bakerstreet | quote prompt.

[ emma pauses mid-bite to look up at him with something unimpressed.

—but only briefly, before she shrugs off the lie like she does all the others. ]

Well, then at least you wouldn't be wastin' it.

[ but she polishes off her food anyway, setting the can aside with a little sigh. ]

Never had much of home-cooked meals, have you, Faraday?

[ asking him now, because it only seems fair, given that he brought it up in the first place. ]

[ He sets his own empty can on the floor, nudging it away with the toe of his boot. He holds the utensil out to her – they'll clean them later – and at her question, he quirks an eyebrow.

He's quiet for a few breaths, not inclined to answer, but given that Emma had answered the questions posed to her, it'd be unsporting not to answer the ones she sends his way. ]

Used to. [ He forces a neutral tone of voice. ] But those days are far enough away that I don't miss 'em.

[ emma reaches out for the fork, setting it aside with her own to be dealt with later. ]

How long ago?

[ she's curious, as she occasionally happens to be about faraday.

(but it's that attachment thing. knowing too much about another person makes it harder to pretend like they're just another body, no more important than any they might pass in the wastes.) ]

[ He echoes her words back a little pointedly: ]

Long ago.

[ Which, in his eyes, is answer enough. The last thing he wants is to share some sob story about a ruined childhood and learning how to wield a gun not too long after his age hit double digits. ]

[ well, it's a fair answer. not a straight one, by any means, but an answer nonetheless.

she just nods, willing to accept that without further prodding.

a moment of quiet, and then she offers, ]

Three years.

[ she realizes there's not much context to that, which is why she's willing to add to it. ]

That's how long it's been since I've had anythin' home-cooked.

[ Her response catches him off-guard, and he blinks up at her, watchful; it's the same observant sort of gaze he casts across tables when they make their way into settlements, when he gambles caps to pad their funds.

Usually he makes a habit of hiding it – but he doesn't, this time, if only because even with the little time they've spent together, he figures Emma would recognize that look of his from a mile away. ]

Can't go back to it?

[ It being whatever life she had left or lost.

He phrases this carefully, at least, leaves it as a yes or no question. ]

[ oh, but emma does indeed know that look (knows a lot of his looks, these days, though she'd surprise herself to admit it). she considers him and her answer for a moment, given the way he's watching her.

calculating. careful. ]

Nothing to go back to.

[ she could have said yes or no, but she's being mildly more explicit.

mildly. ]

[ He holds her gaze for a second longer, and while that answer just opens up more questions, he finally relents, letting his gaze drop. ]

Could always start over somewhere new.

That farmer and his wife had a decent enough setup. Just need stronger spines to defend it.

[ emma looks down at the fire finally, shaking her head. ]

I don't think that life suits me much anymore.

[ she'd shared it with matthew, after all, and here she is, years later, feeling like—

a different person.

she's not quite sure she'd even remember how to fall into that life again, not after this time in the wasteland, not after everything she went through with matthew to begin with.

not with all she lost. ]

The traveling around is more normal to me now.

[ He's not entirely sure how to answer that, so Faraday stays quiet for a few seconds, only offers a quiet hum to acknowledge he heard anything at all.

Must've been one hell of a loss, he thinks, to send her running into the wasteland like she has. Faraday wasn't quite old enough to register all that had happened – had felt hollowed out when he lost his ma, of course, but not quite old enough to feel the loss of his home quite as keenly. Must be hell, he thinks, though he lacks the emotional punch to make the thought ring true.

At length, he nods over to where her rifle lies. ]

Where'd you learn to shoot?

[ Because it's odd to Faraday that a farmer – as Emma must have been – should be such a good shot, and he doubts that was a skill she merely picked up three years back. ]

[ there's a flicker of surprise that makes its way to emma's expression when faraday asks that particular question; it feels even more personal, something they've gone out of their way to avoid, but, well, they've been sharing more tidbits tonight.

odd, but it doesn't stop her from answering. ]

My father taught me, when I was much younger.

Been shootin' since I was big enough to hold a gun.

[ there's a flash of something on her face, not quite a smile — but almost — with the fond memory. ]

He thought everyone ought to be able to defend themselves, and I took to it well.

[ That logically follows, Faraday supposes. It certainly makes sense for her to have been shooting all her life, since it certainly seems like she has been.

Which explains the precision shooting, but doesn't quite explain how it is she can keep such a sense of calm about her in the middle of a firefight. That is a difficult question to answer, he supposes, as it probably delves into the more sordid details in one's life.

He leaves it off, for tonight, if only because that flicker of a smile keeps the question at bay. ]

Taught you well, it looks like.

