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rollingsins · 1 year

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all hers, part ix

summary: You don’t mean to take it out on Tara. It’s just she’s there, constantly. Usually, it makes your heart swell. Today, it annoys you.

warnings: (+18), ghostface!tara, mention of murder, drug abuse, angst, hurt/comfort.

word count: 6.4k

a/n: this one is a bit of a behemoth, pretty angsty so prepare yourselves - reader dealing with the fallout of the last chapter. as always, thanks for all the love and don’t be afraid to hit the ask box and tell me what you want to see next! :)

The days following Wes’ death pass by in a blur.

Tara gets a frantic call from his mother the next day, asking if she’s seen him. Chad calls next, followed by Mindy. His friends want to band together, go out to all his favorite places and look for him.

You want to stay home and curl up into a ball.

That’s not an option.

“We can’t act suspicious.” Tara tells you, with all the experience of a seasoned killer, “We have to be worried for him, but not too much. You have to believe he can still come home.”

The entire ordeal is exhausting.

You spend Saturday traipsing around the back of Chad’s car, Tara’s hand clutched tightly in your own. You try not to say too much, your heart beats loud out of your chest everytime someone directs a question at you.

Tara is brilliant. Just the right amount of concern. She dials Wes’ phone multiple times throughout the day, like he’ll pick up, tell her not to worry. She insists Chad drive to Wes’ old house a few towns over. Leads the group with feigned hopefulness.

It’s a little unnerving just how good she is at it.

You do alright in front of Tara’s friends. Quiet, clutching at her like if you let go you’d spiral. But that wasn’t unusual behavior for you. Tara kisses your forehead on the drive back, tugs you into her side, reassuring hand rubbing circles on your back.

But it’s later that night, when Wes’ mom makes a surprise house call that your façade crumbles.

You’re in the kitchen when you see her. Your heart shoots up into your throat, the plate you’re holding almost clatters to the ground. She’s in her squad car, Sheriff’s hat firmly tilted onto her head.

“Tara.” You murmur in a panic. She’s by your side at once, linking her arms around your waist to hold you tight. You feel her tense as she catches sight of the woman at the door.

“Let me do the talking, baby.” Tara says. She presses her lips to the side of your head.

And just as the doorbell rings, she slides over to open the door.

“Mrs Hicks.” You hear her say, “Please, come in.”

Together, they wander into the kitchen. You nod slightly, in greeting. Your palms are clammy, you wipe them against your pants and hope she doesn’t notice.

“It’s Sheriff Hicks, today Tara.” Judy says. Her voice is a little shaky. Red-rimmed are her eyes. It breaks your heart.

“I’m here on official business.”

“We haven’t seen him.” Tara says, her low, apologetic, “We’ve been out looking for him all day. The diner, the cinema. We even drove over to Millwood, thought he might have gone back there. Right, babe?”

Tara looks at you. Eyes soft, kind, encouraging. You nod, swiftly.

“No sign of him.” Is your croaky response. “I’m really sorry, Sheriff.”

Judy swallows. Her shoulders are tense, defeated. “Thank you, girls. But that isn’t what I’m here about.”

Tara tilts her head. Your heart skips a beat.

“Some of the other officers thought maybe he-” Judy swallows, “Maybe he might have run away. Perhaps he met a girl. But I know my son. He wouldn’t just up and leave, not like that. Not without saying goodbye. He’s a good boy.”

Her voice quivers. You curl your fingernails into your palm so hard it might bleed.

“You’re his friends. You know him… differently than I do.” She says, “He tells you things he doesn’t tell me. Was there a girl? A boy? Anyone?”

Tara’s eyes lock with yours.

“I don’t think so,” She says, slow. Like she’s trying to think on the spot, “He never told me - us, about any girls. Or boys. Besides, you're right. He wouldn't leave without saying goodbye. That isn’t him.”

Judy nods fervently, as if her theory has been confirmed.

“What about…” Judy swallows, like the words are hard to get out, “Enemies. People that didn’t like him. People that may have wanted to hurt him.”

“Everyone likes Wes.” You say. Your mouth is dry, your words slightly shaky. Judy and Tara both look over to you, “He doesn’t have enemies. He’s a sweet guy.”

“I don’t think anyone would want to hurt him.” Tara interjects quickly, trying to get Judy’s eyes off you. “You don’t think… you don’t think it’s Ghostface, do you?”

Silence hangs throughout the room.

Your eyes flit to Judy, study her expression. Pale-faced, she blinks back at Tara.

“It’s not Ghostface’s MO.” She says, finally, “Ghostface is flashier. He leaves bodies, crime scenes. He wants them to be found. He doesn’t hide his crimes.”

Tara breathes a sigh of relief, “Good. Then we’ll keep looking. Maybe he got overwhelmed, with school and finals coming up. Maybe he just - I don’t know, freaked out.”

Judy stares, “Has he expressed concern about school to you?”

Tara nods, “Yeah. Of course, we’re all worried about finals. And the SAT, coming up. And with college prep, essays, sometimes I want to run away and forget it all too.”

She jots something down in her notes. You crane your head slightly, trying to see. A scribble of words, nothing you can make out.

“When was the last time you saw him?”

Your heart thumps. You’d talked about this, you weren’t to say Wes had come to the house that day, that’d been a no brainer.

“Thursday at lunch.” Tara says, smoothly, not missing a beat, “He wasn’t in school Friday.”

“And how was he?”

“Quiet.” Tara says, truthfully, “We didn’t really speak much. Sometimes he gets like that, you know, in his own head about stuff.”

Judy nods, as if she’s familiar.

“And you didn’t see him after that? Not in the hallway, not between classes?”

Tara shakes her head. “We didn’t, right baby?”

You nod. “I didn’t see him after lunch.”

Judy’s gaze is piercing. You briefly wonder if she can see right through you. You’re not a good liar, not like Tara. If Judy came any closer, she’d see you were sweating buckets.

Judy looks away, scribbles down something else on her notepad. Then she looks up, a little resigned.

“Thanks for your time girls.”

“I’m sorry we couldn't be more helpful,” Says Tara. You chew your lip, watch as Tara takes Judy by surprise in a warm hug.

“He’ll show up. I promise.”

You’re shaking when she leaves.

Tara takes you in her arms, holds you close.

“You did good, baby.” She murmurs, “She believed us. Everything’s okay.”

Everything is not in fact, okay.

Sunday is spent in turmoil. You’re agonizing. Long showers, hoping the steam will clear the fog in your head. Sleepless nights, tossing and turning, imagining Wes’ body floating up to the surface. Imagining the look on his mother’s face as she came upon her baby boy, blue and lifeless.

Tara’s trying to help, you can see it. She cooks you your favorite meals, runs you hot bubble baths, even sits through Grease just to make you happy. But nothing works.

You can’t forget what you did.

And if you were honest, seeing her face just reminded you of the sick and depraved things you’d done for her.

It’s Monday. You’re running on maybe eight hours sleep over three nights. You feel sick, you’re pale. Dark circles under your eyes. You need sleep. More than anything, you need a reprieve from her. She’s gorgeous, doting, wonderful. You don’t want her to be right now. You don’t deserve her to be after what you’ve done.

You’re spiraling in your own guilt.

Instead, you contemplate spending the night apart.

It might be good for you, to sleep in your own bed. Not worry about waking her up with your constant tossing and turning. It would allow you the time you needed to sort out the hellish landscape of your thoughts. It might let you finally get some sleep.

You send Tara a text after English.

