[ frank might as well had been the dog at that party, considering his convincing portrayal of one, easily mistaken for a pet that's been forced into tacky clothing by his owner before seizing up and refusing to move until the damn thing comes off.
there's still some blotches of silver on his skin, but they're faint enough now that he might not need to keep scrubbing it with soap, finally snagging a towel to begin wiping his face dry, using the cloth to wipe those remaining bits of paint residue. ]
My BFF Matt. [ he repeats it with a roll of his eyes that she can't see but will probably be able to predict even as he shares it only with his reflection in front of him. ] Somehow, I doubt Quack Murdock labeled it like that.
[ it's not like he's meant to hide their arrival in the town, but it's hard for him to classify them as "friends" either so he hadn't really seen a reason to necessarily bring it up unless it did on its own. but now that the topic's arisen, he's almost reluctant to carry on with more details. tossing the towel back on the sink counter, he turns to shuffle into the doorway of the bathroom, leaning on the frame to look at her. ] They were my lawyers back in New York.
[ She permits herself the tiny grin that emerges when he bestows that name on Matt, ducking her head slightly with a firm press of her lips to try and mask it as soon as she hears the sound of bare feet shuffling across the tile; by the time he emerges to stand in the doorway, shifting his weight to prop himself against the wooden frame, she's recovered enough to finally bring her eyes to his.
It's got to be a little more complicated than Foggy had clued her into; the lawyer had conveniently dodged her question about whether or not he'd ever had to represent Frank in a sticky legal sitch, which had only stoked her curiosity further even if she hadn't tried to ask him about the details.
But Frank's apparently just going to come right out and say it, and she might not ever fully be used to that, his readiness to just state the truth so plainly without waffling. ]
Oh. [ And it's clear by the sudden, subtle widening of her eyes that she hadn't entirely expected that he'd put it out there so bluntly, but she sits up from the pillows, bracing her arms against her thighs as her mouth twists to one side in quiet consideration over what to say next. ] I'm guessing they weren't repping you over, like, a speeding ticket.
[ explaining his relationship with nelson and murdock has no means of keeping things light on the surface, because his very reason for getting involved with them in the first place carries most of the weight on its own. ]
No. [ he knows it's just her habit of casual commentary, but he answers it with honesty anyway, voice quiet with something slightly more serious in his eyes, even if it lacks any sort of sharpness aimed in her direction.
he'd asked her to marry him, hadn't he? and with that, he'd made sure that she'd known who he was, wouldn't have asked at all if he hadn't shared the forefront of his demons, of the ghosts he'd been carrying on his back for years. even now, there's no part of him that wants to lie to her, to brush off a piece of his past as something forgotten. especially if the attorneys are hanging around town, it's only fair that she knows exactly where they fit in to his history.
he has a habit of ducking his face, adjusting the direction of his eyes, but there are times he makes sure to always keep his eyes on her, as he does now β when he speaks of his other name, when he talks about the truth of his faults, his dirtied hands, never wanting to pretend he's better than he is. he'd done the same exact thing when he took the stand that day. ]
I was on trial for thirty-seven counts of first-degree murder. Punisher had only been around a little while but the media swallowed that shit up and spread the word like wild fire. Everybody knew who I was, everybody had something to say. Signing up to defend me as a death sentence, but for some reason, they were idiots enough to want to do it. Didn't give a shit about their motives for it, wouldn't have even let them do it, but β
[ he speaks clearly for most of it, but then his voice stops short, eyes drifting as a different memory blossoms and he swallows. ]
There was a woman β Karen Page. She worked for them, too, and she ... she wanted to help me find out what happened to my family. Told me the only way I'd ever get justice was to keep fighting for it, to keep digging. So I let them help me.
[ She attempts the joke because that's who she is, because even when she figures they're on the precipice of a more serious conversation she's going to be the one to try and keep it hovering in that place with more levity β but she also knows when to give up that effort, and it happens the moment she looks up and finds him staring back at her without any kind of wavering in it, not glancing away or attempting to avert his gaze because he doesn't want her to see it.
He'd given her the truth of his past a long time ago, told her the story of those losses and the name that had eventually sprung from his self-appointed mission to uncover the identities of those responsible for it β but her instinct tells her that he could likely only go about it for so long before the law caught up with him, and that's where she figures Nelson and Murdock had eventually come into play.
Now, she realizes why Foggy may have been a little purposefully vague on the details, because that whole pesky attorney/client privilege adopts a whole new meaning when said client is on trial for murder.
And so she just listens as he fills in those blanks for her, not trying to offer up any more or less than what the truth demands; she doesn't ask for the specifics on it because she doesn't need them, not unless it's something he thinks she needs to hear, maybe even feels she deserves the story behind. He's made his feelings on the name the public had given him pretty clear already, but this is the first she's hearing that his trial was such a media circus, or that he was believed to be a lost cause not worth defending, and then β she can't help but notice the shift in his voice when he mentions that third person, Karen, the one willing to help him uncover more of the truth. ]
They wanted to help. [ She's not saying anything he probably hasn't already figured out himself by now, but she thinks she has a solid knowledge of what he's like to deduce that he would've been stubborn enough to try and turn away their help until someone had given him a reason to work with them, not against them. ] And did they? Help you get the answers?
