scurlock | oom: stables, outside milliways

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oom: stables, outside milliways

It's been more than a few days since the last time Doc actually spoke to Katherine - and the way that they left each other has been biting at his insides, even through the battle and everything else that's gone on since the night he came back in half-frozen to death. Since then, he's gotten the sneaking feeling that she's trying to avoid him. He doesn't quite blame her, though, given the conversation and everything that happened that night - but that doesn't mean that not talking to her isn't driving him nuts.

The morning that Doc makes his way down the stables is cold. There's a fine layer of snow pack on the ground, and his boots crunch against the icy covering as he makes his way out. Normally, on Wednesdays, he sleeps in and doesn't make his way down to the stables until the afternoon.

Not today.

Part of it (him being up so early and headed down the path) is the fact that he hasn't been sleeping very well, and that he wants to work to get his mind off things. Part of it is the fact that he's hoping to catch her.

They need to talk - he knows that much.

He's wearing the lined flannel jacket, thick pants, and boots, with his scarf around his neck and a knit hat pulled own on his head, covering the messy swatch of blond hair. His hands are tucked deep into his pockets, fingers curled into fists inside wool-lined leather gloves. As he nears the stables, he wonders just what it is he's going to say if she is here, this morning.

Doc's thinking on that when he rounds the corner and ducks into the side door, entering the barn.

She's standing a distance away, brushing down a horse - Duncan - and both of them look as if they've been out for awhile in the weather. There's a ruddy bite to her skin from the cold, and a good lather of sweat on the horse's skin, which she's working on.

He nods his head. "Mornin'."

He greets her, simply, as he moves to his desk to pull off his hat.

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She doesn't see him come in.

When his voice suddenly splits the air, it sends a prickle down her back. But she makes no outward appearance of being surprised, other than the brief hesitation of her right hand as she brushes down Duncan.

She keeps at her work, not looking up to greet him back. She is alert as he moves to his desk, but her eyes are on the slick, deep brown coat of the animal in front of her.

"Mornin'."

Her voice comes out quiet, barely audible.

He takes his time in walking across to his desk and checking over the things that he finds there - a note left by an owner regarding feed, his logbook of who's been in and out, a list he wrote the night before to remind him of what he needed to do today - before he pulls off his hat and gloves, tucking them into his coat.

"Good ride?"

It takes him a moment to find a pen, before he drags his chair out from the desk and has a seat, not bothering to unbutton his coat.

The barn might be warmer than the outside, but it's still cold enough that he wants his coat on.

It looks colder yet with Katherine standing there, knee-length, dark gray wool coat wrapped around her slight frame, hair pulled away from her face but mussed from wind, cheeks bright and red. There are no gloves on her hands as she continues to brush down her horse, and her fingers are pink and a little stiff.

"Yes."

She stays focused on her work, Duncan nickering softly as she works at his lathered coat carefully, tenderly, taking care to be thorough.

"You feeling any better?"

Her voice is even, if not a little distant.

"Yeah, I am, actually."

Doc nods, though he's not sure she can see him (if she's even looking his direction) as he reaches for a fresh sheet of paper and begins to make a few notes.

"Bar made sure that I got plenty of chicken an' those dumplings, they helped a lot."

Whether she had anything to do with that or not, they still helped.

"Good."

She falls silent, her hand working in steady, circular motions across Duncan's coat.

He's quiet a few moments as well, mentally calculating a bit of numbers and figures regarding a bill he needs to work out with someone, before the pen scratches against the paper.

"Got thrown out into a bit of a scuffle, the other day, but I managed alright. I apologize if you were lookin' for me and I was gone - I still ain't sure how long I was out there. Time was a bit strange."

Doc looks up and studies a piece of paper tacked to the wall, dates on it, before he glances back down at his note and then folds it neatly, writes a name on the outside, and then pockets it.

He glances over his shoulder at her.

"You need a hand with anything?"

"So I heard. Had a talk with Kate," she replies in the same even tone.

