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It was almost six in the morning before Gale, Dewey, Jennifer, and Angelina were finally released from questioning at the police station after being questioned about the explosion of Jennifer’s home and the deaths of Stone and Tom. Angelina’s trailer was still intact, and Gale had the hotel room she had rented out, but Jennifer’s house was obviously no longer available, and the area surrounding it, including Dewey’s trailer, had become unavailable to be used, as it was still considered an active crime scene. Gale had listened to Jennifer ramble, alternating so rapidly between nerves and anger and grief in mere minutes that it made her head throb and brought her closer to understanding how a person could murder than ever before that she could recently recall. Jennifer was speculating for the fifth time where she would go, how she would get insurance to replace her possessions, and where she would be safe since the police didn’t consider her at need of protective ongoing custody at this time, when Gale finally interrupted.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, just stay at the same fucking hotel I’m at. Just don’t answer the phone or open the door to anyone and you’ll be fine, and look under the bed and in the shower before putting down any weapons.”
Jennifer had sputtered something about not staying at any hotel that Gale was at, and besides, she wasn’t about to listen to her and Dewey getting it on next door all night, when Gale interrupted, reaching the last bit of her patience.
“It’s six in the fucking morning, I don’t know about your sex drive but mine tends to get considerably lowered after I’m shot at and blown up and thrown down a fucking cliff. I want a room to myself, thank you. You two work out your shit and who stays where, and leave my name out of it.”
They had ended up in three separate rooms- as scared as Jennifer said she was, she appeared still angry enough at Dewey to not want to share a bed with him. Gale’s room was in between theirs, an irony that didn’t escape her in its symbolism.
He found it very hard to believe when Jennifer told him she was staying at the same hotel Gale was residing for the night; she believed she'd be more safer within reach of a hotel's bell boy than him. Ouch.
"Good job, Dewey," he mumbled to himself, driving separately from Gale and Jennifer, the latter and himself following behind Gale to her hotel. "You've dropped the ball with two women."
Well, maybe. What happened at the bottom of the hill...he didn't know. Clearly something was still there, and there would've been a kiss had they not been interrupted, but he wasn't certain that either of them were ready to come back together; it was all a spur of the moment. To him, Gale just couldn't seem to let go of what scared her the most - vulnerability - and that only pushed them apart again. The first time they separated was because Gale wanted to deny that she cared about him - okay, no strings attached - but the second time hurt more since she knew she cared. He thought moving on was what was best after they broke things off, and he thought he was trying with Jennifer, but...she's not Gale.
Whatever the case may be, they were all going to be in separate rooms tonight. He was certain this damn place was going to be expensive, and he had a hunch that Jennifer wasn't going to be willing to pay for a room for him - sayonara $200! Even if things were incredibly rocky between the three of them, they knew staying as close as possible was what was best, and so Jennifer and himself checked into the empty rooms beside Gale's.
"They really weren't kidding when they said this place was 'luxury'," he commented to himself upon lumbering into his room, the fall down the hill making the nerves in his lame leg flare. Actual quality carpet, a comfortable mattress, a lavender scent in the air, etcetera - now he's thinking $200 is underpaying. Inflation is going to do wonders for this place!
First and foremost, before he was going to crash onto the fluffy comforter, he wanted to clean up the blood on his forehead, and maybe check if a bruise was forming on his jaw - for such a skinny woman, Jennifer sure had a mean right hook. He checked the room thoroughly before entering the bathroom, ensuring nobody clad in black robes was waiting for him under the bed, and with some soap, that smelled of almond and aloe vera, and water, the dried blood washed off cleanly and revealed the thin cuts adorning his forehead - nothing some alcohol wipes couldn't disinfect.
From outside the bathroom he heard his cellphone ring, putting his procedure on hold; he had left it on the bed with his jacket, wanting to just put the night's events out of sight and out of mind until he got some rest. The police got everything they'd wanted out of him and he doubted Jennifer was ringing him, so who could it be? He left the bathroom and approached the bed, thinking maybe Sidney had caught word of what was happening and wanted to talk with him, but that theory was dispelled when he saw it was an unknown number.
There was nobody else it could be...except him.
He picked up the phone and hovered his thumb over the answer button, swallowing a lump in his throat. Tom had been killed after all, the guy meant to play himself, so this call couldn't be for anyone else. With his other hand having institutionally moved to his concealed revolver, he finally accepted the call and brought the phone to his ear.
"What do you want?" he said darkly.
"Dewey?" The voice said on the other line. It was the voice of a young female, soft, frightened, and rushed, on the verge of tears. "Dewey, it's me. Help me, please help me. He cut me, he won't let me out, please hurry, come quick! Dewey, oh God, shit, he's coming! Dewey, I need you, please!"