[ he doesn't expect her to be surprised over any of it necessarily, not when he's already unloaded plenty of truths in the past; now, it was simply more a matter of gradually providing those in-between details, everything that had guided him from point a to b since the time he'd lost his family to when he'd ended up at a speed dating table to meet his eventual fiancee. ]
Not exactly. Not at first. [ because the trial is only the start of it all, really. ] They wanted me to plead PTSD. Get off lighter by saying I was out of my goddamn mind. [ there's a twitch in his lips at those words. ] Some phony insider cop told me there was a guy in the prison who had the answers I needed, so I β I took the stand. And I said the truth. That I wasn't crazy. That this was me and I'd done it again if I had to.
[ admittedly, he'd made a bigger scene of it than he probably had to. sure did piss off the masses. ]
Kind of split with the counselors after that. [ though he'd had other meetings with murdock, but if there is something he's going to keep from wynonna, even now, it's red's secret. least he could do for that asshole. ] All them except for Karen. She β [ averted eyes again, teeth briefly gnawing his lip. ] She's kind of like you, yeah? Stubborn as shit, won't take no for an answer. Even after the trial, she was always the one who wanted to make sure I got out of it all. Said she β she wanted an after for me, a life outside the revenge, the killing.
[ he pauses, swallowing hard before he looks back up, eyes gazing to wynonna again. ]
Took me a long time to really believe I even deserved that.
[ It's a lot to unload, and given the pretty mature hour she wouldn't necessarily begrudge him any exhaustion he might be feeling, any desire to table this until the morning β but in the meantime what she can do is not try to fill the silence with talking like she normally would, not babble to absorb that quiet between his confessions and her answers. She can listen, and while he stands there in the doorway that separates their bedroom from the adjoining bathroom, she slowly pulls back the covers and shifts forward to sit at the foot of the bed instead, her legs still tucked underneath her slightly β because she feels like it's important for her to be closer for this somehow, not perched at a distance like this is some kind of interrogation.
She doesn't overlook the brief grimace in his expression about the prospect of using some version of the insanity plea; it would rankle her too, if she was the one in that position. It was always easier for people to write her off as crazy rather than even try to listen to anything she had to say, easier for them to label her as the nutso girl whose father died and whose sister went missing than even harbor the possibility that demons could be real. It's why she fought so hard to come out ahead of that years later, coming back to Purgatory, and even now, nothing messes with her more than anyone implying that she might be a few fries short of a Happy Meal.
And she hadn't imagined the change in his voice when he'd briefly mentioned Karen; when he goes into greater detail about her, it's still there, but the way he talks about her makes her feel a brief pang of loss somehow at not knowing her, because it sounds like they have a hell of a lot in common. Shared interests, sure, but shared compassion for someone that society was just willing to let rot behind bars, to try in a court of law and then forget about, to bury alongside all his ghosts. Based on what he says, and even some of what he doesn't, she's left with the impression that Karen Page had seen the potential for good in him β just like she has, just like she continues to.
There's a fleeting smile on her lips, an expression of encouragement; he can keep going if he wants to, but she's not going to press him, not going to push him past what he's willing to divulge. Before she even says anything at all, she stretches out a hand to him, trying to beckon him into letting her establish that tether, and from there she'll try to coax him into sitting beside her at the end of the bed. ]
Well, it doesn't surprise me that you only benefitted from a bit of stubborn lady influence in your life. [ Her thumb sweeps over his knuckles once his hand is tucked in her own, and she briefly narrows in on a smudge of silver paint adorning the edge of his palm. ] But then you were back to figuring it out on your own, for a while?
[ the days of the trial had been some years back now, but as he talks about them, they feel closer still, like he can remember the weight pushing down hard on his chest as he'd taken the stand, all eyes locked upon him like some circus attraction, all except red's, blind as a bat but with his damn devil instincts, trying to talk him down like he had the whole goddamn thing figured out. he remembers debating taking sides, a brief glance at karen, knowing if he went with his gut, he'd disappoint her; ultimately, he was bound to eventually, and years later, he knows he has, again and again, no matter how stubborn she's been to keep him from drowning, her hands burning from gripping the rope so tight just to try pulling him back to the surface.
there's plenty he leaves unsaid about her, and it's not that he thinks it's worth keeping a secret from his fiancee, but because he still carries a fair amount of guilt prescribed towards those memories. wynonna may have been the one to finally steer him into taking a chance on a future, but he knows it's karen that guided him halfway there, repeating those words desperately into his head, never giving up on the hopeless cause he'd become.
