scurlock | oom: room 25, for katherine

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oom: room 25, for katherine

Doc leads the way into his room, holding the door for Katherine as she steps inside. He's still just buzzed enough from the liquor (though the food's helped him a lot) to be relaxed, but he knows that Katherine knows that he just wants to talk and hang out.

"You mind if I change, real quick, get outta this shirt?"

He inclines his head to the bathroom while he says it. Obviously she can go find a spot to claim on the couch and doesn't have to leave the room.

There are some new books on the desk, and a photo propped up against one, of Doc standing over an incubator, looking at a tiny baby that happens to be holding onto his finger. Guppy gave him a copy. There are also several brightly colored squares of paper in a pile.

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Her fingers still, yet again, when he touches her face. It sends a shiver through her heart she has to close her eyes to, briefly.

When she reopens them, she focuses back on Doc's eyes, his words, soaking them in with little reaction. After a time she pulls her hand from his hair and covers the hand he has at her cheek, twisting her face aside (though not breaking contact with his eyes) to kiss his palm.

"I just worry, is all," she whispers, after a time, settling her cheek back in his hand with a sigh. "I don't like seein' you come back all mussed."

"I know. And I don't like comin' back and you seein' me like this...but s'part of who I am. I may act the gentlemen but sometimes I'm more the outlaw, an stuff like this is gonna happen. I take care'a myself, though. Now."

Doc thinks another moment, before he grazes along her cheek with the pad of his thumb.

"Now I got someone t'git back here to."

"I know," she nods in reply to his statement about being an outlaw. Really, that's the one thing she has been more aware of than anything else, these past few weeks. It's the part of him she loves so dearly, and fears so much, all in the same go.

But she knew it was part of him ever before they first kissed. She stepped into this position knowingly.

"I know," she repeats, letting her hand trail down his extended arm and to his neck, the backs of her fingers ghosting across the line of his jaw.

"Jus'... promise me you'll keep comin' back."

To me.

"I promise."

His eyes are still on hers.

'I know.'

She knows who he is. She knows what he's done. Maybe not all of what he's done, but she's read the stories. Of course, the stories ain't quite true...

But sometimes they paint a kinder picture than the truth does.

She moves her fingers back up into his hair.

"What you makin' them little birds for?" she whispers, not breaking eye contact.

"Each of 'em is someone that I've spent time thinkin' 'bout, while I've been here. Guess s'just a way t'remind myself to say a word or two."

Doc breaks the eye contact to glance over at his dresser.

"The brown one an' the pink one I got, someone here last year made...hundreds of 'em and they were left all over the bar. Then I asked bar for a book and practiced a lot. I made the orange one myself."

"And the blue one?"

Her eyes skitter to the new crane still sitting on the coffee table.

"Who's he for?"

"Guppy's son."

Doc shifts back so he's lying on his side again, giving her fingers better access to run through his hair.

"The orange one's for you, by the way."

As he shifts to his side, it might not be as easy to see the smile that slowly coats her face at his words.

She runs her fingers lovingly through his hair, nails lightly scraping over his scalp.

"What about the other two?"

"Cap'n Sparrow an' Yen."

Doc's tone is quiet, and slightly cautious, but no real nerves, there.

Yet, anyway.

She loses a bit of her smile, but not much.

She is content to remain quiet, just watching his hair as she moves through it, dirty blond locks dully picking up the low light in the room and casting it back off again.

"Sweet hobby," she murmurs at last, voice soft.

His eyes close with the motions of her hands in his hair and her fingers running through his scalp, an easy, repetitive motion that he can breathe along with, relax along with, and focus on.

It's comforting.

"S'easier then tryin' to knit, s'fer sure."

She breathes a soft laugh, eyes shining as she peers at his face.

"Suppose you can leave the knitting and mending to me, then," she murmurs.

It's a promise of something more together that makes her pause, because deep in the pit of her stomach there's still a worry there. A family in New York he can't see -- won't see? -- A woman he visibly keeps in his thoughts, and a baby he won't watch grow.

She should say something. Encourage him one more time to try an look in on his son. But she is afraid to bring it up, him looking as peaceful as he does. So she says nothing.

She just goes back to watching the shift of his hair, her movements lulling even herself into a sort of reverie.

"Reckon so."

She's lulling him to sleep, at this rate, between the food, the alcohol, and the comforting touch.