The cogs in his head stopped turning when the voice of a woman spoke over the phone instead of Ghostface's hoarse, eloquent one. From the rush of words from the panicked caller, his mind reset itself and listened intently, already racking up a considerable amount of questions for this mystery woman. Who was she? Why was she calling him? How did she get his number?
He delved into the deepest crevices of his mind to remember who this person was based on her voice alone. There wasn't really anything unique about it, not to someone unfamiliar to it though, because that's what it was to him - familiar. There wasn't anyone he knew in the present with that voice, so it must be from someone who belonged to the past, and to someone close to him for them to ask - plead - for his help. It certainly wasn't Sidney or Gale, and definitely not his mother - the voice sounded too young to be in their fifties.
This was a voice lost to him, one that he desperately had wanted to hold onto but just couldn't find out how before it was too late, before he forgot it...for four years.
Tatum.
"How...You-..." he stuttered, all comprehension lost to him. Had he gone mad? Was this call even real? "Who are you?," he demanded, his voice hard and yet so fragile as it cracked.
"It's me, Dewey!" The voice on the phone continued, slightly irritable, as though he should need to reminding of her identity. "It's Tatum! Come on, doofus, really?"
"You are not-" he strained, his teeth gritted; he had to catch his breath. "I don't know how you're doing this, but you are not my sister - do you hear me?"
The fear came back into her voice, punctuated with a near sobbing breathlessness. "I need you, please, please help me, please save me, he's going to kill me! Dewey, please!"
His skin shivered every time she called his name, for a split moment believing it really could be Tatum...but he knew better. He approached the wall and set his head and hand against it, eyes looking down at the floor and his mouth agape as it released heavy breaths.
"Listen here, douchebag," he sneered, his voice dry. "I saw my sister's body, I had to ask for her to be cremated, I have my sister's ashes sitting on top of my fireplace - so just who the hell do you think you are?!"
The voice broke off sob, suddenly growing cold. It was still Tatum’s voice, but now icy and resentful.
"I am your sister, Dewey. What's left of her - a voice, a spirit, a memory. That's all I can be now, after you failed me. After you abandoned me to be butchered, all for some skanky, quasi-celebrity who didn't even care about anything past the Intel you could give her."
"Shut up!" he commanded, his eyes shooting wide open with dripping tears and his nails digging into his clenched palm. "You are the one who murders people for some sick, sadistic pleasure - what makes you think my sins are greater than yours?!"
Her voice softened then, hurt in tone. "Why did you let me go to that stupid party, Dewey? Why didn't you protect me? You were my big brother. I was counting on you. I needed you, and you weren't there. You didn't help me."
The shift of tone in their voice made his heart feel like it was going to burst from just how fast it was beating. The vulnerability sounded so convincing, as if it were the real Tatum, broken and betrayed, speaking to him from beyond the grave to torment him for his wrongdoings. Proper, fatty tears began to escape and roll down his cheeks, his head curling into his chest, looking down at the floor, in shame.
Another pause, almost a whisper. "I called out for you, when I was dying. I wanted mom. I wanted you. I was all alone. I'm always alone now."
His breath caught in his throat as his guilt was said aloud by the very person - or, more practically, someone impersonating said person - he believed he had failed the most. He squeezed his eyes shut as the voice accused him, attempting to save face so that they can't hear the quiver in his voice or the sniffling of tears.
"I'm so sorry," he mumbled through shaky breath, his voice quiet and small. "If I had known..."
He caught himself before he continued further, remembering, once again, that his baby sister was gone, and that this caller wanted to get into his head. He sniffled hard and roughly wiped at his face to remove the wetness before raising the phone back up to his ear.
"Shut up..." he said, his voice reflecting his defeat and sadness. "You're not Tatum."
The caller was persistent, refusing to admit to the truth of Dewey's words. It continued with Tatum’s voice, still soft, wistful, reproachful.
"You already forgot me, didn't you? You don't even believe me when I finally have the energy built up to reach out to you. You forgot me. You moved on. You forgot me then, and you forgot me now. I didn't want much, Dewey...I just wanted to have fun with my friends. I just wanted to be safe. Why couldn't you just stay with me to keep me safe? Why wasn't I important enough? Did I make you too mad to want to help me? I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I never meant it. I'm scared all the time now. I'm always so scared and so alone. Is it my fault? Is that why you let me die?"
"Shut! Up!" he repeated, unexpectantly shouting into the phone. "I never wanted this! And how dare you say this is her fault! Say whatever you want about me, I know how terrible I am, but don't you ever say she did anything wrong!"
