Yer not crazy. Not ever. Who: Domino, Pete What: Woman-ese and Man-ese. They really are from separate planets sometimes. When: Sunday, after This log Where: Wisdom/Thurman residence Ratings/Warnings: PG-13 for... I don’t know, it’s them. Also, warning: this is a very ‘men are so x and women are so y’ dialogue, so if that bothers you, steer clear. Status: Complete!
It took a few seconds for Dom to get her courage up before she opened up the door and walked through it.
She shut it behind her and then leaned against it, watching Pete. His eyes were fixated on the laptop that was in front of him. She wasn't even sure he'd hear any of the words she wanted to tell him.
And she'd promised Romany she'd say the exact ones, but was now having a hard time remembering the exact ones. So she started with his name, to see if he was paying attention.
"Pete."
Pete's eyes never left the screen, so that his vigil of awaiting any word continued on, unbroken. However, he did register that she'd entered the room, which was a vast change from his being zonked out and unresponsive.
It was enough of a sign he heard her when he sullenly said "Wot?" under his breath, and sounded just short of folding his arms over his chest and making sour faces at the laptop screen.
But, hey? It was...something.
Which was better than nothing. Or a poke in the eye. Neither of which are very good.
Oh good, he was responsive. What was it Romany had said? Antiseptic and stinging and pain and healing?
She prepared herself for stinging and pain and hurting at least, and folded her arms over chest, like that would be some kind of armor against anything he'd say. She was glad there were no beans in here.
"...I know you're angry at me. And I'm angry at you. And we're not speaking to each other, or we havn't been. But..." she rested her head back against her door and looked up at the ceiling, "I don't know how you work. In your head. I don't understand the inner workings there. I'm not telepathic. Only I think... that the day we stop talking to each other, is the day we'll be through. I don't want us to be through."
Now he wasn't staring at the screen any longer, or checking his phone for the upteenth billionth time, but was instead staring at her. It was one of those wary and guarded stares, as though he wasn't sure what she was getting at, where it was getting itself from, or why it was getting lobbed at him.
It's a pretty typically male stare for the most part, like they have been dropped down via parachute into the middle of a field by the girlfriend or significant other, and informed via radio that every three steps in each direction, for the next fifty miles...there's a landmine. So choose carefully and mind your step. Good luck and god speed.
He apparently wasn't too afraid of landmines, because as soon as that guarded expression was dropped, he appeared resigned with his fate, and that included stomping his way through the minefield, if he had to.
"Look. I wasn't angry. I wasn't the one slamming doors last night either...when it was rather obvious that there's other things on me mind. I simply wasn't in a very talkative mood, is all. I do have times when m'not talkative an' simply need some me time to suss it all out. So I can talk about it later. That's all. But I sure as FUCK ne'er said anything about us bein' through...so wot're you on about?"
"Well you sure SEEMED angry," Dom interjected. But she cut herself off as he kept talking, and just tried to listen.
If he felt like he'd been dropped into some kind of minefield without any idea where he'd been before that or why he was there now, she felt like they were talking to eachother through a wall where he was only hearing every other word she said.
Maybe this is why men and women just didn't get talky that often.
After he was done speaking, she shook her head, "No, you never did. But I'm worried that's where we're headed. And I don't want to give up. I don't want to run away from this, though that's kind of my first instinct when things get dicey. I'm not doing any of those things, because I want us to work out. But I don't know how to handle this. I don't know how to handle it when I open up to you, and you don't return the favor."
"When don't I seem angry? M'irritable most o' the time as it is," he pointed out, a little incredulously, because being a sulky irritable bastard was his default setting in most situations, especially when he was trying to stomp his way through said situations, either outwardly or inwardly, in a profoundly stubborn manner.
Granted, though, he looked like she had his full attention, and that he was listening, at least. Although how much was lost in the female to male translation, was questionable. Someone out there needs to cash in on some 'female-ese' or 'male-ese' rosetta stone learn-to-speak-and-understand-it! sets. They'd be rich as serious whoas.
"I ne'er said anything about giving up either," he further and rather dryly pointed out, while giving her a very skeptical staring at. "I don't want you t'run off but you must realize...I know when to poke at you cos summat's wrong an' like that time in the alleyway with yer bloodied fists? I know when to not say a word, an' talk at you later about things. I think last night was one o' those moments, where waiting on it probably would've been better. M'still waiting on any word about Kitty or that ambassador's daughter...the bloody ground won't stop shaking an'...you've got a lot on yer plate to deal with, already. M'not going to go adding onto it, with things that I can barely sort out or describe with words, which might only make it worse. Is that...e'en remotely...making sense?"