Doc's quiet for quite some time, before he whispers.

"Ain't had a woman who could git me t'relax like this 'fore. It ain't safe, out there, but here...s'alright."

"That so?" she whispers in return, tilting her head to peer at his sleepy face.

"You tryin' to tell me I'm somethin' special, then, Doc Scurlock?"

She likes the idea of him feeling safe with her.

"Course yer special. You've been special since the day y'came in here, y'know that? Knew you was something special."

Doc idly moves his hand to trace patterns on the top of her leg with his fingertips, slow and featherlight in touch.

"Wouldn't go tellin' Will I wanted t'run off w'you if I didn't think you was someone special, darlin'."

She smiles as he speaks, remembering that day she had stumbled into the bar, arms heavily-laden with books. He had scooped them into his hands and offered to buy her something to drink, before taking her on a tour of the whole premises.

She still remembers the way the solidity of his arm had felt tucked around hers, and the blush at the tips of his ears.

Her fingers now trace a line around the soft cartilage.

"You told Will what?" she breathes, blinking at him.

Those hadn't been his exact words, earlier. There's a definite tingle in her skin, both from the way her heart is speeding, and the light, lingering touch of his hands on her leg.

When she trails a fingertips along his ear, Doc shudders slightly and makes a quiet, happy sound at the contact.

"We was talkin' 'bout what I was gon'do," he murmurs. "Was jus'ponderin' I suppose, just thinkin' 'bout you an' I out somewhere. Maybe Col'rada way. Horse property, somethin' like that."

She's blinking steadily, mouth slightly ajar, when that slow-spreading grin revisits her lips. She can't do much but peer down at him, brow furrowed lightly in an expression that belies her heart's complete inability to believe she's actually hearing this.

"Is that so?" she murmurs, the barest hint of a laugh in her unsteady voice. She shakes her head, picturing the two of them on some ranch out in gold-quilted mountains.

"Innit there something you gotta ask me, first?" she teases quietly.

"Well yeah, but now ain't the best moment t'be askin' you," he drawls, cracking an eye open as he smirks. "Bein' as m'too damn comfortable t'move offa this couch."

Doc snuggles a little closer to her, and sighs, content.

"But we was talkin', yeah."

"Right," she grins, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and pulling him closer to her body as he shifts. Her right arm pulls across his chest, fingertips drawing light circles along his collarbone. Her left arm is at her side, while her hand smooths through that hair of his and plays along his jaw and neck.

"And now ain't the best moment to be acceptin', not while I'm without my door back home. Couldn't leave my students," she says honestly.

But they were talking.

And she was thinking on saying yes.

She sighs, keeping the movements of her hands light and steady over his alcohol-warmed flesh. After a moment, she leans over him to place a kiss at his temple.

"Mmm, no it ain't."

Doc stretches his legs and then closes his eyes again.

"An' y'gonna be puttin' me t'sleep if y'keep this up like yer doin'," he mumbles, eyes shut to the world, breathing already even and steady. "S'not like I'd be adverse t'that either but s'not comfor'ble for you."

"It's not so bad," she whispers, keeping with the steady strokes of her fingers. Really, it's kind of comforting having him snuggled against her so.

"'N you must be tired, after the night you've had. S'all right if you want to sleep some," she encourages gently.

Lord knows he's watched over her enough times, perhaps it's about time she returned the favor.

"Think I just might. Y'are awful comfortable."

Doc settles down and focuses on her fingers in his hair, her arms around him and how safe he feels. How relaxed he feels. He's so focused on her touch that he doesn't even notice when he does finally drift off into sleep.

She chuckles low in her throat, at the unorthodox compliment.

"Then go on and get some rest. I'll be right here with you when you wake up," she whispers, settling back against the couch while he gets himself comfortable.

It isn't long before he is asleep, but she doesn't stop carding her hands through his hair. It's as much of a comfort to her as it is for him. She even begins to hum softly.

She won't fall asleep herself -- at least, not straight away. Her eyes shift about the room as she thinks, mind heavy with thoughts, and often they will alight upon the paper cranes on his dresser and the coffee table. She sighs, wondering at the crazy night it has been for them both.

After a while, she closes her eyes, too. She tilts her chin against her shoulder and leans back, fingers stilling in his hair as she begins to doze.

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