ikissdhimbck | AU: Western Texas - Gene Hunt

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AU: Western Texas - Gene Hunt - 1888 (pt. 2)

**NOTE: This is part of a plot arc that was meant to occur in Milliways over the Spring/Summer of 2011 in Bar Time. It has since become an AU, and should be treated as a standalone plot not associated with any game, and not fitting into Kate's continuity.**

The desert is muted by gray light. It's still early, a bit of a chill in the air while the sun takes its time creeping past the horizon. Somewhere nearby an owl is hooting, taking its last survey of the desert before it returns to its hole for the day.

The fire is crackling, warming up salt pork and grits, three eggs Kate managed to bring from the bar, and a small cast iron skillet of fresh cornbread. The horses are munching on their own breakfast, half the saddlebags have been repacked, and Kate's washing her face with cold water before she slips on her blouse. She's well and covered by a clean chemise and plain corset, but she's still mindful of Gene as he sleeps.

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Gene normally sprawls when he sleeps, taking up as much space as is available. It wasn't the warmest night he's ever spent though, so he's huddled up this morning, curled up on his side with the blanket pulled up as high as his ears.

It's the sound of the water that wakes him; that, and the smell of breakfast. he doesn't move at first though, orienting himself and...well, then he catches sight of Kate. It's the least covered he's ever seen her, and he can't help but look.

She seems smaller. Like her attitude adds to her stature, and it only appears when she puts her guns on or something.

It doesn't seem right to watch her without her knowing. Too pervy for his liking. he doesn't move though, because he's still sleepy, but he does say,

'Mornin'.'

She reaches for the blouse she'd set out on the bag next to her and shrugs it on in one quick motion; almost as if she was simply ready for it, and not in the least surprised by the sound of Gene's voice. When she looks up at him, however, the faint fingerprint of being startled remains in her eyes.

"How'd y'sleep?"

Her shoulders go straight, fingers swiftly fastening each button.

'Alright.'

Very well, actually. He was more exhausted than he thought. And he averts his eyes when she looks at him, like he knows he shouldn't really have been watching.

'You?'

"Fair."

She smiles thinly.

Strangely, she's less bothered by the thought of him watching her than she is uncomfortable with flashing her bare skin. Victorian scruples aside, her right arm is still marred by the nasty gunshot wound that frayed the flesh of her bicep, a long and ugly graze.

It's also cool out, little goosebumps rising all over her body from the chill.

"A coyote was out spookin' the horses before daybreak."

'Was there?'

It wsan't the goosebumps he was looking at, actually. But he knows better than to say that.

'Didn' hear anythin'.'

He hasn't moved so far. But he's definitely thinking about a fag now, so he rolls onto his back...and is taken by surprise by the pain, so much so that he actually yells out.

'Bloody hell!'

Shit.

Ouch.

"He kept well an' away from camp. Concession just ain't used t'the desert — "

She jumps, abruptly cut off by Gene's bellowing.

" — Tarnation, Gene Hunt! What in God's name's gotten into you?"

'...nothin'.'

Oh God, it hurts. Nothing back at home ever hurts like this. An exploratory squeeze of muscles reveals a back like a plank of three inch thick oak, and legs that practically creak when he tries to unbend them.

He's not going to go near how much his arse hurts, mainly because his bollocks are letting it be known that they definitely don't appreciate the squashing they got yesterday.

'How do blokes ride horses all the time?'

Maybe all cowboys were eunuchs really. They'd almost have to be.

She blinks, realization dawning like a lead weight dropping down on her head.

She has to turn away for a moment, because she's not going to laugh at him but still can't quite seem to restrain herself.

Cough cough.

"Y'get used to it after a while."

Kate's been at it so long she barely remembers what that first morning after is like. She just knows it ain't pleasant.

"I did try an' warn you."

'When?'

He doesn't remember that. Probably because any implication that he's anything less than granite roll off his back, and out of his ears, as soon as they're brought up.

He breathes out, and lights a fag.

Not planning on moving for a bit, even if it is only denying the inevitable.

"Where should I start?"

She's getting used to being ignored.

Standing, she tucks her blouse in and walks over to the fire, pulling off the pot of coffee and pouring a tin cup for Gene. She pokes at things to make sure they aren't burning, and then walks over to his bedroll. She kneels beside him, holding out the cup.

"There's tea, if you'd rather have it. An' I reckon I know the answer already, but would y'like a hand up?"

'No I bloody wouldn't!'

