milliways_bar | (no subject)

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As much as he tried to convince himself that he wasn't getting sick, Tommy wasn't immune to that weird flu that's been going around after all.

Because now his name isn't Tommy. It's Wayne.

And after several days of not shaving in his flu-ridden delirium, he decided to give himself a mustache.

"Aw, c'mon, Miss Bar," he says, his usually rapid New York City bark replaced with a slow, Midwestern drawl. "You can't deny a fella just one sip of whiskey, now can you?"

A napkin appears. Yes, she can. Because of reasons.

Wayne sighs. Deeply, and sadly. Almost depressive, defeated. His shoulders hunched over, he slouches on a bar stool and lights a cigarette with tremulous fingers.

And yes, he's wearing a straw cowboy hat.

[OOC: Probably one of the last victims of the IMDb flu! Tommy is now Wayne from a movie called Jesus' Son.]

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It's the mustache that breaks through her resolve.

She starts snickering, low and under her breath, but flashing her teeth gives her amusement away.

"I ain't laughin'."

If he wants to hear her again, he'll have to try harder than that. Politeness runs deep.

The curve of his mustache makes his face a perfect :C when he frowns.

"Now, look here, darlin'," he says, so not angrily at all, as he smushes his hat down on his head and stands with his fist on his hip, "I know a laugh when I hear one, and this, what you're doin' right now, is laughing, so don't even try to cover it up, 'cause I know you can't."

She's gonna make a valiant effort, though.

She tips her head down and covers her mouth, then pinches the bridge of her nose. Christ in a chicken basket, why's he gotta stand like that? Hat all dented around his ears, nose whiskers hanging.

There's definite chortling happening, but she stands her ground.

She just can't look at him, is all.

He huffs into his 'stache.

"You ain't foolin' me, darlin', you're just gonna hafta come out with all of it, 'less you want me to expose more of my ankles, and I don't think anybody needs to be scandalized by that sorta thing. What's more, the inseam on these overalls is ridin' up somethin' awful, and I'd much rather get into some dry pants my size before the chafing starts a fire."

It's not funny. It really isn't. It's just that — well.

He called her darlin'.

The laughter starts bubbling up like a fresh-struck well, slow at first and then all at once. Low, quiet, babbling, until it's singing in the air like church bells. Her hand is still over her mouth, but ineffectually so.

"Good gracious, the things you say!"

She looks scandalized, doesn't she? Truth is, she's long used to worse coming from him.

He hasn't lost his sense of humor. It's just that he doesn't have many reasons to use it except for when FH is around, but he doesn't expect Kate to reawaken this side of him. So when she starts laughing, more amused than scandalized and thoroughly in on the joke, he feels as if he's accomplished something important. And that's a great feeling.

"I'm usually more polite in the company of a woman, but I think we've moved past the point of polite," he says with a wry chuckle.

After all, she did try to dry his nether regions with a blanket.

She flushes, and it has nothing to do with laughter.

"I believe you're right. Besides, y'don't generally call a lady 'darlin'' when you're tryin' t'be polite."

She leans back against her desk, eyes shining at him. She's a mess of frayed hair and rosy cheeks, lips taut in the kind of smile that makes you wonder what's going on underneath.

It is, for all intents and purposes, flirtatious.

That is a very dangerous smile.

But while she manages to look effortlessly enticing, he can't do much more than look like a big goof.

"Well, you seem like a 'darlin'' to me more than a 'ma'am'. It was the first thing that rolled off my tongue when I saw you. Hope I don't hafta change it."

"No—"

The answer comes quickly off her tongue, adding to her rosiness.

"—I'd rather you didn't. I like it."

She laughs softly, lowering her head. She wonders how much Tommy's gonna remember once he snaps out of this. She might have a lot to answer for, but if it gets him to call her 'darlin'' with a sweet little twang in his voice, she don't mind.

She clears her throat.

"Should we head back in?"

She likes it. That she insists on it, and the color that it brings to her cheeks-- it actually touches him. It shouldn't, but it does. Because still, he wonders what Tommy calls her.

"Sure," he says quietly with a faint nod. "I could go for something hot to drink right about now."

He suddenly turns his head and sneezes, covering his mouth with his sleeve. It's a reminder of why he should be getting back, and getting better.

"And then maybe a nap."

She smiles at him, a sweet little chuckle caught under her breath.

"That sounds like a good idea."

Though part of her is reluctant to move. They're all alone out here, just them and the animals, and she's still infinitely curious about this man he thinks he is. More than she was before, perhaps. It's not just an illness, now; he's sweet, and kind, and funny, and good-tempered.

"Thank you for your help. I'll be sure you're compensated."

She moseys on up alongside him, keeping her hands in her pockets despite the itch to hold onto him.

With his clothes bundled up under one arm, it's almost natural for him to offer her the other. She may be someone else's girl, but that doesn't mean he can't still be nice to her. She's already done a lot to look after him while he's been sick, keeping him busy and out of trouble. Maybe if things were different, he could let the harmless flirtations become a little more than just that. But the fact is, he feels too much like a drifter, too unsure of who he is right now, and too uncertain of where he'll be tomorrow.

"D'you s'pose Bar'll give me a glass of whiskey? Compensation an' all."

He doesn't think that'll be happening, but it's worth a shot.