Going to stay at my place tonight, just need a night by myself. Love you, see you tomorrow xx

She doesn’t reply, which you expected. Tara hates when you do things like this, veer off her perfectly crafted routine. More than anything, she hates being apart from you. You’d expect she would sulk for a couple of days, maybe try and call you later, convince you to come home with her.

What you didn’t expect is being woken at half-past eleven by the loud thump of Tara climbing into your bedroom window.

You look over at her, groggy. Sleep in your eyes.

“What are you doing?” Is your confused, sleepy question.

It’s dark, but you can still see the cast of vague annoyance on her face from the streetlights.

“What are you doing? Why are you here? Come home.”

“I’m just…” You can’t describe it. The thought of being curled up in bed with her while Wes lies at the bottom of the river makes you feel sick to your stomach. You don’t deserve it. You deserve to be here alone, toiling in your own guilt. “I just want one night to myself, is that so much to ask?”

“Why?”

“I don’t have to explain myself to you.” You snap. You’d finally gotten to sleep after hours of trying. It was good sleep too, dreamless. Wes nowhere in sight. A heavy, sinking feeling blooms through your chest as you realize it will take you another two hours to get back to sleep, “We don’t have to do everything together. You’ll survive one night without me.”

Hurt flashes through her pretty features. She stands, hands limp at her side. It isn’t often she doesn’t know what to do. Usually she’d take control. Press you up against the mattress and fuck you into doing what she wanted. You half dare her to try. She must see in your eyes you’re not in the mood because she doesn’t come an inch closer, just stands at the base of the bed staring over at you.

“Is this about Wes? You’re mad at me because of… his death.”

The memory coils hot and fast within you.

The knife. The blood. The body.

You swallow it down.

“I’m not mad at you, Tara. I just want one night in my own bed.”

She stares at you a moment longer. Then slips off her jacket.

“Fine.” She says, reaches down to pull off her shoes. You sit up, reaction immediate.

“No, babe.” You tell her firmly, “You can’t stay here with me. You need to go home. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“You can’t be serious.” Disbelief on her face. You haven’t spent a night apart in months.

“I’m serious, Tara. Please, go home. I’ll talk to you in the morning.”

She looks so small in the moonlight. The look on her face crushes you. You almost take it back, you want to reach out and take her in your arms. No. This is the best you’d slept in nights. And she was a big girl, she’ll survive one night without you.

She doesn’t say a word as she climbs back out the window.

You don’t sleep well. The ghost of Wes hangs over you heavy, taunting. Frustrated, you kick off your blankets, try another position. Your back. Your stomach. Your side. Everytime you close your eyes, he’s there.

When you wake, it feels like you’ve barely slept at all.

Tara’s waiting for you by the curb when you head out. She’s in the driver's seat, her hair is a little ruffled. She’s still in the same clothes she wore yesterday. Your stomach sinks.

“Did you sleep in your car?”

Tara looks up at you with tired eyes, wide, vulnerable.

“I wanted to be close to you.” Her voice is soft.

You sigh. Climb into the passenger seat. You reach over and take her face in your hands, stroke her cheek. Her eyes flutter closed at your touch.

“You look exhausted.” You say, brushing your fingers over the circles under her eyes.

“I didn’t sleep much.” She admits. “Are you mad at me?”

You lean over and press a lingering kiss to her lips.

“No. I’m sorry. I just needed the night to… process.”

“Process what?”

“You know what.”

She’s quiet for a moment.

“And have you? Processed?”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Oh.” Is all she says. Then. “Are you coming home tonight?”

“Is that all you care about? Having me in your bed?”

Irritation swells in your chest. It’s easy for her. You know she doesn’t care about the people she’s killed. You know she doesn't feel remorse. You’d had to make her swear black and blue not to do it again. It isn’t the same for you.

Wes is eating you alive.

“Of course not.” She says. She blinks over at you, choosing her words carefully. “I just want to be there for you.”

You sink back into your own seat. The lack of sleep has you feeling nauseous again. Irritated. Irritated with her.

“Then give me space when I ask for space.”

She stares at you for a long moment.

“Okay.”

You’re in a foul mood by the time school lets out.

You don’t mean to take it out on Tara. It’s just she’s there. Constantly. She knows your schedule by heart so she’s always there to walk you to your next class. She’s there at lunch, she’s there during History and Math, she’s there waiting for you by your locker when it’s time to go home.

Usually, it makes your heart swell.

Today, it annoys you.

“How are you feeling?” Is what she says on the walk back to the car.

Horrible, you want to say, like I want to crawl out of my own skin.

Instead, you give a noncommittal shrug.

“Okay.”

She surveys you. Reaches over to open your door for you, the way she always does. The guilt, the sleep deprivation take over.

“I can open my own door Tara, I’m not an invalid.” You snap. Brush her out of the way. You don’t bother looking back. By the time she’s in her own seat you’ve nestled yourself against the side of the car door, as far from her as possible.

“Drive me home.” You say. She looks over at you, a little hopeful.

“To our home?”

“To my home. I need another night.”

You can see the gears churning in her head. Her hands grip tighter on the wheel. You half expect her to tell you no, take you back to her house. If she tries, you’ll walk home. You’re not in the mood. Instead, she shifts the gear into drive.

“Okay.” She says, voice small, resigned.

You don’t kiss her goodbye.

You spend the night tossing and turning again. The moment you close your eyes all you can see is Wes. The look on his face when he’d realized. The feeling of the knife in your hands, cool, almost weightless as you’d driven it through his skin. Judy’s face, red, tear-stained, when she’d all but begged you for answers.

This bed is cold, unfamiliar. You miss your girlfriend. You miss the smell of her skin, the weight of her arm curling tight around your waist. Guilt churns deep in your stomach. Guilt for Wes, mostly, but for her too. What kind of girlfriend were you? All alone in a bed perfectly good for two while you know she’s outside, trying to get comfortable in the driver’s seat of her car because she can’t stand to be a minute without you.

You stare up at the ceiling, contemplating. With a sigh, you lift yourself out of bed and move to the window.

You can see her car from here. She’s in the driver’s seat, reclined slightly, as she settles down for the night.

Your heart twists, painfully. You don’t want to do this, push her away. But you have been. You’re punishing her for something you did. You chew your lip for a moment, then nudge your window open, climbing out onto the roof.

She doesn’t see you approach. Her eyes are closed. She looks so uncomfortable trying to lean against the side of the headrest. You shiver at the cool air of the night, tap gently on her window as not to startle her.

She blinks up at you a moment. Hesitant as she rolls down her window, like you’re about to snap at her again.

Instead, you pull the driver's door open.

“Come inside.” You murmur.

She pauses. Surveys the look on your face.

“I thought you needed space.”

“I need you to get a good night’s sleep. You’re not going to get it sleeping out here.”

She’s silent for a moment. Then nods, climbing out of the driver’s seat.

She’s unsure, hesitant. So unlike Tara. You take her hand, lead her back up to the roof to climb inside your bedroom window.

You climb into bed, open your arms for her.

“Come here.”

She doesn’t give you a moment to change your mind. She slips off her jacket and her jeans and nestles herself into you instantly. She feels so good against you, warm skin, her lips grazing your collarbone as she tangles her legs with yours.

You press a kiss to the top of her head. Breathe her in. You missed her so much, more than you care to admit. It’s kind of pathetic.

“I’m sorry.” You say, thread your fingers through her hair, “I didn’t mean to snap at you today. It wasn’t fair.”

She doesn’t say anything. Grips your hips so tightly it might bruise.