There, Kate. You were right.

And he sniffs.

'Coffee's fine. Five sugars.'

'Could always kiss me good mornin'. Wouldn't object to that.'

He reckons he knows what the answer to that will be, but God loves a trier.

The corner of her mouth twitches.

She holds her hand out stubbornly.

"I'll give you a kiss good mornin' if y'let me help you up."

'Oh, well, if you put it like that.'

He takes her hand. Anything for a snog. It'll set him up for the day!

She has to admit she's a little surprised he consented, but she never goes back on her word.

Her grip is strong, even for the little wisp of a thing she is.

"Mornin'," she says, giving him a chaste kiss on the lips.

He may be stifling a noise of pain all the way up, but that doesn't stop him putting his hands on her hips and going in for one a bit less chaste. It's too early to feel frisky, but that isn't the point - he doesn't want her to fall into the habit of avoiding this.

And there's that whold 'curse' bollocks too. This is still the best way he knows to get that shit out of her head.

She presses her free hand against his chest, the light pressure not enough to push him away but still undeniably present. Eventually, she does back away — licking his taste from her bottom lip.

"Feelin' better, are we?"

She sweeps her eyes over his face, looking for hints of the aggravation that was so clear in his voice last night.

'No, still bloody hurts.'

He just assumes she's talking about his aching body. Not that he's forgotten last night, just that he's not thinking about it right now.

'That my coffee? Lovely.'

He picks it up and tries a bit. Needs more sugar.

She narrows her eyes ever-so-slightly.

"You'll be hurtin' for a while. Get yourself a good breakfast."

She shifts closer to said breakfast, taking skillets from the fire and reaching for cutlery and dishes.

He eyes her eyes over the rim of his tin mug, wondering what that look was for. But it's too early to get into a Thing, so he just says, mildly,

'Looks nice.'

And walks around a bit to warm the muscles, before coming back and creaking his way back to a sitting position.

'S'pose you get used to cooking like this out 'ere?'

She could probably cook before though, he imagines. Most women seem to know how to, by some sort of magic, or Home Ec classes.

"Suppose," she half-shrugs, keeping her eyes on the filling plates. "Don't do it often. Some mornin's I make do with a bit'a hard tack and water; don't normally have this much by way of supplies."

She'd made a concentrated effort to ensure the provisions would be more than standard, for Gene's sake.

"Nothin' beats havin' your own stove. But I ain't likely t'have one'a those anytime soon. Here."

She hands him a plate — two eggs, salt pork, a generous helping of grits and a large wedge of cornbread. There are a few pats of sweet cream butter wrapped in butcher's paper that she'll hand to him next, for the bread and the grits.

He looks at it - it smells as good as it looks - and then at her.

'You haven' gone t'trouble on my account, have you?'

He really didn't want that. He appreciates the thought, but it's not what he wanted.

'Because you don' have to.'

She catches his eyes, locking blue on blue.

"It's important y'start off with a good meal. It'll be a long while 'fore we stop again."

And, if she were in the frame of mind to be completely honest, the way she carries on when she's on her own ain't exactly healthy. She drops weight, loses color; having Gene around for an excuse might end up better for her than him.

Traces of last night's irritation creep back into him, and he frowns minutely before he takes the butter off her.

'You do know you're not my mam, don' you? I've already got one of them, an' I'm a big lad now anyway. Know how t'tie me own shoelaces an' everythin'.'

"I didn't mean just you."

She eyes him sidelong.

"Y'gonna settle on one frame of mind, or am I gonna hafta brace myself for your fish-flopping the whole time you're out here?"

There isn't a lot of bite in the words themselves, but the sharp look that accompanies it could freeze fire.

'...what?'

No, really. What?

She chooses simpler words.

"What's the matter with you?"

He blinks.

Is it her time of the month, or something?

'...nothin'.'

Beat.

'Why, wha's wrong with you?'

"Is it the same 'nothin'' that was goin' on last night?"

If he says yes, she'll drop it. It isn't as if Gene's the most balanced person on a good day, she just wishes he could make up his mind whether he wants to kiss her or fuss at her.

Maybe both. But if that's the case, all it's serving to do is get her emotional hackles up.

Edited 2011-05-16 01:40 (UTC)

Well now. At least she can't blame him for bringing it up again.

So he frowns again.

'Las' night you were talkin' t'me like I was four years old. I know I haven't been out before, but I'm not a bloody child. An' you were doin' it just then, too. So yeah, it's the same as last night.'

