later's better than never

[inawhitepalace]

This wasn't the first time they had done this. Far from it, in fact — if anything, it was a habit, packing everything up and leaving wherever they'd been residing behind them, starting over somewhere new. That was what Daisy kept telling herself, anyway, an insistent bid to draw attention away from the weight of everything. Maybe the circumstances of their moving on had never been quite so dire before, however unlikely to admit it they were, but as soon as they were out of New York, it wouldn't make a bit of difference. None of it would follow them; there was no one here with whom it would remain. If anything, she felt sure that she ought to have been grateful. The ending given to all of this ensured that she would remain free of any blame, of any ties to the part of her life that she had chosen to leave behind her. There was nothing to want, this way. Grieving wouldn't have done any good, after all, when she had already made her decision, and anyway, it would have been more than a little unbecoming.

What was more, it wouldn't have been entirely fair. Even she was capable of acknowledging as much, and of acting on it, if this sort of willfully disregarding the events of the summer could be acting at all. Given the effort it took, more than she liked but far less than it should have, she at least felt as if it ought to have been, and anyway, that was the point — that she was trying, that they both were. The revelations come to light, everything put out on the table in that hotel room, had left her and Tom on an even playing field for the first time in a long time, and perhaps, with that being the case, they wouldn't just wind up in the same place they had so many times before. It was worth it to find out, at least. Besides, even if she'd had any doubts about the decision she had made, they would have been irrelevant now, the alternative no longer a possibility. For that, too, she was fortunate, in a way. Staying with Tom only because she had no other choice left, crawling back after declaring her love for someone else, would have carried substantially less weight than the two of them coming to this conclusion together, would have diminished their chances of making this work considerably, and she wasn't about to accept the notion that they might not have been able to. When they had up until now, when they'd survived that awful confrontation, they simply had to.

With Tom's hand at her waist as they headed for the door, she pointedly thought about that, about the fresh start they would be getting, all of this unpleasantness left in the past where it belonged, and not anything that had happened to bring him here. But then, here quickly took on a new meaning, more so than she could quite wrap her head around. One moment, she was making her way to the door, where the car was waiting in front of the house; the next, the world was moving beneath her feet, the suddenness of it pitching her forward, only a well-timed grasp to a pole near her keeping her upright. A faint cry catching in her throat, she looked beside her, meaning to tell Tom off for nearly letting her fall, only to find that he wasn't there. He didn't seem to be anywhere, which was more surprising than it ought to have been, given that there had certainly been no train car by their house, and yet she was undoubtedly on one.

Dazed, there was nothing for Daisy to do but look around, wide-eyed, as the train pulled into a station, its doors sliding open. Though she considered that maybe she should stay on board, as if doing so could somehow negate whatever had just taken place, as if on a whim, she stepped out onto the platform, breath catching in her throat. None of this was familiar, though only a cursory glance around would have been more than enough to prove that, and though a part of her thought that maybe she ought to find someone and ask what station this was, she couldn't bring herself to. Doing so would have required addressing the fact that this had happened at all, and it was far too surreal for that, a part of her still expecting to be back in New York in the blink of an eye. She wasn't, though, and the only thing she could do for it was head slowly in the direction that she'd seen a scattered few other people take, barely looking where she was going for her attempts to take everything in.

Comments

[sportsman]

In the week that had passed since his arrival in Darrow, Tom had — in multiple ways and upon multiple occasions — thought of what he might do should his wife ever follow him into the godforsaken territory that was the City. He had stopped just short of concocting a sort of welcome speech, not entirely convinced that he would ever see her again. It was a surprisingly desolate sort of notion, one that seemed to perpetually sit just at the edge of his conscience, the idea of a future without her unsettling for reasons that he couldn't quite (and didn't want to) name.

It was for this reason, perhaps, that upon seeing Daisy just as he last remembered her, whatever composure and dignity Tom had collected since his own arrival dissipated.

"—Daisy? Daisy!" The platform suddenly seemed too small to accommodate both Tom and the rest of the people upon it, his form cutting a neat swath through the thin crowd in the wake of the boom of his voice. It was her, he knew, not some doppelganger nor some trick of the light (he'd know, he thought, if that were the case). "My God, it is you!" In an instant, he had swept her into his arms, even a brief glimpse of his face revealing a sentiment that painted itself as young across his features, his relief and happiness upon seeing her (a kind of happiness that had long been missing from their marriage) nothing if not plain.

[inawhitepalace]

If Daisy had been in a position to be able to expect anything at all, it both would and wouldn't have been this. More than anything, more than the unfamiliar setting and the fact that she didn't know how she could have come to be here, it was Tom's absence that had so far proved to be the most confusing part of all of this, when he had only just moments ago been at her side. It made more sense for him to be here, his presence now seeming to make something fall into place. That was it, though — he ought to have been with her already, not heading towards her, embracing her, as if he were surprised to see her, his words echoing the same sort of sentiment. All of this was strange and growing only more so by the second, but at least now that she wasn't on her own, not quite so lost as she had believed she was, she was far more inclined to ignore all of that and focus on the more immediate.

