oom: room 25 / later outside

[scurlock]

After taking care of his morning chores and the conversation that came with it, Doc leads Katherine up to his room, box of donuts and two cups carefully held in his hands.

Once he's opened the door and they've stepped inside, the first thing she'll notice is that he's changed the layout of the room a bit, and his bed has been shoved up against the wall, his desk moved closer to the door. There's a new couch by the windows, with an end table that wasn't there before as well.

"Figured if I was gonna be livin' here I might as well make it less like a hotel room," he offers, by way of explanation, as he closes the door behind them with his foot, but doesn't bother to lock it.

There are books stacked on the desk, but not poetry or literature. History of Medieval England, for one. Several medical texts. There's an empty glass (and half empty bottle of Laphroaig) sitting on the desk as well. Scattered pages of notes. Half finished poems. Nothing but scratched sketches from a bored and frustrated writer's hand.

His bed is roughly made (sheets and blankets pulled up but not tucked in) and there are several other books on the side where another person would sleep. A hard bound selection of Keats is tucked in with a leather bound journal or two.

She'll see, tacked to the wall between the bed and desk, a piece of paper with the poem Jack quoted to him at a Happy Hour a few weeks ago, handwritten in black ink.

On the dresser, there are still the two folded paper cranes, one pink and one brown, but a third, a bright orange (like canned peaches) has joined them. The cask in the corner is covered with a towel, sword and bow and rifle leaning against the wall. There are coat hooks on the wall beside the door -- that black duster, as well as his tan one, and a woolen cloak, hooded and green, that is suitable for hiding among the trees and leaves of Sherwood hang on the pegs.

The footlocker at the end of the bed is covered in cloth, and that sword (not the practice blade, but a finer, sharper weapon) is resting on it, polishing cloth beside it.

Doc crosses the room to the couch and coffeetable, and sets the contents of his hands down on the surface before he leans over to shove one of the windows open, pulling the curtains over it to allow for the morning breeze.

"Sorry 'bout the mess," he offers, before he motions for her to sit while he pulls his coat off, the flannel jacket ending up on the end of the bed.

She'll also notice the end of his bed is missing something familiar.

(His gunbelt is nowhere to be seen.)

It's really not all that horrible, but it's more 'lived in' than she's seen it before.

Comments

[scurlock]

"You ain't happy 'bout the whiskey."

He sips the coffee slowly, eyes on her over the rim of the cup. It's hot and nearly burns his tongue, but he'll survive, and he's had much worse.

[ikissdhimbck]

"Not particularly," she confirms, though her voice is soft and small.

"It's just awful early. But it's not my business."

She looks away from him, somehow managing to catch the eye of a waitrat, who then scurries over.

[scurlock]

"No, you're right," he tells her. "It ain't a good habit."

Doc shakes his head.

"Habit I picked up from ridin' long days on the trail. You ain't eager to get up into the saddle when you've been sleepin' on the ground, sometimes a dash'll make you a bit less sore."

When the waitrat comes over, he waits for her to give her order first before he orders his breakfast. Two eggs, 'over-easy' with sourdough toast and bacon, plus a few slices of melon, and a glass of milk.

[ikissdhimbck]

Her order is slightly more conservative---oatmeal, fresh fruit, and a wedge of cornbread---but she's nonetheless proud of Doc's order as the waitrat scurries off.

"Just as long as you're responsible, Josiah," she says, sipping at her tea again. "I know you're no longer on your medications, but it should go without saying you're not to replace one with another."

[scurlock]

"I know," he says, with a serious nod. "And I ain't drinkin' if I take the painkillers. Been followin' Dr. Ford's orders."

It's not long before the waitrat returns with their food.

"So how long's it been for you outside?"

[ikissdhimbck]

"Good," she nods. And she'll leave that at that, for now.

She considers his question carefully as she butters her cornbread.

"Few months."

56 days.

"Was a while before I found a door."

Wasn't looking for one.

"Fall's almost over, back in Green Lake."

I didn't want to come back.

She neatly avoids his eyes, not wanting him to see the guilt shining there.

She pauses though, before she begins to eat, casting a furtive glance his way.

[scurlock]

Doc hasn't yet touched his meal, and his eyes are on hers as he lightly rests his elbows on the table and holds his hands out.

The boys didn't hold hands (hell, Chavez never bowed his head and Steve just didn't give a shit) but for this, it feels right.

"Join me in sayin' a word?"

[ikissdhimbck]

She glances at his hands, then up at his face one more time before looking down and nodding.

She takes his hands lightly, bowing her head.

"Thank you," she whispers before he starts.

[scurlock]

He nods once, a silent 'you're welcome' before he bows his head and speaks.

