ikissdhimbck | OOM: Milliways grounds

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OOM: Milliways grounds - lunch with Tommy

It's Tommy's first day working in the stables. Kate sets him up with a grooming bucket and shows him what to do, handling her morning chores between bringing him horses — though she works a little more aggressively than usual. It's just been a few days since Tommy fought with Voodoo, and despite his claims that he feels much better, the bruises have mottled and turned uglier colors. Kate's temper hasn't abated, and likely never will. God help Voodoo if he ever tries approaching her.

Once it's time for afternoon tea, Tommy suggests they go someplace quiet to eat together. It only takes her a moment to decide on the field out beyond the lake where she likes to take Beaut from time to time. Instructing him to finish up and put his tools away, she heads out first, on horseback. It's a typical sight around this time of day, so nobody else is likely to suspect she'll be meeting someone.

When Tommy does mosey along, he'll find her just a few paces away from the beaten path in a great field of dandelions and poppies. Beaut is grazing freely while she's unpacking a basket of food on a large checkered blanket.

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"Mmm, you'll hafta improve your work ethic in that case."

A flash of wicked blue, and then she looks away.

"Oh, do I? You seemed to appreciate my work ethic just fine before."

He counters her flash of blue with a sharp little smirk.

She half shrugs, pushing her food around her plate.

"There's always room for improvement."

She is, as always, undaunted by that sharp twist of his mouth. She smirks around a forkful of fried okra, leaning back on one hand.

It's a lovely day. Beaut's just a few paces off, tail swishing idly. Kate watches her for a time, wandering in and out of the present.

She'll be able to tell that he's got nothing to say to that because he is, as always, completely disarmed by every expression she makes, ever.

After slipping his sunglasses off and setting them aside, he picks up the drumstick and bites into it. The skin is crisp and perfectly seasoned, the meat tender. It takes a moment while he savors it that he realizes that Kate's fallen quiet.

It's certainly not the first time she's ever drifted off. But after these past couple of days, it's kind of obvious what's been on her mind.

He lets a few more moments of silence pass, just to see if she comes back. When she doesn't, he licks his fingers and breaks off a piece of cornbread.

"You were kinda tense back there in the barn. You okay?"

"Mmm."

Whether that's acknowledgment or just a sound to fill the empty spaces is unclear. She stabs into her food, offering him a taut smile.

"M'fine. Y'want some sweet tea?"

He breathes a short sigh.

"Sure."

Yes, he is thirsty, but they both know she's not fine.

"You haven't seen Voodoo around, have you?"

She pauses with her hand in the basket.

"No. Seems he's keepin' scarce."

She pulls out a cool bottle of tea and hands it to him.

(What she doesn't say is: "No, you'd know if I had on account of my bein' in jail for killin' a man," or "No, he's wisely stayed away from me," because those wouldn't be polite.)

"Mmm."

His turn to utter a non-committal sound.

He uncaps the bottle and takes a swallow.

"Have you even talked to him lately? I mean, even like-- in a while?"

She looks at him as if she hadn't heard him right. It's not like this is the first time that question has come up between them, but it is the first time he's asked her.

"No."

It comes out half-question, and the indecision annoys her.

"No, not for — quite some time."

His brow furrows minutely, the corners of his eyes narrowing. Somehow, her answer triggers something in his head, a sort of avalanche of puzzle pieces that don't quite fit together.

"You both went on that mission to Ellen's world, right?"

She tucks her hair behind her ear, keeping her gaze fixed on her plate.

"Yes, but we weren't exactly doin' a lotta talkin'. S'been about that long since our last discussion."

Somehow, she manages to keep her tone civil on 'discussion'.

Discussion. Not 'conversation.'

When she tucks her hair behind her ear and doesn't look at him, he knows something is definitely wrong. And has been wrong for a while, longer than he realizes.

He sets his plate down and shifts closer to her, laying a hand on her knee.

"Honey, listen. I ain't tryin' to start something, alright, 'cause I don't like making you upset, but I've done lots of thinking these past couple of days, and I'm getting the idea that Voodoo's either said something to you or about you again. I mean, you told me the other night that I didn't have a goddamn clue about his saying shit about you, and honey, I ain't ever seen you that pissed off about anything since I've known you. So-- has he?"

She eyes the hand on her knee for a long while before turning to look at him, dewy eyes deceptively gentle. He may not be trying to start something, but Kate's temperaments run hot and cold and rarely anything in between.

"That ain't fair, Tommy. Jus' 'cuz you got a reason t'be angry at Voodoo right now don't mean it's time t'dredge up what's in the past. Y'never cared t'ask 'fore now."

Not that she would've given him a straight answer then. Part of her has always been protecting herself, but she's been protecting Voodoo, too.

Everything about her response throws him off for a second, but he doesn't succumb to it.

