scurlock | [lincoln county]

[lincoln county]

[after highways 2]

The drive across White Sands is quick - little traffic, open road, clear sky - and they don't slow down until they hit Carrizozo, and it's not too much farther until they reach Capitan.
He tells her stories as he notices landmarks, but it's really just landscape, save for the few small towns they've come across.

It's so familiar it makes him nervous and excited at the same time.

It's like it ain't changed a bit.

The road into Lincoln is only a two-lane highway, with worn pavement and faded stripes, the hills on the side of the road brown and green from mix of heat and spring rain. It's quiet (they've turned the radio off at this point) and he's shed the sunglasses, eyes focused on the landscape.

There's a two-story brick building coming into view on the right side of the street, and they're already going pretty slow (not much traffic, but there are a few other people around), but he leans back and exhales, giving a nod to indicate what he's talking about.

"That's the courthouse." A beat. "Welcome to town."

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His boots echo quietly as he makes his way outside, dropping himself down onto that bench, waiting until she's joined him to speak.

"Eatin' house, saloon, whatever you'd want to call it. Just 'cross the street. Tunstall and Alex took lunch there, usually."

A smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth.

"He had really damn good rootbeer, s'what I usually drank, sittin' at the bar near the front door."

Root beer.

That detail makes the back of her throat itch.

(She's seen him drink it before in Milliways.)

It's another reminder of just how young he is, and how easy it is to forget, after the things he's told her.

"No ice cream?"

"Didn't really have ice," he says. "You got things cold either by keepin' 'em in the cellar or durin' the winter, you could get snow on occasion."

A pause.

"S'probably why I prefer beer regular rather'n cold, come t'think of it. No fridge."

"Some types of beer actually taste better when they aren't cold. Wine, too."

She peers down the street, trying to envision Lincoln in Doc's time.

"When you were keeping an eye on things here, were there a lot of ... run-ins?"

Doc glances over at her.

"President Hayes once called this street," he motions along the highway. "The most dangerous street in America."

There's a bare hint of pride in his voice.

"Oh."

He shakes his head.

"Wasn't like we had blood runnin' in the gutters or nothin'."

Doc leans back and puts his arm against the back of the bench, looking down the street.

"Y'didn't start a fight for no reason."

"I didn't think that."

A beat.

"Exactly."

(Only kind of.)

"So how many, um, reasons came into play?"

"Well we kept t'bein' civil, for the most part. No reason t'git to shootin' off pistols when a war of words or fists'll do."

He shrugs slightly.

"Sometimes we'd have t'have words over disagreements. Didn't help that Murphy had Sheriff Brady in his pocket, though it wasn't long 'fore Billy got rid'a Brady."

Billy got rid of him.

He killed the sheriff.

She ignores the hollowness in the pit of her stomach, reminding herself that it's different; this sheriff was corrupt.

It's different.

She crosses her ankles and clears her throat quietly, eyes moving back to Doc.

"Do you and Bill ever talk about law enforcement? What he does and what it's like in your time?"

Doc's never killed a sheriff, but he has picked off a handful of deputies.

He nods slowly, looking over at her.

"We have."

Then he looks back out at the street, letting his eyes focus on the building across the way. They get a little distant.

"Bill's a damn good sheriff," he says. "Honorable. Lawmen are different, they're...respectable. They're actually interested in doin' right rather than doin' what gets them ahead."

A better man than Brady or Peppin.

"He cares 'bout people."

She nods, her throat tight.

"Being on leave hasn't been easy for him. He hasn't said it, but I know he can't wait to get back to work."

She looks down at her hands in her lap.

"But not every officer is like Bill -- I know that. The corruption's still there, even if times are different. It all comes down to politics, no matter what century it is."

"You'll never be able t'git humanity to unite completely, agreein' on what's right or wrong. No matter when it is."

He shakes his head.

"It ain't worth much now, but I am..."

He's not sorry about getting justice and he sure as hell doesn't regret it. It's a different kind of remorse, one that he can't quite vocalizes.

There was no other way to do it, not in their time. Kill or be killed. Run or be caught dead to rights. If it wasn't one bounty hunter, there'd be three more in days.

"I wish we'd had another choice."

"But sometimes, you just don't."

Her eyes are on the street now.

"The day the bomb went off in L.A., I shot and killed a man who was going to kill me. It doesn't change what I did, but it makes it -- not easier, but ... "

She trails off and shakes her head.

Her admission surprises him a bit, but it's not evident on his features.

(If anything, he understands.)

"Justified."

Doc shifts his arm - it's already lying on the bench behind her shoulders, easy enough to drop it down and wrap it around them in a slight hug - and leans towards her just a hair.

"It ain't ever easy to pull the trigger. I'm not sayin' it won't come natural after a time, but even if you learn not t'flinch...it still ain't easy. I don't think it ever should be."

Justified.

Only Bill and Grace know the full extent of what happened that day, that Kate pulled that trigger.

(And Jack -- he was there.)

She nods, turning to look at Doc.

"That's what sets you apart," she says, voice thick. "That it's something that isn't easy."

"I'm lookin' forward to the day that I won't feel like I'm missin' somethin' when I don't have the Colt at my side," he admits, shaking his head.

It's just natural, for that weight to be at his hip. He feels unbalanced when it's missing, even if it doesn't show on his face or in his eyes.

Then he offers her a small smile.

"Long as y'got pals, you'll be alright."

She glances down, looking for a holster she knows she won't see.

Leaning a shoulder into Doc's loose, one-armed embrace, she returns the tiny smile.

"I've got those in spades."

A beat.

"And so do you."

"I know."

He does have friends - even if they are from a bar at the end of the universe, they still count. He might even consider them to be better friends than some of the guys he knows from his own time.

Doc pulls his arm back and nods his head.

"C'mon, if we walk down that way a little bit, promise you'll git 'nother history lesson outta the deal."

Swallowing past the tightness in her throat, her expression brightens as she stands and adjusts her hat.

"Then let's go."

He rises off the bench and they head down the street, walking slowly as he describes what Lincoln looked like 'back in the day'. He tells a few random stories about getting in 'trouble'. He shows her the spot that he first met Billy at, when they'd pulled the wagon up to what was a corral full of cattle and grabbed him.

They reach the end of the street and come upon a round stone structure. He glances at the sign.

"Y'know if anything, I'm surprised this is still here."

Torreon

She glances at the structure before reading the sign.

One of Lincoln's earliest structures. Built in the 1850s, its thick walls protected Spanish-Americans against the Apaches. In Lincoln Co. War Murphy's sharpshooters were here stationed. In 1937 Chaves County Historical Society undertook restoration of tower.

Her eyes move to Doc, full of unasked questions.

"Alex's house was over there," he motions across the way to what is now an empty lot. "Durin' the siege we had the group of us in the house, and Murphy's men spread out along the way. On the rooftops, in the street...you name it. They set up some barricades in front of the boardwalks to try and hide behind...they thought we had thirty of us in that house, with how many bullets we were layin' down."

Her eyes follow Doc's gesturing to the empty lot; she tries to envision the scene while pushing away memories of that night in the alley in Studio City, surrounded by gunfire and shaking in her sneakers.

"How many men did Murphy have?"

"Murphy had probably fifteen of his own. You had Kinney's gang...the local law enforcement which was probably another ten all together. They sent a whole unit down from the Fort the next mornin', the cavalry men."

A beat.

"Was probably 'bout fifty or so, on that side. And we had myself, Billy, Chavez, Charlie, and Steve. Plus Alex, Susan, and eventually Yen - but they weren't shootin', obviously."

Fifty against five.

"They wanted t'end the war right here."

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