“You don’t have to push me away.” She says after a long moment. “I know it’s hurting you. You can talk to me.”

“I know, babe.” You say, press a tender kiss to her forehead. “Go to sleep, we’ll talk in the morning.”

She’s exhausted, you can tell by the way she falls asleep against you in minutes. Soft, tiny sounds of her breathing even, her mouth falling open slightly. You kiss her forehead once more, try to focus on the press of her against you rather than the thoughts running wild through your head.

Wes. Wes. Wes.

Wes in English class, smiling softly at you as you ask to borrow a pen. Wes at one of Amber’s parties, choking on smoke the first time he’d tried one of Mindy’s special blunts. Wes at the bottom of the river, dead, his life stolen from him. By you.

Not even Tara can save you from your own thoughts.

When she wakes, bleary-eyed and smiling, perfectly rested, you’re running on less than two hours sleep.

“You didn’t sleep well.” She says, sounding a little crest-fallen as she touches your face.

“It’s okay.” You murmur. Kiss her palm. “Come on, we’re going to be late for school.”

You spend the day on auto-pilot. Listen to your teachers blare on, not taking in a word.

The other students gossip between lessons. They wonder where Wes is. Everytime you hear his name the back of your eyes burn.

By lunch, you’re pale. Nauseous. You push your food around your plate, not having the stomach to eat it. Is this what it’s going to be like for the rest of your life? Sleepless nights, hellish days? You’re so caught in your own thoughts you barely register Tara slinking into the seat next to you.

She’s pushing a small packet of blue pills onto your lunch tray.

“What are these?” You ask, a little confused.

“Xanax. I got them from Chad. It’s supposed to help you relax.” Tara says, voice soft, “I thought they might help you sleep.”

She rubs your back. Your neck prickles uncomfortably.

‘I don’t want them.”

Tara watches you for a moment.

“Baby. You need to sleep. Look at you; you’re exhausted.”

“I don’t want pills, Tara. Get rid of them.”

She looks like she wants to argue. But then Liv is dropping down into the seat across from you. She’s tearful. Like it just hit her that Wes was gone. Tara takes the pills reluctantly, slips them into the pocket of her jacket.

Your ears burn with each of Liv’s wails. Tara’s hand doesn’t leave your back.

You drive home in silence. You’d agreed to go home with her tonight. It’s pointless, trying to sleep alone. Wes follows you no matter whose bed you’re in. At least one of you should get a good night’s rest. Tara cooks for you, all but settles herself in your lap as you eat. The press of her body on your skin feels wrong.

“Let’s watch Mamma Mia.” She suggests out of nowhere the moment the food is gone.

You look over at her.

“You hate Mamma Mia.”

“I don’t hate it.” She brushes off, standing to clear your plate, “Besides, you love it. It might make you feel better.”

You’re too tired to argue. You let her put on the movie, wrap a blanket around both of your bodies. You barely look at the screen. Wes is back, this time he’s older. He has a wife, two children. He leans down, kisses her. Then he looks right at you.

Don’t you see, he says, sparkling blue eyes filled with pain, don’t you see what you took from me?

When the movie’s over, Tara’s nudging you into bed. She tangles herself in you, as usual. Your stony silence doesn’t deter her. Then she’s pressing a hot kiss to your chest and sinking down your body.

“What are you doing?” You murmur. Her hands rub against your thighs, comfortingly.

She presses her lips to your stomach.

“Loving you.”

She feels so good, bare against you. Her lips make you shiver. You close your eyes, try to enjoy the press of her skin. She dips down a little lower, tugs your underwear down just slightly, so she can kiss the top of your pubic bone. You sink back into the mattress, try to keep your focus on her.

Her lips. Her eyes. Her body. You imagine her naked, fingers thrusting into you. Kissing her, feeling her weight on you.

And then Wes jumps back to your mind.

I’m dead, The ghost of Wes taunts, his lips curled in a snarl, and you’re having sex?

You flinch just as her lips graze your inner thigh. You clutch at her shoulders, freezing her in place.

“Stop.”

She looks up at you.

“Stop? What’s wrong?”

What’s wrong? You would laugh if you didn’t want to cry. Instead you sit up, try and pull yourself away from her.

“I’m not in the mood, Tara.” The words feel strange coming from your lips. You’re always in the mood for this. For her.

“It might help you relax.” She’s gripping your hips, tight, not letting you run from her. She presses another kiss to your hip. “Let me help you, baby.”

“You can’t help me, Tara.” You say, agony in your voice, “You can’t make this better. I killed someone. Giving me pills and making me watch Mamma Mia is not going to fix that. Going down on me is not going to change the fact that Wes is dead. And it’s my fault.”

She stares up at you for a long moment.

“It’s my fault.” Tara says, quietly, “Not yours. You were protecting me. If you want someone to blame, blame me.”

“You didn’t make me pick up that knife. I could have- I could have let him go. I could have just taken you and we could have run.”

“And then what?” Her gaze is piercing, “Run where? Hole up in some cabin in the woods? They’d have found us in a week.”

You slump back into the pillow.

“I don’t know.”

She crawls back up to you, tugs up into her body.

You shiver at her touch, but this time it’s not in a good way. Her skin burns you. You shuffle out of her grip, tug the blankets tight around yourself. She stares. Annoyance blooms across her face.

“Can you stop pushing me away?”

“Can you stop smothering me?” You growl back. You’ve had enough. You just want her to leave you alone. You want to crawl under the covers and weep. You want to punish yourself for what you’ve done. You don’t want her soft kisses, you don’t want her telling you it’ll all be okay. You’re grieving. In taking Wes’ life, you’d also taken a part of your own.

And she just couldn’t understand.

“Me trying to take care of you is smothering you, now?” She can’t mask the hurt in her voice. It makes you ache.

“Stop, Tara, please.” You all but beg, “I don’t want to talk and I don’t want to fuck you. I just want to be left alone.”

She’s silent. You feel the tears in your eyes spill over as she turns away from you, slumping to the otherside of the bed. She switches off the lamp beside the bed without a word, encasing the both of you in darkness.

You should feel bad. You don’t want to hurt her. Instead, you feel relief. Enough for you to fall asleep, body tilted as far from Tara as possible, cheeks still wet with tears. Wes’ grip lessens on you for only a moment.

And then he terrorizes you in your dreams.

Your Dad calls you in the morning, right after your shower.

Tara hasn’t spoken a word to you this morning, no doubt afraid you’ll snap at her again. Instead, she left your breakfast on the nightstand without her usual morning kiss.

“Hi, sweetheart.” He says, “I heard about what happened with your friend Wes. Are you okay?”

Your lip trembles.

No, you want to say, I killed him and then used your suitcase to toss his body into the river. And it’s tearing me apart.

Instead you let out a shaky sigh.

“I’m alright.”

A lie even he can see through. He pauses.

“Why don’t you take the rest of the week off school?” He says, not unkindly, “Why don’t we go up to the cabin. You and me and mom. Just the three of us.”

His pointed way of ensuring Tara isn’t invited. You bite your lip. The cabin does sound tempting. Isolated, empty. No classmates drumming on about Wes. No Judy. No Tara.

“Okay.” You say, “The cabin sounds good.”

“I’ll pick you up after school.” Your Dad says. “Then you can come home and pack a bag.”

When you wander downstairs, dressed for school, Tara’s waiting for you at the kitchen table. She looks up at you, hesitant.

“Did you sleep okay?” She asks.

“Not really.”

“Oh.” She looks down at her cereal, like she doesn’t know what to say. You sink down into the seat opposite her. Cross your arms.

