scurlock | oom: room 25, millitimed to halloween night

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oom: room 25, millitimed to halloween night

Doc leads the way up the stairs to his room, Katherine trailing behind him (because this way, he's not tempted to check her out) and while he's expecting both of their costumes to disappear...they don't. So he opens the door to his room, which has been cleaned up nicely since the last time she was in it.

The bed is made, the weapons are all put away, his desk still looks like a bit of a disaster area (but that's to be expected, given the books and papers and the fact that he's been writing a lot lately) but it's generally a lot better than it was last time.

"I got somethin' you can wear," he tells her. "Let me get it and then I'll run back down and get us somethin' for dinner."

He rifles through the dresser for some drawstring pants, socks, a t-shirt and a button down, all of them getting put on the polished surface, next to those folded paper cranes. "You may have t'roll the sleeves up a bit," he apologizes. "But that should work."

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"All right," she murmurs quietly, looking around the clean room. "Thank you."

When he leaves, she picks up the stack of clothes and heads into the bathroom. Because it just wouldn't do to change in his room proper, especially when he could come back in at any moment.

The pants are only swimming on her, the t-shirt hanging from her delicate little shoulders, but that's what the drawstring and the button-down are for.

She's just slipping the long-sleeved shirt on when she hears him walk back into the room.

Doc walks back into the room with a cardboard pizza box in his hands, and on top of that is a stack of plates and napkins. He does pause to make certain that she's not changing in his room, as that wouldn't be proper.

"You ever had pizza?"

This is called to her as he sets the box on the coffee table and reaches into his coat for two bottles of water, and then he peels the dark jacket off of his shoulders. His hair is still blond and spiky, but he'll live.

She hears the question, but she's not sure what he's talking about.

So she steps into the doorway, fingers still working on the last couple of buttons, bare feet crossed at the ankles as she leans against the door frame.

Her hair is still over-styled to a ridiculous extent, but she'll fix that in a moment.

"Ever had what?"

"I'll take that as a no..."

Doc's eyes go from her bare feet up her legs to her torso and then to her face. It doesn't take him all that long to get there. He knows how those clothes feel against his skin. Part of his mind wonders what they feel like against hers.

Right.

Dinner.

"...it's, uh. Italian."

"Oh," she says simply, avoiding his eyes.

In some ways, she feels even more exposed now, in his over-sized clothing, than she had in the skimpy cheerleader costume. He's not making her as uncomfortable as she had been, but there's still a nervousness in her belly.

She fiddles with the too-long sleeves for a moment, before uncrossing her ankles and slowly padding towards him.

"What did you call it?"

It's in a box. Like those doughnut things he had before. This warrants a suspicious eye.

"Pizza. It's...you take a special kind of flatbread and they put on tomato sauce and herbs, and cheese, and then you can put a whole bunch of toppings on. Anything you want, really. This one has ham and pineapple and a little bit of extra cheese."

Doc thinks pizza is the best food ever, because it has everything: Carbs in the bread, dairy in the cheese, vegetables in the tomato sauce, and then you add protein and fruit or vegetables to taste.

He tosses his jacket at the chair that's at his desk, and the rush of air causes something to skitter off the desk and hit the floor, thick paper sliding across the hardwood.

It's a photograph.

Doc glances over his shoulder as he's opening the cardboard box.

"Can you grab that and put it back on my desk?"

"Ham and pineapple?"

Well, that's only the strangest combination she's heard of, on flatbread with tomato sauce. Her nose is crinkled to show her skepticism, which makes her look vaguely childlike, standing there in Doc's too-big clothes, cuffs curled over her hands.

She watches the yellowed photograph skate across the floor, nodding when he asks her to retrieve it. Her little hands peek out from the folds of his shirt as she kneels to pick it up.

She doesn't get up straight away.

"...Isn't that William H. Bonney?!"

She's seen the photograph of him and, though she'll never admit to it, took great care in studying every line of the young cowboy's face.

She recognizes Doc, too, of course. But the rest of the boys she can only guess at.

"The one on my left? Yeah, that's him. The rest of the boys too," he says. "John insisted we take the thing, and well...that's the original six Regulators right there."

Doc's settled himself on the couch now, and is reaching for a slice of the pizza to put it on a plate for her.

"Y'bring it over here, I'll point them all out if you'd like."

He's busy wrestling with the slice as he puts it on the plate, cheese stringing off a bit before he breaks it free.

Her eyes are on the photograph the entire time as she straightens, turns, and walks to the couch. She's studying the image with great intent.

"These are them, then?" she murmurs, sitting next to Doc. She lets go of one corner to point at the man all the way to the right.

"I'm guessin' this is Chavez? The Mexican-Indian you were telling me about? My, you're right. His hair is quite long. And..."

Her finger trails all the way to the other corner, to the dark boy to the far left.

"...This must be Richard. He's got a serious look about him. Looks like the leader of John's infamous Regulators," she smiles, glancing up at Doc. Her attentions quickly fall back to the photograph, her brow furrowing lightly.

