Sidney sat numbly, her hand still in Tatum's as she waited for her to wake. Her usually pale skin was even more white than usual, between her blood loss and the harsh hospital lighting overhead, and she looked small to Sidney, almost swallowed up in her hospital gown and IVs. Sidney rubbed her thumb over the back of Tatum's hand, flashing back to another moment in time years before, right after the first murders.
She had visited Tatum shortly after she had awakened from her arm and shoulder injury, had been present when Mrs. Riley had to break to her not only the news of Dewey's critical condition, but of the fact of Tatum's boyfriend being both dead and one of the two people who had tried to murder them all. She still vividly remembered the devastation in Tatum's eyes, how she had cried until she struggled to draw breath, and how helpless Sidney had felt. Things were so different now from then, and yet they always seemed to lead back to the same fucking circle of Sidney sitting by the side of someone she loved in a hospital, waiting for them to recover from serious injury.
The doctors had reassured her that Tatum would recover with time, physical therapy, and rest, and Sidney was grateful that she was alive, but she couldn't be grateful for her girlfriend's added pain on top of what she already put up with. She knew very well that physical therapy wasn't an all out cure, and Tatum would be forced to live with the physical and mental scars of what she had been through. Nothing could make her less beloved to Sidney, let alone less attractive, but she nevertheless hated the thought of the scars that would now forever mark her back and chest.
When Tatum's eyes slowly slitted open, she looked out of it, even drugged. Sidney supposed that was fair considering what medications they must be pumping into her. She squeezed her hand, relieved when Tatum was cognizant enough to squeeze back, and stroked her fingers through Tatum's blonde hair.
"Hi," she whispered to her, continuing to caress her head. "You're okay. You're safe, you're in the hospital. I've got you."
Tatum closed her eyes, then opened them, seeming to be fighting to stay awake. She was stubborn, always had been, and she won the battle, her dark eyes holding Sidney's.
"Gale…?"
"She's going to be okay, she's in the hospital too," Sidney reassured her, giving her hand another squeeze. "Dewey's with her, the doctors are working on her. He came and saw you earlier, but you were out of it."
"Oh…how bad?" Tatum murmured. Sidney wasn't sure if she was talking about Gale's injuries or her own, but she answered for both.
"I'm not sure how bad yet with Gale. I know she was stabbed in the shoulder, and she was…she was bleeding somewhere else, I'm not sure what happened," she said carefully, not wanting to alarm Tatum. "You had to have your vertebrate realigned, Tate. It might be difficult for you move some ways right off, and it's going to hurt. Your sternum and ribs were broken, but it could have been worse. I know it sucks, but you're going to be okay. And I got him for you. I got the killer, he's dead. I promise."
Tatum's head gave a faint incline forward in a nod, and her eyes clouded over with tears. She took the hand not in Sidney's and weakly patted beside herself on the hospital bed. Sidney didn't understand at first, but then she realized- Tatum wanted her to lie beside her in the bed.
"No, Tate, there's no room, and I don't want to hurt you more," she protested, but Tatum repeated the action more firmly.
"Please. Please, I want you here."
Sidney couldn't say no to her, not then. She didn't want to move Tatum, not with the vertebrae injury, so she instead lay on her side facing her, putting herself as close to the edge of the hospital bed as she could while her knees and elbows kept in contact with Tatum's hip and shoulder. Tatum reached her hand for her, and Sidney rested her hand on Tatum's stomach, where there were no injuries, twining their fingers again.
"Shh," she murmured, stroking her fingers over Tatum's forehead and wiping the tears that trickled down her cheeks. "I'm here. I love you, Tate. I'm here."
88
As Dewey gripped her hand tightly between both of his, Gale's eyes sought out Dewey's. She could see the tears in his eyes, how hard he was fighting to keep them at bay and the battle he was losing out on. His voice shook when he told her about Tatum's injuries, and she knew how much it had to hurt him to see his little sister like that. Dewey had always thought of it as his job to protect Tatum, ever since the day she met him and far before then. Tatum was a grown woman who had decided of her own accord to come with Gale, but she couldn't help but feel that it was her fault that Tatum had been hurt so badly. If she hadn't been stubborn and insisted on getting involved in the investigation, then none of this would have happened.
