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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"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.

"You're welcome," he replies.

Doc looks at her hair.

"If y'want to use the bathroom t'try and fix that, you're more than welcome, I don't know if having a mirror...might help?"

She already has it halfway down by the time he asks.

"S'alright. I think it's just pinned up. Though, it feels, too, like there's been hair wax put in it," she mutters, running her fingers through the stiff strands.

Really, she's just looking for something to do with her hands.

"Don't know what you're gonna do about yours, though," she comments after a while, trying her best not to smirk.

It still comes through in her eyes.

"It should," he runs a hand over it. "Be back to normal when I wake up tomorrow morning. At least that's how last year worked, anyway."

It's spiky and his touch does nothing to knock it down.

Hers comes cascading down to her shoulders in loose curls when she works out the last pin, and she immediately sets to work pulling it back.

"That's good. You'd be turning some heads 'round these parts with a do like that, let alone if you ever walked out your door lookin' that way."

"Jack told me it used to be common, years ago in his world, so, reckon you're right 'bout that."

Doc tilts his head to the side.

"Leave it down?"

She pauses, blinking at the request.

"...All right."

She pulls it back down, gold strands curling at her shoulders. It's long--much longer than you would think, what with the way it's always pulled back--and a little fluffy around her face from having undid the style.

"It's beautiful," he says. "Y'should wear it down more often."

Of course, there were Rules about how one would wear their hair and dress. Only certain types of women wore their hair down, and she was definitely not one of those types.

No, she most definitely is not. Which might explain the soft blush on her face.

"Th-thank you," she murmurs, a bit shyly. She moves to tuck it back behind her ears yet again.

"Did-did you want to get changed yourself? You've been sitting here in that getup all night, I wouldn't blame you if you wanted to put something more comfortable on."

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