[ This is probably the message she hesitated on sending the most, because — because. Nursing her phone shyly, anxiously, for several seconds before hitting send and then hastily shoving it into her pocket like it's a hot potato fresh from the microwave. She's doing great. ]
Leaving town for a week. Maybe two. Don't get killed while I'm gone.
[ Nothing about this says she's doing great, but. She's allowed to have her reasons. ]
This the kind of leaving where you don't wanna be found?
[ A week or two means he trusts she's coming back. But what he's not sure about is if it's the kind of thing where you gotta get your head on right without any company for a while, or — something else is going on. What, exactly? ]
[ Not an answer, she knows, but not not one either. She's not hiding, she's not running, she's just. Pivoting. A little. For a week, or two, or — whatever. ]
City's feeling crowded. I didn't grow up in one. Just need some fresh air.
[ While on the surface this could seem like him prodding her to tell him more, it's more just — a true thing. In some ways, it's an agreement of sorts, too. It's why he slept outside sometimes in Acreage. It's why he ends up out in the fringes more often than not, for no real reason at all. The way the city breathes over his shoulder, feels cramped and too much like Baltimore. Everywhere's Baltimore, though.
But really, if he wanted to poke and prod, he would. He doesn't beat around the bush. So more than anything, this is, Yeah. I get it. ]
[ The thing is, though? She entered the city with stars in her eyes. For months, she couldn't see past the lack of Vought, of Homelander. Didn't want to. Didn't care to bother. There was a sheen, and it was fake, maybe, but she was free, truly. For the first time in her life. No mission, no impossible fight; no cage to be thrown into. That sheen has been sanded down and rubbed raw and lanced like a boil. It's left an exposed nerve in its wake.
And now that same city has brought her a little piece of home, except that's like pressing a lit match to that exposed nerve. No matter how frustrated she gets, she can't even scream. There's no fixing that.
Types a few things, backspaces them. Goes with — ]
When I come back, will you go somewhere with me? [ When. It's a promise, or something. ]
[ A few things flash through his head when she asks. First is, depends. But it's there and gone just as quickly as it comes. Depends? Nah, actually — it doesn't so much these days. Because what would it depend on?
Depends on, what, him feeling like it? Her having a good reason? None of those things are his style. She's earned his loyalty and when he gives it the way he has with Kimiko, that means those sort of qualifiers aren't necessary. And he realizes there's not much he'd say no to if she asked.
He hasn't yet, that is. Because he trusts her and she's never given him a reason not to. So his response is answer enough, he figures. He wouldn't ask it like he does otherwise. ]
Where are we going?
[ Honestly, he wouldn't even need to know that. Kimiko wouldn't hurt him, wouldn't bring him anywhere that didn't hold some kind of meaning for her asking to begin with. ]
[ Of course he does. He's the only one in Panorama who's seen it. Property of the Shining Light Liberation Army, grafted onto her when she was barely ten years old. They were kind enough to give her a mouthful of opium for the pain, but she had already stopped making noise by then. ]
I want to get it covered up but I don't know where to go. That sort of thing needs a speaking person anyway.
[ He hasn't thought much about the other people she knows here, outside of the few he's aware of, like Laura and Logan, Furiosa, Sciel now. How close she is to all of them isn't a thought that occurs to him, except in this context. The idea that he's being asked to go with her for something — like this. Something important. At the same time, he reasons quickly that he's the only one who probably knows about it to begin with so it's a de facto sort of thing. Something she could have mentioned to someone if she really wanted to, but likely not the kind of thing that comes up unless it's — seen.
So, naturally, he'd be the one to go. He'll be glad to see it gone, too. Fuckers had claimed her long enough. ]
Yeah. We'll find a place.
[ This becomes important to him now, too. Important to him to see her free of it. Something she could take back for herself. ]
[ In hindsight, she's not sure why she was so nervous to message him. The turn to the conversation has pushed her shoulders back up an inch; something in her stomach unknots, replaced by something — vaguely warm, a little floaty. ]
I'll get us dinner after.
