dog_eat_dog | IC Inbox

He clenches his teeth and lifts his sore hands to his face, to rub them over his eyes and through his beard. It hurts, but it also gives him some distraction.

"Wish I coulda said I did. They took me and tied me up, so I didn't do much fightin'."

"Don't rub at it," she says, scooting closer to stop him, "You're just going to aggravate it."

The anger she feels at the idea of him just getting wrecked without being able to defend himself is very casual, very calm. She plans, swiftly and quietly, that she'll do something about it later.

"What are you planning on doing about them?"

"What the hell can I do about it?"

There's a dark rumble in his voice - anger, that he doesn't want to show her. Not her. Maybe he should pick a fight with Jake. He'd let him wallop him.

"They were overboarded, just like you. Didn't know who I was. Just that I had those stupid damn powers, and the metal to go with 'em."

“So you’re just supposed to forget about it?” she points out. That seems worse to her than anything. Who wants to live that way, without a resolution? It drives her up the walls whenever she thinks about it.

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 -"

He can't, but she can.

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.

She runs the cloth across his forehead and considers, briefly, that he could just choose any day to be this other Arthur, this one she's only seen in glimpses here or there. The one who leans on violence, who acts like a jackass.

"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.."

God, she can't remember the last time she had anyone looking for comfort from her, and it takes her a second to acknowledge that for what it is. Arthur's always been open with her, but this...

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."

"You weren't an asshole when we first met, so there's more to it than just me being there," she tells him, seriously, and she cups his jaw on her other hand, thumb stroking idly, carefully. "And if I'm allowed to have a dozen fuck-ups, you are too."

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?"

"Then you just don't get drunk as hell," she says, with the slightest shrug. She has no idea how that works. She remains convinced that she herself will do the exact same, though less from drinking and more out of pure spite. "You know what kind of bullshit will start that, so you just... don't get yourself into it."

"You got a lotta faith in me," he murmurs, because she does, and because he doesn't believe he deserves it right now.

“Turnabout is fair play, and all,” Tess says. “We’re doing this together, right?”

"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."

Maybe not all the time, but Tess hasn't had high expectations for any sort of law and order for years. She just nods, still petting his cheek with her thumb.

"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?

“At least a little, yeah,” she replies. “I’m not saying you didn’t do bad shit. I have too. I’m just saying if it’s cutting you up this bad, you’re a long way from evil. Plenty of people don’t think twice. They justify instead, you know?”

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.

“Micah’s an asshole,” she replies, matter-of-fact. “And you’re doing what you can to keep Dutch from dragging everyone down with him, and that’s why you’re a warden. There are lines, and even if you cross ‘em sometimes, you know where they are. That’s what matters, Arthur.”

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.

When he wraps his arms around her, it occurs to her how unusual it is to have anyone be this vulnerable around her. It makes her feel both unnerved and deeply committed to protecting that moment. She get an arm around him in turn, and a hand to the back of his head, cradling gently.

"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."

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