"I'm sorry," she said with difficulty when he finished telling her about Tatum, meaning not just for her injuries, but for her presence at the scene.
Dewey's reaction to her question about her own bleeding was alarming to her. Gale's eyes widened as he squeezed her hand, crying openly, and she could see him struggling to speak, struggling to breathe. Whatever it was that was wrong with her, it had to be terrible, life threatening, even. Was she paralyzed? But no, she could move her legs when she tested it, although it hurt like fuck to do so. Between the fall and whatever was wrong with her, that was probably to be expected, though. But if she wasn't paralyzed, was she dying? Had someone else died- Sidney?
Her nails dug into his palm unconsciously as she waited for him to force out the words he seemed to find impossible to say. When he finally managed to say them, she was sure at first she had misheard him. That, or Dewey had misunderstood.
Miscarriage? But that was impossible. She wasn't pregnant- she couldn't have been pregnant. She would have known. She was too old, she would have felt different- there were dozens of reasons why this couldn't be right. Okay, so it was true that she hadn't had a period in a few months, but she had never been regular with that even in her twenties, and especially when very stressed. She was 47 now and had simply assumed that she was beginning menopause.
She couldn't have been pregnant. It wasn't possible.
"Miscarriage?" she echoed, the word faint and strange sounding even to her own ears. She waited for Dewey to correct her, to realize her mistake or his, but he didn't. He just kept crying- as if he believed it. As though he really thought it was possible that she could be losing a baby, or the possibility of one, right here, right now.
"Dewey…I'm not having a miscarriage," she tried to reason with him, even as her words remained weak, uncertain. "I'm not pregnant. I'm too old, I can't even get pregnant anymore. I'm not…that isn't what's happening."
"I-I know, Gale," he stammered. "But the surgeon...he would know, hon," he said, wiping at the tears coating his cheeks. Her disbelief made the pain worse, like a fist was clamping shut on his heart. He couldn't control the tears that kept falling from their ducts, and his breathing got erratic again. His sobs made his breath catch in his lungs, so his body took in heavy breaths unconscious of himself for air.
"We haven't exactly been careful," he choked out. "It's rare but..." he cut off, unable to fathom the idea of his - *their* - unborn child, small and defenseless, hit so hard by some psycho's boot that it killed them. He was almost starting to regret not ripping the bastard apart himself - *Or maybe you shouldn't have missed that first shot* he told himself.
"I'm sorry," he breathed out. "Gale, I'm so...*so* sorry. You wouldn't have been hurt if I didn't push you away. Or if I had made that shot," he apologized, coming up with every single scenario in his head of what he could've done right. "This is my fault. I could've saved you. I could've saved Tatum. I could've saved..." he couldn't finish the sentence, but his eyes glanced to her stomach. He looked back into her blue eyes with his sad brown ones.
"I'm sorry."
Gale continued to stare at Dewey, her mind slow to process what she's hearing. She can feel her own heart thudding with lurching, uneven rhythm in her chest, and she feels stupid and slow and heavy, like everything around her is happening beneath a lake of water, and she can only see and hear with that to struggle with as a barrier.
What he's saying, it can't be right. It doesn't matter what any surgeon said, he was wrong.
"He read the wrong chart," she stammered, reaching for anything that made more sense to her. "He mixed me up with another patient...he's sleep deprived, he's taken too many caffeine pills. But he's wrong. He's wrong, Dewey, because I'm not pregnant. They need to check again, they need to send someone who knows what they're doing. They-"
But she remembered the hard kick of the boot against her stomach, how as much as it had hurt, along with the fall itself and the stab to her shoulder, the sharper pain had actually been lower than the kick. That pain had felt more like bad menstrual cramps upped by a hundred, and- was that what a miscarriage felt like? Was that why she was still bleeding? Why would any doctor in a hospital keep letting her bleed?
"No," she whispered. But she was realizing even as she spoke, even as she shook her head in denial that caused pain to shoot sharply through her injured shoulder, that she was still cramping, though less before. Cramping, and still bleeding. And Dewey was crying, sobbing as though his heart was broken.