"I-- what're you-- now wait a sec. Okay, for one thing, of course I cared, I always cared, and I always wanted to ask, but I knew you'd only get upset and maybe even get mad at me just for the hell of it, so it ain't at all like I never cared. And another thing, I ain't the only one angry at Voodoo right now. You are, too. This ain't me dredging up what's in the past, 'cause you were thatclose to hunting Voodoo down the other night, and you said yourself it wasn't just about me. And another thing? You avoided my question."

Leaning in, he gives her knee a squeeze, but his eyes are serious, his tone of voice low and level.

"And I dunno 'bout you, but when I don't answer a question, it's usually 'cause the answer is the last thing I wanna admit to."

Edited 2013-10-05 20:29 (UTC)

"What's gotten into you?"

She flushes with annoyance — yes, still avoiding the question, but filled with righteous indignation about it now.

"You ain't 'always wanted t'ask'. The last we spoke of Voodoo I was tryin' t'make up with him. 'Member? I asked you almost every day when he'd be back from his mission. Y'didn't say a thing when that stopped, mostly as you'd left me on account of I wouldn't let you into my room."

He's rapidly losing the high ground.

"So don't give me that kicked puppy song an' dance, like y'had some reason t'be afraid of me. Y'didn't come t'call till weeks after I'd been t'Ellen's world."

"A guy who I thought was one of my closest friends here tells me I should've died and almost beats the shit outta me, and you wonder what's gotten into me? You pick up your guns and you tell me point blank that you're gonna go shoot him, and you wonder what's gotten into me? Honey--"

Too many thoughts are crowding his head and he can't get them out fast enough without tripping over his words and saying something wrong. He's starting to get frustrated, with himself, with Voodoo, with this whole fucking situation.

He shakes his head, picks up his plate, and stabs at some fried vegetables, not looking at her.

"I'm only tryin' to understand something. And I don't even know what I'm supposed to ask or what I'm supposed to say."

"Y'don't think I know that?"

Under the anger is something more pervasive. Desperation.

"You come in riddled with black an' blues, in so much pain y'can hardly breathe, an' I find out Voodoo's the one that's done that t'you. How did you expect I would feel? What kinda reaction was I s'posed t'have?"

Whether or not Voodoo had personally hurt her, her reaction would've been the same. She was scared, and angry, and worried half to death about him. Nobody goes after her man. Nobody.

"I know you're upset with 'im, an' I know you're still achin'. But goddamnit, Tommy. I ain't talked t'you 'bout this 'cuz you an' Voodoo are friends, an' someday y'might want t'rekindle that. I know how y'deal with problems. Y'go in swingin'. You're likely t'get one or both'a you killed."

He keeps stabbing at things on his plate without putting anything into his mouth, having lost his appetite for the time being.

Then, suddenly the bottom of his stomach drops out, and his gaze abruptly shifts from his plate, to her.

"So he did say something to you."

Kate facepalms.

Grunting in exasperation, she takes a few moments to steady herself, drawing in a cleansing breath.

"Yes. He did. But it was a long time 'go, an' he's made his feelin's rather clear."

He puts his plate down again.

He knows that exasperation, has seen the look on her face before. And he has a terrible, awful, sinking feeling that he already knows what Voodoo said-- because Kate's already told him about it.

"That letter. At Christmas. That was from him?"

She watches Beaut amble a little farther away from them.

And doesn't say a thing.

It's not even shock that takes hold of him. But whatever it is, it's numbing, absolutely mind-numbing.

He mentally rewinds the better part of an entire year, all the way back to last Christmas. When the Problems began. When the Misunderstanding happened. When things went Wrong.

Because of a note. From Voodoo.

If Tommy had just calmed down--

If he hadn't jumped to conclusions--

If he'd just listened--

"Oh, fuck... Honey...Kate, I'm sorry..."

He reaches for her, laying a hand on her shoulder, his touch heavy with apology.

Suddenly the shock hits. All those months of hurting, loneliness, frustration, her anger and her silence and her tears, every misstep that drove them apart, the struggle to reconcile--

Voodoo had called Kate a bitch and a whore.

And now the fury hits.

And he abruptly starts getting to his feet.

"Sit down."

She's still gazing out across the field, brow heavily furrowed.

"You ain't gonna do anythin' in your condition, let alone on supposed facts based on your own assumptions, an' secondhand information you ain't got the whole of."

He's barely taken a step away from the picnic blanket when she speaks. His hands balled into fists and the blood pounding in his ears, he stops and turns to look at her.

"Then you go on and shoot 'im."

"Don't tempt me."

She looks up at him at last, eyes burning with a cold intensity that betrays her seriousness. It wouldn't be the first time.

But she tamps down the rush of adrenaline. She can see the bruises up and down his body as if they were exposed to her, every color, every shape. Her brows knit a little tighter, and her voice drops.

"Come lay down. Please."

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