the_gene_genie | OOM: Kate, post-row

Entry tags:

kate barlow,
oom

OOM: Kate, post-row

He doesn't drag his feet on the way down to the stables, though he's still not sure this is a good idea. But, fact is, much as he's tried to ignore the last row, it won't go away. He's told himself he doesn't care until he's blue in the face, but he's called himself a liar too. And yeah, he was really angry and he's still pissed off when he thinks about it. But he's not as pissed off as he was, and there's a lot he doesn't understand.

Gene doesn't like not understanding things. And he has no intention of hiding away from her either. When he has a problem, he either buries it until it goes away (doesn't seem to be working), or he faces it head on. Seeing as the first option seems to be a non-starter, the second it is.

So there's no trepidation as he walks into the building. None of his usual striding arrogance either though.

'You in here?'

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She's not.

It's grown late in the day, and she finished her morning chores hours ago. She moved out to the back paddocks to check the fences and exercise some of the stock — not to mention enjoy the weather.

But Gene doesn't have to wait long. She's heading back to the stables, and in a few minutes the outline of her body can be seen through the back door. She takes a few steps inside before she notices him standing there.

Beat.

"Fancy seein' you here."

Her voice lacks emotion. She's surprised to see him, and wary of his intentions. And, maybe, he's not even here to see her at all. So she continues on her course, turning the corner to the feed room.

He pulls his fags out and lights one, before going after her. He has no intention of chasing her around, but he does have to get her to talk to him first. Though - and it's one of the things he's confused on - he's still not sure what he did wrong.

'You goin' t'tell me what all that was about, then?' he says, without rancour, once he's leaning comfortably on the doorframe of the feed room.

He really, honestly, just wants to know. He's not throwing accusations about.

She pulls a bag of feed over to the door, propping it up against the wall until she's ready to heft it out. She glances up when he speaks. There's nothing in her expression.

She thought he made himself perfectly clear when he left. And with how much time has passed since that night, she didn't expect he would be coming around to dredge it all up again. Unless he's looking for another fight, or trying to embarrass her all over again. Color dusts her cheeks.

She turns back to her busywork.

"I didn't think there was any more t'talk about. Speak plain; what d'you want?"

He lets out a quiet breath. Right. She's still angry.

'I wanted t'find out what I did that pissed you off so much. I don' get what happened.'

She resists the urge to glance back at him.

"You're the one who got angry first. I didn't want t'argue then, an' I don't wanna do it now. I ain't got the patience for it."

She sounds tired.

'Do I look like I wan' t'argue?'

He doesn't, for once. He's just smoking, his gaze now turned to a spot on the wall past her head.

'You were drunk, Kate. I'm still not gonna say sorry for not takin' advantage of that.'

"And everythin' else?"

She actually turns when he asks her, looking more gun shy than anything.

"Miss High an' Mighty, holdin' out for somethin' better. Better'n you, I reckon. That whomever came along should have a note from my head doctor first."

She crosses her arms over her chest and leans back, eyes on her feet.

"I wasn't the one who stormed off in a howlin' rage. An' I'm not the one who disappeared for a few months. Thank you for once again pointin' out how drunk I was, but I was sober enough t'remember that much."

'I never said you needed a note from a head doctor.'

Might have thought it, once or twice.

'As for holdin' out for somethin' better - well, tha's the way it seems. An' you can't honestly be sayin' you don' know you've been actin' weird every time I get near you.'

She presses her lips to her teeth. She's resolved not to get into a he-said-she-said with this man.

So she listens. Quietly.

"M'not tryin' t'deny it. You're right."

He must like her. He doesn't even gloat.

'Well then, what's the problem?'

She doesn't exactly look pleased to see him. And if he was right, and she was the one acting weird, then why the implication that he should be apologising for something? He will never understand women.

"That is the problem, wouldn't y'think? Fact is, you're right. I've been holdin' out. For somethin' better."

Something she can't ever have. It hasn't a thing to do with Gene, or some idea that a better offer is going to come around. She cares about him, as someone whose friendship she wants to keep. When they're not fighting like cats and dogs, she downright likes him. But he isn't the one she wants.

"I thought I could do this, but ... you're right. This was just a bad idea."

'...right.'

Well, that sorts that out then.

There's a long pause.

'Y'know,' he says, conversationally, 'some blokes would be pissed off at bein' strung along like this.'

"I didn't 'string you along'," she says quietly. "I made a genuine promise before I went t'Texas. An' the other night.. "

She kicks a barrel lightly, keeping her head turned down. The other night changed things.

"I think we jus' want different things. I can't remember the last time we laughed, Gene. That's what I like about you. But, ever since that night in your room, we jus' fight all the time. An' I'm tired of it. I don't got the heart for it no more."

'You've never asked me what I want,' he points out, his voice calmer than he actually feels.

Because she hasn't, and now she's kicking him into touch because of it.

'I'm always up for a laugh, Kate. But you're the one who ran away whenever I touched you, an' then got pissed off when I did the right thing. So I s'pose you were right at the beginning. You jus' don' fancy me.'

He says it flatly. It's a blow to his ego, of course it is. But he can be truthful about it, and then move on, if that's what she wants.