He bites some cornbread. It's good. He wasn't expecting that. Just like he wasn't expected a woman x number of years younger than him to start talking to him the way she has been. And he doesn't like being treated like he's stupid, and he doesn't like being coddled. He's a man. He can decide for himself what's best.

'An' if you're talkin' about changin' moods, you're in no position to point fingers.'

He says it almost incidentally. But it is, actually, the real problem.

Edited 2011-05-16 01:43 (UTC)

She searches his eyes as he speaks. Understanding finally dawns on her, along with perspective.

And then, following all that, a short hot burst of anger. She's quiet for a moment, corralling her emotions until she knows just what she wants to say.

Coolly:

"Gene? Why'd you come out here?"

The question, and the cool tone of voice, deserves nothing but the same in return. Because they bring him understanding too; he may have left school at fifteen, but he's not stupid.

The answer to the question from her mouth is because I've wanted to be an Ol' West Sheriff since I were five years old, but he's not going to say anything as poncey as that. And anyway, he doesn't think that's what she was asking.

'An' now you're accusin' me of comin' out here to get into your knickers, is that it?'

The affronted widening of her eyes should be answer enough to that question.

Ooh, the unbelievable ego on this man!

"Would y'answer the goddamn question?"

Despite her best efforts, she can't keep the hurt from sneaking out in her voice.

"It's just you an' me out here."

For god's sake, who does he think she'd honestly tell, anyhow? She's kept her mouth shut about him with her friends thus far, she's not about to go around repeating anything he says now.

'If you answer mine after.'

He looks down and spears a bit of pork.

'I wanted t'see Texas in this time.'

"See if it was anythin' like them movin' pictures you love so?"

Her tone is interrogative, bordering on accusatory. She'd march on, but he asked her a question, and even though it boils her hide to have to answer it she does anyhow.

"No. I'm not accusin' you of comin' out here just so's you could get in my knickers."

'Well, then what are you accusin' me of?'

His voice is rising, both in volume and in expression of frustration. Why ask why he wanted to come here if she was then going to get pissed off about it?

'What's the matter with you now?'

There's a pause, while a memory from the Milliways stables resurfaces, and he deflates a little.

'You think I came here 'cos I wanted t'be a tourist? Just for that?'

"I ain't the one who threw out the first accusation. I only asked a genuine question!"

She's never met anyone of such sensitive disposition before!

The change in his expression pulls her up short. A tourist? No. Except — well, perhaps that's just what it is.

"I dunno why y'came, Gene. If I did, I wouldn't have asked the question."

'You're the one who bloody started on abou' changing moods. And you're in no position t'talk!'

Yeah, he's back to outraged. At least momentarily.

He puts his plate down, and takes a breath. He didn't come out here to fight all the time, that's for sure.

'Look. Last nigh' you were bloody all over me for abou' five minutes. An' then you backed off, an' that's fine. But then you bloody stand there an' say 'don't stay up on my account', like I'm jus' some random bloke you happened t'run into. Or like you're tryin' t'warn me to keep me hands off you in the night.'

It just screams 'keep your distance' to him, and he doesn't like it. Not after she laid herself on top of him and snogged his face off. Gene doesn't do well with mixed signals. He just doesn't have the patience for them.

'An' part of th' reason I came out here was because I said I'd help you.'

He stabs another bit of pork, and then raises his eyes to glare at her.

'Happy now?'

She not only meets his glare, she lassos and binds it, demands it, the look in her eyes unrelentingly sharp.

He's lucky she hasn't put on her guns yet.

"Happy?"

She can't choose which outrageous statement she should be more upset about. It's ridiculous how frequent and fervent he gets her passions going. Unfortunately for him, she's ready to throttle him more oft than she is to 'snog his face off'.

"Gene. For once in your life, imagine the world doesn't revolve around you. D'you know how many people I've let come out my door?"

Each word comes out with force, measured and pointed.

"Two. D'you think I would let you three feet within this place if I didn't think y'could take care of yourself? Knowin' all you do 'bout me; knowin' how I feel when people get close?