He was breathing erratically from nose to mouth and there was a wild look in his eyes, fist closed so tightly that it shook from the tension. Tears no longer fell from his eyes, his ducts having dried out from expelling all it could; he started feeling dizzy, and his anger only made him tired. He took in a deep breath through his nose and released it shakily from his mouth, eyes closed tightly shut before opening them, exhaustion only allowing his eyelids open so much.
"I'm going to find you," he murmured darkly. "And I'll shut you up for good - that's a promise."
Before the voice could answer him again, he cut the line and proceeded to toss his phone onto the bed. His legs gave out as he went to sit, an audible thud creaking from the mattress from his sudden, heavy weight. He brought his hands to his face and held it up as he dropped it, worn out physically and mentally from the whole altercation and the night's events in general.
"I need a drink," he thought to himself, craving the taste of brandy to alleviate the stress. He probably needed water too, if his dry mouth was any indication, but he wasn't going to pay extra to drink the provided bottle water in his room. "Maybe Gale brought her own beverages," he thought passingly before mentally scolding himself for thinking he could just walk to her room and ask anything from her.
Then again, his therapist stressed to him that he shouldn't keep his issues to himself, like he always had, but reaching out to Gale felt...wrong, and yet right at the same time. He sat for a long time, the quietness of the room beginning to pound in his head as if he were on a ticking timer to make a decision. Before he knew it, his feet were on the ground again, leading him out of his room to the one next door. His hand was raised and ready to knock on wooden door, but it stopped once his mind had caught up to him at the door, even now still unsure if he was making the right decision. Another beat of silence surrounded him in the hallway before...
Knock, Knock, Knock
Seven in the morning, and Gale still couldn't sleep. It seemed impossible. She had stripped down to an oversized t-shirt without a bra, drank one of the overpriced alcohol bottles in room's mini fridge, and turned the TV to the static channel for white noise, but she remained in wide awake awareness.
How could she sleep, knowing how close she had been at least twice over to death? How could she sleep when she could still see the burning house behind her closed eyes and smell smoke in the air? More- and this she was reluctant to admit to even herself, even in private - how could she sleep, remembering Dewey's hands on her arms, his face inches from kissing her?
It had been a bad idea even before Jennifer caught them and socked Dewey. She was just lucky that her hitting sucked as much as her acting, or else Gale might have knocked her unconscious. Still, it shouldn't have happened. Even if Gale still shivered slightly when she thought about it. Even if -
When she heard the knock on her hotel room door, Gale froze, her heart leaping into her throat. Almost immediately she was certain that it was the killer, come to finish her off. She stayed still and silent for a few moments before forcing herself to stand up and slide out of bed, slowly and carefully moving to the door. She held her breath, irrationally afraid the killer would know when she was in front of it and would stab through at her. Trying to keep as much space as possible between her body and the door, she peeked through the keyhole, relieved and startled to see Dewey.
She glanced to make certain no one was standing behind Dewey with a gun to his head before inching the door open just enough to hit the stop point with the chain latch.
"Dewey."
"Hey," he mumbled, his voice laced with defeat and his cheeks stained with dry tears. "Got anything to drink?"
Gale hadn't been able to see Dewey very clearly through the keyhole. Now with the door open, even slightly, she could see the tear stains on his cheeks and the slump of his shoulders. Blinking with some alarm, she moved back to undo the chain, stepping back enough to let him in.
"Nothing free, but who gives a shit. What's going on, what happened?"
She said with some urgency as the thought struck, "It isn't Sidney, is it? She's okay?"
He hesitantly walked in at her behest, reluctant to take a seat anywhere as he wasn't sure just how comfortable Gale was having him in her room. He had no rapport approaching the fridge though, leaning down despite the slight pinch in his back and grabbing the neck of a liqueur bottle that was a third full. He unscrewed the top and, without thinking, brought the bottle to his lips, swallowing a big gulp before having to take a heavy breath.
"It's not Sidney," he affirmed, taking quick, heavy breathes. He hadn't told her just what was wrong - he wasn't sure if he could talk about it, despite having brought himself to her door to talk to someone.
Gale's eyebrows lifted as she watched Dewey drink. He hadn't seemed so shaken up when she left him to his hotel room. If it wasn't Sidney...then what? Surely he hadn't had the time to fall asleep and have a nightmare so fast. Was it flashbacks? Delayed fear response to their night?
"You can sit," she said, even as she remained standing, taking a few steps closer to him. "If it's not Sidney, what is it? No offense, but you look worse than post house explosion."
