ikissdhimbck | OOM: Room #100

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OOM: Room #100

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It's not the most romantic, or passionate, or perfect reunion in the world. There are the common problems that come with two people reacquainting themselves with each other, plus the nervousness of a novice and the eagerness of a man who's waited ten years for this moment.

However, their second go round goes off with much better success, for both parties. It's a learning process, committed with whispers and moans, gentle fingertips and patient bodies. Affection, tenderness, and devotion between two people not without their failings, but who haven't completely forgotten what it feels like to work together.

It's past sundown at this point, a red sunset painting the walls of Kate's room as Doc sleeps soundly in a tangle of sheets and blankets. The light breakfast Bar had brought up to the room earlier has been picked at, and now Kate is sitting on the back of the armchair again, a silk robe wrapped around her body and her hair loose at her shoulders, as she watches the sky burn.

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His fingers brush the mattress next to him - even when he's asleep, he's still searching for her - and when they come up empty, he blinks his eyes open and glances around the room.

It takes a moment for his vision to focus and the haze up sleep to fade, but when it does, he yawns and pushes himself up on an elbow to better watch her as she sits.

Only one thought runs through his mind:

Damn, she's beautiful.

Her arms are wrapped loosely around her stomach, though it's not cold. But she feels it. Every muscle in her body is sore and tired, but it's nothing like what she was expecting.

Nothing like the first time.

She's thinking about that day -- that week -- about the mess she was when Sam died and she was thrust back into the Bar without warning. She made a lot of mistakes. She's still making them. She's still a mess.

Everything Esfir said is swimming through her mind, and as the sky goes orange and the clouds purple in the fading light, she finds herself desperately groping for some sort of resolution.

He yawns again and scrubs a hand over his face, before he pushes himself up to a full sitting position, the sheets and blankets pooling around his waist in his lap.

He'll get up and out of bed in a moment. First he needs to sit up for a moment first.

She hears the rustling of sheets as if at some great distance, and eventually turns her head over her shoulder to see that he is up.

She smiles wanly, resting her head against the windowpane, and shivers at the feeling of the cool glass on her warm skin. The silk doesn't provide much for warmth -- nor does it leave much to the imagination, if we're being completely honest.

Doc smiles in response, before he gathers the tangled sheet around his lower half and climbs out of bed.

His steps to the chair are marked by the last pieces of sleep - he wanders, a little - before he lightly drops himself into the arm chair at her side.

"Hey," his voice wavers a little with sleep and the husky leftovers of his lust a few hours ago.

Doc rests his temple against the silk at her thigh.

"Nice sunset?"

She moves her arm back as he settles next to her, setting her hand down in his hair.

"Mm," she nods, as her fingers begin to work through the short blonde locks.

Her eyes keep to the slow, steady work of her hand, distant and reflective.

His focus is somewhere past her knees and feet, on the other side of the room - but he's not thinking of anything in particular.

(Other than the feeling of her nails combing over his scalp.)

There's a straight scar behind his right ear, hidden by his hairline, skin still tough to the touch. It's not long, but it's obvious it was deep enough to hurt when he got it a few years back.

His breathing is slow and even - he's relaxed, by her touch.

"Y'feelin' alright?"

She came across that scar last night, as her hands desperately pulled through his hair; but like so many of his new marks and blemishes, she didn't stop to ask. A few were noticeable enough for him to feel compelled to explain, but the rest just faded to the background for the time.

She pulls in a deep breath and tips her head down so she can look at him.

"Told you I was fine... y'don't have to worry so much. Y'didn't hurt me."

"Wasn't askin' like that," he murmurs, setting his chin on the top of her leg to look up at her. "I meant...'bout yourself, love."

He settles his fingers against her ankle, rubbing lightly in tiny circles, working at some imagined bit of tension.

"Oh."

She chuckles good-humoredly, and shrugs her shoulders, returning her attention to the sunset.

"Got a lot t'think 'bout."

He smiles slightly.

