Jo was on her way back from Sweetheart Hill when she saw the man and dog - well, mostly the dog - and made a small detour. "Hello," she said to them both. She shifted the two big books she held to one hand and held the other out to the dog. But it meant that the map of the garden she'd drawn (badly) fluttered down off the top.
"I guess?" Walt says, not too certain. He hasn't thought about this yet, but considering his current... situation? Walt thinks it might not be a bad idea to keep Cujo.
"It is... was- my girlfriend's dog? But she's..." He waves his hand in no particular direction. "She's gone."
Ray isn't the most sensitive guy, or even the most insightful--but he's known Walt in some pretty shitty contexts, and he knows what it looks like when something's bugging the guy.
Actually, unhappy is probably the one emotion Ray is good at reading. It probably has something to do with being such a pain in the ass. "You go blind since last time I saw you," he asks, brow arching at the dog harness.
Walt lifts his hand, halfway to petting Cujo, when he realizes he doesn't feel like it. Instead he drops his hand back to his leg and shakes his head.
"Nah. This is Pam's dog," he says. Walt pauses shortly, before he adds, "Was her dog."
He's not so sure he really wants Ray around, but if Walt thinks about the times he's been through with this whiskey tango fuck, he knows he's better off talking to him right now than other people he doesn't know that well.
Ray's kept to himself more and more since Marissa's disappearance--or maybe he's always kept to himself, been boisterous but not quiet friendly, loud but not quite social, and now there's Cartman to look after. But he had that faded idea of Pam in his head, seen her once or twice, seen her with the dog and he can figure out she meant something to Walt by the way he sits there with it, by the way he says was.
"Shit," Ray says, coming off his path to toss himself down next to Walt on the porch. This must be her porch, her place. The shit she left behind, and Walt among them. "Christ man, I'm sorry."
Walt looks at Ray and for a second, knowing Ray's been there, Ray understands, he wants to hug his legs close to his body and weep for a while. He remembers the first time he met Pam, how they hit it off right way, and maybe, he thinks, he really loved her.
He's pretty sure he did, still does, and he has to swallow hard.
"Me, too," Walt admits, and he doesn't care how croaky and thick his voice sounds at that moment.
Soon as Terry's close enough to see Pam's hut -- see that Walt is sitting on the porch with Cujo and without Pam in sight, something in her stomach turns. Thankfully, she's never truly had to bear having those closest to her disappear, and while she and Pam had only just started to become friends, even thinking about it is something she instinctively refuses to acknowledge.
"Walt," she says in greeting when she finally reaches the porch, and she leans over to give Cujo a scratch behind the ears. "Is Pam here?"
Walt finds it hard not to turn around, call for Pam like he would have- if she was there. But she's not, and he slumps his shoulders forward just a little more.
"She's not," he tells Theresa. Walt feels like he should say more, add something, anything, but he doesn't know what else he could say.
"Oh," Terry says, and it's all she can manage as she lets that sink in. There's no question about Pam having disappeared now, unless Walt's just putting her on -- and he doesn't seem the sort at all. "I'm sorry, Walt."
"Yeah," Walt agrees, and he's quiet for a while. He rubs his neck and mumbles, "Me, too."
He's thought about people he knows and likes vanishing, has thought about what he would do if it ever happened to him, but the truth is, he doesn't know what the fuck he's supposed to do now.
Charlie knows that look, and he knows that feeling. (He wishes he didn't, but that's not his choice.) When he sees the look on Walt's face, he has a good idea of why he is the way he is. When he finally arrives within a few yards of Walt and the dog, his expression is downcast, nothing at all like his usual self. Even the layer of madness he'd used to ward off the depression he'd felt suffocating him in light of Reese's disappearance is gone, and Charlie Crews just looks tired.
"Hey," he says, voice a little hoarse from general disuse.
Briefly, only briefly, he manages the slightest of smiles.
"Yeah," Walt agrees, because what else could he say? He is sorry: sorry for Pam, sorry for himself. He doesn't want to go through this; wants to crawl into Pam's bed and back into her arms.
But he knows it's not going to happen, so he straightens a little and rubs his neck.
"Good to see you," he tells Charlie, and it's the truth.
"It's good to see you, too," Charlie responds, taking a seat on the grass nearby.
"I'm glad you're still in one piece." He means it in the most literal sense. (It's more true than I'm glad you're okay, anyway, because as far as Charlie can tell, Walt is far from it.)
Walt scoffs. "Why shouldn't I be? Until yesterday, I had it fucking good." He knows he shouldn't be so bitter, knows Charlie's been through bad shit himself.
Comments 64
Reply
"Your... map, I guess?" He shrugs, not even sure if it's supposed to be a map.
Reply
Reply
"It is... was- my girlfriend's dog? But she's..." He waves his hand in no particular direction. "She's gone."
Reply
Actually, unhappy is probably the one emotion Ray is good at reading. It probably has something to do with being such a pain in the ass. "You go blind since last time I saw you," he asks, brow arching at the dog harness.
Reply
"Nah. This is Pam's dog," he says. Walt pauses shortly, before he adds, "Was her dog."
He's not so sure he really wants Ray around, but if Walt thinks about the times he's been through with this whiskey tango fuck, he knows he's better off talking to him right now than other people he doesn't know that well.
Reply
"Shit," Ray says, coming off his path to toss himself down next to Walt on the porch. This must be her porch, her place. The shit she left behind, and Walt among them. "Christ man, I'm sorry."
Reply
He's pretty sure he did, still does, and he has to swallow hard.
"Me, too," Walt admits, and he doesn't care how croaky and thick his voice sounds at that moment.
Reply
"Walt," she says in greeting when she finally reaches the porch, and she leans over to give Cujo a scratch behind the ears. "Is Pam here?"
Reply
"She's not," he tells Theresa. Walt feels like he should say more, add something, anything, but he doesn't know what else he could say.
Reply
Reply
He's thought about people he knows and likes vanishing, has thought about what he would do if it ever happened to him, but the truth is, he doesn't know what the fuck he's supposed to do now.
Reply
"Hey," he says, voice a little hoarse from general disuse.
Briefly, only briefly, he manages the slightest of smiles.
"Sorry."
Reply
But he knows it's not going to happen, so he straightens a little and rubs his neck.
"Good to see you," he tells Charlie, and it's the truth.
Reply
"I'm glad you're still in one piece." He means it in the most literal sense. (It's more true than I'm glad you're okay, anyway, because as far as Charlie can tell, Walt is far from it.)
Reply
"I'm sorry," he mumbles.
Reply
Leave a comment