He takes the fag out of his mouth and drops it to the floor, grinding it out underfoot.

'S'pose I'll get out of your hair, then.'

Her lips part.

She knows she's asked that question a hundred times. What do you want? She still remembers their last screaming match out here, when she was ready to take his head off and he wouldn't let her. But what she doesn't remember is his answer. In all honesty, she just assumed it was a given.

She cocks her head to the side, steady eyes narrowing on him.

"What d'you want, Gene?"

He knew she was going to ask that, and he wishes she hadn't. Because it's not an easy answer, and, he imagines, not likely to win him any favours either.

He's still looking at the floor.

'Dunno.'

It's true. He doesn't really think about these things to any great degree. Gene acts; he doesn't procrastinate or navel-gaze.

'I like bein' with you when I'm here. We have fun, or we used to. I want you t'be alright. I want us t'have a laugh. I want t'go to Texas, an' I thought you wanted t'come back to Manchester.'

It would be easier to just say I want you, but he's married. And it probably wouldn't be the whole truth anyway.

'An' yes, I want t'give you a right good seein' to. You're not wrong about that.'

He meets her eyes, unapologetic.

'But it doesn' make me a bad bloke, and it's not the only thing I want you for.'

She chews on what he's saying, her expression remaining carefully pinned together in curiosity. Her eyes are the only things to move, slipping from his face when he says he wants to see to her. The vaguest traces of pink color her cheeks.

"I do want to go to Manchester."

Quiet, and a touch tentative now. She's still working on that last remark, unsure just how she's supposed to interpret that. She knows he's married; part of what makes this work is knowing he's not running for something serious, something long-term. He's safe.

"An' I did — I do — want you t'come t'Texas."

She's becoming intimate with the contours of her boots, cataloging every scuff and blemish. The last thing she had expected was for him to be so candid. Without thinking, she takes a handful of meandering steps closer to him.

"An' I never, never thought you was a bad bloke."

Gene will only pussyfoot around for so long before the truth comes blurting out. He just can't be bothered with mind games.

He doesn't come to meet her though. Not because he wants her to make the move - although that would help, come to think of it - but because he thinks getting up in her space now might well frighten her off. And if she goes this time, then that's it. Gone for good.

'Well then,' he says, calmly. 'Seems like we're pretty much on the same page after all. 'less I'm wrong?'

Blocking the door doesn't guarantee Kate won't walk away. When she sets her mind on something, she can be incredibly persuasive; a fella one foot taller isn't going to get in her way. But, she has no intentions of walking away. She doesn't even move more than those few feet. Kate will meet a man halfway, but she won't hurry to his feet.

She slips her thumbs in her pockets, and lets out a long sigh, keeping her focus on anything but Gene.

"Not quite. For one, I need you t'get it through your head that every time we squabble it don't mean I've lied t'you. I do fancy you, an' I've never once blamed you for any of my hang-ups. 'Cuz if you go on puckerin' your face up an' callin' me a tease, jus' because you've gone an' got your feelin's hurt, I'm gonna end up takin' your head off."

She turns to him, eyes sharp, and looks every inch the gunslinger she's becoming known as.

"I can be a tease when I want to, but when that happens you'll want it to. I told you before that I'm scared. An' that's more'n I'd tell most, let alone more'n once. I'm hurtin'. An' if you want someone from your time, someone who's done this before, then go. Be my guest. 'Cuz you ain't gonna find that here. I don't know how t'be anyone else."

She pauses, long enough so he can speak.

Edited 2011-09-03 16:16 (UTC)

'I don' get my feelings hurt,' he says, automatically.

It's even almost true. Ego bruised, sure. Feelings hurt? Well, sometimes, but he'll never admit it.

He sighs too, turns so his back's against the frame, and crosses his arms.

'If I wanted someone from my own time an' place, I can go and get one. D'you reckon I go through all this with every random bird I wan' t'shag? 'Cos I don't.'

He feels the need to be clear there, seeing as clarity is the order of the day. And in the interests of meeting her halfway, he visibly struggles for a minute, and then adds,

'Might even get that test you want, if it'll make it easier.'

Edited 2011-09-03 18:00 (UTC)

"You would?"

That pulls her up short. She doesn't even school her expression, though he's certain to see the appreciation in her eyes and tell her not to be such a girl.

He glances at her, nods once, shortly, and then looks away.

He doesn't like it. But he'll do it.

It helps when he thinks of it as a way to prove her wrong about him, rather than making poncey, and unnecessary concessions.

She doesn't say anything for an awkwardly long stretch of time. She's stunned, plain and simple. Saying the very last thing she'd expect to hear coming from his mouth also seems to be the order of the day. But after the last time they spoke, who would've thought he'd ever say yes?

She blinks, lowering her eyes. Half a dozen responses come immediately to mind — most prominent of which being 'why?' But there's really only one thing that should be said.

"Thank you."

She wraps her arms around her middle, line forming between her brows.

He shrugs a shoulder, and lights another cigarette.

OK. Awkward.

He clears his throat.

'So. What now?'

Kate wanders to the closest wall, leaning back against it.

"So."

(She looks so small.)

"Where do we keep goin' wrong?"

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