"Tom!" she cried, the overwhelming relief in her voice unexpected even to her, more of an admittance than she would ever have made on her own. The truth of the matter was, for those few minutes before she had heard the familiar sound of his voice, seen him making his way over to her, she had been more than a little frightened. Now, she was still disoriented, but at least those fears were assuaged. Her arms wrapping around his neck, she let him draw her close, trying not to think too hard about whatever the look on his face might have meant. "Why, who else would it be?"

[sportsman]

"I swear there's a girl around here who looks like you, except her hair is—" Tom raised a hand in a long, sweeping gesture before abandoning the thought entirely (he didn't have the patience to explain in light of the appearance of his wife), his features settling once again into a relieved sort of smile. Granted, her arrival didn't mean that everything would go back to the way it was — he was still destitute, a fact that he was loathe to share — but it was a piece back in place, at least, one thing restored to its natural order.

"I've missed you terribly," he confessed, the words remarkably bare in comparison to the way that they'd spoken to each other once upon a time. (Perhaps absence truly did make the heart grow fonder.) "I suppose it makes me selfish, as this place has been—" another sentence trailed off, then, no words apparently sufficient to express his displeasure "—but I have missed you. You've only just arrived?"

[inawhitepalace]

All of this was still so confusing that Daisy didn't even bother trying to make sense of most of what Tom was saying, content enough to disregard it all for now, to put dealing with that off for as long as possible. What she did seize upon was the part in the middle, Tom saying he'd missed her, the words strangely breathtaking. Instinctively, she wanted to shrug it off, to insist that it was just for show or that he couldn't have — and she still didn't see how that was possible, when just moments ago, he'd been at her side — but there was an earnestness to his tone that chilled her. For that alone, those being words that he wouldn't have thrown around so lightly, she had to believe after all that there was something more at hand here. That just didn't mean she was about to admit it.

"Of course I have," she replied, the slightest trace of indignation in her tone, certain that it ought to have been obvious. "Not that I could tell you where it is I've arrived. And you should know, you were right with me until a few seconds ago. You oughtn't have disappeared like that, you know." Perhaps it was unfair; even she could acknowledge that. Still, even as she spoke, there remained just a hint of something softer in her voice as well, her hand settling itself on his arm, just below his broad shoulder. "Where did you go?"

[sportsman]

Where otherwise he might have rebuffed her or made some comment as to the fanciful thoughts she could take into her head, her indignation only served to bring a smile to Tom's features. It was familiar, after all. He could expect it, knew how to deal with it. And that was much more than what could be said for everything else that had forced itself into his life since his arrival in the city.

"Here," he answered, feeling somewhat foolish but lacking any other truth. "I found myself on the train, same as you did. But — Daisy, darling — it's been a week since I've seen you. Now, don't call me foolish for it — it makes just about as much sense as the rest of this place."

[inawhitepalace]

"I might well call you crazy instead," Daisy said, chin lifted almost defiantly, the same edge in her voice, though it was closer to defensive now. It certainly sounded crazy, at any rate. What struck her, though, far more than the sudden change or the unfamiliar setting, was the sincerity in Tom's voice, the way he smiled at her like he was pleased to see her. They'd barely looked at each other like that in years, and for all that she didn't believe what he was saying and didn't want to, it was difficult to see how or why he would be lying about it. The thought alone made something in her chest go tight, a frown playing at the corners of her mouth that was entirely genuine in spite of the tone she tried her best to maintain. "How could it have been a week? I just saw you, right before I was on that train."

[sportsman]

If prompted, he would admit admit that it was something of a change from their usual interactions with each other, but for the moment, it came so naturally and so easily that he had little cause to think twice. This was, for all intents and purpose, how things were supposed to be. They had had an idyll to themselves, once, in each other's company — rebuilding (though they'd never call it as much) was meant to take them back. Recalling the moment, later, once the dust settled, he would feel that same surprise (and was it nostalgia?) within the confines of his chest.

"This blasted place does what it likes." (The words I don't know were still hard for him to say.) "There are people here from anywhere you could dream of — just ask them if you don't believe me. I still have a hard time believing it all, myself."

[inawhitepalace]

That was, perhaps, what ought to have been the convincing factor. Though Daisy had paid them little attention so far, more focused on her own plight than any assistance they might have been able to give — and how strange they all were, she thought, wearing clothes the likes of which she had never seen before and had to admit that she didn't care for at all — the fact remained that they existed even so. Tom could be remarkably stubborn, too caught up in whatever notion he'd most recently seized upon to consider any other possibilities, but she didn't honestly think that he would have pointed her in anyone else's direction if he weren't entirely certain that they would corroborate his story. As long as that was the case, she didn't need them to.

She was too reluctant to step away from him, anyway, or to even let go, as if he might be gone again if she did. It was a fear she was entirely disinclined to admit to, but it crept through now anyway, in the widening of her eyes, fingers just barely curling in his sleeve. "Believing what all?" she asked, the first real concession she could make on the matter. "Tom, what's going on?"