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

Entry tags:

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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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?"

Nothing.

She's never pressed him to open up to her. It's just never been the way they worked. They connect, like magnets, and find themselves saying things they've kept bottled up for ages, for no other reason than a look, or a touch; an intrinsic feeling that the other person just gets it.

He's always been safe with his secrets with her, just like he's always been safe with her confidence.

However.

"Are y'still talkin' t'your wife?"

His eyelids flicker, his gaze dropping.

"It's, um-- it's kinda complicated. We actually did finally talk recently, just to sort out a divorce settlement, but after Dad's birthday I didn't wanna hear from her at all. And then that got messy 'cause we still had to shuffle the kids between us, so there were a couple moments of spiteful yelling. To be honest we don't technically talk anymore. We can't have normal conversations. We yell and we fight."

He shrugs a shoulder.

"She took about ninety-five percent of the furniture from the apartment, which is a bargain 'cause she's not hiring a lawyer, which means I don't hafta pay all her legal fees. So. As far as I'm concerned, she can date whoever the hell she wants."

She watches that flicker.

"Y'don't mean that."

Her voice is normally soft, but right now it's practically breathy. She has to put effort into being loud enough to be understood.

"You're still tryin' with her. You're still mad at the situation, but — whenever y'talk 'bout it, y'seem maddest of all that your chances of gettin' back t'gether are smaller."

He chews on his lower lip and is silent for what seems like a long time.

"Yeah, maybe."

It's a non-committal answer, but he knows there's truth in what she says, and he knows that she knows there's truth in it, too.

"But she doesn't want me back, 'cause every time we've tried to get back together, I end up doing something to screw everything up. So chances are, if I did manage to convince her this time around, I would just blow it anyway."

...That sounds familiar.

Her lips flatten in a tight smile.

His 'ex' still has him wrapped around her little finger. And she knows Tommy well enough now to know he can't let anything go.

She closes her eyes, hunkering down a little deeper into the mattress.

"Jus' remember she was at least half'a that decision t'be with your brother. He's your family, Tommy. What they did wasn't right, but y'can't put all your hate on him."

"Who says I have?" he mutters into the pillow, bitter and wry. He's got enough hate to go around. But again, it's complicated.

"You're right, my brother is family, which also means he should've known better than to go behind my back like that. As for Janet, she made my daughters lie to me about them being together. Colleen admitted it. I mean, c'mon, that's just low."

He heaves a sigh, feeling strangely-- unburdened. At least a little bit.

As she shifts, he tugs the covers more snugly around them and slips his arm back around her. For a moment he lays there, watching her, her eyes closed, her face and hair pale in the dimness.

"Y'deserve better'n that, Tommy."

She sighs, settling into the familiarity of his embrace, one arm slipping from the covers to curl around his neck. She lazily strokes her fingers through his hair.

"But she already left y'once before, without any help from your brother."

She only knows about the one time, anyway.

"Maybe he's not the one callin' the shots here."

He presses his lips to her forehead and keeps them there for a while, brow creased in thought.

Does he deserve better? His ego will tell him yes, of course he does, but it's not like that's working out.

"No. He's not. Sure as hell ain't me."

However many times Janet's left him, Tommy was to blame. Always him.

He pulls Kate closer, her fingers in his hair lulling him into a comfortable stillness. But his eyes stubbornly remain half-open.

Edited 2013-07-04 08:05 (UTC)

"Your daughters are young. An' impressionable. Jus' be careful, way you're pushin' your family, that y'ain't pushin' them away, too."

Or confusing them.

She can feel the warmth of his breath against her brow, the heavy tangle of their legs. The thread of anxiety still running taut through her is slowly but surely being weighted down with pleasant exhaustion. Taking her mind off her things helps. Tommy is, as always, an excellent distraction.

"'N I think your daddy cares more'n y'think he does."

"I would do anything for my kids," he says a bit defensively.

Except that it was usually never enough.

But he does care about them. Probably more than they think he does.

Which is why he doesn't say anything about his own father.

He sighs into her hair, a little grumbly, but only lightly so. His touch is still affectionate, his voice still warm.

"Anyways, how did this whole conversation become about me? I wanted to talk about you."

She tilts her lips against the underside of his chin, tenderly kissing that delicate spot.

"I know, sweetheart."

She's still stroking his hair, as if consoling a harried colt. She knows he loves his daughters. She knows he loves his wife, too. However, sometimes he can't see the forest through the trees.

Her eyes open, blinking slowly in the low light.

"Because y'finally stopped shuttin' me out, an' I took advantage of you."

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject