He breathes quietly into her skin, eyes still closed, arms slowly going limp around her waist. He's still holding on to her, but he's no longer desperate: just comfortable. He wonders how it's possible, that there are so many people here that he got so comfortable with so quick. That he's now embracing her, after only having known her for a few months.
But he's glad for it. He isn't sure if he would have been able to do this without people like her.
He thinks about her question, sees it for the distraction tactic it is, but he doesn't mind. "Our father," he starts, voice hoarse as he goes. "Our father liked the bottle more than he liked us, most days. And after Ma passed, it was just Pol there."
The hope had been that asking him about Olly would bring out something nicer for him to think about, so Rey can't help frowning faintly when he starts with a drunken father and a mother who died. Maybe it was a dumb thing to ask, but she's just going to have to hope there's something pleasant at the end of the story if it's not there in the beginning.
And distantly, in the very back of her head, she's learning something about herself. She likes this, being held, more than she would have expected to. The person she had been during the breach had thrived once the man Tommy had been started to show her affection, but she didn't really think that would be something that would transfer over, be something real for her at any point.
But maybe it makes sense. Hugging Finn had felt perfect, and Leia's arms around her had been wonderful. This is like that, only on a greater scale after what just happened. Wordlessly, Rey leans her head down on Tommy's shoulder, silently thankful to know she might not be an isolated, cold person the rest of her life.
She might have it in her to let people in after all.
He lets the silence linger for a few seconds while he gathers his thoughts,
while he makes sense of this story in his head. It isn't a bad memory for
him, because there were far more unpleasant moments, with far more
unpleasant outcomes. His fingers are unconsciously tracing a pattern into
Rey's back.
"She took care of us when we were little-- that was me, and Arthur, and
John. She'd cook and clean and shop and she'd find time for us, even when
we behaved at our worst." And oh, were there ever bad times. He twitches a
smile at the memory of himself at that age.
"But our father, he came back when he saw fit. He'd come home in a stupor,
and then wake up demanding breakfast, bum around the house, dirtying
Polly's lovely white sheets. And he'd get into it with us. You know--
Arthur, he was always happy to please him, but me an' John gave him a hard
time."
That's shockingly nice, whatever Tommy's fingers are doing on her back, and it's with the oddest jolt that Rey realizes she doesn't mind that in the least. Somehow, without her even noticing, Tommy had entirely bypassed her hangups over being touched. Maybe she should have noticed it when he pressed his face into her neck, but it's that absent touch against her back that really brings it home.
She thinks she can feel a smile, too, close as he is, and that makes her heart squeeze tight and feel like it's going to burst at the same time. She's never cherished a smile so much, been so relieved to know someone still could. After how scared he had been, she's glad down to her bones that he's already able to smile. Her arms tighten around him a little, protectively.
"I don't imagine Polly would stand for that for long," she says softly, finally feeling like she can contribute something and not just listen silently.
Now that he's calmed down, it filters through easily: he isn't feeling relief, or gratefulness, or an abstract emotion that makes his breath want to hitch in his throat. He isn't feeling it himself, but it's inside of him nonetheless.
He's finishing a story, and he intends to do it, but he's distracted by it. It has to be the Barge, he thinks-- something is happening. But he can't quite believe that she could be feeling those things right now.
"She didn't," he agrees, softly, as his fingers keep dancing over her back. "One time, she stood it for about a day, maybe two. He'd been drinking, coming home late and telling her what to do, and she grit her teeth. But one afternoon she came home, and he had his hand raised to me, ready to smack me one, and she..."
He huffs out a soft, fond laugh, pulls his head away from Rey's shoulder a little. "She calmly went underneath the sink, pulled out a shotgun, and fired into the wall right next to his head. He about shat himself from fear.
Rey's stomach is dropping when she's listening to that, while she considers the idea of anyone hitting a child, but she knows it happens. She'd had a bruise that took up half of her arm from Unkar Plutt dragging her through the sand after her parents had left her, grown people taking no care for children isn't a new concept.
But she hates knowing it was something Tommy went through.
Of course, hearing how Polly dealt with it startles a quiet laugh from her.
"I knew I liked her," she murmurs, a little absently so she won't interrupt Tommy any more than she already is. It's just something that sort of demands a comment.
It's not something that Tommy feels actively bad about- yes, his father is a terrible waste of a human being, but that's far from the only reason why. He doesn't know a man who wasn't hit by his father every now and then, really.
