one word, many words ♡
roy goode x fem!reader ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪
Some fluffy fluff from the back of my notes.
Synopsis: You catch Roy staring at Jim's letter, and he asks you to help him read it. (Reader is a stray taken in by the Fletcher household before the events of the show.)
Word Count: 1358
enjoy! xx
When you stumble around the corner of the stables, the last thing you expect to see is Roy with a letter in his hands.
Conversations with Alice flood back to you. The letter is recognisable, of course, from the late night whispers in the warm enclosure of bed. Being as the house was small, and the extra beds were for Iyovi and Truckee, there wasn't much in the way of space. As such, the only place for you, when you'd shown up to their home one afternoon - was in Alice's bed. Somewhere in the back of your mind you remember sharing beds like this with the girls of your family, way back when. At the ranch, with Alice, you'd lay cuddled together on cold days and poles apart on the hottest.
Most nights Alice liked to pillow talk; telling you things she'd die before admitting to her son or to his grandmother. Listening to her came easy, her voice the steady warmth of sisterly whispers and ears neither of you otherwise had. She'd tell you her inner thoughts, her most secret tales, her plans, her wonderings. And most nights you'd be lulled to sleep by her talk before ever hearing the full of it.
For days after Roy's arrival, the shared bed whispers were far more of a conversation than they usually were. You'd both eagerly chatted, low voices wavering between bewilderment and wonder. And when Alice told you about the letter she'd found - Roy Goode, Lucy Cole, Jim Goode, California... it had taken Iyovi's vexed visit to your room to get you to stop talking about it and at last surrender to sleep.
The letter, she'd said, was unopened. Now, having seen Roy staring down at the folded, yellowed paper the way he was, you could only surmise that he'd at last worked himself up to reading it.
You try and duck back around the corner, but Roy calls you right back inside on the instant. His voice is low when he calls your name, but not hesitant. Purposeful. Soft.
"It's alright. Really," he beckons. "You come here needing something?"
"Nothing much. Just wanted to check on Maybelle," you nod to one of the horses in confession. "Would hate to interrupt. I'll just go on and get."
"No, no, you’re not interruptin' none. Fact I'd welcome the company. Won't you join me?"
This time you let your hands fall down your skirts in defeat and meander your way back in. The sand coloured beauty you'd called Maybelle nudges her face happily into your hands when you greet her, and you giggle lowly when you feel a puff of her hot breath between your fingers. Maybelle is all the more eager when you give her a gentle scratch about her ears, ever the easy lover.
"You got a real way with 'em," Roy mentions.
"Comin’ from you that means a mighty lot. Truckee and I got to agreeing that you're some sorta horse whisperer, you."
"Oh, is that so?" He nods in approval, "Well. My point still stands. You got a real way with them yourself, Milady."
"You always call me that. Milady. I'm no lady, Roy. I'm just some girl who the old wind blew the wrong way and won't take back." Your voice catches when you deliver the words, and you swallow, busying yourself with Maybelle's tangled mane in order to hide your expression from Roy. Talking about your old life, remembering wandering the woods, and the day Iyovi found you…it always brings a catch to the back of your throat, a sting in your eyes.
"Seems to me you could be a lady, being as you're so lost,” he tells you gently. “You could be a real regal lady, and we'd all be none the wiser, you could be. I'd believe it."
Your tears disappear before they're realised.
"And we don't know none about you, either. Seems to me you could be some Lord and we'd not know."
Roy laughs low. "I'm no Lord, Milady. That much I do confirm." He nods his head toward the pistol lying atop his jacket, over by his feet. "That ain't the common object of a Lord now, is it? Least not in my books. Well, wouldn't be if ever I read me some. Books."
"You can read them aplenty now. Thanks to Alice and Truckee and Callie's old primer, you'll be reading up a damn storm."
"Thanks to you too, Milady."
"You know you're always welcome. I'd help you over again if you needed it," you tell him. You stare into his eyes when you say it, way into his soul. You mean it. Every word.
"Help me now," Roy whispers. Slow. His ask comes in a gentle wave, entirely at the mercy of your answer. His want, the sea to ask, your willing, the moon to accept. Roy picks the letter back up and smooths the creases over his knee. "Help me read it."
"Your brother's letter? Isn't it?"
Roy nods slowly.
"I need you to help me read it. If you want to, like. If you want to. Please?" The letter flutters shut on his lap, and he sighs, running a hand wearily over his face. "It's just that...I'm afraid I don't know to read nearly enough words."
"Sure you do. I've seen you sounding them all out, and you get ‘em all eventually. You'll be dandy."
"I'm not so sure I wanna take that chance. Not with this. I wanna understand everything he's saying to me." For a moment the two of you only stare. Maybelle nuzzles your shoulder. Roy's soft blues pierce.
Hell. Jim's letter sure ain't no primer.
"What do you say?” Roy punctuates his question by patting the hay beside him.
You'd never much enjoyed sitting in the hay, being rough, scratchy and poking as it is. Sometimes the stuff would stick right in places you'd rather it didn't, and other times would strike through ripped holes of the thrice mended skirt you wore. Alice's old one, naturally, faded and many times patched, thin enough to make sure you'd feel every bit of that hay. Still, the invite of Roy's morning blues was proving themselves a feat to resist.
Roy smooths out his letter after he unfolds it. When he begins to stumble over the words, you realise he's sitting so close you can feel the vibration of his voice through his arm, pressed against yours.
Later, in bed, you lie awake for hours longer than is your usual. Sometime after too much tossing and turning, you lie flat on your back and admit your truth with a breathy sigh.
"He wanted me to read his brother's letter with him," your whisper is sleek and barely there in the night. "And I did."
A lilt of silence drifts as a stray breeze cools your shoulder. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say Roy Goode is a fool in love." Alice's words have you smiling stupidly into the dark. You had not known if she was awake to hear you, though you were not surprised; Alice was always there when she was needed, and Alice was always right.
The afternoon memory is a ghost in front of you, as if you're watching it all happen in the shadows of the night. His letter fluttering to the floor. His hand finding yours. Your arms encircling him. His arms tight around your back, hand on the back of your head. The way your hair stood on end as his breath graced your neck.
Then, as if she can see the memory with you, Alice laughs a soft laugh. "And I'd say he's not the only one. Whatever are we to do with you?”
You roll over onto your back. It’s a few minutes later when Alice’s muffled breathing announces she’s at last surrendered to sleep.
“Will you miss me when you go on, to your brother?”
Roy Goode had taken your face in his hands. From this angle, the sunlight hit his glistening eyes just right. From this angle, the face of this wanted killer was fragile, expectant.
“Not if you come with me.”
dividers by @uzmacchiato -`♡´-