he misses her. and he sure as hell wouldn't want her getting mixed up in this town, but a part of him knows he'd like the chance to see her again, for him to be able to be around to look out for her.
but it's wynonna's fingers that find him, the stretch of her reach prompting him to respond with his own brief upward lift of his lips when he follows that guidance, taking her hand with his own as he shuffles forward to sit beside her. this might not have been where he ever planned to be, but he doesn't have an ounce of regret on who he's chosen to have at his side for it. ]
I, uh β yeah, I ended up in a jail cell for a bit. This hot shot crime boss asshole used me to get rid of some shithead for him in there before he got me out, but β well, for a while, I thought my family was killed because of wrong place, wrong time. Cartel, Irish, biker gang β just one big shit hole of a fight in that park. But bit by bit, it all came out, yeah? That the whole thing was no accident, that they planned out the whole massacre. It β [ his breath catches, inhaling sharply, and though he doesn't release his hold of her hand, his eyes fall to the floor, swallowing hard. ] Found out my CO, man I trusted, was involved. Was in charge of operating drug deals out from the Middle East since back when I was over there. Him and this prick, Rawlins. They got us together β Cerberus Squad β made us believe Congress had our backs on it, took good soldier, good men, and made them clean up their dirty shit. When they thought I was a risk, when they thought I was trying to out their whole setup, they β
[ he takes a breath, deep, the inhale of it making him shudder, his voice falling low. ] They took out my family trying to get to me.
[ She knows if it were her bringing the truth to bear between them that she'd want something to stay grounded in the remembering of it, a touch that keeps her from getting too lost in the past, keep her firmly rooted in her present β with him. That's as much as she can offer right now, her hand in his, a clasping that isn't so strong he won't be able to break it if he needs to but giving him the warmth of that clasping, thumb performing a slow sweep across the ridges of his knuckles.
And she doesn't talk aside from where she thinks she might have an opening to say something, to gently steer him through those old memories, many of them more painful to dredge up even if it's only for her ears, her understanding. She hasn't asked for the details of what happened to his family because it's never felt like anything she needs to know, apart from the fact that they were in his life one minute and brutally ripped out of it the next β but he gives her the story, and somehow the knowledge that it hadn't just been a random act of violence, that it had been orchestrated, planned out, that his family had been the ones caught in the crossfire of that brutal massacre with him as the target β
She breathes out softly, almost when he takes that sudden and steeling inhale, reaffirming her hold on his hand; she's here, she says, in that one small squeeze, and she's not going anywhere. ]
God. [ She's glancing down at their shared grip on each other, her hand curved around his, and for a while there's just silence, the weight of it pressing down on her as everything he's saying sinks in; she's seen his nightmares, felt them when he jerks awake against her in the dark, tensing at her back and drenched in sweat. They're few and further in between these days, but they're never anything that's going to fully go away. ]
I'm sorry. I probably don't say it enough, since I figure you're just going to tell me I'm not the one who needs to be, but β [ But that doesn't take away the fact that she feels his pain, sees it, wishes she could find a way to ease some of that burden off of his shoulders. ] I'm so sorry.
[ he hadn't anticipated all of those confessions tumbling out, but with the confession of his time in court, it seems inevitable to tell her of the fall from there, the pursuit of whatever truth had landed him there in the first place.
even with what he does tell her, there's plenty that he doesn't β the involvement with david lieberman, the pursuit from madani, the loss of his brothers in arms, and most importantly, billy russo's betrayal.
but the story of bill goes even beyond the carousel, beyond the entanglement in rawlins, and somehow, even that feels a lot more fresh than the rest of it; bill's blood was practically still fresh on his hands when he'd first arrived in deerington.
he can feel the shake of her, the empathy that looms in her hold of his fingers, the hurt in her own voice, and he doesn't want to draw out more of it, if not for his own hesitance than for the sake of not wanting her to drown in too much of his old ghosts all at once. it's enough that she's listened to this much, that she's willing, that she opens herself up to his scars as much as she does despite his resistance in wanting them to be seen.
he falls quiet for a moment even after she speaks, eyes still drawn away, but soon enough, he lifts her hand in his, bringing her knuckles to his lips as he sighs softly. ]
I got them tangled up in shit that never should have touched them in the first place. I don't β I don't ever want that to happen here.
[ it traces upon why he's so often so withdrawn, why he resists letting anyone get involved with him, knowing the consequences of it, how just by association, his family had been killed for the dirt on his hands.
waverly can yell at him. kurt can guilt him. wynonna can persist to join him. but sometimes, it's simply a lot safer to be on his own. ]
[ This is more than she ever thought she'd hear when she'd prompted him for more context on the connection he shares to two of the town's newest additions, but it doesn't mean she's discovered anything that would make her want to pull away from him. If anything, the response he supplies gives her more of an understanding of the road he's been on leading up to being in this place, the answers he'd sought to clue him into a greater conspiracy at work in terms of the lives that had been snatched away from him, some of them cut short before they'd ever really had a chance to start.
