pullmeoutalive | Ramey

Si. I’m fine.

[ Winding down a little, thankfully, and his eyes drift to the dead men sprawled on the floor. Christ, he’s made a mess of things, hasn’t he? ]

Perhaps you should stay somewhere else tonight. I can get this cleaned up.

[ the offer catches emma by surprise, but then she shakes her head. ]

No, I can help.

[ ...it wouldn't be the first time she's cleared away bodies.

(at least this time they aren't those of friends.) ]

It'll— go faster with extra hands.

Emma…

[ Her name gets breathed out in such a way that it sounds like he’s going to argue, and he very nearly does. He should tell her to get back into town, spend the evening with Leni or another one of the women while he cleared away the bodies and the blood.

It would be easier to leave if she weren’t here to see it, because after this, he surely must go. He can’t do this again, invite violence to her door by his mere presence.

But he is so very selfish, and so he doesn’t tell her to go. He relents with a quiet sigh. ]

All right. Help me get them outside.

[ emma steels herself for an argument, geared up as she gets to rightfully defend her stubbornness, but—

it doesn't come.

nodding, emma pushes up the sleeves of her dress, going up to the bounty hunter with those four holes bleeding slowly onto her floor. she stops short as she looks down at him, but only for half a moment, and then she's ready to help vasquez move the man out of the house. part of emma had hoped this would never be something she'd do again, coming this close to a freshly-slaughtered man, helping to clear out the dead, but she supposes this is the price of vasquez's life: the lives of men after a fair chunk of change who'd just as readily gun the outlaw down in return.

what a trade. ]

We can— bury them farther out.

[ This time he does insist that he can take care of the bodies himself. Emma doesn’t need to be riding out to God knows where to dump a couple of men into shallow graves, but her infamous stubbornness rears its head and Vasquez finds he doesn’t have it in him to fight her.

They get the bodies outside, leaving them to bleed out in a patch of dirt rather than on the floor. From there, they both roll up their shirtsleeves and clean up the blood and bits of viscera that have been scattered around Emma’s floor. It’s a first for Vasquez, cleaning blood off of a floor. Usually he only has to worry about his own clothes, sometimes his face and hands if it got especially messy. He didn’t stick around for the aftermath of the battle of Rose Creek, but he imagines Emma must be an hold hat at this sort of thing now.

What a sad thought that is.

The sun has long set by the time they get all of the red out of the floorboards, and the two of them have gone without dinner. They fill themselves with a simple, quick meal of bread and beans, and in the dead of night they throw a pair of corpses over the saddles of their horses and ride off. Better to get them taken care of now than leave them for someone to chance a glance at in the morning.

By the time they make it back to the house after depositing the two men in a shallow ditch somewhere, the sky is begging to grow light again, and exhaustion hangs heavy between them. It’s an effort to drag his bedroll out of the place he and Emma had stashed it before collapsing.

Vasquez makes a promise to Emma to fix the bedroom door in the morning, but morning comes and goes while the outlaw snores quietly in his place in the main room of the house. It’s past noon when he finally rises. In his groggy haze, he almost wonders if the events of the previous night had been imagined, but the sight of the damaged bedroom door is enough to bring reality crashing down again.

This can’t happen again. He needs to talk to Emma.

So he rises, pulls on his boots, and goes to see if she’s around. ]

[ even as exhausted as she'd been, sleep doesn't come easy to emma that night — or rather, day, as the case may be. she manages a few hours of it, but vasquez is still fast asleep when she dresses again (the stained, bloody clothes from the day before abandoned to be dealt with later), and instead, she spends the morning washing up in the nearby creek. there hadn't been much time for it the day before, nothing extensive, and the water still runs muddy with blood and dirt as she scrubs herself clean — enough to make her stomach clench.

the process of disposing of those bodies didn't upset emma, because, well, she's had more than enough practice confronting death like this now, dealing in it with her own two hands, but there's something that sits heavy with her each time. but...it was necessary. unavoidable. not like those men would've left peacefully, and given the choice between vasquez and them, well, was it even a question?

she's back to her home by noon, fresh and clean and smelling vaguely of lavender with still-damp hair. she's kept to the outside, however, not wanting to disturb vasquez when the man clearly needed the rest. she could have gone to town, kept herself busy like she usually does, but...today is different. she needs the bit of peace, instead of the constant flow of work and chores and people.

sitting quietly under the big tree closest to her house, she's even started to drift off in the shade (...which isn't necessarily the worst of her options, considering how little she slept the night before). ]

[ There’s not much house to really search, so Vasquez heads outside fairly quickly. It’s a nice day, warm and bright, and as he casts around for any sign of Emma, he catches sight of a familiar shock of red hair, caught by the midday breeze.

