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oom: room 25 / later outside
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.
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.
no subject
let it heal up right.
Doc smiles.
"Wouldn't dare," he says honestly, as he returns to the pell to fetch the sword, and he carefully replaces the weapon in the leather scabbard on his back before he moves to gather the quiver and arrows.
just don't rush it.
"Outlaw's honor," he adds. "Let it heal up right."
no subject
"That's right," she insists, her soft southern drawl coming through in the words. "Why don't you let me help with some of your burden, for starters?"
She reaches for the quiver.
no subject
Once they've gathered everything and set back towards the bar, he speaks up again after a brief moment of silence.
"I'm glad you're back."
no subject
They clear in a flash, and she nods politely, offering him her best smile as they continue on.
"Where else would I go?"
Pause.
"Bar would find me."
Grin.
no subject
"She's got quite the habit of doin' that, so I've heard."
Doc nods a bit, maybe more to himself than anything.
Things would be okay. They had to be okay.
Hope was an important thing.
no subject
Turns to him.
And smiles honestly.
"I'm glad I'm back, too, Doc."