And she knows that can't be the whole of it; there are still sections of her past that he doesn't have a complete picture of yet, not necessarily out of a desire to lie to him or withhold the truth but because she wants to go about telling him the right way, sort of like this, the two of them sitting on a bed in a quiet room with little chance of interruption β because honesty always deserves more than they often have time for. ]
But we're all tangled up in this here, Frank. This place, it touches every single one of us, whether we want it to or not. I know you want to keep out what you can, but there are some things you can't protect them from. [ And she includes herself in there, unspoken; she acknowledges that he's tried to be that barrier between her and the hells of this town, but she's had to face some trials on her own. ]
They're strong. They're all survivors. And maybe we can't always prepare for whatever's around the next corner, don't know which threats are coming next, but β the difference is you're not alone in it now. None of us are. [ She'd left Purgatory with the intention to keep her mess as far away from Waverly as she possibly could, but what she hadn't realized all those years she'd been gone was that she'd always be stronger with her family, not apart from them. ] We stay together. We fight together. And we do it one day at a time.
[ he knows it isn't just him; whatever comes for them here might be entirely blinded to who it even comes after, simply terrorizing any sleeper that's come to reside in this town, regardless of gender or age. the more he meets those who have found themselves here, the more he's come to recognize that their pasts hardly matter, that the good mixes with the bad, and the nightmares will pursue them all in the end. it doesn't mean he's any less insistent on being the one to take the hits if he has to. when he'd returned from his week long death sleep, he'd heard his share of scolding, but ultimately, even if he knows he'd have rather stayed by wynonna's side through it, he wouldn't have changed his decision to go into that dome.
still, there's more understanding in the shared nightmares, and maybe that's why he's come as far as he has now. if he was still the same man he was all those months ago, he doubts he'd be here now, living in this house, sleeping in this room with a woman he loves at his side. no, he'd be alone and angry in his apartment on the other side of town, still convinced he isn't meant for anything more. ]
Yeah. Yeah, I know. [ he mutters it soft, barely above a whisper, but it's still plenty concise, the more confirmation he can give to that assured comfort. she doesn't say anything he doesn't already know, hasn't already come to terms with, but it's soothing to help it from her lips all the same, and he leans in closer to her, angling his head so he can kiss her, something lingering but soft with an air of sweetness, a "thank you" in the caress of his lips.
it's not just her, not when it's laura too, and cliff, and waverly, and even brianna these days, along with everyone else he's come to know. but he also knows much of the credit to the trust he's found and the willingness is in the girl who pestered him blindly across a table talking about her fondness for nachos and judy garland all those months ago.
nudging his nose to her cheek, he sighs, ] I love you.
[ She isn't telling him anything that he hasn't heard from her before, but she's going to keep reminding him of the fact that he doesn't have to be the one who takes the hits so they don't have to, that the others are more than capable of standing their ground against whatever this town decides to throw at them β that they'll be even stronger if they stand side-by-side rather than one of them offering themselves up on the sacrificial altar.
And she definitely doesn't need to tell him what he stands to lose by throwing himself in the line of fire time and time again, what happens when even this place's hold on death runs out. He's had the wake-up call already, come to the realization of what taking the bullet means for the people he leaves behind in the process. He recommitted himself to her after returning, but there's a piece of her that isn't completely convinced he won't try it again someday, that he'll never tell her he needs to hit the redial button on that tough call.
It's that fear she shoves back down inside herself because she has to, because she doesn't need to let it play over her face where he can see it now or where it might spring up later β the fear of waking up someday to find that death has finally decided to stick, or worse, that she'll wake up home without a single memory from these past months, unable to recall what she's had, his hand solid in hers and this, his mouth slanting over hers in that gentle assurance.
And she lets herself cling to it now rather than choosing to push it away like she would have before, her empty hand lifting to skim across his cheek as she sinks into the kiss, into him; her fingers ghost across his nape as they hover in that space together, preserving their proximity and she listens to the sound of his voice uttered in the near-silence. She's never faced anything more terrifying than this, the prospect that one day she might have to give it all up, but every day she opens her eyes and rolls over to find him a warm and welcome weight beside her is one that she doesn't want to take for granted, not even for a second. ]
I love you. [ This is something he's already heard before, too, but there's so much more wrapped up in it this time, the promise that he hasn't done or said enough to give her any second thoughts, and she slowly tilts her head back with a whisper of hair across her features to survey him from a close-up angle, smiling faintly. ] Come to bed with me?
