Katherine "Kissin' Kate" Barlow (
ikissdhimbck) wrote2013-07-28 12:40 am
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OOM: Room #100 -- for Tommy Gavin
[Following this:]
The sun's just setting when Kate heads in from the stables. Lately, she's been staying out after dark, but tonight she needs to clean up before Tommy stops by.
Her room is untidy, a 'tee-vee' and 'dee-vee-dee player' on a rolling cart stationed in front of her bureau. There's a small stack of films lying nearby. The table in the corner is covered with dirtied glasses and half-empty — or completely empty — liquor bottles, used tissues, and cupcake wrappers.
She unlocks the door and steps in, greeted by the expectant mewling of her cats. Taking off her gun belt, she leaves it on the chest by the foot of her bed, and heads into the washroom. She feeds the boys, and takes a quick bath.
By the time Tommy stops by, the bed will be made and the trash collected, the glasses stacked to be washed later and the bottles pushed aside. A few tissues escape her notice under the T.V. cart, but at least she feels mostly presentable.
The sun's just setting when Kate heads in from the stables. Lately, she's been staying out after dark, but tonight she needs to clean up before Tommy stops by.
Her room is untidy, a 'tee-vee' and 'dee-vee-dee player' on a rolling cart stationed in front of her bureau. There's a small stack of films lying nearby. The table in the corner is covered with dirtied glasses and half-empty — or completely empty — liquor bottles, used tissues, and cupcake wrappers.
She unlocks the door and steps in, greeted by the expectant mewling of her cats. Taking off her gun belt, she leaves it on the chest by the foot of her bed, and heads into the washroom. She feeds the boys, and takes a quick bath.
By the time Tommy stops by, the bed will be made and the trash collected, the glasses stacked to be washed later and the bottles pushed aside. A few tissues escape her notice under the T.V. cart, but at least she feels mostly presentable.
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He takes a sip of cocoa, also sobering, a slight crease between his brows. Feeling guilty for adding to her need of a distraction this past week.
Ambling over to the bed, he sits beside her, holding his cup on his knee, and breathes a short sigh.
"Listen, I'm-- I just wanted to say sorry for-- y'know, the trip to New York going the way it did. I just-- I thought I could help."
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"S'all right."
She sets her own cup in her lap, cradled between both palms. The warmth spreads through her skin.
"Did you an' your daughters have a good time?"
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"I guess. We watched a movie, had dinner. They liked your biscuits. Lou didn't wanna pass 'em off as his own, though, so he said he got the recipe from a friend. They also didn't believe me when I told them I helped make the butter. Or that I helped, period."
He snorts a chuckle, shaking his head a little before taking a sip of his cocoa.
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"S'good. M'glad y'had a good evenin'."
She keeps her gaze on her knees and her voice soft. She wanted to be stronger; she wanted that to be a better day. It just wasn't in the hand she was dealt.
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"Wish you could've stayed. --Well. Wish I hadn't messed up. I mean, thinking back on it now, I'm like, jeez, what an idiot I was. I shouldn't have pushed you into all that. It's just-- I wasn't sure what you wanted, and-- I dunno, I guess my idea of a day out wasn't the same as yours. 'M sorry."
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She shakes her head, a deep furrow in her brow. She can't help wondering if things might've gone different if he'd asked her out now, or if she'd known a little more going into it.
"Don't 'pologize, Tommy. That is, don't 'pologize for anythin' other'n tryin' t'give me what I wanted. Y'didn't hafta do anythin'. An' I jus' thought — I thought y'wanted t'be with me. That's all."
She feels silly saying it out loud.
"I — I'm no good this month. S'jus' too much. S'why I hide out, an' don't go 'round seein' anybody; I'm jus' no good, but I wanted t'be with you. I wanted t'try."
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"But I-- I did wanna be with you, honey..."
They had breakfast with Lou and Tommy's dad, and then they went sightseeing in the heart of the city, walking through midtown along Fifth Avenue with all its fancy stores and skyscrapers and people and tourists and--
Yeah.
With a deep sigh, he puts his arm around her shoulders. She doesn't have to explain herself.
It's a little disheartening to think that the only place they can really be together is right here in this room, within these four walls.
"Maybe we could try again another time. Somewhere else."
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"Yes, perhaps."
She doesn't even know what they are to each other without worrying on anniversaries and special occasions, what he will remember and what he won't, what he's doing because he wants to and what he's doing because he thinks she wants him to. It's an awful lot of pressure.
"Are you disappointed?"
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"No, not really. Not now, anyways. I was then, but not 'cause of you, of course. I mean, sure, I was disappointed that you couldn't stay for dinner or meet the girls, but more like I was disappointed in myself for-- well, y'know, messing up. And not making things better for you."
Squeezing her shoulder, he kisses the top of her head.
"But anyways. What happened happened, right? No sense dwelling on it now. And coming from me, that's sayin' something, 'cause you know me, honey, I'm a huge dweller. I can dwell on things from here to kingdom come. You give me a problem and you bet I will dwell the hell out of it."
A beat.
"Except for this. This, I won't dwell on. Also, the word 'dwell' really starts to sound funny when you say it too many times."
He's rambling.
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It's murmured affectionately, albeit still quietly. It's difficult thinking back on her anniversary. In addition to the memories and the sadness, this year ain't been the best for her anxiety. And as much as talking to Dr. Lecter has helped since she's been back, it was still overwhelming being in a big, busy city on the worst day out of the year.
