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oom: room 25
After the horses are put out in the stables, the cost of anything that they destroyed put on Doc's tab, dinner, and a few glasses of whiskey to put the mind at ease, it was upstairs for a shower. Getting the dirt and sweat off his skin felt amazing and he nearly fell asleep standing underneath the spray.
He had collected his things from the bar on the way up and his bedroll and pack were tossed in a corner of the room, the rifle up against the dresser, gunbelt hooked over the end of the bedpost. His clothes he'll deal with later.
Right now, he just wants to sleep, so he does.
+++
She's sitting on the edge of the bed, running her fingertips along his hairline. It's early. The apartment is warm, warm enough anyways, and their son is sitting on the floor. There is water on the stove for tea, but right now, she's just there at his side.
She leans down and presses her lips to his forehead. "Doc, you will be late..."
He opens his eyes and smiles up at her. "No I won't...just a few more minutes."
"You always say that," she teases. "And then you must run to make it before the start of the class."
Jonathan moves from the floor and toddles over to them. He's walking now. Doc smiles at the boy and then rolls over onto his back. The bed is small, but so is the apartment. A teacher isn't that high up on the professions and pay, but in the three years since the war has been over, they've managed well enough.
When did his son get that big?
"Hey, little one," Doc grins and then lifts his son up over his head, holding him in the air. "You gonna be a good boy for your mama today? Huh?"
The boy giggles and then squirms. Doc puts him down with a kiss to the forehead and then hauls himself out of bed. Once he's half dressed he makes his way down the hall to the shared bathroom on their floor of the building. He can smell breakfast being cooked. All different kinds of food, but that's what you get when you're in an apartment in New York City. All different people.
It works for him. For them.
He hasn't heard about Billy in a few months. They're still writing the nickel books about him, the Prince of Pistoleers, so he must be up to something, but that doesn't matter.
That was a a lifetime ago.
Things have changed.
+++
When he wakes up, it's later than he thinks it is. No matter to him. Will had said it had only been a day since they'd gone back. It feels longer, with the soreness of being on the trail and the pain from going vaulting over the front of his horse.
His guns are covered in dust and dirt. He needs to take them apart and clean them. But first and foremost, he needs to take care of the horses.
Once he's dressed and outside, he smiles a little bit, thinking about the dream. Even if it was just a dream...it was nice.
He spends the morning and afternoon dreaming of his son and the life he could have had. The life he wants.
Maybe, just maybe...
He had collected his things from the bar on the way up and his bedroll and pack were tossed in a corner of the room, the rifle up against the dresser, gunbelt hooked over the end of the bedpost. His clothes he'll deal with later.
Right now, he just wants to sleep, so he does.
+++
She's sitting on the edge of the bed, running her fingertips along his hairline. It's early. The apartment is warm, warm enough anyways, and their son is sitting on the floor. There is water on the stove for tea, but right now, she's just there at his side.
She leans down and presses her lips to his forehead. "Doc, you will be late..."
He opens his eyes and smiles up at her. "No I won't...just a few more minutes."
"You always say that," she teases. "And then you must run to make it before the start of the class."
Jonathan moves from the floor and toddles over to them. He's walking now. Doc smiles at the boy and then rolls over onto his back. The bed is small, but so is the apartment. A teacher isn't that high up on the professions and pay, but in the three years since the war has been over, they've managed well enough.
When did his son get that big?
"Hey, little one," Doc grins and then lifts his son up over his head, holding him in the air. "You gonna be a good boy for your mama today? Huh?"
The boy giggles and then squirms. Doc puts him down with a kiss to the forehead and then hauls himself out of bed. Once he's half dressed he makes his way down the hall to the shared bathroom on their floor of the building. He can smell breakfast being cooked. All different kinds of food, but that's what you get when you're in an apartment in New York City. All different people.
It works for him. For them.
He hasn't heard about Billy in a few months. They're still writing the nickel books about him, the Prince of Pistoleers, so he must be up to something, but that doesn't matter.
That was a a lifetime ago.
Things have changed.
+++
When he wakes up, it's later than he thinks it is. No matter to him. Will had said it had only been a day since they'd gone back. It feels longer, with the soreness of being on the trail and the pain from going vaulting over the front of his horse.
His guns are covered in dust and dirt. He needs to take them apart and clean them. But first and foremost, he needs to take care of the horses.
Once he's dressed and outside, he smiles a little bit, thinking about the dream. Even if it was just a dream...it was nice.
He spends the morning and afternoon dreaming of his son and the life he could have had. The life he wants.
Maybe, just maybe...