Brush, Brush, Brush...

"I'm fine."

"She wasn't too happy with Will," he says. "They had a bit of a fight when he got back. Hope they patched things up," he adds, though it's more of a comment to himself than anything.

Doc watches her another moment or two, before he glances back to his logbook and idly flips through the pages, for lack of anything to say.

He knows what he should be saying, but he just...it's not coming out right in his head, so he knows he'll mess it up when it leaves his mouth.

That is the last thing he wants to do.

"Hope so too," she remarks. "Know she was awful worried."

She doesn't say anything else for a good, long while, and the only sounds that can be heard in the barn are those of Duncan, shifting, breathing, nickering, and the brush pulling through his dampened coat.

Brush, Brush, Brush...

The sound stops, and she stands there a moment, her back to Doc, before she tosses the brush back into the wooden pail by Duncan's foreleg, where the other grooming tools are. Her hand moves to the bridge of her nose instead, the other at her hip, and he'll likely be able to hear her sigh.

She's gathering her words as well, but one line keeps repeating again and again in her mind.

"'Made it out to Liberty just fine'?"

Doc doesn't move, but his insides flinch when she says it.

He's been replaying that night over in his head for months, now. Telling himself that he should have said something. Anything. He can hear her sigh and it just knots his stomach up tight.

He sets the pen down, and runs a hand through his already messy hair.

"I should have...I should I said somethin' 'bout goin' back. Even if it was just that I couldn't talk 'bout it right then. I was just tired an' tore up 'bout things, wearin' that costume...I didn't want to deal with it."

His elbow rests against the desk, and he rests his head in his hand, eyes covered by his palm.

"That don't make not tellin' you 'bout it right, I just...I'm sorry."

She is quiet. Motionless.

At some point, her other hand shifted to her hips, and now, as she stands akimbo, listening to him murmur behind her, she lets her eyes peer over the curve of Duncan's shanks to the barn entrance, focusing on the growing gray light of morning.

Her heart is heavy, but her mind is distracted by thousands of questions. She cannot begin to focus on just one.

She just stands there. Quiet. And motionless.

"I just...when I can't deal with somethin' I tend t'block it out completely. It's the only way I've ever been able to keep goin', out there, cause I just ain't had time to deal with things proper. I'm still gettin' used to bein' able to catch my breath, t'not havin' to look over my shoulder every minute or two."

Doc turns around in the chair and shifts his body so that he's facing her, then, and he studies her form, the way she's looking out of the barn.

He swallows, gently. Nervous.

"M'still gettin' used to livin' a normal life, I guess. I just wasn't ready so I didn't say nothin', but I know I should have."

I can't say that enough.

She slowly lowers her gaze to the earth, eyes on her feet as she takes her time absorbing his admission.

One step.

Then two.

Slowly, she shifts to face him, not betraying the barest hint of emotion on her porcelain face. Her eyes are open, wide and piercing, and they're holding his gaze in a vice.

"So..." she begins, and her voice is oh-so-calm. "You're saying you didn't mention your trip back home to anyone, in that case?"

It barely sounds like she is baiting him.

(Mostly because she doesn't want him to bite.)

(But he's going to.)

Doc shakes his head, ever so slightly.

"I...I told Jack, just a few weeks ago. He had his friend's baby girl in with him, and I just...we got to talkin' about it. About what happened. And I mentioned it to Ben, the other night, when I was tryin' to figure out...what to say to you."

From his voice, he's very, very ashamed of himself.

He holds her gaze for as long as he can - a few seconds after that admission - and then he drops it to the ground, somewhere at her feet.

She hadn't known about Jack, and the admission catches her a bit by surprise.

You can almost see it on her face.

She continues to watch him, long after his eyes fall from hers. She isn't sure what to say to him right now. She isn't angry -- not really. She isn't going to yell at him, or scold him.

But she is hurt. A little betrayed, and if she'd admit it to herself, maybe even a little jealous.

