pullmeoutalive | Ramey

[ He mouths a silent ah. He knows about Drax's wife and daughter, and their fate at the hands of Ronan. (And suddenly he wonders what it must feel like, to be separated from your match by more than just time and distance, but by death itself. He doesn't know that he could handle whatever that brings.)

But he's quick to shake off that line of thought and go back to Peter's original question. ]

I mean, might have to just go with the truth on this one. After all the bullshit I put you through, they're gonna hound you about wanting to keep me around.

[ Grumbled, ]

"Want" is a strong way of putting it, buddy.

[ He scrubs his face with both hands, presses the heels of his hands against his temples as he thinks. Drax knew for sure, or at least had a strong inkling. And Gamora probably was probably cottoning onto it, too, given everything that happened. He doubts Rocket gives much of a crap, though he'll undoubtedly give the two of them so much shit for this, once it comes to light.

Goddammit. ]

Yeah. Alright. I'll— I'll tell Gamora. Let her figure out how to tell the others.

[ ugh. ]

[ He heard that, though it draws little more than a snort out of him. He can feel the ripples of reluctance and resignation coming off of Quill (and it's still so weird, to be experiencing feelings that are not his own), and it pretty much kills any humor he might have dredged up from the situation. ]

They'll probably let me out of here in a day or two. Then we can put this place behind us.

Good.

[ Though there's little conviction in it. He fucking hates this place, to be sure. Hates the smells and the sounds and the sights, hates that sensation of dread that creeps up his spine the longer he stays here. Hates seeing Brennan in that fucking cot, hates that familiar feeling of helplessness when he sees him there.

But leaving means they have to actually start dealing with this bullshit and figuring out what the hell they plan on doing about it. Peter's still of the opinion that they ought to just go back to how it was before. Dodging each other in hallways. Ricocheting off each other to opposite ends of the ship. Ignoring the other's existence.

It wasn't perfect. Hell, Peter knows it didn't even work, but it was easy, for all that it sucked. ]

The fuck even happened? Thought you were careful about not getting caught.

[ Because even days after rescuing Brennan, Peter still hasn't bothered to get the story out of him. How he got captured, why he got captured. Only researched enough to know that the men who took him were fuckmooks working for another fuckmook, and when a rotation in their guards would leave the facility vulnerable to one of Rocket's homemade explosives. ]

[ He was waiting for that question, and in fact he’s surprised it didn’t come sooner. That Peter asks it now startles a laugh at him, a short noise filled with bitter resentment- mostly aimed at himself. He has a very long list of “shit that went wrong since he left the Milano”, and until Peter was tearing him a new one he was pretty sure his capture was the shittiest and wrongest thing on there.

Go figure. ]

I wasn’t exactly operating at one hundred percent. [ Literally and figuratively. ] Didn’t cover my tracks as well as I usually did, and one of Grun’s rivals got wise to the fact that I was sniffing around. He sent a couple of his guys to offer me a job, or beat the information out of me if I said no.

Guess I wasn’t thinking then, either. I could have led them on at the very least, but I just flat-out told them to shove it and they didn’t like that much.

But you’re so delightful and persuasive. [ This, said without inflection, expression kept mostly neutral. ] How could they possibly take that poorly?

[ Flatly, ] Wow yeah. It was almost like I was off my game or something.

[ Then, almost as an afterthought, ] Fuck you.

Even if you were on your game, you probably would’ve pissed ‘em off, somehow.

And not even if you paid me, Brennan.

Maybe I would have, but I would have been able to get away from them first.

Don’t you have anything better to do right now?

[ Pointedly, he holds Alec’s gaze as he shifts in his seat, arms crossing over his stomach. Getting comfortable, ostensibly. ]

I thought we were supposed to be bonding.

[ He glares at Peter. He’s trying but this is draining, and Peter constantly harping on him is starting to grate on his nerves. ]

I thought you were supposed to be telling Gamora about just how much we’re bonding.

[ He keeps his position for a few seconds longer, uncooperative little asshole that he is, but he finally breaks eye contact and kicks his feet off the chair. He shrugs into his jacket, rolling his shoulders as he does. ]

Yeah, fine. I’ll go do that.

