

She sniffles, and clears her throat.

Until she finds her voice, all she does is shake her head 'no'.

"They're gettin' better, actually. They was real bad last month."

When you weren't here.

"I jus' had a long day."

She rubs her eyes, kneading the sensitive skin at her temples.

This is getting better?

"Jeezus."

He grimaces a little, pained. Sorry that he was hardly here last month. Realizing how much she must have wanted him around when he couldn't find the time.

That's always been a recurring theme with him. He can't seem to shake it.

It might be too little too late, but he's here now and he's not going anywhere.

"What were you fighting?"

Rosencrantz is curled up in the armchair across the room. His eyes glint at her in the darkness.

"Everythin'."

He frowns, brow deeply furrowed. He's close to her, right by her side, but he won't smother her. He'll just lay a hand on her back, warm and bracing, if she wants it.

He sighs.

"Y'know why I never talked to anybody about what I went through?"

She unconsciously arches into the touch, head half-turning in his direction.

"Because y'didn't wanna burden 'em with what was in your head?"

He nods.

"That's part of it. Actually, I had a lot of reasons."

He sighs again, rubbing her back.

"One of the main ones being-- they just weren't there. Y'know? They didn't see what I saw. They didn't feel what I felt. They just wouldn't understand. Couldn't understand. How could they even begin to understand? And there's no way I could even begin to explain. Y'know what I mean? So what good would it do me to talk to someone who has absolutely no idea what it's like to be in a situation like-- like--"

His breath hitches.

"People told me I should talk to a doctor, a therapist, psychiatrist, whatever. People who know what they know from goddamn textbooks. I don't wanna hear, 'I'm sorry you went through that.' 'It's gonna get better.' 'That's really awful, I can't imagine how it must have been for you.' God, what bullshit that is. Okay, fine, some people might actually-- y'know, care, but-- they're few and far between, and it's hard to find someone you trust enough. And then when you do, it comes back to not wanting to burden them.

"It's why I never talked to my family. Janet, the kids. I mean, Jeezus, I couldn't tell my kids, they're just kids. Yeah, Daddy's having a rough goddamn day, go play somewhere else. I just-- I didn't know what else to do. So I kept it bottled up inside. And then crawled into a bottle. For years. I drank away my wife and children, almost drank away my job. When I started losing everything I almost drank away my life."

He pauses and swallows, hesitant in revisiting one of his darkest, lowest moments.

"All 'cause I never talked to anybody. I mean, I still feel the same way. You know me, I don't open up easily. You'd need to stick a goddamn crowbar in my head to pry it open, but-- sometimes, when you do find that person to talk to-- it actually-- kind of does get better. A little. On some days, at least."

Her eyes are drawn to him little by little, until she's watching every word tumble from his lips. She's not prepared for this. Frayed emotionally and coming down from an adrenaline rush, still half asleep, she doesn't know what to say.

She tried to lose herself in a bottle more than once. Tried to take care of everything by herself. Lost the only man she really loved. Put her loved ones in danger by deviling the only truly dangerous man she's ever met. The same man who killed her beloved.

But she wasn't there. So what can she say?

"So I've heard. I made an appointment t'talk t'somebody today. They jus' wanted t'talk t'Guppy first."

So no need to worry. No need to join the chorus of people telling her to talk to a doctor, a therapist, a psychiatrist, whatever. She's got it well in hand.

He cocks his head at her.

"An-- an appointment? With a doctor?"

She nods.

His jaw clenches just a little.

But then he exhales a sigh and shrugs.

"Alright. If you think it'll help."

The slightest furrow settles across her brow. Hadn't he just been telling her to talk to someone? She can't account for the sudden passive aggressive coolness.

She turns her face away again, sniffling quietly. She isn't sure what to say. Fact is, she doesn't think anything about it, it's only what her friends have told her will help. And she doesn't know any better, so why not try? Now that she isn't sure exactly what he's trying to tell her, she's feeling uncomfortable for being open with him.

"'Scuse me."

She throws the blankets off and slips her bare feet to the floor. She needs to blow her nose, and splash some cold water on her face. Her legs feel barely equipped to keep her on her feet, and her arms are trembling. Perhaps she should have accepted the offer of tea after all.

Edited 2013-07-04 00:25 (UTC)

Those walls just keep on going up, those doors just keep on closing.

Tommy swings his legs over the side of the bed and he just sits there while she's in the washroom. Staring at nothing. Head clouded with too many thoughts, going in too many directions.

Janet's voice echoing in in his ears

It wasn't your job, it was YOU.

You were never there!

He inhales a sharp breath and roughly rubs his forehead, trying to massage away the notion that he's making the same mistakes all over again.

The light in the washroom is too-bright, but she stays in there a long time anyhow. Her face is puffy and red, skin aching where her tears have chapped it away. The cool water feels good. Breathing clear again feels good.

They're small graces, but they're enough.

She sits at her vanity until she feels like she's collected herself, tiredness revisiting like a sledgehammer on a thatch roof. She catches herself almost drifting off again, and that's when she knows it's time to get back in bed.

She shuts off the light, and makes her way around to her side of the bed in darkness.

"M'sorry 'bout that."

The nightmare, that is. She'll try not to disturb him again.

Tommy's wide awake now.

When Kate emerges from the washroom and comes back to bed, he turns and slips under the covers. Shifting closer, rolling onto his side, head almost halfway on her pillow.

Still reaching for her, curling his arm around her waist.

"You can talk to me, too, y'know."

She had settled on her side facing away from him. She glances over her shoulder as his arm winds around her waist, brow furrowed in full now. Rolling halfway onto her back, she blinks at him in the darkness.

"I — I'm confused. Y'don't hafta do that, Tommy."

Beat.

She shifts over again, not stopping until they're facing each other.

"Unless — I know y'don't wanna talk t'me, but d'you want me talkin' to you?"

Her eyes are large and dark in the twilight, but he's glad to see them instead of the back of her head. He shifts closer, their foreheads almost touching, his murmured words filling the remaining space between them.

"Of course I want you to talk to me, honey. And I-- I wanna talk to you, too, but-- you know how some things are harder than others to talk about. I know it's the same for you. So it might take some time, but I understand, too. And I know I wasn't there for the Apocalypse or the Wasteland, but I know about what happens when you get back from all that. The kind of shit that gets stuck in your head. The dreams, the ghosts, the blood, the guilt. And I might not know how to make things better, but-- but I do know that-- that sometimes it's easier to deal with if you ain't alone."

And that it's always hard to admit when you need help.

She shakes her head. The motion is so slight he likely won't be able to see it in the darkness, but he'll be able to feel it.

"I don't understand. Tommy, I — every time I've tried t'talk t'you 'bout what happened with your brother, you've gotten upset about it. I thought y'were sayin', 'bout people not understandin', that y'didn't wanna talk 'bout it. Tommy, y'haven't talked t'me since—"

She hesitates.

"December."

December.

Brow furrowed, he closes his eyes for a moment, breathing a short sigh before opening his eyes again.

"My brother-- I mean, of course I got upset about bringing him up before 'cause I'm pissed off at him, but-- I just dunno what else I could say about that particular situation. He betrayed me. And I ain't gonna forgive him anytime soon. And-- I honestly have no idea what else to say. It happened. It is what it is. What else d'you wanna know about it?"

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