I think he knew I'd need it someday.

[ a sensible line of thinking, given how dangerous everything around them is — always. ]

Doubt he thought I'd be usin' it quite like this, but.

[ a lift of her shoulder in a "what can you do?" sort of gesture. ]

Skill like that, I doubt anyone uses it the way they thought they would.

[ Faraday, for instance, had picked up the skill in self-defense, had learned how to gun down men if they started it. He hardly thought he'd be the one to seek out trouble in the name of some hapless farmer and his kidnapped wife, but—

What can you do? ]

[ a soft hum of agreement as emma looks down into the fire. ]

Did someone teach you?

[ the question isn't pointed or prying, just legitimately curious. ]

Don't think I've ever seen anyone faster.

[ she doesn't necessarily mean it as a compliment, really; it's just a statement of fact, because lord, faraday is ungodly quick with his hands. it still surprises her sometimes. ]

[ He shrugs, smirking a little with pride. He turns toward his pack unfastening the sleeping bag held in place atop his bag. ]

Been shootin' since I was young. [ A faint echo of her words again, but it's different, their experiences, because he didn't have a father looking over his shoulder, having him shoot tin cans off fence posts, as he imagines Emma must have.

Didn't have a father at all. ]

Learned as I went. Didn't really like the idea of dyin', so I got better.

Imagine that's as good a motivator as any.

[ necessity.

where emma's practice had been years of careful honing, lining up each shot with the time afforded someone not fighting for their life, she's sure faraday's was much more on the fly — similar to how he did so many things, she'd noticed. ]

Your revolver.

[ she nods to the gun she always sees him favor, before she starts to get her own sleeping bag. ]

How long've you had that one?

[ He glances at the revolver in question, still holstered and slung in the gun belt hanging from his hips. He rarely unfastens the thing while he's still awake; and even in sleep, he lies with the belt on his chest, guns within easy reach.

His favored gun is a pre-War revolver, lovingly maintained. His other revolver is of a similar make and likely shoots just as well, but it's this gun he always goes for, first. ]

Oh, I dunno. A while, now.

[ With his usual breeziness. ]

Won it off a man who didn't know when to call it quits. Bet all the caps and cigarettes in his pockets before movin' on to his equipment.

[ He unfurls his sleeping bag, letting the foot of it roll away from him across the concrete. ]

Can't imagine he knew what he was bettin' away, or that she ever saw much use before she ended up with me.

[ ... "she," meaning the gun, of course. ]

[ she listens to him speak as she starts to lay out her own bedroll. with it properly rolled out, she reaches for her rifle, setting it right beside the makeshift bed before glancing over at faraday again. ]

Still in working condition and everything before you won it off him?

[ the gun sure does seem to work just fine now, at least, but emma wouldn't have been surprised if a weapon from before the war that didn't see much action hadn't been in a perfect state when faraday got his hands on it. ]

[ He makes a dithering sort of noise, recalling the first (sober) day after winning the gun from that idiot in their card game. ]

Sorta. Needed some cleanin', and the grip needed replacin', but she hasn't failed me yet.

[ that gets an approving little hum from her as she pushes back the opening of her sleeping bag. ]

Treat your gun right, and it'll take care of you just the same.

[ she glances fondly at her rifle, reaching out to brush her fingers over the gently worn wood of the stock. ]

Had this since I left home, and it's seen me through nearly everything.

[ a gift from her father, before she'd gone with matthew. it's a beautiful thing, something she's worked hard to maintain, but old too. ]

[ His gaze follows her hand to the rifle, and he looks it over with a bit of renewed interest. His first time looking it over, he had noticed how well maintained it was – or at least, how well maintained it looked, if nothing else. He knows, now, that it fires well – not because of experience, but because of witnessing it – and a thing like that was rare.

And Emma was too fastidious with her guns to allow anything less, he realizes now. ]

'S pretty.

[ A slight nod to the gun. ]

That the one you learned on?

[ emma nods in quiet confirmation. ]

It was a gift when I moved away.

[ she hadn't expected to bring the rifle with her, not initially. it had belonged to her father, and he'd taken such incredible care of it, kept it pristine, and the way he'd cherished that gun had never made her consider that he'd be passing it along.

but he did, all the same.

she's just tried to maintain that level of care with the rifle now. ]

[ He wonders, briefly, if that means the gun has seen a lot of use over its years, or if it's seen more use in the past three years – after whatever it was that spurred Emma away from her old life – than it has its entire lifetime.

He could ask, and he probably will, later down the line, but he's pressed enough for one sitting, he thinks. ]

Well. Here's hopin' it lasts you a while longer yet.

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