Dewey believed it. Dewey wouldn't blindly trust her life to someone incompetent if she was truly still bleeding from something undetermined.
Gale felt suddenly nauseous as the reality of what she was going through started to sink in. She was having a miscarriage. There had been a fetus inside her, a potential child, and now it was gone, before Gale even knew it existed.
A wave of unexpected horror and grief came over her, and even as she squeezed Dewey's hand tighter, she felt herself withdrawing, pulling into herself mentally. She could hear him apologizing to her and wanted to tell him to stop, but the words wouldn't come. She was picturing a baby, a toddler, a child, with Dewey's shy smile and dark eyes. She was thinking of how it would feel to watch her husband's love for it shine out from his eyes, how even the way he loved at her might have hit a whole new level of love and adoration.
She had never for a second wanted a child. Not when she herself was one, not as a young woman, not even after years of marriage to a man she was in love with. Having children was a sacrifice to her career and her figure, but moreover, Gale simply, secretly believed she would not be a good mother, and she could not take the chance of losing a child, as other women lost theirs in the Ghostface murders.
But she had just lost Dewey's child, and now she knew what she hadn't before. She wanted it. She wanted it desperately, and its loss carved a hole deep in her chest.
It didn't even sound like she believed her own justifications now. Her hand squeezed tight to his but a far away look haunted her eyes. He couldn't bare to watch the blankness, grieving eyes of his wife, and so put his head down on the mattress. He tucked her hand into the crook of his neck, seeking its comforting warmth.
His mind plagued him with thoughts of what could've been - a home filled with babyish giggling and babbling, play dates with the neighbor's kids, sending them off to their first day of school, fitting formal wear for their prom, watching them walk across the stage in a cap and gown. The anguish made every organ in his body feel like it was constricting, stomach ready to vomit out any bile it could muster up.
Dewey didn't know what so say. He couldn't ask what they'd do now, or say that everything would be okay - nothing about this was okay. Never has one of these murder sprees made him so heated, almost seething with...*anger*. He was mad during the others, but this time around he was infuriated. These psychopaths already crossed the line with murder, some of teenagers, but now a fetus, barely even on the brink of consciousness, was dead.
His other hand clenched into a fist, his knuckles going white - he needed to find the other killer. "I'm going to kill the other bastard that was a part of this," he mumbled. "I didn't take my chance back in that barn to do it to the one who did this...but the other one will suffice."
Gale's hand slowly closed around Dewey's neck as Dewey buried his face on her mattress. He was hurting so badly now he couldn't look her in the eye, a rarity that concerned her. She was the one who wanted to hide when upset, not Dewey. Dewey was more open with his feelings; things were grim indeed if he felt the need to hide.
Her mind still felt foggy and strained, Dewey's words something she heard and understood, but couldn't fully take in. It was a full minute or two before she responded, finally getting the implications of Dewey talking about not killing the killer who had hurt her and Tatum, but the "other" killer.
"Is he dead then?" She mumbled. "The one in the barn. I thought he got away. Did Sidney kill him?"
She vaguely remembered seeing Sidney, hearing her voice trying to reassure her, before she had passed out.
The hand not in Dewey's drifted to the blanket tucked around her, pushing it down past her thighs with difficulty. It sent burning flares down her right arm and shoulder and her stomach twisted sharply at her effort to sit up, but she persisted, wanting and needing to see the place where she had been kicked, the physical evidence of her loss.
"I need to see," she said, her tone distant, when Dewey stopped her. "I have to see it."
She became aware too of what felt like an oversized pad between her legs and wanted to examine it, her hand drifting down towards her legs. "Do Sidney and Tatum know?" she asked. "I want to see them. I need to go see them."
The desire was sudden but strong. In the face of what she was going through, she needed Sidney's strength and steadiness, Tatum's humor and way of not taking things too seriously. She couldn't know, of course, how Tatum's usual attitude was currently in shatters.
"Yeah," he said darkly. "They're dead. Sidney shot him. Charlie Walker."