[ most things have often been plenty unpredictable for him, but deerington has very much tested that commonality with far more complexity, to the point where even death could be a temporary affair or a permanent occurrence, with no guarantee of either or. there's the disappearances too, the way in which some people come and go without warning, with no sort of rhyme and reason behind it, as random as the rest of the terrors this town is likely to give. for that, it makes each moment all the more significant, and though the loss of his family had taught him the fragility of having time with the people you love, he's still aware that here, even the memory of it might not be safe enough to hold onto once they've left the dreamscape of a place they may never remember.
and it terrifies him every day, that he'll lose her, that he'll lose all of them, be it from a return to their respective worlds, or some nightmare-fueled accident, and maybe part of that is what motivated him to ask the question he did, but when she mutters the return of those words to him, he knows that it's from so much more.
because there's enough scars and ghosts carried on his skin that no one should have to bear the weight of, and yet she remains there through it again and again, holding out her arms to take some of it with her, to loosen it from his back so that he doesn't go it alone, as much as he's tried to for all these years. maria had loved the monster in him but he could never find a balance between the two then; in wynonna's eyes, he sees all of himself at once, all the good and the bad stirred together, and she hasn't run the other way yet.
with her question, he manages a small smile, lifting his lips to her forehead for a lightly pressed kiss, before wordlessly answering by shuffling his weight back across the bed, palms pushing him along until he's settled closer to the pillow, dragging his knees in to slip his legs beneath the covers. and as he gets comfortable, he holds out an arm, welcoming that space for her to crawl into, a nestled corner right against his heart. ]
[ She can't say whether or not growing up in Purgatory has prepared her for something like a life here, but maybe it has; maybe it's because she knows what it's like to try and balance normal alongside the strange, the monstrous, the evil, that she figures she's not going to let this town's horrors stop her from trying to have something good, for once.
And this is good, for all the ups and downs they've had, everything from surprisingly easy conversation about favorite food and movies back when they had no idea what the other person looked like to the brutally honest exchanges that had almost threatened to break her heart and leave her to pick up the pieces. What they have is ultimately good because they've both chosen to hold on to it, to fight for it in equal measure, to protect each other, not just in their willingness to shield the other's body but their vulnerabilities, those exposures they've handed over for safekeeping. She realized a long time ago that she gave him her heart to guard whether she wanted to or not, and it scares her, but not enough to stop.
Somewhere between the jokes and the tension, the pain and the carefree moments, the ghosts of their pasts and the possibility of a shared future, they've carved out something meaningful, and she's changed by it every day.
She hums lightly when he turns to her, delivers a kiss there to her forehead and then eases back toward the pillows in answer; after a beat, she shifts onto hands and knees and follows him in that crawl, chuckling softly until she can worm her way beneath the blankets and tuck herself into the space he makes for her against all that warm skin. The moment she brings her head to rest against his shoulder, she's already leaning in to press her lips to his chest, a soft brush that doesn't try to initiate anything else while she slings her arm over his waist, fingertips absently stroking against his lower back. ]
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there's still some blotches of silver on his skin, but they're faint enough now that he might not need to keep scrubbing it with soap, finally snagging a towel to begin wiping his face dry, using the cloth to wipe those remaining bits of paint residue. ]
My BFF Matt. [ he repeats it with a roll of his eyes that she can't see but will probably be able to predict even as he shares it only with his reflection in front of him. ] Somehow, I doubt Quack Murdock labeled it like that.
[ it's not like he's meant to hide their arrival in the town, but it's hard for him to classify them as "friends" either so he hadn't really seen a reason to necessarily bring it up unless it did on its own. but now that the topic's arisen, he's almost reluctant to carry on with more details. tossing the towel back on the sink counter, he turns to shuffle into the doorway of the bathroom, leaning on the frame to look at her. ] They were my lawyers back in New York.
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It's got to be a little more complicated than Foggy had clued her into; the lawyer had conveniently dodged her question about whether or not he'd ever had to represent Frank in a sticky legal sitch, which had only stoked her curiosity further even if she hadn't tried to ask him about the details.
But Frank's apparently just going to come right out and say it, and she might not ever fully be used to that, his readiness to just state the truth so plainly without waffling. ]
Oh. [ And it's clear by the sudden, subtle widening of her eyes that she hadn't entirely expected that he'd put it out there so bluntly, but she sits up from the pillows, bracing her arms against her thighs as her mouth twists to one side in quiet consideration over what to say next. ] I'm guessing they weren't repping you over, like, a speeding ticket.
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No. [ he knows it's just her habit of casual commentary, but he answers it with honesty anyway, voice quiet with something slightly more serious in his eyes, even if it lacks any sort of sharpness aimed in her direction.
he'd asked her to marry him, hadn't he? and with that, he'd made sure that she'd known who he was, wouldn't have asked at all if he hadn't shared the forefront of his demons, of the ghosts he'd been carrying on his back for years. even now, there's no part of him that wants to lie to her, to brush off a piece of his past as something forgotten. especially if the attorneys are hanging around town, it's only fair that she knows exactly where they fit in to his history.
he has a habit of ducking his face, adjusting the direction of his eyes, but there are times he makes sure to always keep his eyes on her, as he does now β when he speaks of his other name, when he talks about the truth of his faults, his dirtied hands, never wanting to pretend he's better than he is. he'd done the same exact thing when he took the stand that day. ]
I was on trial for thirty-seven counts of first-degree murder. Punisher had only been around a little while but the media swallowed that shit up and spread the word like wild fire. Everybody knew who I was, everybody had something to say. Signing up to defend me as a death sentence, but for some reason, they were idiots enough to want to do it. Didn't give a shit about their motives for it, wouldn't have even let them do it, but β
[ he speaks clearly for most of it, but then his voice stops short, eyes drifting as a different memory blossoms and he swallows. ]
There was a woman β Karen Page. She worked for them, too, and she ... she wanted to help me find out what happened to my family. Told me the only way I'd ever get justice was to keep fighting for it, to keep digging. So I let them help me.
