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 sets his drink down in front of him and sits neatly across the table, her own glass in hand, extra ice. For a long moment it feels like he never left, like he never hurt her and she never hurt him, like those first years of marriage without children -- ignorance really is bliss. There had been secrets, she hadn't known they existed and it had been better that way.

The compliment might've colored her cheeks once upon a time, might've made her scoff two months ago but now it feels numb. She takes a sip of her liquor and it burns going down; it's Don's liquor, anyways, a bottle he'd left behind like he'd left everything else. ]

You look terrible. [ But it's not meant to be a sincere jab, an observation, sympathy clear in her tone. Betty watches him quietly, studying, the lines in his face, how tired his eyes look but his hair is still perfect. He looks nervous. ]

I can't believe you really came all the way up here in the middle of the night, Don. [ Again, void of anger, curious more than anything. ]

[anotheroldfashioned]

[he thinks. Of his shitty apartment. Of the women. Of Bobby and Sally and Peggy and-

No. This is about the two of them. He picks up the glass, thinks of taking a drink...

And sets it down.]

It seemed...wrong.

To answer your question over the phone. I think I've insulted you enough.

[his throat works and that's when he drinks because he thinks about Bobby and that stupid commercial and...

His father. And his mother and Adam and the crack in the levee splits wider.

God. He is so drunk.]

...there's something. Wrong with me.

[His shoulders tighten as he says it because Whitman men don't admit there is anything wrong but Drapers...

Anna dear god. How to explain her. His...

He brushes it off and fixes his gaze on Betty. It's a broken...but very drunk gaze.]

Because it was a lot and I think...I don't know why but I want to understand it Betty because I...

[I am so unhappy.

I am so profoundly unhappy.

What was he supposed to say?]

...god he would have killed me. Acting like this. Bawling my eyes out like...like some child...

[by way of response he downs more liquor before looking at her.]

...I think. I wanted to say. There's something wrong with me. And I'm ...sorry because there is nothing I want more then to...

To beg you...

To let me come home.

[it just sort of bursts out of him as he stares in horror because oh god please no. No don't.

But maybe it was good. This is what he's supposed to want. The wife and children and house and dog and-

No. No no.

No. She'd say no she had every right to and he would be totally shut out and -

The Dick Whitman part of his brain kicks in like a horsekick to his head because if he runs away none of this ever happened.

He looks at her panicked. Ready to flee and he rises, and tries to move-

Only alcohol and age mixed with pain overtake him and he loses his balance and slips and falls. Tumbling over the chair.]

[betts]

[ She knows now she’d been foolish to not see it sooner, the late nights, the strange perfume lingering on his button downs, the overnight stints in the city. But Betty hadn’t wanted to see it for a long time, too afraid that this is exactly what would happen, the world crashing down around her ears, everything she’s worked so hard to get pulled out from beneath her feet, single again and a divorcée. Even the word leaves a bitter taste in her mouth.

She’s not even sure why she’d asked, for a number, for something quantifiable. It doesn’t matter now, and she’d meant that, the fracture in their marriage a deep fissure she’s isn’t sure they can cross or even mend. But she listens cooly just the same, sipping her drink, manicured pink nails against the cool crystal, a wedding gift.

But then Don Draper surprises her again.

He wants to come home.

Betty looks just as shocked at he does, expressions mirrored back at each other, stock still as she process quickly what that would even look like, the fact that he even wants that, that even completely shitfaced he would ask. ]

Don! [ She shouts without thinking, reacts without considering, launching out of her chair and getting there just in time to half catch him, holding him up by one arm, kneeling down on the floor of their own kitchen — it’s still their kitchen. ]

We need to get you to bed.

;_;

[anotheroldfashioned]

[She's there like a warm hug and he clings to her. Dick would never have a chance. He would never have had a chance to have a woman like this. A kind good woman. Oh god I fucked up.

Bleary eyed and tearing up he tries to struggle for a moment because if he runs he doesn't have to suffer. He can pretend this is all okay. This never happened. None of it did.

His feeble struggle dissolves and he starts to cry.

Weak! You weak foolish little boy!
I'm sorry! I'm sorry please! I won't do it again!

He tries to compose himself because jesus and there's...God she's warm and there and he clings to her.]

I didn't mean to ask please don't - don't send me away please. please. please.

[Running will make it all go away.

But he can't run anymore. He's too drunk and too old and right now, right here and right now he clings to her as hard as he can.]

....Christ.

[He feels nauseated and then-]

....I'm going to be sick - get -


[He staggers, struggling again. He moves to climb to his feet.]

i’m obsessed with this scene tbh

[betts]

[ Since Don left, Betty has spent more than a few lonely nights considering the fact that she might be the strong one, the backbone of the family, not the breadwinner but the integral piece holding all of the other fragile elements together. And now she knows she’s right, that Don is right, too; he’s broken and she’s the one still on her feet. But does he want to be fixed?

