She pulls herself together and heads over, twenty feet down the hall. She knocks once and lets herself in anyway. Her eyes are red and puffy from crying, but she carries herself tall anyway.
“I really know how to pick ‘em,” she announces. “Every fucking time.”
She leans into him briefly with a sigh, and she wipes at her eyes even though she's already mopped herself up. Stupid.
"It's fine, I'll get over it," she says. "He was just dodgy about it, got pissed at me for being pissed, kept throwing back drinks––ugh. You knew about the wife, right?"
His allegiance absolutely lies with her, but truth be told, he does
understand Jake. It's why he'd known to go to him in the first place to
give him this advice.
"Yup," she replies. "Offended that I had to be told at all, like I'm supposed to guess that his bullshit is different from every other guy's bullshit, even though it all feels the same on the outside. He just whipped it out as proof that he had the best intentions. What was I supposed to do? Fold and tell him I do care just to make him feel better? Why the fuck would I bother being mad if I didn't actually care? So I get to be the bitch for giving him a hard time about shit he decided to keep from me."
Tess considers just walking out, but that little flare of frustration comes and goes before she can act on the impulse.
"That, and forgetting to tell me things he's told other people, and not being able to get through a hard conversation without drinking, and doing that bullshit thing where he walks out because I'm not jumping through hoops," she replies, a little sharp. "I'm really just sick of that."
He holds up a hand to hold her off - he really didn't mean to piss her off with that.
"I got it. I hear you. Honestly, I'm surprised he told you as much as he did. Men like him," men like Arthur, "ain't used to talking so frankly about what they feel."
He realizes that. He runs his fingers through his beard and considers it.
"No. You're right. Part of that's likely just because it's you, but some of it might come from nearly dyin'. From the disease, I mean, not some stray bullet."
There's a big difference.
"No use keepin' it in. Not talking just got me in more trouble."
"Men need more dragged-out near-death experiences then, that's what I'm hearing," she replies. It's a shitty joke, and not even one she actually believes in, but at least it makes her feel better. "But I always kinda liked tough guys like that, to be honest. Makes it feel special when they do tell you shit, like you've won something no one else gets to have."
"Wouldn't have liked Joel if that wasn't the type of man you liked," he agrees, recalling meeting him.
"I think everyone here's careful to share, at some point. Don't mind tellin' people I was an outlaw, but not too many know I came here on death's doorstep."
"Can't have that," he agrees. "Which is a load of bullshit. Half the people
in my camp didn't even know I was sick until I was coughing up blood. And
for what?"
“Your shit is far less exhausting to talk about because it was a year ago instead of now,” she argues, but he has a point. She heaves a sigh. “Besides, no one likes talking about dating drama. Most people just want the relationship to end so they never have to hear about it again.”
“I do,” she agrees. It’s something she has thought about over and over, but part of it still doesn’t sit right. “It feels like a distraction, though. I could just disappear into something like that. Aren’t I supposed to be doing something useful, something to make up for everything else?”
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momijizukamori
Re: at some late hour
She's sure to catch him at these kinds of times, honestly. He likes the quiet of night, even from his own cabin. He's drinking and reading a novella.
Sure am. Want a drink?
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A pause. She should probably warn him.
I talked to Jake.
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Come on. Come tell me in person.
He's pretty sure it wasn't a nice conversation, and he's not getting the details over text, thank you.
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“I really know how to pick ‘em,” she announces. “Every fucking time.”
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He's up and waiting for her, so when she comes in looking like she's been crying he's right there with an arm around her shoulders.
"Do I have to go shoot him while you have a drink?"
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"It's fine, I'll get over it," she says. "He was just dodgy about it, got pissed at me for being pissed, kept throwing back drinks––ugh. You knew about the wife, right?"
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He doesn't even wince. He knows what he told Jake to talk to her about.
"I did. From the way you talked about the others, I figured you couldn't have known. You end it?"
He walks her over to the rickety little table and sits her down.
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"Oh, no! He went off about his feelings for me and then told me to figure my shit out... like I'm the one who forgot to mention a wife."
Dead or not.
She shakes her head.
"And there's no way he forgot. We had enough conversations that could have brushed up against it. There's no chance it didn't cross his mind."
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His allegiance absolutely lies with her, but truth be told, he does understand Jake. It's why he'd known to go to him in the first place to give him this advice.
Well. 'Advice'.
"He told you about his feelings, huh?"
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He listens to that whole story, then gives her a confused frown.
"Tess, you know I like you and all, but I have no idea what the hell is actually bothering you. That he cares about you and never told you?"
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"That, and forgetting to tell me things he's told other people, and not being able to get through a hard conversation without drinking, and doing that bullshit thing where he walks out because I'm not jumping through hoops," she replies, a little sharp. "I'm really just sick of that."
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He holds up a hand to hold her off - he really didn't mean to piss her off with that.
"I got it. I hear you. Honestly, I'm surprised he told you as much as he did. Men like him," men like Arthur, "ain't used to talking so frankly about what they feel."
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He realizes that. He runs his fingers through his beard and considers it.
"No. You're right. Part of that's likely just because it's you, but some of it might come from nearly dyin'. From the disease, I mean, not some stray bullet."
There's a big difference.
"No use keepin' it in. Not talking just got me in more trouble."
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"Wouldn't have liked Joel if that wasn't the type of man you liked," he agrees, recalling meeting him.
"I think everyone here's careful to share, at some point. Don't mind tellin' people I was an outlaw, but not too many know I came here on death's doorstep."
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“One makes you sound like someone people shouldn’t fuck with, and the other could be an invitation.”
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"Can't have that," he agrees. "Which is a load of bullshit. Half the people in my camp didn't even know I was sick until I was coughing up blood. And for what?"
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"Some of 'em did. Dutch knew, but he never even brought it up."
He shakes his hand and waves his hand, like that might shake all of that off.
"Never mind my shit. You came here for Jake. About him."
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"Hey, if you had been in love with him, I woulda welcomed it. You deserve something good in your life."
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He slips down in his seat a little, resting his hands on his stomach and crossing his boots at the ankle as he thinks that over.
"I don't think that's what you gotta do, here. I can't make up for the people I killed, the lives I ruined. All I can do is try to be different now."
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