After a beat of silence, taking in her words, he took her offer to sit, slowly moving towards her bed. Once he was sat down, the butt of the bottle resting on his knee, he looked up at her sheepishly before averting his gaze to his lap; he didn't pay any mind to her comment concerning his appearance - had he actually cared he'd have never come over.
"I had gotten a call," he mumbled, fingers peeling the bottle's label. "I think it was Ghostface, but...they sounded just like Tatum."
Gale's expression stilled, her blue eyes darkening at Dewey's words. She took another slow step forward, meeting Dewey's eyes with growing concern. She spoke gently, reaching out a slow hand to touch his.
"It couldn't be Tatum. You know that. It had to be the killer, messing with your head. Are you sure it wasn't a woman who could imitate her well?"
The moment her eyes caught his, he couldn't break the gaze; his mind told him he'd be sparing his feelings, but his heart clenched as it urged him to feel that love again. His fingers curled inwardly slightly when her hand softly touched his, but he fought his body's instinct to pull away and reciprocated the touch.
"I know," he huffed defensively, a slight edge in his tone. His eyes momentarily flicked away from hers before he shut them tightly and faced her again. His features had softened, an apologetic look laced within his face for being snippy. "I know," he repeated, softer this time, more quiet.
"They sounded too much like her," he explained, pain straining his voice. "It was exactly like Tatum's voice."
Gale bit her lower lip lightly, thinking over his words. It didn't make sense to her, and she was tempted to ask if he had been dreaming, or how he could remember after four years exactly how Tatum’s voice sounded. But she didn't. He knew. She knew that in thirty years, he would still remember. He had loved her that much, and it was something Gale almost envied of him.
Slowly twining fingers with him, she sat next to him. "What did they say?"
His fingers entangled with hers as if it were second nature, no longer bothered by what their time apart meant for them. His body leaned towards hers slightly once she was sat down next to him, unconsciously seeking for her warmth and comfort.
"They said..." he mumbled, his own voice fighting against him to speak so that he couldn't relive the pain he had felt. "They said I was...a failure - that I got Tatum killed."
Gale leaned towards Dewey in mirror of his movements, though she was more aware of the touching than he was. Her leg grazed his and remained there as she searched his face, giving his hand a slight squeeze of comfort.
At his words, her eyes darkened, and she immediately shook her head, her expression and tone taking on an intensity as she sought to convince.
"Dewey. No. Never. It was no one's fault but Stu Macher and Billy Loomis. You can't believe that. She wouldn't want you to."
His muscles went rigid when her leg pressed against his softly, sure that maybe it was a mistake on her part...but her leg remained. He relaxed and lent his leg against hers, squeezing her hand back.
"It is," he stated, gravelly. "I should've been there. I left her all alone and..."
His face pinched with sorrow, his eyes clenching shut and his head turning away from Gale to hide the pain masking his face.
Gale reached out and held his chin gently, turning it to face her. She shook her head again, softening her tone.
"You were there. She wasn't alone, as far as you knew. She was there with a ton of kids and Sid, you didn't know they would lure her away alone. You couldn't hang over her shoulder the whole time at a party. She would have hated it."
"I should've known," he mumbled, trying to hold back tears as his face went red. His body shook and his head leaned into her hand, seeking comfort and for something to keep him from residing into his mind. "I should've known."
She stroked his cheek, still intent. "It wasn't your fault."
His eyes closed as she caressed his cheek, this time more gently in comfort. His breath shuttered from the pain in his face from holding back his tears, his lip quivering slightly against her palm. "It's my fault."
Gale's free hand reached out to his head, her fingers carding through his hair. She continued to stroke his face with the thumb of her hand holding his cheek, turning her body more fully toward him as Dewey spoke. She could feel the exhalation of his uneven breaths and held on, speaking with more emphasis.
"It is not your fault. Not one part of this is your fault. You did what you thought was best, and sometimes things just turn out shitty. You couldn't know. You couldn't, Dewey. Neither of us knew."
Her gentle touch, the combing of his hair with her fingers and the rhythmic rubbing of his cheek with her thumb, pulled him in closer to her, bringing him too to face her directly. His hands hesitantly held her waist, his eyes closing to hide from the potential rejection written on her face.
He said nothing further, not willing to accept that he hadn't played some inadvertent part in Tatum's death, even if he wasn't the direct cause. Instead he continued to bask in the warmth and comfort of her gentle hands, silently longing to lay with Gale in bed.
Slowly Gale pulled Dewey closer to her as he wrapped an arm around her, allowing him to fall into her body and taking on his weight. She held him almost in a cradle, one arm rubbing his back, the other continuing to stroke his head. She murmured repeatedly, as though the sheer repetition might help break through.
