#not gone

“I am a horse. You’d do it for a horse.”

Tears rolled down her face. His body was heavy where he was laying in her arms.

“Lils. Shh…it’s okay.”

A palm cradled the back of her head, pushing her forehead down to rest against his.

“I’m sorry. I’ll wait for you. I’ll always be with you. I promise.” 

Lips pressed a soft kiss between her brows.

“I’ll love you forever.” 

Her chest spasmed with the agony of having her heart ripped out. 

“I love you more than anything,” she whispered, pressing kisses to his face.

A gunshot rang out. Her hand rested on his chest where warm blood had started to bloom. 

She couldn’t feel his heartbeat anymore.

Blue eyes dead and lifeless. Warmth draining away. Body going still. 

She broke. 

Forehead on his chest. Letting out a wail that seemed to go on, and on, and on. 

No, no, please don’t leave me. I can’t live without you, I don’t know how…

Flashes of people reaching out to her. Of Duke clutching for her hand. Johnny and Charlie trying to pull her away from the body. She was screaming, trying to hold onto him. As if the outpouring of her love and grief could somehow bring him back to life. 

I will never love again. 

A red wagon on a hill. Fire blazing in the dark as the sun sank below the horizon. The body inside the vardo melting away to nothing but ash. Gone, forever. 

Her knees digging into the dirt next to the flames, head in her hands. Weeping until she physically had no more tears left to shed. And then she just screamed, the pain too great for her to do anything else.  

He’s gone. He’s gone forever. 

I’ll never see him again. 

It’s all my fault.

I miss him. 

I want him back, I want him back, I WANT HIM BACK!

She could feel someone shaking her. Calling her name. Probably Johnny or Charlie trying to bring her back from the grief-stricken madness she was lost in.  

Please, someone make it stop. It hurts too much. I can't live without half my soul oh God, Tommy, please no…

“Lily! Lily!” 

Her eyes flew open.

Where was she? Had the boys finally taken mercy on her and put her out of her misery? Given her what she begged for in the form of a bullet to the back of the head like you would a mad horse?

Her eyes darted about wildly, squinting against the dark. It took her a moment before she recognized the interior of her and Tommy’s bedroom.

A hand brushed across the back of her head, and she nearly jumped out of her skin. 

“Lils?”

She was wrapped up in someone’s arms. Pulling back, she stared up, into Tommy’s face.

Where he had been cold, he was now warm. Those blue eyes, dead and lifeless the last time she saw them, were bright and alive. 

She burst into tears. 

Tommy’s brows drew in, the concern that deepened his face reminding her of the way he had looked at her as she cradled his dying body in her arms. 

“Sweetheart, what…?”

She didn’t let him finish, instead flinging her arms around his middle and crushing herself to him. Against her ear, she could hear his heart beating. Strong and steady. 

Tommy’s arms tightened around her, a hand cradling the back of her head. 

“Shh…it’s alright.” His lips pressed to her temple. “You’re alright. I’m here.” 

She squeezed her eyes shut, tears still leaking from her eyes, holding onto him so tightly he likely would have bruises in the morning. But he made no indication of complaint or movement to get away.

“There you go, love,” he murmured, when her heaving, wailing sobs started to give way to quiet sniffles. His strong hand kept rubbing up and down her back, rocking her delicately from side to side. “There you go.” He pecked her head again. “That was some nightmare, eh?” 

She nodded weakly against his chest, and he gave her a little squeeze.

“You want to talk about it?” 

She shuddered, giving a small shake of her head. She knew she would have to tell him eventually. No way would he let her get away with such a performance of hysterics without finding out what caused it. But she knew that if she spoke about it now, she would fall apart again. 

“Okay,” Tommy said, not pushing the subject any further for the moment. Seemingly content to just sit there with her, holding her together and letting her weep her grief and relief into his chest.

* * *

Tommy watched Lily through the smoke wafting from his cigarette. She had her head down, pencil clutched between her fingers while she edited pages of his book. His typewriter sat in front of him, the ink still drying on the paragraphs he’d typed up that afternoon. 

