[It's hard not to laugh. Not at her, of course, but just- at this. This crazy situation they found themselves in. Her little slice of the white picket fence life on this rooftop, and maybe a tinge of pain for him, being reminded of a woman who used to get her hands dirty in their backyard. Now overrun by weeds, charred, a heap of cold and empty dirt like where she'd been buried.
He can't help but watch Karen, the girl in her garden, and he's almost afraid of touching anything in case he ruins it. She's missing a colourful outfit and chirping birds to go along with this musical, but one thing's clear - a man like him doesn't belong in a place like this.]
I like it. [It's on the tip of his tongue again, that suggestion to get out of the city and find a proper garden to call her own. She doesn't even have to leave New York - there's plenty of places outside of Manhattan, or even upstate. Plenty of places she could be safe but still close enough to the action. Plenty of places for a proper patch of grass for the children to chase the dog in.
It hurts too much to think, let alone say, so those words don't leave his lips.]
You need this. You need something to hold onto. Something to fight for. Otherwise it's-... [He purses his lips and shakes his head.] It's just uniforms and a flag at your funeral with nothing to show for it.
( in a weird way, a warm blanket of comfort washes over her when she hears his words, when that response finally comes crawling from his lips after surveying the range of pots neither in disarray or order. their own order, she supposes. she watches the scenes that dance within his hues, and while she can't picture them exactly as he does, she imagines them. she sees pain, a heavy nostalgia clouding his sights, and then some sort of resolution that brings him sharply back to her.
she knows, that sometimes when he looks at her, she isn't karen. she would never compare to his wife, never be anywhere near the same woman, but she gets it. the tiny pieces that've all fractured, the little glimpses he's afforded to bring back one moment of peace before it's slaughtered before his eyes again. )
Here,
( it comes after a pause, considerably long, chest breathing as steadily as the plants beside her. and then she's slowly making her way back to him, where he's paused before even directly entering the vicinity of colors, vivid even in the moonlight. she keeps her gaze with his, maybe to caution him to the touch that's soon to follow but delicate fingers curling at his wrist. they don't close, but hold enough to give him a lithe tug, guiding him toward the peace lilies. tall and white; a name that speaks for itself. )
It's okay. ( to touch them, to let yourself be delicate, here with me. ) These ones don't need sunlight. They don't really need anything other than tending. Little reminders; water. ( a breeze curls around them, bringing with it various floral notes. )
[He might not trust himself on a bad day - and there have been a few bad days lately - but the fact that she trusts him makes him more willing to just let himself unfurl in this space. He doesn't make eye contact with her at first. Difficult enough to move closer to the fragile display of lilies, pots and petals and all. Surprisingly when she leaves him there close enough that they'd bend if he so much as breathed on them, they don't shy away from his shadow.
His boots creak as he crouches down and makes a conscious effort to run his fingertips slowly around the edge of the pot first.]
I come to rooftops thinking about murder. [A quiet confession to curled white petals. He can't close his eyes for too long without those thoughts coming back to him, even with a lily in his face.] Nice to have something else to think about. [Flowers. Karen. Stars without the stripes.]
( it wounds her, to watch the way he indecisively stands before those lilies as if he's not sure what to do with them, not sure how to look at something so seemingly frail without it wilting in waiting. as he crouches down, she's running her own fingertips along the concrete edge of that rooftop, looking over the skyline that she's come to memorize. )
You could always come by, whenever you wanted. I don't think they'd mind having someone else looking after them. ( a suggestion she knows might render a sigh that in itself speaks the words that'd be soon to follow: 'i can't', 'i shouldn't'. lips tuck in on one another in thought, and again she tugs him elsewhere, determined to keep him on his toes. not to let him drift too far away from her in mind.
a breath breaches the few moments of silence that pass, cheeks a light cherry red from the wind. ) You know what I miss most about Vermont?
You don't like the- blaring horns and screaming drunks? [He makes eye contact for half a second before lowering his head and looking away, a small smile directed at seemingly no one in particular. She can probably still catch glimpses of what Maria had seen in him back when they were still dating.
The poorly executed joke gives him some time to consider her open invitation. He had it in him to turn her down with a flat refusal, but. More likely than not he'd walk past her door without knocking and come straight for the flowers. It'd be like Frank the Gardener visiting her without visiting her. Could make for an interesting new look.]
