[ emma's smile warms, and she gestures back to the house. ]
You just might be able to.
[ and while he works, she cooks for them both. it lets her fall back into their rhythm, to momentarily push aside the events of the day before. it's hard to forget the men that had laid dead on her floor, but there's something about watching vasquez fix her door, about sharing a meal with him like they have so many times in the past weeks, that makes this easier.
but the door gets properly repaired, and emma thanks him for it, just like she always does each time he finishes another of his projects.
maybe it's the exhaustion that makes her sleep so deeply that night. the little rest she'd gotten the day before made falling asleep near immediate (and fairly early, all things considered). it's been a while since she's slept that heavily, a luxury she hasn't enjoyed since before bogue rode into rose creek, but unfortunately, with the state of her dreams, it may be a luxury she could stand to forego.
it always starts the same: always with matthew. some nights, she thinks it'll play out differently, that something will change, that she can save him, but— each and every time, she sees her husband take that bullet. sometimes, she tries to hold him back. others, she'll rush forward, want to grab bogue, to step in the way, to do something, anything, but over and over, that gunshot fills the air, and matthew collapses in the dirt.
she sees bogue's men, pouring into her town, that she takes down one after another. she sees them hit the ground, knowing it was her rifle, her bullet, that put them down, and she knows— that she doesn't care. that she doesn't regret it, and lord, if that doesn't twist something inside her all the more. she sees the people of rose creek, her neighbors, folks she could have even called friends, falling in the streets. she sees isabelle, and leni's husband, goodnight, and billy, and horne, and—
always matthew.
emma cries out — in her dream, and in reality. she isn't aware of it, isn't in control, and she thrashes against the tangle of her blankets, her breathing coming in rough, broken sobs. so many nights, she can drag herself away from the vicious claws of her nightmares, but now, with the bone-deep exhaustion that keeps her buried in her dreams, she can't settle.
she doesn't quiet, only sinking deeper into the flashes of matthew's death, of all those ghosts she's never managed to shake. ]
no subject
You just might be able to.
[ and while he works, she cooks for them both. it lets her fall back into their rhythm, to momentarily push aside the events of the day before. it's hard to forget the men that had laid dead on her floor, but there's something about watching vasquez fix her door, about sharing a meal with him like they have so many times in the past weeks, that makes this easier.
but the door gets properly repaired, and emma thanks him for it, just like she always does each time he finishes another of his projects.
maybe it's the exhaustion that makes her sleep so deeply that night. the little rest she'd gotten the day before made falling asleep near immediate (and fairly early, all things considered). it's been a while since she's slept that heavily, a luxury she hasn't enjoyed since before bogue rode into rose creek, but unfortunately, with the state of her dreams, it may be a luxury she could stand to forego.
it always starts the same: always with matthew. some nights, she thinks it'll play out differently, that something will change, that she can save him, but— each and every time, she sees her husband take that bullet. sometimes, she tries to hold him back. others, she'll rush forward, want to grab bogue, to step in the way, to do something, anything, but over and over, that gunshot fills the air, and matthew collapses in the dirt.
she sees bogue's men, pouring into her town, that she takes down one after another. she sees them hit the ground, knowing it was her rifle, her bullet, that put them down, and she knows— that she doesn't care. that she doesn't regret it, and lord, if that doesn't twist something inside her all the more. she sees the people of rose creek, her neighbors, folks she could have even called friends, falling in the streets. she sees isabelle, and leni's husband, goodnight, and billy, and horne, and—
always matthew.
emma cries out — in her dream, and in reality. she isn't aware of it, isn't in control, and she thrashes against the tangle of her blankets, her breathing coming in rough, broken sobs. so many nights, she can drag herself away from the vicious claws of her nightmares, but now, with the bone-deep exhaustion that keeps her buried in her dreams, she can't settle.
she doesn't quiet, only sinking deeper into the flashes of matthew's death, of all those ghosts she's never managed to shake. ]