[ Maybe getting to share a meal with him is a good reason to come back. ]
[ Maybe, on the other end, she can picture the hint of a smirk on his face. More seriously, though, there's just one thing he's gotta know. The rest of her reasons for getting away belong to her. ]
[ Jesus. Married. It's the most foreign concept to him, not the sort of thing that could exist in the same sentence as his name. As foreign as Holden even just once not being a goddamn hero about everything.
So did the someone showing up from home prompt this? It's a leap between the two things — seemingly — but. Maybe not. ]
[ The someone absolutely did not prompt this, no. Not that she sensibly sees the line Amos could connect between her two disparate dots. To her, it's a reasonable question, but it's also its own subject. ]
[ Not a thing he would have thought about before, but. I've learned you have to ask, so okay, he'll ask. It's more of a cheeky thing, though, because he already knows the answer. Knows her.
Then again, he's guessing the whole reason she asked is probably mixed up in some kind of, you think you know someone but you really don't sort of thing. Somehow, it's all gotta tie — even just a little bit — into taking a breath from the city. Getting away. ]
[ And that's an opening, isn't it. A terrible time for one, since she's fucking off to a farming village for the remainder of the month. What does it say about her, that this sort of courage comes easier with distance, with him in the rearview?
So, obviously, she fucks with him a little. Expecting he'll see through it. ]
[ Oh no, look at the smile she doesn't get to see! There's a soft laugh under his breath and he shakes his head a little on the other end. Wasn't sure what to expect. ]
Shit, I get that. Unlimited pasta, a guy like that all to yourself in Acreage, and you're gonna come back to all this?
[ Really come back? Is it a thing he's invested in?
Of course I am. I promised you an expensive dinner.
[ Well, not much of a promise. It'll be something she does because she wants to, not because she has to.
He's far from her only reason to return, but he's... pretty high up there. She's still working through what that means, if it has to mean anything. Once she makes it to Acreage, she might end up in the same room she hired before, puzzling at why the bed seems to stretch on for miles and her barely able to fill it. (The thought of finding someone else to fill that space doesn't occur to her.) There will be people she returns to because she has to, like Hughie and Annie. And then there will be people she returns to because — because she wants to, because being away from them isn't worth the clear air and vibrant night skies. Amos is in the latter category.
So, a tattoo parlour excursion. A meal she doesn't cheap out on. After that, who knows? ]
Gotta go. It's my turn to drive.
[ And, just in case he was thinking Alfredo The Pasta Husband was real, she sends a quick picture of her roadtrip buddy. In the darkness of the evening drive, the dashboard lights illuminate the downward-facing planes of Logan's face, making him look only a bit ghoulish — and not terribly amused by the loud click of the camera phone. ]
[ Hey, he knows that guy. A good crew for the trip out there, honestly. She says she'll be back in a few weeks, he believes that. As with many new and unfamiliar emotions that pop up, Amos at first doesn't always know how to identify them, only knows he'd recognize them in other people and that helps sort of — manifest them into something more real for him. There's defining it in objective terms, then considering how and if it applies to him.
In this case, her being gone for a bit, to get some air and maybe get her head on straight, seems reasonable and understandable enough. And at the same time, he finds himself thinking —
When he sees her again, that'll be nice. Genuinely nice. Something to look forward to, actually. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
text.
Leaving town for a week. Maybe two.
Don't get killed while I'm gone.
no subject
This the kind of leaving where you don't wanna be found?
[ A week or two means he trusts she's coming back. But what he's not sure about is if it's the kind of thing where you gotta get your head on right without any company for a while, or — something else is going on. What, exactly? ]
no subject
[ Not an answer, she knows, but not not one either. She's not hiding, she's not running, she's just. Pivoting. A little. For a week, or two, or — whatever. ]
City's feeling crowded. I didn't grow up in one.
Just need some fresh air.
no subject
[ While on the surface this could seem like him prodding her to tell him more, it's more just — a true thing. In some ways, it's an agreement of sorts, too. It's why he slept outside sometimes in Acreage. It's why he ends up out in the fringes more often than not, for no real reason at all. The way the city breathes over his shoulder, feels cramped and too much like Baltimore. Everywhere's Baltimore, though.
But really, if he wanted to poke and prod, he would. He doesn't beat around the bush. So more than anything, this is, Yeah. I get it. ]
no subject
And now that same city has brought her a little piece of home, except that's like pressing a lit match to that exposed nerve. No matter how frustrated she gets, she can't even scream. There's no fixing that.