When Gale started shuffling in the cot, Dewey's head pulled up from the mattress, cheeks stained with tears and beet red, before softly grabbing the hand that she tried to use to lift her gown. She insisted that she see the damage to her belly, and although he thought it wasn't a good idea, he knew she was going to do it herself if he didn't.
He didn't say anything, he just looked into her blue eyes, with a pleading look that said *At least let me do it*. She seemed to understand, and so he placed her hand down on the mattress and stood, his other hand still holding her other one. His free hand crept shakily to the bottom of her gown, hesitant to do it. He didn't want to see it, the bruised imprint of a boot's sole on his wife's belly, but what mattered was that *she* wanted to see it.
When his fingers finally grasped the end of the gown, his hand didn't move. He was shaking like the leaves on a Quaking Aspen, and tears fell from his eyes again, his brows pinched and sad frown on his lips. *Don't make me do this* he wanted to say. *But you have to* his mind told him.
Shakily and slowly, he pulled the gown up until he reached just above her stomach, eyes squeezed closed almost in guilt of not wanting to see Gale's reaction. His eyes did crack open though, and he saw a horrible bruise across the length of her stomach - it was blue in the center and spreading out into a deep purple, entirely dotted with streaks of red with the edges lined in a sickly yellow.
His eyes shut again quickly and his head recoiled, turning away from where it was directed. His breath caught in his throat and he began sobbing again, this time more silently. He sat back down and placed his hand over his face, trying to keep tears from falling down his face. *Stop hiding* he chastised himself. *Your wife needs you*.
He let go of his face and looked at her stomach again. It made him want to vomit, knowing that there used to be a future behind that bruise - the future of their *family, their *child*. He almost wanted to place his palm over the spot, to feel whatever was left, but he knew it would hurt her, and that it was useless to try - the fetus was already busted and bleeding itself out of his wife.
He took a couple minutes before answering her - not that he hadn't heard her, it was just that his voice was nothing but a whispering rasp of nothing at that point. When this throat let up, he finally answered, voice crackly. "No. They don't know."
He didn't know if it was a good idea for her to move so fast after only having woken up less than an hour ago, but like lifting her gown, he knew she was going to find a way to do it anyways. "I'll ask a nurse if you can get a wheelchair," he said, devoid of any emotion - all the crying and anguish physically drained him, leaving him almost akin to a husk working off instinct.
He limped out of the room, feet more uneven than normal, and got the attention of a nurse. Dewey's brain worked out all of the words and directions the staff told him while he himself sat deep within his mind, alone. He barely recognized when they had left and moved Gale to a wheelchair, and pushed her out of the room and to Tatum's - one of the nurses had to call to him to snap him out of the deep recesses of his mind.
When they arrived at Tatum's room, he was given control of the wheelchair as one of the staff held the door open for them, and he pushed her inside.
His eyes shut again quickly and his head recoiled, turning away from where it was directed. His breath caught in his throat and he began sobbing again, this time more silently. He sat back down and placed his hand over his face, trying to keep tears from falling down his face. *Stop hiding* he chastised himself. *Your wife needs you*.
He let go of his face and looked at her stomach again. It made him want to vomit, knowing that there used to be a future behind that bruise - the future of their *family, their *child*. He almost wanted to place his palm over the spot, to feel whatever was left, but he knew it would hurt her, and that it was useless to try - the fetus was already busted and bleeding itself out of his wife.
He took a couple minutes before answering her - not that he hadn't heard her, it was just that his voice was nothing but a whispering rasp of nothing at that point. When this throat let up, he finally answered, voice crackly. "No. They don't know."
He didn't know if it was a good idea for her to move so fast after only having woken up less than an hour ago, but like lifting her gown, he knew she was going to find a way to do it anyways. "I'll ask a nurse if you can get a wheelchair," he said, devoid of any emotion - all the crying and anguish physically drained him, leaving him almost akin to a husk working off instinct.
He limped out of the room, feet more uneven than normal, and got the attention of a nurse. Dewey's brain worked out all of the words and directions the staff told him while he himself sat deep within his mind, alone. He barely recognized when they had left and moved Gale to a wheelchair, and pushed her out of the room and to Tatum's - one of the nurses had to call to him to snap him out of the deep recesses of his mind.
