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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.
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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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.
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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.
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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.)
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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.
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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."
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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."
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"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."
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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'."
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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?"
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"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."
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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?"
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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.
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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."
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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.
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Oh so very quiet.
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But there's nothing except silence, and an empty barn, which is why he walks over towards it.
"Kate...I just..." he sighs.
I never would have been happy.
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She will not cry. Not again.
"I should have listened to Ben Wade."
Her voice is choked and unsteady, too quiet to hear unless he's close.
Her fingers curl into a half-fist along that stall wall, and she bends just so that she looks for a moment like she might collapse.
"I am so stupid."
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"Kate?"
Doc reaches one hand out on instinct, but it doesn't get far from his hip before he stops, not sure if she even wants him to touch her.
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"You know, all this time I thought..."
She exhales sharply, head still shaking. Turning in a tight circle, her arms go around her body, hugging that coat around her breast. She stops when she's facing him, but it takes a moment before her eyes lift to catch his.
They're glassy, but there is a wry little smile on her face.
"You're right," she concedes. "It isn't fair of me to tell you how you're feeling. Obviously, the only person who knows that is you. Only you."
Her eyes go to her boots, and she kicks the heels absently to shake off mud and hay.
"Never me," she adds quietly.
She feels left out, suddenly like this relationship that had shown so much hope and promise will never grow deeper. He has locked her out, and she's seeing the walls he's put up around his heart for the very first time, like an unclimbable barrier he won't ever take down.
"I just wish you had been honest with me, if you didn't trust me," she murmurs, forcing strength into her wavering voice. "Instead of making me think like I was a part of your life."
She tries to brush past him.
"You wasted both our time."
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"Kate."
He looks down to her, from the side, before he shifts his body, his hand moving to her elbow to turn her slightly towards him.
"The reason I went back to New York City was so that I could say goodbye to my family, so that I could allow myself to move on, and so that I wouldn't have them hangin' over us like some dark cloud on the horizon I'm tryin' to ignore. I never would have felt like I was bein' fair to you if I hadn't gone back and gotten that peace in my heart for myself. That was why I went back and that was why I walked away, outta that alley, and why I rode west out to Liberty."
His voice is even, and calm, almost resolute because he is telling her the truth about this.
"I told you I made it out to Liberty just fine. I left New York City and I never looked back, not once down that road. I needed to do that for myself, put that behind me. But I also needed to do that for us."
There's still an 'us', ain't there?
Doc pulls in a quiet breath and exhales it through his nose in a gentle sigh.
"I wish I had been honest with you as well, I really do. But I wasn't and I do apologize for that. You are a part of my life, Kate. You're more important to me than anyone in the world, more important that New York City, more important than Billy gettin' out of that jail or not, more important than anyone, you hear me?" His tone is nowhere near forceful, but it's firm.
"I love you more than I've ever loved anyone, and I'm still gettin' used to what that feels like but I will get there, swear to God."
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She slowly agrees to be moved, not stopping until she can feel the solid wood jamb against her shoulder blades. She glances up to his face, her eyes still cold and hurt, but she doesn't look up for long.
"I don't care about that," she interjects sharply, when he begins to explain why he went to New York. "I wanted you to go, Doc. They're your family, and I think you should have seen them. I'm not mad you went. I'm not."
She goes quiet as he continues, letting the protest die in her throat.
'For us.'
'You're more important to me than anyone in the world.'
'I love you more than I've ever loved anyone.'
Her heart is raging, and for a minute all she can do is breathe, shrinking under the burn of his gaze. She squeezes her eyes shut to the tears she still stubbornly refuses to let escape.
She shakes her head. She shakes, and shakes it, the only protest she can muster while she tries to get her emotions under control.
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She headstrong and tough as nails and she's Texan, but underneath that...she's still a woman. So while he knows she could kick his ass in a heartbeat...he still cares.
"I know you're not mad at me for goin' back," he assures her. "I know you're angry with me for not tellin' you I went. I know that."
He's still not pressing.
"I want to make this work," he continues. "I'm just not sure what to say or do to prove that to you, right this moment. Somehow I get the feelin' you don't want to hear me 'pologize a million times."
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"If you really wanted to make this work," she tries again, voice so quiet -- but at least it's even. "You wouldn't shut me out."
Her hands go between their torsos, and waver, like she's not sure whether she wants to beat on his chest or embrace him. After a few tries, they settle tentatively on his breast as she tries to explain.
"If you were doing this for us, I should have been at least included in what was going on. But I wasn't. That tells me that deep down, you still haven't let me in. I don't think you trust me completely, Doc. And if you don't trust me completely... you can't love me completely."
Her face falls, and so do her hands. She feels vaguely ill.
"I don't think you did it for us. I think you did it for you. Because I'm just... not there, yet. Am I? It's still your life, and my life; not our life.
"That's why you weren't ready to talk about it with me, but were, apparently, readily able to talk to your friends. I'm not there yet."
In your heart.
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Doc reaches for her hands and takes them gently, and looks down at them. His are calloused and rough, inside those gloves he's wearing, her own slight and smooth, tiny in his grasp.
"I want...I know we can make this work. And I...I'm ready t'make this our life. Otherwise I wouldn't have asked y'to marry me the other night," he admits. "I would have said we should've taken it slower, but I..."
He shakes his head.
"I do shut people out, I know that, but it's hard for me t'get used to pullin' those walls down. I'm tryin', swear to the Lord I'm tryin'. I want us to be together."
Doc swallows, to steady his voice and keep his composure. His hands are still shaking, just a little, but he smooths the thumb of his glove over the back of her hand slowly.
"It's just that I'm scared. I trust y'not to hurt me, Kate, I just...I'm tryin'. I'm more honest with you than I am with anyone else out in my world. The only reason I told Jack about it was because he's like...he's like a brother t'me, family pretty much."
His eyes are still focused on their hands.
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"And I'm not."
The words hang there a minute, caught in a blanket of utter silence. She lifts her eyes from their hands to his face, and smiles so very sadly.
"It's okay," she whispers. "It's all right."
But it's not.
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