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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"What do you mean?"

She takes in a cleansing breath, smoothing her hands over her face and through her hair. Absently she realizes she still has to let it down or do something with it.

"I... could hear his voice, even after I woke up. My father. Like he was in the room, tryin' to talk to me."

"I've had dreams like that," he admits. "When you wake up thinkin' you're hearin' the folk."

He reaches for his water bottle again and has a few sips, before replacing the cap and setting it back on the coffee table, for something to do with his hands.

"But this place is...awful strange, at times."

She shakes her head, not wanting to close her eyes, but unable to keep them open. She can still see the look in his eyes, like pulling down a movie screen and revisiting that dream in all its striking detail.

She panics for the briefest of moments when she reopens her eyes and can still see the blood on her hands.

"Was you and Ben," she goes on, voice unsteady. "And I kept hearing Fira and Demeter. And then I just picked up the rifle and I--"

Bang.

She swallows, but her voice continues to lose strength.

"You were all talkin' so loud, and there was all that blood and I... I was in my schoolhouse and Trout kept grabbin' me and I just... I didn't..."

"Hey, hey, Kate, you're alright," he says, voice firm and his eyes locked on her face as she talks, voice rapid and wavering. "You're alright."

and Trout kept grabbin' me

It echoes around in his head, and doesn't sit right with him.

There's a voice in his head, too.

"You tell your Englishman he best leave no slime on the trail behind him as he crawls back to Wall Street."

Doc's eyes narrow, just slightly, at the memory.

"Who the 'ell's Trout?"

"Charles Walker. He's the--"

--one who grabbed me before, after night class.

She doesn't say it because she suddenly realizes she never told him that story. She told Ben. But not Doc.

Her arm freezes with her voice, extended in a telling gesture as her other hand lies closed where Trout's fingers had been. She can still feel bruised flesh, somewhere in her memory.

She's quiet, she's still, but she knows it's too late. She's said too much.

"--H-he's the Mayor's son."

His eyes are on her arm, narrowing more at the way her hand is covering her skin.

Someone touched her.

Doc tilts his head ever-so-slightly to study her face, then. There's a cold look in his eyes and his mouth is set ever so slightly.

"And what did Mr. Walker do to you, Kate."

It's the same look Ben had given her. Only, on Doc's features, it frightens her a little more.

She shakes her head, once. Her eyes are locked on his nervously. She swallows dryly before answering.

"Nothin'."

It's a knee-jerk reaction, and it isn't enough. And she knows it.

"It was a long time back. Ben and I--" That's right, stupid. Bring Ben into this. She closes her eyes and tries again, omitting Mr. Wade's name this time.

"It got taken care of. It was just a... just a... It was--It was nothin'."

"It sure as hell don't sound like nothin'," Doc tells her. "Especially if you went on and told Ben Wade about it and he didn't go on tellin' me. And that makes me realize that either he was expectin' you to tell me, or you told him to keep his mouth shut because you was scared of me doin' something 'bout it."

He looks away and pulls in a breath, holds it, and counts to twenty in his head before he continues.

(It's a fast 'twenty'.)

"Now I know that I've done some things, Kate, some things that I ain't proud of and some things that I know you don't agree with, but the one thing I do not stand for or turn a blind eye to is some fella darin' to..."

His tone gets angry, quicker than he intends, and he stops talking to force his temper back.

"I don't think it was nothin'. And maybe y'ain't gonna tell me, and that's your right, but I ain't happy 'bout it."

"It wasn't like that!" she defends, pulling her arms in toward her body in a defensive maneuver. Not because she's afraid of him, just because she's upset. Nervous. Ashamed.

"I didn't tell him, he saw the bruises and made me explain what happened. It was just... it was so stupid. He wanted to take me out--Trout--and when I told him 'no' he got upset. He didn't hit me 'r nothin', he just grabbed hold of my arm to keep me from leavin' and I... Damn it, Doc, I ain't a little girl, needs mindin'. I told him off, and then Sam came round and..."

She trails off, wondering if she's just making things worse.

"He got scared off. He hasn't given me no trouble since. And Ben... I told him not to tell you. You was out, facin' Garrett and his boys. Last thing I wanted when you got back was to be worryin' over me over something like this. It was nothin'. Anyways, you came back, shot all to hell, and it just didn't seem to matter anymore!"

She pauses, drawing in a breath and letting the words settle in the room, before going on.

"You weren't here. I--I don't know if I would have told you, if'n you was, but you weren't. And I didn't want to upset you."

"You ain't a little girl, Kate, you're a grown woman but that still don't mean you gotta deal with shit like that alone," he says, voice still angry before he settles a little. "I don't care what the hell's goin' on in my life, if someone, anyone is botherin' you, I ain't gonna stand for it."

Doc pauses.

"It ain't nothin', either. It ain't right, and it..."

