They were right back where they started: she had a home and money she didn't want and he had nothing but good friends and an arm in a sling. He watched her for a bit, wallowing in a bit of despair himself, and rubbing his neck raw with his hand while she sobbed so hard that it sounded like her insides were going to spill out onto the dry desolate grass. Then he realized it. Somehow, they were right back where they started, but this time there would be no one pulling them to stay with their own kind. They were their own kind. They made it through the wilderness and back to each other, now they just had to get out of the way and let things happen. It brought a tentative smile to his face as he gingerly sunk down next to her on the cold ground and pulled her into his side. Her fists clutched as his coat as if he might slip away if she didn't hold him down. His fingers slipped into her hair, raking against her scalp and beginning the task of picking out the mass of tangles while she cried and clung to him. She cried until her voice was hoarse and scratchy, until her eyes were almost too swollen to keep open, and then she sat quietly staring at the tiny cabin. Her breath was so soft and she moved so little that he was continually checking to see if she had fallen asleep, but she just stared ahead.
As suddenly as she calmed, her body went rigid again. Every muscle in her tensed and again it felt like static charge was pouring off of her, making the very air around them tingle. She stared at the house, scrambling up from the ground and in the door with such force that it hit the inside wall. Wincing at the sound of every enameled tin dish in her kitchen hitting the floor, he stood up and slowly approached the door. She threw every broom, bucket, basket, skillet, while he watched, oddly at peace with her fury. She wasn't throwing anything at him, and it left no doubt about how she felt about Gordon and her life within those walls. Her hand wrapped around a tin of long matches from a shelf above the black cast iron stove and brandished it like a weapon at him, like she had the rasp . A shudder went through him at that thought. "Jo.." he said, his voice low and calm.
"No!" she shrieked. "No, don't you 'Jo' me!" She jabbed the can of matches in his direction, her eyes narrowing in a way that made his guts shrivel inside of him. He was there; he was the only one there and he was going to be punished for it.
"I-I-I d-d-d-d-didn't mmmmmmm..." He closed his eyes against her glare, against the shame he felt at being so easily distracted at something that came so easily to everyone else.
"Stop!" she shouted. "Stop stuttering! Just talk to me, just use your signs! Why are you so hung up on talking? We had something special back when you didn't talk! We had our own secret world. Why would you want to get rid of that? Why would you want to be like everyone else?" He stepped in, every muscle that he could tense, tensing. This was what he felt earlier, the familiarity. She was hurting and had no other way to deal with it than to lash out and hurt whoever was in front of her. He wasn't sure whether he wanted to roll his eyes or punch her more. If there was one thing she should know, it was not to put him down for talking, but as mad as he was at her, he managed to rein himself in and closed the door behind him. "Everyone else just sees some stupid little girl, an easy target. Someone to be tortured and shit on! I don't know what you want from me like this!" He ignored her demand and unbuttoned his coat, letting it fall down his good arm and hung it on a hook on the wall, staring at the hardware a little longer than he needed to. He wouldn't give in to her, he knew it was the only way out. She bristled, kicking dishes and and mugs aside, sending them skipping across the packed dirt floor. "Why did you change? What we had was perfect!"
"We w-w-were p-p-p-perfect," he agreed, leaning his back against the door, staying as far from her as he could. "But, it was the wr-wrong time. Too ssssssoon. We had to get here. Nnnnow."
"Now everything is terrible!" she wailed, moving so violently that the matches shook in their tin. She never moved to take one out of the box, she just held them as if they were the key to her salvation. "Everything is wrong now! I'm a murderer...twice a murderer! And this house..." she trailed off and looked around in contempt. "I hate this goddamned house and everything in it!" He barely had time to move when she let loose the tin at him. "And you're here, in my nightmare, stuttering along and making it all worse! Why are you here?" The tin hit the floor, spilling the matchsticks all around their feet. With a sigh, he pulled the sling up and over his head and tested his arm as best he could. He needed both hands. "What are you doing? Darcy is going to have a fit..."
