scurlock | oom: morning after kate leaves, out back

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oom: morning after kate leaves, out back

He wakes up to an empty space in the bed beside him, and it takes him a minute to push the fog out of his brain enough to realize that the sheets next to him shouldn't be empty. Doc pushes himself up on an elbow and glances towards his bathroom, frowning when the light is off, and door open. She's not there. A quick sweep of the room...

She's gone.

His feet hit the hardwood floor in seconds, and he quietly goes to the bathroom and checks to make sure she's not around the corner. He checks the floor at the foot of his bed and the closet (just to be sure she's not curled up somewhere) before he swears under his breath and grabs his boots.

Maybe she went out to the stables. Or she's just downstairs getting breakfast.

Doc checks the stables, first. All of the horses are still where they should be, and Katherine's not anywhere to be found. He scours the bar, next, not making conversation with anyone (or being obvious about who he's looking for). He's about ready to go check the library again, which he realizes his hands are shaking.

He curls his hands into fists and then stops at the bar. "Darlin', I know you don't usually, but..."

A pack of cigarettes (they're some modern brand) and a lighter appear, and he swipes both of them off the counter. "Thanks, Bar." It's a bit of a fight with the cellophane wrap but he manages to get it undone as he walks for the back door.

Just a few minutes and then I'll go check the inlet, then look in the library...

He walks right past Ben Wade, not even registering the outlaw sitting at the bar. He needs to stop his hands from shaking, needs to get outside, needs to find her...

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Ben's on his second cup of coffee when Doc strides by, single-mindedness in every footfall.

His eyes follow Doc until the door closes -- and it's better to deliver this news outside, anyway, especially if Doc throws a punch or puts a bullet in him (don't wanna break Miss Bar's rules) -- and he drains the last of his coffee before standing and giving the counter a brief pat.

He stuffs his hat on his head and steps out the door, squinting in the cold morning sunlight.

It is cold, but the cold is helping him think. He's facing away from the back door, left hand hanging at his side, lit cigarette in his fingertips. His right hand is curled in a fist and stuffed into the pocket of his coat, inches away from that Colt at his hip.

He almost didn't put the gun holster on before he left, but with his nerves already on edge and his brain screaming at him, he needed the familiar weight at his side and the leather on his hips.

Doc's staring at the sunlight filtering through the trees, smoking, trying to calm the pounding of his heart. The first cigarette (just a filter, now) hits the snow and he's already lighting the second. He runs the hand with the smoke up against his forehead and holds his breath, before exhaling a puff of smoke and steam.

"Fuckin' idiot."

Ben spots Doc just a few yards away; as he leaves the porch, he makes sure his boots sound against the steps.

He stops a respectable distance from Doc.

"Mornin'."

He doesn't even hear the boots, but the crunch in the snow and the voice get his attention fast enough. He turns, quick, just slightly-startled.

(And if his right hand drops just so closer to his hip...)

Then he freezes.

"Ben," he exhales. "Shit, you 'bout scured the hell outta me."

A nervous laugh and he tucks his hand back into his coat, and smokes another drag.

He sees Doc's palm twitch and then relax; he keeps his own hand clear of his right hip.

"Sorry 'bout that. I just saw you head out the door and wanted to catch you here."

His breath fogs in front of his face like steam from a train's smokestack.

"Why's that?"

Inhale. Hold. Exhale.

The smoke curls in his lungs and he ignores the way that the hot and the cold air mix and burn in his throat. If anything, it's helping him stay focused.

Inhale. Hold.

his eyes are sharp but tired

"You downstairs at all last night?"

Exhale.

"I got -- "

Some news to share.

He shakes his head.

"I wasn't."

One last drag off the cigarette and then he tosses the filter into the snow, and he shakes his head while he holds his breath, waiting until the red spots start behind his eyes from lack of oxygen.

Then he laughs, a little bit, smoke and heat curling around his face.

"Kate came back all fucked up," he starts. "I was wonderin' if you'd seen her around. She was stayin' with me but she..."

managed to sneak out
left me

"...she wasn't in my room this mornin'. Figured she might've come down for breakfast or gone out to the stables. You seen her?"

There's something there in his voice, an edge of nerves, a tremble that he's managing to hide pretty damn well, pass it off as the cold outdoors and the smoke in his lungs.

(His heart's still hammering away in his chest.)

Ben keeps his eyes on Doc's face and nods once, a bare lift of his chin.

"She came to talk to me this mornin'."

Another cloud forms as he exhales -- a tiny sideways funnel (a twister, a whirlwind) that dissipates almost immediately.

"She had me show her how to shoot a six."

"Why did she..."

He tilts his head slightly, to the side, eyes narrowing in confusion.

"Why did she ask you to show her how to shoot a six?"

"So she could take care of that mess in Green Lake."

A slight head-shake, and Ben's eyes age ten years in the space between two heartbeats.

"She wouldn't let me help. Wouldn't let you, either."

It takes a minute for what Ben's saying to him to sink in.

"She..."

There's not enough air in his lungs to get more than the word out, and his throat feels like it's nearly closed off completely, stomach knotted and twisted in his gut.

"Are you sayin'...what are you sayin', Wade."

"She left, son."

And I'm sorry.