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He'd given her the truth of his past a long time ago, told her the story of those losses and the name that had eventually sprung from his self-appointed mission to uncover the identities of those responsible for it β but her instinct tells her that he could likely only go about it for so long before the law caught up with him, and that's where she figures Nelson and Murdock had eventually come into play.
Now, she realizes why Foggy may have been a little purposefully vague on the details, because that whole pesky attorney/client privilege adopts a whole new meaning when said client is on trial for murder.
And so she just listens as he fills in those blanks for her, not trying to offer up any more or less than what the truth demands; she doesn't ask for the specifics on it because she doesn't need them, not unless it's something he thinks she needs to hear, maybe even feels she deserves the story behind. He's made his feelings on the name the public had given him pretty clear already, but this is the first she's hearing that his trial was such a media circus, or that he was believed to be a lost cause not worth defending, and then β she can't help but notice the shift in his voice when he mentions that third person, Karen, the one willing to help him uncover more of the truth. ]
They wanted to help. [ She's not saying anything he probably hasn't already figured out himself by now, but she thinks she has a solid knowledge of what he's like to deduce that he would've been stubborn enough to try and turn away their help until someone had given him a reason to work with them, not against them. ] And did they? Help you get the answers?
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Not exactly. Not at first. [ because the trial is only the start of it all, really. ] They wanted me to plead PTSD. Get off lighter by saying I was out of my goddamn mind. [ there's a twitch in his lips at those words. ] Some phony insider cop told me there was a guy in the prison who had the answers I needed, so I β I took the stand. And I said the truth. That I wasn't crazy. That this was me and I'd done it again if I had to.
[ admittedly, he'd made a bigger scene of it than he probably had to. sure did piss off the masses. ]
Kind of split with the counselors after that. [ though he'd had other meetings with murdock, but if there is something he's going to keep from wynonna, even now, it's red's secret. least he could do for that asshole. ] All them except for Karen. She β [ averted eyes again, teeth briefly gnawing his lip. ] She's kind of like you, yeah? Stubborn as shit, won't take no for an answer. Even after the trial, she was always the one who wanted to make sure I got out of it all. Said she β she wanted an after for me, a life outside the revenge, the killing.
[ he pauses, swallowing hard before he looks back up, eyes gazing to wynonna again. ]
Took me a long time to really believe I even deserved that.
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She doesn't overlook the brief grimace in his expression about the prospect of using some version of the insanity plea; it would rankle her too, if she was the one in that position. It was always easier for people to write her off as crazy rather than even try to listen to anything she had to say, easier for them to label her as the nutso girl whose father died and whose sister went missing than even harbor the possibility that demons could be real. It's why she fought so hard to come out ahead of that years later, coming back to Purgatory, and even now, nothing messes with her more than anyone implying that she might be a few fries short of a Happy Meal.
And she hadn't imagined the change in his voice when he'd briefly mentioned Karen; when he goes into greater detail about her, it's still there, but the way he talks about her makes her feel a brief pang of loss somehow at not knowing her, because it sounds like they have a hell of a lot in common. Shared interests, sure, but shared compassion for someone that society was just willing to let rot behind bars, to try in a court of law and then forget about, to bury alongside all his ghosts. Based on what he says, and even some of what he doesn't, she's left with the impression that Karen Page had seen the potential for good in him β just like she has, just like she continues to.
There's a fleeting smile on her lips, an expression of encouragement; he can keep going if he wants to, but she's not going to press him, not going to push him past what he's willing to divulge. Before she even says anything at all, she stretches out a hand to him, trying to beckon him into letting her establish that tether, and from there she'll try to coax him into sitting beside her at the end of the bed. ]
Well, it doesn't surprise me that you only benefitted from a bit of stubborn lady influence in your life. [ Her thumb sweeps over his knuckles once his hand is tucked in her own, and she briefly narrows in on a smudge of silver paint adorning the edge of his palm. ] But then you were back to figuring it out on your own, for a while?
