scurlock | oom: room 25, for katherine

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.

Doc doesn't sleep too long (a few hours, at most) before he automatically wakes up. Maybe she moved. Maybe he heard something. Whatever it is, it stirs him to the point of realizing that she's on his couch and he's curled up with his head in her lap.

"Y'gonna git a crick'n y'neck sleepin' like that."

It's uttered low and soft, before he shifts and tugs her on top of him, like a blanket of sorts, listening to her sleepy, confused protest.

It doesn't stop him, however, from settling beneath her and getting comfortable again.

The softly muttered words do stir her, slightly, though she is still trapped in a haze of sleepiness until his hands are tugging her down to him.

It stirs her enough for that sleepy, confused protest, but it isn't until her legs are drawn up on the couch and his body is warm and solid beneath her that she finds herself awake enough to form a coherent sentence.

"Mmm'no, I should... should go. 'N y'need sleep. In bed. Feel better."

Okay, so she is a little more out of it than she would like to admit. And she also can't help the way her arms hug themselves around him.

Which is perfectly alright, as his arms hug around her just the same, resting at the small of her back as she settles her body on top of his.

It's a very comfortable couch.

(And he's pretty damn comfortable himself.)

"M'fine right here, thank you."

The words hang between them for a long moment before she is awake enough to really hear them. She takes in a long, deep breath to wake herself up a little more, and pulls away so her head is resting on the couch next to his, a few inches between their faces so she can focus on his eyes.

She is blinking slowly, looking at him through her long lashes. Her hair is still pinned up, but a curl or two has fallen into her line of vision.

"Dun wan'you t'be sore when y'wake up inna mornin'. S'some awful bruises y'got. 'N I could get t'thrashin' in m'sleep, if'n I have a bad dream. So close. Yer close. Could hurtcha."

"Y'don't weigh a goddamn thing," he protests, brushing her worries off. "Thrash all y'want, jus'don shove me offa the couch."

Doc nuzzles closer, and that's that, apparently, because he drifts off a few minutes later again.

She sighs impatiently, and she would argue some more, if he didn't nuzzle himself so close and drop back off again.

There's a thrill in the pit of her stomach at the sensations of his body close to hers. The firm weight of his hands on the small of her back. The tickle of his hair at her face. The warm breeze of his soft, even breath blowing across the hollow of her throat.

She tries to wake herself up and move off of the couch (stubbornly), but her body is heavy and warm, her arms comfortable curled around him, and soon she is blinking oh-so-heavily again until they close for good, and she falls into a light sleep.

Doc sleeps soundly for the next few hours, until the sun peeks into the windows...

jesus christ i hate the sun make it go away

...and then he groans and weasels his way out of her grasp, knowing that he needs a shower and a cup of coffee because he smells like whiskey and his head is pounding like someone is beating a triangle calling the hands in for supper. She protests him moving, drowsily, but he convinces her (using his hands carding through her hair as a totally unfair tactic) to go back to sleep awhile longer.

He pulls the blinds closed and then heads for the bathroom, takes his shower, then pads downstairs in a pair of sweatpants to get a cup of coffee and some asprin.

When she comes around, she'll find him sitting on the other section of the 'L' shaped couch, cup of coffee in his hands, idly watching her sleep. Still in just the sweatpants, his upper half bare.

She is cold after he leaves, and it makes it difficult for her to settle back into the same level of restfulness after he completely unfairly convinces her to drop back off.

Every time he moves through the room or makes a noise she hears it, and beyond the veil of sleep she tells herself to get up and leave him to his morning routine. But she never quite makes it there.

Ironically, it isn't until he is totally quiet, sitting there opposite her, that she opens her eyes and is able to wake herself enough not to fall immediately back asleep again. Her eyes find him easily, and for the moment she forgoes the obvious nervousness his state of dress evokes to ask a simple, sleep-addled question.

"Whatcha doing?"

"Tryin' not t'be dizzy."

Doc gives her a wry, tiny half-smile that barely tugs at the corner of his mouth.

"An'you just happen to be beautiful when you sleep, you know that? So I was watchin' you while I was drinkin' my coffee, that's all."

The mug goes to his lips and he has a swallow of the liquid before he returns it to his leg, where one is crossed over the other comfortably.

"I can git you'a blanket if you want."

I'd rather have you back.

She pushes her hair behind her ears, fighting the blush at her face as she slowly rises into a sitting position.

"S'all right."

She does wrap her arms around her torso, though, as her eyes skitter to meet his. Anything below the gray-green orbs makes her face heat in embarrassment.

"Thought you said y'didn't have that much t'drink?" she teases, quietly.

"I didn't have nothin' to drink this mornin'," he drawls. From his tone, he's not joking. "None'a the hair of the dog, so to speak."

Because naturally, when one wakes up with a hangover, one should drink more to feel better.

"So I'm just a little...out of it."

Doc doesn't look as skinny (he's still thin, lightly muscled, but not quite wiry) as he did the last time she saw him shirtless, which is a good sign.

Definitely a good sign, indeed.

"Good," she nods in response to his first statement, answering with a tone equally as serious.

Her arms are still lightly clutched around her body, and she imagines she could do to have a shower.

"You want to lie back down for a spell? You look awful peaked," she murmurs with some concern, noticing the stiffness to his very few movements.

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