When he approaches the shade of the tree, he’s struck by just how peaceful Emma looks, dozing as she is, locks flowing free. The selfish part of him tries to argue that this is a good thing, if she can be so peaceful after being visited by chaos the night before, then there’s no need for him to leave. He can stay, as he so much wants to do.

But the logical part of him knows that this peace will only be fleeting as long as he and his bounty are around. ]

Emma.

[ Softly, so as not to startle her. ]

[ his voice is quiet enough that emma doesn't leap out of her skin at the sound of her name. her brow wrinkles just a touch, before she's slowly opening her eyes, blinking blearily at vasquez through the sun filtering down overhead. ]

Vasquez.

[ she breathes the name with something like relief, and she sits up a little straighter, rubbing a hand across her face. ]

Didn't realize I fell asleep. Have you been up long?

[ How unfair, saying his name like that. It’s almost enough to break his resolve, to encourage him to listen to the selfish part of him that wants nothing more to stay.

Almost, but not quite. ]

Not too long. Can I talk with you?

[ those words are enough to get emma to pause, something catching her attention to have her fully focused on him, despite the drowsiness still trying to cling to her. ]

Yes, of course.

[ she gets to her feet, pushing away a few wild curls, smoothing down her skirt, and then turning that intent gaze of hers to vasquez's face. ]

What's this about?

[ in the back of her mind, there's a quiet suspicion: the night before, the run-in with those bounty hunters. it's something they should talk about, by her reckoning, but she also isn't entirely certain how that conversation might play out. ]

[ Vasquez doesn’t know how to make this pretty, but he’s never been about making anything pretty. He’s all violence and teeth and sharp edges, and for a little while, he nearly forgot that. ]

I think it’s past time I take my leave.

[ —oh.

of all the possibilities emma had considered, that had not been one of them.

at first, she isn't sure whether she's more startled by his announcement or by the strange flurry of confusion and an immediate and visceral reaction of— ]

No.

[ the word flies from her lips before she can stop it. it's not exactly a dignified response, she realizes belatedly, and if she wasn't so startled, she might have apologized for how abrupt it comes. ]

I mean—

[ what does she mean? that's probably where she feels most caught, trying to explain for herself why she so desperately doesn't want him to go, but it's a thought she's been running circles around for weeks now. ever since she first saw his hat hung by her door. ever since coming back to her house started to feel like home again.

she steadies herself, tries again. her voice comes steadier, that resolve creeping into her tone like it so often does when she's made up her mind about something. ]

If this is about yesterday, don't feel like you need to leave because of those men. It was dealt with just fine.

[ The “no” catches him off-guard, sudden and startled and raw as it is. He blinks down at her, eyes widening just a fraction. He’d been half-expecting an agreement, a confirmation that his presence was a danger, a disruption, and she’s had more than enough of that for a lifetime, thank you very much.

She’s not making this any easier on him. ]

Emma, please. Those men would never have shown up here in the first place if it wasn’t for me.

[ It was dangerous, coming back, but it’s become even more dangerous to stay. He’s arguing for his own sake as much as hers. ]

Next time we might not be so lucky.

I don't care.

[ oh, and that's the honest response, isn't it? that she doesn't care who comes knocking at her door looking for the outlaw; she'll send them away all the same, or, well, deal with it like they had yesterday.

...the former is the preferable option. ]

I knew full well what offerin' you a place to stay meant. If I wasn't willing to accept it, I wouldn't have let you keep coming to me with things that needed fixing.

[ she'd have told him to go, because that's just how emma is. upfront, honest. a no-bullshitter. a straight-shooter. ]

[ Vasquez has had a lot of Marias in his life, but this may be the first time he’s ever had an Ethel.

Emma’s ire has only ever been directed toward him the once, way back when they first met, but he’s well aware of her stubbornness. Perhaps it was foolish to think that it wouldn’t rear its head here, and honestly he’s not quite so sure what to do with the fact that she doesn’t want him to go. Relief and reluctance are a strange cocktail, swimming around in his chest.

He finds his voice, finally, tries to dredge up some of that anger and fear from yesterday when he saw that man holding her there. ]

What if something happens, huh? What if you get hurt?

[ Or worse. ]

[ emma doesn't even flinch, doesn't even look close to agreeing with him. ]

I have faced down far worse than a few bounty hunters.

[ and she's not afraid.

lord, maybe she should be after yesterday, but...of all the emotions filtering through emma, fear for her own safety is oddly not one of them. if she's worried after anyone's life, it's vasquez. not because she thinks he can't protect himself (he's proved his skill and ferocity time and again), but because being pursued so relentlessly must wear. ]

[ He has a brief, flickering moment to wonder why he can't have her resolve. Why is he so scared?