"You said you couldn't go back. We talked about it, and you told me you wouldn't go back. I asked you, Doc, and you didn't--"

Emotion is starting to come through in her voice again.

"--You didn't say anything."

"I didn't say anything."

Doc sighs, and his fingers rake quickly through his hair - he's fussing with it in an attempt to fix something but even his own body is betraying him, right now - before he settles his hands on the back of his neck, linking his fingers against his spine.

"I should have said something, even if it was just tellin' you that I couldn't say nothin' about it at the time. You would have understood. I was just...I was friggen stupid, that's what I was," he sighs, frustrated with himself for getting them into this mess.

He shakes his head, eyes on the ceiling.

"I wasn't gonna go back. I knew I couldn't stay. I just...when I left, I knew that I owed it to that boy to try, so I went back."

"You did owe it to that boy," she agrees, brow creased. Her arms go straight at her sides, hands balled into two tight little fists.

"You owed it to yourself. I'm not angry at you for going back, I'm angry because--"

She hesitates, a sudden lump in her throat cutting her off short. She looks down and swallows it quickly, forcing the words to come.

"I don't know why you kept it from me. You said you weren't gonna do that anymore, Doc. You promised me."

"I don't know...I just...I wasn't ready to talk about it."

His gaze goes from the ceiling to the floor.

"I took my tab out," he says. "Wiped it damn near clean, everything I could. I took it back to New York and I gave it to a friend of mine to take to them. I wasn't going to go see them, but I just...I had to. I knew I couldn't stay. I'm dead out there."

Doc swallows.

"We only...I told her I couldn't stay. She understood," he says, and a bitter, frustrated laugh escapes before he can stop it. "She didn't want..."

She never asked you to stay. You both knew you couldn't but she never asked.

He shakes his head, brushing the comment off. He's not going to get bitter or jealous about this right now, not going to let his temper come to the surface.

"I got t'say goodbye. Tore me..." he looks to the ceiling again, and swallows to fight the tight feeling in his throat. "Tore me up real good. Only reason I ain't talked 'bout it with you is 'cause it hurt so damn bad I didn't trust myself t'not go cryin' or somethin'."

"'Wasn't ready to--'"

She hates the way he won't look at her. She hates it. She can hear the shame in his voice, and the shift of his eyes up, and down -- anywhere but at her -- makes him look guilty. Makes her uneasy.

It's like he's hiding something.

She scrubs at her face in frustration, gathering herself in one slow, deep breath.

"'Wasn't ready to talk about it.'"

But you talked about it with Jack. And you talked about it with Ben.

(You mean you wasn't ready to talk about it with
me.)

She flinches when he doesn't quite finish his comment about Yen not wanting him to stay. The sentiment comes through easy enough, in that aggravated little laugh and the unhappy silence that hangs between the sudden end of that sentence and the beginning of the next.

They're his family, and he still loves them.

(He always will.)

"You don't think I deserved to know?"

Doc sighs and then he looks at her.

"You deserved to know. Especially after what I told you - what I promised you. I broke that promise and it's been tearin' my guts out since, thinking about it. I just didn't know what to say to you because I didn't want you to think that it was your fault, or somethin'. I don't...I was stupid."

He puts his hands in the pockets of his coat, but doesn't break the gaze.

"You deserved...you...God, why can't I say nothin' without screwin' things up."

He bites awkwardly at his lower lip, trying to think of what to say now.

"I ain't had to deal with actually gettin' closure, before. When I lost John, lost the boys...it wasn't like I had time to think 'bout things, pray 'bout things. I just had t'carry on. This is different. I had lots of time t'think about things. Time to heal. And that's...I just wasn't ready, yet."

Doc swallows.

"I got my closure, on that part of my life. M'ready t'let that go, now."

She shakes her head numbly, brow furrowed and eyes focused on his in a look of near disbelief.

She doesn't say a word until Duncan snorts softly, and she glances over her shoulder as if she had forgotten he was there.

