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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"I think you did more than try -- you're still here."

Her eyes leave the lot and return to Doc's face.

(He looks older, now.)

He closes his eyes.

"Charlie and Steve both died right 'cross the road," he nods his head. "And then they killed Alex for the hell of it. He wasn't even armed."

I'm still here but they ain't.

But you made it.

She wants to put a hand on his arm, but she doesn't want to startle him; she settles for wrapping her arms around herself and letting out a slow, quiet breath.

"That wasn't your fault -- that's not something you should blame yourself for."

"I don't blame myself for it," he says, shaking his head as he opens his eyes again. "It was...there were...it was war."

People die. Friends don't make it.

"I wish they'd made it out but we knew 'fore we made the break that we weren't all gonna."

Doc glances once more at the empty lot and the earth covered in grass, the green a welcome sight compared to the dust and blood that's in his memory. Then he nods for them to start walking back towards the store.

"You know I'm findin' that there's a lot I don't blame myself for, these days."

She nods, tasting dust in the back of her throat as they make their way toward the store.

"Good." She gives him a sideways glance and an attempt at a smile that doesn't quite make it. "You'll have to tell me the secret behind that someday."

"As soon as I figure out how t'put it into words that make sense? I'll let you know."

As they approach the one story building, he slows their walk down a little - almost as if he's hesitating. Then he tilts his head, studying a worn path that leads around the back of the building.

(He's stopped walking.)

She continues a couple of steps before back-tracking, and quirks an eyebrow at the beaten path that's holding Doc's undivided attention.

"Anything back there?"

His eyes don't stray from the dirt path.

"I am gonna be pissed as all hell if there ain't."

Then he glances at her, and nods his head as he starts walking again. The space between the old buildings is relatively narrow (just wide enough for a horse if you had to squeeze through) but it's obviously been walked on recently.

Once they step out of the shadows, he exhales a sigh of relief at what he sees in front of him.

Beneath her brim, her eyes are drawn to the bright blue sky and the hills dotted with green; it's two heartbeats before she drops her gaze and --

Oh.

The two crosses are simple, rough-hewn, but smoothed with time and weather, wind and sand.

She looks at Doc, then back to the markers.

"If I ain't mistaken..."

And he's not mistaken, not on this, not when he can replay that day over and over in his mind, the feeling of cold earth on his hands and the scent of dust in his nostrils.

He doesn't stop walking as he speaks.

"Tunstall's on the left, they must have put Alex on his right."

There are two small markers in the ground at the base of each cross, brass - names and dates. He doesn't realize he's removed his hat, holding it carefully in one hand at his side, but he has.

John H. Tunstall. Died 1878.
Alex A. McSween. Died 1878.

He wonders if there was anyone with Susan when they put Alex in the ground. At least when they buried John, they had each other to stand with.

(Idly, he realizes that he's damn glad he's not alone right now.)

She stops beside him and mirrors his movement, taking off her hat and holding it loosely between her fingers.

(Ashes to ashes.)

"Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me."

(Dust to dust.)

Eyes on the markers, she folds her free hand in his.

For a few long minutes, he doesn't speak - doesn't close his eyes, doesn't really move - and simply studies the names.

(You can still see the hand-carved lettering in the crosses.)

"Y'know, I think even after everything we did...he'd still be proud of me."

She can still see 1878 in the black behind her eyelids when she blinks.

"You're a good man, Doc -- someone who deserves that kind of respect."

Her fingers tighten on his knuckles.

"Of course he'd be proud of you."

"Not many people are."

It's stated more like a fact than a regret. He knows he's done things that most people consider to be 'bad' and he knows that means he has a reputation and a track record.

But if you don't believe they were 'bad' at all...

...what does that mean?

He's not sure.

"So I'll take what I can git."

"What you can -- "

She breaks her eyes from the crosses and looks at him.

"No."

She shakes her head.

"You are a good person. And the people who care about you? Every single one of them is proud of you."

The tone she uses with him (she means it) is a little surprising, even if the words aren't.

Part of him realizes he just needed to hear someone say it.

(She's the only one in months who has.)

He nods slowly.

"I..."

Doc exhales, closing his eyes and nodding again.

"I know, I just...needed someone t'say it for once."

Her insistence surprised her, just a little.

(But she means every word.)

"Hey."

She gives his hand a brief squeeze before turning to face him.

"Just c'mere for a second, okay?"

"I just..."

He trails off when she turns to face him, and it's almost on instinct that he moves closer and into a hug.

She means it.

(Despite what she knows he's done, she still means every word.)

Hat still in one hand, she wraps her arms around his slight frame and nods against his temple.

"Everybody needs to hear that at some point."

Especially you, Doc.

"S'hard, when I'm out there and there ain't nobody t'talk to."

The way he says it, it's almost like it shouldn't be hard, like he should be stronger or that he should be better than this - and it's the time period and the era talking.

Men don't get emotional. They provide and they stay stable for the women. You bury your problems deep and your demons deeper.

Doc's tired of digging holes.

"M'sorry."

She pulls back just enough to look at him. Palms on his shoulders, she tries to catch his eyes.

"There's no reason to apologize, okay?"

"Just not used to that."

Eventually, he does raise his eyes to her gaze (acceptance shame worry gratefulness) and he nods.

She swallows and resists the urge to brush his bangs from his eyes, like she's done so many times with Marie.

"With me? You're just going to have to."

A smirk pulls at the corner of his mouth.

"I think I'll manage."

He'll do more than manage. He nods again.

"Seriously though, I appreciate it."

She returns the smile as best she can.

"Okay."

His shoulders get a brief squeeze before she pulls back and clears her too-tight throat quietly; with another glance at the graves, then back to Doc, it's clear she's letting him decide if he's ready to leave yet.

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