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.
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"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."
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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."
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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."
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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."
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"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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And he's silent for a long while, too. Just holding her. Heart beating against her palm, hard and steady, quickened from what she stirs inside him.
Anger. Horror. Sympathy. Sadness. A wish for things to have gone differently. For her father, for herself.
Too late.
And then it hits him much clearer now why Christmas was such an awful time for her. And how he'd made it worse.
He buries his fingers in her hair and presses a kiss between her brows.
"'M sorry."
He can't help the apology. For everything.
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"I should've seen it. Ol' Bill Crocker always hated my daddy. There'd been threats ... I jus'–jus' wish I'd had more time."
The throb in her temples grows again. She's dried out, and her head's reminding her of it. No more tears, Katherine.
"It was the same with Sam. I was too late. If I'd jus' gotten t'him sooner, we might've made it. If I'd jus' kissed the sheriff, if I'd jus' told Trout yes ... "
She buries her head under his chin, pulling him closer.
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"You don't know," he murmurs into her hair.
"You don't know for sure if any of that would've made a difference, for good or for bad. You did what you could. What you thought you had to do, what you thought was right."
He might be talking to her, or to himself. A little of both.
"Christ. All those should'ves, could'ves, would'ves... Between the both of us we could fill the goddamn Grand Canyon with 'em."
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"I jus' wish I'd had more time. They'd had more time."
I just want them to stop falling.
She squeezes her eyes shut.
She only kisses the men she kills.
She doesn't want Tommy to end up like that.
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Just a little more time. And maybe...just maybe...
For a while, they lie curled up into one another, forming a protective cocoon against both the outside world and the thoughts that haunt them. Nothing can happen to them here, in each other's arms. If they can believe that, it might get them through the night.
"You alright?"
If she wants to cry, she can. If she wants to try to fall asleep, she can. If she wants to talk some more, she can.
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"No."
(But she will be.)
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"Tea?"
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"Would — would y'jus' talk t'me? For a while?"
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"About-- what?"
Oh, he can talk. He just needs a starting point.
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Beat.
"I'd ask you t'tell me a story; however, I know that ain't your forte."
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He's talking.
"Gimme a sec and I'll think of something."
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"All right."
She quiets down and hunkers closer, shutting her eyes.
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"Well. This actually happened not too long ago. We get a call one afternoon, seemed like a routine thing. Jump into the truck, speed off uptown. But Lou, he's lookin' pretty damn amused about something. He even tells our driver kinda jokingly, 'Slow down, we're in no rush.' And we're like, slow down? What? Why? We ask him what the call is and the only thing he says is that we were gonna like this one. Ummm, okay?
"So. We get to our destination-- our driver didn't slow down, by the way. But we get to a school, and it's recess, and there's all these kids out in the playground. Some of 'em come say hi to us, others direct us to the situation at hand. And we see a cop car parked by a tree. And there's this cop staring up at the tree. Apparently there's something very interesting going on in this tree, so me and the rest of the crew, we come over and gather around, and we look up and-- we start laughing. We just-- start cracking up like crazy.
"Lou goes up to the cop and says, as cheerful as a wiseass, 'What seems to be the problem, officer?' 'Cause let's face it, that's what everybody wants to say to a policeman.
"Needless to say the cop gives him dirty look. Cop says, 'These kids saw a cat stuck in this tree, and my partner figured he could get it down.'
"Lou says to the cop, still cheerful, 'Oh, really? And where's your partner now?'
"Of course, we all know where he is: stuck up in the tree, about thirty feet above the ground, sitting on a branch, as pissed off as you please. The cat's there, too, about five or six feet further outta reach. Sure, the cat's pissed off as well, but the cop looks like he's gonna punch someone in the face.
"So yeah, we savor this moment for a while, during which the cop and I exchange a few pleasantries, and by pleasantries I mean a few sarcastic remarks and a middle finger. When we finally get the ladder set up, I tell the Probie to save the cat first, and to take his time.
"The cat was fine except for being a little rattled. The cop was fine except for a severely bruised ego."
Tommy pauses and grins, his smile spreading against her hair.
"That was a good day."
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The ache behind her eyes peels away slowly, like candle wax breaking away from raw skin, leaving her tender but tired. She closes her eyes, focusing on the vibration of his voice as he talks, the warmth of his body.
"You're such a devil."
Amusement sneaks through the tiredness. She'd shake her head at him if she had the gumption.
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