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oom: room 25
[ooc: after this]
When he opens the door to his bedroom, room twenty-five, he glances first to the bed and then at the floor, not wanting to trip over anything in the dark. He kicks a pair of boots out of the way as he crosses the open space, shifting her weight in his arms so that he can draw back the blankets and sheets. He moves her so that she's sitting on the edge of the bed, then kneels down to start unlacing her boots.
They're still caked with mud, so it takes him a minute or two.
He glances up at her.
"Do you want to get changed or just sleep?"
He figures she'll go for the latter.
When he opens the door to his bedroom, room twenty-five, he glances first to the bed and then at the floor, not wanting to trip over anything in the dark. He kicks a pair of boots out of the way as he crosses the open space, shifting her weight in his arms so that he can draw back the blankets and sheets. He moves her so that she's sitting on the edge of the bed, then kneels down to start unlacing her boots.
They're still caked with mud, so it takes him a minute or two.
He glances up at her.
"Do you want to get changed or just sleep?"
He figures she'll go for the latter.
no subject
(Hours. Hours and hours.)
She knows he's watching her but she's caught between fitful moments of sleep and a gut churning with guilt.
It's when she notices the sound of his breathing evening out that she chances opening her eyes again, blinking in the dark, early morning hours.
'We'll take care of things, once we take care of you.'
Her heart constricts in her ribcage.
'And, maybe, when you can think in straight lines again, you can make them regret pulling the trigger.'
She knows. She knows what she has to do.
'I'm not sayin' you should've done a thing with that rifle, Kate. But someone should have. I don't care what the Book says 'bout killin', it ain't right to let men like Murphy and those boys get away with the things they do.'
Slowly, oh-so-very-slooooowly, she eases back the blankets and sheets, and carefully slips out of bed. She watches his face for any sign that he might wake up.
And receives none.
Gathering her stockings and her shoes, she quickly and quietly changes again, leaving his socks on top of his dresser, and then she leaves his room.
The door clicks softly as she pulls it shut, and her stomach turns again.
I have to do this.
She walks away from his room, and makes her way up the stairs, down the corridor, around the bend, down two doors--
And then she stops.
And knocks.