"It's not your fault. It has never been your fault."
When he felt her pull him in, wrapping an arm around his back and gently rubbing across his scars, he practically rushed her, his arms fully wrapping around her and his face buried in the crook of her neck. That's when his eyes could no longer hold back the tears, wetness coating his face in an instant.
He couldn't hold back the sobs or the violent shaking wracking his whole body.
Gale tightened her hold of him, her hand spraying unconsciously over his back, spreading across the thickest expanse of his scars. She could feel them through his shirt as his body shook with his grief, and Gale held him, resting her head against his.
"It's not your fault," she whispered once more. She hesitated briefly before punctuating the words with a kiss to his head, then temple. "You know I don't say anything I don't mean, and I mean this, Dewey. It was never your fault."
The muscles surrounding his scars twitched at her touch, however they came to stop after quickly getting used to her gentle fingers against his nerves. When he felt her lips against him, his heart slowed greatly and therefore his shaking reduced.
His breath quivered before it relaxed and his weak grip strengthened around her. He unconsciously kissed her jaw back in repayment for her two, having forgotten every restriction he put on himself with Gale.
Gale felt her pulse quicken and skip a beat in answer to his kiss to her jaw. It felt dangerously close to her lips, the second time in a very short period of a near miss or close enough. Perhaps most dangerously of all, this didn't feel strange to her. This felt as comfortable and normal and right as always, as it had once been in her daily life over.
It felt as normal and right as it always had to sit close to Dewey and hold him, to feel his scars and comfort him when he needed. It had felt right for him to protect her with his own life. And that was what scared her. She had always known even during their first moments of breaking up that it was not for lack of love or lack of attraction between them. It was not any lack of chemistry or fitting together in that way. They had always fit together effortlessly. It was their lives that didn't fit together.
She didn't pull away from him, but kept her voice low as she spoke.
"Dewey. You're upset now. I'm gonna be here for you no matter what, but I don't want you to do anything that you will be sorry for later."
His shoulders slumped subtly and his grip loosened around her. He knew what she was saying was true, that this could lead to something else, but it didn't hurt any less to have to part from her; it hurt him then and it hurts now. As much as their lives didn't match, he tried to make things work, but, even he could admit, he had been stubborn in certain areas; he didn't care for departments or have a preference for a residence, but he just couldn't depart from Woodsboro, or be far from it. There was something deeply personal keeping him there - not a person or a place or a thing, but something...personal.
She didn't pull away from him, so he did. He faced away from her on the bed, his hands wringing together and eyes facing the floor.
"Yeah," he agreed solemnly. "Yeah. I'm sorry."
Gale hadn't meant for him to actively pull apart. She reached out on on instinct- how could she not, when Dewey looked like this? She lay a hand on his shoulder, kneading gently.
"Don't be sorry. You have nothing to be sorry for. I just- I just want to make sure you're okay."
And that she is. Because more than once in the past two days, it had been so fucking hard to see him moved on in his life without her.
A small flinch shuttered over his body when he felt her touch again, having been certain that she wanted to put a stop to their contact. His body instinctively began to lean into her hand on his shoulder, but he pulled himself back, his feelings going in a confused cycle. Truth was he had a lot to be sorry for, and how he had been treating Gale, being so defensive and, quite frankly, rude to her, was one of them. He wanted to deny his love for her and to move on but almost every thought surrounded her and his love for her was stronger than his will.
"I'm sorry for some things..." he said, not really giving a definitive answer as to what, somewhat convinced that she wouldn't care to know but also hoping that she would ask.
Gale too was confused and a little hurt by his flinch and move away. She didn't reach out again, her defenses going up. He was the one who came to her, what did he even want or expect? What was she supposed to do?
At his apology, she was even more confused. Some things? How very unprecise. And a little maddening. Examples would be good.
"Some things?" She repeated, her tone making it clear she was asking clarity.
"I'm sorry that..." he trailed off, his nerves making him rethink if he should say anything. It was clear to him that neither of them were willing to open up first, waiting for the other to do so first out of fear that they'd be rejected. However, he imagined it was harder for Gale to open up, even despite the progress she had made when they were together.
"I'm sorry that...I can't do right by you," he murmured, his head finally turning back to look at her.
Gale's head tilted, her eyebrows drawing together with genuine confusion. She had expected many possibilities of apology from Dewey, some valid to her, some not, but "not doing right by her" was not one of them. One thing Dewey always seemed to do was what he thought was right, at least in her perspective.
"What do you mean?" She asked finally. "Do right by me how?"