"It... is, and it isn't. My feelings are irrational." Dom admitted. She made her way over to the bed, cautiously, like she was the one navigating a minefield and while he didn't sound angry right now, she wasn't sure if he wanted her near.
So she sat down on the end of the bed, which was still far enough away in case he just wanted to be more or less alone right now, and ran a hand up into her hair, "It hurts that you don't talk to me, even though I understand it. God we're so alike in that. I never used to talk before. I'd just tell whoever was asking to fuck off and go for a drive. But for you, I make the effort. Or you're just easier to talk to, or ... I don't even know. I think... I don't understand. I thought because you loved me, maybe, that I was on some kind of special list of people you could open up to."
She stopped to take a breath, and glanced at him, "I know that's not true, but what also isn't true is that I have too much to deal with to deal with your stuff, too. That's bullshit. I will never have so much on my plate that I can't listen."
He was staring back at her, but not in a pissed off or wary way. More or less, it was one of those very tired, suddenly worn out stares. But angry? No, not a trace of that.
"Well, you are, but m'probably being a bit slower to...talk about things, cos that's not exactly summat that I do. Normally. E'er. I can't put it into words. It's as though..." He scowled and flapped one hand around in the air like he was swatting at a irritating bug and then clenched his fist like he had caught it and was smushing it in the palm of his hand. "...it's that."
There. He has visual signals. Somewhere, wherever Pete's soul originated from, the person who broke the mold must've forgotten to include the user's manual when he was sent out on that metaphysical assembly line.
"You know, sometimes we're not the most chatty lot, either. So that doesn't 'elp matters much. It would be like sitting us down in a group meeting with a psychiatrist...an' expecting us not to stare sullenly at e'erything an' snear at the entire situation. That's simply...the way we are. If I went about like a whiny cunt where I grew up, then I'd probably had me face bashed in a whole fat lot more, so you either learn t'solve things with yer fist or a few well-placed crude words an' argumentativeness. It's not like I want to end anything. I ne'er thought that for a moment. It's nothing against you, but it's that I really don't know how t'say some o' the rubbish that's piled up inside my skull."
There, he said it without sounding angry. It was more explaining with a side of his usual snippy bluntness in there, to accentuated the this-is-the-way-it-is, which was pretty typical of him anyway.
Dom was silent for a while after he was done talking. It was a pretty long and pretty good explanation for how things were, and she wanted to just let that sink in. Because the way he was saying it meant that's always how it'd been, and probably always how it would be.
What she needed to think through now, was if she could deal with that for the rest of her life. They'd handled it well enough when they were just working together on and off, but these last few weeks had been pretty rocky. Like they were starting to realise what living with each other every day would be like. She probably frustrated him as much as he frustrated her.
Getting frustrated with each other was also, probably, normal. Just like Romany had said. That wasn't an excuse to stop loving someone, or to leave.
She let out a long sigh, and flopped onto the bed, "We need to develop some kind of language with each other. Something where I know when not to press you, and when I really need to be worried, and press you. You going silent and unwilling to speak after that isn't enough. I need something from you so that I know that it's not me, or that whatever you're muddling through is something I can't even help with anything, or something..."
Well, for him, it wasn't like the last 'few weeks' had been that bad at all. In fact, besides what he considered to be a couple of rough patches. One of which involved him getting upset over her trying to 'scratch' non-existent blood off her face, him throwing a tin of beans at nothing but the closed bathroom door that had been between them, and her cutting her face with the knife she had behind said bathroom door. Of which, the not-there blood splotch was still there...which he was trying to get across to her in the first place...that it wasn't going to go away, since it lived inside her brain and fell out through her eyeballs when she looked in mirrors.
The other of which was probably the 'Hey, you just sprung a leak out yer nose after you've had a couple days worth of migraines, one of which made you puke yer guts out...hospital's sounding like a brilliant idea, really. Doesn't it?'
He wasn't even angry about them, anymore. Concerned, yes, but angry? No, not at all. Granted, living with anyone wasn't easy, but his moments of being frustrated were only for situations like the two instances. Then he was mindful that she was working her way through some things presently, but he wasn't frustrated. He didn't stop loving her, either. And he never entertained the concept of leaving for a second. So that was definitely something on her end of the spectrum, as it wasn't on his.
What was on his side? She had things to work through. Like bleedy ghostfaced kids and dead husbands pointing at stuff, or head things popping up out the corner of her eyes, or laughing about stuff or...
Probably better to simply stop while ahead, with that train of thought. Even though it did go barrelling down the tracks with it's tooting horn and choo choo train noises, ready to barrel through anything that was unfortunate enough to be stalled out on the tracks.