He trails off, feeling the anger leave him in a rush that leaves him tired, and then he scrubs a hand over his face and leans back, feeling the onset of a headache at the base of his skull.

"I...I'm sorry, Kate. That y'didn't...you couldn't tell me. I'm sorry for bein' angry right now, I just...it ain't right," and his voice sounds small, his eyes behind his hands. "You matter t'me and I care so damn much 'bout you, worryin' if you're doin' alright."

"Mind your tongue!" she shouts back, bristling slightly because he's angry with her, with himself, with the situation, because she still doesn't know where they stand and she's just so damn tired.

She relaxes at some length, when his voice goes small and he covers his face with his hands, feeling guilty and sorry and worried in equal measure.

"You don't have to apologize," she murmurs, head down. One meek little hand reaches out to him, but since his hands are occupied, it settles on his sleeve. "I'm sorry you found out like this. This is what I was tryin' to avoid. You don't have to worry 'bout me, like that. You don't."

She knows he will anyway.

She wants to settle into his arms, bury her face in his chest and hug him close and tell him how sorry she is and just stay there, forever. She wants--craves--the comfort his touch gives her.

But the only change she makes is to tighten her hold on his sleeve and close her eyes.

"Y'don't have to worry. I'm all right."

"Just...just tell me these things, please, Kate. At least...consider tellin' me. You don't have to but...please. I just...I don't stand for that, ever."

Doc lifts his head slightly and looks over at her, then shifts on the couch and leans a little, closer, to let his forehead rest against hers.

There's really nothing else to say.

There's something he can ask, though.

"Just...will you stay? I'd feel better if you were somewhere I could keep an eye on you tonight."

She's quiet while he's speaking, not really sure of what to say.

She doesn't flinch away or move at all when his forehead falls lightly against hers. But she does lift an arm, almost on instinct, to softly brush her fingertips over his cheek.

Her hand comes to rest at his neck.

"No one's gonna hurt me while I'm here," she whispers. It comes out almost like a protest, but after it settles it feels more like reassurance. She sighs gently.

"But... I'll stay. I... I don't want to be by myself tonight, anyway. Just afraid the dreams will come back."

"I don't blame you," he admit. "I was...terrified of sleepin' when the nightmares were going around. I worried a lot, then."

Doc closes his eyes.

"But if they do, I'll be here t'keep you company."

And that has to help somewhat. Just knowing you're not alone.

She nods gently, forehead still pressed to his, and doesn't say another word.

It does help, knowing she's not alone. Knowing he's here and he's safe and they're okay and it's just a dream.

She moves her head gently, to lightly nuzzle his face.

Doc smiles a little.

Even with the hell going on...

"I love you."

Her heart sticks in her throat.

She opens her eyes and looks up, at his face, at the hair falling gently across his brow.

She doesn't say it. She can't say it.

But she does lean in and kiss him softly, lightly, a chaste little peck on the lips that ends soon.

Too soon.

It's alright.

Doc smiles when she pulls back, and reaches up to gentle brush his fingers across her cheek. He doesn't say it again. His return kiss (gentle, soft, and it doesn't linger) says it all.

They've fixed something. Maybe just a little thing. But it's a start.

Her face is hot when he pulls back, and she doesn't quite meet his eyes.

She's throwing every lesson about propriety she was ever taught right out the window tonight.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you."

About the dream. About Trout. About her troubles eating and sleeping. About every little thing she's kept locked inside.

"I'll try harder to be more honest."

It is, apparently, an issue they both have in common. But he deserves the truth.

"It's alright," he says. "And I appreciate that."

It's an issue they both have in common, but identifying those issues helps.

Doc smiles a little wider, and his fingers trace over her skin again.

"We're gonna be okay."

She can't help but breathe a little laugh, smiling patiently as his fingers dance over her face.

"No one ever accused you of being a pessimist, my Poet Laureate."

The words are tender and teasing.

"And I ain't gonna start bein' one now."

Doc leans in and kisses her forehead gently, before he settles back on the couch.

She sighs, a tremor running through her insides as she pulls back to settle again on her side of the couch. They're still close, but it just wouldn't do to cuddle. Not just yet.

She eyes her half-eaten food for a moment, and then reaches for it, slowly finishing the room-temperature slice of pizza and the bottle of water.

He draws one leg up again and turns so he's facing her, and drinks from his water bottle while she eats and finishes off her food and drink. Inside, he's grinning.

One step at a damn time, but they'll be okay.

She sets her plate and plastic bottle on the coffee table when she's finished. It's not much of a meal, but it's more than what she's had recently.

She touches her hair absently, to move an errant strand behind one ear, and remembers the ridiculous style it had been given to match her costume earlier. Her fingers set to righting it as she turns to face Doc again.

"Thank you," she murmurs.

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