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there's plenty he leaves unsaid about her, and it's not that he thinks it's worth keeping a secret from his fiancee, but because he still carries a fair amount of guilt prescribed towards those memories. wynonna may have been the one to finally steer him into taking a chance on a future, but he knows it's karen that guided him halfway there, repeating those words desperately into his head, never giving up on the hopeless cause he'd become.
he misses her. and he sure as hell wouldn't want her getting mixed up in this town, but a part of him knows he'd like the chance to see her again, for him to be able to be around to look out for her.
but it's wynonna's fingers that find him, the stretch of her reach prompting him to respond with his own brief upward lift of his lips when he follows that guidance, taking her hand with his own as he shuffles forward to sit beside her. this might not have been where he ever planned to be, but he doesn't have an ounce of regret on who he's chosen to have at his side for it. ]
I, uh β yeah, I ended up in a jail cell for a bit. This hot shot crime boss asshole used me to get rid of some shithead for him in there before he got me out, but β well, for a while, I thought my family was killed because of wrong place, wrong time. Cartel, Irish, biker gang β just one big shit hole of a fight in that park. But bit by bit, it all came out, yeah? That the whole thing was no accident, that they planned out the whole massacre. It β [ his breath catches, inhaling sharply, and though he doesn't release his hold of her hand, his eyes fall to the floor, swallowing hard. ] Found out my CO, man I trusted, was involved. Was in charge of operating drug deals out from the Middle East since back when I was over there. Him and this prick, Rawlins. They got us together β Cerberus Squad β made us believe Congress had our backs on it, took good soldier, good men, and made them clean up their dirty shit. When they thought I was a risk, when they thought I was trying to out their whole setup, they β
[ he takes a breath, deep, the inhale of it making him shudder, his voice falling low. ] They took out my family trying to get to me.
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And she doesn't talk aside from where she thinks she might have an opening to say something, to gently steer him through those old memories, many of them more painful to dredge up even if it's only for her ears, her understanding. She hasn't asked for the details of what happened to his family because it's never felt like anything she needs to know, apart from the fact that they were in his life one minute and brutally ripped out of it the next β but he gives her the story, and somehow the knowledge that it hadn't just been a random act of violence, that it had been orchestrated, planned out, that his family had been the ones caught in the crossfire of that brutal massacre with him as the target β
She breathes out softly, almost when he takes that sudden and steeling inhale, reaffirming her hold on his hand; she's here, she says, in that one small squeeze, and she's not going anywhere. ]
God. [ She's glancing down at their shared grip on each other, her hand curved around his, and for a while there's just silence, the weight of it pressing down on her as everything he's saying sinks in; she's seen his nightmares, felt them when he jerks awake against her in the dark, tensing at her back and drenched in sweat. They're few and further in between these days, but they're never anything that's going to fully go away. ]
I'm sorry. I probably don't say it enough, since I figure you're just going to tell me I'm not the one who needs to be, but β [ But that doesn't take away the fact that she feels his pain, sees it, wishes she could find a way to ease some of that burden off of his shoulders. ] I'm so sorry.
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even with what he does tell her, there's plenty that he doesn't β the involvement with david lieberman, the pursuit from madani, the loss of his brothers in arms, and most importantly, billy russo's betrayal.
but the story of bill goes even beyond the carousel, beyond the entanglement in rawlins, and somehow, even that feels a lot more fresh than the rest of it; bill's blood was practically still fresh on his hands when he'd first arrived in deerington.
he can feel the shake of her, the empathy that looms in her hold of his fingers, the hurt in her own voice, and he doesn't want to draw out more of it, if not for his own hesitance than for the sake of not wanting her to drown in too much of his old ghosts all at once. it's enough that she's listened to this much, that she's willing, that she opens herself up to his scars as much as she does despite his resistance in wanting them to be seen.
he falls quiet for a moment even after she speaks, eyes still drawn away, but soon enough, he lifts her hand in his, bringing her knuckles to his lips as he sighs softly. ]
I got them tangled up in shit that never should have touched them in the first place. I don't β I don't ever want that to happen here.
[ it traces upon why he's so often so withdrawn, why he resists letting anyone get involved with him, knowing the consequences of it, how just by association, his family had been killed for the dirt on his hands.
waverly can yell at him. kurt can guilt him. wynonna can persist to join him. but sometimes, it's simply a lot safer to be on his own. ]
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And she knows that can't be the whole of it; there are still sections of her past that he doesn't have a complete picture of yet, not necessarily out of a desire to lie to him or withhold the truth but because she wants to go about telling him the right way, sort of like this, the two of them sitting on a bed in a quiet room with little chance of interruption β because honesty always deserves more than they often have time for. ]
But we're all tangled up in this here, Frank. This place, it touches every single one of us, whether we want it to or not. I know you want to keep out what you can, but there are some things you can't protect them from. [ And she includes herself in there, unspoken; she acknowledges that he's tried to be that barrier between her and the hells of this town, but she's had to face some trials on her own. ]
They're strong. They're all survivors. And maybe we can't always prepare for whatever's around the next corner, don't know which threats are coming next, but β the difference is you're not alone in it now. None of us are. [ She'd left Purgatory with the intention to keep her mess as far away from Waverly as she possibly could, but what she hadn't realized all those years she'd been gone was that she'd always be stronger with her family, not apart from them. ] We stay together. We fight together. And we do it one day at a time.