"You really don't need t'worry about it, luv. At all. I wasn't angry t'begin with, so...you know? Give me some time an' I'll talk when m'ready to. If I'm in Thailand an' there's a fire an' you knew when me cage was rattled? Then's a good time to step up an' give me a slapping about, cos I went out o' my head and I'd need it. Otherwise...I was worried about me sis an' Kitty...I s'pose...an'...that's all there is to it. It wasn't really summat that could be helped either way, even by divine intervention and if I was granted one wish t'fix things. Cos that'd probably fucking backfire on me, since the bloody universe is a bastard like that."
Honestly, most of what Dom considered to be rough patches had to do with those very moments with her, which was probably among the reasons she blamed herself for where things were, and also probably why she kept thinking that things were going badly. One of many things she should have said at some point, and hadn't. She really had been a bit frightened for them over the blow out they'd had that had lead to the beans, though. And the one after that, as far as she was concerned, was as much about him shouting at her over not pressing him to talk, as it was about him pressing her to go to the hospital over nosebleeds.
This general lack of communication - or perhaps the gap between womenese and menese - was why men ended up getting dropped into battlefields with no warning, poor guys. Because women thought they were at war, sometimes, when the men thought everything was going smoothly.
She rolled a bit on the bed to glance over at him, realising something suddenly, "I know what it is. It's that I keep thinking that you don't want to talk to me, because it's something you want to keep from me, or something I did. When it's just that you don't want to talk, period."
Well, it's not like he really yell yelled or anything. And frightened? He wouldn't lift a finger to hurt her. She wasn't a bad guy or a suspected bad guy. A tin of beans, however? That was a fine bean murder way of unleashing anger, by hurling it at a wall or a closed door, conveniently where no people were near it. The only people having a can of beans bounce off their heads or a lit cigarette flicked in their eye, was a bad guy.
It wasn't like he knew or could see that she was poking at the ghost-blood on her face with a knife, since he didn't come equipped with telepathy or x-ray vision. If he did, then he'd be snerking at everyone's dirty thoughts and eyeing every girl who looked attractive, to see what sort of knickers they were wearing. If they were wearing any. Which wouldn't be too bad, but he got the raw end of that deal, because the cosmos apparently liked to spit in his eye.
Pete just stared at her like maybe, far off, in the distance, he could hear crickets chirping. If he strained his hearing enough, perhaps he could decipher the strange cricket code the crickets were chirping in.
Or, you know, maybe he could understand the mysteries of girls, or...just what was happening. In general. Since he thought things were going pretty okay. And suddenly in the midst of other things...with the things happening...it's now all lets talk about how we fail at communicating.
His facial expression went from blank to scrunchy 'wot?' for a second, then back to blank again.
"Well...yeah," he confirmed, not at all snarky or condescending. "It's simply I don't want t'talk, for the time being. When m'ready to say summat...it'll...probably fall out o' me mouth in the most colorful an' poorly put ways, possible. But you'd be the first an' only person to know."
"Well... that's just how it is, then." Dom confirmed, after another few minutes of silence, where Pete probably found himself listening for crickets again, or trying to figure out the secret mysteries of girls.
She felt like there were things they weren't saying to each other, but at least the things they were saying to each other were sorted, as far as she could tell. The way he was, was the way he was. She wasn't going to change him, and it'd be crazy of her to even try.
Well, he didn't want to change her either because he liked her the way she was, with her quirks and OCD and whatnot. He simply didn't want her bleeding or going catatonic or in pain, but that was pretty common since most men wouldn't want that for their female friend and lovers. And the ones that DID want that, deserved to have their skulls caved in. So thinks Pete, who looked like he really was listening for crickets again.
"Well, it's simply...the way it is currently but shite changes," he finally replied. "It'll be all right, Neena. I actually thought it was o'er anyway, after I woke up again, but I didn't want to be a pain in yer arse by bothering you until you said summat. So I knew it was safe to go right back to a snarky norm."
"And here I thought we were still fighting. I thought you were still angry, and... I thought a lot of things that were stupid, I guess." Dom's tone was self-deprecating, and she looked up at the ceiling. Why was it that even though she knew it'd never be perfect, she always felt like running away at the first sign that it wouldn't be?
He couldn't answer that question for her. Leaving, for him, wasn't an option. It was, however, something he pretty much thought - in the back of his mind - other people were going to do, sooner or later.
"No, I didn't think we were fighting t'begin with. I was being a bit cross, is all. I thought you were the angry one, so I was giving you some space." He was blinking profusely while watching her. "I still love you the same as I did, the first time we admitted anything was really there between us. S'not stupid, we just...we're both stubborn arses. We can't always finish one another's sentences or read one another correctly, all the time. Bloody hell, don't worry so much. You worry more than I do. It's going to eat yer fuckin' guts out."
Now he was simply staring at her like he was worried her stomach might implode due to a super massive ulcer collapsing in on itself.