[ Chipper, but in tone only. When he turns to face Alec again, he offers a tight-lipped little smile and crosses the room to the exit. As he does, ]

I’ll find Gamora. Tell her what the hell’s going on. Try to convince the gang not to kill you for all this bullshit.

[ He steps through the open door without so much as a goodbye, but a second later, he pokes his head back in. ]

Oh. If you decide to fuck off somewhere while I’m gone, try to keep it in the same system, at least.

[ This, punctuated by a fond little pat on the doorjamb and half-hearted smile. ] Please and thanks, bud.

[ And he disappears around the wall again. ]

[ breakfast turns into dinner. dinner, into another morning of company and a few offers of, well. a hand here and there. emma's adamant at first that she has everything taken care of, that it's all well within her abilities to see to the broken hinge on her door or the fence knocked down by bogue's men. she's been making do, but— she's also put most of her energy into the town itself, into helping everyone else, and rarely had she looked after what her own home needed (since she regarded it as minimal by comparison). but vasquez offers to help, and when she starts to take into account that it would mean he'd stay, that there'd be a reason for him to hang around rose creek...

she accepts the offer.

she feeds him in return, of course, gives him a place to sleep (even if it's mostly just a bedroll and a few additional blankets and pillows). her small home doesn't have a spare room, after all, but there's space enough for him to get comfortable, to at least have somewhere sheltered from the elements and prying eyes. it's safety, if nothing else. emma, of course, keeps quiet about her houseguest, and she's removed enough from the town itself that no one comes knocking or sniffing around for vasquez — or even has a chance to realize he's taken up temporary residence in her home. emma knows how to be discrete, after all.

but for the first time in a long time, emma finds herself coming home to something (someone) again. rather than a quiet, empty house, she usually makes her way back in time for dinner to see vasquez there already, done for the day just as she is, and it's...welcome. entirely welcome. she's still a little bemused by how easy it is to fall into conversation with vasquez, that he's actually agreeable when he isn't suspicious and defensive and she isn't finding herself suddenly at the mercy of a dangerous man with a gun. no flares of the same temper, because there hasn't been a need for it. maybe it's that odd sense of camaraderie that accompanied the ordeal of rose creek, or maybe some of it comes from the fact that emma doesn't treat vasquez like a dangerous, sharp-toothed beast, ready to rear its ugly head and bite at a moment's notice.

because in reality, emma isn't afraid of vasquez. she's plenty aware of things he's done, of what he's capable of, but what she saw of the man in her town is more than enough to set her at ease around him. he put a lot on the line for a little one horse nothing like rose creek, and to emma, that still means the world.

the first time emma realizes vasquez has become a new sort of normal is when she walks in the door to immediately see two hats hanging from the pegs. it stops her short, gives her a long pause as she stares at the place where, previously, only one hat was waiting for her (the same, every day, never displaced). but instead, something new has taken up residence, and as she stares from the doorway, she recognizes vasquez's hat, and something in her— warms. it's small, just a flicker behind her chest, just a hint of an old comfort, but...

it makes emma smile.

she doesn't say a thing (doesn't see why an odd little gesture like that ought to be significant to anyone else), but in the days that follow, she finds herself looking up, not just for matthew's usual placeholder, but for that second, well-worn hat too.

and she finds...that she likes it.

days slide into weeks, and vasquez somehow manages to keep finding something new to fix around emma's home. it keeps him there, keeps him busy, and there's no real talk anymore of where or when he'll be slipping off again. emma doesn't see the need to ask, when she's sure he knows she'd be immediately upfront about it when he's no longer welcome, and instead, emma allows the routine to build around them as she keeps his presence quiet all the while.

it's not until one particular afternoon that she finds herself yanked back into the reality of vasquez's life.

emma's in town, as she often is during the daylight hours, today offering leni some assistance with her baby girl (and the little thing's just started to walk, much to her mother's delight). with the death of leni's husband, the rest of the town has been trying to lighten the load for the widow and her child, and when emma can, she'll often offer up help with chores or even just looking after the baby while leni has other important things to mind. for now, as leni makes a few purchases in hank's general store, emma just walks the toddler across the wooden deck of the storefront, tiny hands curled around emma's fingers. emma's nothing but smiles as the little girl giggles and coos over each unsteady step, occasionally getting ahead of herself and nearly toppling over before emma can scoop her up again. she's just plucking the little girl into her arms when she catches a few nearby voices, her attention immediately torn away from the child.