“I’m sorry that I snapped at you last night.” You say. “Again.”

“It’s okay.” She says, voice soft.

It’s not okay. You hate this. You hate when she hurts.

You shake your head, “I don’t want us to… I don’t like it when I hurt you. Which is why I…” You trail off. Look away.

Her gaze is piercing.

“Why you, what?”

“Why I’m leaving tonight. Up to the cabin with my parents.”

She stares.

“For how long?”

You shrug. “I don’t know. A week, maybe? Two if I’m lucky.”

Silence. She stares across at you, eyes flitting between yours, like she’s trying to read your mind.

“Is this- are you breaking up with me?” Her shoulders are tight. Voice small. She looks as though she might cry. You reach across the table, grip her hand.

“No. Of course not, never.”

It doesn’t reassure her. She looks back at you, searchingly.

“I just think we need some time apart.” You continue, “So I can process properly. All I’m doing right now is hurting you and I don’t want that. It’ll be good for us, some space. For both of us.”

“I don’t want space from you.” Tara says, her eyebrows knit, “I don’t care if you snap at me. Or if you yell at me or blame me. I just want to be with you.”

You reach for her, stroke her cheek with your free hand.

“I want to be with you too. But not like this, baby. I don’t want to yell at you and I don’t want to blame you. I love you.”

“Then stay.” She pleads. Her eyes glassy, tears pricking at the corner of her eyes, “If you loved me you wouldn’t leave me.”

“I do love you. That’s why I’m going.” You murmur and watch as the tears spill down her cheeks.

You reach for her, pull her into your arms, “Please don’t cry, babe.”

She sniffles into your chest. You clutch her tight, close your eyes. You don’t want to leave her, not like this. You know how she gets when you’re away from her. But if you stay, you’ll only end up hurting her more. Snapping at her more. And she doesn’t deserve that.

“It’s only a week.” You tell her. Press a gentle kiss to her forehead, “And then I’ll be right back here with you, where I belong.”

It’s not only a week.

You reach the cabin by sunset, settle in for a long night of playing cards with your parents, helping your Dad cook hotdogs on the grill. The cabin air is cooler, fresh. The smell of pine trees and firewood encases you. You don’t think once about Wes all evening.

When you settle down to sleep that night, you’re gone the moment your head hits the pillow.

The days pass in a blur. Wes is still there, haunting you, but it’s like his voice has softened. It’s getting easier to tune him out.

You message Tara every night before you go to bed, tell her you love her and you’re thinking about her.

She never replies. She got like this when she was mad at you. Stony and silent.

You don’t dwell. You know the moment you’re back in her arms all will be forgiven.

You think long and hard about what Tara had said that night, right before you left. If you’d let him go.

And then what? Hole up in some cabin in the woods? They’d have found us in a week.

She was right. What kind of life would that be? For you, sure, but also for her. She’d never see Sam again. Never see her friends. She’s smart, far too smart to spend the rest of her life chopping logs for the fireplace and living in fear one day she’d be caught. She deserves to go to Brown, or Yale, or one of the other plethora of colleges throwing themselves at her. She deserves to be free, happy.

You want her to be happy.

And you don’t want to punish her, not anymore.

Sleep is a funny thing, you muse one day as you’re sitting on a deck chair by the lake. Everything had seemed so bad when you couldn’t get it. Like the world was ending, like your life was ending.

Now, well-rested, with ten days of dreamless nights under your belt, you see things clearer.

Your heart still aches for Wes. But he’s gone. Tara, your Tara, is still here. You want to get back to her. Tell her how much you love her. Tell her you’ll stand by her side no matter what. Tell her you’re done pushing her away.

The drive back to Woodsboro is cathartic.

Your heartbeat doesn’t drum at the sign of the town sign. You don’t scour the streets, seeing Wes in every face. You’re calm. Collected.

And then your Dad drops you at Tara’s house and everything crumbles.

“Babe?” You say as you draw your key through the front door, “I’m home.”

The house is still, silent.

It’s Friday night, usually the house is filled with laughter. The blare of a horror movie. The smell of Tara’s cooking filling the kitchen.

Instead it’s quiet. It smells stale. Empty takeout boxes litter the kitchen bench.

You pad through the house, trying to find her.

“Tara? Where are you, baby?”

She isn’t in the kitchen, nor the den. She’s not in her bedroom either. The curtains are drawn, the bed is unmade and empty. Beer bottles, old joints littered across the floor.

You frown, starting to get concerned.

“Darling? Are you home?”

You reach into your pocket, dial her number. It rings out, to no answer. But through the walls you hear the faint drum of her phone buzzing against the tile of the bathroom floor.

You open the door, and your heart drops in your throat.

Tara’s in the bath, naked, water up to her chest.

Her eyes are closed, empty bottle of whiskey in one hand.

You race to her, drop down to your knees.

“Tara. Baby, wake up.”

She makes a faint sound, and relief floods through your body. The bath water is freezing, like she’s been in here for hours. You don’t care, plunge your hands in to try and support her quivering body. Her eyes droop open, only slightly.

“YN?” She says, barely audible. You pull her close. Water spills down your front as you take her in your arms.

And then you spot the pills littered across the floor.

“Did you take these?” You ask, panic flooding through you. There were ten when she’d handed you them that day in the cafeteria. Now, you can only see three or four. You lean down, try and look into her eyes. They’re drowsy, unfocused. You pry the whiskey bottle out of her hand. “Did you mix it with this?”

She’s too far gone to respond. You muster every ounce of strength you have to pull her out of the bath. She’s heavier than usual, floppy. She slumps down onto the tile as you reach for a towel to wrap around her shivering body.

“Oh, Tara, baby.” You hold her close, try to stop the swell of tears that floods through you, “It’s going to be okay, honey, I’m going to call an ambulance.”

The minutes pass in a blur. You sob down the line to 911, almost scream at them to come as fast as they can.

Then, you hold her tight. Hold her as the responders help pull her onto a stretcher. Hold her through the agonizingly long ride to the hospital.

They pump her stomach, put her in a private room.

When she wakes, bleary-eyed and confused, you still haven’t let go.

“Hi, beautiful.” You murmur, press your hand to her cheek. She looks so small in the hospital bed, tubes in her nose, band around her wrist.

“You’re here.” She says, faintly. Like she can’t believe it.

You grip her hand, lean down to kiss it.

“I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

You shuffle your chair a little closer, press a kiss to her forehead.

“Don’t you ever do that to me again.” You say, resting your nose against her cheek, “I’m serious, baby, if you had died…”

You trail off, not wanting to finish the thought.

“What were you doing? Pills and whiskey? You know what happens when you mix them.”

She knew it very well. There’d been an incident with her mom, a few summers back. When she’d told you about it she swore she’d never touch the stuff.

“I don’t know.” She says, a little heavy, “I couldn’t stand not being with you. I just wanted to make it stop for a few hours.”

“Oh, baby.” You squeeze her tight.

Before you can say anything else, the door is opening.

It’s Chad, Liv on his arm. He looks stricken as he looks down and sees Tara lying in her hospital bed.

“Oh shit.” He says. “Are you okay?”

“Does she look okay?” You challenge, “What the hell were you thinking, Chad? Why did you give her those pills?”

Fury courses thick and fast through your veins. You’d hit him, as hard as you could if you weren’t so concerned with staying close to Tara.

“I’m sorry.” He says, eyes mournful, “I didn’t know she was going to- I didn’t know she was going to take all of them.”

“What kind of an excuse is that?”