She holds his face gently between her hands as he begs and it still breaks her heart, her eyes burning but no tears fall, mouth pursed into a serious little line. He holds her like a lifeline, a way back to shore, desperate to keep his head above water and not drown and she truly doesn’t want him to. ]

Come here. [ Those maternal instincts kick in (does she even have any? Baby Gene reminds her that she walks the tightrope between self proclaimed perfect mother and youthful disinterest with her children.) She follows him to his feet and keeps a steady hand at his elbow, ushering him quickly to the sink, rubbing the small of his back. ]

S A M E

[anotheroldfashioned]

[You are. Looking for the mother you never had. Faye's voice. Quiet and assured and she was right. He could have maybe taken his father's point of view if he had had someone like Betts as a child. Because he was absolutely worthless and he had done so many terrible things to everyone in his life and it had been because...because...

He allowed himself to be led to the sink where he heaved his guts out. All the processed Americana he served up to the public every day in the most perfect metaphor he could have ever imagined. What if none of it matters. Not even what I've made? The children and Betty and Faye and Peggy and my job...

Finished, he reached for a paper towel and wet it, dragging it over his mouth as he withdraws over the sink.

No. No he can beat this. He...he can.]

...this is going to sound so crazy.

[his head aches]

So crazy but when I said that. I thought you'd...say...something. and i thought if I left it'd be like it never happened.

Isn't that crazy?

[he curled against her.]

The problem is this country is getting smaller and smaller and I am tired. I am t-tired and scared and...

[his gaze goes back to the table and he thinks of Peggy's stupid party and...]

...Can you put...that away. Please.

[it will most likely be gone anyway. By tonight or tomorrow. Along with the rest of it. It's a rare moment of strength however from a man with very little real power. Real power.]

...not careful I'll drink it all.

[betts]

[ That startles her, not for the first time tonight -- she's still grappling with the fact that he wants to come home, and Betty hasn't even forgiven him for past transgressions, bitterness still sharp at the back of her throat, hateful imagined (and real) scenarios of her husband in bed with another woman and her so very far from his mind. She'd asked him to leave, after all, but that's never entirely been a satisfactory solution to... anything.

All of that feels like it doesn't matter anymore.

Betty's only ever wanted to feel needed, important, beautiful and essential and for a long time, Don had made her feel that way, up on an untouchable pedestal. She doesn't know what she wants anymore. She loves him and hates him in equal measure, and now she holds him like she won't ever let him go.

She does, but only to tuck the bottle of liquor up, high and away, up on her tiptoes on the linoleum and then back to Don. ]

You were supposed to trust me. I'm your wife.

[ Am. Was.

One slender arm moves to sling low over his waist, pulling Don's arm over her shoulders, turning them around and heading towards the stairs. ] I'm putting you to bed now. Quietly, don't wake the children. It'll only confuse them, and I can't handle Sally's laundry list of questions right now.

[/sobs forever]

[anotheroldfashioned]

[Don't wake the children. He obeys because everything is pounding his chest, his shoulders, his stomach rolling. He'd meant to come and be honest, meant to come and talk to her because of respect, meant because...because...

You need to fix this. Faye's voice, her voice, it all rolls into one.]

...Nobody ever cared about Adam and me like that.

[His tone is normal - read: vocal, a little louder then he intended before he lowers it to a whisper. He doesn't have the energy to be the positive and polished persona he's cultivated. Don Draper slips away with a callous laugh leaving Dick Whitman for a few moments there.

His voice drops to a whisper.]

And I. We just were kind of there. Taking it all in, having a hard time sleeping most nights because people were always awake. always awake, and always there.

Thanks for that. For caring about the kids like that. They deserve it.

[it's not a question, what he says next]

You won't stay with me.

i'm dying

[betts]

Do you even want me to?

[ It's murmured against the curve of his shoulder as they move slowly together, more in tandem than they've been in as long as she can remember, not even cringing when his voice lifts a few octaves. Betty's not sure if she'd ever admit, even to herself, that she doesn't hate this Don Draper, penitent and miserable, regret and guilt roiling through him tangibly. For once, he's at her mercy.

It should feel stranger than it does, to be back in their bedroom together, heaving him down to sit on the edge of the bed, bending to one knee to slide his shoes off his feet one by one, a hand steadying herself (and him) high on his thigh. There's a difference here this time -- lower than him, beneath him by choice, the power still heavy in the palm of her hand. ]

All of those other women. You must have wanted them because I couldn't give you something you thought you needed. Wasn't I good enough, Don?

[ She doesn't spit it back at him like she might've not all that long ago, tone even keeled but distant, because she's thought about all of this over and over and over and that seems like the only answer, that she was lacking as a wife -- or at the very least, that the mighty Don Draper found her lacking. ]

[anotheroldfashioned]

[Wasn't she?

Wasn't I good enough


She'll always arouse him. Even here and now but he's far too drunk and she's asking him something serious. All those other women.

It is. So hard to think about. One hand moves to hers, fingers gentle as he stares at nothing in particular because he thinks of Faye and...this is him betraying Faye.

But. Betty is-

Betty is the mother of his children. And God, they are asleep in this house all three of them as breathes slow. One, two, three...]

It was never you Birdy.

[He stares at nothing. There is something broken inside me. He almost says I don't think I deal with women well but he...

He stares down at her hand before looking at him.]

...It was never something...wrong with you. I'm still amazed you found it in you to love me at all.

[Enough to have children.]

I am. not...worthy of it.

[Christ it sounds cliche as he stares at his socks before leaning - listing over to the side toward her.]

I'm not worthy of it from anybody.

[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.