She wishes he'd stop apologizing. It really ain't his fault she's got no control over herself these days.
"You don't gotta make things better for me, Tommy. It ain't your duty."
He confuses her so much these days. Things were simpler before Christmas, when she still knew what he wanted. Now, she hasn't got a clue.
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Silenced for the moment, he purses his lips and presses them against her hair, still damp from her bath and smelling sweet.
"I know it ain't my duty, honey, but-- well, I'm still your friend. And honestly, you're pretty much my closest friend here, so I just wanna help. That's all."
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"Don't say that too loud. I got this feelin' Lou could jump out at any minute an' pout at me."
Lou has an awful powerful pout.
"I love that y'feel that way, Tommy. But even I don't know what y'could do."
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Hugging her closer, he rests his cheek against the top of her head.
"I know I can't fix everything like magic or come up with some miracle cure, and I sure as hell ain't no fancy doctor with all the know-it-all textbook answers, but-- anytime you wanna tell me anything, you know I've been down those roads, too."
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She sighs.
"Y'wanna know what's goin' on with me? I've seen the world end, an' I've seen what happens to a world after it ends; I've killed men, I've been responsible for the men I love most dyin', an' I've had t'leave everythin' in the dust t'spend my life runnin'. I couldn't sleep for months after Sam died. I felt like somebody else; I am somebody else. An' now I'm — I'm jus' so tired."
She turns her face against his arm, burying her nose in the scent of him.
"I keep seein' everyone I love die. I keep seein' everythin' I love burn. An' sometimes, Tommy, all I want you t'do is hold me in your arms, an' help me sleep. No promises, no demands, no cures. All I want's for you t'be with me. T'hear y'breathin'. T'feel your heart beatin'."
To reassure herself there's something worth fighting for. To remind herself she's alive.
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He rubs her arm, keeping her pressed against his side. Not only is holding on something he's been trained to do when someone's life depends on it; it's a part of his nature, too.
"I can do that."
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Talking isn't always easy, but just being can do a world of good. She has responsibilities when she's elsewhere. People who rely on her, who have expectations, or whom she can't bear the thought of disappointing. When she's with Tommy, she's free to just be.
She doesn't want that to change.
She sucks in a deep breath, and sits up straight. For a time, all she does is sip at her cocoa, lost in thought.
"Y'gotta tell me what y'want too, y'know. I can't always figure it out."
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Then, cup held in his lap, he considers what she says.
"I guess I-- I kinda want the same things you do. To stop running for a while. To get away from the stuff in my head. To sleep. You help me sleep, too, y'know. And that's a huge thing for me 'cause any time that I can spend where I don't feel angry or guilty, or I don't see the faces of people I couldn't save, or I don't hear-- the voices-- I--"
His voice suddenly cracks.
Shit.
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"I'm right here."
A whisper without waver, firm and strong and sure.
The voices.
They've danced around this subject in the past. He doesn't need to explain what he means, because she already knows exactly what that's like.
He can talk to her.
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He hates it. He hates its suddenness, its randomness. That it's becoming more frequent and uncontrollable.
That it could happen in public, in front of other people.
After a few moments and a few deep breaths, the jag passes without getting worse. This time. Face still turned away, he roughly wipes his eyes with the heel of his hand. Embarrassed and frustrated and angry again.
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She doesn't say anything. She doesn't hush him, or encourage him; she just strokes his hair, her other hand rubbing his back, and gives him all the time he needs.
When he starts scrubbing at his face, tension pouring off of him, she rests her chin on his shoulder and drops her voice into an even softer whisper.
"S'okay. I know."
Her fingers slowly card through his hair. He's okay. She's here. She won't push him, or force herself on him, but she isn't going anywhere. He's got her.
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Eventually, he sits up a bit, shoulders still hunched. He doesn't look at her, only shakes his head as she runs her fingers through his hair.
"That wasn't supposed to happen."
It's muttered self-deprecatingly.
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"What a pair we make."
Her answering self-depreciation is tempered with humor. If they can't laugh, what are they to do? But more than that, it's filled with kinship.
There's no need to be embarrassed. This is a safe space, filled with understanding and affection.
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Breathing a deep sigh, he turns his head, pressing his cheek lightly against her forehead. He swallows, hesitating before deciding to speak.
"I've been-- seeing the same ghosts again lately. Even when I'm awake. And I ain't even drinking. They just-- appear, whenever, wherever, and-- and I just lose control. 'S never happened like that before."
He sighs again, leaning into her, his limbs sagging.
"Dunno why. Must be stress or something."
Slipping his arm around her waist, he gives her a grateful squeeze.
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Dr. Lecter has been explaining 'triggers' to her, and she can't help but wonder as he speaks
Dunno why
if it's not in some way her fault. Her troubles getting the better of him, setting him off, making them weak.
She wraps her arms around his waist, tilting her head down to try and catch his eyes.
"Hey. S'all right."
She cradles his cheek, thumb tracing the lines around his eyes.
"Don't hide yourself from me. S'okay. S'okay. I know what that feels like. Y'don't hafta be ashamed."
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"I know, I know..." he murmurs, nodding. "'M fine now. It comes and goes."
Pursing his lips, his gaze briefly flicks up to meet hers.
"Thanks."
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