Tara squeezes your hand.

“It’s not his fault, babe.”

“You shush.” You tell her, press another heavy kiss to the top of her head, “I’m still mad at you.”

“We’ll give you a minute.” Liv says, eyeing the two of you, “Right, Chad?”

He nods. Looks between you, mournful.

“I’ll be outside. I’m really sorry, Tara.”

You wait until they shut the door, then clamber up into the bed with her. Take her in your arms.

She looks up at you.

“You’re still mad? About Wes?”

“No, baby.” You lean down, press your lips to hers for the first time in days. Feel her sigh against you. Then nudge your nose against hers.

“I’m sorry about last week. I’m sorry about the way I left. I just needed to get away.”

She looks at you, quiet trepidation in her eyes.

“I thought you might not come back.” She admits.

“I will always come back to you.” You promise. Kiss her once more. Her eyebrows knit tight.

“You say that like you’re leaving again.” She says, accusation in her voice. Her hands grip tight at the front of your shirt, like she’ll pull you down into her if you try.

You shake your head, pull her into your neck.

“I’m not, I promise.” You say, “And I want you to promise me you’ll never do this again. Not ever.”

She curls her body into yours. Relaxes slightly against you.

“Tara.”

“I promise.” She says, finally. “I’m sorry I scared you.”

“Go to sleep, baby-girl.” You tell her, rub her hand over her back, “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“But Chad and Liv-”

“Chad’s about to get his ass whooped and I don’t want you awake for it.” You say, only half-kidding. You can see him peering into the window from the hall.

“Don’t.” She mumbles. She’s tired, eyes drooping against your chest, “You’ll ruin your pretty hands.”

And then she drifts off against you. You hold her tight, rub her head soothingly. The room falls quiet. Wes is there, faintly in the back of your mind. He’s screaming.

you don’t deserve to be happy, He cries. Bangs his hands against the steel box of your brain he lives in, she doesn’t deserve to be happy.

You shut him out, and instead focus on the steady sound of Tara’s breathing.

Next part

#scream #tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter #jenna ortega #all hers #mine #fanfiction #jenna ortega x reader #tara carpenter x you #tara carpenter imagines #tara carpenter x fem reader

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wexhappyxfew · 2 months

Text

very thought of you

(a/n): judy rybinski, my sweet sunshine child, you deserve the very best for all the emotion you hold in and try to hide. enjoy your dance with rosie rosenthal girl <3333

She found that nights after missions, the flying club was usually left pretty quiet.

Of course, there was soft jazz from the corner, a few people sat around talking quietly with one another, sharing drinks, or tired conversation, but it was never alive with life like it had been in the summer - when people had still been fairly filled with something more than life.

Judy sat at the table her and Bessie had occupied a few times when people would be on the dance floor, twisting and twirling one another like it was the night of their lives. She always would watch - the airmen with a lady from town or a nurse or a Clubmobile girl, the smiles on their faces, their giggles, the whispering and exchanging of jokes or conversation there in a tightly-held embrace.

She always wondered what that would be like - wrapped in the arms of someone, to dance with them, gaze into their eyes, and just for once, have it just be the two of them. Whoever that other person may be.

A few of the girls hadn't bothered to come tonight - some of the recent happenings were seemingly getting to everyone. With the fresh losses of Major Cleven, Major Egan, Brady, DeMarco, their crews and just about every other notable face they'd flown in here with, some people were doing better than others. Some just wanted to be left alone, others came to have a drink, make conversation, some sat and read or smoked or stared at the sky.

Judy had to get out of the barracks and be in some fresher air with some of the men - Dougie usually was always a good face to have around, Ev Blakely a comforting shoulder. Crosby was usually around, but he wasn't taking Bubbles' loss too well either. They seemed to all be picking up the pieces of what was lost. And it wasn't going entirely too well.

Judy sat with a Coca-Cola, straying a bit from the idea of a beer - she just couldn't enjoy the thought of a beer as she sat alone at a table, staring out towards an empty dance floor. The idea was almost haunting - enjoy beer, while Major Cleven and Major Egan were MIA or dead? The thought was almost too much.

So, she sat alone with her Coca-Cola and enjoyed the quiet hum of the music and the half-written letter to her siblings and parents back home in North Carolina and was content with that for the minute.

Leaning her head on her upbent arm against the table, she glanced towards the entrance and was surprised to see Lieutenant Rosenthal coming through the doorway, removing his peak cap, a small smile on his face, tired eyes wandering the group, before moving towards the bar. His fort had taken some pretty hard hits after the mission today - the first back from R&R, which had been quite enjoyable as it was just his crew and Silver Bullets. The few conversations they'd had there hadn't been much. Just in passing, or he'd offer her a wave if he was on the grounds. But he'd been in another world it seemed, his head in the sky, body on the ground.

And so now, seeing him after all their first missions back, she would've thought he'd be out with his fort or asleep.

Seeing him here, she smiled a bit.

Judy glanced back to the empty dance floor, a soft crooning Ella Fitzgerald song above her as she let the music take her a bit.

"I was beginning to wonder if any of the Silver Bullets were going to make it out tonight," she heard a voice say and she slowly glanced upward to find Lieutenant Rosenthal there, a Coca-Cola in his own hand and a smile on his face, "mind if I join you?" Judy froze for a moment, her brain rewiring it felt, before she nodded and sat up a bit.

"Of course, sir." she said, "Please." She nodded to the other seat at the table and he sent her a quiet gaze, before settling down in the chair and turning his head her way.

"You doing okay?" he asked her, "I've been meaning to check in on Annie, but….." Judy watched him for a moment, his comforting eyes something that drew her in that very instance and it made her feel like she could say anything in her mind, right to him and he'd understand.

"I'm okay," Judy said quietly, "just….had to take time out of the barracks. Lieutenant Bradshaw's…..she's….." Judy's words trailed off in a pathetic attempt to cover up what Annie was really feeling. The dark circles under her eyes, the sleepless nights, the night-wandering, the mornings they'd find Annie outside, sat on the step, out-cold from exhaustion.

"It's okay," Rosenthal said, "I'll talk to her later. I know people aren't feeling the best in the past few weeks. What about you?" Judy looked to him and offered an impromptu smile his way.

"Alright, sir." Judy said, and then nodded, "Best I can. I guess you could say, I'm trying to keep going, keep smiling….for the others." Rosenthal smiled and lightly tilted his head toward her.

"I think that'll be good for everyone in the long run," he told her, but then leaned against the table and lowered his voice, "but, truly, you don't have to do that for me." Judy stared at him, her heart pounding, her emotion building somewhere in her head, behind her eyes and she saw that look on his face and knew that things were coming to a head.

"You okay?" he asked her quietly, and that's when her eyes welled with tears.

There was something about people like Major Cleven, Major Egan, Captain Faulkner, Lieutenant Bradshaw and now…Lieutenant Rosenthal. They were people Judy trusted with her life, because they were all some of the best leaders the 100th would ever see in her mind. And they were people that cared about their group, their men, their fort, people that wanted the best and would lead the best they could for the bettering of the group.

And usually, they could manage to get Judy's water-works going.

Because they saw her in a way others didn't. They cared. She put up her walls, put on the smile, and continued like that. Day in and day out. And without fail, those walls would get battered and bruised, and she'd be standing behind it, barely keeping it up, tears in her eyes, limbs shaking. And that's how she was right now - like Lieutenant Rosenthal could see right through to her.

