Katherine "Kissin' Kate" Barlow (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ikissdhimbck) wrote2013-07-02 06:42 pm
ikissdhimbck) wrote2013-07-02 06:42 pm
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.
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.
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.
no subject
"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?"
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"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.
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"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."
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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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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?"
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"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."
no subject
"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."
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"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.
no subject
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."
no subject
"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.
no subject
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."
no subject
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.
no subject
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."
no subject
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."
no subject
"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
Her remark, though, gives him pause. But then he huffs out a short chuckle, wryly amused.
"I wasn't shutting you out, I was-- just-- blocked."
no subject
Her lashes slowly feather his chin as she blinks in the dark, thinking the day over again.
"I was talkin' with a young man earlier, 'bout when my parents died. Think that might be why I dreamed 'bout it."
no subject
He can feel the whisper-soft tickle of her lashes on his skin. Her low murmur fills the hollow of his throat. And the phrase 'talking with a young man' doesn't even irk him as much as it would have in any other circumstance.
"Did he lose his parents, too?"
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He just wants them to stop falling. The words echo in her mind.
"He's only eleven."
no subject
"Aw, jeez."
He can't help tightening his embrace. As if by proxy, hugging the boy.
(Connor, in reverse.)
"You were-- you were pretty young, too, weren't you...?"
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The drag of her fingers has slowed even more, nails drawing thoughtful patterns against his scalp.
"My daddy raised me till I was off t'school in New Orleans. He died that year, shot through the heart."
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"'S that what you saw? In your dream."
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Her eyes stay open now, unfixed and unblinking. She shifts the arm tucked under her side until her palm is resting flat against his breast.
"I should've been there, an' I wasn't. By the time I got home, it was too late."
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It's small comfort, though, and he knows this. Because he understands all too well what it's like to be too late.
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Her voice grows quiet once again.
"I took the buggy t'Green Lake t'see the school. There hadn't been a teacher there in years, an' they showed interest in my aspirations. I hadn't been home a few days 'fore I left him. I left him. He went out huntin', on our property, an' Bill Crocker shot 'im. Greased the sheriff, called it an accident. I was jus' miles away when Thomas rode down t'fetch me.
"I should've been there. By the time I got home they were carryin' his body up our property, limp as a ragdoll, blood everywhere."
She doesn't say anything for a spell.
"I never got t'say goodbye."
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