Victoria County, Texas, 1888 -- OOM for Ben Wade

[ikissdhimbck]

[following this:]


The door dropped them off out in the middle of nowhere -- right were Kate was, the last time she'd been 'home.' When she'd left Green Lake after confronting Trout, she'd ridden north with little thought in mind other than putting some distance between the Walker estate and herself. If she had any point of reference, she might have known this put her right in the middle of the 44 Ranch, but there was nothing to see for miles but brush and scrub and river water and dirt.

She and Ben had mounted up and kept going north, following the river until nightfall. Their ride had been somewhat reserved, quiet, and somber. The both of them had a lot to think about, after the morning's events back in Milliways.

Setting up camp was also a quiet affair, punctuated by brief discussions of where they should tie the horses, who should build the fire, what they should cook and eat -- anything they could think of that didn't touch on the subject of Doc, or the limp in Kate's step.

Ben took first watch following supper, offering to also take the third. But after he woke Kate for her turn at second watch, she was up, and didn't bother waking him when the time came around for him to take over. Her eyes were on the horizon, and the clear night sky overhead.

She had missed her Texas sky.

.

Comments

[almosthonorable]

He caps the flask and pockets it.

"It gets easier, the longer you do it."

A beat.

"Well, easier to keep your eyes on what's ahead instead of behind, anyway."

[ikissdhimbck]

"I reckon."

Her eyes are back on the limitless borders of sky. It's mostly flat in these parts, and the heavens stretch on for miles.

(She may be looking for her morning star.)







"I never did do 'im right."

She was just trying to fix that, for once in her life. She really was.

[almosthonorable]

He doesn't turn his head, but his eyes slide to her.

He's a good listener; it's easy to forget that, with all the sarcasm and one-liners.

[ikissdhimbck]

Her cheeks are rosy from the whiskey. Her metabolism changed over the winter, what with everything going on, so even that little bit of drink has her feeling hazy around the edges.



"Funny how y'don't realize just how much you love somethin' 'til it's gone. You'd think by now I'd've learned my lesson."

Her eyes are unfocused, and she sets her chin down on her knees, huddling for warmth. It's late (early), and the desert can get chilly without the sun beating down.

"Now it's too late. I can't never tell him the things I should'a when he was still listenin'."

[almosthonorable]

He's whiskey-warm -- and even if he wasn't, he's still a gentleman.

Wordlessly, he shrugs out of his coat and drapes it around her thin shoulders.

[ikissdhimbck]

She swims in it.



"I'm sorry, Ben."

She plucks the hemlines up in her small hands and pulls the fabric around her legs like a tent.

"I"m sorry I didn't keep my promise to you."

[almosthonorable]

"What promise?"

[ikissdhimbck]

"That we was gonna be safe."

[almosthonorable]

"Well."

A pause.

"Seems like Salazar had somethin' to say about that."

He's not being glib or unkind, just honest.

[ikissdhimbck]

"Yeah."

She turns her head to look at him.

"An' I'm the one who got 'im talkin' in the first place."

Same for Kate: she isn't being self-deprecating, or melodramatic. She's just being honest.

[almosthonorable]

She's not wrong.

Which is why Ben holds his tongue.

[ikissdhimbck]

She's not looking for him to argue. She's long since made her peace with her own selfishness, and put it in its place.

Which is why the apology is still strong in her eyes.

[almosthonorable]

And he sees it, clear as crystal.

It confuses him.

"You don't owe me an apology, Kate."

[ikissdhimbck]

"I feel like I owe everybody one," she murmurs with a small voice. "Took me all these months t'git to a place where I'm okay, an' then Milliways pulls me back in, and there's all his friends, there..."

She swallows, wishing absently that he hadn't put the flask away.

Her eyes are somewhere near his knees.

"Couldn't take it, anymore."

[almosthonorable]

His frown deepens.

"Who's givin' you hell in the bar?"

[ikissdhimbck]

"It's not like that," she says with a quick shake of her head.

Her hair slips into her face, and in the moonlight she looks like a little lost girl.

"S'just... havin' t'tell them all he's dead, and that it's my fault. Nobody's givin' me hell, it's just hard t'see the looks on their faces. Knowin' how much he was loved there. Cut down before his time, an' by accident, too. That bullet was meant for me."

[almosthonorable]

"It ain't an easy thing, workin' through somethin' like that."

He's thinking of Dan Evans, bleeding out beside the 3:10 to Yuma; of Mark and William and Alice Evans on Dan's once-dying ranch, now with more water rights and money than any of them had ever imagined.

"But you 'n me both know he'd take that bullet for you all over again, even knowin' what was gonna happen."

[ikissdhimbck]

She slides her eyes shut to fight back the sting.

'I don't regret lovin' you.'

Don't gotta understand it. Just have to accept it.

She nods, clenching her jaw. When she thinks she has control over herself again, she blinks her eyes open to see the white of her knuckles.

"I know," she quavers. "I just. I just..."


She can't finish.

(She doesn't know what to say, anyway.)

[almosthonorable]

Ben lifts an arm.

There's nothing to say. Except --

"C'mere."

[ikissdhimbck]

She wants so damn bad to impress him. She wants so badly to show him that she's not weak, that she can survive out here with a price on her head, and that she can be more than a hotheaded fool.

But right now, none of that really matters.

She tips herself onto his embrace, burying her face in his chest.

But she doesn't cry.

[almosthonorable]

He wraps his arm around her shoulders and holds her, not saying a word, in case talking's not what she wants or needs.

(The words would be empty platitudes, anyway, more useless than anything.)

[ikissdhimbck]

She hasn't slept more than a handful of hours in the last forty-eight. The embrace is comforting.


"Why does this keep happening?"


It's rather apparent what she means, though the question sounds more like 'What do I keep doing wrong?' as she speaks it.

[almosthonorable]

"'Man is born unto trouble, as the sparks fly upward,'" he says quietly, quoting Job 5:7.

"But, hell, sometimes I don't know if there's reason behind it at all -- what is just is, happens as it will."

[ikissdhimbck]

She's thinking about Doc, that morning in the stables. She thinks about Bill and Kate and Boo having to say goodbye; about what Guppy had discovered during her check-up last week; about that unmarked grave up in the Colorado mountains, in a world that had been like a bier for them both (even if Kate had gotten back up).

"None'a this would'a ever happened if I just ... If I hadn't been so lost and lonely..."

So hurt and scared.

"I told 'im. I told him this would happen, but he just wouldn't listen. I know he wouldn't take a darned thing back, but it just don't change the fact that he was so stupid. And stubborn. I could'a saved him. If only we weren't together that mornin', I could've... I could've..."

Traded places.

All those lost lives in exchange for her own.

[almosthonorable]

"What happened happened, Kate. It might not be pretty, but there it is."

He shakes his head.

"Every step you've taken has gotten you here, same as the rest of us, wherever we're at. Second-guessin' the past only gets you headache and heartache."