"My guts are fine," Dom snerked. She couldn't believe she'd spent most of last night and into this morning and day thinking that they were in some kind of massive argument over something when they weren't. She felt several waves of relief wash over her at his words, really. It had all been in her head, and she was an idiot.
She bounced up off the bed, flapping her arms a bit when she got to her feet, then giggled, "God I'm so dumb."
"Well no, yer not dumb. I mean...I thought you were hacked off, m'not so daft as to go poking at you with a stick when you look like yer getting irritable." His eyes watched her in a profoundly questioning way, without looking anywhere else. Only at her. "It was also my fault. I simply wasn't feeling chatty. It's the same thing that probably...well that situation was somewhat different...chased off Pryde. Whom I'm simply waiting t'hear if she's dead or alive, at this point. M'sure she's alive, since she's too obnoxiously stubborn to die young. So. It'll be fine. An' I love you. An' for god's sake, don't worry that I'll stop or anything, b'cos I won't."
"See that's the thing, is I read you not talking as being angry at me, especially when I tried to push you to talk about it and you didn't want to. That made ME angry, and..." Dom waved her hand around. It didn't matter, anymore, really. She was realising that his not talking had nothing to do with being angry with her, most of the time, she hoped. Maybe she should just make sure.
"If you were angry with me, you'd at least say something, right?"
Him saying he loved her wasn't lost on her though, because right after she was done crazily waving her hand around and asking him questions, she stopped, and looked at him, "Not ever? Not even if I get crazier?"
It sounded like maybe his words were getting through the crazy going on in her head, at least. Her tone was tiny, and she looked for a moment like some fragile and delicate thing instead of the tough, hard woman she usually was. He was so good at finding that part of her.
"Love, if I were angry...believe me, I'd fucking say summat about it. Right."
Nope, his not talking wasn't at all angry. It was him simply doing his thing. Have a few drinks, think it out, go forth and keep on going. The fragile and delicate caused Pete to raise his eyebrows a bit, because he knew that was in there and a part of her, it just didn't come out to play that often. Frankly, there wasn't a side to her he didn't like. Although, there was thing he needed to clarify....
"Yer not crazy. Not ever. M'not changing me mind. M'not running off. M'not angry with you. I get where yer coming from but this? You an' me? You don't need t'worry about that. If I've got a bloody problem, I'll damn well say it when it needs said. But I haven't had one."
He shrugged, sharply, and quirked his lips a little bit. Nope, no problems from where he's sitting. Just another day at the office, dear.
Christ, there are so many things that seriously are all in my head, Dom said to herself, while listening to him. Because that was very clear to her now, in a way that - honestly - the ghost people being around had not been.
They should have been her first clue, really, but this whole big argument she'd made up in her head, the worry she'd had on and off about the two of them, all of that? God, she really had issues she needed to deal with. It was like she was constantly jumping at shadows, even ones in their relationship.
She thinned her lips into a bit of a line, then walked over to him, bent down, and kissed him. Her entire head was a mess, but she was beginning to really believe that he would always be there. It was like he was a rock in the middle of a bunch of unstable ground. Rocks didn't talk much, but they supported you anyway. They kept you safe. They kept you stable.
That kiss was very willingly and reassuringly returned. No doubts there or hesitation, from him. Sure, the not talking and opening up thing had pretty much added another nail to the relationship he had with Kitty, but he was doing a marginally better job at least admitting anything at all about his lack of ways to say things properly. Sure, he might be craggy and probably had unappealing mossy bits growing on him that most people would go 'eww' at...but Pete was definitely a rock. Short of being blown up with dynamite, he was still going to offer support and/or something to hide behind...if hiding needed to happen.
It was making tears prick at her eyes. She reached a hand over and carefully moved anything on his lap, off of it and to one side. They were in her way, because she needed to be on his lap, so off they went, and soon she was taking their place.
She curled up against him like she was a child in need of comfort after some nightmare or something, and nuzzled her head into his neck, "I love you. I'm sorry that I suck and am sometimes female."
Both arms wrapped around her and he grinned for the first time since...the bloody earthquakes started along with the whole abduction mess. It was pretty overwhelming, but he was plodding along like he always did, to get through it. It was the same case in this situation, even if he didn't always have the best means of coping, to begin or end with.
"Love you too, an' I suck an' I'm male, but you somehow put up with me," he said, with an amused eyerolling, aimed purely at himself. He is well aware of his sucktasticalness. "I don't know how, but you do. An' yer probably wasted tired so...I'll keep an eye on things, while you rest. I can't sleep well if the ground's shaking off an' on, like it has been."
Or...not without a drink or two, or ten.
Dom had about 18 million things to do that day, but she let herself take a nap right there on his lap, anyway.