"Well, that was that, wasn't it?" He huffs another laugh, and slowly his hands drop from her back. "He practically ran out after cursing at her. Didn't see him for a few months after."
Now that he's moving his hands away, Rey isn't sure if she should keep hers where they are. Probably not, so she loosens her hold on him after rubbing his back one more time. She's still very close to him, still touching him, but he won't meet any resistance if he moves away completely.
It's an odd feeling, trying to find the right balance of comfort and freedom to give someone. She's really not cut out for this, has no idea what she's doing, but she can at least take comfort in the fact that her guessing, her instincts, have paid off well so far.
"Ah, he didn't, did he? But men are like that. Stubborn animals." Himself included. There's an odd feeling between them right now, and it doesn't come from him- and instinctively, something inside him reaches out, and he tries to soothe over her discomfort.
It doesn't take much to soothe her, not when he's talking evenly now, when those laughs are small and more like an amused exhale than anything else. The immediate danger seems to have passed and more than anything she's just glad he isn't upset anymore.
"I'll remember that," she promises, and she wishes that there was more light, that her eyes would adjust just a little more so she could see his face. And then, because she remembers how rough his voice had been, she moves one hand to her satchel and brings out a canister of water. "Here."
She finds his arm in the dark, follows it down until she reaches his hand, and presses the canister of water into it.
He wonders, for a flash, what she's doing-- until he feels the canister, and he makes a grateful little sound.
"Thank you," he says, for good measure, as he reaches between their stomachs to open the canister before taking a drink. He makes it a small swallow, before he searches out her hand again and hands it back to her.
She takes a drink too, careful to keep it small just in case they're in here for a long time, and then puts the canister right back where it goes. She won't risk losing it in the dark, even in such a small space.
"I have rolls, too, from breakfast," she admits, and it's easier than she expected it to be to tell him that. To make sure he knows the option of food is there if he wants it. "Just let me know if you get hungry."
He gives a fond little sound, and quickly, carefully reaches to squeeze her elbow. "I will," he says, and that's all that needs to be said about that. She doesn't need to feel self-conscious about this.
It's... she's not really sure, honestly, but he's reached for her so many times now and as his hand curves around her elbow, it's...
Welcome. Something she might cherish, if she were to put more thought into it. The thought of shaking him off seems impossible now, the last thing she would ever do. She's glad for that contact.
She's adjusted to being touched, but until now she had never wanted it. It's an odd thing to realize about herself, but not bad she supposes. Just... it's very different.
And distracting. She should probably say something else now.
"If I stay on my knees like this any longer I'll never be able to walk again. Do you think there's enough room for me to sit beside you?"
Someone who wasn't him had touched the woman that wasn't her just like that, gentle hands on her waist to guide her in close, and it's the weirdest sense of deja-vu as she gets settled in beside Tommy. There's not much room but she is endlessly glad to be seated now, the ache in her knees already starting to fade as she reaches a hand down to rub the rest of the pain out.
She isn't even put out about it, really. It was worth it, because Tommy is speaking to her instead of shaking and lost in horrible memories. She'd do it over again the exact same way, no hesitation.
"Thank you."
For helping her sit. He didn't have to do that and she knows it.
"It's hard to say. I had tried to time coming here so this wouldn't happen at all, so I don't know if there's any pattern to it."
She kind of feels a little like she's failed him, getting him stuck here with her. She should have known better, her desire to share what was bothering her could have waited. This is her fault and there's really no getting around that.
She wants to ask if he's okay now, but doesn't at the same time. What he went through is more complicated than that, the answer he might give her might be a simple yes, but that won't cover everything. How could it?
"It shouldn't be too much longer, though," she adds, even though she has nothing to base that on. She has to offer a little bit of hope.
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But he's glad for it. He isn't sure if he would have been able to do this without people like her.
He thinks about her question, sees it for the distraction tactic it is, but he doesn't mind. "Our father," he starts, voice hoarse as he goes. "Our father liked the bottle more than he liked us, most days. And after Ma passed, it was just Pol there."
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And distantly, in the very back of her head, she's learning something about herself. She likes this, being held, more than she would have expected to. The person she had been during the breach had thrived once the man Tommy had been started to show her affection, but she didn't really think that would be something that would transfer over, be something real for her at any point.
But maybe it makes sense. Hugging Finn had felt perfect, and Leia's arms around her had been wonderful. This is like that, only on a greater scale after what just happened. Wordlessly, Rey leans her head down on Tommy's shoulder, silently thankful to know she might not be an isolated, cold person the rest of her life.