When they arrived at Tatum's room, he was given control of the wheelchair as one of the staff held the door open for them, and he pushed her inside.
Gale heard Dewey confirm the name and death of her and Tatum's attempted murderer and nodded somewhat absently, recognizing him as one of the kids running the movie club at Jill's school. That indicated to her that the second killer, if there was one, was probably also in the club- maybe the other creepy kid who filmed everything, Robbie something.
She would have to think about that later. Right now, she had to keep her mind focused on one task at a time, and the first thing she needed to do was see what had been done to her, the physical mark of what had been taken from her. Dewey stopped her, as she might have guessed he would, grabbing her hand and trying to stop her. As she met his gaze, seeing the anguish in his red eyes and stained cheeks, she relented. He was suffering, probably more than she herself was capable of feeling right now, and if it gave him even a little more peace to let him help her, she could do that much.
She squeezed his hand as his other paused at the edge of the hospital gown for several moments. Dewey didn't seem capable at first of doing it- maybe afraid of hurting her, maybe just unable to face the ugliness of what the raised gown would reveal. He was crying again, and Gale thought at first he would back off, that she would need to lift the material herself. But then he did it, although he barely could bring himself to look, and as she looked down at herself, she just stared, utterly disconnected from what she saw.
It didn't look like her own stomach, her own skin. It looked worse than the gunshot wound she had received in 1997, and that had bruised colorfully once the bandages were removed. The bruise was huge, covering her stomach from her lower ribs down to just below her bikini line, and when her free hand drifted to touch it, she flinched immediately, the skin extremely tender to touch. She thought she could see the outline of boot treads in places on herself, and when Dewey began to cry again, she could only distantly feel anything for him and his pain. It was hard to think, let alone feel, and her voice sounded like a stranger's when she asked him to put her gown back down for her.
When Dewey left to get a wheelchair for her, Gale's eyes drifted up to the hospital room's ceiling, dimly aware of how loud her breathing sounded to her own ears. The nurse returned a few minutes later and attempted to argue with her about moving, but Gale repeated herself over and over with no change in inflection in her tone- she was going to go see Tatum, with or without anyone's help. Eventually the nurse seemed to understand that she was serious and it would be wiser to help then let her try on her own to get into a wheelchair, and she set to helping support her sitting up, swinging her legs over the side of the hospital bed, and then lowering her into the wheelchair.
Every part of it hurt badly, but Gale didn't say anything, and little showed in her expression. When they arrived outside of Tatum's hospital room and Dewey was given permission to wheel her inside, Gale saw that the blonde was lying on her back in her own hospital bed, with Sidney scrunched in beside her, holding her hand over her stomach. Tatum's eyes were half shut, Sidney's fingers rhythmically stroking through her hair, but when they heard Gale and Dewey enter, both women's heads came up, surprise lighting up their eyes.
"Gale, Dewey," Sidney said, sitting up awkwardly. She gently released Tatum's hand with a last kiss to her wrist and stood, taking a moment to stretch some stiffness in her back before going up to the two in the doorway. "What in the world are you doing here?" She shook her head, seeming to realize the answer as soon as she spoke. "I don't know why I even asked, I know this was your idea, Gale. But come on, there is no way it's a good idea for you to be out of bed right now. We would have gladly video chatted you."
Tatum, craning her neck as much as she could without pain, which wasn't much at all, also strained to see Dewey and Gale as much as she could from her position on the bed. Her cheeks were a little flushed from her earlier crying, her eyes still glistening, but she smiled with relief that both Dewey and Gale were present in the room with them. To her, that meant that Gale must be at least somewhat okay- nothing short of borderline death would keep the woman's stubbornness down.
"You crazy bitch, you really don't have any idea how to be patient in any way, let alone the kind in a hospital," she said, but there was nothing but affection in her tone. "Sid's right, you need to get your ass back in bed."