"By being able to accommodate for your needs," he explained. "I can't be what you need, and that's somebody who isn't...me."
He hated how he got so defensive when he was hurt, how rude he could be when he was petty, how unaware of the obvious he could be, and just how much of a failure of a protector he was. And he especially hated how he just couldn't escape Woodsboro.
"I want to be with you, and trust me I want to leave Woodsboro, but...I just can't."
Gale exhaled, trying not to show the disappointment she felt. It was a conversation they had had before. It was the reason they had broken up. And it was still something she couldn't wrap her mind around.
"Why?" She said quietly, not with heat or defensiveness to her words. "I can't understand it. The town has so much negative attached to it and so little- well, what is there for you there?"
Her dry, heavy sigh wasn't enough to hide her disappointment to him, and he understood where she was coming from. He hated to think of the many fights they had had concerning this topic, and he hated to bring the conversation back up, but his heart couldn't leave it alone.
"I don't know," he answered, his voice tired with defeat. It wasn't that he didn't want to tell her, he just truthfully had no idea; it was more of a feeling than anything. "It feels like, if I were to leave, that I'd be giving up - like there'd be some sort of unfinished business."
Gale tried to consider his perspective, but it was not one she could understand. Unfinished business? There was nothing there for him from what she could see.
"How?" She pressed. "All the killers from Woodsboro are dead. People go there to gawk because of the stupid movies. Your mom will be the same with or without you there. Sidney is gone, your sister goes with you everywhere, you aren't leaving her behind by leaving Woodsboro. What could possibly be unfinished ?"
"I'd be failing Tatum if I did!" he burst, a wild, hurt look in his eyes. "If I leave, if I can't protect the people I failed to before, than I'd be doing her a disservice."
He dropped his head into his hands, avoiding her gaze and breathing heavily once again. He hadn't meant to snap, but felt he was pushed into a corner and her prodding words tore away at his defenses.
"I'm sorry," he apologized, his voice muffled by his hands. "I just...I'm sorry."
Gale watched him with only faint surprise, sadness settling over her features as she regarded Dewey. Somehow, she had suspected that Dewey's inability to let go of Tatum had something to do with his inability to leave Woodsboro. She nodded slowly, not in agreement but in understanding before reaching to rest her hand again on his back.
"You protect people anywhere you go, Dewey. You can't help it. That's who you are. You honor her everywhere, just being you."
She hesitated before adding, "If you want to blame anyone besides those shitty teenagers for what happened go Tatum, blame me. If I hadn't been looking for a story and distracting you, you might have saved her. If I wasn't there, it may have been different."
He didn't flinch when she placed a hand on his back, as if his body had gone back to feeling comfortable with her touch in just the small time they were together. He listened to her comforting words, and could agree that he felt compelled to protect everyone anywhere he went, but Woodsboro wasn't just another Windsor or, now, Hollywood. Woodsboro is his home, the one he swore to protect.
"No," he stated, pulling his hands away from his face and looking at Gale once more. "No, I can't blame you. I would've gone into the woods whether you were there or not. And I was the one who asked you to come with. I...I was always meant to fail her."
Slowly Gale rubbed his back, knowing he was only partly taking in what she had to say. She met his gaze when he looked up at her, accepting his words with a slight nod.
"Exactly. You were doing your job, Dewey. It just happened. Life is shitty like that sometimes. But listen. The little I knew of Tatum and what you've told me make me think she wasn't a girl that would want to be in Woodsboro forever. She would want to see more, and I don't think she would want you to be tied there if you had other options."
"But I should've..." he tried to argue, but he stopped short when he mulled her words in his head. He couldn't deny that it was true that he was just doing his job, but...there had to be something he did wrong. "I should've checked on her, or-or made sure she and Sidney were together and would stay together when I was gone."
He couldn't help the small smile that crept onto his lips when Gale talked of Tatum, a small huff releasing from his nose as a sort of chuckle. "She did say she'd jump ship the first moment she could - said she'd 'travel across the states' with Sid," he reminisced. "And I certainly wouldn't hear the end of it if she had to come back to Woodsboro just to visit Ma and I."
Gale snorted, rolling her eyes, but it was affectionate more than disgusted. "Dewey, they were teenagers. If you checked on her, she would tell you go away. If you told her to stay with Sidney, she would probably prance around the house alone deliberately just to spite you. Remember Sidney had sex, with Tatum around somewhere- she chose to separate, and so did Tatum. They were kids. They deserved to be able to be dumb kids, and it fucking sucks that they couldn't be. But it was not your fault. Or my fault. Or theirs."
