OOM: Oakville, Texas, 1888. Dinner.

[the_gene_genie]

Even by 70s standards, this place is basic. But it looks brilliant to him, because it's real - proper, authentic Old West chairs, and tables; wooden floor and burning candles, and the smell of the desert right outside the door. It'll do him. Anything else just wouldn't be the same.

They're shown to a table and he makes sure to sit opposite her. All very proper. There doesn't seem to be too many other people here, which is good, because he hasn't yet worked out what counts as inappropriate for her, and it'd be all too easy for him to open his big trap and say the wrong thing. All too easy to mess this up, and get her into trouble.

As soon as a waiter comes near, he says, 'Whiskey. Double, no ice. Two of 'em.'

The food can wait until after.

Comments

[the_gene_genie]

'...right at this minute, yeah.'

He thought they gave a shit about each other as well, but maybe that's not what she wants.

[ikissdhimbck]

She beetles her brow.

"S'not what I asked."

She didn't think she made any 'now' and 'later' stipulations.

"S'that all we're doin'?"

[the_gene_genie]

'How come you get t'ask all the bloody questions?'

He walks away and sits on the bed, his back against the old frame, long legs sprawled over the sheets.

'An' I thought women didn' like everythin' so black an' white.'

But of course, she'd have to be the exception.

'Look...we both know I can't give you all tha' stuff you said you grew up expectin'. So yeah, I suppose. Jus' sex.'

[ikissdhimbck]

"Someone has t'ask them."

She's doing little more than muttering to herself. He leaves her, and she doesn't watch after him. She's standing half-undressed in a man's room, back to the wall so she doesn't feel as vulnerable. She can hear the sound of the bed moving, the shudder of shadows on the floor.

She closes her eyes. She breathes one short, humorless laugh.




They're never going to be on the same page.



"Then why wait."

[the_gene_genie]

He rubs the heel of his hand over his forehead. He may not be the world's most squeaky-clean bloke, but he's pretty sure he doesn't deserve this.

'You...'

He bites back the first response.

'...don't laugh like that. It's not me tha's got the issue. You come up t'my bloody room, an' ask questions I have no idea the meanin' of. You say cryptic bloody stuff that you then point-blank refuse t'explain. You demand a simple answer to somethin', an' give no clue what you want t'hear an' then say that, like it's my fault I didn' say what you wanted t'hear.'

Enough.

He jerks his head the way they came in.

'Door's that way, Kate. I'll leave it open in case you get your head on straight in the night but even if you do, I can't promise t'be in the mood.'

He's not a dog on a lead, following at her heels and wagging his tail to her every demand. At some point, she'll either have to let him into the problem, or deal with it herself. He's tired of these games.

[ikissdhimbck]

"I'm serious."

She looks at him from over her shoulder, looking every bit as serious as she claims. But she bends to gather her clothes regardless. Either way, this clearly isn't happening tonight.

"Maybe y'misunderstood what I was askin' but I think y'gave me a straight enough answer anyways. I've been — I've been strugglin' t'keep up with you, an' maybe you've been doin' the same," she says, the idea only just striking her with what he's just said. "D'you know how confusin' this is? For me?"

She doubts he does, but her voice lacks any malice or accusation. She slips her skirts into place carefully, both her face and her voice neutral, and then starts buttoning up her blouse. Trying not to feel antiquated in her own damn era.

"I thought I had it worked out before we left the bar. That I knew what t'expect. An' then, last night ... well. Tonight, too. Y'jus' weren't what I was expectin'. An' I'm still — "

Wounded? Inexperienced? In love with another man? Out of my depth? Dozens of excuses come to mind from over half a year of confusing arguments with Gene, none of which she says out loud. They've talked themselves in circles before and there's no chance she'll let them do it again tonight.

" — still the way I am. But why wait now that we both know what t'expect?"

She looks at him again before she takes his invitation to leave.

"M'sorry. This is your game, not mine. I guess my beginner's luck ran out an hour ago; an' now we're both walkin' away unhappy. I didn't mean it."

[the_gene_genie]

'So it's my fault for not treatin' you like shit? An' for not bein' what you expected.'

Another thing that's hardly fair but what is? It's just life.

'I'm not playin' any sort of game. I don't do that. But if you wan' t'see it like that, tha's your lookout.'

He waves his hand vaguely at the door, not looking at her. All he wants now is whiskey, and sleep.

[ikissdhimbck]

She opens her mouth, halfway into what's becoming a habitual recantation before she stops and sharply switches gears.

"Jus' shut your mouth."

For the love of peace.

"I wasn't complainin'. An' I didn't mean it that way."

Voice still calm, though not as even as it was before. He's dismissing her, and that is more insulting than anything else. She smooths her clothes into place and steps away from the wall, leaving not because he told her to but because now she wants to.

"For your information, I enjoyed tonight up until this... fiasco. I can't possibly know what's goin' on in your head. And, for the record, what I said before — 'bout what I grew up 'expectin''? — wasn't an ultimatum. I was jus' openin' up t'you. I ain't ever gonna have that. An' I don't expect it, not from you or anybody else. If I did, I wouldn't be here. But I am here. With you, as it happens. Not any of the nameless dudes who've come after me before."

Once the words are out she thinks shit, he'll probably take that the wrong way too. But until they figure out how to go about understanding each other, there's nothing to be done for it. She heads for the door, leaving him to his whiskey and his sleep.

[the_gene_genie]

He almost says something after her - for a milisecond, it crosses his mind to tell he enjoyed it too, up until this. But no, he's not going to say that.

He doesn't know how many ways there are left to tell her. He likes her, he cares about her, he wants to be here with her. He's told her with his actions, he thinks, and he's told her in words and she still says she doesn't know what's going on in his head. So the problem seems to be just that she doesn't - won't, or can't - believe him. He doesn't know what to do about that, and, for tonight at least, isn't inclined to try.

'Sod this,' he mutters, and stands up, grabs his jacket off the floor. There's a bar down there, and people (women), and he'll be damned if he's going to waste his time in the West sitting up here in his room.



....he supposes he shouldn't be surprised when Milliways shows up at the door. Perhaps it's for the best.