I could get you a pet cricket? It'll drive you crazy screeching all night, guaranteed.
( it comforts her, the thought of that. him sneaking up to her rooftop at the quieter hours of the night, never quite lingering til the sunlight, fully aware that then the petals would have something far warmer to nurture them. she's always seen those glimpses, noted them, tucked them back in the further places of her mind to reel forward whenever another threat surfaced. whenever he closed himself off from her.
it always seemed to be a matter of time.
and still his humor continues; light, exactly what one would consider 'dad jokes'. she'd never lack the heart to make such a comment. her grin burns bright, white of her teeth nearly gleaming. )
Yeah? And then what, name him Jiminy?
I would definitely have one of the most... deranged fairy tales.
Only if he starts singing Disney. [It doesn't smart when the topic comes up, apart from when he's blindsided by it, but he still has a bad habit of trying to skirt expertly around any conversation starter that involves children and children's anything. So he latches on to fairy tales and happy endings.]
Long as you find your happily ever after. [Because while that's not where they're headed, he's pretty confident that at least one of them gets an after with a bit of happy sprinkled on top. That's alright. They can share it, with him dropping in and out of her life like this.]
You'll take care of yourself, won't you? [Happily ever after starts sounding like a goodbye, even though he's not getting physically restless just yet. She knows he can't stay. Won't let himself stay. The difference doesn't matter to him even though it might to anyone else.]
( one way or another their conversations always seem to spiral back down to the heavy truth that's waiting in the pit of her sternum, staring her in the eye every time he looks back at her. he has to go. and he will, he always will, but it's too difficult to consider the fact that these little pieces of stolen time, stolen nights with him would come to an end. his question is met with silence, a saddened glaze of hues and that line between her brows she can never hide when she's upset. )
I will. ( decisive, a promise, but there's an inhale drawn like there's something else waiting, stalling at the bed of her tongue. ) Frank? ( fretting mind tangles itself around a sigh as eyes close for a brief moment; still, she can see the neon, hear the sirens in the distance, but there's a difference when he's here. when she has him close.
she doesn't want to push, doesn't want to ask for too much, doesn't know what too much is anymore between them. all she knows is that she wants to steal him a little longer; to be selfish. ) Look, I know that by morning, it all just... starts all over again. You'll be gone. I'll be here. And I understand—why you need to. ( a huff of a breath, )
I guess I just want that naivety. Even just for tonight, that neither of us have somewhere to be. To know you're safe.
[He perks up when she calls his name, like an old dog still cognizant of its owner even when the world has started to fade around him. He wishes that there was more for her - that they could part ways without that tinge of sadness in her voice, that he could promise her unrealistic expectations of their future - but that isn't the New York City they live in. His work isn't finished yet. And neither is hers.
He drops his gaze and doesn't reply straightaway, tilting his head back and breathing out a sigh to the starless sky.] Heh. [A small, defeated smile that aches his cheek to pull before he ducks his head again.
It's just him - mostly all Frank and very little Karen - that doesn't want to go down this road. Not right now. Not again. Maybe not ever. But she's right in that he doesn't have to go tonight. There's nothing waiting for him back home but a rifle to clean and a job to do. Those would be waiting for him in the morning. So he musters up the courage to not let her down tonight. No cop-outs about a dog to walk and feed or some research to do. No excuses. No lies.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
so sweet *_*
He can't help but watch Karen, the girl in her garden, and he's almost afraid of touching anything in case he ruins it. She's missing a colourful outfit and chirping birds to go along with this musical, but one thing's clear - a man like him doesn't belong in a place like this.]
I like it. [It's on the tip of his tongue again, that suggestion to get out of the city and find a proper garden to call her own. She doesn't even have to leave New York - there's plenty of places outside of Manhattan, or even upstate. Plenty of places she could be safe but still close enough to the action. Plenty of places for a proper patch of grass for the children to chase the dog in.
It hurts too much to think, let alone say, so those words don't leave his lips.]