She smiled back as he admitted she was right about Tatum. "Don't you think she'd be pissed at you right now?"
"Probably," he distantly agreed; if there was one thing Tatum liked to do it was not listen to him, like a typical teen, but Tatum didn't get the chance to learn from her mistakes because he didn't...because of Loomis and Macher.
"Yeah," he answered, his smile faltering slightly. "Yeah, she would be."
A comfortable shiver ran across his skin as her hand slid down his back and found his hand again. He turned his hand over and laced his fingers with hers, pulling her entrapped hand to his chest.
"I just thought...it was what would do her justice," he answered hesitantly, his other hand coming up and holding their connected hands, finding comfort in the warmth of her palm and the gentleness of her fingers. "That I have to protect who's left in Woodsboro to suffice for...losing her."
Gale's hand relaxed as she let Dewey pull her hand back to his chest. The beat of his heart was always comforting to her, and now was no exception. She let herself enjoy his hands cupping hers, feeling strangely nostalgic. She couldn't let herself draw close again, now especially. It would be far too easy.
"That isn't what she would want," she said quietly. "It wasn't the town that was important to her, right? It was the people there who cared about her. She would want you not to become a martyr for her. She doesn't seem the type to have patience for that."
His emotions were in a swirl. Being with Gale, getting to touch her and feel her touch, was all he had wanted for the longest time - it was all he had wanted since they broke up. To be here, in her personal room, and to be comforted so genuinely reminded him of how much he loved her, but he felt it'd be too good to be true if she wanted this as badly as he did.
He hesitantly and slowly moved towards her, his eyes occasionally flicking down to her lips. He stopped just far enough where he wasn't completely in her space but was close enough that he'd hope she understood his advance; if she didn't want this, then he wouldn't push.
Gale had been resolved that she wouldn't to this. Not now, when Dewey had made it clear he belonged in Woodsboro. Not when he had just been shacking up or something far too similar with Jennifer Jolie. Not when he was so upset and vulnerable, and certainly not when she herself was exhausted, scared, and just in a mental place that could so easily let herself fall back into patterns it had been so hard to let go of.
But fuck it all, he was looking at her lips. He was inching closer, and Gale knew what he wanted. And she was just tired and hurting and scared enough, just drawn in energy to let go.
She closed her eyes and leaned in, letting herself fall into Dewey, letting her lips meet Dewey's, letting him meet her partway. And maybe, just maybe this time when he caught her, he wouldn't let her go.
It felt like fireworks all over again when her lips pressed against his, just the feeling he had been longing for since they had separated. He had only ever kissed Jennifer once, after two glasses of wine, and he couldn't bring himself to do it again when all he felt afterwards was guilt and a longing for something else - someone else.
With her body pressing against his, his arms wrapped around her and pulled her even closer. He deepened the kiss, a hand coming to rest on the back of her head and slowly pulling her onto his lap, his back lowering to the bed with Gale on top of him. He was lost in the feeling of it all, forgetting his inhibitions and basking in the familiarity of their lips locked together and their body's warming each other.
Gale let herself be tugged back into Dewey, once more drawn into the warmth of his personal orbit. She adjusted her body as he drew her down over him to take some of the weight off his back, rolling them both to their side as she let her leg come to slip between his. Gale slid her tongue against Dewey's, slow, then more urgently, almost sloppy. She cupped the back of his neck, scratching lightly as her arm twined around his back and her hand spread over the thickest part of his scars.
She had always loved holding and being held by him. It felt like a home Gale had never quite had, and she fell into it, into him.
He complied as she shifted the both of them onto their sides, groaning into her mouth as her leg rubbed between his legs. When her tongue entered his mouth and ran along his, he reciprocated wetly and occasionally glided his tongue over her teeth. The hand on her waist moved up and around to her back, his other hand still cradling her head, his fingers filing through her black locks.
"I love you," he moaned against her lips. He pulled back slightly, their noses still within touching reach and looked considerately into her eyes. "Do you want this? Is this...too soon?"
Wait. Wait. Is that where they were now? Were they at the place of saying I love you again?
It had never been a question to Gale of whether or not she still loved Dewey. She did. She was pretty sure that she was going to carry love for Dewey Riley for the rest of her life. But actually saying it out loud, without any kind of promise or security of their future- was that something she was willing to do?
On the other hand, what if she didn't, and he was killed tomorrow? Could she live the rest of her life in regret that she had not told him how she felt- how she still felt?
She hesitated before saying with honesty," I'm not sure what you're asking me. I'm not sure what you're wanting or hoping for right now so I don't know how to answer that."