Every once in a while, he could feel her gaze shift to him. Beneath the table, he’d let the toe of his shoe rest against her calf. In silent reminder that he was indeed there with her. 

Putting his cigarette out in the ashtray, he pushed back from the table and rose to his feet. Lily’s head snapped up. 

“Where are you going?” she asked.   

She’d been clingier since that nightmare she had a few days ago. Not that it was rare for them to be practically attached at the hip all hours of the day, but this felt different. Like she was genuinely terrified that if she let him out of her sight, he’d disappear. 

He didn’t mind. Not really. He liked having her close. But he was worried for her wellbeing. Nightmares weren’t an uncommon occurrence in their house, but this one seemed much worse than usual. She’d scared the absolute shit out of him when he woke up to her screaming and sobbing next to him.

“Just have to go take a piss, love,” he dropped a reassuring kiss to the top of her head on his way towards the loo. He could feel her eyes watching him the entire short walk down the hall to where the washroom was. He left the door open rather than bother closing it, for her peace of mind. They’d been together long enough and he’d pissed in front of her a good handful of times. No need to try to keep a long-dead mystery alive when all it would do was make her more nervous.    

He was just finishing, going to the sink to wash his hands, when she appeared in the doorway. Shoulder leaned against the frame, lip caught between her teeth as she watched him with wide, nervous eyes in the mirror. As he scrubbed at his palms with the soap, she came over and wrapped her arms around his middle, lips pressing to his shoulder and head pillowing against his back. Toweling off his hands, he settled his palm on top of hers, thumb stroking along her knuckles. 

He couldn’t say how long they stood there for. But when he turned around to face her, Lily’s eyes were a little glassy. He cupped her face in his hands, petting at her cheekbones. 

“Everything okay?” he asked, voice soft even though it was just them.

“Yeah,” but she answered too quickly for it to be convincing. Leaning forward, she tucked her face into his chest, ear coming to rest right above his heart. 

Tommy hugged her back, frowning. He understood. Really. The way she’d described her nightmare to him, it sounded bloody awful. He’d have been a wreck too if he dreamed up something like that involving her. But…   

“You haven’t been yourself these last couple of days.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t apologize. Talk to me.” He drew back enough to look into her eyes. “What really happened in your dream, Lily?” 

She tensed, looking away. “You were…you died…” her voice broke a little on the last word, and he squeezed at her arms to try to comfort her. 

“I know that part. What else?” 

She looked up at him, eyes wide. “What do you mean?” 

“What else happened, love?”

“I…I don’t remember.”

His eyes narrowed a fraction, weighing whether or not to press further.

“I’m sorry, Tommy.” 

“Hey, no, it’s okay,” he said, the need to comfort her quickly overriding his curiosity. “C’mere,” he pulled her back into his chest. But the way she immediately relaxed at his dropping of the subject only made his frown deepen. 

There was something she wasn’t telling him. And try as he might, he couldn’t seem to puzzle out what it could possibly be. 

* * *

He tried to raise her spirits. He took her horseback riding out across their land and packed a picnic for them to enjoy in a sunny patch on the hills. He danced with her in the living room to the rhythm of their old gramophone. He even had Johnny Dogs go into town to pick up her favorite blend of cinnamon and vanilla flavored tea. He spent nearly every minute of every day with her. 

And yet, she still kept looking at him with that nervous, mournful expression. 

At night, he often woke to her whimpering beside him in her sleep. Every time he roused her, she would huddle in his arms, dodging his attempts to coax from her what it was that had her so spooked.

He didn’t understand. They never kept anything from each other. Ever.

Thumbing at his brow, he sighed, gaze fixed on the ceiling. Lily was curled up against him, for once her sleep seemingly undisturbed by nightmares.

But he couldn’t get his mind to stop working. Tumbling over itself with musings as to what could be so wrong that she didn’t want to tell him.

Had her behavior been any different, he would have worried that she didn’t want him anymore. But with how clingy she’d been, he was pretty certain that wasn’t the case. 

With a frustrated huff, he rubbed at his eyes. Careful not to disturb Lily, he slipped from the bed, watching fondly as in his absence she started snuggling his pillow instead. A quick kiss pressed to her auburn hair, and then he was tip-toeing from the bedroom and down towards the kitchen. 