"some nerve, them comin' through like that."

"well, can't say they had any way'a knowin' what he did around here. they probably figured he'd'a passed by or the like, y'know? i mean, bounty like that, can't blame 'em for checking."

emma goes completely still.

"that mister vasquez doesn't deserve havin' the likes of them on his tail. what he did here was real noble."

"yeah, can't say i'm not grateful. but $500 is just more'n enough to send people on a wild goose chase, far as i see it. they still lurkin' around?"

"wouldn't be surprised."

...oh, hell.

emma doesn't waste another moment before bringing that little girl to her mother, apologizing profusely, brusquely explaining that something's just come up, and not pausing to answer questions before she turns out of hank's store and heads right back out of town. she nearly trips over her own skirts in her haste, but she doesn't let it slow her down as she makes it to her home in record time. ]

Vasquez!

[ she calls it as loudly as she dares, out of breath, knees buckling a touch as she comes around the side of her house, looking for that damned outlaw. ]

[ Emma has a nice little home on the fringes of the town. Not far enough away to make trips into town a hassle, but just far enough to allow for privacy. That privacy is a blessing, as Vasquez enjoys a good night’s rest and a good meal for the first time in what feels like ages. They fall into easy conversation, and he has to take a moment to wonder just how they got here from him roping her feet from under her and threatening her at gunpoint.

Life is funny that way, he supposes.

But it becomes obvious to him just how much Emma’s home goes neglected. A fence in disrepair, a door falling from its hinges, paint that’s been worn through or chipped away, to name a few items that catch his attention. Without thinking much of it, he offers to give her a hand. She says that she’s more than capable, and he doesn’t doubt that, but capability doesn’t mean a damn thing if there’s no will. Emma spends her time in town, caring for everyone and everything but herself. Vasquez isn’t so clueless in the ways of the world not to know that she’s trying to focus on anything but the yawning emptiness left behind by her husband. Her home is a void now, where there once was love and the promise of a family.

So he stays. He has every reason to leave, five hundred very big reasons in fact, but for some strange reason his heart aches for her, for her situation, and fixing a door might not be much, but perhaps it will make her house feel a little more like home again. After all she gave to see her town and the people in it safe and happy, it’s the least he could do.

Weeks roll by, though he hardly notices. He toils away the day working around the house while Emma is in down, and they usually wander back to the house around the same time for dinner. They chat and they joke, and he teaches her small snippets of Spanish now and then, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. He leaves his hat on a peg by the doorway.

He catches himself one day, as he resets fence posts on the edges of the property, sweating in the midday sun, thinking how nice it will be to return to Emma. To her smile and bright eyes and the smells of dinner, and he wonders just when he let himself get in so deep.

This is surely more responsibility than a man like him can bear, but Emma Cullen became an unmovable presence in his life the moment she stepped foot into that abandoned cabin in the mountains. The moment she spat fire at him, fierce in spite of the rope around her ankles and the gun in his hand. Her determination impressed him, her quiet intensity earned his respect, and now here they are, slotted together as if they had been that way all along.

(He calls her querida exactly once, the word spilling from his lips without him realizing it until she asks what it means. He dodges the question with a little less grace than he normally would, startled at himself as he is. He nearly packs his things and leaves that very night, frightened at just how close he’s let himself get, but he hears her in the next room, fighting off the ghosts of some nightmare. His heart aches all over again, and he just gives in to the temptation to stay.)

There’s not much left to do around the house anymore. Very minor things, perhaps, and while he gets the feeling he doesn’t need the excuses, he makes them anyway.

He’s got a chair upended in the middle of the kitchen as he fiddles with the legs- it’s a little wobbly, and it’s something to occupy his time besides- when he hears the hurried footsteps skirt past the kitchen window. All this time in relative peace hasn’t dissuaded him from wearing his guns, a lifetime of peace might not even break that habit. He quietly makes for the back door, one hand resting on his weapon.