"I know the feelin'."

His fingertips move to her foot, tracing the bones beneath her skin. He's silent for several long moments.

"Thank you."

She goes very quiet for a long time.

Dipping her head back in his direction, she murmurs:

"Y'don't got nothin' t'thank me for."

Doc shakes his head, the motion slight.

"No...I do. I know how much things have changed, how difficult you've had it...I know what this means."

He exhales softly.

"I know how hard it was for you to trust me."

Her hands still.

She doesn't speak, or look at him for a long time.

"Doc. You... I...

"I ain't doin' right by you. Don't... you ain't got nothin' to thank me for. I know I can't give you what you deserve."

"And just what do you think I deserve?"

Another long pause as she thinks.

Her hand moves through his hair again, once.

And she turns her face down to look at him with her sad blue eyes.

"Somebody who can satisfy all of your needs."

She obviously isn't talking solely in the physical sense.

Doc tips his head into her hand as she strokes over his hair, but his eyes are up on her face, reading the expression in them.

"Kate..."

He shakes his head.

"...I been gone ten years out there. If I had any needs that needed satisfyin', they'd have been taken care of a long time ago."

She peers down at him steadily for a still moment that seems to last forever.

Eventually, pulling in a deep breath, she returns her focus to the sunset, letting her forehead fall against the windowpane.

She opens her mouth to speak, but finds her voice fails her. How do you argue with those eyes of his? With the conviction in his voice? How do you tell someone that you're not sure if you do trust them, or love them, or want to be with them?

She's not emotionally connected to anything, save for the madness in her heart, the vengeance in her trembling fingertips, and the agony in her soul.

He distracts her from the feelings she doesn't have the strength to face.

He's not a distraction.

"Ten years is a long time t'spend without nobody."

"It is."

Doc returns his focus to the distant spot across the room, falling quiet as he slips into thought for a time. When he does speak, it's almost a whisper, but with that same sandpaper rasp he's always had.

"After awhile I thought about it. I'd get lonely...just need someone t'be with, to care for...someone who'd give two shits 'bout me. It'd been a few years since I lost the door, but I just...one night when I was seriously ready t'give up bein' who I was, I realized that as much as I knew you'd want me to find someone to make me happy, find somethin' to live for...you would understand that I had to be true to myself, had to be able t'live with what I'd done."

He pauses for a brief moment.

"Losin' that door...losin' you was hard. It was like...like I'd lost my wife, I just...other women didn't do nothin' for me, wasn't even interested. All I wanted was one more chance with you to make things right, just hear your voice again...and I just knew that if I went off and found somebody else I'd never get that chance, and I never would have anyway because you're all I ever wanted."

Again, her gaze returns to his face.

"What have I ever done that was so worth holdin' onto?"

"You never looked down on me for where I came from, for what I done with my life. Any other woman would have had nothin' to do with a poor kid from Tallapoosa who dropped outta university t'go ride with two-bit gangs, makin' barely 'nought to survive on while they was stealin' sheep and killin' folk."

Doc's not looking at her as he speaks.

"You saw who I was underneath all that."

Her fingers slowly return to combing through his hair as she considers his words.

I would have married you without a penny; followed you wherever you'd lead. I would have been your wife, raised your children, and loved you 'til we turned old and gray.

"I wasn't th'only one. There were other women."

His eyes slip shut as he rests his head against her thigh.

I made you a promise.

"But you were the only one that I loved with all my heart...and the only one who ever gave me yours."

Her face grows softer.

Sadder.

"I can't argue whether'r not that's true. But I ain't the only one you ever gave your hand, or you mine."

"That's true," he admits.

He sighs without making a sound, remembering when he asked her to marry him, all those years ago. Crazy dreams and wild plans, now nothing but bitter ash and smoke they can't quite grasp in their curled fingers.

(But as futile as it may seem, they're still trying.)

Doc reaches up and rests his arm lightly on her lap, palm open and upturned.

"M'givin' it t'you now."

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