for (betts) - The hand you want to hold is a weapon and -

[anotheroldfashioned]

I'm not talking about this over the phone. We're doing this in person. If you want the truth

[He should maybe uber or lyft over there - because he is very very drunk at this point. He chooses lyft and gets something to eat along the way because he wants to be sober. Or at least passing for sober.

Can you cheat on your girlfriend with your wife?

It's like a riddle. And it's not one he wants to puzzle through. It's his step-mother screaming at him over and over again and slamming him into walls. At some point in his life one of those slams, one of those shouts cracked something in him and he's never been able to repair it. He's a levee with a crack. His city is flooded.

You have a way with words.

A thought occurs to him that this isn't going to be a happy reunion because she might call the police and he'd be arrested and they would know, Dick Whitman's behavior would be exposed and ...and...

The thought appeals. Shoving greasy fast food in his mouth and sipping soda because the comforts of a society of excess, empty and exaggerated excess to make up for the fact he had a shitty home life. Only in America could love be manufactured. He doesn't want the manufactured stuff. He wants a home cooked meal.

He deserves it. He earned it. After all the terrible things. He-

His Uber Driver is a poor college student who has been railing about liberal ideals while driving and he agrees with some of them and the rest he tunes out. His phone buzzes with emails from Peggy probably.

When they stop the college student grins. And her grin melts away.]

...Dude if you're going to sneak in drunk like, I could take you to a hotel or something.

[ The thought appeals.

He shakes his head.]

...My-

[Ex-wife.]

...I'm expected.

[He's probably not but maybe being arrested would be the best idea at this point. At least his head is clearer as he wraps his coat around himself and staggers up to the porch before knocking softly.

And then texting.]

I'm not going to lie over text. I wnat to talk.

want to talk.

im outside.

sorry.

[I am so sorry that I am so profoundly fucked up.]

Comments

[betts]

[ She's sturdy when he tilts against her, holding them both up, her hand still in his; it eclipses her own, small and slender in his wide hand, soft palms, hands that know every part of her better than any other person walking the earth. It's comforting and terrifying, and she wants to stay right here forever and banish him from her life, her memories in equal measure.

Her chin turns to one side, pressing that red pout into his hair like he deserves this, like she deserves this, and despite the booze, despite Don getting sick in the sink, he still smells good, familiar pomade and aftershave, a different laundry detergent than she uses. He's so big, larger than life, almost enough to swallow her up, no where else to go but here.

She won't let that happen. Not again. ]

It was good, for a few years. It felt good, at least, didn't it? When it was just you and me against the world.

[ Betty speaks softly against his temple, finally dragging the pad of her thumb over the ridges of his knuckles, back and forth, soothing. Does it matter that it wasn't her? That she wasn't good enough to fix him? Is it her fault?

Leaning away just enough, she moves to unknot his tie, sliding it out of his collar, fingertips deftly undoing the buttons of his shirt, gaze following her movements and steadily avoiding his face for now. She's done this a million times, too. ]

[anotheroldfashioned]

[He can feel her kisses and her hands and it feels so normal. It feels like practiced motions, like walking or thinking. He taught himself a bold man. Don Draper was bold, practiced, smooth - he would do something here that would turn her to him.

Richard Whitman, Dick Whitman was not. He was old and getting older and passing into the next phases of his life no matter how hard he tried to run from it. You have to face this.

His heart pounds and heaves in his chest for a moment before breathing - slowly. In and out, in and out, focusing on her movements that were so familiar. She was always so frail, like a bird, like a fluttering ghost.

He raised a hand to hers as her fingers work just holding her there.]

I would wake up every single day and wonder how lucky I was to have your love.

[His heart continues to hammer as he pulls her closer. Just holding her around himself. Raising her hand to his lips he moves to give it a kiss before staring at nothing.]

I was so afraid of ruining it. Like a fairy tale. And then it...the fear became a lie. The lie became reality...Besides you could never have loved me. Not if you knew who I was. Even after what I told you.