'You want me signing, fine. Maybe you'll actually listen if I talk like this instead of screaming at me.' She threw her body down into one of the kitchen chairs and stared at him, her brown eyes wide. He didn't want this. He wasn't sure she was ready, but she wasn't leaving him a lot of options. 'But so we're clear, this doesn't feel special and private anymore. It feels like a trap. This is my language,' his eyes blazed as he thumped his chest, 'MINE, and you're using it to keep me, like dog! Like Spot used to with my notepad and not letting me sign, trying to control how I feel and who I can talk to, how I do it and everything else you could possibly sink a claw into and control. Because you have no control over your life, so you decide to take over mine!' Her eyes glowed like hot coals, but he couldn't protect her anymore. She'd gone too far, been allowed too many liberties and was drowning under the weight of it all. She needed to know what she was doing to him and be warned of the direction she was headed. 'You don't get to tell me how I feel or how I talk. And even though you're trying, I'm still here, putting up with you while you act like the center of the Universe.' The anger fell from her face, but he couldn't stop. 'I'm not going anywhere, JoAnna! Just like I promised. When are you going to let go of what is in the past, the things you can't change and actually try to let me in?'
For a long while the only sound in the little house was their breathing and the wind. He kept his back to her and she didn't move from her seat at the table. Emotion was taking over. 'I have nothing to give you but my heart and you make it feel so worthless. I'm not that boy anymore, who runs from everything, even though you make me want to run away from you and never look back sometimes. I'm not afraid of schools anymore, I'm a teacher. I was so good at it, Jo, and it made me happy, but not as happy as being with you. You have been too wrapped up in yourself to ask about me. Just. Like. Spot.' A tear wormed it's way out of his eye and started crawling, traitorously down his cheek, but he wiped it away angrily before dropping to pick up the scattered matchsticks. She didn't move, she didn't make a noise, she just watched him pick up matches and swipe away a few more traitors. When he stood up again, he had himself mostly pulled back together with the matches in hand. "What d-do you wwwwant want to do with these?"
She looked up at him and he could see everything swirling around in her head. She needed to just sit with that and learn to be ok with it. Her mouth moved, but all that came out was a rasping stammer. After clearing her throat she looked around the room. If her eyes got any bigger they would fall right out of her head. She stood up and unbuttoned her own coat, passing him, but being careful not to even brush him with her shoulder to hang it over his on the hook. "Spot would burn the place down," she murmured, still not meeting his gaze.
"An-and take a p-p-piss on the ashes," Eli added with a sad smile.
"He wouldn't do that now." She finally looked at him, her lip trembling and he nodded. She clenched her hands together trying to contain the tremor that was running through her body. "Can...can you make a fire...in the stove please? My hands..." She held them out, and he watched them shake. He nodded and did as she asked while she crossed her arms on the table top and rested her head, hiding her face in the void between her elbows. Once a fire was crackling in the firebox, he picked up a bucket and went out to the pump. The clouds had reached them at some point since they went inside, the winds no longer howled, instead, the storm had pulled it's thick blanket over the world, quieting everything. The sky was low and thick and grey, dropping large flakes like goose down that stuck to his hair and his eyelashes. He stood there, feeling at peace for once. Something shifted. He made her see something that she couldn't or wouldn't look at before, and it was going to change things for the better. The door clicked closed behind him and she gasped. She didn't try to touch him, and he was grateful for it. He was ready to forgive her, but if she was just going to turn on him again, he had to keep her at a distance. He couldn't take another round of Russian Roulette with her. She let out a breath slowly, tipping her head back and letting the huge flakes fall on her closed eyes and her perfect lips. Her hair was frosted with them, she looked like a creature from a fairy tale. "It wasn't always so bad here," she whispered. "When we first got here, I had my dreams to keep me company. Someone else deserves to try to make those dreams real here." He watched her carefully through snow crusted eyelashes as she opened her eyes and tilted her head back to normal. "And they shouldn't come home to their dream being trashed." She took the bucket from his hand and filled it at the pump. "There are makings for whitewash in the lean-to out the back door. Could you get them?" They cleaned the tiny house from top to bottom, leaving a clean slate for the new family to paint their own dreams in.
They walked back to the ranch in silence, each mulling over the day in their heads, and neither wanting to disturb the soft silence of the falling snow, but the silence didn't end when they got to the house. She stood on her toes and softly kissed his cheek before disappearing up the stairs where he heard the water running through the hot water heater Fletcher had installed in the washroom.