"I...I don't know..." he answered, truthfully knowing what he intended but now too nervous to clarify. He pulled back slightly, curling into himself, and avoiding her eyes. There was a few moments pause before he pulled back entirely, sitting back up in bed and facing away from her.
"I'm sorry," he cracked, a hand moving to the back of his neck to rub roughly on his skin. "I'm...I'm sorry. It's too soon."
Gale sat up too, now not just confused but frustrated. She could see that Dewey was beating himself up but didn't know why exactly. Because he was kissing her, saying he loved her? Or something else?
Ever Gale, she went with the blunt approach. "I have no idea what you're actually asking or saying here because you're being incredibly vague. Were you asking me if I wanted to have sex?"
"No!...Maybe, I don't know!" he stammered, hands erratically gesturing before suffocating them in his hair. Sure, the moment they had just shared was arousing but to him it meant something more; it meant they both knew they wanted to be together, that splitting apart wasn't what either of them truly wanted.
"I don't want...to be away from you, Gale," he fumbled, hands dropping and head turning back slightly towards her. "I thought I could move on, but...there's nobody else I want to be with."
Gale regarded him with a softer set to her features, finally understanding. She exhaled, slowly, steady, and then turned to grasp his hand gently in hers, once more twining their fingers. "I need to know that you're saying that for reasons besides Ghostface being back again," she said softly. "And that you can accept who I am and the way I need to lead my life. Assuming we still have one in the future obviously."
"I-I am," he stuttered quickly, turning fully to look at her. "Gale, I've wanted you back long before this shit started again."
He took her other hand into his and lowered his voice, sounding sincere and gentle. "I can. I will, for you. You can go to Alaska and I'll be right behind you, just...I think breaking up with you...was one of the worst decisions I've made. A life with you is all I need."
Gale's eyes darkened in hue, searching his intently. It wasn't that she doubted Dewey's sincerity; she knew he didn't deliberately lie or deceive her with his intentions. She also knew though that he had yet to leave Woodsboro for her sake- and yet he had once for Sidney, and once for Hollywood. Maybe it wasn't fair to think that as the situations were temporary, but it was where her thoughts went.
"I just...I'm scared, Dewey," she admitted, lowering her eyes from the earnestness of his. "I'm scared that we'll make promises we can't live out."
"I promise you, Gale," he insisted, a hand releasing on of hers and reaching up to cup her cheek. "Being away from you has opened my eyes; I don't want to live my life without you in it. I'm willing to accommodate as much as you are."
He could admit that there were things he needed to change about himself, reconsidering Woodsboro being one of them, but he hoped Gale could understand what he needed too. He had always been willing for her to continue her career in journalism, but he wanted her to be open to being around more often, wherever they may be settled; jumping state every month wasn't something that sat well with him, like there was no security in their lives.
Gale let her cheek turn to rest more firmly into his hand, his words hitting her like a fist around her heart. He had just promised and that was not something he did or that she took lightly. She thought back to her year without him, the successes and disappointments of her career, and it felt hollow. Slowly she reached to cover the hand on her cheek, nodding.
"Okay," she said softly. "Okay."
She pulled at him by the shoulder then, quietly urging him to lay down. She didn't feel quite ready to start kissing or going further, but she did want to be close to him, held by him.
He smiled softly when she took his hand and accepted his promise to her. He let himself be gently taken down onto the bed, understanding from her soft, tired look that there was no sexual intentions behind her actions. His arms opened, elbows resting on the mattress, offering that she could lie on his chest and be enveloped in his waiting arms.
Gale settled herself down on the bed, lying against his chest and wiggling slightly to get more comfortable. He was so warm she didn't need a blanket; his arms were enough. She let her head settle against Dewey's chest, her eyes half closing, and her breathing began to settle in rhythm close to his own.
"We should have a code," she mumbled. "Something we say on the phone. So the killer can't pretend to be us."
Once he felt her nestled into his chest, he enveloped her in his arms, the longing for her touch aching in his chest and prompting him to squeeze her lightly; to bring her even closer, he entangled their legs. He nuzzled his nose into her hair, taking in her lavender scent, a small smile pressing his lips from the familiarity of her smell.
His eyes had closed pleasantly before cracking open at her question. His eyes possessed a far away look in consideration, brow furrowing slightly, before he got an idea.
"Wes Carpenter," he suggested without shame. "Tatum really liked his movies."
Gale murmured a sigh of content as Dewey entwined their legs, letting his face partially bury in her hair. She let her arms circle his waist, continuing to breathe with him comfortably, and when he answered, she looked up to meet his eyes with a small smile of understanding as she nodded agreement.
"Wes Carpenter. Perfect."