She might have it in her to let people in after all.
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He lets the silence linger for a few seconds while he gathers his thoughts, while he makes sense of this story in his head. It isn't a bad memory for him, because there were far more unpleasant moments, with far more unpleasant outcomes. His fingers are unconsciously tracing a pattern into Rey's back.
"She took care of us when we were little-- that was me, and Arthur, and John. She'd cook and clean and shop and she'd find time for us, even when we behaved at our worst." And oh, were there ever bad times. He twitches a smile at the memory of himself at that age.
"But our father, he came back when he saw fit. He'd come home in a stupor, and then wake up demanding breakfast, bum around the house, dirtying Polly's lovely white sheets. And he'd get into it with us. You know-- Arthur, he was always happy to please him, but me an' John gave him a hard time."
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She thinks she can feel a smile, too, close as he is, and that makes her heart squeeze tight and feel like it's going to burst at the same time. She's never cherished a smile so much, been so relieved to know someone still could. After how scared he had been, she's glad down to her bones that he's already able to smile. Her arms tighten around him a little, protectively.
"I don't imagine Polly would stand for that for long," she says softly, finally feeling like she can contribute something and not just listen silently.
cw: mention of child abuse
He's finishing a story, and he intends to do it, but he's distracted by it. It has to be the Barge, he thinks-- something is happening. But he can't quite believe that she could be feeling those things right now.
"She didn't," he agrees, softly, as his fingers keep dancing over her back. "One time, she stood it for about a day, maybe two. He'd been drinking, coming home late and telling her what to do, and she grit her teeth. But one afternoon she came home, and he had his hand raised to me, ready to smack me one, and she..."
He huffs out a soft, fond laugh, pulls his head away from Rey's shoulder a little. "She calmly went underneath the sink, pulled out a shotgun, and fired into the wall right next to his head. He about shat himself from fear.
cw: mention of child abuse
But she hates knowing it was something Tommy went through.
Of course, hearing how Polly dealt with it startles a quiet laugh from her.
"I knew I liked her," she murmurs, a little absently so she won't interrupt Tommy any more than she already is. It's just something that sort of demands a comment.
cw: mention of child abuse
"Well, that was that, wasn't it?" He huffs another laugh, and slowly his hands drop from her back. "He practically ran out after cursing at her. Didn't see him for a few months after."
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It's an odd feeling, trying to find the right balance of comfort and freedom to give someone. She's really not cut out for this, has no idea what she's doing, but she can at least take comfort in the fact that her guessing, her instincts, have paid off well so far.
"I hope he'd learned his lesson."
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"I'll remember that," she promises, and she wishes that there was more light, that her eyes would adjust just a little more so she could see his face. And then, because she remembers how rough his voice had been, she moves one hand to her satchel and brings out a canister of water. "Here."
She finds his arm in the dark, follows it down until she reaches his hand, and presses the canister of water into it.
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"Thank you," he says, for good measure, as he reaches between their stomachs to open the canister before taking a drink. He makes it a small swallow, before he searches out her hand again and hands it back to her.
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"I have rolls, too, from breakfast," she admits, and it's easier than she expected it to be to tell him that. To make sure he knows the option of food is there if he wants it. "Just let me know if you get hungry."
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Welcome. Something she might cherish, if she were to put more thought into it. The thought of shaking him off seems impossible now, the last thing she would ever do. She's glad for that contact.
She's adjusted to being touched, but until now she had never wanted it. It's an odd thing to realize about herself, but not bad she supposes. Just... it's very different.
And distracting. She should probably say something else now.
"If I stay on my knees like this any longer I'll never be able to walk again. Do you think there's enough room for me to sit beside you?"
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"Of course-- yeah, here." He shuffles over, puts his hands on her waist to help her up.
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She isn't even put out about it, really. It was worth it, because Tommy is speaking to her instead of shaking and lost in horrible memories. She'd do it over again the exact same way, no hesitation.
"Thank you."
For helping her sit. He didn't have to do that and she knows it.
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She kind of feels a little like she's failed him, getting him stuck here with her. She should have known better, her desire to share what was bothering her could have waited. This is her fault and there's really no getting around that.
She wants to ask if he's okay now, but doesn't at the same time. What he went through is more complicated than that, the answer he might give her might be a simple yes, but that won't cover everything. How could it?
"It shouldn't be too much longer, though," she adds, even though she has nothing to base that on. She has to offer a little bit of hope.