"I imagine these other two must be 'Dirty Steve' and 'Charlie,' but I'm not sure which is which. Only... ah. This one must be Steve," she says at last, pointing to the boy in the bottom left corner. "Y'said he was always chewing his tobacco, 'n this one has the teeth. All stained and yella."

If she looks mildly proud of herself when she tips her chin up to look at him, well that must only be Doc's imagination.

Doc nods, and it's obvious that he's impressed.

"Someone's been listenin' and payin' attention to all the stories I've been tellin'," he says, amused as he leans over just a little. "You've got them all correct. Very well done."

He leans over just slightly to take the photograph from her, and he studies it a moment.

"Regulators," he says again, with a slight nod. "That's what we were and we were proud of it."

"I listen to everything you say, Doc," she murmurs, not really thinking about the words until they've already left her mouth. She looks back toward the photo shyly.

Regulators.

Her shoulder is touching his shoulder, the both of them leaning in to see the old photograph, but she hasn't quite noticed the closeness yet.

"Y'must miss them."

It's uttered very softly.

"Miss 'em like hell, everyday," he replies, before he can really even think to check the words as they leave his mouth.

Doc's eyes are on Chavez.

"I hope he got out all right," he adds, voice softer, pointing at the man on the far right with his pinkie finger. "He's a good man. Good friend."

He then looks over at her. Yeah, they're close...but it's not uncomfortable.

Kate's eyes are also on Chavez.

"He was the other one, aside from Richard, that was there on Mr. Tunstall's ranch before Billy showed up, right?" she asks quietly. "The three of you... were you real close friends?"

"We were all there, 'fore Billy showed up, but Chavez had been there the third longest out of all of us. Charlie and Steve came 'bout the same time, they was always better pals. Richard tended t'keep to himself a bit, but we all respected him. Chavez and I are close."

Doc looks at the photograph for a minute.

"But yeah, I miss them. We had a helluva lot of fun together."

She regards each face carefully as he mentions their names, trying to picture them all on Tunstall's farm in her head, trying to imagine what it might have been like.

She smirks at his closing statement.

"You mean you got into a helluva lot of trouble together," she corrects.

Though, deep down she knows it's the same thing, really.

Doc chuckles quietly at that. "We were damn good at that too," he admits, as he ponders that for another moment, before he leans over to put it down on the table and then in the process, picks up both plates of food.

Now that it's not fresh burn your mouth hot she'll actually be able to eat it.

He hands her one, and then sets the water bottles between them as he kicks his feet up onto the coffee table.

"Now. The thing 'bout pizza is, sometimes the cheese tends to stretch a bit, but you don't gotta feel silly 'bout it."

She eyes the plate of food in her hands curiously for a moment. It certainly doesn't look very appetizing, but she's eaten things that looked stranger before.

She quirks her brow at him.

"Where is the cutlery?"

Right.

"You don't use any."

Doc demonstrates by lifting the slice by the crust and biting the end of the piece, pulling it away slightly and tugging to break the cheese to keep it from sliding all off the slice of the pie, other hand on the plate to catch any toppings that might want to fall.

They don't. Bar makes her pizza right.

He chews, and swallows, then speaks.

"It's portable."

She watches with no small measure of wonderment.

"...Like hotdogs?"

She remembers that lesson, as well.

The pizza gets one last suspicious look before she carefully picks it up and takes a bite.

The cheese is rather surprising. She blushes as she tugs it away from the slice and into her mouth, a dainty hand covering her lips as she chews.

"Like hotdogs."

Cheese and ham and pineapple and tomato sauce and pizza crust, and for Doc, it is a wonderful combination of perfection.

"I like it with ham and pineapple," he says. "Will tends t'eat his with tons of vegetables and sausage and stuff. You can put anything on it, really," he repeats.

And then has another couple of bites, before he sets it down and cracks open his water bottle.

She chews slowly, eying the slice as she does so.

"It's... it's good," she nods. "It's different."

It would be better if she had more of an appetite.

She makes it about halfway through the slice before lowering the plate to the coffee table.

He cracks the top open on her water bottle and hands it over to her, without saying a word, before he settles back into the couch.

"Reckon you could say I'm tryin' to expand my horizons," he says.

Doc'll press her about eating later. Water is important too.

She accepts the water graciously, smiling patiently.

"Could say that about a lot of things. S'pose it doesn't surprise me much to know it applies to your diet as well," she says, glancing about his room as she takes a few careful swallows.

Not much has changed. There are a few different books on the desk, medical type texts, and a few stacks of papers, but other than that (and other than the fact that it's cleaner) not much is different.

"Plus I'm grateful for gettin' to eat somethin' other than hard tack and salt pork," he admits, as he starts in on a second slice. "Could have used a jar of those peaches of your's, that's for certain."

(The jar Doc had at one point has long since been eaten, during a late night snack craving with biscuits and honeybutter.)

"Guess I'll just have to make you some more," she murmurs absently, watching the condensation drip down the outside of her plastic water bottle.

Her eyes skate up to his face again.

"Don't tell me you went those two months outside on nothin' but hard tack and salt pork?"

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