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still, there's more understanding in the shared nightmares, and maybe that's why he's come as far as he has now. if he was still the same man he was all those months ago, he doubts he'd be here now, living in this house, sleeping in this room with a woman he loves at his side. no, he'd be alone and angry in his apartment on the other side of town, still convinced he isn't meant for anything more. ]
Yeah. Yeah, I know. [ he mutters it soft, barely above a whisper, but it's still plenty concise, the more confirmation he can give to that assured comfort. she doesn't say anything he doesn't already know, hasn't already come to terms with, but it's soothing to help it from her lips all the same, and he leans in closer to her, angling his head so he can kiss her, something lingering but soft with an air of sweetness, a "thank you" in the caress of his lips.
it's not just her, not when it's laura too, and cliff, and waverly, and even brianna these days, along with everyone else he's come to know. but he also knows much of the credit to the trust he's found and the willingness is in the girl who pestered him blindly across a table talking about her fondness for nachos and judy garland all those months ago.
nudging his nose to her cheek, he sighs, ] I love you.
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And she definitely doesn't need to tell him what he stands to lose by throwing himself in the line of fire time and time again, what happens when even this place's hold on death runs out. He's had the wake-up call already, come to the realization of what taking the bullet means for the people he leaves behind in the process. He recommitted himself to her after returning, but there's a piece of her that isn't completely convinced he won't try it again someday, that he'll never tell her he needs to hit the redial button on that tough call.
It's that fear she shoves back down inside herself because she has to, because she doesn't need to let it play over her face where he can see it now or where it might spring up later β the fear of waking up someday to find that death has finally decided to stick, or worse, that she'll wake up home without a single memory from these past months, unable to recall what she's had, his hand solid in hers and this, his mouth slanting over hers in that gentle assurance.
And she lets herself cling to it now rather than choosing to push it away like she would have before, her empty hand lifting to skim across his cheek as she sinks into the kiss, into him; her fingers ghost across his nape as they hover in that space together, preserving their proximity and she listens to the sound of his voice uttered in the near-silence. She's never faced anything more terrifying than this, the prospect that one day she might have to give it all up, but every day she opens her eyes and rolls over to find him a warm and welcome weight beside her is one that she doesn't want to take for granted, not even for a second. ]
I love you. [ This is something he's already heard before, too, but there's so much more wrapped up in it this time, the promise that he hasn't done or said enough to give her any second thoughts, and she slowly tilts her head back with a whisper of hair across her features to survey him from a close-up angle, smiling faintly. ] Come to bed with me?
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and it terrifies him every day, that he'll lose her, that he'll lose all of them, be it from a return to their respective worlds, or some nightmare-fueled accident, and maybe part of that is what motivated him to ask the question he did, but when she mutters the return of those words to him, he knows that it's from so much more.
because there's enough scars and ghosts carried on his skin that no one should have to bear the weight of, and yet she remains there through it again and again, holding out her arms to take some of it with her, to loosen it from his back so that he doesn't go it alone, as much as he's tried to for all these years. maria had loved the monster in him but he could never find a balance between the two then; in wynonna's eyes, he sees all of himself at once, all the good and the bad stirred together, and she hasn't run the other way yet.
with her question, he manages a small smile, lifting his lips to her forehead for a lightly pressed kiss, before wordlessly answering by shuffling his weight back across the bed, palms pushing him along until he's settled closer to the pillow, dragging his knees in to slip his legs beneath the covers. and as he gets comfortable, he holds out an arm, welcoming that space for her to crawl into, a nestled corner right against his heart. ]
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And this is good, for all the ups and downs they've had, everything from surprisingly easy conversation about favorite food and movies back when they had no idea what the other person looked like to the brutally honest exchanges that had almost threatened to break her heart and leave her to pick up the pieces. What they have is ultimately good because they've both chosen to hold on to it, to fight for it in equal measure, to protect each other, not just in their willingness to shield the other's body but their vulnerabilities, those exposures they've handed over for safekeeping. She realized a long time ago that she gave him her heart to guard whether she wanted to or not, and it scares her, but not enough to stop.
Somewhere between the jokes and the tension, the pain and the carefree moments, the ghosts of their pasts and the possibility of a shared future, they've carved out something meaningful, and she's changed by it every day.
She hums lightly when he turns to her, delivers a kiss there to her forehead and then eases back toward the pillows in answer; after a beat, she shifts onto hands and knees and follows him in that crawl, chuckling softly until she can worm her way beneath the blankets and tuck herself into the space he makes for her against all that warm skin. The moment she brings her head to rest against his shoulder, she's already leaning in to press her lips to his chest, a soft brush that doesn't try to initiate anything else while she slings her arm over his waist, fingertips absently stroking against his lower back. ]