She glances at the arm, and then up to his face. Curious, cautious eyes sweep over his, so familiar and yet so different all at once. She smiles slightly, and wraps her hand around his elbow.

"Perhaps we'll start with hot tea an' lemon for that cough'a yours, then we'll see what Miss Bar's humor is."

Kate would let him have a nip, particularly seeing as how he's sick; however, for how desperate Tommy looked when he asked her not to let that happen, she wouldn't dare betray the promise she made.

"An' it's jus' about time for you t'have another dose of medicine."

He notices what seems to him to be hesitation when she takes his arm, but that's understandable. She might be looking for someone else in his eyes, might prefer to hold onto someone safe and not a stranger. But he offers himself as a substitute -- he can't do anything about how he makes up for or falls short of who she expects, but he'll continue to do his best to treat her well.

He brightens a little at the mention of having to take his medicine. Apparently this is as liquored up as he's allowed to get while he's here.

"Well, that's something to look forward to," he murmurs as they head on their way.

She chuckles dryly.

"Is it?"

(Her hesitation is borne solely out of a desire to not make him uncomfortable, or scare him off.)

"Might have me worryin' about you yet, goin' on like that. It's no good not bein' able t'go without."

He responds with a chuckle of his own, though a bit noncommittal and evasive, with a touch of self-deprecation.

"I can go without," he says conversationally without insisting on it. "Like right about now, I'm goin' without. Have been goin' without since I woke up, actually. Dunno 'bout you, but I think that's a pretty damn good effort."

"S'only been a few hours."

She slants a look at him, amusement cautiously perched upon her lips.

"Couldn't say how good an effort that is, seein' as I don't know how you are usually."

He slants a look right back at her, a little sheepish, but adamant in his habits.

"Yeah, that's right, a few hours-- in a row. That counts as a good effort in my book, I reckon. Usually? I'd be at the bar gettin' as drunk as possible. When I ain't doin' that, I'm out lookin' for work-- just so's I can go back to the bar to get as drunk as possible. So y'see, there are times when I do go without."

She's quiet for a moment, but that doesn't mean he's won.

"Why?"

That don't sound like no kind of life.

Now he's quiet for a moment. He knows he hasn't won this, and never aimed to in the first place. He hasn't won anything in his life.

"'Cause I don't got nothin' else."

She clucks softly, her hand tightening slightly around his arm.

"Why d'you say that?"

He glances at her and gives a resigned shrug.

"'Cause I just don't. No kids, lost my wife, lost the house. Never could hold down a job for more than a couple months, and after my wife left, there didn't seem no real reason to, other than to eat and keep a roof over my head. I don't need much. I don't want much."

Pausing as he gazes out toward the road ahead, he sighs.

"I just wanna forget."

She feels a sharp stab to her heart.

It's still Tommy underneath it all, and there's a fierce protectiveness rising up at the thought of him suffering, even secondhand. However, it's more than that.

"So did I, once 'pon a time."

She keeps her eyes ahead, expression giving nothing away.

"You ain't the only one who's lost everythin'. Everythin' I once had's gone up in smoke. So I drank t'forget, drove off the people in my life, an' you know the real sonnovabitch in all that? I didn't forget. Not even a moment. It was all for nothin'."

Not expecting a reply like that, he snaps his gaze toward her when she speaks, a line between his brows. He may not know (or remember) everything about her. But now he realizes why the look that he's seen in her eyes before seemed so familiar. (It's what Tommy saw in her eyes, too.)

Now her expression is set firm against the sorrow behind her words.

Quieted, he turns to stare ahead of him as well.

He sighs again, as his long, loping stride somehow manages to match up with her step. Like they've walked together like this before. It's comforting. His heart is heavy; yet her hand around his arm seems to take up a small part of the burden.

"'M sorry, darlin'. I don't want for anybody to lose what means the most to 'em. But at least you got somethin' else back, didn't you? Someone?"

She wasn't fishing for an apology, she was just trying to snap some sense into him. She'd say as much, except his question catches her off guard.

She looks up, eyes a little round. Opening her mouth, she realizes she doesn't know what to say. She never expected to be in a position where she'd have to explain their relationship to him, and it quite frankly isn't fair. The automatic, sure thing answer is no, I didn't, because Tommy isn't a 'someone'. He isn't a thing, or a future, or something she can ever hold onto. Except — something changed over All Hallows' Eve. She'll be damned if she knows what, but it felt like there was a moment between them where things — shifted. And, Wayne or not, she's not going to say something Tommy might remember later and hold against her. She don't know how he feels anymore, she just knows that it's complicated, and he gets his feelings hurt awful easy.

Of course, if he is going to remember anything, he'll remember this long awkward pause where she looks more than a little devastated, like a city reduced to rubble. So she blinks hard and looks away, shaking her head almost imperceptibly.

"Not sure how t'answer that, Wayne."

Her voice is low, lacking emotion. She cares about Tommy perhaps more than anyone else in the universe, but she lost her whole life, and Tommy's repeatedly told her that's the one thing he can never give her.

So no, she didn't get somethin' else back at all. What she needs to live, she takes. Everything else is whiling away the time until she ends up wherever Sam is.

"Point is, y'can't run away forever. Things always catch up t'you."