(no subject)
Title: Is this to be our life?
Author: oldwickedsongs
Characters: Arnold Rothstein, Carolyn Rothstein, mentions of the boys, Bobby Winthrop and Manny Horvitz
Rating: G
Word Count: 683
Summary: A dinner filled with silences and promises
Warnings: Angst. Vaguely inspired by Margaret/Nucky in 2.05 -hence the title
But this is our ungodly hour'>
“Something’s bothering you.”
It took several moments before AR dared to look at Carolyn, partially because he didn’t trust his eyes to meet hers. It was getting harder to face her and he suspected she knew it. She probably thought it was the usual battle they had over Bobby and there was a bitter thought that crossed his mind as he wished it was that simple. Bobby he could fix, send her away and assure Carolyn she was all he needed on earth. This other business was something else. He didn’t even know how he could begin to explain, and none of him wanted to.
“Arnold.” She whispered his name, low and sweet over the music she had playing to fill up the dining room. Was this Cole Porter or Berlin? He never could keep up. “Arnold?”
“I’m sorry, dear?” He managed a smile. She sighed in response.
“You know you once were able to talk to me.” Carolyn whispered, her fork playing with the remains of her dinner. AR could feel the fight rolling in like a thunderstorm. His head began to throb; he had no desire to fight with her. Not tonight. Not with the business coming out of Philadelphia and Atlantic City teeming as it did, or his own troubles on the East Side brewing, with Joe getting hungrier. Not with the constant throb in his chest over Munya Horvitz and the vague dread that always came over him when he thought of the butcher shop and the boy/man Carolyn was never supposed to meet. “Do you remember? Even when Johnson was after you…” She didn’t falter when AR flinched at the name, she didn’t trust her voice to continue if she did. “You talked to me.”
AR stabbed the potatoes on his plate, pushing them to the corner. He suddenly became aware of the smell of Bobby’s perfume on his collar from earlier tonight.
“Arnold? What could be so ugly that you won’t tell me?”
He forced himself to meet her eyes then, and the concern etched into every shadow on her face made him sick. He was doing that to do her. He had no idea how to remedy it. “…it’s nothing, dear, just-"
“Business.” She finished for him.
“It’ll be over soon.”
“Can you promise that?”
AR felt his voice tighten his chest, and he looked away finally back to the plate before him.
Where would he begin, he thought idly. This was more than throwing money at a handful of players in a championship game, more then stolen bonds traded and sold with cheap ex-boxers, and a gambler who didn’t love his wife half as much as he loved Carolyn. This was a bloodier game by far, although g-d help them both, she’s had deal with death threats against him before, from Becker or Killer Johnson or another nameless faceless bastard that haunted their home just at the peripheries. This was different somehow.
It was a different game here, a new sort of players that even he doubted he understood fully.
She rose first, to deprive him perhaps of the opportunity. He didn’t have to see to know what awaited him painted across her beautiful face. He was becoming all too accustomed to that look of hurt and bitterness too. “…at least promise me they’ll protect you.”
The words confused him, and the stony features that had him fixed until he couldn’t bear to see the pain anymore was just as he imagined it.
“…these…boys as you call them. Lucky and Meyer. At least tell me they’ll protect you, that you’re being careful.”
“I promise.” He said, but she was gone. She was no mood to hear his lies. He was getting tired of telling them to be fair.
She hadn’t disappeared into the kitchen a minute before the solitude of the dining room enveloped him, mingling with the smell of Bobby’s perfume and all the little ways he was failing her. He was gone by the time she had steadied her features enough to face him again, and whatever comfort she had died on her lips.
Author: oldwickedsongs
Characters: Arnold Rothstein, Carolyn Rothstein, mentions of the boys, Bobby Winthrop and Manny Horvitz
Rating: G
Word Count: 683
Summary: A dinner filled with silences and promises
Warnings: Angst. Vaguely inspired by Margaret/Nucky in 2.05 -hence the title
But this is our ungodly hour'>
“Something’s bothering you.”
It took several moments before AR dared to look at Carolyn, partially because he didn’t trust his eyes to meet hers. It was getting harder to face her and he suspected she knew it. She probably thought it was the usual battle they had over Bobby and there was a bitter thought that crossed his mind as he wished it was that simple. Bobby he could fix, send her away and assure Carolyn she was all he needed on earth. This other business was something else. He didn’t even know how he could begin to explain, and none of him wanted to.
“Arnold.” She whispered his name, low and sweet over the music she had playing to fill up the dining room. Was this Cole Porter or Berlin? He never could keep up. “Arnold?”
“I’m sorry, dear?” He managed a smile. She sighed in response.
“You know you once were able to talk to me.” Carolyn whispered, her fork playing with the remains of her dinner. AR could feel the fight rolling in like a thunderstorm. His head began to throb; he had no desire to fight with her. Not tonight. Not with the business coming out of Philadelphia and Atlantic City teeming as it did, or his own troubles on the East Side brewing, with Joe getting hungrier. Not with the constant throb in his chest over Munya Horvitz and the vague dread that always came over him when he thought of the butcher shop and the boy/man Carolyn was never supposed to meet. “Do you remember? Even when Johnson was after you…” She didn’t falter when AR flinched at the name, she didn’t trust her voice to continue if she did. “You talked to me.”
AR stabbed the potatoes on his plate, pushing them to the corner. He suddenly became aware of the smell of Bobby’s perfume on his collar from earlier tonight.
“Arnold? What could be so ugly that you won’t tell me?”
He forced himself to meet her eyes then, and the concern etched into every shadow on her face made him sick. He was doing that to do her. He had no idea how to remedy it. “…it’s nothing, dear, just-"
“Business.” She finished for him.
“It’ll be over soon.”
“Can you promise that?”
AR felt his voice tighten his chest, and he looked away finally back to the plate before him.
Where would he begin, he thought idly. This was more than throwing money at a handful of players in a championship game, more then stolen bonds traded and sold with cheap ex-boxers, and a gambler who didn’t love his wife half as much as he loved Carolyn. This was a bloodier game by far, although g-d help them both, she’s had deal with death threats against him before, from Becker or Killer Johnson or another nameless faceless bastard that haunted their home just at the peripheries. This was different somehow.
It was a different game here, a new sort of players that even he doubted he understood fully.
She rose first, to deprive him perhaps of the opportunity. He didn’t have to see to know what awaited him painted across her beautiful face. He was becoming all too accustomed to that look of hurt and bitterness too. “…at least promise me they’ll protect you.”
The words confused him, and the stony features that had him fixed until he couldn’t bear to see the pain anymore was just as he imagined it.
“…these…boys as you call them. Lucky and Meyer. At least tell me they’ll protect you, that you’re being careful.”
“I promise.” He said, but she was gone. She was no mood to hear his lies. He was getting tired of telling them to be fair.
She hadn’t disappeared into the kitchen a minute before the solitude of the dining room enveloped him, mingling with the smell of Bobby’s perfume and all the little ways he was failing her. He was gone by the time she had steadied her features enough to face him again, and whatever comfort she had died on her lips.