The sound of Emma’s voice should come as a relief, but there’s something in her tone that worries him. She sounds out of breath, worried, and he does not remove his hand from his gun when he opens the door, peering out to find her. ]

Emma? Is everything okay?

[ it's undeniable how immediately emma relaxes when she sees vasquez open the door. (is she relieved because he hasn't disappeared or because the bounty hunters clearly haven't made their way to her home yet?)

she finally halts at the front door, panting, though she doesn't really stop before she just pushes at his chest, trying to direct him back into the house. ]

Get back— inside—

[ explaining herself isn't going to be easy until she can gulp down a few proper lungfuls of air, but for now, she's more preoccupied with him staying in the house, out of anyone's view (for as long as necessary).

if she was being realistic, vasquez probably should be hopping on his horse and riding out as swiftly as he could manage. that's how it's always been for him, isn't it? bounty hunters catch up with him, and he runs. emma knows it, has known it the whole time, but instead of wanting to send him over the mountains, her first, immediate reaction is to keep him hidden. ]

[ He gets the word “what” about halfway out of his mouth before Emma starts shoving him. He trusts that it must be something major to have Emma as wound up as she is, so he goes where he’s guided, stepping back into the house and letting her shut the door behind them.

The look on his face is just as wary as it is confused, eyes flicking to the windows for any signs of movement. He sees none, so his gaze settles back on Emma’s face, his hands coming up to gently grip her shoulders. ]

Take a deep breath. Tell me what’s wrong.

[ He does his best to sound soothing, gentle, but there’s an edge underneath his words. Something dangerous that suggests if someone needs shooting he will gladly do so. ]

[ once inside with the door properly shut behind them, emma lets herself breathe. she doesn't relax, but she's not trying to rush either of them anywhere, and she can pause, take a few, slowing breaths. her heart is still hammering in her chest, but some of that is anxiety, not just the exertion of running all the way home. ]

Bounty hunters. In town.

[ she swallows around the thickness in her throat, before speaking again. ]

They're looking for you, asking folks if they've seen anything.

[ she knows no one would give him away, even if they knew he was there, but if they're sticking around, still poking their noses wherever they can, that doesn't bode well. they could have passed through and moved on, but— lord, they're still in town. she won't be surprised if they start looking around the homes on the outskirts, checking the farms for any available hiding place. ]

[ Bounty hunters.

He swears, sharply and vehemently in Spanish, eyes once again turning towards the windows. He’s alert now, more than he was a second ago, it’s written in the way his posture straightens and one of his hands leaves Emma’s shoulder to rest on the butt of one of his guns. ]

Did you see them? Where are they?

[ He should ride out of here. He should gather what he can and go, as hard and as fast as he can, but God, he can’t leave Emma behind. Not like this. But staying would put her in danger, and he can’t do that either. ]

[ she shakes her head. ]

I just ran here soon as I heard. Didn't have a chance to go looking for them.

[ which...doesn't help either of them much, but all she'd been thinking about was warning vasquez, making sure he knew what was going on. ]

If they finished going through town, they might start branching out, but—

[ but she doesn't have anything concrete.

god, she should have stopped to ask, gone off more than just an eavesdropped conversation, but her reaction had been one steeped in panic and little else. ]

[ His mind is reeling, possibilities cycling through like the lights on a passing train. There are a lot of unknowns, a lot of things that could go wrong. He could walk out the door and get shot for his troubles, but he can’t stay here.

He wants to, but he can’t.

Because he’s responsible for this, for her. If something were to happen to Emma because of him, he might never forgive himself. ]

Ssh, ssh. It’s okay. I’ll go. See if I can lose them.

[ Maybe he can come back if he shakes them, but it’s unlikely. Retracing his steps is bound to invite more trouble to Emma’s door. ]

[ emma immediately balks as he speaks, and she shakes her head without even pausing to consider the options.

...maybe he should leave, if she could stop and be realistic. he should've made tracks long ago, but he hasn't, he's stayed here for weeks now, and— damn it all, no. ]

You don't have to go to lose them. Just wait them out here; if they show up, I'll send them away, just—

[ she reaches up, grabbing onto vasquez's forearm lightly, but there's that steely look on her face, that determination that's impossible to will away when emma sets her mind to something.

and right now, that something is seeing vasquez stay safe. ]

Stay, all right?