"Not that we're not glad to see you," Sidney added, reaching to lay a gentle hand on the back of Gale's. When Gale didn't respond to take it or twine their fingers, Sidney rubbed her thumb over the back of her hand instead, searching her face and seeming concerned by what she saw- or perhaps didn't see- in her eyes. "We are, of course. We're really glad you're here, even if you shouldn't be."
Tatum's attention had quickly drifted to her brother after the shock of seeing Gale out of bed, and her dark eyes widened as she took in just how wretched Dewey appeared. She gasped, her heart beginning to beat faster with growing anxiety of what she might not know, of what Dewey and Gale had yet to share, because immediately she knew there had to be something. Her brother had clearly not just been crying, but crying long and hard, his eyes bloodshot, his face mottled and still showing tear tracks. She started to attempt to sit up and then quickly realized that not only could she not do so, given the placement of her injuries, it hurt horribly for her to even attempt to.
"Dewey, what's wrong, what happened?" she cried out, her voice holding a note of panic. "I thought Sidney said she got the guy, was there another attack? Who was it?"
Her breathing was beginning to pick up, her chest on fire from the effort of her breathing combined with the unfortunate placement of her chest stabbing, and she started to gasp, close to hyperventilating. Sidney went to her quickly, taking Tatum's hand and placing it on her own chest so Tatum could feel the steadier beating of Sidney's own heart. She squeezed Tatum's fingers, talking to her calmly even as she directed her attention from her to Dewey and Gale.
"Breathe, Tate, in and out. Just breathe, I've got you."
But even as she tried to calm Tatum, she was looking Dewey over with sharper eyes, seeing the same anguish in his face and in the trembling of his hands that Tatum had noticed. Unlike Tatum, she had the contrast of Dewey's functioning less than an hour before, before he was called in to see Gale. He had been shaken and upset, of course, but Sidney could see the marked increase in his emotions and knew that something had to have happened, something that he had been told. But if it was so serious, such as the internal injury for Gale that he had feared, why would Gale be sitting up in a wheelchair, no matter how much she might have tried to bully into being allowed?
"Something did happen," she said quietly as Tatum's breathing began to level out a little, and she squeezed her fingers before letting her go, walking slowly back over to the other two. "Tell us. Please."
She was looking at Dewey rather than Gale, expecting him to explain, but it was Gale who spoke, her voice dry, flat, and absolutely dead in its tone.
"I had a miscarriage. When Charlie kicked me and I fell off the loft. I didn't even know I could get pregnant. I didn't know."
For several long moments, no one spoke; no one moved or even seemed to breathe. Then Sidney snapped into what seemed impulse, going to Gale and hugging her very carefully around her waist. When Gale flinched, sucking in a pained breath, she drew back quickly, seeming to realize that she couldn't give her any sort of embrace that wouldn't hurt, and instead took her hand again, giving it a squeeze.
"Oh, no. Oh, Gale, Dewey, I'm so sorry."
Gale's hand remained limp in hers, not returning the grasp, and after giving another squeeze, Sidney kissed her forehead, then turned to Dewey, wrapping him in a tight embrace. She held onto him, seeming to sense that Gale would not or could not take in any attempts at comfort then, and that Dewey was the one in greater need.
Still lying back on the hospital bed, the impact of what Gale had just said slammed against Tatum like a sledgehammer to her heart, and she actually retched, barely keeping herself from vomiting. She clinched and unclenched both hands on top of the thin blanket covering her, wanting badly to reach out to all three of the others, to touch them and hug them, to give comfort and receive it at the same time- but she could do nothing. She couldn't even sit up, let alone go to them, and she burst into tears, bawling with gasping, heaving sobs that shook through her frame and made every inch of her spark with physical anguish at the strain. But she couldn't make herself stop, couldn't even begin to gain control of the emotions that now completely overtook her. All she could think of was a tiny little almost baby, her little almost niece or nephew, gone before she even knew it was there. Her chance to be an aunt, for her brother to be a father, gone, forever. The miracle of her sister-in-law and friend, pregnant late into her forties, ended by a psychotic teenager in one moment of violence.
"N-no," she sobbed, shaking her head, the words barely intelligible. "No, no, no. Dewey…Dewey, I'm so sorry, oh no….Gale…Gale, I'm sorry…"
It was all she could manage before she melted down into tears too heavy to form any words at all.