Judy watched him with tears in her eyes. Then, she watched his hand slowly reach forward and grasp one of her own, lazily laid upon the table, his larger hand encasing her own in a warm, consoling embrace. She sniffled and watched through blurred eyes as his thumb gently brushed against her rough skin - between the gloves and the machinery in the ball turret, her hands had seemingly taken the brunt of it all.

Yet, his touch was present and there and grounding her in a way in that very moment that nothing else seemed to be. She wished she was stronger than this sometimes. But maybe she'd been strong for too long. Something in her head told her this didn't mean anything - his touch, him looking at her like that - but then the tiny voice in her head said something else, something deeper. That it meant everything.

"Here," he said, reaching into his pocket and producing a handkerchief.

"Thank you, sir," she said, taking it, through a rather tearful admission of thanks and he smiled at her and grasped her hand a bit tighter.

"No need to thank me," he said, "and….it's just Robert…or Rosie. You don't need to call me sir." She stared at him, and then managed a slight smile and nodded. She wiped at her eyes and then let out a weak sigh and looked to him. He watched her tentatively as she tightly grasped the handkerchief, and stared at their hands there on the table.

It was quiet for a few moments, him staring at her, Judy looking at their hands, a quiet reprieve settled between the two, the two of them letting the other take a moment to just be. 'The Very Thought of You' by Billie Holiday slowly moved through the quiet bubble of noise above them and she glanced towards Rosie who was sat quietly, staring now at their hands, his frame more relaxed, more silent, but still there.

"Hey, Rosie?" she asked him quietly - he looked up at her and offered a small smile.

"What's up?"

"Do you want to dance?" she asked him - it came out quicker than she had wanted, and sounded a bit more like a jumble of words, and she could feel a bit of a flush crawling up her neck. But then Rosie smiled.

"I'd love to," he said, "here." He slowly stood, taking her hand and came around the table, before taking her other hand and pulling her to her feet. For a moment, they watched one another, before he backed towards the open dance floor, Billie Holiday's voice soft and nostalgic over the speakers, as they stood in the center of the floor.

And slowly, Rosie's hands traveled to her waist, his other hand lacing into her own, as he brought her closer to him. Judy looked up into his eyes, his presence so close to her own - God, his aftershave was overwhelming every portion of her being by this point and she wasn't complaining. Judy could hardly get her arm around his neck and instead rested her hand on his arm and then looked up at him.

"I'm sorry for my sweaty hands." she said, the first thought to come to her mind. And Rosie let out a laugh, and shook his head and brought his lips to her ear.

"It's alright," he said quietly, "you ever dance before?" Judy's heart was racing at the sudden closeness and let out a shaky breath. She turned her head the slightest bit to his ear and licked her lips.

"Not like this." she whispered back. Rosie laughed, his warm breath on her shoulder as he slowly swayed them back and forth, taking the lead just as she would've wanted. This was unfamiliar territory to her, every bit of this. But it felt comfortable to be in his embrace, having his touch and presence so close to her own.

"Just follow my lead." he said quietly to her. She was so much shorter than him, it was almost comical - a ball-turret gunner and a pilot who was nearly a full head or two taller than her - she could barely keep on her tip-toes. But, he guided her softly in the middle of the floor, as the song continued, the two of them wrapped in each other's warmth there in the middle of the floor.

And as the song came to a close, Judy found her arms wrapping around his center, her chest pressed in his chest, her head turned into him, listening to the soft thrum of his heart, the gentle thump-thump-thump the comfort that kept her grounded there right now. His hand found its way to her back, the other lingering between her shoulder and the lower portion of her head.

She felt so comfortable curled against him, like she were able to hide from the world for a bit in the middle of this war. Smelling his cologne, feeling his hands holding her there against him, listening to his heart deep within his chest.

When the song had finished, and it melted into a Frank Sinatra piece - something Marianne would've appreciated - she found herself tightly bound in his embrace, not wanting to let go of this block of comfort she was now holding onto so tightly. And he seemed far from letting go, rubbing his hand up and down her back, pulling a few strands of her loose hair from her braids from the right side of her face and circling a thumb on the upper portion of her shoulder.

They stood there for a few moments, Judy simply soaking in this feeling - him standing there, her curled against him. Her eyes welled with tears when she seemed to come to it - this feeling. Being here with him. Rosie letting her just be like this. She was so tired, drained and worn down - everything about her had been exhausted to an extent where she was dumb. And Rosie's warmth seemed to be melting every bit of that about her.

"Thank you." Judy whispered just quietly enough for Rosie to hear her, "Thank you so much." Rosie chuckled, the soft rumble in his chest, making his heartbeat speed up a bit, which made her smile as he rubbed her back a bit more comfortingly than he had previously. She could tell he was smiling when he spoke.

"Didn't know you were a Billie Holiday fan." he said quietly, "I should've asked what you liked." Judy laughed slightly, blinking away some of the tears and leaned back a bit to look up at him and was met with his fully, rosy-cheeked face watching her, his eyes exuding nothing but what felt like…..damn-near love in her own eyes as he watched her.

"Billie Holiday, Ella Fitzgerald, Doris Day…." she said quietly, "Ma's a big fan of them. What about you, though - heard you were an Artie Shaw type of guy - big band. Makes sense." Rosie let out a laugh that was music to her ears and nodded.

"Big Artie Shaw fan," he said, "guess stuff gets around." Judy laughed and nodded.

"Marianne knows a whole lot more than we credit her for." Judy said and Rosie smiled at her, this silent unspoken message between them saying a whole lot more than whatever words could bargain for - finding comfort in someone else who was going through this hellish war just like you were. It was something that you carried closer to you more than anything else.

Judy smiled up at him, and the quiet look on his face was something you couldn't replicate, this intense focus simply on her, watching her every move, concealing yet telling all at once. Her cheeks felt like they were completely flaming now as he watched her, but she couldn't look away from his gaze.

But then Judy, out of the pureness of her heart, stood to her tip-toes and pulled him into a hug, where his arms enveloped her and they held each other there for a moment in time. A hug meant a thousand words more than anything else in that moment.

#yeah they make me distraught #THEM!!!#judy makes my heart break at the best of times and she deserves this !!!#judy rybinski #rosie rosenthal #masters of the air #mota #mota writings #silver bullets #rosie rosenthal x oc #i know i saw fluff but then it turned to angst and now we're back to fluff #a whole rollercoaster #enjoy these beans!!! :D

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invisibleicewands · 3 months

Text

WORTH A LOOK?: *****

WHEN?: Saturday 24 February, opens 6 March and runs through 11 May 2024 RUNTIME: 160 minutes (including a 20-minute interval)

A grieving son wraps his dying miner father in his arms, apologises for everything he could have done better to look after him and vows to make good by helping others.

The son is Aneurin ‘Nye’ Bevan, the Labour politician and founder of the National Health Service on 5 July 1945, and Nye is the warts-and-all story of the man who would improve the health of countless millions of us and how he did it.

Nye died almost 15 years to the day he founded the NHS from stomach cancer and the conceit here is that he’s in hospital at the end of his life having a fever dream and wanders, pink pyjama-clad, through moments of importance.

Reading the article by former Labour leader Neil Kinnock in the programme about Bevan we discover his education was cut short at 13 when he followed his miner father down the pits to work in 1910.

In an almost reverse of film Dead Poets Society we meet the bullying schoolteacher who would cane a young Nye because of his speech impediment, the classmates who would protect him and the very Manic Street Preachers-like realisation that free libraries could give him the power to overcome his stammer by finding alternative words to those he could not utter.