A cup of tea would perhaps do him good. Help settle his nerves. 

He was just removing the whistling kettle from the stove, pouring the steaming water into a chipped mug, when he heard the rapid thuds of her footsteps clattering down the stairs. 

“Tommy? Tommy!?” 

“In here, love,” he called, setting the kettle down. She appeared in the doorway, looking affright. Hair half spilling from the braid she’d pulled it in for bed, cheeks drawn and pale, her eyes wild and terrified. 

She let out a choked off sound of relief when she saw him. In a blink she was across the kitchen, arms thrown around him and face buried in his chest. 

“Lily…” he murmured, stroking her head, hugging her back. Concern twisted in his stomach when he felt warm tears through the cotton material of his shirt. 

It couldn’t be good for her to keep getting this upset. She was going to make herself sick if she carried on like this.

“It’s okay,” he soothed, waiting until she had settled before starting to pry. “I’m here.”

“I’m sorry,” she said into the material of his shirt. “I woke up and you weren’t there and I thought…”

Thought you were dead. 

He took hold of her face, tipping it up to examine her eyes. “Come here,” he decided, taking her hand and leading her to sit at the table in the middle of the room. “Lily…” 

“I know. I’m just being silly. I’m fine…”

“You’re not.” He kept hold of her hand, thumb tracing back and forth across her knuckles. Fixing her sunset brown eyes with an insistent look, he decided that a direct approach was the best method for addressing this. “What aren’t you telling me?” 

She seemed to shrink in on herself. “I don’t know what–”

“Yes, you do.” He leaned in closer. “I know you remember. I can see it in your face.” 

Lily seemed unable to meet his eyes, gaze focused on a spot on the table, faraway and haunted. Reaching out, he delicately brushed a few stray bits of her hair back, letting his fingertips ghost across her cheek. 

“You can tell me, eh?” He gave her a small smile. “Can’t see how it could be worse than Duke shooting me in the heart.” 

“It is.” She finally looked at him, lips trembling slightly. “It is worse.” 

Tommy cocked his head. “Well now I really need to know.” He took care to keep his tone light. Relaxed. Lily’s mouth opened and closed. He gave a small, encouraging squeeze to her hand. “It’s alright.”    

She let out a shaky, defeated breath, seeming to deflate right before his eyes. “The car was coming towards you. And he…he shot you…”

Tommy tightened his grip on her hand at the way her voice trembled on the last two words. “You told me all of that already.”  

But she shook her head. “No. No, but before…before he shot you, I was…I had a shot at him. But…but my aim was off or something and I…I…”

Oh.

Ohh. 

He quickly folded her into his arms. Her breathing was coming in shallow little gasps, hands fisting in the front of his shirt. 

“You had a shot at him and you missed?” he asked. She nodded with a pained little whimper against his throat. 

“It was my fault,” she started to cry. “You were gone. You died and it was all my fault–” 

“Oi, hey, no, no, no,” he drew back to cradle her face, forehead leaning against hers. “It wasn’t. I’m not dead, love. I’m right here. I’m alright.” 

“It felt more real than any dream I’ve ever had, Tommy.”

“But it wasn’t.” 

“What if…what if it was a premonition or something…?”

“You’ve never had a premonition in your entire life, love.”

She reached out, stroking his face delicately. Like she half expected her fingers to pass through him when she touched him. “Sometimes I wonder if you’re really here.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“You could be a ghost.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Have you been at the opium stash without me?”

That got the tiniest little exhale of amusement out of her, a little spark reigniting in her eyes. He nudged her, fanning the flames.  

“Hm? C’mon, now. I’m supposed to be the superstitious one of the two of us.”

Her cheeks flushed adorably, lips twitching upwards ever so slightly.

“I’m here,” he said, firmly. “I’m alive. I’m not going anywhere. I promise. Eh?” 

She let out a shaky breath, nodding slowly. Taking hold of both of her hands, he guided them to rest on his chest. 