"Bless, O Lord, this food we are about t'eat; and we pray You, O God, that it may be good for our body and soul. And if there be any poor creature hungry or thirsty walkin' along the road, send them into us, that we can share the food with them, just as You share your gifts with all of us."

He pauses, just a brief, fleeting second before he continues, his voice softer (because it's personal) and his hands tighten just a little around hers as he whispers.

"Dimitte mihi, Deus, dimitte peccata mea. Forgive me, Father."

[ikissdhimbck]

It's Latin.

Sunday prayers in Green Lake are typically, and traditionally, done in Latin.

So Katherine understands the petition for forgiveness, running her thumb along the heel of his palm before she really has time to think about it.

"Amen," she whispers.

[scurlock]

He's silent, for another long moment, his hands still lightly holding hers.

For all of it, Father. Forgive me.

Eventually, he swallows to clear his throat and then nods, once.

"Amen."

Doc gives her hands a brief, gentle squeeze before he lifts his gaze to hers as he withdraws them and returns them to the table.

"Thank you," he adds.

[ikissdhimbck]

She shakes her head a little, knowing she's blushing from the soft squeeze of his hands and the pierce of his gray eyes.

"Thank you," she murmurs, rubbing her palms absently--they're warm from his touch--before picking up her cutlery.

"James has been inquiring after you," she says after some time, trying on a small smile.

[scurlock]

"How is he doing? How are they all doing, I should ask," he clarifies. "You said it's been a few months?"

Doc's honestly curious, because he does miss her students, and that little schoolhouse.

He picks up the coffee and has a drink before buttering his toast.

[ikissdhimbck]

"Well," she answers, and the smile on her face this time is more genuine.

She nods; "They've just finished up their first semester. James is smart as a whip; he's constantly putting his brother to shame," she chuckles.

She pauses to eat a bite or two of oatmeal.

"Linda, too, often asks after you. You made a bit of an impression, as I'm sure you know."

[scurlock]

"They made quite the impression on me," he admits.

Toast buttered, drink of milk, and then he goes for the bacon. Bar's seen fit to make sure he gets his protein, between the meat and the eggs.

"I can't deny it," he continues after a few bites. "I had a few dreams 'bout that weekend once I got back out on the trail."

[ikissdhimbck]

"They tend to tug at your heart and not let go," she agrees with a sigh.

Her spoon pauses mid-bite at his last statement.

"Did you now?"

[scurlock]

"Wouldn't want them to."

Doc nods.

"After Garrett and his posse rode back to Lincoln with Billy, I came 'round the next morning and make it up to Albuquerque. I know a few men who work the beef yards for the railroad. Spent those two weeks ridin' East sitting in a boxcar tryin' to think of anythin' but how bad I was hurtin'."

A brief pause.

"Thought a lot 'bout what it would be like. Teachin' in a town where I didn't have to hide."

[ikissdhimbck]

At his first statement, Katherine smiles, and it should be noted that she's smiling at him--probably the most honest smile he's seen in weeks.

It fades fast when he reminds her of the condition he was in when he came back to the bar.

"Wish you had seen a doctor--a real doctor--before you came back here," she sighs.

She picks at her food for a bit as she considers his final words. She knows how he feels about teaching.

Then, she knows how he feels about being on the run, too.

"And where did those thoughts lead you?" she asks.

[scurlock]

Doc sighs quietly.

"Lot of interestin' places."

Some of them are not to be repeated in her company, fevered dreams rarely contain anything that could be considered proper manners to say the least. There are a few, however.

"It would be nice," he admits. "Ain't likely to ever happen, not for a long time, but it would be nice."

[ikissdhimbck]

Her eyes meet his as she pops a piece of cantaloupe into her mouth, and they stay on his for a good long time.

It would be nice.

Ain't likely to ever happen.

Her attention goes back to her food, and she nods.

"I suppose it would be difficult for you to settle somewhere now, after everything," she says.

She doesn't mention Green Lake this time around.

[scurlock]

He notices. It kills him, a little, on the inside.

Doc eats another few moments in silence, as he contemplates.

"Reckon I could just ride t'Mexico."

And become what -- a washed up outlaw? A man who drinks too much tequila and spends his nights dancing with brown haired girls to try and kill the pain? No.

"On second thought, maybe I'll go to Canada."

[ikissdhimbck]

She furrows her brow.

"What's in Canada?"

[scurlock]

Whiskey.

Doc lifts his eyes to hers.

"Nothin'. I ain't wanted in Canada."

[ikissdhimbck]

A beat.

"You ain't wanted anywhere, at the moment," she reminds him.

She hates the look in his eyes.

And she feels guilty, because she knows it's there at least in part due to her.

[scurlock]

"True."

That's because he's dead. Sort of.

"But my picture is still up in every Marshal's office from New Mexico to Missoura."