Riffing on Dennis Potter’s Singing Detective Sheen’s Nye even sings Judy Garland’s Get Happy at 1 point as he and his miner colleagues use the time unemployment has afforded them to bone up on the way their home town of Tredegar in Wales is run and get themselves elected onto the boards of the bodies involved to finally do good by its people.

From our 4th row seats we see director Rufus Norris, also outgoing artistic director and chief executive of the National Theatre, tread the boards at the beginning of this 1st preview to remind us as such there might have to be a pause in proceedings because of the freshness of the material but perhaps 1 of the reasons its star Sheen is beaming so much during the curtain call (see picture below) is because it all actually went so well.

The action is staged as if in a hospital ward for much of the time with beds on wheels used to great effect and curtains around beds featuring prominently and at 1 point, rather brilliantly, lowering to become rows of seats in Parliament.

Tony Jayawardena (Marjorie Prime, Menier) is quite brilliant as Nye’s nemesis Winston Churchill, a man who succeeds in doing what Labour were unable to by uniting all classes in opposition to world war.

Sharon Small (Good, Harold Pinter Theatre) is more than a match for a revelatory performance by Sheen, at 1 point seemingly channelling the boyish enthusiasm of a young Declan Donnelly from Ant and Dec, as she explains the sacrifices she made to support her husband.

There’s a lot of injustice to make the audience angry here and there’s some terrific political theatre in London at the moment to both challenge the mind and make the heart soar – An Enemy Of The People and Standing At The Sky’s Edge for example.

Like the outstanding Dear England, this is an example of a venue at the top of its game doing exactly what it should be doing in offering insight into stories of those who have shaped our country and influenced the people we have become.

---------

Another one who sang "Get Happy":

youtube

#Michael Sheen #theatre #National Theatre #Nye #Aneurin Bevan #review #Youtube

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sasaofastora · 5 months

Text

Jim and Judy both became very popular at their new school. They are both very charismatic and love to joke and make mischief, and spend much of their free time wandering around Brindleton with their friends.

previous / next

#sims 4 decades challenge #ts4 decades challenge #finch legacy #1940s #gen 6 #james finch #judith finch #sims 4 historical #sims 4 #ts4 #simblr

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prosperdemeter2 · 2 days

Text

Snippet Sunday - watermark

“Oo,” Chim had left his turnout in the bathroom, hanging up on the corner of the door, and settled himself on the arm of Hen’s chair. “Judge Judy?”

Well, if they weren’t going to leave… it wasn’t like Eddie was enjoying the time to himself anyway. He turned up the television a fraction and let Chim tilt the device so it was more easily seen by the group of them. If he squinted, Eddie could imagine it was just another night at the station. One of them would be sitting up in the loft watching television because they couldn’t sleep, or Hen would be studying, and everyone else would slowly wander out, one by one, until they were sitting around each other, somehow entranced by whatever the first person had put on for background noise. Bobby would find them, or the alarm would go off, or…. “This looks cozy.” Athena’s eyes were red and her gaze lingered on where Eddie was sitting up and… she hadn’t visited him, actually, yet. Buck had said that she had thrown herself into catching the sniper but Eddie couldn’t help but feel like she was avoiding him. And it wasn’t even like they were that close. Athena was Bobby’s wife, she was Hen’s friend, she was Buck’s… whatever they were to each other. But Eddie was just the guy that her husband’s pseudo-son was dating. That didn’t mean that she didn’t care about him, just that he wasn’t exactly her priority.

But she had watched him get shot. And if there was any bit of the day that Eddie wanted information about, he would have an easier time getting it from her than he would from Buck. Still, she stepped first into the room, waved her fingers at him and softened her eyes and tone, “Hey, Eddie.” She greeted and looked genuinely happy to see him sitting awake.

“Hey.” He opened his mouth to say something else, to thank her for taking care of Buck where he couldn’t, to check in on her and Bobby and…. Chim failed to catch the bundle of keys Buck tossed in his direction, and they clanged to the ground in a tangle, nearly missing smacking him in the cheek. Eddie’s eyes snapped where they seemed magnetically tangled. Long legs and warm, liquid eyes. Buck smiled and he looked tired, especially with soot on his cheeks, but there was something about him that seemed more relaxed than Eddie had seen him in a long while.

Bobby was going to be fine.

“You’re supposed to be sleeping.” Buck scolded him and darted his gaze to the pillow Hen had propped under his arm, the empty spot on the bed on Eddie’s good side, and the impossibility to get himself over to that space between where Hen and Chim had perched themselves.

“I had visitors.” Eddie replied blandly and held open his arm as a welcome invitation.

Buck took it, carefully stepping around where Chim was still on the arm of Hen’s chair and kicking out at him when Chim deliberately tried to make him trip. “Hey,” Buck settled into place, dropping a kiss to the side of his head and resting his cheek against Eddie’s hair (and probably wiping soot into it).

“Hi,” Eddie curled his good arm around his bad knee, pulling it so that it was more firmly resting on the bed and crossed over his own. He expected the others to tease them about it, but maybe the conflicts of the past week had put them in a more forgiving mood because they said nothing about it at all. Athena only perched herself in the corner to watch them, the look in her eye one that told him she was remembering something that no one else in that room - save Buck - ever would. It hurt to rest his head against Buck’s side, but he did it anyway. And, besides, Buck only moved himself closer, his arm tossed over behind Eddie’s back and fingers resting very gently on his injured side to keep him in place. It didn’t matter if it hurt, Eddie thought, so long as he could feel him breathing beneath him.

“Any news on Bobby?” Hen asked after a moment, breaking the silence between the group of them even as Eddie’s eyes began to finally drift shut.

“He’s going to be fine.” Athena reassured.

“Doctors said his surgery should be fairly quick.” Buck provided and smoothed his hand up from Eddie’s arm to rest against the side of his head, turning to press his lips there again. His breath caught on the ends of Eddie’s hair and blew them up to fluttering.

“He’ll be home by the end of the week.” Athena provided.

“And you’ll be home tomorrow.” Buck muttered against his skin.

#rewrite #buddie #911 fic #watermark #buddie fic #snippet sunday

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blackroseguzzi · 2 months

Note

Please continue the FATE series with Colin Zabel

pls pls pls 😭

FATE:

PART 5

SUMMERY: You first night as an informant for Mare. After spending time with Colin he finally decides he deserves the answers you never gave him.

Colin brought back two bottles of beer from the kitchen, and handed one to me with a small polite smile. He still drank miller Lite- I internally cringed at the memory of how he used to drink them all night up at the lake house. He would get super sappy after 3 or 4 and beg me to slow dance with him to music playing over the old record player that came with the place. Because of those memories, you constantly had to change the station any time ‘Love me tender’ by Elvis came on.

“Shall we dive in?” He asked, pulling me out of my head.

“Let’s,” I nodded back, thanking him for the beverage.

The two of us worked in the living room. I took of my jacket, trying to see if the heat boiling from my body was from my layers or from Colin’s mother’s glare from the dining room. She had made herself comfortable watching us as she pretended to read the paper.

We were professional, not breaking character of our respected roles as we worked, Sargent Sheehan had given me a load of information to slip into Colin's ear and in return I was given the task to relay whatever he gives me back to her.

I couldn’t help but stare at his hands as they grabbed pieces of paper from the files on the coffee table. Those hands had explored my body like a road map. They were gentle and strong all at the same time. Colin knew just about every place I liked to be touched, and he had always handled me like he needed all of me desperately, yet so careful not to be too hard as to break me.