He was hardly aware of the conversation at all. Everything sounded muffled and his eyes could only lock onto the floor, and he hadn't even noticed his sister panic at the sight of his grief stricken face.
When Sidney's feet broke through his tunnel vision, his sad eyes looked up to hers - he had to tell her, she was family, but it hurt even thinking of saying the word again. *Miscarriage*.
He didn't have to though, as Gale broke the silence that Dewey refused to fill. It hurt even more to hear her say it. There was no inflection, or emotion, or anything in her voice, it was all blank. Tears threatened to spill again, and he almost fought them off, but he couldn't help but let them loose when Sidney embraced him.
His arms wrapped around her tightly and he wept into her shoulder. He wanted to scream, but the crying left his voice dry and exhausted, so all he could do was huff out strained breaths into Sid's sweater. His fingers clenched tightly on her sides, and although he tried to release them, they wouldn't let go.
He was spurred to move to his sister when he heard her weeping. His arms begrudgingly unwrapped themselves from Sidney and his feet moved him to wheel Gale over to Tatum's bedside before he sat down with her. He grabbed Tatum's hand and squeezed it with his two that enveloped it.
Dewey was getting mad again. All of this wouldn't have happened if it wasn't for these new Ghostfaces. Sidney and Tatum could've been aunts, Gale could've been a mother, he could've been a *father*. Of all the people in the world, it had to be them who suffered because of psychotic teenagers and their movies.
Gale sat in numb silence, unable to feel motivation to move or speak as the others in the room responded to her bombshell. She heard Dewey starting to cry again as Sidney hugged him and dimly wondered if there was something wrong with her that she herself felt so little, even as mentally she too was agonizing over what she had been told. How could Dewey still find the emotion to cry, and yet she couldn't shed a single tear? How could Dewey cling to Sidney like a man who was drowning when she had felt like it was almost as painful to accept the other woman's kiss on the forehead and squeezing of her hand as it would have been if Sidney had punched her in the stomach?
Sidney held Dewey close, her hand rubbing over his back, feeling his tears seep through the material of her shirt. She swallowed, wanting to cry herself for him, for Gale, for Tatum, but also feeling the need to be the strength for them all, to be the person who stayed calm and comforting in the face of everyone else's distress. Dewey was gripping her tightly enough that it felt a little uncomfortable, but she didn't try to loosen his grasp, letting him hold her as he could not hold or be held by his wife.
"I know it hurts," she said quietly, her hand still rubbing between his shoulder blades. "I know it does."
It was so, so painful to be witness to his anguish, to the silent, withdrawn blankness of Gale that was just as concerning to her and as clear a showing of her shock and her own way of showing her pain. Sidney wanted to be able to hug her too, to show her that she knew Gale was also hurting and that she cared, but the little response Gale had shown at her efforts had been mostly resistant or deflective. Gale didn't seem able to accept it from her now, as much as she might need it or as much as Sidney might want to give it to her, and so she focused her comfort on Dewey.
When Tatum started crying again, seeming in an active state of emotional breakdown, Sidney was torn once again. Dewey needed her, Tatum needed her, and Gale clearly needed something, though she wasn't sure what yet, or if she would accept it if Sidney could figure it out. She tried to subtly turn herself and Dewey towards Tatum to better look at her while still holding Dewey, but Dewey made the decision for her, letting go of her and taking Gale closer to Tatum's bed in her wheelchair. As he sat down, taking Tatum's hand between his, Tatum continued to sob, her hand limp between his.
"I-I'm sorry," she kept repeating, her voice high and uneven, breaking apart with her crying. "I'm s-sorry, I'm s-sorry, I'm sorry…"
Sidney wasn't sure what Tatum was apologizing for, if it was for the miscarriage, for her brother and sister-in-law's pain, for going with Gale or not talking her out of going to the barn in the first place, or even for her crying, but she couldn't let her keep blaming herself for whatever it was. Gently squeezing herself closer around Gale's chair, lightly touching her uninjured shoulder in passing and noticing Gale flinch again, Sidney rubbed Tatum's shoulder and arm, wishing she could sit behind her in the bed and hold her.