Types a few things, backspaces them. Goes with — ]
When I come back, will you go somewhere with me? [ When. It's a promise, or something. ]
no subject
Depends on, what, him feeling like it? Her having a good reason? None of those things are his style. She's earned his loyalty and when he gives it the way he has with Kimiko, that means those sort of qualifiers aren't necessary. And he realizes there's not much he'd say no to if she asked.
He hasn't yet, that is. Because he trusts her and she's never given him a reason not to. So his response is answer enough, he figures. He wouldn't ask it like he does otherwise. ]
Where are we going?
[ Honestly, he wouldn't even need to know that. Kimiko wouldn't hurt him, wouldn't bring him anywhere that didn't hold some kind of meaning for her asking to begin with. ]
no subject
[ Of course he does. He's the only one in Panorama who's seen it. Property of the Shining Light Liberation Army, grafted onto her when she was barely ten years old. They were kind enough to give her a mouthful of opium for the pain, but she had already stopped making noise by then. ]
I want to get it covered up but I don't know where to go.
That sort of thing needs a speaking person anyway.
no subject
So, naturally, he'd be the one to go. He'll be glad to see it gone, too. Fuckers had claimed her long enough. ]
Yeah. We'll find a place.
[ This becomes important to him now, too. Important to him to see her free of it. Something she could take back for herself. ]
no subject
[ In hindsight, she's not sure why she was so nervous to message him. The turn to the conversation has pushed her shoulders back up an inch; something in her stomach unknots, replaced by something — vaguely warm, a little floaty. ]
I'll get us dinner after.
[ Maybe getting to share a meal with him is a good reason to come back. ]
no subject
[ Maybe, on the other end, she can picture the hint of a smirk on his face. More seriously, though, there's just one thing he's gotta know. The rest of her reasons for getting away belong to her. ]
Getting out of the city - no one fucked with you?
no subject
No. But someone from home showed up. I didn't expect it.
[ A pause, and then. This, out of left field. ]
Are you married?
no subject
So did the someone showing up from home prompt this? It's a leap between the two things — seemingly — but. Maybe not. ]
No. Why?
no subject
I've learned you have to ask.
[ She's glad he's not married, though. ]
no subject
Then again, he's guessing the whole reason she asked is probably mixed up in some kind of, you think you know someone but you really don't sort of thing. Somehow, it's all gotta tie — even just a little bit — into taking a breath from the city. Getting away. ]
Alright then. You?
no subject
So, obviously, she fucks with him a little. Expecting he'll see through it. ]
Yes.
His name is Alfredo.
He won my heart through pasta.
no subject
Shit, I get that. Unlimited pasta, a guy like that all to yourself in Acreage, and you're gonna come back to all this?
[ Really come back? Is it a thing he's invested in?
Yeah. Yeah. ]
no subject
[ Well, not much of a promise. It'll be something she does because she wants to, not because she has to.
He's far from her only reason to return, but he's... pretty high up there. She's still working through what that means, if it has to mean anything. Once she makes it to Acreage, she might end up in the same room she hired before, puzzling at why the bed seems to stretch on for miles and her barely able to fill it. (The thought of finding someone else to fill that space doesn't occur to her.) There will be people she returns to because she has to, like Hughie and Annie. And then there will be people she returns to because — because she wants to, because being away from them isn't worth the clear air and vibrant night skies. Amos is in the latter category.
So, a tattoo parlour excursion. A meal she doesn't cheap out on. After that, who knows? ]
Gotta go. It's my turn to drive.
[ And, just in case he was thinking Alfredo The Pasta Husband was real, she sends a quick picture of her roadtrip buddy. In the darkness of the evening drive, the dashboard lights illuminate the downward-facing planes of Logan's face, making him look only a bit ghoulish — and not terribly amused by the loud click of the camera phone. ]
no subject
In this case, her being gone for a bit, to get some air and maybe get her head on straight, seems reasonable and understandable enough. And at the same time, he finds himself thinking —
When he sees her again, that'll be nice. Genuinely nice. Something to look forward to, actually. ]
Keep him safe.
[ And herself, more than anything. ]