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She gets up and fetches a damp cloth from the bathroom, and she comes back to mop him up a little more. Feelings on retribution aside, she daubs at his face gently.
"If they're inmates, I can't do anything!"
His frustration is bubbling up so easily, he almost pushes her arm away. Anyone else, he would already have pushed away. This feels unbearable.
"I fucked up before then," he says, to change her mind about this. "I lost control. Forgot who I had to be, and just acted like -"
Tess just keeps wiping his face. She can feel his anger about this, but she decides that she won't let it drive her off.
"Like what?"
He closes his eyes, gritting his teeth. It feels good, being a little cleaner, the cold soothing for a few seconds.
"Like the dumb piece of shit I was before the bank robbery." Which, in his head, is capitalized. The bank robbery.
"Do you want to be who you are now, or do you just have to be?"
"Who I am now? I don't know who the hell I am, Tess," he snaps - and he comes so close to pushing her away, and instead just takes her hand and rests his forehead against the palm, damp cloth and all.
"I can feel my daddy laughin' at me from hell. Thought you could ever be anything but scum? Think again, boy.."
She shifts closer again, letting him rest against her hand.
"Your dad wasn't right then, and he isn't right now," she replies. "And if you don't know, then he certainly doesn't."
"All it took was for you to be gone for one week," he says, wretchedly. His whole body aches, but his head hurts worse.
"I'm supposed to be the one here for you, Tess, not the other way around. I came here - I came here with an idea of what was right. But I can't even uphold it myself."
It's so nice. He closes his eyes and rests his sore head in her calloused palms, indescribably grateful for her care.
"But what if I go back home and do this? I shoot some fella 'cause we're both drunk as hell, and that's my second chance wasted?"
[By her own reckoning, Tess is too much of a shrill bitch for anyone to take her seriously. Misty will fare better.]
We still had farms, and the military secured them quick enough. Massachusetts has a lot of dairy, so we've got milk and cheese and beef in decent enough quantities, but it's all rationed, and winters are real lean. We've got a lot of cranberries and apples, too. And Boston's on the harbor so we've still got some fish. Problem there is that gas is more valuable than gold, so the big ships are a waste and smaller ships... well, I'm sure you can imagine the logistics of that. Either way, it all runs alright because the military gives out work details, sometimes as punishment and sometimes just because of need. If you don't take them then you get your rations cut, so most people take 'em.
We have it pretty good in Boston. We don't starve half as often as the poor bastards trying to live off the wilderness.
"You got a lotta faith in me," he murmurs, because she does, and because he doesn't believe he deserves it right now.
"Right."
Yes. Sure. But he can't square that with his behavior, all the time.
"Just... figured that weren't the way my role played out."
"It's not like there are any guidelines," she replies. "I think you're stuck in your own head on this one, Arthur."
He lets out a long, slow sigh. "You reckon?"
He means it. Does she really think that's all this is?
She feels like she knows something about that.
"Micah always did that," he agrees, hoarsely. He never talks about Micah. "Did something selfish, then said I'm doing it to help the gang, Black Lung, what are you doin' about it?"
He sighs again and raises a hand to pat hers.
He tugs her hand away from his face, gives her a pleading look, and then tips forward. He doesn't know how to thank her for that particular faith, those particular works, so he just wraps his arms around her and breathes out.
He already said she's like family. Maybe it's more than that: she's a part of him that's outside of himself, looking right inside in turn. He can only hope she feels the same way, because if he ever tells her that she's going to tell him he's a big sap.
"You're fine," she tells him, softly.
He shifts up a little, so he can feel like he's embracing her as well as the other way around.
"Thank you," he replies, voice a low rumble. "I thought... I thought you'd be disappointed."
"Yeah? I usually prefer unrepentant jackasses," she jokes, shifting with him comfortably. "But disappointed, nah. Everyone gets their shit wrecked sometimes, everyone does bad shit sometimes."
It's not like she has a leg to stand on, anyway, given how often she dives headfirst into that nonsense.
This place will never manage big livestock, but I half-wonder if the Admiral'd make room for some tiny hatchery. Worked there on the train, I wouldn't be going in as blind as I could be - protein's what worries me.
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