"Shhh. No, none of that, this isn't your fault," she said softly, reaching to take the hand Dewey wasn't already holding. When Tatum gave a weak squeeze, Sidney squeezed back, still rubbing her arm.
"None of this is your fault. Any of your faults," she said, taking the time to look Tatum, Dewey, and Gale each in the eyes in turn, emphasizing that she was speaking to each individually. "This is no one's fault but Charlie Walker's. I don't want to hear that any of you blame yourself for anything that happened today. It is no one here's fault."
She took the hand not holding Tatum's off her arm and rubbed Dewey's back again, pausing briefly when he started expressing his intention to kill Charlie Walker's partner. It was unlikely Dewey to sound so bitterly angry, almost bloodthirsty. He had never relished a kill or potential kill in the line of duty, even if it was done in protection of people he loved. Sidney could understand his feelings, but she was nevertheless troubled as she looked to Gale, checking her response. Gale showed none; although she was physically present, even physically close to the other three, her eyes looked a thousand miles away.
Gripping both their hands, Tatum sniffled and tried to stop crying, but seemed to find it impossible. Tears continued to stream down her face, and Sidney rubbed her thumb over the back of her hand, again wishing she could pull her into her arms and hold her. Tatum looked up at Dewey with wide, wet eyes, seeming to need his touch and proximity as much as Sidney's.
"I'm sorry," she said again, sniffling, this time to Dewey directly, even though Sidney had told her to stop saying the words. "I love you. I'm so sorry."
Turning her head to try to catch Gale's eyes, she spoke to her directly as well. "I'm sorry, Gale. I love you."
Sidney blinked; she knew for a fact that although Tatum did love Gale, this wasn't something she had ever actually said to her before out loud, to her face. She knew that Gale loved Tatum too, although that was definitely not something she had ever voiced in any way, just as Sidney that Gale loved her as well. She again looked over at Gale, hoping that the unprecedented words from Tatum would trigger some emotional response in Gale- any emotional response, even anger.
And they did, just a little. Although Gale didn't move, there was a slight shift in her expression, a new glint coming into her eyes that betrayed a hint of emotion not present before. Her lips thinned, pressing together tightly for just a moment, and when answered, though she still barely spoke and her voice was quiet, it held just the smallest tremor.
"Thanks, Tatum."
He knew Tatum's words were to comfort him, but they only made him angrier. She shouldn't have to be apologizing, Gale shouldn't have to apologize, and Sidney too. It wasn't their fault this happened - *It's your fault* he told himself.
The rage in his chest spurred him to his feet, and he suddenly let go of Tatum's hand. He walked passed Gale and began pacing the empty side of the room. His fist clenched and unclenched at every step, and his eyes held contact with the floor.
"It *is* someone's fault," he murmured to nobody in particular. "If I had just let her in on the investigation, none of this would've happened," he started, progressively getting louder with each sentence. "If I had just gotten there faster! Or if I had just *hit the first fucking shot*!!" he belted, kicking the unfortunate trash can that sat by the door.
He felt like he had pins and needles in his skin. He just wanted the comfort of his sister or wife, but they were too injured to handle the tension in his arms that would surely crush them - it's not that he didn't like Sidney's hugs, but he wanted, *needed, one from his wife, or sister. But Tatum was in hysterics, and Gale had the same deadpan look since they left her room.
Unsure of what to do with his hands, he placed his fists on the wall and put his forehead against the drywall. God, he wanted to cry again. But he had no tears left to shed, so his face just felt heavy, and he bared his gritted teeth in the uncomfortableness it made him feel.
He couldn't let this continue, he wouldn't. Nobody else should feel this grief, and someone had to pay for doing this to his family. Without warning, he pushed off the wall and threw the door open, speed walking out and down the hall. "I need every unit patrolling, *now*. You see anything suspicious, radio me immediately," he commanded over his shoulder mounted radio. "Perkins, Hoss," he called. "Whatever close an eye you had on the Roberts, make it closer."