I felt a lump forming in my throat. I had never realized what I was going to miss until it was no longer mine. I chased happiness, but I soon realized it wasn’t real because I had nobody to share it with. Yes, I loved my career but at the expense of what I lost it sometimes felt silly to lie to myself that it was worth it.

“Well, I think we can wrap this up tonight “y/n.”

My eyes snapped up to match Colin’s glare, pulling me from those depressive thoughts that seem to always be haunting me.

“Yeah I ah, I think you have a good start on things, thank you for giving me more to write about,” I smiled as I got up from the couch I had sat on so many times before.

The familiarity of Judy’s home was both comforting and chilling. Judy was a picture perfect mother in law- and I was forever going to be jealous of the girl that got to bake pies with her in the kitchen, go along with her shopping at Bloomingdale’s for sales, and who Judy would show those sweet baby pictures of Colin when he was a little boy- both of them imagining what their future children would look like.

As I stood, my eyes wandered to Judy who had a small smile on her face. She waved politely before returning back to her papers. She was probably pleased to see me leave.

Colin cleaned his throat after picking up all the scattered papers on the table. “I’ll walk you out?”

I turned to him and nodded shyly, a flash of pink had to have brushed my cheeks. I had become a stranger in a home that felt like my own at one point in time.

The cold night air felt nice on my skin after they had burned while being in the Zabel home. My feet felt like they were dragging as we walked quietly to my car parked out front.

I turned, ready to say my goodbyes, but Colin’s hand shot up to stop me.

“Please spare me, y/n. Please don’t say goodnight and leave like you don’t have that brutal feeling in your gut like I do.”

I could feel my face fall as the act of acting ‘normal’ finally crumbled inside of me.

“It’s like… like I swallowed a shit ton of rocks from lunch,” I replied quietly, digging my hands in my pockets as a small gust of wind whipped by us.

“I can’t have you showing up at my mom’s, y/n.”

I sighed, looking down at our feet. He had on casual shoes as opposed to his shiny work ones. They looked like the Nike’s I had gifted him our last Christmas together- the same day he gave me a ring I gave him a pair of shoes. In retrospect, I was the one who could have used the running shoes when I bolted from our engagement.

“I’m so sorry, I thought we could just….” I failed to find words that would accurately match my feelings.

“What? You thought we could pretend that you didn’t tell me you didn’t love me two weeks before you became my WIFE?” Colin cringed as he dragged out that word.

I felt the tear roll down my cheek before I knew that I was crying. He was right, we couldn’t pretend that I didn’t do such a horrible thing. I was learning that I had not done him the favor I thought I did.

“I had to leave Colin, and I'm forever going to regret how I did it.”

His eyes locked mine and I watched him bite the inside of his lip like he does when he was in deep thought.

“I need to know why you didn’t just have me come with you?” His words finally came out as a whisper, but resinated deep in my soul like he was screaming at me.

I wiped another stray tear from my eye to fix my blurry vision.

“You are the kindest man in the world, Colin Zabel. You would have come with me just to make me happy. I know you love your job and you wanted to stay and live close to your mom and our families for the rest of forever. I knew you would go with me even if you wanted to stay. I couldn’t ask you to do that after everything you ever did for me, but I needed that job. Writing is the therapy I never knew I always needed. You would have supported me at the cost of your own happiness and I didn’t want that resentment between us.”

“You’re projecting.” He stated flatly as he shook his head at me. I scrunched my face in confused.

“You were the one who had resentment. YOU felt like you put me first and took that shitty writing gig and YOU didn’t like it. I would have compromised on just about anything if It would mean I came home at night to you. Nothing, not even my job, or my family, made me happier than coming home to YOU. So you were right, I would have gone wherever you wanted me to because you were it for me. If moving, getting a new job and not seeing family as often meant I would still have you then I would have dropped everything and packed my bags happily!”

I stood there silently, every word hitting me to the core. I had never intended for him to blame himself, I had hoped it would wash away any feelings for me so he could start fresh with someone else who was content in every aspect of their lives.

He ran his hands down his face and I wanted so badly to open my mouth to say anything but nothing I could say would make the pit in my stomach go away.

“I guess… I just…” he drew in a deep breath before our eyes locked again. They were glassy, like tears would soon burst from the floodgates. “I always wanted to know what I did wrong... I just didn’t realize it was because I clearly didn’t show you how much I loved you.”

The sob came from my throat and took me by surprise. Then the tears ran freely off my cheek and onto the pavement between us. Nothing would ever fill the hole that was open in my heart, I knew that for certain now.

“Fuck, I’m sorry.” I felt Colin step closer to me, and looking up I wasn’t expecting to be pushed into his chest while he hugged me. He was actually hugging me.

“I don’t deserve that,” I replied, lightly pushing him away. He didn’t need to be hugging me during this epic meltdown. “I hurt you- you shouldn’t be comforting me.” I sniffed, wiping my nose with the back of my jacket sleeve.

“I didn’t want to make you cry, y/n,” His words were gentle- and your gut felt punched again.

“It’s fine.” I let out a slow breath before trying to compose myself. “I deserve it after everything- Fuck, I didn’t even say goodbye when I left….” I scoffed, now trying to avoid eye contact as words tumbled from my mouth. “I think not saying it gave me hope that our book wasn’t closed, that maybe our story was still unfinished.” I spoke softly, and the tenseness that hung on Colin’s shoulders began to lift.

Colin stared down at me, his hand slipping from my shoulder. I was already regretting pushing away from that hug because his touch was so warm.

Moments between us felt like a lifetime as the night air became more brisk, and I could hear cars on the busier road that was a street over.

“I’m so sorry Colin, I'm just going to go back home early, I think I’m doing more damage than good being here.” I went for my keys in my purse but Colin grabbed my arm, stopping me.

He cleared his throat, and I watched the wheels in his head turning.

“No, Erin should get the coverage she deserves. Nobody would write her justice as well as you.” I could see the small curl of his lip and I suddenly felt the heat creep up my cheeks.

“Thank you, Colin. But don’t want to”-

“You think tomorrow I can take you up on that dinner invite from this mornin?” Colin’s words cut mine like a knife. I felt my eyebrows raise as I tried to process what he had said to me. sliding his hand from my shoulder and rubbing the back of his neck, I could tell he was nervously waiting for my reply. I blinked a few times, my eyes drying from all the tears that had come out of me. “For work stuff- you know? Probably better than having my mom watching us like a Russian spy. I swear she read the same page of that paper the whole time we were in there.” He finished. I couldn’t help but laugh a little at his words, and you nodded quickly. Maybe this trip was turning into a plot twist in our story after all.

“I think that's a good idea, yes.”

“Let’s just try not to open anymore wounds okay?”

I nodded again before finally reaching into my purse to grab the rental car keys.

“Thank you, Zabel,” I replied quietly, the feeling of my tail between my legs would probably linger there for a while.

He opened his mouth, closed it and nodded. “See you later, y/l/n,” he gave one last small waved before turned around to walk slowly back up to his childhood home. I fumbled with my keys before walking to the driver’s side to get him. My phone started vibrating in my pocket as soon as I started my vehicle. I fumbled around my pockets before grabbing ahold of the buzzing piece of technology.

“Sheehan” scrolled across the screen and you quickly answered it.

I didn’t even get to say hello before her voice filled my ear “Fill me in.”

Mare was the one helping me get closer to Zabel all while covering this case, but I knew that if he found out I was giving her the information he was presenting to me that his ass was on the line. I just couldn’t stop the urge to be around him, so I let out a sigh before giving her every last detail.

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