You need this. You need something to hold onto. Something to fight for. Otherwise it's-... [He purses his lips and shakes his head.] It's just uniforms and a flag at your funeral with nothing to show for it.
no subject
she knows, that sometimes when he looks at her, she isn't karen. she would never compare to his wife, never be anywhere near the same woman, but she gets it. the tiny pieces that've all fractured, the little glimpses he's afforded to bring back one moment of peace before it's slaughtered before his eyes again. )
Here,
( it comes after a pause, considerably long, chest breathing as steadily as the plants beside her. and then she's slowly making her way back to him, where he's paused before even directly entering the vicinity of colors, vivid even in the moonlight. she keeps her gaze with his, maybe to caution him to the touch that's soon to follow but delicate fingers curling at his wrist. they don't close, but hold enough to give him a lithe tug, guiding him toward the peace lilies. tall and white; a name that speaks for itself. )
It's okay. ( to touch them, to let yourself be delicate, here with me. ) These ones don't need sunlight. They don't really need anything other than tending. Little reminders; water. ( a breeze curls around them, bringing with it various floral notes. )
I come up here every night.
no subject
His boots creak as he crouches down and makes a conscious effort to run his fingertips slowly around the edge of the pot first.]
I come to rooftops thinking about murder. [A quiet confession to curled white petals. He can't close his eyes for too long without those thoughts coming back to him, even with a lily in his face.] Nice to have something else to think about. [Flowers. Karen. Stars without the stripes.]
no subject
You could always come by, whenever you wanted. I don't think they'd mind having someone else looking after them. ( a suggestion she knows might render a sigh that in itself speaks the words that'd be soon to follow: 'i can't', 'i shouldn't'. lips tuck in on one another in thought, and again she tugs him elsewhere, determined to keep him on his toes. not to let him drift too far away from her in mind.
a breath breaches the few moments of silence that pass, cheeks a light cherry red from the wind. ) You know what I miss most about Vermont?
The crickets. The sound of them.
no subject
The poorly executed joke gives him some time to consider her open invitation. He had it in him to turn her down with a flat refusal, but. More likely than not he'd walk past her door without knocking and come straight for the flowers. It'd be like Frank the Gardener visiting her without visiting her. Could make for an interesting new look.]
I could get you a pet cricket? It'll drive you crazy screeching all night, guaranteed.
no subject
it always seemed to be a matter of time.
and still his humor continues; light, exactly what one would consider 'dad jokes'. she'd never lack the heart to make such a comment. her grin burns bright, white of her teeth nearly gleaming. )
Yeah? And then what, name him Jiminy?
I would definitely have one of the most... deranged fairy tales.
no subject
Long as you find your happily ever after. [Because while that's not where they're headed, he's pretty confident that at least one of them gets an after with a bit of happy sprinkled on top. That's alright. They can share it, with him dropping in and out of her life like this.]
You'll take care of yourself, won't you? [Happily ever after starts sounding like a goodbye, even though he's not getting physically restless just yet. She knows he can't stay. Won't let himself stay. The difference doesn't matter to him even though it might to anyone else.]
no subject
I will. ( decisive, a promise, but there's an inhale drawn like there's something else waiting, stalling at the bed of her tongue. ) Frank? ( fretting mind tangles itself around a sigh as eyes close for a brief moment; still, she can see the neon, hear the sirens in the distance, but there's a difference when he's here. when she has him close.
she doesn't want to push, doesn't want to ask for too much, doesn't know what too much is anymore between them. all she knows is that she wants to steal him a little longer; to be selfish. ) Look, I know that by morning, it all just... starts all over again. You'll be gone. I'll be here. And I understand—why you need to. ( a huff of a breath, )
I guess I just want that naivety. Even just for tonight, that neither of us have somewhere to be. To know you're safe.
no subject
He drops his gaze and doesn't reply straightaway, tilting his head back and breathing out a sigh to the starless sky.] Heh. [A small, defeated smile that aches his cheek to pull before he ducks his head again.
It's just him - mostly all Frank and very little Karen - that doesn't want to go down this road. Not right now. Not again. Maybe not ever. But she's right in that he doesn't have to go tonight. There's nothing waiting for him back home but a rifle to clean and a job to do. Those would be waiting for him in the morning. So he musters up the courage to not let her down tonight. No cop-outs about a dog to walk and feed or some research to do. No excuses. No lies.]
Your couch free?