“Feel,” he requested, pressing her palms closer to his skin. Letting her feel the thump of his heartbeat. The rise and fall of his breaths. The warmth of his skin. “I’m not gone. I’m here with you.” Leaning forward, he brushed his lips against hers. “I’ll always be here with you.” With a hand on the back of her head, he kissed her deeper. Lily leaned into him, her breathing shaky and desperate, mouth parting to his. Hands bunching in the material of his shirt, she pulled it off over his head, palms flattening against the naked skin of his chest as soon as it was off.

Rising from the chair, he scooped her up into his arms, still kissing her as he carried her up the rickety stairs and back to bed.

He made love to her slow and gentle. Bodies pressed together, foreheads touching. Kissing her softly and murmuring words of reassurance every chance he got.   

After, he laid sprawled out on his back, holding Lily tightly against him with her head resting on his chest. Still catching his breath, he stroked his fingers along the soft skin of her back, the chill of sweat cooling against his skin.

Lily made a small sound of contentment, face turning to press kisses along the sunbeams tattooed on his pec. With two fingers he tilted her face to look up at him. 

“Alright?” he asked.

She nodded, eyes blinking all lazy and satisfied. A bloom of cockiness sprouted in his chest at the sight of her so fucked out, the beginnings of a smirk dancing on his lips. 

“If that performance can’t convince you that I’m alive, I don’t know what will.”

She let out a sputtering, surprised laugh. Tommy felt something in him release a deep sigh of relief at the sound. Reaching down, he traced a finger along her cheek, basking in the way her eyes lit up like the sun when she smiled.

There’s my girl. He knew she was still in there, somewhere. 

Head tilting down, he caught her lips with his in a soft kiss. Her small hand cradled the side of his face, thumb stroking against his cheekbone. 

“I love you,” she murmured after they parted. Tommy let his grip on her tighten a fraction. 

“I love you too.” Adjusting them so they were laying more comfortably together, he pressed another kiss to her forehead. “Try to get some sleep, love.” Hopefully no nightmares will find you, this time.

She hummed, cheek pillowing over his heart, eyes shining where they stared up at him. He smiled at her reassuringly.  

Her fingers found his, curling tight. “Don’t ever leave me,” she whispered, a quiet plea.

He squeezed her back, firm and definitive. “I’m right here. Nothing will ever take me away from you.”

Silco watched it. Every second. He saw it all. The swell of your chest as you gasped, the tears brimming your eyes, the “o” of your lips, the cruel, red shine of your blood painting the tip of the knife that poked through your stomach. Every second.

Behind you, Finn grit his teeth, brows curled and nose crinkled in a disgusting, ferocious snarl. It was something Silco remembered when he returned the favor, twisting the knife into Finn’s bloodied and bruised stomach and wearing his own disgusting, ferocious snarl.

Never did Silco think marriage would end like this. Of course, the vow is “‘Til death do us part,” but this is absurd. The thought of such an ending is harrowing at best but to see the blood on your lips, to hear the hitching gasp of breath, to feel your body jolt and tense in pain; all of it is too much.

When Silco finally “settled down” as some would say (he still worked constantly so there wasn’t much settling), he knew there wouldn’t be any peace and quiet. Of course bounties would be on your head once people found out about the marriage–it’s only natural for sumprats to want an assassination. In light of this, Silco kept it as quiet as possible, no ceremony, no announcement, quiet celebration. As anti-climactic as it sounds–save for the honeymoon which was, in fact, quite climactic–it was the safest option.

The possibility that Finn actually knew about the marriage was slim–Silco doubted he could even spell the word–but if one looked closely, they could likely see the stretch of years that you and Silco had spent together, and perhaps that was enough.

Enough. Have you had enough?

That cruel, monstrous corner of Silco’s conscience rang out, shoving him face-to-face with a familiar question as you hunched over. A cruel crimson ran from your teeth to paint your lips, and if he didn't know any better, Silco would have thought it was the pinot noir you and him had indulged in just a short while before.

Has he had enough? Enough cause, enough pain, enough fault, enough destruction? His demons resurfacing, facing him again after years upon years. They had been nestled in the back of his mind, at the bottom-most corner of his heart, away from him, away from you. Their grand reappearance brought back those feelings of dangerous vulnerability, only Silco wasn’t the one in danger. Even still, his own flesh burned from the knife lodged into your back.