His shoulders don't slump, but there's a weight that wasn't there just a handful of hours ago.

"Said to tell you Hosea eight-seven: 'For they have sown the wind, and they shall reap the whirlwind.'"

'For they have sown the wind, and they shall reap the whirlwind'

The words echo around in his skull like a shout in an empty, quiet room. Nothing is registering in his mind except for that bible verse, and what it means. Katherine was right in telling Ben that Doc would understand what that verse meant.

(Absently, he realizes that he can't feel his legs, but he doesn't fall.)

He feels like he's going to be sick.

he can still feel the blood on his skin

"No."

Ben's lying. He has to be lying.

"I'm sorry."

Something snaps
and he cracks on the inside in a thousand pieces

"No."

His temper flares up in a rush of heat and anger that gives him more red spots in his vision, and he's moving for his Colt before he even realizes his hand is at his hip, hammer cocked back and business end aimed straight at Ben's heart.

He freezes.

What the fuck are you doing?

His right hand and that pistol are shaking, but he points it away from Ben, and closes his eyes, shaking his head violently.

"I...she's...you ain't...oh God..."

Ben's stone-still, eyes never leaving Doc's face while his hands stay well away from his holster.

(He doesn't look at the Colt in Doc's unsteady grip, because if he does, he's half-certain instinct'll take over and he'll draw, and he can't.)

"I wanted to go, hell, I wanted you to go, or the both of us, but -- "

Another brief shake of his head.

(No sudden movements.)

"She wasn't havin' it."

Click

(It's the sound of a hammer being slowly lowered. It's a miracle the six doesn't go off from the shake in his trembling hand as it is.)

"I'm..."

sorry oh my god what have

There's a dull terror in his eyes as he moves his hand back to his hip, steel meeting leather with a quiet sound as he re-holsters the Colt at his side, thumbing the loop over the hammer while his eyes never leave Ben's.

what have
i let her leave
sorry so damn please

He looks young and fresh and scared half-shitless, standing there in the snow. He shakes his head and takes a step back, then another.

don't turn your back on him he's dangerous

"I'm sorry."

Doc looks as young as William Evans, and almost twice as green.

"You ain't got nothin' to apologize for."

He shakes his head again, as he continues back up slowly, boots sinking into the wet slush that's coating the ground.

"If she gets hurt..."

The panic rises up in his throat and he glances around the grounds, quickly, and nearly jumps out of his skin when he backs into the building, still a few feet away from the door. The solid wall behind him helps keep him from falling over, but he's just so damn cold.

we should've gone with her
she should've told me
what if she

No words come when he opens his mouth this time, and he closes it after a minute and looks at Ben with wounded eyes, before he closes them and lets his head fall back against the wall.

"We're gonna pray like hell she don't."

The icy air bites at his ears, but he resists the urge to adjust his hat.

(No sudden movements, in case Doc opens his eyes and starts.)

"She's smart, Doc. And she's a damn good shot."

"I know," he snaps, without opening his eyes. He folds his arms over his middle and bends slightly, looking down at the snow. When he opens his eyes, he sniffs a little and then spits on the ground, shifting his jaw, trying to think of what he wants to say.

The anger is fading, the shock following behind it, and the hurt is setting in.

"Serves me fuckin' right."

Doc sniffs again and then clears his throat, kicks at the ground with his boot and then looks up at Ben. The earlier fear (he looked like prey staring wide eyed at a predator) is gone, replaced by the cold edge of the outlaw in his blood.

"You better pray to every god you know," he says, simply. "Because if she comes back here shot up--"

like I did when I left to go into a hellstorm

"--then I'm gonna make sure you regret lettin' her walk out that fuckin' door."

Ben's features flatten into something smooth and unreadable.

"I already regret it plenty. And you wanna know the truth, I figured I'd be bleedin' by now."

A tight smile crosses Doc's face.

"The only reason you ain't, yet, is because I'm gonna need your help goin' out and takin' care of things if she doesn't finish the job proper."

It's not an option. Ben will be assisting.

"Well, hell, you know that ain't a question."

He lets out a breath.

"She just -- goddamn, she wouldn't listen."

The flint in her eyes had matched the kind his can hold -- cut from the same rock as Dan's, that day they ran for the 3:10.

"She's stubborn."

A beat.

He smiles, and even laughs a little, helplessly.

"I love her for it."

He swallows hard and looks down at the snow, throat suddenly tight and raw. There's a sting in his eyes that he's not going to let Ben see, no way in hell. He pulls in a deep breath and runs a hand through his hair.

Ben's eyes cut down and to the left, out of equal parts respect and acknowledgment.

"I know you do."

Doc nods.

(There's nothing left to say.)

He wipes at his nose, and sniffs again, before he sets his jaw and nods one more time, more to himself than anything else. Then he rocks slightly on his heels and steps away from the wall.

It's four steps to the back door, and he doesn't say a word.

(He doesn't trust his voice not to give him away.)

Ben listens to the door close, and doesn't know how much time passes before he lifts his eyes from Doc's mud-flecked bootprints.

He can't feel his hands, he knows that much.

But he doesn't want to go back inside just yet, so he heads for the stables to saddle Gabriel.

He doesn't return to the bar until well past sundown.

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oom: morning after kate leaves, out back

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