[ It's her eyes that hold him more than the hand on his arm. He knows that determination well, has seen it at full force, and it pins him there for a second.

He can't even count the ways in which this is a bad idea, in which this is foolish and dangerous, but there's no arguing with Emma when she gets like this.

Not that he wants to argue with her in the first place. ]

All right. Just tell me where to go.

[ emma's relieved when he doesn't kick up a fuss (not that she wasn't prepared for more of a fight, if need be), and she quickly takes stock of her house. it's small, hardly built with places to hide, but as long as they don't try to inspect the inside itself, it ought to be fine if he stays out of view.

she thinks.

she opens her mouth to respond, but the sound of hooves outside makes emma tense all over. a quick glance at the front window shows two men coming to a halt with their horses just down the path from her home, and in a moment of desperation, she gives him another quick shove in the direction of the only other closed off space in the house. ]

Bedroom. And stay away from the windows.

[ but she's already pulling away, making a beeline from vasquez's sleeping space to gather up the bedroll and pillows, wanting to tuck them out of view as quickly as possible. ]

[ The sounds of the horses outside draws a curse out of him. Whatever time they might have had to conceal his presence is long gone now. He hurriedly helps her gather his things, giving the small house a cursory sweep for anything he might have missed before ducking into the bedroom. ]

Stay safe, querida.

[ Hurried, hushed, before he closes the bedroom door. He presses himself against the wall near the door, careful to stay out of sight of the windows, heart hammering in his chest, one hand on his gun.

He hopes against hope that they'll just pass on by, that they'll take the word of a lady and move on. ]

[ that name catches her for a second, makes her step falter — but only for the space of a heartbeat, and then emma's smoothing down her skirt, tucking her hair away from her face as she fights for composure. it's difficult with the mess of nerves roiling in her stomach, and she still nearly jumps out of her skin when that knock finally comes at her door.

breathe.

she schools her expression into something neutral as she approaches the door, opening it enough to look out at the two men standing on her porch. ]

Afternoon, ma'am. [ the first man greets her with a tug at the brim of his hat, his lips pulled in what she can only assume he thinks to be a smile. it feels far more like a sneer.

his partner only offers her a nod. ]

Is there something I can do for you gentlemen?

[ she manages to keep her voice steady, tame down that icy edge of standoffishness that pulses through her with all that unease. ]

Well, we're just passin' through. Lookin' for a man, and we were hoping you might've seen somethin' of him come through here. [ the bounty hunter reaches into his jacket, producing a crumpled, folded paper that calls back to mind a similar moment, sam producing the very same picture now being held up to emma.

poor likeness, she thinks dryly. ]

Goes by the name of Vasquez. Some vaquero— [ and here, the man's pronunciation might've been worthy of some of faraday's more willfully awful spanish. ] —shot a ranger in cold blood. We've been on his trail a while now, and seems it went cold somewhere 'round he—

Haven't seen him. [ emma interrupts the man's spiel with a flat look, crossing her arms over her chest. ]

You sure? Maybe take another look. [ he holds up the wanted poster again, but emma doesn't bother glancing down. ]

Is there something else I can help you with? I was just in the middle of startin' dinner, so if you don't mind. [ emma sets her hand on the door, moving to close it.

a large hand snaps out and catches the door.

the second bounty hunter finally speaks up, his voice coming like gravel, like rocks ground together. (it sets emma's teeth on edge.) ]

Your husband home today, ma'am?

...I have no husband to speak of, sir.

[ the bounty hunter makes a noncommittal noise. ]

You alone here?

Yes. [ emma's tone is clipped, sharp with impatience now. ]

Funny, I coulda sworn there was someone else openin' that door of yours when you came runnin' home.

[ if emma were the type to say fuck, now would be the time for it.

that broad hand shoves against her front door, forcing it open and knocking emma back a step. ]

Wh—hey! You have no right— [ but the bounty hunters aren't paying her any mind at all as they step past her into the house. ]

Ramey > open rp

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"i won't get carried away" i whisper as i tl;dr all over this tag

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