Have you had enough? You showed them, now they show you. You’re right back where you started.

Silco’s body felt heavy, and it became heavier when you sagged against him, your open wound pouring blood onto your shirt and his. The knife is an undeniable pressure against his own stomach, pressing through you and nudging him before it retracts and Finn flees, metal jaw shining and eyes burning with a foul pride.

The meeting room broke into panic, all of the chembarons running like headless chickens, save for Renni who stood solemnly off to the side before making to leave with Finn. The knife clattered to the floor with a sickening finality, leaving another splatter of your blood on the tiles of the hall.

Sevika knew what to do already: don’t ask questions, leave them alive. Finn was on the floor in seconds and Renni joined him shortly after when she failed to run away.

Finn was unsurprisingly useless, admitting it was a crime of passion after losing some teeth and nails. He died with deep, riveting cuts, bloody fingers, a disfigured face; his guts were practically spilling forth with how many times his stomach took the knife. Almost impressive for a worm like him. Almost.

The floor had been covered with blood, vomit, and other fluids Finn ejected as he was overwhelmed by pain. But all the while, Silco still wondered if he understood. Was Finn suffering through all of it just to die, or did he understand that every infliction, every lash, every stab, lunge, cut, blow, was for a reason? Probably not. As Silco held his partner’s weak and dying body, Finn sauntered away without a care in the world, until Sevika’s metal arm came crashing into his temple.

He fell to the ground and Silco almost crumpled with him when your weight leaned into him completely. You started coughing, unable to stop as you choked on your own blood, red waterfalls gurgling past your lips and running down your chin.

Silco lifted you and every chembaron gawked at your paling body, blood dripping onto the floor from your wound in a patient cadence that marched towards your demise.

drip…drip…drip

Silco’s arms hooked under your knees and armpit, holding you close as he stumbled past each baron to the large iron doors of the meeting hall. Your blood slicked the floor tiles and the soles of his boots, making walking harder than it already was, but he could bring himself to pay it much mind as he stepped over Finn’s knocked out form on the ground and shouldered the door open, shuffling down the hall as the door closed behind him with a dramatic boom.

Get to the doctor.

Silco dared to look down at you and stopped, sliding back against the wall. The blood on his shirt made a horrible sound as his middle shifted and he landed on the ground with you. Blood still poured from your mouth but the stream had thinned, no longer coughing so much, barely breathing. Tears had streamed down your face and dried, replaced by more, caking your face with an unpleasant texture.

He couldn’t look at you any longer, cradling your head against his neck, a shiver trailing up his spine at the feeling of your lips smearing warm blood on his throat and collar.

The doctor!

His mind screamed, but his body didn’t move, he had given up. Traitorous body, he might as well have killed you himself! Of course, there was no saving you.

Time passed and Silco remained there, curled against the wall with your body in his arms. He absorbed you, wrapping himself entirely around you, hiding you from the world. When he finally brought himself to look at you again the light had left your eyes, just as it did the band on your finger, the silver and gold turned static and dull. Empty. Silco held a shell in his arms, no longer you, no longer his spouse. All he had left was your shell.

“Let’s go home, darling,” Silco whispered, lifting you with great effort. Quite heavy for a shell.

Upon getting to his feet, Silco made his way to the elevator. The iron door behind him opened and Sevika started behind Silco.

“Have someone bring Finn and Renni back to the Drop.” Silco surprised himself with the firmness of his words, despite how crumpled he felt, how loose with terror and panic he was, how scattered his thoughts and feelings were. But his wall remained up, as it would until it was just the two of you in the peace and quiet of the room you had shared for so long.

“Yes sir,” Sevika muttered, trailing slowly behind him in her loud boots. She didn’t enter the elevator with Silco, whether it was giving him solitude or the discomfort of being in a small space with a corpse, he didn’t know, and he didn’t care much to know.

The car was still outside with Locke in the driver’s seat where Silco left him, and Locke didn’t say a word when Silco entered the car, still with you in tow. In fact, Locke opened the backseat door for Silco when he refused to remove a hand from your body, which had grown stiff and cold.