"This ain't no movin' picture, Gene. This ain't no Gary Cooper serial; this is my world. A real world. With real people, an' real danger. I've seen every last person I care about die real deaths. An' you — Mister Invincible, Mister I-can't-die — you're gon' sit there an' tell me you're jus' so big for your britches you ain't in need of another momma, while you're invitin' me into your bed, an' pullin' me into your arms, an' puckerin' up givin' me the silent treatment 'cuz I say 'no'? Well, lemme tell you somethin', Gene. I do like havin' your hands on me. I do like the way y'feel, an' I do like the way you kiss. And I want. you. here. But d'you think you an' I's the only two people in this desert? D'you think we're the only ones out with horses, an' guns; buildin' campfires, makin' smoke? You ain't gonna be out here one day an' have me on my back, while ain't nobody's watchin' the horses!"

She draws back, looking away from him at last.

"Now, y'can be mad at me all you want; I ain't the one who said I wasn't out jus' for your knickers before I left t'come home, only t'sour at me now. An' if tellin' you t'sleep so I can take watch, an' cookin' us decent food 'fore we ride off makes me a henpecker, then so be it. I'd rather have you live and ornery than foolish an' dead!"

She lets that hang between them before she scrabbles to her feet. She can't sit here next to him right now.

"An' I really believed you thought more'a me than that!"

Oh, this is ridiculous.

'No, you bloody don't!'

He's on his feet a second after she is, knocking his breakfast over and not giving a damn.

'Don' you dare throw that shit at me an' then think you can bugger off! Did I say - did I once say? - that I though' you didn' want me here? Did I!?'

He knows full well she wouldn't have asked him out here if she didn't want to.

'All you had to bloody say was, 'I'm keepin' watch a bit, an' you can have a turn later if you want'. Just that. But you're a typical bloody woman an' have t'make life difficult! An' I wasn' tryin' t'get you on your back, you stupid tart. How many times do I have t'say it!?'

She is infuriating. He kicks his coffee mug as hard as he can, his face twisted up in rage. Because he obviously thinks more of her than she's giving him credit for, and he's sick of her throwing it in his face that he doesn't.

And also, if she'd just say what she bloody meant before this, it wouldn't have had to get this far.

She turns on a neat dime and advances on him without a thought to how he towers over her, raging and spewing smoke.

"I said I was gonna stay up a while. I said I'd feed the fire, an' wash up, an' I honestly didn't think I had t'spell it out for you!"

Why is everything such a battle of wills with him?

"An' you never once denied wantin' me last night. 'There's better ways'a keepin' warm,' 'why don't y'come massage my kinks out,' 'you want it as much as I do...'"

She flushes.

"If that's not what y'wanted, why couldn't y'just say what y'meant? Why can't you ever jus' say what y'mean?"

His hands come up to his temple and ball into fists, squeezing into his head and he lets out a snarl of utter frustration.

'Are you deaf, or jus' bloody stupid!?'

He didn't think he had to spell it out for her, never mind the fact that he already has.

But he stops shouting. Only so his voice can turn to a low tone that's full of bite, but at least it's quieter.

'I have already told. You. More than once. Of course I want t'ruddy well shag you. I've not been subtle about it. We've talked about it, for Chris'sakes. But 'don't wait up' does not mean 'I'm keepin' a lookout'. It means 'bugger off an' don't keep me company'.'

At least where he's from. Or in his head, at least.

"Not t'me it doesn't!"

Which is what she was trying to say. She wants him here. She wants him.

"It means 'look, y'just got struck at by a poisonous snake an' are tremblin' from head t'toe, covered in soap an' water; maybe y'should lie down an' rest while I take care'a things'!"

That pulls him up short for the beat of a heart, and then he's drawing himself up to his full height, tilting his head back so he can look at her down his nose.

'I do not. Need a bird. T'take 'care of things'.'

She stares at him.

Is he really going to play this card right now? In this moment?

She squares up to him, her 5'1 frame standing toe-to-toe with his, forcing him to either look down or stare at the big empty nothing that is the desert in growing daylight.

"Then y'picked the wrong 'bird'."

He swivels his eyeballs down.

'And I was not 'tremblin''.'

In any way. At all.

Ever.

She holds her ground, eyes steady on his.

"Whatever y'say, Gene."

He really wasn't. He thinks.

'We done then?'

"I reckon so."

She continues to stare at him, her expression unreadable.

"Let's break camp, then."

She eventually steps around him, walking in a tight-shouldered swagger to her abandoned breakfast plate.

He stands there for a beat or two longer, then yanks his fags out and lights one with a snap of his Zippo.

It's going to be a long day. But that's fine. He doesn't need her chit-chat to keep him occupied while he rides. She wants to go off in a sulk, that's fine with him.

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AU: Western Texas - Gene Hunt - 1888 (pt. 2)

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