"This ain't like losing John, or any of the other boys."

Her voice is soft and even, but there is a definite edge to it.

Her eyes skate back up to his. There is a dark spark in them now.

"They're dead, Doc. Your family isn't. And neither are you.

"So what's gonna happen the next time you get the urge to go see them?"

"I may not be dead, Kate, but there sure as hell are days..."

Doc pulls in a breath and there's something there behind his eyes - not that dull look they held in the infirmary, when he just didn't want to do this anymore - but something different.

He has two options, here. Ignore what he just said, or finish the sentence.

Be honest with her.

"There are days when I feel like I am. Like I'm nothin' more than a ghost, out there on that horse, ridin' 'cross the prairie and freezin' my damn ass off. Days where I wonder just what the hell I'm doin' still above ground. By all rights, Kate, I should be dead."

He shakes his head.

"But you're right. I ain't dead. But out there, I get t'feeling that way. I know it's ridiculous but I can't help it 'cause that's how I feel. I know I got friends here, family here, people that give a damn and it's stupid for me to feel like this but I...I can't help it." The emotion creeps back into his voice near the end of his words.

"The only reason I'd ever want t'go back to New York City was t'make sure that my boy was doin' alright. I can't deny that I might get to wonderin' how he's doin', if he's growin' up like he's supposed to, if he's goin' to a good school...but I can't be his...he didn't even recognize me, when I was holdin' him. I ain't dead but..."

His words trail off, as his energy leaves him, but his eyes never leave hers.

"No," she shakes her head, voice slightly loud and dripping with intensity. "There aren't any 'buts', Doc, you are alive! You can leave here whenever you want! Go wherever you want! Don't cheapen the lives of the people who are stuck here, day after day, with your despondency!"

Her words echo softly, and she can hear Duncan shift and step uneasily, shaking his long snout.

There are dead folk in Milliways. Folk she cares about. Folk she hates to see trapped in a cage, regardless of whether its gilded or not.

Frustrated, she turns her back to him, working to untie Duncan's lead rope from the wall hook with her stiff hands.

"You lost a lot, and I am sorry for that, but it's like you told me before -- you didn't have to leave. You could have gone to Canada or Mexico or lord knows a veritable slew of other places."

Rope finally in hand, she turns and jabs an angry finger in his direction as she speaks:

"You wanted to leave."

She leads Duncan back into his stall, fussing with his food and water troughs, making sure he'll be dry and warm, and the subject is closed for the time being, while she gathers her wits and tries to soothe her anger.

But she can't help calling out to him, one last frustrated burst:

"And sooner or later, you'll want to go back again."

"That ain't fair, Kate, telling me what I can and can't feel. I know I'm alive but I ain't gonna 'pologize for bein' honest with you about what's goin' on in my head. I'm well aware it's foolish but I can't help it."

Doc sighs, frustrated himself and runs a hand through his hair as he stares at the ceiling, eyes turned heavenward.

(What he's looking for, he's got no idea. God hasn't given him direction in years.)

"But you're right," he finally says, as he drops the hand that was in his hair to his side. "You're right. I wanted to leave. I could have gone to Mexico or Canada or a million other places but I made a choice, Kate. I came back here."

He pauses.

"I ain't gonna apologize for that, but I am sorry for not tellin' you that I went back when you asked. And I can't tell you one way or the other if I'll ever want to go back. Maybe I will. Maybe I won't. But the only person who knows that is me, and I don't right now. Things change, situations change, people change, and reasonin' changes."

Doc shakes his head.

"So go ahead and be angry at me all y'want, just...I'm sorry for lyin' to you."

His voices goes rough as he finishes the sentence and he has to turn away to keep the pain on his features from view, if she were to move from the stall. His hands are shaking, though he's not sure why, so reaches into his pocket and pulls out his gloves to busy them with something.

It's nothing but quiet from the stall she entered.

Oh so very quiet.

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