Eli sat down at the table, his hand cushioning his forehead from the hard tabletop. The day, the work, the emotional distress was taking it's toll on him. He was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to go to bed, but he was too tired to move himself. He wished he'd moved himself when Darcy stomped into the kitchen.
She glared at him through her green eyes, so soft in color, so hot in temper. "I hope you got out of that what you hoped for," she gritted through her teeth. "Honestly, using a child to help you sneak out."
"D-darce...don't," he sighed, not lifting his head.
"Are you trying to injure this arm permanently?" she snapped. "Where's your sling?" He didn't answer and she stamped her foot. "That's it, up with you. Get out of that shirt and let me look at you."
"No."
"Take your shirt off and let me see what you've done to yourself," she ordered. He stood and painstakingly crossed his arms over his chest, towering over her. He just wanted to be left in peace, he'd been yelled at enough for one day. Unfortunately for him, Darcy didn't care how much bigger he was than her. "There ain't nothing under that shirt that I ain't seen before, Eli Cooper," Darcy snapped, pushing him back. "Don't think I didn't see you out there!" JoAnna peeked around the kitchen doorframe as Eli grumpily glared at Darcy.
"Jealous?" he teased, trying to change the subject, but again, Darcy's four foot eleven inch outsides didn't dwarf her seven foot tall personality. He let out an exasperated huff. "I'm ffffine," he growled at her, his left hand signing the words as his fatigue threatened to take away his control over his mouth. He flicked his eyes back over to the door where Jo stood. Her hair was wet and hanging down her back. She caught him looking and ducked away.
Darcy reached up and slapped the back of his head. "Do you think I'm stupid? You are not fine. You over did it today and now you're trying to pretend it doesn't hurt! Now, are you taking that shirt off so I can fix you up? Or am I cutting it off of you?" She raised one of her eyebrows at the same time as she raised a long pair of sewing sheers, opening and closing the blades a few times for effect. He growled again, but stood up to untuck his blue shirt and drop his black suspenders to his sides. She tried to help him with the buttons, but he gently brushed her hand away, opening them easily with his left hand, his fingers remembering what to do. He did let her draw the fabric down his arms, too tense to shrug deeply enough to get it off.
Darcy paused her swift movement, staring towards the door with a soft smirk on her face as she moved a chair behind him and gently pushed him down by his other shoulder, but said nothing. She poked and kneaded at his muscles and down his upper arm, cursing and grunting under her breath as her tiny fingers were met with resistance. "You're going to break my fingers with these knots," she grunted, digging her knuckles in. He groaned and tried to pull away, but she held him still. "I know it hurts; relax and let me help." He flinched as her knuckles dug in again, but nodded in submission.
Darcy pushed his head down to rest on the table, cushioned by his other arm. Once she was convinced that he would keep his head down and his eyes closed, the blonde bulldog went to the pantry and gathered a basin and a myriad of jars and paper wrapped parcels of herbs and dried flowers along with a stack of dish towels. She poured hot water into the basin and put a few towels in to soak and wrung one out, placing it over his shoulder. He hissed at the sting on his skin, but then settled in as the heavy heat started doing it's job nearly immediately.
The smell as the the hot water hit the mixture of herbs, forming a thick, unctuous paste that she slathered over the top of the towel thrown over him made his nose itch and his upper lip curl. "Witch," he mumbled. "P-p-probably turning me into a t-t-toad."
She pinched his cheek with her paste covered hand and crooned, "Such sweet things you say to me. Lucky thing I'm a married gal, or you could just charm the drawers right off of me with lines like that." He chuckled as Jo choked on her own spit in shock behind him. Darcy covered her poultice with a few more hot towels before throwing a wool blanket over all of it to keep the heat in. "You rest now," Darcy murmured in his ear. It was so blisteringly hot that if she hadn't done it a number of times since his cast came off, he would be sure that his skin would be scalded when he came out. She chuckled and ruffled his hair in a loving way. He was glad to have a sister who would look out for him like Darcy would. She'd be firm enough to make Jo listen, but kind enough not to hurt her on purpose.
She was an expert after all. She was the woman who loved Spot.