A man like him wasn't meant to care for people, not this much. ]

I'm a dangerous man, Emma. Dangerous people will come after me. I can't invite that into your home time and again.

If something were to happen, I could never live with myself.

Dangerous people can come at a moment's notice for even men who are not dangerous, Vasquez.

[ who were the people of rose creek, to fall prey to dangerous men? so many dead, with no provocation, no reason, other than vicious, greedy bastards riding in to take what they had. terrible things happen to good people, no matter how righteous or hardworking they may be. trouble could come to emma's doorstep whether vasquez is there to call it down or not.

maybe that's why she doesn't shake in her boots at the promise of bounty hunters or warrant officers: nothing is guaranteed, and tomorrows aren't promised. why not reach for something that's made her happy, perilous though it may be? ]

I've lost a good deal to dangerous men. They don't frighten me anymore.

[ Her words strike him like a physical blow, throws the true reality of her situation into focus. Her husband, the people of Rose Creek, were not dangerous men, yet Bogue and his hired guns came for them anyway.

And Emma, fierce and brave and beautiful, still rose up and said to the world, I did not start this, but I will finish it.

Who is he to doubt her strength? Some outlaw with selfish inclinations and cowardice hiding somewhere in his heart. Even if he rode out of here today, there was no guarantee something wouldn't happen to her tomorrow.

And knowing he was not here to try and stop it would be so much more unforgivable. ]

... All right, querida. All right. I'll stay.

[ she's almost bracing herself for more of a fight, for more protests, for something insistently noble that, ultimately, feels poorly placed. emma does not see herself as a woman in need of protection; she neither needs vasquez present to keep her safe nor needs some honorable gesture that falls flat. if he leaves, she'd rather it be because he feels he has no reason to stay — not because it's for her own good to see the back of him.

but given how long he's been in her home, how many new excuses he finds to keep himself occupied and present... she can only assume that he wants to be there.

(with her, though she pushes down that quiet flicker of warmth and the accompanying flutter of— something. something she hasn't felt in a good, long while.)

but when he agrees— her relief is nearly palpable, and the tension slides out of her shoulders. she exhales a breath she hadn't quite realized she'd been holding, an uncertain smile finding its way to her lips. tentative, but hopeful. ]

Good.

[ she steps away from the tree, a bit closer to him, though not enough to close the distance between them. ]

Now, I do believe there's actually something that needs to be fixed in my home.

[ He has the sudden urge to reach out and take her hand, to caress the side of her face, spurred by the smile curving her lips.

He thinks better of it, though, for a number of reasons, not least of which is the fact that he must look like quite the sight, still dirty and spattered with dried blood, fresh from sleep. ]

Ah, I promised I would fix that for you, didn't I?

Yes, you did. And I can't very well have a broken bedroom door, can I?

[ for...a few different reasons.

it's admittedly not terribly appropriate for her, an unmarried woman, to have a man staying in her home to begin with, but then again, emma's not concerned by that. but she also knows that her nights aren't the most peaceful, and she doesn't find herself inclined to being overhead.

at least, she hopes she hasn't been. it isn't something she brings up or...wants to ask about, if she's honest. ]

Not at all.

[ He'd rather the reminder of what happened the previous night be dealt with, anyway, but Emma deserves her privacy.

(He can still hear her sometimes, sleeping fitfully, crying out, but she seems to quiet after a while. He's been dangerously close to opening her bedroom door a couple of times, though.) ]

I don't suppose I could talk you into a late breakfast while I work, eh?

[ 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. ]

[ Vasquez retires to his usual spot in the common room that night with a little more ease and much less heavy exhaustion. That he and Emma seemed to have reached some kind of understanding about what it means to keep him around has lifted a weight off of his shoulders that he hadn't realized he'd been carrying.

But without bone-deep weariness to drag him down, Vasquez sleeps lighter, and even all this time within Emma's walls couldn't break that habit. Her cries of alarm punch through his consciousness like a bullet and he sits bolt upright, gun in his hand.

He's heard Emma's nightmares before, and though he's a little disoriented when he first wakes, it quickly catches up to him that he's hearing one now. It seems to be worse than the others, because usually Emma will shake herself awake or pull away from the dream, settle into quieter noises until sleep claims her again. She cries out a second time, and Vasquez decides that he can't bear to leave her to suffer any longer.

Quietly, he pushes his way past the bedroom door and moves to the edge of her bed. She's thrashing and crying, hair flying every which way, blankets in a kicked up mess. ]

Emma.

[ He's hesitant to touch her, for fear of scaring her, but he lightly perches on the edge of the bed. ]

Emma. Querida, please.

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